tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-328697052024-03-13T21:39:57.271-07:00The Mostly Edible Motley CrewA blog about anything...and foodSonyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714998998905571970noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32869705.post-42959826302603878032010-01-12T21:13:00.000-08:002010-01-12T21:18:58.792-08:00My Sabbatical<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Sweet Disposition” by The Temper Trap</span></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">So, yes, someone has had a lengthy absence away from writing. I suppose you could say that I have been otherwise prioritizing my time. I do </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">almost</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> regret not documenting some of my DC “firsts.” I emphasize the </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">almost</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> because I am trying to make it a practice to never regret any one of my experiences or actions. The latter is much more difficult to accomplish, and requires constant practice and reminding.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">To sum up the rest of my first year in this beautiful capitol city, I experienced what I was constantly told was a mild winter; it deceitfully eased into a blisteringly hot summer, with skin that glistened the moment you stepped outside. Each day I’d hear the warning: “It’s going to get hotter, mark my words.” Nary a person was able to convince me that I was finally back on the East Coast and no longer in the temperate desert by the sea that is also known as Los Angeles. But the short perfect spring breathed its final windy sigh, and the notoriously selfish summer shouldered in, heaving its thick humidity the likes of a sauna with a trail of flying insects that ruled from noon to night.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The level-eyed looks of “I told you so” deservedly followed the flying insects, and al fresco dining turned into a rite of passage if you dared, but most people did not.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Mr. Weather aside, I continued to enjoy peeling back the layers of this city full of workaholics, group houses, closet hookah addicts, and bourbon lovers.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I moved into a classic gray rowhouse with a brick wall, high ceilings, and wood floors.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I also experienced my first steeplechase, the Gold Cup (wealthy northern Virginia’s pouty answer to the Kentucky Derby, replete with its own version of the mint julep, wide-brimmed hats, pretty girls in sundresses, and drunken fraternity boys in madras print pants).</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I discovered coat checks, late happy hours, and made-to-order cocktails by intelligent and snarky bartenders.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And just as the summer was finished going through my closet of inappropriate clothes, ruining each of my favorite blouses with over-applied deodorant, it up and disappeared leaving a picturesque autumn foliage in its wake.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The change was that sudden, too.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It seemed to happen in one weekend…unlike the beautiful autumn season which kept hedging its bet and would record daily temperatures differing sometimes by as much as 20 degrees.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But it did follow the summer, and now, exactly one year later, I am experiencing one of the coldest winters DC has had in decades.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">With freezing temps and a brutal windchill, I was sure that people would hole themselves up either at home or in the office.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But, to my welcomed surprise, everyone is still out and about, overflowing local pubs, shopping with purpose, and generally continuing to pump this city with a pedestrian lifeblood that is only possible in a town such as this.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I’m now settled comfortably at a back table in a busy coffee shop complemented by a full bar, happily lapping up a warm glass of mulled wine.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">This coffee shop is quid pro quo for the city, too, with interesting home-grown urban artwork hanging on the walls and servers dressed with a touch of hipster (skinny jeans with bright seams, hair tied up in scarves, and sporting Converse All-Stars).</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The music bounces back and forth from obscure indie rock to obscure indie hip hop.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Large comfy armchairs are squeezed around small tables full of patrons, some with laptops, many just enjoying good coffee, laughing over a table of bread, mint leaves, and Greek yogurt.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">A Jamaican eatery opened up a couple of blocks from my place, and I think I’m going to try it for dinner tonight.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Downstairs burgers made from odd meats like goat and bison are served, and upstairs deejays spin Jamaican music.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">This effort was born from the same owners of several of my favorite establishments in the city; I have high expectations (and hopes) for it.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">So, I believe this hastily patches up my lack of blogs for my first year here.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">My recipe will hopefully be following the blog soon.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It’s a really delicious spaghetti recipe; it is really </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">that</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> good!</span></span></p>Sonyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714998998905571970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32869705.post-32359443532238397072009-01-28T15:16:00.000-08:002009-01-28T15:33:46.368-08:00A Francophile in the City<em>"Jardin d'hiver" by Keren Ann</em><br /><br />It is no secret that I am a little bit of a Francophile. I love the food and wine, the clothes, the attitude, the borrowed words…like connoisseur, rendezvous, décolletage, faux pas, patois, soiree. French words just exude this self confident sense of <em>sassy</em>, disguised as flirty little tongue-twisters that tease when they stumble through your teeth and lips, unhurried and impudent, sometimes clumsily, daring you to take that small mental leap into the inappropriate.<br /><br />The inappropriate….<br /><br />Without revealing my sources, mind you, this brings to mind a recent, thoroughly enjoyable, French experience that I happened upon…after several missed opportunities…and wearing what looked like an Hermes orange scarf (so said my friend as she espied our covert planning in the corner, all smiles, all double entendre). It was the last night of a string of happy, celebratory days and nights. I was on a high, from too much wine perhaps or from the momentum that had slowly built up over the night's activities even or maybe from the fact that this was the last time to take advantage of a very willing, and very qualified, advocate for the selfish arts of indulgence and gratification. I honestly wasn't sure which. I just know that a cab ride and two glasses of Makers-rocks later, I had arrived at the door of sheer and utter, beautifully inappropriate disbelief.<br /><br />I do feel like lately I have been enjoying that kind of delicate balance, the one between instant reward and…dancing around it tauntingly. There is something deliciously conscious, purposeful, and patient about it, like a foreplay. It's become this intriguing game of self discipline and self discovery. How long can I keep myself at bay, hold myself at arm's length, how long…with anything? At what point does it turn into a self imposed punishment, of sorts of course? I do know that as long as I am enjoying this slow, patient game of wills, I'll continue to play it.<br /><br />Back to my Francophilia, there is this French song that I've recently fallen in love with, fittingly called "Jardin d'hiver" (which means "Winter Garden"), and I keep playing it over and over again (every version that I own). It puts me in that soft, unhurried mood. Makes me want to…dally a little, enjoy that extra glass of something, slip into anything comfortable, and lengthen my acute experience, prolong it, whatever it happens to be.<br /><br />It also makes me want to...enjoy a digestif, one that by its own flavor combo I am forced to drink slowly, almost gingerly. Like a classic cocktail. <a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hp71nhsYTlw/SYDoQ71jNKI/AAAAAAAADXQ/wyiWNXML8U8/s1600-h/Old+Pal.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296488539425551522" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 132px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hp71nhsYTlw/SYDoQ71jNKI/AAAAAAAADXQ/wyiWNXML8U8/s200/Old+Pal.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><strong><a name="sidecar"></a>Sidecar</strong><br /><br /><em>The Original from Harry's Bar - Paris</em><br /><br />1 1/2 oz. Brandy<br />1/2 oz. Triple Sec<br />1/2 oz. Lemon or Lime Juice<br /><br />Combine all the ingredients in a shaker filled with ice, shake well and strain into a cocktail glass.Sonyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714998998905571970noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32869705.post-92186725739942553572008-12-15T22:01:00.000-08:002008-12-24T04:59:26.529-08:00For Goodness' Sake<span style="font-style: italic;">“It’s Amazing” by Jem</span><br /><br />No tree, lights, or decorations up in my place, and not because I’m a Scrooge. I love the holidays at this time of year, all of them (Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Christmas, etc.). My time has just been otherwise prioritized (i.e., work). This is also my first holiday in a while in a new city, one that is known for being breathtaking and brightly lit during this time of year. Preparations for the approaching history-making inauguration have somewhat muted the regular round-the-town holiday fare, I’m sure, but I can still see glimpses of it in store fronts and on street corners. The city still seems to sparkle.<br /><br />I can also tell it’s the holiday season by the weather.<br /><br />We have actually already experienced a few flurries, wispy ones that don’t stick to anything, but could tingle your tongue if you allow them to. And we have had some rain.... Just a few nights ago I was making my way home from apre-late-worknight-drinks, and there was this cold and heavy rain that I had to battle my way through with a small, inadequate, but better-than-nothing, umbrella, bracing myself against the faintest wind that would every now and again sweep the rain sideways and turn my inadequate umbrella into a completely ineffective one. I soldiered on, with my inexplicable (some might even call “idiotic”) half-smile, while others shouldered past me purposefully in appropriate early-winter attire, oblivious to what they would hardly call a sprinkle. Silly southern California girl.<br /><br />Of course, there are other telltale signs of the holiday season. Everyone around seems to be more positive, more polite, friendlier. Granted, I could be subconsciously feeding into a proverb in the Bible: “He who seeks good finds goodwill.” Regardless, I’d rather be a misguided reveler than any alternative. There’s an insurance company with a commercial that starts out with one person helping someone else out, and another person seeing it and in turn helping someone else out, which is then witnessed by someone else, and so on. The idea of the commercial is not foreign to me. A few years back I remember this movement that promoted random acts of kindness (a popular coffee table book was published on the topic, I'm sure even Oprah touted it, etc.). I remember trying it, a random act of kindness; I sent a “thinking of you” note to an old friend that I knew was very sick and hadn’t been able to be out and about in a while. We hadn’t really been in touch either (in large part my fault because I’m horrible at keeping in touch with anyone). Her response to my note couldn’t have been more warming or more appreciative. I was startled at how my little amount of effort produced such a fountain of positivity and good energy. If I had the discipline, I’d practice it more often (gift-wrapping at a Georgetown bookstore for donations to a not-for-profit doesn’t quite seem as satisfying as working a soup kitchen in South Central Los Angeles on Thanksgiving day, but it was still really fun, and the intention was there, no?).<br /><br />This past weekend, on my long walk home with a friend, from the best fried chicken in the city (i.e., The Hitching Post), I was bundled in two scarves, thick mittens, and a long jacket. We were actually passing a garden shop full of what looked like a massive group of carolers inside. I turned to my friend after I noticed that they were all men, and mouthed, “Are they the Gay Men’s Chorus?” since every major city has one (LA’s is one of the best I’ve ever heard). She, one of my trusted DC locals, shrugged uncertainly, so we walked inside to listen to them, and asked who they were. One of the singers responded proudly: “We’re gay.” A round of laughter followed by a: “Yes, we are the Gay Men’s Chorus.” And then they proceeded to share their beautiful, simple gift; they sang carols, lovely, heartfelt, harmonious carols. We were able to stay for two before we had to leave because my friend had a train to catch.<br /><br />So, all this to say that while my little place doesn’t have any decorations or lights up inside, I still feel the blister of winter approaching as well as the hope of a long break over the anticipated holidays and the sparkle that this city is letting off (another idiotic smile), whether altruistically or intentionally. This is the closest I’ve come in a long time to feeling like it really is that “time of year when the world falls in love.”<br /><br />Now be good to yourself and fall in love with these holiday cookies courtesy of Bridget Klein from Louisville, Kentucky.<br /><br /><a href="http://shine.yahoo.com/channel/food/an-irresistible-diet-friendly-delight-328760/"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Princess Tea Cakes</span></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://a323.yahoofs.com/phugc/GRPDFmAmFDMR/photos/6a4ec69f480879a29115584f5b96419e/ori_2cfd7f5b04482a.jpg?ug_____DZWrjEqJ2"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; width: 139px; cursor: pointer; height: 139px;" alt="" src="http://a323.yahoofs.com/phugc/GRPDFmAmFDMR/photos/6a4ec69f480879a29115584f5b96419e/ori_2cfd7f5b04482a.jpg?ug_____DZWrjEqJ2" border="0" /></a><br /><br />To make ahead: Prepare the dough (Steps 2 and 3), cover and refrigerate for up to 1 day. Store the cookies in an airtight container at room temperature for up to 3 days. Roll in the second coating of confectioners' sugar just before serving.<br /><br />3/4 cup canola oil<br />1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour<br />3/4 cup white whole-wheat flour<br />2 cups confectioners' sugar, divided<br />3 tablespoons cornstarch<br />1/8 teaspoon salt<br />1 teaspoon vanilla extract<br />3/4 cup very finely chopped nuts, such as pecans, walnuts or hazelnuts<br /><br />1. Preheat oven to 400°F.<br />2. Pour oil into a medium bowl. Whisk all-purpose flour, white whole-wheat flour, 1/4 cup confectioners' sugar, cornstarch and salt in another bowl.<br />3. Mix half the dry ingredients into the oil by spoonfuls. Scrape down the sides of the bowl and add vanilla. Mix in the remaining dry ingredients by spoonfuls until thoroughly combined. (The mixture will resemble creamed butter and brown sugar.) Stir in nuts.<br />4. Roll the dough into 1-inch balls; place about 1 inch apart on an ungreased baking sheet.<br />5. Bake the cookies until just set, being careful not to let the bottoms get too brown, 10 to 12 minutes. Cool on the pan for 2 minutes; transfer to a wire rack to cool slightly.<br />6. When the cookies are still warm, but no longer hot, roll them in the remaining 1 3/4 cups confectioners' sugar and place them back on the rack to continue cooling. (Reserve the sugar.)<br /><br />When the cookies are completely cool, roll them in the sugar again.