All Over the Place

My thesis work has received yet another blow, slipped one more click past my attention and leaped three steps past my caring. I have one more happy thing to distract myself - I am now a guest columnist for the Fletcher Ledger, the newspaper of the Fletcher School of International Affairs at Tufts University. I am all kinds of cultured like that. Take a look at my inaugural article, if time permits.

P.S. I make no claims on the stock photographs. No clue on those.

Oystahs

I can’t imagine living far away from a coast. Landlocked states like Nebraska terrify me – they feel claustrophobic and desiccated. I need to have access to the water, I need to see and smell the ocean, to be reminded that there is a great big world outside of my lab, outside of highways, hustle, tussle, and spazzola of every day life. I find the ocean therapeutic. It calms me down, slows my thoughts. The smell of the ocean alone is soothing enough, the sound is even better, being rocked by the waves is the ultimate sensation for inner peace.

The ocean is one of the main reasons I love Boston as much as I do. There is the city ocean, hemmed in by docks, ocean walks and water front restaurants, and there is the nature ocean stretching outside of the city, bordered by wide beaches, sand dunes, and forests. The nature ocean is on the Cape (that’s how we Bostonites refer to Cape Cod. THE Cape. There is no other Cape for us). The pro-Cape Cod propaganda in books and movies is spot on – it is a heavenly spot with great food, gorgeous views, and the kind of quiet stillness that is so sharply lacking in the middle of a city.

A two hour-long mini road trip brought me to Provincetown and Wellfleet at the tip of the Cape. The former is full of adorable gay boys and girls, the latter is teeming with fresh, local oysters (that’s oystahs to us Bostonites). The annual Wellfleet Oysterfest was the reason for the mini-holiday. The festival celebrates the eponymous oysters raised on farms in Wellfleet. The mild tasting, lightly briny Wellfleet oysters were everywhere, sold by local restaurants and oyster farmers - shucked oysters, unshucked oysters, grilled oysters, oyster stew, even an oyster shucking competition (which sounded waaay more exciting than it proved to be).


Maiya took an expert turn at shucking an oyster, while I shied away for fear of losing a finger. I don’t do well with knives.



The warm weather and shockingly blue skies were a great complement to gorging on fresh seafood and plastic cups of locally brewed Octoberfest. This most perfect festival day continued with a cranberry picking expedition and a bonfire on a deserted beach under a star-riddled sky, with potatoes and corn caramelizing in the embers. I can’t think of a better argument for living on a coast… or for eating your body weight in fresh oysters.

Green Eggs and Ham

I have a fear of yeast (the baking kind, not the lab kind). I never make recipes that involve yeast, rising, proofing, kneading or any other equally intimidating words. They bring up images of rolled up sleeves, beads of sweat forming on the forehead, and of little cups full of breeding, breathing, scum colored yeast. Blech. I cannot tell you why I have such a strange and powerful aversion to an organism that has served mankind for centuries, but I do.

I am here to tell you that I have made a small step toward conquering my yeastophobia. Under strict and patient supervision, I assisted in making my very first homemade pizza, complete with a made-from-scratch, yeast-leavened crust. It was scary, I won’t lie. But I made it through, ate pizza, and lived to tell the tale.

My kind supervisor added yeast to a warm water and sugar bath to wake up the little buggers and coax them into eating mode (I could not be trusted with such a key step). After the yeast solution was added to flour and salt it came time to knead the dough. For five whole minutes. Yeah, I know! Five minutes is a lot! I kneaded, I grunted, I got tired and whiney but it was worth it - the dough rose beautifully. I got to punch it down with a disproportionate amount of glee (and a little vindictiveness), after which it was rolled out by my attentive and generous supervisor (I still hate rolling pins and had to defer). The rolled out dough was covered in a thick, deep green Greek olive oil, a home-made tomato sauce with tons of browned garlic, and then it was time for the toppings.


I really have no self-control. Practically the entire contents of my fridge made their way onto this pizza. I roasted a red bell pepper and three Anaheim chiles, sliced green zebra heirloom tomatoes (note that all the vegetables were green…), tore prosciutto di Parma, cut rounds of fresh mozzarella, and what the hell, plopped a raw egg into the center. I am sure I could have found something else to sprinkle, layer, or shower on top (capers were up next … but they were vetoed) but the crust had to go into the oven before it became soggy.


Twelve minutes in a 600F oven, no pizza stone, no fancy equipment, just crossed fingers and a few bated breaths and there it was – a crunchy crust baked all the way through to the center, bubbling cheese, crispy prosciutto, melted tomatoes, and creamy, oozing egg in the middle. And let me tell you, it was fantastic – the taste of the pizza no doubt enhanced by the flavor of my victory over yeast, but delicious nonetheless. What lies ahead in my journey with yeast – cinnamon buns? Bread? Panettone? Who knows. But it all sounds a little less scary now.

Cooking Class, Revisited

Anyone who has ever spent time around me can attest to the fact that I make an ass of myself on a regular basis. Recently, I have started making an ass of myself on a much more grand (and public) scale. By that I of course mean this blog.

