Cleaning house, inside and out. A handful of swiss chard; and an excuse to scrape out the last bits from a few spice jars. Fenugreek, star anise, garlic, chili pepper. Anyone have a favorite lamb curry recipe?
This was really an artless crisper dump into the roasting pan, but two of my five readers have pestered for a recipe. Disgorge refrigerator contents (old brussels and older butternut); toss with oil, salt, pepper; burn at 350 degrees; top with cherries, almonds and bacon.
Juice de season: apple, fresh ginger, carrot, cinnamon.
My figs are finally fruiting, and they are palest pink.
A dove is nesting our avocado tree, inches from the dinner table on the deck. To judge from our conversation, it may as well be Kate Middleton.
And as the eggs prepared to hatch, casual fare (mixed grill) and neon claws for the 237th birthday.
I tried a hack of the excellent chocolate dessert at Greens and Vines, by combining equal parts coconut butter and cacao powder with a little sugar (they use agave) and chilling in a springform pan. Fudgelike, featherlight and delicious– and such an antimatter-dense concentration of calories and dollars that NASA rang while we were finishing dessert.
Crisper cleanout: Summer-perfect Spanish goat’s milk cheese with pink grapefruit and minced shallots in a light robe of EVOO and white wine vinegar.
Mitica capricho de cabra cheese.
Watercress “pesto” to brighten a vegetable paella and Spanish chicken.
Last year I discovered, while visiting France, that my father’s sister is a wonderful cook. We cajoled her into preparing a Parisian supper on this visit to Honolulu. Hors d’oeuvres: marinated baby white bittermelon from Meimei’s vine; with almonds, plum tomatoes, and okra.
Home- and hand-made Granny Smith apple sauce.
- Wash and chop apples. (I left the peels on)
- Put them in a big pot with a little water
- Bring everything to a boil, then simmer until completely soft.
- Run apples through food mill.
Snapshots from the new year. A schoolyard hen.
Backyard carpeted with avocado petals after February’s high winds.
Gao in homeroom. Running a knife through the quivering cake– still warm– made me realize I have not dealt with this stuff since New Haven. The cold metal PO boxes; the Scotch tape; the careful penmanship from a great-aunt’s hand; the leathery puck. Nian-nian-gao-sheng: to raise oneself up each year.
30-ish candles and a 1983 Napa, sentiment atop sediment. (That’s the glass!)
And now the kapu season. Squidless and sober until I return from Hilo.