November's Communion: Thanksgiving with a twist

This month's communion was very very different. First of all, a very special diner and guest cook flew out here all the way from Venezuela and owned the execution of two of our courses. She not only provided in-depth chocolate knowledge but also spoiled me rotten, which makes me assert once again that my momma is seriously the best. She came to spend Thanksgiving dinner with me, and since she has been wondering what these Communion dinners are all about, I decided the best would be to host Communion a few days before turkey day so she could see for herself. Second, our rule about having strangers at the table didn't really pan out this time: we were joined by another amazing mother-daughter duo, a significant other, two good friends and a housemate.

The theme was 'thanks' in honor of the coming holiday, but I reckoned no one wanted to eat thanksgiving dinner twice in one week any more than I wanted to cook it. Instead, our menu was comprised of things I love so much I thank God they exist: bread, cheese, broth, pork, fried dough, ice cream, chocolate. Devising the menu was a pretty hard task, not only because I love many things, but also because deciding how to present them and in what order could have easily been overkill.

Our first course was a plate of bread and charcuterie: lightly toasted New York Rye bread with slivers of jamón serrano and picnic ham and slices of a sharp Pecorino Romano and Murcia Drunken Goat. We served them with some wild arugula tossed in olive oil and lemon juice and a couple of meaty Gordal olives. We shared glasses of an Alfonso Jerez Oloroso and tossed around ideas about the word 'thanks': gratitude, graciousness, gracias; appreciation, value, recognition.



Our second course: a brothty soup for the soul and a glass of Vigneto Tsasco Vermentino and some tales of when our soul was thankful. I don't think there is anything better than a cup of warm broth on a cold day, when sick or when indigo blue. (I believe a good hearty broth may just be the cure for almost everything.) Here, my dear friend and diner revealed that her recent precarious health condition has been cleared and that she is 100% healthy. Our glasses raised to celebrate her health and the topic moved to our failing and flailing health care system, our experiences and frustrations and what alternatives can we come up with. If only those in congress could have heard us... But from here on, the prompts on the menu no longer guided our conversation. It was purely organic.



Our third course was an apple cider braised pork shoulder with root vegetables and a glass of Beaujolais. This course proved to be the trickiest of all because though I knew I wanted pork on the menu, I was unsure of how to present it: an herb crusted tenderloin, a braised short ribs ragú, fennel and coriander seed sausages, or bacon?



Our fourth course: donut holes, milk ice cream and a coffee caramel sauce with a glass of Suri Gramella Moscato d'Asti. And this is where my mom shines. When I was in elementary school, every Friday afternoon a grade would hold a sale to gather funds for upcoming trips or projects. The main school hall would be filled with sale stands of lemonade, brownies, cookies, empanadas, and, whenever me or my siblings were involved, doughnuts. They were sure winners not only because fried dough is just irresistible, but because my mom's donuts are simply the best.
So in this course were five of my most favorite things: fried sweet dough coated in sugar, ice cream, coffee and caramel and my mother orchestrating how they all came together. Below is a picture of her hands at work.



Our fifth and final course were bittersweet chocolate truffles made mostly by mom. I had an basic acquaintance with the makings of chocolate, so it was truly enlightening to see her at work. Here we are trying to make the little round balls of heaven.



And here are other things else I am thankful for: Help. Advice. Unconditional love. Sometimes it is really hard to ask for them, even to accept them, but there is something truly heartwarming when someone, especially if it's your own mother, intuitively knows what you need and just steps up to the plate, whether we want it or not. I have to say I was so happy to have her in my home for the holiday and to have shared the intimacy of the kitchen and of the dinner table. ¡Gracias, mami! Here are a happy mom and daughter duo, exhausted after days of cooking, indulging on a dinner out.



I don't know when the next Communion will be. It has proven to be a time and money consuming endeavor that I don't know whether I will be able to continue. It needs to be seriously re-considered and re-designed to be a feasible long-term project. I welcome any suggestions you may have. As I write this, I am in Venezuela, sitting on my mother's kitchen table while the rest of the house sleeps. I am officially on vacation. But, since all the women in my family will gather in the kitchen this holiday season, know I will come back with more stories to share.

¡Felices Pascuas!

