I longed aloud today for a simple carafe.  Someone heard me.

Did you read the newsletter?  Did you see the announcement?  Have you been to the website?  What?  No?  Heath Ceramics has gone Uber-Weck.  I think I♥Heath Ceramics, even more hardcore.

The range Heath now carries online is, umm, just stoopid.  Seriously, they’ve got Weck sets.  Love.  Wait, did I say that again? Love.  Fine.  Umm, silly happy.  How about that?  Better?

See for yourself.

…Hold on.  I just looked at the prices.  Why does it feel like it’s cheaper than when I got my first taste of Weck goodness last year?  It just might be.  I won’t argue.

Nikki♥

*you know, she sung “Where The Boys Are,” the theme song to the 1960 Spring Break comedy.  No?  I guess that’s what I get for faking sick/ditching school and watching lots of old movies on the telly.

Sometimes, I don’t know if it was just a story my father liked to tell or if I really remember it happening.  Either way, it informed how I thought and, in some ways, think about food.

The seeds plant themselves early…

As we crossed the tarmac to climb the stairs to the plane, I broke free from the hand that was holding mine.  I ran as fast as my legs would take me back the way we came.  We were flying to Panama.  Away from everyone and everything I knew.  I cried myself to sleep after my failed escape from the biggest thing I’d ever seen and woke up to a new horror.  They said he ate my dinner.  My brother kept proving himself to be my enemy.  I was pissed.  And, I was two.

My dad had a bunch of “Nikki in Panama” stories he liked to tell.  The one where he forgot to make sure the door was closed and came back to find me climbing down the stairs backwards.  Or that I called waves “Oobies.”  He thought that Kourtney eating my dinner was just another funny story.  In my head, as a kid, it set up the recurring idea of being deprived.  That I had to eat what I wanted or it wouldn’t be there.

Separation makes the brain grow fonder or Sorry, we don’t eat that anymore…

It was the 70s.  Daddy read that book and there you have it.  We went veg as a family.  Here’s the hard part.  You tell regular folks, black or white, in the 70s about being vegetarian or shunning processed food and they’d look at you like you’d lost your mind.  Neither side of our family really knew how to take it or deal with it.

Mom says Daddy went through the house throwing food away.  Replacing it with the “healthier” alternatives.  It was a shock to her, but she went with it.  And stayed with it after they divorced.

We were more pan-africanist “crunchy-granola” than hippie “crunchy-granola” living in grad school housing.  I loved going to the health food store.  Bulk bins!  And  getting loose tea from Smile to make sachets in wax print fabric. (♥: Awww, crafty from way back.)

I♥how I was raised, hardcore.  And had a lot of fun as a kid.  We had amazing food that I’m still trying to recreate.  But, with the divorce and two very different households, there was a lot of change for us to adjust to.  Oh, yeah, and Daddy went back to meat.

We got conflicting food messages from all over the place.  From school, TV, friends and relatives.  It was one more obvious way we were different.  Being “veg” only meant that I couldn’t have.  It wasn’t about the benefits or making better choices or having good eating habits.  I saw it and lived it as, ummm, no.  We weren’t even that strict.  There was definitely no red or other white meat in the house, but we had chicken and fish fairly regularly.

They were trying to do what they thought best or Have you met Little Me?…

So let’s go back to the pouty, petulant toddler on the plane.  I should tell you what my mom told me last week.  That I was willful from birth.  Okay, she said the crib.  Same thing.  Power trippin’ in a onesie.

I found ways to act out every day.  From eating the sloppy joe school lunch or allowing folks to feed me ribs and things knowing how my mother felt.  Even name brand peanut butter and jelly on white bread washed down with kool-aid felt like I was getting in a good jab.

Willful Little Me would sneak food.  I wanted what I wanted when I wanted it.  Partly, because I felt like it wouldn’t be there if I waited.  But, that was, also, just who I was.  A bit spoiled and entitled.  All those things my friends and relatives got to eat became things I longed for and found ways to get.

