rich in so many ways

A few thank yous are in order:

1. Thank you, Anonymous, for the peonies.


I felt like a bride walking home through the rain with that bouquet Saturday morning,


and the honeymoon is not over: I get such pleasure every time I pass the feather-petaled pink and white pom-poms spilling abundantly from a vase on my kitchen table.


2. Thank you to everyone who donated for the bowl-a-thon: With your generous support I was able to raise over $500 for VARF. Which brings me to...

3. Thank you to my lovely husband, who served as my pinch bowler on Saturday night when I realized I have more work this week than I can possibly do.

This photo is of someone else's lovely husband, taken by my own.

He bowled, I stayed home and proofread. Which brings me to...

I have more work this week than I can possibly do, so I probably won't be posting much. But the yachtsman has promised a Recommends—let's all thank him in advance, shall we?

good things

1. Asparagus with walnut crema. Remember asparagus with walnut crema? I posted about it a year ago today, and after that went on to make it approximately twice a week until asparagus went out of season. If you came to my house for a meal last spring or early summer, you ate asparagus with walnut crema. And you liked it. Not just because I told you to, but because it's really, really good. It's my favorite aspragus dish, in fact, or perhaps asparagus is my favorite vehicle for walnut crema (which I've also eaten on toast, vegetables, and the end of my finger). Whatevs, just make some. This weekend, please.

2. Personal assistants.

I don't make him sit back there, he does it by choice, probably to avoid doing any work.

3. Husbands.

Mine cleaned the apartment last night while I went out for (a delicious) dinner with the lovely Li-Ry. If you had any idea how filthy our house was, you would be very, very impressed.

Happy weekend, bitches.

and we're back

Well, sort of. I'd planned to begin the first full week of the first year of the new decade with my ducks in a row: house cleaned, office organized, laundry done, bills paid, e-mails replied to, hair washed, dog groomed, fridge and cupboards stocked. But my house and office are a mess, my dirty clothes still in the suitcase, my inbox full, the pot of gruel I cooked to sustain me this week inedible. I haven't showered in days, let alone brushed the teeth and cleaned the ears of my dog.

So. We really are back: Back to exactly where we were when I left off last year, spending more time with my fleece-clad ass on the couch than my nose to the grindstone.

A toast, then, to the couch.

Wait. Do you need something to fill your glass? A nice wine to sip while you sit on your couch, toasting your couch? (God, I love my couch. It's an oasis. An oasis of denial and procrastination, but a nice place nonetheless.) Because I have a recommendation. Not for a specific bottle of wine—Couch Jedis are too lazy by nature to be oenophiles (though we do have strong opinions about what's good and bad)—but a recommendation for where to find wine recommendations.

For awhile now I've relied on the wine reviews of a guy called Tuta who writes for a local wine shop. And now Tuta has started his own wine bl*g, which means that I can sit on my couch drinking wine and reading about wines I hope to one day buy and drink while sitting on my couch. (It's called the circle of life, people.)

The yachtsman and I are not big spenders—we rarely buy a bottle for ourselves that costs more than $15, and we must love people very, very much to bring them a bottle that costs more than $20. But even when the wine Tuta's reviewing is out of my price range, I enjoy his writing. He provides interesting historical background and describes food pairings that make me salivate, but what I like best is the way he makes the often-stuffy language of wine accessible: "The taste is lightly herbal—a sprig of juniper, a crab apple, a pine cone—like things a child might bring home from a long walk." Because I can rarely find the crab apple or the pine cone in a glass of wine, but I think I could taste the treasures found on a long walk.

Cheers, then, to the couch and to the dirty floor on which the couch sits. To the wine we'll drink, to the dog's unbrushed teeth, to resolutions and good intentions. To things changing, and to things staying the same.

holiday dessert wishlist item #3: the parade of peppermint and chocolate marches on

Did you know I have folders full of pages pulled from Martha Stewart Living, tasteful crafts I will never do and recipes I will never make? Does this confirm your suspicion that I'm a hoarder? Because I think of myself as an archivist. An archivist with a sore, throbbing finger from holding a pen while proofreading: 11 hours today, 9 yesterday, 10.5 on Saturday ... shall I go on? Frankly, I'm not sure I have the strength.


