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April 28, 2009
A is for dining Alone
A is for dining Alone...and so am I, if a choice must be made between most people I know and myself.
-- M.F.K. Fisher, An Alphabet for Gourmets
What do you eat when you're the only one you have to feed? As much as I like cooking for others, there is a certain quiet pleasure in making a mishmash meal that is exactly what I -- and only I -- want to eat. My favorites include a steaming bowl of okayu topped with a fat wad of kimchi, a toasted peanut butter and banana sandwich with a side of spicy pickled carrots and recently, this: egg salad with fava beans on toast.
I've eaten it three times this week, working my way through a bag of fresh fava beans from the farmers' market. It was inspired by an appetizer recipe in The Zuni Cafe Cookbook
The first time I made it was on the day I brought home the favas, which were so fresh and nutty I tossed them in raw. Three days later the shelled beans were sticky and more starchy tasting, so after pulling the favas from their pods I threw them into the boiling water with the egg for a minute, then fished them out and squeezed them from their little jackets while the egg finished cooking. I ended up liking this method even more. Much is made of the amount of work it takes to prep fava beans, but when all you need is a scant 1/8 cup, cracking open the pods and peeling away the tough inner skins is strangely gratifying.
Mashed up, salted, lightly peppered and piled high onto a couple slices of good toasted bread, this egg salad is like eating spring: soft, warm, a little green. The only thing better the the last bite, toast-less, scraped up with a fork and eaten straight from the bowl. It's okay to lick your fork clean -- it's just you at the table, after all.
Egg Salad with Fava Beans
Makes 1 serving
1 jumbo egg
5-7 fresh fava bean pods
1 tablespoon mayonnaise
Salt and pepper
2 slices artisan-style bread
Place egg in a small saucepan and cover with cold water. Put a lid on the pan and bring to a boil over medium heat. While the water is heating, crack open the bean pods and pull out the fava beans, but don't remove the outer skin yet. When the water in the saucepan comes to a boil, throw in the fava beans and cook for one minute. Skim out the beans with a slotted spoon and set aside.
Remove the saucepan from the heat and let sit, covered, for exactly 7 minutes. Use this time to slip each fava bean from its tough skin, placing the newly nude beans into a medium bowl.
When the egg is ready, immediately dump out the hot water and fill the pan with cool water. When the egg is cool enough to handle, crack and peel it and add it to the bowl. Add the mayonnaise and mash everything together with the back of a fork. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Toast the bread and top with the egg salad, making sure to leave one last bite in the bowl to be eaten with just your fork.
Posted by anjali at 10:04 PM | Comments (3) | Categories: Recipe
April 24, 2009
a homemade life
Cooking. Books. Friends. Kittens. To-do lists. Finding street parking in Hollywood on a Saturday night -- or, even better, not going anywhere near Hollywood on a Saturday night. These are a few of my favorite things, so it made sense to talk to a few of my food-loving friends about combining the first three into a cookbook club, inspired by an article I read in Gourmet. Luckily, they were just as excited about the idea as I was, and it wasn't long before we had chosen the first book, A Homemade Life
The idea was simple: we would each cook from the book for about a month, then we'd meet for a potluck and discussion, with everyone bringing one dish they had made from the book. Our first meeting took place at my apartment on the sort of golden Sunday afternoon in spring that makes you happy to be in LA. Especially with a roomful of food-loving girls and their homemade fare.
A Homemade Life is more memoir than cookbook, but there are actually a lot of recipes, each with an accompanying essay. I find it kind of impossible to not be charmed by Molly, who is as self-aware as she is sweet and who tempers the preciousness of her tales with a generous helping of humor. How can you not like someone who describes a pickle as "a little green sidecar, the dinghy that floats alongside the ship"? There is a grace to her writing, an easy liveliness that I think also characterizes my favorite recipes from her book.
Take the Red Cabbage Salad with Lemon and Black Pepper. It is beguilingly simple -- just thinly sliced red cabbage tossed with lemon juice, olive oil, black pepper and Parmesan -- so simple that it seems unlikely to taste like anything but a lot of sliced red cabbage. But then you eat it and realize you never before appreciated the crunchy goodness that is red cabbage, each ingredient in the salad the perfect complement to its subtle sweetness. And it has a kind of elegance on the plate, making even the most humble grilled cheese sandwich somehow more sophisticated.
