Chez Madeleine

Virtual Pot-luck Birthday Party (long awaited!)

2007-07-15T14:37:00.001-04:00

Wow! Thanks to everyone who brought scrumptious dishes to my birthday party. Sorry it took me so long to give them a proper venue. Things have been very busy the past few weeks!

So, without further ado, the best spread a girl could hope for on her birthday:

First, from Ginny-the perfect centerpiece for my extravaganza-a swan ice sculpture!

Next, for a cocktail-no party is complete without a signature cocktail; this is from my Uncle Jack, a Gibson:

Next, to whet the palate, a dazzling spread of olives, cured meats and cheeses, and wonderful soft, mellow roasted garlic from my Mom:

And what party would be complete without a raw chicken (from Emily & Sami)!

And a raw lobster (from Kristin):

And raw trout from Madi:

Moving onto my Aunt Karen's famous Sausage and Spinach Pie:

And my mom's Canary Island Pork Tenderloin:

And Kate's dazzling Falafel Salad:

Which was perfectly complimented by Em & Sami's Lebanese Spread:

And Becky's Portobello Lasagne:

And her mouth-watering chicken pot-pie (she should have her own blog!):

Nothing beat Amaree's beach picnic contributions (cobb salad wrap, pasta salad, and strawberry yogurt parfait):

And for dessert, this gorgeous red fruit tart from Becky was one of my favorite photos of all-I want to eat it off the page:

And this piece of delectable birthday cake from Shannon:

And party favors from my mom: fresh baked bread:

All in all, the diversity of these dishes represents the incredible diversity among my friends and family. You are all so different, you touch the palate in different ways, igniting different taste buds. I crave your friendship and companionship, and no meal, no day would complete without all of you. Thank you for celebrating with me!

$6 decision

2007-06-24T16:39:00.001-04:00

I was appalled to learn today that the Godiva Store at Lenox Mall charges $6 for a chocolate-covered strawberry. It's ONE strawberry! Its about 1/2 oz of chocolate! The fact that people are willing to spend $6 (can anyone else out there tell me if that's higher than minimum wage?) on this item actually offends me.

SO--in venting my disgust at Godiva, I am going to post my short list of edibles that I would rather buy with my $6 ...

1) One fish taco, one veggie taco, and one carnita taco at Taqueria del Sol

2) The Caprese Salad at Figo

3) the chocolate bread pudding at The Flying Biscuit

4) A glass of the Bonny Doon Pacific Rim dry Riesling anywhere...

Please do the same in the comments! What would you spend your $6 on?

The Liberty What?

2007-06-21T20:33:00.000-04:00

I was admonished on Tuesday evening for not reveling in our country's rich history while in Philadelphia last weekend. He fired questions at me: the Constitution? The Liberty Bell? the Art Museum? I countered that I saw the Season 15 Real World house (although that was on a trip about two years ago).

In reality, I was like my cat. Distracted by shiny objects. Stephen Starr. Walnut St. The original three-story Anthropologie. The BYO concept.

Did you know that most restaurants in Philly are BYO? I firmly believe that if BYO came to Atlanta I would be the richest woman on earth. The amount of money that I spend on alcohol in this city is sinful. And its an expensive habit.

So--the highlights of the "historical" food that I sampled in Philadelphia:

An open-faced shrimp quesadilla at The Continental Midtown:

Lobster Macaroni & Cheese at the Continental Midtown:

The Smarty Pants martini at the Continental Midtown (and yes, those are smarties at the bottom:)

The crabcake atop mango salad with black bean puree at Audrey Claire:

The chef at Audrey Claire (OH, OK, I didn't sample him but I would've liked to!):

The grilled pork chop with fig glaze and gorgozola at Audrey Claire:

Emily's new boyfriend (Alright, I didn't sample him either, but I did meet him for the first time and that's more significant than the porkchop):

So, next time I go to Philly I am due for some serious history. Liberty Bell, here I come in 2008.

Chez Madeleine Turns One: and smashes cake in her own face (just like you did when you were one)

2007-06-19T20:51:00.000-04:00

One year ago, inspired by the artisian olive oils of the Ferry Building Farmers Market, the gremolata and squash blossom pizza at Cafe Chez Panisse, and the weighty broccoli-cheddar strata griddled up at a local San Fran breakfast diner, I was inspired to start this blog. I trans-contintally (SFA to ATL) dreamt of stardom, fame, and instant literary accolades. I fantasized about being creative again---about giving a voice to all of the fallen souffles and pots de creme in my kitchen. I hoped to inspire those around me with recipes, humor, and reality.

Now, I know I frequently bordered on melodrama over the past year, but I've mostly faithfully brought you accounts of my (and my friends') adventures in food. You sat on the edge of your seats to see what which root vegetables would emerge from my weekly farmers market delivery. You coveted Kathleen's shoes when we took them out on the town. You secretly wished you could bake mini-bread loaves with a 3 year old, and you couldn't wait to attend your next wedding so that you could experiment with cake under your pillow.

You survived two of my break-ups. You were with me as I became 6 classes closer to my degree. You waited patiently as I jetted to Costa Rica, Brazil, & Argentina (twice). You never complained about my (mostly) crappy and almost (always) blurry photography, and you even endured my love affair with my cat.

So, for that, I am inviting you to a virtual Birthday Party to be held next Friday, June 22nd on Chez Madeleine. If you love me. If you don't want me to stick my head in the oven, you will make something, anything for my party. Please send me the photo to Sarah underscore Pearse at bus dot emory dot edu. If you have flickr-even better-just send me the link. Next friday, I'll set the table, put out all of your dishes, and we'll have a party just thinking about what the next year will bring.

So, dear readers, don't fail me now. Even if its your morning scrapple, its welcome at my party.

Happy Birthday Chez Madeleine!

The Anti-Oven Summer Dinner

2007-06-12T22:07:00.000-04:00

When its 90 degrees outside. When you don't have air conditioning in your car. When your clothes are stuck to your back and you wish you could go to work naked. How can you even think of turning your oven on?

When you can't bear to add any more heat to this Atlanta summer, make a meal that doesn't require the oven. From start to finish-this is one of the most refreshing, flavorful, colorful meals you can make for your friends. Its inspired by french cafes, adirondak chairs on the lake, sunsets and glasses of wine.

First, a cool cucumber soup spiced with jalepeno and buttermilk. All in the food processor, with onion & sour cream. Served in wine glasses with tangy cherry tomato salad. Cool and spicy. Tangy and refreshing.

Next, a Nicoise Salad. The quintessential french salad. Sections of ingredients from the far. Seared tuna with sea salt. Crispy haricots verts. Soft, buttery potatos. Tiny oily, salty nicoise olives. Creamy eggs. Coated with a chunky dressing of tarragon, parsley, dijon mustard, olive oil, cider vinegar, garlic, and paper thin cut onions.

And last, the simplest dessert. Balsamic Vinegar, Sugar, and fresh strawberries. Finishing soft and complex on the tongue.

Who needs the oven when you have food like this?

And last-a few shots of Madeleine drinking out of my new French water glasses...I know its gauche to love your pet to death, but could she be more gorgeous drinking out of this glass?

The Man Behind the Curtain

2007-06-10T21:52:00.001-04:00

Kevin Rathbun is the veritable gastronomic mayor in the Old Fourth Ward. He has helped to revitalise the area with his stylish, modern, fresh cuisine. His restaurants are destinations, and I am an addict. I've canoodled in the corner of his Krog Bar, exported by fizzy wine and topiary trees. I've entertained out-of-town guests and boyfriends alike in Rathbun's, always carefully folding and tucking the daily menu into my purse when leaving--reading it later to fantasize about what I may have missed. And this year, his third Opus opened just a week before my 27th birthday. I could not be stopped. My dream was to eat at Kevin Rathbun Steak with my nearest and dearest for my birthday celebration.

The occasion even called for a new dress---an edgy Bill Hallman creation that left me feeling bubbly, tipsy, flirty, and hungry for what Kevin would serve me next. The evening started with drinks in the dark & sexy bar. As we waited for our table, we all nervously fingered our metal drink stirrers. Just one more indication of the "weight" of this occasion. Finally, we were seated in the dining room, 'neath the sprawling branches of the chandelier. I couldn't make out exactly what it was, but it looked a cross between antler and driftwood--dotted by votives.

Halibut Ceviche, Lobster Fritters, and one seafood tower later (lobster, blue pointe oysters, and crab), we were lost in divine seafood bliss, and awaiting our steaks and accompaniments. I ordered the NY Strip with truffle butter. Side dishes were housed in little red cast iron ramekins that reminded me of petite train cars. They covered the table--elbow macaroni & cheese, creamed corn & jalepeno, sweet potatos with gruyere, creamed spinach. We (very unfortunately) were too late for many of our choices--including the twice-baked potato of the day which was gouda and parsley.

It was at this point that Emily whispered something to the server, and I saw the man who had made my culinary dreams come true making his way over to our table. As Kevin approached, I simply uttered "I love you". Like a nervous teenager, I shook in my seat. He smiled his big grin and responded, "I love you too, you just don't know it yet." We were captured, here in a photo--one I will cherish for a long time.

Kevin--thank you for being so passionate about what you do. For serving great food. For being at your restaurants, ever present, instead of just having your name on the sign and calling it a night. For humoring a flirty, drunk woman on the eve of her 27th birthday. I couldn't fit your Kevin Rathbun Steak menu in my purse, but I'll take the memories with me forever, and I'll be back to make more.

how thyme flies

2007-06-10T21:02:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago, when I arrived home from Florida, Madi had planted me a new herb garden. The garden that Jeff had given me as a housewarming had long since withered under the stress of school, homework, Welcome Weekend & my spring social calendar. Madi planted a new one--a tomato plant, some thyme and some sage. Its been a while since I've had herbs that weren't dried on the vine, so I've been seizing the opportunity to cook with the thyme as long as I can keep it alive.

So, last Tuesday, I invited Madi over for dinner, popped pork tenderloin out of the freezer, cubed up some red potatos, and got to cooking.

This meal was so simple and delicious--all that was missing was a green salad, but I hadn't been to the grocery store in weeks. I marinated the pork tenderoloins (they often come in packs of two) with olive oil, salt, pepper, tons of fresh garlic, and sprigs of thyme--I was in a hurry to get the flavors melding so I didn't even borrow stripping the thyme from the stem. I covered it and refrigerated for 30 minutes. In the meantime, I chopped up the red potatos into small cubes so that they would cook along with the pork. I mixed those with my fingers right in the pan with garlic, thyme, pepper, and a new salt I got for Christmas---sea salt smoked in french oak.

Both pans roasted for 35 minutes or so. The pork was tender and juicy, and the potatos browned and flavorful. We toasted with a slightly chilled Pinot Noir. Happy Tuesday night dinner!

Send it back

2007-06-06T17:51:00.000-04:00

Why do we feel guilty when we send our food back in a restaurant? We're paying for it. We've toiled away in dimly lit cubicles to earn the $10-$20 that an entree at the average American restaurant costs. We've ordered to our liking, carefully choosing among other options. And yet when our dinner comes, and its cold, or stale, or overcooked, or bloody, we wrestle our consciences to the floor, using our best behind the back arm twist move, trying to figure out if we should send it back.

I ordered something. Maturity & Intelligence with a side of sauteed kisses on the forehead and and garnished with belly laughter and companionship. So, when it came, and it was Selfish & Noncommital Soup topped with calling at 3 am and garnished with a penchant for not asking about my "day" for weeks, why did I feel so guilty sending it back?

I pushed it around the plate with my fork. Took bites from the other sides thinking that they'd taste different. Noshed discerningly, thinking, maybe I can stomach this? After all, didn't people eat their meat overcooked for thousands of years because they thought it would cause diseases? More importantly, I don't want to disrupt my meal! The atmosphere is so nice, and my companions for dinner are making great conversation (love their stories!) and if I sent my food back it might ruin the whole tenor of the night.

And so that's why I bargained myself into a crappy meal that left a bad taste in my mouth. I've learned my lesson. In life, we can't feel guilty for asking for, even demanding, what we want and deserve out of life. Send it back if its not what you ordered, and don't spend one minute feeling guilty about it. Expect the best from people, and meals, but be willing to bow out if its not what you wanted in the first place.

Muddled

2007-05-14T21:38:00.000-04:00

When you make a mojito, you muddle all of the ingredients together. Pre-packaged mixes are sugary imitations. You have to put your heart and your bicep into it--and crush the mint with the sugar, and the ice. Its not enough to just add them all to the glass---shaking won't do the trick, its the muddle that makes it worthwhile to drink.

Life is muddled. Its crushed together with heart and bicep. Its forced and cobbled sometimes, but then sometimes it just comes together as the most wonderful combination. We imbibe ourselves on the juicy and sometimes sour combinations that life gives us. Bottoms up.

This weekend I walked along the beach and searched for seashells and promise. Watched the fury of the waves, and realized how life comes in waves. That the currents pull you toward pain and risk but also toward strong arms. That the waves are as natural as the bad dreams. That a seashell can be as precious as a pearl of wisdom.

Lately, life has felt muddled, and from time to time I've felt drunk on melodrama. But then I sat outside, squinted in the sun, faced my companion, tasted the cold drink and asked for another.

gagging

2007-04-26T22:44:00.000-04:00

I think that what defines us is our ability to remain true to what is important when we are threatened. Think about those who you know who have had their hearts consumed by divorce, rejection, failure, or heartache. Slowly, the worms of pain weave themselves in and out of their skin, eating until nothing is left. Only bitterness and bile. Negativity and glass-half-empty.

I'm trying to rise above myself and look down. I'm trying to exit my body and be my own friend. I'm trying to explain away the irrational by looking at how much worse things could be.

But my fear is that if I'm not bitter, they'll think that I've forgiven them. That for a moment, or a long string of them, they will feel justified, that their guilt will go away and they'll say "see, we always knew she'd come around." That somehow I'll be their secret, silent accomplice.

And yet kindness comes up as easily as vomit when you're trying to gag yourself. You want it to come, you want to feel better, you want the room to stop spinning, so you stick your finger as far as it can go and hope and pray it will come. I'm down there, scratching at my throat looking for the me who can forgive.

And it makes me question why I value their guilt so much. Why I want them to feel sad about hurting me. Even when I know I'm defined by how I behave in situations like these.

My friend Melissa calls me an old soul. So today, and tomorrow and the next, I'll try to believe her, and I'll tell myself that this isn't the first time (or the first lifetime) where I've had to challenge myself to be better than I want to be.

women

2007-04-17T21:43:00.000-04:00

Women. You can't live with them, and you can't live without them. Ehem. Actually, I can't live with them and I can't live with them. They're my mother, my sister, and my friends.

When I think about my relationships, the ones I've had with women are the most complicated and the most rewarding, and the most risky.

Tonight, I was betrayed by a friend. Someone who I had opened up to, who I had shared everything with. Someone who knew me inside and out. The friend who said, "don't call him when you're feeling mad or sad--call me. tell me those things. he's not worth it. I'll listen and I'll field your screaming pain, and I'll understand." and I did. I told her everything. My worst fears come true. The things you only tell your diary. And I told her.

And she took those pieces of me, and she shared them with him, and she betrayed me. She holed up with him on a couch somewhere, curled up like we used to, and they whispered about me and laughed about me. And in that moment she took me and flushed me down the toilet. She is the kind of woman who actually thinks that men change. She thinks that he treated me like "this", but that he'll treat her differently. That he only acted that way because of me. But that she'll be different. She's willing to sacrifice a friendship to find out the hard way that that never happens. That he'll never change.

And then there are other women. The kind that tell me that I'm worth a thousand of her. The kind who take their crappy days, and their crappy relationships and put them aside to sit with me and listen to me cry, and moan, and complain, and weep, and scream. The kind who say "I know exactly how you feel. And its not crazy. And we love you anyway."

And that's the difference. There are women make you proud to be women, and there are those who you file away with old tax returns and receipts and buttons for clothes you will never repair.

We all know women like this. And most of us are damn lucky to know the difference. Take the ones who you know are true, and love them to death, and tell them how lucky you are to have them. I will do that. I will never make a mistake in telling the difference again.

hungry

2007-04-13T22:43:00.000-04:00

Fuck food. Sometimes when I can't fall asleep I try to count how many skinny single women I know and how many fat single women I know. I compare them. I try to write a formula that will predict whether I will ever end up with someone. One size 4. Single. One size 12. Single. No dice.

Where is the fois gras and the marshmallow cream when I need it? Why doesn't it fill the void that I feel. It makes me full, but life sometimes leaves me empty. I hum my favorite song to hold back the tears. Like you used to do when you had to get a booster shot. Taste the tears as they're falling. And then my cat does too. Crying feels like eating. A letting go. An indulgence. Leaves you puffy and hurting. Salt-stained and red.

A woman saved her husband from a mountain lion. Stabbed it with her purse pen to save his life. And I stand in my panties in my living room and cry. That's love. Saving someone from a wild animal. But how often do we get the chance to make those grand gestures? Instead, we grow up on Say Anything and Sixteen Candles and we expect someone to be outside our window with a boombox when we get in a fight. And we wake up disappointed and disillusioned.

And then there are the dreams. Of exes. Of trauma. Of making love and of eyelashes blowing in the wind. The dreams where I'm drowning or giving birth. What do they mean?

I see the yellow flowers in the jar, and it reminds me of the jar where our biology teacher used to keep a brain. Preserved in its gray matter. Eternally thinking: how did I end up in this jar? And then there are the pansies that grow near the entrance of Emory, that get ripped up every two weeks. And it makes me think of our pursuit of perfection. Ripping up perfectly good flowers only to replant in a different shade of purple. Like a bruise, changing its color over the week, healing and then turning brown and yellow before the new pink skin pokes through.

And so I guess I can only hope that my purpleness, my rawness, and my tears will give way to that ugly brown and yellow that will mean healing and new skin to come. New skin that's never been touched by tears or even the sun or wind. And then I will allow myself, all over again, to be exposed. To be sunburnt. To be scratched. And I will hope that one day I will heal again.

Goodbye Apples, Hello Asparagus

2007-03-21T23:12:00.000-04:00

Today is the first official day of Spring. I'm ready for it. But I'm not ready to say goodbye to apples and comfort food. Braised meats and risottos are giving way to arugula salads with berries and pansies. Winter hang outs give way to giant patios and misters.

Its Festival time. Dogwood. Inman Park. Summerfest. Time to adorn your walls and spend your salary on framing.

As a last hurrah, I'm sharing this recipe for apple crostada that I made for the Oscars. Its the most simple, divine, rustic thing I know. Before the apples disappear (although they never do now due to cross-continental flights), make this crostada. You will be in heaven.

