9.30.2010
Emma Courtland is on the pulse of L.A. dining
If you're looking for sardonic restaurant news, or stories about chocolate shaped like poo poo, or screening announcements for food films that "bite back," check in next week. Restaurant Musical Chairs, Mexican Edition: Frida's Tacos in, Santito's Tortas out is almost real reporting.
9.25.2010
Sara's roasted bell pepper bruschetta
We had bell pepper and people coming over so...yeah, this is what happens when my roommate Sara wings it. Everything's made to taste so we don't have real recipe for this. It's just roasted pepper, peeled dry (that is, NOT under the water), chopped with basil, then salted (heavily), peppered, with some olive oil, and maybe some acid (she can't remember; we started drinking on the early-side) on little toasts topped with sliced, melted mozzarella. Freaking delish.
9.22.2010
Photographic Lunch at Thuan Phat
These pan-fried root cakes were the most edible thing on the menu at this market-adjacent Vietnamese cafe in San Diego.
9.19.2010
They Draw & Cook, and hand-written recipes
There are few things in the world that are more wonderful to me than the hand-written recipe.
While visiting my grandmother's house last week, I spent hours perusing the cookbooks in her kitchen. They're filled with her favorite recipes, transcribed from ancient issues of Gourmet and Bon Apetit, always credited, or from her friends who (I like to imagine) traded them like gossip or quasi-folk remedies at parties. The latter have titles like "Sybil Bracker's Famous Meatloaf" and "Marcy Shapiro's Delicious Fruit Cake." Adapted in her slanted finishing school handwriting on now browning paper, they seem to me like integral but forgotten history, as if they might contain an answer to life's most pressing questions, or, at the very least, a cure for cancer.
They don't, but there is still something wise about them. The romance of sharing knowledge among women coupled with the distinct beauty of my grandmother's script, maybe. I used to receive a letter from her every month when I was little and to me, her handwriting is her signature, her seal of approval. Her pithy commentary too; even the typed recipes have little hand-written notes and food stains, a reminder of their continued evolution. I'm sure it's all three--the sharing, the script, the evolution--they're all so personal, like a living history.
Which brings me to this, the hand-drawn recipe.
I don't often check in with They Draw & Cook, a blog of recipe renderings by different artists and illustrators, but every time I do, I'm amazed with the beauty and coolness of its offerings. The recipes, which are often basic, scrambled eggs, spaghetti and meatballs type-things, become incredibly personal and meaningful when drawn by hand. I am so thoroughly gladdened that this project exists.
While visiting my grandmother's house last week, I spent hours perusing the cookbooks in her kitchen. They're filled with her favorite recipes, transcribed from ancient issues of Gourmet and Bon Apetit, always credited, or from her friends who (I like to imagine) traded them like gossip or quasi-folk remedies at parties. The latter have titles like "Sybil Bracker's Famous Meatloaf" and "Marcy Shapiro's Delicious Fruit Cake." Adapted in her slanted finishing school handwriting on now browning paper, they seem to me like integral but forgotten history, as if they might contain an answer to life's most pressing questions, or, at the very least, a cure for cancer.
They don't, but there is still something wise about them. The romance of sharing knowledge among women coupled with the distinct beauty of my grandmother's script, maybe. I used to receive a letter from her every month when I was little and to me, her handwriting is her signature, her seal of approval. Her pithy commentary too; even the typed recipes have little hand-written notes and food stains, a reminder of their continued evolution. I'm sure it's all three--the sharing, the script, the evolution--they're all so personal, like a living history.
Which brings me to this, the hand-drawn recipe.
I don't often check in with They Draw & Cook, a blog of recipe renderings by different artists and illustrators, but every time I do, I'm amazed with the beauty and coolness of its offerings. The recipes, which are often basic, scrambled eggs, spaghetti and meatballs type-things, become incredibly personal and meaningful when drawn by hand. I am so thoroughly gladdened that this project exists.
9.10.2010
9.09.2010
9.08.2010
my first bread pudding
20 minutes before people arrived for our last minute Labor Day BBQ, I still didn't know I was going to make this. But we didn't know how many people were going to show up/ if we were going to have enough food and we'd had these two loaves of stale sourdough in the fridge for about a month so, you know, transitive property.
I adapted this recipe from one I found on grouprecipes.com. I used a higher baking temperature to begin with, so that the top formed a nice crust. I also subbed dried cherries for raisins and eliminated the meringue topping altogether. For my next round, I'm going to try adding fresh stone fruit and maybe brulee the top.
SOURDOUGH BREAD PUDDING WITH CHERRIES
INGREDIENTS
1 large round loaf of stale sourdough bread, torn into rough chunks
1 cup dried cherries
4 Tbs. butter
1/2 tsp cinnamon
6 eggs - yolks
1 cup sugar
1/3 tsp salt
1 tsp vanilla
6 cups milk
2/3 cup sugar
1/2 tsp vanilla
DIRECTIONS
Preheat oven to 425°. Combine bread, cherries, and butter in a baking dish, mine was a large round tin. Sprinkle on cinnamon. In a large bowl mix well the egg yolks, 1 cup of sugar, salt, 1 tsp vanilla, and milk. Pour over bread, make sure to get the pieces at the top too. Bake for 30 minutes. Reduce the heat to 350° and continue baking for 20 minutes, or until the custard appears to be absorbed. Remove and let cool.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)