September Communion

This month's Communion was a little different than last: a different theme and a mostly different cast. Thanks to Jiwon Park, our sous-chef at Range, the prepping, cooking and serving of dinner was a breeze. At first I was very nervous to have her. Yes, she's my dear friend,but she's also a trained professional. I'm an intuitive cook, but a home-schooled one at that, and even sometimes a very scattered distracted one. Needless to say, I was intimidated. But once she got here and we got to chopping and chatting, it was very comfortable. Jiwon and I talked about our families, hers in South Korea, mine in Venezuela; about our growing up in very different places, and about how, around the same time and the same age, we both moved to San Francisco. Our lives now converged in this kitchen, around my red island work table, with her providing amazing insight into cooking techniques and Korean culture.
Our line-up included Lisa the Peanut, still with Burning Man sand stuck in her hair, and Susita, my dear friend and roommate, who before going to work at her posh Italian restaurant, helped fold napkins and set the dining room table. And Rebekah, The Petaler, who took pity on us and donated an exquisite floral arrangement. So this time, we were ready ahead of schedule, set and ready to go, vestidas y alborotadas.

The theme: Change. How we have coped with it, fought against it, or simply rolled with flow. What was the outcome of change---a success, a defeat, or still the source of bitterness? I wanted to hear what other people called a considerable change and wanted to learn of how they managed it. More specifically, I wanted to learn of those steps we take to entice change: those steps forward, or back, that create a new path to follow.

Our first course was a white bean crostini with basil and shaved parmesan that I played with a few months ago when making a white bean stew. We served it with a simple arugula salad and some plump, meaty olives tossed in lemon juice.

Along came stories of leaps of faith, of when we had no clue of what to do, but jumped anyway. Most stories included a geographical move but in the heart of these tales was how each of us had decided to follow our own path, despite what parents, school, or a lover said. There was as much agency in action than in inaction, too: just as one of us jumped on a plane to Argentina to follow her heart, another refused an private liberal arts education for the massive experience at Cal Berkeley. (Go Bears!)

Second course: a purée of spinach soup with garlic butter, and tales of catalyst events. If I can digress a bit here, this is one of the best soups I've ever made. I've inherited it from my Tía Loly, who runs her own cake business, Aurora, in Caracas.

Sautée onions, garlic, a carrot and a celery stalk until translucent.
Add about 5 cups of water.
Bring to a boil and add cleaned and trimmed spinach until wilted.
Season with salt, pepper and a dash of nutmeg.
Purée in a blender, and unless you're serving immediately, quickly chill over an ice bath. I never knew that trick before, but apparently all food professionals know that. Thanks, Jiwon!

The butter: roast two heads of garlic in a 350 oven for about 45 minutes.
Use room-temperature unsalted butter cut into cubes. Place roasted garlic cloves and butter in a food processor until smooth. Add parsley if desired. Then roll onto saran wrap and make one-inch wide cylinders. Refrigerate until hardened. To serve, just take wrap off, slice, and place onto whatever you're serving!

But back to the confessions, it was curious to see that a lot of us understood the catalyst event to be the same one for which we had had a leap of faith. For me, this sparked a cascade of doubts: What am I doing here? How terribly have I failed at Communion if the first two questions enticed the same answer? Unfortunately, this bone-shaking insecurity lasted a good part of the evening and it kept me from really listening to the rounds of anecdotes shared. I've spoken to each diner since then and they continue to assure me that lessons ran far and wide and that conversation was animated. What a shame I missed it. In a way, that sort of mental and emotional disconnection is what prompted me to come up with Communion in the first place. I'm happy to be reminded of the crucial need to let go and listen and see where the conversation turns.

Our main course: a citrus pork shoulder with a corn and zucchini ragú and pieces of good advice. For a few weeks, I played with the pork shoulder, which Venezuelans call pernil, and deviced a delicious ratio of acid to sweet in the marinade: a cup each of pineapple and orange juices, an onion, a couple of cloves of garlic, bunch of cilantro, about a tablespoon of cumin and a generous pinch of salt.

The handed-down advice made me think of a Venezuelan saying: más sabe el diablo por viejo, que por diablo---meaning age and experience have more to teach than the devil himself. Despite that all the pieces of advice came to each of us in different times and different contexts, I felt that all of them were pertinent to my life at the moment. I don't think I can repeat them any better than the picture below: (And I love Jiwon's Korean handwriting!)