"This is the best book for lunches," Lydia said when we sat down to talk and eat, and I think that pretty much sums it up. (Perhaps not coincidentally, Lydia chose the red cabbage salad as her contribution.) You won't throw a show-stopping dinner party with these recipes, but then again, how often do you have big dinner parties anyway? More often than not, it's a weeknight and you don't have the time or energy to make a new dish with a million ingredients, but you did go to the farmers' market so your fridge is full of humble vegetables waiting to be transformed into something simple and wholly satisfying. On these nights, A Homemade Life will be your friend.
The biggest surprise of the book were the Bouchons au Thon, a rather bizarre-sounding mix of canned tuna, tomato paste, Gruyere and eggs, baked into little cakes in a muffin tin. No one thought they could possibly be good, including Jessica -- and she was the one who made them. But we all loved the little coral-colored cakes and midway through the afternoon, Jessica held up her phone to show us a text her roommate had just sent: "Good tuna muffin!"
I made the Pickled Grapes with Cinnamon and Black Pepper, intense little orbs of sour, spiced sweetness. A few people baked, and when we all compared notes, we realized the baking times and temperatures in the book seemed off. (Everyone ended up having to bake for 10 to 20 minutes beyond the recommended baking time and a couple people found the recommended temperatures too high.) That and the need to double the salt of pretty much every savory recipe were our only complaints. We finished the meeting and the meal with a couple bottles of Sauvignon Blanc, some Black Pepper Ice Cream made by Jessica, its lushness tempered by the floral jolt of pepper, and a plan to meet in a month to talk about The Gift of Southern Cooking
I can't wait.
Posted by anjali at 4:36 PM | Comments (10) | Categories: Cookbook
April 16, 2009
freight at zanzabelle
In front of Zanzabelle.
"Wait, this is a toy and candy shop. And it's closed."
Rob sounded mistrustful. But I couldn't really blame him. I had, after all, told him we were going to a prix fixe dinner at a sort of supper club in Silver Lake, but I had forgotten to mention the location -- Zanzabelle, a candy-slash-toy-slash-ice-cream shop on Rowena. No wonder he was confused.
But once we stepped onto the wooden porch and saw candles twinkling on the butcher paper-topped tables inside, we knew we were in the right place. As our eyes adjusted to the dim interior, we saw six tables fit neatly into the small store, four of them occupied by diners happily eating and chatting.
Jackie, half of the husband and wife team behind Freight, welcomed us as warmly as a hostess greeting her dinner guests, then showed us to our table and opened our bottle of beer. "How do you say your name?" she asked. "Anjali. Is that right?" Rob looked at me in surprise -- I hadn't given my name when we walked in. But I had emailed for a reservation and Jackie had been the one to respond, so she remembered my name. And even said it correctly the first time, no mean feat. I relaxed into my seat and sipped some beer while we waited for our meal: bourbon-glazed tri-tip, cowboy beans, homemade pico de gallo and buttermilk cornbread.
But after a moment we had another reminder that we weren't at just any restaurant. Matt, the chef, appeared at my elbow, greeted us and said he had our meat seared rare at the moment. How did we want it? "That was kind of cool," Rob said after he left. Having the chef come to our table to inquire how we'd like our meal cooked made the dining experience feel intensely personal and very friendly.
The meal.*
And then there was the food: tender slices of perfectly cooked beef edged with bits of crunchy char, plump beans with a drizzle of crema, fresh pico de gallo and a big hunk of cornbread, soft and light as a newly fluffed pillow. Or a just-born baby chick. Something soft and wonderful anyway. As I worked my way methodically around the plate -- topping a bite of the meat with a tangy smidge of pico de gallo, taking a buttery bite of bread -- I glanced over at Rob's plate. His bread was gone. But Jackie had only just put the plates in front of us. I peered closer and saw he was holding his chunk of cornbread and eating it pretty much exclusively. "Yeah," he said when I pointed this out. "I picked it up and never put it down again. I think it was the best cornbread I've ever eaten." A bold statement from a man whose pronouncements usually involve nerd movies and video games.
Oh, and by the way? The cost of this meal? An incredible $12 per person.
Jackie stopped by to ask how we were enjoying the food and told us a bit about how Freight at Zanzabelle got started. She and Matt were on the lookout for a place where they could bring a nice bottle of wine and eat dinner without breaking the bank, but they came up empty -- so they decided to create the sort of place they were looking for. In October of last year they had their first dinner and have been quietly giving weekend prix fixe meals ever since. They've been written up on Eating LA and Eat: LA, but the bulk of their promotion is a weekly email letting people know the menu and cost of the upcoming meal. They don't even have a website. It's like the anti-thesis of the Kogi phenomenon, which is I think what makes it so special, like you've stumbled onto this rare and wondrous treasure and NOBODY ELSE KNOWS ABOUT IT which makes it a hundred times more precious.
