Jamón Central

Chicken and Shellfish Paella

2011-08-20T21:26:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I made paella in the park. Turned out pretty well, considering all the mistakes I made. The pan never got as hot as it should, which meant that every time I added any cold ingredient it cooled way down and took forever heating up again. I'm posting the video anyway (here's the link, since I'm having trouble embedding it). Why? Because despite my mistakes it still turned out all right. I used the same recipe that I posted here.

By the way, you'd be surprised at the number of people who have never even heard of paella. Disturbing.

Chicken in Charmoula

2011-08-16T21:17:00.000-07:00

Charmoula is a cilantro/parsley mixture that we first tried over broiled white fish. The tart, garlicky melange brought something so wonderful to the fish that we immediately decided to try it on chicken. Once the meat has been marinated, you can grill it or bake it -- either way it turns out great. Tonight we grilled the chicken (45 minutes to 1 hour over charcoal) and served it with Spinach Garbanzos.

3/4 cup cilantro

1/3 cup parsley

3 garlic cloves, minced

1/3 cup lemon juice

3 tablespoons olive oil

3/4 teaspoon ground cumin

1/2 teaspoon paprika

1/4 teaspoon salt

1/8 teaspoon cayenne

1 chicken, cut up for grilling

Grind together cilantro, parsley and garlic in food processor, then add all the other ingredients except the chicken and blend until as smooth as possible.

Combine charmoula with chicken in a bowl, cover and chill in refrigerator several hours or

overnight before baking or grilling.

Moroccan-ish Spinach Garbanzos

2011-08-16T19:36:00.000-07:00

Let me say, for the record, that I despise the usage "chickpea." Sure, it may be slightly closer to the Latin name (from Cicer arietinum -- which, incidentally, is also where the Roman orator Cicero got his name, but I digress), but the Spanish "garbanzo" sounds more robust, more healthy.

All that aside, spinach and garbanzos go together like Laurel and Hardy; like Don Quixote and Sancho. Sure, you can imagine one without the other, but together they are something special.

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 10 oz package frozen spinach, thawed and drained

1 15 oz can garbanzos, drained and rinsed

2 tablespoons bread crumbs

1/3 cup tomato sauce

2 medium cloves garlic, minced

1/4 teaspoon ground cumin

1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika

dash of cayenne

2 teaspoons red wine vinegar

kosher salt

black pepper

Over medium high heat, saute bread crumbs in oil until brown. Add the garlic, cumin, paprika and cayenne pepper. Saute about 1 minute. Stir in vinegar, then add tomato sauce and garbanzos. Reduce heat and cook for a few minutes, then stir in the spinach. Heat through and season with salt and pepper.

Caldo Tlalpeño

2011-08-08T20:19:00.000-07:00

The Summer of Mexican continues, and what better way to celebrate a hotter-than-the-weatherman-predicted summer evening than with a killer soup? Recipes from the Mexico the Beautiful cookbook have been sort of hit and miss for me, but this one was a home run. A beautiful soup, light and flavorful. I ended up changing it slightly, but my only regret was that I didn't have a ripe tomato in the garden and had to make do with one from the store. We served this with homemade French bread from a recipe Erika found here. I was a little concerned that the recipe called for twice the amount of yeast you normally use for that amount of flour, and the dough was a little goopier than I was expecting, but the bread turned out pretty good.

Soup

12 oz cooked and shredded chicken*

6 cups low sodium chicken stock

1 15 oz. can garbanzo beans (about 1 cup)

2 cloves garlic

1 tablespoon oil

2/3 cup chopped carrots

1/2 cup chopped onion

2 canned chipotle chiles in adobo, seeded and cut into strips

1 tsp. salt

Condiments

1 avocado, peeled, pitted and cubed

2 tablespoons chopped cilantro (optional)

lime slices

1 ripe tomato, chopped

2 serrano chilies, finely chopped

1 cup cooked rice

Heat the oil in heavy bottomed pot and saute the carrot, onions and garlic until onions are transluscent, about 3 minutes. Add garbanzos, chicken stock, chiles and salt. Cook, covered, for 30 minutes over low heat then adjust seasoning. Add the chicken to the pot to warm it.

To serve, ladle the soup into bowls and garnish with condiments to taste. Serves 6-8.

* I used a mixture of white and dark meat from a chicken I roasted in advance.

Pinchos morunos and tortilla española

2011-08-06T23:50:00.000-07:00

I love Spanish bar food and these are two of my favorites. Pinchos morunos are grilled pork skewers, marinated with olive oil, garlic, paprika and a hint of red pepper. I've blogged about them before, here. Tortilla is one of those things that are easy to make, but not always easy to get perfectly right. Enjoy.

Zucchini Brownies

2011-07-30T22:41:00.000-07:00

I found this recipe originally here; I added some milk, but otherwise the recipe is as is.

1/2 cup vegetable oil

1 1/2 cups white sugar

2 teaspoons vanilla extract

2 cups all-purpose flour

1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder

1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda

1 teaspoon salt

2 cups shredded zucchini

1/2 cup milk

1/2 cup chopped walnuts

ICING:

6 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder

1/4 cup margarine

2 cups confectioners' sugar

1/4 cup milk

1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 350. Grease and flour a 9x13 inch baking pan.

Combine the flour, 1/2 cup cocoa, baking soda and salt. Set aside.

In a standing mixer combine oil, sugar, 2 teaspoons vanilla and milk until well blended. Add flour and cocoa, then fold in the zucchini and walnuts. Pour into pan.

Bake for 25 to 30 minutes at 350 degrees. Then set aside to cool.

To make icing, melt together the 6 tablespoons of cocoa and margarine; set aside to cool. In a medium bowl, blend together the confectioners' sugar, milk and 1/2 teaspoon vanilla. Stir in the cocoa mixture. Spread over cooled brownies before cutting into squares.

Empanada de pescado (again)

2011-07-27T23:08:00.000-07:00

Erika suggested I try making a You Tube video, so I decided, what the heck. I had some leftover striped bass from the other day, so decided to make an empanada. I posted a recipe awhile back here.

This version is a little different:

1 tablespoon olive oil

1/2 large onion, diced

1 bell pepper, diced

1 8 oz. can of tomato sauce

salt

sugar

1 cup or so of cooked striped bass

red pepper flakes (optional)

1 hardboiled egg, diced

2 tbsp. pine nuts

1 1/2 pounds pizza dough

Preheat oven to 475 degrees.

Saute the onion and bell pepper in the olive oil until the onion is transclucent. Add the tomato sauce and simmer uncovered for a few minutes, then add salt to taste and a dash of sugar to bring out the tartness of the sauce.

Stir in the fish, crushing slightly with the spoon so it is well integrated into the sauce. Add a dash of red pepper flakes, if desired.

Remove from heat and add the hardboiled egg and pine nuts.

Divide pizza dough in half and roll out half into a 12-inch circle. Place a sheet of parchment paper on a pizza stone and lay dough circle on it. Spread the fish mixture evenly over it. Roll out and lay the other sheet of puff dough over the top and crimp the edges. Paint dough with olive oil and place in oven.

Bake for 15-20 until golden brown. Cool on wire rack, and serve.

Grilled Fish

2011-07-27T23:06:00.000-07:00

2 large striped bass fillets, skin on

5 tbsp. mayonnaise

2 tbsp. lime juice

1 tbsp. salt

1/4 teaspoon pepper

SAUCE

10 guajillo chilies, seeds removed

5 ancho chilies, seeds removed

1 cup water

4 tomatoes

4 cloves garlic

1 tbsp. white vinegar

3 whole cloves

1/3 onion

1/2 tsp. each dried oregano, thyme, marjoram

1/2 tsp. ground cumin

2 tbsp. butter

2 tbsp. oil

salt and freshly ground pepper

In a bowl, combine the mayonnaise, lime juice, salt and pepper. Rub onto the fish and marinate at room temperature for 20 minutes.

To prepare the sauce, soak the chilies in hot water to cover for 10 minutes. Drain, transfer to a blender and puree with the water, tomatoes, garlic, vinegar, cloves, onoin, oregano, thyme, marjoram and cumin until smooth.

Heat the butter and oil in a small saucepan and add the pureed chilies. When the puree comes to a boil, lower the heat and cook for 20 minutes or until the sauce thickens. Add salt and pepper to taste. Let cool to room temperature.

Grill with the rack set about 8 inches over a charcoal fire. Place fish skin side down and grill for 15-20 minutes, basting regularly with the sauce. Turn the fish over and grill for about 5 minutes longer, or until fish is done.

Budín con picadillo (Ground Meat Casserole)

2011-07-16T12:12:00.001-07:00

I like finding things to do with ground beef that don't involve hamburgers, lasagna, spaghetti or tacos. This recipe actually calls for squash blossoms, which I did not have. I suspect it would taste great with zucchini or even with spinach or Swiss chard. Adapted from Mexico the Beautiful Cookbook, by Susanna Palazuela.

3 cloves garlic

1/4 teaspoon ground pepper

1 whole clove

1/4 teaspoon dried thyme

2 teaspoons salt

1 lb ground beef

2 tablespoons oil

1 small onion, finely chopped

1 jalapeño chili

1 lb tomatillos, husked

1/2 cup chopped cilantro

2 poblano chilies

oil for frying

12 corn tortillas

1 cup sour cream

1 1/2 cups grated Cheddar cheese

Grind 2 garlic cloves together with the pepper, clove, thyme and one teaspoon of the salt in a mortar. Transfer to a large bowl, add the beef and mix well.

Heat the oil in a large skillet. Add the onion and saute until transparent. Add the beef and saute, uncovered, over medium heat for 10 minutes. Drain and set aside.

Cook the jalapeños together with the tomatillos in boiling water until the tomatillos change color, about 10 minutes. Drain, transfer to a blender with 1 garlic clove, the cilantro, and 1 teaspoon salt. Puree and set aside.

Roast the poblano chilies: brush the chilies with oil and roast in 450-degree oven for 20 minutes or so, turning once or twice, until skin is blistered. Let chilies cool and sweat a little. Rinse under cool water, removing seeds and skin. Skin will slip right off. Slice into strips.

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Heat 1/2 inch oil in a skillet and briefly fry each tortilla on both sides. Arrange 6 tortillas, overlapping, in the bottom of a rectangular baking dish. Cover with a layer of meat, a layer of poblanos, half of the sour cream and a third of the grated cheese. Make another layer of tortillas, meat, chilies, cream and cheese. Cover with tomatillo puree, transfer to oven and bake for 10 minutes. Sprinkle with the remaining one-third of the cheese and bake for 5 minutes or until cheese melts and browns.

Potatoes in Green Sauce

2011-07-15T23:44:00.000-07:00

Served this at a barbecue tonight, where at least one person claimed they were the best potatoes she ever ate. I wouldn't go that far, but they were pretty flavorful. The recipe comes from Cookshelf Mexican, by Marlena Spieler. All you're doing, basically, is adding green salsa to already-cooked potatoes, so I suppose that in a pinch you could just open a jar of tomatillo salsa and save a few steps. But roasting the ingredients for the salsa is not hard, and adds a flavor dimension you most likely will not get from a jar.

3 pounds red potatoes, peeled and chopped into 1-inch chunks

1 onion, halved and unpeeled

8 garlic cloves, unpeeled

8 tomatillos, husks removed

1 large jalapeño chili

1 cup chicken stock

1/2 tsp. ground cumin

1/2 tsp. dried thyme

1/2 tsp. dried oregano

1 tbsp. olive oil

1 medium zucchini, diced

1 bunch cilantro, chopped

salt

Place potatoes in a pot of water and bring to a boil, then cook gently for 8-10 minutes until potatoes are almost done. Do not over cook. Drain and set aside.

Meanwhile, roast onion, garlic, tomatillos and chili in a large, heavy-bottomed skillet over medium heat, turning occasionally, until charred. Remove from pan. Let cool slightly, then peel onion and garlic. Place onion, garlic, tomatillos and chili in a blender, together with 1/2 cup chicken stock to make a puree. Set aside.

Heat oil in heavy skillet and fry puree until it reduces slightly. Add potatoes and zucchini, along with half of the cilantro and the rest of the chicken stock. Simmer gently for about 5 minutes or until vegetables are tender. Check for salt.

Sprinkle with remaining cilantro and serve.

Baked Beans with Ancho Chili

2011-07-05T11:29:00.000-07:00

This was my offering at our friend’s Fourth of July barbecue yesterday. The chili and orange zest add an interesting dimension; these are not your standard barbecue baked beans. I pulled the recipe from Aliza Green, Beans: More than 200 Delicious, Wholesome Recipes from Around the World, but made a few changes based on ingredient availability and time frame.

1 pound dried pinto beans

1/2 pound bacon, diced

1 large onion, diced

2 tablespoons chopped garlic

1 ancho chilies, seeded, soaked in cold water 30 minutes, and minced*

2 tablespoons ground toasted cumin seeds

6 tablespoons brown sugar dissolved in 2 tablespoons of liquid from tomatoes**

Zest of 1 orange

Juice of 1 orange

2 14.5 ounce cans petite diced tomatoes

1 1/2 teaspoons black pepper

1 tablespoon salt

Rinse beans and place in pot with 8 cups cold water. Bring to a boil, reduce heat, cover and simmer for 1 1/2 to 2 hours until nearly done. Drain.

Cook the bacon in a heavy skillet over medium heat until crispy. Transfer bacon to paper towels. In the same pan, cook the onion, carrots, and garlic in the bacon fat until softened. Add the chili, cumin, brown sugar, orange zest, and juice. Cook for three minutes.

Preheat the oven to 300 degrees. Place the beans, tomatoes, chili mixture and bacon in a Dutch oven. Bring to a boil on the stove, cover and bake in oven for 1 hour or until beans are almost soft. Season with salt and pepper, stir, and return to oven for another 30 minutes, or until the beans are soft and the liquid has been absorbed. If necessary, add more liquid during baking.

*or 2 tablespoons ground ancho chile

**or 1/2 cup molasses

Darn Good Chili

2011-06-30T21:09:00.000-07:00

This is a little more labor intensive than using commercial chili powder or (Heaven forbid) opening a can but it is well worth the time. The basic recipe and technique comes from Rick Bayless's Mexican Kitchen, but I've kind of done my own thing with it. As written, the recipe calls for ground beef (or a half-and-half beef/pork blend), but I've also used chunks of chuck to good effect. When we went to Yosemite I made some of this in advance and froze it. We warmed it up in the cabin and, voila, instant dinner.

You'll notice that I've used canned tomatoes, beef broth, and beans; I'm sure you could use fresh tomatoes and prepare the broth and beans from scratch and the finished product would taste that much better, but it is pretty dang good as it is.

4 garlic cloves, unpeeled

2 dried ancho chilies and 2-3 dried California chilies (2 oz. total)

3/4 teaspoon dried oregano

1/4 teaspoon black pepper

1/8 teaspoon cumin

1/8 teaspoon ground cloves

1/8 teaspoon cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon sugar

1 can beef broth

1 pound ground beef

1 small yellow onion, diced

1/2 can petite diced tomatoes

1 can pinto beans (optional)

Remove the stems and seeds from the chilies and open them up as well as you can.

In a large, heavy skillet (I use cast iron) over medium heat, roast the garlic, turning occasionally until soft. Let cool slightly, then remove skins.

While the garlic is roasting, in the same pan you can toast the chilies (on both sides), pressing down on them with a spatula, until they blister and crackle slightly. Place them in a bowl of hot water to soak for about 30 minutes. Then drain.

Place the drained chilies together with the garlic, and the next seven ingredients in a blender. Add half of the can of broth and blend to a smooth puree. If you wish you can strain the puree, but it's not necessary.

Meanwhile, fry the ground beef and the onion in a little oil in a small Dutch oven over medium high heat. Once the meat is cooked, drain out most of the fat. Add the chili puree all at once and fry, stirring frequently, for several minutes.

Add the rest of the beef broth, the tomatoes and enough water so that the mixture is floating freely. Bring to a boil, reduce heat and let simmer, uncovered, for a couple hours. Add the beans toward the end.

A Bit of Doggerel -- About a Cat

2011-06-29T10:19:00.000-07:00

Every now and then I get seized by my muse and wax poetic. I wrote this years ago. It was a hit at our family reunion, where I did a dramatic reading with my brother-in-law Robbie backing me up on bass. Background: When I was a kid my sister had an orange-striped cat named Nicky, whose idea of fun was to race the garage door. One day he lost.

How an Orange Kitty Cat One Day Learned a Valuable Lesson

He had tiger stripes, young kitty cat
ball of fluff, now smashed so flat.

And so my friend raced out one day
(a day, by the way, built for play,

and much, it seems, like most other days:
sky mottled white on blue, and rays

of sun dripped like drops of rain
upon a dewy glistening plain

of backyard blessed with blades of green --
a sea of grass on which to dream).

But oh my striped young kitty cat,
(ball of fluff now smashed so flat)

cavorted not outdoors that day
but in garaged darkness played;

racing toward the blinding light
oft revealed and brought to sight

when ‘lectric buzzing motor'd raise
the great wood door before his gaze.

Then began the game quite simple
(though it gave his side a dimple):

race the door and reach the outside
before the door could brush his young hide.

But oh! my striped young kitty cat,
ball of fluff now smashed so flat!

Never more on bright blue day
will you race outside to play!

The door came down, soundly smashing
my kitty cat who once, so dashing,

dashed across a concrete floor
and tried to beat a ‘lectric door,

but ne’er again will frolic anew
beneath a winsome sky most blue.

For oh my striped orange kitty cat,
ball of fluff, you’re smashed
... so flat.

Frijoles de olla

2011-06-27T00:02:00.000-07:00

Incredibly easy.

1 pound pinto beans

8 cups water

2 tablespoons lard

1/2 white onion, diced.

Place all ingredients into a pot and bring to a boil. Reduce heat, cover and simmer for 2 hours or until beans are soft. Add salt and simmer for about half an hour longer. Beans will keep in the fridge for a couple days.

Mole poblano

2011-06-26T22:19:00.000-07:00

Tonight's extravaganza: chicken in mole poblano, frijoles de olla, cactus salad. Our guests, the ever-game Ashcrofts, brought a quinoa salad.

It was touch a go for a bit and I was worried that it wouldn't turn out, but in the end it all came together.

Mole is immensely time consuming, involving a multitude of ingredients that have to be toasted, ground, and fried, in what appears to be a heart-stopping amount of lard. The kitchen got a little crazy and I found myself stopping to clean periodically so I wouldn't end up using every dish in the house.

Which would be quite easy to do, so plan ahead. I used the same cast iron skillet to fry the chiles, fry the chile puree, brown the chicken, toast the spices and sesame seeds, fry the raisins, etc.

Time organization is tricky too; some steps can be done simultaneously or in a different order. I toasted the spices for step 3c and did the frying for step 3d well in advance of when the recipe says to do them, and just set the ingredients aside until they were needed. Also, I was short on time, so I didn't get to simmer it quite as long as the recipe calls for, but it still turned out fine.

Other changes of note: I did not have any chiles mulatos, so I left them out. Also, I used chicken instead of turkey. Certain things could be done in advance (make the sauce the day before; precook the chicken and warm it in the sauce 20 minutes before serving). Anyway, here it is. Adapted from Diana Kennedy's The Essential Cuisines of Mexico.

1. The chiles
Approximately 1/2 cup lard
8 ancho chiles, seeds and veins removed
6 chiles negros, seeds and veins removed
(reserve 1 tablespoon chile seeds for later)

Heat the lard in a skillet and briefly fry the chiles on both sides. [Kennedy says to take care not to let them burn, but she doesn't bother to mention that frying dried chiles in lard releases a tear-gas cloud of pepper smoke into the kitchen that will chase your loved ones outside.] While your family takes refuge in the backyard, fry the chiles, place them in a bowl of cold water and soak them for one hour. Drain.

2. The chicken
2 4-pound chickens, cut into serving pieces
approximately 1/3 cup lard
salt to taste

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees.

Heat the lard in a large cast iron skillet and fry the chicken pieces, a few at a time, until the skin turns golden brown. Place the chicken pieces in an oven-safe Dutch oven, sprinkle with salt, cover and braise in the oven for about 40 minutes. Pan juices can be added to broth.

