This morning, I arranged my collection of sauces and flavorings that require refrigeration. I discovered several bottles of hot sauce, soy sauce, chili oil, oyster sauce, and various other Asian pastes that should be used up. I went to the corner store where they had bags of fresh bok choy, and bingo bango bong, you got yourself a stir fry. A package of chicken breasts? You bet! Time to get the wok out, ginger, garlic, a bowl of soft jasmine rice. Yes, indeed. And what better to follow this made in a flash, literally, than a slow baked persimmon pudding? Cream, butter, cinnamon, sugar, honey, persimmons, a little flour, baking soda and powder, and toasted pecans. Bake for three hours.
We’ve already discussed persimmon anxiety, which belongs to our modern age where we need everything to be perfect and fill our understanding of what is sound kitchen science. After we’ve chosen the right persimmons, we discover that they don’t age at the same rate. They are like people in their 40s, I guess. Some get soft and squishy, some stay firm and well, pudding resistant. I got two of each. A friend was over the other day and asked what that fruit was that appeared to be drooping over the edge of the fruit basket. It is a persimmon, I said. One that has tarried too long at the fair, shut down the pub, you don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here. It almost looked as if its tongue were hanging out of its mouth. Into the pudding, without resistance! A thick, dark red jelly that squirt slops out in a giant blob, which smells of the past summer. She trapped the sun’s rays in her bosom, only relinquished by the supple squeeze of me, the pudding baker.
The other two needed great coaxing. I had to squeeze firmly, beg, plead with them to give up their jelly. Finally, I conquered. The pudding is in the oven, the family of fruit are singing together in their cream bath.
I turn my thoughts to Thanksgiving. I am hosting a few friends, and have already decided to all the traditional side dishes and pumpkin raisin tart, but I’m not wedded to the idea of serving turkey. It’s super expensive this year, and many food articles and blogs etc. are suggesting beef for the feast. I don’t know. I think at least I will do some nice roast chicken, but I do love turkey for Thanksgiving. Maybe I can find a small one that’s the same price as two chickens.
Then, of course, the protest. “Thanksgiving without turkey? You may as well cancel.” Well, OK. I will search out the turkey. Deep down inside, I have to agree.
The persimmon pudding is heavenly light, with a chewy, crispy crust all around it. It’s flavor is mild, more cinnamon and pecans than persimmon, but the persimmon is definitely there. OK, more to come.
I remember it well. Going to the grocery store on a Saturday morning with my mom and brother. She’d have a large stack of coupons in her pocketbook, and we’d sift through them looking for deals. I miss that we don’t still have this simple system. It seemed to me to be a treasure hunt for grown-ups. First, you had to find the coupon, then the store, then the object pictorially represented on the coupon. By the time you loaded the car, you felt weightless and exhilarated having completed the experience and saved twenty three cents on a box of Rice Chex.
I find our new system somewhat less reliable as the following story illustrates. It requires being involved in a program like Amazon Prime which entitles you to deeper discounts at Whole Foods for a flat annual membership. There is something similar at Safeway with no fee for the card. My favorite grocery store, Gus’s Community Market has no such thing but they do offer deals and sales for all.
Today, I went to the Farmer’s Market at Civic Center and got beautiful persimmons, carrots, butternut squash, Brussels Sprouts, celery, onions and Eureka lemons, fresh off the tree. And yes, some of the most delicious freshly harvested walnuts. If you don’t like walnuts, it’s because you haven’t eaten these. Oh yes, some freshly foraged Cinnamon Cap and Trumpet mushrooms. They’re were a few tomatoes, green peppers, and the like, but the root vegetables, the mushrooms, apples and fall fruit were in the center of the table. Also, weirder lettuce like frisee and some a that kinda thing were laying about. The bounty, the sunshine, the friendly vendors, such a pleasant experience.
