The Biscuit Fairy

My Omnivore is not necessarily a morning person, shall we say.

On this particular morning, he trudged, bleary-eyed into the kitchen. Then he let out a little shout of joy.

"The Biscuit Fairy! The Biscuit Fairy came!!"

As he is fond of saying, he may be a California Boy now, but he was born in the South, and buttermilk biscuits are one of those things that bring a tear to his eye.

Because we've been experimenting with making our own cultured butter (inspired by Melissa 's post over at Traveler's Lunchbox), we had just exactly a cup of actual homemade buttermilk. Would it taste just like when we made it with store-bought buttermilk? Wll, let's just say that the Biscuit Fairy does not serve crappy biscuits...

Buttermilk Biscuits

2 cups flour
4 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
3/4 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons shortening
1 cup buttermilk, chilled

Preheat oven to 450 degrees.

In a large mixing bowl, combine flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt. I like to use a pastry cutter or two knives placed together like scissors to "cut" the butter and shortening into dry ingredients until mixture looks like crumbs. (The faster you get through this part, the better, you don't want the fats to melt.)

Make a well in the center and pour in the chilled buttermilk. Stir just until the dough comes together. (It will be very sticky.)

Turn dough onto floured surface, dust top with flour and gently fold dough over on itself 5 or 6 times. Press into a 1-inch thick round. Cut out biscuits with a 2-inch cutter (Although I use a 1/2 cup measuring cup that has lost its handles), being sure to push straight down through the dough. Don't let it slip off the edge -- a good cut on the sides is what allows it to lift during the rise.

Place biscuits on baking sheet so that they just touch. gather together the scraps of dough, working it as little as possible and cut another series of biscuits.

Bake until biscuits about 15 minutes, until they are risen and browned on the tops.

Curried Poultry Potion

Like millions of people, I was occupied on Saturday. I mean, I'm an adult, I have adult things to take care of, shopping, picking up my husband downtown, working, reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows...

Oh don't give me that look--I know I'm not the only nutcase around here. Eric's sister, Ms. Art Attack, spent the weekend in Portland so she could attend the Powell's Potter Party (She tried to convince us to fly up there with us and construct special Beach Blanket Babylon style hats depicting scenes and themes from the books.) Another friend of mine-- adult, mind you -- is holding out because her copy has not arrived from the UK yet. "I'm a purist," she says, "I wanted to get it with the other cover."

But back to MY copy. So, I have my hot little hands on a copy of the book. Starting at 1 pm, as I'm waiting for my husband to finish his gig, I happily tuck in.

By 3 pm, having Apparated back home, I'm deeply lost at around page 200.

"I had a wife around here someplace," says a distant voice.

In a misty, Trelawney-prophecy voice, I murmur, "I'll start dinner prep soon..."

Around 5 pm, my hands are tired from holding up the book on my chest, and I have changed positions for the first time in hours. The house is remarkably silent, as my Omnivore, sensing the gravity of the situation, has plugged into his iPod and is staying far away.

By 6 pm, though, he can no longer help himself. There's a rustle at the doorway of the bedroom and I hear a slightly mewling that becomes an increasingly insistent whine, not unlike the "feed-me, feed-me, FEED-ME..." sound the cats make when it's dinner-time.

"Okay, okay," I glance at the clock and sigh-- we're at a good place in the book, I can do it, I can stop, I can... I rouse myself blearily and head for the kitchen.

Curried Poultry Poultice

"To begin," says, Libatius Borage, "compose a potent dry masala. Two tablespoons each of cumin and coriander seed. A teaspoon each of fennel and cardamom seed and two of fenugreek. Toast and grind well."

From behind me, I hear the cold clipped tones of Snape, peering over my shoulder.

"Ten points from Ravenclaw, Miss Eats, for using Batali Bowls."

I wrinkle my nose at him and defiantly add in a tablespoon of turmeric, turning the mixture a pleasing golden hue.

