she craves

Oh Yes, The BLOG.

Try as you might, things always manage to get complicated. A well-thought out work schedule (or life schedule for that matter) goes to shit thanks to a day of sickness or procrastination. And soon you'll be taking three times as long as it sanely should to decide what to wear to the library or what to eat.

Time so wasted does indeed go by fast. Things inevitably are neglected like proper exercise, that uber-healthy eating regimen and oh yes, the BLOG.

"When are you going to update the damn thing?" a friend of mine asked.

"As soon as I get caught up on work, get back on track with feeling healthy, feel accomplished with work and not worry about finances," I replied. At that rate, you can expect SheCraves to be back in another lifetime or two.

Silly me. Honestly,it isn't until you take a bite of something as simple as a fresh fig -- or the promise of one in a few months -- that you GET IT. My high school physics teacher passed this nubbin of wisdom on as "keep it simple, stupid." A pragmatic way to avoid stomach-churning worry when it came to electromagnetic problem sets. But not a bad motto for life either.

I miss simplicity. I miss sharing the simplicity. So to hell with being the ideal grown-up and having my life in "order." Obviously, it's so not working. Happiness is more abundant for me in the little things. Bite by bite. Post by post.

Stay tuned. Please.

Chicken Ginseng Soup

Mom and anyone else who speaks better Korean than I do calls it sam gye tang. I call it Chicken Ginseng Soup which is a bit of harmless misnomer. Only because the chicken is actually a Cornich Rock Game Hen -- a long name for a tiny bird that's usually found rock hard deep in the freezer section. Along with a handful of ingredients, it transforms a pot of water from something merely hydrating to a healing pot of soft broth that can make you feel good down to your bones. And it's what I can only resurrect when I or the people I care about need something that tastes better NyQuil.

Simple, Whole Roasted Fish

I know more than a few folks who get queasy when their meal stares back at them. Whether it's with glassy (as it should be the case at the fishmonger's) or cloudy (sizzling straight out of the oven) eyes, fish especially freaks people out. They much prefer a more anonymous filet-type of relationship.

But I can only think of a handful of things more satisfying than buying, cooking and eating a whole fish, face and all. Especially now when time is as scarce as cheap gasoline and there's a prevailing pressure in the kitchen to go over the top with holiday decadence.

There's a meditative virtue to navigating between the needle-bones with a pair of chopsticks for morsels of flaky meat; the pride and showmanship of fileting a whole fish in front of your friends like a career French waiter. Oh, and the cheeks. You have to eat savor those tender, tender cheeks.

Before...

Such enjoyment is simple. Simpler than finding a Christmas goose or peeling mounds of potatoes. Sure, there's a dramatic rock salt crust, requiring the eater to excavate to an exquisite dinner. But the simplest being a matter of taking your whole fish already gutted and cleaned (thank you, Cody and C.J., my hams of fishmongers), making sure they fit into a decent roasting pan and adding a drizzle of extra-virgin olive oil, a scattering of woody, fresh herbs (the tender ones go in after the cooking with just enough heat to coax the aromas out onto the flesh), sea salt, and a squeeze of lemon juice. If it's a party, might as well get the fish as soused as the guests with a splash of white wine. Place this into the dry heat of a 400-degree oven and forget about it until the eyes turn opaque and cloudy and a fin can be easily pulled out from the flesh.

After.

You could get fancy and make a persillade (a sauce of chopped parsley, lemon juice, salt, and olive oil) to dip in the steam chunks of fish. But I like mine dipped into the juices still sizzling at the bottom of my favorite roasting dish.

Only a mother could love ...

Especially the cheeks.

Other ideas for a whole fish:
Fresh lime leaves and rice vinegar in place of other aromatics and lemon juice * Plain with sea salt and olive oil * A quick dipping sauce of soy, chopped ginger, chopped green onion, and Korean chile powder * Peeled and pounded stalks of lemon grass for an herb, a bit of fish sauce, soy, palm sugar, chopped chiles, and grated ginger for a fresh dipping sauce ...

So ... how do you go about handling your whole fish?

Turning Point with Champagne

Running away for a meager handful of consecutive days without any sort of contact with the desk, the computer, or insecure bosses — I needed it. Irregular sleeping patterns were the first of it. Then came the gnawing anxiety when I couldn't derive an ounce of pleasure from the simplest things in the life around me. When you get this numb all you want to do is run away and force yourself into something different, like the way you feel when you try on a new dress or new shoes you'd never dare to cross the street in just to add the element of fear. Make the hairs on the back of your neck rise a bit. And the feeling in your gut isn't fear but anticipation. Lots of wine helps, too.