<br /><br />Makes 3 dozen cookiesSonyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714998998905571970noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32869705.post-84362368501156260452008-11-08T21:04:00.000-08:002008-11-08T21:11:33.007-08:00New in DC<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CSonya%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Batang; panose-1:2 3 6 0 0 1 1 1 1 1; mso-font-alt:바탕; mso-font-charset:129; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-1342176593 1775729915 48 0 524447 0;} @font-face {font-family:"\@Batang"; panose-1:2 3 6 0 0 1 1 1 1 1; mso-font-charset:129; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-1342176593 1775729915 48 0 524447 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:Batang; mso-fareast-language:KO;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="">“Dreamworld” by Robin Thicke</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CSonya%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Batang; panose-1:2 3 6 0 0 1 1 1 1 1; mso-font-alt:바탕; mso-font-charset:129; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-1342176593 1775729915 48 0 524447 0;} @font-face {font-family:"\@Batang"; panose-1:2 3 6 0 0 1 1 1 1 1; mso-font-charset:129; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-1342176593 1775729915 48 0 524447 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:Batang; mso-fareast-language:KO;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:.5in .5in .5in .5in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> </p><p class="MsoNormal">Moves are never short of a few hiccups.<span style=""> </span>Mine should have had me at wit’s end, but with my refreshed vision (my relocation to the east coast largely to blame), I’m tending to take hiccups much less seriously now.<span style=""> </span>My priorities seem to be more in the order that I would ideally like them to be in, and I find myself wearing this constant smile.<span style=""> </span>In short, I feel renewed and alive, and I’m eagerly and pleasantly surprised as I look underneath each new rock in this gloriously different city.<span style=""> </span>As is my nature with almost all things new and unknown to me, my curiosity is near unquenchable.<span style=""> </span>And this city is not disappointing me at all.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This city has got me hooked.<span style=""> </span>From the moment I wake up, slowly uncoil myself from bed, and realize that I’ll be stepping out into a completely new neighborhood with refreshingly brisk weather, lined with cobblestoned sidewalks, trees with changing leaves, shiny Vespas, and parked cars that are settled in for the week waiting to be used for weekend trysts...<span style=""> </span>From the moment that I smell the brewing coffee delicately wafting into my bedroom from my cozy, little kitchen, enticing me to gingerly crawl out of bed and endure the cold slate floor so that I can pour a steamy mug to leisurely enjoy while I ease into my morning…<span style=""> </span>From the moment that I know that I will have to wear a jacket and a scarf to wrap up in while I indecisively pick my way through the neighborhood streets to work, passing ivy-covered row houses, international embassies, the National Geographic Society, at least eight coffee houses…</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">From these simple, yet new and cherished moments…to that moment when I discover a soon-to-be favorite quasi-hidden watering hole full of interesting people chilling to an interesting deejay nestled in between shelves of dusty books in a small alcove spinning interesting music…<span style=""> </span>Or that moment when a tall, mysterious stranger walks past me with his serious and penetrating eyes, thick wavy hair, pressed dark suit, and dangerously deep dimples, and his fragrance faintly reaches my senses, tickles my skin, and makes me blush.<span style=""> </span>And then that moment when suddenly he appears behind me at the door of that dark lounge and follows me in, with a mischievous smile, escorts me up the stairs, and buys me an extra dry, completely dirty, martini…<span style=""> </span>But this is not about him.<span style=""> </span>This is about me, and I cannot devote my attention to any one person or thing because my attention span does not allow it.<span style=""> </span>Let alone some handsome stranger with an exotic accent and an exotic name.<span style=""> </span>Instead I tuck away a business card with an appreciative nod…and find myself drawn to that moment when I’m seated at a cozy dark wine bar that is walking distance to my place and I discover that it serves my favorite varietal of wine, Montepulciano, by the <i style="">glass</i>.<span style=""> </span>And as I take my first sip, I feel like I’m suddenly moving in slow motion, and arriving at this comfortable nook in my mind where I can sit for a while and mentally pontificate over silly little nothings.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I am falling for this city, completely falling for it.<span style=""> </span>Others have mistakenly compared it to much larger, more impersonal cities.<span style=""> </span>I myself come directly from one of those.<span style=""> </span>But I am not making the same mistake.<span style=""> </span>DC is very much created in its own image with its own personality, and has its own problems with its own glorious moments (i.e., election night, with an energy that I will never forget; I’ll save that experience for another blog).<span style=""> </span>This city is not trying to be anything else, not that I have seen so far.<span style=""> </span>And while it heavily suggests of the northeast, in many respects it also hints of the south.<span style=""> </span>And that is how I’ve come upon the following recipe.<span style=""> </span>It’s an old dish that I loved and enjoyed years ago, and since moving to DC, I have had the hallowed experience of revisiting this dish, rather multiple updated variations of it because, oddly and pleasantly enough, it is served in so many places here.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Ah, yes.<span style=""> </span>Welcome to DC…or as I find myself feeling more and more like saying: welcome home.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="">Shrimp Grits</b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.timeinc.net/recipes/i/recipes/cl/03/07/shrimp-grits-cl-451836-l.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 138px; height: 138px;" src="http://img.timeinc.net/recipes/i/recipes/cl/03/07/shrimp-grits-cl-451836-l.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><o:p> </o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Grits, instant or otherwise</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">1 medium white onion, minced<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">1 garlic clove, minced<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">1 pound andouille or spicy Italian spicy sausage, cut in chunks<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">1/4 cup all-purpose flour<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">2 cups chicken stock<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">2 to 3 bay leaves<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">2 pounds large shrimp, peeled and deveined, tails on<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Pinch cayenne pepper, adjust to personal preference<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">1/2 lemon, juiced<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Kosher salt <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">Freshly ground black pepper <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">2 tablespoons finely chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="">4 green onions, sliced</span></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Follow the instructions on the package for the grits.<span style=""> </span>Place a deep skillet over medium heat and coat with the olive oil. Add the onion and garlic; saute for 2 minutes to soften. Add the sausage and cook, stirring, until there is a fair amount of fat in the pan and the sausage is brown. Sprinkle in the flour and stir with a wooden spoon to create a roux. Slowly pour in the chicken stock and continue to stir to avoid lumps. Toss in the bay leaves. When the liquid comes to a simmer, add the shrimp. Poach the shrimp in the stock for 2 to 3 minutes, until they are firm and pink and the gravy is smooth and thick. Add the cayenne pepper, Tabasco and lemon juice. Season with salt and pepper; stir in the parsley and green onion. Spoon the grits into a serving bowl. Add the shrimp mixture and mix well. Serve immediately.</p>
<br /><i><span style=""></span></i><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span><p></p> Sonyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714998998905571970noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32869705.post-68888131031084061822008-10-05T09:03:00.000-07:002008-10-05T09:16:56.728-07:00My Fond Farewell to California<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} h1 {mso-margin-top-alt:auto; margin-right:0in; mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; margin-left:0in; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; mso-outline-level:1; font-size:24.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} a:link, span.MsoHyperlink {color:blue; text-decoration:underline; text-underline:single;} a:visited, span.MsoHyperlinkFollowed {color:purple; text-decoration:underline; text-underline:single;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--><o:p></o:p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="">“California Soul (Diplo / Mad Decent Remix)” Marlena Shaw and Diplo</i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><i style=""><o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I decided to end my time in California by doing something exclusive to this large and mostly sunny state.<span style=""> </span>I headed up the coast to Napa, the first seriously taken wine region in the country, with some of my closest friends for some good ole winetasting.<span style=""> </span>We visited Artesa, Domaine Chandon, Cakebread, Mumm, Duckhorn, and a random tasting room in downtown Napa; we also had dinner at <a href="http://www.bistrojeanty.com/">Bistro Jeanty</a>, a yummy French eatery in Yountville.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In true California fashion, and leading up to this winetasting trip, I managed to fit in a few other Cali-isms: dinner at <i style=""><a href="http://www.hotelbelair.com/">the<span style="font-style: normal;"> Hotel Bel-Air</span></a></i>; wine at <a href="http://www.primitivowinebistro.com/">Primitivo</a>, a cozy tapas and wine bistro; beer at <a href="http://www.theotheroom.com/">the Otheroom</a>, a dark, LA-trendy beer/wine joint in Venice; homemade margaritas on the sand in Hermosa Beach (thanks, U and W); dancing at <a href="http://www.sharkeez.net/hb/home">Sharkeez</a>, a frat-row-type bar, and karaoke at <a href="http://www.fennersfishack.com/">Fat Face Fenner’s Fishack</a>, a dive-y seafood joint, both in Hermosa.<span style=""> </span>I even managed cocktails at the ever-growing popular <a href="http://www.jloungela.com/">J Lounge</a>, a new Asian fusion resto-lounge known for its $3-Grey Goose martinis before 3 p.m. (after 3 p.m. the price adjusts to about $20 each) in downtown LA, and I was able to sneak in a last <i style=""><a href="http://ediblemotleycrew.blogspot.com/2006/09/super-8.html">Super 8</a></i> dinner at <a href="http://www.rushstreetculvercity.com/">Rush St</a>., a modern quasi-sports bar/resto that recently hosted a French Tuesday, located in Culver City, the new hot spot for restaurants in LA.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Hmmmm….<span style=""> </span>My intention right now is not to provide a laundry list of what I’m grateful for in California or what or who I’ll miss.<span style=""> </span>Don’t know how long (or short) that list would be anyway, and I’m not in a mood to get nostalgic right now and confront my last ten-some-odd years.<span style=""> </span>Admittedly I am feeling a little jaded right now.<span style=""> </span>I have a head cold (which I’m sure I can attribute to lack of sleep mixed with a little bit of stress), and I am sitting in an airport waiting to head back east for a permanent time.<span style=""> </span>I am actually thinking that I am homeless right now.<span style=""> </span>I do not officially move into my new place in DC until this weekend, and in the interim I will be staying with family in the south.<span style=""> </span>For the next four days I will be living out of three suitcases and settling final arrangements for my perma-reloke to the east coast.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Honestly, if I were to think about what I’m leaving behind as I head back east I might start to seriously reconsider what I’m doing.<span style=""> </span>Well, no, I take it back.<span style=""> </span>I wouldn’t.<span style=""> </span>I’m very conscientiously making this decision, and without regret.<span style=""> </span>I could wax on about how excited I am to have seasons again and live in an area where mass transit is taken seriously.<span style=""> </span>I could, but again, I won’t.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Instead…if you will forgive me for reneging on my earlier statement about not getting nostalgic, I can’t help but smile as I fondly remember just a few of my favorite Cali-patois, and thus give myself the closure that every girl needs in a long relationship that has finally ended…hopefully healthily.<span style=""> </span>Much of these are most likely targeted at southern California, Los Angeles, to be specific, a city where most of its residents are not homegrown, but from everywhere else, and a city where these same residents both love and hate it…with a decided passion--and yet they find themselves unable to leave it.<span style=""> </span>My move is not unprecedented, but it is still infrequent enough to be considered unusual.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Okay already.<span style=""> </span>I bid adieu to some of my Cali-faves: al fresco dining—year-round, the best resto wine lists west of the Rockies (probably east, too), sunshine 350 days of the year, an underrated music scene, beach volleyball nets as far as the eye can see, tailgating with one of the top college football programs ever, seeing movies before anyone else does, valet parking, beautiful people everywhere, a respectably growing resto/foodie scene (that includes two of my fave chefs: Govind Armstrong and Suzanne Goin), Pinkberry, the ability to snowboard and surf in the same day, Vegas close enough to be an occasional playground, the 6-Man Beach Volleyball tournament, my hula family, really good Mexican food (even though I’m not a big fan of Mexican), really good sushi (and I am a big fan of sushi), earthquakes, the strongest business school network I’ve ever come across, Peter Pans (young and old), movie studios, talent agencies (a la CAA and Endeavor), area codes making an impression, carpooling, multiple social hubs, multiple business hubs, awards ceremonies, beach cities, In-n-Out served protein-style-animal-style, the Hollywood Bowl, late-night Roscoe’s chicken and waffles.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I need to stop and take a breath…and go ahead and end this by (I think) aptly borrowing from the classic George Burns and his wife Gracie Allen: “Say goodnight, Gracie.<span style=""> </span>Goodnight.”…oh, and include one of my favorite flavor combos (burrata, tomatoes, and basil), done best by one of my favorite chefs.</p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Govind Armstrong's Burrata, Japanese Tomatoes, Panzanella, Wild Arugula</span><br /></p><h1 style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size:12;"><span style="font-size:100%;"></span><o:p></o:p></span></h1> <p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; 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<w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} h1 {mso-margin-top-alt:auto; margin-right:0in; mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; margin-left:0in; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; mso-outline-level:1; font-size:24.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--></p><p></p><h1 style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size:14;"><o:p> </o:p></span></h1> <p class="MsoNormal">1 cup plus 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, plus more for drizzling</p> <p class="MsoNormal">3 sprigs thyme</p><p class="MsoNormal">1 large clove garlic, smashed</p> <p class="MsoNormal">3 slices rustic sourdough bread, torn into tiny pieces</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sea salt and cracked black pepper to taste</p> <p class="MsoNormal">2 tablespoons white balsamic vinegar or red wine vinegar</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">2 pints mini Japanese heirloom tomatoes, blanched and shocked, then peeled</p> <p class="MsoNormal">1/4 hothouse cucumber, split lengthwise, seeded and very thinly sliced</p> <p class="MsoNormal">1/2 small red onion, thinly julienned</p> <p class="MsoNormal">3 sprigs flat-leaf parsley, leaves only</p> <p class="MsoNormal">1 sprig basil, leaves only</p> <p class="MsoNormal">4 medium-ripe Japanese beefsteak/heirloom tomatoes, thinly sliced in rounds and kept together</p> <p class="MsoNormal">1 (16-ounce) tub fresh burrata cheese</p> <p class="MsoNormal">1 large bunch (about 6 ounces) wild or baby arugula</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Begin by preparing the olive-oil-fried croutons. Heat a heavy-bottomed sauté pan over medium-high heat. Add 1 cup of the olive oil, the thyme, and garlic. Once the oil has been seasoned for approximately 1 minute, remove the herbs. Add the torn bread, and gently fry while stirring occasionally until thoroughly golden brown and crisp, about 5 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, remove the bread from the pan, drain completely on paper towels to keep the croutons from becoming soggy, and season with salt and pepper. (You may reserve the oil for up to two weeks for similar uses.)