The Way Gray Changes Me

My approach to laundry has changed quite a bit since I left Florida.

Mostly it’s because I had a lot of free time in Florida. So even though I had my own dryer in my own house, I used to hang all my clothes on the line to dry because I liked to.

Picture warm, dry, Florida breezes, grassy fields, cotton sun dresses—there was a certain romance about the whole thing. I took pleasure in hauling my basket of wet clothes out to the yard and pinning them up on the line. And in the crispness of sun dried cotton sheets.

Now I fit loads in when I can, air dry only the things that would be ruined by the dryer, and generally approach the task of laundry as something that needs to get done.

This weekend, I dyed my own fabric a yummy, mottled gray.  And for the first time since I moved away from Florida, I longed for that romantic laundry experience. I was so pleased with the whole process of soaking and stirring and mixing, and even more pleased with how the fabric came out when I was finished, that I wanted to give it the love of hanging it in the warm breeze to dry.

I didn’t, mind you. I threw it in the dryer like I did my gym clothes and my jeans. But I thought about it.

I am starting a sewing project that will be a rainbow of warm grays. Warm grays that I am attempting to make myself. It’s made me think about all the things I love that are gray—to eat, to look at, to be around.

Here are a few:

• Trout
• Gray salt
• Squid ink risotto
• Soba noodles
• The concrete wall in my back patio
• My Ann Piper painting
• Campfire smoke

A Japanese Delicatessen

I’d like to submit a formal request for a restaurant like Delica to open in Seattle. Preferably in Capitol Hill or Pioneer Square.

I visit San Francisco quite frequently, several times a year, and I just returned from a long weekend there. So many good restaurants to visit—old favorites and the ever changing docket of new choices—and I try to squeeze some of both each time I’m there.

Last weekend, I inadvertently conducted a mini-tour of new-places-that-serve-fancy-pizza, and I’d be hard pressed to pick a favorite. Flour and Water, Contigo and Gialina. Amazing.

But almost every time I visit San Francisco, and usually on the morning before I fly out, I make my way down to the Ferry Building and eat a quick lunch from Delica. It’s a Japanese delicatessen. A deli counter with fresh salads, tofu served several ways, and a few meat options. I always get the Spicy Burdock Root Salad and the Hijaki and Soybean Salad, served with steamed rice and black sesame seeds. It’s reasonably priced for being snug in the middle of the extremely gourmet, locally sourced, organic Ferry Building, and it's healthy, fresh, filling, and oh so tasty.

And it’s always just what I want after a trip full of eating, and before a flight home.  

The closest options I can think of in Seattle are the deli counter at Uwajimaya, and Maruta Shoten in Georgetown. Am I missing something? If yes, please point me in the right direction. If no, please respond to my request and open up a Delica clone somewhere nearby. Soon.  Thanks.

Cuckoo For Tarragon

I’ve gone cuckoo for tarragon. More specifically, for tarragon-mustard vinaigrette. I want to put it on everything. I can’t stop. I think it should make me feel French—or at least like I am in France—but I haven’t been there since 8th grade, so I am not sure what that feels like.

A few weeks ago I made Steamed Artichokes with Tarragon-Mustard Vinaigrette from the April/May issue of Fine Cooking. It was a great appetizer—a little more refined than dipping artichoke leaves into mayonnaise, and we scarfed it down just as quickly.

Then I thought the leftover dressing would probably be pretty good on green leaf lettuce with salami and radishes. I was right.
I have since made two more batches, with slight variations, and had it spooned over steamed baby carrots (actual little carrots, not those awful, whittled away “baby-cut” carrots), tossed with arugula, and seeped into boiled potatoes.

Give it a try. It’s other-worldly.

Tarragon-Mustard Vinaigrette

½ cup olive oil
1 cup loosely packed tarragon leaves, finely chopped
2 T finely chopped shallots
¼ t red wine vinegar
½ t Dijon mustard
¼ t kosher salt

Starter

The newest member of my household arrived in a jar last Saturday, and the first thing I did was starve it for a week. Quite the warm welcome, I know, but luckily everything seems to be fine.

My friend Jordan gave me some of his sourdough starter, and I have a lot to learn. It’s no ordinary cooking ingredient—this thing needs to eat. Sometimes it likes to be in the fridge, and other times it prefers the counter. And I could very well be responsible for killing it.