The recipe has a pastry component, but Pillsbury works just fine, and I don't think that anyone can tell the difference.

Apple Crostada
1.5 lbs of McIntosh, Macoun, or Empire apples
1/4 tsp grated orange zest
1/4 c. all purpose flour
1/4 c. granulated sugar
1/4 tsp. kosher salt
1/4 tsp. cinnamon
1/4 tsp. ground allspice
4 tablespoons cold unsalted butter (1/2 stick) diced

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees

Unwrap the pastry onto a lightly floured surface; transfer it to a baking sheet lined with parchment paper.

for the filling, peel, and quarter the apples. Cut each quarter into 3 chunks (this is crucial-the chunks contribute to the rustic-ness of the tart). Toss the chunks with the orange zest. Cover the tart dough with the apple chunks, leaving a 1.5 inch border.

Combine the flour, sugar, salt, cinnamon, and allspice in the bowl of a food processor. Add the butter and pulse until crumbly. Pour into a bowl and rub it with your fingers until it starts holding together. Sprinkle evenly on the apples. Gently fold the border of the pastry over the apples, pleating and pinching it to make a circle.

bake the crostada for 25-30 minutes, or until the crust is golden and the apples are tender. Let the tart cool for 5 minutes, then transfer it to a wire rack.

Serve with fresh whipped cream or vanilla ice cream.

Little Miss Sunshine

2007-03-13T23:02:00.000-04:00

I invented a cocktail for the Oscars. It got its inspiration from the Apple Crostada I was making from the Barefoot Contessa Parties! cookbook. The crust is stuffed with apples tossed with orange zest. I had an entire juicy Florida orange left over once I had stripped it of its essence, so I decided to juice it.

But what does one do with a few shots of fresh O.J.?

As the glowing stars made their way down the red carpet, I decided that the best way to pay homage to them was through a cocktail.

So, I shook in my martini shaker: Pomegranate juice, tonic, Ketel One vodka, ice, and this tiny shot of O.J.

Gregor said it tasted like "nothing". how could that be? But I thought it was a refreshing, pink, chilly, fun, inventive cocktail.

Check out the amazing meal I made too:
Filet Mignon with Gorgonzola sauce (let me know in the comments if you want the recipe for the sauce-it was incredible and so easy)
Roasted Potatoes with Garlic and parsley
Roasted Cherry tomatoes with basil

And here's the apple crostada. served with Ben & jerry's. yum

Pressure Cooker

2007-03-13T22:45:00.000-04:00

Its been over a month since I've been here. Gone through my familiar routine of downloading, and then uploading both my photos and my thoughts onto the computer and the page. I hope I haven't lost anyone. I wouldn't be surprised if I had. Every day you've been loyally navigating your favorites, browsing the top headlines, sniffing the latest gossip on msn, visiting your favorite blogs, and mine has been disappointing you.

Thank you for telling me you've missed me.

Lately, I have been in a pressure cooker. Too much crap to do and not enough time. Nerves fried. No creative inspiration.

I don't have a lot of time to post (its not like the pressure just magically went away today, it was just that I missed connecting with you), but I wanted to tell you about one really divine dessert that I made for my sister and my friends when Christianne was in town a few weeks ago.

The recipe is from Atlanta Cooks At Home---a cookbook featuring Atlanta chefs (think Scott Peacock, Kevin Rathbun and Ricardo Ullio) and their fave recipes for at home entertaining. This one was just so simple and so divine that I think that you should make it for your friends and family this weekend!

A Pot de Creme was oftentimes the dessert included in the prix fixe meals that Amaree and I used to have in Paris. It would be even cuter if you had some espresso cups or small mugs to bake these in. Virginia Willis is a great Southern chef who often teaches at Cooks Warehouse--she uses delightfully french touches

(this marks the first time I'm posting a recipe here):

Mocha Pots de Creme
serves 6
1 c. heavy cream
1 c. whole milk
5 oz. semisweet chocolate
1 tbsp. instant espresso or instant coffee
5 large egg yolks
1/3 c. granulated sugar
1 tsp. vanilla extract
pinch of fine sea salt
approximately 4-6 c. of boiling water to create a bain marie (water bath)

Undeinably creamy and indulgent, these are the French version of pudding cups. Pots de creme are named such because of the traditionally litted ceramic pots in which these custards are baked.

Place oven rack in the middle of the oven. heat oven to 325. Place six- 6 oz pots de creme or ramekins in a medium roasting pan and set aside. Begin boiling water for a bain marie.

In a medium saucepan, combine cream, milk, chocolate, and espresso powder over medium heat. Bring almost to a simmer adn remove from heat. Set aside, stirring occassionally until chocolate is almost completely melted.

In a 1-quart measuring cup, whisk together the egg yolks and sugar. While whisking, add a little of the hot milk mixture to temper. Add the remaining mixture and whisk to combine. Whisk in the vanilla and salt.

Pour approx. 1/2 c. of the egg mixture into each ramekin. Cover each of the ramekins tightly with alumninum foil to prevent a skin from forming. fill pan with enough boiling water to come halfway up the sides. This is the bain marie. Carefully transfer the roasting pan to the oven. Bake until the custards are set in the center. 35-40 minutes.

Remove the roasting pan from the oven. remove the pots from the water and place on a wire rack to cool, about 30 minutes; transfer to fridge to cool completetly, preferably overnight.

To serve, top with whipped cream.

If you make it, please post in the comments and let us know. And I promise you will love this recipe!

Ciao.

Heavenly Food at Watershed

2007-02-10T17:52:00.000-04:00

Last Friday, my two favorite girls and I donned sexy outfits and pointy heels and dined at Watershed. Most of you know that its my favorite restaurant in town. The dinner was actually a reward for Emily who successfully bid on my Menu for Hope prize, therefore saving me the humiliatio of having no one bid on my prize. I had already given Em & Sami the cookbook that was promised as part of the prize, and it seemed a bit silly to spend the day with Emily giving her a tour of familiar Atlanta fooderies, so instead I offered to take her for dinner at Watershed (to honor the original intention of the prize). Sami was otherwise indisposed at a Friday Night Team Meeting, so we took advantage of our girls night.

Kathleen and I still had warm memories of the Best G&T in town that we had ordered at our last dinner at Watershed, so we quickly ordered one. Its made with small-batch gin and has a crunchy cuke slice floating inside:

Next, we clamored for the Butterbean Hummus. Creamy and buttery-and served with homemade feta, crispy green beans, celery with its gorgeous leaves, razor thin radish wafers, and salty slimy olives:

I chose the porkchop cooked medium, served with macaroni & cheese and sweet potatos:

Kathleen ventured for the vegetable plate, which had lima beans, rutabega puree, fried califlower, sour cream corn bread, and roasted tomatos:

Emily chose best with Shrimp and Red Rice--it was tangy, creamy, tender, and spicy all at once:

Afterwards, we sped to a gallery opening and arrived too late for any people watching. Sometimes, on Friday, all you can hope (and pray for) is a great meal with your friends. If you haven't been to Watershed lately, go this weekend!

Nothing says I Love You like Sausage

2007-02-10T16:47:00.000-04:00

In celebration of Valentine's Day, Jessica & Kevin invited me and my Valentine (Madeleine) over for a special V-Day brunch. So, last night Madeleine and I stayed home to wash our hair (and fur) and get prepared for the big day. I had a fashion show this morning, parading around in various jeans and sweater combinations until I found the one that was just right for my v-day brunch.

Kevin & Jessica know how to feed a girl. The table was beautifully set, and the menu was divine.

Everything was ready when I arrived, so we were able to leisurely enjoy a cup of coffee. I love make-ahead stuff that allows you to enjoy your guests' company.

voila le menu:

Whole Wheat Pancakes:

With fresh berry syrup:

A bowl of plump berries:

And the kicker...heart-shaped sausage:

and gorgeous heart-shaped cookies for dessert:

Here's Kevin (he wasn't sleeping, I just caught him in the middle of a blink) holding what he considered to be the "most perfectly heart-shaped sausage":

And my plate:

I'm so lucky to have such wonderful friends.
Do something unexpected and special for your Valentine this year...make it a sausage holiday instead of a hallmark one...

What's for dinner?

2007-01-30T21:47:00.000-04:00

One can't always be throwing glamorous parties or hobnobbing with celebrity chefs. Sometimes, especially after one has been traveling for a while, one just wants to cook for herself at home.

Lately, I've been cooking a lot at home and really enjoying it.

Last week, I made some really great recipes from Cooking Light. For my lunches, I made homemade falafel and yogurt sauce. For dinner, I cooked up this Fig and Blue Cheese stuffed Pork Tenderloin. I paired the tenderloin with some sweet potato fries.

I also mixed up this super easy Apple Raisin Slaw.

Tonight, I made some salmon that I highly recommend. I salted and peppered two salmon filets. In a small bowl I mixed 2 tbsp. grain dijon mustard (it has to be the grainy kind), 1 tbsp organic honey, and 2 tbsp low-sodium soy sauce. It makes a dark glaze. I put the fish skin side down in a glass dish and spoon the mixture over the top. It carmelizes and gets really sticky in the oven, giving the fish the best flavor. I cook it at 350 for about 25 minutes.

Also, for healthy lunch club tomorrow, I cooked up this Chicken Chili and these Sour Cream, Green Onion, and Cheddar biscuits.

Tomorrow's lunch will be warm like a big bowl of chili.

So, that's my normal Tuesday night dinner. Hope yours was good too!

Bonne Anniversaire, Aimee

2007-01-26T09:33:00.000-04:00

Today is the first day, in the 27th year, in the third decade, in the totally enviable, completely fabulous, and always interesting life of my best friend, Aimee.

And so I want to tell the world (or my microscopic slice of it) about all the things I adore about her:

#1. Aimee was the first person I knew at Emory. Her name was sent to me on a little postcard in the Summer before I went to college; she was my freshman roommate. We exchanged cards and Aimee sent me cookies. Aimee was the first person who knew my name in college. There is only so close you can be with a friend if you haven't slept three feet away from them for a year (or two in our case. I learned what true friend intimacy was with Aimee. I learned it through whispers in the dark across a ten-foot dorm room.

#2. Aimee's CD collection. Seriously, I thought the girl had lived LIVES before she got to college. She was so exotic with her CD collection-Tori Amos, and the Grateful Dead, and Jamiroquoi, and Paul Simon. She had tales of Woodstock. I still worship this girls' CD collection and her uncanny ability to discover new artists and share them with her friends.

#3. Aimee taught me how to fight fair. And I can only say this because we had fights. Screaming, crying, slamming fights where I tried to literally say things like "I'm mad because I want to be. I don't have to tell you why." Aimee taught me how to fight like an adult-to articulate what was bothering me, to tell her, so that we could solve things. She never let me sabotage a good thing.

#4. Aimee is the most incredible dancer. Seriously, I know I've been talking a lot about sex lately, but you look at this girl dance, and you just know she's good in that department, too. She enters her own world, where anything goes, and no one cares what you look like, or whether or not you move just like everyone else. Watching Aimee dance made me want to dance, and when she met me, i couldn't even bear one song without a few shots. Aimee makes dancing look like the most inspiring thing. Watching her dance still inspires me.

#5. Aimee is a smart woman. Smart doesn't really do her justice. My friend Aimee puts people to shame with her work ethic, her raw intelligence, her voracity for her passion, and her dedication to her own pursuit of the best she can be.

#6. Aimee is such a good friend. Not just to me, but to everyone. She is ever-supportive, ever-listening, and her advice could probably save the world. I would recommend Aimee as Advisor to Every World Leader. She could broker World Peace.

#7. Aimee runs and jumps into your arms when you see her after a long time. I've never met anyone else like that. She just can't wait to see you, so she runs.

#8. Aimee loves to nap in her pajamas. Seriously, the girl changes into her pajamas for an afternoon nap. AND she gets under the covers. She seriously commits to that afternoon nap. Its not just a passing fancy, its really something she puts her heart into. Napping is an artform for Aimee. She has that in common with my cat, Madeleine.

#9. Aimee is organized. In her life, in her home, in her bathroom, in her desk. She is organized. Everything has a place. She's efficient, and she has great little systems for everything that the rest of us forget to do, like cleaning our make-up brushes, or making grocery lists. I marvel at her efficiency and her little systems for everything.

#10. Aimee loves life. She is a joy to be around. I've never met anyone who didn't like her. She does the right thing. She engages the new person in the group. She always remember to ask about your family. She loves to laugh and eat great food. She cracks me up, and she's been such an important person in my life for so long, that I do not know what I would do without her.

Happy Birthday, Aim!
Love you to death, Sarah

A Theory About People Who Love Food

2007-01-23T11:35:00.000-04:00

Behold the most fabulous thing I ate in 2006. I know its blurry, but it was seared fois gras with blueberries from Trois. It sent shivers down my spine. It melted over and over again in my mouth. I brutally stabbed someone who tried to steal a bite with my fork.

I have a theory that is rapidly gaining strength. A thesis that supposes that people who LOVE food, who really roll it around in their mouths, get excited about menus, crave certain dishes from childhood or from their neighborhoods, and celebrate the pleasure of eating, are:

-better in bed
-more fun on a Saturday night
-more likely to dream
-better friends: more likely to call, more likely to throw you a surprise party
-more loving, affectionate, happy, well-adjusted, and passionate

In the last year, I've met two people who really didn't care for food and it honestly freaked me out. One is through work. This woman is extremely bony and shrill. She never seems to be having a good time, and I think she delights in making other people's days worse. She survives on SlimFast alone. She proves my thesis up and down.

The other supposedly "never" liked food (even as a child!). He never really craves anything, eats only one flavor of yogurt in the morning (the same type he had been eating for years), and when handed a menu at a restaurant he would just "have what you were having" because it wouldn't occur to him to care enough to order something fabulous. He was once quoted as saying he would rather jump off a bridge than eat a hot dog or a doughnut. Kind of scary.

So, my dear readers. I know I haven't given you much lately in the area of blogging, but I'm begging you to weigh in on my thesis. I'm thinking I could write a book on this one day. Have you ever met anyone who proves or disproves my theory?

The Dirty South

2007-01-13T13:36:00.000-04:00

On Thursday night, I returned from my last minute trip to South America. On Thursday I stood in 14 lines. I counted each one. Pushed my bag with my foot along the floor, rubbed the dent that had been permanently dug itself into my shoulder from my bag. Escaped into my ipod. Declared my souvenirs. Exited customs and smelled the sweeet Atlanta air and gave thanks that Delta delivered me home safely.

South America was a bunch of round and misshapen adventures strung together in a long necklace. Buenos Aires, the shiny European jewel of the continent. Parisian facades, wide, sprawling avenues, waterfront bars, spicy rich Malbec, and slabs of beef. Greasy empanadas that soak through your napkin. Sexy, sultry, daring, forbidden, fishnetted tango. Beautiful, discernible Spanish.

Sao Paulo, the massive, tall, smoggy skyline. The gemini populations--living not side by side, but on top of each other in socioeconomic layers. The very rich hopping through the city in helicopters, careful not to ever touch the streets. And the very poor running and busing through the streets in Havianas and bright fabrics. The toxic, cunning Caipirinhas. The ever-confusing sounds of Porteguese-Oy! The sheer vastness of a city within a country whose boulbous shape takes over the continent in both size and population.

There's too much to tell. Too much that I can't tell (South America is like Vegas in that way). Too much that seems a blur. But there are bright shiny moments that I can't help but sharing here. Mostly, the people are the bright shiny moments, but as usual I spent most of my time photographing the food. Thank you to all of the students who made me feel so welcomed and so embraced on the trip.

Sarah's South American Top Fourteen

#14. Coffee that reminds you why you haven't spotted a Starbucks in South America

#13. A Vegetarian at a Brazilian Steakhouse

#12. Coca-Light: a sweeter and flatter version of its Atlanta counterpart

#11. Five-Year Olds Dancing on bar tables at 4 am

#10. Outdoor cafes in Buenos Aires that remind me of the Champs Elysees

#9. Steaks the size of your head

#8. Empanadas: filled with spicy beef, potato, gooey cheese

#7.Toasting with friends, and hot Argentinian Sommeliers

#6. Dancing that makes me think of sex

#5. Brazilians cooking their meat on a George Foreman Grill

#4. Caipirinhas (muddled sugar cane alcohol, limes, ice, and sugar to the taste)

And Passion-Fruit Caipirinhas

#3. The Mexican Flag: sipping tequila, spicy tomato juice, and lime juice.

#2. Brazilian Steakhouses

#1. Friends who remind you that traveling isn't about the place, its about the people who experience it with you.

Thumbs Up

2006-12-29T19:32:00.000-04:00

Recenty, three friends met up at the Diner across the street from me. Kevin and Jessica are two of my favorite people in the world. And the fact that they're recently married makes me believe in love.

Kevin is an uber-talented High-School teacher, blogger extraordinare, history buff, baseball coach, and website designer. He designed my sister's wedding website, and is going to eventually help me take this one to the next level. How cool is it that he engages his students by blogging about American History? Check it out.

Jessica is equally talented and charming. She is one of the smartest women that I know, and her advice qualifies her to understudy with Dear Abby. Jessica is the kind of person you could talk to all day. I love her companionship and I live for her advice.

Jessica and Kevin love Brunch. They would make it a sport if they could. They're on a quest to visit all of the best brunch places in Atlanta, so I thought it was only natural that we meet at my personal favorite, Thumbs Up Diner.

It was a few weeks before Christmas, so we were greeted with holiday mugs of coffee:

Wanting to show his diverse culinary tastes, Kevin ordered Lou's coffee, a blend of hot chocolate and coffee topped with whipped cream:

Kevin and Jessica studied their menus seriously, eventually settling on the Yukon Omelette for Jessica (with smoked salmon and cream cheese) and the Mexican Egg wraps for Kevin:

My omelette with goat cheese, spinach and mushrooms:

Kevin and Jessica with their meals:

We had a great time at brunch, catching up on our lives and eating lots of protien to sustain us for the rest of our Christmas shopping. So, if you ever want to come over for brunch, I'll take you to Thumbs Up diner...just name the date and time....

Gifts

2006-12-29T19:22:00.000-04:00

This Christmas season, I appreciated all of my gifts. Mostly the gift of a great laugh with a friend, of an old family photo, of a pajama day with my family. My life is filled with the best kind of gifts.

I wanted to take a few minutes to tell you about the highlights of my Christmas:

1) The flawless execution of a Bon Appetit menu on Christmas eve: Standing Rib Roast, Yorkshire Pudding with bacon, roasted tomatos with Stilton, Green Beans with carmelized shallots, and potato gratin. I can tell you that this plate rivaled what was in the magazine!

