Kumquat, hither

Certain experiences in life require that you set aside fear or apprehension completely or risk complete and utter failure. I have never gone sky diving for this reason. As much as I might enjoy the experience of floating through the sky, I am certain that at the moment of “Geronimo!” my fear and vertigo would kick in and I would end up making a fatal mistake that would result in my chute being tangled and an unsightly demise. Speaking foreign languages follows the same rule. If I screen my high school Spanish or my collegiate French through a fear of failure filter, I mangle grammar and lose my vocabulary. If I have a glass of wine or three, or give in to the imperative to communicate, I become fluidly un-fluent, ultimately understood. This same principle is why I have never mastered skiing. The counter-intuitive requirement that you lean forward, instead of backward, to control your speed has always eluded me.

When it comes to food, this rule has wide application. You can’t chew, sip, or nibble an oyster. To enjoy an oyster, you have to suck the whole challenging mess down your gullet in a single motion. A stinky challenging cheese is, well, stinky, unless you dive in with all of your senses and allow your nose and mouth to be taken over by a hearty bite of its salty, rank goodness. Arguably, the best parts of edible crustaceans – shrimp, lobster, crabs, crayfish – are locked in the heads or guts. You can’t discover the sublime pleasure of a shrimp head by dainty measured means. You need to stick the head in your mouth and suck it.

And then there is the kumquat. At first glance, it is a miniature orange. The rind must be bitter. There can’t be much juicy flesh in such a small container. If it has seeds, they must be avoided. Maybe kumquats require cooking in a bath of sugar syrup, like a quince. Maybe they’re like an un-shelled pine nut. Will a tiny morsel of flavor be worth the burdensome effort?

In fact, there is only one way to enjoy a kumquat. Take a solid bite, if not the entire kumquat, and chew the entire contents heartily. The rind is complex. Sweet, tart, and bitter. It’s unexpected. The limited flesh is sweet and juicy, but fleeting. And then come the seeds. Do you spit them out? Or chew them. The seeds are the true revelation of the kumquat. They’re nutty. Slightly bitter. The seeds might even be a little disturbing (what are they going to do to my gullet?) That said, the seeds are an integral, additive, if not vital part of the kumquat experience.

The kumquat offers us important life lessons. Set aside fear. Take a bite. A big bite. Accept the sweet and the bitter. Accept and expect the unexpected. Don’t spit out the seeds. Karpe kumquat.

A Night At Chez Durwood

Just in time for the rainy season, Peter and I just finished renovating our backyard into what is essentially two outdoor rooms that more than doubles the living space of our little bedroom suite. You now open the door to the once pathetic mess of cracked concrete and under the upstairs deck there is now a stylish barrier of corrugated galvanized metal. The sleek curving metal transforms the space into a cool post-industrial loft space in SoHo. In one corner, my grill, soon to be retired for the winter. In the other corner, our new dishwashing system that we hope will relieve Peter from the burden of doing the dishes in the shower stall. Stepping out towards the new brand new deck, please take a moment to admire the brick work that I did myself to cover up a former patch of dust and dirt. The deck, freshly stained reconstructed back fence, strategically positioned lighting and simple table and chairs create a bistro like effect. In my tradition of writing fake reviews of things that I make up myself, here's a review of Chez Durwood, my favorite new bistro:

