On the mend

So yeah, I said that I was back and then I disappeared again. Shortly after my last post, I came down from that horrible flu. And then once I had recovered, I was really busy with work. But now I'm feeling like myself again. As proof of that, I have been back in the kitchen.

It all started with Profiteroles. Actually this batch is the second that I have made; the first was for New Year's Eve. They are supposed to be with coffee ice cream and a chocolate brandy sauce. But then I had some leftover butterscotch bourbon sauce in the fridge as well as some vanilla bean ice cream.

And then I realized that profiteroles are made from pate au choux -- the same dough used to make eclairs. So you know I had to attempt those as well.

I was really worried about whether I had been successful in piping in the pastry cream. But when I sliced this one open, I saw that the cream was indeed throughout the pastry. Now to work on my piping technique so that I can get a much more evenly shaped eclair.

Old and new

So here it is five years later and I'm back. A lot of things have happened in the time since I last wrote here. I moved. I was laid off from my job and am now basically self-employed. But most importantly I believe that I have finally found some peace and happiness. While it may not always be easy, I like where I am most of the time. But there are some things that never change.

I still make my tray for New Year's Eve but this year I decided to also make a dessert.

Profiteroles! The recipe called for coffee ice cream. I decided to mix it up and do half with vanilla bean ice cream. Tasty but a bit of work. Not sure if I will repeat the recipe. Who am I kidding? I will because one day I will conveniently forget the true amount of work involved. In the meantime, Happy New Year's!

New to me

This whole weight loss thing? Fairly new to me. And the idea of my losing weight right now? Well, I think that Jade and some of my coworkers summed it up best. "Why?" Actually it was that look that my "favorite pest" gave me as he walked into the midst of my conversation with a couple of female coworkers about weight loss yesterday. He looked me up and down several times like I had completely lost my mind.

Why? Because as I said previously, I camouflage exceedingly well. I haven't worn anything truly fitted since my mother asked me earlier this year when her grandchild was due. Because my build is from my dad's side of the family. And we gain the majority of our weight around the middle. Nowhere else.

My dad's older sister who has been staying with him since early September understands. The other day she announced to me that since she has been in California, she has gained 15 pounds. This aunt has always been the reminder to me of what can happen. She's probably about a size 12 or 14 these days -- thanks mostly to her midsection. Nowadays she doesn't wear dresses much but I remember when she still did. You'd see a size 12 dress hanging over some size 4 legs. And her legs seemed so tiny compared to the rest of her. I told my mother back then that I had no problem with gaining weight; I just wanted it to be proportionate. And since I know that it would not be, I vowed to fight it every step of the way.

My dad would be the tallest one in the first photo. Check out the gut. That's what I have been hiding under the loose clothing. And if you're saying to yourself, "That's not that bad," look at the lower part of the photo. Check out his legs. Do those legs go with the rest of him? I say not. Oh, and the other end of the photo? One brother hiding his gut behind another brother. And that brother, the one in blue, is the one I hope to be like. Because he is so chill. He goes through life without anything upsetting him. Except the death of his younger sister back in July. It was the only time I saw him lose it. I use this as a point of reference for folks. If my uncle who is so Zen loses it, then what do you expect from me? Reminds me that once I've pared down the stack of books to read, I really must get around to The Art of War.

But let's talk about the second photo now. The photo in which my dad kind of hides his gut with proper clothing selection. The one that makes me scream, "Why can't my stomach look like that now?" Because the photo was taken only eight years ago. And at this point in my life that feels like yesterday. Yes, in my mind I'd love to be that size again but I am now settling on five pounds heavier than that.

That said, I've never really had to try to lose weight. I mean I've tried to lose weight in the past, and was pretty successful at it, but I didn't need to back then. That was just my twisted mind at work. The mind that told me that at 5'10" and 120 pounds that I was fat. OK. Back then I had a modeling agent tell me that I could stand to lose about five pounds or so. When I was 21, I managed to get down to 110 pounds. As I pointed out in comments the other day, I'm currently somewhere between 135 and 140. So those of y'all who have met me try to imagine that. Because even though I was told that I was really thin in some of those photos I posted on my birthday, I wasn't that skinny.

Yesterday I remembered all of this. I have an obsessive personality. This is why I don't own a scale. If I did, I'd weigh myself at least twice a day. So years ago I gave up owning a scale and started to rely upon how my clothes felt, how I felt -- without the definition of a number.

I've been eating over these last few months because the other end of the spectrum is still frightening to me. I realized in wanting to drop ten pounds or so, this obsessive part of me has now kicked in. I am completely addicted to Calorie Count. Before I eat something, I now enter it into my food log to see what the calorie impact will be. (This is how I was able to substitute a cup of yogurt for some goat cheese yesterday.) I look each morning to see what the calorie count from the previous day was and tear it apart to see where I can eat less.