I made my way home and needed to do another shop run to get butter, milk, and a few other staples. A quick review of the Whole Foods website indicated what was on sale at the shop I was going to. I go on the bus, and rode to the nearest outlet. They had all the things I wanted, but they were not on sale. They were the same price or more than the regular price at Gus’s. No savings for Benji! Unless, of course, I don’t buy anything here. So, I left Whole Foods, walked to Gus’s where everything I wanted was on sale, so I got all my food for less. End of story.
I’m sorry dear reader, I do value your time.I realize that story was kind of a dud. I’m sorry I’m not addressing the real elephant in the room, that anxiety we’re all feeling, the slight dreaded despair that revolves around our insecurities regarding persimmons. Persimmons.
Some are flat, some are round, some are pale yellow, some are deep orange, some soften, some remain firm. Some are intended to be eaten raw on salads, some are intended to be baked in desserts, especially Persimmon Pudding, which is a treasured dish in the Hoosier state, and one that many will defend vehemently. For instance, the New York Times once published a recipe for the pudding with Fuyus, a flatter variety that is often used in salads. The response was swift and merciless. Those high falutin’ New York foodies don’t know anything about Indiana Persimmon Pudding! You make it with what they call American Persimmons, by which I think they mean the persimmon called Hachiya, at least here on the West Coast.
Those are Hachiya persimmons. They go by a variety of different names, or there are more particular varietals, like Coffee Cake persimmons, which look exactly like those pictured above. At any rate, they need to soften. They go in pudding. I’ll give them a few days to get soft, then I’ll show ya’ll the glorious thing that is Persimmon Pudding.
I picked up a chicken, both to roast and make stock cause the freezer’s bare. I also got another piece of beef cause is it was still on sale. That’s an easy week’s eating. I have been having oatmeal with homemade apple sauce swirled in for breakfast, delicious.
I haven’t stopped thinking of Roy Andries de Groot. His book is still in my bag, I’m going to make his mushroom soup and spiced pot roast on Saturday. It’s a good time to be alive, which means it’s a good time to eat. Thanksgiving is not far away from a gourmet’s perspective. What will it be this year? Turkey, yes. But will it be a roulade of turkey breast? Will I get a whole and smaller bird? I don’t cook or serve enough sweet potatoes, so that’s definitely on the menu. I read somewhere recently that cranberry sauce is out, and jello molds are in. I’ve never made a jello thing, though both of my grandmothers made them for the holidays. My mom’s mom made a red one with strawberries and Cool-Whip on top. The tradition was that she forgot about it in the fridge till halfway through the meal. My dad’s mom made a green one that I never, ever put in my mouth. It had pimento stuffed olives in it! It was probably good, but I have never been a big fan of jello, especially as part of the main course of a meal.
I have finally learned to love pumpkin pie. When I was a kid, I didn’t like it or understand why such a colorful meal was concluded with a deep beige plop of sadness. Then, the pumpkin raisin tart appeared in Better Homes and Gardens magazine. My pumpkin pie life was changed forever. Tangy cream cheese with raisins, pumpkin pie filling on top, crushed walnuts on the bottom crust, I almost forgot. Now, this is a pie worth eating. I’ve made it most years since then, every once in a while I swap out with pumpkin cheesecake, or even a regular pumpkin pie which I now enjoy eating. I will make the tart this year.
Speaking of pumpkin, I am going to try something new this weekend. I am going to make pumpkin bread, slice it, let it dry out, and make chocolate chip pumpkin bread pudding with it. Another thing to which age has softened me-chocolate chips in bread pudding. Now, I am still a purist at heart, loving the traditional dried fruit laden custardy bread pudding well inebriated with whiskey butter. But there is a more wholesome, American seeming version with no booze or fruit and with chocolate chips added. A friend brought one over to my first apartment in San Francisco fifteen years ago, and I still remember it because I shared my skepticism then, and withdrew it after the first bite. Yes, of course, chocolate does improve most things.