As we indulged in dessert, a fleur de lait ice cream with espresso granitas that I experimented with so much it deserved its own post, we spoke of "best mistakes"---those actions that seemed like a bad idea at the time or those that were a good idea but didn't turn out the way we expected, but somehow all worked out in the end. For me, it was a spring break trip to New York City to interview for a summer internship at a non-profit, when in reality what I really wanted was to be near a man whom I thought at the time was the love of my life. What happened? I didn't get the internship, and the man told me we were speaking different languages. I was the most defeated I'd felt in my life, both at work and at love. On my way back, I was the only one in the plane sobbing inconsolably, but in a moment of glancing out the window, looking at NYC fade away, I thought that not getting what I wanted was exactly what I needed.
In the midst of such bittersweet lessons, good thing there is ice cream!

For our final course we served an Italian sheep's milk Nocino Pecorino and a 3 sister's Serena, a californian cow's milk cheese, with fig preserves and my very own walnut raisin bread. We talked of sliding-door moments, or those where we found ourselves at a fork in the road, where whichever direction leads to a very different outcome. Doesn't that include everyday when we decide to get out of bed?

To close, we asked diners to fill in the blank: I'll be more [___] from now on. I think reminiscing on what we've been through, despite how difficult it was, inspired our answers: appreciative of sorrow, happy, open to all invitations, active/risk-taking/buck-wild, honest (in totality), relaxed/compassionate, loving/honest. I want to be more of all of those from now. The key issue here is not what, but how, we get what we want.

Next Communion is Tuesday October 13th.

thoughts on pernil

Hmmm....pernil....aka pork shoulder, or pork shoulder butt, comes from the top of the pig's forelegs, like in the way of ham, only the latter comes from the animal's hind legs. It is a really affordable cut, with lots of fat marbling that translates into moisture and flavor during cooking. It is also a staple of Venezuelan feasts, and I learn it is as well for Cubans and Puerto Ricans. Despite having very similar approaches and flavors, they are all very different. Puerto Ricans add spicy peppers; Venezuelans, oregano. Cubans add orange juice, Puerto Ricans, a blend of lemon, lime and orange juices, as well as a rub of adobo. I remember eating it with a sauce of garlic, oregano, sugar, some moscatel wine and worcestershire. I figure there is no right or wrong answer here, just as long as there is at least three hours to marinate, at least four more in the oven and the result is fork-tender. Taking cues from a variety of sources, including this month's Bon Appetit issue, Serious Eats (a fantastic food blog) and my memory, I'm attempting to materialize my own vision of pernil.

Rub the pork with a lemon, salt and pepper and let sit in a roasting pan.
Purée in a blender: couple of cloves of garlic, a small onion, a cup of fresh cilantro, a whole jalapeño, a teaspoon of cumin, with a cup each of orange juice and pineapple juice. Season with salt, pepper and a couple of dashes of red wine vinegar.
Pour liquid marinade on pork, cover with saran wrap and refrigerate for at least three hours, or preferably overnight.
Preheat oven to 450. Covered with tin foil, bake for one hour. Bring temperature down to 400, and let the guy hang out in the oven for about 4 hours. Everyone seems to agree that the desired temp of the meat should be around 180. But I don't have a thermometer, so I'm pretty much eye-balling it here.

(Bad cook disclosure: after the initial hour in the oven, this bad cook here laid down to read, aka rest her eyes, or otherwise known as taking a mid-afternoon nap, and thus left the pernil unsupervised. I woke, with an hour left on my timer, and the meat falling off the bone. All in all, the pernil was in the oven for three hours, and it seemed plenty.)

Remove foil and cook uncovered for about 20 more minutes for the meat to brown.
Move the pernil to a serving platter to rest. Transfer the pan juices to a small saucepan, add a dash of white wine and reduce. Strain the solids and reduce the cleared broth by half.

I served this with a succotash-esque side: leeks, shallots, garlic, yellow and green zucchini squash, sweet white corn and a few cherry tomatoes. Alone, the pernil was a little too acidic, too bright. I'd suggest an extra dash of salt and omitting the red wine vinegar in the marinade. But together, pernil and corn ragu, are a pretty amazing match and helped set the tone for the evening to come. Hmmm, pernil!