I am entering into high birthday season. Not only my own, but about half of the people I know. We’re Summer babies– the product of cold-weather snuggling and perhaps a little too much Holiday Cheer. I suspect that my own conception had something to do with Nixon’s 1968 presidential victory. I shudder, yet I am grateful. And, as I type this, I realize that today is the 100th anniversary of my paternal grandmother’s birth (the smiling profile at the lower right of the photo, eleven months before I was born). Of course, she hasn’t been celebrating it herself for some years, which isn’t surprising– she’s dead.

When I hit the one-year mark, my mother (Mia Farrow-circa-Rosemary’s Baby haircut, second left) thought it would be a fun idea to have a joint birthday party for my grandmother, and myself since our birthdays were so close together. The birthday cake read “Happy birthday Mom and Michael!” I’m sure I was delighted with the cake, as I am sure there are photos of me with icing smeared all over my face and body. My grandmother, however, was not. “Don’t ever do that again” was all she said. She didn’t enjoy having her special day shared, nor did she like the fact that her birthday wishes would be diluted by those of a small, frog-like newcomer who frequently soiled his onesies.

And I don’t blame her one bit. On average (unless you happen to be someone who enjoys multiple birthday parties), you get one shot a year at your own cake and birthday wish. That thought makes me weep for all the twins and triplets in the world.

So where and when did this dessert become imbued with the power to single out one’s specialness, grant wishes, and divide families?

What an excellent question.

The Birth of the Birthday Cake

Both the Greeks and the Germans lay claim to inventing the birthday cake. Of course, the Greeks claim to have invented everything, so I’m not surprised.

In Ancient Greece, flat, round cakes of honey and nut meats called plakous were given in offering to the moon goddess Artemis on her special day of celebration– the world’s first Moon Pie, if you will.

The Romans, as was their habit, adopted this Greek custom, but latinized the cake’s name to placenta and expanded upon the idea of annual celebrations. Whereas the Greeks had limited their cake offerings to the gods, the Romans took a shining to the idea of the birthday, celebrating those belonging to their Emperor-du-jour and his family, to important military heroes, even to one’s own city. One’s50th year is said to have been celebrated with a cake make of flour, cheese, honey, and olive oil. Placenta, delicious placenta.

Of course, neither the Greeks nor the Romans bothered to come up with a new word for cake, since little distinction was made between these cakes and bread.

No, it is rumored that our word for cake is derived from a 13th Century Norse word: kaka. Cake, it would seem, was in need of a greater marketing strategy.

It was the Germans who really put the concept of the modern birthday cake on the map. In the Middle Ages, sweetened bread dough was made into the shape of the Baby Jesus wrapped in swaddling clothes and eaten cannibalistically on that biggest of all birthdays, Christmas. I am reminded of the story a friend once told me of how is family celebrates that holiday every year. His mother walks into the dining room carrying a peppermint-frosted birthday cake (because Jesus loves both you and peppermint) and everyone bursts into a rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday”. Not, I hope, “Happy Birthday, Jesus”.

Mercifully, the idea of a bready Christ-child lost some of its appeal, but the tie-in of child + birthday = celebration survived in the form of the Kinderfest– a child’s birthday party. In centuries past, it was usually the custom to regard children as either mini-grown-ups, free sources of labor, or simply not at all, since it was most likely that he or she would not survive into adulthood. It was the Germans, with their proto-modern Geburtstagtorten, who helped to pioneer the warm and fuzzy regard with which we now regard the young. At least our own. And the birthday cake.

Candle Power

It’s impossible to talk about birthday cakes without regarding their source of power– the birthday candle.

Fire is, of course, a source of both light and heat. It is therefore symbolic of the sun’s power and, as such, the use of it in religious rights is not at all surprising. The smoke from these fires — from candles or burnt sacrifices– would rise, curling its way up to Heaven, to whichever god one was worshipping at the time. The Greeks sometimes placed candles upon their cakes, as they did with Artemis, and lit them as they prayed. With the round cakes glowing like the moon, they sent their prayers skyward with the smoke. It is essentially that tradition we still follow, though we no longer call them prayers, but wishes, which sounds less religious, yet more unreasonably hopeful, and we light up German Chocolate or Wacky Cakes instead of Moon Pies, because that somehow seems more comfortable to us.