</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In a small bowl, whisk the vinegar with a small pinch of salt until dissolved, then whisk in the 2 tablespoons of olive oil and set aside.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Just before serving, to keep the bread salad from becoming soggy, place the peeled mini tomatoes in a small bowl, add the cucumber, red onion (to your liking), parsley leaves, basil, and the croutons. Dress the salad with approximately 3 tablespoons of the vinaigrette.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Fan a few of the sliced tomatoes just to the left of the center of each of 8 small plates. Drizzle the slices with some of the remaining vinaigrette, then place a small pile of the marinated mini tomatoes to the right of the slices. Spoon out the burrata right between the two, fluffing the plate with the arugula as garnish around the outside. Drizzle the burrata with extra-virgin olive oil, and season the plate with sea salt and a few turns of the pepper mill.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b>N.B.</b> To blanch and peel tomatoes, first cut an X in the end opposite the stem, then immerse in boiling water 10 to 15 seconds. Transfer to a bowl of ice and cold water, then peel.</p>Sonyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714998998905571970noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32869705.post-54429290659030352452008-08-30T07:11:00.000-07:002008-10-05T09:19:44.451-07:00Year of the Eight<i><span style="">“Overnight Star” by Flosstradamus</span></i><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="">I had to recognize the Beijing Olympics and Michael Phelps (the song suggestion).<span style=""> </span>The song is not to say that Phelps has become an overnight star; he has been one for a while. <span style=""> </span>If anything, he has solidified his place in history now because of these Games.<span style=""> </span>MP (as his sisters call him) sometimes listens to the original version of this song by Twista called “Overnight Celebrity” on his iPod before a swim (or so says Bob Costas) to pump himself up for the competition.<span style=""> </span>But I really, really heart this remix by the two-man duo out of Chicago, </span>Josh Young (aka J2K) and Curt Cameruci (aka Autobot), better known as <span style="">Flosstradamus.<span style=""> </span>The music they spin behind the rap has this positive vibe to it that makes me smile and nod my head.<span style=""> </span>Kind of how I felt while watching this year’s Olympics.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="">The final weekend of the Games, Mzzz. Faboo (from <a href="http://ediblemotleycrew.blogspot.com/2008/04/midsummer-weeknights-dream.html">A Midsummer Weeknight’s Dream</a>) invited me to join her in San Francisco for a classic “faboo” experience that included a little bit of this (<a href="http://www.sfoutsidelands.com/">Radiohead</a> at Golden Gate Park) and a little bit of that (a day at the Ferry Plaza Farmer’s Market), a pinch of this (dinner at Foreign Cinema) and a dash of that (apre-dinner activities at the Revolution Café and the Make-Out Room).<span style=""> </span>My short NorCal weekender turned into a sort of Olympian feat in and of itself...in the sporting events of little sleep and alotta stamina.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><b style=""><span style="">Friday Night Itinerary<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="">Catch short flight to SF; cab to <a href="http://www.starwoodhotels.com/lemeridien/property/overview/index.html?propertyID=1957">hotel</a>; check in; unsuccessfully try to flag down taxi while walking streets of SF because cab line was hopelessly long; give up and walk into another hotel; ask concierge for easiest route to GG Park; head below ground and hop MUNI to GG</span><span style=""> Park; break down six blocks from Park and set out on foot to finish journey; arrive at GG Park and get completely lost in woods; have guardian angel appear (Nezz, Hawaiian Filipino Spanish clothing designer for the likes of Sean John and Ralph Lauren) with his entourage; allow him to be escort through woods and to concert; arrive right as Radiohead starts; join Mzzz. Faboo at Visa Signature Lounge for drinks and better view of stage; head to Irish bar after show;</span><span style=""> vehemently deny possibility of doing Irish car bomb; give in and do Irish car bomb; hop in unmarked cab with Iver Collins (Irish cutie actually from Ireland with accent, wispy brown hair, and flushed, rosy skin to boot)</span><span style="">;</span><span style=""> </span><span style="">head to Mission; get back to hotel at one point; fall fast asleep.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><b style=""><span style="">Saturday Play-By-Play<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="">Wake up fairly leisurely; nurse blisters on feet from night before; shower, head to <a href="http://www.ferrybuildingmarketplace.com/farmers_market.php">Ferry Plaza Farmers Market</a>; sample everything (succulent, sweet fruits, rich honeys, dark chocolates, pure, green olive oils, savory headcheese, freshly shucked oysters, etc.); break fast with <a href="http://www.sanfranfishco.com/">SF Fish Company</a> crab breakfast burrito and <a href="http://www.mistralrotisserie.com/">Mistral</a> French café lamb stew; wash down with Pellegrino; take TONS of <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/sonyasnyder/SanFranciscoMarketAndFoodWeekender">food pics</a>; stop at <a href="http://www.fpwm.com/">Wine Merchant</a>; enjoy four-varietal wine flight; buy Montepulciano, boucheret, and Acme bread for afternoon siesta; head back to hotel; siesta with wine and cheese.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><b style=""><span style="">Saturday Night Gameplan<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="">Cab to <a href="http://www.laszlobar.com/">Laszlo’s</a> for pre-din cocktails (Santa Ynez Valley Pinot Noir, Central Coast Cabernet); dine at <a href="http://www.foreigncinema.com/">Foreign Cinema</a> (four kinds of oysters, tuna crudo, sole niçoise, roasted quail, fig galette, ganache tart, with</span> Pouilly-Fuissé Chardonnay, Scherrer Zinfandel, Alexander Valley<span style="">); pitstop at <a href="http://www.7x7sf.com/arts_entertainment/bars_and_clubs/10587032.html">The Revolution Café</a> (amazing candied ginger latte); dance at <a href="http://www.makeoutroom.com/">Make-Out Room</a> (Hoegaarden).</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><b style=""><span style="">Sunday<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="">Catch early flight back to LA; sleep on plane; dream about ginger lattes.</span></p> <h2><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hp71nhsYTlw/SLlYjg-eHGI/AAAAAAAACv8/T-WXQT6Qlt4/s1600-h/Ginger+Latte.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 163px; height: 163px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hp71nhsYTlw/SLlYjg-eHGI/AAAAAAAACv8/T-WXQT6Qlt4/s200/Ginger+Latte.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5240317008592903266" border="0" /></a><span style="">Ginger Latte</span><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span></h2> <p class="MsoNormal">1 1/4 cups 2% milk<br />2 tablespoons ginger-flavored syrup (recipe below)<br />1 (1.5 fluid ounce) jigger brewed espresso</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">Steam milk to 145 degrees F to 165 degrees F (65 to 70 degrees C) using the steaming wand. Measure flavored syrup into large coffee mug. Brew espresso, add to mug. Pour steamed milk into mug, using spoon to hold back the foam. Spoon foam over top. </p> <h2><span style="">Ginger-Flavored Syrup<o:p></o:p></span><span class="opdefaultcontent"> <o:p></o:p></span></h2> <h2><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span><span class="opdefaultcontent"> <o:p></o:p></span></h2> <p class="MsoNormal">fresh ginger (2 1/2 to 3 inches long); 2 cups sugar; 1 cup water</p><p class="MsoNormal">Peel fresh ginger and chop into approximately ½-inch pieces. Cut pieces into thin strips. Pour water and sugar into small saucepan. Add cut up ginger pieces to saucepan. Heat mixture until it comes to gentle boil over medium heat. Lower heat and simmer ginger mixture for approximately 2 to 3 minutes until all sugar dissolves. Make sure to stir mixture gently during this time as it thickens. Remove ginger syrup from heat and take out pieces of ginger from syrup. Discard ginger pieces or refrigerate them for later use in cooking. Allow ginger syrup to cool slightly, then strain in it into a storage container with a lid that closes securely.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);"></span> <o:p></o:p></p>Sonyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714998998905571970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32869705.post-30644085656374060362008-07-17T17:12:00.000-07:002008-07-22T09:12:54.486-07:00East Meets West Meets East<i>“Mahina O Hoku/Aloha Wau Ia ‘Oe” by Natalie Ai Kamauu</i><p> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">Once again I've just returned from traveling, but this time only from across the country, the east coast, where we recently celebrated a significant birthday for my mother. It was heartfelt and hard work, but every bit worth the effort. And, more importantly, it was a family affair.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">My Samoan mother is the eldest of 11 siblings, and most of them <i>are </i>local to her. Her father joined the military to get his relatively impoverished family out of the poor Samoan islands. He eventually retired in the last coastal town he was stationed at, Wilmington, North Carolina.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">Wilmington is this beautiful boutique beach and golf course community off of the Intracoastal Waterway, considered to be right in the center of Hurricane Alley. Its southeastern coastline unapologetically juts out into the ocean just tempting the Atlantic to strike at it every year with a myriad of tropical storms and smaller hurricanes that fizzle into depressions as they hit the Carolina coast. Sometimes these storms do not weaken, and, in fact, severely punish the peaceful shores of Wilmington and its neighboring coastal communities.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">This is not to deter from the beauty of Wilmington, however. I used to visit frequently as a child during the summers and most major holidays. Its winters are mild, although its summers are unforgiving, thick with humidity and flying insects. But its landscape is lush and green with rivers, sounds, and beaches seeming to be strategically situated throughout the city limits.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">Likewise, my parents live in a lush, green neighborhood, a golf course community, which is not uncommon. Their backyard is where we decided to celebrate my mother's birthday…Polynesian-style. <span style=""> </span>This is where most people are intrigued, that a large Samoan family has settled in a very southern coastal town.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">My mother's Samoan side of the family is large, <em>very</em> large. I am one of about 36 first cousins.<span style=""> </span>We celebrate graduations and major life accomplishments within the family by hosting luaus, where we invite friends not familiar with Samoan custom to eat, drink, and dance with us (it has become a cultural experience for many…as well as a time to celebrate for all). And actually, upon my arrival into Wilmington this time, my family had successfully hosted three luaus in the three weekends prior to my mother's birthday celebration. With a family this size, you can imagine how many special events can happen in a given year.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">So, this celebration was not unusual; it reminded me of how appreciative I am to have my large, Polynesian family.<span style=""> </span>My sisters and I flew in to town for the weekend (we are all situated in different states).<span style=""> </span>My parents were putting up about 21 family members at their place, while other out-of-towners stayed with other local family for the weekend.<span style=""> </span>And each day, family would come over to help in the kitchen, play suipi (the national Samoan card game), or break out the guitars and sing until late in the evening.<span style=""> </span>It was shaping up to be exactly how I remembered family gatherings to be like in my childhood. Except this time I was taking a more active role.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">In the thick of things I was in and out of the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back, beside my sisters and cousins, preparing dishes like sapasui (bean curd noodles with vegetables, meat, soy sauce, and garlic) and oka (sashimi-grade fish in coconut milk, lemon juice, onions, tomatoes and cucumbers) while children ran underfoot.<span style=""> </span>We had rolled over one hundred spring rolls (for frying) the night before, and I was making my fourth large batch of sushi rice.<span style=""> </span>One of my uncles was prepping the umu (the underground oven) for the pua’a (the pig) with large banana leaves and rocks.<span style=""> </span>He was going small this time with a 65-pound pig.<span style=""> </span>We didn’t expect more than 100 guests at the luau because we hadn’t invited as many as we normally would (yes, they do get larger, much larger; both the luaus and the pigs).</p> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_hp71nhsYTlw/SIVoaiOCUII/AAAAAAAACYA/3eyNosjshrI/s1600-h/Hibiscus+-+frosting.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_hp71nhsYTlw/SIVoaiOCUII/AAAAAAAACYA/3eyNosjshrI/s200/Hibiscus+-+frosting.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225697747704893570" border="0" /></a><p class="MsoNormal" style="">My mother had marinated the chicken the night before, and another one of my uncles was hauling his large grill into the backyard with his truck to barbeque the chicken.<span style=""> </span>Another one of my uncles had assembled a separate food station, complete with portable burners and woks, on a table under a tree outside so that he could prepare the pancit and fry the spring rolls. One of my aunts was preparing her famous banana poi (overripe mashed bananas, coconut milk or cream, and lemon juice served like you would a pudding). I can taste the banana poi in my mouth right now.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">So, where exactly am I going with this? Well, all this is to say that, although I don’t really mention my Samoan half that much (I am also half German), I still very much identify with my Polynesian roots. <span style="">And although</span> most of my immediate Samoan family is not close by, and I only get to see them several times a year, I still hold them close and dear to my heart like a cherished hula that plays over and over in my head. Fortunately, I still have plenty of Polynesian family spread out all over, especially in California, Hawaii, and Samoa.<span style=""> </span>And my roommate and good friend, a Hawaiian herself, and I are also in a halau (a hula school) in southern California, so we are dancing regularly and plugged into the Polynesian community somewhat still.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="">Of course, it is always in the little things that I am able to feed my nostalgia. Like listening to that familiar hula, or...enjoying this recipe, one of my favorite Samoan dishes that one of my uncles makes better than anyone I know.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><b style=""><u>Oka<o:p></o:p></u></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">1 1/2 lbs. sushi-grade Ahi tuna, cut into 1/2" cubes<br />1/2 cup Lime juice (or Lemon juice)<br />1/4 cup Coconut milk<br />1 Cucumber peeled, seeded, cut into 1/2" cubes<br />1 Tomato seeds removed, diced<br />3-4 Scallions chopped<br />Kosher or sea salt (big pinch)<br />Fresh ground pepper (pinch)</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="">Mix all ingredients together well. Let marinate 10-20 minutes. Adjust seasoning to taste. Drain excess liquid. Garnish with some freshly chopped scallions and serve.