We weren’t allowed to have breakfast crack brought to you by cartoon characters and toy prizes.  Mom gave us granola and Grape-Nuts.  My dad would buy whatever cereal we wanted when we spent the weekend with him.  That box was ghost by Saturday afternoon.  My brother was a “growing boy” and I worked the guilt.  We, okay, I figured out how to manipulate the situation very early.  It just was never enough.

It gets complicated after that or We’re skipping the tween and teen years…

I think it’s simplistic to say that control and the lack of it set up a pattern of deprivation and overindulgence, but it’s key to understanding how I look at things today.

As an adult, I’ve been veg and vegan by choice.  I’ve done Atkins and I’ve done nothing.  I’ve overeaten and I’ve not eaten.  I got off on telling folks what I couldn’t/wouldn’t eat like it was a sign of courage and strong will.  It became how I related to people.  How we related to each other.  The conversations we had.  It’s like we all needed that gold star for putting all the power in no, can’t, don’t and won’t.

The crazy part is that whenever I went off-label, regime or binged, everything I thought I was missing and really, really wanted, couldn’t live up to the internal hype.  My Bye-Bye VeganLife meal was a Cuban Sandwich and Mexican-style Corn from Café Habana and a cupcake from Magnolia.  They were fine.  It was the pressure I put on myself to live confined rather than balanced, that had expectations frequently met with disappointment.

A work in progress or How I don’t eat shame with that burger…

I choose to live a way that’s become pretty straightforward.  I eat what I want.  I eat better.  I eat less.  And I move more.  What I want is informed by the little discoveries over the years.  How amazing and naturally sweet fruit and vegetables can be.  That I don’t really like fast food.  That Meat and I have a love/bored relationship.  That Ben, Jerry and I will survive not being Besties.  That making kick-ass food is just as fun as eating it.

I really don’t think about what I don’t eat.  It’s usually because I don’t like it, not because “I can’t have it.”  My conversations about food are from a place of excitement and wonder, not fear and anger.  I don’t feel guilt or shame.  It’s a set up.

There are things that concern me.  Like, wow, there’s a lot of sugar in marmalade making.  How do I balance experimentation with consumption?  What sugar is better?  Do I take a break?  There’s no hand smacking bad Nikki going on.

I still struggle with bouts of not eating.  Or not eating “right.”  I’m not chasing some ideal.  I, really, forget to eat.  Hopped up on coffee, with my brain reeling, I have time to make tricked out ramen before I get cranky.

I’m learning to be patient.  Sooo new for me.  I’m starting to plan meals.  Because the only way the food won’t be in my fridge is if I let it rot.

It’s all a process.  I’m happier not worrying about food all the time.  It took all the fun out of eating.  And cooking.  Have you ever just contemplated the flavors in a spoonful and allowed yourself to be blown away?  That is some goodness.

This relationship with food is growing and changing.  I’m feeling empowered to make better decisions.  Finding balance and treating myself a lot better.  I like that.

Nikki♥

Look what I got from my first Farmers’ Market visit of 2010.  Spinach, Swiss Chard, Tomatoes, Lemongrass, Onions and the reason for a weekend full of joy, Blood Oranges.

I got them from two different organic stalls.  One had pretty, pretty citrus.  The other, ummm, not so much.  But, there was something about my sweet wallflowers.  They were recently picked and dirty.  There was still part of the stem attached.  I was smitten.  I don’t know if i would have brought them home from a store like that.

Isn’t it sad how we are taught to judge produce?  It has to pass the shiny new car test.  Have you smelled some of that beautiful fruit at the store?  What do you mean you can’t smell anything?  Really? Each and every piece has to be spectacular.  How real or natural is that?