3. The rest of the sauce
Approximately 8 cups chicken broth (low-sodium, preferably homemade)
1/2 cup tomatillos, cooked (to cook tomatillos, remove husks and boil for approximately 15 minutes)
3 garlic cloves, charred and peeled
4 whole cloves
10 peppercorns
1/2-inch piece of cinnamon stick, toasted
1/8 teaspoon coriander seeds, toasted
1/8 teaspoon aniseeds, toasted
1 tablespoon reserved chile seeds, toasted
7 tablespoons sesame seeds, toasted
approximately 1/4 cup lard
2 tablespoons raisins
20 unskinned almonds
1/3 cup raw, hulled pumpkin seeds (or sunflower seeds)
1 small dried tortilla
3 small slices dry French bread
1 1/2 oz Mexican drinking chocolate (1/2 tablet)
Salt to taste

a. Blend the drained chiles, a few at a time, in one cup of water, adding only enough additional water to release blender blades. Melt a little lard in a heavy skillet over medium heat and fry the puree for about 10 minutes, scraping the bottom of the pan to avoid sticking. Set aside.
b. Blend tomatillo and garlic and in 1 cup of broth.
c. Grind the spices together with the chile seeds in a spice grinder. Add to blender. Grind three tablespoons of sesame seed (reserving 4 tablespoons for later). Add to blender.
d. Melt 1/4 cup lard in a frying pan and separately fry the raisins, almonds, pumpkin seeds, tortilla, and bread, draining each ingredient in a colander before adding to blender. Add another cup of thr broth, or enough to release the blades of the blender, until you have a thick, slightly textured paste.
e. Add the paste to the chile puree and continue cooking, again scraping the bottom of the pan, for about 5 minutes. Break the chocolate into small pieces and add it to the mole with another cup of the broth and continue cooking for 5 minutes more. Dilute the mole with another 4 cups of the broth, test for salt [start with about 1 teaspoon and work up from there] and continue cooking over medium heat until well seasoned and pools of oil form on the surface -- about 40 minutes.

f. Add the chicken pieces and cook for another 20 minutes. [I removed the skin from the chicken pieces before adding them to the sauce.]

Serve each portion sprinkled with a little of the reserved sesame seeds.

Sopa Verde de Elote (Green Corn Soup)

2011-06-07T19:24:00.000-07:00

This was a wonderfully balanced and refreshing soup. Once again taken from The Essential Cuisines of Mexico, by Diana Kennedy.

¼ cup unsalted butter
½ cup finely chopped white onion
2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
2/3 cup tomatillo, cooked and drained*
4 ½ cups corn kernels, fresh or frozen
5 cups light chicken broth
2/3 cup green peas, fresh or frozen
6 large sprigs cilantro
2 small poblano chilies, roasted and peeled**
3 large Romaine lettuce leaves, roughly chopped
1 teaspoon salt, or to taste

Blend the tomatillo until smooth. Set aside.

Blend the corn with 2 cups of the chicken broth, the peas, cilantro, chilies and lettuce leaves until smooth. Strain through a medium strainer. Set aside.

Melt the butter in a large saucepan and fry the onion and garlic until translucent.
Add the tomatillo puree to the onion in the pan and fry over high heat for about 3 minutes, stirring constantly.

Add corn puree to the pan and cook over fairly high heat for about 3 minutes, stirring and scraping the bottom of the pan constantly, since the mixture tends to stick.

Add the remaining broth and the salt and cook over low heat until it thickens and is well seasoned – about 20 minutes. Serve with sour cream and crisp-fried tortilla pieces.

* To cook the tomatillo remove husks and stems, cover with water in saucepan, bring to a boil and simmer for about 10-15 minutes. About 7-8 medium tomatillos will come out to 2/3 cup.

** To roast and peel chilies, spray lightly with vegetable spray and place under a broiler, turning occasionally, until skin is blistered and charred, about 20 minutes. Place chilies in plastic bag to sweat for about 10 minutes, then remove peel and seeds. Poblano chilies are sometimes labeled as ‘pasillas’ in the U.S.

Pescado en tikin xik (Broiled Fish Seasoned with Achiote)

2011-06-01T19:32:00.001-07:00

More or less from Diana Kennedy, The Essential Cuisines of Mexico
1 tablespoon achiote seeds
¼ teaspoon peppercorns
¼ teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon oregano
¼ teaspoon red pepper flakes
3 garlic cloves
2 tablespoons orange juice (with a splash of lime juice)
2 pounds fish fillets (recipe calls for snapper; all I had on hand was basa)

Grind first five ingredients together. Add the garlic and grind. Blend in the juice. Spread over fish and set aside to season for at least 2 hours.

Preheat broiler. Spray broiler pan with non-stick spray. Cook fish seasoning side up for 8 minutes. Turn fish over and cook for around 8 minutes more.

Serve with heated corn tortillas and such toppings as chopped tomato, diced red onion, cilantro, avocado. Recipe calls for much more exciting condiments, which I didn't have on hand.

Pollo en ajo-comino (Chicken in Garlic and Cumin)

2011-05-23T21:48:00.000-07:00

From Diana Kennedy, The Essential Cuisines of Mexico

The sauce in this dish was so good it nearly brought tears to my eyes. Or maybe that was my allergies. Regardless, this sauce could stand alone. We served this with warm tortillas, roasted potatoes on the side and the cactus salad. The boy made tacos with his share, and discovered that maybe being forced to give up crunchy tacos because of his braces wasn't such a tragedy after all. He pronounced them good.

4 ancho chiles, veins and seeds removed
1 teaspoon cumin
12 peppercorns
1 tablespoon salt
1 whole clove
4 garlic cloves
3 1/2 cups water, approximately
3 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 chicken, cut into serving pieces

Cover the chiles with water and simmer for about 5 minutes, then leave to soak for 5 minutes. Drain. In a mortar, grind the cumin, peppercorns, salt and clove, then mash in the garlic gradually, adding 1/4 cup of the water to dilute the mixture. Set aside.

Transfer the drained ancho chiles to a blender jar with 3/4 cup of the water. Blend until smooth and set aside.

Heat the oil and fry the chicken pieces, a few at a time, to a pale gold. Add the spice mixture and fry over medium heat for about 3 minutes, stirring constantly. Add the blended chiles and fry for another 3 minutes, scraping the bottom of the pan constantly. Add the remaining water, then adjust the seasoning and cook slowly, uncovered, until the chicken is tender -- about 40 minutes, turning the pieces over from time to time. The sauce should not be thick; add more water if necessary. Serve with warm tortillas.

Ensalada de nopalitos (Cactus Salad)

2011-05-23T21:28:00.000-07:00

(Drawn from Diana Kennedy, the Vazquezes and my own experimentation)

When we moved to Brentwood, Erika went to a cooking demonstration at the home of a the Vazquez family from church. While there, somehow it came up that I like nopalitos (cactus). They were impressed, because apparently cactus-eating gringos are rare, and ever since then they've been after me to come over and harvest some from their backyard. So, today I did and this salad is the result. By the way, this is really good with warm corn tortillas.

There are multiple parts to this, so bear with me.

Preparing the cactus:
Use a knife or vegetable peeler to scrape the spines off the cactus paddles and trim the spines from around the edges. Be sure to wear gloves during this portion. Rinse well and make sure you've removed all the spines. Slice into strips or squares.

Cooking the cactus:
Place cactus in a heavy sauce pan and cover with water. Add about half an onion, a couple cloves of finely chopped garlic, one jalapeño, sliced, salt. Bring to a gentle boil and cook until cactus is nearly tender. The cactus will ooze a lot of slime. Drain and return to pan, cooking until slime is completely gone. Remove onion and cool.

Making the salad:
About 2 cups cooked cactus
1 jalapeño pepper, chopped
2 medium tomatoes, sliced
1/4 large red onion, thinly sliced
Oregano
handful of chopped cilantro
Olive oil
Red wine vinegar
salt

Combine all ingredients, adding olive oil, vinegar and salt to taste.

Budín de elote (Corn Pudding)

2011-05-22T21:08:00.000-07:00

From Diana Kennedy, The Essential Cuisines of Mexico.

2 pounds frozen corn, thawed
6 ounces unsalted butter
3 large eggs, separated
1/2 cup granulated sugar
6 ounces rice flour
1 teaspoon salt
4 ounces Chihuahua or Muenster Cheese, grated
1 1/2 teaspoon baking powder

Preheat the oven to 500 degrees. Butter an 8-inch square baking dish.

Process the corn in a food processor with as little milk as necessary. Melt the butter and set it aside to cool.

Setting the egg white aside, beat the egg yolks until they are thick. Add the sugar and continue beating until it is well incorporated. Beat in the rice flour alternately with the butter.

Stir in the corn pulp, salt, and cheese, mix well, and add the baking powder.

Beat the egg whites until they are stiff and fold them into the mixture. Pour the mixture into the prepared dish. Place the dish on a baking sheet and bake for 10 minutes. Then lower the oven temperature to 350 degrees and continue cooking for about 45 minutes. The budín should be soft and spongy to the touch -- the top and sides nicely browned, but the inside moist.

Serve with coarsely ground salt and thick sour cream.

Pollo en pipián rojo (Chicken in Red Sesame Seed Sauce)

2011-05-15T21:32:00.002-07:00

Let the Summer of Mexican begin!

From Diana Kennedy, The Essential Cuisines of Mexico

This was absolutely wonderful. I'm putting it down pretty much as it is in the book. The sauce was mellow, with a pronounced but not overwhelming sesame flavor. Not too spicey. I didn't have any avocado leaf, unfortunately, so I left it out.

The Chicken
The chicken giblets
1/2 white onion, sliced
2 garlic cloves
1 sprig flat-leaf parsley
1 bay leaf
1 sprig fresh thyme, or a large pinch of dried
Salt to taste
A 3 1/2- to 4-pound chicken, cut into serving pieces

The Sauce
6 ancho chiles (reserving 1 tablspoon of the seeds)
1/2-inch piece of cinnamon stick, crushed
3 whole cloves
5 peppercorns
3/4 cup sesame seeds
3 tablespoons lard
1 garlic clove, roughly chopped
Salt to taste
1 large avocado leaf, fresh or dried

Put the giblets, onion, garlic, herbs, and salt into a pan, cover with water, and bring to a fast simmer. Continue simmering for about 30 mintes. Add the chicken pieces and cook over low heat until just tender -- about 25 minutes. Strain, reserving the broth.

Toast the chiles lightly, cover with hot water, and leave to soak for 10 minutes.

Meantime, put the reserved chile seeds into an ungreased skillet and shake over medium heat until they turn a deep golden brown -- take care not to burn. Set aside to cool a little. Transfer the toasted seeds together with the spices and grind to a powder.

Toast the sesame seeds to a deep gold color in the ungreased pan and set them aside to cool of a little. Add the toasted, cooled seeds and spices to the spice grinder and grind them very fine.

Melt the lard in a skillet and fry the ground seeds and spices over low heat for about 3 minutes, stirring constantly.

Transfer the chiles with a slotted spoon to the blender jar. Add 1/2 cup of the reserved broth and the garlic and blend to a smooth puree.

Add the blended chiles to the fried spice mixture and let it cook fast for about 5 minutes, stirring it constantly. Add 3 cups of the reserved broth and let the sauce continue cooking over low heat for about 20 minutes, or until it thickens and is well seasoned. Add the cooked chicken and salt, and let the chicken heat through.

Toast the avocado leaf briefly on a warm comal and then grind it finely. Add it to the sauce.

Budín de chícharo (Pea Pudding)

2011-05-15T21:30:00.000-07:00

From Diana Kennedy, The Essential Cuisines of Mexico.

My wife's first reaction when she heard I was going to make this was, and I quote, "gross." She and I were both pleasantly surprised. Not only did Erika have a second helping, the boy had some, as did the dog. In fact, the dog went to town on it. Texture-wise, think of spoon bread with a touch of souffle. As far as flavor, it's definitely pea, but it is not overwhelming. We had it as a side dish with our Pollo en pipian rojo. Erika and I enjoyed it with the orange and walnut sauce, while the boy preferred it plain.

2 pounds frozen peas, thawed
6 ounces unsalted butter
3 large eggs, separated
1/2 cup granulated sugar
6 ounces rice flour
1 teaspoon salt
4 ounces Chihuahua or Muenster Cheese, grated
1 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
A sauce made by combining 2 cups orange juice with 3/4 cup finely chopped walnuts

Preheat the oven to 500 degrees. Butter an 8-inch square baking dish.
Process the peas in a food processor. Melt the butter and set it aside to cool.
Setting the egg white aside, beat the egg yolks until they are thick. Add the sugar and continue beating until it is well incorporated. Beat in the rice flour alternately with the butter.

Stir in the pea pulp, salt, and cheese, mex well, and add the baking powder.
Beat the egg white until they are stiff and fold them into the mixture. Pour the mixture into the prepared dish. Place the dish on a baking sheet and bake for 10 minutes. Then lower the oven temperature to 350 degrees and continue cooking for about 45 minutes. The budín should be soft and spongy to the touch -- the top and sides nicely browned, but the inside moist.

Serve immediately, with the orange and walnut sauce to accompany it.

Cervantes on Writing

2011-04-02T14:38:00.001-07:00

For more thoughts on good writing, let’s turn to Miguel de Cervantes.

I spend a fair amount of time in class trying to bridge the humor gap between the 17th and 21st centuries to help my students appreciate that Don Quixote is a very funny book. The humor lies not only in the farcical situations, but in the language itself. Cervantes knew good writing. Novice readers, especially undergraduates, might not appreciate it, but Cervantes was a remarkable prose stylist. He had a way with irony that few have matched since, and apparently took great pleasure in puns, because every page teems with word games and double entendres impossible to translate. His prose is fun to read, once you know how, and signifies at multiple levels simultaneously.

While not a treasury of writing tips, Don Quixote can be considered a commentary on writing. It is, after all, a parody, or satire directed against the excesses of a particular literary genre. Part of Cervantes’s critique concerns issues of realism in fiction, but what concerns us here specifically is the issue of style. I suggest that we can consider the following to be a commentary on prose style:

... and he thought none was as fine as those composed by the worthy Feliciano de Silva, because the clarity of his prose and complexity of his language seemed to him more valuable than pearls, in particular when he read the declarations and missives of love, where he would often find written: "The reason for the unreason to which my reason turns so weakens my reason that with reason I complain of thy beauty." And also when he read: "... the heavens on high divinely heighten thy divinity with the stars and make thee deserving of the deserts thy greatness deserves."

With these words and phrases the poor gentleman lost his mind, and he spent sleepless nights trying to understand them and extract their meaning, which Aristotle himself, if he came back to life for only that purpose would not have been able to decipher or understand.

Don Quixote, Edith Grossman translation, page 20.

[y de todos, ningunos le parecían tan bien como los que compuso el famoso Feliciano de Silva; porque la claridad de su prosa y aquellas entricadas razones suyas le parecían de perlas, y más cuando llegaba a leer aquellos requiebros y cartas de desafíos, donde en muchas partes hallaba escrito: «La razón de la sinrazón que a mi razón se hace, de tal manera mi razón enflaquece, que con razón me quejo de la vuestra fermosura». Y también cuando leía: «... los altos cielos que de vuestra divinidad divinamente con las estrellas os fortifican, y os hacen merecedora del merecimiento que merece la vuestra grandeza».

Con estas razones perdía el pobre caballero el juicio, y desvelábase por entenderlas y desentrañarles el sentido, que no se lo sacara ni las entendiera el mesmo Aristóteles, si resucitara para sólo ello.

Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quixote, Biblioteca Virtual Miguel de Cervantes

It might be worthwhile to ask, what is it about this writing that drove Don Quixote insane?

More from Twain on Cooper's Prose Style

2011-04-02T14:17:00.000-07:00

Mark Twain followed up “Fenimore Cooper’s Literary Offenses” with “Cooper’s Prose Style,” posthumously published in Letters from the Earth. “Cooper’s Prose Style” is delicious and brutal and well worth reading in its entirety, but to whet your palate, here’s a lengthy sample:

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: In studying Cooper you will find it profitable to study him in detail-word by word, sentence bv sentence. For every sentence of his is interesting. Interesting because of its make-up, its peculiar make-up, its original make-up. Let us examine a sentence or two, and see. Here is a passage from Chapter XI of The Last of the Mohicans, one of the most famous and most admired of Cooper's books:

Notwithstanding the swiftness of their flight, one of the Indians had found an opportunity to strike a straggling fawn with an arrow, and had borne the more preferable fragments of the victim, patiently on his shoulders, to the stopping-place. Without any aid from the science of cookery, he was immediately employed, in common with his fellows, in gorging himself with this digestible sustenance. Magua alone sat apart, without participating in the revolting meal, and apparently buried in the deepest thought.

This little paragraph is full of matter for reflection and inquiry. The remark about the swiftness of the flight was unnecessary , as it was merely put in to forestall the possible objection of some over particular reader that the Indian couldn't have found the needed "opportunity" while fleeing swiftly. ...

No, the remark about the swiftness of their flight was not necessary; neither was the one which said that the Indian found an opportunity; neither was the one which said he struck the fawn; neither was the one which explained that it was a "straggling" fawn; neither was the one which said the striking was done with an arrow; neither was the one which said the Indian bore the "fragments"; nor the remark that they were preferable fragments; nor the remark that they were more preferable fragments; nor the explanation that they were fragments of the "victim"; nor the overparticular explanation that specifies the Indian's "shoulders" as the part of him that supported the fragments; nor the statement that the Indian bore the fragments patiently. None of those details has any value. We don't care what the Indian struck the fawn with; we don't care whether it was a, struggling fawn or an unstruggling one; we don't care which fragments the Indian saved; we don't care why he saved the "more" preferable ones when the merely preferable ones would have amounted to just the same thing and couldn't have been told from the more preferable ones by anybody, dead or alive; we don't care whether the Indian carried them on his shoulders or in his handkerchief; and finally, we don't care whether he carried them patiently or struck for higher pay and shorter hours. We are indifferent to that Indian and all his affairs.

There was only one fact in that long sentence that was worth stating, and it could have been squeezed into these few words-and with advantage to the narrative, too: "During the flight one of the Indians had killed a fawn and he brought it into camp." You will notice that "During the flight one of the Indians had killed a fawn and he brought it into camp," is more straightforward and business-like, and less mincing and smirky, than it is to say, "Notwithstanding the swiftness of their flight, one of the Indians had found an opportunity to strike a straggling fawn with an arrow, and had borne the more preferable fragments of the victim, patiently on his shoulders, to the stopping-place." You will notice that the form "During the flight one of the Indians had killed a fawn and he brought it into camp" holds up its chin and moves to the front with the steady stride of a grenadier, whereas the form “Notwithstanding the swiftness of their flight, one of the Indians had found an opportunity to strike a straggling fawn with an arrow, and had borne the more preferable fragments of the victim, patiently on his shoulders, to the stopping-place” simpers along with an airy, complacent, monkey-with-a-parasol gait which is not suited to the transportation of raw meat.

Mark Twain’s rules for good essay writing

2011-04-01T15:59:00.000-07:00

As I wade through reams of student writing that reasons in circles, offers up inanities and then repeats them in altered form hoping I won’t notice, and otherwise exacerbates my mental ulcers, I find myself returning to my favorite essay on writing: “Fenimore Cooper’s Literary Offenses,” by Mark Twain. Mr. Twain gives us a list of 18 rules “governing literary art,” which, with a little tweaking, can be made to work for essay writing as well. So here I offer my tweaks, followed by Twain’s original list. By the way, reading the complete essay at a young age cured me of ever wanting to read Cooper and made me a devoted, lifelong follower of Twain.

Mark Twain’s rules for good essay writing
(liberally adapted from “Fenimore Cooper’s Literary Offenses”)
1. An essay shall accomplish something and arrive somewhere.

2. The elements of an essay shall be necessary parts of the essay, and shall help to develop it.

3. Every element of an essay shall exhibit a sufficient excuse for being there.

4. The words in an essay shall have a discoverable meaning, also a discoverable purpose, and a show of relevancy, and remain in the neighborhood of the subject in hand, and be interesting to the reader, and help out the essay.

In addition, the author shall:

5. Say what he is proposing to say, not merely come near it.

6. Use the right word, not its second cousin.

7. Eschew surplusage.

8. Not omit necessary details.

9. Avoid slovenliness of form.

10. Use good grammar.

11. Employ a simple and straightforward style.

Here’s the original list of 18 rules:
There are nineteen rules governing literary art in the domain of romantic fiction--some say twenty-two. In Deerslayer Cooper violated eighteen of them. These eighteen require:

1. That a tale shall accomplish something and arrive somewhere. But the Deerslayer tale accomplishes nothing and arrives in the air.

