To Kids from One to Ninety-Two

"Although it's been said, many times, many ways, Merry Christmas to you." - Nat King Cole

The chestnuts have been roasted and the open fire has burned to embers. The turkey has been eaten and dishes are being done as the sound of Yuletide carols float away in the frigid air. Another Christmas has come and gone, more quickly than any before it. I am still getting used to this phenomenon called "growing up," which seems to send time speeding by at an accelerated pace. I do wish the march of time would slow a bit around this special time of year.

While I did not get to try every cookie recipe I had been planning, I did do some Christmastime baking with the help of my lovely sisters. We made peanut butter kiss blossoms, a family favorite long made by Granny, and lemon bars, upon the youngest sis's request, which turned out to be crowd-pleasers as well. On Christmas Eve morning I arose early to try another recipe that had been queued-up since September when my younger (not youngest) sister brought it back from Ireland with her: buttermilk scones. After her trip to Ireland where she first ate these in a thatched cottage at tea time, she heralded them as the best scones she'd ever had. So on Christmas Eve morning we ate scones with blackberry jam, fresh whipped cream, and Irish breakfast tea. A new tradition was born!

In the grand scheme of things, running out of time to bake cookies is not a big deal. Spending time with family and loved ones, however, certainly is, and I was fortunate enough again to spend Christmas, both Eve and Day, surrounded by the people that mean the most to me in the world. No matter how quickly the days pass, when Christmastime comes we gather together and celebrate the most important gifts in life: one another. This year, in the wake of senseless tragedies around the country and the world, I feel especially blessed and lucky to have my health, my family, and my life, and to be surrounded by such love.

Christmastime presents a reminder of the true, meaningful parts of life: giving, sharing, loving. As Jack Frost continues to nip at our noses through the winter months, let us carry the Christmas spirit of joy, love, and cheer to keep the whole season bright.

Peace on Earth and mercy mild. Merry Christmas season, friends.

Oak Leaf

"And the sun poured in like butterscotch and stuck to all my senses." -Joni Mitchell

I may have recently spoken of the melancholy that settles over the world at the end of summer, but anyone who knows me also knows that the end-of-summer blues do not trouble me for too long. For autumn is a'coming! I can feel it in the evenings, smell it in the breeze, hear it in the trees. It is a magical time of year. It brings crisp air, fresh apples, spiced drinks, orange hues, and cozy feelings. Fall always puts a little spring in my step. As the lyric above from Ms. Mitchell captures perfectly, I relish the days of soft golden sunlight, deeper in color than the summer sun: marigold and amber. I think of it setting, piercing through the thinning trees, warming my cheeks just enough to counter the cool gusts of wind. Oh! What a magical time, indeed.

I cannot claim to be the only person in the world who loves this season. I can't even pretend to think that I am the one who loves it best. But I can most assuredly say that I come alive in the fall.

You and I know (and love) pumpkin spiced breads, coffees, cookies, cream cheeses, caramels, doughnuts, and ales. We breathe deeply to take in cinnamon scents of baked apples from a kitchen window and smokey wisps of wood fires in the distance. We all share in these things and delight in their return each year.  But there is something more to this bewitching season, something that entwines itself in between each one of these delights. What is it?

Fall has always been more of a beginning for me than New Year's Day has ever been. I'm sure that has a little something to do with the school year cycle that has prescribed the majority of my twenty-five years of life. With school days beginning in the fall, how could the season not hold a promise of new things? But in a more natural sense, it seemed to me to mark a period of renewal. That may seem counterintuitive, considering the harvest celebrates the end of a growing season and the Autumn heralds the hibernation of many plants and animals. Even humans, by and large, prepare for the long, gray winter ahead, sad to see the warm weather go. We stock our shelves, pull on our sweaters, shutter our windows, and huddle inside. We cling to each other and gather around the hearth. And how! For those very reasons, fall is not a time of sadness and melancholy. It is such a beautiful start for us humans.

We spend the first half of the year running around, making plans for fun and adventure. The summer comes and we go far and wide. Fall is what beckons us home. It is the voice that reaches us in far off lands, sunburnt and weary, ready for familiar people and places, tastes and smells. At home in the fall, we relax and regroup. We get back to the root of it all, the very beginning of it all - our own lives, the lives of our predecessors - and we are made humble. We begin again.