The first day of the log, Monday, I ate about 1700 calories. For Tuesday I was able to drop it down to 1500. Yesterday was a 1250 day. Yesterday was also the first day during which I actually felt hungry for a bit. But I'm good at ignoring that voice. Because until I started playing around with some of the other foods in my diet, I was starting to think that I would have to give up meat to reach that calorie level.

The other fun on Calorie Count is that they have a quiz to discover what kind of eater you are. Shocker. Apparently I am an emotional eater. Yes, I have an emotional connection with food. It's just that in years past, I would get upset and not eat. Thus the rapid weight loss.

All this week, I kept thinking that the idea of calorie control was foreign to me. Last night it dawned on me that it wasn't. At least since I was in high school, my mother has tried out a number of diets. When she was given choices, she would hand the reading material over to me. My job? Plan a week of meals that stuck to the guidelines yet gave her some variety. I realized that this is why it was so easy for me to know what I needed to eat during this week. I thought it was all new to me when in fact I'm an old hat.

So yes, I honestly believe in my mind that I need to drop a few pounds. I just need to be aware when my old habits start to come back -- the ones that told me that being skinny were worth any cost. Or I could just go out and invest in a body shaper and say, "Screw it all."

Oh and on a different note, since I'm up early enough to see those few moments during which MTV actually plays videos, I must admit that I am kind of addicted to this one. (Sorry. Would have embedded it if I could have.) "You say I'm crazy. I've got your crazy." Or "Lollipop. Must mistake me for a sucker."

More changes

That seems to be the theme of this year. I'm OK with the positive ones. And a lot of the positive has come out of the negative.

Now I'm sure that some of y'all have been scratching your heads wondering why you have not seen any dresses here. Because I've only looked at dresses online. Because I'm not sure what size I need at this time.

And it's been mostly that last one. Since my aunt's death I've put on at least five pounds. Zombie Mom will tell you that for someone my size that is a huge amount. So much so that over the last couple of weeks, the sweats I wear when hanging out at home are no longer comfortable. And in answer to Fluffycat who I know is thinking, "But I never see this weight she bemoans," I spent many years of my life wanting to be a designer. I am well versed in camouflaging flaws.

So yeah, I know that I am at the low end of normal. We've discussed this before. The thing is that this is not where my comfort is. Why? Because I know exactly where those five pounds are -- around my middle looking like a spare tire. And there's the health thing to consider. Because apparently folks with subcutaneous fat around their middle are more prone to diabetes. Kind of like my dad. Who is a diabetic. The man is 6'1" and weighs around 175. But he has a gut -- slighter now that his diabetes is under control. And part of hanging out with my dad on Saturday was asking him to test my blood sugar. I am proud to say that post-meal, it was a mere 92. Which fits into the idea that a doctor told me years ago -- that I'm borderline hypoglycemic.

But the layer of fat gnaws at me. I know that I should exercise more. But then I started looking at my eating habits as well. These last few months? I've been doing a great deal of emotional eating, for the first time ever in my life. Scratch that. I've done it before but just not for such a prolonged period of time.

In my mind I'd like to drop about ten pounds. In reality what I want is to drop a few inches from my waist. If I keep going at my current pace, my waist and bust measurements will be the same. Because while everything else spreads, the boobage does not. And that so is not cool.

The last time that I was still happy with my body was in 2002. So I started examining what was different then than from now. My average daily caloric intake was a great deal less than it is now. I also ate three meals a day plus healthy snacks. And so while I have a freezer full of food, I went out grocery shopping this weekend.

The idea is that I will start eating three meals a day once more -- ones high in fiber and fruits and veggies. Also higher in protein than carbs. Carbs should preferably be whole grain. That photo above? Monday night's dinner. At first I thought that would not be filling enough and that I might have to supplement it with a salad. I had forgotten how starting off one's day with oatmeal can be rather filling. I only ate half of the steak as well. The yogurt that was supposed to be a part of breakfast and the apple I had for a snack? Those became dessert because I just didn't have room for them during the day.

If I can stick with this for a month or so, then I should be able to wear the majority of my existing wardrobe with no problem. And by this time I will have come up with a plan to increase my activity level on a consistent basis.

Because yeah, even us skinny chicks have body image issues.

Cross one off the list

Friday night I was going to head up to Sacramento. But after a long day at work and this yumminess from Poulet, I felt the need for a power nap. Unfortunately my nap ended up being much longer than I had planned so I didn't head out until early Saturday morning.