It’s got to look like what we think its supposed to look like, but what does it taste like?  And really does everything have to taste exactly the way it tasted before? I’m okay with it not.  As long as it’s full of personality.  A good one.

well, she's the only "pretty" one

Man, I am still feeling up my ugly blood oranges.  I can’t stop smelling them.  I know I’m supposed to be using them for the Can Jam, but I had to have my first taste of the season.  Okay, tastes, plural.  Yes, I ate a few.  Couldn’t stop myself.  Two were the deepest burgandy.  The other was flecked with different shades of orange and red.  It’s like each bit of pulp was given the choice of what flag to fly.

So, what am I going to do with them?  I think I’m going to go unbelievably lo-fi with it.  The ones I ate had most amazing flavor.   I think I just want to showcase that.  We’ll see.

I’m so glad I started playing around this early in the season.  I’m going to find as many ways as I can to preserve what really has become my favorite fruit.  I want the rest of the year filled with its brilliance.

Can you tell I dig blood oranges?  Don’t get me started talking about cheese.  I can’t even keep it in the house.

So, tell me, what cha got in the pot?

Nikki♥

I’m about to head out to the farmers’ market in my neighborhood for the first time in over a month.  I’m so excited to see what they’ve got. I can’t wait to pile all that goodness on the table.

I’m a bit giggly because I’m participating in Tigress’ Can Jam.  Each month this year, we’re going to focus on preserving.  We’re turning our attention to good food and to traditions that are truly local and global.

In P & K's Yard

I feel lucky to not only making connections to long gone relatives and ancestors, but to the family members that are here and getting older.  I get to make new memories, too.  And share them with you.

So, here’s the jumpy part.  I’m eight days in and I haven’t the slightest idea what I’m going to do.  This month the spotlight is on citrus.  This should be easy, right.  I live in California.  Well, I want blood oranges.  I need blood oranges.  Don’t you see I’m blinded by my blood orange lust.

I haven’t come across any yet.  That could change today.  Or I could just get on with it.  Which is what I’m going to do.  I’ve got today and Hollywood on Sunday.  This weekend will be the start of the citrus days.  Or the continuation of the citrus days.  Tigress must have been reading my mind.  I’ve been super citrused for the last couple of weeks.

Time to get the tote bag and camera.  I’m coming back with something fun.  I promise.

Nikki♥

I think we need some time apart.

You make things so easy.  When you’re around, you’re all I can think about.  I, honestly, don’t know how to not lose myself in you.  We have such a great time together.  But, we just aren’t good for me.

I’m still going to hang out with some of our friends.  I’m just not sure you and I should talk.

I’m sorry.

I’ll miss you.

I wish you the best.

Nikki♥

I’m into the idea cooking from what’s in the fridge.  Now that I actually put things in it, I don’t want some random food blog induced epiphany that will send me to the grocery store.  You know, I quite like the grocery, but too many things are going to waste with each trip.

I knew I had eggs.  I’d remembered David Lebovitz’s post on French tart dough. And there’s this scene in I’ve Loved You So Long that is just the family at dinner, but it is stuck in my head.  So, I decided that I wanted to make a quiche.

I watched a Martha clip.  Pulled out Georgeanne Brennan’s French Veg Cookbook.  Then, I opened the fridge.  Tah-freakin-dah.  Homemade goat cheese, scallions, garlic chives, and crushed ginger.

The nikki bit. I didn’t follow a recipe for the eggy bit. (♥: Really?) I used 3 eggs.  Buttermilk and plain yogurt replaced the cream.  I added in a tablespoon of flour.   Salt and pepper to taste.  Then I added the eggs and chopped garlic chives.

Well, what happened? I wasn’t using a tart pan and didn’t evenly work the dough in the pan I was using.  Hey, it was my first ever crust. So, when it came out uneven, I had the urge to, you know, touch it.  Poke it, rather and made a hole.  I wasn’t going to chuck it and start over.  So, I just put in the scallions and goat cheese.  Poured the custard and and stuck it in the oven for a half hour.

Favorite mistake, huh? Ummm, yes.  This is good and super onion-y and garlic-y.  I will have to brusha brusha brusha before I speak to another human.