But ironically, because it is so special and wonderful, you want to tell everyone about it. And so this:
Get yourself onto the Freight email list by emailing info@freightfoods.com. Or, if you like the sound of this week's meal, just email or call 626-243-3686 to make a reservation between 6-9pm. There's no corkage, so bring along a nice bottle of wine or your favorite beer. This Friday and Saturday they are serving roasted celeriac soup with candied lavender; lamb osso buco with firm polenta, sauteed greens, fennel and gremolata; and a Calvados panna cotta with caramel sauce and bruniose apples for dessert. All of that for $26 per person. Sound good?
...I thought so.
Freight at Zanzabelle
2912 Rowena Ave.
Los Angeles, CA 90039
(626) 243-3686
* Sorry for the blurry, craptastic food photo in this post. It was really very dark. To make up for it, here's a (blurry, craptastic) photo of Rob taking out his Invisalign, which those who eat with him know is the prologue to every meal. It's like saying grace, but with more saliva.
Posted by anjali at 9:56 AM | Comments (4) | Categories: Restaurant | Silver Lake & Nearby
April 12, 2009
boyle heights food fair
The holder of the meat bag.
In the magical town of my dreams, the work week ends with everyone heading out to a quiet street, where the best cooks in town make their favorite dishes from scratch and everyone eats -- standing up, plate in hand -- while the kids and dogs run around, dipping in and out of pools of street lamp light.
Who knew Boyle Heights was the magical town of my dreams?
My friend Jessica had been talking for weeks about the Mexican food fair set up on the corner of Breed Street and Cesar Chavez, so on a recent Friday evening we made the short trek over. As we drove through the torn-up streets bordering the freeway, we were distracted by a small clump of people waving hand-lettered signs that said "RICO'S TACOS" with arrows pointing left. The people holding the signs, however, were pointing emphatically to the right.
How could we resist? We turned right and a little boy in the group let out a whoop, then broke away to run ahead and announce our arrival. We found Rico's Tacos in a large, empty warehouse, the griddle set up incongruously in a corner next to a small table. Unfortunately my barbacoa taco was woefully underseasoned, a fault no amount of the very good salsa could mask. We said our thanks and moved on.
Walking across Cesar Chavez, I saw a line of food-covered folding tables and portable griddles edging a parking lot dotted with vendors selling Disney blankets, flashing-light jewelry and even more food. We started in the middle, at a table run by a woman in a hairnet who periodically pulled large, flat pieces of raw meat from a plastic shopping bag on her table and threw them on the griddle to sear. I was fascinated by the meat bag. Needless to say, we had to try one of her asada tacos, as well as a chile-cheese taco, an oozing joyful mess of tender green chiles and melted cheese.
Chopping barbacoa.
We searched in vain for the pozole lady next to the table selling cups of flan and other gelatinous desserts. A smiling man selling barbacoa and consome was set up in her place, but a peek in his soup pot didn't entice us and two guys eyeing us creepily nearby kept us walking. We stopped by the tacos al vapor stand, the steamed meat resting under white terrycloth towels, which for me conjured mental images of a sauna populated by sides of beef. I tried one of the tacos and marveled at the extremely tender spiced meat. Sitting in a sauna apparently relaxes even the most tense of meats.
Our last stop was the champurrado and huaraches table, where a friendly mustachioed man answered all our questions about the various hot champurrado flavors. I tried the guava, a thick corn-based drink with a mild fruit flavor, and Jessica had the walnut. The drinks are all made from scratch and sweetened with "...What's that called?" asked the mustachioed man. "That sweetener?" I thought of piloncillo, those rustic cones unrefined sugar, and pictured a Mexican auntie slowly stirring the champurrado in an iron cauldron. "Oh, yeah," he said. "Splenda. It's made with Splenda."
My Mexican auntie deflated like a pierced balloon.
Taco sauna.
We finished the evening with huaraches (flat corn cakes resembling the shoe of the same name) topped with huitlacoche, corn fungus, which sounds strange but has a very agreeable funk. They were good, but not as good as the huaraches at Huarache Azteca in Highland Park.
