bacon waffles
Breakfast is my favorite meal. When I was growing up, my dad would often make breakfast for dinner, which we loved. Usually, he would make eggs in toast. You know, where you butter both sides of a piece of sliced sandwich bread, cut a hole in the middle with a glass, place it in a hot skillet and then crack an egg in the middle? I’m sure there are many names for it, but we went with the obvious one. The buttered circles of bread cut out from the middle were almost the best part, especially after dad had fried them with some salt. No matter what we made, breakfast always felt comfortable, like an old beloved sweatshirt, loose fitting and warm. Sonora, my hometown, and the one I’ve spent a lot of time in lately, feels that way to me. Although it has changed quite a bit since I left over five years ago, I have never lost that feeling of familiarity and kinship when I climb up out of the valley into the tree lined mountains on the only highway into town.
I can’t tell you how much I love the town that was home to me during my growing up years. Like any place I guess, it made me who I am, and taught me to enjoy life with a particular fervor that I have rarely seen elsewhere. In the foothills, the pace of life is much slower and more intentional, people respect one another and hold common courtesy in high regard. You would never just hurry through a cross walk as a motorist waves you through without a wave and a loud “Thank you!”. That is a cardinal sin, and something you just don’t do.
A strong sense of community is evident there, even in the small things. No one locks their doors at night and they don’t worry that someone may come in and steal from them while they are sleeping. They trust one another and celebrate one another too. Every year, on mother’s day weekend, they show their appreciation with a giant parade downtown. It’s the second largest parade in California, and it’s dedicated to the women who have made the sacrifice of motherhood. It just doesn’t get sweeter than that.
The parade is a big deal. Nearly the entire town shows up. The streets are completely packed, so you have to get there early if you’d like a front row seat. People have learned that the night before is the best time to stake out a good spot.
The Golden Regiment Band, which is the band belonging to the county’s largest high school, always kicks off the start of the parade. They come down the opposite way so that they can also be the last ones through. Everyone looks forward to seeing them, especially since they mark the start of a weekend of exciting festivities.
The parade is only the beginning of what will be a weekend full of small town fun. Following the parade, the county hosts a professional rodeo for two days. I bet you’ve never seen more cowboy hats, pick up trucks and cans of bud light all in one place. As you can imagine, it’s my favorite activity of the year, and it’s a great way to see every person in the entire county all at once. It feels like literally every single person is there, drunker than usual and infinitely more jovial.
Since I’ve moved to the bay area, I have convinced my little sister Anna (the gorgeous one smiling from ear to ear, appropriately dressed in cowboy boots) to move here with me. Having her here with me has made such a difference. My sisters are my best friends and having one here fills my heart to the brim. At the same time, this privilege also makes me acutely aware that Laura (the bombshell at the top) seems so far away. I miss her terribly and look forward to late night talks over bean dip and crunchy salted chips around her table whenever we visit.
I’m sure it goes without saying that the man in the middle has stolen my heart and keeps it with him until I come home to see him. My dad makes me laugh harder than anyone and when I’m away I miss his laugh so much. When he really gets a tickle, his laugh is unparalleled. You can’t fight it, it’s contagious.
The woman of the hour, the reason we celebrate, is not pictured here, but this waffle is for her. She has spent nearly half her life wrestling with us, feeding us and doing her best to mold us into respectable human beings. I’m not sure what her opinion is, but for the most part I think she has succeeded in all of those things. Lord knows she has wrestled with us more than one should and although we might have too many tattoos, I think all three of us have turned out pretty well.
On Sunday, we spent the morning sharing a meal with mom, in a crowded little place with dishes like the “Henny Penny Breakfast” and “Havoc in the Hen House”. I usually order a normal two egg breakfast with home fries and bacon, but as everyone ordered, I was at a loss and could not find something that sounded remotely enticing. With the waitress staring me down, tapping her pen on her folded white pad, my sisters pointed out the bacon waffle. Everyone at the table, suddenly wide eyed, pleaded with me to order it. I couldn’t refuse. Who could?