A Roast Chicken for Summer

I love it when my friends let me feed them. Case in point, a photo shoot with my photographer friend Adam and a few other willing folks. The goal of the evening was to practice food styling and photography and, of course, eating together. Being the carnivore that he is, Adam requested to shoot meat. "We've never shot anything with bones before," he implored.

So I obliged. Simple chicken. I don't remember where I got the recipe. It seemed I'd made it so many times before it was more of an intuition than a recipe. Thighs and drumsticks, sauteed, and roasted with rosemary, a bit of wine, and showered with fresh ripe tomatoes. It is summer after all. The photo above is the real deal. No fake coloring touch ups, no fake meat, or falsely cooked. It was still sizzling from the oven and perfuming the studio when Adam was shooting frame after frame. Not too long, though, for the dish was still succulent and warm when we all dug in.

Roast Chicken for Summer

I like dark meat, so I prefer to use thighs and drumsticks. If you buy the whole leg, cut through the joint with a knife to yield to pieces. Of course, you can use a whole chicken you've so deftly cut into serving pieces yourself. Excellent warm, it's also stunning cold as leftovers.

4 whole legs, cut into thighs and drumsticks, seasoned with salt and pepper * olive oil * butter * 1 shallot, diced * fresh rosemary sprigs * white wine * salt and pepper * fresh cherry tomatoes, diced OR fresh tomatoes, diced

Heat a large sautepan over high heat. Reduce to medium, add a glug of olive oil and a pat of butter. Add the chicken pieces (making sure they're patted dry) and saute until golden brown (about 5 minutes). Turn pieces and cook until golden, as well. Remove pieces from pan and set aside.

With the sautepan over medium heat, add the shallot and saute until translucent, adding more oil or butter if necessary. Using the spine of a chef's knife, bruise the woody stem of the fresh rosemary sprig. Add this to the pan and stir  for a minute. Add a glassful (or two) of white wine and deglaze the pan scraping up the browned bits.

Return chicken pieces to the pan in a single layer (or transfer to a casserole as pictured above) and place in a preheated 400 degree oven. Cook for another 30 to 35 minutes. During the last 15 minutes of cooking, add your tomatoes. Or you can them fresh, depending on how good the tomatoes are. Serves 6.

Farro & Roasted Veg Salad

Deliciously captured by AJF Photography

Granted, I was a willing participant in the jaunt to a vegan restaurant. Despite the good company and a few delicious items, God help me, I still don't understand vegan cuisine. The idea of processing soy into something that could be fashioned into "chicken" and then labeled on a menu as "Tender Tiger" is beyond me. I admire the politics and ideology behind it. Far from me to politicize what's on my plate (soapbox at the ready). But I suppose what's always kept from joining the vegan tempeh-loving bandwagon is the reliance, in many restaurant and freezer cases anyway, on the faux. Oh, and bacon. I could never give up bacon.

Eating a meal of faux/imitation protein from a karmically-safe vegetable product is akin to having sex with a blow up doll. Why bother? Especially when there's a universe of dishes out that rely on food for what it is. A rose is a rose. A carrot is a carrot. A grain of farro is a grain of farro. And how delicious the farro is when it's combined with some diced roasted vegetables. A recipe to so rustic and intuitive to generations of grandmothers, cooks, and hungry folk, it's scarely a recipe. 

And so much more satisfying than a tempeh quesadilla.

Farro & Roasted Veg Salad  

Nowadays you can find farro just about anywhere. Specialty shops and even the bulk bin. What we had in the fridge during a photo shoot was what became our lunch. But any vegetable (summer corn!) roasted is welcome here. It's wonderful warm but also a saving grace to have around in the fridge, there's little time and you're absolutely starving.

1 fennel bulb, diced * 1 red bell pepper, diced * 1 orange bell pepper, diced * 1 zucchini, diced * 5 stalks of asapragus, chopped into similar-sized pieces * extra-virgin olive oil * 1 crushed garlic clove * salt and pepper * 1 1/2 cups farro * 1/2 cup lemon juice or sherry vinegar * Fresh herbs like mint, basil, or parsley

Combine your diced veg on a baking sheet and drizzle generously with olive oil. Add the garlic, salt and pepper and bake in a 425-degree oven until nicely roasted with bits of caramelization going on around the edges (about 20 minutes). Let cool slightly.

Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Add enough salt to the water to make it taste like the sea. Add your washed farro and cook until tender, about 15 minutes. Drain and place in a large mixing bowl. Add the roast vegetables (with all the oil from the pan), the lemon juice or sherry vinegar, and fresh herbs you have on hand. Salt and pepper to taste. Serve warm, at room temperature, or cool.

Honeydew, Scallop & Bacon Salad

The craving: A quick meal. Spare moments are as rare a good apricot around here. Has to be something cool and light. The air is heavy enough with heat, I don't need a lead weight in my belly to feel satisfied. But something substantial enough that I'm not starving in the heat an hour later.

The solution: Greens, ubiquitous as they are, need a bit of fun. Dill fronds for some flavor and an edible rose petal or two because I've just thumbed through Claudia Roden's rose petal preserve recipe. Not enough petals for jam but plenty for salad in a frivolous (and optional) way. Thick-cut smoky bacon (as much as you'd like) still sizzling from the pan add substance. As do a few sea scallops sauteed in the bacon drippings. The shellfish is just as sweet and tender as the cubes of honeydew, heady and sweet with summer ripeness. No salt. No acid. Just a built-in vinaigrette from the warm bacon fat and cool, sweet honeydew juice.

Apricot Granita

Cherries and I get along perfectly well. Figs, fresh and straight from the cooler, are my best friend. Peaches, well, we go back a long way. And watermelon and I are practically family. Apricots, however, are a different matter. Simply put, we don't get a long. Maybe I haven't found the right one. Oh I've looked. Farmers' markets at home, San Francisco, New York City. Straight from a neighbor's tree. But I've yet to bite into one that didn't bite back with a mealy astringency or serenade me with flavors I've only read about in Alice Waters' and Deborah Madison's titles.

I've come to feel that a perfectly ripe apricot is like Prince Charming—they only exist in fairy tales. So why the hell did I have two pounds worth hanging out in my fridge? Well, call me a romantic fool. I want to believe in that magical apricot. And these flirted with me on the farmers' table and like a fool, I believed their soft caresses and their promises of intense times. Once home, I grabbed one straight from the bag, a little warm from the sun, and took a bite. The prince was still a frog. What's a girl to do with less-than-awesome apricots? Compromise, of course.

Breakfast of Champions with a Friend

On the menu: Lemon-Ricotta pancakes * Tomato-Bacon Hash * Chicken-Apple Sausages * Fruit Salad

Nine a.m. Okay, maybe 10. We've established that I'm not a morning person. A groggy Sunday morning and the luxury of lingering in bed. It lasts as long as a rumble in the belly. Hunger sets in and comes the proverbial Sunday morning question: what to eat for brunch? It nags me once a week like clockwork. And it nags my friends, too. We're champion brunch-goers. We've been to pretty much every venue in town that offers scrambled eggs of various quality, stacks of pancakes gluey or perfect, and coffee weak as dishwater or thick as mud. Our options were close to up and the idea of waiting in a crowded front room and fighting for a bitchy waiters' attention wasn't as good as staying in bed. In fact, "staying in" sounded perfect.

But what would I eat? That would be up to me, the kitchen, and my friend, Amber.

A Farmers' Market Snack

Happy accidents

My tote bag runneth over with beets, garlic scapes, mushrooms, raspberries, plums, bread, and eggs. After the first weeks of greens, greens, greens, at the Pioneer Park Farmers' Market the cherries ushered in the tidal wave of color and flavor from the state's fields. With all this eye candy, I hoped to turn it into gustatory ones. I even bought cherries to preserve in brandy. Do I sense a future post?

With such bounty and enthusiasm, casualties are inevitable. What to make do with bleeding raspberries and cracked Red Ace plums? Enjoy them. All by yourself in your cool kitchen. Sort out the unblehmished ones, stashing those in a single layer on your favorite plate (makes the fridge a lot prettier, instead of just messy). Take the roughed up ones into a little bowl. A big if you really mangled them. But that's okay. Because you're going to do with them what you always planned. Eat. A bit of creme fraiche on top. Maybe some demerara sugar, if only for photographic purposes.

Then, flank this bowl with a phalanx of Red Ace plums you bought from the farmer with a sour disposition, but the sweetest stone fruit around. They're appearance and size had everyone convinced that they were an odd cherry or gargantuan grapes. Blistered from a bit of dense packing, they reveal flesh that's virtually puree, ready-made preserves hiding under that garnet skin. And they are most certainly plums.

The raspberries from Weeks' Berries north of the city are bright and tender. And so alluring in their little boxes. Just, take heed from me, be gentle.