Nikki♥

I’ve got a list.  It’s growing.  I’m okay with that.  I just have plenty to write and loads to do.  This is just a little of it.

1. preserved meyer lemons – done
2. another tiny batch of pickles. cukes sliced. less salt. – done
3. apple sauce – cooking
4. apple butter – cooking
5. goat cheese – draining
6. candied citrus peel – ummmm
7. pickled red onion – sitting in tact on the table
8. citrus/sour cookies – still stuck in my head
9. pickled peppers – in a bag on the table

Here’s a little pretty from my self-induced exhaustion.

So, while waiting for that first tiny batch of pickles to get good and ready, I got another one started.

The making: This one was dill.  Seed and weed.  Apple cider vinegar.

Oh, dear: Inspired by my 1953 copy of Joy of Cooking and Food In Jars.  Experimental Tangent by Me.

The tasting: It’s early, but I’m def going to cut back on the salt.  I’m not sure if I’m a pickled bean person, yet.  And I think I might like a thinner skinned pepper to pickle.

What’s next: The final verdict for the first tiny batch of dill should be in in a few days.  I def want to try less salt and maybe, white vinegar.  Also, I think I’m going to have to give the cukes a cut, either spears or chips.

I just had a Nic Cage/Moonstruck/”Chrissy bring me the big knife” flash.  Great.  Now, I can’t stop thinking about oily fish, bloody steak and bread, bread, bread.

Nikki♥

IthinkIcan: It's the new waiting game that all the kids are playing

OMG!OMG!OMG! I’ve been good.  It’s been four days and I’ve not devoured my homemade pickled cukes and peppers.  I will admit I did have a taste the other day, but I think I can wait until Saturday to fully enjoy them.  I’m a little proud of my patience.  I, usually, like my jars of pickles inhaled in one sitting straight from the grocery bag.

tiny batches. Why so wee, you ask?  Well, I’ve got a tall tiny fridge.  I don’t really have the space to store copious amounts of product or produce.  So, I keep everything that needs to be fridged or frozen to a minimum.  Thus, we get the chance to explore the freshest that Mr. Grocery and Miss Market have to offer.

You say putting up is for pantry living.  And, I agree.  What I lack in the cold is more than made up for in other manners of storage.  I’m just not processing and putting up until I’ve worked out the flavor.  So, Saturday, can you hurry?(♥:Or maybe not. 2009, pls don’t leave so soon.)

the making.  I opened up The Glass Pantry and Martha’s Original Classics.  I hit up Tigress In A Pickle and Food In Jars.  Then, looked to Lebovitz and Symon’s Chilis & Ruhlman’s wisdom for help.  And I watched a few Martha & Rick Field videos, ummm, more than once.  All in the pursuit of ideas and guidance.  So with a little Rick’s Picks courage and Ruhlman Ratio Brine bravado, I set out on my way to pickle.

There are a couple of things I’ve found that got me all giggly.  First, this is EASY.  Let me say that again, so even I can hear it.  This is EASY. Second, the way Ruhlman breaks down the method for making Symon’s pickled chilis is perfect for me.  Not because I’m allergic to recipes, but because I’m always having to figure out how to make less.

The solution was sooo simple.  Like for the jar above, I just filled the jar with the produce.  Added water to the fill line.  Poured out the water in to a measuring cup.  Replaced half the volume with vinegar.  Tah-freekin-dah.  Houston, we have the start of some pickling liquid.  I need more Ruhlman’s Ratio in my life, but I’m like 13th in the queue for the book at the library.  I guess I’m learning to wait for a lot of things.

very, very nikki. In an effort to be the me-est me possible, I, mistakenly, put in a tablespoon of pickling spice, instead of a teaspoon.  Even when I try to follow a recipe, the plan often goes awry.  I’m not sure how it’s going to taste in a few days, but I noticed a spicy warmth and undercurrent of sweetness upon the first sampling.  I’ll update with the specifics after the feasting.

something my neighborhood has taught me. Be mindful of what foods and traditions other cultures and communities find important.  I live in a heavily Korean & Latino neighborhood.  If I’ve missed the farmer’s market for the week, I know that the produce at stores that cater to these two communities is so much cheaper and more abundant than that of the national supermarket chains up the street.