It turned out to be amazing, most likely the best breakfast in all of Tuolumne County. Of course, it doesn’t hold a candle to egg in toast, but really, nothing ever could.
Because my husband was unable to join us for the weekend of festivities, and mostly because I couldn’t stop talking about this waffle, I had to make one at home for him to try. Well, I made more than one, more than I should have really, but I’m not entirely sure you can have too many bacon waffles hanging around. I used a favorite waffle recipe from Marion Cunningham’s Breakfast Book. It’s a yeasted batter that sits over night, which makes the prep in the morning almost non-existent. If you can crack a couple eggs and plug in a waffle iron, you’ve got waffles. Insanely good waffles. Here, I do add the extra step of cooking bacon and crumbling it over the batter right before you close the waffle iron, but I’m sure that little bit of extra work will not deter you from having an epic waffle breakfast, because I know you better than that. (more…)
a collaboration + a wedding cake
There is something so incredibly exhilarating about collaborating with other like-minded creatives. The process is stretching and challenges us to see our talents in new ways and even pushes us further than we would normally go on our own. This past weekend, I headed home to the mountains again, this time for a styled bridal collaborative with some local artists. Joleen from Joleen Willis Photography was the mastermind behind the shoot, birthing the idea and then convincing all of us to come along for the ride. For me, it was a chance to step into some uncharted waters, and although the way was a little bumpy at times, I learned a lot and ultimately contributed something I am very proud of.
Our inspiration was Morocco, which is such a rich culture to draw from. The color and vibrant nature of the landscape was an easy example to follow when I was planning the food and tablescape. I chose to use some fairly traditional items for the table such as mint tea, olives and cous cous. For the main plated dish, I made a carrot salad with black rice, macrona almonds and mint, drizzled with a light harissa vinaigrette. The salad added just the right amount of color and texture to the table.
(image by Joleen Willis Photography)
(image by Joleen Willis Photography)
As with most weddings, dessert (most often in the form of cake) is one of the main attractions. Personally, I’ve only liked one wedding cake in all my life. I remember loving it so much that I was trying to figure out how to stuff some in my purse without being noticed. However, on every other occasion it has been something I might as well skip, which if you know me at all, skipping dessert is just something I don’t do. I figured it must be quite difficult to make a wedding cake worth it’s price tag, and ultimately, completely enjoyable, even to the point of wanting a doggy bag. So, when this project came up and I was able to explore what might make a great cake, (in taste AND appearance) I learned a few things. First of all, wedding cakes are difficult. They require a lot of work, hours and hours to be exact. Second, you don’t only have to use white or yellow cake. There are so many options out there, people! Thirdly, wedding cake CAN taste good. Like, I want a whole one to myself good.
Although this cake made me the most proud out of anything I’ve ever made to date, it still wasn’t perfect. If you can see, it leans a little because I was too lazy to get dowels to anchor it in place, not to mention I didn’t even out the cake layers like a real wedding cake baker would. However, even with all it’s faults and its Tower of Pisa qualities, it was still the best darn wedding cake I’ve ever had. Not the prettiest, but the tastiest. I feel a little weird writing this because it feels over the top conceited, but I’m telling you, this cake was really that good.
For the cake layers, I used a carrot cake recipe from Stella Parks, pastry chef at Table 310 in Lexington, Ky. It’s the best recipe for carrot cake out there. I’m in love with it and will continue to use it forever. The opposite layer is a nutmeg cornmeal cake. I used these two together because they have a tendency to stay moist, not to mention I thought they would compliment each other well, and they did. After all the layers were made, I smothered it all in an orange cinnamon cream cheese frosting. It was, in fact, the icing on the cake.
I garnished to top of the cake with candied kumquats and mint. Those sweet little citrus gems are something I’d like to have in my pantry at all times. They would be perfect on ice cream, a cream tart or simply fished out with gooey, sugary fingers.