After visiting with my stepmother (While conscious and somewhat alert, she had great difficulty opening her eyes.), I headed over to Old Sac with my dad and his older sister for lunch. I don't think I've been there since I was 18 or so. Definitely not since when my stepbrother was killed in the area. Oh yeah. There was that one party at the railroad museum but we usually don't head into the area much these days.


My cousin, one of the birthday girls, stated upon our arrival at the restaurant, "But I thought we were going to see a boat." We explained to her that we were on the boat. The look of utter awe on her face -- priceless. She then kept telling anyone who asked that she is now four. Ummmm. Not til next year, honey.

Some more visiting with my dad and aunt after lunch during which I learned that my aunt has once more extended her stay. (She was supposed to be leaving on Friday.) Thank goodness.

Back in September I made three lists of trips I wanted to take -- day trips, weekend trips and trips requiring more time than a single weekend. And so I ended Saturday with being able to cross one of those items off the list.

I had mentioned to Fluffycat some of the items on my list back then. Turns out that one was in her area -- and she had never been as well. She then realized that the place was probably doing something special for Halloween. And so that's how we ended up at the Winchester Mystery House for their flashlight tour.

Of course, no conversation about that place is complete without a discussion of eccentricity. As I pointed out to Fluffycat, one usually has a great deal of money in order to be categorized as being "eccentric" or "quirky." No money? Then you're just downright crazy.



Yes, I know the photos are a bit dark. It was flashlight tour, remember? And I'm too lazy right now to do anything about the lighting. But I will tell y'all this. There were many beautiful features in the house along with the crazy eccentricity.


And speaking of flashlights, we got to keep our souvenir flashlights. I bet you're jealous, aren't you?





The tour dumps you off into the gift shop. Actually you start there as well. Fluffycat commented on how many of the gifts seemed to be alcohol related. (I seem to recall that she has promised me a set of the lovely pink wine glasses as a gift. I promised her a set of the Reagan and Bush pens.) You know what goes perfectly with alcohol? Firearms.




So we headed over to the firearm museum. Where there were plenty of rifles.


But there were revolvers as well. See that beauty on the lower right? Ladies, small enough to fit in the smallest of clutch bags. Fluffycat commented that it didn't look like it could do much damage but then we agreed it was probably more a way to say, "You're annoying me. Go away."

Yes, my day was quite full but also quite enjoyable. The only question is where next. But not today. Today is filled with exciting things like laundry and grocery shopping.

Ha!

Eat your hearts out, beyotches! That's right. I have four bags. But two of them are going to the Zombie household.

When hormones attack

Fried mozzarella with mixed greens and proscuitto

What have I had from my freezer this week? If you answered, "Ice cubes," then you are quite correct. Nothing else has left the freezer.

At the beginning of the week, it was, "Gee. You really should have more vegetables. Let's stop at the store for salad fixings." So a few days of Cobb salads led me to this place.

This afternoon at work, I had decided to go to Gregoire's. I was going to try out their version of the pork and quince. Then this really small voice in my head said that I should eat was already at home. *grumble, grumble* The hormones said, "Let's look at Epicurious." And gosh, wouldn't you know that one of their featured slide shows was of comfort foods. Evil people.

You know that once the hormones saw the fried cheese it was all over. "Look! It's cheese! And it's breaded and fried!!! Could there be a more perfect food?"

Ummm. Yeah. A small wheel of Camembert placed in an egg white wash and dredged in Parmesan. Then fry that sucker up. Yes, I really used to do this. Throw some chopped scallions on it and slice up a baguette. Luckily I did not think about this until I reached home. Otherwise, the hormones would have been demanding this as well. They're pretty pushy, those hormones.

So the hormones and I headed to Berkeley Bowl when I got off work. And there were no bunches of arugula. None at all. The hormones almost burst into tears right there in the middle of the produce section. I assured them that we would improvise with some mixed greens. They decided that the mixed greens were just fine. They just thought that the arugula bunches would have been cuter. Whatever.


Corn cream soup

And if you know me, you know I like to multitask. Why go into the kitchen unless you're going to have a few pots going? Love this soup. Hated having to go to two different stores to look for dried corn. I also dislike any recipe that says "strain out solids" even though I know that I will like the end results.

Once more the hormones had a say here. It was not enough that there were dairy products involved. Noooo. The hormones said, "We're not really in the mood for shrimp. And look? It says that you can use crab. We'd really like some crab." And I responded, "You idiots. Do you realize that it is not crab season around here?" When we hit the seafood counter in Berkeley Bowl, they ended up winning out. Because not only did Berkeley Bowl have Dungeness crab meat, they had Chesapeake lump meat. And the blue crab meat was half the price of the Dungeness. So I told the hormones they could have a half pound. The guy behind the counter asked if I was making crab cakes. "Nope. Soup." And then the hormones made me go to the meat counter to get a pound of applewood smoked bacon. It took a lot of convincing on my part to convince them that we could not put both the crab and the bacon in the soup.

