• Daily Living

    Muffins With Moms

    My Scottish grandmother was a terrific baker.  The Waterloo for most home bakers is pie crust.  Snap.  How about nice crumbly scones?  Double snap. I can make those both very well, thanks to her.   Having left school at 14 (typical then), and with no desire to work in a factory (horrible work), a shop (nice young girls did not mix with strangers), or a pub (are you kidding?) she had been a housekeeper to a couple of, as they said in the U.K. way back when, “retired gentlewomen.”    Bake well, keep your job. That will raise your game.  Marriage whisked her away from all that.  World War II finished the social re-ordering begun during World War I, and I assume retired gentlewomen now order in.   Or maybe they have Posh Meals on Wheels?

    All by way of saying today, here in Southern California , in a world unimaginable by my Granny Glen, was Muffins With Moms day at Juliet’s elementary school.  Earlier in the year was Donuts With Dads.   Next month, Oatmeal With Old Folks?  Kidding.

    Juliet awoke at about 6:30, got dressed and woke me at 6:42, informing me she would come back at 7 a.m. at which time I would be getting up.   She’s been getting herself up and dressed for the past week, much to our fascination.   I dozed a bit and then she did return at 7 and I dutifully got in the shower.  By 7:35 I was wearing a nice blouse and jacket with my customary jeans and we were curling her hair so we would both be looking our best.

    To make it on time for the 7:45 beginning (we always arrive as close to first as possible for all school events.  It’s not considered uncool until you are about 15, I think), we drove the 2 blocks to school.  Mock me if you will, but that nice warm car was awesome during today’s 20 mile an hour winds.    We parked near the school, joining the throng of mostly Hondas and SUVs bearing moms and kids.   The Multi Purpose Room had plenty of mom and child volunteers directing us to the treat-laden tables.  Today was a modest fundraiser mostly meant for us to have a little downtime before the rush of real life.  I mean how much money can you make when the muffins are 25 cents for small, 50 cents for big, and coffee or milk costs a quarter?

    Back to my Gran and her home baking.  Everything on offer was a steroidal leaden bomb from the grocery.  Not even a bakery muffin in sight.   Sigh. Who bakes any more?  Answer: no one, at least when it comes to feeding 700 moms and kids.  We spied some mini cinnamon rolls and bought 3.  And they were pretty darn good.  So was the Starbucks coffee and actual half and half for said coffee.   Since our choice was between sitting outside in the wind and having a picnic in the car, guess where we went?

    So we hung out for about 30 minutes, watching people arrive and fight the wind up the hill to the school.  We  cruised for tunes on the radio and blasted the heat.  Too many drive time commercials.  We put in our well-worn Kids Bop 20 c.d.  Those are covers of popular songs with cleaned up lyrics sung by talented kid singers who are not famous.   Cleaned up Lada Gaga.  Cleaned up sexy dance numbers with the sex taken out.  Cleaned up ballads without references to drugs or suicide.   Kinda nice, actually.

    We joked about keeping our cinnamon rolls secret since they did not start with “m.”   We tried to think of other breakfast foods that start with “m.”  “Milky Way”, chortled Juliet. “Milkshake”, she added.  “Meat”, said I, half-heartedly. At the thought of meat, Milky Ways and a milkshake for breakfast,  Juliet laughed too much and spit milk on her shirt, her knee and parts of the seat.   Thank god for black pants and plenty of napkins.  Too soon, it was time to face the wind.

    Back home, John asked where his muffin order was.  Hmm.  Juliet did not mention a muffin order.

    Oh well.  Guess I’ll be making muffins this weekend.

  • Recipes

    House Salad Dressing at Chez Romano

    About 100 years ago in the 1980’s, I watched some British gadabout on PBS doing a really awesome canal trip in France. He was a movie producer of note (no, I can’t remember his name) and made a point of stopping to buy wine like every 1/4 mile. Good for him.    He also ate really well and trotted out his adequate French to buy local ingredients for his staff to cook.  Yeah, he traveled with a staff.  Of course.   Like he was going to cook for sound and camera.   The man had wine to drink! And I consider anyone who can go on a multi week canal trip with a staff, crew and get all expenses paid by someone else on the off chance it will be aired on t.v. a truly brilliant producer.