Tonight’s dinner was a simple one- grilled cheese sandwich with a farmer’s market salad and fresh vinaigrette. There still is time to dream. There are dishes in the sink. Looking ahead, attending to now. Bringing the past to the present, that is what the season of remembrance, the season of the harvest is all about. Who would have guessed the little seeds we planted what seemed so long ago would come to such great bounty?
You know how it begins. You see a dot of paper on the carpet, or a little tuft of hair and dust gathered in the corner. Seven hours later, you’ve moved all your furniture, cleaned behind around and before everything you own. Your day of cooking and being creative has been replaced by something probably as necessary if not as fun. The good news- the kitchen is spotless. The bad news-I haven’t eaten anything, I’m starving, and you know. This is where the taqueria across the street comes in real handy. Burrito weekends, that’s what they’re called. Too many other projects and diversions. And the horror movie channel. Great flicks like Black Christmas (1974) and Fury (1978). The former is the famous “call is coming from inside the house” movie. I enjoyed it because all the annoying characters were savagely murdered. I also realize that I love movies where people catch fire. It’s always great to see them flailing around screaming. I couldn’t stop watching Fury, what a good one, what an amazingly good bad movie. Fantastic. Great ending, but I’m not gonna spoil it! Great John Williams score, too. Anyway, back to food.
Wednesday will be market day for me. I’ll go to civic center and the market. Finishing off the very last of what was in the larder. I still have a crisp cucumber, a firm zucchini, and a couple onions. I did have several ancient apples that t were still firmish, but made a great apple sauce with sugar, cinnamon, and lime juice because I am out of lemons. That’s it for perishables in the house. Scrambled eggs and toast completed my dinner for one please, James.
I’m super jazzed for the next post. I’ve cleared space for autumn to come on in.
OK, so day before yesterday I wrote a second post. I pre-dated it for yesterday, but then forgot to post it. So, I just posted it now, a day late, and guess what, you may just have to relax, put on a pot of tea, slip into your slippers, and read a second post.
The other day, the beef stew day, even before this posting debacle, I had Naan dough in the fridge, intended to serve. And I forgot all about it, to the consternation of my guests. We had the stew, it was yummy, ya da, ya da, you were there. So tonight, when I went to polish off the Indian curries, I discovered the plastic bag with three day old Naan dough in it. Now, the oven is pre-heating, and I am about to try out what smells like a beautiful sourdough Naan.
I ate it. I ate every morsel. I took the last golden brown bite of sweet, tangy Naan and dredged it through the spicy dal and rich Chicken curry. Is this, perhaps, what heaven tastes like? Beyond, beyond. I am bathed is sweat. I should have mentioned we are having a last little heat spell before winter, it was about 80F today, it’s about 67F now, but getting my little Magic Tandoori going to 500F well, that was somethin different.
Praise is owed to yet another master teacher and cookbook writer, Julie Sahni. Her book, Classic Indian Cooking, is a must read for anyone who cares about anything. How much one can learn from a cookbook besides cooking! The introduction itself is a master essay on having confidence, being comfortable in the kitchen, and trying something different. She claims that Indian cooking is the easiest international cuisine for the American home cook to master. Well, that’s easy for her to say. Yet, I have to agree. There is less reliance on technique and more on ingredients and their assimilation into a dish. For instance, I notice that Garam Masala is often added at the very end, after the cooking is done and before the finished dish rests, which is also a common feature of these recipes. Some spices are toasted in the pan that the rest of the stew cooks in, and some are cooked separately in ghee before being added mid-cook. You may need to remember the order, but there are no unusual techniques to doing this, you just add the ingredients when necessary.
Anyway, I bask in the afterglow of Indian spice. I’m contented, almost sated. And the fridge is mostly empty again. I want to encourage all of you to try cooking some different foods. Making Indian food at home is significantly better tasting than most of the restaurant equivalents, it is less expensive, you flex a creative muscle that sustains you biologically, and if you mind your ingredients and flex some actual muscle, you may feel your pants are a bit looser.
