Forethought...

My predictions, as of Sunday night, about my little Vegas adventure:

1) I have spent no more than $20 gambling so far this week - I say this because I'm cheap...the only time I spent any real money at a table was in Macau, and that I think only came about because the money was foreign and I had no concept how much I was spending

2) I have become very familiar with the inside of hotels, ballrooms and conference rooms

3) I have jacuzzi-ed at least twice since arriving

4) I have taken a gondola ride at the Venetian, after kicking myself for ages for missing such unabashedly cheesy fun last time

5) I am looking wistfully at the fake Chrysler building, pining for the real one

Vegas...Again?

Oddly enough, after surviving for several decades without ever seeing the lovely town of Las Vegas, I am now, as you read this, visiting for the second time in a month.

The first time was a mere stopover with a bit of entertainment thrown in, this second time a lengthier stay with more work than fun involved. But at least this time I've got a room with a jacuzzi...

Coming Back Home

I have always been the type of person who gets out of the house to explore. I don't necessarily make it to the far flung parts of the outer boroughs (although often, when in need of some good food and a change of scenery I do), but I tend to be out and about for at least a little while most evenings after work and on the weekends. I suppose I'm what you'd call a stroller. One of my great indulgences is to forgo the subway and walk from my apartment north, twisting and turning as I please, getting up close and personal with the odd side streets I wouldn't normally seek out. I stroll through familiar neighborhoods with an eye out for new additions, but also to stop by favorite haunts.

But lately for some reason, I know not why, I've found myself heading to specific destinations for specific purposes rather than vaguely ambling in some direction, any direction. It began to take a toll on my disposition...my imagination seemed to have all but shut down!

Vowing to get back in the groove and loosen up my brain cells a bit, I recently opted to start out with a saunter through one of my old favorites, the area joining Nolita, Soho, Little Italy and Chinatown. Home to my favorite library, bakery and bookstore, it always feels like home. And the heart of that home is the cookbook nook at the back of McNally Jackson Bookstore.

Much to my delight, it had been so long since I had been to said bookstore that I was faced with a raft of new options, with the cookbook section offering a particularly rich array.

Of course, given the fawning press surrounding Thomas Keller's Ad Hoc At Home

and David Chang's Momofuku

I was not surprised to see them on the shelf. But I was a bit taken aback by how much I liked the look of the books. Particularly Momofuku...I have heard that the text is laced with some salty language, and although I am certainly in favor of the occasional well placed choice word, I find their overuse to be grating. But a quick flip through the book had me imagining scallion ginger noodles in the afternoon, slow cooked pork at night, and steamed buns in the morning.

I was also thrilled to see a reissue of M.F.K. Fisher's classic translation of Brillat-Savarin's The Physiology of Taste with an introduction by Bill Buford.

For some reason I had always recalled this book to be of an imposing length, but the one I saw seemed quite manageable. I may finally have to read this classic text!

I had heard vaguely of Clotilde Dusoulier's new translation of the classic french cookbook I Know How to Cook

and after flipping through it I am totally smitten. Something about the easy elegance of the fish recipes grabbed me and still hasn't let go. Ever so french to give mere housewives the tools to live a completely refined life.

How to Roast a Lamb has been on my mind ever since I read about it in the New York Times recently,

and seeing the book in person has only served to increase my desire to get my hands on these delightfully unfamiliar recipes.

Perhaps the best thing about my little literary haven is that I am always introduced to titles I have never heard of, and this trip was no different. I have officially been turned on to Stephane Reynaud's French Feasts: 299 Traditional Recipes for Family Meals and Gatherings,

a collection of rich French weekend dishes. I have images of leisurely multi-course midday feasts dancing in my head as a result.

I am also mightily intrigued by Artichoke to Za'atar and by The Iraqi Cookbook.

When the weather is blustery and cool as it is now, I find the warm mellow spice of Middle Eastern food to be the perfect antidote. Which I suppose is odd as the cuisine was born of sunny warm weather. But I suppose there's no accounting for (my) taste!

So which should be the first purchase?

Grown Round

Spherical fruits and vegetables seem to be having a moment right now. Winter squash of all sorts are in abundance...acorn squash, turban squash, hubbard squash and of course the iconic pumpkin...they're all spilling out of crates left and right, one last gasp of bounty before the chill sets in. Lovely apples hold the promise of autumnal tarts, crisps and pies, as do those last Italian plums that have stuck around so tenaciously this year.