As a sophomore in college, I got my first tattoo. It was one that I had planned out in my head for some time, and when the opportunity presented itself, I jumped at it. The tattoo is of an oak leaf, done in black shaded outlines. It is simple and it is beautiful. Of course, it was chosen as a symbol of my affinity for the season. But it also stands for more. When asked by my Pop what the leaf symbolized, I told him 'Home.' For all that fall is (see: every trick and treat listed above), it is above all else a connection to home. Each fall holds the treasured memories of falls past....

I take a breath...

...they all come rushing back to me in an instant, and I smile.

The heart and soul of fall growing up was Granny's apple pie. It was there at Thanksgiving. It was there the day after bringing a bushel of apples from the orchard. It was there after school with a cup of tea. It was there on your 21st birthday when you knew it would be better than any cake in the world.

I've tried my hand at apple pie many times in my life. I followed a recipe at age 10. And another recipe at age 12. I did away with the recipe at many other ages. Today, I follow the memories of how Granny made her pies: cutting the apples directly into the bottom crust already in the pie dish, sprinkling layers of cinnamon and sugar at just the right dusting intervals, chatting cheerfully as she stood at the counter. No rush, no stress. Perfection without even trying.

This weekend I made my first apple pie of the season, using these techniques and touches. And, by golly, it tastes almost as good as Granny's. Almost. Almost will have to do.

Lemon Lavender Shortbread

From the first time I saw a recipe for lemon lavender shortbread, I was excited to try it out. The combination of lemon and lavender sounded like a refreshing, warm-weather take on classic shortbread.   I had never baked with flowers before and was a bit wary of how it would taste, especially if I was to be sharing these with others. I was concerned that the aromatics of lavender would overpower the delicate cookie. But I picked up a bag of dried culinary English lavender from Lavender By the Bay, which has a stand in Union Square three days a week, and made my first batch at the beginning of July. I cautiously submitted them for the approval of my taste-testers, my entire family, at the Montclair 4th of July parade. The verdict? Hey, Mikey! They like them! My mom even recently dubbed them her favorite cookies... ever. These little, buttery treats turned out to be the runaway hit of the summer.

Summer In Review

Summer comes, and summer goes. Almost as soon as one becomes settled into a wardrobe of airy fabrics, a sense of freedom, and a haze of sweaty commutes, Labor Day arrives with a gentle reminder that the seasonal gallivanting can't last forever. The fleeting nature of summer is part of what makes it summer. Sure, every season is fleeting. But there is something especially bittersweet about summer's passing. For a few months we are all reminded of the days when summer meant no responsibilities, just endless possibilities.  The days grow longer, warmer, lighter and all that there is to do is to make the most of every free summer moment to be had. We are instantly transported back to childhood, when the season stretched out in front of us - seemingly endless.

And so we take advantage of every spare moment and head to parks, beaches, lakes, gardens, fields, concerts, cookouts, restaurants & bars (and sit outside, if possible) - or to anywhere! - to revel in mini, everyday vacations. I enjoy having little things and casual events to look forward to, making each week special in its own right. Summer's collective carefree air makes that easy to do. It is a lovely mentality and a way of life that should be sustained throughout the seasons.

This summer I hoped to make the most of each evening, to get outside as often as possible, and to explore my surrounding neighborhoods. As I sit here with the summer drawing to a close, I feel satisfied with what I've done with the warm weather months. Of course, there is always more that could have been done, but I've enjoyed each moment to the fullest. Quite a number of my outings and jaunts began with, surrounded, or concluded at meals shared with others and with the season's glory. Here are just a few of my noteworthy summer dining experiences.

• Barboncino - I knew when this restaurant opened, not long after I moved into the neighborhood, that it would quickly become my favorite local establishment. Every day I walked by and inspected the progress it was making, anxiously awaiting a grand opening. And a year later I do not have enough good things to say about this wood-fired (Neapolitan) pizza place. The space is casually cool: casual enough to frequent, cool enough for a special date night. You can enjoy beer on tap, wine, or one of their cocktails as you wait for out-of-this-world-good pizza. The crust is thin and chewy, the toppings well chosen and paired with delicious fresh fior di latte (mozzarella) cheese. My favorites include the Neapolitan meatballs pie, the eggplant and zucchini pie, and the special potato and rosemary pie. The atmosphere is relaxed yet vibrant, and their newly opened backyard patio is perfect for the summertime nights. The waiter would be remiss if I didn't advise you to try the house made tiramisu. 