"And another five points taken for stirring clockwise. Do you pay no attention at all?" he sneers.

"I am making a LIGHT curry," I shoot back.

"Sweets? Do you need the chicken cut up?"

Uh- what? "Uh, um, yeah... Yeah, 1-1/2 inch pieces, thanks. "

"You okay, sweets?"

"Yep, no problem."

Right, cooking, cooking... Finely chop 4 cups of weepingweed...

Wet masala:
12 cloves garlic
1.5 inch piece of ginger peeled and sliced
2 fresh serrano chiles, stemmed and seeded
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1 cinnamon stick
7-8 whole cloves

4 cups yellow onions, chopped
2 bay leaves
2 dried red chile peppers

2 Tbsp. dry masala

2 lbs boneless skinless chicken thighs, cut into 2 inch pieces
2 cups Roma tomatoes, chopped
2 tsp salt.

3 cups spinach, torn
1 tsp dry masala

Make the Dry masala ahead, and combine garlic, ginger and chiles in a food processor for wet masala.

Heat the oil in a large nonstick skillet and tilting the pan to one end to pool the oil, add in cinnamon and cloves. Fry until the cloves pop and the cinnamon opens (5 minutes). Remove the spices with a slotted spoon and discard.

Add onions and saute over medium heat until lightly browned (10 minutes). Add bay leaves and dried chiles and continue cooking. Fry the onions 10 minutes more until golden. Add the wet and dry masalas and fry until fragrant (1-2 minutes) stirring well.

Add the chicken, tomatoes and salt, stirring to coat. It may seem dry but tomatoes will add liquid. Reduce heat and cover, simmering for 30-40 minutes.

The curry is done when the liquid has reduced and the sauce has thickened. If it's thin, simmer the curry uncovered for a few minutes, to reduce.

Stir in torn spinach and 1 Tbsp dry masala.

Done. Here-- your dinner...Enjoy! And now, back to Page 600...

Ratatouille-go round

Okay, so I'm on the Ratatouille band wagon-- this has got to be the cutest movie of the year, and certainly one of the best films about food ever-- No really, right up there with Babette's Feast and Like Water for Chocolate.

I love that in order to make the movie's kitchen so perfect, the animators spent SIX YEARS on "research"-- travelling to Guy Savoy, Taillevent, Tour d'Argent and of course the French Laundry.

"Oh we HAD to take cooking classes," one of them says.

I'm sure that four years into the process someone said, "Um.. yeah... I think I don't really remember how that truffled foie gras course looked at Taillevent. I think we need to do some more research..."

ANYway. Check out the QTVR of the animated kitchen on the official site. I'm counting six --SIX, mind you -- la Cornues. But Holy Moley, do they really have flames like that on the bottom?

I know, I know, I have an unhealthy obsession with La Cornues. Yeah. Well. Anyway. Enough about that.

Seriously though, the movie is a hoot, and for those of you who've missed the miles of ink on the celebrity chefs who've been involved, here's a link to an article from the NY Times, along with Thomas Keller's rendition of the titular dish.

One look at the parchment paper cover that they use for cooking the dish in the movie, and there can be no doubt about who it was that created THAT recipe!

Mrs. Glaze's Pommes d'Amour, whose blog offers an addictive look into life in the kitchen of Guy Savoy, also gave a peek into what it was like to go to the Parisian preview with Savoy himself.

The New Look

This is what happens when I have time on my hands -- I start messing with my blog. Actually I've been quite jealous of all the fancy little widgets that other people have on their blogs for a while.

And a few hours later, I emerge blearily with three columns, a label cloud, a fancy flickr picture show and only a slight headache...

Like it? Feel free to drop me a comment below!

Safran du Quercy

"I have a treat for you..." says my Omnivore.

He knows the one sure way to get a giggle out of me is to feed me a cheese I've never seen before. Enter the tomme of Safran du Quercy, affined by Jean d'Alos. Such a lovely, ugly dusty rind -- I imagine it looks like the walls of the cave it's been living in for months, perhaps being gently turned by cave trolls, under the breath of dragons... Okay, maybe that's a little far fetched.