2. They require that the episodes of a tale shall be necessary parts of the tale, and shall help to develop it. But as the Deerslayer tale is not a tale, and accomplishes nothing and arrives nowhere, the episodes have no rightful place in the work, since there was nothing for them to develop.

3. They require that the personages in a tale shall be alive, except in the case of corpses, and that always the reader shall be able to tell the corpses from the others. But this detail has often been overlooked in the Deerslayer tale.

4. They require that the personages in a tale, both dead and alive, shall exhibit a sufficient excuse for being there. But this detail also has been overlooked in the Deerslayer tale.

5. They require that when the personages of a tale deal in conversation, the talk shall sound like human talk, and be talk such as human beings would be likely to talk in the given circumstances, and have a discoverable meaning, also a discoverable purpose, and a show of relevancy, and remain in the neighborhood of the subject in hand, and be interesting to the reader, and help out the tale, and stop when the
people cannot think of anything more to say. But this requirement has been ignored from the beginning of the Deerslayer tale to the end of it.

6. They require that when the author describes the character of a personage in his tale, the conduct and conversation of that personage shall justify said description. But this law gets little or no attention in the Deerslayer tale, as Natty Bumppo's case will amply prove.

7. They require that when a personage talks like an illustrated, gilt-edged, tree-calf, hand-tooled, seven-dollar Friendship's Offering in the beginning of a paragraph, he shall not talk like a negro minstrel in the end of it. But this rule is flung down and danced upon in the Deerslayer tale.

8. They require that crass stupidities shall not be played upon the reader as "the craft of the woodsman, the delicate art of the forest," by either the author or the people in the tale. But this rule is persistently violated in the Deerslayer tale.

9. They require that the personages of a tale shall confine themselves to possibilities and let miracles alone; or, if they venture a miracle, the author must so plausibly set it forth as to make it look possible and reasonable. But these rules are not respected in the Deerslayer tale.

10. They require that the author shall make the reader feel a deep interest in the personages of his tale and in their fate; and that he shall make the reader love the good people in the tale and hate the bad ones. But the reader of the Deerslayer tale dislikes the good people in it, is indifferent to the others, and wishes they would all get drowned together.

11. They require that the characters in a tale shall be so clearly defined that the reader can tell beforehand what each will do in a given emergency. But in the Deerslayer tale this rule is vacated.

In addition to these large rules there are some little ones. These require that the author shall:

12. Say what he is proposing to say, not merely come near it.

13. Use the right word, not its second cousin.

14. Eschew surplusage.

15. Not omit necessary details.

16. Avoid slovenliness of form.

17. Use good grammar.

18. Employ a simple and straightforward style.

Even these seven are coldly and persistently violated in the Deerslayer tale.

Lost in La Mancha

2011-03-18T12:45:00.000-07:00

I was looking for files while prepping today's Quijote class and came across this, which I wrote while traveling through La Mancha with my wife in 2000.

Alcazar de San Juan, Aug 22, 2000

"La Mancha" literally means "the stain." And there are segments of the landscape that most definitely live up to the name. As we descended from the mountains south of Avila into the plains of Castilla-La Mancha, we passed from a dry but reasonably verdant landscape into a parched and arid no man's land.

Seeing the landscape makes it easier to understand the humor of Don Quixote, I think. The books Cervantes was lampooning take place in extraordinary locales - mystical islands and forests filled with monsters and fair virgins. And the heroes, of course, are virile young knights overflowing with virtue, and overwhelming with good looks. To poke fun at those books, Cervantes filled his with the opposite: hoary, horny prostitutes, a withered, old, crazy, self-invented knight, and, of course, the most mundane and unromantic landscape imaginable.

The visual humor of Don Quixote lies at least partly here in the remarkable plainness of the land, the last place you would expect to find a knight errant.

You have to wonder, then, if La Mancha gets the joke. Highway signs proudly declare "traveler, you are now crossing La Mancha," while official markers periodically remind us that we are traveling a "Ruta Turística." A tourist route not of actual historical events, but marking the landscape of a fictional personage. To me it is richly ironic that this place has so completely embraced a fame born of parody, of being deemed the worst, most unlikely place to nurture the worst, most unlikely knight errant.

I don't mean to suggest that La Mancha is entirely unappealing. It has its moments of charm. Castles stud the hillsides like desert buttes, some of them quite imposing. The hillsides without castles have windmills lining each ridge like propellers on a giant airplane wing. The sky is blue and the air is warm. La Mancha is also the home a wondrous cheese. And everywhere roams the specter of Don Quijote.

Don Quijote and Sancho Panza ride in bronze in the main square of Alcázar de San Juan. Little Don Quijotes and Sanchos adorn houses throughout town. And tonight Erika and I are staying at the Hotel Don Quijote, which boasts a Restaurante Sancho on the ground floor. Tomorrow we will go El Toboso, famous for being the home of the doubly fictitious Dulcinea - a figment in the imagination of the fictional Don Quijote.

In another Quijote connection worth exploring, Alcazar de San Juan claims to be the true birthplace of Cervantes. Apparently one of the local churches has his baptismal record.

Hmmmm.

Chicken Andouille Gumbo

2011-02-19T20:23:00.000-08:00

From Gumbo Shop: Traditional and Contemporary Creole Cuisine, by Richard Stewart.

1 chicken, 2-2 1/2 lbs.
3 quarts water
1 lb. fresh or frozen okra, sliced into 1/2-inch rounds
1/2 cup plus 2 Tbls. cooking oil
1/2 cup all purpose flour
2 cups chopped onions
1 cup chopped green bell pepper
1/2 cup chopped celery
1 16 ounce can chopped tomatoes
3/4 pound Andouille sausage, sliced into 1/4-inch rounds
1 bay leaf
1 tsp. thyme
1 tsp. basil
1/2 tsp. sage
1/2 tsp. black pepper
1/2 tsp. white pepper
1/4 tsp. cayenne pepper
2 tsp. salt

Cut chicken into eight pieces, cover with water an simmer for about one hour until chicken is tender and easily removed from the bones. Pour off stock and set aside. Allow chicken to cool, remove from bones and set aside.

In a large heavy skillet saute the okra in 2 tablespoons oil for about 10 to 15 minutes or until all 'ropiness' is gone. Set aside.

Meanwhile, in a large heavy bottomed Dutch oven, heat 1/2 cup oil over medium high heat. Add the flour and make a dark brown roux. As soon as the proper color is achieved, add the onions, bell pepper and celery and saute, stirring occasionally until tender. During this process, allow the vegetables to stick to the bottom of the pan a bit, then scrape the bottom with a metal spoon or spatula. This allows some of the natural sugars in the onions to caramelize, rendering great depth of flavor.

When the vegetables are tender, add the tomatoes, Andouille sausage and sauteed okra. Continue cooking and stirring for about 15 minutes. Add the bay leaf, thyme, basil, sage, peppers and salt and mix well. Pour in about 8 cups of the chicken stock, bring to a slow boil, lower the heat and simmer for 1 hour, stirring occasionally. Add the cooked chicken and additional stock if necessary and simmer for 15 more minutes. Adjust seasoning and serve in large bowls over steamed rice.

Jambalaya

2011-01-05T19:53:00.000-08:00

(Loosely adapted from Gumbo Shop: Traditional and Contemporary Creole Cuisine, by Richard Stewart)

3/4 lb chicken meat (white and dark), cooked and cut into bite sized pieces
cooking oil
1/2 pound andouille sausage, sliced
1 1/2 cup chopped onion
1/2 cup chopped green bell pepper
1/2 cup chopped celery
2 tsp. minced garlic
1 14.5 oz can petite diced tomatoes
1/2 tsp. white pepper
1/2 tsp. black pepper
1/4 tsp. cayenne pepper
1 tsp. salt
1 cup long grain rice
2 cups chicken stock
1/2 lb peeled shrimp

In a large skillet, sauté andouille in a dollop of oil until lightly browned. Remove with a slotted spoon and set aside with the chicken. Add onion, celery and bell pepper to the pan and sauté until tender. Add the tomatoes, garlic, salt and pepper and cook for about 5-10 minutes, stirring and scraping the bottom of the pot. Stir in the rice and mix well. Stir in chicken stock, sausage, chicken and raw peeled shrimp, reduce to a simmer. Cook uncovered, stirring occasionally, until the rice and shrimp are done, about 20 minutes.

Note: I covered pan

Caldo gallego

2010-12-29T19:42:00.001-08:00

Great soup from Galicia, in northwestern Spain. Usually calls for a variety of meats, but I used what I had on hand. Ended up a little heavy on the meat and light on the beans. But this still remains one of my favorites soups. Oh, and the homemade crusty bread was pretty good too.

1/4 pound dried white beans, presoaked (next time increase to 1/2 pound)
10 cups chicken stock (low salt or no salt)
1 ham hock
1 small onion, sliced
1 pound, approx., smoked pork neck bones (next time use something else)
4 small potatoes, peeled and quartered
1 1/2 cups chopped Swiss chard
freshly ground pepper

Simmer beans, stock, onion and meats, covered, in a large pot for approximately 1 1/2 hours, until beans are done. Add potatoes, chard and pepper, cook for about 20 minutes longer. Remove meat from bones and add back to the pot.

Pinchos morunos

2010-12-21T19:06:00.000-08:00

1 garlic clove, minced
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/4 teaspoon ground coriander
1 teaspoon paprika
1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper
1/4 teaspoon salt
Freshly ground pepper
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 pound boneless pork loin, cut in 1-inch cubes

Combine all ingredients except the pork and pour into a plastic freezer bag. Add pork, seal bag and squish together so all pork pieces are coated with marinade. Refrigerate several hours or overnight.

Remove pork from marinade and thread onto skewers. Grill over hot charcoal fire or under a broiler, turning once, until meat is just cooked but still juicy, about 10 minutes.

Fun with Frugality 2: Chicken

2010-10-17T15:15:00.002-07:00

I’ve taken to buying whole chickens, which I either break down myself or roast whole to use the meat for various dishes. The latest, which we roasted, gave us these meals:
1. Jambalaya (using ½ pound assorted white and dark meat).
2. Burritos (diced white meat).
3. Chicken pot pie (white and dark mixed).
4. Used bones for stock, which went into jambalaya and a pot of beans.

Fun with Frugality 1: Ham

2010-10-17T15:15:00.001-07:00

We bought a 10-pound ham last week and had a lot of fun thinking of things to do with it. Here’s a partial list.
1. Traditional ham dinner (with scalloped potatoes).
2. Stir-fried with veggies and tossed with noodles for a sort of pseudo chow mein.
3. Mac and cheese with ham and peas.
4. Jambalaya (chicken, andouille and ham).
5. Assorted sandwiches.
6. Still saving the bone for red beans and rice.

This is lovely

2010-09-23T18:21:00.000-07:00

Salad Parador

2010-06-09T00:01:00.000-07:00

I confess that I’m not sure about the concept of a warm salad. Why not just call it a vegetable side dish? Be that as it may, this was absolutely delicious. Part of that no doubt due to the fresh chard from my garden. I adapted this recipe from All Around the World Cookbook, by Sheila Lukins.

My changes: I used frozen haricots verts, a vine-ripened tomato (since I didn’t have any cherry tomatoes), and oil-marinated olives instead of brine-marinated.

Technically, the salad is supposed to be assembled on each individual plate, with greens first, then chard stems and beans, then tomatoes and shrimp and topped off by the olives. But since I live in a household of two and a half, I quartered the recipe and just ended up tossing everything together at the end and – yes – serving it as a side dish.

½ pound Swiss chard
extra virgin olive oil
1 tsp minced garlic (about 1 clove)
2 oz. haricots verts (frozen)
kosher salt and course ground black pepper to taste
1 ripe tomato, seeds removed and roughly chopped
¼ pound medium shrimp, peeled and deveined
½ tsp dried thyme
2 ½ tsp balsamic vinegar
2 tbsp black olives (oil marinated, pitted and sliced into slivers)

Cut the stems from the leaves of Swiss chard. Slice the stems on the diagonal ½ inch thick. Cut the leaves into ¼-inch-thick slivers.

Heat a small amount of olive oil (1 tsp or so) in a non-stick skillet over medium heat. Add the garlic and cook about 1 minute. Add the Swiss chard stems and sauté to soften slightly, about 3 minutes. Transfer to a bowl and set aside.

Heat some more olive oil in the skillet and add the haricots verts. Cook over medium heat until crisp-tender, shaking the pan occasionally for even cooking, about 4 minutes. Add the beans to the Swiss chard stems and season with salt and pepper to taste.

Heat some more olive oil in the skillet and add the tomatoes, shrimp, thyme, and salt and pepper to taste. Cook over medium heat, shaking the skilled and turning the shrimp once or twice, until the shrimp are cooked through, about 3 minutes. Transfer to bowl and set aside.

Heat a little more oil in the skilled and add the Swiss chard leaves. Sauté, stirring constantly, until nicely wilted but still slightly crunchy, about 2 minutes. Transfer to a bowl. Toss the leaves with the balsamic vinegar and season with salt and pepper.

Combine chard leaves with stems, beans, tomatoes, shrimp and olives.

Leftover Fishcakes

2010-04-22T22:35:00.000-07:00

from The Illustrated Kitchen Bible
10 oz. leftover snapper, flaked
1 cup mashed potatoes
2 scallions, minced
2 tbsp chopped parsley
grated zest and juice of ½ lemon
½ tsp Dijon mustard
salt and freshly ground black pepper
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
1 large egg, beaten
¾ cup dried bread crumbs
½ cup vegetable oil

Mix flaked fish, mashed potato, scallions, parsley, lemon zest and juice, and mustard together in a bowl. Season with salt and pepper.

Divide the mixture into 12 cakes. Place the flour in a small dish, the beaten egg in another, and the bread crumbs in a third dish. Roll each fishcake in the flour, then dip into the egg, and coat with the bread crumbs.

Heat the oil in a large frying pan over medium heat. In batches, add the cakes and cook about 5 minutes, turning once, until golden brown. Transfer to paper towels to drain. Serve hot.

Comments: Not bad, but a little bland. I used snapper instead of the smoked haddock called for in the recipe. Also didn’t have scallions or fresh parsley on hand so I had to make do with dried.

Shrimp Jambalaya

2010-03-30T19:48:00.000-07:00

2 tbsp vegetable oil
3 oz. smoked sausage, sliced
1 tsp. paprika
4 garlic cloves, chopped
1/2 onion, chopped
1 Anaheim chili, seeded and chopped*
2 celery stalks, chopped
1/2 lb. boneless, skinless chicken breast, cut into 1-inch pieces**
1/2 lb. peeled, raw medium shrimp
1 bay leaf
1/2 tsp. thyme
1/2 tsp. oregano
1 1/3 cup long-grain rice
2 1/3 cups chicken stock***
2 green onions, trimmed and thinly sliced
Salt and cayenne pepper

Heat the oil in a large, deep frying pan. Add the sausage and fry until lightly browned. Stir in the paprika.
Add the garlic and cook for 30 seconds, then add the onion, chili, and celery. Cook over medium heat until lightly browned.

Add the chicken, shrimp, bay leaf, thyme, and oregano and fry over medium heat for 5 minutes.

Add the rice and stir for 2 minutes. Add the chicken stock and ½ teaspoon of salt and bring to a boil, then cover and simmer for about 15 minutes, until the rice has absorbed all the liquid and is tender.****

Stir in the green onions and some cayenne pepper to taste. Serves 3-4 people.

*Recipe calls for green bell pepper and red chili pepper. I used an Anaheim because I didn’t like the look of the bell peppers and red chilies in the store today and I also didn’t want it to be too spicy.

**I sprinkled the chicken with kosher salt for some extra seasoning and also to compensate for the fact that I used salt-free chicken stock.

***I used a little too much chicken stock and ended up cooking the jambalaya longer than the recipe calls for.

****More like 20 minutes plus additional time to sit with the lid on.

Romesco sauce

2010-03-06T22:39:00.000-08:00

From A New Way to Cook, by Sally Schneider

2 ancho chiles
20 blanched whole almonds
1 thick slice white peasant bread, crusts removed
¼ cup fruity extra virgin olive oil
3 garlic cloves, peeled
About ½ teaspoon kosher salt
Roasted Garlic Puree [Basically 3 whole heads garlic, roasted at 400 for about 40 minutes, then squeeze roasted garlic out of the skins and mash with a fork]
1 medium tomato
2 to 3 teaspoons red wine vinegar or balsamic vinegar
Pinch of cayenne pepper
Freshly ground black pepper

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

Remove stems and seeds from ancho chiles and break into pieces. In a large heavy skillet, toast the chiles over moderate heat, turning occasionally with a spatula to prevent them from burning, until they begin to darken and smell pungent, about 3 minutes. Transfer to a medium bowl and cover with about 1 cup boiling water. Let soak for 20 minutes.

Meanwhile, spread the almonds on a baking sheet and roast, rearranging occasionally, until golden and fragrant, about 10 minutes. Set aside.

While the almonds are roasting, brush the bread with 1 teaspoon of the olive oil. Place on a small baking sheet and toast till dry and golden. Slice one of the [raw] garlic cloves lengthwise in half and rub both sides of the bread with the cut sides of the garlic. Sprinkle with salt. Set aside; reserve the garlic. Drain the chiles and pat dry on paper towels.

In a food processor, finely chop the almonds, scraping the sides down occasionally. Break the bread into 1-inch pieces, add to the work bowl, and process to fine crumbs. Add the ancho chiles and garlic puree.

Slice the tomato crosswise in half. Squeeze out the juice and seeds and discard. Working directly over the work bowl, rub the cut sides across the large holes of a metal grater so that the flesh is coarsely grated but the skin remains intact in your hand. Discard the skin.

With the motor running, drizzle in all but 1 tablespoon of the remaining olive oil. Add the vinegar, cayenne, and pepper to taste, and transfer to a bowl.

In a mortar, mash the fresh garlic, including the cut clove, and ½ teaspoon salt to a paste. Stir into the sauce.

Just before serving, stir in the reserved 1 tablespoon oil, without totally incorporating it.

2008-09-29T20:23:00.000-07:00

The guy who invented the Fifties works right down the hall from me. Apparently, nostalgia toward the Fifties as a Happy Time (along with the invention of the Greaser as the quintessential Fifties rebel) can be dated to 1969 with the advent of Sha Na Na. And who invented Sha Na Na? The guy who works down the hall from me. Small world. I’ve never met him, by the way. I’ve never spoken with most of the people who work down the hall from me.

Pioche, Nev.

2008-09-28T21:56:00.000-07:00

Another relic I dug up. This one was a piece I wrote after a family reunion near Pioche, Nevada in 1996, I believe. I don’t know why I never shopped it around, but here it is, complete with sidebar.

You can't visit Pioche, Nevada, without thinking that this must be what the west was really like a hundred years ago.

Pioche is often called a living ghost town, and there is something about the place that justifies that reputation. The air is clear and the food is good. The beef tastes like it was walking the range only yesterday, and the antique pump organs in the local museum look like they would still be at home in somebody’s front parlor off Main Street.

Few people visit the sleepy high desert town that claims to have once been the roughest, toughest mining camp in the west. Those who do make the two-hour trek up the two-lane Highway 93 from Las Vegas do not expect perks. This is Pioche, after all, where vigilantes once ruled the streets and the only law came out of the business end of a six‑shooter. Or so goes the legend.

Today there are no gunfights on Main Street. Most of the action has moved indoors to the Overland Hotel and Saloon, where folks gather on a weekend night to party and shoot some pool. The town’s a quiet place now, basking in the glow of its evil past and content with being a remote burg unable to conjure up a major flow of tourists.

It's a town where steak costs $12.95, and does not come with an all‑you‑can‑eat salad bar. Breakfast buffets are unheard of, and if you asked for one, you’d be laughed out of town. But there’s no better place to get a taste of old Nevada without the intrusive kookiness of the big casino culture found elsewhere in the state.

Which is the point. Tourist attractions are fun, but there's nothing like the thrill of discovering a place that's a little off the beaten track, where the people are real, the color is local and the food is solid and good without being pretentious.

If that means suffering through low-rent museums and higher food prices, so much the better. Because never do you doubt that you’re among people who are really doing what they do, instead of putting on a show.