The Frolicking Foodie
Last Tuesday I had the most remarkable experience at one of San Francisco's new underground restaurants, Chez Durwood. These small-scale eateries evoke the black market, family-run restaurants of Havana or Budapest before the fall of the wall but this one is in Bernal Heights and is run by a delightful gay couple. You find Chez Durwood by word of mouth, a neighbor or Facebook friend who likes you enough to share their secret. I'm breaking protocol here, but I promised I would not divulge its location, a nondescript, tiny backyard behind a two flat Edwardian building that you enter from a brick path in what the City calls "unimproved space." Once inside, the host greets you and seats you at one of the four tables on a warmly stained redwood deck surrounded by heat lamps. What proceeds from that moment is basic, simple, and well worth the $100 per person ticket. Fussy eaters beware: There are no choices at Chez Durwood. After you walk in the door your only decision is whether to ask for seconds. We started with a glass of Kir Royale and a simple amouse bouche of sliced baguettes spread with tapenade. As a fan of things salty and bitter, I expected to enjoy my little taste but was more than pleastantly surprised to find that the tapenade had a subtle hint of preserved lemon in it. From this point, I knew the evening would not be just any old backyard barbecue. The next course was a simple roasted tomato soup partnered with a Hawley Viognier. Turns out the chef is also an organic farmer in Sonoma county and the tomatoes came from his harvest of heirlooms, slow roasted. After slurping up the soup, I was treated to a piece of local cod set on a bed of wilted arugula and fresh mint and a drizzle of meyer lemon jus. I still had some Viognier in my glass, but that did not discourage them from bringing a glass of Husch Renegade Sauvignon Blanc. The fish was great but the wine selection broke me of my resistance to Sauvignon Blanc. Fermented with wild yeast and aged in oak, Renegade has none of that cat pissy, eucalyptus and grape fruit tone that I find challenging. Renegade tasted like a Chardonnay with cajones and was the perfect partner to the fish. The next course was at first a bit jarring, but I rolled with the punches and thoroughly enjoyed wild boar chili over a goat cheese infused polenta. The wine pairing was a Meeker Barberian, a blend of Barbera and Zinfandel that is the Reese's Peanut Butter Cup (it was created by accident) of Big Red Wines that go well with game. Before dessert came, I had to take a deep breath and chat with my hosts. Turns out that Chez Durwood has a secret. Everything I ate was not cooked in a kitchen. It was cooked primarily in a bathroom (and a gas grill). A special bathroom equipped with a toaster oven, microwave and electric hot plate, but there was no Wolf range. I did not know whether to be impressed or disturbed. The dessert, paired with an Eric Ross Old Vine Zinfandel Port was a simple collection of roasted figs and pears grilled with bubbling hot topping mascarpone. To be honest, my evening at Chez Durwood did not make me want to give up on more elegant dining experiences. It's not Chez Panisse or Michael Minna. It's more like one of the best dinner you've ever had a friend serve you in his backyard. Isn't that worth $100?

Seasonal Effective Disorder

Years ago when the shadows of autumn would generate "that beautiful light"and the evening chill no longer came from the Pacific-fueled fog but from the Arctic Circle I would sink into a mild depression. Waking up from the lengthening night in the morning would require two hits of the snooze button. My workout routine would slow, adding a layer of blubber to my waistline in anticipation of the coming winter. Typically, a mild form of OCD would kick in, as I would obsessively flip to the weather page to calculate daily rate of diminishing hours of daylight.



Since moving to Ridgeback Mountain, I no longer suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder. The shortening days, the disquieting October heat waves, the eager anticipation of the Day of the Dead, all of this no longer sends me into a funk. Quite the opposite, actually. Every Autumn Peter and I suffer from incurable Seasonal Effective Disorder.



It's organic, but I don't think it's some kind of hypo-mania. It's fueled by the spirit of the harvest and the impending election not an imbalance of serotonin. As the days get shorter, Peter and I go into chore & task hyper- drive. Here's an example of a recent Sunday:



6:37am, awakened and noted with surprise that the dogs allowed us to sleep in

6:52am, sipped coffee in bed, watching re-runs of the Daily Show's election coverage

7:08am, started cataloging the day's chores

7:27am, opened the jumb cooler in the garage where the grenache noir has been fermenting for the past two weeks, removed my slippers, entered the cooler, and paced up and down to crush the grapes with my feet for the next half hour (count to twenty in place, shift position, count to twenty, shift position...)

7:57am: Hand strained the crushed grape juice/wine into plastic buckets...

8:34am: Washed my feet, noticing an unfortunate scratch on my foot

8:42am: Headed to the vegetable garden to plant starts of kale, broccoli, collards, and cauliflower. Contemplated pulling up the tomatoes, but instead considered whether or not I'll have time to make green tomato preserves the following weekend...

9:24am: Hop into the shower to attend to Wine Country Says No on 8 steering committee

12:17pm: Return home to join Peter as he organizes a pile of oak and manzanita in preparation for next weekend's firewood preparation.



I was exhausted and it was not even 1:00pm. The rest of the day included picking limes, par-boiling tomatoes and placing them in freeze bags, loading our legal wedding photos on to our computer and drafting a No on 8 fundraising email.



These days leading up to the "fall back" to Standard Time feel like a game of Beat-the-Clock. Before rain becomes a regular possibility, we are compelled to tend to the garden, the wood pile, and the pile of mason jars in the garage. Add an important election and the level of activity accelerates. The good news is that I no longer feel S.A.D. in October. The bad news is that I'm exhausted. I can't wait until those days in December or January when the rains don't stop and I spend my weekends napping in front of the fire (from wood chopped on Halloween), sipping pumpkin soup (from the pumpkins I harvested and roasted in October), and watching DVDs of television series I am too tired to stay up to watch.