    At one of his stops, he bought lettuce picked straight from the field.  Then it was prepared into a salad the right way.   You put  a small puddle of mild olive oil into a big bowl.  You dash vinegar into it.  You grind pepper on it and dash in salt.  You whisk it and then put the leaves in, coating them lightly.  If you are really fancy, you switch up the vinegar, add dry mustard or red pepper flakes, or some grated cheese, a mashed up garlic clove.  You get the picture.

    Anyway, ever since, I have done dressing like this, though often in a mini food processor so I have extra and can use it another day.

    Fig Balsamic Vinegar, Seasoned Rice Vinegar, Canola Oil, Olive Oil, Oregano. Mix and match.

    Not really sure what a puddle measures out to, but I’d bet it’s under 1/4 cup. A dash is a quick slug.  Beware vinegar bottles without that little dropper thing.  You’ll be dumping out the sour puddle in the sink (the dog won’t eat it) and starting over.

  • Culture

    Top Chef: The Cadillac of Reality Shows

    Okay, these days, based on monthly payment cost and status, I guess I mean an SUV hybrid.  Or something.

    Reality shows have a formula.  Get a bunch of competitive people together.  Isolate them, give them tasks and stand clear for fireworks which will make good, cheesy television.  “Top Chef” does get competitive people together, but humliation and ratcheting up personal beefs are not the number one reason they are there, thankfully, or they would have lost me long ago.  The (mostly young) male and female chefs are supposed to cook really good food under time constraints for picky people.  Kind of like being a parent, come to think of it.  Is that why I love the show?

    Tom Colicchio, Perennial Top Chef Judge and Co Host

    This season has the contestants cooking their guts out in various parts of  Texas.  In the summer.  Since I grew up there I can assure you the sweat you see on the contestants as they cook is not exaggerated. Prior seasons, in New Orleans, Vegas, Chicago and New York, to name a few, have focused on the cutting edge blend between high end and higher end.  The creators seem to have figured out that these days, chefs going into business (since the winner gets backing and publicity to launch their own restaurant) will do well to offer comfort food.  Texas has plenty of that, with barbecue, Mexican influence,  coastal seafood, oh who am I kidding?

    I watch it for the personalities.  Who is going to crack?  Flame out?  Steal recipes?

    Somehow, this season is especially loaded with Asian chefs and women who are lasting to the end.  Prior seasons have featured a lot more tattooed chefs and kind of punk chefs.  The class of 2012 is calmer, younger and, maybe due to the economy, very anxious to please.

    We shall see how tonight goes with the Final Five.   Once it is Final Four, they are whisked to a fabulous location with even more culinary torture to endure.  For a very good cause.  Their future.

  • Reviews - Food and otherwise

    Hot Peppered Pizza on the Highway to Hell: A Review

    Los Angeles has an ever-replenishing supply of consumers under 30, aided by the presence of lots of top tier colleges, and, oh yes,  the draw of Hollywood fame and fortune.  Are they eating 3 course meals and sipping $100 bottles of wine?  Not so much.  Pizza?  Yep.   And not Pizza Hut, Papa John’s or Domino’s.

    Point of fact: indy pizza joints are popping up in trendy Los Feliz and Silver Lake  almost as fast as wine bars. Actually, they are usually within a storefront of each other. Such is the case with Lucifer’s Pizza, on Hillhurst.  You might not fly such a restaurant name in the heart of the Bible belt, but it is doing just fine where black clothing is de riguer, even for toddlers (seriously!).  The place proclaims itself to be “Damned good.”  Get it?  The hook of the menu is that you get to decide how spicy your pizza will be: “zero,” “medium,” “fiery” or “blazing”.    Go for blazing and fresh cut hot peppers, pickled peppers, and housemade chili sauce will end up on your pizza, which you can order in personal or large sizes.  Sandwiches, wings and salad round out the food choices.

    Being in Rome, my dining partner did as a Roman and ordered the spiciest pizza there was, and made it blazing.  I went with zero as I was hungry and if lost feeling in my mouth, what the hell (!) would I eat?    We got some water/Coke out of the cooler (you can bring your own beer and wine; they don’t have a license) and waited quite a long time.  We took plenty of peeks behind the counter; the kitchen seemed to be a little overwhelmed with take-out orders.   We people-watched, seated at our table shaped like a coffin, spurning groups of three or more who were trying to get us two to move so they could have our bigger table.   You’ll pry this comfy coffin from my cold dead hands, hipster.