2) My mother: If you ever think for one minute that what I have is god-given talent-think again! Every inspiration for every party, dish, creation comes from my mother. Just a few highlights were her cranberry speckled drink cooler--who would've thought to add cranberries to the ice!

Her flower arrangement for Christmas Eve-with cranberries too (those little suckers are versatile!):

And her Christmas morning breakfast: on the bottom is the potato gratin from Christmas Eve dinner, topped by crispy bacon and a perfectly poached egg. Herbs on the plate, ladies and genteman. She's an Alfred Portale apprentice:

3) This lunch I made for my mom and I on Christmas day-- Ham & Brie grilled cheeses with crudites from the night before:

4) My culinary presents!

Le Creuset Oven Mitts from Kathleen:

The Gift of Southern Cooking from Tara:

This kick-ass tea brewer and loose teas from Aimee (I'm drinking freshly brewed tea as I type this, Aimee!). You set it over your mug and it pours right in and you can brew in the microwave.

And these unique items from my Mom:
Chardonnay and Oak Fleur de Sel (I'm so excited about this I could eat it raw)

Truffle Sauce (oh-my-goodness)

White Balsamic Cream (the consistency of shower gel)

Please send ideas about how to use these items...

It was an incredible Christmas, and I'm happy to be back in Atlanta now getting ready for New Years with friends. Then, I'm off to Brazil & Argentina for 9 days for work. I promise to return with stories and photos of Malbec, Argentinian Beef, half-naked Brazilian girls, and the like.

In the meantime-tell me, did you receive any culinary gifts this year that you want to share?

First Annual Cocktail Party

2006-12-19T20:45:00.000-04:00

I'm afraid I may have fallen from my perch as "hostess with the mostess" this weekend when, at my first annual cocktail party, I did a lot of bitching that no one else hosted parties. I love to host, and would marry a votive holder, a chinese lantern, or a napkin ring holder if it met me on the right night. I'm a sucker for a room full of people, a table full of bites, and a rampant rip-roaring theme.

So, my first annual party was held on Friday night. The menu was:
Spiced Bourbon Cider
Baltimore Egg Nog with Rum & Brandy
Espresso Martini Station

Italian Fig Cookies
Buckeye Balls
Peppermint Cheesecakes with a cookie crust
Dark Chocolate Dipped Pretzel Rods
Three-Chocolate Bark with spiced pecans and cherries
Black Spice Cakes with Molasses Cream Cheese Frosting and Caramel
homemade Sharp Cheddar Cheese Straws (from Tara)
Sweet and Salty Pecans (Kathleen)

The mistletoe was hung...

The buckeyes were dipped...

The eggnog was imbibed with brandy and rum...

And this food blogger celebrated with her great friends, and gave thanks for a wonderful 2006. Here's to many more parties in 2007 (at your house of course)...

Three more days to go!

2006-12-19T19:58:00.000-04:00

Three more days to go in the Menu for Hope campaign, and we've already way surpassed our goal. As of now, we've raised $32,176! That is going to make such a difference in so many people's lives.

Don't forget to bid on my prize and many others. I am personally going after the red Kitchenaid Mixer, the original "banner" design for a blog, and the Alice Waters signed platter.

My prize code is UE07, and you can donate for it here.

You know you've been wanting to donate...now's the time....

Menu for Hope III

2006-12-10T22:40:00.000-04:00

Some people are great cooks. Some are great writers. Some are philanthropists.
And then there are those encapsulate all three. Pim is one of those chicks. I don't know her personally, but her blog is a feast for the mind, and her heart is as big as the Eiffel Tower. Pim has organized her third annual Menu for Hope from December 11-22 with the help of food bloggers from around the world. This time she will be raising funds to support the United Nations World Food Programme.

During the holiday season we do a lot of things that we're not proud of--we cut in line at the mall, cut people off in traffic, pray that we get the biggest cream puff of the buffet, and hope for the big checks from our grandmothers. Do something that makes you feel good--donate for the Menu for Hope and you could win a gift certificate to eat the Inn at Little Washington, or a Red Kitchenaid Standing Mixer. Either way, you'll feel good. I guarantee it. Karma is good stuff.

Adam Roberts of The Amateur Gourmet, organized we food bloggers on the East Coast of the USA and he has also donated two really cool prizes--one for New Yorkers, and one for non-New Yorkers. I am definitely bidding on the non-NYC prize!

Your truly has entered an Atlanta food experience. I'm inviting you to spend the day with me in Atlanta. I'll share 8 years of food discoveries with you in one day! You'll leave having experienced great biscuits, soul food, and new southern cuisine. When you get home, you'll be dying to try the stuff that Atlanta chefs have been cooking up for locals, so you'll leave with a copy of Atlanta Cooks At Home-a collection of recipes from Atlanta's favorite chefs.

Your Itineraraire Extraordinaire:

Start out the day at the legendary Flying Biscuit cafe, where they make and sell thousands of their famous biscuits per day. Nestled among funky Craftsman bungalows in the heart of Historic Candler Park, the original location of The Flying Biscuit Café is one of Atlanta's favorite spots for brunch.

Next, a tour of the historic neighborhoods of Atlanta--Candler Park, Inman Park, and Druid Hills where Driving Miss Daisy was filmed. Nosh on Chick-fil-A nuggets while Sarah escorts you around town, and you'll learn why Chick-fil-A chicken is one of the most coveted foods south of the Mason-Dixon line! We'll take a break to rest our tummies on Emory's bustling campus.

Lunch at the Busy Bee Cafe where Meat and Three in Atlanta was invented. Everything is cooked with pork, giblets, ham hocks etc, and the fried chicken is the tenderest around. You can't leave Atlanta without experiencing Soul Food like this; it'll put peach fuzz on your chest!

Next, we'll be on to the International Farmers Market in Atlanta where food watching and people watching is primo. The wall of spices alone is enough to make you feel bland. Pick up some to take home with you!

Our day of eating Atlanta concludes at Chef Scott Peacock's Watershed Restaurant. Chef Peacock has brought southern cooking to new levels at Watershed. Co-owned with Indigo Girl, Emily Saliers, this is the perfect spot to end the day with a glass of wine, a juicy porkchop or vegetable plate, and some Very Good Chocolate Cake.

You'll sleep well in the Dirty South after this day of eating!

Here's how it works.

Here's what you should do...

1. Go to the donation page

2. Make a donation, each $10 will give you one raffle ticket toward a prize of your choice. Please specify which prize or prizes you'd like in the 'Personal Message' section in the donation form when confirming your donation. Do tell us how many tickets per prize, and please use the prize code -for example, a donation of $50 can be 2 tickets for UW01 and 3 for UW02.

3. If your company matches your charity donation, please remember to check the box and fill in the information so we could claim the corporate match.

4. Please also check the box to allow us to see your email address so that we could contact you in case you win. Your email address will not be shared with anyone.

5. Check back on Chez Pim on January 15 when we announce the result of the raffle. (The drawing will be done electronically. Our friend the code wizard Derrick at Obsession with Food is responsible for the wicked application that will do the job.)

Celebrity Spotting at Shaun's

2006-12-04T23:30:00.000-04:00

When I heard that Shaun's was opening in the once-grand, now-defunct spot where the Inman Park Patio used to live, I was excited. One more Edgewood eatery I could add to my long list of "things that have improved my property value since I moved in". I mean seriously, I'm not sure if I can take all of the credit for effectively moving the culinary epicenter of Atlanta to within two blocks of my house, but I think its fair to say that this little gourmet is attracting quite the flock of restauranteurs to her 'hood.

Shaun Doty has had a long and successful career in Atlanta, as owner and chef at MidCity Cuisine, and then for a brief stint at Table 1280 which I wrote about several months ago. Apparantly the man has a temper. Our waitress at Taurus a few months ago told us

"Yeah, Shaun is the kind of guy who is nice one minute, and then the next minute he throws a chair at your head."

We got the distinct impression that she was speaking about herself in the 3rd person when I spotted a little bump on her noggin.

Our evening at Shaun's actually began on Monday of that week when I called to reserve a table for Saturday night. The reservation went rather quickly, but we were confirmed for 4 on Saturday. About a half an hour later, the phone rang. It was Shaun's--confirming my reservation. Thorough, those hostesses. They probably have to be in order to avoid the chair-throwing rage that Shaun goes into when he's mad.

The extra-thorough, or extra-confused hostesses at Shaun's actually confirmed my reservation 7 times between Monday and Saturday. New restaurant. Or erasable ink or something in the reso book.

The highlight of our evening was being seated at the communal table. Shaun actually stole this idea from me. I've been talking about having a French communal farm table at my future restaurant since I was 5. I can't believe I got trumped on my own street. But anyway, we were at the center of the communal table-sort of stuck between a group of beautiful couples, and a couple that was spewing hatred for communal eating.

We communal communists loved it however. We felt that we were at the center of the restaurant-sandwiched between the kitchen and the door. Later, sandwiched between an ambiguously gay couple and a couple who was sharing each other's food. Sandwiched nonetheless.

We started with cocktails. A girl needs a cocktail as spicy or delicate as she is, and we found some pretty good matches on the menu.

I chose the calvados cocktail: calvados apple brandy, cointreau, orange juice and soda, served up. Kathleen, the stinger that she is, went with the ruby red eye: absolut ruby red, campari and fresh grapefruit on crushed ice. Emily, playing it very sweet, chose to imbibe on the mistral mimosa: prosecco with lavender, honey and lemon.

In the meantime, the people next to us left angrily with bitter words for the waitress. We should've warned them about the chair-throwing. They said "you tell Shaun we don't like the bread or the communal table", and they took their 1982 BYO bottle of expensiveness and stormed out with the flair of teenage girls.

Instead of leaving in an angry rage, we instead chose the maryland crab cake with ground mustard butter and the butternut squash raviolis with ameretti, sage, pine nut foam. I was having pleasure spasms from the combination of the butternut squash and the amaretti cookies crumbled on top when Emily snapped me out of it and told me that Giada from the Food Network invented that combo.

Kathleen chose white shrimp and grits with berkshire pork, poached egg. I loved this giant glass bowl. How minimalist.

This is a terrible photo of Emily's parmesan risotto with henmushrooms and black truffle butter. I was trying to be subtle by using no flash so that I wouldn't wreck my chances of spotting a celebrity.

My painted hills skirt steak with capers, watercress, hazelnuts, and parmesan fries was incredible. Warm, medium-rare steak topped with fries that were dredged and dredged again in the saltiest, nutties parmesan.

And then just when I was about to have to leave Shaun's without a celebrity sighting, Jeff from the Bert Show came in with Jessica (his wife) from Jessica Shops. They were seated directly behind us. And I took this far away, dark, indistinguishable photo of them behind Emily.

After Jeff & Jessica, there really wasn't anything that could top the night for me, so when our warm chocolate brioche pizza with homemade marshmallows came, it was just an "eh" for me. I tossed back a homemade marshmallow and thanked Atlanta for being one of those places where seeing B-list celebrities can still make a girl happy.

As we left, I thought I might have heard the sound of Shaun throwing a chair...but maybe it was just the pitter patter of celebrities rushing to eat at Shaun's....

a gift from Santa

2006-12-04T23:11:00.000-04:00

You may remember that the last time I made my roasted root soup I asked Santa for an immersion blender.

On Thursday, this box arrived at my office from Santa "re: my blog". Quel suprise!

This was inside:

When I was younger I really did believe in Santa. I remember looking through the bannisters when the light was so dim that it was hard to focus. Trying to make out the blurry objects. Knowing that it was too early to wake mom and dad up.

These days, I'm asking Santa for creme brulee torches instead of Strawberry Shortcake dolls. I've made a list of some of the things I really want for Christmas:

1) The Gift of Southern Cooking: Recipes and Revelations from Two Great American Cooks

2) These kick-ass appetizer spoons so I can pretend I live inside a fancy hotel where amuse bouches get their own special servingware

3) Le Creuset Dutch Oven, but what shade would look best for me?

4) These oven mitts, because I don't have any

5)These latte bowls so I can drink my coffee from a big bowl like I did in Paris

I'm still shopping, don't worry.

But Santa, if you're out there, thanks for thinking of me. The next time I make soup, it'll be for you...

leftovers

2006-11-26T22:34:00.000-04:00

Today, I transformed my turkey carcass into turkey noodle soup. I boiled the bones and meat for a few hours, and it yielded a flavorful broth. It has undertones of the carmelized lemons and the roasted garlic that stuffed the turkey. Its flecked with the herbs that were underneath the skin. I shredded the last clinging bits of turkey from the bones and added them to the broth. Then I added egg noodles and a few stalks of carrot and celery. Served it with a yummy wedge of crispy white mountain bread.

SO, you may not have reincarnated your turkey-but how did you enjoy your leftovers? In your pajamas the next morning? or perhaps as part of some other turkey-based meal?

Tell me in the comments!

friends are the family you choose

2006-11-24T10:48:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I accomplished two significant "firsts" in my life.

1. I ran a half marathon
2. I cooked a turkey!

Guess which one was more exciting?

Since this is a food blog and not a running blog, I won't bore you with the details of my little jaunt down Peachtree, but suffice it to say it was greuling, challenging, but also very rewarding.

When I finally got back to my place over two hours after the finish (walking, Marta, driving took a while), it was all I could do to not take a shower sitting down. Every part of me hurt, and I was so exhausted I found it difficult to even speak. I laid down on the couch and pretty much decided that this thanksgiving was going to be vegetarian. There was no way I could make a turkey when I couldn't even walk to my bed which is two feet away. I would either disinvite everyone, serve them a plate without turkey, or try to switch the whole thing to Friday.

But then tradition and culinary ambition got the better of me. I slept for a few hours and woke up ready to tackle the challenge. I hadn't been very good about getting instructions on the whole process, but I figured I could master it. So-a few notes about what I did (the results were excellent!):

1. I did stuff the cavity with lemon wedges, garlic, and bunches of herbs

2. I did not brine my turkey.
3. I did chop all of the herbs in my herb garden (sage, thyme, parsley, basil) and mix it with half-way melted butter and rub that stuff under the skin and all over the turkey.
4. I did not use a rack-just sprinked a few onions in the pan.

5. I did cover the breast with foil for the first half of cooking.
and what I believe to have been the most important step:
6. I removed the bird from the oven when the temperature in the thigh was 170. I then let the turkey rest for about two hours before I carved it.

The result was succulent--truly moist and flavorful turkey.

I also made gravy from scratch. I put my Le Creuset roasting pan over two burners and scraped up all of the good bits and put the drippings into a cup and skimmed off the fat. I added chicken stock to compensate for my lack of juices (I only had about 2 cups as opposed to 4), and then added it to a simple roux. The gravy rocked--smooth as silk.

So, the full menu was:

Lemon-herb roasted turkey
turkey gravy
Curried Prawns with rice (courtesy of An'del)
Pecan & Cornbread Dressing (from Scott Peacock)
Sweet Potato Souffle
Prosciuitto & Parmesan Mashed Potatos (Kathleen made these--to die for!)
Green beans with a lemon vinaigrette and pine nuts
Tres Leches Cake (Kathleen again! She's the best)
Pumpkin Gooey Butter Cakes (Paula Deen)

I set the table:

Personalized my guest's napkin ring holders:

Carved the turkey:

snapped a photo of An'del's plate:

and enjoyed my first thanksgiving with friends:

I'm thankful for everyone who reads my blog. Thank you for supporting me and listening to my ramblings about food. I hope your thanksgivings were filled with friends, family, great food and memory-making moments. I am so thankful for each of you.

roasted root

2006-11-20T23:35:00.000-04:00

I know you won't believe me once you see this neatly typed recipe on my secret bag of root vegetables, but I actually had the idea to make root vegetable soup before I even got the veggies. I still had a butternut squash from the week before, and I wanted to diversify its rich flavor with some other stuff. Then, when I got my delivery (which was all mine because Anne was in China for the past few weeks), I saw this adorable little crumply brown bag with this note. Who knew what would be inside?

Just like I wouldn't want to know the sex of my baby if I were to ever be pregnant with one, I didn't want to know the sex of my vegetables until the day I made the soup. It was kind of like an Iron Chef challenge. Madeleine watched me intently from the side of the counter, rolling her eyes and her body simultaneously.

As I tore open the staple, this is what I saw:

I got to work slicing and tossing with olive oil. Popped the assortment in the oven for 30 minutes at 375.

Meanwhile, I started chopping a mirepoix of sorts. Sans carrots for the time being.

I fried 3 slices of the best bacon I've ever had. Once the fat was rendered, I added a little bit of olive oil and one chopped onion and a few ribs of celery. I also added a few chopped cloves of garlic and a sliced fuji apple.

Burnt my fingers again peeling the hot turnips (purple and white) and butternut squash, as well as the loner potato. Add them to the mix and covered with chicken broth. Last, I added a bunch of fresh sage, salt and pepper, and some of my fresh honey from the farm.

I paused for a moment to write a note to Santa asking for an immersion blender, and then transfered the mixture to a blender. Back to the pot to simmer and then topped with a swirl of cream and a sprinkling of crispy bacon from before.

The result was hearty, more savory than sweet, but with hints of the butternut and honey beneath the complex flavors of the turnips and potato.

For dessert, I had a bath and some Haagen Daaz peach sorbet. What a perfect meal.

It takes a village

2006-11-20T23:16:00.000-04:00

I spent another few days in New York City this weekend. Some work and some play. I wanted to tell you all about the eating highlights in case you’re planning a trip soon:

Sarabeth’s

Katie and I grabbed a quick hot meal here after a grueling day of shopping and makeovers. We both had a perfect pumpkin soup, and then shared an order of tea- small tea sandwiches and scones and tiny cookies-a palmier, a linzer cookie shaped as a heart, a nutty brownie cookie, and an amaretti. Katie also convinced me to try Sarabeth’s famous English muffin-which was dense and heavenly. I was very confused as to why there were two bottoms and only one top, but I didn’t ask questions.

Grey Dog’s Bakery
This is one of my favorite havens in Kristin’s neighborhood. Maps of Paris decopaged on the wall and tables, loud music playing and wide open French doors. Its always jammed with people and I spent a really nice few hours there reading cooking magazines and watching people. I tried the goat cheese and spinach quesadilla with chicken. It came with roasted tomatillo salsa with corn. It was the perfect spot of lunch to fortify me for my walk around the village.

Amy’s Bread
Is anyone seeing a pattern here? I was on a bakery craze on this trip. I resisted the to-die-for lemon poppyseed muffins at Gray Dog’s in favor of something from Amy’s. I chose a crumbly, nutty brownie which I devoured with my fingers while perusing Murray’s Cheese Shop next door. The twists are great too-I sampled one a few years ago on a food tour in NY. She had pumpkin twists to sample at the cash register, and I had one spicy bite.