We place the same number of candles on our cakes as the number of years we have lived but, no matter how many candles there might be, we get just one wish. The more candles on the cake, the more difficult it is to blow them out in a single breath, as is the wish-making custom. If anything, this symbolizes not only the complexities of aging, but also the growing unlikelihood of our ever getting what we wish for. For the young, the act of blowing out candles is one of hope. For the elderly, it can be an exercise in frustration and futility, which might explain why my family stops counting candles for someone when their age exceeds the number of candles in a standard box– 24.

Whatever you might read into the tone of this post, I am not completely cynical about the birthday cake, its traditions, and its powers. I don’t believe so much in the making of wishes by blowing out candles, though I enjoy the symbolism behind the act. The real power of the birthday cake comes from the fact that, if it is made from scratch, it tells the recipient that he or she has been thought of in advance, is loved.

And, of course, I love the fact that I, as the birthday boy, am essentially coating the entire surface of the cake with a fine mist of my own spittle, sharing a little bit of myself with all my co-celebrants. It’s better to give than to receive, you know. That’s why this year, I shall joyfully close my eyes, put my lips together, and blow.

The 4th of July is a huge event in our house. My daughters classify it as the third best holiday, after their birthday and Christmas. Yes, I realize their birthday isn’t a holiday, but try telling that to them.

My daughters’ enthusiasm is due in large part to the fact that our city, Piedmont, goes a bit nuts on July 4th. The day starts off with a pancake breakfast hosted by the fire department (which actually we’ve never attended, but it’s there for all to enjoy). Later, we have a homespun parade, complete with Scottish Highland bands, dog brigades, soccer teams marching, and the Oakland Raiderettes. There’s then a big party in the park with a band, hot dogs and shaved ice. Later in the day, the small streets of Piedmont become no-traffic zones as the majority of neighborhoods settle into their annual block parties.

Each neighborhood’s party is a little different — there are those with bounce houses for the kids, while others have potato sack races — but the common denominator for all are hordes of kids running, scootering, and cycling around what becomes a parking lot of garden chairs in the road filled with adults of all ages. Some may think our parties are a bit hokey, and they may be right, but there’s really something to be said for breaking bread (or rather a hot dog roll) with your neighbors at least once a year.

My favorite part, however, is that there is serious food to be had. Although the parties offer the standard hamburgers, hot dogs, and veggie burgers you see throughout America on July 4th, this is by and large a potluck affair where every family brings a dish. I love scoping out the tables to see what everyone has brought. Sure, some people bring the Safeway platter of cut fruit, but more often than not, my lovely neighbors bring something homemade, which warms my heart and makes me feel less irritated later in the year when I hear their dog barking all night or when a buzz saw wakes me up at 7:00 a.m. on a Sunday because someone has decided to put in a new planter box (Oh wait. That was my husband.).

As our neighborhood’s party just happens to land right on my doorstep, I’m lucky to have the main food table literally touching my front yard. I love checking out the selection and finding out who brought what. We start with the appetizers, brought by families with last names from A-G. These usually include some freshly made guacamoles and salsa, deviled eggs, and prosciutto and cheese plates. Each year, a mother and her daughters bring homemade lychee, maraschino cherry, and lime gelatin in Dixie cups. I barely know this family, and I’m not a big fan of gelatin, but I admire their spirit of culinary experimentation. When I catch a glimpse of them throughout the rest of the year, I fondly recall that they’re the Jell-o family.

H-O families then bring the salads. There’s usually a great range of these, from Capreses and mixed greens, to taco salads and Asian cole slaws. I find it impossible to choose only one or two and so usually opt for small tastes of each.

Finally, the P-Z families bring the desserts. Homemade berry pies are the real stars here, although I am also quite partial to the coffee cakes with brown sugar toppings and freshly baked cookies as well. Sure, some people bring see-through plastic containers of hydrogenated store cookies, but these are always left to linger while the neighborhood discusses recipes and unabashedly debates which dessert is the best.

I am technically an “L,” and so therefore should bring a salad. But, for many years I was an “S” (as in Santoro), and my signature block party dish was always my peach crisp with vanilla ice cream. When I got married, a neighbor asked me to stick with dessert because she looked forward to eating my crisp each year. Since then, I have brought my crisp, even when I had infant twins and just wanted to sack out in a garden chair.

I love this crisp recipe because it’s huge, feeds a crowd, and is ridiculously simple to make. You will see that the directions are a bit vague, but that’s the beauty of this dessert. It’s something you throw together and then share with the neighbors, much like we do with ourselves at the block party.