So now the hormones are quite content. For today. And please don't mention to them that I forgot to take the chives out of the fridge for the soup. Please. I fear them more than I fear Natasha.

The kitchen is sort of closed

No new food here for some time. I need to work my way through the things I have accumulated in the freezer over the last couple of weeks.

I tried to put this off on Monday by heading to Poulet for the Basque chicken. Alas, they were closed due to the holiday. How dare they?


But this was the sight I caught on my way home so I guess the outing was worthwhile.

And now I'm going to go out on a limb. There is a post that I actually meant to publish today about privilege. But then I decided that I'd probably catch a lot of crap for it and I'm really not in the mood.* The thoughts started a couple of weeks ago when folks were reacting to the Tim Rice piece that was being circulated via email. I noticed that while many of the folks who wrote posts about the piece understood it, there were quite a few commenters out there who just didn't. And yeah, I got pissed off. So instead of that post, I ask you to click on the link. I ask you to re-read the section on "The Persistence of White Privilege." Notice what Zetzer says about achieving change? It's about open dialogue. Hmmm. I vaguely remember saying something about that in the past year or so.

Also pay special attention to the section about wealth. This Wikipedia explanation is pretty on-point, although I do question the deletion of the stuff on housing. OK. So it's clearly discriminatory behavior. And I guess the link would be that it is due to privilege that realtors feel comfortable in engaging in this kind of behavior. Also I highly suggest that you check out the References and Suggested Reading at the bottom of the page. Perhaps after reading this you can understand why slavery enters the conversation so often. If a group of people are denied ownership, then there is no way that they can acquire wealth. And guess what? Most standardized tests do not measure a student's knowledge of a subject but the wealth of their parents. Yep, there is a direct correlation between wealth of parents and how a child performs on a standardized test. Now apply that fact to what we know about wealth distribution in this country.

Read a good portion of this and then you can have a conversation with me about what privilege is. Because this is a topic upon which I feel like Heather does about politics. I have spent way too many academic hours engrossed in this topic and it used to be part of my professional life. As a result, I may know more than other folks because I have read a lot of the writings in the area. So all I ask of y'all is that if you're going to write about a topic such as this, do your research first. Don't just base it on the one thing that you have read. Do the research.

Hell. My mother sent me an anti-McCain email tonight. I don't believe I have ever said on this blog how I plan to vote but I think I have made my political leanings pretty clear. While the email was compelling, I felt the need to do some fact-checking. What I found was that the alleged source of the email denied ever writing it. And so I did not forward it. If I do not have supporting evidence that something is true, then I will not pass it along. I think it's called having principles. And then I emailed my mother the details of the questionable provenance.

Oh dear. I just realized that I have written that post after all so I may as just keep going. This was really supposed to be about telling you to check this post out. But whatever.

So how did I become such an uppity bitch? My father's paternal grandfather somehow got his hands on 500 acres in Alabama. We still haven't figured that one out. My grandfather bought out his siblings upon their father's death and expanded the farm to almost 1800 acres during my grandfather's lifetime. It gave him the ability to send all ten of his children to college, if they wanted to go. All this while year after year, he took the tests to prove his fitness to vote -- and passed them every time -- only to be told that he could not vote. (It is for this reason that I vote in every election.) So yes, my family has wealth but a lot of my folks don't.

I have a small retirement fund. I rent an apartment. These are not necessarily signs of wealth. Of course, when certain family members die, I will suddenly find myself quite wealthy. I'm just not now. And so I can feel for folks who aren't. The folks on my mother's side? Far from wealthy. Many of them are just getting by. And this is why I can understand.

I just think that if we can't have these conversations, then we are fucked as a society. And if that's the case, then I'm out of here. I've already told my mother to get my room ready at the house in Mexico (Much easier to enter than Canada if you are fleeing. Or so I've been told.) because I might just have to move there. And you know that things have to be pretty bad here if I would seriously consider living under the same roof with my mother once more.

So let your indignant comments fly. Because the rule on my blog is that everyone can be heard. Except the spammers. Those are the only comments I delete. Because if we're going to have a conversation, then we all need to be heard. But the spammers don't count because they are clearly not a part of the conversation. And they're a rarity around here. I think I've only had to delete two comments at most as a result of spammers. Just so y'all know what kind of principles I hold.