Herbivoracious
Michael Natkin of Herbivoracious wrote a cookbook, and was sweet enough to invite some bay area food bloggers over for a taste of what’s inside. Last week, at Cookhouse in San Francisco, Micheal prepared some dishes from his beautiful book, titled after his popular food blog. We spent the evening chatting among friends, enjoying the ample vegetarian fare in a stunning kitchen and dining room situated above bustling Columbus Ave in North Beach.
I’d just like you all to know that food bloggers are some of the nicest people out there. With every event I attend, this statement becomes more and more true. It’s like we were all cut from the same mold, separated at birth and are now reunited with one another. Michael was a sweet heart, and was such a joy to meet. This little group below,(me included!) are becoming fast friends and already have plans for a happy hour date in the near future. I can’t wait to see them again!
As a party favor, Michael was giving away free copies of his book. It’s gorgeous and I can’t wait to crack it open. If the food we enjoyed at Cookhouse is any indication of what will be coming from these pages, I expect to be more than satisfied.
Thanks again Michael and Harvard Common Press for a beautiful evening! I now look forward to Meatless Monday!
There were many dishes served family style during the evening, one of which was talked about by many: sauteed grapes with chevre. Unfortunately, I did not get to try it, but I look forward to making it myself. Here is the recipe in case you’d like to give it a whirl. From the praise the dish was getting from all the food bloggers, I’d add it to your list. (more…)
apricot bars
Do you ever sit down and consider how blessed you are? After a weekend with family and the dearest of friends, the blessedness of my life seems to be as clear as ever. I find it easy to confine myself to the daily distractions, struggles and occasional disappointments that come with living in a city, never leaving room to step outside and view life from a wider angle. Whenever I go home to the mountains, my thoughts grow wider and clearer with all the extra room to breathe. Maybe it’s in part because of all the open space or just the simple joy of fresh pine in the air mingling with smoke billowing from a smoldering wood stove. It might be the slower pace of life or it could be the darkness that falls at night allowing me to gaze at the blanket of stars above, reminding me that I’m smaller than I think I am. Slowing down is easier when I’m in the mountains and spending time on the porch with coffee and a best friend while passing the time chatting about less weighty matters, tends to be a requirement.
I feel very fortunate to live within just a few hours of the rest of my family as well as one of my truest friends. It’s easy to drive up after a busy week and unwind in what feels like the wilderness, comparatively. When I stay with Joleen, in her sweet little cabin in the woods, we often bake together, enjoying the fruit of our labor on the porch swing, in our pajamas, with a tall cup of coffee, admiring the beauty of our surroundings. This time of year, the mornings are still a little brisk, warranting long pants and a light sweater, but warm enough for bare feet. We prop them up on the railing, balancing a plate of frittata or biscotti on our laps, cupping our mugs in our hands as we catch up on life. It’s one of my absolute favorite things to do.
Let me share our view from the porch: Isn’t it lovely?
chocolate walnut biscotti
This past weekend was full of unexpected excitement, the spontaneous and borderline irresponsible kind. On Friday, my honey made a well deserved dinner date for us at a local greek place we’ve wanted to visit for some time. He has a wonderful job that often calls for long hours (which he bears with a smile), so during the past four weeks we have seen little of one another. On our way up the 101, we drove past the Four Seasons Hotel, and thought for a moment how fun it would be to rent a room for a night and enjoy their well known luxury. How spontaneous! How utterly romantic!
Set for 9:15, our reservation was later than we are used to, but to our merriment, the sweet host graciously sat us early. As we poured over the menu, drooling over the dishes coming out of the kitchen intended for our neighbors, we spoke gently to one another, adoring each other over low candle light. We shared a bottle of zinfandel, nibbled on perfectly grilled octopus and feather light zucchini fritters, catching up on the moments we had missed together in the last month. It was exactly what we needed to reconnect.