• Chavela's - It took us nearly six months after moving here to actually get to Chavela's, but since then we've hit it hard. Three dollar tacos, six dollar margaritas (two and five during happy hour, respectively), tortas, guac - this place has really gotten us into our Mexican. Chavela's has become one of our go-tos, and judging by the constant line out the door, it has become the same for our neighbors. Fifteen check-ins left for that free pitcher of margaritas...

• Black Tree Sandwich Shop at the Crown Inn - This is a relatively new local bar [read: newer than I], which is a great addition to the block. Not only does it provide a perfect place to sit and get a drink while waiting for a table at Chavela's, but also a super nearby hangout. There is a backyard patio with wooden tables and strings of lights; inside, the best place to sit is at the table right by the front windows that open to Franklin Avenue. The Crown Inn added to their libation offerings when they started serving food from the Black Tree Sandwich Shop. Michael and I ate here the night before we left for Maine and I had the "Pig"sandwich: white wine braised pork belly with brown butter applesauce. Need I say more? It was the perfect dinner for a chilly, rainy eve in late May. 

• James - Michael and I shared our anniversary dinner here back in June. In the fashion of many a small Brooklyn restaurant, James does not take reservations, so we meandered our way over there on the early side to make sure we were seated. The early bird special crowd was wrapping up, and before our food arrived, Mike alerted me to the fact that at that very moment, immediately to my right, Michael Showalter had just sat down. Everyone I've told this story to since it happened has not been nearly as excited as the two of us were, which clearly means no one watched Stella as much as I did. But lest you think that Michael, who I gathered was there celebrating his birthday and talking about his cats (see his Twitter feed for supplemental reading on the latter) commanded all of our attention, I must mention the food. The black kale and red quinoa salad topped with a poached egg, ricotta salata and almonds was light and hearty all at once, and the pressed chicken with green garlic puree was crispy yet moist. Perfection. The fruits de mer, a garlic shrimp and polenta appetizer and an entree of seared sea scallops with horseradish potatoes, were to die for. Topped off with a blueberry rhubarb slump and some good ol' eavesdropping on a celebrity, it was quite a lovely Prospect Heights dinner. 

• Forgtmenot - We were tipped off to this eclectic little hole in the wall shortly after its opening by Mike's friend Adam, who is friends with the owners. Forgtmenot served up a mix of simple, good comfort food - feta fries; orzo salad; mixed grill of chicken, shrimp, and halloumi; a sirloin burger on English muffin; skirt steak sandwich with edam and garlic shallot mayo. We three ate more than our fill, and well, in the tiny space that has been decorated with the owners' personal knick knacks and belongings (really, their apartment is now mostly bare). It was an awesome experience to eat there, subsequently speak to the owner/chef and owner/bartender, and feel the passion and dedication they put into the place. LES. Check it out.

• Bar Corvo - Chickpeas. Oh, the chickpeas! This kitchen, serving northern Italian comfort food, knew exactly the right way to swoon me. As if their grilled calamari salad with orange zest and almonds; the squid ink pasta with hot pepper, lemon, and pieces of grilled octopus; the gnocchi with smoky oxtail ragu and cheese... As if all of that wasn't delicious enough, out come the spicy crispy chickpeas. Eat these and you will never want another snack food again. Crunchy, hearty, satisfying, they were covered in a combination of paprika and cayenne. Baked to perfection and served hot to your table to dirty your fingertips à la cheese doodles - only better. The portion was so great that we even got to bring some home with us, which we used in an egg scramble the next morning. Molto bene!