*Death Watch 2008. My stepmother is now completely bed-ridden. She no longer has the muscle control to sit up. She is bloated and when conscious, hallucinates a great deal. I keep trying to make plans but I also know that they need to be fluid. The end is around the corner. May I never again have to experience the slow deterioration of someone about whom I care.

Death of an icon

Some of my childhood favorites. I'm still in search of the Circus Cookies. *

I was horrified last Thursday when I learned that Mother's Cookies had filed bankruptcy. Even worse is the image one gets when going to their website -- a white plate with some crumbs on it.

Mother's started in Oakland. Even when operations moved out of the area, for many of us in the Bay, they were still a Bay Area company.

The loss of Mother's? Almost like the loss of one's own mother. Especially if you have a mom like mine. "I have a job. I don't have time to bake cupcakes and cookies. Let the other moms be room mothers." As you see, I am still scarred by this.

My mom? A huge addict of the oatmeal cookies. And she would keep them on top of the fridge or in a high cabinet. I guess she was trying to keep them out of my reach. Yeah. Right. I had skills. Around age six or so, I learned how to pull myself up onto the counter so that I could get to the things I wasn't supposed to have. This usually occurred in the early morning hours of Saturdays when my parents were sleeping in.

This method was also helpful in getting the prize out of the cereal box. Climb up and find the box as well as a large bowl. Dump the cereal out into the bowl until the prize is visible. Retrieve the prize and dump the cereal back into the box. Act surprised later upon reaching the end of the box that the prize has not shown up.

I engaged in these tactics some years later as well. Toward the end of elementary school, my father went on a tour of the Mother's factory as a part of his job. He came home with a jumbo box variety pack of their wares. There were enough cookies in there to last the average kid at least a month. My mother placed the box on top of the fridge. Foolish misguided woman.

I learned from my dad at this time that they also conducted class tours for students. What?! I had never heard of this field trip. Needless to say, I was never able to convince a teacher that this was a very necessary field trip. And by the time that I was teaching, operations had moved out of the area.

When I first learned last Thursday that Mother's had shut down, I went to tell the receptionist at work. She bemoaned the oatmeal cookies. I told her that the folks at SFist mentioned leaving the package open "accidentally" so that the cookies would get stale soft. She looked at me and exclaimed, "I thought that I was the only one who did that." Nope.

I meant to go pick some cookies up on Thursday but didn't remember until I got home. I decided that Friday was soon enough. The oatmeal cookies were nearly gone. I had to search hard for those. And then while I was being rung up, this guy walking into the store said, "You'd better enjoy those while you can." I explained to him that I knew about the bankruptcy and that was why I was buying the cookies. He then asked where he could find the cookies in the store.

Saturday I was out with my mom. (And I got a reminder of why I think she is such a bitch most of the time I was with her. It is a small miracle that I am not in jail currently.) We ended up in a Target and she decided to look for cookies. The cashier asked her if she knew about the bankruptcy. And then the cashier started to share what her favorite flavors were.

I don't know how it is anywhere else but everyone here in the Bay Area has their favorite. That has been the common thread. And also the feeling of the death of part of one's childhood. Because I have yet to meet anyone who grew up in Bay Area for whom Mother's cookies were not a part of their lives. It's almost like saying that there will be no more air or water.

* If I don't find the Circus Cookies, I can always get this item.

The Bon Appetit Test Kitchen -- Part 2

Pomegranate-marinated lamb with spices and couscous

I love lamb. I really love lamb. Therefore, I had yet another recipe to try. And as my aunt in Savannah pointed out, the cool thing about this recipe is that it uses one of the less expensive cuts of lamb.

Now the challenge of the recipe is that it calls for pomegranate molasses. But I was going to Berkeley Bowl Tuesday night. On my way to the produce section, I stopped on the baking aisle. (I knew that this is where I found the molasses for the pineapple upside-down pumpkin gingerbread.) There in the midst of all the other molasses bottles was one lone bottle of pomegranate molasses. I took it as a sign and after dropping it into my basket moved on to the produce section. I discovered that it is rather sweet. Almost too sweet for my tastes. But I loved all the spices in the lamb. Hmmm.

Fall to me means pomegranate. And apples. And pumpkins. Hmmmm. Maybe I should look for a recipe that incorporates all three next...

I'm starting to think that I may be in need of a 12-step program.

Porn pause

I had meant to post more food today. Then I got home last night and said, "Fuck it." I poured myself a glass of wine, dished out the short ribs, and kicked my feet up while I caught up on some of the stuff on the DVR.

But I do have a question for y'all. In all the family crap, I forgot about one thing. My dad has a great deal of social obligations. A couple of weeks ago, his older sister accompanied him to a formal event. When I was talking to my dad yesterday evening, he mentioned the holiday party that one of the organizations to which he belongs. Apparently I have been commanded to attend. And the event is black-tie.