Over the Summer Bridge

My home is picturesque. I eat very well. I have adventurous interactions with quaint and rustic town folk. I drink a lot of good wine. I am humbled by the changing seasons, unusual wild life I encounter on early morning walks, and the challenge of fixing things that break around the house. My life is truly enviable. Did I mention that I eat very well?

If you've ever read A Year in Provence or Under the Tuscan Sun or similar memoirs (or watched Martha Stewart), you know all about the exploits of expatriates or urban refugees who transplant themselves into rustic rural settings. Close your eyes...smell the discarded must of the vendange (grape harvest) rotting on the side of the road?...taste the freshly harvested eggplant roasting on the grill...imagine the colorful locals mocking the poor foreigner who doesn't know how to dig a well...

And then, if you're me, you stop to think and the word, "Yuck!" comes to mind. What a bunch of pompous narcissists crying out for attention. Look at my fabulous life! Why don't you make your own boar sausage and goat cheese?!! Why do you still buy frozen spinach?!!

Years ago, when we were in the midst of building Ridgeback Mountain I played around with the idea of a counter-memoir, a tongue in cheek response to Peter Mayle that would document my life in Cloverdale entitled, Over the Summer Bridge. Through the years, I've never gotten around to it. And recently I've figured out why. Cookinginthebathroom is actually the most sustained writing project I've ever engaged in. Good stories need conflict and struggle. Trying to cook dinner 18 inches from a toilet is filled with struggle. On the other hand, while life in Ridgeback Mountain is hard work, it's also blissful. It's even blissful when we find rattlesnakes in the bedroom.

So I'm ambivalent. I want to tell you about picking, hand-stemming and foot stomping seven buckets of grenache noir. I want to share with you the experience of firing up our new brick pizza oven. I want to report the story of Guy the toothless landscape supply guy. But I don't want to sound like a pompous narcissist or some kind of Martha Stewart want-to-be.

Odds are I won't be able to help myself. When it's time to make kumquat jelly again, I'll be letting you know about it (even if I don't make it in the bathroom).

Grilling Confessions

Your imaginations have gone wild with images of my hulking frame wedged between the shower and the toilet as I whipped up gourmet meals, my right hand stirring a sauce on the hot plate, my left hand reaching into the toaster oven to flip a pork chop, my right foot washing vegetables in the shower, my left foot balancing precariously on a bathmat, the two ridgebacks perching themselves outside the bathroom door waiting for falling food scraps, and Peter cheering me on, eagerly awaiting his dinner while sipping a glass of wine.

I have a confession. It's only like that on Wednesday nights.

On other nights, I often step out of the bathroom and into the backyard. The set up is rustic, it's hardly a designer kitchen, but I am technically not cooking in the bathroom. I'm cooking dinner on a gas grill that sits under the upstairs deck in a dark corner of the pine-needle covered patch of concrete and dirt that serves as our backyard.

The principles of cooking in the bathroom remain intact. Simple ingredients. Minimal prep time. A spirit of creative experimentation. Tasty food. The grill, I have found, can do much more than rib eyes and burgers. Here are some of my recent favorites:

Grilled Romaine
Two (or more) heads of romaine lettuce
Olive oil
Salt
Parmesan or other cheese

Brush the Romaine with the olive oil and sprinkle with salt
Place on a grill that is at medium-low heat (around 400-450)
Cook for about 3-4 minutes then flip until the romaine has grill marks but don't allow it to wilt or burn
Remove from the grill, cut off the ends, and chop in 3-4 pieces, depending on the size of the heads
Toss each head in its own bowl with your preferred cheese (you can also use some balsamic vinegar)

Grilled Figs
Slice some figs in half
Stick some roquefort or goat cheese on the figs
Place on a cookie sheet or directly on the grill for 4-5 minutes until the cheese is bubbly
Serve as appetizers

Hot Pockets!
Ratatouille
One eggplant, peeled and chopped into large cubes
One zucchini, chopped in large chunks
Two tomatoes, chopped in large chunks
One medium onion, chopped in large chunks
One clove garlic, chopped
Some fresh basil leaves
Salt & pepper
Olive oil

Toss the ingredients in a bowl
Place in a large piece of aluminum foil
Wrap up tightly, sealing all sides
Cook on a medium grill for 15-20 minutes
Open the pocket into the bowl you used to mix the vegetables and serve

You can adapt the hot pockets for potatoes (use rosemary); vegetable curry (add some tofu and some red peppers and toss in some curry powder); or asparagus (place some sliced meyer lemons in the pocket).