Fatty Crab/Spotted Pig/Wallse

What do three chicks in winter dresses do on a Friday night when the wait at their planned establishment will surely induce painful hunger pangs? Our plan had been to dine at Fatty Crab, but when we arrived, we were greeted with two unpleasant salutations: 1) an oily stinky smell which had seeped onto the sidewalk, and 2) a 1.5 hour wait. Quickly, Anna and Kristin threw out ideas for back-up—The Spotted Pig around the corner? Wallse? We called both and then walked to the Pig. They were even more sour with their greeting—a two hour wait. We could get a drink down the street-they would call us when our table was ready. So, we wandered down to Wallse-which Kristin and Anna were both excited about. A german place-it welcomed us with its crimson red curtain and fiery hot heat lamp. Waiting for us bashfully were three square barstools. A cocktail and a cheese plate to fortify us while we braced for the wait at the Pig. And oh what followed…. A fig manhattan (bourbon shaken with fig puree), a blackberry sidecar (sounds like something from candyland or babes in toyland), and an apple martini with a dried apple cross-section floating on top.

Eventually, we claimed a corner table and settled in for spaetzle with rabbit, venison goulasch with bacon and mushrooms, and for dessert, streudel with roasted apple sorbet. Those germans in the West Village can cook.

Doma
The next day I ended up at Kristin’s old GMAT studying spot, Doma. I crammed into the head of a wooden table and ordered a zucchini-orange muffin and an open-faced artichoke sandwich with cherry tomatos and the best mozzarella I’ve ever tasted.

Next, boring plane snacks (sun chips) and I was back home, where we make our own food. I’ll tell you about my roasted winter veggie soup next!

the man of my dreams

2006-11-14T22:12:00.000-04:00

If you sleep with a piece of wedding cake underneath your pillow, you'll dream of the man you're going to marry. Sugared roses, gooey fondant, layers of commitment, edible, crunchy pearls like your grandmother's, and moist cake that sticks in the tines of a fork like the way his smell stays on you all day.

Dreamt of sharing the kitchen with someone-hand over hand, move over so I can open that drawer, graze my cheek while you're salting the pumpkin soup. Wine and one dessert with two spoons. Spoons-a smaller bed because you like to cuddle. Grey weather-and enough socks and movies that it doesn't matter if we stay there all day. Knowing looks and nooks and crooks of arms and legs to rest in.

Dreamt of Paris-of winding streets and winding scarves. Rattan cafe chairs and of walking huddled under one umbrella. Bridges to the safety of open arms and understanding. Heavy coins and cream.

Dreamt finally of mango soda and scratch off lottery cards. And of swimming with sharks, and riding on the back of a Harley. Of my first hockey game, and the first time I met your mother. Writing notes in class about you and dialing you drunk on my way home. Everything blurred together. Old and new. Borrowed and blue. Black and blue. Bruised and pink.

Woke up, and its today. And you're far off. And I'm still here with cake under my pillow.

A colorful salad

2006-11-09T16:43:00.000-04:00

When I was home in Florida for the wedding, I spent two nights at my parents house before we moved down to the beach. On our last night at home, I made this salad for my family. It was inspired by a salad I recently had at Murphy's.

The best part is the carmelized red onions. The red onions don't have as high of a sugar content compared to other onions, so their caramelization is less dramatic. They mellow as they carmelize, but they can still stand up to the grilled flank steak. An excellent variation would be cornmeal battering and lightly frying the red onions instead of carmelizing them.

I blanched the green beans in salted boiling water--I would've rather used the skinny haricots verts, but Super Wal-Mart didn't have them.

Also-this salad varies depending on the quality of the blue cheese you use. A less-healthy version would've used the blue cheese in the dressing--an easily homemade concoction of mayonnaise, sour cream, and a big block of blue. I used a simple french vinaigrette--2 parts olive oil, one part dijon mustard, and one part balsamic with salt and pepper.

I marinated the steak in just a little bit of garlic, balsamic and olive oil, freshly cracked pepper, and salt. This salad is beautifully served on a large platter--I brought my mom this one from Paris 5 years ago.

So, hurry up and use your grill before it'll be too cold for you to feel your hands. Grill up a large piece of flank steak, and the rest comes together in moments.

Enjoy!

Molto Roasto

2006-11-09T16:37:00.000-04:00

Mario Batali was roasted Tuesday night's dinner kicking off the New York Comedy Festival. I had no idea he had been rumored to have been with Courtney Love. I have this book on my shelf to read over the holidays.

Check out details on the roast, they're pretty hilarious.

From This Day Forward

2006-11-06T23:18:00.000-04:00

I'm back. Did you miss me? Did you eat lots of delicious things while I was gone and think, "Sarah would love this." Did you keep Atlanta and your respective cities thriving while I went off to give my sister away?

Well, you did good while I was gone, and now I'm back to tell you about it through photos. After all, I am my mother's daughter. I'm also too exhausted to type, so this is the only medium that is coherant.

The wedding was incredible-and in all my life, I've never felt the swell of happiness that I felt watching Christianne marry Brian on Saturday. I've never trusted her happiness to anyone-never thought anyone was good enough, but seeing and witnessing the way that Brian loves Christianne (and has for going on 7 years), has renewed my faith. I could not ask for a better person to be her rock. I am so lucky to have him as part of my family.

This is just a sampling of my favorites. Wish the Bride and Groom luck tomorrow as they leave for Jamaica, mon... they need it. My only regret is that they can't take me with them...I need a vacation. At least I have a tan...and in November in Atlanta that's about as rare as finding a guy as great as Brian to marry....

Hit me with your best shot

2006-10-30T17:38:00.000-04:00

Think of all of the traditions that you know. Some are reverent, and some are antiquated. Some, we know the meanings behind. Some, we can barely remember who started or perpetuated.

Bachelorette Parties fall into the basket of irreverent. This tradition flies in the face of romance, saying "Even though you've met the man you love, you still need to take one final night to get as much attention from every other man on earth. You have to stretch your legs, show your boobs, and fly in the face of commitment and love. Show your true colors, get it out of your system, and party like its your last night on earth."

And thus we accepted the challenge. We 8 women embarked on the Orlando scene on Saturday night armed with condoms, pins with sayings like "I dated the groom", "always a bridesmaid" and "drunk bitch", penis necklaces, feather boas, and a scavenger hunt with things like #12: find the cheesiest guy in the place and ask him to dance, or #17: kiss a tatooed man.

So we drank and we drank, and we flirted like it was our job. We put Christianne on stage several times, injected her with giant jello sringes, and forced her to ask multiple groups of men for their underwear.

And after we had partied for hours, and continued the after party in our room, and played charades with people from Chris's past, and tried to "pin the hose on the fireman", and eaten pizza and laughed until our stomachs hurt, we went to bed.

And as I got ready for bed, stepping over the remnants of a great hotel party, I looked over at my sister-curled up in her "bride to be" rhinestoned shirt and her pink velour pants. Clutching her cell phone, dialed to her fiance, she smiled knowingly. Maybe traditions like these really show us how great it feels to be loved.

Kitchen Art

2006-10-24T11:02:00.000-04:00

This weekend, I hit up a great warehouse sale at The Works on the West End. What a cool space. They use the warehouse space to sell all different kinds of things depending on the time of year.

Anyway, I aquired something new for my kitchen-a retro sign with a Betty Crocker-esque woman holding a steaming hot pie. It was only the second thing that I've ever hung myself in my house (the first thing is right next to it-my magnetic spice rack). I was pretty proud of my handy work. I used a drill. And it wasn't even pink.

So, next time your jonesing for some new decor, check out the schedule and stop by and check it out. And if you really want to have a great day, stop by the West Egg for brunch on your way over. I met Jessica & Kevin this weekend and noshed on some awesome black bean cakes topped with poached eggs and habanero salsa, and super garlicy grits. Yum!

Decatur Beer Fest

2006-10-23T16:41:00.000-04:00

Festivals are my favorite sport. You won't ever find me cooking food on a portable grill in the parking lot of a stadium, but you can darn near find me at almost very festival this great city has to offer. I'm missing Wine Fest for Christianne's wedding, so it was imperative that I make a good showing at Beer Fest.

Kathleen and I had a fun time tasting (both of us), helping people avoid broken glass (neither of us-but some guy was very helpful), running into people we went to highschool with (her), running into people I admitted into the b-school (me), and generally tasting a lot of good stuff.

So-in honor of beer fest, let me know if you have a good recipe that involves beer. I have bad memories of beer can chicken from college, and my mother will sometimes try to actually be One with the State of Wisconsin by boiling bratwurst in beer before grilling it...but besides that, I'm dry. Help me out? Beer recipes? Come on, Charles and Lisa are looking at you with puppy-dog eyes...

A Farm Heritage Dinner

2006-10-20T15:31:00.000-04:00

Remember last time I went to a CSA sponsored event and ate tons of yummy vegetable-inspired dishes like gazpacho, cornbread croutons, succotash and veggie skewers? And you were so jealous that you told your friend a horrible story about me so that it would bring me down and make you feel important? Remember? Well, I forgave you for your pettiness because I knew you were just jealous because you wanted good fresh local food, too. So this time I'm inviting you to experience it all on your own. I have class, so I'm not sure if I can make it but if you feel like trekking to Carrolton and you think you can convince me to skip class, let me know and we can have a mini Southern Food roadtrip.

Farmers’ Fresh Food Network
and Rome Street Tavern Grill
present
A Farm Heritage Dinner

Join us for an evening of celebrating our Southern Food Culture! Meet
the farmers who grow the food and the chef who will prepare this
locally-grown feast.

Renowned storyteller and songwriter David Clark (www.outofthesky.com)
will entertain with his memorable performance.

Menu highlights include:
Braised Beef
Deep Fried Turkey
Butternut Squash Bisque
Braised Greens
Roasted Mixed Vegetables
Fresh Salad
Pumpkin Cheesecake
All menu items are locally produced by members of
Farmers’ Fresh Food Network.

Where: Rome Street Tavern Grill, Carrollton GA
When: Thursday November 16th 6:00pm EST
The Price: $25 per person, includes water and tea
(alcoholic beverages and tip not included)

RSVP to Rome Street Tavern Grill today as this special dinner will have limited seating! 770-214-8233

You're gonna make me lonesome

2006-10-20T15:02:00.000-04:00

Last week, I had the privelege of seeing Shawn Colvin play at the Variety Playhouse on Saturday. I've been a fan of her for years, her lyrics are familiar to me like a favorite poem. I run them through my head when I'm falling asleep at night instead of counting sheep. Sometimes, I'll see someone and think, "you have a face with a view". Or, when I love someone so much and I'm having a great time with them, I'll think, "you're gonna make me lonesome when you're gone." I've been working on writing my speech for Christianne's wedding and I keep coming back to "All Roads Lead to You" as the perfect metaphor for coming back to someone year after year and knowing that they're the one.

She sings my life, in that sweet, folky voice. So you can only imagine how I jumped up and down when I met Clay, a classmate, and discovered that Shawn is his sister. Clay is modest and thoughtful. He left three tickets for me for the show including backstage passes, so we met her afterwards. Here we are at the bus-Shawn in her puffy vest and thrift store dress.

My favorite song is one of Shawn's oldest...enjoy the lyrics here, and see if they don't invade your dreams tonight.

China gets broken
And it will never be the same
Boats on the ocean
Find their way back again
I am weaving
Like a drunkard
Like a balloon up in the air
I am needing a puncture and someone
To point me somewhere
I'm gonna keep my head on straight
I just hope it's not too late
Open up the gate I go straight on, steady on

Steady on

I was feeling imploded
A wooden smile, a wooden heart
The things exploded
Like rockets in the dark
Now I'm pulling out splinters
And I'm off to hibernate somewhere
For the nuclear winter
Of another love affair

"Cause he seemed like a miracle
I ate it up like cereal
But it was something like shrapnel

Steady On

It's like ten miles of a two-lane
On a South Dakota wheat plain
In the middle of a hard rain
A slow boat or a fast train
I am gonna keep my head on straight
I'm gonna keep my head on straight

Steady on

teach your (friend's) children well

2006-10-16T07:54:00.000-04:00

When I first adopted Madeleine, I read somewhere that I needed to spend 20 minutes per day petting her. That was easy at first, it was Summer, I was on hiatus from school, and she was so little she could practically fit in my pocket. But then, life got busier and I had less and less time every day to spend with her. Sometimes, I'd find myself saying to my friends, "I have to go home--gotta get my 20 minutes in with Madeleine today." They made fun of me for seeming to condense all of my quality time with my cat into that 20 minute period a day. I told myself that I was a good mother as long as I met my requisite responsibility.

Of course as time went on, my relationship with my cat became much more dynamic than 20 minutes per day. We sleep together-she at my feet. We watch tv together-she at my head. And she's usually not far when I'm paying bills or baking. But my point is that my life pretty much revolves around me.

So when Jen brought Elecia over on Saturday, I found myself in awe of the multiple bags she carried (video, chocolate milk, jacket, and who knows what else) and the sense of ultimate responsibility she had for the pig-tailed little one.

Elecia was at Chez Madeleine for a morning of baking. I'm trying to shape America's future one pre-schooler at a time. We made pumpkin breads--mini loaves to give to Elecia's teachers and grandparents.

Elecia perched on her stepstool in her "bubble apron" and approached the challenge with gusto. Hair pulled back and armed with a red plastic spoon ressurected from the Kool-Aid mixing days (it has the kool-aid face cut out of it), she added each ingredient carefully and mixed thoroughly. Sugar, Oil, Pumpkin, spices, eggs, flour, and baking soda and powder and salt.

We added chocolate chips at the end, and Elecia scooped the batter into the pans. While the loaves baked, Elecia charmed Madeleine. They chased each other around the loft in circles until they were both so tired there was nothing left to do but nap.

I wrapped the loaves up and added a note from Elecia.

As Elecia and Jen headed home for a peanut butter sandwich and a nap, I thought about the awesome responsibility of raising children. Curled up on the couch, I reached down and scratched Madeleine's neck and counted...20...19...18...

Grab Bag

2006-10-11T19:51:00.000-04:00

Remember "grab bag" from when we were young? At parties there would always be a "grab bag" filled with little dollar store gifts, sometimes food, sometimes plastic balls, eyeglasses with a fake nose and mustache, jacks...every party had a grab bag. You don't see a good grab bag very often any more.

So-here's one for your consumption. A smattering of recent activities and food...

First, my dinner at Quattro with Kate.

Shannon recommended Quattro. She and Chris had a great Friday night meal on the patio last weekend. Quattro is at least the 4th restaurant to go into the space next to Willy's on the park. Its one of those cursed restaurant spaces--it takes guts to open a restaurant in a space like that. Shannon speculated whether or not Quattro was trying to cut the Bob Amick empire off at the knees (One, Two and forthcoming Trois). Either way, Kate and I were very pleased with our tenderly almost tempura fried zucchini

And my creative panini--arugula, brie, proscuitto and canteloupe. I worried that the canteloupe would make the whole thing soggy, but the sweet, thin slices were warm and perfect. They were almost the condiment on the sandwich-providing moisture to the salty proscuitto and bitter arugula. Yum to Quattro for coming up with such an interesting sandwich.

Next, this baller filmed a hip hop video at my building last night. Here they are setting up the red carpet scene outside my window. Within two hours, there were 500 people, 10 more cars, strippers, pimps, stadium lights, and about 20 cameras on cranes outside. Lee-are you listening? I guess its time I got curtains. I was awake until after 2 am listening to the same 20 second clip from the same song about 400 times. It was brighter than the freaking beach in here, and I couldn't even get up to go to the bathroom or the entire scene would've witnessed me in my panties creeping across the room. It was like a fish bowl in here.

And last, I made myself a margherita pizza last night for dinner with fresh mozzarella, basil and tomatos. It was a nice tuesday treat.

So-there you have your Wednesday grab bag. Happy hump day!

Bounty

2006-10-06T20:38:00.000-04:00

Friday night has become a ritual for me. My night alone, my night to cook. Glass of wine on the porch. Pajamas by 7 pm. Blockbuster. QT with mademoiselle whiskers. I'm into my "I can't hate you anymore" phase of mourning. I feel you, Nick. I'm not lonely, but I am pensive. Thinking a lot about love. Seeing his name still makes me jump. For a minute some days I still think he's mine, but then I remember the turned cheek and the hot stinging tears. What do you do when there is only one person who understands a certain inside joke? Does the joke stop being funny to you? I think it does. Its lost in translation. Another disfigured victim of the break-up. Like when you can't walk, but you dream about running.

So, back to dinner alone. Dinner for one. This week, we received gorgeous butternut squash from our weekly CSA delivery. Two unmatched apples came with the squash. The air is cool, and I have a yellow turtleneck cableknit sweater ready to go on the first 60 degree day, so its time for soup.

I decided to use my apples and squash, and leftover ginger from Healthy Lunch Club to make butternut squash soup.

First, I melted some butter in my big pan, and then I added a chopped vidalia onion, minced ginger, and minced garlic. I let them saute for a while in the pan until the onions had softened and turned transleucent. Meanwhile, I halved and roasted my squash at 375 for 45 minutes. I added my chopped and peeled apples to the onion mixture. Then I poured in some white wine for good measure and added lots of thyme from the window.

Peeling the squash was painful-I'm not a patient person. Lee once said, "Sarah, it really concerns me when you make impulsive, rash decisions." It stems from my impatience. Its me. He would hate that I was peeling squash hot. Would want me to sit with my hands by my sides and be patient. So, I burned my fingertips peeling the stringy orange squash in defiance of him.

Once I peeled it all, I added it to the pan with the rest, and covered the mixture with chicken broth. I started tasting. Added brown suger, cinnamon, cayanne pepper, fresh ground pepper, and sea salt.

Eventually, I transferred it to a blender and blended it until smooth. Wished for an immersion blender. Is anyone listening who happens to be going to Williams-Sonoma soon?

Ladled my fall, cableknit, crisp, apply, spicy soup into a bowl, drizzled it with heavy cream, and sprinkled with fresh thyme.

I've gotta admit--I'm a pretty good Friday night date.

bon vie, bon vin

2006-09-29T21:58:00.000-04:00

I was behind this car today in traffic. This guy knows how to live....

bon vin, bon vie, bon appetit!

plant your own garden, instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers

2006-09-29T21:55:00.000-04:00

I made myself this lovely meal tonight. It was inspired by my weekly veggie delivery. I roasted slices of eggplant and tomato, and layered them with buffalo mozzarella and basil from my window garden. A drizzle of my california olive oil, fresh cracked pepper, and salt. It was a wonderful dinner for one. Life is too short to wait around for someone to cook for!