Block Party Peach Crisp

Serves: 10 people (or thereabouts)

Ingredients:
Filling
4 - 5 pounds of peaches or enough freshly sliced peaches to fill a 9×13” baking pan
1 cup granulated sugar
1/4 cup flour

Topping
1 cup flour
1 cup Instant oatmeal
1 cup brown sugar
1 1/2 sticks butter

Preparation:

1. Slice enough peaches into 1/4 inch slices to fill a buttered 9/13” baking pan to the top
2. Mix in sugar and flour
3. In a separate bowl, combine the flour, oatmeal and brown sugar.
4. Incorporate the butter until it is broken into small chunks (you can do this in a food processor, but I think it comes out better if you just squish the butter with your hands)
5. Set the topping on top of the filling in the pan, spreading evenly.
6. Bake at 350 degrees for about an hour, or until the topping is browned and you can see the peach filling bubbling inside.
7. Set aside to cool a bit and then serve with vanilla ice cream or whipped cream.

It’s getting to be that special time of year again. I will leave the reasons behind its specialness open to interpretation. Holiday party invitations start showing up in one’s mailbox the moment the turkey baster has been dried and tucked away in a drawer. Concurrently, this is the time of year when egg nog starts to muscle its way into your local supermarket’s dairy case.

Egg Nog. It’s a heart-stopping, cholesterol-laden, alcohol-spiked, phlegm-producing cup of Holiday goodness. And I’m a huge fan. I always have been.

As a child, the appeal was obvious; what eight year-old is going to say no to a sweet, creamy dairy product? I imagined I was drinking melted nutmeg ice cream. Given the ingredients, I didn’t know how close to the mark I was. I would drink several glasses at holiday gatherings. If I accidentally got into the rum-spiked nog for adults (which was understandable since the crystal punch bowl full of alcoholic nog looked exactly like the cardboard carton that contained the booze-free liquid), so much the better. Open a container, pour out its contents, mix in a little rum, and get the party started. Egg nog punch is that simple. Or was, until I had my first taste of the real stuff.

It wasn’t until I was well into adulthood that my family would pay a call on my stepmother’s friend Charlene and her family, who had a sort of open house party every Christmas Eve. The house was always dressed to the teeth in holiday drag, complete with a sort of Christmas-on- Main-Street, U.S.A. recreation in miniature spread out over the tables in the living room and onto the grand piano. I’d peek into the tiny cellophane windows looking for any signs of domestic unhappiness or violence, but was invariably disappointed in my search. Booze-spiked cocktail wieners, prawns, and every kind of dip imaginable were there for the taking, and our hosts were always warm and in a festive mood, which is just the thing my family needs during the holidays. For me, the two main attractions of the party were the Presentation of the Egg Nog, and the Wheeling-in of Grandpa. This quiet old gentleman was missing one of his legs and an eye. At least, I assume he was missing an eye since he wore an eye patch. This in itself is nothing unusual, since it it very likely that he suffered from diabetes, though I never asked. What I always found interesting was the fact that he was always parked against the wall near the center of the main room, slightly to the right of a parrot cage, which hung near (but wisely not over) the dessert table. He was, to me, a sort of pirate centerpiece to the party.

The Presentation of the Egg Nog was not a heralded event, but one I always watched with interest. Charlene and her husband Bill would be in the kitchen fussing over the bowl, stirring in something here, adding a little nutmeg there. They’d do a little tasting, adjust favoring, do a little more tasting, add more booze, then Charlene would pick up the enormous bowl and walk it to the buffet table very carefully, the whitecaps of stiffened egg white gently rising and falling against the sides. When her mission had been successfully accomplished, people would grab their cups and huddle around the bowl, waiting their turn to dip in. It was a revelation, in terms of my nog-drinking experience. It was fresh and frothy. I finally understood where the egg part of egg nog came in– the subtle yellow coloring from yolks beaten without mercy, the foam of egg whites folded in for body. It ruined my enjoyment of store-bought nog forever.

I won’t assume that all three of you reading this have ever tried homemade egg nog. If you haven’t, and you don’t have problems consuming dairy, cholesterol or alcohol, I say go ahead and try it. It’s really, really good. And you only get it once a year, so drink up.