Lamb Meatballs
1 1/2 lb ground lamb
2 cloves garlic, chopped
1/4 cup chopped mint leaves
Chili pepper
1/2 cup bread crumbs
1 egg

Mix all ingredients together with your hands and form into balls
Place on the grill and cook, turning frequently until well done, about 12 minutes in total


Grilled Chicken Stew
One chicken, cut into pieces (I like to split the breasts in two)
Two onions, cut in half
Six figs (or pitless dates)
Red wine
Salt and pepper

Grill the chicken until almost done, about 8-10 minutes per side
Grill the onions until browned, about 5-6 minutes per side
Throw the chicken into an oven proof dish, along with the fruit and the onions
Add salt and pepper
Cover in red wine
Cover the pot and let cook on the grill for another 30-40 minutes

A Question of Zucchini

For the first couple of years at Ridgeback Mountain, my otherwise green thumb turned black when it came to cultivating the usually prolific green summer squash. Did I over-water or under-water? Was the plant impacted by the notoriously toxic oak trees shading the eastern corner of the garden? Remembering the zucchini plant in my childhood vegetable garden, I had anxiously anticipated an abundance of fruits that grow from finger-size to forearm-size in a blink of an eye. Instead of a summer of stuffed squash blossoms, ratatouille, stuffed zoocanoes, and boldly experimental zucchini bread, all I could grow were withered brown squash that looked like they should be soaked in formaldehyde and displayed in specimen jars.

Eventually, I made the adjustments in plant positioning and watering routine to generate satisfyingly abundant crops. One year, I went overboard and added a round ronde de nice, and a yellow patty pan. Since then, I've stuck to one plant. And one is enough.

With my zucchini cultivation under control, in recent years I have turned my energy to turning my abundant crop into interesting, creative food. There are entire cook books devoted to zucchini. I only own one. Clotilde Dusoulier turned her food blog Chocolate & Zucchini into a cookbook and a life as a full-time food writer. Her zucchini carpaccio changed my attitude towards both zucchini and my mandoline. Merci Clotilde. While I love cook books as reading material, I look to them for guidelines and inspiration more than prescriptive directions. After years of scanning what Molly Katzen, Alice Waters, and Rick Bayless and countless others have to say about zucchini, I divide zucchini recipes into four categories:

1. Zucchini as Cheese Delivery Mechanism


2. Zucchini as Color, Background & Texture


3. Zucchini as Moisture-Giving Goodness


4. Zucchini as Star of the Show

Zucchini as Cheese Delivery Mechanism
You're kidding yourself if you like stuffed zucchini for the zucchini. Let's face it, when you hollow out an overgrown zucchini and stuff it with breadcrumbs, vegetables, and cheese you're making a healthy version of a pizzone (you know, that calzone meets pizza thing). There's nothing to be ashamed of. Add more cheese. Try some fontina along with the mozzarella.

Here's a simple recipe that is so easy you can do it in the bathroom:

Zucchini Lasagna Lite

Ingredients:
Zucchini, thinly sliced along the width of the squash, four to six inches long
2-3 Tomatoes, sliced
2 cups grated mozzarella
1/2 cup grated parmesan
A little olive oil
Fresh basil, chopped


Coat the bottom of a small baking dish with olive oil
Place a layer of zucchini slices on the bottom of the dish
Cover in mozzarella
Add a layer of tomatoes
Sprinkle with basil

Repeat once or twice more, depending on the thickness of your slices and the depth of your dish
Cover final layer with parmesan

Bake uncovered, for about 20 minutes in a 400 degree oven (the toaster oven works fine)
Serve when bubbling hot

(Variation: substitute thinly sliced zucchini for noodles in a full-fledged lasagne with layers of ricotta, etc...)

Zucchini as Color, Background & Texture

Zucchini is expected in rattatouille and minestrone, but it also works in enchiladas, couscous stew, and Thai curry. You can let it soften up and absorb the flavors of the stew or stir fry it and let it add some crunch. In all of these applications, the zucchini is at once essential and incidental. It completes the dish, but does not take center stage. It's like a great supporting character in a movie. It's that bit of viognier in a Northern Rhone Syrah. There are a few keys to using zucchini in this way:

1) Everything in moderation. The perfect minestrone is not zucchini soup. It's a wonderful balance of textures, colors and flavors where every spoonful is a garden of surprise. You might feel like you have more zucchini than God, but resist the urge to unload it and keep your ingredients in balance.

2) Use your knifing skills. Rounds. Sticks. Cubes. Chunky. Paper thin. Think about how the two tones of flesh and skin will enhance the visual appeal of your dish.