Everything is going to be OK

2006-09-29T16:02:00.000-04:00

I've been thinking a lot lately about work. They say that if you find something you love, you'll never have to work a day in your life. I don't believe it, but I think that being passionate about what you do will lead you to take joy and pleasure in your work, rather than disdaining or avoiding it. Americans care a lot about work-its always the first question that someone asks at a dinner party. Where do you work?or What do you do? Ever since I realized this, I actually try to avoid asking that question. I like to ask people what they're passionate about. That's much more interesting than hearing about there job at so and so and so.

I've been very lucky to have a career doing something that I love. Emory is my home away from home, and in some ways the love of my life. A lot of money has flowed from these halls. From me to them. From them to me. But more than that, I met people here that changed my life. When I came to Emory at age 18 (barely), I was not self-aware, or confident. I was intelligent, but not emotionally intelligent. Here, I built up my self-awareness. I developed a personality and a spunk. I found and nurtured passions. After two years, I traveled across the ocean to see if I could change my life in Paris. I did. I learned I could do anything. I experimented, and walked, and dared, and ate, and spoke. For a year, I felt different and free. When I came back, it was very hard to adjust to just being normal again. I've always tried to reinvent myself over and over again.

So, now, I feel comforted by my dreams. I know that I won't have to work every day for the rest of my life. And I definitely won't have to work for someone else. Someday soon my life will be about flavor and spice. Texture and temperature. Service and bread crumbs. My dream changes shape constantly but its always there like a hot fire in my belly.

On this boring, dragging Friday afternoon, in an office, at a computer, with a flesh-colored phone with orange buttons, I am comforted by that fact. I see the sky outside-and its bright and clear and inviting. The breeze is cool. And I know that everything is going to be ok.

Midtown Restaurant Week at Taurus

2006-09-28T07:57:00.000-04:00

As you all know, with our super important admissions careers, Emily & I are constantly jetsetting all over the globe. We lounge in the Delta Crown room, go through security with our Longchamp bags, and generally meet tons of important people all of the time.

But, as a result, we haven't seen each other much lately. So, we made dinner plans for Wednesday night for Midtown Restaurant Week to dine at Taurus. Neither of us had been, so we were excited to try. Midtown Restaurant Week is awesome-and I only wish that it had not fallen during a killer week for school. We have two cases due this week--one about Weather and Radio and one about Baseball...can someone please hit me in the parking lot? These subjects are not my forte! So, anyway, this was the only night I could go to dinner and take advantage of the $25 three-course meal.

We both hung around at work until 6ish, and then headed over to Taurus-which is in an upscale strip mall in Buckhead. After dodging kamikaze valets, we entered Taurus on the ground level. The host checked us in and sent us, via elevator, upstairs. It was such a beautiful night, so we requested a table on the patio. For a little while, I thought they were passing hors d'oeuvres around the restaurant-but then we realized it was a private party on the patio next to us.

Here's Emily-studying the menu:

We had a choice of appetizer between a goat cheese tart, an organic african squash soup with pumpkin seed oil and peekytoe crab, and a young arugula salad with pecans and citrus dressing. Emily cajoled me into ordering the tart, and she chose the soup with the idea that we would switch halfway. Luckily, It doesn't take a lot of cajoling to get me to eat a bunch of goat cheese, because Emily's soup was amazing, and after we switched, we switched back. The soup was much like a butternut squash soup, but without the heavy richness. It was velvety and smooth, and the pumpkin seed oil was a beautiful contrast with the mustard-colored soup. The lumps of crab kept the soup from becoming monotonous.

My tart was somewhat deconstructed--crispy potato chips on the bottom, topped with creamy scoops of goat cheese and roasted tomatos, with another chip on top. The potato chips were overcooked and oily, and difficult to cut, but the cheese was tangy and bright.

Emily chose the Charred Flat Iron Steak with Garlic Mashed Potatos for her entree. It was topped with crispy onions. I had the Hot Smoked Salmon Steak with Potato-Portobello Hash. Taurus is known for its meats and its wood-grill, so we knew we'd be pleased with the flavor. Emily's steak was very rich. My salmon was the prodigal son of the wood oven. Crispy outside-imparted with the smoke from the oven, and hot and tender inside. The hash reminded me of a breakfast hash, but the portobellos were woodsy. My meal was outstanding.

We both chose the Chocolate Brioche Bread Pudding with Peanut Butter Ice Cream and Chocolate Sauce for dessert. I was afraid it would be massive, but the portion was perfect-a little muffin of brioche, and delicate tablespoon or two of rich peanut butter ice cream.

We had fun-outside, catching up, gossiping, eating and drinking. With a meal like that, I think I'll be able to get through today and Friday. If you're free tomorrow or Saturday, look up the Midtown Restaurant Week schedule. There are a lot of fabulous Atlanta restaurants, and you too can have a great night with a friend for less than $40. Now, I'm off, to jetset to the kitchen to heat up my Lean Cuisine...then maybe to Paris...

Healthy Lunch Club

2006-09-28T07:54:00.000-04:00

My colleague, Katie, is very healthful. She eats lean meats, and lots of veggies, and usually says no to sweets and sodas. She's the model of someone who cooks healthily for her family. She also works out regularly. She is also always trying to make the world a better place. Katie has a vision for our Admissions Office-that we can learn to be healthier, and encourage each other through eating, sharing tips, and restricting certain habits at the office.

I mean--let's be real--how many of you work in an office where people food dump cookies and cakes and chips and candy from their weekend parties? Then, a few minutes later, Little Unassuming You goes into the kitchen for your morning cuppa and you leave having consumed your daily caloric limit? You weren't planning to have pound cake for breakfast, but the temptation got the better of you. Food dumping is a common practice in office settings, and combined with our sedentary schedules, its a not so healthy way of living. I am just as guilty of food dumping because I love to cook, but don't want to eat it...so I bring it in for someone else to consume.

So-a few months ago, Katie started conceiving of ways that our office could adopt better habits. She talked to Julie, our boss, and they brainstormed incentives and ideas for programming. With a little inspiration from Cooking Light, The Healthy Lunch Club was born.

The guidelines are as follows:
Guidelines (loosely adapted from Cooking Light:)
• Two HLC members will sign up to bring in lunch.
• One person will be the “Head Chef” and the other the “Sous Chef.” The Head Chef will set the theme and make the main course and the Sous Chef will make a complimentary salad, side dish, bring fruit, etc.
• Each HLC member must be a Head Chef and a Sous Chef in a sign up period.
• We will start out with 1 lunch/week on Wednesdays and then vote to see if we want to add more or change the day.
• Sign up sheet will be stored on the S drive.
• Each lunch should have no more than 500 calories no more than 15 grams of fat, should contain whole grains and at least one serving of fruits and vegetables, list of ingredients, recipe. We should prepare enough for 10 (we have 8 in the group).
• We will keep all of the recipes on the S drive.
*Note: Food allergies and sensitivities include: nuts, fish, artificial sweeteners, and dairy. Please be sensitive to colleagues by avoiding these ingredients or indicating when they are a part of a recipe.

So, Wednesday was our 2nd HLC lunch day, and I was the Head Chef! All of my dreams had come true. I decided to do Lettuce Wraps because they seemed like a great way to eat veggies and consume less calories. I found a great recipe for Asian Chicken Lettuce Wraps on CookingLight.com. Caroline signed up to be my sous chef, and she brought in the most gorgeous array of breadsticks, hummus, and fruit.

Here, you can see the spread. I brought the lettuce leaves, and then people filled them with the chicken (marinated with garlic, ginger, soy, sesame oil, orange zest, rice vinegar etc.) and bean sprouts, carrots, mint leaves, peanuts, and a sauce made of the same ingredients as above.

Here's Libby about to eat her lettuce wraps-she said she'd had similar ones at PF Changs!

And here are some other HLC members, (r-l)Caroline, Julie & Emily:

And finally, Caroline brought fortune cookies to go with the asian theme. They were a sweet ending to our lunch. SO--if you work in an office environment, I encourage you to start a Healthy Lunch Club. Its easy, fun, and a great way to share recipes, tips, and great food.

please say "ici"

2006-09-23T18:28:00.000-04:00

On my first day of French class in 1992, I learned how to speak French within the first five minutes. I had started 7th grade in a new school, in a new state, and so most of my classmates had taken French in 6th grade, too. Our teacher, who was skinny with tortoise shell glasses on a beaded chain, began to call our names for roll. Immediately, students started saying, with unwavering confidence, "Ici". I looked around the room at the aliens--how did they know how to say this and what exactly were they saying?? Panic ensued as my name approached. Mon dieu, I was glad not to be named "Adams". It sounded like "eee-cee" but then some students were saying "weeee". I was convinced that there was a conspiracy-some summer reading I had missed, when I heard her say "Sarah" and then, in my first leap into the language I would grow to love more than my own, I said "eee-ceeeee". And she was onto the next name without a moment's pause. I had fooled everyone into thinking that I knew what I was doing.

So, today, in honor of that first day of French class, I am taking roll. Having a much more extensive knowledge of French than I do of blogging, or counting, I am asking you to identify yourself in the comments section of my blog by first name, age, and location. If you're one of my many secret stalkers, and you don't wish to be identified by name, just make up a name, but please don't abstain from posting or I'll find out and my computer programmer boyfriend will track down your ip address and make you pay for not giving me an accurate count of my loyal readership.

Also, no matter when you're reading this-even if its a few weeks from today (September 23rd), please comply.

Merci Beaucoup! And just to inspire you, a shot of the creme brulee I made for one boy in particular about a year ago...ladies-let me tell you, give a man a torch, and he'll be willing to walk through fire for you...

true colors

2006-09-22T08:02:00.000-04:00

This week, the easter bunny came early. I didn't have to mix up messy dyes in cheap plastic cups, or carefully submerge eggs with plastic spoons, or decorate with wax crayons. There are no peeps around, or cadburry eggs with their sticky, nauseating, addictive centers.

Fresh from the farm, these eggs represent life's true colors. Deep burnt caramel, light moss, warm khaki. They're almost too beautiful to eat, but I think somehow I'll find my way around that tomorrow night. I'm going to have an omelette for dinner...but for now, I'm admiring the gorgeous things that come from this wonderful world.

Over the past few weeks, I've been so thankful for my life. It seems like its always during the hard times when I realize how much I have to be thankful for. Great music. Compassionate friends. Cool mornings in the park. A curious cat who is so eager to eat in the morning that she often slips on the concrete floor and bangs into the wall. Fall colors, keep warm in your cableknits and suede, herringbone and tweed. Declarations of love on tv. My favorite blanket. Sweet smelling shampoo.

So, even if you're life has been smooth sailing lately, no one's broken your heart, or stomped on your soul, take today to think about the little things you have to be thankful for. Even if its just some colored eggs.

How Kristin read my mind, and picked the Little Owl

2006-09-18T12:53:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago, I excitedly called Kristin to tell her that I would be in New York City for one night for dinner. I'm usually in NYC about three times a year for work, but this would be a very quick trip. I was dying to try a new restaurant. We talked on the phone about options, and dreamily imagined the place where we would go. Somewhere shocking, somewhere expensive, somewhere uniquely New York. I was in sad break-up mode, and wanting to treat myself to a culinary experience.

About a week later, I rethought things. Emailed Kristin and said "take back my earlier musings. Let's go somewhere in the Village. Walking distance from your place. Warm. Homey. New American....does that work?" Kristin replied--she had already read my mind and booked us for 5 at the Little Owl, a new corner restaurant on her block. It would be everything I had asked for and more.

So, at around 8 pm last night, we started the trek down Kristin's 6 flights of stairs, and on to her narrow street, and we arrived within moments at a candlelit corner restaurant called the Little Owl. Ali was there to meet us.

Tables of people were cozily tucked inside, a giant silver ladle hung on the wall, there were fresh flowers on the window ledge, and a giant picture window into the kitchen. The smells were seductive. Roasted pork wafted from the kitchen.

Our table was vacated right after we arrived, but in the meantime, a lovely woman brought us wine so that we could wait in the corner for them to finish. Shortly after, Kristin's other friends, Jen and Jenny joined us. Its a testament to Kristin's unfailing charm that we had the best table(s) in the restaurant. We were the corner of the corner restaurant, and we were entertained throughout dinner by the spoons of couples and threesomes of friends that walked by on their way to their next stops.

I had unintentionally starved myself all day in anticipation for my meal at the Little Owl. Having arrived in NY just an hour before work started, I never had the chance to grab lunch. I scored some cookes at the Hilton-they were just enough of a sugar rush to get me through the afternoon.

Growing up with a parent from Chicago, I have an automatic appreciation for sliders. Those greasy, flattened, burgers whose size gives you permission to eat 14 of them at once-when you're a kid at least.

So, I ordered the gravy meatball sliders (beef, pork, veal and pecorino) to start with. They were divine. Slide, they did not. They were moist, saucy, sharp with pecorino, and I had consumed them almost as quickly as I used to down the White Castles from my youth.

Jenny & Ali split an appetizer special, truffle risotto with an egg on top. They actually were the beneficiaries of an extra egg! Our server split the risotto for the girls, and gave them both a glistening yolk on top to swirl into their creamy beginning. This photo is terrible, but the risotto was divine.

Kristin & Jen started with the bibb salad with hearts of palm, artichoke, fennel and parmesan. Their salad was a buffet of colors and textures...each bite different.

For our entrees, Kristin & I once again had the ESP thing going on-we both walked in wanting, needing the porkchop. Hailed by Frank Bruni, the porkchop has gained acclaim for its size, its moist center and crispy outside. Its a study in phsyics to figure out how something can be cooked so perfectly. The pork chop was served over parmesan butter beans and wild dandelion. Both were good friends to the giant porkchop-the butter beans and dandelion floated in the broth and warm juice and seemed very content to take a second seat to the meat.

Jenny (a former commenter on my blog) chose the roasted halibut with mashed chive potatos and lemon creme fraiche. I didn't try her halibut, but her mashed potatos were dr. seuss quality-green through and through and silky smooth.

Jen had sliders for her meal and seemed to devour them with the same gusto as I had. Ali, who had tasted the fruit of the porkchop tree on her last visit to the Little Owl, chose the crispy chicken with asparagus home fries, shitakes and lemon mustard. She shared her chicken generously and it was indeed very crispy-in a thin crispy way.

Last, we five ladies, who had spent the evening discussing all of the lude things you can see through curtain-less windows in New York, the ridiculous food habits of former men in my life, the crazy things that can occur to you at 4 am on a Friday night when you are trying to break in to your own building, the famous puppets that I met in Costa Rica, and, again, more crazy things you can see through windows, well, we ordered dessert.

And here's where it all came together. The wine while we waited...our wonderful table...two eggs for the ladies who split the risotto, blatant toleration of my taking photos of the food, and the little owl did it again. We ordered the rasberry beignets with nutella, and our server whispered to Jen, "those come in fours, but I'll make sure you get five".

A beignet from a kind woman, and an inviting restaurant on a generous and comforting corner near a great friend's house, just tastes better than it does from any other place in the world. And they did. They were like jelly-filled doughnuts on crack, with crack sauce. Our warm brownie cake was also rich and dense, but we had to give the prize to the quintet of beignets.

Finally, the bill came, tucked inside "Schott's History of Food & Drink"

In the end, I was sad to leave our corner, our stories, and our empty plates behind. I felt at home among beautiful, smart, food-loving, friend-lovin' women. What a perfect night to spend in New York if you have just one.

One more note--for the lovely gentlemen who guessed that I was a blogger and were so nice to come over and say hello. I hope you're reading! If so, keep reading. I'll make a deal to keep coming back to the little owl. Thank you for being such friendly people.

shower the people you love with love

2006-09-18T12:38:00.000-04:00

Saturday kicked off the wedding festivities for my sister, Christianne. I flew home to host her bridal shower, along with her two bridesmaids, Casey & Nancy Jane. I planned the menu to be comfortable, but light, and inventive and diverse. I wanted the best flavors to come out in all of the dishes.

We started with Kir Royale's--my favorite Paris cocktail. A thimble-full of creme de cassis liqueur and a long pour of chilled champagne.

Guests dined on:

White bean crostini with thyme, lemon and garlic (my mother expertly sliced the bread on the bias so we'd have these lithe little crostini.

Next, open-faced salmon sandwiches with watercress and roasted red pepper aioli. I roasted the peppers (actually, my dad did) on the grill in the am, and added mayo as needed along with lemon juice and fresh cracked pepper. I painted it on the sourdough squares with a paint brush, and topped with grilled salmon and several watercress leaves.

Lettuce cups with chicken salad with craisins and pecans--to die for. Deceptively easy to prepare, and the bibb lettuce cup was the perfect accessory for the salad.

And last, my nod to ethnic diversity-vietnamese spring rolls filled with shrimp, bean sprouts, carrots, cucumber, green onion, fresh mint and cilantro. I've made these before, but this time I sauteed the shrimp instead of poaching it. It was sauteed with garlic, ginger and cilantro. The dipping sauce was a melting pot of peanut butter, asian fish sauce, soy sauce, scallions, ginger, garlic, vinegar, and brown
sugar.

And, we can't forget dessert-strawberry tiramasu. I recipe I've adapted from Giada--to make it into individual servings. And-hazlenut chocolate mousse topped with a chocolate starfish (the theme of the wedding).

We had a wonderful time, laughed a lot and everyone enjoyed Christiannne opening her gifts....I couldn't have done it all without my team of sous-chefs-so thanks!

curry in a hurry

2006-09-13T21:32:00.000-04:00

Tonight, I was so excited to be having my friends (and neighbors) Kate & Jason over for dinner. They live only about 100 yds away from me, so its uber convenient to meet up with them during the week. This has been a bit of a crazy week, but I wanted to be sure to see them before I leave town for the weekend (its my sister's bridal shower!). I set the table with my favorite bowls-a gift from an ex-boyfriend. They are one of my favorite gifts that I have ever received. He bought them from a little shop in Colorado and they are each distinctive and gorgeous.

I knew that I was getting my CSA delivery today of fresh veggies, and that I would only have about a day to cook the veggies before I left, so I was anxious to use them. To that end, I invited the twosome over for a home-cooked meal. Shocking! My pots and pans woke up sleepily from their cabinets and wondered "its been a while. wonder what we're doing now?" I explained to them that they'd be helping me cook an exotic feast with ingredients from thousands of miles away!

See, ever since Emily & Sami returned from their trip to Thailand in May, I've been dying to cook thai food. They were wonderful enough to surprise me for my birthday with curry starters straight from the shady streets of Bangkok. So, when I thought about what to cook for tonight, I immediately thought to the group of little plastic packets sitting in my drawer hoping to be blessed with coconut milk, and joined by vegetables and chicken.

