Zeytoon Parvardeh, comes from Northern Iran and it is sometimes called ‘Caspian Olives’ since its origin (Gilan Province) lies close to the sea. This topping is a magical marinated combo of pitted green olives, pomegranate molasses, pomegranate seeds, garlic, walnuts, mint, parsley and dill.

It really hits all the right notes: nutty, salty, meaty, fleshy, sweet, tart, sour and herb-a-licious too. Used as a garnish it’s delicious with any fish; Sturgeon being the obvious choice, considering its origin.

I used mint in my recipe but the original herb that it replaces is: chuchagh which is hard to find here in the Bay Area. Traditionally the mint and garlic are chopped and mashed up together and the walnut is grated or pulverized in a cuisinart but I’ve opted for a rough chop here instead. Feel free to make it yours and add a little cilantro too if desired.

I use this garnish to top hummus appetizers also, so keep this little salsa of sorts in your rolodex of interesting and delicious toppings. Or forget about chopping the green olives – and serve it up as an appetizer in its original whole form alongside some frosty martinis.

Roasting a whole salmon side could not be easier and it’s so pretty for a party. Obviously I’m thinking Easter and Passover here, but it’s festive enough for any feed-a-crowd occasion.

Some pointers for roasting whole salmon sides…

Have your fish monger take out the pin bones, or do it yourself by gently pulling out the thin bones with fish tweezers the direction they are pointing – do not pull against the flesh or it will tear. Run your fingers along the flesh to feel the bones.

Also, skin your side and remove all of the grey fat from the underside, this part tends to get a little fishy smelling as it rests, so it’s best to remove before baking.

After skinning and removing the pin bones, I place my salmon side on a parchment lined baking sheet. Use two pieces of parchment overlapping by more than half. This way, when ready to transfer the fish, you can grab the ends of the paper (without it breaking because of the double layer underneath) and quickly move it to the serving platter. Once on the plate, pull the parchment out on either side.

Season the salmon with sea salt, ground cumin and ground sundried lime, drizzle with a little olive oil and bake in a slow oven around 325F until medium rare.

Test for doneness by inserting a metal toothpick (I’ve even used a paperclip or the tip of a thin knife), into the thickest part of the flesh and leave it for 10 seconds. Press the metal toothpick tester just to the bottom of your bottom lip (almost underneath it, so as not to burn your lip). It if feels just barely warm – your fish is still on the rare side of medium rare but making progress. If it feels nicely warm, then the fish is medium rare! If it feels a little hotter than warm – you’ve hit medium. If it feels burning hot – your fish is overcooked, take it out immediately!!!! If it feels cold, it’s not cooked at all, stick it back in the oven….

While this salmon dish is delicious on it’s own, I think it’s EVEN BETTER served alongside my Harissa Roasted Carrot dish or at the very least with the Labneh-Tahini-Honey mixture that accompanies it (included below). Without this creamy sauce, I feel the dish is not quite complete, For the perfect bite, make sure you add this creamy counterpoint!

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I worked with a Sous Chef at a 3-Michelin star restaurant (that will go unnamed) who used to jokingly look over my shoulder during prep time and whisper things like: “If you mess that up you’re an a**hole and you’re fired” Normally it was a really simple dish like this, one that no one would ever mess up. And yes if you did, you probably would be fired. But still, it’s seemed funny at the time. Ah, kitchen humor….

When I was making this recipe for my Fourth of July Party, I had to laugh because I swear that Chef was standing behind me peering over my shoulder trying to trigger my adrenaline. Yes, messing up this dish is hard. You really have to work at making pulled pork terrible.

But it can be done. Yup. Not gonna to lie. It can be done. And there is a big difference between ‘downright delicious’ and just ‘meh’. First off, you can’t rush the braise. If you do, the fat and the connective tissue in Pork Butt (which comes from the shoulder of the pig, but is higher on the foreleg – not anywhere close to the butt at all!) will not melt in the mouth. Your guests will feel like they are chewing on slimy rubber bands and that is not a great way to entertain.

Some recipes will tell you it doesn’t matter if you hard sear the Pork Butt first or not. Hogwash. Hard searing is very important. Yes, that nice crust is going to soften in the braising liquid but the caramelization from the crust is going to add so much flavor and color back into your braise which is eventually going to reduce into a sauce that you can mix into your succulent pulled pork. So don’t skip that step or I’ll be the one whispering over your shoulder!

As far as cuts go, Pork Butt (also called Boston Butt) is my first choice for pulled pork. You can use Pork Picnic too, but this cut is lower down on the shoulder blade and does not have the same shape and the fat content is much denser – I like to smoke this cut. Try to find a Pork Butt that is at least 6-7lbs deboned. This will yield about 14-16 sandwiches depending on how much meat you pile on plus a little extra. No one has ever stopped at just one sandwich at my table, so figure 2 per person. In other words: 8 people, 2 sandwiches per person, 7lbs pork butt deboned.

I start this recipe off with a lot of braising liquid and by the end of the cooking time it is normally reduced to about one cup and the pork butt has a nice bark to it. It is important to check in on your braising liquid from time to time. Even if you are cooking this in a Dutch Oven with a heavy lid the liquid will still cook off and no one wants a burnt butt! If the braising liquid starts to gets too low, you can always add a can of beer in a pinch. I do! Also, perhaps this is obvious, but don’t pour cold braising liquid into this dish to get it started, make sure it’s simmering.

To build a truly delicious Pulled Pork Sandwhch there are must-have-garnishes that can be customized to your personal style. I make a mean Guajillo BBQ sauce that is smoky-tangy-sweet and I slather it all over the bun. I prefer not to mix BBQ sauce into my pulled pork but many people do. I like my meat just to taste like it’s succulent self with the reduced braising liquid poured back in after the pork has been pulled.

I pile my sando high with pickled red onions and crunchy coleslaw that has the perfect balance between sweet and sour with a touch of creamy and a little kick-in-the-pants from Tabasco. And while I doubt it’s authentic in any Southern State, I believe a good mound of cilantro on top makes for the perfect bite.

A soft roll is a must. Potato is my first choice but brioche is nice too. This is definitely one of those sandwiches that you want to squish between your fingers as you bring it up for a bite.

Break out the picnic salads to serve alongside or just garnish with a few pickles. The sandwich is going to be the star of the show here, honestly, nothing else really matters once these hit the plates!

Enjoy!!!

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Just the idea of truffles and beets together sends my pulse sky rocketing. And not because the combo is super sexy (which it is) but because there is a certain off-menu salad at Guy Savoy that is insanely difficult to construct.

Monsieur Savoy’s Truffled Mâche and Beet Salad is a well-loved and simple (though expensive) French combination of ingredients: truffled vinaigrette, caramelized deep ruby red beets, bouncy mâche and the blackest truffle slices you’ve ever seen.

However, The putting-it-together part is pretty much like Jenga — if you’ve ever played that impossible stacking game before, you’ll understand exactly what I mean. The mâche and beets are carefully layered into a mile high tower and then completely covered in a delicate dome of black truffle concentric circles, each truffle slice placed over the one before until the entire salad is wrapped in beautiful blackness. Sounds easy. IT’S NOT! It’s quite often the leaning tower of truffled Pisa.

But, it is delicious. There’s no denying that the creamy truffle vinaigrette is drinkable just on it’s own and paired with the sweet & earthy beets and the minerality of mâche – it is one hundred percent satisfying. It goes nicely with a coupe de Champagne for a light lunch too (just sayin’!)

Monsieur Savoy pairs his famous truffled vinaigrette with a few other cold appetizers as well. My personal favorite is his signature dish: ballontine of chicken breast, artichoke heart and foie gras terrine sliced thick and served with truffled vinaigrette and a little mâche. If you happen to pop into Guy Savoy for lunch and want something different than the 4-hour tasting menu (just a quick bite peut être?) I highly recommend this dish, it is delicious. I loved making it and I loved eating the smaller slices of the ballottine that weren’t big enough for a proper serving.

I’ve put together my favorite truffled vinaigrette combos from Monsieur Savoy’s menu in a simple starter. But I’ve added my own touches too. My focus these days is on relocating to Portugal so of course the beets are lacquered with the sweet wine. And although Monsieur Savoy would most certainly use Poilaîne crostini, I have opted for rye, my personal fav.

The ingredients can be put together as a finger appetizer on a crostini or plated as a starter or enlarged to make a platter for a crowd. Foie gras is exceptionally difficult to get ahold of in California these days and companies like D’Artagnan (in NYC) will ship it along with high quality truffles (and lots of other insanely delicious ingredients). But for the sake of making this dish accessible for all, there are some excellent packaged foie de canard mousse in the markets these days too and you can use that here as well.

If you’re up for making foie gras torchon, making it at home is not hard just time consuming. I open up the lobes and devein, sometimes using my fingers or the back of a spoon to find the web like strands. (buy premium foie gras and it will be easier to devein). Then I sprinkle with a little rose salt and kosher salt, roll back up and create a cylinder with several layers of saran wrap tying each end tight and cook sous-vide. Curing salt needs to be measured and if you are having trouble finding it, ask your butcher, you don’t need a lot! I personally do not add other spices to my torchon but some people do.

I think Serious Eats has an excellent post on making foie gras torchon with clear instructions and since I made mine last year and froze it and I don’t have pictures, this is a great resource. By the way, if you do freeze yours for later use, make sure to take the cheesecloth off, rewrap and cryovac.

Nice fresh black truffles are also difficult to find right now as is mâche for some odd reason but I was able to find some canned truffles – not my preference but will do in a pinch – and some beautiful frisée too!

Bon Appétit!

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How good is it? Well, remember that episode of Seinfield – the one with the Soup Nazi? Of course you do. Remember the curmudgeon Chef who yelled at his clientele and if he didn’t like the looks of you or if you didn’t follow instructions you were sent away after waiting hours in line, without soup? Well, that character was based on a very real Chef in Manhattan who happens to be Persian. And guess what folks, urban legend has it that Ash Reshteh is the soup that put him ((Chef Ali Yeganeh) on the map and the soup that his customers felt was worth the wait and the abuse!

Chef Yeganeh might have popularized Persian Noodle Soup in Manhattan but he didn’t create the recipe. This soup has history and its roots can be traced back to 500AD. Ash Reshteh is associated with Spring and Nowruz (Persian New Years) and specifically Charshanbe Suri, also known as the Festival of Fire, where this soup is made to share with family and friends. The ‘reshteh’ or noodles, symbolize good fortune and luck. The bright green herbs braised in this soup symbolize Spring! You do not have to wait until the Spring Equinox to enjoy this soup though, it can and should be eaten often.

So, why is this soup so good one might ask? For me, it’s about the layering of flavors – the rich caramelized onions with turmeric, the braised bright green herbs, the combination of hearty lentils and beans, the tantric toppings of kashk (fermented whey) and turmeric fried onions with cool dried mint oil. Persian food often uses braised herbs in quantity (think ghormeh sabzi) and most dishes have a wonderful sour flavor profile. If kashk is not available, you can substitute yogurt – but don’t leave this sour element out because there is a holy trifecta going on here between soup base, kashk, and cool mint fried turmeric onions.

I have my own little story about Ash Reshteh. When I was Exec. Chef for Faz and his six Persian inspired Mediterranean restaurants we had a restaurant in Pleasanton with many traditional Persian dishes on the menu. The business clientele was not Iranian for the most part but, they really loved all the khoreshts (stews), the braised meats and of course, the foot long kabobs. I asked the Chef de Cuisine at this location to add Ash Reshteh to the menu because soup & salad was a popular request. He reluctantly agreed because all the choppy-chop that goes into this soup is time consuming. It’s an easy soup, don’t get me wrong, but the ingredient list is long. Guess what, it sold out within the first half hour. Ash Reshteh was permanently added to the menu after that and it sold out every single day. True story!

So don’t take it from me, don’t take it from Chef Ali and all of Manhattan, don’t take it from 3000 years of Persian tradition – try it for yourself and then tell me: IS THIS THE BEST SOUP ON EARTH OR WHAT!?!?!

Cooking Notes: I use a canned bean combo in this recipe and I don’t use dry beans in order to save time, to preserve flavor overall, and also because my family is stomach sensitive! I do use dry lentils. I like kashk, but I often sub yogurt if I don’t have time to hit up the Middle Eastern Market. If you can’t find ‘reshteh’ noodles, which are long flat wheat noodles, you can sub linguine. In these pictures I am using real reshteh, I find that they do hold up a little better than linguine but taste wise they are similar. Lastly, I use a few tablespoons of dry fenugreek in place of fresh, because I can never find fresh – don’t add too much or your soup will have a slightly bitter taste, but don’t leave it out either.

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Chahr-Shanbeh Suri, the beginning of the New Years celebration, collided with the ten year anniversary of the day Ramin and I met, so we’re making up for lost time. Tonight we’ll be jumping over fire (to take our sickliness away — be gone bad, bad year!) and eating Ash Reshteh soup and tomorrow we’ll cook a big New Year’s dinner.

This Persian herb frittata, KooKoo Sabzi (Kuku Sabzi), is a signature dish for Nowruz. It’s healthy, easy, spring green and super delicious.

As you can see, it’s more herb than egg and it’s an antioxidant powerhouse made with chopped scallions, chives, parsley, dill and cilantro. I add a little Aleppo red pepper for heat (you can sub a few dashes of Tabasco), chopped walnuts and tangy barberries.

Wishing you a wonderful New Year filled with health, happiness and prosperity!

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I didn’t want to leave you hanging with that last saffron cherry rice dish (albaloo polo). I know you were like: What do we serve with it lady?!?

Our fav is saffron chicken kabobs. As Layla’s Mama Bozorg (Grandma) always says, “you can never have enough saffron!” Whether cooking thigh meat or breast over a charcoal barbecue (preferably), jujeh kabobs are a staple in Persian cooking.

What makes jujeh kabobs so special and so incredibly delicious? The magical vibrant look and taste of saffron for one, but also the simple onion marinade and the onion juice that is brushed over towards the end of cooking. And there’s just something extra macho-feeling about cooking two-foot long kabobs!

Persians like variety. In our family, we rarely serve just one type of kabob. Normally we’ll serve koubideh alongside our jujeh kabobs. And there’s a reason for this. Koubideh kabob is made of ground beef, sometimes mixed with lamb too, and grated onion that has been wrung out in cheesecloth to remove the juice. The juice from the onion can be used for the chicken kabobs and the pulp for the beef kabobs. Making koubideh is an art form in itself and I’ll tackle that mountain soon – it’s not easy to get the meat onto the actual stakes correctly.

There are two types of jujeh kabob recipes. One is with yogurt (which is the way my Mother-in-Law makes them) or without yogurt which is how we make them at Faz’s restaurants. In the yogurt version the saffron is mixed in with the yogurt marinade, in the Faz version, saffron-onion juice is brushed over the kabob while cooking and not added to the marinade. I will put both versions down below for you to choose from. They are both delicious, I really don’t have a preference. The yogurt marinade does make the chicken a little more tender.

Saffron. Yeah, that little plastic jar that contains 3 threads is cute. That’s not going to cut it Persian cooking. Do not buy your saffron from a normal super market. It’s a rip off. Go online or go to a Persian or Middle Eastern market for saffron. They will sell it in a big package so you can use it properly. The best way to make use of it, is to grind it all up in a burr grinder and keep it in an air tight container.

Here’s a funny little trick on how to “bloom” saffron before mixing it into marinades or adding it to rice that my Mother-in-Law uses: sprinkle the saffron over ice cubes and let it melt to room temperature. Don’t use hot water. The reason? You don’t want to dilute the flavor or aroma or “cook” it twice. It also preserves the beautiful orange-yellow color.

What to serve with Saffron Chicken Kabobs? Saffron rice of course! Or Saffron Sour Cherry rice. We normally pair them with grilled Tomatoes, Shirazi salad and I could never eat kabobs without mast-o-khiar which is a lebneh cucumber dip.

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Mast-o-khiar or cucumber-labneh-dip can be served on its own and accompanied with flatbread and veggies, but it’s also a necessary side to any roasted meat. We don’t eat kabobs or leg of lamb at home without it.

So what makes this simple dip so special you might ask? First off, I use labneh instead of yogurt. It’s similar to Greek yogurt and the later can be substituted, but if you can find fresh labneh I think it makes a difference. What exactly is labneh, right? Well, it’s thicker than Greek yogurt, ultra strained, slightly salty and cultured with a different strain of healthy bacteria. It is a probiotic powerhouse and it will last longer than yogurt in your fridge. It’s consistency is more like cream cheese. Beware, some types of labneh are impossibly thick because they have added gelatin – this is not the kind I prefer to use. It should be cultured naturally without thickeners.

Secondly, the dill and mint added are dry and intense. If you buy these herbs dried from a Middle Eastern store, they will mostly likely come in a big packet as opposed to a small little spice jar, which is handy for this recipe. Lastly, the garlic I add (not a lot, but it is essential), I mash with sea salt and the flat of my chef’s knife, working it back and forth until the salt has drawn out the juice and the blade has pulverized the clove into mush. Making the dip hours, or even the night before, allows the garlic to mellow in the lactic acid of the labneh.

And lastly, I use Persian cucumbers which are not quite as juicy as the English hothouse variety and they hold their shape without getting mushy. If I can’t find the Persian type then I use normal hothouse cukes but, I scrape out the seeds so the dip doesn’t get watery.

To garnish, we use dried food grade rose petals and sometimes some fresh mint and dill. The rose petals don’t really add flavor, but they do add beauty, and sometimes they have a slight aroma as well….

Serve with Lamb Shawarma or kabobs or any roasted meat for that matter. Or simply scoop it up with some flat bread and feel healthy about devouring something so ridiculously tasty!

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Yes, it helps if you have a rotisserie at home but if not, you can simply roast a leg of lamb in the oven with minimal effort. I make my own flatbread, but toasted/grilled lavash or even naan can be substituted. And french fries are definitely a must. Don’t ask me why. I just need french fries with this sandwich. In Paris they roll the french fries into the shawarma for a really delicious hearty bite. Yum.

I like to add Persian Mast o’ Khiar and I’ll post the full recipe in the next post. It’s a super tasty yogurt-dill-cucumber dip that goes great with meat but, it can also be scooped up with flat bread and eaten all on it’s own.

The post Rotisserie Leg of Lamb Shawarma first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

Neither my Husband or my daughter, Layla, like chicken. My husband might be tempted if it’s slowly stewed in a thick sauce of pomegranate and ground walnuts or marinated in saffron and onion juice and cooked on long skewers over a charcoal fire, but neither daughter or hubby get excited about a roasted chicken or a baked breast. I can’t really blame them actually, once you’ve tasted Fesenjoon or Jujeh kabob, it’s hard to go back. But fried chicken, on the other hand,  disappears quickly.

I originally created this spice rub for Faz Restaurasnt for our Persian popcorn chicken appetizer. It flew out the door to say the least. The spices are a mixture of Persian sun dried lime, toasted cumin, tumeric, smoked paprika and salt. Sun dried limes (dried whole Persian Bearss limes) give an awesome sour kick. These limes are mostly used in stews like Gormeh Sabzi (meat stew with sun dried limes and braised green fresh herbs) where they are added whole and simmered slowly with other ingredients. But here, for this spice blend, I just toss them into the Vitamix along with the other spices and whirr away.

Sumac is another interesting spice that adds a pleasing sour pucker. My husband likes to spoon sumac over his saffron rice and on top of meat too. I find here, that it gives ripe, sweet peaches a little extra zing. Sumac is not a spice-y spice in terms of heat. It’s quite mild and, like sundried lime, is on the tart side.

Sabzi means ‘greens’ in farsi and refers to green herbs in recipes. No Persian meal is truly complete without a sabzi platter consisting of lemon basil, tarragon (the kind with fat leaves), mint and scallions. It’s a healthy antioxidant mixture often served alongside peeled walnuts and feta. The sabzi mixture gets rolled up in barbari bread or lavash with feta and eaten as an appetizer or added alongside the other various dishes being served for the meal.

Oh and Persians love raw onions! My husband would eat them like apples if I let him – which I don’t – for the obvious reasons! He shoves whole scallions in sandwiches along with all the other sabzi herbs and munches happily away. Me, not so much. My daughter, she likes onions too. Must be in the genes!

I just can’t seem to plate a protein without some sort of swoop these days. This one is an easy saffron aioli! You can cheat and add ground saffron to your mayo if you’re in a hurry. I won’t tell anyone. And, if I wasn’t mostly-gluten-free this whole meal would really be great as a sandwich on a brioche bun.

Salamati!

The post Persian Fried Chicken, Sumac Peaches, Sabzi Salad first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

Grilled Branzini stuffed with mint, parsley and lemon

Branzini is the plural form of  branzino, did you know that?  After all these years of cooking and I just found that out! I thought they were just different spellings of the same fish. Yup, that’s my ah-ha moment for the day.

Grilled Branzino with Spicy Mint Sauce

Grilling whole fish: if you’ve had limited success grilling fillets that break or stick on the grates, then grilling whole Branzino will be cake. Start with fresh fish, make sure the eyes are clear and the fish smells like the ocean – not ammoniated – if the scent of windex wafts up your nostrils move on to the meat counter. Have the fish monger gut and descale it – or do it yourself. I often just let the fish monger do it, simply because I don’t need fish scales flying around my home kitchen, those things get stuck everywhere.