I currently own only two formals in my closet. And I hate them both. Besides they might not fit now. I need to shop for a new one. But where? My mom says that I should mention to my dad that I need a new dress so that he will pay for it. It's how she got her mink coat. (And no, Neil, this makes me fortunate. Not privileged. But there will be a post on this topic next week. Unless I change my mind.) So perhaps I can spend a bit out of my normal comfort range.

I'd love to hear from y'all -- especially the local folks -- about where I should go to look for a dress. Or about some designer you totally love. I only wish he had told me this before Carolina Herrera was on sale on Gilt Groupe a couple of weeks ago. That's OK. One day I will own a Carolina Herrera. And maybe that helps y'all with my style.

The Bon Appetit Test Kitchen -- Part 1

Day one


Day two of Braised Short Ribs

I was going to stop cooking. Really. But then I received the November issue of "Bon Appetit" on Monday. I swear I'm going to quit just not now. No, really I swear I will. Soon.

I love braising stuff. This was another one of those multi-day dishes so I started it off on Tuesday. That's right on Tuesday, I managed to start this right before cooking up the mahi-mahi for dinner. All within an hour and a half. (There were at least another couple of food related tasks as well.)

How? When I am preparing multiple recipes simultaneously, I make a timeline in my mind. I msde a couple of other items, the end result of which you will see later this week. I put the mahi-mahi into the marinade. Next I started the short ribs. Once these were ready for the oven, I started cooking the fish. The fish required a higher oven temperature than the ribs did so as soon as the fish was done, I lowered the oven temperature. Once I finished eating, I figured that the oven had dropped enough and so the ribs went in.

By the time the ribs came out of the oven, the meat was coming off the bone on some of the ribs. This looked very promising. By the time they came out the second day, they looked more than promising. And what I tasted? Convinced me that this needs to be a part of my regular rotation of recipes.

And in case the food didn't appeal to you, I've thrown in a couple of photos of the Supermodel...

Pretending that it's still summer

Pan-seared mahi-mahi with oranges and olives

It was easy to do it yesterday since, once the fog cleared, it was actually a pretty warm day.

Mahi-mahi is one of my favorite fish. I can almost never pass up a recipe that features it. Plus I was curious about the combination of olives and oranges. And somehow they worked well together. Maybe it was the shallots and the saffron. Oh, and have I mentioned that if you ask the cashiers at Berkeley Bowl for saffron that they have a secret stash at the register? A whole half gram. For what seems like pennies. When I ask for it, I feel like I'm making a major deal.

Pssst. You have any saffron in?
You do? I'm going to need a half gram.
Really?
You take checks?
Sweet.
When's the next shipment coming in?
I'll be back.

Now I have another way to prepare mahi-mahi next summer.

Back to the porn

Basque chicken with scallop potato

Tonight after running a couple of errands, I headed on over to my folks at Poulet. Just like Gregoire's, their menu last month wasn't that appealing. But this month? Tasty.


Sometimes I select wines by the cuteness of the label.

And have I mentioned that they sell wine? To go? Unlike Gregoire that only sells non-alcoholic beverages thus necessitating a trip down the block to Astronomico's. And my fave wine steward apparently isn't there anymore because there are no longer "Recommended by" tags with her name on the shelf.


Plum tart

I enjoy baking but I eat very little of the things I bake. I love buying stuff made by others though. That's one of the joys of going to Poulet and Gregoire.

I must admit that at times like these, I do feel a tad guilty. One of my coworkers told me today that she is probably going to lose her house in the next few months. She's been there for 25 years. She just made the mistake of trying to start a business and financing it with a second on her house. My mother -- so wise in things financial to some extent and so maddening in so many other ways -- has always told me that one should never finance one's business with one's home. If the business fails, you don't want to lose everything.

But see, I've never been able to afford to buy a home here in the Bay Area -- at least not anywhere that I really want to live. And so right now, I'm quite content with my rent-controlled apartment. That allows me the little splurges in life. Like Gregoire, Poulet, and Kate Spade.

Get out of my head

Baked escargot with caramelized onions on puff pastry

... or at least stop reading the same recipes that I have.

While trying to pass time til quitting time today at work, I suddenly remembered that it was a new month. That meant a new menu at Gregoire. I didn't go at all last month because nothing really called to me on the menu.

This month? Well, imagine my surprise to see "Grilled pork tenderloin medallions with quince chutney." Huh? So I read on. "Beef Bourguignon." Make that all the time. And there was this other dish but more about that later. But something did leap out at me. And then I needed stuff to go with it. So I decided to try the escargots since I've been thinking about them for some time. And of course, I had to get my usual order of potato puffs.


