morsels & sauces

Where has March gone?  Where is April going? I cannot keep track of this spring and it seems to be slipping away. For example, I made this duck confit (post on how to make duck confit itself, here ) and then I made this pasta and then two months passed and now we're here .  And here seems to be spring break, our move to Richmond (oh, Oakland how we already miss you), and a life lived out of boxes, which admittedly, we have been doing lately.  I have come to appreciate the well-labelled box, and to shake my fist at my past self who labelled far too many boxes "Miscellaneous."  Those are the most frightening boxes. Until we have a full kitchen, I am resurrecting old dinners that I haven't posted and am subsisting on pickles and popcorn. Both of which I love. Don't judge. I just love salt, okay?  Maybe I'll just get a salt lick for the new kitchen. It could happen. However, if you're feeling fancy (and we both know you and I li...

Oh people, I made this dense chocolate tart for Halloween Night, and it was decadent and rich, if a bit boozy. Who wouldn't want that as a descriptor, either for themselves or for their desserts? As I mentioned in a recent post , I have been nursing one doozy of a cold, so I have not been able to stay atop my cooking, but I did make this tart for Halloween Night. We surrounded ourselves with family at one set of my in-laws houses, and in between bites of a dinner, we answered the door as children pleaded for candy. Favorite costume: adult male dressed as a banana with a small child dressed as a monkey on his shoulders. When dessert time came around, we sliced up this rather rich tart. We did have to make a recipe and a half because I did not have a 9 1/2-inch tart pan. I did, however, have a much larger square pan and in-laws who were willing to take the leftovers off our hands. People, I am not happy with the fact that I have gained five pounds since the beginning of ...

One hundred and thirteen years ago, John Steinbeck was born in Salinas, California , on February 27. And as you know, I feel a special kinship to Steinbeck.* Thus, in honor of California's Golden Boy, last week I decided to crack open a little cookbook, The Steinbeck House Cookbook , that I picked up from Steinbeck's childhood home . One can have lunch in the parlor and afterwards wander among the rooms (where you can see in a curio cabinet a bottle labeled "Steinbeck's Whiskey." When I toured Melville's home in Massachusetts, the features to admire included "Melville's Pencil." I knew John and I would be much closer than Herman and I.  I digress.) *(Quick recap: in 2011, I had the opportunity to spend three weeks in Monterey studying Steinbeck's works with some pretty darned amazing scholars as part of an NEH grant. In addition to completely falling in love with Steinbeck, I met some amazing people whom I still call my friends, ...

This summer seems to be one of abundance. These giant, globular tomatoes are almost overwhelming our CSA box (grapes, eggplant, and green beens are straining against the cardboard seams this year as well). While we're smack in the middle of an extreme drought here in California, the tomatoes are plumping up into sheer perfection. The zucchinis seem to be almost atomic. And as it happens when I feel the abundance of vegetables, I turn to the tried and true Ottolenghi to guide me. Indeed, Ottolenghi serves up many a carnivore's delight; however, I find that Ottolenghi prepares vegetables in usually interesting and always delicious ways.  This little number is a variation of the Palestinian salad, mafghoussa (which simply means "mashed").  And while it ain't much to look at, this sweet, creamy, savory, little salad that can be served as an opener, a side dish, or as a spread on some well-toasted bread.  Quick recommendation:  chop or mash the veggie...

This has not been the best of weeks.  A week ago on Saturday my aunt died.  My mother called early in the morning to tell me, and such an announcement was not a surprise; my mother's oldest sister had been diagnosed with cancer a while back, and this past summer, I said my goodbyes.  That July, my thin aunt declared that she hoped to make it to August, when her granddaughter got married, and once she made it to that late-summer wedding, we all dared to hope that she would make it through Thanksgiving.  Once early December came and she turned 81, we all pulled for her to make it through Christmas and New Year's.  My aunt had determination. About a year ago, my aunt discovered that I loved to cook--something that probably startled her, given my mother's own anti-cooking stance.  She asked my mom to give me her recipe box, which my mother mailed to me.   The box is full of cake and cookie recipes (peanut brittle, pumpkin cookies, coffee cake, powd...

Well, hello there spring.  Nice to see you. Asparagus practically shouts spring. Growing up, I was not a fan of asparagus.  I actually have a very vivid memory of eating asparagus soup at my aunt and uncle's house in Utah.  The last one left at the table, I was not allowed to watch television or read a book until I had finished my soup, but I thought the taste was bitter.  What person would like this soup?  In my eight-year-old mind, I was convinced that everyone else must have politely suffered through the soup just so they could get up from the table.  But no one was fooling me.  And I refused to eat it.   I am not sure if my father came to rescue me after everyone had gone to the living room or if I just dumped the soup into the garbage disposal.  All I know is that I most certainly did not eat it. I understand now that my pre-pubescent palate was hardly refined.  I like to remind myself that children have conside...