<span style=""> </span>Variations include: using other fish like halibut, snapper, or swordfish, and/or adding diced red onion, cubed red peppers, grated carrots, or minced garlic.</p>Sonyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714998998905571970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32869705.post-23749990110616112242008-06-30T20:07:00.000-07:002008-07-08T13:48:51.110-07:00Greek Mythology<i><span style="">“I’m Good, I’m Gone (Fred Falke Remix)” by Lykke Li</span></i><span style=""><o:p></o:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="">Perhaps it is not so obvious that I just got back from a whirlwind trip to Greece--Athens, specifically, as well as some of its neighboring beaches and Aegina, one of the Saronic Islands--slideshow to the right notwithstanding.<span style=""> </span>My appreciation for Greek Mythology has grown rapidly, exploded actually…insomuch as I tasted foods befitting the gods.<span style=""> </span>I witnessed the turn of humankind in architecture still standing after two thousand years, and marveled at its breathtaking tenacity.<span style=""> </span>I walked cozied narrow streets lined with inviting shops, al fresco</span><span style=""> dining, and ivy-covered townhomes, and was greeted with a friendly smile or wave.<span style=""> </span>I ate dinner after 9:30 p.m. virtually every night, and followed the dining with drinking and being merry until the early morning hours.<span style=""> </span>I even enjoyed the company of a Greek god who showed me his country from a very different perspective (thank you, Dimitris).<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="">Yes, the pleasures of Greece come in so many unexpected (and some <i style="">very</i> expected) packages.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="">One of the more unexpected packages was in this soup, perfect to enjoy when returning home from a night of too much being merry, with lemon juice and chicken and rice, that was so satisfying.<span style=""> </span>I’ve scoured the Internet looking for a recipe so that I can replicate what I enjoyed, but none of them seem to bring about what I believe my experience to have been.<span style=""> </span><span style="font-style: italic;">F</span></span><span style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">inally</span>, I stumbled upon one purely by happenstance.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="">I was looking on Epicurious.com for more versions of the recipe, and, again, I came across a version that seemed to miss the mark, but I noticed over 60 reviews of the recipe.<span style=""> </span>Thinking this to be impossible, I started reading the reviews.<span style=""> </span>‘Lo and behold, one of the early reviewers, a first-generation Greek American from Boston, had graciously reviewed the soup, and then put in her yia-yia’s (her grandmother’s) recipe that she’s been making for years.<span style=""> </span>Every one of the positive reviews was on HER version of the soup, the version embedded in another review.<span style=""> </span>I read it, and I think I have found what I experienced in Greece.<span style=""> </span>I’ve supplied it below…in case you want to have an acute, very Greek, religious experience (granted, without Dimitris).</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style=""><a href="http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/reviews/AVGOLEMONO-15607?pg=5"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Soupa Avgolemono</span></a><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">8 c. homemade chicken stock<br />1 c. orzo<br />4 eggs/separated<br />juice of 3 lemons<br />fresh ground black pepper<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hp71nhsYTlw/SGmgrl8h5II/AAAAAAAACFo/whOySS3uw48/s1600-h/Avgolemono.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hp71nhsYTlw/SGmgrl8h5II/AAAAAAAACFo/whOySS3uw48/s200/Avgolemono.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217878314066240642" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Boil broth, add orzo and simmer until tender 20 min. Whip whites until medium peaks, add yolks beating continuously, add juice, beating. Temper eggs with 2 c. broth, adding in constant slow stream while continuing to beat furiously so you do not curdle the eggs. Add egg mixture back to remaining broth and serve. When reheating, do not re-boil - heat slowly until very warm or you may curdle the eggs. Garnish with thinly sliced lemon. Try adding more than the juice of 3 lemons, as the sourness is the best part of the taste! You should taste lemon, richness of eggs, salt of chicken, and starch of rice, in that order and you've made it perfectly. You can also add thin pieces of shredded chicken meat (pull off bone in strips), although classic recipes don't include chicken, vegetables, garlic or any other ingredients.</p>Sonyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714998998905571970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32869705.post-33115658061641361922008-06-04T22:25:00.000-07:002008-07-17T22:32:06.410-07:00Summer...Quite<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hp71nhsYTlw/SIAqv26OjUI/AAAAAAAACHI/FTA5IIBqFD4/s1600-h/Sangria_Wine.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hp71nhsYTlw/SIAqv26OjUI/AAAAAAAACHI/FTA5IIBqFD4/s200/Sangria_Wine.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224222569431731522" border="0" /></a><i style="">“Koop Island Blues” by Koop<o:p></o:p></i> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Ah, summer.<span style=""> </span>I love this time of year.<span style=""> </span>If I could take anything with me when I eventually leave the southern California coast, I would most certainly take the summer, with its perfect weather and bronzed skin, its beach volleyball and strong sangria, its play of innocence and prey on innocence, all shoved into my suitcase.<span style=""> </span>It is just this kind of summer that provides the perfect excuse to lower inhibitions and commit some sort of scandal.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And what besides too much sangria, you ask, begets a scandal?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Perhaps a smile that is just a little too confident or a look at a most (in)opportune time, and a door with a questionable lock coupled with the anticipation of being discovered.<span style=""> </span>Oh, YES!<span style=""> </span>Don’t STOP!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Or perhaps it’s having a secret---a really, big, fat, brazen secret that you are not at liberty to share with others, and yet someone keeps pressing you for the details, the juicy, memorable, self destructive details.<span style=""> </span><i style="">Here, let me get you another glass of that</i>, they say as they smile and pour with that flash of perfect white teeth.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Maybe, just maybe, it’s you knowing full well that you are actually guilty, <i style="">completely</i> guilty, and, without question, you would commit your sin again…and again…and again.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And then the slightest twinkle appears and that knowing look is shared as the door eases shut.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="">Sigh.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My season opener, last weekend, was just this sort of unforgiving and unrelenting scandal.<span style=""> </span>I was swallowed up, chewed verociously to unrecognizable, and spit out on to the shore of reason with a moral compass suddenly hanging around my neck like that infamous albatross of yore.<span style=""> </span>Could I blame the extra glass of sangria?<span style=""> </span>Most likely.<span style=""> </span>Would I relive this past weekend?<span style=""> </span>Most certainly.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="">Too Much Strong Summer Sangria<o:p></o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal">1 part red wine<br />1 part cranberry juice<br />1 part orange-flavored liqueur<br />1 part rum<br />Chopped apples, cored<br />Sliced oranges, with rinds</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Mix everything together.<span style=""> </span>Let the mixture marinate at room temperature for a few hours.<span style=""> </span>Chill. Serve straight up or over ice.<span style=""> </span>Drink more than you should.</p>Sonyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714998998905571970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32869705.post-33155140788749071472008-05-04T15:56:00.000-07:002008-05-18T12:51:42.711-07:00My May Day Aubade<p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal">“Won’t Stop” OneRepublic</p> <p class="MsoNormal">His lips wouldn’t stop moving.<o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I was not listening, but pushing food around my plate and adding the expected and attentive “Yes” or “I see” or “Right,” etc.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s a shame, too.<span style=""> </span>He was actually rather attractive with his longer than necessary wavy auburn hair that kept falling in front of his eyes forcing his large, bronzed hand to push it back…again.<span style=""> </span>And his smile was generous, nice full lips, perfect even white teeth.<span style=""> </span>Straight, autocratic nose.<span style=""> </span>Strong jaw bones.<span style=""> </span>Everything that added up to a very handsome face.<span style=""> </span>His overall physical presence was also a little intimidating.<span style=""> </span>He was extremely tall, broad in the shoulders, narrow in the hips.<span style=""> </span>I could enjoy looking at him for a while, that was certain.<o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">But he would not stop talking, and I was losing interest fast. He chose the restaurant since I chose the day and time.<span style=""> </span>Mutual friends thought we would have the “food thing” in common.<span style=""> </span>Thanks, Sara.<span style=""> </span>We totally have <i style="">that</i> in common (roll eyes here).<span style=""> </span>Just because I happened to appreciate really good food, my friends thought I had a monopoly on nice restaurants in Los Angeles…well, that and they knew how particular I was about my food, but only when appropriate.<span style=""> </span>I was not so much of a snob that I couldn’t appreciate really good street food as well (ala Philippe’s, a Los Angeles French dip icon).</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, here we were, having dinner at this cozy, little hole of a charming French patisserie called the Little Door, his obviously very proud pick.<span style=""> </span>He had not stopped talking about it since we got seated.<span style=""> </span>I was conflicted; should I be taking him seriously or is he really this full of himself?<span style=""> </span>I refocused on my food.<o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Don’t you agree?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I could faintly hear someone asking me a question.<span style=""> </span>I looked up across the table at his large, serious and questioning expression.<span style=""> </span>He was anticipating an answer from me, and I didn’t know what I was about to agree to.<span style=""> </span>But guiltily I had not been listening, tuned him out a good one or two courses ago as a matter of fact.<o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I responded purposefully…because the more convincing I sounded, the more believable I knew I would come across.<span style=""> </span>“Yes, I agree.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">My answer must have satisfied him because he continued to talk and seemingly with more fervor if possible.<span style=""> </span>This time I did not feel guilty as I turned to my plate, a delectable feast of a lobster tail medallion with avocado and Belgian endive lightly doused in a blood orange and avocado oil vinaigrette.<o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He had ordered the seared foie gras napoleon with granny smith apple compote and puff pastry in a port wine reduction.<span style=""> </span>Again, another choice that he was particularly proud of as with every bite he commented about his food.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Are you enjoying yourself?”<o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Again, I realized I was being asked a question, so I dutifully looked up at him.<span style=""> </span>This time the expression on his boyishly attractive face was a little flushed, a little worried.<span style=""> </span>Hmmm…interesting; it slightly caught me off guard.<span style=""> </span>Why would he care what I was thinking or feeling?<span style=""> </span>I decided to pursue this look of his with a question back.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Why wouldn’t I be enjoying myself?” I smiled sweetly and innocently.<span style=""> </span>I was not giving him any help.<o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He hesitated before responding gingerly, “Because I feel like I’ve been having a one-sided conversation since we got here.”<span style=""> </span>He smiled as if trying to playfully chide me.<span style=""> </span>He <span style="font-style: italic;">was </span>very cute.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">His smile did irk me just a little, though. “Well, actually I haven’t been able to get a word in edgewise now that you mention it. You’ve been talking for both of us the whole time, you know.”<span style=""> </span>I gave him back his winning smile.<span style=""> </span>If you wanna play, I can play.<o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He looked at me quizzically. “Hmmm…I’m sorry if I’ve been doing most of the talking.”<span style=""> </span>He cleared his throat. <span style=""> </span>“I’m sure you can probably tell why.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Was he being coy?<o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I have no idea.” I responded almost impatiently. “Are you nervous?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Yes, actually.<span style=""> </span>I—I am.”<span style=""> </span>He stuttered.<o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Mr. Brawny Know-It-All nervous?<span style=""> </span>I couldn’t even wrap my head around the idea, it seemed so preposterous.<span style=""> </span>But looking at the expression on his face, with his raised brows and shy half-smile, I could have sworn that I was witnessing discomfort sitting in front of me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“What are you nervous about?” Curiosity was getting the better of me, so I softened a little.<o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Well—simply put, I like you.”<span style=""> </span>He was quietly matter-of-fact, hiding nothing. <span style=""> </span>“But…I’m guessing you don’t return the favor…which is okay.<span style=""> </span>I was hopeful going into tonight, though.”<span style=""> </span>He took a deep breath and settled his broad frame back in his seat with that half-smile again, but more resigned this time.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Okay, this was bizarre and completely unexpected.<span style=""> </span>I had to probe further.<o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“You don’t even know me.<span style=""> </span>How could you like me?<span style=""> </span>I’m pretty sure this is the first time we’ve ever met.”<span style=""> </span>I instantly performed a mental inventory of moments out with our mutual friends soaked up in too much wine and where I might have actually met him.<span style=""> </span>I was drawing a blank.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“No, we haven’t met in person before.<span style=""> </span>This is our first time.” He paused, and mischievously smirked.<span style=""> </span>“It’s just that I’ve heard so much about you, and I’ve seen a lot of pictures.” Pause.<span style=""> </span>“It was my idea to have this blind date actually.”<o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Wait, what?!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Uh, you mean to tell me that you are the reason why we were set up to begin with?”<o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Yes, I am.”<span style=""> </span>He nervously chuckled.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">As the idea slowly dawned on me, I became almost protective of him, and wanted to reassure him that I thought he was actually endearing, so I reached my hand over the table and laid it over his.<span style=""> </span>I was not expecting to feel anything, let alone an instant jolt of electricity, but I did. <span style=""> </span>I could tell that he sensed it, too.