Roasted duck breast with grilled plums

I supplemented the food from Gregoire's with this. I already had the duck breast in the fridge to cook up tonight. If I hadn't, I would have been tempted to order the duck from Gregoire's. But not tonight.

Whenever I see recipes that call for grilling, I quickly turn the page. I don't have any outdoor space at my apartment to set up a grill. Well, I could be like some of my neighbors and set up a grill on the roof. That always kind of worries me though. It would be just my luck that I'd end up burning down the building. Or another neighbor sets up his grill by the back steps. It's just that I don't want to cook my food in such close proximity to the dumpster.

But I really wanted to try this recipe. So I headed over to one of my favorite stores to purchase a grill pan. (I really need to stay out of there because cupboard space has become almost non-existent. I guess I should pick up that cabinet from my aunt's house one of these days. I think the pan was a great investment. In fact, now I'm wondering why I didn't get one sooner.


Pumpkin bread pudding

This is what really got me to Gregoire's. Because it's going to rain tonight. So now I have all these yummy comfort foods. And plenty of good books to read. Not to mention hours of Fall TV saved up on the DVR. I think I'm set. Because I don't think I'm heading out tomorrow at all.

Two out of three

It's starting to feel a bit like autumn around here. Well at least the gutters are filled with dry leaves.


French red onion soup

Yep. Autumn means the start of soup and stew season for me. This was the first course last night though. French onion soup has been a favorite of mine since childhood, when my mother introduced me to the dish. I loved the red onions and the Manchego but I must admit that the star anise took a week bit of getting used to. In the future I may only use one instead of the two called for in the recipe.


Beef Wellington with Balsamic Roasted Vegetables

It also means comfort foods. And if that plate doesn't look like it's filled with comfort, then I don't know what does. This another first. I'm usually a rare to medium rare kind of girl. I sometimes forget that I really need to get a thermometer for my oven. The heat in the oven is always greater than what the dial says. I just need to play with the temperature and the time some.

I've been trying to decide on a dessert to make this week but I'm just not feeling the dessert thing. There was no room for dessert anyway.

There will be no deliveries to my mother this week. She finally took the pork braised with quince out of the freezer. Her verdict? It was great once she poured some barbecue sauce over it. (I am tempted to go into the ugly Curry Chicken incident of 2004 but I won't. Not now at least.) This is how my mother usually treats the things that I have cooked -- as if there is something missing. I could understand salt or pepper, but barbecue sauce? Whatever.

Still no food

... but perhaps tomorrow.

I had the best of intentions to do some more cooking last night. The thing is that I had a two hour training session for the mentoring program. Now all I have to do is sit back and wait to receive my match.

Tonight there will be cooking though. After I remember to stop at the grocery store. Somehow in all my weekend shopping, I forgot to buy toilet paper. I hate when I do that.

So stop by tomorrow for more photos. I promise.

Wrapping it up

Pineapple upside-down pumpkin gingerbread

If you haven't guessed yet, I am quite enamored with this month's issue of "Bon Appetit."

I used to bake on a regular basis.* My junior year of college, I would get up each Saturday morning and bake baguettes. And there was usually some sort of pie or cake around as well. I think my roommates loved me.

In law school it usually happened on Thursday. I started to notice that I ended up throwing out part of the baked goods each week because I just couldn't eat it all fast enough. So I gave some to a friend. And then someone else learned of the gift. So I added another person to the list. By the end of that school year, I was making deliveries every Thursday evening to about seven or eight friends on my way out to the delis. Because everyone went to the delis on Thursday night.

Then I dropped out of law school and moved back to California. Once I got my first real job and my own apartment, I resumed baking. Not on a regular schedule but when the mood hit. And I would bring whatever I had baked into the office. Coworkers would exclaim, "I can't believe you went home and baked after working all day!" But remember? It relaxes me. Plus for the first time ever, I didn't need to jockey with anyone else for use of the kitchen.

That's where I'd like to be. At that place in my mind where I can come home after working all day and suddenly feel like baking. And actually have the energy. Because I must admit that if I hadn't mentioned the possibility of the cake to coworkers, I may not have actually baked it. One day, though, it will be different. Hopefully soon. In the meantime, I'm off to plan this weekend's menu.

* A confession. I keep reading about how baking is an exact science. Here's the thing. I stopped being real regular with my measurements many years ago. Yes, my grandmother taught me about leveling stuff off and all that. She was also big on sifting. I almost never do either these days. But I also have a pretty good eye for measurements. Little extra flour in that first cup? Well, a little less in the next then.