The interior is a glorious golden color and the texture is silky even though it's a fairly firm aged sheep's milk cheese. The most amazing part, though is the finish, a long nutty flavor quite unlike most sheep's cheeses-- and one that lingers in your mouth for ages after even the smallest bite.

Pick up a wedge at Cowgirl Creamery...

Gotham Bar and Grill & Union Square's Greenmarket

So, in all the time I lived in New York, I never really took advantage of the Union Square farmers' market. Seasonal wasn't in my vocabulary before I moved to California, and vegetables weren't (and still aren't quite) my thing anyway, but now I appreciate so much more the things you can find.

Now that I pay a lot more attention to my food and where it comes from, to the incredible variety of things out there, I find myself in love with the idea that when I walk through an East Coast market I can be surprised by things I haven't seen in West Coast markets. Like these garlic scapes--they look great, smell fabulous, never seen 'em before. What would I make with those? Hmmmm...

The sour cherries -- I had forgotten all about sour cherries because I never see them in SF, even when it's the right season. Maybe no one out there grows them, but they are fantastically succulent and tangy. Suddenly I wish I had a few more days to come up with some menus...

On this particular day however, I met up with Ms. Food Snoot, who moved last year to Pennsylvania. She took a train in though and we planned ourselves an elegant little lunch at Gotham Bar and Grill.

The Gotham has been there for years, and I've walked past it ever since it first opened in 1984, because it's right next to one of my favorite little movie theaters, where my Dad and I used go to watch offbeat foreign films and old revivals. It used to be an antique store, and when it was redone to house Alfred Portale's uber-trendy "Nice Height, Good Color" cuisine, we avoided it, because the crowd that frequented it was a little too hip for us.

Now, of course, I scan that menu and think "Seared Foie Gras with Kumquats and Candied Fennel in a Blood Orange-Lavender Reduction... mmmm, nice...." After all these years, have I become one of those tiresome uber-trenders? I refrain from asking Ms. Food Snoot, because I fear the answer will be, "Well, of course you're a food snob."

We had already made the reservations when I saw Portale guest-judging on my favorite guilty pleasure, "Top Chef: Miami." He seemed pretty straightforward and sensible, but then there was that lurking architectural, "stack-em-high" reputation too, so I was curious as to exactly what kind of food he'd put out.

When I go into high end New York restaurants these days, I notice much more of that fine-dining stuffiness, probably because we tend to hang out in more relaxed places in San Francisco. Cafe des Artistes, for instance, is an extremely beautiful setting and very Old World elegant, but as nice as the food is, I don't feel that it warrants prices. When I took my Dad there for his birthday we spent a good $200 for two people after wine, tax and tip. It was okay, scallops maybe a bit overdone, maybe a little pedestrian, though solid. But for that much, we could get a phenomenal meal at Quince in San Francisco that would be adventurous and yet refined--gorgeously executed, and yet totally satisfying. Plus, I don't feel like I'm paying a Pretension Fee.

Gotham however, is much more in the mold of the relaxed, unpretentious, warmly hospitable vein. It was one of the most impressive and genuinely enjoyable meals at that level that I've had in recent years in NY.

My starter of marinated shiitake mushrooms under that cloud of frisee (dressed beautifully with I don't know what) was melt in your mouth--I've never had shiitakes so tender. Ms. Food Snoot, for her part, was in heaven with her seared foie gras (pictured above).

For my next course, I had a toothsome Maine Lobster risotto, with beautiful broth and vegetables that I wondered if he picked up at the Union Square market.



I think I've finally found my favorite restaurant in New York...

Champagne Wishes...

So...um... New York? Can I ask you something? Um... what the HECK is your problem?

Let me explain.

For Father's Day, I sent my Dad a gift certificate to a caviar place in New York. I was coming out for his birthday a few weeks later, and when I got to the city, he suggested we do a little picnic out on Governor's Island.