<o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My voice surprisingly caught before I could get out a lame and inadequate, “Well, then.<span style=""> </span>I’m sorry for misreading your intentions tonight.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">He slowly smiled, and his hand turned around to engulf my much smaller one.<span style=""> </span>“You know, you’re shorter than I imagined,” he teased.<o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I completely blushed.<span style=""> </span>I was totally in the conversation now.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">He continued, “And your hair…there’s so much of it…it’s beautiful.”<o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I blinked.<span style=""> </span>Had the conversation really headed in this direction?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I’m sorry.<span style=""> </span>Are you serious?<span style=""> </span>What you’re saying?”<span style=""> </span>I shook my head, “Are you <i style="">teasing</i> me?”<span style=""> </span>I was incredulous.<o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“No, I mean every word.”<span style=""> </span>He responded quietly, pointedly.<span style=""> </span>His look turned somber.<span style=""> </span>His grasp on my hand tightened.<span style=""> </span>He was all but staring at me now, and I wanted to fidget, turn away for a second to collect my thoughts, but he was still holding my hand at the table.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Now you’re making <i style="">me</i> nervous.”<span style=""> </span>I couldn’t believe we had spent the last hour together, and I had hardly recognized that he existed.<span style=""> </span>I had mistaken his chatter for arrogance and disinterest.<span style=""> </span>“Can we talk?<span style=""> </span><i style="">Really</i> talk.<span style=""> </span>Get to know each other a little.<span style=""> </span>No more about food.<span style=""> </span>I know plenty about it.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">He grinned, “So, I wasn’t impressing you then.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Were you trying to?” I peered up at him sheepishly.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Well, yes, of course.<span style=""> </span>I know how much you are into food, so I was trying to impress you with my knowledge…but I haven’t, have I.”<span style=""> </span>It was more of a statement than a question.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I’m sorry, but I don’t think that I’ve been really listening to anything you’ve been saying.”<span style=""> </span>We both laughed.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">He let go of my hand then and sat up straight in his chair.<span style=""> </span>“Okay, let’s start over.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">I looked at him questioning, but he held his hand out to me over the table, “Hi, my name is….”</p>Sonyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714998998905571970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32869705.post-3886420315047243192008-04-30T09:29:00.001-07:002008-04-30T13:05:25.580-07:00A Midsummer Weeknight's Dream<em>Playing "L'aventure Fantastique" by The Fantastic Plastic Machine (aka Tomoyuki Tanaka of J-Pop/DJ fame)</em><br /><br />Mzzz. Faboo (because she is ab-fab!) invited me to a midweeknight break at Maison 140, a boutique Beverly Hills hotel, for a wine and cheese tasting at their Bar Noir. The hotel is small and beautifully appointed with French and Far East-influenced decor, otherwise known as chinoiserie (one of my fave words for the way that it irreverently rolls off of my tongue with a self-satisfying superiority). The tasting was cozy and quiet, a perfect setting for us to catch up with each other.<br /><br />After two hours of delicious vin et fromage, we stepped into the warm night...and walked around the corner to the Beverly Wilshire (yes, the former Reg-Bev-Wilsh). We made our way to <em>sidebar</em>, the lounge right across the foyer from Cut (Wolfgang Puck's famed eatery). The only available seating in the popular lounge was a quasi-comfy silver couch against one of their large windows overlooking the valet. We parked ourselves and ordered martinis. I saw steak tartare on the menu (a must-order for me) and we added a seared-ahi-something-yummy on mini wonton chips with wasabi paste and chives.<br /><br />Perusing our surroundings, I noticed the usual cast of LA characters: a glut of attractive people who sort of looked familiar, but not really (commercial actors? bit-t.v.-role types?) and the sprinkling of average joes trying to fit in, but not really (vacationers? inlanders?). What piques my interest the most are when the twain meet (i.e., the relative-attractive majority who do not look famous or familiar, and who also don't mind suffering from the social constraints of living in LA while trying to survive first impressions).<br /><br />Not two moments after we started sipping our classic 'tails, there were flashing lights outside. Mzzz. Faboo and I turned to look out the window joking with each other that someone was getting arrested in valet. We were trying not to look too earnestly because we wanted to maintain that modicum of cool, but someone loudly whispered "TomKat" and then everyone turned to look outside the window none too conspicuously. Sure enough, right underneath our little quasi-comfy silver couch stood Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes waving at the 'razzi and climbing into a large black tagless SUV, bodyguards in tow. Because we were so close (separated by a window pane), I had to look on TMZ the next day for those pics, and as I suspected, you could see me and Mzzz. Faboo in a video clip of the celeb power duo getting into their car. We were visible for about three seconds (an eternity on TMZ, mind you). Apparently they were having dinner at Cut that night with the Fresh Prince and his lovely wife (Will Smith and Jade Pinkett Smith) and Posh and Becks (David and Victoria Beckham). Nicknames for power couples...another LA trait.<br /><br />After a few failed attempts at convo with us by well-dressed older men, Mzzz. Faboo and I decided to call it a night. As we walked back down Wilshire Blvd. towards our cars, we passed Saks Fifth Avenue and stopped to examine their display windows. Each display case had a row of headless mannequins wearing nondescript black prom dresses with their arms stretched out holding different pairs of Jimmy Choo shoes in their motionless hands. For a split second I felt like Holly Golightly in "Breakfast at Tiffany's" peering longingly into the Tiffany display case while (not really) eating a croissant. The shoes were very LA...and I loved them. Yet again, I was separated by a window pane from a lifestyle that I could hardly identify with, if at all, but looked on with slight envy.<br /><br />Don't get me wrong. I am not turning this into a "poor me and my life as compared to theirs" essay. I love my life. I also choose to live in LA. And most assuredly my experiences tonight are no different than many others I've had while living here. They do in fact make up for me what is quintessential LA: that healthy mixture of bold, beautiful, insecure, and selfish. In LA, there is no split neighborhood where the railroad tracks divide the seedy side from the wealthy side. Everything, good, bad, and ugly, is kind of all mixed in together with its inhabitants agreeing to disagree at nearly every socioeconomic level. And therein lies the beauty of LA. I cannot think of anywhere else that has this dichotomy with such a prevalence, where everyone enjoys the status quo, is even fascinated by its fuzzy, yet deep groove in the sand.<br /><br />Mzzz. Faboo woke me from my reverie with a tug on my arm. Time to stop dreaming, gorgeous. You've got the rest of your night for that.<br /><br />I suppose that I do.Sonyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714998998905571970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32869705.post-38860685938338663172008-04-06T23:34:00.000-07:002008-04-07T13:23:11.666-07:00City Hall (The SS Remix)<p class="MsoNormal">Thanks to an invitation from a friend, I was able to join a mixed group of sorts at, oddly enough, a DJ set on the lawn of City Hall in downtown Los Angeles where one of my old favorites was spinning, Groove Armada.<span style=""> </span>They were being opened by Jason Bentley who many forget was a DJ before he became a radio personality for a reputable music program on KCRW.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="">I’m listening to Radio1’s Essential Mix (they are showcasing Moby’s set in Miami from this past WMC) courtesy of my girlfriend in Grenada; she is there for medical school (and always a good source of music).<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My friend and her boyfriend picked me up on their way; and we made one more stop to get Chef Matt, an interesting and worldly friend of theirs whose music tastes trend towards the largely under-discovered European electronic artists (minimalists he calls them).<span style=""> </span>He is so-named because he is a personal chef.<span style=""> </span>He just got back from Miami and was sharing his WMC experiences with us in the car.<span style=""> </span>For those not in-the-know, the <span style="">Winter Music Conference</span> is a weeklong electronic music event held every March in Miami.<span style=""> </span>It is a who’s who of electronic music and attended by fans from around the world.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="">Switching up my music to The Faint’s “The Conductor” remixed by Thin White Duke on their Danse Macabre Remixes album<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We got Downtown early enough to reminisce at the Standard, where both good and bad memories haunt me…and so be it.<span style=""> </span>What fun is nostalgia if it cannot offer you a pointed experience when strolling down its familiar lanes?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">At the bar we ordered Ketel-sodas and Ketel-Citron-sodas.<span style=""> </span>Admittedly I am not a soda girl.<span style=""> </span>I switched from tonic to soda several years ago only because soda has no sugar, but it also has no flavor.<span style=""> </span>So after a season or two of ordering vodka sodas, I switched to straight, clean vodka, neat with a twist and served in a snifter.<span style=""> </span>No more watered-down versions of what could be a smooth and tasty liquor for me…although I had to change this preference as well because I am a fast drinker (not a tippler, mind you).<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="">Les Rythmes Digitales “Jacques Your Body Makes Me Sweat”<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Of course that put me in my kind of a frivolous bind. What should become my drink of choice now?<span style=""> </span>Should it be socially influenced or driven by my taste? I happened to visit Cuba several years back (it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience) and for a while I was faithfully hooked on Mojitos, but invariably none are ever as good as I had tasted in Cuba, so on to the next.<span style=""> </span>An old friend of mine, a southern belle, would always order Black Russians, so I had a flirty stint with those as well...but enough about cocktails.<span style=""> </span>I settled on the Ketel-Citron-soda because Chef Matt ordered one, and it seemed like a nice, light starter cocktail for me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">We also ordered food: overcooked sliders with dried-out skewers of steak and chicken and a wilted frisee salad.<span style=""> </span>Yes, I didn’t know it was possible to wilt frisee either, but apparently it is.<span style=""> </span>The French fries were dark and crispy, which is fine to me, but they were also heavily salted (but who doesn’t make that mistake these days unfortunately).<span style=""> </span>All things considered, it is the rooftop bar at the Standard, and that culinary experience has always been a mixed bag of sorts for me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Another one of their friends, a private practice lawyer, joined us as we repositioned ourselves at the couches.<span style=""> </span>He played football in Nebraska and came out to California like many others do, for a sunny, more successful, upbeat change of pace.<span style=""> </span>He found his refuge in Hermosa Beach.<span style=""> </span>Not a shock as many supplants first migrate towards the beach cities, also known as the South Bay, when coming to California.<span style=""> </span>I myself live in Hermosa, and up until about three months ago in Manhattan Beach.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="">Felix da Housecat “Silver Screen Shower Scene” (Thin White Duke Mix by Jacques Lu Cont)<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Our conversation spanned an array of topics, from the delicate to the severe, from the perceived loss of habeas corpus for non-citizens to Top Chef, a cooking show on Bravo TV.<span style=""> </span>I am a huge fan of Top Chef, so all of my questions were of course directed at Chef Matt.<span style=""> </span>“Have you considered being on the show?”<span style=""> </span>“What knives do you have in your knife roll?”<span style=""> </span>“What is your favorite ethnic food group to prepare?” etc.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">On our way out, I stopped in the restroom and was surrounded by the happy alcoholic buzz of three rambunctious Newport Beach women pitstopping on the rooftop before heading home from a designer jeans sale at the LA Convention Center.<span style=""> </span>They proudly pulled out their Hudson and True Religion purchases from their purses for my inspection.<span style=""> </span>Yes, I know, why? I guess I have a friendly smile--and they were also drunk.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="">The Whitest Boy Alive “Golden Cage (Fred Falke Remix)”<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We parked at an outside lot a few blocks away; the opening acts had already begun and we could hear a persistent electronic bass line from our outside lot.<span style=""> </span>That alone was enough to give me that giddy feeling akin to a teenage girl before a school dance.<span style=""> </span>We started our beeline through the parked cars towards the sound.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Tickets, will call, nasty bathroom stalls, and a few grassy knolls later, we were standing in the middle of a crowd of head-bobbers and enjoying Jason Bentley.<span style=""> </span>With cheap cocktails in hand, and a little over an hour later, we appropriately shouted our welcome as Andy Cato and Tom Findlay, aka Groove Armada, strode onto the stage.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Their set was pleasant and pumped.<span style=""> </span>It had the perfect crowd-pleasing crescendos that broke into ear-splitting bass lines.<span style=""> </span>And as I enjoyed the music and soaked in the experience, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy at how many other people were experiencing something akin to my appreciation of their music.<span style=""> </span>A part of me wondered if my best-kept-secret-of-yesterday had become the latest kitschy music craze.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="">Hot Chip “The Warning”<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Ah, well.<span style=""> </span>I cannot deny that I love the music, no matter how popular it is or not.<span style=""> </span>I just do.</p>Sonyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714998998905571970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32869705.post-50269110839528594742008-03-23T14:56:00.000-07:002008-03-23T15:43:16.946-07:00A Case of YouAdmittedly this Joni Mitchell song prompted me to post for the first time in months.<br /><br />"You're in my blood like holy wine. You taste so bitter and so sweet. Oh, I could drink a case of you, and I'd still be on my feet, I'd still be on my feet."<br /><br />Don't know why it affects me with nostalgia whenever I listen to it. When it was popular in its day, I don't think that I was even born. But there's something familiar, something comforting...it makes me smile.<br /><br />That's how I felt last night while enjoying our potluck-turned-quasi-Easter dinner for those orphans among us (there are quite a few). Our spread was a veritable feast of sorts. We started with two types of tapenade, olive and artichoke, and four kinds of cheese, with a basket of assorted crackers, pita chips, and chunks of soda bread. Someone made delicious cheese and onion stuffed mushrooms. Our gracious host made stuffed dates wrapped in bacon. The main courses were even heartier and full of classics. There was a crunchy onion-topped green bean casserole, a spinach dish with bacon and onions, a squash souffle, and I made the baked ham with a whole grain mustard glaze and mashed potatoes with celery root and garlic. Our host made a pumpkin cheesecake for dessert. And everything was accompanied by wine, a buttery chard, a New Zealand sauvignon blanc, two California cabernets, and some microbrews.