• Prospect Park Food Truck Rally - For the second year in a row, from April through October on the third Sunday of every month, food trucks have gathered near the Grand Army Plaza arch for a day of eatin' and hangin', a real Brooklyn gathering. This year I attended in April and in August. Somehow, both times, I managed to keep myself from making the usual beeline for Wafels & Dinges (not for lack of wanting a waffle), and instead opted for savories. The Milk Truck has made a name for itself as having some of the best grilled cheeses on the streets of NYC. Way back in April, I had a grilled three cheese and caramelized apple on rosemary pullman. It was fantastic. No wonder this truck always has one of the longest lines. Then, just two weekends ago, I had the most authentic cheesesteak this side of the Delaware, from Phil's Steaks. Known to Philadelphians as just "steaks," these must be ordered in true Philly fashion: "whiz wit." Translated, that means "one cheesesteak, made with cheese whiz, with sautéed onions." Boom. That's my jawn. 

• Ample Hills - And last, but certainly not least, ice cream. What is summer without ice cream? I shudder to think. Ample Hills makes all of their ice cream on premises and offers a long list of both unique flavors and perfected classics. On my first visit, I tried their nanatella (banana + nutella). Yes, it is as good as it sounds. But what I liked even more was a double scoop cone of vanilla bean and Mexican hot chocolate. Vanilla with Madagascar bourbon vanilla, chocolate laced with cinnamon and chili flakes... the spiced chocolate was an unusual delight and the vanilla a comforting familiar taste. Lucky for me, ice cream still tastes good in the fall, winter, and spring, so my trips over to the corner of St. Marks and Vanderbilt will not be ending soon.

While the summer hours fade into night a little earlier each day, relish the cool nights and think back on all that the season has meant, all that you have done, and all the possibilities that the future holds - not only in next summer.

Summer: Swimming in a Lighter Shade of Blue

"Like a babbling brook

The magic is lighter shade of blue

Dab it, stab it, reach out and grab it

There's really nothing else that you can do"

Blueberry jam: a treasure from Maine

Last duck eggs of the season from the Grand Army Plaza Greenmarket

Fresh English peas!

Strawberry rhubarb, homemade crust

Beer tasting cruise around the harbor...

...and a stroll across the Brooklyn Bridge

Anniversary dinner at James - rubbing elbows with Michael Showalter 

Morning drive on the GWB

Pop, riding in style in the 4th of July Parade

Sisters on the road

The happiest place on Earth

Barboncino cappuccino

View from my Toronto hotel

Lake Ontario in the morning

A Philly excursion on the Reading Viaduct

Walking home after Sigur Ros in Prospect Park

Reptar!!

The Land of Raw Milk and Honey

For Memorial Day weekend, Michael and I escaped the city and headed North to greener pastures. In Portland (ME) we met up with three of our good friends, two from Philly (Scott and Cara) and one (Genna) our hostess, before driving out to the cottage we would call home for a few days, which is in the town of Warren. Along the way, we made stops at a few shops and markets, adding to the bounty in the backseat that Genna had purchased for our weekend. Our rations were roughly this:

• a dozen duck eggs
• 1/2 gallon whole raw milk
• 1/2 gallon 1% pasteurized milk (which never did get opened)
• yogurt
• fiddlehead ferns
• ramps
• chives
• lamb sausage
• asparagus
• red lentils
• bacon
• 1 loaf of sourdough bread
• 1 loaf of potato bread
• strawberries
• raw honey
• maple syrup
• coconut oil
• and beer, at least 9 750ml bottles

I am sure I missed at least one item, but look at that! All of these were from local sources, either from Genna's co-op or from the Rosemont Market that we visited. We were to live like country kings, locavores of the southern midcoast. 

We also, being the beer enthusiasts that we are, paid a visit to a local brewery in Newcastle called Oxbow. Open only on Friday afternoons from 2-6pm for tastings and growler fillings, the brewery operates on an 18-acre piece of land out of a beautiful, one-room barn with vaulted ceilings and painted depictions of its owl logo. We were greeted by the head brewer, his girlfriend, and a few of their friends gathered around sampling the brews. It was an entirely intimate and inviting atmosphere. The air was filled with the aromas of wheat and fermenting yeast - beer in all its simple glory. To our right were the large brew kettles and fermentation tanks; to our left was an assortment of wooden barrels containing the still-fermenting cask beer that was not yet ready for a taste. But we did get to try 3 brews: the Farmhouse Pale Ale, the Space Cowboy Country Ale, and the Freestyle Five Black Wheat Saison. As we sipped, we chatted with the brewer's gal about the operation, which has only been in business since August 2011, and how at not even a year old the guys are making a name for themselves. The popularity of the beers was evidenced by the string of locals that continually filed in for their weekly fill 'er up. Friendly folks passionate about beer, great tasting brews - these guys are on their way up! We strolled out of there with a growler of the Freestyle Five, ready to complete the last leg of our journey to Warren. 