I am sitting here, again looking at Roy Andries de Groot’s Feasts for All Seasons, and I am ready to put it back on the shelf. Why do I shy away from this book every time I am determined to try it out? When I re-read the Pumpkin Soup recipe, I remembered the reason why. It was not Roy’s idea to serve the soup in the pumpkin, it was mine. Or rather, I recalled it from reading someone else’s recipe. And then I only had chicken stock so I used that instead of Boeuf Bouillon and Glace de Viande like those are even acceptable substitutions. Next thing ya know Roy vander groot is nowhere to be found. I just fudged the recipe last time, and I would fudge it again this time. Among my least favorite things in the kitchen: cutting corners and substitutions. Sometimes we can bend a little if there is a really nice biscuit dough for instance or whatever. Out and out substitutions should be stridently avoided. Yes, go to the store, get the cilantro, parsley is not the same. Majoram is not oregano. So, I scrapped the whole menu and am starting again.
Maybe at the end of the day, I sort of think that some of Roy’s way of cooking things is out of date and it just kinda doesn’t excite me. He comes from a bygone era when a man might have a pint of meat glaze in his fridge at all times of day and night. Wait a minute, Benji, isn’t this the whole point of cooking from these old cookbooks? That you expose yourself to ways of cooking and ingredients that nobody likes anymore and maybe will kill you? Shouldn’t dozens of baby farm animals die in your pursuit for an elevated level of human elegance and sophistication? Yes, and by golly, that’s what I’m gonna do. OK, Roy, it’s just you and me. You might reduce my broth, but you will never reduce my spirit.
I want to share another short favorite which is good for one and many more, just increase the quantities. As the bacon releases more and more of its loving grease, it will need to be poured off. However, I find the amount of fat that three slices give off is enough for the other components without getting greasy and upsetting. It´s great when a family wants to do breakfast for dinner because it is a one pan wonder. It´s great to take camping for the same reason, and it doesn´t use any butter.
Three slices of bacon. Cold, in a cold pan. Put that pan over heat so light that the pan heats evenly under the bacon, cooking it all with no hot spots. It should take at least fifteen minutes for the bacon to gently sizzle and render and brown and crisp. While this is happening (you can basically ignore it, flip it once halfway through) take a big potato and shred it on a cheese grater, salt it and let it sit on a paper towel for ten or so minutes. Then, pick up the shreds of potato, squeeze them into a baseball shape and squeeze with all your might, and I mean it. There is something wonderful about these types of activity, using physical strength, deep seated anger, and some primordial impulse, like a hyper active toddler mercilessly squeezes Play-Doh through their fingers, to create something wonderfully edible.
Once the potatoes are dry as can be and the bacon has been removed from the fat, set the potatoes pressed into a disk in the pan and fry on both sides, at this heat about six minutes a side, until it is as crisp as a winter morn. Then remove it. Now this is best with fried eggs. Take two of them, already cracked into a small bowl and pour them on at a time into the pan. They will sizzle but not too bad. Remember, one pan at a consistent heat. Another thing- do not, repeat, do not season the eggs with salt before you cook them. You want the yolks to remain intact during cooking , and salt causes the eggs to break down. You should hit the toaster button right before the eggs go in the pan. I like the eggs two minutes a side, the yolk should ooze out generously, but not flow all over the plate.
Many good folk struggle with getting the breakfast elements ready to eat at the same time. I notice many begin with toast, which is a serious misstep. You must always begin with things that can be kept warm without negative effects. Therefore, meat can be kept warm for thirty, pancakes/french toast can warm for twenty, hash browns for ten, begin toast before eggs UNLESS the eggs are scrambled which should be a slower process. You´ll find they are done at the same time. Be a good American, eat your toast while it´s nice and hot.