My day today was crazy, and although I wanted to leave work at 5, I was stuck in interviews with my student chairs for admissions until almost 6. I ran out the door at 6 and formulated my plan of action while sitting in traffic on Briarcliff. First, a mandatory stop to Publix for green peppers, coconut milk, brown rice, and chicken. I found pre-sliced "stir-fry" chicken, and grabbed a few green peppers and a few thai chilis. I was planning to use the red pepper I had at home, and the big bunches of basil that I got today in my CSA delivery.

My plan was to immediately put two pots of boiling water on the stove--one for rice, and one for edamame as an appetizer. I was using the wok for the curry, and I would cook the chicken in a saute pan. My burners put out their "NO Vacancy" sign and I went to work to the tune of Allison Krause & Union Station- great bluegrass album if you don't own it already.

First, I sauteed the chicken. Next, I toasted the starters (I used a panang curry and a red curry) with some olive oil. I added the coconut milk to the starters and added a giant handful of sliced peppers. Once the chicken had cooked, I added it to the simmering pot, and then the reducing, and concentrating of flavors began.

While we scraped edamame with our teeth-savoring the salt, and sipped our red wine (break-up wine courtesy of Angela-I got a lot of break-up wine last week and I've been struggling to drink it all!), the flavors concentrated more and more and more. The mixture lost its pale color, and deepened over the course of about 30 minutes. The chicken took on the distinct flavor of the curries, and the peppers softened and their hues became much more muted.

Kate brought a lovely salad that I forgot to photograph (oh no!). It was inspired by her favorite salad at Apres Diem-the Fattoush salad. With bits of pita, cucumber, feta and red pepper, it was colorful and very textural. I dressed it with my lisbon lemon olive oil and white balsamic-such a winning combination!

We chatted about school and life, and eventually served up our curry feast. The reviews were good--we all enjoyed the intense flavor of the curry, and the brown rice offered a nice nutty crunch.

At the end of the night, I packed up my leftover basil to send home with Kate (it won't last through the weekend and I have a window garden), and hugged my friends, and sent them on their walk home. My pots finally had a rest and went back, nestled into their cabinets, hoping to come out soon for another meal with friends.

the power of the oyster

2006-09-10T15:30:00.000-04:00

After an evening at Six Feet Under, I can now attest to the aphrodesiacal (is that a word?) power of the oyster. But one lingering question: which do you think is a more powerful aphrodesiac, the oyster shooter (ketel one, an oyster, and tabasco), or the oyster on the half-shell. I can tell you that I had both, in addition to multiple glasses of Summer Hummer (Sweetwater's seasonal brew) and some calamari sprinkled with lethal fried jalepenos. Today, I am feeling the powerful results of this combination...

can you spell "slow service"?

2006-09-09T10:56:00.000-04:00

Last night was my first Friday night (date night) without a date in a while, so I made plans with Kathleen to do something "cultural"....we bought tickets to see Spelling Bee at the Alliance- a tony award winner from Broadway. Since the Woodruff Arts Center recently renovated, they added a pre-theater/symphony/museum restaurant-Table 1280. How convenient, we said! We'll eat at table and then just jaunt over to the show.

Our resos were early and table is like a while palate of a restaurant. There is almost no decoration except for some fruit in tall, siloed vases, and a weird light installation on the wall. there is also a cool wine display when you come in. Here, they let the food shine as the art on your plate.

When Kathleen's friends, Jane & Leigh, arrived she had to warn them about my distinct obsession with taking photos of my food for my blog. They didn't seem to mind that I wouldn't let them eat until I had captured the perfect shot.

I'll say this of Table 1280. Their sole purpose is to serve the crowds that flood the Woodruff Arts Center nightly--feed these people and get them to their show/exhibit/concert/dance/etc/etc. But they don't do a very good job at it. Our waiter was mr. attentive at the beginning, but then dropped the ball even after we had ordered our "pre-theater" prix fixe meal. As a result, we got our food about 20 minutes before curtain. I discovered how uncomfortable it is to scarf down great food.

And the food was great--it was one of those menus where everything looks appealing. We tried to order different things so we could taste as much as possible of each others.

I started with the chilled corn soup with chantilly & feta. It had tiny cubes of feta submerged in the soup-they were like little tangy surprises. The chantilly on top was light as air and floated like an island on my soup as I devoured it.

Jane had the fig salad with buffalo mozzarella and basil. the figs were perfectly sumptuous and combined so beautifully with the spongy mozzarella.

Leigh had a panzanella salad-chunks of bread and tomato. She was a bit worried about the sardine on top, but she seemed to enjoy it.

Kathleen ordered the dish with the most fun name--peekey toe crab with avocado and something else that i can't remember. It was tangy and delightfully fresh, but kathleen had to avoid a few shells.

For dinner, Jane and I both scarfed down the fettucini with mans farm rabbit, with olives and pine nuts. The rabbit was tender like smoked pork, and light. I didn't feel like the pine nuts really added anything to the dish, but I ate every single one by pressing them into the tines of my fork.

Kathleen ordered the duck breast with rubharb chutney and clementines. The duck was tender and perfectly cooked.

Leigh ordered the King salmon with cucumber, balsamic and pink peppercorns.

Unfortunately, table 1280's food just wasn't worth it once we had to scarf it down. If they can hone in on their pre-theater niche, they'll make us much happier to return for future events. We had to skip dessert, but table brings you truffles with the check. We grabbed one on the run and rushed to catch the curtain....

new toy, same old model

2006-09-07T21:34:00.000-04:00

If I don't stop blogging about my cat, you're going to think I never eat. This is slightly accurate right now, but not completely. I'm nibbling while I try to get my appetite back. I think I'm officially old. Rather than pig out when I'm depressed, I just completely lose my appetite. My twenty year old self would never understand my twenty-six year old self. Breakups are carte blanche to binge, purge and binge all over again. I'm supposed to feel totally guilt-free having a milkshake for dinner with a side of red wine. Daily pizzas are par for the break-up course. Instead, I'm choking down my daily banana and green tea.

I got a new camera. Its like the sports car version of my old hooptie. I'm glad that thing perished in the falls in Costa Rica. It deserved a watery funeral. My new camera is sleek and sexy-with a giant LCD. Size really does matter.

Who can stay away from the camera when you're a capriciously curious kitty? She's my brigitte bardot until i get my appetite back. Then I promise fun photos. For now, enjoy Madeleine as she makes love to the camera.

New camera, new taste tester

2006-09-06T18:17:00.000-04:00

It has been a while, but I'm back (safely) from my trip to Costa Rica. Unfortunately, I have a few deaths to report. First, the death of my camera. This occurred at approximately 3:42 pm on day 3 of our vacation. The camera was the victim of a slippery rock and some shoddy river shoes. We attempted emergency surgery for several days henceforth, but to no avail. The camera was dead. Luckily, our new friends on vacay took lots of photos of the food, and as soon as they send them to me, I plan to go to town in telling you all about it.

Then, there was the unofficial death of my memory card-which had been saved from the camera disaster. It held all photos taken up until the great crash occured. It went missing in action on Saturday from my pink sequined purse. I've called all around, but it seems like its gone forever.

And then, of course, the death of my relationship. An untimely one at that. James Taylor said "Never give up, never slow down, Never grow old, never ever die young". Well, we did. Approximately 72 hours after our return from Costa Rica, my relationship with Lee died in his living room among tears (mine) and apologies (his). Nothing to do with the vacation, or the food in Costa Rica I can assure you. So much for cute boys who take out the trash. So much for dreamin'.

So, I'm taking applications for new taste testers and bedmates. I'd love to find one in the same. Send all applications here, and I will respond promptly. Food photos are coming soon. I promise!!

"We couldnt touch them with a ten-foot pole
No, it didnt seem to rattle at all
They were glued together body and soul
That much more with their backs up against the wall

Oh, hold them up, hold them up
Never do let them fall
Prey to the dust and the rust and the ruin
That names us and claims us and shames us all

I guess it had to happen someday soon
Wasnt nothing to hold them down
They would rise from among us like a big baloon
Take the sky, forsake the ground

Oh, yes, other hearts were broken
Yeah, other dreams ran dry
But our golden ones sail on, sail on
To another land beneath another sky"

Pura Vida

2006-08-23T17:59:00.000-04:00

I know I've been kind of MIA lately...I've been devoting all time/energy to my upcoming trip to Costa Rica. The time has finally come--I leave tomorrow morning. Last night, Madeleine meowed "let me come in your suitcase".

Wish me luck! I'll be back after Labor Day with lots of stories and photos of rice and beans and fish!

Party Dress

2006-08-14T22:15:00.000-04:00

On Saturday, I threw a party. A casual Soiree to celebrate the end of summer with my friends from school. I shopped, kneaded pizza dough, chopped ingredients, arranged wine and fruit. I did the thing that I enjoy doing most in the world. Preparing to entertain. Creating a feast. Lee came over to keep me company while I set up the Mise for the night, and I told him that he was seeing me in my truest, realest, happiest state. Zen zucchini.

I love a row of glasses--shiny and perfectly lined up before a party.

having the ingredients ready to go, ready to come together in combinations

oily olives stuffed together, ready for fingers to grab

summer appetizers on their way to greatness

cute boys who take out the trash and open wine for you

chicken sausage on pizza, fresh and steamy out of the oven

a towering dessert, heavy with deep, dark chocolate, sinful in its decadence

and good friends, bonded by wine and tables of food...

I'm a tapas dictator

2006-08-14T21:41:00.000-04:00

On Friday night, I nibbled a lot. I had worked through lunch to get a big project done, so when I picked up a friend who was in town for the night, I took her directly to whole foods to pick up some snacks. We gorged on an apple--which Debbie had safely traveled with to Atlanta--feta and roasted garlic dip, and black bean hummus on everything flat breads.

Then we moved our feast to Kathleen's--where she dazzled us with incredible cheese, champagne truffles, buttery bread rounds, and chocolate covered almonds (which she tried to hide from us unsuccessfully).

Eventually, us 5 chicks walked over to Pura Vida.

Now-here's where the night got dramatic. It has been a while since I had eaten tapas, but I had been saving up some thoughts for a while. I've been trying to figure out why I don't really like tapas, and I had finally gotten to the root of the problem. What I determined is that I like to taste food--more than once. I like to have consistent bites of one item to allow that item's flavors to develop in my mouth...marinate, and machinate, and roll over the tongue, teeth, tummy. I don't like to get one bite of something--if I wanted one bite I would go to Costco or Whole Foods on the weekend and eat with a tiny taster spoon.

So--promptly after sitting down with my companions I apprised them of the fact that I was not indeed open to splitting our tapas. I told them, of course, that I was more than happy to watch them quibble over a tiny square of tuna, but I was going to order my dishes, feast on them happily, take multiple bites, and be completely content. I wasn't going to long after their small plates, ask for bites, or have difficulty deciding.

Debbie, always a conflict-solver (she has had quite the career in res life and student services), suggested a plan. Each person could have a tapas buddy. A person with which they could share several tapas in less miniscule quantities. Eileen and Liz jumped at the opportunity to buddy up and they were seen here poring over choices.

I chose chilean salmon ceviche-lemon cured salmon, tobiko caviar, dill espuma and yuca chips. It was divine. The lemony salmon and the crunch caviar.

I also had duck layered with carmelized sweet plantains that was my best dish of the evening, but it didn't photograph well.

The tapas buddies split an empanada that I can't find in my notes:

Kathleen ordered the hangar steak skewers with a chimmichuri. They were unbelievably tender:

and the tilapia ceviche with lime juice, aji, onions nad cream topped with cilantro. It was lighter than my salmon ceviche.

Debbie, our local vegetarian, had the tortilla espanol withh pearl onionn confit, gold potatos, peppers and goat cheese:

and the yuca croquettes with avocado aioli

the buddies also had a special-exploding potatos that I didn't write down the exact name of:

and a burrito that came last along with a squirter of green sauce

Last, Kathleen ordered the piece de resistance--golden window panes of tuna ceviche with an ahi amarillo foam.

We finished off the night with three chocolate desserts: Polvorones de chocolate fragrante-chocolate cookie nibs with candied ginger, orange zest, and toasted sesame and s spiced white chocolate fois gras ganache:

Churros al coco con leche-churros with chula de coco espuma and a chocolate cappucino for dipping:

and chocolate and ancho chili flan brulee with liquid kahlua caramel:

And then I let my tapas compatriots go back to their lives of sharing and harmony. I released them from my harsh no-sharing rule. I'm curious to know if they will take my deep-tapas thoughts with them on future journeys. I will have to ask them and find out....

Going back in time

2006-08-11T12:36:00.000-04:00

About a month ago, I got an email from Lee, enthusiastically announcing that a glorious place called Medieval Times was coming to the ATL. A Medieval style dinner show, it was sure to be the most popular place in town. Now, I grew up in Southern California where we've had a MT for a while, so I had been several times, but I still wanted to ensure that Lee had the chance to experience the fight for valor, the joust til the death, the burning fingers from eating with no utensils, that I was able to experience so many times as a young girl.

So, to commemorate an anniversary, I suprised him with tickets for last night. When we arrived, we were corraled into a photo op with the King, and handed a green laminated card and a green crown. We quickly bolted to the bar to get some medieval libations before the show began.

Being in the green section means that you bleed green for two hours. You are encouraged to cheer relentlessly for your green knight, and heckle and mock the knights from the other side of the arena. You are given a green flag to wave during the match. Our serf even told us that we could throw chicken at the opposing knights.

This is a food blog, so I need to concentrate on the culinary attributes of Medieval Times. The first and most important thing to note about MT is that you must eat with your fingers. Apparantly, during the real Medieval Times, there were no utensils, and honored guests picked at their chicken like vultures. At Medieval Times, you have no choice, you are required to eat as such. I washed my hands twice in the bathroom before dinner.

When you first sit down, you are greeted by your serf or wench--our serf was "Sean" and he had the middle times accent down to a tee. Sean introduced us to our napkins, where within was our "Bill of Fare"...

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To indicate our drink of choice, we were instructed to turn the handle on our mug a certain direction. Shortly thereafter, Sean circled with his crock of soup. He ladled a cup of soup in each diner's silver crock.

The problem with the soup, and the whole crock idea, was that the soup was 1000 degrees, and it heated up the metal crock along with it. It was well into the show before I was able to handle mine to drink it.

Lee posed for this action shot:

Shortly after, Sean, who was a combination bartender, server, MC, and bus boy, came by with our half-chicken and one singular spare rib along with a potato. At this point, we were being regaled with a Spanish horse doing tricks.

Here's my plate:

It was pretty strange eating with my hands. Food is hot and filled with dangerous steam pockets. This is why utensils were created.

For dessert, we finished with the Pastry of the Castle--akin to a McDonald's Apple Pie.

We cheered valiently for our green knight, but in the end he perished at the hand of the White and Black knight. He put up a good fight. Almost as good as the fight we put up against our hot vegetable soup.

All in all, Medieval Times was a perfect place to spend a Thursday night. The memories of chivalry, burnt fingers, paper crowns, and horse dancing will stay with us forever.

Swan Song for the Burgh

2006-08-11T12:29:00.000-04:00

There were a few more meals in Pittsburgh that I forgot to tell you about until now, so I'm telling about them now.

First, there was the feast that Aimee prepared for me when I arrived late on Thursday night. Pesto bread from a bakery on the Strip. A mini terrine of goat cheese, olive tapenade, and roasted red peppers.

And dessert---oh dessert. A famous burnt almond cake that she got from a special bakery. The almonds on the outside are so tasty, that I ate an entire quarter of them off of the cake before I even had my piece.

And last, there was a memorable Pittsburgh sandwich before I left town. In the burgh-they eat coleslaw and fries on their sandwich so Aimee took me to the famous, Primanti Brothers.

It was a greasy spoon place with a big menu and an assembly line of fries, bread, coleslaw and meat. I had the corned beef and it was excellent. The fries on the sandwich are kind of strange, but the coleslaw is delicious. Its not mayo-based, but vinegar-based so its very pleasing to the palate. The coolness compliments the heat of the meat and bread.

So, that does it for Pittsburgh. I think I've probably boosted tourism by at least 1% with my reviews of Pittsburgh's excellent food. Do you think you'll visit anytime?

Day 3 of Eating Pittsburgh

2006-08-06T22:44:00.000-04:00

So, I cheated on you. I deprived you of one whole day of eating Pittsburgh. I ran out of the city, turned left at Fleming's Christmas tree lot, ended up on a horse farm, and forgot about you waiting for me here. I devoured baked Doritos and burnt burgers cooked on a tiny Coleman that was left to heat up during a rousing soccer game until the piles of soot underneath looked like little pyramids. I drank beer from a keg, munched on home baked peanut-chocolate bars, and played frisbee until I was red in the face. I came home tired and freckled. Curled up on the couch with a glass of wine and my friends, and fell asleep dreaming of more open fields and pastures.

Then I awoke today, well-rested, and groggy from my well rest, and started a new day. Munched on goat cheese and triple cream brie. Grapes and bananas. Put on shoes and walked the resevoir in Pittsburgh, worked up a sweat and an appetite. Then, Aimee and I embarked on our big dinner. Casbah. The menu I'd been fantasizing about.

We were seated on the quiet patio at Casbah along with another couple on a date. He, underdressed. She dressed to the nines in a super short dress (not pictured). I started with a wonderful glass of Blue Moon Oregon Pinot Noir. Soon after my wine arrived, so did a gift from the kitchen-an amuse bouche of summer salad over roasted red pepper puree. The salad was colorful and bright on the palate--summer corn, roasted asparagus, fresh diced tomato, all floating on the roasted red pepper puree-rich and thick.

We started with the falafel crusted shrimp with lemon-yogurt sauce. We were so famished that I forgot to snap the photo until we had dug in. The falafel was pronounced and rich, and the shrimp were giant and tender.

We continued by splitting an arugula salad with sweet tangy goat cheese, sauteed mushrooms, house-made pancetta and pancetta dressing. The salad was portioned beautifully-the thick salty pancetta pairing with the tanginess of the goat cheese and the lemon-y dressing. Arugula, which I often find bitter, was the perfect accompaniment to its partners on the plate.

Aimee picked the seared ahi tuna with calimari, tagliolini, capers, anchovies and tomato caponati. It was fresh off of the mediterranean--a melange of italian flavors topped with the fork-tender tuna.

I chose the beef short rib ravioli with greens, mushrooms and roasted shallots. The ravioli was incredible---the braised rib meat the perfect filling for the large ravioli. The bitter greens paired perfectly with the sweet meat.