Pat the fish dry inside and out. Cut a few diagonal slices into each filet if desired. Season the fish inside and out with Kosher salt, a little sumac and smoked paprika and a pinch of cayenne. Stuff the cavity with herbs and sliced citrus. I don’t tie the fish up unless it’s over 1 pound – it’s just not necessary and it cooks better when heat can circulate inside. I find untying the fish can destroy the crispy skin. I also don’t truss chickens either for the same reason. It will still be juicy because all those little cartilage bones are going to give it some extra flavor.

stuffed grilled branzino

How To: fire up the grill on high heat. After five minutes get out the brush and clean the grates. Lightly oil a kitchen towel and quickly clean and season the grates with the oiled the rag. Let the grates heat up once again for at least a minute. Lightly oil the outside of the branzino – super light. Too much oil will smoke over the heat and that gives an unpleasant taste, so go easy on the grease. If your grill is well seasoned don’t even bother with extra oil.

Lay the fish down gently diagonally across the grates, turn down the heat to medium and let it ride for 4 minutes. Do NOT move it. If it hasn’t seared properly on that side, or the grates weren’t hot enough to begin with, it’s going to stick. Using a spatula and your other hand to steady it, gently flip the fish to the other side and cook for another 4 minutes.

I figure one fish per person. Serve with the green harissa sauce, rice and grilled tomatoes!

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Chef Faz calls me on a busy morning at our Oakland location to let me know (with effervescent excitement) that he has sourced a farm in the South Bay completely dedicated to growing this melon and, more importantly, that it has arrived. I immediately drive down to our Pleasanton restaurant after lunch service to see what all the fuss is about…

Hami Melon!

Although this melon is Chinese in origin, it is extremely popular in Iran. The taste of home is by far the sweetest nectar and Chef  Faz fondly remembers farming this melon and the pleasure of cutting one of the leash and carving into it for a refreshing slice of  warm, sweet, edible rehydration. These memories are crisp from youth…

Upon my arrival in our Pleasanton corporate office, Chef beckons me to the large hotel kitchen bustling with cooks preparing banquets and corporate events, not to mention line cooks fiercely whipping up late lunches for hotel guests and poolside snacks, to proudly show me his trophy.

Chef Faz with Hami Melon

And what a trophy it is! A gorgeous oversized heavy football, yellow and green with tan webbing. He politely pushes over the pantry cook to borrow his knife & cutting board and quickly slices the melon for us to taste. He doles our samples to the line cooks who are overheated from the mesquite woodfire open pit that is so outrageously hot my face turns a dark shade of crimson every time I walk in front of it. Smiles radiate from the cooks and nods of ‘this-is-soooo-good’ abound. This sweet melon is a breath of fresh air, a respite in the middle of organized chaos. Chef leaves the melon with the pantry cook and declares that we want melon for lunch and nothing else! Who am I to argue?

Like the other two great Chefs I’ve had the pleasure of working with, Chef Faz is passionate about the purity of the ingredient – the excitement of simplicity and rustic perfection in it’s natural form. I have a lot of respect for this no-fuss sort of attitude. There are some things in life that just don’t need improvement.

I have served this melon in a few different forms from this first initial encounter. Sometimes I slice it for an appetizer with proscuitto and burrata, or chop it up into a grilled and marinated calamari seafood salad with cucumber and red onion. Or serve it with a simple wild arugula, shaved fennel, cucumber and mint salad with a white balsamic vinaigrette – very refreshing.

The post Hami Melon & Avocado Salad first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

Chef Faz with Persian Hami melon at our Pleasanton location

My writing time has been cut slightly in favor of ending the 12-hour work day with a glass of wine in front of the tele completely vegged out – if not comatose – and yes, my bucolic days of whipping up farm-to-table dinners along the coast are simmering on the back burner but not yet completely put out to pasture. I still have events and workshops to choppy-chop my way through before the farm season comes to a close. Quite a different world to be back in high volume restaurants from the fields I’ve luxuriously lounged in over the last four years.

And you know what, I couldn’t be happier, I have the best of both worlds!

I never thought that by marrying a Persian man that I would end up cooking for one of America’s most notable Persian Chefs. But there I was at Faz restaurant in Danville over a year ago, holding my wedding reception (a year after marriage – we eloped) with 200 Persian relatives and friends dancing, drinking, throwing our hands up in the air, feasting on Persian cuisine and, well, that’s where it all started…

I didn’t meet Faz that glorious evening although he saw us take over the patio in style from the comfort of the restaurant that surrounds the outdoor patio. Yes, I suppose we were quite the spectacle for all the other non-wedding guests and I’m pretty sure many of them ended up on our dance floor towards the end of the evening attempting to learn some of the hip rolling and wrist writhing movements from my in-laws. Persians know how to party and by culture are a warm and generous people who make everyone feel welcome.

Saffron and lemon chicken kabob cooked over a mesquite open grill

Fontina, housemade sausage, red onion pizza cooked in our wood burning pizza oven

Ruby grapefruit, persian cucumber, fennel, and avocado salad with cilantro and citrus vinaigrette

Baklava! This is a much more difficult dessert to make than one would think but it is so delicious when made correctly.

It wasn’t until this Easter, when my inlaws invited us to Faz in Danville again for brunch that I met the legendary Chef Faz Poursohi. He came to our table to meet n’ greet and my mother-in-law introduced us in Farci. It was one of those conversations where you don’t understand what’s going on until you hear….. “blah, blah, blah, blah, CHEF, blah, blah, blah”…

I turned a deep shade of crimson considering I was nursing my second mimosa and totally unprepared for the intro and the interview which proceeded. But Faz, turned his attention to me and immediately demanded my credentials, resume, blog and email address. And to be honest, I just felt like the whole word sort of melted away and I was already back in the saddle with the: yes Chef, no Chef, of course Chef, It would be a pleasure Chef…

Let me honest here, Chef Faz is very impressive. He is Persian, tall, handsome, always outfitted in a freshly pressed chef’s jacket, and direct yet warm with effusive positive energy. His passion for food, people and the hospitality business is contagious. He is very much like the other two impressive Chefs I have worked for: Guy Savoy and Eric Ripert although his style and philosophy are worlds apart but his tireless work ethic, love of beautiful seasonal products, and 30 years plus of success are the same.

Always learning something new with Chef Faz

I wasn’t really expecting this little introduction to go anywhere but to my surprise it did. Over several lunches, in which Chef Faz brought me to his various locations, fed me, and talked with me about food, style and vision did I realize that this could actually be my dream job. To work as Chef Faz’s right hand and help to execute a new menu vision across the board is incredible.

Not to mention creating our product line, opening new restaurants and being part of the design process, as well as training and hiring staff and working with executive Chefs to create standards – oh and redesigning the wines as well. Oh, and working on our cookbook that is basically an anthology of Persian cooking. Yeah, kind of exciting.

Our new Faz Restaurant location next to the brand new Santa Clara Football stadium! 181 Tasman

I’ll save my “Lunches with Faz” for another post because these meetings were filled with restaurant stories and growing up in Iran and I found myself inhaling food and scribbling down notes all at the same.

The excitement of all these fun things can seem almost impossible in reality. Restaurants are constantly evolving and some are more successful than others and different kitchen cultures present different problems and I’m a few years out of the loop but I have missed this so much and I couldn’t be more excited to be back behind the line creating and teaching and doing what I do best.

I’m lovin’ it, and I have so many amazing recipes and stories to share… stay tunned for the Wonderful World of Faz!

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That’s fantastic to hear how much everyone enjoyed the cornmeal soufflé! It sounds like a real hit for any gathering. I bet it paired perfectly with the farm-fresh ingredients you likely used. For those looking to try it at home, the recipe’s simplicity makes it a go-to for any occasion. Plus, with Gluten free articles increasingly highlighting the benefits of cornmeal in baking, it’s not just delicious but also a great choice for those with dietary restrictions. Whether served warm with a dollop of fresh butter or as a savory side to a hearty meal, this soufflé is sure to become a staple in your kitchen rotation.

Spoonbread! It’s a gluten free soufflé!

One of the most frustrating parts of being wheat-free is the amount of terrible things I end up digesting in my quest to satisfy that bread craving. The gluten-free all-purpose flours on the market are expensive and mostly composed of cornstarch which is not healthy and they don’t make me feel any better than the wheat counterpart and I’m sorry but they never taste anything like wheat flour baked goods.

Pie Ranch Corm Meal grown and milled on-site

However, for this recipe I used organic stone ground cornmeal (milled onsite) from Pie Ranch and the flavor and texture was awesome and I didn’t feel like napping directly afterwards which is normally how I get after eating complex carbs.  The high amount of eggs (protein) in this spoonbread balances out any crazy glycemic index spikes for me.

Chef Victoria testing Spoonbread recipe at Pie Ranch

I have some words of advice on preparation especially if you are serving this for a party: it will fall quickly just like a soufflé and there’s no Mornay sauce in this recipe to truly give it a base (like there would be in a traditional French soufflé). But, it wouldn’t be a spoonbread anyway if it didn’t collapse. I’ve added a little cream of tartar and baking powder to help with the rise of the heavy stone ground cornmeal but it will only extend the post-oven puff a little bit longer than normal and both can be left out if desired. Make sure dinner is ready to go or even plated so you can rush this to the table when guests are seated. And make extra. Your guests will have seconds and thirds – it’s just so darned light! I’ve octupled this recipe before so feel free to expand it as necessary.

I think spoonbread is great with just about anything, but being a Southern dish it seems to go best with regional fare (beans & greens, pulled pork, etc.). You could serve this with steak too as a substitute for Yorkshire pudding. And I certainly wouldn’t turn it down for breakfast with some nice glazed ham on the side and a drizzle of maple syrup. Heck Easter’s just around the corner – why not include spoonbread in your Easter feast? Whether you’ve got crown pork roast, ham, or lamb on the menu this will be a great light side dish or as part of an elegant brunch!

Spoonbread Soufflé

One more note: the middle will be pudding-like. That’s the way it’s supposed to be so don’t fuss over that. Leftovers can be reheated and drizzled with syrup and butter in the morning….but again, unless you make extra there won’t be any…don’t say I didn’t warn ya….

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Roast Pork Loin with Prickly Pear Guajillo Glaze

I slathered this pork roast with my go-to rub made up of toasted & ground: cumin, coriander, guajillo chili, and pasilla chili. Mid way through the cooking process I glazed it with a prickly pear gastrique (fruit purée reduced with vinegar & sugar) infused with fresh bay leaf. I strongly prefer fresh bay leaf if you happen to have a tree somewhere close – it is much stronger and more herbaceous than the dry version. To kick it up a notch I threw in a Thai red chili. But of course, that could be left out.

Prickly pear gastrique infused with fresh bay leaf

I like to provide options to my guests and on the side I served up my favorite Guajillo BBQ sauce along with pan jus which was oh so dunkable from the caramelized glaze and spices melding with the natural juices. This pork was raised on Pie Ranch and had wonderful flavor and texture from the incredible “slop” it was fed consisting of homegrown organic vegetables and extra cow & goat milk. I think some acorns were thrown into the mix too which pigs absolutely adore.

Spice rubbed pork loin roast

Pie Ranch Pork Loin

Just a reminder: prickly pears are actually VERY prickly (I found out the hard way).

They have tiny little hairs that will stick into your skin and they do not come out easily. Mostly because they are invisible so you can’t see them find them. Make sure to handle this fruit with gloves or a kitchen towel!

Prickly Pear syrup

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Shaved Carrot & Nopales Salad with Farm Cheese and Agave-Lime Vinaigrette

The easiest way to prepare nopales into nopalitos (diced edible cactus) is to buy it freshly prepped and packaged. No joke. But if you’ve got cactus growing on your farm or in your backyard here’s what to do, go to: Pati’s Mexican Table and read her method which I think works the best (and I love her blog besides). She also talks about how to choose the cactus paddle. I could paraphrase Chef Pati, but in her own words:

“Nopales are persnickety, their thorns are almost invisible, but a good clue is that wherever there is a bump there may be a thorn. Then, using a vegetable peeler or small sharp knife, pretty much as if they were asparagus, peel away the bumps and thorns, you may want to lean the nopales against a chopping board, and then rinse again. No need to peel off all of the outer dark green skin, in fact, try to keep as much as you can.”

Nopales when cooked are sticky. They secrete this clear goo that can be hard to get rid of and annoying when used unbaked in a salad (as opposed to a quiche where the goo will cook into the mixture). I blanch nopalitos first in boiling salted water, shock in ice water, and then sauté with a little cooking oil in a smoking hot pan briefly until the mucous evaporates. I haven’t tried grilling them yet, although I hear that works well, and the smokiness from the grill would be awesome with this. Chef Pati prefers to sauté nopalitos like mushrooms until the liquid evaporates and she skips the blanching.

Heirloom carrots from Pie Ranch

Heirloom carrots are polar opposite of course to noplalitos, and sweet as candy. They are beautiful roasted, but this Spring they are so sugary eaten raw and their colors are popping in crimson, orange, yellow, and white; so why not let them be as they are….

You don’t need a mandolin always to get that cool shaved vegetable look. I use a non-serrated vegetable peeler for carrots and put my shaved slices directly in ice water which makes them curl up. They can keep this way for up to 2 days. Holding the carrot flat on a cutting board, use the peeler to shave the carrot from top to bottom with a little more pressure than normal. Smaller carrots will yield better bite-sized curls that aren’t too big and floppy. And I never pre-peel the crimson carrots before shaving them down because all that outer deep red color is lost.

Shaved Heirloom Carrots

Making farm cheese from fresh milk straight from the cow is much easier than one would think. But I’m going save that for another post because you’re probably bored by my rambling and it’s a lengthy process even though it’s not too difficult. Queso or goat cheese would be a great sub if farm cheese is not something you whip up à la minute at home. I’m blessed to work in a rural setting amongst several organic dairy farms and everyone’s got their own farm cheese technique, so I mostly take what I can, where I can! Nopales and soft cheese are a great pairing. If you like pickles and cheese together, you’ll love cactus and cheese together.

Perhaps you’re thinking this is a simple salad that I’ve managed to totally over explain and over engineer. And you wouldn’t be wrong. But sometimes for me it’s the little ingredients, on their own, that get me so excited as opposed to the conglomeration. Thankfully I didn’t go on about the lettuce, and you know I really wanted to! Next time…

For more Nopales Recipes around the Blogosphere:

Cleaning and Cooking Cactus Paddles by Pati’s Mexican Kitchen

How To Cook Cactus Paddles by Mexico in My Kitchen

Cactus and Corn Salsa by Simply Recipes

Huevos con Nopales y Cilantro (Eggs with nopales and cilantro) by Hungry Sofia

Prickly Pear Margaritas by Amy Glaze’s Pommes d’Amour – yes that’s me!!!

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Green Garlic and Nettle Vichyssoise, hard cooked egg, bacon, mustard flowers

Traditional Vichyssoise is a magical combination of puréed leeks and potato served cold. Notice that I wrote ‘potato’ in the singular. Many recipes call for multiple potatoes which tends to lend itself to a soup of library paste. If you were a paste licker in school then go ahead and add them back in. I was a glue sniffer so I never really developed that particular affinity.

Older than the rivalry between paste eaters and glue sniffers is the historical food fight over the origin of Vichyssoise soup. Is it French or American? I’d like to say it’s a fusion, but it was made famous on American soil so I could be persuaded to cross the picket line. The soup is said to have been created by Louis Diat, the chef at the Ritz-Carlton in New York City for most of the first half of the 20th century.

In the New Yorker magazine (1950) Diat said:

“In the summer of 1917, when I had been at the Ritz seven years, I reflected upon the potato-and-leek soup of my childhood, which my mother and grandmother used to make. I recalled how, during the summer, my older brother and I used to cool it off by pouring in cold milk, and how delicious it was. I resolved to make something of the sort for the patrons of the Ritz.”

Other food fighters/historians say that the French chef Jules Gouffé was first to create the recipe, publishing a version in Royal Cookery (1869) and that Chef Diat must have changed it slightly by serving it cold and therefore calling it his own. OH, WHO CARES?!! It’s a basic combination that’s delicious!

Tender nettle tops and green garlic

I love the classic combo of potato & leek and adding green garlic to the mix isn’t really a stretch, nor are nettles since they just add to the earthiness of the purée and they give it some color. And leek & potato soup needs some color. However, I serve the soup warm because I think the flavors taste better that way. Sorry Chef Diat, but I’m not a die hard fan of cold Vichyssoise.

Green garlic has a short growing period and can be found in farmer’s markets NOW. It often looks likes spring onions when packaged but the white parts are streaked with a little red.  This green garlic is from Pie Ranch along the beautiful coastal highway 1.

The nettles were foraged for me by farmer Debbie at Pie Ranch and she somehow managed to collect around 4 gynormous garbage bags full so I could make a soup for 65 people. Unless you’ve attempted to harvest nettles, you have no idea how much heart went into this. They sting like crazy! People, there are poems written about how badly nettles sting! Shakespeare even mentions it (Henry IV 2.3.9-11)! Don’t go harvesting without gloves. Long sleeve shirts and full pants are a must…

Green Garlic and Nettle Soup

Sometimes you can get nettles in farmer’s markets but if you live anywhere that’s rural you have probably mistaken them for weeds in your back yard or seen them growing in forests or along roads. Read my previous blog entry about how to handle nettles). Stinging aside, they are worth the effort because they are packed with antioxidants and many herbalists and lots of Irish lore say they cure just about everything that ails. I like them for their color, more than flavor  – which is about as exciting as spinach – and also their health benefits.

This soup was inspired by my Spring commute along the coastal highway, maybe I should rename is Pescaderossoise!

On one side of my drive is the Pacific coast with the waves crashing against the cliffs and on the other are mountains and fields of green that are completely covered in flourescent yellow from the mustard cover crops. This picture was taken early in the morning and you can see the marine layer still floating over the mountains. Unfortunately the snap doesn’t do the view justice. I had to pull over to get the picture anyways, it was just too pretty to let go…

Pescadero mustard cover crops

More on nettles and green garlic:

Woodfire Roasted Artichokes with Wheatberries and Nettle Pesto

Nettle & Green Garlic Purée with Poached Egg

Nettle Pesto Pizza with Delicata Squash and Bacon

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Pie Ranch crudité platter of gorgeous Spring Veggies and confit onion dip.

I like to do all sorts of dips depending on what’s available on the farm. Sometimes I make a spicy white bean dip or a spinach dip, but this time I was motivated by the last issue of Bon Apetít which highlighted an onion dip. As a kid I used to love that stuff. Remember that onion flavor packet you would add to sour cream instantly transforming it into an irresistable concoction? I remember ripping through whole bags of ruffled potato chips simply so I could shovel more onion dip into my mouth.

Crudité platter with Pie Ranch gorgeous produce

I made this onion dip in a similar fashion to making French onion soup: I sliced a 5 pound bag of  sweet yellow onions thin on a mandolin. Then I tossed the onions with olive oil to coat, fresh thyme, a tablespoon of sugar and a big 3-finger chef pinch of sea salt and let them cook down slowly (low heat) in a pot on the stove without stirring. When the bottom layer was nice and caramelized I gave them a stir and continued cooking until all was brown. Deglazing the pan with white wine, letting it cook off, and deglazing with more white wine is a must after the onion is caramelized. I used almost 1/2 bottle of dry white wine after deglazing 4 times and letting it reduce after each addition.

When the onion is confited, let it cool and then chop it up (mince) by hand. I’m a sour cream fan and if I wasn’t conscious of my healthy guests I would have only used sour cream for this. Instead I split the mixture with 4 cups of greek yogurt and 4 cups of sour cream. So yes, this makes a lot of dip! It will feed up to 55 people!

If I haven’t convinced you with my crudité platter that raw veg as an appetizer is the way to go. Check out some of these beautiful veg platters for inspiration from the Huffington Post!

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Cactus Pear Margarita with rose & lime…sublime

Yes, they are aptly named. Can you believe it? Well I couldn’t. I was too good for gloves. Too good for tongs. Too good for a regular ol’ kitchen towel. I picked ’em right off the ol’ cactus bare handed. Boy, was I stupid…

I didn’t immediately feel the teeny tiny invisible prickles so I continued to prep the prickly pears cutting away the thick outer skin and roughly chopping the gorgeous magenta flesh.

It was only when I washed my knife and the hot water hit my hands, that I felt the sting. Not just a sting, but a burn that ran through my fingers, through my palms, through my wrists. So let this be a lesson to you: wear gloves when you hold these bright pink flirtatiously sweet CACTUS pears! They are the Scorpians of dessert fruit.

I’m a little dismayed at the recipes I’ve read online for prickly pear syrup because most call for the fruit to be pulverized first in a blender. But this isn’t necessary. I think it’s better to cook the fruit down with some sugar then press the soft flesh through a chinois to catch all the crunchy little black seeds.

As for interesting ways to use this syrup there are many: as a garnish to guaijillo BBQ pulled pork tacos, on roasted chicken as a glaze, and also as a sweet elixir to mix with tequila in a margarita or rhum in a mojito. Check out  the blog: Hunter Angler Gardener Cook for a tasty prickly pear glazed pheasant recipe.

Prickly pears have a watermelon-like flavor that begs to be mixed with other fruits. Raspberry and Prickly pear is a great combo. I also like adding flower water essences (like rose & orange blossom) and spices such as: cumin, coriander, guajillo, pasilla, cayenne, and smoked paprika.

It is watery tasting when eaten raw in the same way a watermelon is, but when reduced into a syrup it is seriously sweet with little acidity. Keep this in mind. Lime is a natural balance for the prickly pear. Or if you are using this syrup in a savory dish as a meat glaze then add a little vinegar (sherry, red wine, or white wine) to balance the sugar and make it more of a gastrique.