Looking out on the water, foggy Friday eve

Situated on Crawford Pond, the cottage was an oasis of serenity. Living in Brooklyn, one tends to forget what true silence sounds like. Here there was peace and quiet, save for some crickets and a pair of loons. Upon our arrival on Friday night, it was foggy and there was a chill in the air. We unloaded the car, met the lady of the house/property, and hurried up to her backyard garden to harvest some fresh rhubarb before dark.

Rhubarb flowers

Afterward, joined by another Haverford buddy, we cooked ourselves a dinner of fiddlehead ferns, massaged kale salad, and tomato/potato/red lentil soup. It warmed us on the unusually chilly late May night, though we still needed to start a fire in the wood-burning stove in the center of the room, which we piled high to last through the night.

In the morning, Michael and I were in charge of breakfast -- over-easy duck eggs and bacon, apple slices, sourdough toast, jam and honey. The only time I had eaten a duck egg was as a part of a duck paella at a restaurant, but I had never had my own duck eggs. Dear friends, they were somethin' else. Nearly twice the size of chicken eggs, these eggs had sturdy shells that took an extra effort to crack cleanly. Once dropped into the pan, it was clear what was adding to their heft: bright round yolks, marigold in color and spectacularly sized. We let the creamy liquid sunshine run all over our plates and decadently sopped it all up with hunks of crusty bread.

I also indulged in a glass of raw (unpasteurized) milk alongside my toast. Before we arrived, when we had spoken to Genna about what she'd be getting food-wise, she mentioned raw milk and asked if we liked it. I had never had raw milk, so she kindly offered to purchase both pasteurized and unpasteurized. To me, "raw milk" sounded very foreign, I could already taste its (imagined) funky flavor in my mouth. But on Friday evening, as Cara and Genna sipped some of the rich milk, I was convinced to try it and, boy, had I been mistaken. It was delicious! Thick and wholesome, it was the purest milk I had ever tasted. With raw milk, duck eggs, and raw-honeyed toast on my breakfast table (after trying fiddlehead ferns the previous night for the first time), my food horizons were expanding right out in front of me.

Sailboats on the horizon, Rockland ME

After a stop at Hello Hello Books in nearby Rockland, which is run by a friend of Genna's, we spent time walking along the beach front, dipping our feet in the water, and skipping and/or sinking rocks. The weather had turned around from the foggy, drizzly Friday and it was quite hot in the sun! Especially so for us, who had suited up in long sleeves, pants, and socks for a hike planned for the afternoon, determined to keep as much skin as possible hidden from ticks and mosquitoes. While in Rockland, we stopped at Sweets and Meats to pick up supplies for a picnic lunch that we would take out to Aldermere Farm. In addition to my delicious goat cheese, red pepper, and cappicola sandwich, I strolled out of there with a jar of Maine wild blueberry jam, one of my goals for the trip.

At Aldermere, we visited with a group of Belted Galloways as they munched on their lunch of grass and we ate our sandwiches. These cattle, as Genna told us, hail originally from the highlands of Scotland. This came up on Friday, as we drove the winding roads through foggy hills and fields, when Scott remarked on how the terrain reminded him of the British Isles. The Belted Galloways have a distinguishing white "belt" around their otherwise black bodies and they thrive in the Maine climate, so similar to their homeland. Genna discussed how this farm and these cows are part of a movement to revive or preserve different breeds of cattle, and to raise them in the environs appropriate for each breed. She mentioned how that ubiquitous black-and-white Holstein that we all identify as THE cow can't possibly survive in all climates. If we concentrate only on that one breed, we will end up with unhappy, unhealthy cattle and, consequently, damaged farmland and poorer quality meat. That struck me as very interesting and important.

das Kühchen

We said goodbye to the cows and piled back into the car and headed for the hills! Well, we headed to our hilly hiking route. Doused in Deep Woods Off with our pant legs tucked into our socks, we hiked over rocks, past blueberry bushes, and up to the top of a promontory that showed us a panoramic view of the Atlantic Ocean and the Maine Islands. It was, in a word, beautiful.