    The thin crust pizzas, a bit greasy with cheese, showed up.    John reported his was very spicy but far from inedible (you’d have to bring food literally on fire to be too spicy for him).  I tried a  pepperoni slice off his which had been soaked in the chili sauce. Hot on its own, never mind the fresh sliced hot peppers all over the pie.   My Sicilian sausage with fresh tomatoes was okay,  but we are pretty sure we were eating dough not made in house.  Dough is a big part of setting yourself a cut above as a pizza joint.

    The point in coming here is not necessarily nuanced ingredients, however.  It is about  being guaranteed access to very hot peppers, wearing black, being in a black room and not spending too much money to do so.   Lucifer’s succeeds on all the above counts, but has a way to go to beat Garage Pizza a few blocks away, where they make the dough in house (rumor has it that the chef cut his teeth at Joe’s Pizza in New York!) and slices are ready to go almost instantly, with a wide choice of toppings, too.

    Lucifer’s Pizza is located at 1958 Hillhurst Avenue in Los Angeles.

  • Reviews - Food and otherwise

    Sly’s in Carpinteria: A Gem Worth the Drive

    Maybe you have a distant memory of going to a “fancy” restaurant when relatives were in town or a cousin was off to college. There were white tablecloths, a jacketed waiter and “continental’ specials. The kitchen somehow came up with kid’s plates that weren’t on the menu, and the staff had been there forever. Oh, yes, and the adults could order a handmade cocktail for the occasion. It was family-friendly in a kind of stuffy way. You dressed up a little and Shirley Temples were a house drink.

    Very few such places exist any more, but Carpineteria, yes, that little town 10 minutes south of Montecito and lacking an upscale hotel, pier or restaurant scene of much description, has one. It’s not in its 60th year of operation, however, only its third, helmed by James Sly, a long time chef who made Montecito’s Lucky’s steakhouse what it is today. You kind of only find this place if you live near there or someone tells you about it. And don’t worry, it won’t be closing due to lack of interest. Sly’s (www.slysonline.com) has its followers who make sure the place is not empty. Here is where you’ll get Blue Plate specials of American classics like pot pie and meat loaf every night of the week, very good steak (hand cut and aged in house), locally-sourced wines, produce and breads. Their grilled artichoke is delicious and straight from Castroville, of course.

    The low key town means low key rent, one suspects, and thus a lot more value goes on your plate than you might expect. No, it’s not cheap, but it’s not crazy pricewise either. We took our 6 year old there a couple of Sundays ago and enjoyed the aforementioned artichokes and herbed scallops to start. My husband had his favorite Bloody Mary, ever, and perfectly pan-roasted chicken. I had the prix fixe menu of the day, which had a Gruyere souffle, a more than decent steak with a carrot puree, and a petite tarte tatin to finish. My souffle was fallen, I must say, and the waiter blinked a bit when I asked about it. (Update: From James Sly: “The soufflé suissesse is unmolded, and served in cream, baked with gruyere over.” So it turns out that the souffle wasn’t fallen after all. However, that waiter should have known that.)

    Sounds much better than fallen! It’s baked in a half inch deep mold.
    He said it came that way. Hmmm. Well, it tasted good. And it was $34 for all three courses.

    As a more than decent home cook, Top Chef addict, farmer’s market shopper and all-around food enthusiast, I am well aware most restaurants use shortcuts to streamline operations and pare costs. It’s an admirable business model – if you don’t care that the food be special and personal. Sly’s does indeed care about special and personal. On a brunch visit, we asked how they get the artichoke just so. We were advised how to steam them using vegatable broth for 45 minutes, chill them in the fridge for at least an hour, trim them properly and then grill them. I’m not so sure Morton’s, McCormick and Schmicks’ et.al. are doing it that way or would take the time to tell us about it.

    The Los Angeles, and, casting the net wider, southern California, food scene is really world class these days. You can get well-made food from eager culinary grads who’ve cut their teeth in New York, Paris and Miami. You want deconstructed Italian, cutting edge Vietnamese, fusion Korean? Seriously amazing.

    But no frills delicious is much harder than that. Deceptively simple is all about showcasing ingredients and adding salt, pepper, butter, herbs and a huge dash of service. Sly’s has it.

    By the way, one of the Bloody Mary’s key ingredients is fresh squeezed juice of a whole lemon. As for the rest, sorry, you’ll have to go to the corner of Linden and Seventh in Carpinteria for the recipe.