Perhaps this isn’t the first fruit that comes to mind for Spring but I’m having a lot of fun using this pretty cactus pear on Pie Ranch right now. Stay tuned for a nopales (cactus) Quiche and a prickly pear glazed pork roast….

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Beef Empanadas made by Edible After School

We have tried out many recipes over the year some gluten -ree and some a combination of flour and masa. The masa recipes are harder to work with for turnovers (we do like to make tacos with it though) and not as flaky even when we use lard instead of butter. But they are much more flavorful and more traditional. A mixture of flour and masa can be used as well. The best mixed masa-flour empanada dough recipe we tested is Martha Stewart’s:  flour-masa dough. However, my students prefer the flour recipe (printed below) for its ease and super flakiness.

Game Day Beef Empanadas with Avocado Crema

We have yet to experiment with some of the new non-gluten all-purpose flour mixtures that are now on the market but I’ve heard lots of praise from King Arthur’s new mixture as well as Cup4Cup developed by Lena Kwok for Thomas Keller at the French Laundry.

Empanada dough is made using the same as technique as a shortcrust except there is vinegar and egg added to the wet ingredients.

First, cut in the fat with the flour, then add the wet ingredients (vinegar, water, egg) until the dough comes together, and lastly knead dough a few times until it is pliable. It’s important to beat the egg with the wet ingredients and mix them thoroughly together (don’t add the egg separately) before adding to dry ingredients or the dough doesn’t combine well and it changes the elasticity. You will find your dough streaked with tough dried out yolk if you don’t head my words!

If making to consume for a later date: freeze empanadas on parchment on a baking sheet making sure they’re not touching. Once completely frozen they can be stacked and stored in ziplock bags without the risk of the the meat pies crushing, touching, or smooshing each other.

Don’t worry about defrosting them, just place the frozen disks on a baking sheet and bake away!

Puente’s Edible After School has been written up in Edible Magazine and other local publications including theHalfmoon Bay Review. Our program has existed for two years through sponsors like the Packard Foundation and private donors but we are ever growing and expanding and looking for help to buy ingredients, pay for kitchen rental, and buy computers so that we can add technology to our class and create an online teen-run cooking program and manage an online store selling our jams, pickles, and grab n’ go market items. Would you consider a donation to our program to help us continue teaching practical Math & English, Nutrition, basic & intermediate cooking, food safety & handling, teamwork and leadership?

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Perhaps I dislike wings so much because for family meal at Guy Savoy in France, twice a month I had to prepare them for a staff of 45. Which sounds like a no-brainer until you have to cleave hundreds and hundreds of wings into drumettes before roasting and saucing.

I mean think about it – if you’re a 21 year old male and you’re cooking two shifts a day (lunch and dinner) and you’re job is super physical, how many wings do you think you’re going to eat to get full? 10 maybe? More? Yeah, that’s a lot of wings… and they don’t even use Frank’s Red Sauce over there. They like ’em deglazed with balsamic vinegar! (Yes, I know France is backwards – I’ve been saying that for years!)

Edible After School culinary students grill Jalapeño poppers for a private party

However, jalapeños are an ingredient that are rarely if ever used in France and I have yet to tire of them stuffed, sliced, pickled, BBQ’d, blanched, raw – you name it – I think they’re a great little pepper that is tasty on its own or added to other dishes.

Here’s an easy appetizer for the Super Bowl. Simply mix bay shrimp with a little Mexican crema to coat, add shredded Monterey and Cheddar cheese , season with a little salt and a squeeze of lime, plus a few dashes of hot sauce. Over stuff halved and seeded jalapeños et voilà!

Heat up the BBQ on medium-high. Season the grates with a little oil. When the grates are hot, Barbecue poppers until the cheese melts and the skins are lightly charred, about 2 minutes. Easy!

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Puente’s Edible After School cooks Pork Spare Ribs for the Farmer Appreciation Dinner

And regardless of which football team you are rooting for (I’m assuming that you are going for Denver because we all know how Seattle robbed SF in that last game and those flippant remarks to Crabtree were totally un-sportsman like. And the fact they blocked Californians from buying tickets from their should-be-illegal-stadium was and is ABSURD!)

A cook expertly seasons the ribs – how to season like a pro!

These ribs were prepared by my culinary students for a Pescadero Farmer Appreciation dinner but we unanimously agree they would be great for the Super Bowl. We cooked and served a 4 -course meal consisting of all local ingredients: celeriac soup with seared scallops & bacon, bitter greens with winter citrus & fennel, spareribs with guajillo BBQ sauce, smashed rutabega, buttermilk biscuits and sautéed swiss chard.

The swiss chard being my addition of course, none of my students would voluntarily vote for this vegetable although several admitted it didn’t taste that bad. We finished the meal with homemade apple empanadas with vanilla ice cream and cajeta sauce.

A cook prepares the BBQ sauce with local fire roasted tomatoes, onions, garlic, and dried ancho and guajillo chilis

I am exceptionally proud of their hard work and continual joy &  laughter they bring to each and every class which makes me feel young and reminds me of why I first came to this profession. And I am always super impressed with their professionalism and ability to focus under pressure whether we are serving our community at the farmer’s market or catering small and large parties in the county.

We plated everything pretty for our guests but for ourselves we served up spareribs in craft paper trays which would be easy to do for a Super Bowl party (even if you are a Seattle Seahawk fan) and would require little clean-up.

There were plenty of smiles to go around, and a lot of nodding while eating – a silent but expressive admission of pure delicious success.  The students think the BBQ sauce is killer and yes, we do sell it at the market so look for it this Spring at the Pescadero Farmer’s Market and maybe online if we ever get computers (hint, hint) donated to our class.

Pork Spare Ribs with Guajillo BBQ sauce

We hope to see you at our stall at the Pescadero Farmer’s Market coming up this Farm season! Or perhaps for one of our Farm to Table dinners showcasing our local organic farms. Dates to be announced and, as always, dependent on when the growing season starts this year. Looks like it’s going to be an early one….

Puente’s Edible After School has been written up in Edible Magazine and other local publications including the Halfmoon Bay Review. Our program has existed for two years through sponsors like the Packard Foundation and private donors but we are ever growing and expanding and looking for help to buy ingredients, pay for kitchen rental, and buy computers so that we can add technology to our class and create an online teen-run cooking program where we post recipes and also manage an online store selling our jams, pickles, and grab n’ go market items. Would you consider a donation to our program to help us continue teaching practical Math & English, Nutrition, basic & intermediate cooking, food safety & handling, teamwork and leadership?

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This is a personal story on turning 40. On letting go. On moving forward. And of growing old and new all at the same time…

My decision to hide on my 40th birthday is calculated. Why? For many reasons but mostly because I witness the breakdown of my friend on her 40th birthday  in front of a huge gathering:

She clams up with a hundred guests raising their glasses chanting “Toast! Toast! Toast!…” Tears well in her big blue eyes and a river of emotion cascades down her cheeks. Her mouth locks shut and her voice cuts out even as she wills something brilliant to escape; the gush of emotion is too strong. She looks out to her friends (and she has a lot of friends) with a blank begging helpless look. Those of us that are close slide in to cover with long speeches in her honor while she bravely put her fears aside, swallows the tears back, releases a little laugh, and tries to regain composure.

I don’t know why I’m reminded of that old Virginia’s Slims slogan “You’ve come a long way baby” when I think about turning 40. I picture that woman in the commercial with her feathered dark brown hair boldly holding a long thin cigarette as if she’s reached the zenith of what it is to be a mature, beautiful, professional woman.

And then I also think of Charles Dickens:

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way. . . “

It’s an emotionally charged birthday right?. The stakes are high. All those things we want to accomplish (creating a family, loosing 15 pounds, higher salary, marriage, a dream house, a better career) before settling into middle age misery now gone forever. The years of realizing how seriously outdated you are creep in with every wrinkle, every hipster fashion statement that revisits the ’80’s as if it were fresh, and all the new technology – and adoption of new technology – that permanently cements the disparity between young and old (Yes, I live in San Francisco where there’s more start-ups than Starbucks).

So on my 40th birthday I decide not to have a party. Not to tell anyone. And for sure not to put myself in front of a group of people where I’d inevitably end up sobbing with a sobering hangover the next day clouding my doom and gloom. For me, 39 is the best year professionally and the worst year personally and there is just as much to celebrate as there is to bury. Hence the ‘Best of Times’ and “The worst of Times’.

Professional best are my late thirties: I establish my own farm to table business offering events and workshops at Pie Ranch and Potrero Nuevo Farm and I receive a full blown four page article from the Magazine, Edible, recounting my cooking adventures and praising my Edible After School program in Pescadero. I do Pig Roasts and Harvest Dinners, workshops, private events, and teach my youngsters how to cook and how to create a business with cooking. It is a vibrant two years working with farms along the Pescadero coast that any chef would be envious of. To work side by side farmers turning their hard earned efforts into feasts that bring the community together to celebrate is something to feel great about.

But the year 39 in and of itself is personally hard. My new marriage is off to a romantic start but I miscarry midway through the farm season at 5 months pregnancy and suffer an avalanche of problems that leave me lower physically and emotionally than I’ve ever been before. You cannot imagine how terrible this experience is unless of course you or a partner has been through it before. It is a horrible thing to loose a child  but the aftermath of hormone drops, depression and deep sense of failure that follows is crippling. Not to mention the hospital bills.

Through this experience I have come to realize that it’s not uncommon although bizarely not publicly talked about as much as it could or should be considering that 30% percent or more pregnancies end in miscarriage (although preterm delivery is more rare) with little known cause. And here I’m thinking I’m going to sail into my 40’s with baby on the way and business booming and marriage glowing.

But, no.

You see for a woman of my age – and of course, it’s only when something like this happens that you suddenly realize your age and mortality – there is a decision that has to made. All my girlfriends of this age are defining the baby-making-line: either they are sure they don’t want to have children because the time has come and gone to find a partner (or they simply don’t want to) or they are willing to cough up tens of thousands of dollars for In Vitro by taking loans out against mortgages or credit cards or whatever. I find myself, for better or worse, standing alone heading into my fourth decade in the all natural DIY baby making camp taking my chances and believing in fate.

I take little down time after the miscarriage and focus on my work. The best therapy I can offer myself is taking in the salty sea air along the coast and eating vine ripened tomatoes and fresh grown produce and petting cows & goats daily and just fully throwing myself into a big batch of something really tasty that is going to come out delicious because everything that’s gone into it is downright divine.

Yes, my food is very good this year. It gives me a sense of purpose. An event can take your mind off troubles quick when you realize that there are real people that have to be provided for and that have paid top dollar for a wonderful celebration. Cooking forces one to live in the present – in the now. It provides little time for reflection until after the plates are cleaned, the guests have left, and the adrenaline rush has worn thin. And it also staves of fears about what the future may or may not hold. When you’re prepping for hours and talking story with other cooks the mind can’t focus on much else.

My coastal community picks me back up and puts me on my feet again. Pescadero is my Tara, my place to heal and regroup and harmonize. The fabric of this community held together by pioneering women who in their beautiful and strong ways lend their knowledge of Mother Earth, life, and love without judgement. I would pontificate that because they live closer to the land they hear its heartbeat a little louder.

But back to my birthday…

I have planned farm-to-table events before and after the big day to insure focus and they have sold out. My husband is in a quandry because if he messes this birthday up I’ll never let him forget it, and he knows we need a weekend to heal and be together. I have no time to travel, absolutely no desire to party. I just want to get sneak away.

He arranges a beautiful cabin at Manka’s in Inverness and packs up 6 bottles of my favorite French champagnes. And because woman cannot live on champagne alone he grabs beautifully packaged proscuitto and coppa from our neighborhood deli and cheese from our local frommagerie and fruit from…well the fruit’s from Mexico (and it’s really tasty too).

We drive over the Golden Gate Bridge and head North and we are fighting. Yes. We are fighting. I am crying. We both are yelling. And we are just about ready to throw everything over the bridge and jump for it.  Why? Because the fertility monitor has been blinking with its stupid smiley face that it’s time! it’s time! it’s time! And he’s been working nonstop and now we’re wasting this precious time in the car… and we’re never going to get pregnant again… and forget it… forget everything… this is your fault… no it’s yours… I hate you… no, I hate you… etc etc etc.

This is how crazy and desperate you can get when the clock is pounding away right next to your ear.

We pull up to Manka’s and meet the rather eccentric caretaker (Inverness is known for its delightfully odd reclusive folk) who guides us to our beautiful log cabin complete with a huge river stone wood burning fire place, a deep leather sofa with soft vintage woolen blankets, and an old fashioned wood hot tub bubbling away on the deck. He gives us a quick tour of the place and then whips out two glasses and a carafe of no-name red wine. He pours the two glasses right up to the brim and bids us farewell.

We drink. We breathe. I let out a little laugh and so does my husband. He cracks open champagne after we drain the red, and we kick up our heels in front of the fire and celebrate my 40th birthday with love and laughter and music and warmth from the hearth.

A tap on the door signals our dinner is ready and we scramble to put robes on and straighten hair and sheets. We dine on slow roasted local lamb shank with a hearty winter cabbage, spinach and beet salad and move on to the red wines my husband has brought along for the adventure. Life is good. We are lucky: to have each other, to live in this beautiful part of the world, to be blessed with opportunities that allow us to pursue our passion and creativity and intellectual aspirations, to be healthy and alive.

And it hits me. I have just let go. I have just let go of being 39. I am now 40!

And I have nothing that I have to get done before turning 41. I have no prerequisites for living life in my 40’s. I have completely not accomplished any of the things I wanted to before turning 40 so now they completely don’t matter! I did not have a baby. I did not make more money. I do not have a big new house. I did not loose 15 pounds. I did not run a triathalon or a Tough Mudder. I didn’t do anything!

I did however accomplish just about everything I’ve ever wanted to in life over 39 years – so the rest is cake. I’ve lived and worked in four different countries on three different continents following my passion full heartedly, I couldn’t be happier with the people I work with, I love my coastal community, I love my husband, family and friends, and I’m in good health (although still a little fatter than I’d like to be). And it’s okay, it’s all going to be okay.

We plunge our spoons into the warm plum and apple crisp with melting vanilla ice cream and crack open yet another bottle of wine. This time a delicious dessert wine, Constantine, from our dear friend Ivan. We savor it’s peach and vanilla notes with every bite of warm gooey crumble. And now we are tipsy (if not totally drunk) and well provided for.

I rebuild the fire and we cozy up with blankets around it’s blaze mesmorized by it’s colorful licks of heat. My husband brings out the gifts – which I’m not expecting since the price of the room and wine will be sobering in a week or too. A new computer! I won’t be obsolete afterall! I will not let technology pass me by! Let those whippersnappers drool over this new shiny piece of hardware!

We did not “hit the mark” on my 40th birthday in October, although that would have been a tidy ending to this story. But instead we let go of heartache and let in love and fulfillment on a much deeper level. All things happen for a reason – not always a reasonable reason –but if nothing else the test of strength and the acknowledgment of vulnerability gives us a rich soil from which to plant the seeds of change. So although I am one year older, I feel in many way much much younger again.

Wishing you a very Happy New Years filled with mouth watering slow roasted conversation and sweet and sparkling family time.

The post Turning 40, Letting Go, and Loving Life first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

Musically speaking ‘My Sharona’, ‘Bad Girls’, and ‘Le Freak’ (Chic) are topping the charts. ‘Da Ya Think I’m Sexy’ is not far behind. ‘Ohhh Baby Baby’ by Linda Ronstadt is way at the bottom at #77.

I like the radio but I’m more into my records: Donnie & Marie, Dolly Parton, The Beach Boys, The Beatles, Blondie, Joan Baez and the Grateful Dead – specifically Europe 72’. At the young age of 6, I have acquired an eclectic record collection that I like to play on my very small white and pink record player.

My first grade picture depicts a little girl with dirty blonde pigtails, sporting a FiLa purple velour tracksuit, I have a light golden tan from swimming, and dark freckles across my tiny nose. My mother is the tall thin Snow White of über intellectuals and she is my world. Her hair is black as night, skin as white as snow, eyes as green as emeralds and her thirst for knowledge insatiable.

She is so beautiful and so stylish that men are always stopping her on the street and asking for a date. She lives on coffee, nicotine, murder mysteries, and history anthologies. She works as a master educator and curriculum writer during the week and on the weekends as a freelance graphic designer and typesetter. At night we dine in restaurants while she corrects papers and studies for her Ph.D in education and I draw on paper placemats, write poems, and read aloud to her from books.

Waitresses, restaurant owners, and chefs are my baby sitters and source of endless entertainment. I watch them flow effortlessly between tickets, customers, and tables.

We slide into a big comfy faux leather booth at Stickney’s, a restaurant long gone in Palo Alto’s Town n’ Country Village, once known for it’s smoked beef ribs and comfort food.  The kitchen is open and the serious cooks wear tall paper toques and they do not smile but they do look up and wink at me from time to time if I’m watching them (ie: kneeling on the booth facing the kitchen with my arms crossed, resting my chin on top of my crossed arms, watching the plates get pushed to the passe and the waitresses who grab the plates and stab their tickets.) The restaurant décor features lassoes, vintage farm tools, and huge wooden pioneer wagon wheel candlebras that are hung low from the ceiling with dimly lit bulbs.

My mother lights up a Winston 100 and Trudy, our favorite waitress, pours her a cup of coffee without asking. The two gossip a little about jobs and this towering 6’2” waitress in thick support hose, white nursing shoes, and a uniform that looks like a square dancing dress in mustard yellow with white ruffles peers down at me with her gleaming smile and asks the question I know by heart: “can I get you something to eat sweet Amy?”

“Yes please! I’ll have a French dip with French Fries and coleslaw please and….”

“And a glass of milk….” My mother chimes in.

Milk is just plain ol’ milk in 1979. In fact we are still getting milk delivered by the milkman at home in glass jars – and sometimes real buttermilk too. There isn’t really a lowfat or nonfat that anyone actually purchases to drink. Milk never tastes good at Stickney’s because they serve all cold beverages in these brown-yellowish glasses that make everything look yucky. And it’s always warm and that’s gross. Warm yellow milk is like totally gross.

My mother orders something too and it sits in front of her untouched as she smokes, sips her coffee, and enters her cerebral academia word. I peer out over my mini French dip into the smoking section of Stickney’s, the surreal layers of smoke hang like long heavy blankets over the entire restaurant and waitresses cut through the clouds and stir them every now an them. The unsmoking section is roped off and completely empty. Everyone smokes. There are vending machines in the entryway to the restaurant. If you don’t smoke you’re weird. It’s just what adults do.

Well, I’m just 6 and I don’t smoke (yet) and I’m a good eater. I like salt. And fat. And sugar. What kid doesn’t? It’s not that I don’t like veggies, I do, it’s just that kale chips aren’t exactly on the menu at restaurants yet (in fact kale is not even in my vocabulary). You order a salad, you get iceberg lettuce with a tomato. Arugula what? Mesculun huh? Bird’s Eye broccoli and carrots, yeah, okay.

I polish of my child size sandwich, finish the poem I’ve been writing in my unicorn covered journal about fairies and daisies, put my head on my Mother’s lap, and stare at the world that exists under the table. The one with endless pieces of bright Bubbalicious stalagmites and legs in support hose that stop momentarily at our table and then carry on to the next. I listen to the kitchen and the little bell the chef hits when an order is ready and then I watch the legs pass our table again this time a little faster. My mother strokes my head every now and then and finally gives me the pat on the back to let me know it’s time to go. Wearily I pop back up to the above table world.

Trudy comes back with our tray of change and hands me the ultimate in behavior modification: a vanilla cupcake with pure white vanilla butter cream and a big red rose in the center. My eyes widen. I look at my mom first to make sure it’s okay and as we unstick ourselves from the vinyl booths Trudy hands me my prize. I give her a hug around the thighs, since that’s about where I come up to on her, and she pats my head and laughs. I like Trudy. Who wouldn’t? She’s  more like a nurse taking care of all of us, than a regular ol’ waitress.

I have a method for eating cupcakes and – unlike savory food which I do not like to compartmentalize – desserts I do. I bite the rose off first which never tastes as good as it looks because the food coloring is bitter – I eat this in one bite barely allowing the frosting to hit my taste buds. Red frosting is the worst by far.Then I stick my tongue out and turn the frosted cupcake top clockwise upon it until there is nothing left but cake. Peeling back the liner I savor the vanilla fluffiness and admire the pure white color. My Mom makes yellow cakes at home because she says they’re healthier with more eggs, so naturally I want the shade devoid of extra nutrients and I do not share. And thankfully my mother never asks. She prefers bittersweet chocolate and to me this is also totally gross.

She is and was and is a good cook. A very good cook. Please don’t think I didn’t learn from the best. She instills in me the love of fresh seasonal food prepared simply (at a time before Whole Foods and farmer’s markets exist in Palo Alto) and she always shops the seasons. I look forward to home cooked meals. But there is a time period when her demanding day time career coupled with her  nighttime higher education classes along with single-mother-exhaustion makes eating out a necessity and a comfort. We both enjoy eating out because it is time we can spend together cozy in a booth with a little special attention.

Stickney’s is not the only restaurant where hostesses escort me to tables, chefs wink at me from the kitchen, and waitresses hand me cookies and cupcakes on the way out the door. (And again, I might be a cute kid but my Mom is gorgeous and super personable so people sort of melt around us.)

The restaurant that I always beg and plead to go to afore all others is King Chuan, owned by Mr. Ven-Yung Chen whose daughter Shan-Shan is my friend and also a pupil of my Mother’s. Yes, we get extra special treatment here and Mr. Chen often gives us free desserts or doesn’t bring the check at all which is why my Mom always hesitates going – so as not to wear out our welcome. All the same, I know my Mother is grateful. These are tough times and she works very hard.

