starters. and sides. part 2.

I want to be a foodie when I grow up.

Tartare. Simple.

There is something terribly simple about regular good quality tasty tartare. There is something terribly complicated about the recipe I am about to expound upon.

Any monkey can make a tartare. Let's examine the process: Finely chop raw meat or fish, add any array of seasonings, spices, and perhaps a bit of oil. There are a thousand different varieties of steak, tuna, salmon tartares, and although there are plenty of good and bad, let's not dwell on that too much here.

What I want to spend some time on here is something along the lines of salmon (and tuna) tartare served in cornets with creme fraiche. The degree of simplicity of the filling of these tiny little savory cones is obvious... the cornets themselves demand quite a bit of your attention. Let's be honest. This is not for the casual evening at home. If you are serving something that requires it own special tray for proper appearance, chances are you need a special occasion.

I would never have been inspired to try this if it hadn't been for my travels. I would never have tried this if it weren't for the perfect gift of The French Laundry cookbook I received for Christmas. I would never have been able to accomplish this if it weren't for my resourceful friend and her catering-company-owning boyfriend who had just the right tray and cone-shaped cups. And I would like to thank the academy... oh, ahem.

There are entire websites devoted to the real-life applications of Thomas Keller's recipes. There is no reason to repeat the recipe here.

All I really want to say is that it is all worth it. The tips of my fingers will never be the same after this recipe, and neither will my tastebuds. The pure piece-by-piece tasting of this little perfect cone is just worth every bit of the swearing and sweating and folding the batter in front of the open oven door. This recipe reminds you of what Thomas Keller has built his restaurants upon, all that is so so refined, while still so comfortable.

There is something really indulgent about this recipe. This is not comfort food. This is fancy food. It doesn't make you feel the same as the afternoon spent chopping and mincing and the satisfying stew that results from your efforts. Instead, you feel that maybe... in spite of yourself... in spite of your insufficient experience, and low-brow cookware, you could be a foodie too.

PS - I have still not joined a gym.

PPS - "Tartare my boy!" (That was for you Dad.)

starters. and sides. part 1.

Can someone turn back the clock? I am still in the rough draft stage of my new year's resolutions.

To do list:

- Be on time for work
- Don't be a gossip
- Use more fresh ingredients
- Join a gym and use it
- Go on or schedule more "date nights"
- Recycle more
- Organize and streamline my house and my routine
- Save more $
- Pay more attention to my dog
- Blog more


Uh oh. So far I have only accumulated a HUGE pile of recycling in my garage that I fully intend to take to the drop-off site.

The truth is that I don't believe in all that anyway. Resolutions are just a chance for you to feel extra guilty about falling into your old bad habits. I hate January. January is just the month when everyone wants to catch up and be good to make themselves feel better. Everyone is on their high horse. Everyone is on their blackberry. Everyone wants something from you... a project, a check in the box, a just-checking-in-on-that... Everybodys talking at me... I can't here a word they're saying...

I hate January. The truth is, that January is not a feel good month. The sky grows dark early every evening. Extra pounds and soft muscles from the holidays and beyond cling to your body the same as always. The realization of the generosity you may have not been able to afford during Christmas greets you in the form of your bank statement. Everyone already feels guilty with the added concern of the ever-so-slowly slipping list of new resolutions. Admit failure, dammit.

I don't really believe in the good luck properties of black-eyed peas. (Although that doesn't mean I don't eat them every new year's day.) I'd like to believe that I have a chance to improve on myself every day. And I do, really.

Perhaps I should just stop complaining and hit the damn "publish" button more to fulfill the last action item on my list. But let's start from the beginning. There will be a few stops and starts here, since it has been a while. There will be room for all of it... but let's take a break in between. You can't eat all this at once anyway.

I never liked barbecue as a child. I never liked the way that people smothered it in sauce. I never liked the way that everything on the plate had to touch. I never liked the unfamiliar elements of these composed potato salads and cole slaw. I never liked it when people spelled it like "BBQ". That is not a word, by the way - that is a collection of consonants.

I never really appreciated barbecue as a child, and perhaps I never had the right kind. There is a barbecue awakening going on in Texas as of late. The Texas Monthly list of top barbecue joints in our great state was published in June of 2008. I know lots of devotees who have tried a many places on the list. I know that there are a lot of deserving establishments out there... but I also know that the judges never visited Hard Eight. I know that it is technically a chain, with shops open in Brady and Stephenville too, but the Coppell addition is well worth a visit. Don't let the office park vibe surrounding it fool you. The smell of the pit will beckon you in from the parking lot.