Perhaps one of these Chocolate-Peppermint Cookies, from the December 2008 issue of MS Living, would revive me. Or perhaps not. On the one hand, I don't really like white chocolate; on the other, they're so pretty! And they feature what is apparently one of my very favorite flavor combinations (right up there with chocolate and peanut butter, two great tastes that taste great together).

But this is a dessert wishlist, so I don't have to be practical (see four-layer collapsing cake, below) or worry that I don't like one of the main ingredients. I'm never going to make these cookies—they look nearly impossible, and I can barely type with this gimpy finger, let alone make cookie dough, roll it out, cut it, bake it, melt the chocolate, dip the cookies in the chocolate, and sprinkle the whole mess with candy bits.

My only hope is that they will appear on my countertop like Jesus was born to Mary in the manger, a sort of virgin baking event wherein I sit chastely in my kitchen doing nothing but end up with a plate of cookies. A real Christmas miracle.

it's good to be home

We had a very busy first few days back in Vermont, and then a wonderfully lazy weekend. I'm still relying mostly on the kindness of strangers, relatives, and friends for food, though on Friday night I made this: so simple yet surprisingly delicious, well matched with spicy greens dressed in a little lemon and olive oil.

Other good things:

My pretty new Sarah Ryan bag.



Sunday morning tea and bagels.



The Skye Gyngell Cauliflower Soup With Gorgonzola and Pickled Pear Relish I hope to make this week, though I think I'll need a dinner date, as the yachtsman is going to be out of town and this looks too rich for me to eat a pot of alone.


Not that I couldn't eat a pot of it alone. I just wouldn't shouldn't.

names have been changed to protect the innocent

There were not a lot of kids on the street where I grew up. Most of our neighbors were older couples, their children already grown and out of the house. Other than my sister Mojie and me, there was Lynn, whose parents left her most of the time in the care of a timid, elderly woman who Lynn said was a maid but I think might have been her grandmother; Kerrie and Mousie Hoff (Mousie claimed to be half girl, half boy, half mouse), smart, homely, nerdy girls who have probably since won Nobel prizes; and a houseful of boys who did NOT play with girls. So for a couple of summers before Lynn was sent to reform school, Lynn, Kerrie, Mousie, Mojie, and I spent most of summer vacation in each other's company.

Lynn was pure evil, so she was the ringleader, obviously, and she basically turned each summer into a season of Survivor by starting a "club" as soon as school let out and then having the rest of us do "initiation rites" for the next three months. Like Survivor, there were shifting alliances, challenges, and tribal councils in the form of "club meetings" held under a bush in Lynn's backyard. Lynn would exclude at least one person from each club meeting, frequently changed passwords and secret handshakes so no one knew who was in and who was out, and got the rest of us to do her bidding all summer, which usually involved doing ring-and-runs to the neighbors and terrorizing the elderly woman who may or may not have been Lynn's grandmother. There was also the occasional game of kickball.

Ever since then I've been a little wary of clubs (and, frankly, girls), but when I read about the Martha Stewart Cupcakes Club, I wanted to join. Here's how it works: A bunch of bakers from all over the country make a recipe once a month from Martha Stewart's Cupcakes cookbook and then bl*g about it and post photos on Flickr. It's a winning combination: Martha Stewart, cupcakes, food bl*gs. If not for the fact that I don't bake, I would bribe, claw, or backstab my way into that club. Instead, I'm starting my own, which is what I should have done back in the summer of 1982.

My club is called the Mark Bittman Minimalist Club. I am the club president, treasurer, and sole member. The club rules are very strict: Every Wednesday there's a new Mark Bittman column, recipe, and video on the New York Times website. That's the strict part. Mark Bittman has to post a recipe EVERY Wednesday or I will NEVER show him the secret club handshake.