When I got married, I had the expectation that I would never be lonely again as long as I had my husband by my side. It was an expectation likely created out of naïvety, not comprehending that life is dynamic and will take unexpected turns that may leave me to entertain myself for a while. I could not be more proud of how hard my husband works to invest in his career and in the future of our family. On nights when he comes to bed well into the night, I have to remind myself of that pride, and squeeze him a little to let him know I’m on his side. He needs the reassurance of my support, just as much as I need his spontaneous date nights, especially when they end at the Four Seasons Hotel. Yep. Best husband EVER. (more…)
cinnamon buns
There are a few foods I reserve exclusively for special occasions. Cinnamon buns are among those few. I wait all year for the homemade buns Mrs. Henderson makes on Christmas morning. I start thinking about them in about October when the air begins to chill and I can feel that Christmas is just around the corner. The idea of cinnamon buns, made from scratch is wildly exciting to me.
Over the past few weeks, it seems like cinnamon buns have been everywhere. Bloggers, magazines, co-workers, all talking about the forbidden fruit that does not become ripe until Christmas Day. I take strict measures to be sure I stay strong until the big day in December, such as avoiding Cinnabon in the mall, steering clear of the food area after I check out at Ikea, and lastly, never learning how to make them. Despite all of these fail-safes, it appears I could no longer hold it together. I caved. Can you blame me? When everyone, literally everyone (exaggerating) is doing it, how could I possibly wait another 8 months? So here they are, my adulterous buns in all of their sweet, fluffy glory. I sure hope Mrs. Henderson can forgive me and that in light of my deviation she will still allow me my share.
I’m not happy about my infidelity, but if I had to do it again, I would pick these buns every time. They are fluffy and have a punch of orange zest that sets them apart from your garden variety cinnamon bun. Top with carefully sweetened cream cheese frosting and it just pushes them right over the edge into pleasure town. (more…)
lemon bundt cake
We spent the morning in San Francisco, celebrating the work of reconciliation and the triumph over death. Even the sun made a bright appearance, completing our joy. Lately, I appreciate the stretching days and the reminder of the feeling new life can bring. Spring has always been my favorite season as there is a wonderful story to be found in the dead of winter giving way to lush and thriving life. Everything is re-born and restored to the way it is supposed to be.
Today, I am thankful for the reminder that all things are being made new. Not just the green grass, the buzzing honey bee and the budding flower, but in you and me. It fills my heart with great contentment to know that restoration is coming. I can feel it in the air.
Like the Springtime, I find baking to have restorative qualities for me. There is something within the process that calms me, and makes me feel like myself. Maybe it reminds me that life may not be as complex as I make it out to be, or perhaps that this life is made better when mixed with the blessings of butter and sugar, and in this case a bit of lemon. (more…)
goat cheese ice cream + the best way to see me at my worst
There is nothing like a Zumba class to make me feel like a complete idiot. It encompasses everything I’m terrible at, all in a one hour class. First of all, I hate going because I’m averse to working out. I generally talk myself out it, reasoning that I’d better stay in tonight to rest up for the huge workout I’m planning for tomorrow. In the off chance someone invites me to go to a Zumba class with them at the gym I pay a lot of money for and never use, and I can’t find a reason to decline, I will usually go. Not because I want to, but because I’m mostly driven by guilt and would feel bad saying no. Waiting until the last second, I get into work out clothes, which isn’t so bad, since they’re really just tighter pajamas that accentuate my rolls styled with a super tight bra that flattens the only two things I have going for me and I head over the gym trying not to think about how much worse I’m going to feel about myself in about 30 minutes. Since this is a very popular class at the gym, I have to arrive at least a half hour early to get a number or I won’t get in. I could hop on a machine and get a head start on my work out, but let’s not be silly, we both know I’m not going to do that. I’m going to catch up on 30 Rock or Up All Night on my iPhone while I wait. A few minutes before the class starts, they begin calling numbers and people file in. They all sort of spread out as much as possible and hope for a good smelling partner. Of course they won’t know until the sweat starts pouring. I position myself strategically in the middle because that’s the spot with the least amount of mirrors. I can only see myself straight ahead and that’s only if I accidentally