Give me a V-I-C-T-O-R-Y. What does it spell? WIN!!!
There are several significant associations I have with beef stew. One is my paternal grandfather who made beef stew in a strange sort of vessel which was very lightweight and had grooves or dents in it. I don´t remember exactly. Beef, potatoes, carrots, onions, water, salt, pepper. He loved it, I loved it, we loved it.
One bitterly cold winter night when might brother lived on Noble St. I think in Chicago, we decided to make beef stew and drink Greyhounds whilst watching the academy awards. I don´t remember who won what, but the stew filled the apartment with stew smells, and it was really delicious. Even though it was nearly a decade ago, I still recall that we added orange zest to the beef, which was especially good.
Another was a Christmas, I´d say 2015, when my folks visited, and I didn´t really have any food. My mom suggested we get a pot roast at the corner store, which was open, and we made a slow cooked pot roast. It was amazing. Clovey.
There are several others, including today. I would have added a photo, but we were so hungry. Then I thought I would take a picture of the leftovers, but there were´nt any.
I went to the church and led the choir rehearsal, I played the service, I went to the coffee hour and chatted with the people. I gathered my belongings and said goodbye and went on my merry way. I went to the local grocery store, bought all the aforementioned items at a discounted price, hopped on the local train that whisked me away to my two room apartment in the Mission District.
I seared the beef pieces then removed them and laid a bed of onion quarters, carrot branches, bay leaf, and thyme. Then, a flash flood of pinot noir, submerging the bouquet. Once the whole thing came to boiling point, the beef was dropped like smother blankets to calm and quell the whole situation. A treaty is signed on a piece of parchment paper, which is then laid on top of the stew to dry and embolden the beef with truth. It then goes into a moderate oven for four hours. Three hours in, we remove the casserole from the oven and take out the bouquet garni. We replace with fresh chopped carrots and quartered mushrooms that have been sauteéd in butter beforehand. See how I did that devilish move?
I told you to make something with something that had already been made. Have you come across this in a cookbook? Many fools, fools, think that a short recipe will result in shorter cooking and prep time. Fools. Don´t fall for this. Some short recipes call for several ingredients which are in themselves recipes. If it says 2 tbsp. tomato raspberry coulis (pg. 47) and a dash of spicy-spring splendor seasoning (pg. 488) well, that sounds like a bit much.
The stew was so delicious, there was none left over for leftovers. I am usually bummed to have leftovers, but with stew, it´s a whole nother ball game. Stew will generally improve with a few days age. Sadly, this general stew has no days of age with which to improve.
Now, you´ll forgive me this last memory I have with beef stew, and it pertains to the title and first line of this post. If you are of a certain vintage, you may remember the TV show Strangers with Candy. If you are not familiar, watch it. In the show the family´s local butcher is named Stu, and the puns abounded. Every time I make stew, I announce to no one, ¨That´s a lot of beef, Stu!¨ Also, Jerri Blank.
As all the fresh produce ages at a rate that outpaces my eating it, it goes where all such things go- into the minestrone pot. That´s where the remaining farmer´s market produce went earlier this week, and seemingly on cue, the fog rolled in, the air got cold, and the summer produce was over.
Last night a few friends came by, and I hadn´t really planned anything for food, so when folk got hungry, out came the soup pot. I broke up some spaghetti noodles, dropped them in water, got out the bag of shredded cheese, and dinner was served. It was a delicious requiem for the passed season. It was a pantry clearer, as I call it, where several items are completely used up. Now, the fridge is basically empty, a blank canvas. I was offered, for the first time this year, a pumpkin item. It´s time. Time to pumpkin.
I´ve made a list of things on sale at the market, including squash and pears, and chuck roast. I haven´t made a beef stew in a while, maybe even a couple of years. Wait a moment. Silently waiting in the fridge, a package of boneless, skinless, chicken breasts I had intended to put in the soup before I decided to go veg with it. So, before I do the pot roast, I´m going to make Makhani Murgh with Naan and dal. Now that´s a surprise turn.