Still saving room for dessert we chose two: the bread pudding of the day- a white chocolate base baked with blueberries and topped with a blueberry-lemon ice cream. Also, a chocolate tower--flourless chocolate cake topped with hazelnut cream, a chocolate tuile and served with a caramel-sea salt iced cream. We both attacked the warm bread pudding when it arrived, but quickly moved to the chocolate majesty. We never really went back to the bread pudding (nor did we snap a photo of the chocolate until it was almost demolished). The flavor explosion produced by the salt-caramel iced cream and the chocolaty tuile and cake was incredible. The ice cream was completely salty, but so enriched by the caramel. It was incredible.

We ended the night with another gift from the kitchen, almond shortbreads. The evening was wonderful-- a perfect feast to end my time in Pittsburgh.

eating Pittsburgh: day 1

2006-08-04T16:55:00.000-04:00

Today. I awoke naturally (sans alarm)in Pittsburgh and began day 1 of eating Pittsburgh. After a banana and a cup of coffee with chai creamer, Aimee and I set about our day together. Our first stop was lunch at the Spice Island Tea House with Aimee's friend Kristin. It was a small shacky pan-asian spot with everything from Malaysian to Thai food on the menu. I ordered the green tea of the day.

We all ordered the lunch special which was called Nasi Goreng Platter. It came with soup or salad, spring rolls and a side of java fried rice.

I had the mango pork, Aimee had the Chicken sate and Kristin chose the Chicken curry. All of our meals were yummy, but Kristin's rice came full of shrimp, to which she is allergic. She quickly swapped for coconut rice and a new plate and we were good as new.

Kristin later remarked that her meal wasn't as enjoyable as it could've been due to the fact that there were bones in her meat. Its hard to eat with reckless abandon when you're not sure what you're going to bite into next. Its also embarassing to pull bones out of your mouth when you're dining with a new companion. I completely agree with her.

Next, Aimee and I walked to the new green space, Schenley Park, where you can purchase sushi, pizza, and bubble tea within feet of each other. In fact, as Aimee remarked you can buy sushi and funnel cake in the same booth. They have live music every day at lunch, so we sat underneath the tent and listened to some jazz while I drank my bubble tea and aimee enjoyed her sprite.

Behind us, is the Cathedral Of Learning--sounds quite imposing doesn't it? Its the second tallest University buidling in tbe world (the first is somewhere in Moscow).

I sat in the sun and read my book (Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain) while Aimee went to work for a while. Then, on the way home from the park we stopped at this quaint farmers market and I saw some giant garlic. We purchased some pepperoni bread and a doughy cinnamon raisin bun for later.

More Pittsburgh eating later!

The Burgh

2006-08-03T14:30:00.000-04:00

This weekend, I'll be blogging to you from Pittsburgh, PA. Home of my freshman year at Emory roommate, Aimee. Aimee and I have gone the distance together as friends for 8 years now, and we've both lived all over-from Los Angeles, to Paris, Atlanta, and Pittsburgh. According to Aimee, Pittsburgh is home to "greasy food and beer" which she asked me if I liked in an email last week.

Aimee is a kick-ass cook--and I know that this weekend we'll be enjoying lots of wine & cheese, and great restaurants. I know that we'll be hitting this one and I am so excited. Check out the menu and tell me you don't want everything on it?

If anyone has any advice about Pittsburgh, hit me with it here in the comments. Otherwise, I'll come to you live from there sometime tomorrow. We're also heading to a farm party while I'm there. For a city girl, I've been spending lots of time on farms lately.

Bon Voyage!

Slow Food

2006-07-30T22:33:00.000-04:00

Today was the 1st annual Farmers' Fresh Sunday Picnic in Tallapoosa, GA. That's code for "almost in Alabama". Three city girls ventured to the farm to browse exhibits, troll for celebrity chefs, and dine on the season's freshest produce.

We arrived at around 2:30 today and after a detour which took us past the bee hives and the orchards, we came to a clearing in the woods where there was lots of activity. Tables were set up in clusters, a big grill was smoking away, and beautiful ripe veggies were for sale.

We walked down by the river,

browsed the stalls (Slow Food, Cotton Mill Farmers Market with compost and water filter systems, Antico Mercante cheeses, and the Farmers' Fresh Market Booth),

and then we got in the supper line, filled our plates with summer bounty, and ate until our bellies could hold no more.

The Menu: Hodge Common Sense Beef Kabobs, Riverview Farms Pork Kabobs, Farmers' Frersh Vegetable Kabobs, Gum Creek Farms Grilled Sausage, Riverview Farms Braised Beef Ribs, Smoked Tomato Gazpacho prepared by Woodfire Grill, Melted Tomatoes with Fresh Ricotta prepared by Gena Berry, Fingerling Potato Salad prepared by Repast restaurant, Heirloom Tomato Salad with Cornmeal Croutons prepared by Rome Street Tavern, and Cornmeal Canapes prepared by Avalon Catering.

The day was perfect. The food tasted different because it was eaten on a farm. It was a good day, spent with people passionate about growing and eating.

Singin' the Bobby Flay blues

2006-07-29T15:40:00.000-04:00

Friday night. Date night. Rush home and kiss the man you love. All of the couples in the world are doing it, too. I never thought I'd get there. Never thought I'd have someone to rush home to at the end of the day. Speeding on the interstate. Friday night outfit.

This Friday, I decided to make fish tacos for date night. I had two ears of sweet corn from my CSA delivery, and some of that gorgeous yellow/green squash to grill on the side. Lee was nice enough to do the rest of the shopping on Thursday night--he made an Equadorian friend at Publix who helped him find such exotic veggies as avocado, cilantro & jalepeno. I found a bobby flay recipe on the food network. I marinated the fish (tilapia) in coarsely chopped cilantro and jalepeno, ancho chile powder and canola oil. We grilled up the corn in the husk and added the squash at the last minute to get it nice and tender.

I assembled the tacos-with the grilled tilapia, the sweet corn and tomato salsa (sans avocado-the equadorian sold Lee a bum avocado that wouldn't be ripe til next week), and some cheese. We popped the tortillas on the grill for a few minutes.

I'm here to sing the bobby flay blues because Lee called the tacos "bland"--and he's right--they were. Despite all of the flavors, the grilled sweet corn, the hot jalepeno, and the spicy fish, the tacos fell flat. They tasted fresh, and the texture was great, but the flavor didn't blow us away.

Luckily, all I need to feel satisfied on a Friday night is a soft place to fall. And one who grocery shops and does the dishes is a bonus I could never refuse.

Hidden (Happy) Valley

2006-07-23T22:45:00.000-04:00

Question: How many business school students does it take to identify what's wrong with this picture?

Answer: Four.

As four business school students embarked on a culinary Dim Sum adventure this morning, they used the 5 minutes they had before the restaurant opened to brainstorm marketing ideas for Happy Valley. Test your business acumen by guessing what they came up with!

Clay picked the place and the Zagat advice warned "get there early-long lines at this Atlanta Dim Sum favorite." So, despite the fact that our two guests couldn't wrap their heads around dumplings at 10 am on a Sunday, we arrived early, prepared to duke it out with Chinese patrons four our spots at the lazy susan.

Turns out, Zagat was over-zealous. We were the first people to arrive. Within moments , we had tea and water and our first cart had arrived full of dumplings. Although it was hard to say no to the dumpling peddlers, Clay tried to keep us honest. He refused roughly every other dish. We started with pork and shrimp, shrimp, scallop and chicken dumplings.

Not long after, we grabbed at pork buns which Eileen dubbed, "bizarre", and soon after that we were given a plate full of diverse noodles flecked with pork, mushrooms, and shrimp. As the carts increased in speed and variety, we experienced an unfortunate incident with a fish ball. Clay asked for "vegetable" and the Hidden Valley cart peddler said "fish ball"--we thought she said "vegetable" so we took them.

I was first to try the dense, fishy, sausage-like, gagging ball. I almost couldn't get it down and it took me several glasses of tea after the fish ball before I could return to the spread. I never quite recovered. Towards the end of the adventure, we ordered some broccoli rabe, too.

At some point during the meal, we realized that the only way to communicate with the dumpling peddlers was by soliciting the help of the teenaged Hidden Valley server. We would call her over for advice or translation and she would serve as our Dim Sum interpreter. Here she came with the dessert cart for us.

We tried chocolate pudding, pineapple flan, and mango pudding. To be honest, all were moreover flavorless.

Finally, we all learned something today. Clay indicated to Eileen that the universal sign for "more tea" was opening the lid on the tea pot. Eileen opened, and within seconds our tea had been replaced. They reenacted it for me here.

One thing is for sure, Dim Sum, if you can find it behind the burgundy paint, is worth the trip to Buford Highway. We were all stuffed for about $13 each, and we plan to bring more folks next time. We think we're ready to upgrade to a large table with a lazy susan, and we plan to wow our friends with our (now) extensive knowledge about the offerings at Hidden Valley.

Tacos, Dessert & Sex

2006-07-23T22:35:00.000-04:00

Friday night, we celebrated Marietta's last Saturday night in town. She'll be here next weekend, but we'll be attending the nuptials of some friends, so this was her last Saturday night as far as Emily & I were concerned.

We hit up Taqueria at around 7 pm and ended up in the longest line ever. Great people watching, but it can get a bit awkward to be next to the same people in line for so long. I was so distracted by my hunger that I forgot to snap photos of our tacos and enchiladas, but I didn't forget to shoot my drained margarita glass. The margaritas at Taqueria are the BEST in town.

It turns out that the real star of the night was Emily. She created a dessert platter for goddesses (us). Yogurt-covered pretzels, shell chocolates, jellies, nectarines, strawberries and lemon goat cheese. To-die-for. We noshed all night long while watching our favorite Sex & the City episodes from all 6 seasons. Now that's just about a perfect night as I can imagine.

Diamonds on the soles of her gold shoes

2006-07-22T11:21:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago, Kathleen emailed me to tell me that she had purchased some new shoes over the weekend. They needed a debut. So, we made dinner reservations at Kyma- a place that we had been dying to try for a while. It was the latest edition to the Buckhead Life restaurant group dynasty, but it had been open for several years. The premise was Greek, specializing in Fish. We made the reso for 4-invited Eileen and Marietta, and anxiously awaited the debut of Kathleen's latest accessory.

We arrived at Kyma last night at around 7:15, and the clientele was, let's just say...early bird? There were several patrons in wheelchairs. We were all dressed up, with no one to see but a few grandparents. Next, we were led to a table that was situated right on the main drag of the restaurant, behind a giant Grecian column. Initially, we were unsure about how the night would shape up, but Kyma redeemed itself with its excellent fare.

The specialty at Kyma is their wood-grilled fish. When you enter, the first thing that you see are their fresh catches of the day on ice. These fresh catches are cooked whole and then fileted and served in a decadent bath of butter, white wine and capers.

We started off with a basket of warm olive bread that was served with an excellent drizzle of olive oil and a bowl of potent hummus. We shared the Baby Calamari crisped in Olive Oil, the Saginaki (Kefalograviera Cheese in Barbayanni Ouzo and Lemon), and the Spanikopita, cheese and spinach triangles. All were excellent. The saginaki was pungent and soaked in Ouzo, the calamari were tender and crispy, and the spanikopita were flaky and warm with a creamy center.

Marietta had done some research in advance, and went in to the night craving the Lamb Chops “PAITHAKIA” Wood Grilled, Marinated with Fresh Herbs, Olive Oil and Lemon
served with “Greek Fries” and Tzatziki Yogurt Spread.

Kathleen ordered the same. Eileen decided on the Whole Prawns Wood Grilled with “HILOPITES” Square Cut Pasta, Tomato Compote and Kefalotiri Cheese,

and I went with the suggestion of our waiter who suggested the wood grilled Pompano. I also ordered a side order of the greek style fries with tzatziki.

The food was excellent. Eileen's prawns were delicate and rich with tomato. The girls' lamb was tender, flavorful, perfectly cooked, and was paired perfectly with the thick, rich, cooling tzatziki. My pompano was flaky, tender and rich. Perfectly cooked and paired with the butter and capers. The greek style fries were tender coins-stacked perfectly like cards. We had an excellent greek wine with our meal that was light and earthy like a Pinot Noir.

We couldn't stay at Kyma for dessert...we needed a change of venue. The shoes were begging for one, so we headed over to Intermezzo for dessert and fun drinks. We had Sofia champagne (from the Coppola vineyard), Paris on Fire (chambord, cassis and champagne with pineapple juice), Cappuccino cheesecake, and the Paris Brest-a layered dessert of creme anglaise, strawberries, and puff pastry.

At the end of the night, the shoes came off, the girls went home and Friday night ended with a quiet, satisfied drive home.

Kitty in Le Creuset

2006-07-20T23:56:00.000-04:00

I haven't been to the grocery store in a week, so I decided to cook my cat for dinner. I've fattened her up lately out of guilt. Its come to this. I have vegetables coming out of my ears, but no time to cook them. Somebody give me a suggestion for squash? And I promise I'm not letting that purple basil go to waste.

But you readers have a lot to look forward to this weekend. I'm taking you to Kyma tomorrow night (Greek Seafood in a swanky setting), Taqueria del Sol on Saturday night for girls night with margaritas, and then, as if you thought it couldn't get any better, Dim Sum on Sunday. We're venturing to Buford Highway...

So, stay tuned as I embark on this culinarily-diverse weekend. And don't worry, I didn't have the heart to put Madeleine in the oven...

Prince would be proud

2006-07-19T23:23:00.000-04:00

Its Wednesday! Veggie delivery day. I had completely forgotten when Anne burst into my office carrying her giant brown bag. Next week, I'll be sure to capture her in this stance. She was balancing a large, round watermelon in one hand and the bag in the other. It was very Dirty Dancing meets community agriculture.

She quickly unpacked her goods---a giant bag of tomatoes, and a smaller pack of baby tomatoes. I encouraged her to take the watermelon since she had so valiently carried it from the pick up place, to my office. I like to give her the good stuff first.

I claimed my bounty, and you'll see it pictured above. Fun stuff. Purple basil (that's where Prince comes in), a delicate mini cabbage, a fraternal twin-different but the same-mini boston lettuce ball. More squash with identity problems (green or yellow?), two garlics with strings attached and one red onion. Also, a small stalk of rosemary.

This week, I need to use up all of these squash. Does anyone have any suggestions? I know its unhealthy, but I think I'll fashion them in a casserole. I'm going to use the purple basil in a thai curry. Emily & Sami brought me authentic curries from Thailand last month, and I think that the purple basil would go perfectly in the panang curry.

As for the mini lettuces, they'll be attending a child's tea party. Teddy bears will enjoy lettuce wraps and tea, and imaginary sugar cubes will be added to china tea cups.

Can't wait to cook up my new friends.

One closing thought-sadly, my herb garden has been neglected. So has my cat. I haven't been home much lately. I'm showing you the neglected pair. They asked me to post their photos in the hopes that they would receive some sympathy....

Modern Day Betty Crocker

2006-07-17T17:14:00.000-04:00

I'm obsessed with the BC. The Barefoot Contessa. I love her way. I love her shirts (she has them custom-made. they can not be purchased by just anyone). She's not perfect, or pretentious, she just likes to cook for her gay friends and her loving husband in a non-fussy way. She roasts a chicken every Friday for Jeffrey. That's love. And once, she made four different cocktails for him on a Friday night. She made a Manhattan, a Mai Tai, and two others that I can't remember. Then, when he got home she had him test each one and then she gave him the one he wanted. He picked the Manhattan.

I love her recipes. They're always decadent and gorgeous. One of the best things I've learned from her is to always give an indication to your guests of what they're eating. For example-adorn carrot cupcakes with a few shavings of carrot so that no one will wonder what's inside. Or, use the same herbs that you used to roast your chicken to garnish the plate so all will know that there is thyme and lemon involved.

I own two Barefoot Contessa cookbooks (Parties! and Barefoot in Paris). I also have a little recipe journal branded by her.

But alas, today I write to tell all of you non-cooks that you, too, can hone the BC's divinity by running (not walking) to your neighborhood Crate & Barrel and purchasing her mixes. The woman has officially hit commodity status. See ya on the flip side, Betty Crocker.

Milestones

2006-07-16T17:02:00.000-04:00

In life we have milestones. Times where we stop, look around at the scenery, look extra hard in the mirror. Life stops in those moments. We celebrate milestones because they're often the only times that we actually take the time to look around and see what we have, see who we are, and who we love. Birthdays are always milestones, and especially the big ones. Did I do everything I thought I would do by the time I was 30? Does everything feel right? Am I where I want to be with the right people by my side?

On Saturday, I participated in two milestones. First, the birthday party for my boyfriend, Lee's, mother. It was a milestone for her. She was surrounded by her friends and family in her beautiful mountain home in Elijay. She is healthy and happy, and vibrant. She and her friends and sisters love to laugh. The home feels like a home.

The other milestone was mine. Meeting his family. Meeting his mother. The woman in his life. The people who have known him the longest. Who shaped him and molded him and watched and cared for him. I admire them so much for teaching him to be the person he is today.

I cooked a feast to celebrate these milestones. Started the preparation in Atlanta, and finished in the giant kitchen in Elijay. Picked the right vegetables and herbs, chopped with nervous fingers and hands. Answered questions while whisking. Tried to put my best foot forward in the form of macaroni & cheese and baby back ribs.

On this milestone-I looked around and felt like I was home. Loved the people surrounding me. Felt good about the person that I am. Felt strong arms. Felt open arms. Hugged and laughed.

Enjoy the photos. They were taken with love on a day to remember. I look forward to more milestones.

What's your first food memory?

2006-07-14T15:12:00.000-04:00

Sarahcooking, originally uploaded by sarahlpearse.

My first memory of food is of my mother baking bread. She would spend the entire day making dough, waiting for it to rise, punching it out, and braiding it and baking it. I'm not sure why she made bread, but it must've been the process. I remember the way that the house smelled like yeast. We lived at 5 McCormick on a cul-de-sac. Almost every house had kids. The ones that didn't were avoided.

This photo was taken when we lived in Venice. You can see an ancient appliance behind me, and my own monogrammed apron. My mom was the best.

Tell me your first food memory...what better way to kill the rest of your Friday?

The week's fodder

2006-07-12T22:53:00.000-04:00

Today was a processed food day. Starbucks non-fat latte. Peanut Butter Cookie Luna Bar with an inspiring quote on the side. Lean cuisine. Iit was as if mother nature knew that she would be bestowing a gift upon me at the end of the day.