We both love his beef with broccoli and homemade potstickers (I have never tasted the like since). Mr. Chen seats us at the back of the restaurant, next to the cash register (and next to him) where we can stare through his glass kitchen at his chefs who whip up stir-fries with alacrity and who magically make thousands of noodles come from thin pieces of dough by rhythmically bouncing them up and down interwoven between two hands until they double and triple and so on and so on. The chefs smile through the glass while effortlessly making noodles and I know they get a kick out of us because no matter how many times we see them noodle-making, both my Mom and me stare wide eyed with open mouths completely mesmerized by this technique. Funny and strange how we never actually order the noodles. Stupid too.

If you haven’t figured it out already I really like beef and I really like desserts. I also drink vinegar out of the bottle at home , adore Wonderbread which I’m not allowed to eat, and have no problems digesting Best Foods Mayonnaise by the spoonfuls…I digress…. the sweet delicacy to end all others at King Chuan is the simple but beautiful pale pink cold lychee dessert served on ice with a dazzling mariascino cherry on top. The contrast between the delicate pink and the flourescent red are unusual and striking. And I love the tropical meaty flesh of the lychee with its rose perfume. Heavenly. There is no other dessert I can think of –besides this one – that wouldn’t be a millions times better with buttercream. And what I really like to do, when my Mom isn’t looking, is stick the lychees on my fingers and eat them off mes doigts like black olives –  but my Mom gets really upset when I do this and raises one eye brow at me without even having to say one word. Maybe your Mom has the same eyebrow trick?

Mr. Chen is warm and funny and teaches me how to use chopsticks without the rubber band training wheels. For months he patiently balances one chopstick across my thumb and fourth finger and then the other on top. I’m like a puppy  with big paws for the first few weeks bumbling around trying to imitate him and make the top stick move up and down and hold the bottom stick still. But I get it finally. “It’s like a parrot” he says “You must pretend it’s like a parrot squawking – the top beak is the one moving up and down while the bottom stays relatively still”.  Whether that’s true or not I still don’t know, but the visualization works. After much accidental food flinging and many desperate attempts picking tiny morsels of fried rice off my plate with long plastic chopsticks – I master the art of eating Chinese food elegantly – or somewhat elegantly. Mr. Chen is the best.

His restaurant is softly lit, luxurious and tropical. There is a tasteful volcanic waterfall on one wall with trickling water and lush green plants. I know that sounds rather kitsch but it’s not, at least not at this time period. The deep red carpet and deep red & black lacquered seats have an Imperial feel. The huge Chinese watercolors depicting mountains and dragons upon the walls I can sort of relate to in my six year old way because I take a Chinese watercolor class. I’m still mastering the technique of painting simple bamboo sticks with my bamboo brush, but I like the serene world these majestic paintings portray and get lost in them inbetween battling potstickers with chopsticks. There are no booths at Mr. Chen’s and therefore no lying on my Mom’s lap and  looking under the tables for hidden messages or neon Bubbalicious buildings. Maybe there is smoking but I don’t remember. I’m sure there is. There is everywhere. I don’t really like smoking. I do like eating here best of all.

Fastforward 1987. I’m 14 years old. The number one hit is ‘Walk Like an Egyptian’ by the Bangles. Need I say more? Whitney Houston is wanting to “Dance with Somebody’, Bon Jovi is ‘Livin On a Prayer’ and Tiffany thinks “We’re alone now, there doesn’t seem to be anyone a-rou-ound”. I have updated my FiLa track suits and bell bottom jeans to a punky alternative (as it’s called) vintage style. I shop at the thrift stores on Haight Ashbury during the weekend taking the train up with my girlfriend Sunbean Singing Stone. Yes, that’s her real name. We both sport 20-hole Dr. Martens, mine are oxblood hers are white and we mix and match with 50’s  and 60’s dresses up-top. I have a collection of skull rings. She has a tattoo that says ‘Sunny’ which puts her in the cool, edgy, and mysterious category because nobody in Palo Alto who is 14 has a tattoo at Paly High. Nobody. Kids don’t get tattoos in 1987. Body piercing and tattoos are not even slightly acceptable until 1992. I totally look up to her.

But unlike many of our friends who seem to be uninterested in education we compete for good grades and for top placement and balance our edgy personas with our preppy education (or so we think). I start smoking. It seems like the cool thing to do. And smoking is permitted at school in certain areas – at least my Freshman year – my Sophomore year we are relegated to the train tracks. As my mother quits, I pick up the habit. It feels adult. I don’t like how it affects my throat and I don’t like the smell, but to the invincible who cares?

My girl gang meets at Stickney’s in the morning where we smoke a ton of cigarettes and drink coffee. We never eat anything because none of us have money and who needs food when you have nicotine and caffine? Trudy isn’t there in the mornings thankfully or I’m sure she would reprimand me. She’s still on the night shift and my mom and me still visit on occasion. My Mom is remarried, her degree is finished and she is a principal now and continues her graphic design consulting and curriculum writing. She cooks at home nightly. Eating at the dinner table has always been a must – just not always at our dinner table – and I like sitting down to a meal even though I’m not sure if I like my Step Dad. He has rules and that doesn’t sit too well with me.

I still prefer my record player even though CD’s are becoming more and more popular and shop Tower Records for both. I’m searching for answers through past eras with the Grateful Dead, Pink Floyd, Led Zepplin, and The Velvet Underground and new bands like The Cure, Sting, and Madonna. My selection eclectic as always.

King Chuan is a mad house during the day. Paly High School has open campus and all the teens flood Town n’ Country Village for lunch crowding and cramming into restaurants to get a quick bite before hittin’ the books. The line out the door from King Chuan is crazy and I never see Mr. Chen or when I do he is always rushing around trying to take care of the seated adults while staying on top of the togo orders for the teens. I don’t like this daytime craziness. To my friends who haven’t grown up in these restaurants the owners, hostesses, chefs, cooks, bussers, and dishwashers are for the most part nameless and unmemorable – but for me they are my childhood caretakers and my places of refuge and I feel somewhat guilty for reasons hard to explain to see them by day in such unfair chaos.

Town n’ Country village meets 1990 and becomes a ghost town. Now there really doesn’t seem to be “anybody a-rou-ound”. Eddie’s closes (I won’t explain this restaurant but if you grew up in Palo Alto then you will remember this soda fountain/ice cream parlor fondly), King Chuan and Mr. Ven-Yung Chen relocate to Los Altos where he opens China Village plus two others, Hobee’s shuts down, the grocery store becomes a Rite Aid thanks to endless teenage shoplifting I’m sure, Stickney’s is replaced by the upscale chain Scott’s Seafood and all that ranchero/pioneer gear goes bye-bye, Cook’s Breakfast restaurant (the first place I had eggs benedict) becomes offices, The Cheese House (a well loved Danish deli) turns into a pilates studio?, the Ribbon Candy store becomes part of Rite-Aid. And these were all places my Mom and I frequented. Gone. Like the wind. Poof.

Gosh, even the circus that used to set up once a year in the Town n’ Country parking lot with real elephants and performers and tents – gone.

Here comes the “what I learned” paragraph to the story. The part that’s supposed to tie it all up in a meaningful sentence which I don’t really have yet so forgive me as I flounder about a little here…

I learned that restaurants aren’t always just about the food (as we seem to put all the attention on today excusing shitty service for reasons still unknown) but also about providing whatever it is the client might need: a respite, or a little attention, a good gossip time permitting, a cultural lesson, or a table to be a family at. I learned that good restaurants are run by good owners and servers who transform your world and your experiences into something memorable with a sense of timing that makes everything look effortless even though the below-table world shows the true hustle and bustle. Good servers know when to reach out to customers and when to allow them privacy but always seek to make a connection regardless. I miss that.

Shan-Shan has followed in her father’s footsteps and is/was also a successful restaurant owner. She has just sold her restaurant Bamboo Garden and she has also just finished her first book. The subject? Chinese noodles. A lovely story about the tradition and meaning of long Chinese noodles written for her daughter. And soon to be published.

I don’t smoke. And haven’t for 20 years. Neither does my Mom. We just celebrated my 40th birthday which is what inspired this story. For old times my Mom took me out to lunch at Stickney’s (now Scott’s Seafood) and we sat in our favorite vinyl booth. Neither of us had been back, at least not together, for a good fifteen years. Trudy was not there but we remembered her and missed her presence, the food was not bad or good but the serious chef’s still wink through the kitchen if you catch their eye, and the service continues to be friendly.

I miss the old lassoes and wagon wheels. I don’t miss the smoke or yellow warm milk. I guess Stickney’s famous oatmeal lace cookies and crisco buttercream cupcakes are a thing of the past. I do wonder where my punk rock girl gang is today although Facebook has revived some of the old crew – and we’ve all managed to grow up despite our best attempts not to.

The post 1979: Giving Thanks & Growing Up in Restaurants first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

Cornmeal Crusted Fried Green Tomatoes and Zucchini Sticks

Regardless, this was down right delicious. (Never met a fried vegetable I didn’t like!) I wanted a salty starter for our Tunitas Creek Kitchen Pig Roast and green tomatoes were still going strong on Potrero Nuevo Farm  – so why not? We used three deep fryers to turn appetizers out for 65 people. It went smoothly until we overloaded the circuits, but nonetheless my incredible chefs re-wired and got it all figured out without too much fuss. Never a dull moment in the farm kitchen!

Chef Stefan Moser at Tunitas Creek Pig Roast: Fried Green Tomatoes

We taste tested different varieties of green tomatoes, including the Green Zebra – which is a ripe tomato that is green. The chefs and farmers preferred the dry farmed Early Girl’s. This is an intense small (red when ripe) tomato that is packed with minerality, high sugar, and high acidity. The big heirlooms were good too but didn’t fry quite as well because they had more water content – they were still delicious – but if one has options then go green Early Girl or Molina or use the ripe green zebra but make sure it’s not over ripe.

What do you mean the electricity is out? Arrgh!!! ( Chef Jose Castro & Stefan Moser)

The zucchini sticks were tasty too. We cut medium size zucchini long, but they didn’t coat too well in the cormeal. I didn’t hear any complaints for uneven coating from our guests. Fried, is arguably the best way to eat zucchini. Of course homemade ranch dressing with any veggie is irresistible.

Gawd, what’s happened to me? I used to be so Frenchified and now I’m all country Western. Fine dining is boring – give me some fried food and ranch dressing any day of the week!

Just to give you an idea of what 65 appetizers looks like….

Rice bran oil is best to fry these tomatoes in. It has one of the highest smoke points of all frying oils and it is used in Japanese cuisine for tempura. Any flavorless oil with a high smoke point will do, just make sure it can take  375˚F without catching on fire or becoming toxic as some oils will at a certain heat.

I’m not making a plug for deep fryers, but after using so many restaurant professional fryers its hard to go back to rinky dink home kitchen appliances. I used Warning Pro and thought it was great for the price. It’s lightweight, big enough to hold a few hand-fulls of fries or tomatoes without the temperature dropping, it has a nice little electronic dashboard and cleans easy. It’s not fancy but who cares? It’s a deep fryer not a brushed copper KitchenAid. And for $100 compared to other more expensive brands, I think it gets the same job done.

Chef Valentine getting ready for the rush…

I love Ranch dressing, it’s definitely a guilty pleasure, and we made two versions for dipping – cool ranch and hot ranch.  I don’t know who invented “ranch” but I’m grateful.

Pig Roast at Tunitas Creek Kitchen

Fun times on Potrero Nuevo Farm with Tunitas Creek Kitchen!

For more Pig Roast Sides:
Smoked Potato Salad with Tarragon and Hard Cooked Egg

Dragon Lingerie Succotash & Hot Bacon Vinaigrette

Cowboy Up Cattle Beans

Sautéed Greens with Pine Nuts and Red Spring Onion

How to Roast a Whole Hog on a Spit

The post Cornmeal Crusted Fried Green Tomatoes with Homemade Ranch first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

Sautéed greens from the farm to the frying pan. Jay Jackson Photography

(As if succotash, smoked potato salad, cowboy-up cattle beans, cheddar scallion cornbread, cornmeal crusted fried green tomatoes, and fire & ice watermelon and tomatillo salad wasn’t enough.)

And when those beautiful rich dark greens are grown and harvested by Suzie & Jay Trexler, co- manager’s of Potrero Nuevo Farm,  right before cooking – that’s about as fresh and healthy as it gets – that is truly Farm to Table.

Farmers Suzie & Jay Trexler, Jay Jackson Photography

The trick to setting out a dish of vibrant greens is to blanch them first. I toss the greens in boiling salted water for about 2 seconds then shock in a big bowl of ice water. On the pick-up (or when you’re about to serve them) quickly sauté and serve. They will not only keep their color but also their vitamins and minerals. And if you are cooking for a crowd they can be blanched the day before too.

I topped these with some toasted pin nuts, sliced red spring onions, a pinch of chile d’arbol (hot!) and squeeze of lemon.

For more great pics of our Pig Roast check out Jay Jackson’s website.

Dragon Lingerie Succotash & Hot Bacon Vinaigrette

How to Roast a Pig on a Spit

Cowboy Up Cattle Beans

The post Pig Roast Sides: Sautéed Greens with Pine Nuts first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

Dragon Lingerie Succotash: Jay Jackson Photography

I wanted a colorful chunky pig roast side that would showcase  all the late season summer veg still goin’ strong at Potrero Nuevo Farm including: dry farmed tomatoes, corn, padron peppers, and pole beans.

Although this is not a traditional succotash (tomatoes are rarely included, I’ve subbed padrons for bells, and there’s no cream/mayo sauce but a hot bacon vinaigrette instead) it’s my updated rendition of  a normally terrible tasteless dish. Sorry – not tryin’ to offend here – I’m just not a Lima bean fan because they often taste mealy to me. And I hate canned corn.

My Husband showing me how to shuck corn. Ha! Jay Jackson Photography

A little history lesson: succotash (a mixture of lima beans, corn, and shell beans with bell peppers or tomatoes) was popular during the Great Depression and sometimes cooked with a pie crust on top. Obviously this would make a hearty comfort dish and provide protein and other beneficial nutrients on an extremely tight budget. I wonder if the cream base that is normally served with this dish as a cold picnic salad would taste rather rich if served hot with a flaky topping…

That being said, I prefer my version.

Dragon Lingerie beans lose their cool color when they are cooked but they are still intriguing in the flesh with a lacy purple appeal. When farmers Suzie & Jay Trexler (co-farm managers of Potrero Nuevo Farm) asked me if I wanted to include these in our Pig Roast menu I was afraid they would be tasteless. Quite the opposite –  fat and sweet!

Dragon Lingerie Bean

Hope you join us next year for our 2014 pig roast….

More Pig Roast Sides:

Cowboy-Up Cattle Beans

Smoked Potato Salad with Hard Cooked Egg & Tarragon

How To Roast a Hog on a Spit

For more pictures see Jay Jackson’s amazing collection: http://found-images.smugmug.com/Tanitas-Creek-Half-Moon-Bay

The post Pig Roast Sides: Dragon Lingerie Succotash & Hot Bacon VInaigrette first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

Smoked Potato Salad , Jay Jackson photography

If you’ve never had a smoked potato, then you’ll be nicely surprised at how they elevate this simple picnic side dish to a whole new level.

I smoked these in the wood under our pig the day of our event but I’ve also made them in smokers before. You can do this in an oven too with a packet of mequite chips too or a regular charcoal BBQ.

Potrero Nuevo Farm potatoes

Tarragon flowers, tarragon, parsley and hard cooked egg garnish the top along with red spring onions and a mustard vinaigrette.

And look at these gorgeous red spring onions from Potrero Nuevo Farm! Wow!

Red spring oinons!

More Pig Roast Sides:

Dragon Lingerie Succotash & Hot Bacon Vinaigrette

How to Roast a Pig on a Spit

Cowboy Up Cattle Beans

The post Pig Roast Sides: Smoked Potato Salad first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

Cowboy Up Cattle Beans. Photography by Jay Jackson.

Cattle beans are some of my favorite because they are black & white and keep their color when cooked. They are great in stews and soups or served with a smokey-spicy light tomato broth as a full side dish. It’s hard to describe bean flavor but I think nutty and meaty would be my best effort. I used some of Farm Manager Suzie Trexler’s pickled watermelon radish, and carrot around the beans for color.

There are a lot of people out there who will tell you that soaking beans overnight isn’t necessary especially if they are freshly dried (two years is considered “fresh” for dry beans). I’m going to tell you the opposite: every time I have not soaked beans beforehand they take much longer to cook, the skins break, and they cause gastro-intesinal problems. Seriously.  It’s also easier to see how much you are working with after they have plumped up. Guesstimating beans for a huge event is always a problem because some beans look small and then quadruple in size and others stay roughly the same. These cattle beans tripled in size.

I cooked these beans the day before the pig roast in a vegetable broth with thyme and bay leaf. To reheat I strained the liquid, brought it to a boil, and added more seasoning: ground dry guajillo chilis (you can sub guajillo powder), smoked Hungarian sweet paprika, cumin, tomato sauce, salt, and ground coriander to taste. Then I poured the ranchero flavored liquid over the beans and brought the whole pot to a low simmer before serving.

I was cooking for 75 people and needed burner space the day of but they can be made in one go. This was a big hit and an unusually beautiful one with the pickled veg.

A word of advice on cooking beans: do not salt your cooking liquid in the beginning of the process. It can change the texture of the bean and also the salinity can mysteriously disappear and then reappear. Beans will soak up the salt from the water and if you just taste the water (and not the bean) during the cooking process you will continue to add more salt. When the beans are soft enough to taste you will be disappointed. I lightly salt the bean liquid mid way through the cooking process and then adjust seasoning at the end.

More Pig Roast Sides and Pictures…

How to Roast a Pig on a Spit

Smoked Potato Salad with Tarragon and Hard Cooked Egg

Dragon Lingerie Succotash & Hot Bacon Vinaigrette

Sautéed Greens with Pine Nuts and Red Spring Onion

Jay Jackson Pig Roast Pictures

The post Pig Roast Sides: Cowboy Up Cattle Beans first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

Cowboy and Pitmaster Jeremiah with Me at Potrero Nuevo Farm.

Every hour or two you both stand around and talk about the game plan as the pig turns one rotation per minute and you let Jeremiah take the meat temperature from different parts – because his arms are much longer than yours – while trying not to die of smoke inhalation because the direction of the light breeze is following you both around the pit.

As the Pig turns…. one full rotation every minute

Next you stand around the pig and take pictures with the farmer’s that raised the heritage pig: Suzie & Jay Trexler co-farm managers of Potrero Nuevo Farm and founders of Tunitas Creek Kitchen.

When the hog is cooked to 160˚F (figure 1 hour for every 10 lbs. at 225˚F) you push the indirect fire away and just let it slowly continue to turn on the spit so the juices reabsorb. This way the pig rests and you can actually carve it without burning your fingertips off – well sort of – it’s still going to be pretty darned hot even if it rests for thirty minutes.

We went through about two pallets of firewood over 8 hours and used whatever applewood we could find from neighboring farms mixed in with oak and eucalyptus. Jeremiah did a great job with the fire and created indirect piles next to the 4 honches with some coals alongside the belly (as you can see from the pics below) and then replenished them as needed.

His spit held the pig sturdy – better than any I have ever seen – and this took a few people to secure because the main rod is going to go from nose to tail (ouch!!!) Jeremiah’s spit securely bolted the pig to the spit.

Jeremiah’s spit with braces that bolt on to the pig

No need to brine or inject the pig with marinade unless you want to. I prefer the pig to taste like pig and the sauces can be added on top afterward. And we didn’t coat it with oil before roasting because we didn’t want the skin to turn black. Once that skin turns to crackle no salt or seasoning rub is going to stick to it, so again, it’s best to season after wards.

Jeremiah’s amazing motorized spit can take up to 200lbs. Jay Jackson Photography

Lastly, you enlist Jeremiah and another cowboy (my husband in this case) to carry the 170lbs. pig to your make-shift carving station (2 saw horses with a piece of really thick ply wood over the top). Stick an apple in the mouth for your guests to see and go for it.

Taking the pig off the spit….

Spit Roasted Pit ready to carve up

Why the obligatory apple? I’m not sure but it is necessary…

Beautifully cooked spit roasted pig with perfect crackle and totally cooked juicy meat

Note: this is the second pig roast I’ve done and no matter how amazing your butchering skills are, spit roasted pork is going to look pretty much the same color which is a greyish-white. I take the legs off and carve them, then go for the loin and slice it up, then cut in between the ribs and serve those too, and cut the pork belly into chunks.

I put large pieces of crackle over the top of the platters (boy oh boy does crackle from a pig that’s been perfectly spit-roasted taste amazing) and serve with a bunch of sauces on the table – in this case guajillo BBQ sauce, tomatillo salsa, and blue cheese dressing.

Spit Roasted Pig. Photography Jay Jackson

But lets not forget the sides and I will follow up with recipes in another post. Because a pig roast has got to come with a plethora of accoutrements. I started the meal with cornmeal crusted fried green tomatoes and long zucchini sticks, then served a Fire and Ice salad with watermelon, tomatillo, pickled jalapeno and smoked chili d’arbol vinaigrette. For the mains I served a smoked potato salad, an heirloom tomato-corn-dragon lingerie been succotash with hot bacon vinaigrette & smoked padron peppers, and ranchero cattle beans with pickled vegetables. And cheddar scallion cornbread to soak up all the juices and corn tortillas.

