going back to bread and back to childhood

I remember when my mother would make bread when I was growing up. She would make these "buns" (and would call them so, in all its Anglo pronunciation) that were perfect for sliders. She mostly made them of whole wheat and with lots of oat bran, but sometimes they would be sweet, glazed with butter and sprinkled with sugar, como un pan dulce.
I remember when she would make a table with the buns, ham, cheese, mayo and other fixings, inviting us to make our own snack. She was one of those mothers who, despite having a really protective streak and watchful eye, never really over-mothered us. We (my siblings and I) would not have anyone to blame but ourselves if our laundry was not done, or if we didn't have a snack at school, since she did teach us how to use the washer and would provide everything we needed to make lunch. But I digress. Back to the buns, I would make myself two or three small sandwiches, filled with jamón, tomato and mustard. When I'd unpack my lunchbox at school I noticed two things:
1- the other kids who ate sandwiches had square white bread.
1.1- the other kids eating white bread would blatantly make fun of my weird looking bun and call my family 'poor' for my mother having to bake us bread.
2- the rest of the kids' lunches were made of masa: arepas o empanadas, staples of venezuelan street-food breakfasts.
I gotta admit I felt self-conscious and conflicted because I wished I was eating either the white bread or the empanada, for either way, I would have escaped the scrutiny of my peers. But I wouldn't have wanted my mother to stop baking because I liked it when she did: my sister and I would help her roll of small pieces of dough onto a tray to let them rise and she'd let us eat the bread right out of the oven. I know now that baking was one of my mother's most intimate ways to show us her love. (Kudos to my mom for not stopping baking despite us telling her that her buns made us social outcasts.) I don't really remember when I finally got over the shame of bringing homemade bread to school, but I'm sure there is more here to unpack that merits a session with a therapist, not on a blog entry. But the two things that are clear for me here are that, one, bread has huge emotional associations for me, and two, kids are cruel.

Despite having been raised by a pretty dexterous cook and baker (my momma,) I've always felt iffy about baking because it's more of an exact science, with less room to maneuver in case of a screw-up. But in the last few months I've been playing with quick-rise breads, no yeast necessary, loads of butter, aromatic and a final consistency that dances between being bread and cake. I've played with zucchini (since i had lots leftover after making the zucchini white bean stew), banana, carrot. I've been overall pretty pleased with the results, although I have taken note of colleagues' comments on the effects of over-kneading and over-baking.

My challenge this week was a sweet, yet savory, nutty bread that we could serve with the cheese course for this week's Communion. I got this recipe off the Bon Appétit Cookbook: Walnut-Raisin bread. Despite using yeast (which made me a little nervous) it was super easy to make, and delicious: it calls for wheat and rye flour, oat bran, cocoa, toasted walnuts, raisins, butter, milk and honey. After a couple of hours for the dough to rise, it took 45 minutes in a 400 degree oven, and voilá! Soon the whole house was permeated with that baking scent, bringing me back the memories of my childhood.
After I cut two slices of the slightly black/brown bread, I took notice of that homemade feel that commercial breads will never attain. It reminded me again of those buns my mom used to make, with their dense consistency and grainy texture. I made myself a ham, tomato and mustard sandwich, like the ones I fixed myself when I was a child, and felt myself getting filled by nostalgia and regret. Nostalgia, for I missed being on the receiving end of such a loving gesture; regret, for ever having felt shame for eating a sandwich that was so good.

sorbetti bonanza!

Thank god for department stores' mid-year sales! Kitchen devices prices are seldom low enough to warrant any sort of splurging. The store was jammed packed with desperate shoppers. Crowds were mad and pushy; salespeople, inpatient. Good thing I knew exactly what I was looking for: in and out in 15 minutes, $45 later.
Meet my 1 1/2 quart ice cream maker. Just like the one my mom has. And if i can make ice cream the way my mom does, I'm in business. I had already purchased The Perfect Scoop, an ice cream recipe book for beginners, and was already fantasizing of all the amazing frozen goodies I would be making.
I gotta confess though, I don't really have a sweet tooth. Pies, tarts, molten cakes, even eclairs can parade in front without me salivating. Ice creams are good, but only on a cone, and even then, only if the cookie is good. But, perhaps this is something I have developed as a result from growing up in hot-ass Venezuela, sorbets (helados de agua) have always had a special place in my heart. Whenever the ice-cream cart would make it to my street, I would (after begging my mom to give me money) run screaming "!heladero! !heladero!," and dig through his dry-ice box on wheels for "manzanitas," popsicles made of tart green apple (and a lot of yellow #5,) or a "bati-bati," a grape-(or tutti-frutti?) like concoction served in a plastic cone with a surprise piece of gum in the bottom that was like my childhood crack.

This time I want to make all those sorbets that make my mouth water; the ones that would actually quench your thirst. What sort of flavors do we crave when it's hot outside? (The tricky part here is that San Franciscan summer is never warm enough.) Lime, for sure. Watermelons and blackberries. Peaches and nectarines, but I do think they'd benefit from a little cream, no? The possibilities are endless as long as there is water and sugar.