It´s a cold and grey day, and I´m watching a movie about gigantic ants laying siege to Los Angeles. The city is under martial law as the ants march toward the city. On the stove top, a braiser filled with thick deep orange liquid giving up a heavenly scent of cumin and Garam Masala. If you keep an active pantry, and you should, you will know that buying spices in smaller quantities means ya go through them more quickly, means they are fresher, means the dish tastes much brighter and more vibrant than their curry house counterparts.
Things like being careful with your coriander, that´s what makes the gravy grander.
This beautiful sauce is tangier, more flavorful, and less bland-creamy than a restaurant sauce. It improves with a little rest after the trauma of being cooked. While it rests, I´ll make some yellow dal and Naan to go with it. It is more sauce than anything, there´s not much chicken, so maybe some basmati rice would be good.
Well, the ants were eventually burned and the good people of Los Angeles were spared a gruesome end, this time. Now, Spencer Tracey will play Dr. Jekyll AND Mr. Hyde. The couplet caption beneath the photo was sung by Mrs. Lovett in Sweeney Todd. This role was originally played by Angela Lansbury, the great actress who died earlier this week. So, this Indian dinner will be eaten in her memory.
Now the yellow dal is cooking, and the rich scent of turmeric and ginger fills the air. I must say where the last movie was unbelievably stupid, this Jekyll and Hyde is amazing. This movie is being shown on one of those channels that has really long commercials that include an elderly woman laying at the bottom of the staircase near an overturned laundry basket. Absolutely hilarious!!
Now naan is possible in your oven, even a Magic Chef. That beautiful baby, the Magic Chef, has really worked her magic over the last thirteen years. When you bring the temperature to the highest, and you let the baking stone get hotter and hotter, the raw dough hits with a sear, and in three minutes, crisp, thin, tangy, tandoori simulated bread comes out of the oven, as above. So then, the whole meal:
The full meal. The Makhani Murgh, the Dal with cumin, red chili flake, and garlic, the Basmati rice, the naan. As predicted, the spice level was higher and more vibrant and well, a little spicier. It didn´t blow my brains out, but there was a lingering and satisfying effect in both the chicken and the dal. The dal in particular was really good. When the lentils were completely cooked, I added melted butter infused with crushed garlic, red chili pepper, and whole cumin seeds to toast. Then, I stirred this mixture into the lentils, transforming both them and myself.
I also want to clarify something-
The reason I made this meal is that I had all the ingredients already in my house. It was cold, it was foggy, there were great old horror movies on TV, I wanted a fun, festive meal that didn´t require me to leave the house or spend money that I hadn´t already spent. Now, friends, this is the real power of a well stocked pantry. There are spices, herbs, seeds, blends, and all sorts of flavorings right at your little finger tips. Now, I am out of cumin, out of rice, and nearly out of curry spice. Well, no there are plenty of curry blends leftover. But there are not many joys that equal using the food you already purchased to make something new.
I put some of the dough into the fridge. It has been a long day, what is done, is done. What is not done, is not done. Let it be. There will be fresh Naan tomorrow, when I try some new dishes. I´ll buy the roast and make stew on Monday. Good night!
A friend of mine that works events that involve catering frequently brings over the booty afterwords. This week, a large box of various cheeses-Gouda, Manchego, Cheddar, Edam. I shred it into a savory and complex pile of cheesy complexity yum yum. There´s probably thirty five dollars worth of cheese in a ziploc bag in my fridge, none of which I would have bought, all of which would have ended up in the trash.
Then, there are all those beautiful tomatoes, bell peppers, zucchini, and onions I purchased at the Farmer´s Market. First, the great blessing. The grilled cheese with tomato slices on it. Don´t be glib with your grilled cheese, young man. There is a way to make it, and a way to make it. The grilled cheese sandwich is one of the great things of life. Here´s how I make mine.