Mangoes for a New Beginning

If I could eat this for breakfast everyday...

Truth be told, I never thought much of July 4th. There were the things we were taught about in school a month before we were let go to our lazy days of scorching heat, family barbecues, and endless nights of popsicles and bicycle rides. But I'll profess a new affinity for Independence Day, because I'm celebrating a bit of my own.

I quit my job. Left the banker's hours in a bland office for a year's worth of dream chasing. What's in store? Beats me. But that's a lot more appealing than the thought of half-assing the rest of my career. I decided on this Office Space inspired moment running through rows of Pinot Noir vines. Buzzed from several glasses of Jeriko Brut and Rosé, it dawned on me through the new summer leaves. A chance to take a break from others' expectations and catch up to my own. To geek out as much as I want to on food and wine. To become a more well-rounded person. And, of course, to attend to dear old blog. Won't be the year to get rich. But it'll be the year where I get to like myself a lot more.

 

 

So on this, my morning of Independence, I savor the taste of freedom. One fresh Manila mango, cut into filets the size of my hand, scored and pushed to reveal juicy little cubes, like some surreal little hedgehog. The mango that I picked up the day before at the Mexican market on an impromptu trip. I had a little time on my hands. As you can gather from the picture, it was juicy. And I can tell you the flavor was sweet. But then again, it could've been that new-found indepdence thing.

Baked Rhubarb with Ginger

Rise and shine sourly. That's my unspoken morning motto. I'm not a morning person. Though I often pretend/try to be. Pretend because morning-people seem a happier lot. They get more done. Walk the dog before the parade of rush hour traffic threatens the route. Soak in that special sunshine I've only managed to glimpse after an all-nighter (studying or partying, I leave that to your judgement of me).

But try as I might, very few things, let alone two alarms—a Zen chime alarm for my chi and a cell phone trill for my lazy ass—manage to get me out of bed. Food, though, seems to work. Typical. Brunch is a no-brainer. I get my sleep and a reason to stuff myself with some of my favorite foods. But during the weekday, it's a bit more difficult. I need to look forward to sustenance that's quick and what I crave. And, yes, even healthy. I consider it my redemption for not getting up when I was supposed to and going to the gym.

Eat This Now: GELATO

Consider this a bribe...

A scoop of gelato (vanilla, hazelnut, fior di latte, caramel, and pistachio pictured here work amazingly well) + a drizzle of the best extra-virgin olive oil you can get your hands on + a pinch of flaky sea salt = unusal sounding but unbelievably good.

Go on. I dare you to taste and not like such a cold treat on 100 degree days (at least where I live). Ponder the odd complexities of simple ingredients and the impending brain freeze while I work on some new posts, fish for my friend's lime curd recipe, bother my genius graphic design friend for the complete re-design and logo, and work on some more food shots like this sexy number above with my photographer pal. In other words: keep reading. I'm back.

*NOTE: I don't blame you if you don't want to read me anymore. But...wasn't that gelato good?

Fall Leaves And Farmstead Cheese

Memento

When I look outside my window the sun is shining. But I know better. Within that golden, ever-morning light is the frosty air of winter. I feel it in my bones. I become lethargic. Sweaters and thick socks are my dailor armor. Properly swathed in warm gear, my mind goes inward, too. Despite the well-intetioned holidays, I hardly ever make any memories during the cold season. Family get-togethers are muddled into one multi-year extravaganza (if T.V. watching can be called that). Mostly, my brain likes to re-visit a different time when days were much longer and things grew and we ate in the fresh air. There are a few leaves left on otherwise bare branches now. And when the grey wind picks up and scatters them at my feet I think of one autumn day in Cache Valley—a place called Richmond, home of Rockhill Creamery.

The Carrot, So To Speak (A Week in Oregon Wine Country)

Most of that Thursday night was a blur. At least, that's what it felt like. Day to day interactions blur at the 24-hour margins. The underappreciated working life builds the thickest of shells until you end up with an unnatural anaesthetic numb feeling that gets you through most days. To break out of that shell, you need something to shock you back into your senses, to lure me out. So, I got on a plane, endured a drowsy commute next to an effeminate Korean hair dresser (who stole my issue of GQ) and a very late night in Portland. By the next day I found myself in completely unfamiliar territory. The sun was shining, 70 degrees. And this was staring me in the face. Acres and acres of it. Pinot noir. In the heart of the Willamette Valley. With this alluring dark purple bunch, the shell was cracking.