At around 4 pm today, I burst into Anne's office to see our weekly stash. Green Italian flat beans that someone told me to cook with pork fat and sugar. Summer tomatos aching for olive oil, window basil and crusty bread. The parents of last week's green tipped yellow squash-bigger and heartier then their orphaned children from last week. A trio of garlic, tinged with purple, smelling mild. And peaches---fragrant, misshapen, sign of summer, melt in your mouth, who needs chocolate peaches.

I'm a happy girl.

2006-07-11T11:50:00.000-04:00

Saturday night was a girls' dinner night. Give us wine and appetizers, and a loud bustling dining room, and we'll be happy. We chose to eat at Feast, which I had heard about from a few friends. It was local, new, convenient to Decatur, and I liked the name. I cursed them for using it first.

Feast was a sight for the eyes and the tummy. The atmosphere is decadent and draped and dimly lit. There is a heavy curtained room in the corner that reminded me of a bed from medieval times or Harry Potter.

Marietta and I met Emily at the bar, and we were quickly shown to our table which had a great view of the wood-burning oven. Sarah joined quickly thereafter and we started with a great Cote de Rhone for $20. This was Feast's first win- 20 wines for $20. Madi had checked the menu first and had pre-selected our appetizer-a trio of dips: Lemon artichoke pesto, coal roasted eggplant, and herbed goat cheese.

The goat cheese was fluffy and flecked with chives and basil. It had been scooped with an ice cream scooper. My personal favorite was the pesto-which was lemony and oily. Its tartness was the perfect addition to the grilled pita. My least favorite was the eggplant which was unattractive (brown, mushy), flavorless (needed tons of garlic), and cold, rather than room-temperature.

As we munched on our trio, our waiter, who was quite attentive at first, took our order. Marietta had the special--she was after my own heart-ordering the special--Sea bass seared with balsamic reduction over lemon risotto with a shrimp and mushroom ragu. I eyed the wood-burning oven and chose the wild mushroom, gorgonzola, walnut & rosemary pizza. Emily had yellow tomato gazpacho and fried artichokes.

Marietta's entree was by far the best. The sweetness of the carmelized balsamic was the perfect match for the tart risotto underneath. I could've done without the ragu. Emily's gazpacho was smooth rather than her preferred chunky, and her artichokes were delicious-who doesn't love a fried artichoke? My biggest disappointment was my pizza. Was the wood-burning oven a prop? My pizza looked like boboli-perfectly round, no lines or bubbles from the oven. The gorgonzola searched in vain for a flavor to match it. Nothing could stand up to the powerful cheese, and as a result, the mushrooms and walnuts fell flat except for texture. The cheese was too strong and my pizza went uneaten.

By this point, dizzy with wine, we ordered dessert. Feast gets most of their desserts from Southern Sweets-a local bakery, and the same one where my birthday cake (raspberry red velvet) was from. We shared one slice of cherry pie-perfectly tart. The crust was flaky and crisp. One last note about Feast. It uses paper napkins....can you feast with paper napkins?

In the end, I suggest that you go to Feast with three things in mind: the affordable wine list, inventive specials, and fabulous desserts. You won't be disappointed.

Friend of a Farmer

2006-07-05T22:54:00.000-04:00

I don't know any farmers. If I did they might supply me with their wares. Weekly, I might collect a sweet cantaloupe, a trio of misshapen zucchini, or a flaky bunch of garlic. I'd carry my basket from week to week from house to house.

Someday, I hope to be a farmer. I think that in order to truly know good food, you have to know how to grow, pick, pluck, nourish, and grow. You need to know what the squash tastes like depending on the color, the texture, the size of the blossoms. You have to be able to daydream a meal from a long gaze at the garden.

In the meantime, since my herb garden isn't exactly going to sustain me, I have begun to participate in a weekly pick up of local grown produce. I'm splitting the weekly booty with a friend from work. Each Wednesday, she'll deliver the goods here, and we'll bargain equitably over the jewels of the week.

Stay tuned for this weeks' order! In the meantime, enjoy these images from the San Francisco Farmer's Market. They're gorgeous....

Mille Feuille

2006-07-02T22:50:00.000-04:00

French Lesson #1: I thought today that if everyone I knew spoke French then our lives would seem so much more exotic. Bonjour ma cherie. And then later, A tout a! We'd kiss four times because who wants to miss out on a long greeting. Feeling bristly whiskers and brushing hair back would be standard. And no one would ever say "um", we'd always give long uhhhhhs like the french. They sound so much more rich.

So-french lesson number one is Mille Feuille. A mille feuille is a pastry--made from layers of creme anglaise, a thick vanilla custard, and puff pastry. It is layered carefully and called a mille feuille because the puff pastry looks like a thousand sheets. Mille Feuille literally translates into a thousand sheets.

In San Francisco, I photographed this mille feuille of soap at the Ferry Building. I thought it was gorgeous-wrapped up like a parcel and sprinkled with flecks of soap. Wrapped up with thought and quadruple kisses.

Make a mille feuille this week--layer carpacio slices of zucchini with crab meat, stack slices of avocado with tomato and black beans. Tower your boars head turkey in between the tattered slices of swiss. And when you do, you'll thank me, mille fois.

P'Cheen

2006-07-02T22:30:00.000-04:00

My wish for everyone is that they have a corner restaurant where they always feel welcome. Where the food calls you home and you can always crash. Maybe you know the bartender, or maybe you just know the feel of the glass in your hand. I'm not the kind of girl who befriends bartenders. I'm more about the feel of the glass in my hand, or the flavor of an old familiar dish. Or the memory of the last friend I saw there.

I'm new to my neighborhood--not really new, but relatively. I've lived in the Old Fourth Ward for almost a year, and recently, I've started to explore the restaurant scene. I've been stuck in a rut for a while now--you know the one...where every time you find yourself on Friday night, hankering for a meal and a drink with a good friend, you reach into your rolodex of ten restaurants--all old familiar, and you pull one out. You don't need to look at the menu, or the drink list. You know when family hour has ended, and its safe for you to talk about sex without offending anyone. They've long ago taken off your favorite thing off the menu, but you still order it anyway. I have lots of these. Osteria 832. Taqueria del Sol. Six Feet Under. Eclipse di Luna. Watershed. so many more.

So, on Friday night I decided with a few friends that before we hit up a local show at the Red Light Cafe, we would head to the gastro-pub on the corner for some neighborhood patronage. P'Cheen opened about 6 months ago, and I have been there twice already. Once, on the blind date from hell. It was a bad date because I liked him so much on paper, and over email, but in person it was terrible. I thought he was the perfect combination of crunchy and corporate. I thought he was southern, knew how to toss the frisbee, liked cuisine. Really, he was northern, and nasaly-and studied "risk" and hated eating out. He didn't walk me to my car after our two glasses of wine-and my car was about ten blocks away. Not a match. The second time I went to this restaurant, was with a good friend-and the conversation was great-and we walked (the signature of a corner restaurant is that you walk there). And the conversation was memorable. And I still think about that day.

P'Cheen is Gaelic for Moonshine-and its an international pub of sorts with the look of a fancy restaurant. Step inside, and you're as likely to find a phd student typing poking away at a thesis, as you are likely to find a few gents having a cold one at the bar while watching sports.

We hit up the place with the idea of putting down some pre-concert fare, and we were not disappointed. We started with the Big Ass Basket of Pommes Frites--which, while wonderful--oily and dense with potato, were not really the stuff of big ass baskets. In fact, I had to crane the canon over the edge to capture them for you. The dipping sauces, however, aimed to please--harissa aoili, jalepeno marinara and tartar sauce. I followed with the angus and portobello burger-which was overcooked, and slightly charred, but filled my belly. My companions had ribs and hummus, respectively.

There was a lively debate about the nature of the place--a bar with food? A restaurant with a good beer list? I felt pretty confident about the Gastro-Pub nomination.

The next time you're looking for somewhere to dine on a Friday night, look no further than your corner. Or mine.

I couldn't have said it better myself

2006-06-28T16:32:00.000-04:00

If you were to saddle up next to me at a dive bar, lean in close and say "what's your sign?" I would repond with "Gemini". If you were really cute-tall, and dark-I might tell you that that means that half of the time I'm a true homebody. Robe. slippers. head band. TV. or my Julia Child cooking DVDs. Stacks of Gourmet to pour through. French press coffee. Just me and Madeleine. But I would also have to disclose that the other half of the time, I stalk the food pages of newspapers for new chefs, restaurants, dishes, fads, and decors. That I'm saving Bacchanalia partly because I can't afford it, but party because I've never had an occasion big enough to justify the incredible nature of the food. That I review for Zagat. That I love new restaurants.

Soon, you'll be introduced to my restaurant-half. I'm going to be reviewing something with my fellow foodie, Emily, in the next few weeks.

But for now, only because I couldn't have said it better myself, I'm referring you to Amy Sedaris-and her recent NYC quote. "I really don't like going out," Ms. Sedaris said one afternoon last week. "I don't like restaurants because I don't like the idea of someone, a waitress, being responsible for my evening. I like seconds, and more, and lots of conversation, and I've always hated the idea that in a restaurant an evening just ends. I find that incredibly depressing."

Today, Amy, and readers, I couldn't agree more. Today, I'm longing for a night that never ends-a goat cheese salad, an open faced croque monsieur, a salad perfectly dressed, and profiteroles for dessert.

inspiration

2006-06-26T22:08:00.000-04:00

pizette with squash blossoms, originally uploaded by sarahlpearse.

Pilgrims trek to famous cathedrals. Muslims to Mecca. I pursue culinary icons and the restaurants they create. Recently, I had the opportunity to dine at Cafe Chez Panisse, the little sister of world-renowned Chez Panisse, Alice Waters' indellible mark on the restaurant world. For those who don't worship at the alter of food, Alice Waters birthed California Cuisine-the concept of season, fresh, simple food. Inspired by time spent in France (remind you of anyone you know?) and passionate about local produce, farms, and products, she introduced an entire state, and entire country really to the kind of cuisine that makes you wonder what you ever ate before you tried it. The beet and cucumber salad below was dressed with a rough pesto of marjoram and mint.

Eating at Cafe Chez Panisse in Berkeley last week was one of the highlights of my eating career. The simplicity and synergy of ingredients and flavors is still fresh on my mind. Her squash blossom pizzette, pictured here, was the inspiration for my party last Friday, and I have found myself scrolling through my photos of her food like a girl reading a trashy novel. The colors, the simplicity, and the radiant glow of freshness have me inspired.

who needs love? all you need is homemade pizza

2006-06-24T08:59:00.000-04:00

I've searched long and hard for the best way to throw an authentic dinner party. Not the kind where your placecard is at the door, and you spend the evening sitting next to and across from the same people. The boisterous kind. The kind of dinner party that actually feels like a party.

Last night, after many a morning spent making dough. After the yeast was back in the cupboard. After the torte (feeling much like a bride trying on wedding dresses) had been placed upon its pedestal. After the Mise. After the herbs had been plucked from their stems. There was a party.

I battled with the dough. It flanked right. I flanked left. It tore, and I patched. It stretched--its gluten relaxed from kneading--and I tried to stop it from stretching down to the floor. I held it with my knuckles, and it covered them and formed over them. Eventually, it yielded to my force and collapsed upon the pan in shape of island nations. Madagascar (sans Seyshells as Marietta noted). Iceland. Japan. Jay Leno (not a country-but a distinct shape). They were island nations ready to be populated.

Caramel-colored onions. Baby spinach flecked with garlic. Mushrooms-glistening with butter and thyme. Coins of zucchini. Crispy salty smokey pancetta. Creamy, gluttonous goat cheese. crumbled blue-veined Stilton. paper thin sliced pears. oily pesto. chapters and volumes of mozzarella.

As the pizzas emerged from the oven, they brought people together. Two people reaching for a slice at the same time. revealing how the stilton, pears and walnuts felt in their mouth. pouring a glass. sharing a story and a slice.

My little foot of earth

2006-06-23T11:58:00.000-04:00

window herbs, originally uploaded by sarahlpearse.

Being a converted urbanite, I enjoy living within my concrete walls. I love seeing the street outside of my window. I'm used to hearing sirens, car alarms, and passers-by throughout the night. Madeleine even likes to watch the characters throughout the day.

But sometimes, a girl needs some earth to call her own. My square of earth is my herb garden. My herb garden is one of the best gifts I've ever received from anyone. My boss gave it to me--planted it, created it for me-as a housewarming gift, and its totally changed my life. The tallest stalks are the basil--they scream in Italian "pick me, pick me, so I can grow back even higher and more leafy". On the left, are parsley and thyme. They live side by side in harmony-sometimes conversing about who is better. Thyme knows that it must be stripped from its stem in order to be used. Parsley delights in the fact that its edible just "as is". My parsley is just happy to be off of the garnish line at the local steakhouse. It doesn't get picked very often but it knows it has a crucial spot in the herb world. Behind that, is lavender. The lavender dreams of being ice cream some day. It will be mixed gently with honey and scooped onto the lovliest dishes one day next spring. And last, my sage. The sage is the wisest herb of all-choosing to align itslf with earthy pastas and browned butter. And the last dweller in my garden is my gnome. He was the product of a birthday treasure hunt. He protects the herbs from the often-famished Madeleine, and brings general goodwill to their growing.

My square of earth makes the world make sense sometimes.

cream: get on top

2006-06-23T11:49:00.000-04:00

cream, originally uploaded by sarahlpearse.

Today I experienced true generosity on my little block. I was baking the dessert for tonight, a truly divine chocolate torte from epicurious. It is one of the most reviewed recipes on the site, check it out at http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/recipe_views/views/104512 to hear 190 at home chefs express their undying love and affection for this recipe. Aimee made this recipe for her birthday last year--gotta love a girl who bakes for her own birthday--if I were her fortune cookie I would say: "those who bake for own birthday are truly generous friends...in bed". Anyway, this dessert is quite time-consuming to create, so I had to start at 7 am this morning, and I still didn't get to work until 10:30.

After baking the first layer of the torte--a fudgy choclate cake (by the way, I used my recently purchased Scharffen Berger chocolate. Chopping it gave me a little high)---I was onto the mousse layer. Skilled in the art of french cooking, I was whipping the mousse base with a french flair, singing "Aux Champs-Elysees" to myself when I came to the realization that I didn't have one of the crucial ingredients--heavy cream. Standing in my kitchen, in my pajamas, with wet hair, whisking butter furiously over a double-burner, I realized that running to the store was going to put a serious cramp in my baking.

Then-a thought occurred. Javavito, the new "old school" coffee house across the street would surely provide cream to its patrons. And surely, if I wandered in braless and with wet hair, they would not be able to refuse me one scant cup? This was an exercise in trust. I felt as though Javavito was my neighbor, and that wandering over with a measuring cup, I could forge a bond with this new retailer. I was excited at the prospect of not having to drive to the store, and exhilarated by the fact that I wasn't sure what they would say to me or what they would charge me.

Our story ends well---a kind man sold me an iced coffee for 1.63 and an "additional item" (that's how it rung up) for $.50. I got two cups of heavy cream for $.50 and returned home, hair a bit dryer at this point, to finish the dessert.

So-cream, you're on top today. And so are you JavaVito. You made my day.

I started young...

2006-06-22T09:49:00.000-04:00

Sarahbaking, originally uploaded by sarahlpearse.

My mother emailed me this classic shot this morning for blogging purposes. She wants you all to see that if it weren't for her forcing me into child labor in the kitchen at a young age, you might never have been privy to my culinary wisdom. Apparantly, according to this picture, I was quite the dough-girl at a young age.

Update on pizza dough: its going well. I made another batch last night, and then one again this morning. My freezer is full with the future pizzas of the world. If anyone has suggestions for killer toppings, comment liberally....

yeast: the newest addition to my kitchen cabinet

2006-06-21T13:21:00.000-04:00

What is yeast? I've always wondered this. Maybe I should've done some research for this post, but I haven't had the time, and I'm hoping that some of you will fill me in on its magic chemical componants. I called my mother last night from Publix to ask her if there was any difference between the packets, and the jar, and she just said "yeast doesn't last long"--a vote for the packets. I was making pizza dough. I envisioned myself making lots of pizza dough for hungry visitors, so I bought the jar.

Friday night, I am hosting a dinner party as a goodbye for one of my dearest--and in honor of my recent trip to woodfire oven territory, I decided to recreate a "pizzette" that I had at Cafe Chez Panisse, and make a variety of pies with inspired toppings. I'm picturing crispy pancetta, sweet carmelized onions, crisp pears, soft gooey goat cheese, and big hunks of fresh tomato. I'm going to adorn liberally with garlic and home-grown herbs. I'm waiting until Friday to be inspired by the farmers market. Then I'll pick my favorite ingredients, make some winning combinations, and pray that I don't set off the fire alarm like I did last night making my practice version.

Once home, and armed with my epicurious recipe, I set the yeast free to do its magic thing. I added two teaspoons to 1 cup of "wrist temperature" water. Whatever that means. Added a pinch of sugar (sounds like the latest term of endearment to me "you're just a pinch of sugar"), and waited for the mysterious doughy-smelling mixture to bubble. Once it did, I added flour, dug in and kneaded and mixed until my arms were sore.

I left the bulbous result to rise in a bowl well-coated with olive oil. Then I let out the frustrations of the day by punching the hell out of the dough. Then I said goodnight to the dough and put it in the freezer to languish until Sunday's party. I also baked a pizzette (hence the fire alarm), and topped it with kosher salt, fresh ground pepper, and thyme and basil. It was crispy, but chewy. The perfect palate for the season's offerings on Friday. That dough just doesn't even know what it will be come in just a few short days. Today is the first day of the rest of its life.

chez madeleine is born

2006-06-20T15:52:00.000-04:00

This weekend, on a westcoast culinary adventure tour posing as a conference for work, an idea was born. I was sitting in the window seat, dreaming about my latest gastronomic finds from San Francisco (scharffen berger chocolate by the pound, delicate lavender shortbreads, and white balsamic vinegar among them), wondering what I'd missed from my favorite blogs whilst I was gone, and munching on the latest Delta snack invention---creamy havarti spread and micro-mini crostinis, when the idea came to me. A food blog. One that would give me the space to describe meals cooked and purchased, here and abroad. I've often heard that hearing me talk about food can be an orgasmic experience. I wanted to share that experience with you, dear readers, in the hopes that I will come even closer to finding my muse, and perhaps my perfect madeleine.

I'll attempt to glean inspiration from those who have come before me-most notably in my world-the Amateur Gourmet www.amateurgourmet.com (who so kindly vacated the Atlanta food blogger market and provided the perfect cat-door for my entry) and the ever poetic and wildly inventive french mademoiselle, Clotilde of www.chocolateandzucchini.com. Last, before I close with today's inagural entry, I must thank my constantly hungering feline companion, Madeleine, without whom coming home at the end of the day would be dull and empty.