Driving into town from the business loop off state highway 93 is like driving into another time period. The road winds through acres of stark evergreens, then turns the corner and jolts you with a genuine antique, an abandoned wooden tramway that once transported ore from Treasure Hill to the processing plant a few miles away.

Abandoned mine shafts riddle the terrain in and around Pioche, cordoned off with barbed wire and bright red signs warning “stay out, stay alive.” Pale‑pink tailings (mounded refuse from years of mining) dot half the mountainside above Pioche, mute testimony to what was once the town’s bread and butter.

During the boom years of 1870-1877, Pioche acquired a reputation as the roughest, most violent town in the west. Mining companies imported gunfighters to protect their claims, and the more than $20 million in ore they extracted. The law wasn't much use in Pioche, and legend has it that more than 70 men died violent deaths before even one died of natural causes.

Along with the boom years came exuberant graft and corruption, a seedy fact the town seems almost proud of. The old county courthouse is mute testament to that sordid fact of frontier life. Originally planned at a cost of a little over $16,000, mismanagement and old-fashioned corruption brought the total price of the courthouse to $1 million before the town finally paid it off more than 50 years after it was built.

The courthouse and “boot hill” both serve as reminders of a time when law didn't have much meaning, even to the people who supposedly upheld it. Town literature, in fact, claims the sheriff's office was such a lucrative source of bribes that it brought in $40,000 per year to the lucky occupant.

But though it's a living relic of another time, that isn't to say things have not changed. Pioche today is far from the wild mining camp of the boom years. Though the area still supports some mining, Pioche survived where other mining camps failed partly because it was designated the Lincoln County seat in 1871. Mining has been revived through the years, with new developments currently being investigated in the mountains around Pioche.

And there’s no getting around the most obvious change. During the boom years of the 1870s Pioche claimed up to 10,000 residents. Now it has 600. At its most prosperous, Pioche had 72 saloons and two daily newspapers. It now has three restaurants (one former restaurateur told us she switched to selling antiques when she realized Pioche just didn't need four restaurants) and the weekly Lincoln County News is located down the highway at Caliente.

No more boisterous minors paint the town red on Saturday night. Now the crime and corruption that once demanded and tolerated a $40,000 per year sheriff is just a memory among the shadows on Main Street.

Pioche sidebar

2008-09-28T21:55:00.000-07:00

Things to see and do in Pioche:
‑‑Million Dollar courthouse: Built in 1871 with an original budget of $16,400, delayed payments, high interest and either incompetence or corruption drove the cost up to more than $1 million by the time the courthouse was finally paid off in 1936. The million‑dollar courthouse was abandoned in 1938, when a new, modern courthouse was built. The old courthouse now houses a museum, and is open from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. daily. Among its unusual sites is a thick‑walled, windowless jail in the back, with deep grooves worn into the floorboards, possibly from constant pacing by prisoners in the dock.

‑‑ Brown/Thompson Opera House. Built in 1873, it is one of only three 19th‑century opera houses remaining in Nevada. It was later used as a dance hall.

‑‑ Treasure hill. Scores of open mine shafts dominate the hills above Pioche, their pale‑pink tailings evidence of the town's mining history. By 1872, $5 million in ore had been removed from Treasure Hill.

‑‑ Aerial Tramway. Built in the 1920s, the tramway carried ore from Treasure Hill to a mill in the valley. The tram was mainly gravity powered, helped along by a five‑horsepower motor.

‑‑ Lincoln County Museum: On Main Street in the center of town, the museum houses artifacts from the Pioche‑area's history. Among its many artifacts are an organ that once belonged to my great‑great‑grandmother Selina Hammond, and a desk that belonged to her husband John.

‑‑ Boot hill: Containing the graves of the town's most notorious evil-doers.

Whitney '99

2008-09-27T16:37:00.000-07:00

I was rescuing old files from an ancient computer that we finally surrendered to the e-waste people after it had languished in our closet for three years, and came across this little piece I did long ago about Mt Whitney. So I thought I’d post it.

The great Mt. Whitney Adventure of 1999

Dave and I, accompanied by Uncle Steve, ascended Mt. Whitney last Tuesday, Sept. 14. To be scrupulously honest, Dave and Steve ascended Mt. Whitney. I, alas, only made it to within a quarter mile of the summit before succumbing to altitude sickness and collapsing in a heap. Still, it was a tremendous undertaking. All told, we hiked 21 of the most rugged, mountainous miles in the country, spent 17 hours on the trail and decided it was a trip well worth doing – once.

Steve and I drove up to Lone Pine Sunday night. From Lone Pine, Whitney Portal Road took us up to the trailhead where we searched for a campsite. No luck. We ended up sleeping in Steve’s car, which I naively assumed would be the most discomfort I would have to suffer on this trip. The next morning we staked out a site in a tent campground right next to the trailhead, then took a short acclimation hike up to Lone Pine Lake, which is at 10,300 feet. This lake is 2.5 miles up the trail and is as far as you can go without a permit.

Dave arrived that night about 7 p.m. while Steve and I were cooking Steve’s wondrous dutch oven chuck roast stew. We went a little overboard on the ingredients, so Steve ended up inviting the nice young couple from the next campsite to eat with us. This proved to be good strategy, since the next day they still liked us enough to offer me an aspirin. This was while I was picking my way down the shale-covered 14,000 foot back slope of the mountain hoping my head would stop pounding. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

The night was pleasant and I was deep in a rapturous slumber when Steve’s pocket alarm clock jolted me awake at 2 a.m.

“We’re not really getting up now, are we?” I asked.

“WE are,” Steve said. “You can do what you want.”

Since I wanted to hit the trail with them I figured the prudent thing would be to get up before they collapsed the tent around me. We broke camp in the dark. As I was putting on my boots I noticed with horror that my acclimation hike the previous day had left the beginnings of a blister on my left heel. Luckily Dave had moleskin, plus I was wearing a miraculous pair of technologically advanced socks. These two factors kept my blister in check and even prevented new ones from occurring.

We were on the trail by 3 a.m. It was still quite dark. The stars were brilliant, but we had no moon. Steve wore a headlight and Dave and I alternated carrying the other light as we wound our way upward.

We didn’t notice so much in the dark, but as the day progressed we began to realize that the trail up Mt. Whitney never, ever leveled out. Except for a handful of stretches that could not have lasted more than a hundred feet each, the trail always headed up. And not a gentle up, either. It was a steep up, but we did not realize how steep until we were on our way down and Dave could not stop saying “I can’t stop being amazed at how far we climbed today.”

The trail to the summit is 10.7 miles long. The summit of Mt. Whitney is 14,497.16 feet. Since the trailhead is at 8,300 feet, that meant we would gain more than 6,000 feet in altitude over the course of the trail. To put it another way, while we were covering 10.7 miles in trail distance we were also ascending more than a vertical mile in altitude.

But misery, and the statistical realizations that accompany it, was far in the distance as we began our hike that day. We covered approximately four miles in the dark and made it to the solar toilets at Outpost Camp before 7 a.m. By now it was growing lighter. We shut off the flashlights as we headed still higher on our way up to Trail Camp. As we climbed the trees became more sparse and those we could see were twisted and weathered, their trunks shining gold in the morning light. It became rockier and our knees began to take a heavier pounding as the dusty trail of the lower elevations gave way to granite.

We found ourselves passing and repassing the same groups of people. By now we all knew each other by sight. We exchanged hearty hellos and idle trail chatter. Occasionally Dave and I would exchange glances when we saw particularly odd groups of hikers, those tricked out in wraparound shades, running tights and camelback water systems. Some were traveling very light and we were jealous, since we had decided to err on the side of caution and were carrying enough food among the three of us to feed at least a dozen people. Of course those we silently mocked were the ones who made it up and back without injury.

Six miles up from the trailhead we came upon Trail Camp. At 12,000 feet, the camp occupies a plateau near some pools of water. We trudged through Trail Camp and came to what many people consider the most disheartening and tough part of the climb: the infamous 97 switchbacks. Since everyone refers to this part with equal parts awe and dismay I should call it “The Infamous 97 Switchbacks,” like a title. We did not count them, but I believe there really are 97. These switchbacks enable hikers to climb from the 12,000 foot Trail Camp to the crest of the trail (called Trail Crest) at 13,600 feet in just over two trail miles. This is an odious, mind-numbing section of the trail. This is where the trail begins to be nothing but packed shale, some of it not looking very sturdy. We passed giant marmots, staring at us with hopeful, beady eyes. In retrospect, I guess I should have given the beasts some of my food, because by then it was weighing heavy on my back. My shoulders ached with sharp, stabbing pain and I was beginning to feel the effects of the altitude.

Shortly before we got to trail crest I felt my first wave of sickness hit me. I began to feel nauseous. I ate some triscuits and drank some water and felt well enough to make it up to the trail crest. We walked around a bend to the crest and were smacked in the face by a breathtaking view of the back side of the mountains. Climbing up we had occasionally looked eastward, down the way we came. From certain vantage points we could see all the way into the Owens Valley to the town of Lone Pine thousands of feet below. But nothing had prepared me for the view of the other side, which looks down into the John Muir Wilderness. Trail Crest marks the boundary with Sequoia National Park, but it’s a Sequoia that you never dream about when visiting the accessible parts of the park. We looked down on barren wilderness pocked with scattered blue lakes, dry mountains. There were trees in the far distance, but the high-elevation wilderness for miles around was treeless and bare. It was a stark, beautiful, amazing sight and it energized me for what I assumed was the final summit push.

From the crest the trail dips around the back side of the mountain, descends for about 300 feet, before climbing again. We passed windows between giant granite spires that allowed us to look straight down for a thousand feet. We began to climb again. At a rest point we looked toward the distant summit, which was supposed to be less than a mile and a half away, but looked like an eternity. We felt a wave of discouragement as fatigue set in. We needed a pep talk. At that moment Dave and I knew we wanted to turn around. If anyone had strongly suggested at that time that we do so, we would have done it without regret. Instead we hemmed and hedged until Steve said “I think I’ve still got something in me.” He told me later he decided he had not come this far just to turn around. Dave said later, “If Steve wasn’t so goal oriented we would have got down the mountain a long time ago.”

Resting may have been a mistake. The longer we waited and pondered our upcoming fate the more we thought maybe that fate would be more trouble than it was worth. Imagine a jogger running laps on a track early on a misty morning, wearing a hooded warm-up suit. His hood slopes from the back of his head (if it's a particularly cavernous hood, even from his shoulders) to the top, then ends as it meets the perpendicular wall of forehead that drops from the face into nothingness below. If the eastern wall of Whitney can be called its face, then perhaps the back of the mountain is its hood. From where we sat the gentle slope of this hood looked dauntingly long, but not particularly hard. We could see the stone shack perched jauntily on the summit of the mountain like a cap. We could even see people moving around.

"We're there," one of our sometime hiking companions said. The only time we spoke to people now was when we stopped to rest. Jocular hellos from early in the morning had now become grunts or merely silent nods as we passed people who had stopped to rest on the trail. This man looked to be in his mid-40s, in good shape, with silver hair. "You can't come this far and not make it," he said.

Steve was of the same attitude, so we began moving again. Chipmunks skittered among the rocks picking up stray pieces of trail mix. Each time we passed a pinnacle with its open window looking out on the depths below a great gust of wind would chill me. I held my hat, hoping it would not fly away and cause me even more problems. By now the going was slow, and the sickness in my stomach, though present, had settled into a tiny knot awaiting the right moment to unravel again. Dave was not looking much better.

"This mountain is kicking my butt," he said. He looked surprised.

Of the three of us I was the only one who had been on the mountain before, but that was 20 years ago when I was a 12-year-old Boy Scout. I made it to the summit on that occasion, and I saw no reason why I should not make it this time. But now I remembered that it was at this same place 20 years ago when I began throwing up and wishing I could turn around, or die. Whichever came first. I made it up the mountain the first time because ofpeer pressure, encouragement and the dogged insistence of the Scoutmaster.

At 32, I was the youngest member of our party. Dave is 44 and, as always, in spectacular shape. I am in the best shape of my life. It was 57-year-old Steve, however, who was the most determined to make it to the top. "I knew I was never going to do this again," he explained later. It had to be now.

We wended our way to the shoulder of the mountain itself. Here the trail more or less disappears and hikers must pick their way over and around the stones and shale that sprinkle the hillside like crushed nuts on a giant sundae. I looked up to watch the hikers above me gingerly moving upward and at that moment the knot in my stomach unraveled and I began to feel truly and miserably sick. Earlier I had been able to nibble on crackers and make the nausea go away. "Eat something," Steve said.

"I can't," I said. "I'll throw up if I do."

"Then drink something," he said.

"I can't."

"Drink some water!" he ordered, barking the command with an urgency that I had to obey.

I sipped at my canteen and suddenly my head exploded in pain, like my brain had shrunk and was rattling and banging on the inside of my skull. Tears came to my eyes, I grimaced, sat down and squeezed my head wishing the ache would go away. I sat for a long time, Dave watching me quizzically. I finally said, "I'm going to have to stop here."

"Well, if you're sick, that's probably the best thing," he said. Steve had already gone on ahead and Dave moved to follow him. "Why don't you try to pick your way down and wait for us," he said.

He disappeared behind me. I did not turn to watch him go because it hurt too much to move. I drank more water, then began to find my way down. As I descended I began to feel noticeably better, and soon I was walking at my normal pace down the trail. Up ahead I saw the nameless couple from North Hollywood who had shared our stew the night before. They brightened when they saw me and said, "you made it!"

"No," I had to confess. "I pooped out."

"Altitude?"They offered me food, which I rejected, and an aspirin, which I accepted, gratefully. The mountain has a strange way of making companions of everybody. We were fast friends at this moment, even though I knew once they continued on their way I would probably never see them again. We commiserated about altitude and the rigors of the climb. The wife had never been up so high before. I told her of the strange vertigo I had experienced where the ground in my peripheral vision seemed to swim circles as I walked.

"Yes!" she said. "The same thing happened with me."

Finally, they turned to go. Good luck, we wished each other. Be careful.

I found a sunny spot on a rock and sat down to wait for Dave and Steve. My stomach felt calmer and I looked back wistfully at the mountain and its summit, now tantalizingly close. I wondered for a moment if I should go back and try again, then promptly rejected the lunatic notion and returned to my senses.

By 2 p.m. Dave and Steve had rejoined me and we were on our way down the mountain. The batteries were low on both our lights so we decided it was in our best interest to move as quickly as possible so we could get down while it was still daylight. By now we were physically exhausted from the morning’s climb. Starting down was a rejuvenating death march, if there can be such a thing. Each downward step brought us into thicker air, which put my headache on the back burner. But we were now taxing our legs to the limit descending a trail so steep at times it more resembled a flight of stairs than a mountain path. Stopping to rest became a treacherous activity because when they were not in motion my legs quivered and throbbed to the point where I felt sure they would buckle at any moment, and when that happened I would never get up again.

Back we journeyed, down the 97 switchbacks, through Trail Camp, Trail Meadow, Outpost Camp. By now it was after 5 p.m. We could still make it down by 7 p.m., I thought. After 7 it would begin to get dark fast. Finally we came to Lone Pine Lake. Only 2.5 miles to go. These final two miles seemed to last an eternity. The sun dipped behind the mountain, the last of the peripheral, lingering light disappeared and we finally had to resort to our flashlights again. The zigzagging switchbacks went on and on. We began to see lights far below, where we knew the road to be, tickling our senses, teasing us into believing we were almost there, and frustrating us to no end when we realized that those lights were too far away to be just around the next bend.

When we emerged at the trail’s end it was 8 p.m. The nearby Whitney Portal Store was still open, and would be for another hour.

“I want a soda,” Steve declared. He ambled away while Dave and I went to wait in Dave’s truck. Neither of us was in the mood for a soda.

Now that we were resting, stiffness was beginning to set in. We ate that night at a coffee shop in Lone Pine and recognized some diners at the next table from the trail that day. They recognized us from our stiff, lurching gait and the painful way we groaned when we stood up or sat down. They called it the Whitney Shuffle. We shuffled our way back into the same coffee shop for breakfast the next day. As I ate my bacon and eggs I stared out the window at the summit of Mt. Whitney and thought, there’s no shame in going most of the way, is there?

Oh great

2008-09-26T10:19:00.000-07:00

Just when I become a regular cell phone user, I have to read this.

Great Moments in Dairy

2008-09-18T15:35:00.000-07:00

I've often thought there might be a market for a human dairy, but it looks like this Swiss restaurant might have beat me to the punch.

Did McCain diss Spain?

2008-09-18T11:15:00.000-07:00

That seems to be the question of the day, according to this Time magazine account. You can't blame McCain for not knowing who Zapatero is, though. What do you expect when the man looks like Mr. Bean?

Writing Camp is Today

2008-07-22T08:45:00.000-07:00

Damian, Kent, and I are off to our first ever writing camp, and so will be off line for a few days.

Calabacitas rellenas de elote (Zucchini Stuffed with Fresh Corn)

2008-07-20T20:14:00.000-07:00

Cooking gives me a great deal of pleasure, and I also find it relaxing, which is probably why I cook when I’m stressed out. I’ve been very stressed out about work lately, so today after church I went a little crazy and spent pretty much the entire afternoon making dinner. Tonight it was pork chops in adobo paste, served with stuffed zucchini and lentils with pineapple and plantain. About the only thing I didn’t make from scratch was the cheese for the zucchini. Everything else involved much toasting of chiles, roasting of tomatoes, shaving of fresh corn kernels, blending, and tasting for salt.

Overall it was a success. The only disappointment, from my point of view, was the lentils, which I finished early and reheated in the microwave. Lentils with pineapple and plantain is an unexpected combination. It was so good coming off the stove that I thought it would be the hit of the dinner, but after letting it sit and reheating, it turned out muddled.

Tonight I’ll blog the zucchini, which was a reasonably successful dish. The squash is stuffed with a fresh corn mixture, and on its own was a little bland. But, you serve it with a fresh, warm salsa ranchera, which was out of this world. Together, the zucchini and the sauce combined into something quite tasty.

So here’s the zucchini recipe, along with the salsa ranchera, both of which come from Diana Kennedy’s The Essential Cuisines of Mexico. For the salsa, I broiled the tomatoes and the chiles together. The recipe actually calls for four serrano chiles, but I used only three, and it turned out picante enough.

Salsa Ranchera
1 pound tomatoes, broiled
3 serrano chiles, charred
1 garlic cove, roughly chopped
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
½ teaspoon salt

Blend the tomatoes, chiles, and garlic together until fairly smooth.

Heat the oil, add the blended ingredients and the salt, and cook over fairly brisk heat for about 5 minutes, stirring and scraping the bottom of the pan until the sauce has reduced a little and is well seasoned.

Zucchini Stuffed with Fresh Corn
1½ pounds zucchini
2 heaped cups corn kernels
2 large eggs
2 tablespoons milk
salt to taste
6 ounces queso fresco, crumbled (about 1 cup)
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
1 recipe salsa ranchera

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Lightly grease a large shallow baking dish.

Clean and trim the zucchini. Cut them into halves lengthwise and scoop out the inner flesh, leaving a shell about ½ inch thick (Note: my zucchini were on the small side and the shell was nowhere near ½ inch thick). Discard the pulp. Place the zucchini in the dish and set aside while you prepare the filling.

Blend the corn, eggs, milk, and salt to a coarse mixture. Do not add more liquid unless absolutely necessary to release the blades. Mix about three quarters of the cheese into the corn mixture, saving the rest for the topping.

Fill the zucchini shells with the corn stuffing, which will be quite runny. Sprinkle with the remaining cheese and dot with the butter. Cover the dish and bake until the squash is tender—about 30 minutes. Serve covered with the tomato sauce.

Tapado de pollo (Chicken and Fruit Casserole)

2008-07-19T21:15:00.000-07:00

Mexican summer continues, this time with a Chicken and Fruit Casserole from Diana Kennedy (The Essential Cuisines of Mexico). This one was beyond words. Why don’t they have this sort of dish at any of the so-called Mexican restaurants in this country? The cinnamon and the fruit gave it a warm aroma and a lovely, but not cloying, sweetness, while the olives cut through the sweetness.

A few substitutions and omissions: I did not have the right chicken (word to Safeway: one should not have to travel to a specialty store just to get chicken with bones and skins on it, thank you very much), I substituted chicken broth for sherry, and I left out the capers, since I don’t much care for them. Even with the wrong ingredients, it still rocked. I'm just going to write out the recipe as it appears in the book.