Egg Nog

The rumor behind the word “nog” is that it derived from the English word “noggin”; a small, carved, wooden mug used to serve drinks in various taverns. The full name of this beverage might have been “egg and grog in a noggin”, which does not sound especially appetizing. There also seems to be some disagreement as to whether the beverage is spelled as one word or two. I like two, it sounds more important that way.

Ingredients:

4 egg yolks
1/3 cup sugar, plus 1 tablespoon
1 pint whole milk
1 cup heavy cream
1 teaspoon grated nutmeg
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup rum, bourbon, or whatever poison you prefer
4 egg whites

Procedure:

1. Beat egg yolks until pale yellow in color. Gradually add 1/3 cup of sugar until it is totally dissolved.

2. In a medium saucepan, over high heat, combine milk, cream, and nutmeg and bring to a boil, stirring occasionally. Remove from heat and temper the hot milk mixture into the eggs and sugar. Return everything to the pot and cook until mixture reaches 160 degrees F. Remove from heat, stir in alcohol and extract, pour into a medium-sized mixing bowl and chill in your refrigerator.

3. In a medium bowl, beat egg whites to soft peaks. Gradually add one tablespoon of sugar as you beat until stiff peaks form. Whisk egg whites into chilled mixture.

4. Put your now fresh and somewhat safe beverage in the noggin or vessel of your choice and drink up.

“Sweet & Salt Relish” is a recipe entry dated March/April 2003 in one of my little recipe books. Each book corresponds to a time period, the restaurant I was working in at the time. The pages in this one reflect recipes I used in my first months at Aziza, a Moroccan restaurant with a particularly modern Californian slant.

I was attempting to create a vegan garnish for the sorbet plate. Mourad Lahlou, Aziza’s chef/owner, serves food thick with aroma and spice, rich with clarified butter and intense from slow braised meat sauces. My goal was to create sweets clean and bright with seasonal flavors: desserts I would crave after eating his North African sweet-savory food.

Inspired by Haroseth and in lieu of Passover, a Jewish holiday ending in the eating of flour-free (unleavened) desserts, I give you an intriguing garnish for just about anything sweet, savory, or both. Although this recipe could be made very quickly in a food processor, I strongly suggest chopping all the fruits and nuts by hand. Not only will you have more control over the size and shape of each piece, it will give you time to meditate on the traditions of eating representational foods.

SWEET & SALT RELISH

2 C Organic Raw Almonds
3/4 Cup Candied Kumquats*
1 Cup California Dried Apricots
10 each Dried White Figs
1 Cup Cold Press Extra Virgin Olive Oil
1 teaspoon Sel Gris
1/4 Cup Cocoa Nibs
Optional: Honey, Lemon Zest or 1/4 Preserved Lemon (peel only)

1. Rough chop almonds, candied kumquats (*get recipe by clicking here), apricots and figs, and place in bowl. Stir to combine.
2. Stir in olive oil, salt and minced preserved lemon peel or optional ingredients.
3. Just before serving, add cocoa nibs. (This step will preserve some of their crunch, but it’s not absolutely necessary.)

Sweet & Salt Relish will keep upwards of a month refrigerated in a non-reactive, tightly sealed container.

I used this kooky garnish for sorbet, but it would also be lovely with most any cheese, especially fresh ones like ricotta, chevre or fromage frais. For those of you who like both a savory as well as a sweet breakfast, Sweet & Salt Relish would be delicious with yogurt– plain, Greek or goat.

Enjoy! And if it pertains to you and yours, Happy Pesach!

Every year you have the same holiday dinners. Turkey for this, ham for that. An odd crown roast or duck and maybe cedar plank fish if you have a house in the country. You like the same side dishes to go with these main proteins. With some meals a mixture of sweet and savory gracing the table is important, but sometimes it’s all about the salt. Certain holidays are about being American and then there are the ones that remind you of the culture in which you grew up or flavors your grandmother introduced you to.

Each cavity stuffed with a different set of aromatics.

Goose, bound.

You’re married or belong to a community or every year you go to a different house for these holidays. Every year is basically the same, except that everyone’s a little older, or every other you do what your partner wants. Sometimes you volunteer at your local synagogue or church or soup kitchen and make more food than you thought possible. When you sit down to eat after these days your exhaustion is deeply soul-satisfied with a varied plate of food you let yourself (finally) eat and enjoy.