Given my inexperience with sorbets, and with my new machinery, I got three amazing orange flesh melons and their scent is intoxicating. My strategy: test, test, test, until the result is the desired one. Yesterday, I followed every instruction on the recipe. I used 1/2 cup of sugar, pinch of salt, no water, and a tablespoon of lemon juice. Purée until smooth, chill for at least two hours, and pour onto frozen bowl of ice cream machine. Within 30 minutes, the texture was smooth and malleable. But, oh, too sweet! It's been in the freezer since then, in an airtight container, but it is unscoopable. Despite having a warm scooper, the sorbet crumbles, and does not fall onto the plate in beautiful smooth round scoops. More like haphazard chunks in a pathetic attempt to make a half-scoop...

Today, I will make a second batch: no sugar, maybe another tablespoon of lemon juice. Maybe my airtight container isn't airtight after all. I'm raiding the internet and every pastry chef I know for suggestions. All I'm saying is that it better work, 'cause my all-time-favorite sorbet flavor is on the menu in 11 days...

tryout recipes: some sucesses, mostly flops

I just made a cannellini bean and green chard stew, with carrots, zucchini and thyme. I've been reading loads of recipes about it, and took what I liked best about each of them. Ross Parsons, food critic at the Los Angeles Times in his book How to Read a French Fry, recommends baking the beans in a dutch oven in teaspoon of salt. He lists garlic, bacon, carrots and Swiss chard. Barbara Fairchild in the Bon Appetit Cookbook mostly lists canned beans, (but does reccomend soaking overnight if you use dried beans) but goes for classic flavors with sage, bacon and plum tomatoes. The Silver Spoon asks for canned beans, eggplant, bell peppers, tomatoes, parsley and basil. My grandma swears by pre-soaking the beans overnight and cooking on very low heat for at least two hours; she would add ham, carrots, chiles, sugar, cilantro.
I decided to loosely follow instructions. I soaked the dried beans for 24 hours; drained, replaced with cold water, brought to a rapid boil, reduced heat, and cooked over medium-low heat for about an hour and 15 minutes.
(In the meantime, I tackled a sanding project that was way overdue. I finally got a hold of a heavy-duty sander and went to town in my backyard. I have officially, and successfully, sanded, primed and finished a janky-looking shelf. The problem here is that my attention was definitely in the sanding, and I have to admit I forgot about the cooking beans on the stove....)
Back in the kitchen, on another pot, I sauteed leeks, shallots, garlic until translucent. In went about 8 chopped Nantes carrots (that had about five more days of fridge life left,) 2 zucchini squash, the chopped stalks from the chard, and 4 thyme springs. Cooked covered for about 10 minutes over medium-low heat. (By then, the beans were overcooked! Falling apart from their shell, the stock was clumpy and starchy from the beans breaking apart.)
Feeling disappointed and a little defeated, I still added the beans along with some of their stock and simmered for about 5 minutes. The result: not the gorgeous stew I had imagined, but something more like baby food. The remaining of the beans went into the freezer for a future use (or earthquake food.) Although pretty flavorful, the stew went right into the blender. Too thick for a soup, but perhaps good enough for a contorni? (I can see this going with some venezuelan-style pork butt---pernil.) Even better, I spread onto toast of a seeded baguette, added some julienned fresh basil, grated some parmesano and sprinkled some coarse salt. Served next to some mizuna drizzled with balsamic, there we had lunch!

The lessons:
Soak beans just overnight. 24 hours is overkill.
Keep an eye on the stove!
Don't overmix the stew ---the ladel bumps against the beans, bruising their shells.
Add the zucchini much, much later.
More salt, maybe lemon zest to serve?

gestational stages

For about a year now, I've pondered on the social consequences of food---from grocery shopping at the farmer's market, to sharing chores in the kitchen, to the intimacy of the dinner table. Though these are definitely not new concerns, I have been wanting to explore cooking and eating as a performance. The act of cooking for others and the act of eating with others as a stage, a temporary platform where relationships are formed or strengthened.
At first, I thought of developing a food show but dropped it due to my inadequacy with camerawork, as well as the limitations of one-on-one guest interactions. Then, thoughts progressed towards more of a performance art piece, or even better, an underground restaurant...
The premise is, really, to have a dinner party. But one where guests arrive alone and do not know the rest of the diners. Though one could only look to a bar or to a communal table at a restaurant to see strangers interacting, I'm positing that conversations among strangers are of a superficial nature (the what do you and who do you knows.) The purpose is to create a space where guests interact and exchange stories that they would not otherwise share with strangers.
With the help of some of my fellow foodie friends, I am orchestrating a once-a-month five-course dinner in the basement of my home. Menus will read like prompts for conversation and with each course, the topic changes. I see it as a communal confession stand, but one where diners will not be asked to repent but instead asked to share, as with a meal, and where we might just see how much in common we really have.

The following blog entries will reflect the ongoing process of developing and executing the restaurant along with recipes and relevant stories. Save the date: Tuesday, August 4th!