<br /><br />Our conversations flowed with a familiar ease. I could have closed my eyes and transported myself back ten years, having the same experience with my family. I wore a permanent smile all night. The evening was as comforting to me as my glass of cab.<br /><br />As I left the dinner party with my packaged leftovers (thanks again to the host), I couldn't help but be reflective, almost retrospective...in the perfectly sappy and sentimental sense.<br /><br />It feels good to be back. It feels really good.Sonyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714998998905571970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32869705.post-55906700294345518762007-08-24T06:38:00.000-07:002007-08-24T06:46:19.615-07:00New LeaseSo, it's been 5 months since I last blogged...5 fully loaded months.... And through these past few months I've developed a new lease on life (yep, I said it; I overused it). I've even made changes in these past few months that will likely drive even less traffic to my blog, but so be it...for now. I will definitely be blogging more frequently, that I do know.Sonyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714998998905571970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32869705.post-35452749121305540302007-04-23T12:42:00.000-07:002007-04-23T14:25:59.864-07:00Pretentious Food TrendsOkay, so I know it's been a little long since my last blog, and I've actually had this blog in my head for about 3 weeks now, so I figged it's time to post it. In an earlier blog I talk about many of the foods that I love, and how...depending on the establishment...I will harshly, or appropriately, criticize the food. This builds off of that last, and severely conscientious, judgement of food...my judgement of food, that is.<br /><br />* * * * *<br /><br />This year I wanted to keep my birthday mellow. It wasn't an important number to anyone except to me (insomuch as I've finally turned the age that I've wanted to be frozen in time at since the age of 10). Mylo was going to take me to dinner, and since I'm far more particular when it comes to food, I got to choose the place. There are many, many eating establishments in Los Angeles that I would absolutely love to patronize...many, many...and I thought that this would be a welcome reason to try one of them, but alas, my birthday fell on Easter Sunday this year, and many establishments had modified menus, pre fixe offerings, odd hours of operation, etc. etc. etc. So, in the interest of getting Mylo to share a bottle of wine with me, we had to find a place that was walking distance from one of our houses. I chose a place close to mine, a Cali-franco eatery known for its wine cellar. That alone made me anticipate dinner. Of course I inspected the online "sample" menu and it looked promising.<br /><br />When we got to the restaurant, we were seated at a small table in the middle. Our server was young and friendly...and did not know how to pronounce half of the menu items; she corrected my pronunciation of "meritage" (a made-up word for one of my fave wine blends that actually rhymes with "heritage"). We ordered a burrata plate (with carmelized yellow grape tomatoes and their house eggplant tapenade in the middle), and she didn't know that the heavenly pillow of cheese on the one side of the plate was the burrata. She is not my complaint, though.<br /><br />My unwelcomed epiphany came when I was perusing the menu and then, as the evening wore on, trying to enjoy our food. It dawned on me that half of their menu items had changed since the online offering must have been posted. The menu had become a collection of pretentious, trendy food plates that had transcended the foodie restos and had already begun to infiltrate the chain establishments--much like Target has been successful at doing with its clothing (budget-minded threads with designs that were introduced at the New York Fashion Show a year or so earlier). Granted, I am not a clothier, nor do I regularly buy clothes, so Target is fine by me. But food? Food is a very different story.<br /><br />The restaurant had a representative from almost every food trend in the food industry today: Colorado lamb, tilapia (the junk fish of the Polynesian Islands I might add), Kurabuto pork, and Wagyu (Kobe) beef--this is only a list of some of their meats. They "infused" the popular citrus trend with Mandarin sauces, Clementine sorbet, Meyer lemon reductions, and blood orange coulee. One of their two risotto dishes was a mushroom risotto (actually a porcini), while they employed morels in another dish. They were also trite enough to offer a beef tataki and Louisiana crab cakes. I almost half expected to see Diver scallops with a soy gelee or a yuzu foam, or better yet, an offering of something, anything, like a soup "served three ways."<br /><br />There was absolutely nothing original on their menu, nothing at all.<br /><br />The evening got worse. Their dishes were not executed well either. They were hardly pretty to look at on the plate. The burrata dish and BOTH of our entrees were also doused in a pesto (we had kabocha squash ravioli - yes, kabocha - and a lamb special with chunks of lamb that were SO chewy, it took me forever to eat half of my dish). The pesto completely overpowered the burrata cheese and the ravioli. It slightly added to my lamb dish which was oversalted, but otherwise underseasoned. And since nothing inspired me on their dessert tray, I ordered a cheese plate with 3 types of cheese (some kind of blue, a soft, and a semi-hard).<br /><br />Mylo isn't the most critical restaurant patron (definitely not like me), and even he was still able to be completely unamused. We walked out of the restaurant wondering what exactly we had paid for.<br /><br />Now this blog is not to say that I have a problem with certain food trends. Of course some of these dishes will be seen more frequently on menus across America because their ingredients are more easily available to resto kitchens and chefs, and they have picked up some popularity as well, thus many kitchens want to serve what they think their patrons will want to eat. I can understand that, the practice of following certain food trends. And I can understand the latter, choosing, and depending on, only certain popular trends at a place that is void of risk, the kind of place that depends on consistency and dependability in order to survive, the kind of place that served Chilean sea bass back in the day and before it was overfished. If you are the neighborhood mom-and-pop Italian restaurant that caters to families, you are not going to veer too much from a traditional Italian menu. In the same token, the local sushi restaurant will not be serving filet mignon. And the healthy American restaurant chain will always serve a combination thereof including every popular dish that is current and marketable.<br /><br />I did not think that my little Cali-franco establishment was one of those places that wagered nothing and yet tried to provide a little bit of everything. I did not think that it was going to be so...uninspired. But I was very humbly, and completely, mistaken. Its price tag was definitely not reflective of this lack of creativity either. And its most recent reviews were quite favorable.<br /><br />I do not have a response for this experience. I do not know what to say or how to avoid it in the future without being too auspicious, and, in the process, all but marking the evening. Of course, this is where my reasonable-thinking cap goes on. Had I been at a Daily Grill or a McCormick's and Schmick's, or even a Flemings, I might have judged this experience a little less harshly (as chains, they have to maintain a certain uniform and thus rather insipid standard across the board and in all of their locations).<br /><br />I do, however, try to be appropriate and fair with my critical opinion of a food experience, and...that is why this one goes down in the books as being a really disappointing one.Sonyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714998998905571970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32869705.post-82716490734392992912007-03-25T19:04:00.000-07:002007-03-25T19:30:58.517-07:00(T.V.) Dinner for One<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046049780143768146" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hp71nhsYTlw/RgcrijhoQlI/AAAAAAAAAGM/lz2RbXQBBJ4/s200/Main+1.jpg" border="0" /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hp71nhsYTlw/RgcrjDhoQmI/AAAAAAAAAGU/Ln8_AWZkS44/s1600-h/Dessert+1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046049788733702754" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hp71nhsYTlw/RgcrjDhoQmI/AAAAAAAAAGU/Ln8_AWZkS44/s200/Dessert+1.JPG" border="0" /></a> So, I just had a whirlwind trip to Vegas with five of my closest girlfriends (you know, one of those where you arrive midday Saturday, party all night, get no sleep, and hop back on a plane at 6 in the morning to return home). Suffice it to say, Sunday (today) has consisted of me detoxing, drinking tons of water, and catching up on sleep. By 6 p.m. I was ready for dinner, but not in the mood to drive anywhere, so rummaging through my cupboard and refrigerator, I threw together the following t.v. dinner (I ate it very satisfyingly in front of my television). <div></div><div></div><br /><div><strong>Asian-Italian Fusion Noodles</strong></div><div>2 rolls bean thread noodles</div><div>1 green onion, chopped</div><div>1 T. sweet white onion, chopped</div><div>1 large garlic clove, peeled and minced</div><div>1 T. sun-dried tomatoes, packed in olive oil, coarsely chopped</div><div>1/2 T. fresh basil, chopped</div><div>1 sardine, chopped (about 1/3 can of sardines in olive oil)</div><div>1 T. Grapeseed oil</div><div>1/2 T. unsalted butter</div><div>1 T. soy sauce</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><br />Soak the noodles in very hot water while preparing the rest of the dish. Saute half of the green onion with the white onion, and garlic for about 5 minutes in the grapeseed oil and butter on medium heat (the white onion will start to turn translucent). Add the sun-dried tomatoes and sardine. Drain the noodles and roughly cut them with kitchen shears. Remove the saute from heat and toss the noodles in. Using tongs, toss in the basil and soy sauce. Top with the remaining green onion and serve. The beauty of this dish is that you don't really need to season, not even with salt (the soy sauce and sardines have plenty of salt).</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><br /><strong>Cheese Plate for Dessert</strong></div><div>Jarlsberg</div><div>Irish Cheddar</div><div>Gruyere</div><div>1 T. pepper jelly</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><br />Not sure that these cheeses completed complimented each other, but they are what I had in the fridge, so I enjoyed about a tablespoon-sized portion with each for dessert. I used the individual pieces of cheese as the carrier for the pepper jelly.</div>Sonyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714998998905571970noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32869705.post-2866858301402594892007-03-03T15:56:00.000-08:002007-03-05T15:32:57.837-08:00Jack n' Jill's in Santa Monica<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hp71nhsYTlw/ReoNcwUOwaI/AAAAAAAAAFo/YK3XMjlQzLc/s1600-h/P1010026.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037853920824574370" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hp71nhsYTlw/ReoNcwUOwaI/AAAAAAAAAFo/YK3XMjlQzLc/s200/P1010026.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hp71nhsYTlw/ReoNdAUOwbI/AAAAAAAAAFw/pXiS98DWFpY/s1600-h/P1010017.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037853925119541682" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hp71nhsYTlw/ReoNdAUOwbI/AAAAAAAAAFw/pXiS98DWFpY/s200/P1010017.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hp71nhsYTlw/ReoNdQUOwcI/AAAAAAAAAF4/NJntVa_7dzE/s1600-h/P1010015.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037853929414508994" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hp71nhsYTlw/ReoNdQUOwcI/AAAAAAAAAF4/NJntVa_7dzE/s200/P1010015.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We have been here several times before, since it's walking distance from Mylo's place, but this morning was the first visit in a while. It's a little breakfast and lunch place in Santa Monica that originated in Beverly Hills (it has these two locations). The Santa Monica location (on Santa Monica Blvd. about 5 blocks east of the water) used to be called Blueberry. Not sure of the logistics behind the name change since people who have been to its other such-named place have said that the food is similar. I never went to the earlier location, but I like Jack n' Jill's. It's small, cozy, has its own organic charm.<br /><br />Because there is usually a wait outside on weekends, they have complimentary freshly brewed iced green tea outside for anyone. Once inside, you order your food at the counter, and they hand you a number to put on your table so that when your food is ready, they will know where to bring your order. They have seating upstairs and on the ground floor where they proudly display a small assortment of pastries and cupcakes. They also have iced water with citrus slices in it on both levels for patrons to refill their cups at their leisure. Their coffee is brewed quite nicely, too.<br /><br />On this trip, I ordered a breakfast wrap that included eggs, avocado, tomatoes, cheese and bacon (I did without these two) and chives wrapped in lavash and served with my choice of breakfast potatoes, cheese grits, or cottage cheese. Mylo order lox, onions, and eggs, topped with sour cream and capers. His entree came with a plate of their mini blueberry muffins.<br /><br />I've ordered the eggs benedict in past visits (since I have to try eggs benedict wherever I go that it's offered) and I was not disappointed. Although the hollandaise was a little thick, it was delicious. Maybe because it's so thick I didn't get too much of it, so I had to ask for a little extra on the side. They promptly provided, no questions asked. Their service has actually always been good. Your coffee cup will never go empty and your table will always be cleaned.<br /><br />Their menu has many healthy and interesting options for a place as small as theirs. A few of my favorites: the Beverly Frittata (egg whites, spicy ground turkey, grilled onions, tomato, garlic and mozzarella cheese served pancake style), the Breakfast Panini (three over hard eggs and turkey bacon, cheddar cheese, tomatoes and avocado all grilled in a crispy Panini), and any of their pancake stacks.<br /><br />All in all, Jack n' Jill's in Santa Monica is a solid weekend breakfast experience. I would recommend to most anyone.<br /><br />Jack n' Jill's<br />510 Santa Monica Blvd.<br />Santa Monica, CA 90401<br />(310) 656-1501<br /><a href="http://www.eatatjacknjills.com/">http://www.eatatjacknjills.com/</a>Sonyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714998998905571970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32869705.post-20762500964224260772007-02-24T14:45:00.000-08:002007-03-05T15:33:38.591-08:00Quick Shrimp Salad Dinner<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hp71nhsYTlw/ReDCQrL-6xI/AAAAAAAAAE4/eyERrmXmCwI/s1600-h/3.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035237975126895378" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hp71nhsYTlw/ReDCQrL-6xI/AAAAAAAAAE4/eyERrmXmCwI/s200/3.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>It's Friday night, and I'm stuck in traffic on the freeway on my way home. Mylo might beat me to my place, so I need to think of something quick, easy, and light for dinner. Hmmm... Aha! What about a shrimp salad? I could buy frozen, uncooked, peeled, and deveined<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hp71nhsYTlw/ReDAJrL-6wI/AAAAAAAAAEo/ehowHn_dHKs/s1600-h/P1010004+-+Cut+Half.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035235655844555522" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hp71nhsYTlw/ReDAJrL-6wI/AAAAAAAAAEo/ehowHn_dHKs/s200/P1010004+-+Cut+Half.jpg" border="0" /></a> shrimp. I've always got mixed greens in my fridge. And tomatoes and garlic in my window sill. I would just grab some crumbled goat cheese and already sliced mushrooms to add...and a bottle of white. My wine fridge is overtaken with my favorite reds. I'd need a <a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hp71nhsYTlw/ReDAJbL-6vI/AAAAAAAAAEg/fRB9TKJHwds/s1600-h/3.JPG"></a>milder white with shrimp, like a hearty Chardonnay, something that would stand up to the garlic and shrimp.</div><div></div><br /><div>Trader Joe's is on my way home, so it wasn't difficult to stop in and quickly grab the shrimp, sliced mushrooms, some crumbled goat cheese, a bunch of basil (always good to have on hand) and a Rodney Shaw Chardonnay. I was on my way home and ready to start dinner.