A pan sits alone on the stove top. The knob is turned, the gas comes on and the tick tick tick of the whatever the hell that is. Then, a flame. Low, low and gentle, friend. The pan and the flame are lovers. Let the gentle blue flame gently kiss the bottom of the pan, no more. We must not spoil the moment. While this happens, take two sturdy slices of sourdough bread. Go to the fridge and get out your million dollar bag of cheese and a tablespoon of butter.
Set the tablespoon of butter into the the warm pan. It should just begin to wilt, to fall in on itself, and if your butter is shy, it might try to be a wallflower and retreat to a corner of the pan. No! Bring her forward, into the center. Let her swirl around the pan, like an ice skater leaves a trail behind. Let the butter relinquish her white fluffy down like a bridal train.
As the butter gets warmer, the white milk solids separate from the yellow fat, and then the solids begin to caramelize in the fat. This is exactly the moment that you put the two pieces of bread into the pan and swirl them around until the butter is absorbed in the bread. This will ensure that the bread toasts at the same time the butter is browning. As soon as the butter is absorbed, place a few handfuls of cheese on top of one of the slices. Take the cheese all the way to the edge of the bread, allowing some to spill over directly onto the pan. Let it do the things, slowly, gently. You should hear it sizzling, but careful the butter doesn´t burn.
Once the cheese looks like it is preparing for a nap, blanket it in tomato slices and check the other piece of bread for toastiness. If it´s yellow, let it mellow. If it´s browned, flip it over on top of the tomatoes, spank it with a spatula a couple times, and immediately flip the whole sandwich over. Keep toasting until the cheese begins to weep over the tomatoes. Flip the whole thing over again and turn off the heat. Place the plate on which you intend to serve it on top of the sandwich still in the pan. This will press the sandwich down, helping the cheese to seal the deal, and will warm up the plate. Two minutes.
Now, this is a good thing in and of itself, but what if we served it along side a bowl of Cream of Bell Pepper soup? It´s too good to be true in some ways. The City is cold and somewhat subdued today. The sun is setting, the fog is in, and it´s just six.
At the behest of several busy friends, I will try only to post once a day. So, if I have remembered to do it correctly, you´ll be seeing this tomorrow. Unless I forget and you see it today. It´s hard to hold all this prose inside! So, continuing on the adventure voyage of wonder and discovery, the Civic Center Farmer´s Market.
Getting off the 49 Bus in front of the Opera House and walking across the green to the market: A typical San Francisco cacophony of live music, aerobics classes, pigeons swooping low from every direction, school children on field trips screaming, and the many folks who live on the green, looking for a little peace.
The market itself is genius. Swipe your card, get some tokens, trade the tokens for food. The tokens never expire, so I brought a few home for next time. There must have been thirty stalls, and judging by the produce on offer, it is still late summer here. I bought some really beautiful tomatoes, cucumbers, chard, lettuce, cilantro, ginger, limes, zucchini, and some amazing bell peppers. There are many great things to do with bell peppers. Stuffed peppers, either with meat or rice, a multi-colored bell pepper risotto courtesy of Marcella Hazan herself.
But my favorite is ¨cream¨ of red bell pepper soup. It has no dairy products in it. Boil a few tablespoon of rice until soft, put it in the soup right before you pureé it, sprinkle with finely minced thyme, and place a beautifully poached egg right in the center. Drizzle with olive oil. It can be made with stock, but water leaves the pepper flavor pure.
I left having spent twenty bucks on a week´s worth of vegetables. Tonight, a nice big salad, Seinfeld style.
A salad for dinner- one head of butter lettuce, one yellow bell pepper sliced paper thin, one large perfectly red tomato, one sweet cucumber, with a little shallot dressing. It was like tasting the sun, I imagine. Fresh tomatoes, and I have enjoyed many, are the best.
BingoFest 