4½ pounds large chicken parts
Salt
6 peppercorns
1 whole clove
½-inch piece of cinnamon stick
1 tablespoon granulated sugar
¼ cup dry sherry
3 garlic cloves, finely chopped
¼ cup mild vinegar
2 cups thinly sliced white onion
12 ounces tomatoes, sliced (about 2 cups)
1 small apple, peeled, cored, and cut into thick slices
1 small pear, peeled, cored, and cut into thick slices
2 Mexican bay leaves
6 sprigs fresh thyme or ¼ teaspoon dried
1/8 teaspoon dried Mexican oregano

To serve
¼ cup vegetable oil
1 large, very ripe plantain, peeled and cut into lengthwise slices
2 tablespoons large capers, drained
15 green olives, pitted and halved

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Sprinkle the chicken pieces with salt. Crush the peppercorns, clove, and cinnamon together and mix with the sugar, sherry, garlic, vinegar, and about 1½ teaspoons salt.

Spread one third of the onion on the bottom of a deep ovenproof casserole; cover with one third of the tomato slices and the fruits. Add the bay leaves and sprinkle with a little of the herbs, then put half of the chicken pieces on top of the fruits and vegetables and pour on half the vinegar-spice mixture. Repeat the layers, finishing up with a topping of onion, tomatoes, and fruit.

Cover the casserole and bake for about 1 hour, then uncover the casserole for 30 minutes longer, or until the chicken is tender and some of the juices have been reduced.

Meanwhile, heat the oil and fry the plantain pieces until a deep golden brown. Remove and drain. To serve, cover the top of the stew with the capers, olives, and fried plantain.

A Day at the Bay

2008-07-14T19:45:00.000-07:00

I had been wanting to take Gabe on a boat ride, so on Friday we drove into the city to take a tour of the bay.

Traveling to the city involves making a series of decisions, most of them involving parking. First, do we want to drive or take a train? Drive, because I wanted to stop by my office while we were in town. Do we park near fisherman’s wharf, or farther away where parking is cheaper? Near the wharf, because we didn’t want to hoof it or take a bus. So we pulled into a parking garage behind Hooters just a block off the Embarcadero, which ended up charging us $16, even with validation.

We parked and headed to the waterfront, where we chanced upon the “Lovely Martha,” docked right at the street. A large man named Roger barked out an invitation to one and all to board and see the bay, only $15 per person.

“What do you think?” I asked my wife. Erika bit her lip, unwilling to commit. I paid and Roger helped Erika and Gabe board, while I dashed to Walgreen’s for some snacks. I returned to find that Erika had staked out a spot at the bow, next the canister holding the inflatable life raft. She sat rigid, eyes straight ahead, as if her very life depended on maintaining that posture.

Mind you, we hadn’t even left the dock yet.

Shortly after 12:30 p.m. we felt a rumbling beneath our feet. A lovely Irish woman cast off and took the helm. Was this Lovely Martha herself?

We left the shelter of the harbor and headed into the bay, where it immediately got choppy. The boat chugged sluggishly eastward toward the bridge while Lovely Martha’s voice lilted through a loud speaker directly over our heads, telling us about Coit Tower and Russian Hill, and how many miles of cable are in the Golden Gate Bridge. It all got whipped away by the wind and sea spray, leaving us no more enlightened at the end of the trip than we were at the beginning, though I did manage to hear that the 89,000 miles of cable in the bridge are enough to encircle the Earth three times.

I pointed out sailboats and fishing boats and ferries to Gabe and encouraged him to grab onto the rail and look over the edge as we crashed through hills and troughs of ocean and felt the spray bite our cheeks. Gabe was entranced; he was especially interested in the buoys.

A brisk wind buffeted us and made us glad we had remembered our sweaters, but sad we hadn’t thought of jackets. The bridge off in the distance was half shrouded by fog. I asked Erika to take my picture, and she looked ready to smack me.

“Do not ask me to turn around,” she hissed. I got up, handed her the camera, and stood directly in front of her so she wouldn’t have to move.

We passed under the arches of the bridge and could hear the clanking of cars driving above our heads. As we passed under the bridge the water got choppier. The Irish lilt told us to hold on as we began a slow turn to starboard. A helicopter overhead flew under the bridge, no doubt to the delight of the tourists aboard.

We headed back into the bay and now that the wind was at our backs the ride felt smoother and warmer. I felt for the passengers seated at the stern, because now they were getting the brunt of it.

As we came around Alcatraz Island, the Irish lilt imparted information that no doubt would have delighted us if we had understood it, but we did not. I explained to Gabe that this had been a prison, then I had to explain what a prison was. As we rounded the island a large sign proclaimed that those aiding and abetting escaped prisoners would be subject to prosecution and imprisonment.

From Alcatraz it was a straight shot back to the harbor. As we backed into our berth Erika’s head finally turned, for the first time in an hour.

We next scoured the area for a place to eat, and I decided Erika deserved something nice-ish for being such a trouper, so we settled on Tarantino’s. Erika ordered mahi mahi, which was delicious, while I decided to try the sand dabs, which our menu declared were a local favorite. Gabe had chicken fingers, which has become his standby every time we go out. Our table overlooked the dock where Lovely Martha gently rocked, awaiting her next load of passengers. A fishing boat was docked nearby, where a lucky angler stood cradling a four-foot shark in his arms.

Our window also overlooked the stretch of the Embarcadero where the Bush man plies his trade. His brand of street theater consists of holding a pair of tree branches and crouching down, then startling unsuspecting passers by. This seems to be a singularly asinine way to make a living, but it turned out to be unbelievably entertaining. The women lunching at a table near ours were able to predict with a high degree of accuracy which oncoming pedestrian would be startled next. Another table near ours watched with rapt attention, bursting into laughter every time the Bush man succeeded.

Erika was impressed enough to drop a dollar into the man’s tip jar as we walked back to the car. As we walked by he shouted out to some nearby tourists, “If you’re going to stand there and take my picture, please donate. If I took a picture of your bush you can bet your ass I’d give you a dollar.”

As we walked away I asked Gabe what his favorite part had been.

“The buoys,” he said. Go figure.

And what was Erika's favorite part of the boat ride? Getting off.

It's sugar, fer cryin' out loud

2008-07-07T09:45:00.000-07:00

So I bought some soy milk to try with my cereal, because I’m lactose intolerant. The carton for Silk soymilk is all about being green, environmental, and organic. It hits all the right eco buttons: it’s USDA certified organic, and the carton proudly informs me that “this soymilk is made from soybeans that were not genetically engineered.”

Well whoop de do.

I would be inclined to buy the least organic, most genetically engineered soymilk out there as long as it tasted tolerable and didn’t cost twice as much as dairy milk.

What really gets me scratching my head, though, is on the list of all-natural ingredients we get “organic evaporated cane juice.”

Well. Turns out I use evaporated cane juice every day: I put a dash in my tomato sauce to make it tangy, I sprinkle it on my strawberries, I caramelized it with my sweet potatoes, because, wait for it, evaporated cane juice is sugar.

When we have to use euphemisms to make our organic health food pass for organic and healthy, doesn’t it seem that it’s time to admit it’s a scam?

Chicken in escabeche

2008-07-06T20:39:00.000-07:00

Tonight’s dinner left me completely content, which is a rarity. Usually I find something to grumble about, something that should have been done differently. Tonight, though, was really, really good. We did Chicken in escabeche with Sweet potatoes and lime.

Chicken in escabeche
Originally, escabeche was a way for Spanish cooks to essentially pickle food as a way of preserving it. Today, if you eat chicken in escabeche in Spain, you’re eating chicken that has been cooked, then cooled, in its marinade, and served at room temperature. This dish, from Sunset Mexican is not Spanish escabeche; it’s something wildly, wonderfully different.

For the escabeche paste (you will use 2½ tablespoons of this paste)
8 cloves garlic, minced or pressed
1 teaspoon each ground allspice, ground cloves, ground cumin, and ground coriander
1½ teaspoons ground cinnamon
¾ teaspoon coarsely ground black pepper
2 teaspoons dry oregano leaves
¼ teaspoon ground red pepper (cayenne)
2 tablespoons each orange juice and white wine vinegar

For the chicken
2½ tablespoons escabeche paste
3½- to 4-pound frying chicken, cut up
1½ cups chicken broth
1 tablespoon salad oil
2 large onions, thinly sliced
1 7-oz. can diced green chiles
1½ tablespoons cornstarch mixed with 1½ tablespoons water
3 tablespoons chopped fresh cilantro

1. Prepare escabeche paste: Mix all ingredients until blended. If made ahead, cover and refrigerate for up to 2 weeks. Makes ¼ cup.
2. Rinse chicken and pat dry. Using a sharp knife, deeply pierce chicken all over. Rub paste on chicken, pushing some under skin. Place in a 9- by 13-inch baking pan; pour in broth. Cover and bake in a 400 degree oven until chicken is tender when pierced (about 40 minutes).
3. Remove chicken from broth. Drain and strain. Skim and discard fat from broth; reserve broth.
4. Place drained chicken on a preheated broiler pan 4 to 6 inches below heat. Broil, turning once, until well browned (6 to 8 minutes). Or, grill on a lightly greased 4 to 6 inches above a solid bed of medium-hot coals. Cook, turning as needed until well browned (10 to 15 minutes.
5. Meanwhile, heat oil in a wide frying pan over medium heat. When oil is hot, add onions and cook, stirring, until soft (about 10 minutes). Stir in chiles, reserved broth, and cornstarch mixture. Continue to cook, stirring, until sauce boils and thickens, Stir in cilantro. Spoon sauce over individual servings of chicken. Makes 4 to 6 servings.

Sweet potatoes with lime

2008-07-06T20:38:00.000-07:00

Again, from Sunset Mexican. These sweet potatoes actually call for tequila, but since I had none sitting around, I just left it out, added water, and bumped up the lime a little. I doubt that’s an adequate substitute for tequila, but it turned out great. The only drawback is the vast quantity of butter required, but it helped push the sweet potatoes from ordinary to out of this world.

1 pound sweet potato (or yam)
6 tablespoons butter or margarine
1 tablespoon sugar
1 tablespoon lime juice
½ tablespoon water
salt and pepper

Peel sweet potatoes; coarsely shred.

In a 12- to 14-inch frying pan, melt butter over medium heat. Add potatoes and sugar. Cook, turning occasionally, until potatoes begin to caramelize and looks slightly translucent (about 15 minutes). Stir in lime juice and water and continue to cook for 3 more minutes. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Makes about 3-4 servings.

Summer movie rentals I: Vantage Point

2008-07-05T16:16:00.001-07:00

Caution: Spoilers

We rented Vantage Point the other day. This is a political thriller in which the same half-hour in an action-filled day is told from different points of view, hence the name, Vantage Point. The plot hinges around a plot to assassinate the president of the United States at an anti-terrorism summit being held in Salamanca, Spain. It’s topical and action-packed and mildly suspenseful.

However, there were some problems, some trivial, some not. Among the trivial: as a fan of all-things Spanish, I can’t for the life of me understand why they would set the movie in Spain, but film it in Mexico. That’s right: all the exterior scenes, including the never-ending chase that occupies the last half hour of the movie, were filmed in Mexico City. They even built a replica of Salamanca’s Plaza Mayor, in Mexico City. If you’re going to take the trouble to run an entire production in Mexico, why not just set it in Mexico? Here’s the thing: the movie gains nothing dramatically from being set in Spain, and therefore would lose nothing dramatically by being set in Mexico.

Quibble 2: the last third of the movie is taken up with a long chase that takes place after the last big reveal. Thus, there are no more surprises and no betrayals, so by the time the chase ends and everything is resolved it all feels anticlimactic. This seriously undermines the film’s central gimmick: that of showing the action from different points of view. This sort of gimmick implicitly promises that the audience will see something new from yet another point of view as part of the film’s resolution; the last reveal, as it were. There is no last reveal, which, in turn, shows the gimmick for what it is: simply a gimmick, and not well thought out, either.

Quibble 3: It seems to me that the whole point of showing different points of view is to examine relative truth; in other words, every change of point of view changes the tone of the film because we are not just seeing what is happening from a new angle, but we are also getting a different interpretation of what we are seeing. The problem with Vantage Point is that this change of tone does not occur. Instead of a new twist on what we are seeing, all that happens is a visual “meanwhile, back at the ranch.”

Quibble 4: I lied when I said there were no reveals at the end, or that nothing new happens. In fact, the happy ending occurs because the main terrorist—who has spent the entire movie showing himself to be a ruthless killer, not shy about blowing up an entire plaza full of innocent people to get what he wants—swerves to miss an innocent child in the street. He swerves, tips over, and the game’s up. Sorry if I’ve ruined it for you. Does this mean that the terrorist is a complicated guy who can’t be judged as bad because he won’t run over a child? Or does it mean that his character is not well thought-out? I think the filmmakers were aiming for the first, but achieved the second.

So: some good performances, especially by Dennis Quaid. A reasonably entertaining chase through the streets of Mex—er—Salamanca. But in the end, for me, anyway, unsatisfying.

These kids today

2008-07-05T11:57:00.001-07:00

So we were at the park having a picnic with some friends and this little girl, about 6 0r 7 years old comes over to our table and says "where are the kids' drinks?"

"There aren't any" we reply, because besides what Gabe was drinking, there weren't. She gets this wide-eyed look and gives a frustrated grunt, then goes back to her own table. Her parents and their friends continued chatting, oblivious.

Then when we're eating our delicious sausages, she's back. "Can I have a hot dog?" she asks.

"No," I say. She gives us another look of disbelief, as if to say "how dare these adults refuse me what I have so rightfully demanded?"

So, my question is, if you're at the park with your kids, and your kids start pestering another group in a not-cute way, shouldn't you intervene and tell your kids to knock it off? This girl's mom did nothing.

I want one of these

2008-07-04T15:46:00.000-07:00

This product is no doubt a boon to many people, but I have to wonder at the marketing strategy.

Chicken in Pipián Sauce

2008-06-28T20:47:00.000-07:00

I made this once before using a recipe from Rick Bayless. It turned out great, but it was very labor intensive. The version from Sunset Mexican was more manageable. The recipe actually calls for duck, but I used chicken. I adapted the pipián paste to a smaller portion, which is how we end up with only 1 tablespoon fresh cilantro. I tried it with 1 teaspoon of dried cilantro, and it worked out fine.

For the pipián paste:
3 oz. hulled, unsalted pumpkin seeds
¼ cup chicken broth
½ jalapeño, stemmed and seeded
¼ teaspoon each ground cumin, ground pepper, and salt
1 tablespoon chopped fresh cilantro

For the rest:
1 small chicken for roasting (all I could find was a five-pounder)
1 or 2 jalapeños, stemmed, seeded and chopped
1 small onion, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced or pressed
¼ cup chopped fresh cilantro
1 can (11 oz.) tomatillos, drained
2 large romaine lettuce leaves, torn into pieces
1 recipe pipián paste
2 tablespoons salad oil
1 cup chicken broth

First, make the pipián paste.
Spread the pumpkin seeds on a baking sheet and toast, stirring once or twice, in a 350 degree oven, until seeds begin to brown, 12 to 15 minutes. (Note: I used our toaster oven, and it took about half that amount of time). In a blender, combine pumpkin seeds with chicken broth, jalapeño, cumin, pepper, salt, and cilantro. Whirl until smooth; add a little more liquid if necessary. Sauce will be grainy. Set aside.

To make the chicken:
Rinse the chicken and pat dry. Place breast side up on a rack in a shallow roasting pan. Bake, uncovered, in a 375 degree oven until done, about 1 hour and a half (90 minutes).

Meanwhile, in a blender, combine chiles, onion, garlic, cilantro, tomatillos, and romaine; whirl until smooth.

Heat oil in a 2- to 3-quart pan over medium heat. When oil is hot, add chile puree and pipián paste; cook, stirring, until sauce bubbles. Blend in broth and bring to a boil.

Pour sauce into a rimmed serving platter. Cut chicken in quarters and lay over the sauce.

We had this with rice and a sautéed medley of corn, zucchini, and red peppers.

Red Snapper Veracruz

2008-06-28T11:43:00.000-07:00

I have declared this the Summer of Mexico (as opposed to last year’s summer of salad). Here’s Red Snapper Veracruz, also adapted from my Sunset Mexico book.

2 tablespoons olive oil
½ small green bell pepper, chopped
½ medium onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced or pressed
1/8 teaspoon ground pepper
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
juice of half a lime
¼ cup sliced pimento-stuffed green olives
2 tablespoons diced green chiles
2 large tomatoes, seeded and coarsely chopped
2 snapper or rockfish fillets (about 1 pound)
½ tablespoon of capers, rinsed

Heat oil in a large frying pan over medium-high heat. When oil is hot, add bell pepper, onion, and garlic and cook until soft (about 7 minutes). Add pepper, cinnamon, lime juice, olives, and chiles; cook for 1 more minute. Add tomatoes and bring mixture to a boil; cook until thickened, about 10 minutes. (Note: I added a little water to the mixture. Check the seasoning before adding the sauce to the fish; we found that it needed salt).

Place fillets in a lightly greased baking dish just large enough to hold them. Pour sauce over fish and bake in a 350 degree oven until fish is just slightly translucent or wet inside when cut in thickest part (10 to 15 minutes). Stir in capers just before serving. (Note: I don’t like capers, so I left them out).

We had this with white rice. It got the Gabe stamp of approval.

Very tasty chili

2008-06-28T11:25:00.000-07:00

As part of my ongoing attempts to find the perfect chili recipe, I tried my hand at Chili Colorado, from my Sunset Mexican Cookbook. The recipe in the book called for 5 pounds of meat, and I only wanted to use about a pound, so I adjusted the ingredients accordingly.

Chili Colorado

1 ounce dried New Mexico chiles
¾ cup water
2 tablespoons salad oil
1 medium onion
2 cloves garlic, minced or pressed
1 pound boneless beef chuck, cut into cubes
2 tablespoons all purpose flour
1 teaspoon dried cilantro
½ teaspoon each ground cumin, ground cloves, dry oregano, dry rosemary, and dry tarragon
1 14.5 oz. can tomatoes (petite dice)
½ cup (or so) beef broth

Rinse chiles; discard stems and seeds. Break chiles into pieces. Combine chiles and water in a 2 ½ to 3-quart pan. Bring to a boil over high heat; reduce heat, cover, and simmer until chiles are soft, about 30 minutes. (Note: Using different directions on the package of chiles, I pureed the chiles with about half the onion and the garlic, then added boiling water to the blender, and blended until smooth. I set it aside while I prepared the rest of the dish.)

Heat oil in a dutch oven or other large, heavy pan over medium heat. When oil is hot, add onions and garlic; cook, stirring often, until onions are soft (about 10 minutes). Sprinkle meat with flour. Add meat and chile puree to pan and cook, stirring, for 5 minutes. (Note: when I make this again I’ll probably brown the meat first, then add the chile puree).

Add cilantro, cumin, cloves, oregano, rosemary, tarragon, tomatoes and their liquid, and broth. Bring to a boil over high heat. Reduce heat and simmer, uncovered, stirring often, until meat is very tender when pierced (3-4 hours).

Serve with diced onion, diced tomatoes, grated cheese.

We had it cheese and sour cream, which really went nicely. Gabe even liked it. We also had some warmed up corn tortillas.

Five minute university

2008-04-09T13:13:00.000-07:00

I was poking around on YouTube and I found the following clip from Father Guido Sarducci: "Five Minute University." As a professional speaker of Spanish I'm particularly interested in what he says the average college graduate remembers from two years of college Spanish. Enjoy.

Chinese Chicken and Chili Soup

2008-04-08T20:46:00.000-07:00

I’m systematically going through my cookbooks and looking for recipes to try. Tonight it was Chinese Chicken and Chili Soup, from One-pot, Slow-pot & Clay-pot Cooking, by Jenni Fleetwood (New York: Hermes House, 2002). I had to substitute a serrano chili for the red chili, regular mushrooms for the shiitake, and Japanese vermicelli for the rice noodles. Also, the recipe calls for a Chinese sand pot, which I do not own, so I used an oven-safe glass Dutch oven.

So, I used the wrong chili pepper, the wrong mushrooms, the wrong noodles and the wrong pot. Oh, and I didn't warm the bowls. It still turned out fine, though, and I think we’ll try it again. One caveat: even finely chopped the lemon grass was distracting and occasionally off-putting; we kept hitting hard chunks that were reminiscent of biting sand. Next time we’ll leave the lemon grass in bigger pieces so we can remove them once the soup is done.