But I have to admit, as odd as it might sound, that it was the cauliflower that caught my eye most recently. At the market this weekend there were buckets and buckets of what may have been the largest specimens I have ever come across. For reference (and I suppose I should mention that I have quite big feet):



I commented on their heft to the friendly vendor and he proudly replied "They're lookers aren't they!" I couldn't help but bring one home, what with Paul's intense love for all vegetables cruciferous.


It almost looks like an Old Master still life, doesn't it?



Now the first thought that I generally have when I bring produce home is "What dish shall I make?" But with this monstrosity the question is not which dish, but which dishes.


A bit less than half of the hulking head went to a batch of Insalata di Rinforzo,


a few handfuls went to diversify the mix in my favorite green Thai curry, and the rest...well, the rest is currently on standby in my refrigerator. Any ideas for the remnants of the great beast?

Les Mouclades

I used to watch quite a bit of PBS. First Sesame Street and Mr. Rogers, then the cooking series from the 80s like the Frugal Gourmet and Jacques Pepin, and then those wonderful David Suchet Poirot episodes and other assorted Masterpiece Theater shows. I adored Diana Rigg's Masterpiece Theater introductions almost as much as my parents enjoyed Cookie Monster's (or rather Alistair Cookie's) Monsterpiece Theater skits.


But then for a good ten years I all but abandoned the network. I suppose this coincided with the rise of bad reality TV, to which I am tragically addicted. But recently, inspired by Terry over at Blue Kitchen's enthusiasm for the current crop of cooking shows on PBS, I've become a bit of a public broadcasting devotee.


First I began to DVR Lidia Bastianich's show and now as a result know more about the starch content of carnaroli rice (better than arborio apparently) than I ever thought I'd care to. The latest Ken Burns mini-series appeared (although I've been to Yosemite countless times the national parks special has ignited in me a great desire to go back again), and Eric Ripert's show Avec Eric has got me all concerned about the seasonal nuances of my olive oil.


But perhaps my favorite PBS discovery is Ruth Reichl's new show Gourmet Adventures With Ruth. In each episode she visits some fabulously informative food person with a famous, but not too famous food-oriented friend of hers. The amount of entirely new information (to me at least) that is conveyed in these shows is unbelievable, and quite heartening really. There's so much to learn!


On her seafood show, set in Seattle with Tom Skerritt and an unbelievably knowledgeable fisherman whose name currently escapes me, she and her gang demonstrated a mussel cooking method that intrigued me...just throw them in a dry hot pan and wait for them to pop open!


Faced with one of those delicious evenings where I had no plans to go out, the apartment to myself, no errands or household tasks planned and sufficient energy to cook a relatively involved meal for myself, I opted to give the mussels a try.


After scrubbing a pound and a half of Prince Edward Island mussels, I threw them in a screaming hot cast iron skillet.



As each mussel popped open, I removed it to a large bowl with a pair of tongs.


There were a few holdouts...



...but eventually, after much sizzling, they relented.


I took Alex Guarnaschelli's very good advice to throw in a little crunch in the form of toasted bread crumbs (I have been loving panko lately...irrationally I find making breadcrumbs to be totally onerous) and some freshness in the form of parsley and mint.


By the way, I would never have considered mint as a good pairing with mussels but the idea is genius.

I've eaten a lot of mussels in my day, but these were special. Delicate but just a tad smoky from all of the scorching. And tender beyond belief...perhaps because I plucked eat one out just as it was done so there was no overcooking?


I was in an oddly European mood so I followed my wine, mussels and buttered baguette with a bit of salad and Tomme de Savoie. And then blew the whole thing with a Whippet at the end...the Canadian version of a Mallomar in case you are not familiar, as I was not until I saw them on the shelf at Citarella. Why Canadian cookies are being sold in New York I know not, but regardless they are delightful, both alone and as the cap to a lengthy meal.

All Hallows Eve

The scent of deepest autumn was undeniable this weekend. The bouquets of flowers at James Durr are quickly giving way to tangles of leafy boughs, and I couldn't resist picking up a lush bunch of eucalyptus for my front room. With my nose involuntarily buried in the fragrant leaves the whole way home (crowded subway cars rarely provide such lovely aromatherapy experiences) I couldn't help but relish the change in weather, in scents and in routine that the progression of the seasons induces.