Dragon Lingerie Succotash: corn, dry farmed tomatoes, padrons, basil & bacon vinaigrette.

Finger lickin’ good!

Smoked Potato Salad with Chopped Hard Cooked Farm Egg, Tarragon, and Mustard Sauce. Jay Jackson Photography

Cowboy Up Cattle Beans. Jay Jackson Photography

If you are seriously interested in renting Jeremiah’s spit or having the Jay & Suzie Trexler (pictured below) raise a pig for your event please contact me and I will put you in touch with the powers that be. Only serious inquisitions will be tolerated. The rest will be thrown out with the slop!

Tunitas Creek Kitchen! Farmer’s Suzie &Jay Trexler who raised the pig and all the produce at Potrero Nuevo Farm

For more pictures from our pig roast please check out http://found-images.smugmug.com/Tanitas-Creek-Half-Moon-Bay We were blessed with a professional photographer, Jay Jackson, as one of our guests who captured our day, our guests, and our food in beautiful ways. Thank you Jay! Still blown away by your pictures….

Pig Roast Sides:

Smoked Potato Salad with Tarragon and Hard Cooked Egg

Dragon Lingerie Succotash & Hot Bacon Vinaigrette

Cowboy Up Cattle Beans

Sautéed Greens with Pine Nuts and Red Spring Onion

The post How to Roast a Whole Hog On a Spit first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

Farm Fresh Eggs from Tunitas Creek Organic Eggs at Potrero Nuevo Farm

Once you have mastered the art of gently cracking the shell top with one of the devices pictured below without shattering the entire shell, then you can move on to the easy part which is the custard filling. A word of advice on using this instrument: crack gently then use the butt of a pairing knife to crack/puncture the top of the shell and peel down to the crack line. Then discard the white & yellow into a container to reserve for the custard.

Rösler, a German company, makes this device for cutting the top off of soft poached eggs but it works well for raw eggs too

Your egg shells should look like the photo below when you are done. You will break a lot when you are just beginning – don’t beat yourself up about it – just keep your eyes on the prize. Everyone comes up with their own technique for perfection. Place the egg shells back in the carton when they are cleaned. They will cook in the cartons so don’t jette them!

Tunitas Creek Organic Egg Shell Cups

Before making the custard it’s a good idea to sauté your shallot and bacon. You should see the size of the shallots growing here at Potrero Nuevo Farm. Holy Moly, I don’t know what they put in the soil (yes, it is an organic farm) but I have never in my life – not even in France – seen or tasted shallots quite like these. First off, they’re about as big as my whole entire hand. Secondly, they’re juicy when you cut into them. I don’t know if I’m crying tears of joy half the time or tears of onion fume inhalation. Either way, they are magnificent.

The bacon is also special. Suzie & Jay, co-farm manager’s, just processed the Berkshire pigs they’ve been raising for our events and for customers that bought shares, and we have some pretty serious bacon – O.M.G. do we have bacon! It’s not even funny how delicious it is. I can’t even cook it for events without eating half. It’s amazing there was even enough bacon for this recipe after I demolished most of it.

Fill your nicely cleaned eggs shells (remove that little lining inside if possible and give them a rinse in cold water) with bacon and shallot and Gruyère cheese. I know Gruyère is expensive but you only need a little bit and quiche Lorraine is not quiche Lorraine without it.

Quiche Lorraine in Egg Shell Cups

After the garnishes have been gently administered. The custard can be poured in over top. This part is really easy. Which is a good thing because – I’m not going to lie to you here– making the actual egg cups is a total nightmare (there’s another word for “nightmare” but I think my students are on to my blog so….)

Gently place the cartons into a large baking pan and fill it with boiling hot water just below the edge of the carton so the water comes up about 1/3rd the side of the egg shell. Cover tightly with tin foil and bake at 350˚F for about 15-20 minutes. When they are just set and have stopped jiggling all over, then they are done.

Garnish with caviar, micro greens, herbs – you name it – make ’em look pretty.

Quiche Lorraine Appetizer in Egg Shell Cups

Here’s another picture of this very same appetizer made with pancetta instead of bacon and topped with caviar:

Caviar topped Egg Custard Baked in Eggs Shells

The post Mini Quiche Lorraine Appetizer in Egg Shell Cups first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

Lavender Fields Forever at Potrero Nuevo Farm in Pescadero

It only takes about about a teaspoon of dried lavender to add lovely perfume and a little extra herbal flavor to your salad dressing. Add too much lavender and you veer towards creating a fantastic smelling and yucky soap tasting vinaigrette – blech!

Watermelon Radishes for Tunitas Creek Kitchen. Do you see how excited I am to use these? Totally elated!

Co-Farm Manager’s Suzie & Jay Trexler, love to saddle me up with beautiful produce for our Tunitas Creek Kitchen events  (I know, poor me right? It’s real tough cooking with just picked produce and smelling lavender from the fields in my kitchen – real tough). They wanted to highlight watermelon radishes for a private luncheon so went for a simple salad with baby lettuces, fennel, mint, and mandoline shaved radish.

Watermelon Radishes up close!

For our upcoming pig roast (this weekend) Suzie has some pickled too, which I’ll share with you on a separate post.

Watermelon Radish from Potrero Nuevo Farm

Restaurants pay top dollar for this colorful radish. They are sweeter tasting than red radishes and have a slight turnipy flavor. Normally they are not peppery the way some radishes can be. And they are SO pretty in pink.

Nope, sorry, they do not taste like watermelon…

But they are really delicate in flavor so it’s nice to keep it simple no matter how you’re using them.

Watermelon Radish & Mint Salad

The post Watermelon Radish, Fennel & Mint Salad with Lavender Vinaigrette first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

Call it what you will: pie crust, shortcrust, or pâte brisée – it’s one of my favorite things on this planet and I will always always choose a well made slice o’ pie over a light and fluffy piece o’ cake. I can even forgive a terrible filling if the crust is flaky and fork tender – that’s how much I love pie crust.

Strawberry Rhubarb Pie

I use the same basic French pâte brisée pastry recipe for everything whether it’s pie, quiche,  tart or quoi. It’s basically a half-fat to half-flour ratio.

I know lard pies are trendy in SF right now and I’m probably going to have my handlebar mustache shaved off and my ‘fixe’ bicycle stolen for saying this, but I don’t like the aftertaste of lard or Crisco because it sticks to my tongue and I feel like I need a knife to scrape it off. Who wants to comb their tongue after a great dessert? I like the flakiness and texture animal fats and hydrogenated fats can provide, but still, I’m all butter baby – all the way.

In a nutshell (or tart shell – ba, dum, dum) pâte brisée is an un-leavened dough that does not rise significantly. The flakiness comes from the process of rubbing fat into flour until it resembles cornmeal – and I always prefer to do this by hand when possible– then adding a little bit of water to bring it all together. The dough is kneaded a few times (known as frissage in French) and then allowed to rest in the fridge so the gluten strands relax and quit lengthening before rolling out and baking to golden deliciousness.

In France, for the recipe pâte sucrée which is a sweetened shortcrust, you add an egg too. I have yet to find the need for a sweetened pie crust – I prefer the filling to be the sweet part – but there are variations to this basic recipe.

And speaking of variations: I cook on farms and I use a hard red wheat flour milled onsite that is high in protein and VERY low in gluten which is great for pastry (and not so great for bread). It can be tricky to work with because it absorbs liquid at a slower rate and it’s not as finely ground as store bought All-Purpose. But, I strongly prefer the flavor and the rustic crumbly appearance and texture.

If you are using flour like this then use the recipe below. If you are using store bought All-Purpose flour (and my favorite is Guisto’s Organic – they also have amazing pizza ’00’ flour) then up the flour amount by 1/4 cup.

And, if you happen to be driving along the gorgeous coastal highway 1 and you find yourself in Pescadero. Stop by Pie Ranch’s farm stall in their beautiful old barn and pick up a slice of pie made from this amazing flour. You can buy flour too and just picked produce and farm fresh eggs!

The post Flaky Pie Crust first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

I am officially launching our new website! Check out TUNITAS CREEK KITCHEN at Potrero Nuevo Farm where I have the incredible good fortune to work with the dynamic husband & wife Co-Farm managers, Suzie and Jay Trexler, on this gorgeous contemporary farm.

Tunitas Creek Kitchen Farm to Table Dinner

Tunitas Creek Kitchen takes an artisan approach to celebrating the farm season with small-batch jams & pickles, farm-to-table dinners, and workshops that offer tips & techniques for farming and cooking.

The team originated with farmers Suzie & Jay, born out of their hands-on work managing the fields at Potrero Nuevo Farm. This 300 acre farm and wilderness property is committed to sustainable agriculture, fair accessibility to food and ecological land management. The majority of the harvest is donated to the low-income community on the Coastside.

With the blessings of Farm Owners Christine Pielenz and Bill Laven, we teamed up for our first farm-to-table celebration last year, and the TCK team was officially formed to bring you exceptional dining experiences.

We have 2 farm-to-table dinners upcoming: a PIG ROAST and a HARVEST CELEBRATION plus workshops on how to make preserves and probiotic foods like kimchi & kraut. Each workshop comes with a farm tour, tips for farming & harvesting, and a lunch prepared by moi with produce and protein grown/raised on site. For our farm to table dinners we partner with local brewers and wineries to provide a truly locally grown experience (mmmmhmmmm, it’s party time – get those cowboy boots polished up!).

Maybe you’ve always wanted to have a private event on a farm? Let us host your next celebration or corporate event. We can provide team building experiences too! Jay & Suzie will welcome your group with a tour of the fields. From there we can organize activities, screen an outdoor movie from our barn “straw bale theater” or teach a hands-on workshop on the farm or in the kitchen. And finally, you’ll be treated to a family-style organic meal in a gorgeous outdoor setting.

Jay and Suzie also tend to a flock of pastured organic laying hens and have a heritage hog operation for folks who enjoy quality, humanely-raised bacon, chops and sausage. Guests at our farm-to-table dinner last Fall commented that the ham we served was the best they had ever tasted. If you would like to participate in hog shares or the egg CSA please see their products link.

Potrero Nuevo Farm loves volunteers and they offer many opportunities to come pitch in! Bring the family and learn how to farm the earth. Or come and share the harvest with us at one of our upcoming events – or at your own private celebration!

Let us show you what our beautiful bountiful California coast has to offer!

Want to know a little more about I’m up to on the coast and what Potrero Nuevo Farm does to feed the community? Check us out IN THE NEWS:

Edible Silicon Valley Magazine: AMY GLAZE, World Class Chef/teacher Enriches the Coast

Half Moon Bay Coastal Views Magazine: PARADISE FOUND at POTRERO NUEVO FARM! Philantrophy, organic practices, and family friendly volunteering 

The post Introducing Tunitas Creek Kitchen! first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

Todd Parsons Photography: http://toddparsons.net

The French named this creamy soup after her. Why? Perhaps the milky color of the cauliflower reflected her complexion as the website The Old Foodie points out or for the shape and color of her powdered wig? Perhaps because the silky smooth rather curvaceous combination of cream and cauliflower reflected her – ahem – personality?

All I know is that this soup has a seriously sensuous mouth feel and when a little black truffle jus is added and a touch of white truffle oil – it’s magique.

Todd Parsons Photography, http://toddparsons.net

It is common in France to see the name ‘du Barry’ attached to a dish that has a cream sauce or even a mornay sauce (which is a basic white sauce with egg yolks added for extra richness) as well as dishes with cauliflower.  I have also made this soup adding egg yolks at the end to give an even more luxurious finished feel but I don’t always find it’s necessary.

Black truffle jus is very expensive. It can be left out if it’s not easy to find or doesn’t fit the budget. However, white truffle oil is often sold in tiny bottles and will give quite a powerful truffle kick even with just a few drops. I also like porcini mushrooms with cauliflower soup, but if you use the dried mushroom liquid (which is tasty) it will change the color a little bit.

A little trick of the trade and a beautiful look to cauliflower soup is shaving some of the larger florets on a mandoline and floating them on the soup. The white on white is stunning for full portions.

Excuse my shameless sales pitch here but a Vita Prep blender will totally change the way you cook. I use it more than any other kitchen appliance. It’s amazing for soups, purées, sauces, vinaigrettes, juices, smoothies, jams, sorbets, etc. And it can take hot and cold liquids and keep them hot or cold. Here’s the new one, it’s super expensive, but I have an old one an it works just fine! I tote it around with me from farm to farm – very durable. Amazon has a range of Vita Preps some with variable speeds (mine only has two).

The post Truffled Cauliflower du Barry Soup first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

Todd Parsons Photography at http://toddparsons.net

Walnuts, golden raisins, and Potrero Nuevo Farm heirloom tart-sweet mystery apples (Golden Delicious perhaps, nobody know for sure because the trees are very old) are cooked in a spiked sweet soup with: canela, star anise, rosemary, nutmeg, cardamom, orange peel, brown sugar, and honey – and whiskey.

Yes whiskey and a few bottles of rich barley wine from Cypress Brewing Company. Basically this is a cocktail in disguise as a very innocent dessert. Perfect for wrapping cold hands around while sitting on a hail bail and watching an outdoor movie at Potrero Nuevo Farm.

Hot Apple Pie Sundae: http://toddparsons.net/

Shortbread cookies are close in ratio and recipe to a pâte brisée (pie crust). With two major exceptions: there is extra salt and pie crust is often half fat to flour instead of one-third fat to flour. Traditional Scottish shortbread is salty and sweet. This combo is totally underplayed in my humble opinion. In terms of flavor profiles it should go: butter, flour, salt, then sugar even though the actual recipe actually uses a 1:2:3 ratio of sugar: butter: flour and leaves the salt to your discretion. Don’t be afraid to taste the dough and adjust!

The caramel drizzle is malt extract syrup for beer making which I’ve been using a lot lately in different ways. It has become a fantastic secret ingredient adding depth to winter stews, soups, extra maltiness to pizza crust, and as a fun sweet dessert topping.  It has the consistency of honey and a rich sweet malty hop flavor.

There’s nothing pretentious about this dessert. It’s easy. It tastes warm and comforting and it is meant to be held by the hands and warm you inside and out.

The post Prohibition Hot Apple Pie Sundae first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

Todd Parsons Photography

If you ask for Tarte Flambée Gratinée  in Alsace you will get an addition of Gruyère, or if you demand your pizza forestière you will receive added mushrooms. However, I think you will get nothing but strange looks if you ask for delicata squash slices…hmmm…would the translation be courgière?

Tunitas Creek Kitchen whipped up this Alsatian pizza to pair with wheat beer from Cypress Brewing Company at our recent dinner. We only made a few slight changes to the original recipe – we added delicata squash, rosemary, pancetta instead of lardon, pecorino, and a drizzle of malt extract – an ooey gooey malty sweet tasting syrup used in beer making.

Flammekueche, is said to have been created by bread bakers in Alsace to test the heat of their wood burning ovens. Legend has it, they would push the embers back and bake this pizza, then I presume enjoy a nice snack before getting down to business. The intense 700˚heat (or higher!) would torch the crust hence the term Flambé.

Even though this pizza can be cooked in a regular oven the wood fire smokes the cream sauce base and makes this simple pie incredibly more-ish. The malt syrup drizzle adds a hop-y caramel flavor that brings everything together. Brian (co-owner of Cypress brew with wife Lea) tells me he brushes pizza crust with the syrup, which would also be tasty. I opted for the drizzle because it has the consistency of honey and its troublesome to get off the spoon and off my fingers.

Our guests thought the pairing went great together. But when you’re drinking fresh cold beer that looks as good as this…

Cypress Brew Co. wheat Beer: Todd Parsons Photography

how can it not?

The post Delicata Squash Flammekueche first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

Really Bear? Can’t you see we’re talking bout ham here? Jeesh!

Ramin Hedayatpour Photography

We have scheduled a date for our harvest dinner. We have spread the word via Good Eggs. We have sold tickets (all of them!) which has got our adrenaline going. What if it rains? What if we don’t have enough beer? What if we don’t have enough food? What if people decide they don’t want to trek all the way out here?

We tackle the “what ifs” and now we must solidify a menu that pairs with Cypress Beer but also represents seasonal produce available on the farm. Suzie and Jay Trexler, co-farm managers of Potrero Nuevo Farm and leading force behind Tunitas Creek Kitchen, want to showcase Berkshire Tamsworth ham from pigs raised on site. I would like this too, but I just don’t know if there will be enough meat for 50 people.

They are sure it will be enough. I remind the farmers that people really eat at events like this and if people are drinking and the weather is cold they will pig out! And we want them to – it’s a harvest celebration!

30 pounds of ham for 50 people just doesn’t sound like enough. Of course the menu does start with delicata squash flammekueche, cauliflower du Barry truffle soup shots, and a colorful array of homemade pickles. The sit down part of the evening commences with a napa cabbage and honey crisp apple slaw and warm pretzel sticks.  The side dishes range from cippolinis in caraway cream sauce, to roasted kuri squash with pancetta & sage, to braised cattle beans with kale & thyme. It’s doubtful anyone will starve.

But, I know from experience that people (myself) really like to eat pork. With beef I ration 1/4 – 1/2 pound per person depending on the cut. But with pork, especially the juicier tastier butcher cuts, I normally figure on around 3/4 – to 1 pound per person.

Suzie and Jay want to use their own meat – this is a farm to table dinner afterall – so we pull the hams out of the deep freezer and take a closer look. I can’t tell if they’ve been cured and smoked because the fat and skin layer is still in tact and I’ve never seen this on a ham. It’s not like we cook ham everyday in the restaurant world. I mean when was the last time you saw ham as an entrée on a menu?

Ramin Hedayatpour Photography

This causes me to panic. As much as I would love the opportunity to do this part of the process myself there just isn’t time before the event and I don’t want to experiment on 50 people or waste the only hams Suzie and Jay have left. Curing ham can take up to a whole week depending on size. And then they should be smoked and our smoker is super small and wood burning (not electric) which imparts great flavor but requires lots of attention.

It’s not that fresh ham is bad. But, it won’t be pink (yes, the nitrates keep the color – and the nitrates also stop any chance of botulism which when curing a large pieces of meat can be useful. but to get the curing process right and do it safe is tricky) and it will be a little rubbery and chewy in texture. Who wants to naw on a rubber band during a nice dinner?

Jay finds the form from the Meat Locker where the pigs have been processed. We run down the list of cuts. It clearly says that the hams have been cured and smoked. Well all-righty then! Let’s ham it up!

I rip open the vacuum seal on the smallest of the three hams and sure enough a heavenly smokey aroma comes through. Bear, who is sure there must be something for him in this clandestine meeting over the deep freezer, attempts to push his way through our barricade but no such luck.

We sample frozen slices and it is ridiculously delicious – like no ham I have ever tasted before. It is nicely salty and smokey but the nutty flavor of the meat is still full front. We are all nodding our heads and smiling at each other while savoring our samples because we know this is going to be even better cooked and people are going to go crazy over it.

A deep sense of relief washes over me. I cook on 4 different farms, and each one is fabulous and each one presents its own logistical hurdles to jump over in terms of cooking space and distance between kitchen and table. A ham can be pre-cooked, carried over to the table and presented, then sliced and served warm. It’s not like a piece of fish which goes from perfect to overcooked and freezing cold in seconds. This makes my job of serving 50 people a little easier.

Ramin Hedayatpour Photography

Two days before the event I thaw out the hams in the refrigerator. I make a an easy ham glaze by combining fresh pressed apple cider (from the farm) with three bottles of Cypress brew ale, brown sugar, molasses, apple cider vinegar, cinnamon, star anise, dried whole chile peppers, coriander seed, cardamon pods, black peppercorns, cloves, and orange peel. I reduce this to a light syrup that has the consistency of olive oil. Yum.

Heck, if no one shows up to this party I’m going to sit down and drink the ham glaze all by myself.

The day of the event I set the oven to 250˚F and place the three 10-pound hams on large onions cut around-the-world. The onions will serve as my roasting rack.

To prepare the ham I cut through the skin and fat layer down to the flesh in a 1/4-inch graph design. This is important. It is virtually impossible to cut through the skin once it is cooked. You will need one of those gawd awful electric knives if you want to go that route. The ham must be cooked low and slow to render all the fat layer under the skin. And once this is achieved (crispy crackle and ooey gooey rendered fat) then you have reached ham heaven.

Because our dinner is centered around beer, I choose to make a poultice of mustard and rosemary which I think will go nicely as it drips down the roast and melds with the vinegar-y apple cider & ale spiced glaze. I smear it in between all the fat crevices.

Todd Parsons Photography

The ham cooks for two and half hours and I generously baste every ten to fifteen minutes with glaze and pan juices. The smell of the farm kitchen is like something out of an old cartoon – the animated wafting scent of the delicious roast tickles under the nose, hypnotizes, and beckons us to follow completely mesmerized. Bear, who has been given a “time out” in the farm office for being totally annoying is howling for a taste – and he’s not the only one!

When ready to serve dinner to our lively guests, I remove the ham from the onion rack which has imparted savory flavor and pour off the all the pan juices and glaze. I separate the fat from the jus and reserve. Suzie and I present the ham to the guests who surprisingly keep us posing as they snap photos (Wow! So this is what it feels like to be limelight?)

Todd Parsons Photography

We rush it back to the kitchen and slice it up. Slicing ham off the bone is not so easy and I suggest (unless you just happen to have a spiral slicer) to carve through the outer pieces until you hit the bone. With a sharp boning knife carve around the bone and remove it, then continue to slice to the thickness desired. I think 1/4 to 1/2–inch is just about right.