3) Avoid zucchini mush. Even in a soup or stew when you want to have the zucchini soften up and soak up the flavors of the stock, don't add it too early. Let the tomatoes disolve. Allow the Eggplant to soften. Then, add the zucchini.

Zucchurrini (Thai-style vegetable curry)
1 small Acorn squash
One medium onion, chopped
One red pepper, chopped
One jalapeno or serrano pepper, chopped
Grated fresh ginger to taste (at least a tbsp)
Olive oil
One zucchini, chopped in sticks
One can coconut milk
Thai basil, chopped
Chili powder to taste
Two tomatoes, quartered

Quarter the Acorn squash, steam it for about 30 min (or bake in the toaster oven at 350 for 45 min) Set aside and allow to cool.
Sautee the onion with the chopped peppers in some olive oil until the onions are slightly browned and starting to carmelize
Add the ginger and sautee for an addition three to four minutes
Add the zucchini at high heat for three to four minutes
Add the coconut milk and basil, bring to a simmer, adding a cup or two of water to reach your desired consistency
Put the chopped tomatoes into bowls, spoon the stew over the tomatoes and sprinkle chili pepper as garnish





Zucchini as Moisture-Giving Goodness

"These brownies are so moist!" exclaims the unsuspecting consumer. "They're zucchini brownies," states the wise and wiley cook. Opportunities for smug revelations about ingredient selection aside, zucchini is an excellent moisturizing agent for a wide range of savory and sweet baked goods. At this moment, I have three zucchinis the length of my forearm and the width of my calves awaiting their demise. Here's one of my favorite ways to get rid of them:

EZucchini pancackes
One (or two medium size) over-sized zucchini, grated
1 egg
Instant pancake mix

Savory option:
1-2 cups grated cheddar cheese
Chopped herbs (basil or parsley)

Put the grated zucchini in a large mixing bowl
With a fork, mix the egg into the zucchini
Add enough pancake mix to coat the zucchini (the amount will vary according to the level of moisture in the zucchini)

If doing the savory option, add the cheese and herbs and mix thoroughly.

Spoon the batter in rounds on to a skillet (non-stick if you have it, otherwise melt butter in it)
Cook them like pancakes, but don't be afraid to flatten them a bit at first before the first flip

Zucchini as the Star of the Show

Occasionally, zucchini gets to stand alone and shine on its own. A creamy zucchini soup. A perfectly fried tempura. The aforementioned carpaccio. Combined with some tasty fat (cream, hot safflower oil, extra virgin olive oil) zucchini's subtle richness emerges. Here's one that screams summertime:

Zlaw

Grate one or two zucchini

Place in a collander and drain excess water

Toss the zucchini with salt, olive oil, vinegar and chopped basil leaves

In Defense of Marscapone

Admit it. You have an attitude about marscapone. Maybe it's because you're counting calories. Maybe it's because you confuse it with marzipan. Maybe it's because since Mussolini conquered Abysinnia you still mistrust things Italian. Whatever the reason, let it go. Embrace the creamy goodness. Celebrate that it can enhance both the savory and the sweet. Let go of your fears about its paraoxical smooth, yet solid consistency. Liberate yourself to a food that works with the word "dollop" better than any other.

Once I accepted that marscapone had to be a part of my life, I have never been happier. Oh, and it's a perfect ingredient for the simplicity required while cooking in the bathroom:

Pasta al Bagno
Boil some penne
Chop three or four heirloom tomatoes
Drain the pasta
In the same pot that you used to cook the pasta, toss the tomatoes with the pasta and a healthy dollop of marscapone
Serve while the pasta is still warm

Butternut Buddies
Sliice a butternut squash in half and remove the seeds
Place in the toaster oven for 45 minutes at 400 degrees
When the squash is fork-able and slightly browned, add a healthy dollop of mascarpone in the hole where the seeds used to be
Return to the toaster oven for a few minutes, until the cheese is bubbling and golden brown
Eat directly from the squash shell or scoop it out and toss over pasta

Broiled Peaches
Slice two peaches in half
Remove the pit
Broil the peaches in the toaster oven for 3-4 minutes until slightly brown around the edges
Spoon a dollop of marscapone into the peach pit's cavity
Broil in the toaster oven for an additional 2-3 minutes until cheese is bubbling & golden brown

Summer Fruit Salad
Slice or chop a mix of nectarines, peaches, apricots, asian pears... whatever is fresh and to your liking
In a bowl, toss the fruit with a dollop of marscapone