Elise Bauer makes her famous cranberry-orange relish at the event.

During the year you make dinner parties or bring what the host asks you to make. You shop at the farmers’ market differently for these special nights. You pull out your favorite cookbooks and try a new recipe or finesse a favorite from the tried-and-true box. You proudly unfurl your food and wait nervously for people to dig in, hoping beyond hope that what you’ve made will pass muster and maybe at the end of the night someone asks you for your recipe. You go home feeling warm and full in ways you generally don’t after dinner at home.

Basting.

One day you realize you sorely miss a particular holiday dinner you went to year after year. It was German affair complete with goose, red cabbage with chestnuts, a most exquisitely rich pan gravy, lebkuchen and bite-sized marzipan shapes from Berlin. The person who you went with has died, and now every year, at the same time, you miss that goose. Even though you didn’t grow up with anyone who ever cooked a goose.

Cookiecrumb and Cranky’s bright and tangy sauerkraut crockpot.

Prepping the innards for gravy. (The goose is dense and rich and the gravy begs to be drunk from a glass!)

You have a food blog, or you date someone who has one. You used to cook professionally, or are going to culinary school, or are a professional food writer, or you live in a house the size of a private airplane hanger because you’re the most amazing photographer, or you’re a meat cooking expert or you have a wine cellar or you’re not working right now. You organize a goose making dinner because you realize, in order to satiate this goose-eating-taste-bud appendage you’ve acquired and now must acknowledge, albeit late in life, you must learn how to cook said animal yourself.

Jessica Wilson taking the temperature of the geese.

You start talking about the possibility of a German Holiday Feast near actual holidays to your food blogging friends. You plant the seed.

A brilliant idea comes to you one night late. February! It’s the perfect time for such a dinner. Although you won’t get your geese warm from a fresh slaughter as you might near Christmas, you’re told all your Bay Area options for goose buying. You’re not working much or you’re in need of organizing a grand food event. You’ve recently been to a number of massive community food gathering undertakings for which you only showed up as a guest and now it’s your time to kick it into gear. You go to you local meat expert, fellow blogger, someone you refer to sweetly as your personal Meat Angel. You know he’s the person to make your first goose with.

You channel the most organized, bossy side of you. You want to eat what you want. You make a list, asking for people to choose from a list and “call” a dish. It reads: “spaetzle, red cabbage with chestnuts, a green salad (for me what constitutes a salad, in, Feb. is head lettuce, cucumbers and radishes), baked potatoes, something sauerkrauty, steamed broccoli or greens or squash something, raw celery root something, something leeky, cranberry sauce/chutney something, chocolate, marzipan tinted dessert and Marc, can you make that Orange Cake?”

Paul Hendry carving with Guy’s lucky carving knife.

At the last minute you have to change locations. People you’ve never met offer their industrial palatial estate. In between dinner and dessert one of the hosts, a distinguished professional photographer, takes portaits of all the guests! The kitchen crew of three gets shot jumping in the air. (All photos from the session will be made public shortly; link will be posted on Eggbeater.)

Molten hazelnut-cocoa nib brittle garnish for pot de creme made on site by Shuna and David Byron.

Marc’s orange cakes & caramel sauce plated with David & Shuna’s gianduja pot de creme.

“The Kitchen Crew” Jessica Wilson, David Byron, and Shuna Lydon (not pictured) at the head of the table happily eating dessert.

Even though the event tires you out you would do it again. Twenty-four people gather, make the seasonal side dishes you were craving, and bring wine and beverages from all over the map. You make new friends, have a number of inspiring conversations, banter and laugh, navigating a foreign kitchen, and everyone eats the German Holiday Feast of your making, from your heart and imaginings.

Happy St. Juliana’s Day. Her life, or at least, her martyrdom, sounds much more interesting than St. Valentine’s. She got to wrestle with the devil. She got molten metals poured over her naked flesh while tied between two pillars. She even got to act in a high drama courtroom scene in which the devil himself played witness for the prosecution. And she died a virgin. Perhaps that last bit that doesn’t market itself well. She is not the patron saint of anything as far as I can tell, but at least she got her own name day. Today. When depicted in art, she is shown leading the devil, or a dragon, around by a chain. Our local bondage mavens, at least the Catholic ones, should stand up and take notice. If they can get up off their Catherine Wheels to do so.

Okay. Enough of St. Juliana. I was just trying to avoid talking about St. Valentine.