The less strict part is the part where I make the recipe he posts. I do this most weeks anyway, because his recipes are usually simple and quite delicious. I do not make his recipes when they involve mushrooms (blech) or chicken (nasty). I also do not make his recipes when I'm tired, working a lot, or too busy watching TV. And I won't necessarily post my attempt at his recipe the same week the recipe appeared, because that's asking a lot of someone who barely survived Lynn's summer club, was kicked out of Girl Scouts, dropped out of high school, and can't work a 9-5 job.

This recipe, from September 25, is a southwestern, autumn version of the classic summer potato salad. I have one word for you, people: yum (that both describes this dish and may or may not be the secret club password: YOU WILL NEVER KNOW). The potatoes are sweet and creamy, the dressing tangy and spicy, and, unlike regular potato salad, this is hearty and complex enough to serve as a main dish.

Roasted Sweet Potato Salad
From Mark Bittman's Minimalist column in the New York Times.

3 or 4 sweet potatoes (about 1½–2 pounds), peeled and cut into 1-inch chunks

Or not cut into 1-inch chunks.

1 large red onion, chopped
½ cup extra virgin olive oil
s&p
1–2 tablespoons minced fresh hot chili, like jalapeño
1 clove garlic, peeled
juice of 2 limes
2 cups canned black beans, drained


1 red or yellow bell pepper, seeded and finely diced
1+ cup chopped fresh cilantro.

1. Heat oven to 400 degrees. Put sweet potatoes and onions on a large baking sheet, drizzle with 2 tablespoons oil, toss to coat, and spread out in a single layer. Sprinkle with salt and pepper.

Roast, turning occasionally, until potatoes begin to brown on corners and are just tender inside, 30 to 40 minutes.

2. Meanwhile, put chilies in a blender or mini food processor along with garlic, lime juice, remaining olive oil and a sprinkle of salt and pepper. Process until blended.

I immersion blendered mine in the immersion blender container.

3. Put warm vegetables in a large bowl with beans and bell pepper; toss with dressing [this at first seemed like a lot of dressing to me, so I didn't add it all, but the potatoes absorb it, so add it all or you will not be invited to the next club meeting] and cilantro. Taste and adjust seasoning if necessary. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Yields 4 servings if you are feeding sweet-potato-eating mastadons: I have enough of this to eat until I'm 40.

look!

It's jshu!


Dangling...


...from a banner hung over the side of a bridge in Pittsburgh!


He's crazy! He's also the guy on the far right (I think).

When's the last time you were arrested for civil disobedience committed on behalf of our planet? Huh? I thought so. Me, too.

my little cupcake & lucky lady design

Lemon raspberry & malted milk ball cupcakes

Although I cannot claim to have made these cuties, not eating them for long enough to take a few photographs was a pretty major accomplishment. But within seconds of snapping the last picture, they'd been devoured. Please note the use of the passive voice. Who devoured them? Who knows? Who's counting? Have we met? Excuse me.

Please note the use of the active voice: Michelle made these cupcakes. Michelle is My Little Cupcake, and she is at the Williston Farmers Market every Saturday (except this coming one). She posts the flavors she's going to sell that week on her bl*g ahead of time. Get there early: She usually sells out by one o'clock.

And though not edible, Mojie's jewelry is another good reason to visit the Williston Farmers Market on Saturdays.

The littlest sass modeling a pendant

Her pendants and rings and earrings and magnets are so pretty you might want to eat them, but they'll look better around your neck or in your ears than in your mouth. And the jewelery might distract from the cupcakes you're wearing on your thighs.

In addition to cupcake thighs, I apparently have old lady hands

the gfd guide to san francisco

We were eating until the very end, munching on tiny, sweet champagne grapes from the farmers market in the cab on the way to the airport at 4:30 a.m. (damn you, yachstman, and your early-flight-booking ways).

Here's a list of my favorite San Francisco, food-related places, as well as a couple of other spots I visit whenever we're in town (feel free to add your own in the comments; we're still looking for the best taqueria, if anyone has an opinion).

Food
There are lots of good, famous restaurants in San Francisco -- we had a great meal at The Slanted Door, the yachtsman's favorite is Jardiniere, my dad loves Gary Danko -- all of which you can read about in a guide book or at chowhound or tablehopper. If you're like me, you'll pick one of these places for a fancy night out, and spend the rest of your time eating Mexican or sushi or at A16, then stopping somewhere on your way home for dessert. The places listed here are the ones I want to visit not every few times I'm in the Bay Area, but on every single visit.

