Sunday at the Farmers’ Market

Posted on December 4, 2012 by foodie

“Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.”  ~ Albert Camus

On Sundays when I can go to the farmers’ market, I enjoy the seasonal local produce that is available. Among all the seasons, the harvest season of fall is the most inspiring. It arrives around October, and then by Thanksgiving we have such plenty: pumpkins, squashes, arugula, kale, the dark green Tuscan cavalo nero or dinosaur kale, yams, mushrooms, persimmons, pomegranates. As much as I love the springtime, autumn is glorious.

I have always longed for a garden to grow vegetables in. A few fruit trees and a grassy yard with a table and chairs for lingering over meals outdoors. For a brief moment of my life I was blessed with such a house, but now I live in a small apartment with a shaded patio, so I gather produce at my local farmers’ market. This has become my weekend ritual.

“The moment one gives close attention to anything, even a blade of grass, it becomes a mysterious, awesome, indescribably magnificent world in itself.”  ~ Henry Miller

I was born on Sunday. Perhaps this has nothing to do with how I approach life, but I like to think it does. I find myself waiting through the week for Sunday to arrive. There are farmers’ markets on other days besides Sunday, I know. I’ve been on an occasional Wednesday and quite spontaneously on a Saturday. But I reserve Sunday for that special moment. If I were in France or Italy, it would be common to shop for the day’s groceries in the open-air markets. But as many gourmet cooks that have lived in France have told me, we are lucky to have such a plentiful selection as we do here in California.

“Walk as if you are kissing the earth with your feet.” ~ Thich Nhat Hanh

The week rushes by. I long to take a leisurely walk through the market with my eco-cloth bags, my shopping list in hand with written down ingredients for recipes, but sometimes I just allow the selection to inspire me instead. I’ve discovered that the produce tastes better when hand-picked from the farmers’ stalls. The connection between farm-to-table is a simple pleasure that awakens my senses. Being a sensualist, I’m someone who enjoys the pleasures of life. I take in everything with heightened awareness, as if every pore of my being comes alive with the scents, sights, and textures of the open-air market. A soulful sense of pleasure sparkles within me, walking through the stands, tables full of the vibrant colors of fruits and vegetables. Perhaps marketing like this is my Sunday way of revering nature and celebrating their harvest. The farmers’ market has become my temple, my place of wonder and serenity, and my inspiration. How lucky we are to have such harvest. What joy it brings.

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It Must Be The Ginger

Posted on November 17, 2012 by foodie

We ordered the ginger pork curry for the first time. Kay, the waitress, suggested that it went best with sticky rice, so we agreed. Also side dishes of papaya salad (Som Tam) and Tom Kha soup, laced with the potent spice of Thai chili.

Our Thai teas arrived, tamarind orange, slushy with ice, the condensed milk swirling into cloud patterns, served in tall Coca-Cola glasses. The straws came adorned with small roses sculpted by hand out of the white wrapping paper. I thought this was charming. Just what I would expect from this little dollhouse of a Thai restaurant, hidden away in the urban sprawl of Los Angeles.

We were two lovers meeting in a Thai café, taking a moment away from the rest of the world. I’ve wanted to hold on to this memory, because it was when we first met. We sat side by side, leaning close together, my head resting upon his shoulder. I noticed the shape of his ear, the masculine lines of his face, and with my eyes I traced each curve of his cheek, his eyes, nose, lips. The scent of his skin, so good, I nuzzle into the curve of him like a little girl seeking comfort. I can never get close enough, leaning into him, kissing the side of his neck, inhaling near his cheek, a kiss placed there. Our hands linked, tips of his fingers caressing mine. I feel shivers run through me. I want him. Down to the tips of my toes. Inhale. Sip of creamy tamarind-sweet Thai tea goes cold down my throat. I feel it send its condensed milk through my veins until I am buoyant with that giddy feeling of being saturated with sweetness. Falling in love.

Kay brought each dish to the table. The festive papaya salad, the aromatic hot pot full of Tom Kha soup. Sticky rice wrapped in plastic, placed inside cup-sized baskets. The rice package is hot in the palm of my hand. I want to scoop it out, spoon it on my plate, but I wait for the curry.

