Mushroom Love

I cannot let another day slip away without proclaiming the joys of mushroom season to you. My love of fall may solely rest in the fact that mushrooms abound. (And the fact that I can dig out all my scarves from the depths of the closet.) Meaty, earthy, and subtle - mushrooms are a food unto themselves in my vegetable world. Like myself, mushrooms don't need fancilful things to be happy. All they need is a little heat, fat, and salt. I, on the other hand, need yoga, my soup pots, and warm slippers - especially this time of year.





My suggestion is to saute diced mushrooms in your fat of choice (butter or olive oil), and add a sprinkling of salt and a few cracks of pepper. The salt will help the water to escape, which will leave the mushroom a more meaty texture. Saute until the mushrooms look slightly parched, then add a sprinkling of herbs (thyme, oregano) or grated parmesan cheese if you want to be fancy. I've been known to add a splash of balsamic vinegar towards the end of cooking, so it cooks down and glazes the mushrooms, and that takes them to a completely different level. But let's stick with the basic three for now.





Although I'm smitten with mushrooms, I cannot stomach them alone in the absence of other foods. So I try to pair them with something starchy and something strong. Enter: potatoes and herring. We've got a great international deli nearby that sells herring imported from my boyfriend's home country - Belarus. And who can resist fingerling potatoes this time of year? I can't, at least.

As much as I hope this sheds new light on mushrooms, my bigger hope is that you'll enjoy your fall food of choice (apples, squash, parsnips, pumpkin) until you brim with happiness. That's what fall is for - to come back inside from the summer frolics on the beach and restore your energies with nurturing food.

And if you don't cook, reading cookbooks that contain comforting recipes almost does the same trick! Happy fall.

Italia

When a boyfriend returns from Italy, gushing about the pizza, vino, and pasta, it leaves a girlfriend no choice but to make gnocchi, with homemade pesto - if only to reestablish her presence and show that Italian grandmas aren't the only ones worth their salt in the kitchen.

So that's what I did.





That, and I celebrated my 23rd birthday recently. Below is us on my birthday. (We took turns taking a photo of eachother during a nice walk in Kirkland's marina.)



Cheers!

The Places You'll Go

Upon the graduation of my high school's class of 2002, our beloved librarian (and my neighbor), Marilyn Nelson, read the class Dr. Seuss's classic "Oh, the Places You'll Go!" Boy was she right. At 15 years old, that exchange gave me a small thirst for the unknown. This thirst comes and goes, much like that for lemonnade, but this weekend it hit me strong. So, I traveled up to Sequim, WA, to visit cousins I recently discovered lived there.




I took the ferry to Kingston and snaked through the Upper Olympic Peninsula with my old car that just won't die. (Seriously, it went through the Rockies last summer with the majority of my belongings.)




I saw retired Hollywood donkeys. It's quite obvious they're past their prime.




We had a delicious dinner of swiss chard pie and artichoke, both vegetables from their garden. As you can see, they have an elevated patio which allows us to see the Buckhorn Mountains all around us. (See the right of the photo. That's them.)

We watched tennis matches, went for a hike to this spit near their house, had a picnic, saw eagles, strolled through lavender farms, had a long discussion after dinner until the meteor shower silenced us in awe, and I even got to sleep in an Airstream. No lie.

If I've learned anything in my tiny 22 (almost 23!) years it's this: The places you'll go is exciting, but it's the people you meet that's important. Thanks Dixie and Dave for the great weekend.

It's a Whiz

I’m surrounded by good people. Parents who send weekly temperatures from back home (highs and lows) to make sure I’m informed on the Midwestern-front, coworkers that unknowingly give me future parenting advice from their shared experiences of child-rearing, a friend who invites me over for yoga and blueberries, and a boyfriend who I’m completely smitten with.

This is not to mention the friendly parking attendant, beaming Whole Foods cashiers, and those nice drivers that let me change lanes in rush-hour traffic. Life is good.



And so are smoothies. Having a significant other that’s away for nearly a month and being a busy-bee during the workday hasn’t lent itself well to interacting with these folks as much as I’d like, and smoothies have been a great alternative. Strawberries, yogurt, cashews, oats, honey – these are some new pals. Now that I’m temporarily cooking for one, my immersion blender and I have become besties as of late. (This interest is second to my new(!) camera lens, whose workings you see here.)

I love smoothies because they’re adaptable to any level of hunger and accept you right where you’re at. I’ve had them when I was ravenous, and I’ve also had them when I just wanted something sweet before bed. Smoothies don’t need recipes, really. But you may consult a book if you wish. I’m paging through Nourishing Traditions right now not so much for recipes, rather insights about which natural elements are found in certain fruits, nuts, and grains. Nothing makes you want a smoothie more badly than reading health books.




I like my smoothies on the thick side, spoonable, and with texture. Some may like a more sippable, pourable smoothie. That’s great too. My ideal smoothie has 4 essential parts: rolled oats, fruit, yogurt, and nuts. Specifically, it's been strawberries, whole milk (plain) yogurt, cashews, and quick rolled oats.