</div><div></div><div></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong></div></strong><div></div><br /><strong><div>Quick Shrimp Salad</strong></div><div>1 bag of frozen, uncooked, peeled and deveined, shrimp</div><div>4 oz. sliced mushrooms, white or cremini</div><div>8 garlic cloves, minced</div><div>1 bag of mixed greens</div><div>2 Roma tomatoes, sliced<br />1/4 cup of basil, julienned</div><div>1/4 cup of crumpled goat cheese</div><div>1-2 T. EVOO (extra virgin olive oil)</div><div>kosher salt and fresh ground black pepper, to taste</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><br /><div>Soak the bag of shrimp in room temperature water for 30 minutes or so (depending on how frozen the shrimp are). When they are thawed, heat a large pan and add the EVOO. Drop the shrimp in and salt and pepper. When the shrimp start to turn color, add the mushrooms and 4 T. of garlic, and season with more salt and pepper (season along the way). When the mushrooms start to release some moisture and the shrimp are opaque, remove from heat. Put the mixed greens in a bowl and toss in the basil and tomatoes. Salt and pepper. Add the mushrooms and shrimp, juices and all, and the other 4 T. of garlic to the salad and toss gently. Sprinkle the goat cheese over top. Serve immediately.</div>Sonyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714998998905571970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32869705.post-23835004721298309052007-02-20T12:37:00.000-08:002007-02-21T07:59:04.495-08:00Valentine's Dinner<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hp71nhsYTlw/Rdtcg7L-6uI/AAAAAAAAAEM/W_Gpmpiv-Ps/s1600-h/V-Dinner+cropped.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033718729230183138" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hp71nhsYTlw/Rdtcg7L-6uI/AAAAAAAAAEM/W_Gpmpiv-Ps/s200/V-Dinner+cropped.JPG" border="0" /></a>All opinions of Valentine's Day aside, it still provides a good excuse to cook a slightly nicer dinner. Mylo had his choice of menus for the evening. Beef, fish, or lamb. He chose fish, so I prepared a salmon stuffed with three kinds of mushrooms, wrapped and sauteed in rice paper, and served atop a bed of mixed greens that covered a small bunch of asparagus and a flattened mound of garlic fingerling mashed potatoes. I do not typically follow recipes (like my mother or her mother or her mother's mother, etc.), but I prefer to go by taste, usually my taste.<br /><br />The stuffed fish is a variation on a dish that I learned at Hip Cooks (a fun, simple, and tasty cooking class offered near downtown Los Angeles by a fun, wacky, and affable teacher, Chef Monika; it focuses on fundamentals and easier recipes that are beginner-cook-friendly; I highly recommend Hip Cooks as a social outing among a group of girlfriends; <a href="http://www.hipcooks.com/">http://www.hipcooks.com/</a>). The periphery (micro greens, asparagus, and mashed potatoes) I added myself.<br /><br /><strong>Stuff Salmon with Three Kinds of Mushroom</strong><br />4 individual serving salmon filets, skinned and boned<br />6 ozs. each of button, cremini, and oyster mushrooms, sliced<br />1 medium onion, yellow or white, sliced<br />4 cloves of garlic, minced<br />4 T. unsalted butter<br />4 T. olive oil, preferably extra virgin (EVOO)<br />4 large rice paper (spring roll) wrappers<br />chives<br />kosher salt and fresh ground black pepper, to taste<br /><br />In a large sauce pan, saute the mushrooms, garlic, and onion with 2 T. each of the butter and oil, adding salt and pepper to taste. Cut the salmon filets length-wise, horizontally, to the middle. Soak the rice paper in hot water, one at a time, until soft. When the mushrooms are softened, spoon a large portion into the salmon filet. Put 2-3 chives on top of the stuffed salmon filet lengthwise (this is more decorative than for taste). Carefully wrap the stuffed filet with the softened rice paper, especially the stuffed portion of the filet. Saute all sides evenly in the remaining 2 T. of butter and oil (add more if you need to) until the salmon is no longer translucent, but a healthy thick pink.<br /><br />From here, I laid the salmon on top of a bed of mixed (or micro) greens drizzled with EVOO and flavored with kosher salt and fresh ground black pepper. Underneath the mixed greens, I placed a flattened portion of multi-colored fingerling mashed potatoes and sauteed asparagus. Approximates below.<br /><br /><strong>Sauteed Asparagus</strong><br />1 bunch of asparagus<br />4 cloves of garlic, minced<br />2 T. unsalted butter<br />2 T. EVOO<br />kosher salt and fresh ground black pepper, to taste<br /><br />Either shave the asparagus stalks (using a vegetable peeler, remove the outer layer of the asparagus skin from the middle of the stalk to the bottom) or cut them (bend one of the stalks until it breaks; where it breaks, line up the rest of the bunch to this stalk, and cut the bunch to the same length). This ensures that you are using the tenderest part of the asparagus stalks. Heat a sauce pan with the butter and EVOO. Add the garlic and asparagus and saute until carmelization starts (e.g., it browns).<br /><br /><strong>Fingerling Mashed Potatoes</strong><br /><em>(I used a mixed array of colored potatoes, but the mashed potatoes looked too much like Play-Do, so stick with one color of potatoes)</em><br />1 bag of fingerling potatoes (they usually come in small bags)<br />4 cloves of garlic, minced<br />4 T. EVOO<br />4 T. unsalted butter<br />kosher salt and fresh ground black pepper, to taste<br /><br />Wash the potatoes and put them in a pot of cold water (make sure they are all covered in the water). Bring the water to a boil with the potatoes in the pot. When they are fork-tender, remove them from the water, and mash them (skins and all) with the garlic, EVOO, and unsalted butter. Add oil, butter, salt and/or pepper as needed (remember to taste along the way).<br /><br /><strong>Plating the Dish</strong><br />Place a healthy portion of the mashed potatoes in the center of a plate (preferably a white plate) and flatten. Place 4 of the asparagus stalks on top of the potatoes. Put a bunch of mixed greens on top and drizzle with EVOO, adding salt and pepper to taste. Place the salmon (chives side up) on top of the mixed greens. Serve immediately and enjoy!Sonyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714998998905571970noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32869705.post-74062958057449777102007-02-12T21:31:00.000-08:002007-02-12T23:02:17.892-08:00Sunday Night Dinner - A Variatian on the Philippines<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hp71nhsYTlw/RdFjbrL-6pI/AAAAAAAAADU/qdmcuSU9zX0/s1600-h/Adobo+Chicken+2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5030911585850157714" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hp71nhsYTlw/RdFjbrL-6pI/AAAAAAAAADU/qdmcuSU9zX0/s320/Adobo+Chicken+2.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hp71nhsYTlw/RdFjb7L-6qI/AAAAAAAAADc/c2G0nGXZ8K0/s1600-h/Pansit+3.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5030911590145125026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hp71nhsYTlw/RdFjb7L-6qI/AAAAAAAAADc/c2G0nGXZ8K0/s320/Pansit+3.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hp71nhsYTlw/RdFjcLL-6rI/AAAAAAAAADk/D8FC4R1ckhM/s1600-h/Oyster+Sauce.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5030911594440092338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hp71nhsYTlw/RdFjcLL-6rI/AAAAAAAAADk/D8FC4R1ckhM/s320/Oyster+Sauce.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />I am not intending for this blog to focus on food, but I had to write about my Sunday Night Dinner experience this past weekend. We had decided to have a Filipino Food Night where I would do the cooking. I, of course, had to borrow from my mother's heritage. She is not Filipino, mind you, but Samoan, and Samoans seem to have their own variation on many Filipino dishes. So these are my variations, rather my <em>mother's</em> variations. They are all approximations; my mother's dishes (and her mother's dishes, and so on) have never been created in measurements, but rather in taste. I chose two Filipino dishes: chicken adobo and pansit. Usually the chicken adobo has bay leaves. I did not. The pansit (also spelled pancit) usually calls for pork, sometimes chicken, and rice thread noodles. I opted for shrimp and bean curd noodles.<br /><br /><div><div><div><div><div></div><div><strong>Chicken Adobo</strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div> </div><div>1 cup of water</div><div>4 garlic cloves, peeled and minced</div><div>3 green onions, trimmed and cut in 2 inch stalks</div><div>1/3 cup soy sauce (my mother uses La Choy)</div><div>1/4 cup white vinegar</div><div>1/3 cup granulated white sugar</div><div>5 chicken drumsticks, with bones and skin</div><div>5 chicken thighs, with bones and skin</div><div>salt and pepper to taste</div><div></div><br /><div>Cut each chicken piece in two. You will need a meat cleaver. I did not have one, so I used one of my heavier, less expensive knives and, armed with a small pan as a mallet, I was able to cut through the bone (make sure to wear an apron and wrap everything on the counter around your cutting board with cling wrap). Lightly salt and pepper the pieces, and steam them in the water in a large pot on medium high for about 10 minutes.</div><br /><div></div><div>In a bowl, combine the soy sauce, vinegar, and sugar. Mix until the sugar thickens the sauce (it will never completely dissolve). Add the sauce and garlic to the chicken at the 10-minute mark, and stir well. Let the chicken continue to steam, every now and again mixing the chicken in the sauce, for another 20 to 30 minutes, or until done. Add the green onions and gently stir. Serve over white rice (I used Botan Calrose white rice in a rice cooker, 4 cups of rice to 5 cups of water, rinsing only once).</div><div></div><br /><div><strong>Shrimp Pansit</strong><br /></div><div>2 celery stalks, cut on a 2" bias</div><div>2 carrot sticks, cut on a 2" bias</div><div>4 ozs. mushrooms, sliced</div><div>1 green bell pepper, seeded and sliced<br />1 red bell pepper, seeded and sliced</div><div>2 handles of baby bok choy, cleaned and cut in fours</div><div>4 garlic cloves, peeled and minced</div><div>4 green onions, cut on a 2" bias</div><div>3 T. oyster sauce</div><div>3 T. Canola oil</div><div>3 T. soy sauce</div><div>1 lb. peeled, raw shrimp</div><div>1 package bean curd noodles, vermicelli-sized</div><div></div><br /><div>In a wok or large sauce pan, add 2 T. of the Canola oil, oyster sauce, and soy sauce each to medium heat. Saute the celery and carrots (I covered the pan to help speed up the cooking without burning them). Add the mushrooms and bell peppers when the celery and carrots and softened some. In another pan, saute the shrimp in the remaining T. each of the Canola oil, oyster sauce, and soy sauce, over medium to medium-high heat. To the vegetable pan, add the baby bok choy, garlic, and green onions. When the shrimp is no longer translucent, add to the vegetable saute pan.</div><div></div><br /><div>For the noodles, pour hot water (almost boiling) in a heat-proof bowl. Soak the noodles in the bowl for 5 minutes. With kitchen shears, cut the noodles up a little so they're not so long. Then fork them out of the water, letting as much of the liquid drain off, and add them to the vegetable saute pan, and toss. Add more soy sauce or oyster sauce to taste and as needed.</div></div></div></div></div>Sonyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714998998905571970noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32869705.post-1166582081013431872006-12-19T18:33:00.000-08:002006-12-19T18:34:41.030-08:00Italian Food, A ReviewThere’s this little Italian restaurant in Santa Monica that we’ve always passed, never venturing to go inside because, after perusing the outside menu one day, we realized that the price range is not that of a casual dining experience, but more of the “special occasion” variety. Well, finally, and fortunately, a special occasion happened that deserved a reservation at this little, refined Italian watering hole.<br /><br />We almost laughed as we entered, half expecting the host to recognize and chastise us for passing by so many times and not stopping in. But he beckoned us to follow him with a warm smile, ushering us to a table along one of the dark walls. The restaurant was small and cozy, with two walls lined with oak wine barrels-turned-wine racks, full of wine of course. He presented us both with menus (“Grazie.” “Prego.”) and handed MyL the wine list. MyL promptly passed it over the table to me, “She’ll be ordering the wine tonight.” Smile.<br /><br />Our server came shortly thereafter plunking a bread basket on the table and with the slightest Italian accent asked what kind of water we wanted. No olive oil came with the bread. Looking at the menu, I noticed that we would have to order separately. Hmmm…I would forgive this if the olive oil was good--and the one they offered was…very good, in fact (Olio & Olive). But before jumping to order some, we tried the bread first…as I continued to read the wine list. The bread was soft and doughy; it was dusted with cheese, parsley, and dried bits of garlic; it did not need any oil.<br /><br />As for the wine selection, well, after getting MyL to agree to enjoy a glass or two with me, our choices opened up significantly with the list of available half bottles. I was craving a Montepulciano, so asked the server what came closest. He consulted with the sommelier who, as I predicted, suggested the two Brunello di Montalcino. We ordered the 2001 Col D’Orcia (priced at a none-too-modest $58; this was a special occasion after all). It was deliciously tannicky, dry, full-body, and had a lingering, smooth finish. It would be perfect with what I had in mind for dinner.<br /><br />The menu itself was full of rich one-off Italian classics (homemade beet tagliolini with homemade quail sausage, sea urchin carpaccio, veal shank and pheasant). We listened to the specials and the chef’s tasting menu for $70 each ($125 each if we wanted to top each plate with white truffle shavings, otherwise they would all be topped with black truffle shavings, save one dish of our choosing to have the white). We decided to order from the menu, and our server was gracious enough to split each dish for us free of charge.<br /><br />We started with an Italian classic: crudo di carciofi e parmigiano (thinly sliced celery and artichoke hearts served with arugula, shaved parmesan and a lemon dressing). It was light, lemony, and crunchy. A perfect dish to start with. From there I was torn between pan-seared sweet breads served in a bed of soft polenta and marsala wine demiglaze or cognac chicken liver terrine served with Tuscan croutons. We ordered the terrina di fegatini di pollo con crostini di pane all’aglio. The terrine was huge, larger than the servings offered at a specialty food store. And the garlic crostini was a very complementary backdrop to the creamy, earthy terrine. I ate most of this dish.<br /><br />We followed our second course with a pasta: ravioli di brasato su salsa di porcini (homemade ravioli filled with braised beef filet mignon served in a bed of porcini mushrooms and topped with butter and sage sauce). MyL chose this course, and what a good choice indeed. I love brown butter and sage sauces to begin with, so adding this pasta (covered in more parmesan, mind you) to this sauce was about six bites of heaven for me. The ravioli filled with the filet mignon was substantial, yet not too heavy for the delicate pasta. The flavors blended together to create delectable, little edible pillows.<br /><br />Our final course was simple, yet classic: costiccine d’agnello nostrano alle due senapi (marinated Colorado lamb chops served with Dijon and grain mustard sauce), ordered rare with warm centers. The lamb was crusted over from carmelization on the outside and perfectly juicy and bloody on the inside. As we finished our fourth and final course, I commented to MyL, “If we were not sitting in this restaurant, surrounded by these people, I’d pick up this lamb chop and clean the bone!”<br /><br />Our server came to our table then and asked how we enjoyed the meal. “We didn’t enjoy it at all…as you can see by our completely cleaned plates.” His eyes twinkled, “Yes, I can tell.” And I could tell that he’s proud of the food they serve…as well he should be.<br /><br />Any dessert? Cappuccino? Espresso? No, thank you. Nothing can follow a meal like this except the time afterwards to savor the taste and appreciate the experience.<br /><br />Molto bene. Grazie. Prego. Buonanotte. Yes, indeed. It was a good night.Sonyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714998998905571970noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32869705.post-1165432583990850192006-12-06T11:15:00.000-08:002006-12-06T11:16:24.006-08:00My love affair...with food…and wine, but this is not dedicated to wine (although I am keenly aware of my current preference to the darker tannicky petite sirah over its more elegant cousin, the syrah). I will save my (very strong) opinion of wine for later.