Back at the cottage, we raced to get into bathing suits and into the lake for a dip before dinner. Genna beat us all and hurried out into the yard. Before we knew it, Liz, the owner of the cottage and Genna's colleague, was inside and rushing back out with a bucket of water. Genna sliced her foot on the lawn on the way to the water and it was pretty bad. It had to have hurt immensely, but she barely let on just how much. In the hours that Genna was away getting patched up at the hospital, we waited anxiously to hear any news. We made dinner: crumbled lamb sausage and asparagus coupled with bowls of our leftover lentil soup from the night before. Scott and I (mostly Scott) also made the first of 3 strawberry rhubarb pies to be ready for Genna's return. She came hobbling in on crutches shortly before 11pm and regaled us with her tale of the emergency room as we enjoyed slices of pie. She is quite a trooper. 

The next morning I made cornmeal pancakes (which I later learned are called johnnycakes). I loved them! And I hope the others did, too. I finally found a pancake recipe that thrills me. Seeing as I used up the last tablespoons of butter in the cakes of the pan, I used coconut oil for the first time to grease the cast iron griddle. It lent a bit of its own flavor to the outsides of the pancakes, which were marvelous with some of my blueberry jam and maple syrup.

Johnnycakes on the griddle

Stack of 'cakes
Photo credit: S.S.

Our trip out to town that day was for restocking our groceries and purchasing the lobsters we were to make for supper. For these, we swung by Jess' Seafood Market. Five lobsters and half a dozen ears of corn in all. And Scott

A friend of Genna and Mike's, named Scott as well, drove in from Portland to pay a visit in the afternoon, bearing gifts of home brews. He shared with us a delicious and pleasing hefeweizen and a flavorful (an "irresponsible amount of hops) IPA. Old friends caught up, new friends were acquainted, and we took to the canoes in the late evening sun.

Joined by our weekend neighbors, we cooked a dinner of lobster, steak, grilled corn and 2 more strawberry rhubarb crumble. We all ate down at the lakeside picnic table, laughed together, smacked mosquitoes in chorus, and shared in the last moments of the daylight.  Relaxed, carefree, idyllic living.

Photo credit: S.S.

Photo credit: S.S.

Photo credit: S.S.

Photo credit: S.S.

It may seem that much of this vacation centered around food. And that may be true. We are a group of people who enjoy and value both preparing and eating good food. It is a central force of life. Meals are the hinges upon which the rest of lift swings. The trip was, in this sense, reminiscent of my childhood summers and vacations. It was a time that we had extra time and amazing, fresh ingredients on our hands. A chance to spend as much time together as possible and to collaborate on meal creations and to be happily sharing in the moment.

Photo credit: S.S.

In the morning, Scott treated us to a duck egg and chive scramble, with two types of cheese. We tidied and packed up, and began saying our goodbyes to our temporary abode.

Photo credit: S.S.

As we drove away, I reflected on the days we shared and promised myself a return one day to the quiet, country life.

A last sunny view, upon departure

A special thanks to Scott for his beautiful photos, some of which I used in this post. This man has a way with the camera. Check out more of his work at The Aural Fixation.

Awww Shucky Ducky

It has been quite a long time since we made a second attempt at roasting a duck. So long that Michael's winter beard was still in its fledgling stages back then!

But it was such a success  (granted, just managing to take the giblets out of the cavity before cooking was a giant leap forward from the first time) that I'd like to share some of the glamour shots.

 The key to this ducky was poking its skin every hour or so and flipping it...

 ...to let all the fat drip deliciously down....

 ...so that the skin crisped perfectly and came out looking like this.

Tasty looking, no?

 I also loved this shot from that night, of steam coming off of the grilled asparagus in swirls. 

And as they say in some parts of the south, "Aw, shucky ducky now!"