1 5oz boneless chicken breast portion, cut into thin strips
1 inch piece fresh ginger root, finely chopped
2 inch piece lemon grass stalk, finely chopped
1 red chili, seeded and thinly sliced
8 baby corn cobs, halved lengthwise
1 large carrot, cut into thin sticks
4 cups hot chicken stock
4 green onions, thinly sliced
12 small shiitake mushrooms, sliced
4 oz (1 cup) vermicelli rice noodles
2 tbsp soy sauce
salt and ground black pepper

Place the chicken, ginger, lemon grass, chili, corn and carrot sticks in a Chinese sand pot. Pour over the hot chicken stock and cover.

Place the pot in an unheated oven (I forgot and preheated the oven; no big deal with the pan I was using). Set the temperature to 400 degrees and cook the soup for 30-40 minutes, or until the stock is simmering and the chicken and vegetables are tender.

Add the green onions and mushrooms, cover, and return the pot to the oven for 10 minutes. Meanwhile place the noodles in a large bowl and cover with boiling water – soak for the required time, following the packet instructions (my noodles had different directions).

Drain the noodles and divide among four warmed serving bowls (I didn’t warm the bowls). Stir the soy sauce into the soup and season with salt and pepper. Divide the soup between the bowls and serve immediately.

Vancouver Blues

2008-04-06T20:58:00.001-07:00

I flew to Vancouver, British Columbia on Friday for the Pacific Northwest Renaissance Society conference, where I chaired a panel on Hispanic Literature and spent a good deal of time hanging out with the panelists, who happen to be old friends of mine from graduate school.

Vancouver, apparently, is beautiful, although after a flight that arrived an hour late, followed by another hour through customs and yet another hour on the shuttle bus for an accidental tour of the city’s downtown hotels, I was in no mood to find the place charming.

I found my friends Damian and Eric already at the hotel. I’ve seen Damian lately, but Eric I hadn’t seen in a good four years. I was pleased to see he’d acquired some grey.

We strolled down to the waterfront. It had rained earlier in the day, and the sky was still overcast (apparently in the Pacific Northwest, gloom is the default; meteorologists forecast when office workers can dash outside to catch a moment of fleeting sunshine). It was quite chilly as well.

We looked across the inlet and watched seaplanes land and take off. Out on the water floated a dock dominated by a giant Chevron sign, presumably so the planes can fuel up without coming to shore.

Gloomy or not, waterfronts always cheer me. I’ve often said that if it hadn’t been for my tendency to get seasick just by stepping on a dock, I would have been a sailor.

We ambled into Gastown, the historic downtown, which has gone from urban blight to urban renewal in the past few decades (although there’s still plenty of blight to be seen; we must have been accosted by half a dozen homeless in the space of a few blocks). In the middle of it all stands a statue dedicated to Gassy Jack, the legendary founder of Gastown. Unfortunately, Gassy Jack received his nickname for talking too much; I was hoping for a much more aromatic tale behind his moniker.

When hunger struck we went looking for someplace to eat. We rejected McDonalds, which, despite the red maple leaf emblazoned on the golden arches, struck us as not quite quintessentially Canadian. I’m not quite sure how we ended up at the Old Spaghetti Factory.

Once comfortably seated I decided to try communicating with the natives in their own dialect.

“Where’s the washroom, eh?” I asked the waitress. We achieved communication and I found the restroom.

Spring Break

2008-03-29T10:18:00.000-07:00

I was out of school for Spring Break, and so was Gabe, so on Wednesday we decided to take advantage of the time off and hit the road. My plan was to head down scenic Highway 1 so we could see the elephant seals north of San Simeon and then hit the tide pools at Cambria before heading inland to my brother’s house in Atascadero. We piled into the car and traveled southward. We had smooth sailing on the 101 and hit Salinas in good time. Then we turned off and headed over to Monterey.

We parked at the waterfront, and as soon as we stepped out of our car we heard a high pitched barking echoing across the water.

“You hear that?” Erika asked Gabe. “What do you think it is?”

“Seals!” Gabe replied.

Sea lions, actually. Through a complex process of echolocation we realized that the barking was coming from Fisherman’s Wharf. We headed over, and as we walked past the boats moored in the marina I noticed that the water was crystal clear. You could see all the way to the bottom, a far cry from the murk of San Francisco Bay. We followed the siren song of the sea lions onto the wharf, past trinket shops and a half dozen seafood joints, each offering its unique version of clam chowder in a bread bowl (“A bread bowl,” one happy customer munched behind us. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”). As we passed a row of charter boats a forlorn family of three tried to cajole us into joining them on a glass bottom boat tour. Seems the boat would leave right away if they could rustle up some more customers.

“You paying?” Erika almost asked, then thought better of it, smiled and said “nope, sorry.” We weren’t up for the glass bottom boat, although I was almost seduced by a whale watching outfit called Randy’s, when I found out there was no minimum age. It was a three-hour tour, though, and my body has to be properly prepped before venturing out into the open sea, so we opted out.

We located the sea lions as they lounged on and around a floating dock behind Randy’s. Looking down, we could see starfish on the seafloor at the base of the wharf’s pilings. Sea lions shot through the water like torpedoes. We heard a clacking sound and looked over toward another part of the wharf and saw a gray head bobbing in the water.

“Look Gabe, it’s an otter,” Erika said, pointing.

We watched as the sea otter whacked furiously at its chest, and I explained to Gabe how otters bang shellfish against a rock to break them open and get at the meat inside. Gabe is at an age where he is always suitably impressed by his father’s vast knowledge.

We ate at a place called the Fisherman’s Grotto, where I ordered a shrimp sandwich and a bowl of their “award winning chowder” (awarded, it turned out, by the prestigious Monterey Weekly). Our window seat looked out over the waterfront, where we could watch the otter drift by on the tide. The propaganda on the menu claimed that the Grotto had invented what has come to be known as Monterey-style chowder. The soup was more thick than flavorful, as if the inventors of Monterey chowder felt that an excess of heavy cream could compensate for a lack of salt.

We left Monterey and headed down Highway 1, through Carmel and down toward Big Sur. The drive through Big Sur, down the Central Coast to Cambria is one of the most spectacular in California. The road winds through woods and skirts the edges of high cliffs. Down below the ocean ran through a startling range of shades of blue, from deep and dark, through turquoise to blue-green and frothy at the shore.

“How many people do you suppose get distracted by the view and drive over the edge?” I mused.

“Let’s not do that today,” Erika said firmly.

“Do what?” piped up a voice from the back.

I assigned Erika the task of enjoying the view, while I worked on staying on the road.

Turns out I had radically underestimated the amount of time the drive would take us. Between pit stops and a leg-stretching break, it was close to 5 p.m. by the time we got to San Simeon.

Just to the north of San Simeon is a beach that recently has become a favorite hauling-out spot for elephant seals. A heavy wind had kicked up, blowing grit and ripping our hats from our heads as we stepped out of the car. I had been hoping to see some big bulls butting chests and growling, but instead we saw a sparse passel of seals sheltering from the wind beneath a bluff, occasionally snorting, or flinging sand over their backs. After the long drive, the lack of elephant seal action was disappointing.

We took shelter from the wind in our car and headed inland to stay with my brother Dave and his family. Dave lives on a country road on the outskirts of Atascadero, which is beautiful this time of year. The rolling hills are a lush green. Winter is over, but the baking heat of summer has not set in yet.

Gabe had enjoyed the trip up to this point, but it really took off for him when we got to Dave and Christy’s house, because he met Hamlet and Belle, two dogs who were probably more excited to meet him than he was to meet them. Gabe’s previous favorite dog was Brutus, a Chihuahua belonging to Erika’s brother, Leif, but Dave’s two big dogs kicked Gabe onto Cloud 9. And then Dave’s oldest son Rob introduced Gabe to the rabbits. The horses would come later.

There is nothing quite as satisfying to a parent as seeing your child overcome with pure glee. Gabe fell instantly in love with those dogs.

“I want to live here,” he said. He was too excited to fall asleep that night. He was in love with being in the country, as he called it. At home we live on a busy thoroughfare, and traffic noise is a constant presence. The only noise at Dave’s came from the joyful barking of the dogs and the squealing laughter of my son.

The next day we drove out to Cambria to look at the tide pools. We spent a happy hour poking around looking at hermit crabs and sea anemones, then drove over to Moonstone Beach, where Gabe kicked off his shoes and played in the surf. Then it was back to Dave and Christy’s for a break (more dogs, and Rob showed Gabe how to play Nintendo) before piling into the Suburban for a drive over to where Dave and Christy board their horses, Mandarin and Getty. Christy grabbed a bag of carrots from an out-building and we ambled over to the horses. Christy showed Gabe how to hold the carrots so that his fingers wouldn’t get bitten, then let him loose. Gabe soon got the hang of it.

Friday morning we headed back up the coast to Monterey to go to the aquarium. The Monterey Bay Aquarium is located at the end of Cannery Row. Monterey is Steinbeck country, but I think Steinbeck would be turning over in his grave if he could see what has become of it. Seedy Cannery Row has become a gentrified and homogenized tourist zone, with spas and chain restaurants occupying the sites of the old canneries.

We soon realized that it had been a huge, tactical error to save the aquarium for Friday afternoon during Spring Break. The building was so crammed with people we could barely move at times, let alone get close enough to see the fish. The best part of the aquarium for me is always the touch tank with the bat rays, but this time the rays were spooked by all the people and stayed in a corner far away.

Gabe did get to touch some starfish, and we saw some sharks, but overall it was a huge disappointment. Call it a $64 learning experience.

Still, it was a successful trip. We saw beautiful scenery, visited with my brother and his family and gave Gabe some good memories.

Musee Mechanique

2008-01-27T15:03:00.000-08:00

It rained hard on Martin Luther King Day, so instead of staying at home and doing jigsaw puzzles like sane people, we decided to travel into the city. Our destination was the Musee Mechanique, a collection of some 200 vintage arcade games and attractions housed in a warehouse at Fisherman’s Wharf. On a positive note, the combination of rain and holiday made for light traffic. On the downside, parking on or near Fisherman’s Wharf costs $2 every 20 minutes up to a maximum of $32. Oh sure, you get a grace period if you get your ticket validated at one of the many overpriced restaurants in the area, but in general the impression you get is that the city fathers of San Francisco are determined to milk every possible penny out of any sap stupid enough to drive to the waterfront. But it was raining and we were bored, so on that particular day, we were those saps.

We do like the Musee Mechanique, though. Apart from the parking issue, the first thing you notice about it is that entrance is free (although you do have to run a gauntlet of seafood restaurants with their crab pots going at full boil – sad to do when you’ve already eaten and cannot be tempted). The second thing you notice is that it is filled with cool things. The third thing you notice is that those cool things (mechanical dioramas, hand-cranked picture machines, games) only cost 25 cents. Pop in a quarter and be amazed as you watch a real English execution (someone getting hanged), then head on over and see a French execution (guillotine). A Depression-era mechanical baseball game works on the pinball principle, where the player hits the ball, getting base hits, or homeruns, and keeps playing until the third out.

I lost badly to a mechanized arm wrestler, and stole a glance at a picture machine that promised to show me what the belly dancer does on her day off. If you’re curious, the belly dancer coyly gets ready to take a bath while still remaining fully clothed. Gabe and Erika, meanwhile, had fun bowling and riding a mechanical horse.

All told, we dropped about $5 at the Musee Mechanique, and considered it money well spent. Not everyone feels the same way. As I was signing the guest register I noticed that the signer before me, who had driven in from Santa Rosa, thought the whole thing was a rip-off. Judging from the penmanship, the writer was a teenager, so any opinions expressed can be immediately disregarded.

Cioppino

2008-01-21T11:24:00.000-08:00

Yesterday for my birthday I cooked Cioppino, a seafood stew apparently created right here in San Francisco. People looked askance at me when I told them I cooked for my birthday; I guess the general feeling is that one should avoid cooking on one’s birthday. The key thing to understand is that I cooked what I wanted. Gabriel tried it and decided he liked everything but the clams. Even Erika ate it, despite the presence of tomatoes.

I adapted it from our trusty Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook.

8 clams
8 oz. fish fillets (I used lingcod)
8 oz. peeled and deveined shrimp
½ cup sliced fresh mushrooms
½ cup green bell pepper
½ cup chopped onion
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 tablespoon garlic, minced
1 14 ½ oz. can diced tomatoes
1/3 cup white wine
2 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped
2 tablespoons tomato paste
1 tablespoon lemon juice
½ teaspoon dried basil
½ teaspoon dried oregano
1 teaspoon sugar
1/8 teaspoon crushed red pepper
¼ cup water
¼ teaspoon salt

Cut fish into 1½ inch pieces and refrigerate until needed.

In a large saucepan cook mushrooms, sweet pepper, onion, and garlic in hot oil till tender but not brown. Stir in undrained tomatoes, wine, parsley, tomato paste, lemon juice, basil, oregano, sugar, crushed red pepper, water and salt. Bring to boiling; reduce heat. Cover and simmer for 20 minutes.

Add clams, fish pieces, and shrimp to saucepan. Cover and simmer for 5-10 minutes more or till clams open, fish flakes easily, and shrimp are opaque. Check for seasoning and add more salt if necessary. Discard any unopened clams.

In the end, it's all about the tuna

2007-11-23T09:15:00.000-08:00

What foods to Spanish housewives really crave? Find out in this review of a monumental Spanish cookbook in Slate. It captures the essence of things quite well.

Yet Another Triumph

2007-11-18T19:09:00.001-08:00

Sometimes my culinary achievements even take my own breath away.

What About Lunch?

2007-11-16T10:57:00.001-08:00

Ever notice that in many popular songs you can replace the word "love" with "lunch" and it still works?

1. What about lunch? -- Heart
2. The lunch boat, soon will be making another run. The lunch boat promises something for everyone.
3. Making lunch in the afternoon with Cecilia in my dining room -- Simon and Garfunkel.
4. All you need is lunch -- John Lennon.
5. Lunch will keep us together.
6. The lunch shack is a little old place where, we can get together -- B-52s.

What others can you come up with?

Cocido Madrileño

2007-11-04T21:25:00.001-08:00

I’ve had a hankering for some Cocido Madrileño lately, so I made some today, despite the fact that I knew I would end up with too many leftovers.

In honor of the occasion, I have resurrected some thoughts on the subject from my sojourn in Spain from the summer of 2000.

Sat. Sept. 30, 2000

I have just dined on that marvelous concoction known as Cocido Madrileño. Now that the weather has become brisk, it seemed appropriate to consume vast quantities of garbanzo beans and other gaseous substances to fortify my being for the next two weeks of ever-darkening winter.

I have had gas on my mind ever since yesterday, when I bought for 500 pesetas a copy of Quevedo´s Gracias y desgracias del ojo del culo, an engaging treatise on the wonders of the anus in which he compares the ojo del culo with those of the face and finds that the rear orifice has much more to recommend it. It can be a little disquieting at times imagining the great ones of Golden Age poetry being overly preoccupied with bodily functions, but given the state of hygiene back then I imagine it would be hard to avoid the subject. Of course one good reading of El Buscón is enough to confirm that Quevedo didn´t consider this or practically any other subject off limits.

So after a morning’s perusal of Gracias y desgracias, followed by a long-overdue haircut (where I accidentally stiffed the peluquera while trying to tip her, but that’s another story) I ended up down by Sol and the Doña Juana restaurant, which offered Cocido for 1200 pesetas. I´m not one to pass up cheap cocido, especially on a day like this.

I had not eaten cocido in quite a while. I remember eating some very good cocido cooked by a housewife in Ponferrada, long ago. Of course, being Ponferrada, in the westernmost reaches of the León province, it wasn’t exactly Cocido Madrileño. It was much better, in fact, not only because it was served by a pleasant ama de casa instead of a cranky waiter, but also because it was much heavier on the chorizo, giving the broth a pleasant red zip. This stuff today was bland by comparison.

Cocido is the Spanish version of a boiled dinner. It’s loaded with meat of all descriptions: chorizo, morcilla, tocino, beef, chicken; garbanzo beans, potato, cabbage. While examining my plate it occurred to me that at least half of those ingredients, had serious explosive potential. With cocido you get the broth served first as soup, then the rest follows as a second course.

Over at the next table was a group of middle aged tourists trying to decide what the menu was offering. They were all from Mexico (I gathered) which just goes to show that it is not just Americans who are not quite at home with a Spanish menu. They were saying things like: “Caldo gallego – that´s like cocido, isn´t it?” “I don´t know. Does it have garbanzos?” “Callos madrileños. Is that the same as menudo?” “Ask the waiter.” One guy decided to take the plunge and order callos. Everyone else stayed safe with paella and trout. When the callos came, the main question everyone had was “is it menudo?”

I for one have steered clear of callos on this trip. I once had a mission companion from Andalucía who told me he grew up on callos and that I had to try them. They come in a sort of coagulated brick in the deli section of the supermarket. He prepared them by melting the brick over the stove, and as it warmed it filled the kitchen with the aroma of fresh barnyard. Once they were cooked, the flavor wasn’t bad. Texture-wise they were vaguely reminiscent of overcooked squid mixed with boiled fat. Still, with the smell in the kitchen I couldn’t quite get past the idea that I might as well dine down at the pig trough, followed by a good, brisk roll in the muck. For that reason I have never – despite years of living in Santa Monica – been tempted by all the Mexican restaurants advertising in giant, booming letters “hay menudo.” The dish in general just does not call to me in quite the way it would to someone raised on it.

Cocido is another matter entirely. Garbanzos and chorizo broth. What could be better when the weather turns nasty?

Gabe's First Earthquake

2007-10-31T12:50:00.001-07:00

We had a 5.6 earthquake last night. It happened about 8 p.m., just as Gabe was nestling into bed while Erika read him bedtime stories. We've had them before, of course, but this one was stronger than usual. It was centered just to the east of San Jose. Our landlord called me up about 10 seconds after it was over to ask how the building was doing.

"This lets you know my priorities, Michael," he said. "I called you before I called my wife."

He was calling from Santa Clara, which is right next to San Jose.

To me it was business as usual, but soon I heard weepy sounds from the Gabe's room, and Erika informing me that my son was a little freaked out.

So I went in, lay down next to him and told him the story of my first earthquake, which occurred in 1971, when I was also 4. I was sharing the back bedroom with Marcy. There was a picnic basket hanging from a hook on the door immediately opposite my bed, and as the room swayed, the basket swayed with it, looking in the pre-dawn darkness like a monster. So I freaked and jumped into bed with Marcy, who also freaked because she didn't know at first what had jumped into bed with her.

Gabe thought the story was funny, and gradually he allowed himself to be reassured, although he was nervous about going to sleep for awhile.

Nervous as he was, Gabe still held up better than some of our tenants. One woman, from Turkey, was out in the street, too nervous to go back into the building, because of bad memories of Turkish earthquakes. Another woman from Mexico was having a complete meltdown. I tried to reassure her as best I could, all the while thinking, heck this was only a 5.6. How are these people going to react when the big one hits?

People Watching at the Library

2007-09-18T20:35:00.000-07:00

When I try to work in a public library I am reminded of my friend Eric’s description of a restless night spent attempting to sleep in an albergue on the Camino de Santiago in the company of two dozen sonorous, farting pilgrims. The presence of other people detracts from the experience.

Any noise out of place tends to distract, whether it comes from giggling children, chatty librarians, or the stumpy woman who flung herself into an empty chair at my table and started writing furiously all while audibly breathing through her mouth as if she were engaged in a waking snore.

That chair was later occupied by an old man who felt the need to clear his throat every 10 seconds while he read the newspaper.

The other day, a group of fourth-grade boys converged on a table in the reference section and were loudly giggling at something. I shushed them, and one of them impishly put his finger to his lip to shush me back. All this not 20 feet away from the librarian, who, of course, did nothing.

What has changed in the past 30 years? When I was a child, I remember a severe-looking woman of indeterminate age, with straight, mousy brown hair parted precisely in the middle, who was not shy about shushing people. When we went to the library on field trips, we learned that the first rule was to be quiet. Today, the first rule seems to be to express yourself, no matter how annoying it may be to other people.