<br /><br />There is no rhyme or reason for this…shall we say…aubade. My love affair with food is complicated---in the best and worst sense.<br /><br />Granted those of you that know me, really know me, my precious and patient loved ones, also know that this is my source of constant struggle, my lifelong yin and yang. I am not addressing that rather somber side of my love affair, however. Not right now.<br /><br />As for the emphatic and rather passionate side of my love affair, it’s far-reaching and all-encompassing. From the playfulness of an amuse bouche, served before the hors d'œuvre to awaken the palate, to the silky sincerity of my favorite cheese, the French bucheron, I am very earnest in my love. And I welcome both the aperitif and digestif alike, before and after my meal. I crave the fleshy raw, paper-thin savory slices of a peppery carpaccio with fresh lemon juice squeezed on top as much as I crave the cured, paper-thin sharper slices of a prosciutto di Parma wrapped around melon or figs. Pate is one of my weeknight indulgences spread over a hearty crostini enjoyed with, of course, a glass of wine. But recently I was most pleasantly surprised by a rich foie gras slider (basically, a panini cut into fours) that I enjoyed at a local wine bar. It was accompanied by a mix of olives that included deliciously mild and nutty lucques, another favorite of mine.<br /><br />I could go on and on, mind you.<br /><br />But I should also recognize the flipside of my gastronomical love affair. The dirty, gritty, deliciously sinful flipside. My fast food of choice? I’m torn between either the fresh and substantial In-N-Out burger (ordered animal-style and protein-style, and always after midnight) or the supermarket pre-cooked whole rotisserie chicken in the plastic bag priced under $10, in any flavor that is offered (from BBQ to herbed). I also tend to gravitate towards anything deep-fried, as in chicken (preferably on top of a waffle) or Twinkies---a la mode (thank you, Lulu’s Blue Plate off of Sawtelle; may you rest in peace). Of course, breakfast being a favorite weekend pastime of mine would be remiss without Spam over eggs and rice, with a few dashes of hot sauce, or Eggs Benedict, a dish I must order at any place that offers it, good or bad reputation notwithstanding.<br /><br />I must speak to my obsession over protein. From a good quality juicy steak, cooked rare-plus (i.e., very bloody with a warm center), and sometimes au poivre, to anything in the ocean, from sushi to shellfish. I should mention, in particular, the crab…completely doused in Old Bay (those from the Eastern seaboard, preferably from Washington, DC down to the Carolinas should be plenty familiar with Old Bay).<br /><br />That said, my Samoan heritage needs representing here, too, with its rich and tropical flavors. The bright taste of oka (raw, seasoned fish in lemon juice, coconut milk and onions) is almost in and of itself a perfect amuse bouche. And Samoan BBQ chicken (marinated in soy sauce, fresh minced garlic, vinegar, and sugar) is juicier and more complex than most any BBQ chicken I’ve tasted.<br /><br />My love affair with food is highly judgmental, borderline snobbish. A food can be prepared appropriately and as expected; a dish can be served fresh and flavorful; a plate can be made simply but with the highest quality ingredients…and the alternative can also happen.<br /><br />My love affair spans far and wide. I’d say that it’s resting very appropriately in France right now, and probably will be there for a while. I’m enjoying complimentary French foods, wines, and cheeses too much to sway in another direction just yet. But I will continue to appreciate the pleasant, little surprises along the way at the hole-in-the-walls, or the recommended dishes at the local spots, or the homemade holiday treats as they are brought into the office. I will not turn down my first experience with any food. In the same token, do not expect me to be at all forgiving the second time around.Sonyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714998998905571970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32869705.post-1159225577903498792006-09-25T16:04:00.000-07:002006-09-25T16:06:17.920-07:00The Super 8The “Super 8” consists of eight fabulously smart and beautiful women who grew close in business school and due to circumstance. We developed into a support group of sorts for each other, regularly getting together at each others’ places, hosting large parties, and dressing in theme at volleyball tournaments and costume parties. It has gotten to the point where if anyone wants to get something done, build attendance at a Happy Hour, raise money for a cause, just getting the word out about something, they know to contact one of the Super 8, and through our large network, we will make it happen, we will get it done. We’ve become a chick-flick-kind-of-clique. <br /><br />I suppose that sounds a tad kitschy. Well, I don’t suppose at all. It does sound bad. ---Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a big fan of chick flicks. As a matter of fact, I’m not a typical girlie girl at all. I don’t like pink. I don’t cry during movies. I don’t eat frozen yogurt. And I love red meat. But my rapport with these seven women, my relationship with them is invaluable; it cannot be easily replaced. Our conversations, many of them, will be taken to our graves. Too bad, too…because a playwright would love to be a fly on the wall at one of our wine-and-dines. We are a living and breathing movie script, a good one. And probably, no, most certainly not of the chick flick variety.<br /><br />We’ve all graduated from business school now and have since moved on to successful careers, or are on the cusp of successful careers, saying good-bye to what we used to think was right or what we were used to…before business school and before being empowered, no, more so enlightened. Some of us have begun new interpersonal chapters in our lives, and have started new and exciting relationships, or revived old ones that were always worth it. Some of us have ended them. Some of us own property now, in nicer parts of town with beautiful furniture (and fuzzy cats…my “shout out” to Simon). Some of us regularly jetset for work…from mundane places like Connecticut to exciting places like Aspen. Some of us are big fish in small ponds, working as vital members of smaller companies on the verge of greatness, while others of us are completely swallowed up by Corporate America in large Fortune 500 companies trying to validate our roles in the Corporate jungle.<br /><br />I’ve never felt more of a sense of freedom or more of a sense of camaraderie in my life than I have these past several years.<br /><br />We are a dynamic group of fabulously smart and beautiful women who grew close in <em>spite</em> of business school and in <em>spite</em> of circumstance. I hope things never change. And yet I hope things never <em>stop</em> changing….Sonyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714998998905571970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32869705.post-1157136920537978752006-09-01T11:54:00.000-07:002006-09-01T11:55:20.560-07:00The Late Night Music SplurgeJust had six of the “Super 8” over for dinner, wine, and good conversation, the kind of get-togethers we used to have all summer long last year (to find out who the Super 8 are, you will have to read another blog entry).<br /><br />And now that I’ve said good-bye to the last of them, I am at my computer doing my wind-down dance. You know, the one where you check all six of your existing email accounts, your multiple Evites for any new responses, your MySpace account, and your calendar…before you open your iTunes to see what late night music you would splurge and download with a simple click or two because you’re too tired to realize that---$30 later---you might possibly have downloaded 10 versions of an old Jazz standard that you vaguely remembered hearing in the background in some commercial on the television that has been on the whole time for noise’s sake while you do your wind-down dance.<br /><br />Okay, perhaps not everyone has the same routine as I do. And I definitely don’t download music every night. But around 1 a.m., when I am about to turn in for the evening, that has become the time when I am my most ravenous and least discriminatory at downloading music.<br /><br />By the way, let’s set the record straight: I no longer mooch music from obscure German sites for free; I am legitimate now and I pay. I wasn’t scared into doing this; just thought I’d try and be a citizen at something.<br /><br />But this is where I am right now. I happened to hear “What Are You Doing For the Rest of Your Life” (by Michel Legrand with lyrics by Alan and Marilyn Bergman), and I’ve since downloaded multiple versions of it by Frank Sinatra, Barbra Streisand, Sarah Vaughn, Johnny Mathis, etc. With all due respect to the song, of course. It’s beautiful and heartfelt. The lyrics are classic, very jazzy. The music is sad, almost bluesy. But 10-some-odd versions of it? Granted, since starting this blog, I’ve also downloaded JT’s new song about bringing “sexy” back, a fun and catchy tune charged with quite a different kind of energy….<br /><br />So, back to my jazz standard. For my part, I will force myself to listen to these multiple versions nonstop for the next week or so in my car on my way in to work, when I can while at work, and on my way home from work. At least then will I feel partly justified for having downloaded these 12 or so versions.<br /><br />Lyrics below.<br /><br /><strong>What are you doing the rest of your life?</strong><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">Music by Michel Legrand; Lyrics by Alan Bergman and Marilyn Bergman</span><br /><br />What are you doing the rest of your life?<br />North and South and East and West of your life<br />I have only one request of your life<br />That you spend it all with me<br /><br />All the seasons and the times of your days<br />All the nickels and the dimes of your days<br />Let the reasons and the rhymes of your days<br />All begin and end with me<br /><br />I want to see your face in every kind of light<br />In the fields of dawn and the forests of the night<br />And when you stand before the candles on a cake<br />Oh, let me be the one to hear the silent wish you make<br /><br />Those tomorrows waiting deep in your eyes<br />In the world of love that you keep in your eyes<br />I'll awaken what's asleep in your eyes<br />It may take a kiss or two<br /><br />Through all of my life<br />Summer, Winter, Spring, and Fall of my life<br />All I ever will recall of my life<br />Is all of my life with youSonyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714998998905571970noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32869705.post-1156321638802397252006-08-23T01:21:00.000-07:002006-08-23T01:27:18.813-07:00The Street PerformerLate Friday evening of this past weekend, my friends and I were making our way down Third Street Promenade (a large, tourist-supported outdoor mall in Santa Monica, California, that stretches for several blocks along the coast). As many such venues tout (i.e., Boston’s Faneuil Hall), the Promenade has its share of eclectic street entertainment, its share of street performers. This night was no exception. Tourists thronged the sidewalks as we picked our way gingerly through from one bar to the next. The street performers were almost as prevalent as the tourists and definitely as popular as the shops, being surrounded by rows deep of the curious, necks stretching to catch a glimpse, wondering what odd gift each performer had to share with them. This stirred up old memories of my childhood and took me to another place in my life. I hearken back…<br /><br />When I was younger and living in Boston, the street performers always seemed to hold a sort of mystique about them. They were godlier than us common folk if only because they could perform two feet away from perfect strangers and be happy with meager change thrown at their feet for their craft or song or dance. Their talent varied widely, from skill level to creativity. I remember watching this cowboy in front of the Gap who twirled a lasso into perfectly congruous circles that seemed to float on an imaginary plane some several feet off of the ground. In an article written about some of the street performers in the Globe one Sunday, I found out that the cowboy was actually an astrophysicist by day. My stream of consciousness got me to thinking about <em>why</em> these street performers perform on the street. Obviously some of them perform out of necessity; they need money and they would rather perform for it. Others, like this astrophysicist-turned-cowboy, perform for other reasons, perhaps for the attention, or for the thrill of performing for others. I don’t know.<br /><br />Back at the Promenade in Santa Monica this past weekend, my friends and I have just stepped out of a restaurant, about to head to another place for drinks, and there in front of the restaurant, in the middle of the thoroughfare, is this sad, very comical, little Asian man with a mix-match of hand-me-downs on and snow boots to match. He is singing a completely monotone version of an early 90’s hit song to a Casio keyboard-generated beat without even a melody. His song of choice? Billy Ray Cyrus’ <em>Achy Breaky Heart</em> (thank you, MyL, for jogging my memory). I grabbed my girlfriend, pulled her hand to join me behind a tree to edge closer to this little man. She was giggling. I started laughing a little louder. We stepped from behind the tree to get a closer look at him. His audience was meager, and those who were watching him were playing the same “I’m trying not to laugh visibly at you” game with him. And although it seemed like he was oblivious to this little display of “bravado” around him, I could have sworn I saw him stamp his foot harder and sing louder when he looked in anyone’s direction and he saw the reaction it elicited. So, was he a musician, a comedian, or all of the things that add up to him being a street performer? Forty feet away from him was a man doing all kinds of things on his hands, feet tucked into his body, wheelchair visible in the distance, all while wearing blue taffeta. How did either of them get here? Again, I don’t know.<br /><br />My sister and I used to always say that one day we’d perform on the street with our guitars, harmonizing to classic covers as well as our own music, not caring if we built up a stockpile of pennies or peanuts in our open guitar cases. Well, today she is a chiropractor in Atlanta and I am living in Los Angeles. So, the likelihood of us performing on a street corner is nothing short of fanciful. BUT if she did come out here for a summer, say, and we decided that we wanted to perform at the Promenade, what would we actually have to do in order to be able to? Once more, I do not know.<br /><br />---so I looked it up…just out of my fanciful curiosity, of course.<br /><br />***<br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Excerpt from DowntownSantaMonica.com </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><strong>How do I become a street performer on the Third Street Promenade?</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><br />Hundreds of street performers and artists hold licenses to bring their artistry to Downtown Santa Monica and the Third Street Promenade. Among the many artists who make this city by the sea more interesting are clowns, dancers, guitarists, jugglers, pianists, saxophonists, singer-songwriters, tango dancers, a tiny Elvis and more.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">In order to perform on the Third Street Promenade, a performance license is required.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><br />Street performers' licenses are issued out of Santa Monica City Hall at 1685 Main Street, Room 103, phone – 310-458-8745. An application may be obtained in person, and two passport-sized photos and a photo ID is required. The licensing office is open between 8 a.m. and 5 p.m. Monday through Thursday and alternate Fridays. The application process takes three days.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><br />The license fee is $37 per person for one year and runs from January 1 to December 31.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">Once a performance permit has been obtained, any questions may be directed to the Bayside District Corporation, 310-393-8355 or </span><a href="http://www.downtownsm.com/bfaq.html"><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">http://www.downtownsm.com/bfaq.html</span></a><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;">.</span>Sonyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01714998998905571970noreply@blogger.com1