"Fantastic," I said, "I'll get some champagne for it."

"Great -- I'll meet you this afternoon at the Metropolitan Museum and we can walk through the new galleries."

I guess I didn't get the memo that said that you can't bring anything in a glass bottle into the museum.

"Pardon me?"

"You can't take that in there."

"Can I check it at the coat check?"

"They won't take it."

"Well, what am I supposed to do with it? I have to meet someone in here in ten minutes. Isn't there any place I can leave it?"

Elaborate shrug, "You can try to ask at the security desk, they probably won't let you though."

Five minutes of me begging a nice man at the desk to just hold it, just hold it while I run through the Metropolitan Museum of Art looking for my Dad.

Okay. Okay... so.. okay. I'm over it now. Really, I get it, if we take champagne into the museum, the terrorists win.

Okay, flash forward. Day of picnic. We've happily packed up the lunch and plates, cups, etc. and head down to the ferry. Search and seizure has become a shocking fact of life in New York. I suppose it's the most surprising to me because I wasn't in the city when 9/11 happened, but I am somewhat aghast at the civil liberties that New Yorkers seem to have happily surrendered. Bags are searched, property is confiscated, all without a whimper.

At the ferry slip -- the old building for the Staten Island Ferry, everyone passes through a gate and bags are searched.

"Oh, no, can't take that," says the security guy.

"Beg pardon?"

"That's wine?" he indicates behind him to the line on the sign that says "No controlled substances."

I, who cannot imagine offering anyone a place to picnic and then telling they may not have wine, am floored.

"You can leave it here," he says helpfully.

"Oh really?" I say somewhat peevishly.

"Yeah,," he assures me, "It'll be here when you get back," and he begins to cart it off to a non-descript cardboard box behind him.

"Uh, should I put my name on it it or something??"

This seems to confuse him, and he hunts fruitlessly for something to write on. apparently I am the first person EVER to have requested this.

To his credit, the wine was still there in the box when I returned at the end of the day. He was at the other end of the gate when I traipsed back to reclaim it, and all my waving didn't attract his attention a bit. I reached into the box which was now filled with contraband from other lushes like myself, grabbed my bottle and skulked off.


The city has been pushing tourism to Governor's Island hard. There are subway advertisements and radio ads -- Come picnic, spend the day, bring the family. Just no wine.

It reminded me, in a reverse sort of way, of the time my Omnivore and my Dad and I decided to picnic at the Schonbrunn outside of Vienna in Austria. We bought a bottle of wine, but had no corkscrew, so we asked to borrow one at the hotel desk. Another guest offered hers, and stood expectantly waiting for us to open the bottle. My Omnivore hesitated. Could we actually open the wine? Yes, that's what the corkscrew is for. (Stupid Americans!) But can we walk around with the bottle open? Well, how else would you get the wine out of the bottle? (These American's really are dim.) But are you allowed to have an open bottle of alcohol -- I mean where we live there are open bottle laws -- you can't walk around with open bottles of wine. General looks of disbelief. (What kind of idiots are they over there?) We never felt so much like backwards, backwater idiots.

But back to Governor's Island. This beautiful little enclave is certainly worth a trip and the ferry ride over there is free, after all. All my life it's been inaccessible, a Coast Guard Station -- an Army base before that. But now that we're allowed to walk around I expect that hordes will descend on the lovely grassy fields -- and wander its tree-lined paths.

You could almost imagine that you were far from the city.

Our lunch, little blinis with smoked salmon, a dollop of creme fraiche and some osetra caviar from Caviar Russe. If you're thinking of ordering the picnic pack, I can recommend it -- It comes with a mother of pearl spoon, a nice little insulated bag and a cold pack. They also supplied us with a nice big hunk of foie gras. Oh it's such a weakness of mine.

Happy birthday, Dad! Here's a glass of our finest 2007 New York Aqua to many more.