As any good barbecue place should, this one revolves around the meat. The format is casual, so when you get your turn, you pick out your favorites directly from the pit and pay for it by the weight. Some measurements are predetermined. You cannot get half of a rib-eye or a pork chop, for example, and really, why would you want to? At this point, I have had a bite of all the selections and by far, the best item on the smoker is the ribs. The thready texture of their well-cooked and smokey rib meat is delightfully seasoned and juicy. Be ready to get your hands dirty. The other highlights worth mentioning: A perfectly cooked and sliced at your request sirloin, a pork chop to be reckoned with, chopped beef to contend with the rest of them, and really moist and juicy chicken.

Don't forget the sides. The grilled corn off the grill is warm and comforting, but skip the butter bath when it is offered. Try the cornbread salad just to see if you like it - Hard Eight claims that it could be a complete meal in itself. The potato salad is a step ahead the familiar yellow-twinged kind that you found at every family picnic, is it fennel seed or mustard? You tell me. If you are a fan of vinegar slaw, which I am, skip their cole slaw. I do not enjoy a creamy slaw without any acid.

Why is it that barbecue demands acid on the palate? There is nothing like that taste. I fulfill this need with the crispy cookiecutter bulk bought pickles - the completely man-made processed product that I never feel guilty about indulging in.

The perfect ending to this endeavor is the velvety texture and fresh taste of the banana pudding. All the other desserts pale in comparison. Bon appetit!

sick

hey.

I am not proud of it.

I am sick.

Addicted, even.

There is no excuse.

There are parts of me that are sick. My computer was a little bit ill. There are posts that await, and I was without my electronic diary. The conclusion of my culinary pilgrimage awaits, and my computer was having an affair with the geek squad at my favorite blue and yellow electronics store. A word to the wise, smit fraud is a nasty virus that you don't want to catch.

There is no answer, only reformatting. There is no escape, only the clean slate.

There is only the erased data and the empty landscape of my desktop. I love and hate clean slates. Who doesn't?

I am not proud of what I turn to. There is no excuse. At least I plated some of it. There are times when all of us need to hike down the avenue of our favorite meal for comfort... but here I am. It's okay - you have to see this side of me.

Here I am.

It's not hard. Tonight I stayed at the office until the sun went down, so that just opens the door. I really jump at the chance for an excuse. The drive home lead to the same familiar thoughts about the refrigerator. What was in it? Would any of it make a meal? Would any of it require effort to prepare? I just couldn't leave that excel spreadsheet until it was done. I just love and loathe the data all at the same time. I didn't mean for it to end up this way, but I didn't fight it either.

I told you I was sick. Then came the movie. Oh, this next part is not for the faint of heart. It was a romantic comedy. Halfway through the manchego you realize that he really loves his friend all along. There is an uncomfortable fifteen minutes where they may not end up together. Oh, dear.

But, there is some truth here, just like the movie.

The meal I ate tonight consisted of cheese, crackers, raspberries, grapes, dried apricots, cornichons, and prosciutto. A little old and cured and a little fresh and new. A little sweet and a little sour. Oh, and the half bottle of red wine. You have to have something to wash it all away.

I told you I was sick. It is not all pretty. Some days are gourmet and some days are not.

travelogue part 2

The roots...

Who was it, do you think, that first pulled a root out of the ground and said "I bet I could eat that"? They must have been ravenous.

There are some fruits and vegetables that are naturally appealing. Imagine the symmetrical pleasing shape and smooth texture of soybeans, for example. If you can't eat them, then I just might wear them for earrings. Berries, freshly picked, or even a tomato, bursting at the seams with summery moisture and acidic flavor - these seem to be natural sources of food. However, when you take something ugly and alien, and make it delicious, you have gone in another direction entirely.

There are plenty of seemingly odd foods in the grocery store now. But the practice of boiling, baking, or frying a potato is no longer pushing the envelope. Besides a double-dog dare, I don't know if there are many times where I have eaten something I wasn't quite sure about, before my trip. Before the pilgrimage, everything I have eaten resembled food. (Let's not talk about those chicken nuggets.)

As we all know, the first part of food that you experience is how it looks on the plate. That is why I prefaced my next anecdote with this nod to good looks. All the plates at Ubuntu were more than pleasing to the eye. They were artfully presented. They were also thoughtfully planned and masterfully executed. What may have looked like unfamiliar territory quickly flowed into a naturally progressing and complete meal.