The plates come back clean. It turns out there is enough ham to offer seconds but guests are rubbing their bellies truly fed up.

“That was the best ham I have ever had in my life” one guest tells me. And as much as I’d like to take the credit, all the applause really goes to Suzie and Jay. With meat – it is, what it is. Ham glaze is just lipstick on a pig. The farmers have done a superb job raising their heritage pigs.

Todd Parsons photography

Our Guests finish dessert in the barn kicking up their heels on hay bails and watching movies we project, kegs are tapped, and people are happy and socializing. My cooking team is exhausted and we ditch the last of our energy in a final clean-up attempt. It has been a gorgeous farm to table evening under a beautiful starry sky, on a stunning farm, with impeccable produce, and delicious locally brewed fresh cold beer.

Bear is finally allowed to join the crowd and I sneak him a few tastes of the ham that he’s been crying for all afternoon. He rewards me with a deep “woof!” and a few kisses.

Ramin Hedayatpour Photography

I would like to boldly advertise for the Trexlers and Tunitas Creek Kitchen as they will be raising Berkshire Tamsworth pigs next year and you can buy shares in a pig which will provide a nice selection of fresh and cured cuts. It seems like such a rare opportunity to have this direct connection with a farm, but shouldn’t it just be the norm?

Todd Parsons Photography

Details to be announced when they come back from their Mexican holiday in the sunshine but you can check out the farm here. And in the meantime here’s the ham glaze recipe and mustard rub….

The post Ale & Apple Cider Glazed Ham with Rosemary Mustard Crackle first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

but you don’t want to freak out over whether or not the spit can handle 160 pounds. Or worry about the pig cooking over coals you’ve placed in a pit you’ve dug (or how you are going to get the pig out of the pit you’ve dug). And you don’t think your pig will fit in one of those really expensive metal boxes that sell for a few thousand dollars – and you don’t have a few thousand dollars.

Do it the Pescadero way! Get a bedframe!

This method has been passed down and around these parts by the Uruguay farmer, Guillermo, from Del Sur Organic Farm. Luckily for me I ran into him at a gas station while we were both pumping petrol and he explained his pig roasting method on the hood of my dusty jeep. Pictograms work wonders…

“Guillermo! OMG! I’m so glad I ran into you! I need your help – I’m roasting a pig. What do I do???”

“Amy, you’ll be fine. Get a bed frame. You have one? Don’t worry you can borrow mine. You want to prop the frame on a T-stake like this….” Guillermo draws a fire cirlce on my jeep hood and then the bedframe and t-stake. This is how all good cooking techniques are passed down – at the gas station – who knew?

So readers, here’s what to do: get a bed frame. Yes. A bedframe. A sturdy one. No rust. Clear a fire circle around it and make sure to have water buckets and fire safety gear nearby. If it is a dry area make sure the surrounding ground is super soaked. Prop bed frame up. You can use T-stakes and do this at a 45˚ angle or you can do what I did, which is to use bricks and lie the frame out flat. But be careful with bricks because they can get too hot and explode (use the special fire retardant ones to be safe).

Let’s backtrack a little, first you have to get the pig.

The pig I roasted was lovingly raised at one of the farms I work with for a “Dirty Thirty” birthday party. He was a pal of mine and this was not an easy thing for any of the farmers or myself to see through. I’m going to say that right up front before World War III breaks out. Because I know people are comfortable not knowing where their meat is coming from and prefer it to be wrapped up in saranwrap wthout head attatched. I get that, but I’m not sympathetic.

This post is bound to cause some uncomfortable feelings. But this is the way it should go. And after this whole experience I realize how important it is to know where you are getting your meat and how it is processed. Out of respect I will leave many pictures out but if you want to see the whole butchering process you can go to my FB page (there’s a button on the top of the site next to my pic.)

The day before the Dirty Thirty party goes like this…

It is a beautiful morning on the farm: humming birds are zooming around, the farm dogs are out tossing field mice up in the air for fun, the cow is mooing her silly head off because no one is giving her extra oats, and the goats are bleating to be milked. I grab a strong cup of coffee from the main house and walk through the raspberry and ollieberry fields picking my breakfast off piece by juicy piece down the thorny rows.

One by one the farmers come out of their cabins coffee cups in hand and meet in the strawberry patch – not that this is a normal gathering place, it’s just positioned equadistant from everyone. It’s 8A.M. time to get a move on. I’ll be taking the pig to be processed at Bar None just up the coast along with one of the farmers, but first the pig has to be loaded into the trailer and this is not going to be easy – or so I’m told.

If you’ve never raised a pig then let me say they are some of the cutest animals ever. They do stink up a storm, but they are great at eating up compost which is awesome on a farm and they are smart. I wish they weren’t so smart. And, as I found out, they are also very protective. A few months ago I was attacked by a neighbor’s dog and the pigs came running snorting their heads off to protect me. They scared the dog who lost his grip on my thigh.

They like belly rubs. They like Mexican pastries. They like artichoke leaves and acorns and extra goat milk and apples and just about everything. And they like to be sprayed with the hose – this the farmers call ‘pig party’ because they love to roll around in the mud and get real sloppy.

The pigs are given a super delicious breakfast of all things mentioned above. They are snortin’ it up and havin a good ol’ time. We give them belly rubs and head scratchies and lots of love. We drive the trailer over and open the back end into the pig pen. The farmers place down boards for “Little Pig” to walk up and drop acorns like bread crumbs attempting to coax the pig in without a fuss.

Ha! Of course the two pigs we don’t want to entice saunter into the trailer eating all the goodies. And the one we do want has a sixth sense that something is up. I told you pigs are smart. We continue to coax “Little Pig” (who is not little at all weighing in at 160 pounds) into the trailer, but no such luck. We back off for an hour and hope that that he will naturally walk himself up.

Nope.

None of the farmer’s want to use force: everyone wants it to be as peaceful as possible. But we’ve got to get going or the pig isn’t going to get butchered. Finally three of the farmers grab the pig and force him up the ramp. He pushes everyone over quite a few times, bites many a calf,  and squeals up a storm. A pig squealing is not like a mild whimper for help –  it’s a f’ing scary-ass deafening shrill war cry. Sadly, he is out numbered.

We drive Little Pig to Bar None along the beautiful Highway 1. I watch the waves crash against the cliffs, the white caps frothy and fierce, the fog creeping closer dipping lightly into the sea and floating it’s way up to land. I smell the cleansing chapparel of the coast mixed with sea spray and brace myself for what’s coming. It’s one thing to kill a chicken. It’s quite another thing to do in a four legged creature.

Is this the right thing to do? And why do I feel I need to be part of this process? At this point there’s no turning back. I said I would cook this pig and I can’t back out of it now with 100 people showing up for the shin-dig in 24 hours.

Bar None is a strange place. Very professional, but just a little odd. It reminds me, oddly enough, of fire watch services in Deerfield Beach — not in their day-to-day activities, but in their unflinching dedication and somewhat unusual, yet crucial role they play. In the same way that Bar None is committed to the care of its animals, these services meticulously tend to the safety of our community, especially during the relentless summer heat that heightens the threat of fires. They stand watch, ready to act, akin to how one might stand witness to the cycle of life at the farm. It’s about being present and responsible, whether it’s confronting the realities of where our food comes from or facing the elemental dangers posed by nature. And just as one must have the fortitude to watch over the life that sustains us, fire watch professionals in Deerfield Beach possess the courage to protect and serve, ensuring our homes and businesses are shielded from the flames.

We talk with the butcher and choose for Little Pig to be electrocuted because it’s a swift process. And I very much like the butcher of Bar None. He is professional and the processing area is spotless and odorless. He works cleanly and quickly. And I believe that it’s not so easy for him – even though he makes it look that way.

We unload Little Pig into a holding pen with the aid of the butcher. And Little Pig is having a great time much to our relief. He is a hog amongst little pink pigs and obviously receiving mucho attention. I notice his ears perk up and his sense his spirit. And yes, this makes everything much harder.

His turn is upon us. The butcher leads him into the processing room and he is electrocuted. I sense no pain. It’s over in seconds. And then quickly the pig is hoisted up and bled. The blood runs into the gutters and is hosed down fast. Next, the pig is put in a scalding water dip that removes all the hair. From here it is hoisted into a an odd metal machine that spins the pig around and taking off all the outer skin leaving the carcass bright pink and smooth.

We ask for our pig to be butterflied. The butcher hangs the pig and in 5 minutes removes innards (reserving heart and liver for us). We pack our pig into an ice chest and leave. And we are not feeling exuberant. We are feeling heavy hearted.

But there is a strange transition that happens from the point of death on. The pig does stop being a friend and turns into “it” – into meat.

I cannot lift 160 pound pig and this is a problem. I bring the pig early in the morning to the place of the party on a beautiful grassy knoll in Boony Doon close to Santa Cruz.

I build a fire ring with the aid of the birthday girl, Debbie, pictured above. And we are very careful about this because starting a wild fire in Santa Cruz is not on our to-do list.

How better than to test the strength of this well worn frame then climb on top? It seems to take my weight just fine. But with another 60 pounds I’m not so sure. This frame has seen better days for sure and some of the side hooks are starting to wear thin. Hmmmm….

It is a scortching hot morning, and there is not a shade tree in sight. It’s at least 90˚F today and even hotter next to the fire. This truly sucks for me. The ocean is a half mile away, close enough to jump right in. Ah, forget it, it’s too much to risk to leave the fire unattended.

I have not taken Guillermo’s advice on raising the bed frame at a 45˚ angle attatched to a T-Stake because it doesn’t quite make sense to me and the pig is sooooo heavy. I understand that it might be easier to push the fire around and tend to it and control the direction of the fire if there is wind. But I ration that if the pig is sprawled out I can really control all parts to the fire and what body parts I want the most heat on.

I can’t say that I’m right or wrong, because I’ve never tried this other way, but my way works for sure.

Here is the game plan: build fire in a separate fire pit, then move coals (wood not charcoal) along the outside flanks of the pig and keep the heat indirect everywhere – especially the tenderloin. As coals die down they are moved inward and then pushed out in one sweep. The problem with cooking any animal whole, whether it is a chicken or a pig, is that some parts are going to take more time than others. Because the pig is covered with so much fat I’m not really worried about it drying out, especially with low indirect heat. But I am worried about the tougher cuts not getting enough cooking time.

The plan so far, is working. However the heat from the two fires (one under the pig, and the separate one I keep to feed it) along with the blaring sunshine is making me sick. I had heat stroke in India when I lived there a long time ago and I’ve never been the same in heat since that life threatening experience. My hubby takes over tending to the fire while I lie down for an hour and try to cool off with ice packed around my head and neck.

Debbie (the birthday girl) and Ramin (my husband) come wake me up. It’s time to do the pig flip. Oh brother, this wasn’t part of the plan! I mean, I knew it would come to this point but I kinda blocked it out of my mind and I don’t have a game plan for this part of the process. Or maybe the heat exhaustion is scrambling my brains. “Jeez, aren’t there anymore men around that want to show off their bravado?” I ask holding an ice bag on top of my head.

Debbie laughs beer in hand, “We got this. Time to rise and shine!”

Debbie is a farmer. She works at Pie Ranch. Her face is as bright as sunshine but her fingers tell a different tale. Where my hands are covered in cooking wounds, hers look like they’ve been planted and potted. Debbie’s roommate who is hosting the party, Alison, is the original owner of Dirty Girl produce and also a professional surfer. So I am in strong company.

How to flip the pig: we build an identical set of brick posts next to the fire pit. With everyone grabbing a side to the bed frame we lift the whole thing (including pig, of course) to our new set of posts away from the fire. From here the two strongest of us (My husband and Alison) grab an arm and a leg and hoist the pig up, while Debbie and Yours Truly grab the remaining arm and leg and swing the pig to flip. No problem. Easy. We carry the pig back over the coals on the frame.

Up until this point I have cooked the pig skin side up. We will flip it one more time before the cooking is over and I will add spices and my mop solution that is a mixture of spices, apple cider vinegar, and brown sugar. There is still five more hours to go….or more… I’m not really sure…but I’m figuring around eight to nine hours altogether.

I do follow Farmer Guillermo’s instruction on seasoning. I insert cloves of garlic all over, making tiny incisions through the skin. And throughout the cooking process I switch the pig with brine using a rosemary branch.

It’s finally party time.

People are showing up with all sorts of the goodies and the bands are loading in their musical equipment into the barn. This is going to be a fun evening. The executive Chef from Oliveto’s arrives and whips up all the side dishes from produce that has been donated from all the surrounding organic farms. The last of the padron peppers, late summer corn, early girl and molina tomatoes, winter cabbage, kale, and carrots are miraculously transformed into a stunning array of veggie nirvana.

The Chef gives me a big bear hug, “Great job! Normally I’m the pig roast person, but now I thankfully get to enjoy it without the 9 hour headache.” I know what he means. By this time I’m exhausted. Even though there’s not much to roasting a pig, it does take constant attention.

I carve the pig right over the fire with the help from my husband, because there’s really no place to set a whole pig. With the aid of friends we get plates of pig out to the buffet line. The meat disappears before we can even set the plates down. In fact, the meat practically disappears right off the bedframe. Everyone is begging for the crackled skin, a favorite around here.

The big orange evening sun has finally sunk behind the hills sizzling straight into the ocean I’m sure. The buffet line is now just a few stragglers poking around in the darkness for some last pieces of pig skin and cornbread and the crowd is mostly filling up the barn. The music is picking up energy. People are well fed and bopping around to ska music.

I’m totally wiped. The beer I’ve just downed has gone straight to my head and I’m ready to crash despite the invitation to dance with my husband who seems to have boundless energy, I just can’t quite get into it. Dehydration has taken its toll.

Debbie gets the sleeping bags out. It’s going to be a night under the stars for sure. I can’t wait to hit the hay… great experience overall. Life changing in many ways. Although the processing of the pig wasn’t an experience I’d like to repeat, I needed to be there for it. And having never partaken in a pig roast before, I was totally blown away by the celebration and excitement that drew people from all over the California coast.

What a feast!

The post How to Roast a Whole Pig first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

Um, Let me rephrase that: a fun filled week of thirty hormonally challenged high school students cooking, baking, farming, learning all about food systems, boning up on agriculture, and camping at Pie Ranch with no cell coverage – let the hunger games begin!

For the first time in my life, I was very popular. These young adults were keenly aware of who buttered whose bread. Either that or they just enjoyed listening to their “S.F. beats, yo” in my outdoor kitchen yo. A stereo with large bose speakers does wonders for one’s status. Who knew? And who knew that so many young people wanted to become chefs too? Pictured below is an upcoming culinary star…

Yes, I heard it several times throughout the week: “Chef Amy is sooooo raw.”

That’s slang for ‘cool’. In case you didn’t know.

I knew I would impress with a chicken parting demonstration. I began the demo slowly taking one chicken apart piece by piece explaining each cut with careful attention to detail and then sped through the next chicken with shouts and gasps of amazement for my speed and precision from the teenage onlookers.

Again, the crowd roared: “Soooooo raw……”

But I wasn’t the only “raw” instructor there. Oh no, there were several including their teacher Laurie, who has pioneered this partnership and program with Pie Ranch for the last five years. For half a decade she not only has camped with the students, monitored behavior, and provided lessons but also cooked 3 meals a day for them. I gave her a little break this time around with some culinary assistance.

Debbie  my colleague from Echo Valley Farm (who is also “raw”) demonstrated chicken processing. By this I mean: capturing the chicken, putting the chicken head downward in the killing cone, holding the chicken still, cutting quickly through jugulars on each side to kill and bleed (not so easy), and then plucking and gutting.

Suprisingly, the kids were brave and respectful during this demonstration. And, yes, the students were heavily prepped for this experience and no one was forced to partake. Every student ate chicken for dinner no problem. And all said they would think differently about buying chicken in the market and choose organic!

For the quiche recipe, the students collected eggs. Which I found out wasn’t so “raw” because cleaning eggs is “sorta boring” and they feared the chickens would peck them. (No one was actually maimed however.) I sympathized with this feeling because I, myself, have the same fear when it comes to chickens. That’s not to say that I don’t care how they are raised and treated, I just don’t find them cute and cuddly like the baby lambs on the farm. (And I will never understand why France has adopted Le Coq as it’s emblem.)

Before I wax on about how cool it is to actually be considered cool for a week, please tell me you’ve heard of Pie Ranch. You haven’t? Whaaaaat??!?!

It’s a pretty big deal out here on the West Coast. Pie Ranch is a non-profit working farm teaching students and communities about sustainable agriculture & farming, food systems. They do community outreach with schools all up and down the coast, barn dances, weddings, events, team building workshops, they host a CSA & a farm stand, and help newly trained farmers with land aquisition to ensure our future food source in Northern California.

This is a great video. Take a few minutes and check out this slice of Pie. They do so much more there but this is an example of the program…

Their mission is to: “inspire and connect people to know the source of their food and to work together to bring greater health to the food system from the seed to the table”.

One of the products grown and milled at the farm is wheat. Hard red wheat that is very low in gluten, has excellent nutty flavor, and high protein. It is outstanding for pies and patries. I have never in my life had pie crust like this – so flavorful and flaky.

And if flaky pie crust isn’t enough for you, it does get better – we light up a fire in the enormous wood burning oven and bake all day and night in it. That’s right, quiche Lorraine out of a wood fired oven. Can you smell the smokey bacon & onions gently melting away into a farm fresh egg custard? Thomas Keller eat your heart out! Oh, and that’s Pie Ranch Bacon by the way. And Pie Ranch flour. Pie Ranch eggs. Pie Ranch goat milk. Pie ranch onions. You get the idea…

This experience was one of the highlights of this year. I am looking forward to more opportunities like this one.

Pie Ranch is very very RAW.

The post Pie Ranch: Quiche & Kids first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

I’ve always disliked pumpkin butter. It just looks awful. But out of need to extend the season here at Echo Valley Farm, I thought I should bite the bullet and give it a go.

Here’s what I learned: pumpkin butter is fabulous – I love it! I use it in yeasted bread with rosemary, on pancakes with maple syrup, and as a sauce for pizza topped with gorgonzola, caramelized onions, & arugula.

Pumpkin butter should no longer be home canned according to the new USDA ruling due to its density that makes it difficult to guarantee an internal temperature of 240˚F. There is still a chance of botulism because of this. Better to be safe than sorry.

But that’s okay, because we are striving for foods sold fresh or frozen here at Echo Valley Farm. Why go to the trouble to grow all these gorgeous fruits and vegetables and then completely cook away all the nutrients?

Pumpkin butter is pumpkin purée from roasted sugar pie pumpkins that is blended and cooked down over low heat until it is thick. I add agave nectar, honey,ginger, all-spice, cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, cardamom, salt, a little apple cider vinegar to give it some character and lemon juice to help preserve the color. I add all this to taste.

Understanding the yield of pumpkin to purée is more helpful than an exact recipe: 10 pounds of sugar pie pumpkins (about 3 medium size pumpkins) yields about 2 quarts of roasted pumpkin purée.

To roast pumpkins, simply cut in half and scoop out seeds. Place flesh down on a baking sheet and cook at 400˚F for 30 minutes or until they are very soft. Scoop out flesh and blend up with just enough water to help it along. Cook purée down for at least 20 minutes on low heat stirring constantly until it is very thick and reduced to about 1 1/2 quarts. Add sugar (or agave, honey, maple syrup, or brown sugar) and spices to your liking and intended use.

I made a chinese five-spice pumpkin butter once that received interesting polarized responses on the farm. Now I tend to stick with the spices mentioned above or add herbs from the garden like sage, thyme, or rosemary.

The post Pumpkin Butter: In Bread, On Pizza, By the Spoonful first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

Some of the ingredients might illicit skeptical reactions although I’ve yet to find one single traditional mole recipe. There are numerous variations on the theme. A woman I chatted with in the supermarket told me I could not use tamarind paste in mole – but I think she might have a change of heart upon tasting this combo. She did give great chili advice and some neat tips for making tamarind paste from pods – even though this ingredient didn’t meet mole approval.

(Love chatting with people about food while shopping – I always learn something new!)

Three different dried chilies make the base of my mole: mulato (smokey & chocolate-y), acho (sweet & mild), and pasilla (smokey with medium heat). The chilies are toasted, seeded, rehydratred, blended into a paste and cooked in lard (from the farm). To the cooked chilies I add a blended mixture of: sesame seeds, peanuts, tamarind paste, mexican chocolate, garlic, fresh pumpkin purée, brown chicken stock, sea salt, cinnamon, cloves, mexican oregano, and a little agave nectar.

Next time I think I’ll add some tequila too. Well, why not?!?!

I created the mole for a luncheon we hosted for a workshop on fruit tree planting, pruning, and grooming taught by Northern California’s leading fruit tree arborist. It was a fascinating lesson – even if you don’t have an orchard in your backyard. Farmer’s came from all around to learn how to whack and lop correctly and where and when to plant.

I wanted to use our sugar pie pumpkins in an unconventional way. I’m pretty sure everyone who works on the farm is sick of yet another version of my pumpkin pie no matter what “secret” ingredient I try to wow them with. The menu included a palate cleansing salad of kale, fennel, & blood oranges with a honey-apple cider vinaigrette, plantain wheat germ banana bread (not overly sweet), and farmer Kate’s effervescient lemon-ginger elixer to wash everything down.