Speaking of the library, here’s a poem I wrote awhile back about an old man I saw one day:

I have seen toupees in my time:
Stiff hair hats perched on chrome-domed racks,
Lifeless pelts that not even the cat would drag in
A robin’s nest of gray-brown twigs,
A catcher’s mitt,
An immoveable line,
A tectonic plate
Beneath which slips a leathered forehead
With every furrowing of the brow.

Today I saw a crusty mask,
A lived-in face, yes, dignified and wary
With bloodhound jowls and basset eyes
Staring rheumily through plate glass specs
Beneath a wondrous wig of bounteous brown
Tastefully wisped, Kennedyesque,
A mop-topped codger clinging forcefully to borrowed youth
Challenging,
Daring me to smile.

Noodle eater takes trespassing plea

2007-09-16T20:09:00.000-07:00

As a former headline writer myself, I'm a sucker for a good headline, and this one stopped me in my tracks today while we were taking a family walk.

The first paragraph explains it all:

"A woman accused of cooking noodles inside a stranger’s Millbrae home after being drawn there by its “aura” earlier this summer pleaded no contest to a single misdemeanor count of trespassing and was immediately sentenced to probation and time served."

15-Minute Paella?

2007-09-04T09:51:00.000-07:00

Just caught a segment on Rachel Ray (most annoying voice on TV) where she was showing how to cook a 15-minute paella. She threw in some familiar ingredients (chorizo, shrimp, chicken, saffron), then added turmeric (some people seem to think it is more important for paella to be yellow than to taste good), then ended with ... COUSCOUS! Couscous? I shudder just contemplating this atrocity. There are no words to express how I'm feeling right now.

Gangsta style

2007-08-29T18:18:00.000-07:00

You know that scene in Mary Poppins, when Dick Van Dyke starts dancing with the penguins? Needing to become more penguin-like, at one point he sort of hitches down his pants so that the crotch is around his knees and starts waddling.

Well, today as I was walking to the library I found myself behind a hip, urban gangsta type, wearing an oversize green tracksuit with a low-slung waist and the crotch hugging his knees. Thus encumbered, his walk was more of a rolling waddle.

So here’s the question: if you were a hip, urban gansta, would you go out of your way to look like a green, plush penguin?

Mamet's Three Magic Questions

2007-08-28T14:05:00.000-07:00

I was skimming through a book by David Mamet called Bambi vs. Godzilla: On the Nature, Purpose, and Practice of the Movie Business and I found the following nugget on page 85:

"The filmed drama (as any drama) is a succession of scenes. Each scene must end so that the hero is thwarted in pursuit of his goal – so that he . . . is forced to go on to the next scene to get what he wants. . . . To write a successful scene, one must stringently apply and stringently answer the following three questions:
1. Who wants what from whom?
2. What happens if they don't get it?
3. Why now?"

Now, I'm not a huge fan of Mamet as a filmmaker; I find his pacing dreary and the acting wooden and way too mannered. He has, however, written some great scripts.

Regardless of his merits (or lack) as a filmmaker, what really interests me is the applicability of the "three magic questions" to the study and teaching of theater. Does this work as a good way to approach dramatic tension in Golden Age plays?

Tractor Tipping

2007-08-26T21:08:00.000-07:00

To understand this story it helps to know who Frank is. And to know that, you have to be familiar with the movie Cars. In Cars, Lightening McQueen, a famous racecar, is sentenced to rebuild a road in the small desert town of Radiator Springs after he accidentally destroys said road while fleeing the police (it’s all a big misunderstanding, but as often happens in drama, without that misunderstanding there would be no plot, so go with it). Lightening learns to love the other cars in the town, and in particular becomes great friends with a battered old tow truck named Mater.

Mater is a bit of a hillbilly, and takes Lightening out one night to do some tractor tipping (i.e. cow tipping). He warns Lightening to look out for Frank. Soon enough Lightening and Mater are being chased across a moonlit field by Frank: an angry, rampaging combine (bull).

Gabriel adores this movie. He obsessively collects all the characters (he has not one, but four Lightenings, one for each of the various paint jobs the character sports in the film) and is constantly recreating scenes. We cannot go on a simple family walk without Gabe scraping his foot through the dirt (imitating Lightening accidentally ripping up the road in Radiator Springs) or bellowing out full-throated roars (imitating Frank). And when Gabe gets in his Cars zone, it’s next to impossible to get his attention or shift his focus. Just ask Erika, who more than once has located Gabriel in the grocery store by listening to the calls of “Mac! Mac!” (imitating Lightening’s frantic search for his big rig transport when he first finds himself alone in the desert) from two aisles over.

Fast forward to today. Gabe and I went for a walk down by the Bay. I was envisioning a Mayberry moment (whistling while we walk by the bay, skimming stones). What I got was drag, drag, dust cloud, dust cloud.

“Will you stop dragging your foot like that, PLEASE!?” I fumed at one point.

“Why?” Gabe asked.

“Because sometimes it’s nice just to walk together,” I replied. “You don’t always have to pretend to be Lightening.”

Gabe did not seem convinced, but he tried walking in the plants for awhile, to appease me, I guess. On our way back to the car he started looking back furtively.

“Hurry,” he said, “Frank’s coming.” This went on for the next hundred yards or so to our car; furtive glance, “Frank’s coming, hurry.” At one point he let slip that “I’m pretending that those people are Frank.”

I looked back. Frank turned out to be an African American family of four. And my kid’s been dashing away and nervously glancing at them for the past hundred yards. As we climbed into our car and drove away, I thought I saw the father giving me a LOOK. I just bowed my head and moaned.

Innocents Abroad

2007-08-25T23:34:00.001-07:00

When I lived in Madrid years ago I used to buy pistachios from an Iranian refugee in Retiro Park. I don't recall his name, but I decided to call him Stan. It drove him crazy, but I called him Stan anyway. Why did I call him Stan? One word: Ferguson.

Ferguson is every tour guide that graces the pages of Mark Twain's The Innocents Abroad. The author and his cohort call their guides Ferguson, whether in Paris or in Athens. The name drives each Ferguson crazy, but they do it anyway. They know that their Fergusons aim to impress, so their goal is to remain unimpressed, no matter what the site or the feat. Standing in a charnal house before the withered remains of some long-gone saint, they adopt a pose of wide-eyed idiocy and ask the same question: "Is . . . is he dead?" All to drive the Fergusons crazy.

Is this admirable? No, but it epitomizes the experience of Americans abroad. It is brash, showing at once disdain for and secret envy of the old world, its people, and its institutions.

This is the book that instilled in me a wanderlust that still afflicts me, even though I have rarely been able to satisfy it. When I read it for the first time, I wanted to travel the world and call my guides Ferguson. I still do.

A Moment at Mervyn's (Retail Hell)

2007-08-24T16:42:00.000-07:00

So we’re at Mervyn’s buying me some work clothes when we get the call that Joe the fix-it guy is at the Viking waiting for us. So we scramble to finish picking out the clothes and then rush to the register to buy.

The cashier is a skinny kid, about 18 or 19, with a flipped up collar that tells me something about him is fundamentally unserious. We watch as he starts scanning our purchases in slow motion. He stalls for a moment as the machine refuses to scan one of our items. With a puzzled look he slowly rescans, then scans again.

We have plastic smiles on as we mentally urge him forward, man, forward.

Then the phone rings.

“Men’s department,” he says. “Tuxedo shirts? Let me . . .”

Erika grabs my arm to keep me from using it to strangle him.

“. . . call you back, ‘cause I’m with a customer right now.” The youth finishes, and lays the phone down. Erika is satisfied that she has kept me from killing him for no reason. Then before he rings up another of our items he’s back at the phone with a blank piece of paper. “What’s your number?”

Another clerk drifts into range. “Have these been rung up yet?” she asks.

“You tell me,” Erika says. “You’re the one with the screen.” She looks back quizzically, no doubt wondering why these strange Americans are always in a hurry.

Meanwhile, our clerk is still on the phone. “Is that a land line or a store phone? ‘Cause I can’t call out on this phone. . .”

Finally Erika can stand it no more. “Hey,” she bellows, “finish with us. We’re the ones paying $134 here.”

I pout because the clerkish child does not look penitent enough as he returns to finish ringing up our order.

“Do you have a Mervyn’s Card?” he asks politely, no doubt as taught in retail sales school.

“No, and I don’t want one,” I snap back.

“Why not? You’ll save 30 percent.”

Surely he’s aware that all debt management gurus say to avoid store cards like the plague. I simply say, “no time,” grab my things and race out the door with my family close behind.

A pair of tapas

2007-08-20T13:01:00.000-07:00

Supposedly, tapas originated in Spanish bars as a way to keep the flies out of your glass of wine. The bartender would put some tidbits on a little plate and lay it on top of the glass of wine. Tapas can be as simple as a few marinated olives, or they can be quite elaborate.

These two tapas come from ¡Delicioso!, by Penelope Casas, my bible of Spanish cooking. The cheese dish was nice and smooth, but had a little bit of a kick to it because of the garlic and the cilantro. The other one is toast with an anchovy/olive paste and ratatouille on top. The vegetables and Garum (anchovy mixture) work well together because the veggies cut down the intensity of the anchovy. They are both very nice tapas.

Queso fresco con mojo de cilantro
(Fresh Cheese in Cilantro and Green Pepper Marinade)

Start preparation several hours in advance.
½ teaspoon salt
6 cloves garlic
½ medium green bell pepper, finely chopped
1 cut finely chopped cilantro (stems trimmed)
2/3 cup extra virgin olive oil
3 tablespoons wine vinegar
1 pound fresh cheese with a solid consistency, such as fresh mozzarella or mild goat cheese, cut in 1-inch cubes

Mash to a paste the salt, garlic, bell pepper and cilantro in a food processor. Stir in the oil and vinegar and taste for salt.

Gently mix the cilantro sauce and the cheese together in a bowl. Refrigerate several hours or overnight. Serve chilled or at room temperature.

Tostadas de escalivada y garum
(Roasted Vegetable Canapés with Anchovy and Olive Paste)

1 red bell pepper
A ¾ pound eggplant
1 small tomato, halved
Salt
Freshly ground pepper
1 tablespoon thyme leaves or ½ teaspoon dried
1 tablespoon fruity extra virgin olive oil
Eight to ten ½ inch bread slices cut from a long narrow loaf

GARUM
8 anchovy fillets, minced
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 teaspoons capers
12 cured black olives, minced
¼ teaspoon sherry vinegar
1 teaspoon extra virgin olive oil

Arrange the red pepper, eggplant, and halved tomato in a roasting pan and cook in a preheated 500 degree F oven, turning the pepper and eggplant once, for about 20 minutes, or until the skin of the pepper browns and separates from the flesh. Cool. Peel, core, and seed the pepper. Peel the eggplant, cut in half lengthwise, and scrape out most of the seeds, then dice the pepper and eggplant. Chop the tomato, removing as much skin as possible. Mix all the vegetables together in a bowl with salt, pepper, thyme, and the tablespoon of olive oil.

Arrange the bread slices on a cookie sheet and toast in a preheated 350 degree F. oven for about 5 minutes, or until crisp but not brown. Place the ingredients for the Garum in a mortar or mini processor and mash to a paste. Spread the Garum on the bread slices, spoon the vegetable mixture on top, and garnish with thyme.

Paella extravaganza

2007-08-20T09:38:00.000-07:00

I broke out my paella pan yesterday for a tapas and paella shindig out by the pool. Damian and his wife Kristin came up from Sunnyvale; we also invited Neil and Melissa, and the Baileys (Scott and Jennifer). Conversation centered around academic shop talk, with a little Air Force mixed in.

The paella turned out great, even though the clams didn’t open up, which is always distressing. I hate it when I’m sold dud clams. I also pulled a couple tapas from my trusty ¡Delicioso! book: queso fresco con mojo de cilantro, and tostadas de escalivada y garum. Garum is a pretty potent anchovy and olive spread that apparently dates back to Roman times. I found it to be too intense on its own, but it goes great on toast with escalivada, which is essentially a mixture of roast eggplant, peppers, and tomato.

I adapted my paella recipe from ¡Delicioso! a long time ago. I cooked the paella outdoors on a charcoal grill, which is a little less precise than doing on the stove, but more fun.

Paella mixta (Meat and seafood paella)

6 cups chicken broth
½ pound medium shrimp, peeled
2 ripe tomatoes
3 boneless/skinless chicken breasts, cut into 1-inch pieces*
Sea salt
6 tablespoons olive oil
½ pound Spanish chorizo (2 hot dog sized chorizo) cut into ¼-inch slices*
¼ pound piece of prosciutto, diced*
1 cup finely chopped green bell pepper
1 bunch scallions (green onions), chopped
6 cloves garlic, minced*
2 teaspoon paprika*
1 cup frozen peas*
¼ teaspoon crumbled thread saffron
3 cups short-grain rice*
12 small mussels
12 small clams
1 roasted red bell pepper

* Notes on ingredients:
Spanish butchers hack the chicken to pieces, bones and all. Using boneless is therefore less authentic, but less of a pain to eat. Do NOT use Mexican chorizo; it is not the same as Spanish chorizo. I actually bought “Spanish-style” chorizo from our local over-priced gourmet-organic market. Spanish jamon serrano is actually better than prosciutto, but it’s easier to find the Italian stuff. For the paprika, I used pimentón that I brought back from Spain. For the rice, short grain is preferred; I used Calrose, which is technically medium grain. Do NOT use long-grain rice. It is a travesty and evil (at least in paella. It’s fine in other things).

1. Cut the tomatoes in half crosswise. Squeeze gently to extract the seeds and with a coarse grater, grate down to the skin. Drain off any excess liquid (I actually did not drain off the liquid and it turned out fine. Call me crazy, but I think a little extra liquid doesn’t hurt).
2. Sprinkle the chicken pieces with salt. (Don’t be afraid to be generous).
3. Heat the olive oil in a paella pan. Stir-fry the chicken pieces about 10 minutes over high heat, until lightly browned on all sides. Remove to a plate.
4. Add the chorizo, ham, and shrimp, and stir-fry about 3 minutes. Take out the shrimp and set it aside. Stir the chopped green peppers, scallions, and garlic into the pan with the meats and cook over medium heat about 5 minutes. Stir in the paprika, then the grated tomato. Add the peas. Add the saffron. When this is all stirred together into a goop you can
5. Stir in the rice, combining it well with the mixture that’s already in the pan. Pour the chicken broth over the rice.
6. Return to a boil and simmer over medium or medium low heat for about 10 minutes. The dish should be no longer soupy, but there should be enough liquid left to continue cooking the rice.
7. Stir in the chicken and the shrimp and taste for salt. It should be well-seasoned. Arrange the mussels and clams over the rice WITH THE EDGE THAT WILL OPEN FACING UP (I once screwed up on this step; it doesn’t affect the flavor, but it looks silly and unattractive to pull the paella out with upside down mussels). Arrange the strips of roasted red bell pepper attractively over the top.
8. Close the lid on the barbecue and simmer for about another 10 minutes. Hopefully by this time the coals have burned down to the point that the cooking will be really gentle.
10. Remove from grill, cover loosely with foil and let sit another 10 minutes before serving.

Aioli Disaster

2007-08-18T10:42:00.000-07:00

Last night's dinner featured artichokes with homemade aioli. I think we need to find a new aioli recipe. This one was so intense, my mouth didn't know what hit it. Thing is, it wasn't the garlic that was overwhelming. I think it was the olive oil. It tasted like an over-the-top caesar dressing. Oh well, back to the drawing board.

Heroic Computer Dies To Save World From Master's Thesis

2007-08-15T23:23:00.000-07:00

Via Eric Mayer, from the Onion.

Choice sentence: "I guess when she got to the chapter about how the 'imitative tactility' used in the first two stanzas of 'Young Sycamore' can act as a 'neo-structuralist, pre-objectivist perlustration and metonymy' of the importance of anti-Episcopalian sentiment in the rise and fall of central West Virginian coal miners' unions, the computer just decided that something had to be done for the greater good."

The San Mateo County Fair

2007-08-15T20:17:00.000-07:00

Since today was such a beautiful, warm, summer day, we decided the moment was perfect for going to the fair. We live just 10 minutes away from the fairgrounds in San Mateo. Fairs, in areas such as this, are not as big a deal as in a place like Bishop. We didn’t even know the fair was going until we saw the lights of the Ferris wheel the other night as we drove out to see the meteor shower. When we walked in today I checked the schedule and found out that the fair had already been going almost a week.

We made sure to eat lunch before we went, thinking we would save some money that way, but we still plunked down a pretty penny, what with admission, rides, snacks, and whatnot.

Among the highlights: I test drove a Segway, once hyped as the wave of the future, but now reduced to a sight gag on Arrested Development.

They charged me $5 to ride the thing, when they should have been paying me to do it. The guy in charge swore up and down that Segways are selling like hotcakes, but I suspect that if they were I would be seeing more of them around town. Still, it was fun. It moves intuitively: lean forward, and it moves forward; lean back and it slows, and eventually starts moving backward. I suppose that if I could drop $5,100 and not miss it, it might be worth buying a Segway; but since I can’t, it isn’t, so I won’t.

I tried to get Gabe to go down the giant slide, but he refused, so I ended up going alone.

I did manage to get him onto a small rollercoaster and onto the Ferris wheel, where we admired the view.

Gabe also won some goldfish at the midway, and then we capped off the day with a trip to the pig races.

Hurricane Flossie?

2007-08-14T22:26:00.000-07:00

So are we naming hurricanes after cows now?

Democracy in Action

2007-08-14T11:42:00.000-07:00

The San Francisco Board of Supervisors recently voted to commend the administration of incipient Venezuelan dictator Hugo Chavez for its "commitment to democracy." Just thought I'd pass it along.

Perseid meteor shower

2007-08-12T23:53:00.000-07:00

Tonight we drove out to the hills away from the city lights to check out the Perseid meteor shower. It's supposed to peak tomorrow morning in the early pre-dawn hours; we went tonight at 10 p.m., so it wasn't as spectacular as it's going to be, but still quite impressive.

We told Gabe we would be going out to see the shooting stars when it got dark enough. He didn't know quite what that meant, but the anticipation was killing him. About 7:30 he pointed out that it was starting to get dark (it was barely even dusk yet) and we patiently said it had to be even darker. He was climbing-the-walls crazy, asking every few minutes if it was dark enough yet until finally, about 10 p.m., we climbed into the car and drove to a Vista Point on a ridge on the road to Half Moon Bay.

There were other star watchers there before us, and more folks came and went during the hour we were there. We spread our blanket on a patch of ground and stared into the night sky. It took awhile, but every so often in my peripheral vision I would see streaks of light, and then the pay off: a long streak, like a jet leaving a vapor trail, right in my direct line of sight. Every time a good one lit up the sky the crowd would ooh and ahh like watching fireworks on the Fourth of July.

It was chilly, and the three of us snuggled together to keep warm. Gabe saw one or two meteors, but soon was ready to go. I was starting to get cold, but Erika wanted to hold out a little while longer. Meanwhile, the crowd seemed to be getting younger and the overheard snippets of conversation more raucus. Not wanting to share space with the high school set, we finally packed up and left.

All told, a pleasant way to spend a summer night.

Empanada de pescado

2007-08-12T18:37:00.000-07:00

An empanada is a meat pie. The best empanadas I have ever had, bar none, were the ones I used to buy from a bakery in Ponferrada, a town along the Camino de Santiago in the northwest of the province of Leon. I lived in Ponferrada for five months, and I would frequently stop by the bakery close to the apartment where we lived with a local family and buy empanadas, either of chorizo or tuna. These empanadas were as big as a plate, with a delicious, savory Galician-style crust, more like bread than the puff pastry shell that is common in Madrid.

My empanadas are based on a recipe I found 20 years ago in a cheap paperback cookbook I bought in Segovia called Cocina facil para todos los dias. Cocina facil calls for merluza (hake), but I usually use canned tuna (believe it or not) and have attempted it with all kinds of fish, with varying degrees of success. Frequently, when we have fish, if there's enough left over I'll use it in empanada: halibut (which my sister brought back from Alaska), salmon, tilapia, snapper. I think it works best with the tuna, because the flavor doesn't get drowned out by the tomato sauce. Tonight I tried it with left over tilapia, and it turned out well, but since tilapia is a mild fish that tends to take on the flavor of whatever it's cooked with, I found that the flavor got buried by the other ingredients. However, I recall attempting an empanada once with leftover orange-glazed salmon, which did not turn out good at all. So, strong-flavored is good, but wrong-flavored won't work.