He opens his, takes the rice from its basket, eats a little of it by itself. My mouth is full of soup. I savor the Tom Kha with shrimp and some white fleshy fish, spoon plunking into the creamy bowl, straw mushrooms bobbing happily in the coconut milk, eating fat slices of tomato, hot and steaming in my mouth. I taste lemongrass and galangal root, chili and kaffir lime. Tom Kha nourishes me when I’m in need of something comforting, and I resort to it when I am not feeling well. No other soup makes me feel better. But even when my health is good, I crave a big bowl of it.

Then the aphrodisiac dish arrives: kaeng hangleh (ginger pork curry) with large slices of ginger, a dazzle of peanuts, the stew of the curry so sensuous and velvety, its sultry gravy saturating the sticky rice with a hearty glaze. Cilantro, fragrant and green, feathered on top of the surface. Peanuts dappled among the large pieces of pork meat, and the curry itself thick with a wondrous color mélange of turmeric-orange, massaman paste chili-red. A curry that has depth, a healing pot of stew. This curry made me forget vegetarianism, and all of my meatless days, finding something nurturing in the flesh of a pig.

I think of that first bite of the ginger pork curry, how it was ladled so lovingly on top of the pillow of sticky rice by my Darling, as he served me each amount without the meat of the pork, just slowly dousing the hillock of my white portion of rice with the unctuous gravy, making sure I got my share of the wide slivers of ginger. When I think of that taste and soul satisfying texture, how it seeped into my blood and bones, I realized that ginger, glorious and zesty, a mischievous rhizome root, made my body zing with desire. I felt my veins buzz. Potent with the spicy passion of ginger, it was as if some devilish pixie lit tiny fires of lust inside of us. It must be the ginger, I thought.

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{RECIPE} Darling’s Summer Shrimp in Mojito Dressing

Posted on November 8, 2012 by foodie

“The art of cooking is among the most intimate things that we can do for another.” ~ Chef Charlie Trotter

Romantic meals can be shared in your kitchen at home. You don’t need a reservation for two at some candlelit table across town to make it special. But what makes a meal become aphrodisiac? Here is the dish that won my heart over and the story of how my man (I call him Darling) cooked something so marvelous that it inspired me to write about how love and food are undeniably connected. I hope that I can inspire you with my kitchen romance. Because this was one of the most romantic moments of my life.

I watch him peel shrimp in the kitchen. He’s holding the knife steady and with precision he deftly cuts along the spine of the shrimp, pink and quivering. At the wooden cutting block he conducts a jazz rhythm with his chef’s knife— finely chopping fresh leaves of mint and feathery cilantro, scooping the green herbs into a bowl. I am enthralled by the way he takes such loving care of the ingredients. The watermelon and cucumber, all cubed and ready, shimmer with watery urgency. His nimble fingers shimmy among them, tossing and dressing the salsa with a squeeze of lime. The juice spurts into the bowl as he squeezes the lime until its pulp frays and separates from the green rind. I notice the juice covering his fingers, palm of his hand, running down his arm. It smells good and citrusy. He pulls me close and kisses me. Fragrant mint and juicy lime on his hands, he gives me yet another and another kiss. Then he’s back to preparing our meal. I delight in watching him drizzle olive oil into another bowl, stirring the dressing with the whisk. He slices fresh corn off its cob. As I stand there barefoot in my sundress, captivated as a little girl, he gives me a sly glance. He knows I am melting inside down to the marrow with want. Love is a magical ingredient in this dish.

He sets the two dishes down on the dining table. Shrimp in a dressing of olive oil, lime, honey, mint and cilantro, along with a salsa of corn, watermelon and cucumber— the fragrance and sweetness, the pleasure. He caresses my thigh under the table. I taste a mouthful of his creation, and suddenly, from the very core of my body, I am shuddering with emotion. The meal had transformed from a casual little dish into an aphrodisiac affair. A sensation like champagne bubbles rises up through my body, and I am giddy, swooning. His hand is warm, caressing my thigh. I am shaking, my knees are jelly, unable to contain the pleasure. I am overwhelmed by his cooking, and with delicate forkfuls I taste each flavor as it combines together upon my tongue, inhaling the essence of it, holding the bite upon my palate, savoring. He slides the flat of his palm softly along my inner leg, smiling to himself. My mouth is full of watermelon and cucumber, and corn and shrimp and I can’t stop sighing. I am so moved I want to cry from joy, but all I can do is surrender to it. His eyes gleam with happiness. I taste slowly, relishing each mouthful. We sit close and kiss over the plates, mouths full of the flavors of watermelon, olive oil, honey, cilantro, lime juice, and mint, the sea-sweetness of the pink fresh shrimp, the tang of pleasure.