So perhaps fittingly, Paul and I chose this weekend to break our strict "no fun on Halloween" tradition. There was a party that promised to be great fun to attend, so Paul dragged out an outfit he had bought in Dubai recently and I got to work cobbling together a costume using a gold lame leotard leftover from a costume party in graduate school and a pair of track pants as a base.

I figured my best bet was one of those interpretive costumes...the kind where you just wear something odd and let others determine who it is you have dressed up as (the consensus from absolute strangers seemed to be Lady Gaga...sure, might as well). Coming up with my own idea was much too stressful on such short notice! So I swung by the makeup mecca that is MAC to pick up some oversized false eyelashes (and immediately vowed to come back in short order for more browsing and playtime...it is a truly inspiring store) and then braved the Ricky's madhouse in search of a wig.

Presently, it was time to go. Paul looked very imposing in his caftan and head scarf (although he was a tad apprehensive about going out in the get-up for fear of offending someone) and I looked shiny.

Just outside of the party we looked across the way and noticed a man standing in the street wearing Paul's exact same outfit. Paul was a bit miffed..."Is he wearing it better than I am?" he wondered. I looked closer...he was an older man with those 1970s big square glasses with thin wire rims..."Babes I think he's an actual Arab." "Really? Are you sure?". And then he got into a Bentley and drove away. "Yes, I'm sure."

We enjoyed an evening full of sword eaters and fire jugglers and women on stilts with friends and a couple of bottles of champagne. The festivities eventually wound down and we made our way home very slowly on the subway, as cabs were simply a lost cause.

Paul removed his kaftan shortly after we arrived home, but I have to say I was really feeling my wig and eyelashes and couldn't stand to toss them aside quite so soon. I spent a good while taking photos of myself to delay the inevitable return to normalcy.

Perhaps I could entertain a second career as a drag queen?

Back to the Earth

Growing up my parents' kitchen was filled with pieces of ceramic tableware of various provenances. There were heavy earth colored pitchers and platters from pre-children adventures in southern Mexico, colorful bowls and canisters that were gifts from artist friends and a massive set of hefty earthenware bowls which I believe most recently served as a vessel for my aunt's fabulous yeasted waffles and I can only imagine belonged to a grandmother or great grandmother somewhere along the way.

And then there is the collection of bowls and mugs and platters that my mother has found over the years trawling the pottery studios of Berkeley and Emeryville, my favorite of which is a tall, almost conical off-white bowl which my mom used to use for making bread dough, as well as coleslaw, her version of which was one of my favorite things to eat in the summers growing up.

So I suppose I've come by my love of ceramic tableware honestly. Formed from natural materials by human hands, it feels so basic and honest. And yet, well done, it is lovely and graceful.

I always have an eye out for pottery, and as such honed in on Heath Ceramics years ago. Based in Sausalito, for quite some time I admired the locally made, handmade pieces from afar. I've always had a soft spot for their perfect bud vases

and their simple, earthy and elegant dishes.

And don't even get me started on their tiles

I suppose access to such gorgeous products might explain why the owners have a most envy-worthy home.

Anyway, on a trip back to the homeland a while back, I insisted on visiting the factory store. I was on the hunt for a wedding gift for a dear friend who I thought would appreciate the perfection that is Heath. The store is quite literally next to the factory (locally made, handmade claims confirmed!), and in addition to first quality items, they also have second and third quality pieces. I often found it hard to tell the difference between the various tiers of items, but the difference in price was quite clear. I picked up this beautiful dish

for about 25% of retail. I'm still excited about the find two years later.

Recently loads of wonderful small ceramics lines have been featured in various media outlets...blogs, magazines and newspapers all seem to be jumping on the bandwagon.

Gleena Ceramics has been popping up all over the place, and for good reason. I love the idea of sipping a delicate tea in the evening out of these cups,

warming my hands after coming in from the cold.

And these votives look as though they could turn even the most depressing space into a sort of fairyland.

Rae Dunn, who sells through an etsy store, puts a whimsical spin on the most basic of pieces.

I could certainly see these dishes by my stove or on my dining room table (if I had one that is).

And this plate would be ideal to eat a breakfast pastry off of first thing on a Sunday morning.

Arendal Keramik puts a bit of an edgy spin on the more traditional, perhaps twee if traditional is not your cup of tea, china patterns.

Drinking dark rich coffee out of these cups on a cold morning would be one of those great little luxuries in life.

Perfection.