I went on a bit of a tirade about a class I attended at Williams-Sonoma (aka my crack den). I was not a fan, and I was rather vocal about it, at which point the above-mentioned ass-making took place, blogger style. [I keep hoping that one day I will, miraculously, wake up having learned to hold my tongue. I'll let y'all know when that happens.]

Through the wonder that is the internet Jo, a chef, food blogger, and instructor at W-S happened upon the post. Irked by my experience and reaction (and being the kind person that she is) Jo invited me to sit in on one of her classes* at W-S.

It was such great fun! Jo is wonderfully well-spoken, fun, full of knowledge, skill, and interesting factoids. She gave the history and background of the ingredients (complete with taste tests), explained and demonstrated each step of the recipes, and offered short cuts, alternatives, and funny stories along the way.

The theme of the class was dishes that can be started one day and finished the next. In under two hours, she managed to prepare and serve five fantastic dishes, slightly tweaked following her own expertise and taste. I may be hooked.


- Pasta Rustica with chicken sausage and three cheeses – Three cheeses, melted together. ‘Nuff said.
- White Chili
- Pasta Salad with grilled tuna and roasted tomatoes
- Chicken enchiladas with tomatillo sauce – Gorgeous enchilada sauce with oven roasted chiles and tomatillos, and the most amazingly light and fresh queso fresco.
- Polenta casserole with meat sauce – Polenta layered with a red wine-heavy meat ragu, topped with cheese and baked. Brilliant!


Lesson learned: I do not live and write in a vacuum. Thoughts do well when filtered. I have lots to improve on (Snarkiness : 1, SND/Anna : Nil). I am hoping that my ass-making will decrease, if not disappear, in the time and blog posts to come.


Thank you, Jo ( and the managerial staff at the Burlington, Mass. Williams-Sonoma) for allowing me to sit in on a wonderful class. It was thoughtful and generous of you. W-S is my friend and crack den, as ever.







* As a disclaimer, cooking classes such as the ones taught by Jo are not free ($50 each). I did not know of their existence (shockingly enough). Had I known, I would have had more realistic expectations of the free technique class offered by W-S. The store is not a charity, public education is not their main occupation, nor their responsibility. It's pretty cool that they offer free classes at all.

On the Road to Improvement

On the road to Durham

A week ago I listened close to my gut instinct and took in its constant scream of, “Science ties me up in knots, get me out of here!” I took three days off lab, rearranged and rebooked travel plans and attended a food blogging event in Durham, North Carolina, organized by the wonderful folks at BlogTogether. A food blogging event alone would have been enough to send my instincts into convulsions but with Michael Ruhlman as the guest of honor/speaker/author/blogger idol, I had no hope of resisting.

The first part of the event was a book reading at the Regulator Bookshop. Michael Ruhlman read an excerpt from his book, talked about writing books and blogs, the direction of American cuisine, cooking, eating and generally enjoying life to its fullest. He then signed books for a line of eager blogger worshippers such as myself, taking time to chat with every one of them.


When my turn came I was awkward and tongue tied, due no doubt to stress and science (I blame everything on science these days). Happily, Bora covered by saying that I am shy. Thank you! We bloggers need to stick together. [As an aside, I may be a great many things but shy I am not. Inarticulate and unsociable at times, yes. Shy? Not so much.] I did manage to squawk out a bit about my own blog and food writing, which Michael sat through with all his composure and obscene patience.

The next day was spent in anticipation of dinner at Piedmont. Chefs Drew Brown and Andy Magowan based practically the entire dinner on one heirloom pig that was raised on a local farm. I don’t know if it was the knowledge that all the ingredients save for the olive oil were born and raised in locally or that the execution of the dishes was flawless, but the food was rich, alive, fresh, simple, and cared for. In other words, it was great.


First
Housemade charcuterie and local cheeses: pate, lomo, rillette, head cheese, new moon, chevre camembert and accompaniments
Le Colture Fagher Prosecco

Second
White sweet potato puree with pancetta
Pierre Henri Chardonnay 2006

Third
Arugula salad with cherry tomatoes, pickled oak-grown shiitakes and herbs (basil, tarragon, fennel fronds and dill were all I could pick out)

Fourth
Pork loin with butternut squash polenta, braised chard and jus
La Gironnere Cotes do Bordeaux 2003

Fifth
Scuppernong* granita with moscato d’asti, cookies

---------

Michael took a look at my blog and was kind enough to give me his opinion on how I can improve. I have to be more me, he said, have to give the reader a better sense of my voice minus the snarky, to which I am massively prone. Good idea? Yes. Easy to execute? Nope. I’ll be working on it, over the next 20 years or so.



Pictures from the dinner here, courtesy of Anton Zuiker.

*Don’t know what scuppernong is? I didn’t either. It’s a large grape with a thick skin that is grown in NC and is used to make a sweet wine. The granita was pale green, smooth, and almost creamy. The taste came forward in stages – sweet at first, perfumey and floral last.




P.S. Impressions? Michael Ruhlman is a pretty neat (and tall!) guy - well-spoken, attentive, with a barely concealed edge (always the best part of a person) which I unintentionally coaxed out at dinner. I have a tendency to do that. That’s another bit of me that may need to be kept in check.