Later, in the kitchen, the counter scattered with bunches of mint and cilantro, we lean against the counter and kiss. Again the faint aroma of herbs on his hands, like a magic spell, intoxicates me with its summery bouquet. He gazes into my eyes. I am trembling. I’m in love.

Darling’s Summer Shrimp in Mojito Dressing

with Watermelon, Corn and Cucumber Salsa

“Summer afternoon—summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language.” ~ Henry James

It was the first time my Darling cooked something for me that summer afternoon. He discovered this flavor combination while having lunch at Chef John Sedlar’s restaurant Rivera in downtown Los Angeles. Colorful with a salsa of red, juicy watermelon, diced cucumber, and a confetti of yellow corn, this dish delighted. He whisked up a light “mojito vinaigrette” using finely minced cilantro and mint in lime juice, dressing up the shrimp so pink and joyous on the plate. I felt my whole body tremble with pleasure as I tasted his Summer Shrimp in Mojito Dressing.

We just celebrated our first year together and are even more in love than we were the day he made this dish. To celebrate that romantic time last summer, I am sharing this recipe. It is healthy and refreshing, and I am sure you will find it to be just as much of an aphrodisiac as I did.

1 pound colossal shrimp, peeled and deveined

1 hothouse cucumber, diced

2 cups seedless watermelon, diced

1 ear corn, husk and silk removed, kernels cut off

¼ cup fresh cilantro leaves, lightly packed

¼ cup fresh mint leaves, lightly packed

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 teaspoon honey

2 tablespoons shallot, minced

1 clove garlic, minced

dash sea salt and black pepper

Juice from 1 lime

Bring a medium pot of salted water to a boil over high heat. Reduce heat to barely a simmer. Add shrimp and cook until flesh is opaque, about 2 minutes. Remove from heat and rinse under cool water until shrimp are room temperature. Set aside.

To make the salsa:

Place the watermelon, cucumber, corn, shallot and garlic in a medium bowl. Sprinkle with salt and pepper, tossing gently to combine.

To make the mojito vinaigrette:

Place cilantro, mint, oil, honey and lime juice in the work bowl of a food processor or blender. Blend until herbs are finely chopped. Season with salt and pepper.

Add shrimp to salsa. Drizzle with vinaigrette and serve immediately.

Enjoy!

Rainy Day in Venice à la Française : Le Café au Zinque

Posted on March 16, 2012 by foodie

“The fragrance & adventure of poetry endlessly pervades each cup of tea”~ Henri Mariage

This morning, gray drizzle. I am wearing a knit scarf, yoga pants, a long sleeve cotton top, and a cozy sweater. But I am not wearing boots on this rainy day. In true Venetian style, I am wearing flip flops in hopes that I’ll make it over to the beach on my cruiser bicycle. Perhaps it will clear up, and I can stroll along the sand. I haven’t had leisurely time these days. I am not accustomed to it either. But the soul requires slow. I am a dreamy sort, trying to keep up with the quick moving city bustle. I think to myself, we can’t possibly be made for rushing about in the fray, driving in traffic, spending hours upon hours in the car, wondering what to make for dinner, when and where to buy groceries, and then worrying about things that we don’t want to think about but do, because sitting in traffic trying to get to places on time will trigger that sort of thinking. And so, in defiance of all the hurry scurry that usually fills my days, I am having a lovely cup of tea, an egg sandwich with tomato, basil and Swiss cheese, and a bowl of granola with berries and yogurt. The bowl of granola with its yogurt, plain and unassuming, lightly covered in granola with fresh raspberries, blueberries, and halved grapes.

This newly opened coffee house/wine bar in Venice is just near the intersection of Abbot Kinney and Venice Boulevard, and it’s très français. Warm, fresh from the oven le pain au chocolat, croissants that taste like croissants, tartines, café, thé, vin et le champagne… oysters every Monday night with a master ecailler, wine tastings, and other temptations that are just irresistable.