I am tired, tired, tired of his Feast Day. I’m not against romance. Not in the least. I am just against the idea of a special day reserved for lovers. I’m not thrilled about the existence of a day where unrealistic expectations of love perfection are foisted upon couples, especially newly formed ones for whom boundaries have not yet been drawn, for whom the depth of feeling towards each other has not been thoroughly examined. Then, of course, there are all those single people out there.

Oh, you single people might tell yourself, “It’s just a silly Hallmark holiday. It means nothing to me.”and That may be well and true, but I won’t believe you.

I used to say the same thing, even on those Valentine’s days that coincided with my being in a relationship. That is, until one signal year when I found my boyfriend giggling in the kitchen with a young ballet dancer. At 7:30 in the morning. In the house we had bought together seven days earlier. On Valentine’s Day.

Bitter, party of one? Oh, that’s me.

Well, not so much any more. Today, it’s just a funny/sad story. But it certainly didn’t help to cure me of my VD depression.

In an effort to alleviate the above-mentioned funk. I did a bit of research on antidepressant foods. How to self-medicate without, um, medication? Here’s what I came up with. A Valentine’s Day cure, if you will.

The ingredients are basic and all shown to be very helpful in combating depression. Thank you, Forbes Magazine, for your article on antidepressant foods…

Salmon is very high in omega-3 fatty acids which not only help the body fight against heart disease and some forms of cancer, but are now showing great promise in fighting depression and stress.

Beets contain uridine, which can increase one’s levels of cytidine in the brain. Cytidine, in turn, affects the level of dopamine. Dopamine, as you runners might already know, affects mood. In a good way.

Walnuts are a good source of alpha linolenic acid (one of the omegas). You don’t need to eat a whole bowlful, either– an ounce will do nicely. These dear little nuggest also help fight heart disease and, on Valentine’s Day, one’s heart needs all the protection it can get.

Molasses also containes uridine. Remember my posting last month about molasses? No? Well, I wrote one. I just didn’t know why I enjoyed writing it so much. Now I know.

Here’s the recipe– a combination of all four ingredients. It’s very easy to make. We’ll call it:

Michael’s Valentine’s Day Plate of Armor

Ingredients:

1 1/3 to 1/2 pound salmon filet. You are eating this alone, aren’t you? Chose a really fatty salmon like King. You need all the fatty acids you can get.
4 beets- red, golden, chioggia– take your pick. Save the green tops, too
1 ounce walnuts– toasted. I like mine tossed with sugar and salt fresh from the oven.
1 ounce feta cheese, crumbled
1 tablespoon molasses
1 teaspoon mustard (I used a sweet and hot style)
2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar (champagne or white wine vinegar will work, too.)
1 teaspoon shallot, finely minced
4 tablespoons olive oil for vinaigrette, plus one tablespoon for pan roasting the salmon, one tablespoon for roasting beets.
Salt and pepper to taste.

Preparation:

Roasted Beets:

1. Preheat oven to 425 degrees.
2. Line a baking sheet or Pyrex baking dish with aluminum foil.
3. Wash beets thoroughly and trim both ends
4. Pat beets dry with paper towels, then lightly coat with olive oil and a little salt.
5. Place beets on baking sheet and roast in oven for 45 minutes or until done. Obviously, smaller beets will take less time than larger ones, so please exercise judgement.
6. Remove beets from oven when done (to test, poke one with a paring knife. If the knife slips in easily, the beets are done).
7. Let cool.
8. To remove skin, gently rub beets (one at a time, of course) between paper towels. If you’ve roasted them properly, this should be easy. If you haven’t, I just don’t know what to tell you.
9. Dice beets into your favotie, easy-to-carve shapes and set aside.

For Molasses Vinaigrette:

1. in a small bowl, add molasses, vinegar, mustard, shallots and salt (as much as you like, to help balance the sweetness of the molasses). Whisk bravely.
2. Slowly drizzle in olive oil, whisking as you do so.
3. Adjust flavors to suit your own tastes.
4. Set aside

Salmon:

1. Rub salmon with salt on both sides– skin and flesh.
2. In a size-appropriate saute pan, heat one tablespoon of olive oil over medium-high heat until very hot, just not quite smoking.
3. Add salmon filet to the pan, skin side down. Cook for about two minutes over the heat. Do not try to move the salmon. Let it stick. It will give in. It will release its grip on the pan.
4. Throw (or place gently, whatever your mood) salmon into the still-425 degree oven for approximately five minutes or as long as you want, depending upon how well done you like your salmon. I like mine a medium rare. Actually, I like my salmon raw, but this recipe calls for a more thorough cooking.