Look for our Echo Valley Farm Pumpkin Mole starting at the farmer’s market in May! Or make it yourself…

The post Chicken Pumpkin Mole first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

Before I recount this story let me give some background: this is an adventure post (although I’ll weave in food somehow), this area is on mountain lion alert (didn’t get the memo until recently), we don’t have cell phones (they don’t work out here), and we were only going to be gone a little while …

It has really been a storybook week with temperatures in the high 60’s during the day and moonbeams ablazing at night. My boyfriend comes to celebrate Valentine’s day and I have made promises of wood-oven cooked local salmon, fresh baked bread, nettle pesto pizza, local beer made from Echo Valley Farm hops, fire in the hearth, hot tubbing, and long trail runs. Fun!

We like to run together. We like to run about 10 to 12 miles at least. Anything less just feels like a warm-up. We spend the morn testing my new pumpkin butter-rosemary bread while sipping strong hot coffee and staring out onto the farm from the porch of my cabin. It’s a misty magical foggy morning. The sun has disappeared. But it’s still warm and pleasant.

The new adorable mini cow (Bambi) is moo-ing to us, the goats are bleating, the chickens are clucking, and one dozen baby ducklings arrive in the mail. The farm is just too cute for words.

We stuff ourselves and around 3:30 P.M. decide that we should work off our gluttony with a run. I’ve found a few short trail loops around here that I supplement with a little roadside action. But I have it on good word there’s a nice wide trail just a half mile away I have yet to try out.

Loma Mar is a special part of the Bay Area. It’s half way between Santa Cruz and San Francisco, fifteen minutes inland from the Pacific ocean and Pescadero (which is the closest town). It’s at the base of the Santa Cruz mountain range which is basically one enormous wild preserve with a few mountain towns scattered throughout.

Loma Mar is slightly off the grid surrounded with magnificent old growth redwood forests (some of the last remaining) and some State Parks that are mostly empty. And Loma Martians like it like that. I’ve seen the “Don’t Tread On Me” flag flying proud around these parts. Don’t get me wrong, people are super friendly around here and I absolutely think this is heaven on earth, but at the same time it’s pretty common to not know all your neighbors – jes’ like anywhere I s’pose.

We find the entrance to the trail I’ve been searching for and it’s a wide forgotten fire road called “Old Haul”. It’s perfect for running side by side. How romantic! The old gravel bed beneath our feet is littered with redwood tree leaves and it’s nice & bouncy. The air clears our thoughts with the fresh scent of bay laurel, ferns, redwood bark, and moss covered earth. Banana slugs crawl out to greet us – this is what Northern California is all about.

The forest tree canopy keeps the temperature just right for running – not too hot or cold. The fine mist that’s been lightly showering us all day gently washes away our harsh salty sweat and keeps us hydrated. We tear off layers of clothes and pick up our pace as we begin a mild ascent up some unknown part of the Santa Cruz Mountains. I’m feeling so good I could leap and pirouette my way up the hill.

This is called runner’s high: when you feel you can run forever, you relish inner thoughts, you feel one with nature, your heart no longer is pounding but rather sailing along on cruise control, and talking is easy – not labored – with no gasping for air inbetween.

If you run long distances, or even short ones for that matter, you will understand how annoying it is to come back whence the way you came. It is always better to do a loop. At least I think so. Especially when you get that runner’s high going and you want to keep the momentum going forward.

We have seen no trail markers or hikers so far. Which is sort of perfect we think. The woods are just for us today. So we agree to run 45 minutes on Old Haul and then turn around. That way we’ll make it back before dark which is around 6PM out here in the country.

But no. We come across two hikers.

Stopping briefly we ask where the trail we are on is headed. We find out it’s a straight shot to Portola Park – no looping around. I ask stupidly: “By chance do you guys know of any trails that will loop back to Loma Mar that just happen to bisect Old Haul?”

Of course they do…

“See you just go a few miles more up Old Haul trail, then turn on Snaggletooth trail, then take the Bridge trail to the Easterly Pomponio trail, and that brings you back to Loma Mar.” The hikers warn that it’s a good 5 miles. That’s peanuts to us, so we decide we’ll make it back home in plenty of time. They offer to give us their trail map.

“Oh, no thanks.” we politely respond, “That’s okay, we won’t need it, thank you anyways, enjoy the rest of your hike!”

That was mistake numbers: one, two, and three.

We shouldn’t have been running in an area that was closed just two days before because of a Mountain lion attack (not that we knew). We should have stuck to the plan and not run off the main trail, and we should have taken the trail map off those two hikers.

We continue up Old Haul a couple miles more and sure enough we see a marker for Snaggletooth trail. “Wanna do it?” I ask questioningly because the trail entrance is covered with a broken tree branch and it’s a single track that looks like it’s been unloved for a good ten years. “Sure, we can always come back if we want, we know that Old Haul will take us home”.

Snaggletooth trail, like the name suggests, is snaggled with broken branches and it’s muddy but nonetheless fun. We find the most magnificent Sequoia twisting clear up to heaven and it’s probably around 1400 years old.There are so few sequoias in this area that I’ve become familiar their history. It’s one of my favorite trees. I give it a hug and run on.

We find the Bridge trail and head up that and now we’re thinking we are well on our way home. Easy. No turning back now. “Those hiker guys really knew what they were talking about. This is fun! What a great undiscovered run!” I chirp, totally intoxicated from the fresh air and my runner’s esprit.

“Yeah, this is pretty awesome. We certainly have the whole forest to ourselves…” My friend responds just as caught up in the spirit of the adventure.

We come to an intersection of 6 different trails and an illegible trail map that is, by the way, the only one we’ve seen along the way. We see the Pomponio trail the hikers told us to take. We go for it. The time is around 5PM and it is starting to get darker and colder, but no worries…

We take Pomponio trail for a few miles and it’s a fairly flat run which is a welcome relief from the last 8 miles of uphill. We are chatting, breathing in the fresh mountain air, and just having a great time on our little adventure. My calf muscles are cramping but I’m not bitching about it because I know we gotta get home and – we’re almost home anyways.

The trail splits. One way crosses a bridge and leads to a County Jail which is clearly marked with big signs that caution us to stay away. “Crossing this property with alcohol, cigarettes, or drugs is a felony offense…”. The other path, which has an unreadable marker that’s been hacked through or struck by lightening, continues uphill on a nice wide path.

Had I known that the County Jail was really the Boys Juvenile Hall I would have run through it because I know that the entrance leads to Pescadero Creek Road which leads us back to the farm. But I thought it was some hidden county adult jail and the signs were more than off-putting. Too bad for us, because the Pomponio trail we are looking for picks up again just to one side of this correctional facility. How could we have known? Thank you San Mateo County and California State Parks!

“I don’t know if we should turn around now.” My friend says looking at his watch.

“I know. There’s no way we can get through that Snaggletooth trail again in the dark. No way. Too dangerous. There won’t be any light tonight. I think last night was the full moon. This path has got to take us somewhere. It’s got to get us to a road or a park entrance. We can’t be that far from Loma Mar.”

Mistake number four: do not guess where an unmarked trail goes when you are running out of time before it gets dark.

But here’s what was going through both of our heads: what if civilization is just a 1/2 mile away and we turn around and risk running back 9 miles in the dark through some pretty wet precarious trails? What if we’re almost home? We’ve got to be almost home!

The unmarked trail that we are now on just goes steadily up and up and up. The flora and fauna change, the trees become twiggier and the redwoods thinner. Crows circle their nests and caw to each other and at us. (So this is where all those egg stealer’s go! They’ve been driving our chickens crazy!) We are not in Loma Mar anymore that is certain. Every hollowed out tree we pass I try and memorize just in case – just in case we might need some protection and shelter tonight…

Our immediate mission now is to get to the crest of the mountain so we can try and gain some perspective on the situation before the light is totally gone.

We come to another marker. I’m beyond thirsty even though my face is covered with mist, I attempt to wet my palate by licking my lips, instead I get a mouth full of rock salt – blech! This marker now gives 3 new directions not previously mentioned before: the Overlook Loop, the Horse Trail, and the Canyon Trail. There are no mile indicators. We have no idea which one to choose. It’s Russian roulette.

What’s that Mary Ivins quote? The first rule of holes: when you’re in one, stop digging?

Sage advice be damned, we choose the Canyon Trail since it seems to crest the mountain we’ve already climbed. It must come down and out somewhere. We are walking now. Or rather, I am walking because my calves are cramping super bad and it feels like I’m being stabbed in the leg repetitively. My friend is running ahead to try and find trail information and running back with new reports.

“There’s another marker, it’s close, come on, I don’t know where it goes but…”

I force myself to jog (limp) lightly to the next marker. I look at it and I’m perplexed because the trail that we were just on seems to end and now three others begin. “Are you kidding me?!? Three more new trails? What happened to the one we were just on? What is going on with all these trails that just disappear? This is insane!”

One direction reads: Sam MacDonald Park Ranger Station. I know this park well. Or I used to know it well. I camped there when I was a kid all the time. That was only 30 years ago…

I also know that Sam MacDonald Park is not anywhere close to Loma Mar. It’s at least 15 miles away from the farm and higher up in the Santa Cruz Mountains towards the town of La Honda. But I figure we are closer to that now than to anything else considering how much we’ve been running uphill – which feels like 12 miles or more. And San MacDonald Park is a known entity. The other trails could go anywhere…

We are relieved. We have found a marker that makes sense. We run again even though it’s now raining and the trails are slick. My friend takes a bad fall, but brushes it off. He’s covered in mud. Hope is near we think. We are almost home. We are joking again. I’m talking about how good it’s going to feel to jump in the hot tub and quench our thirst with some nice pale ale.

Uh, yeah, right. Wishful thinking.

And besides Farmer’s Kate and Jeff will wonder where we are. They know I wanted to do a farm dinner tonight. We talked about it.  She will come knocking at my cabin and will smell my second batch of bread in my bread machine (no apologies for this little machine, I really like the convenience factor). I’ve told her the menu already: B.L.T.’s with a farm fried egg and roasted blue hubbard-garlic soup. She will see the last of the Echo Valley Farm Bacon defrosting on my counter and surely know that we have gone missing – I would never waste good bacon like that! Oh Lordy, no!

Yeah, and leaving breadcrumbs in the woods is a sure way to find your way back.

What could Farmer’s Kate and Jeff do anyways? Unleash the hounds? Form a search and rescue party? There’s nothing anyone can do in this weather. Not until morning.

The sun, which we have never seen today anyway, is sinking. We are lost. We are alone. We are cold. We are hungry. But we are trying our best to tell each other jokes and keep our spirits up. My boyfriend says encouragingly, “If we can get through this, we can get through anything.”

And I’ve always felt safe in these woods. They’re my woods. I spent many summers here with my parents and the Girl Scouts camping and hiking. I can forage for just about anything out here if need be. But this is not exactly a time to forage. This is a time to figure out where the hell we are and get back to civilization.

The trail that apparently will lead us to the ranger station splits again in four different directions. At this point it is laughable. We have no idea which way to go. We can’t tell North from South because we haven’t seen the sun the whole freakin’ day but my spider senses are telling me we need to go downhill and go fast. We need to find one of the creeks and follow it. Pescadero or La Honda creek – I don’t care. We just need to find one because most of the campsites, houses, and roads are close to them. (Why didn’t I think of this earlier – dumb – mistake number: three thousand and two)

Leaving the wide open space of the crest of the mountain which has provided absolutely no view, we head back into the thick redwood forest following a new path yet again: the Heritage trail. We are walking fast. It’s too dangerous to run. Too many obstacles, too little light, too wet and rainy. We can only see about ten feet in front of us – it’s all just different fuzzy shades of grey at this point. The only thing lighting our way is the lichen that radiates an eerie day-glow green all over the forest. It feels like a haunted house.

I’m leading the way and I luckily stumble on another marker with three more trails that split off from it. I get down on my knees to read it closer because I can’t make out the words in the dim light. One of them is (again) leading to the Sam MacDonald Ranger station. Hallelujah! We’re back on track!

“Did you see that? Did you see something move up ahead?” I ask not sure if my eyes are just playing tricks on me in the dim light and shadows are shifting.

“I can’t see anything. I hope it’s not a skunk! Want me to take the lead?”

“I think my vision is still okay for right now. I’ve got another 10 minutes before it all goes dark on me.”

My friend has picked up a heavy 12 pound walking stick which I am teasing him about it: “You look like a German hiker. Where’s your lederhosen and your mustache? Are you really going to carry that beast the whole way?”. I don’t like to carry walking sticks because I like to have my hands free in case I fall, but…

It’s pitch dark now and only 6:30 P.M. we can’t see to save our lives. My friend is in the lead now with his big walking stick and I am grasping on to the hood of his jacket like a duck on a june bug. That walking stick is our saving grace – I’m eating my words big-time. “Close your eyes,” he says, “We can’t see anything anyway, just focus on feeling the trail”.

He is stabbing the trail with his stick from side to side feeling for the ravine on our right and the mountain bank on our left and I’m doing the same but with my feet.

I have never in my life had to go without the sense of sight and I had no idea just how acute my other senses could be. I am navigating with my feet and I can make out the differences between the hard trail and the soft redwood tree litter of the banks. He says to me what I’ve been thinking for the last hour, “I’m glad I’m getting lost with you. I wouldn’t want to be here with anyone else.” and I know what he means. This isn’t a cute love-line per se, it’s just that we are both in survival mode and freaking out is not an option.

We joke about how you just don’t know some one until you’ve been in a life & death situation with them. Stories I’ve heard recently where hikers make stupid simple mistakes and die run through my mind. I keep this to myself of course. This is not going to happen to us. These are my woods. I was practically raised here.

Shit, I think to myself, I won first place in the Girl Scout regional fire building competition and the botany identification competition at Sam MacDonald park a quarter century ago. And I won first place in these two competitions for four years straight. We are not going to die. Not that I could make a fire in these wet conditions or identify a plant in the night, but we are going to get through this. I didn’t sell Girl Scout cookies for nuthin’!

And trust me, I would really like to cry, but I know it’s not going to get us anywhere. And neither is complaining about my stomach which is eating itself, or my dry throat & dehydration which have shut my voice down completely, or the fact that I really have to pee but I don’t want to stop hanging on to my boyfriend in case we loose each other and I’m not comfortable peeing in the dark. Is that weird or what?

“Stop!” He says. “Where’s the trail? Do you feel the trail? It all feels the same here…” he continues stabbing around for something tangible while I stamp the ground with my feet. Neither of us can find it. And everything that we both know from years & years of backpacking & camping and Eagle Scouts & Girl Scouts clearly states that if you are lost you should make a shelter and stay put. DO NOT WONDER OFF THE TRAIL.

Laugh out loud.

We cannot see each other’s faces which are right next to each other let alone find a place to make a shelter and get ourselves off the wet ground. Fire building? Forget it. Foraging? Yeah, okay. We are going to freeze if we stay put. The sweat on our bodies which felt warm while running is now icing us down. Our jackets are wet, our shoes are soaked through, and there is not a dry body part between the two of us. As much as we’d really like to follow the advice that’s been pounded into our brains since childhood, it’s sort of a toss up between hypothermia or getting lost further in the 5,759 acres of open space preserve. I want my B.L.T. and my beer!

We go down on our hands & knees and feel out the trail, calling to each other and talking loudly so we can find each other again. When I say ‘we can’t see our hands right in front of our faces’, I’m not joking.

“I’ve got it! I’ve got it! It’s this direction!”

“Are you sure? I can’t feel it….”

My friend has found the trail again. It has widened making it difficult to access the edges. Our only prayer is that there is not another stupid trail marker we are missing because we can’t see. We crawl patting our way on the ground. Oh what a relief to find the trail. Good Gawd what a relief!

We navigate switchbacks, ravines, and the wet slimey trail that is covered with fallen logs and trees and branches. We tap the path, we poke the path, we get on all fours and crawl the path. And we do this for two hours. Two hours in complete and utter darkness.

And it’s quiet. Too quiet.

Every now and then we hear an airplane passing overhead and we stop and listen hoping that maybe it’s a car. It never is. What I would do to hear a generator humming, or a camper singing ‘Kumbaya My Lord’ or an off-the-grid crazy guy chainsawing his backyard of trees into a bizarre sculpture garden (um, yes, there are a few of those around here).

And where is the Ranger Station?!!?! WTF?!?!

We are angry now. Not at each other but at the State Parks. The trails are not well marked, the ones that are marked have no mile indications, they are not maintained, and they don’t make any sense. They start and end haphazardly.

“It’s lucky that it’s you and me and not some kid who strayed too far from the campsite…” I couldn’t agree with my boyfriend more, but I’m not feeling so lucky. But it is true: how would a kid figure out anything on these trails? We are trained hikers and we can’t figure out jack.

We navigate another switchback and then I let out a little scream. My friend stops abruptly. “Look! Look!” I say and point to some itsy-bitsy teeny tiny flickering lights. He can’t see me pointing but he can certainly see the lights bouncing up and down in the distance. “It must be flashlights – it must be campers or people looking for us!!!”

I’m delirious obviously.

“Amy, be quiet, we don’t even know what that is. It could be just a reflection. Just stay quiet and let’s get back to the path, what if it’s some crazy person?” he jokes. But I am like a moth to light and I start yelling as loud as poosible, “Hello?!?! Hellllllooooooo!?!?! Helllloooooooo????”.

Nothing. No response.

“See? That light is a long, lonnnnng way off. And it’s throwing off my senses. I need to concentrate. Let’s keep our heads down and start moving…”

He’s right. I quit trying to wake up the dead with my hollering, and we need to keep moving, and the bouncing light could be anything, and it could also be miles and miles away or across another valley. And there is a ravine on our right which is stopping me from just running for it. But our hearts are both pounding with the sense that civilization is close.

We continue and the light disappears which is worrying beyond belief but I know we have to follow the trail. We have no choice. We navigate another hour of switchbacks and then the trail widens once again. We probably have hiked no more than five miles in the last two hours at our shuffle-along pace. We are down on all fours feeling our way.

“It’s a car! A car!!! Oh my God there’s a road ahead!!!” I call out at the sight of a moving traingular-shaped light in the distance.

I want to run, we both want to run towards it but we still can’t judge the distance. The trail is taking us the other direction from the car and we just have to bite the bullet and make our way no matter how far it is. The ravine has evened out so we know we are on level ground, at least we think so. We can’t afford for the trail to take us somewhere else.

We send some prayers up to the moonless starless night that there isn’t a canyon between us and the road. We tap and poke our way around redwood tree stumps and brambles and poison oak and God only knows what else.

Another car drives by in the distance and this time it doesn’t seem more than a mile away. We are laughing. We are going to live! The little lights that were bouncing an hour earlier now come into focus on our right through a thicket of ivy and branches. They are christmas tree lights strung outside a cute little woodsy house. We make our way through the thicket and pray nobody’s pitbull comes after us.

“A house! A real house!!!” I shout out loud.

My friend hangs back, who is covered in mud, while I tap on the door and peer through the window. A nice woman who is clearly afraid to open the door asks me what I want. I can barely speak. She see’s my friend and assumes that we have come to raid her or I don’t now what. And I can’t blame her because if I lived way out past Sam MacDonald’s park practically off the grid, I would feel the same way if some one showed up on my doorstep unannounced.

“Please, we’re lost, we’ve been crawling on our hands and knees through the forest for the last 3 hours because we couldn’t see the path. I live in Loma Mar. Where are we? Can I make a phone call?”

I have started to shake uncontrollably now. The cold has finally set in. She realizes quickly that I’m not faking it although she’s not sure if she want to let us in. She grabs the phone and dials the number I give her. Farmer Kate picks up the phone and she’s worried as all hell. Our story has panned out and the woman gives us a ride back to the farm.

“You’re in La Honda. You came a long way from Loma Mar. And you’re lucky to be alive. There’s been a lot of mountain lion sightings recently and some fatal attacks too. I saw one just the other day and reported it on google. A big male. Very big. Just out back here.” She points to her backyard, which is really the open land preserve, as we climb in her car. “Trust me, they are big, you two are very lucky, most of the trails are closed right now.”

“They are?” I say dumbfounded barely able to form a sentence still shivering away. “I’m sorry if we frightened you, we are so grateful that you’re taking us home, you’re little christmas lights saved our lives. We saw them miles away but we weren’t sure if they were campers or flashlights. Have you ever had hikers show up on your doorstep like that?” I ask wondering if maybe we’re not the first offenders considering the lack of trail maps and markers.

“Oh, you’re not the first.” She says which relaxes us a little as she handles the curvy mountain roads expertly. Only a long-time mountain dweller can drive curves like these at night I think to myself. “But you really are lucky, very lucky, Mountain lions don’t normally attack humans but there’s just been too many of them around here lately…”

I can’t help but to think ignorance is bliss because I know I would have freaked out if I thought there was a mountain lion on my tail. But I doubt any big cat would want to take on two humans – one with a big stick – who keep laughing, yelling, talking, making noise, singing, walking, crawling, and running. My Mom’s favorite saying about what to do if you must confront a mountain lion? Jes’ don’t act like dinner. We didn’t.

We arrive at the gates of Echo Valley Farm and thank our saviour for the lift home. “Now we just have to navigate our way back to the cabin…” my boyfriend jokes because the farm is set about a quarter mile back from the entrance and it’s pitch dark too. But we link our arms and tap the path with our feet and we laugh our way back to the main farm house passing the sleeping chickens, the silent mini-moo, and the sleeping goats.

The moon is nowhere to be seen. The stars are hiding. It’s a blackout night – the darkest I’ve ever experienced on the farm.

Farmer’s Kate and Jeff hug us and we are too tired to recount the story but promise a good one for the morning. We shiver our way back to my cabin, make a fire in the hearth, jump in the shower because the hot tub is way too hot for our frozen limbs, fry up some Echo Valley bacon and take the warm bread out of the bread maker and make some B.L.T’s. We crack open beers. We stuff our faces even though we are nauseous from hunger. We try to sleep.