How can one resist? Comment pouvez-vous?

Le Zinque, a coffee and wine bar, is just the place for me. The first time I came to Le Zinque was with Darling for a cozy evening nibble of cheese, some tartines, and a carafe of wine for two.

French cafés are zincs, and its interior is as simple as its name— a long wood counter, concrete floor, rustic beams, nothing fancy. It’s Abbot Kinney location lends even more of a hip and yet relaxed feel, an easygoing nonchalance, where writers like me can enjoy a moment of contemplation and feel the creativity flow through our veins with a little chocolat et thé.

Writers and artists have always flocked to cafés, throughout history. Paris had its Montparnasse brimming with les artistes, and Café du Dôme was where all the intellectuals, sculptors, writers, poets, painters, and penniless bohemians had their fill of sausage (Saucisse de Toulouse) and mashed potatoes for cheap or perhaps a drawing or poem on a napkin. Which I wish still worked as currency, because I’d have to paint a grand painting for my pain au chocolat et thé at Le Zinque for my petit morning of leisure. My egg sandwich is superb, however. They bake the eggs in muffin tins so the egg comes out plump and round, with the swiss cheese melted lusciously all over it, peppered, the tomato juicy and tasting of fresh tomato, not mealy textured or watery, basil leaf dripping with moist delicacy, the English muffin crisp and warm.

And how I love a good egg sandwich. The tea is Mariage Frères, Rouge Bourbon Vanillè. It is a vanilla black tea, creamy, exotic, marvelously sensual. Frothy steamed milk served in a large bowl-like cup. The egg sandwich, satisfying my need for comfort.

It is my new bohemian habit to come to this café, and have tea, or if later in the day, a glass of wine, a tartine. One morning I arrived early, just as the pain au chocolat came out of the oven. The flaky and tender pain au chocolat paired with a Marco Polo tea filled my belly as I read through a cookbook, planning my next cooking adventure. Ah, the Marco Polo tea blend is a marvelous flavor. According to the tea maker, Marco Polo tea is “Mariage Frères’ most famous secret is this mysterious blend that takes you to distant lands and strange countries.” Chinese and Tibetan flowers are blended with fruit, giving a uniquely deep and floral bouquet. Its aroma lingered as I sipped from my cup, and then a bite of the buttery pain au chocolat. I will be like the artistes of Montparnasse, and frequent Zinque as often as I can write, paint and create, for the love of food and sensuality.

In The Mood for Moody’s Pop-Up Menu @ Batch Restaurant

Posted on March 9, 2012 by foodie

We had a reservation for 7pm on a Tuesday night and that is all I knew. My darling man and I have a rhythm to our romance. Like a beautiful tango: he takes the lead, discovering and planning restaurant adventures, and I simply follow. It’s romantic, I’ll say. Everyone should have a Darling like him. I’m so very lucky.

It is a pleasure being a woman in love with a sensualist man who knows how to find a delicious meal. Instead of the word meal, perhaps the better word is experience. When we walked into Batch 8631 Restaurant, the atmosphere was elegant, relaxed and welcoming. There was a warmth about the place that made us feel right at home.

Our server, Haipha, gracious and joyful, introduced herself right away and sweetly took our drink orders. I don’t usually choose white wines, but I want to expand my palate, try new things, like a Viognier. The drink menu offered LangeTwins Viognier 2009. Darling ordered a Martinez, then a Cucumber Gimlet, and a Blood & Sand. The mocktails looked intriguing as well. If I wasn’t in the mood for a glass of wine I might have chosen a Nojito made with fresh mint leaves (I love fresh mint leaves), lime juice, sugar, and Sprite. A few other real cocktails looked inviting as well, such as the Apple Blossom made with Vodka, Fresh Apple, Lemon Juice, Honey, Egg White, Orange Flower Water. If I wasn’t such a lush for vino, I’d have to say the Apple Blossom appealed because I just can’t get enough of honey, and orange flower water always smells beautiful, the scent of it, reminding of summers running through the sprinklers in the backyard.