For the crust, I usually use pizza dough (1 pound), but I've also used puff pastry and even those canned croissants you get in the dairy section of the supermarket. Tonight I used puff pastry.

Empanada de pescado

1 package puff pastry

1 tablespoon olive oil

1/2 medium onion, diced

1/2 bell pepper, diced

1 8 oz. can of tomato sauce

salt

sugar

1 6 oz. can of tuna

red pepper flakes (optional)

1 hardboiled egg, diced

1. Thaw the puff pastry according to package directions.

2. Saute the onion and bell pepper in the olive oil until the onion is transclucent. Add the tomato sauce and simmer uncovered for a few minutes, then add salt to taste and a dash of sugar to bring out the tartness of the sauce.

3. Stir in the tuna, crushing slightly with the spoon so it is well integrated into the sauce. Add a dash of red pepper flakes, if desired.

4. Remove from heat and add the hardboiled egg.

5. Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

6. Place one sheet of puff pastry on a baking sheet and spread the tuna mixture evenly over it. Lay the other sheet of puff pastry over the top, crimp the edges with a fork and place in oven.

7. Bake for 25-30 minutes. Cool on wire rack, and serve.

This can be eaten hot or cold, although I prefer it at room temperature.

R.I.P Merv

2007-08-12T09:18:00.000-07:00

Long before My Big Fat Greek Wedding thought of inventive uses for Windex, The Man with Two Brains, gave us a serial killer who dispatched his victims by injecting them with window cleaner. The killer turned out to be Merv Griffin. The world may mourn him as the creator of Wheel of Fortune, but to me, he will always and forever be the Elevator Killer. R.I.P.

Buckley Update

2007-08-03T11:31:00.000-07:00

I finished Florence of Arabia last night. It's a good read, funny, but with a much more serious tone than his other books that I have read.

I found this op-ed from him that seems to clarify somewhat his political position.

Book Nook

2007-08-02T14:37:00.000-07:00

I have discovered Christopher Buckley.

Satire comes in many forms, but its overriding purpose is to ridicule folly wherever it can be found. It doesn’t hurt if it’s also funny. Christopher Buckley is very funny. His favored targets are Washington beltway insiders, PR flacks, politicians, and their enablers in the media. Buckley’s own political bias is not easy to discern, which is surprising, considering his pedigree: son of William F., graduate of Yale, member of Skull and Bones, former speech writer for George Bush I. One would peg him as an urbane, eastern establishment conservative, and one would probably be right, but how do you label someone who creates characters like the 30-year-old public relations specialist whose favored method for solving the social security crisis is voluntary suicide for baby boomers? Or the junior Senator from Massachusetts who is inspired to run for Congress after an epiphany experienced while tripping on acid at the Kennedy Presidential Library? Or the spokesman for the Religious Right, a preacher equal parts Jerry Falwell and Al Sharpton, a virginal 40-something tub of lard who dresses like Colonel Sanders, is always ready to go on camera to rail against America’s moral failings, but who nevertheless has a crisis of faith, gets involved with Russian prostitutes, may, in fact, have killed his own mother, but who in the end turns out to be an OK guy after all?

The novel in question is Boomsday, which satirizes self-indulgent baby boomers and the problems they have caused, along with those who would try to solve those problems. This seems to be a theme with Buckley: good intentions (especially governmental good intentions) often cause more problems than they solve. I’m currently reading Florence of Arabia, in which the title character is a U.S. State Department employee who is sent to a fictional Middle Eastern emirate to start a satellite TV station with the aim of airing programming that will lead to the emancipation of women in the Middle East. I’m at the point where her efforts are about to blow up in her face. Who is the target of this satire? The U.S. for trying to fix the Middle East, or the Middle East for needing fixing in the first place?

The book that started me on my Buckley kick was No Way to Treat a First Lady, in which a Hillaryesque first lady is put on trial for assassination when her philandering husband dies after a marital spat. The spat is precipitated by a presidential affair in the Lincoln bedroom with a dim-bulb socially conscious singer/actress (shades of Streisand?) who is prone to believing everything her press agent says about her efforts to bring peace to the Middle East.

Pure bliss.

Potato Salad, Spanish Style

2007-07-29T20:51:00.000-07:00

Ensaladilla Rusa
(Spanish Potato Salad) I’ve read cookbooks that call this a quintessentially Spanish salad, while others say it really is of Russian origin. Regardless of origin, you can find versions of this potato salad in virtually any bar in Spain.

The salad is made with prodigious amounts of mayonnaise, something a little off-putting in this age of cholesterol paranoia but necessary nonetheless; you can skimp on the mayonnaise, but the flavor won’t be quite right. Spaniards consider mayonnaise a gourmet-level sauce, instead of something you spread on sandwiches; consequently, most recipes that I’ve seen for ensaladilla rusa call for using homemade mayonnaise. I had a bad experience once in Madrid with some mayo that had turned, so I’ve never been anxious to try making my own. My friend Neil tells me that it’s pretty easy, though, so I suppose that some day soon I’ll give it a try. Meanwhile, I used mayonnaise from a jar for this recipe.

I’ve adapted this recipe from Cocina facil para todos los días, by Clara San Millán, (Madrid: Interediciones, 1984), with occasional glances at ¡Delicioso! by Penelope Casas.

1 pound new potatoes
2 carrots
½ cup petit frozen peas
1 6 oz. can of tuna
Chopped olives
Pimentos
1 hard-boiled egg, chopped
1 cup mayonnaise
1½ tbsp. lemon juice
Salt to taste

Peel the potatoes and carrots and cut into ½ inch cubes.

Place in a pot of boiling water and cook for about 10 minutes until done. Add the peas, then drain the vegetables and rinse in cold water; repeat a few times, then place in a bowl.

Add the tuna, olives, pimentos and egg.

Mix together the mayonnaise and lemon juice; the mayonnaise should have a creamy texture. Add to the vegetables and mix well. Add salt to taste. Let chill in the refrigerator until ready to serve.

In Spain this will often be garnished with more pimento and served with an extra dollop of mayonnaise on top.

Chicken and Red Peppers

2007-07-21T12:41:00.000-07:00

Penelope came through for me again with this delicious chicken dish that we made for some friends the other day. This one’s going into the regular rotation, although I will check my other Spanish cookbooks for other variations. Apparently this also works quite well with lamb and other meats. Adapted from ¡Delicioso!, by Penelope Casas, New York: Knopf, 1999.

Pollo al chilindrón
(Chicken Braised with Red Peppers)

A 3-3½ pound chicken (cut up into pieces, each breast chopped in half)
Salt
2 tablespoons olive oil
½ medium onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 tbsp coarsely chopped jamón serrano (or prosciutto)
½ tsp paprika
1 15 oz can of diced tomatoes, unsalted
2 large roasted red bell peppers, cut in strips
¼ tsp chile pepper flakes
Freshly ground pepper

Sprinkle the chicken pieces with salt.

Heat the oil in a shallow casserole and brown the chicken on all sides. Add the onion and garlic and cook until the onion has wilted. Add the ham, cook a minute, then stir in the paprika. Add the tomatoes, cook a minute, then mix in the roasted pepper strips, the chile flakes, salt and pepper. Cover and simmer 45 minutes. Serves 4.

Notes: I'm a little less insistant than the recipe when it comes to specific ingredients. The recipe calls for fresh tomatoes; since I didn't have time to scald and skin fresh tomatoes I used canned. It worked out well. The recipe also calls for imported or homemade pimientos; I bought a jar of roasted red bell peppers that worked just fine.

Garbanzo and Spinach Soup

2007-07-18T21:59:00.000-07:00

I tried this recipe on some friends tonight with good results. My friend Neal said “it tastes like Spain.” Since that was the general idea, I’d consider it a success. On a personal note, I don’t understand why some people persist in calling garbanzos “chickpeas.” “Chickpea” sounds dainty and ineffectual, whereas “garbanzo” is a robust name that rightly does justice to this wonderful bean.

Potaje de garbanzos y espinacas
(Garbanzo and Spinach Hotpot)

1 15 oz. can garbanzos
1 quart chicken broth
½ lb white potatoes, peeled and cut into chunks
1 lb fresh spinach, washed and chopped
salt
1 hardboiled egg
4 tbsp olive oil
1 thick slice French bread (cut into large cubes)
2 cloves garlic, peeled
½ medium onion, finely chopped
1 tbsp. chopped prosciutto (optional)
½ tsp paprika

Drain the garbanzos and rinse in a colander and set aside.

Heat the chicken broth in a large saucepan. When it comes to a boil, add the potatoes and the spinach; cover and simmer over low heat for about 15 minutes, or until potatoes can be pierced with a fork, but are still firm. Add the garbanzos.

Chop up the white of the hardboiled egg. Reserve the yolk.

Heat the oil in a small skillet. Fry the bread until crisp and golden on all sides, then remove from the pan and set aside. Turn the heat down to medium and fry the garlic in the same oil until golden, but not burned; remove and set aside. Slowly saute the onion (and prosciutto if using) until it starts to brown. Add the paprika, stir, then quickly add this mixture to the soup.

Crush the fried garlic and bread with the egg yolk in a mortar, then add to the soup along with the chopped egg white.

Check the seasoning. Cook uncovered gently for another 10 or 15 minutes, then serve. Serves two as a hearty one-dish meal or four as an appetizer soup.

Adapted from: The Heritage of Spanish Cooking, by Alicia Rios and Lourdes March, New York: Random House, 1992.

Big Al

2007-07-11T09:40:00.001-07:00

Via Camille Paglia's column at Salon.com, I found this link. Enjoy.

Huevos Flamencos

2007-07-10T21:39:00.000-07:00

While the wife's away, I've been experimenting with dishes I know she wouldn't be interested in. Tonight it was "Huevos a la Flamenca," a baked eggs and veggies dish from Spain. Here's the recipe, from The Best of Spain: A Cookbook, by Alicia Saacs, Collins: 1993. I'm a big fan of the Spanish way with eggs.

2 tbsp. olive oil
1 garlic clove, minced
1 medium onion, finely chopped
1/4 pound cured ham (serrano or prosciutto) cut 1/4 inch thick and diced
1/4 pound chorizo, cut in 1/4-inch slices
1 1/2 pounds fresh or canned tomatoes, finely chopped
1/2 teaspoon paprika
6 tbsp. dry white wine
1 tbsp. minced parsley
salt and freshly ground pepper
8 large eggs
8 asparagus spears, cooked
1/2 cup peas, cooked
1/4 pound green beans, cooked
1 pimiento, preferably freshly roasted

Heat the oil in a skillet and saute the garlic and onion over medium-high heat until the onion is wilted. Add teh ham and chorizo and saute 1 minute. Remove the chorizo with a slotted spoon and set aside. Mix in the tomatoes, paprika, wine, parsley, and salt and pepper. Cover, and cook ham mixture over low heat about 15 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees F. Divide the tomato mixture among 4 shallow individual casseroles, each about 6 inches wide. Gently slide 2 eggs into each casserole and arrange chorizo, asparagus, peas, beans, and pimiento on top. Bake until the eggs are just set, about 5 minutes in all; check for doneness after 4 minutes. Serve in the casseroles. Serves 4.

Note: I varied this slightly. I didn't have any ham on hand, so I doubled the chorizo and diced it instead of slicing it; I also left it in with the tomato mixture, instead of removing it. I also replaced the asparagus with canned artichoke hearts.

For those of us who teach Garcilaso

2007-07-07T13:15:00.000-07:00

Here's an interesting piece from Psychology Today on a variety of politically incorrect subjects, including why the male ideal of feminine beauty is what it is. Adds an interesting perspective for those of us who teach renaissance sonnets.

Happy 4th

2007-07-03T23:26:00.000-07:00

A few years ago I had a student who was interested to find out that I had lived in Spain. Upon finding out that I had returned home after two years, his only question was “Why?”

My only response was, “Because this is home.”

I like to think of myself as someone with an international perspective. I love traveling and living abroad. I adore Spain and would love to take my family there to live for a year or two.

But I love my own country more. This is home.

Happy Independence Day, everybody.

Gabe Quote of the Day

2007-07-03T20:16:00.001-07:00

"But I have to walk in the dirt; it's my job."

Quote of the Day

2007-07-02T18:59:00.001-07:00

"Hey, I know! If I dry myself off, I won't be wet anymore!"

-- Gabriel, having a bright idea after getting out of the pool.

PEZ Museum

2007-07-01T20:57:00.000-07:00

I'm going to try to get into the habit of blogging every day. In the meantime, I thought I would resurrect some earlier pieces. Here's one I wrote exactly two years ago about our visit to the PEZ Museum in Burlingame.

Gabriel has become a man of taste. He knows what he likes and is not shy about sharing his opinions. So when he found out we were going to the Pez museum he squealed in delight. Gabe is a man who loves his Pez.

The world's only Pez museum is located in Burlingame, just about 10 minutes to the south of us.

We were expecting something on a somewhat grander scale, so when we passed a tiny storefront with PEZ in big letters on the facade we had to do a double take. But there it was, wedged between a cake bakery on one side, and a music store on the other.

Once inside we found a wonderland dedicated to all things Pez. Every conceivable Pez dispenser is for sale there, including some you wouldn't think would be for sale. A door at the back of the gift shop led to the museum.

We paid our $3 a pop for a personal tour of the Pez museum itself. Inside you find yourself in a small, square room lined with display cases, showing off Pez dispensers of every conceivable variety. The owner of the store/museum, a lumbering man who bears a passing resemblance to Randy Quaid, showed us around. The man oozed enthusiasm for Pez and proved to be a repository of Pez facts and minutiae -- things you would never imagine needing to know, but once you do know them you are glad to have found them out.

Pez itself is an acronym for "pfefferminz," German for peppermint. As the name implies, it started out as a breath mint, and originally came in a little tin can, not unlike Altoids. One such can is on display in the museum. And even though all these years I thought Pez was as American as Certs, it turns out to be as European as Altoids. Pez originated, and is still produced, in Austria.

Later came headless dispensers that look somewhat like cigarette lighters. It wasn't until the 1950s that Pez began topping their dispensers with cartoon character heads. Since that time, some 600 varieties of character heads have been produced for the Pez dispensers. All 600 of them are on display at the museum (as of last week, we were told, that number went up to 608).

Our guide started collecting Pez 15 years ago. The Pez museum started out as a small display in a corner of his computer store. He soon realized that people were more interested in the Pez than in computers. He told us he hasn't sold a computer in 10 years.

Recently he added to his collection a piece he had been looking for his entire 15 years as a collector. He guided us to a large case with rows of Pez dispensers and pointed to one on the first row: a faded pineapple-headed dispenser wearing a jaunty pair of sunglasses. One of the most rare Pez dispensers in the world.

Pride of place, however, is reserved for the most rare dispenser in the world. A sort of Pez version of Mr. Potatohead, the Super Spiel was withdrawn very shortly after being introduced because it was felt that all its tiny pieces constituted a choking hazard (Erika chortled at this, saying that Pez itself constitutes a choking hazard; the Pez man was not amused). Only 20 of these pieces are known to still exist.

Speaking of Mr. Potatohead, the museum also boasts an impressive collection of vintage toys, including erector sets, viewmasters and the original Mr. Potatohead. Originally, the Mr. Potatohead pieces were smaller and sharper than what are available now because they had to be stuck into a real potato. If you didn't have access to a potato you could use a cucumber or a pear. Later in the 60s the plastic potato was introduced (you could even get a plastic cucumber).

After a pleasant while spent browsing through Pez we finally bought Gabe a couple Madagascar Pez dispensers and took our leave.

Regarding Paris

2007-06-27T18:33:00.000-07:00

Hilton, that is.

I keep seeing headlines about Paris's new "post-prison look." People keep talking as if she's done time in some maximum security lockdown, instead of a few weeks county jail. I'm sure county jail is terrible; I know I wouldn't particularly want to go there. But am I wrong in thinking there's a major difference between prison and county jail?

Someone a few weeks ago wrote that with this whole jail thing, we'll never be rid of her now. I shudder to think that he might be right.

Santiago II

2007-06-26T22:26:00.000-07:00

My plans to leave Santiago by the night train were frustrated by the simple fact that there were no more seats available. The man at the train station told me so, emphatically, several times: “no hay ninguno.”

You could tell he was frustrated with me. I hope he could tell I was frustrated with him. It wasn’t his fault, of course; he was just an officious RENFE man with no vested interest in helping a stranded foreigner; it was my own fault for deciding to wait until the last minute to buy my return ticket.

If this had been an episode of “Amazing Race,” and if I were 15 years younger, blond, and female, I might have been able to work a miracle. But in my present condition I didn’t think flirting would work with him, so I stalked out to find a place to stay. I resolved to try the first hotel I came across, which happened to be fairly close to the train station. It also turned out to be not only cheaper, but nicer than the place I’m staying in Madrid, except for the fact that the shower didn’t work and I ended up having to take a bath. Why did I wait so long to head back to the train station, you ask? Because it was Corpus Christi and I thought it might be interesting to see the procession.

Earlier when I had visited the cathedral I had picked up a flyer announcing that the Corpus Christi procession would take place that evening at 7:30. I thought, ok, I’ll hang out by the cathedral for awhile, take a few pictures of the procession and head over to the train station around 8. This was a foolish assumption. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me that I would have to stand through another mass first. Yes, actually, I do know why. Because when I went to the fiesta for my friend Joaquín’s pueblo in Asturias (San Román, if I remember correctly), they started with the procession and ended up at the church for the mass. Alas, that was not to be in this case. I had already been to one mass earlier in the day, but I wasn’t sure at what point in the service they would break for the procession, so I decided to stick it out.

About 90 minutes later I found out that the procession came at the end (I’m sure if I were Catholic I would have known that already), and then the procession left through the door opposite the one where I was standing. By then I was tired of standing, so I decided to hightail it over to the train station before I collapsed altogether. Despite my tiredness and non-Catholic ignorance, I found it to be a fascinating service. This one pulled out all the stops. The entire cathedral chapter was there in full regalia, including the archbishop. They had the organ going, which was pretty cool. I like a good organ. It sounded pretty great, which must mean they keep it in better shape than it looks. Not that it looks bad, it just looks old and a little spider webby.

After awhile I wandered toward the Portico de la Gloria, still under the illusion that I could make a quick escape and take pictures as the procession left the church, and got to witness a moment of high irony when the police loudly rousted a beggar out of the doorway at almost the exact moment that the archbishop was talking about the Christian duty to remember the poor.

There was a lot of singing and chanting in this mass, which I found quite moving. I was not the only one; at a key point in the service when the archbishop was chanting, some boneheaded pilgrim (I assume, from the shorts and general air of greasiness) moved out into the aisle and started doing what looked an awful lot like the antler dance (obscure SNL reference -- 1976, Lily Tomlin hosted). I saw a tie-died sixties relic dancing that way at a Santana concert once; I wouldn’t have been surprised to see the pilgrim hold up acigarette lighter and start flicking.

Then it was over, and I was off to the train station, only to find myself stranded. I could have looked at the bright side and chosen to see this as an opportunity to head back up toward the cathedral, eat tapas, and have some fun. But by that time I just wanted to climb into bed and sleep. Which I did.

Speaking of tapas, I found a cool tavern where I sampled an array of montaditos while I waited for the Corpus Christi mass to start. One nice thing about Santiago is that everything is cheaper than in Madrid. They had some cool montaditos for maybe 1.50 euros. One of the better ones was a piquillo pepper stuffed with tuna. There was also one with bacalao and roasted green pepper.

I have never been to the Pacific Northwest, so I might be way off base, but Santiago de Compostela strikes me as being somewhat akin to what I imagine that area to be like. Clouds moved through all day, so in a split second you could go from bright hot sun, to cool shade, to misty drizzle, to a downpour. I was sitting in the Plaza de Obradoiro working on a paper when random, fat drops began to splash near and around me. I quickly grabbed my things and got undercover with other refugees from the plaza. Within 15 minutes it was over.

Speaking of the Plaza de Obradoiro, there’s a tunnel-like walkway that open sonto the plaza where a bagpiper chose to stand and play, probably because of the acoustics. A bagpiper can be a cool thing, good for a picture. But gradually it dawned on me as I tried to work on my paper that an hour had gone by and the guy had not shut up. Two minutes of bagpiper for a photo op is tolerable; a bagpiper who won’t shut up is a tool of the devil. I’m just saying.

One last observation: Santiago de Compostela has the cleanest train station restroom I have ever seen. Kudos to the cleaning lady.