As I left the food fiesta, champurrado in hand, I sighed, satisfied in both soul and belly. (And wallet -- I spent less than $10.) Is there a better way to end the week? Maybe only in the magical town of my dreams...and that's just because someone there is making Thai som tam.
Boyle Heights food fair
Breed Street & Cesar Chavez Avenue
Thursday - Sunday, 7-10pm
Posted by anjali at 5:24 PM | Comments (3) | Categories: East LA | Restaurant
April 3, 2009
super king market
Outdoor produce area.
I like how foreign grannies shop. They poke, they prod, they know exactly what they are looking for and woe to the vendor who doesn't get it right. Granny-watching -- a completely innocent pastime, I assure you -- is one of the reasons I love going to Super King Market in Glassell Park. There, foreign grannies (and their families) from around the world converge to shop for interesting and affordable produce, cheeses and meats, packing the store's aisles with carts crammed to the brim.
Fresh almonds.
Super King's produce section is not to be missed. I always make a beeline for the mountain of Persian cucumbers and extensive (and cheap!) selection of fresh herbs before exploring the seasonal specials like verdolaga (purslane), fuzzy fresh almonds and bright green fresh garbanzos. Next to the produce section is the largest array of spices I've ever seen in a supermarket, with huge bags of any dried herb or spice you might need for Middle Eastern, Latin or Indian cooking, fresh and inexpensive enough for even the most discerning granny.
The yogurt section is also exciting, if you're the type of person who gets excited about yogurt. I am, so I'm always happy to see the many brands of all-natural, whole milk yogurt, just tart enough to be eaten plain or with a drizzle of honey for breakfast. I haven't even branched out into the world of yogurt cheese and yogurt drinks yet, but when I do, Super King will be waiting for me.
Full carts, full aisles.
I always take a deep breath as I leave the yogurt section and plunge headfirst into the cheese and cured meats corridor that runs along the back of the store, which is always ALWAYS an insane jumble of people and overstuffed shopping carts. On weekends it feels like rush hour on the 405-101 interchange; on weekdays it is only slightly less grim. If you are braver or more patient than I, you will take a number and wait to place your order. I usually just head over to the refrigerated cheese aisle and grab a tin of feta in brine.
I'm trying to be better about knowing where and how my meat was raised, so I usually avoid the butcher's counter, which is nearly as crowded as the cheese counter. On my first visit to Super King, I overheard one of the butchers, an Armenian man in his 60s, say, "Next...next... Is anyone waiting?" No response. "Oh my god," he said softly, acknowledging the miracle that is an empty butcher's counter at Super King Market.
Bakery treats.
Instead of meat, I buy breads. Various types of dark Russian bread line the shelves below the meat cases and across from the bakery counter are stacks of lavash, pita bread and those enormous rounds of flat, yeasty Armenian bread. Yum. The bakery itself sells an impressive number of different baklava as well as dainty French-style sweets. A separate bin holds big sugared Mexican pastries.
After browsing the deli counter for tabbouleh by the pound, hot-from-the-oven lahmajune (Armenian pizza) and whole rotisserie chickens, it's time to brave the checkout lines, which are always less daunting than they first appear and also give me the opportunity to do some cart-peeking -- another completely innocent pastime -- at the people around me. Once I saw a man buying only bananas, an entire cart filled to the top, and on my last trip saw someone with two plastic bags impossibly fat with fresh garbanzo beans, like cartoon money sacks minus the giant dollar bill sign.
Surreptitious cart-peeking.
The best thing about cart-peeking at Super King is that everyone is buying whole foods -- chard and olive oil and loose mate tea and pomegranate molasses and crema and pickled grape leaves -- so you can only imagine the meals that will come from what they're buying. Have you ever had the depressing experience of standing behind some lonely soul in a supermarket line on a Friday evening, watching him buy three packets of Top Ramen, a jar of Skippy, a frozen Lean Cuisine enchilada and a six-pack of Bud? Suddenly his whole weekend cracks open in front of you, quivering and too vulnerable, an egg you never meant to break. Standing in the Super King line is the opposite experience for me, full of wonder and curiosity at the meals in the making all around me.
Unlimited granny-watching and cart-peeking: now do you understand why I love this place?
Super King Market
2716 N. San Fernando Rd
Los Angeles, CA 90065
(323) 225-0044
Posted by anjali at 1:27 PM | Comments (13) | Categories: Market | Silver Lake & Nearby