A16. If there are two of you, order four starters. If there are four, order twelve. Order a pizza or a pasta or an entree to share -- they're as amazing as what comes first, but you'll be so full on things like mozzarella burrata with olive oil, sea salt, and crostini; arugula salad with nectarines, fennel, walnuts and housemade ricotta salata; roasted asparagus with walnut crema and pecorino tartufo; caponata of tuna conserva, housemade friselle, early girl tomatoes, cucumbers, capers, and basil, that your entrees will come home in a body doggie bag.

I'm not an ice cream freak, but we went twice to Bi-Rite Creamery. The first night I got the brown sugar with ginger caramel swirl, the second I got the salted caramel. The yachtsman? Vanilla and balsamic strawberry.

Brown sugar ice cream with ginger caramel swirl from Bi-Rite Creamery

(If you're looking for a bountiful grocery store or prepared foods to eat in Dolores Park or on the plane on the way home, check out Bi-Rite Market across the street from the creamery, or Rainbow Grocery, the ultimate co-op.)

Dottie's True Blue Cafe was in my original San Francisco post, it'll be in my next, and so on. Every. single. time. we go to San Francisco, I'll be eating breakfast at Dottie's. Twice. I suggest you do the same. Do you need a reason? 1. Perfectly cooked, crispy, salty home fries. 2. Thick slices of buttermilk-dill toast. 3. A creamy frittata with avocado, tomato, jalapenos, feta, and corn. 4. Black bean cakes with eggs cooked your way and griddled cornbread. 5. Seriously, do you need FIVE reasons to go there? Just jump on a plane and go get in line already.

When the yachtsman worked for Greenpeace, he often stayed around the corner from El Metate. I can attest to the fish tacos, the yachtsman can speak to the carnitas. Both very, very good. They don't have a website, but you can find them at 2406 Bryant St., between 22nd & 23rd, in the Mission.

The Ferry Building Farmers Market made me ugly with jealousy. I wandered through those stalls and I coveted like those grapes and pluots and tomatoes and French yogurt were my neighbor's wife. I want to move to California.

Things I drooled over at Miette: homemade graham crackers; dark chocolate cupcakes with meringue frosting; gingerbread cupcakes with cream cheese frosting; burnt caramel coated with dark chocolate and topped with gray sea salt; pots de creme in pretty glass containers; homemade marshmallows; little pannacottas topped with tiny bits of chopped strawberry ... I could go on. What I bought: two (delicious) macarons.

Chocolate lavender macaron for me, vanilla macaron for the vanilla chris milla.

Popalote was highly recommended, we've been there on several visits, and it's a good taqueria, but here's the thing: they have vegetarian chorzio on the menu, I'm looking for lard in my refrieds.

Samovar is a tea lounge with several locations, though their original spot in the Castro/Mission is my favorite. I especially like to go for breakfast: the rice bowl with tofu and poached eggs (you're just going to have to trust me on this) is delicious, and I'm such a fan of the downy sprout white tea, I brought some home.

I don't know why it's good, but it is: the Egg Bowl at Samovar.

According to the yachtsman, Sanraku has the best sushi in San Francisco. I liked it, too, but according to the yachtsman, spicy tuna rolls don't qualify as sushi, and my opinion doesn't count.

Tartine, for baked goods and pressed sandwiches and a nice cup of tea. Both of the male employees who were there when I was had huge handlebar moustaches that may have been ironic, but they sure weren't pretty. Stare instead at your croissant.

Etc.
Places to go between meals.

If I were rich, I'd open a bookstore. But I'm not, so instead I spend my time in other people's bookstores. One of my favorites is Green Apple Books, in the Richmond.

Kabuki is a Japanese bath house in, well, Japantown. Pay $22 for all-day access to the baths (and sauna and steam room) or splurge and get a massage, too. I got my first-ever shiatsu massage this past visit and the massage therapist actually slapped me. In a good way. But if you're not into that kind of thing, go with the Swedish.