Beet Greens:

1. Throw well-cleaned beet greens into saute pan that has one tablespoon of olive oil already heating in it. Throw in a pinch of salt, too.
2. Cover and steam, moving the greens about now and then, for about 5 to 7 minutes. Many people might argue that greens need to cook for longer, but I don’t think that is necessary in this case. We’re going for nutrients here, not slow-cooked-with-bacon goodness. They’re still good this way. Just try it.

To assemble:

1. While salmon is roasting, warm the already-cooked beets and toss with vinaigrette (Better whisk the dressing again, because it will have separated by now).
2. Shake excess liquid from beet greens and place on a platter. Add vinaigrette-tossed beets, walnuts and feta (I like it with a bit of Feta, but you may leave this out if the whole fish-and-cheese combination makes you squeamish, which it shouldn’t, by the way. Think tuna melt.) Grind a little pepper, sprinkle a little salt.
3. Slide salmon on top and drizzle the dish with the vinaigrette. Eat while hot. Actually, the dish is fine (minus the greens) to eat cold, too.
4. Think happy thoughts.

Just think how healthy you’ll be after eating this dish. Whether you’re now ready for a healthy relationship is another matter entirely. If that thought has suddenly depressed you (again), eat some chocolate. A lot of chocolate– that’s an antidepressant, too.

P.S. Apropos of nothing, there has been a meme flying about the food blogosphere called Five Things About Me. Call it fun. Call it annoying. Whatever you decide to label it, it’s ended up a great way for me to find out about other food bloggers out there. Click or don’t click, it’s up to you.

Love is nothing short of a national sport here in France and the French claim to celebrate it every day of the year, not just on February 14th. It is more beloved than soccer or philosophical debate, though love plays heavily into both. All store fronts are bedecked with Valentine’s decorations but regardless of the time of year, people are always kissing.

Sometimes it’s charming, like this couple below I spotted smooching after a long lunch at the Palais Royal; other times you want to hurl, like when the couple in line in front of you at the post office are slobbering on each other so much so you feel like you are in the front row of the dolphin show at Marine World. Anyways, back to Valentine’s Day…

I got a bit carried away with the heart theme. I bought heart dessert plates, too many red flowers, big red chargers and little porcelain heart dishes for the amuse bouche. We cut hundreds of hearts from a block of foie gras, roasted beets and country bread. The dessert was heart shaped, the foie gras amuse was heart shaped, as were the sliced beets and croutons that topped the soup. Fortunately, my friend Jeff came over for a few hours in the early afternoon and saved the day. I immediately delegated all heart cutting duties to Jeff as I began dicing the tiny mango and beet brunois (1mm x 1mm dice).

There were of course a few disasters. It wouldn’t be a normal day in my kitchen without at least one or two things going wrong. This time one was culinary, the other travel. I am beginning to think my kitchen is haunted and I know I am cursed travelwise. First I roasted the parsnips to make the soup. I didn’t have much time so I cubed the parsnips to roast as quickly as possible. I put the oven on 300F but the parsnips on the lowest sheet pan still burned on the bottom. I spent the next hour carefully slicing off the burned bottoms as my blood pressure creeped north. I had not factored in an hour to slice off burned parsnip into my timeline. ARGH!

Then, about midway into my mango brunois-ing my stomach did a flip. I forgot to buy my ticket back to SFO in a week and it expired the previous night! AAACK! I dialed up United and was told my flight from Paris to Frankfurt was still there but the leg from Frankfurt to San Francisco was gone. I took a deep breath and tried not to cry, envisioning Seat 53B next to the bathroom as the last remaining seat. Miraculously my same seats were still available and I bought the ticket right there on the spot. Disaster no.2 avoided and another 20 minutes eaten into my timeline.