The menu (with wines in italics)

amuse bouche
SHISO ice, regina olive oil, maldon salt
carta da musica, ROOTS, burrata

blackened MELON with BASIL & avocado
HOT PEPPER vinegar, sinskey’s kieffer lime, agua fresca
chateau lascaux rose, languedoc ,france, 2007

chickpeas a la catalan
red pepper tears, MINT, romesco, TOMATO toast
zaca mesa viognier, santa ynez valley, 2006

potato gnocchi with CIPPOLINI crème fraiche
GREY SHALLOTS roasted in their skin, LADY APPLE
havens albarino, carneros, 2007

SUMMER SQUASH scented with our vadouvan spice
FICOIDE GLACIALE, beer-battered BLOSSOMS
robert stemmler pinot noir, carneros, 2005

poached domaine de la chance egg with morels
porcini financier, NEW ZEALAND SPINACH, smoked corn
long meadow ranch cabernet sauvignon, napa, 2003

“o’ henry” peach poached with LEMON VERBENA
champagne sabayon, nectarine, wild fennel almonds
pope valley , late harvest chenin blanc, napa,2006

vegan carrot cupcakes with tiny candied CARROTS

baby lady apples with BAY LEAF caramel and our granola

I have never tasted shiso before, or baby lady apples. I have never thought to sample a leaf from the focoide glaciale plant, although that one I hadn't seen before. But it is really not about about what I didn't have before I got there, it is about what I carried away when I left. I tasted the hillsides in Napa through the innovative chefs at Ubuntu. The local farms that provide the ingredients also provided me with an unforgettable experience. I don't want to be shocked by my food, but I relish the rare experience of the new and different in an unforced environment. Naturally.

More dirt: Honorable mentions from the plant kingdom

1. The truly sumptuous truffle oil fries at Fog City Diner

2. The meatiness of the squash blossoms on the flatbread and balanced and crispy fried green beans at Coco 500 pleasantly surprised me

3. "I'm sorry this took so long, we had to pick some more mint from the garden" Southern Belle at Julia's Kitchen (vodka, lemonade, cucumber and MINT).

4. The briny and delicious olives from Oakville Grocery

5. The cucumber gimlet at Cortez

oh, travelogue - my culinary pilgrimage

Where do I even begin?

What was my latest journey, you ask?

Well, perhaps I have been distracted by the journey through the move. The journey into the boxes, and into the new house. The journey into fresh paint and sticky packing tape. The journey into a new kitchen... but that is another story. I am afraid to tell you... there has been little cooking in the new house. Just cooking up ideas and reading up on another journey.

San Fran. Frisco. What better place to begin a new chapter of the ravenous Texan? Arguably the culinary capital of the United States, San Fran is home to some of the best meals I have had all week (and all year!), so this is where I will begin this new portion of the blog. The part where I will tell you what I think of food that I did not cook.

Highlights from a culinary pilgrimage in descending order:

Hog Island Oyster Bar

Bouchon in Yountville

Ubuntu in Napa

Coco 500 in Soma

Delica in the Ferry Building

Fog City Diner

Rye

Julia's Kitchen at COPIA

The Ambassador

The Cortez Bar at the Adagio Hotel

Market Bar

The Clift Hotel (if I am cool enough)

the Sangria at Cha Cha Cha (skip the food)

How should I dissect this list? Shall I separate it into drink and food? They are both culinary journeys of course. Should I go through each meal in detail, recounting every taste and smell? Nah. I will tell you the parts that I savored.

The parts that made me close my eyes and say "remember this."

Those parts are here, and if you want more of them, you can look at them on this page where I have begun posting pictures.

Part 1

The icy cold and slippery saltiness of the oysters consumed on my trip may cause me to start looking for more coastal employment. What is brine anyway? Did you know that most oysters actually call more brackish water their home? Why do some grow to be so large and fatty, and some stay so neat and tidy in their shell? These are not the things I think about when I think about an oyster. I think about being a mermaid.

In another lifetime, if you believe in all that, I was a mermaid. I was not one of those animated mermaids that made friends with all the fish. I was a mermaid who went looking through all the oyster beds for every last one. No pearls, tabasco, cocktail sauce, or crackers, thanks. Just Kumamotos, Sweetwaters, maybe some Malpeques. Just make sure its cold and that there is a slice of lemon lying around somewhere. I have not always been a purist. I have also not always written about the food I eat. You learn when you dissect.

Plenty of peeps that came before me have given their shout out to the oyster:

I don't know if he was an aficionado, but Lewis Carroll made an impression on me as a young oyster pursuer. Perhaps it was the anthropomorphic oysters that pleaded for their life with no success against such foes as the walrus and the carpenter. What a sad and happy tale all at the same time.

"An oyster leads a dreadful but exciting life..." - MFK Fisher

"Secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster." - Charles Dickens (from A Christmas Carol)

"He was a bold man that first eat an oyster." - Johnathan Swift (coming from him!)

So, I will not be so bold as to say that I am one of the founders of the Oyster Fan Club. I know there are many who have come before. I am just standing in line, waiting for my membership card.

Perhaps it is all the sea that we cannot drink that is filtered through this perfect specimen of

muscle. Perhaps it is the noble life it leads to get us there, pumping and pumping...filtering and syphoning to get us to that sweet and salty kiss, so creamy and crisp all at the same time. Maybe that is why I adore them so.