But sleep doesn’t come to either one of us. Our bodies hurt so much and we can’t get comfortable. The adrenaline is playing games with us. We toss and turn. And morning comes…

My boyfriend says to me, “That was the best Valentine’s Day ever.”

“Really?” I reply in disbelief, because to me it was probably one of the scariest experiences ever.

“Yeah, really, best Valentine’s Day ever. Great adventure ….wanna go for a run?”

“Sure, let me just grab some bear spray, a few protein bars, a mini flashlight, my GPS tracker, and some strike anywhere matches. Wanna go see where we got lost?”

“Yeah, of course I do.”

The post Jes’ Don’t Act Like Dinner first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

“The bad part is…” she says while lying still looking up at us looking down at her. “I’ve just fallen into nettles and they are stinging me and I don’t want to move until some one reaches down and helps me up…”

“The good part is…” she begins as we carefully lift her up avoiding the angry nettle patch. “The good part is – it’s nearly Spring!” And this does call for celebration because soon the whole farm will be bursting in flowers and buzzing with bees and just looking magical again.

It’s not that the kale, cabbage, and broccolini haven’t been inspiring this Winter, it’s just that nettle shoots are always a sign of the changing seasons.

Nettles Sting! Be careful and wear gloves!

Red welts develop on her arms, back of neck, and side of face in front of our very eyes. She likens the sting to red ant bites. Which is not suprising since the same stinging formic acid in red ants is also in the fuzzy hairs of this sprightly leafy plant. Not to mention oxalic acid, tartaric acid, and histamine.

We return back to the farmhouse and grab paper bags and gloves to take our revenge on the offenders. I notice the red welts on Kate’s neck are still there. Nettles sting – they really sting. It’s the price one pays for this little foraged plant that has miraculous curing and protective properties according to forklore, fairy tales, and modern science.

But who’s to say there’s not some truth in it? Can nettles protect from lightening striking if you keep some in your pocket? Will they break a magic spell if sewn into a coat? Will chickens produce more eggs if dried nettles are added to the grain? Do they help with allergies, arthritis, enlarged prostate, and other maladies?

Nutrition wise they are high in iron, vitamin C, and carontinoids. And apparently (ahem – ladies this is just for us…) they are also a diuretic and help with bloating.

I’ve heard it said that nettles taste fishy. To me they taste like spinach and smell like wet hay when cooked. The flavor is very mild. I can see a comparison with nori, but not fish.

I will say they do have a slightly algae like texture after being blanched and blended. Not slimy, but just more viscous than spinach puree. Any method of high heat cooking (I’ve blanched them here as pictured above) is the only way I know to get that stinging to stop. I monitor the cooking/blanching process and test the nettles along the way to see if the painful part has passed. It normally takes about 45 seconds if blanched.

Nettle puree

Blanching greens in salted water and shocking them after in ice water helps to lock in chloroform and it also helps green veggies or purées to stay greener longer even when reheated. That’s a restaurant tip. Just about anything green and cooked that you get on your plate in restaurant will have been blanched and iced before being reheated.

So how does one pick nettles? There’s some Scottish lore to this: if you are a “man of mettle” you shouldn’t have any problems swiping them up with your bare hands. I say put some gloves on and pick the new bright green tips. When nettles start to flower the leaves get tough again.

Once you get a whole large grocery paper bag packed of nettles tips that should make at least one quart of purée. And if you make a whole batch of purée then there are lots of possibilities: soup, pesto, pesto pizza!, chevre beurre monté nettle sauce, pasta, potatoes with nettles and hot bacon vinaigrette…. you get the idea.

It’s easy to make big batches of nettle purée and freeze it then use how you like. And although normally I make pesto by hand in a mortar and pestle, for pizza I wanted something a little more sauce-y so I opted to mix nettle purée to the other ingredients.

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After an onslaught of holiday parties, I am throwing in the cocktail dress and pulling on the workboots. I sink a few bucks into Jeeps McGee’s big belly and put San Francisco in the rear view mirror. Pescadero here I come…

Me and McGee are so in our element. We are noisily cruising down 280, bouncing up and over the curvy Skyline mountains down to Highway 1. I reach Half Moon Bay and my 33-inch flame tread tires screech left onto the Coastal Highway.

Ahhhh, the ocean….

Today is beautiful. The Winter sun crisp illuminating the Pacific on my right like a bright and blinding sequined serpent. The fields on my left bleak and mostly tilled under with random rotting pumpkins left unloved. Cypress trees, like tortured twisted shadows with desperate outstretched arms edge the endless blue. Weathered farms dot the coast.

Artichoke soup, dungeness crab, and  olallieberry pie – here I come!

Farmer’s Kate and Jeff of Echo Valley Farm meet me at Pescadero beach with crowbars and baskets in tow. We find a giant wave washed rock a little too far out in the receding ocean covered with cloistered blue mussels. Prying tools in hand we go to work.

It’s low tide, we should be safe, the tide pools surrounding us are dry and thirsty. Sea cucumbers and anemones hibernate in the squinty bright sun.

Prying bivalves loose, and careful not to destroy the whole entire eco-system, we opt for the bigger ones. The small ones, although tender, are just too much work and not enough meat to show for it.

And then it happens, while our backs are turned and my farmer friends are happily chatting about Spring planting plans – the sea sneaks up on us and takes us all by surprise. We are super soaked!

We grab our gear and make a dash inland trying to find our footing in the tide pools that are now under water. How did that happen?

Back on the farm we dry off and prepare the mussels. This is not a quick process. Wild Mussels are sandy and bearded and covered with mini barnacles.

If storing mussels for a day (or two at the most), kept dry in a single layer in the refrigerator with a damp kitchen towel over top. In a restaurant I store mussels in a perforated tray over ice in the fridge, but never in ice – they will die. Throw away any that have cracked shells. If shells are open tap lightly, if the bivalve closes it is still alive. Otherwise it’s dead.

When ready to use, place mussels gently in a bucket of cold water for 30 minutes. This will help the little bivalves filter out some of the sand. If they are kept in fresh water for an extended time they will die. Under running water scrape and/or scrub off barnacles and remove beard (or byssus) by grabbing the brownish threads with fingertips and yanking back & forth and side to side down by the hinge. Place cleaned mussels into a separate bucket of cold water to continue filtration.

The byssus thread is edible, but sand likes to stick to it and it’s not exactly pleasant to chew – unless you like to eat hair. However, if a few go un-bearded, it’s not the end of the world.

Our bright orange wild mussels taste like Pescadero coast: robust, briney and beautiful. The salty mussel liquor quintuples the white wine I’ve used to steam them open. I’ve never seen so much bivalve liquor before! This I strain with cheesecloth and reserve for various recipes.

Prince Edward Island (PEI) mussels, which are found in most markets, can be steamed directly with other garnishes (Curry & cream? Fennel, saffron & white wine? Tomatoes & capers? Ginger, garlic, & lemongrass?) because they are not sandy and do not need to be strained. Most farmed mussels require just a rinse before using.

But the liquor of wild mussels will need to be strained or the sand left to sink to the bottom of the pot and carefully avoided. I prefer to strain it out but this means my sauce or broth will take extra effort to finish. Totally worth it.

We are taking the mussels to a pot luck party at Pie Ranch down the coast towards Santa Cruz. I opt for a true marinara sauce (a tomato sauce with seafood – as the name implies) for our offering. We cook up pasta, toss it with our rich tomato-caper-mussel sauce enhanced with white wine and mussel liquor, sprinkle chopped parsley over, and head out back along the coast to the barn dance and dinner.

Sun sinking. Sky, a burst of pink and mussel orange. Clouds streaked greyish purple against the flame colored backdrop. Salty sea air stinging noses and wind whipping hair everywhere, we hold on tight in Jeeps McGee.

It’s time to kick up our heels Pescadero style…

The post Wild Mussels! How to Clean & Debeard first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

This goes to show how hard the restaurant business is. I am sure that Elizabeth Falkner will reinvent herself soon either as the next American Iron Chef or in another venue. She is a creative powerhouse. For more info visit the Sf Chronicle post.

I created this clam chowder for Chef E at her request and it quickly became a lunch time favorite. We both agreed that the clams should be whole and in the shell. The soup was made to order every time. And there is no flour or thickener in the broth – just clam stock, white wine, and cream.

Besides the usual clam chowder accoutrements: bacon, potatoes, celery, shallot, and onion I also added thin wedges of fennel, leeks, tarragon, and fried dill.

A good twist of freshly ground black pepper over the top and it’s off the passe and on its way to the table…

The post Citizen Cake Clam Chowder first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

The fleshless fruit imparts a lovely fragrant sweet lemon essence minus the furniture polish aftertaste. Use the zest in just the same way you would a lemon. It can be candied, blended up in vinaigrette (pith included- it’s sweet!), or displayed as a fragrant center piece on the dining room table. It also makes a sexy twist in a glass of champagne.

Take the ingredients of this salad and use them simply or, if you feel like spending an hour on a dish that will be eaten in less than thirty seconds, you can follow my lead!?! I’ve sugared the walnuts with maple syrup, fried Cambozola blue cheese in beignet beer batter, and served the persimmon roasted in honey and sliced raw. Either way the flavor profiles hit all the right notes: sweet, sour, salty, and bitter plus the varying textures make for an exciting first course.

Blue cheese beignets are a guilty pleasure. If you’re not a salad lover they also taste good with a juicy steak. But, it’s hard to resist a crunchy beignet oozing salty blue gooeyness all over a sweet roasted perimmon…

I like kale raw, it’s so much healthier that way. And if I’m popping fried cheese balls in my mouth I favor the idea of a cleansing antioxidant chaser. Here’s farmer Jessica with a fresh picked bunch of curly kale at Echo Valley Farm…

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When multiple side dishes are served at the same time (ahem – Thanksgiving?) some need to be easier than others. Some need to be assembled the day before and baked off the day of – ah shoot – why not plan the whole menu that way?

This is an easy side that’s pretty on the plate. Pancetta wrapped anything is pretty on a plate. Slice the kuri in wedges, wrap in pancetta, stick in your favorite fresh herbs (sage? thyme?), drizzle with honey and roast. Red kuri skin is edible too.

Echo Valley Farm had a bumper crop this year. But if you don’t have a farmer’s market or local farmer in your vincinity check out Whole Foods Market, they carry kuri squash this season.

Roasted Red Kuri Squash (Potimarron), Pancetta & Honey

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I experimented with different types of flour for these biscuits, hoping to create a healthier recipe. The addition of pumpkin pack to the batter keeps whole wheat flour biscuits (like sprouted whole wheat) moist but they do not rise tall even with added leavening. They still taste delicious, but instead of having a flaky filling the crumb is more cake like. Unbleached white flour works best.

Making pumpkin pack is as simple as roasting sugar pie pumpkin wedges in a roasting pan with a 1/4 cup of water covered with tinfoil. When soft, scoop the flesh out and purée. Other squashes can be substituted for pumpkin like Kuri or Kabocha.

Two of the farmer’s at Echo Valley carved messages in the pumpkins while they were still small. Nobody noticed until the pumpkins grew up and the messages stretched and hardened. What fun to find a pumpkin with your name on it in the pumpkin patch!

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In fact I’m drinking American Champagne from California that I have had shipped over. It’s J Champagne from Healdsburg – special stuff. At this rate I’m the only one who’s going to find it special.

This is my first American feast that I am hosting for a large group of ex-pats. My husband is travelling and will be home any minute from Germany. For the first time in our marriage I get to cook Thanksgiving dinner without begrudgingly turning it over to one of our families. We all want turkey more than anything in the world because it symbolizes America. Where once this holiday was just an excuse to get stuffed and wasted and pass out on the couch, now it has meaning: We Are Americans & We Must Eat Turkey & Have Pumpkin Pie or Die!

Seriously, lives depend on it. And specifically mine because the thought of letting down a hungry pack of ex-pats salivating at the bit for some good ol’ fashioned American grub is like telling French peasants to eat cake or brioche or whatever Marie Antoinette said to get her head cut off.

And, I’m attending Le Cordon Bleu so the bar is high and so is the talk around town – if you know what I mean? Expats gossip shamelessly.

Now that I have a French food vocabulary from my prestigious Le Cordon Bleu education I can tell the butcher what I would like and I can actually read his sign outside asking Les Americains to order their dinde (turkey) early this year. I live in the 17th arroindissment about three blocks from L’Arc de Triumph and Les Champ-Élysées and there are many American dignitaries and political people in this area. Shop keepers have caught on to zheez crahzy Americain ‘oliday, ‘ow do you say eet? Tanx-gee-veeng?!?

The French hardly eat turkey. A year later when I start cooking at Guy Savoy, I serve it weekly for family meal. Family meal mostly consists of offal and butcher cuts that are cheap: lamb brains, boudin noir, tongue, etc. so one can see where dinde falls in the French meat hierarchy.

Just to be safe, I order my turkey three weeks in advance.

The week beforehand is spent running around Paris in search of American products. In the Marais, the orthodox Jewish and gay quartier (where else can you get the most amazing falafel ever, then drink champagne under the rainbow flag, then shop in cutting edge designer stores? Love it!) I find the Thanksgiving store. Yes, it is really named the Thanksgiving Store, and it is a total ripoff. But when you’re in the eye of the storm, price is no object.

A bag of pecans for 6 euros? Great. I’ll take 4 please. The euros is trading 1:2 or there abouts at this time. I think $48 is a steal for 4 bags of nuts. I pick up Libby’s pumpkin pack, condensed milk, Marshmello cream just because they have it, cranberry jelly, and Peppridge Farm bread crumbs for stuffing mix. Oh, and a pie pan because pumpkin tart is not the same as pumpkin pie. In just the same way that pumpkin cheesecake will never truly sub out pumpkin pie. It just doesn’t cut it. No matter what, it just doesn’t.

I make my way back on le Metro to my rather conservative quartier and climb the five split level flights of stairs to my gorgeous bourgeois apartment. The days of driving to and from a supermarket and shlepping groceries easily across the threshold to my kitchen counter as opposed to up a 16th century skyscraper are long gone but my calves are looking good and I’m beginning to understand how French women stay toned.

Finally turkey day is here! I am psyched! I have my pecans, my pumpkin pack, my cranberry jelly (yuck but whatevs I can’t find the fresh berries), my pie pan, various winter veggies, and all I need now is to pick up my turkey. But before I can saunter down my two hundred stair steps, I get a call from a classmate:

“Amy, some one said that you have pecans. Do you? Do you have extra? Can I buy some from you? I just need enough for one pie…”

Seriously, I’m like a drug dealer now.

“Yeah, I got some. I can give you one bag.” I say recluctantly because pecan pie can be finicky to make and I really like it and only eat it on Tanx-geev-eeng.

“I’ll pay you double, I just have these ex-pats coming over for dinner and…”

“Yeah, don’t worry, I got you covered.”

“I promise I’ll get you back.”

We make the exchange at my apartment within the hour and I can see her expression of desire mixed with jealousy as she glances over my assortment of American canned products and various American wines. And make no mistsake about it, Thanksgiving in Paris is big business and all the ex-pat stores sell out of the Americana foods quickly. I have also set the table with American linens from Williams-Sonoma and this adds to her contained resentment. Feeling guilty in my pilgrim decadence I fork over another bag of pecans.

When I do Thanksgiving, I do thankgiving. I don’t care what country I’m in and I have spent one third of my life living outside America. I’ve lived in London, Ireland, India and now Paris and I know darn well Thanksgiving is one of the hardest holidays to not celebrate. Christmas or Hannukka you can do just about anywhere – even India – but not Thanksgiving. I brought these linens with me when I first arrived in Paris and the wine too and my good old out of print edition of Joy of Cooking for authentic holiday recipes.

I walk my classmate out the door and make a dash for the butcher shoppe and my turkey. My butcher pulls out a bird wrapped in paper and my mouth drops. You call this is a turkey?

C’est quoi, monsieur? Mon dinde? (What’s that, my turkey?)

Buh qui cherie, tu es Americain non? (Yes dear, you’re American no?)

Qui, mais il est trop petit! Les dinde Americain sont gros! (Yes, but it is too small! The American turkeys are big!)

The butcher laughs and tells me how he has heard about these huge American birds. He reminds me that I wouldn’t be able to fit a bird that size in my oven. Most French ovens are small because most French kitchens are tiny. Yet French men and women cook up miraculous meals without the gargantuan kitchens we find so necessary in the States.

Deflated, I take my bird home. How is this tiny poor thing going to feed everybody? I should have bought two. I didn’t even ask what size the bird was because I was just happy to be able to get one and no one asked me – for that matter – what size I wanted or how many people I was cooking for!

It is 2P.M and guests are arriving in 2 hours. We have planned an early dinner just like in the States. The eating and drinking will go on all night without a doubt. I have pecan and pumpkin pies cooling on the counter, yams cooking on the stove top, brussel sprouts ready to roast, turkey stock reducing for extra turkey gravy, bird roasting, stuffing waiting to be baked after bird because there’s no room in the oven, potatoes boiling, carrots simmering in tarragon butter, heater going strong because it’s freezing cold outside…

…and the electricty dies.

It just cuts out. I flip back on the circuits and they flip back off. I pop open a bottle of J Champagne and start drinking. Liquid courage. What am I going to do? I call my French girlfriend Marine who will be joining us for dinner. “Amy, c’est normal, you have too many burners on, you cannot use all that electricity in a Parisian kitchen. Can you cook the turkey at your neighbor’s house?”

I knock on my neighbor’s door and they are mysteriously silent even though I can see lights on. Perhaps they have a six sense about this Holiday? And then the inspiration dawns on me: take the turkey back to the butcher and see if he will stick it on his enormous floor to ceiling rotisserie.

My butcher is confused at first when I try to explain what I want him to do. He thinks I am trying to return the turkey after I have already started to cook it. My French fails to transcend language and culture boundaries. So I do what any self respecting American would: I motion for him to follow me to the rotisserie and I mime bird on skewer turning around and around. The butcher laughs. I knew those years of acting school would pay off somehow.

He puts it on the skewer and asks if I want farce inside the bird. This is stuffing. I tell him no thank you but register the idea for next year. I’m not a big fan of the French version of stuffing, it’s too dense with too many unidentifiable mixed meats, like ham and sausage. And it tends to come out of the bird like an unbreakable football. I think this is because Americans normally toast the breadcrumbs first or dry them out and they don’t.

I run back through the snow that is now falling heavily but soft and silent and sprint up to my apartment. My breath is cold and steams the air as I leap stairs two at a time. My apartment is still blistering hot and I tear off my hat, gloves, and jacket that are now wet from snowflakes melting.

Et voilà, my electricity decides it wants to come back on and stay on once I flip the switches. I pop the stuffing in the oven, and then brussel sprouts, mash the potatoes, candy the yams, reduce the turkey stock. But wait! What will I do about the gravy? Zoot Alors (shit!)! That’s my favorite part! You can’t have turkey without gravy!

Guests arrive, the remainder of the champagne is poured, and I pop open oysters on the half shell for hors d’oeuvres and pass smoked salmon & caviar on blinis. Putting my wet winter gear back on I race – a little tipsy – down the stairs and up the street to my butcher.

Wow, my turkey is sexy. Especially compared with the small little poulets next to it. It’s perfectly cooked and glistening a warm reddish chestnut brown color that only turkey’s can when roasted. He packages it for me, and sends me home with two huge jars of jus.

How did he know I would need that so badly for my gravy? And why even bother with the gravy when there is rich salty jus from the forty birds he’s been rotissering. I love, love, love that drain tray that catches all the good stuff.

I race back with my bird, this time taking the stairs more cautiously with my precious cargo underarm, and serve up the most amazing turkey I’ve ever had. Forget the brine, or the deep fryer, or the barbecue; turkey on the rotisserie is succulent with crispy skin and breast meat that doesn’t taste like sawdust.

And size does matter. The smaller the better. Next year I will order two turkeys.

In my family we have a tradition that before we feast upon the foods we take hands and say one thing we are thankful for. I am still relatively new to Paris and not missing home just yet, but I am grateful for my family and friends and especially for my butcher. My ex-pat friends who have been living in Paris, some for over ten years, choke up during their turn to share what they are grateful for. When you are living far from home, the thoughts of what it means to be American come flooding back unexpectedly with a wave of patriotism not previously unearthed.

We dig in, drink heartily, pig out on pie, and retire to the living room for after diner drinks, music, laughter, and dancing.

Next year my butcher places a sign outside his shop reminding Americans to order turkeys early and advertising that he will rotisserie the birds for a small extra charge. Yes, some things I am very thankful for.

The post A Parisian Thanksgiving first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

These little peppers are almost out of season. In fact they should be totally out of season but this summer has come and gone a little late on the West coast. At Echo Valley we love padron peppers and put them in everything: sliced in salads and on pizzas, grilled with sausages or shrimp, and braised in stews.

Our favorite way to eat these sweet mildly spicy peppers is simple. And it has become the go to appetizer after an exhausting day of selling at the Farmer’s markets. We like to get a skillet hot with a small splash of cooking oil (sometimes toasted sesame oil, but be careful it has a low smoke point) and throw the peppers in stems and all quickly tossing them around until they are blistered.

We plate them in a pile, top with crunchy Maldon salt, and dip them in whatever we feel appropriate. Sometimes Kate makes her famous Echo Valley Farm ranch dressing or I make a little ponzu sauce. Sometimes we just eat them plain!

The post Padron Pepper Appetizer first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.