We nearly ordered the entire menu that night. The only dishes we didn’t have on our table were three selections out of eleven, and if you count dessert, we had both the banana bread pudding and the red velvet cake. My morning spinning classes should very well become religious worship to the cycling gods and goddesses for all the butter and cream I’ve consumed in my life. Well, let’s now add foie gras to that list.

The first arrival was the most marvelous. Forget saving the best for last. The Foie and Egg, Breakfast Style was exquisite. 63°C egg, ‘Foiellandaise’, sauteed mushrooms, foie powdered donut, coffee, mushroom ash. I know the photo makes it look wildly curious. Oh, it was magical. Remarkable. Like a grand finale played first, in a sense, a creative way to begin such a dinner. It was refreshing to experience this menu, and I was already recognizing Chef Moody as an artist of cuisine.

Chef Dan Moody came to our table just as I was in the midst of a sudden foodgasm moment— the combination of coffee, mushroom ash, egg and Foiellandaise scooped upon a small bite of foie powdered donut sent me into a euphoric state of bliss. I had hoped to contain my pleasure, but waves and waves of delight from the coffee, the lightest cloud of foie and egg flavor, the goodness of the foie donut, all blossomed on my palate. The softest, creamiest amount of foie gras, made light somehow, without any trace of fatty heaviness. Foie gras transmuted into a flavor rather than a texture. Alchemy.

And that’s when I had dreamy eyes as I looked up at Chef Dan in a glaze of soft focus, and sighed, “It’s so good.”

The donut was perfect for mopping up the golden egg yolk and coffee mushroom ash.

After that beginning, the dishes continued to arrive. It was apparent to the waitstaff that we needed to add to our table for two, so they pushed another table together with ours and we had a four top table to provide enough room for all of our plates! It was not so much ordering the menu out of decadence but for appreciation of the chef and his cuisine. The experience of a meal, food as art, dining together… slowly, sensuously.

Market vegetables, carrots, arrived unadorned and tender. The Slow-Roasted Pork with Potato Gnocchi, Baby Carrots in Pork Jus. Darling was surprised that I chose the pork, but it just sounded delicious, and when you put gnocchi in front of me I can’t resist. I was lured into the pork dish by potato gnocchi alone. And it was melt-in-your-mouth good. Tender and juicy and full of slow roasted flavor.

The pillowy gnocchi saturated in the pork jus, sweet carrots. Hearty, marvelous.

They were out of the sea bass so instead we had halibut. Sautéed Halibut, Vadouvan Beets, Coconut Curry Hollandaise, Fried Spinach Salad.

The Coconut Curry Hollandaise gave the halibut an exotic nuance, and Chef Dan was fast becoming a favorite of mine. I love sauce, especially Hollandaise sauce. The Foiellandaise and the Coconut Curry Hollandaise within one dining experience was heavenly. Nestled underneath the fish were Vadouvan Beets, which enhanced the magic of the Coconut Curry Hollandaise, with the central flavor and buttery texture of the halibut seducing my senses. Vadouvan is an Indian spice blend using onions, shallots, garlic (my three favorites in most things savory that I cook at home) adding fenugreek, curry leaves, cumin, cardamom, brown mustard seeds, turmeric, nutmeg, cloves, red pepper or chili flakes. Many of these spices possess aphrodisiac qualities as well as health benefits. Note: Cardamom increases circulation, improves energy levels, eases indigestion, and revitalizes sexual desire. Add that into the blend with turmeric and nutmeg and you’ve added some spice to your love life!

The Vadouvan Beets really captured our attention. Subtle, seductive, velvety almost. We nearly licked the plate, if beets didn’t stain our mouths that tell-tale ruby color. Speaking of ruby color, my second glass of wine was a Syrah.

Ceviche and a Cold Beer, Ceviche, Cilantro, Jalapeño, Beer Carbonated Grapes.

The grapes were the surprise. Beer carbonated grapes. It gave a fizz, which Darling compared to Pop Rocks and childhood memory brought that fizzy sensation back. But I wouldn’t compare the fizz of these grapes to Pop Rocks, and I know he was teasing. When our mouths were full with a bite of grape and ceviche, it really was like having ceviche with a cold beer, minus the beach chair under a palm thatched umbrella. Reminiscent of sunny Baja California, the beach, hot sun, we took a mini-vacation during that dish. I asked Chef Dan how he did it: he injected the grapes with beer carbonation. I’m not sure exactly how it was done, but it was a sparkly explosion on my tongue, fizzy and bright like a summer day.