The ratio I would start with is 3:1:1:1 (fruit, oats, yogurt, nuts). If you have an immersion hand blender, whiz these together with a splash of milk or juice to thin it if desired. Or use a stand blender. I heavily encourage experimenting with other ingredients or ratios and drinking this in your favorite glass along with your slippers on. Cheers!

Whew

Now I've got that out of my system. After a previous weekend spent trapsing around the city with the parents (we had a great time!) and rolling into the airport at 5am to drop off the boyfriend for Italy and then again the next morning to escort the parents off to the motherland, I spent all day yesterday doing nothing but sleeping, listening to her, watching this, and taking a short visit to the hair salon. The photo above represents the stillness and sanity that has been restored in my little realm, minus the exertion I used to slide a Newman's Own pizza in the oven this afternoon for lunch and dinner.

Eventually, I even peeled myself off the bed to procure a hot fudge sunday and drive around for the evening -- you know, so I didn't feel like a complete waste. It was so good -- every lick, snooze, word, bite, sound. Exactly why weekends were created. I'm ready to go for another week or two. Also wanted to share the picture of orange juice as it's pizza's best friend in my world. Beer - no thanks.




There hasn't been much by way of fancy cooking here lately -- namely chopping up veg and tossing them with grains or pasta. My recent favorite is a toss of linguini, artichokes, tomato sauce, and goat cheese. Although my kitchen has been fairly quiet, I did have an exquisite dining experience with a great friend at Sitka and Spruce:

smoked mussels on a bed of marinated fennel and cucumbers // pan fried romano beans with roasted red peppers // rabbit with the teeniest mushrooms // sauteed summer squash with fresh slabs of goat cheese // grilled apricots with olive oil gelato and hazelnut chocolate // Basque galette with local berries
(There were 4 of us and the portion sizes were very modestly European -- no worries.)

Definitely one of my best Seattle dining experiences to date.

I'm sure it wont' be long once I'm back around here again -- didn't realize this Italy trip would be such a cog in my wheel. I miss the guy - especially since today is cleaning day and I'm out one extra set of helping hands. Have a great Sunday!

Simple Things

Carrots. I don't know how -- but they manage to make it in our grocery cart every week. Without fail. I don't love them or hate them - they're just always there. (Like the all-too-familiar characters on my bus.) Carrots are pennies, they give you an excuse to eat orange food that's not processed, and they're good for your eyes. (Or is it nails? Can't keep it straight.) If I don't find a way to cook with them, they get chomped while checking email, reading a magazine, or tossed in a salad. They're not fussy, and I like that. I'm not too fussy either -- so we make a good match that way.

Potatoes and I, on the other hand, have a much different relationship. A few of you may recall a potato thrashing I had a few months back. Well, dear friends, I've come around. Potatoes, the humble tubers that they are, have surprised me as of late -- crusted with paprika at Portage Bay Cafe, wedged and roasted, or smashed with buttermilk in Zuni Cafe fashion. These things are stunners. The potatoes are what I really wanted to talk about.



These lowly vegetables have done more than give me physical sustenance. These things keep me grounded. Their simplicity remind me of the "less is more" mantra that older sisters tell you about makeup and mothers tell you about life. Nothing gives my mind a break better than slicing carrots or scrubbing potatoes. Call me crazy, but these simple things are what I consider real riches.

Classic Roasted Potatoes
(this isn't so much a recipe as it is a method)

Potatoes (I prefer baby reds or fingerlings)
olive oil
sea salt
pepper

Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Clean the potatoes (peel if you like) and cut them into the shape you prefer. I like to wedge mine. In the pan you'll be roasting the potatoes, toss them with enough olive oil to lightly coat and add salt/pepper to your liking. Roast in oven until your preferred doneness is reached. (To move this process along more quickly, I sometimes boil the potatoes for 5-10 minutes before wedging and roasting.) Regarding 'doneness' - the picture above is what I consider the 'bruised and blistered doneness' -- you may not want to take them that far.

In With The New

You see these jeans down below? It's finally warm enough here where I can put them where they belong. Deep into the grooves of my closet. Besides for work, they are not to be taken out until September. Strict orders.



Since I'm out with the old, I guess it follows suit to be in with the new - so I've decided to jazz up some lemonade to celebrate summer. I don't use a specific ratio, as it's best to adjust to your liking and taste. Some may want a more boozy lemonade, some may want a more lemony lemonade. It's up to you. (Sorry for the measurers out there, it's just not my thing.)



Jazzy Lemonade
lemonade
white wine
mint water*

Think of this as summer's everyday answer to the mimosa. It feels best right alongside a stack of magazines, (or in my case - a Kindle filled with magazine content), freshly painted toenails, and sunshine on your shoulders... you get the picture. So, raise a glass to summer!

*mint leaves steeped in a very small amount hot water, then chilled. I like to include this as it dilutes the insane sweetness of store-bought lemonades. If you make your own and adjust the sugar to your liking, this step isn't as necessary.