My favorite source for the science of cooking is Shirley O. Corriher’s Cookwise. I pulled it out yesterday and read up on starters. Apparently, sourdough starter is a symbiotic relationship between yeast and bacteria. So I guess there are two new members of my household.

I really like the idea of a starter—a little boost from a friend to help you towards your goal. I wish there were starters for other household projects. I could have used a laundry starter this weekend. And a starter to clean my barbeque, which is overflowing with ashes. And there are many weeknights when a simple dinner starter would come in handy.

I fed the starter a few times this weekend to get it good and bubbly, and made a nice little loaf of bread today. It's pretty good, and quite lovely to look at, but there are a few things I'll change next time. Maybe I’ll advance to pancakes and muffins, but for now I am working on bread. And on not killing the starter.

Hen Party

I thought it was time for a Hen Party—get the girls together, good wine, good food, and good conversation. And being a fan of the double entendre, I thought it would be a nice idea to serve hens.

I love Mario Batali’s Italian Grill cookbook, and it has a recipe for guinea hen breasts with rosemary and pesto. Perfect, I thought. Turns out, guinea hen breasts are not that easy to find in Seattle, so after trying three grocery stores, I settled on whole guinea hens from University Seafood and Poultry.

Guinea hens are a little bit smaller than most of the chickens we eat, and they have a richer flavor. I bought two to serve the six of us, and they took up the whole grill. This meant that I didn’t have enough room to cook them both over indirect heat. (Usually you push all the coals to one side of the barbeque and grill poultry over the over side so it doesn’t burn.) So, one of the hens burned very quickly. The other lived up to its reputation and was rich and flavorful.

With an amazing group of women over to keep things merry, and a tasty meal of artichokes and tarragon vinaigrette, fresh green salad from the farmer’s market, leeks in white wine, crusty bread, and ginger cookies with vanilla ice cream, the burned hen didn’t end up being much of a problem. Though next time I’ll be sure to stick to conventional wisdom and keep my hens away from the coals.

Vernal Verts

I think it’s finally safe to say it out loud—Spring is officially here in the northwest. Of course yesterday was the Vernal Equinox, but that’s the least of it. Hastas are growing an inch a day. Cherry blossoms everywhere you look. My Easter cactus has little hot pink buds on it. And wearing flats without socks doesn't seem like such a bad idea.

Best of all, the Farmer’s Market is filling up with young, spring goodies. Leeks, Jerusalem artichokes, bok choy, cabbage. I even saw some scraggly looking baby carrots today. And the greens. Yes, the greens! Chickweed, miner’s lettuce, baby arugula, radish greens. Thank god you’re back.

What to do with all these fresh, local, tender greens? Here are a few ways I have been enjoying them this week.

Some Spring Salads:
Chickweed, chopped small.

Toasted walnuts

Olive oil, salt and pepper, and just the tiniest drizzle of balsamic vinegar.

Miner’s lettuce

Champagne vinaigrette (champagne vinegar, olive oil, mustard, salt & pepper)

Grana Padano
A fried egg on top. Oh yeah.

Baby arugula
Beets
Rogue River Blue
Olive oil, salt & pepper

I really missed these shoes.

Eat Dirt

I bought a bag of beets last weekend at the farmers market, and they looked at me all week. I’d open the fridge and they’d give me those sad eyes that said—you don’t appreciate me.

They were right. I was zipping through the week on lunches out, and dinners of raw carrots, chunks of cheese, crackers left over from a party I had a few weeks ago, and toast. I was not appreciating the beets’ yummy soil-flavored goodness, or their luscious hot pink insides. I think that even if I didn’t love the sweet, dirty taste of beets, I would still cook them just so I could be around their color. Beet is my favorite color.

Eat dirt—they said to me. And I deserved it.

Luckily beets are hearty, and they last quite a while in the fridge. So I pulled them out yesterday to try to make amends. I cooked them, made them a sauce, and ate them for lunch. I ate them again for breakfast today. And I’ll probably eat them for lunch tomorrow.

Beets with Horseradish Crème
6-8 beets
1 cup crème fraiche 
½ cup grated fresh horseradish root (way less if you’re using prepared horseradish)
1-2 T chopped fresh chives
1 t lemon zest
1 t lemon juice
Salt and pepper

• Boil the beets whole until they’re tender. Peel them when they’re cool enough to handle, and slice them into wedges.  
• Mix crème fraiche, horseradish, chives, lemon zest, lemon juice, salt and pepper, and chill for at least an hour to let the flavors meld.
• Serve the beets with a dollop of crème.