For each dinner, I try to cook a different recipe for the main course. I thought about roasting a filet mignon but cooking meat makes me nervous and always involves some sort of drama. This I was desparately trying to avoid. I was flipping through the Canyon Ranch cookbook looking for inspiration when a scallop recipe reminded me of one I made in cooking school.

a recipe from cooking school and my to do list and timeline…

Scallops I can do plus I knew there would be two other cooks at dinner in case things got crazy in the kitchen. I keep forgetting to buy a salad spinner so my dishrack once again saved the day. Necessity is the mother of invention, as they say…

I bought rings to stack risotto, then wilted spinach and arugula, topped with sauteed scallops, cut in half crosswise and fanned around in a circle. A drizzle of lemon oil (zest and juice of 3 lemons blended with a cup of olive oil) and some beet and mango brunois on top of the scallops, around the plate and call it a day.

La Fete des Amoureux!
Valentine’s Day!
Samedi, 10 Fevrier 2007
chez Laura en Paris

Brut Cuvee Rose, Champagne Veuve Monnier

Pate aux Armignac - Pate with Armignac on Croutons with Cornichons

Endive avec Framboises et Roquefort - Endive with Blue Cheese and Raspberries

Amuse Bouche
Chateau de Rolland Sauterne, Barsac 2000
Petit Coeur de Foie Gras avec Noisettes et Balsamique - Small Heart of Foie Gras with Chopped Roasted Hazelnuts and Balsamic Reduction Drizzle

Pernand-Vergelesses, Bourgogne 2002
Sous le Bois de Noel et les Belles Filles (Under the Christmas Tree and Beautiful Girls)

Potage de Panais avec Couers de Betterave et l’Huile de Truffe - Parsnip Soup with Beet Hearts, Heart Croutons and Truffle Oil Drizzle

Coquille Saint-Jacques, Risotto et Epinard avec l’Huile de Citron - Scallops Stacked with Risotto and Spinach with Lemon Oil Drizzle and Mango and Beet Dice

Domaine de Banneret, Chateauneuf du Pape 2002

Assiette des Fromages - Cheese Plate

Decadence de Chocolat et Glace de la Fruit de Passion Fait Maison - Chocolate Decadence Heart with Homemade Passionfruit Ice Cream with Passionfruit Coulis

Bonne Fete des Amoureaux! Happy Valentine’s Day!

Most of my usual posse along with a few new faces… one you might see on the next Top Chef….sssssssh!

———————

A RED, RED ROSE
by Robert Burns

O my luve’s like a red, red rose.
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my luve’s like a melodie
That’s sweetly played in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will love thee still, my Dear,
Till a’the seas gang dry.

Till a’the seas gang dry, my Dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
I will luve thee still, my Dear,
While the sands o’life shall run.

And fare thee weel my only Luve!
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho’ it were ten thousand mile!

LOVE ME TENDER
by Elvis Presley

Love me tender,
Love me sweet,
Never let me go.
You have made my life complete,
And I love you so.

Love me tender,
Love me true,
All my dreams fulfilled.
For my darlin I love you,
And I always will.

Love me tender,
Love me long,
Take me to your heart.
For its there that I belong,
And well never part.

Love me tender,
Love me dear,
Tell me you are mine.
Ill be yours through all the years,
Till the end of time.

When at last my dreams come true
Darling this I know
Happiness will follow you
Everywhere you go.

With only one week left before the Lunar Year 4705 begins, there’s still a lot to prepare. I need to finish everything by February 18, the beginning of a particularly auspicious Year of the Boar. Some of the more important items on my TO DO list…

- Scrub, dust, mop, and wash everything from floor to ceiling.

- Invite my first visitor of the year. Alex (my smart, successful, super-nice doctor friend) moved to L.A., so I’ll have to find someone else to carry luck and prosperity into my home.

- Prepare banh chung from Andrea’s hardcore, traditional recipe in her new cookbook, Into the Vietnamese Kitchen. It’s four pages long and includes instructions on how to make your own mold. We’ve already exchanged some notes on our favorite techniques and ingredients (remember the pork fat!) as well as some major no-no’s (forget the green food coloring). If I’m feeling flush, I might even try making the more difficult shaped banh tet.

- Fill every room with flowers. Stop at the SF Wholesale Flower Mart for good prices on quince blossoms, forsythia boughs, bright red gladioli, narcissus bulbs, and bamboo.

- Call my mom to ask for her recipe for caramel daikon pickles.

- Buy new clothes for the new year.

- Pick up the polymer plates, mix up some pink and red inks, and finish printing our Tet cards.

- Track down one of those mommy pig sweet buns at a Chinatown bakery.

- Relax and enjoy the start of another wonderful year!