Even worse is when I make dumplings. Look at the chicken in the pot. Then dump enough flour in a bowl to go with said chicken. Eyeball the flour and add some baking powder based upon how much flour is in the bowl...

What I'm trying to tell y'all is to not be afraid of baking. Sure you may have some disasters along the way -- like any time I try to use a box cake mix -- but pretty soon you'll get the hang of it and know where the margins of error lie.

How I spent Friday evening

Braised pork shoulder with quince

... and Saturday evening and part of Monday.

I was intrigued by the recipe because of that one ingredient -- quince. As far as I knew, quince was simply a "Food that starts with the letter Q."

What will I remember the most? That when one is working with quince, one must have a very sharp knife. Did I mention that the knife needs to be sharp? Reading through the recipe, there was a note that quinces are hard. I have never tried to cut through anything that is harder, denser than a quince. Quartering a ripe apple is easier. (This comes to mind because once peeled and quartered, quince does remind one of an apple.) It was more akin to the feeling of slicing through a large potato. But more difficult.

Why bother? For me, it's the challenge of working with an unfamiliar ingredient. While I had heard the word "quince" before, I had no other frame of reference. And so I was deeply interested.

Everything went swimmingly until Saturday evening. (Friday night I applied the dry rub and popped the sucker into the fridge.) Perhaps it had something to do with my late start. (I had originally planned to do the Saturday step in the morning. Unfortunately I did not prepare the two earlier dishes on Friday as was the plan and they ended up being prepared Saturday morning.) Shortly after 11 p.m. the dish was ready to leave the oven. But my brain was a bit addled at this point -- might have something to do with the fact that Boris felt I needed to be awake at 5:30 a.m. every morning this weekend -- causing me to try to lift the lid off the pot without the aid of a potholder. (I do this all the time with things on the stovetop since the handles are usually cool.) So now I have second degree burns on my thumb and forefinger. I poured a cocktail and used the fingers to the hold the cocktail glass. Felt just as good as holding them under a running faucet of cold water. The good thing is that initially I thought that three digits were involved. I ignored the receptionist at work on Monday when she said that I should pop the blisters. Not trying to get any infections here.

But Monday evening I pulled the stuff out of the fridge and got it all layered in the casserole dish. And that quince may be a bitch to cut up, but it's mighty good tasting once cooked. Oh, and this was also in my mom's care package. Actually the trip to mom's was more of a food exchange since my bag was just as full when I left as when I had arrived. And I took some to work yesterday as well.

Never too much of a good thing

Lamb patties braised with eggplant, peppers and tomatoes

You would think that it was enough that I made soup and went to Chilebrown's on Saturday. Why stop there though? Because I made this dish as well before heading out for the pepper tasting.

I mean look at it. It has eggplant. And lamb. And because it has eggplant, I can tolerate the tomatoes. Of course, I did follow the recipe and use heirloom tomatoes.

This was also part of the care package for my mom. It's kind of funny. For many years, my mother would rarely eat my cooking. It would be, "I don't like that" or "I'm not in the mood for that." When she did eat my food, then often it was, "Why didn't you do this instead?" Because my mother is the first to tell you that she is a great cook; the rest of us are merely pretenders to the throne. And then she'd get mad because I frequently cooked food for my dad and my aunt, but not her. Why? Because they showed appreciation. Food can be a very personal, emotional thing for me.

In recent years there has been a shift in my mother's attitude toward my cooking. It seems to coincide with the point in time when she started telling me what apparently she had been telling others for years -- that she is proud of me.

My childhood was a painful time filled with, "You didn't try hard enough." Might explain a great deal about my body image issues. I have too many years of hearing others say that I was great only to have my mother tear me down. And in those earlier years, I often thought that I was great just to hear otherwise. So I learned to distrust my judgment as well as that of others. But food was a safe haven for me. No matter what she said, I knew that I cooked well. Now I sit here questioning why I wanted her approval so bad for all those years though.

Yes, I even ask this now that I have her approval. Now I bring her food and she calls me the next day to ask for the recipe. And I bring enough so that she can share with her neighbors, other retired folks. And they ask her why I don't do this for a living.

Yes, I have toyed with the idea. There. I said it. Cooking, just like re-reading The Tao of Pooh, helps me to rediscover my center. I am at peace in the kitchen. No TV, no computer. Not even a phone since I realized long ago that cellphone coverage is pretty sketchy in my kitchen. As a result, the majority of the time I do not bring my phone with me in the kitchen. They can leave messages. It is my time to create. And so why not take the plunge? Because I'm afraid that if I have to do it everyday, then I will grow to hate one of the things that I truly love in life. Besides I've had more than enough change for right now.