Kinokunia Bookstore is heaven for anyone into pens. That's right, pens. They can be a fetish. And I'll admit it, I'm a pen fetishist. I originally visited Kinokunia because they're the only store in the U.S. that sells my favorite pen in the world, the Pilot Hi-Tec C. I've since found the Pilot online, but I still visit Kinokunia every time we're in San Francisco and spend at least an hour browsing. Japanese pens, pencils, erasers, notebooks, and other office supplies are much cooler than anything they make in the U.S. So if you're into pens, or you think you might be but aren't sure because your experience so far has been with Bics and your granddaddy's fountain pen (borrrrring), check this place out. And now I will stop talking about pens.

Rare Device is a little hipster/craftster store that's been curated more than it's been stocked. Lots of pretty (but not too pretty) things.

Disclaimer: I'm not from San Francisco, and other than a brief stint living with a drag queen/performance artist and a leather daddy/phone sex worker in SOMA before SOMA was a neighborhood with its own name (let alone its own acronym), I've never spent more than a week in the city, so there's obviously lots I'm missing. But those are a few of my favorite things.

not too good to be true

I don't how or why, but they had Vermont strawberries at the co-op. I mean, sure, Alburg is up north, and it's been a cold-ass summer, but strawberries in mid-August? And where have they been since mid-July? And why am I still asking questions and not eating strawberries?

reasons for and advantages of reading

I could go on at length about how much I love the stories in this book, but the New York Times is more eloquent than I am.


I'm just going to order you to recommend that you buy it. These stories are like perfect summer afternoons: Even knowing that they'll end, you hope against hope that you'll be allowed to live inside each one forever. And when they're done you feel both sated and wanting, like you've been given a gift and are greedy for more.

Buy it. That's an order.

[martha stewart] living high on the hog

If I were Martha Stewart, which I basically am, I would have a section of this bl*g called "Good Things."

Good Things
The littlest sister crocheted me a scarf, which I predict will be an integral element of my Couch Jedi outfit this winter.



New vegetable brush: I no longer have to use my fingernails to scrape the dirt from carrots.



Pork to the motherf*cking chop.

That's right, bitches! We are Americans in this house. We eat pork chops for dinner. Meat and motherf*cking potatoes. We listen to Wayne Brooks or whoever and hunt moose on the weekends and voted for John motherf*ckin' McCain. There was corn. From the motherf*ckin' Heartland. Of America.

Am I reminding you of Martha motherf*ckin' Stewart right now?

I thought so.

Here's the story, dear readers. I ran into my friend Jonathan a couple of weeks ago at the farmers market, and he recommended pork chops from Boucher Family Farm, where, according to Jonathan, "their pigs live happy piggy lives until they practically beg to be put down and butchered so we can enjoy their wonderful porkiness." Which is how I like my pork: happy. To die.

This past Saturday, I followed Jonathan's suggestion. Because I've never cooked pork (or, with the exception of a chicken-roasting debacle a few years ago when I was still a leftie vegetarian Democrat, meat) before, I asked the nice lady at Boucher if she had any pork-cooking suggestions. She recommended Shake-n-Bake. Which, frankly, is a little more Sarah Palin than Martha Stewart, so I e-mailed Jonathan for advice. He had numerous brilliant ideas. I decided on "heat a sturdy pan, film with olive oil, sear both sides of the chops for about 4 minutes total, reduce heat, add about a 1/2 cup of liquid (wine, sherry, chicken or beef broth), cover and cook for 10 - 15 minutes turning the chops once or twice, add additional seasonings (lemon or vinegar, parsley or garlic or shallot, pepper and salt, apples or dijon mustard, a touch of worcestershire sauce -- you get the picture). You can also remove the chops and then reduce the sauce if you want it thicker."

And then I decided I had too much work to do any cooking, so I put my Texas-born husband on the case and proofread while he made me some pork chops. And roasted potatoes. And fresh corn. And motherf*ckin' blueberry buckle for dessert.

Worth clearing the motherf*ckin' table for.

Pork, corn, potatoes, blueberries, butter, flour, and tapwater: All from Vermont.