I’ve talked too much about the pickles.  I kinda want them now.  Must. Wait. IthinkIcanIthinkIcanIthinkinIcan.

Nikki♥

And so it began

I’ll admit it.  I’ve never made macaroni and cheese that wasn’t from a box full of pasta and powder.  I didn’t think I could make it as good my Aunt Lorna’s, so why try? I’ve been thinking about her mac and cheese since she didn’t make it at the last family gathering.  And don’t think I was the only person to ask or be disappointed.

There was another contender for the but I remember it was so good way back when prize.  Let’s call it the Uncle Sam factor.  That 5lb block of orange processed goodness called Government Cheese. (♥:I’ll let you slide on the processed goodness nonsense)

I had a thing for Gov’t cheese.  It was like my vacation fling.  I couldn’t get it at home.  Our only time together was during summers spent with family outside of Chicago.  I was so in love that I flew home one year with block in my carry-on.  For real.

It had the bite of a great sharp cheddar and melted like a good american should.  It had more body than that other block of cheese that Mommy would never buy.  You had to be careful, though, and not slice GC too thick or it wouldn’t melt evenly in a grilled cheese or would overwhelm the bread and mayo of a regular cheese sandwich.  Oh, how I get a little tingly thinking about it.

So, I have it stuck in my head that I want to make some really good Mac & Cheese.  I decided to start with a more southern trad recipe.  Hello, Miss Edna Lewis.

The making. This is a work-in-progress all-about-the-process exercise.  I’m not including the recipe.  It’s not there yet.

I used a few different recipes for ideas about flavor, texture and cooking method.  Mostly Miss Edna Lewis’ and Scott Peacock’s with a hint of Martha and Smitten Kitchen’s Ode To Martha.

I substituted and discarded a lot actually.  The only ingredients to stay from the original were the sour cream, salt & peppers and flour.  I also followed the instructions to cube half of the cheese and grate the other.  And the recipe called for using a custard.  That was it, really.  So I would probably say I used their guidelines.

Martha’s take allowed me to feel comfortable not using the Worcestershire and mustard powder.  I’m on a buttermilk kick so that went in.  I’ve been oddly fascinated by evaporated milk since Thanksgiving.  So, I used that instead of the half and half and heavy cream that Miss Edna called for.  A little Louisiana hot sauce found its way out of the fridge and into my hand to add a vinegary kick along with the heat of the black and cayenne peppers.

It was relatively quick and easy to put it all together.  It baked in 30 and rested for 15 or so before I cut into it.

The tasting. It was okay.  It wasn’t bad, actually.  There was this hot, mellow, sour flavor that I was really digging.  I would have added a bit more cheddar but I liked the mix of cheddar, Gruyère, and hint of pepper jack.

Ultimately, I didn’t like the egg-y texture.  I’ve never liked my M&C that way.  I didn’t like the way the cheese melted, either.  Cubing it left pockets of cheddar all over the place.  Eh, wasn’t feeling it.  I, also, got cute and used penne.  Ummm.  Right, I know.  Elbow, please.  Thx.

Oh, Penne.

Overall, I like knowing right off the bat what didn’t work for me.  It’s not like I’ve thrown any away.  It’ almost gone actually.  I just didn’t do a little dance.  Or get down.  Or put my foot in anything on this try.

What’s next. No more eggs.  I know that.  There’s something else it’s asking for in the balance of flavors as well.  And instead of guessing what’s in Aunt Lorna’s Lawd Help Me M&C, I just might have to ask.  I want to try the white sauce version before I go the family route.  Because honestly, if I can’t find my own way first and then I fail at hers, there will be no more Mac making in my future.

Nikki♥