stop hiding behind the woman in front of me. The teacher shows up, a skinny Latina who knows how to shake it, and the music starts pumping. She usually starts us off slow which gives me the false sense that I might actually be getting the hang of it, and then warm up is over and I’m tripping over myself looking like I slammed a few shots of vodka on the way in. I am just about the whitest person there in skin tone and on the how-well-can-you-shake-your-hips-and-look-super-sexy-while-doing-it scale. To make matters worse, the more steps I miss, the more I can see myself missing them because the cute little lady in front of me who is not missing a beat can no longer shield me from seeing my round marshmallow man body trying to dance like a latin heart throb. It’s a heinous sight to behold. As the class goes on, the steps get increasingly more difficult and unfamiliar so I’m basically shuffling my feet and moving my arms around which barley raises my heart rate above a nice good stretch in the morning. Somehow, my body is still all damp and sweaty, and I realize it’s everyone else’s sweat accumulating in the room. Yep, I’m drenched in everyone else’s sweat. This just keeps getting better. After the class, my work out buddy asks if I want her to pay a dollar to reserve my spot in the class for next week. I say that I’ll need to keep next Tuesday night open just because I never quite know what’s going to come up. Then she offers again, and then one more time, so I look at my calendar before I concede and see we are house sitting next week. Darn it. The following week isn’t looking good either. Maybe we can get together for ice cream instead? (more…)
quick comfort
Some days a quick and wholesome breakfast is essential, for instance, today. I am suffering from what we like to call the common cold. I’m convinced my boss lovingly passed along his germs to me through his violent coughing attacks, during which he refused to cover his mouth. In all fairness, I’m not sure how much that actually prevents the spread of said germs but it makes me feel a whole lot better none the less. Wherever I contracted these tenacious little organisms matters not as the fact of the matter is, I’m at home with tissues piling up around me and I’m worried I might never be found under the ever growing mountain.
After finally rolling out of bed at 11am this morning, I forced myself to bathe. While I was using the shower as a steam treatment, I was pleasantly surprised to have a bit of an appetite. Knowing I can only manage to stand upright for about 15 minutes at a time, I’d have to make breakfast quick if I wanted something more comforting than cinnamon toast crunch. The most creativity I could muster was to take cereal one step further, to the hot variety. Steel cut oats are certainly healthier and offer more sustainability than a sugary cousin. I’m not exactly sure when I’ll be able to pull it together enough to get up off the couch and feed myself again, and sadly my husband is gone all weekend so I’m hoping extreme hunger will be enough to counter act the just-got-run-over-by-a-truck feeling, even if just for a short microwave cycle. (more…)
sunday morning breakfast
This Sunday happens to be my birthday. I’ll be 29 this year and I am ridiculous about my birthday. For years I have set expectations that are way beyond necessary and I’d like to blame my parents. When I was little, my birthday was a huge deal. It was my day and on that day, I was the most important person in the universe. Every year, early in the morning, my dad would take me to Denny’s, just the two of us, for a Grand Slam breakfast. No sisters, no step-mom, just us. It was a special time between the two of us and a memory I hold dear to my heart. When I was in fifth grade, my mom threw me a dance party at our house and managed to get all the cutest boys from my class to show up, even Brandon Roberson and Tanner Zalinsky. They were by far the most popular boys in my grade and the main fuel for all of the junior high girls bickering for years. I’ll never know how she managed to get them there, but I’d like to think it was all those oversized hawaiian shirts I wore to school when I was 12. In high school, my dad took me, my sisters and some friends out of the mountains and into the city an hour away for a wild night of roller skating. We skated the night away to the best music of the 80′s, hand in hand until our legs were wet noodles. What a glorious night! My first year out of high school, I turned 19 in the Rift Valley on a Safari at Lake Nakuru, Kenya. I’m not sure I have a more recent story that can top that one, so I’ll just stop there!
Examining the birthdays of my youth make me realize why I set such high standards for future ones: almost every single one thus far has been wonderful. I also won’t rule out the possibility that I actually like the attention I get once a year, but we’ll leave that up for debate.
This year, I am happy to be spending the day eating with some of the dear ones in my life for every meal. I can’t think of a better way to spend the last time I’ll be turning 20 something. (more…)