Vegan Tacos Are My Kind Of Thing

Collard Green Vegan Tacos. For this once-upon-a-time raw vegan girl, the arrival of this dish made me bouncy-happy and it was all about quinoa and collard greens which was some kind of deliciousness and I enthusiastically squeezed lime all over it. I was back in my element of vegetarian pleasure. This dish was a versatile addition to the menu. I was impressed by the range of the chef’s repertoire, combining vegan creations with the other offerings. I loved that he would do this and thought it showed off his skills well.

Chef Dan came around again and sat with us for a little while. I asked if he wouldn’t mind signing my menu. He sweetly obliged. Dan is incredibly genuine.

Dessert. Banana Bread Pudding à la Bourbon Pecan Pie. If Chef Dan Moody wasn’t already appealing to the sensuality of my taste buds, then surely he was courting the Southern Belle in me with this dessert. All of my decadent years living in New Orleans were concentrated into this tasting.

Our two spoons delved into the sumptuous magic of this sweet goodness. I was reminded of Bananas Foster, pecan pie, pralines, bread pudding, and bourbon. Some of the moments at Galatoire’s, Arnaud’s, and Commander’s Palace came rushing back. Taste of pralines, sipping bourbon, fragrance of florid humid nights mingling with muddy water. Whiskey sauce-laden bread pudding and its many manifestations; upon plates, in bowls. Memory of taste, smell. All the delicious and luxuriant food memories had soaked deep into my cellular consciousness, or perhaps my thighs.

That first spoonful touched my tongue and a shiver ran through me. I paused, aware of an exquisite longing for a city that I once loved. And memory returned, saturated with flavors, smells, visions. My life had become distant from that crescent city of butter and cream. I remembered the smell of rum wafting from the flambé of Bananas Foster as the waiter at Arnaud’s prepared it so formally, with a flourish of his hands like a magician, the way time just seemed to stop there in that dining room. The memory of my love for the enchanted city of New Orleans emerged like a dream. That mysterious city embraced my soul, and like a loving grandmère she filled me with her sultry essence of Creole sweets and French pastries. I knew that it was connected with the taste of banana bread pudding, and with every bite I reminisced about the city I once knew as home.

Chef Dan came by yet again and delivered the Red Velvet cake, named “Red Velvet”, Chocolate Cake, Cream Cheese Mousse, Beet Ice Cream. The beet ice cream was a pleasant and unique taste.

We finished our meal with tea and lingered awhile longer.

What a lovely evening and a beautiful dinner…

We looked at the Batch menu as well and decided we would try it after Chef Dan Moody’s pop-up kitchen closed.

What I didn’t know about Chef Dan Moody… he is also known as The RelationChef. I loved learning about this, because it felt parallel to my own beliefs about love and food, cooking and relationships. I was excited to find this out about Chef Dan via his website The RelationChef:

Chef Dan Moody (The RelationChef) is the authority on dating and relationship-related cooking advice. Formally trained in classical French cuisine, with experience in nouvelle French cuisine, Chef Dan believes that food and the act of cooking are also important ways of expressing love, showing hospitality and ultimately bringing people together.

Chef Dan launched The RelationChef based on his passion for both relationships and cooking and the undeniable connection between the two. As The RelationChef, he offers charming and thoughtful advice on everything from how to plan a successful first date dinner, to cooking a memorable and romantic meal for your 25th wedding anniversary.

I’ve been writing a passage for The Sensual Foodie cookbook about how Darling and I met. Chef Dan has a “Love Story” section to submit on his website HERE to Submit Your Story. I am submitting our story once I finish writing it. Here is more about Chef Dan’s Love Story submissions:

When we talk to people about the show, we often find that people share their personal stories involving cooking and love. These stories are often funny, sentimental and heartwarming. To share your For the Love of Cooking stories and for an opportunity to appear on the show please submit your stories here. Whether your story is funny, embarrassing, sentimental, or heartwarming, we want to hear it. Your submission will be reviewed, and the individuals, couples, and families whose submitted stories are selected as the best stories will be invited on the show to share their story on the air with Chef Dan.

Share your stories of food and love!