Quinoa Delight

Wild Quinoa from Raw Inspirations Blog

I recently hosted my gluten-free goddess friend (good friend who is now celebrating a gluten-free diet) for some quinoa goodness. She had wanted me to teach her a favorite quinoa recipe (which, in my kitchen, usually consists of a unique conglomeration of fresh produce, spices and sauces that can be found in my fridge & cabinets opposed to navigating a recipe) so I decided to try a new one.

Drawing inspiration from a few weeks prior when I had shared a recipe with her from one of my favorite sites, 101 Cookbooks, I decided to adapt it to fit our quinoa order. You can find the original recipe here.

We began chopping up beautiful broccoli florets, 2 red apples, red onion (among the tears!) and shalots to crisp. In the meantime, I took a short-cut to candying pecans (recipe calls for walnuts but when I hear “candied” I think pecans) heating them in a small frying pan with just a bit of melted butter and sugar. I cooked the quinoa alongside in a medium saucepan (concocting a 2:1 water to dry quinoa ratio, bringing to a boil, then simmering for 15 minutes).

Onto the dressing! Thankfully since I had bought the almond butter only one day prior, it still yielded the quarter-cup that the recipe called for (I have an exorbitant weakness for peanut and almond butters and would eat them both with a spoon three meals a day if I had my way…..so I don’t usually keep them in the house).  Almond butter, a garlic clove (mashed into a paste), sea salt, lemon juice, honey, and olive oil went into the mix, all ingredients I love and so my heightened craving went into overload.

At first taste, I found the dressing to taste like a lemony-almond-butter with an aftertaste of garlic and olive oil. OK. Not great. Oh sure, I hadn’t put in the two tablespoons of hot water, but I figured that was just a consistency courtesy to make the dressing more pourable.

I’ll never underestimate H-2-O again.

Upon adding jut that humble amount of water, the goop lightened its color by a few shades and achieved a graceful, tahini-grade composition. Taste. Again. OMG. The ingredients had blended together seemlessly, better than a late 90′s boy band…a good one (OK, wrong analogy).

I added about a quarter of the dressing plus juice from a half of a lemon (squeezed by my trusty lemon squeezer instrument bought in the Dallas airport on a layover- score!) into the quinoa as I fluffed it and it took on a very slightly creamy quality. I then padded the quinoa on to my favorite serving plate (also from the Dallas airport, same layover, yes I’m serious) before tossing the broccoli, apples, red onion, crispy shalots & candies pecans with the remainder of the dressing and hoisting it all atop the quinoa bed.

It was a success. All of the dressing’s flavors paired with the crunch of the raw veggies and fruits with the giving softness of the hearty quinoa was a match. We finished off every last bite with the help of another girlfriend who joined us. Now, the Incas thought quinoa to be sacred and deemed it chisaya mama, or the mother of all grains. Surely it was this sacred power that gave us the willpower to stay up until 2:30 am chatting away.

I’m sure it wasn’t the wine.

Love Soup

On a flight over Christmas I came across an article by Anna Thomas, known as the “Soup Epicure.” I jotted her name down in my journal along with some notes on her recipes. She wrote about food in a wonderful story-telling manner, creating a memoir about making soup in her tiny apartment for friends and celebrating seasonal produce.

This week, upon researching more of her soup endeavors, I found that she is apparently most well-known for her “Love Soup” which, topped with mascarpone, ancho chili puree, pine nuts and lightly toasted pumpkin seeds, I think it sounds worthy of its name.

I like Anna’s confidence, and what struck me most about the article I first came across was how she closed it: “Dishes don’t have to match, good food doesn’t need to be fussy, and there is always room for friends.”

Window Dining

Living in San Francisco, my visual appetite never feels shorted, as I am constantly hit with breathtaking views, colorful characters, and art (whether that be the architecture that surrounds me, the trees on Hyde, or a more traditional form).

I cherish my morning walks to work, whether they consist of the full adventure of 1.8 miles by foot from Russian Hill to SOMA or a hop on the cable car or a bus and then a brisk 15-minute walk to my office from Union Square. I have a particular fondness for the quintessentially San Francisco Gump’s store on Post street, as the shop’s feel is more that of a museum, and their window displays always tease something luxe to be desired.

Recently, Gump’s windows boasted a few elegant, white china lines with playful backdrops divulging proverbs and quotes about dining. I couldn’t resist but commemorate the occasion:

Richard Whately

The first traditional proverb and quote by English logician (what a fab word), economist, and theologian Richard Whately speak to the vulnerability that comes with a hungry tummy…..

“Never argue at the dinner table, for the one who is not hungry always gets the best of the argument.” – Richard Whately (1 February 1787 – 8 October 1863)

“Never ask a favor of someone until they have had their dinner.” – Traditional Proverb

Oscar Wilde

The next two by Irish writers Oscar Wilde and John Doran speak to the nurturing effect (whether arousing forgiveness or an open heart) that a good dinner can have on a person. Centuries later, I think they still ring true.

“A good dinner sharpens wit, while it softens the heart.” – John Doran (March 11, 1807 – January 25, 1878)

“After a good dinner one can forgive anybody, even one’s own relations.” – Oscar Wilde (October 16, 1854 – November 30, 1900)

Women Love (To Eat) Flowers

There are few more wonderful things than a gift of fresh flowers; there’s something old-fashioned and simple about the gesture and it is obviously a tradition that has stayed around in many cultures. There is a beautiful Chinese proverb that states, “Flowers leave some of their fragrance in the hand that bestows them.” I love that thought, as it implies that the exchange of these elegant items heightens a sensitivity to the parties involved on either end.

Flowers are often the inspiration for my artwork, revealing themselves in abstract themes, and I can’t help but wonder if that habit stems from my early years of cultivating them and yes, eating them too.

Now, this isn’t a I-ate-dirt-as-a-kid story, but instead my-Mama-and-I-had-a-glorious-edible-flower-garden story. When I was four years old, we moved into a house that had two overgrown plots in the backyard. Seeing the potential, my Mama insisted we reinvent the space to create two gardens: one for vegetables, and one for a wildflower mix of edibles. I remember tossing the multicolored seed mix with abandon over the fresh dirt and investigating the package to wonder what would come up where.

Soon enough, we had a thick mix of Johnny Jump-Ups, Nasturtiums, Pansies, and other brilliantly colored jewels reaching for the sun. It was such a newfound joy to be standing on a stool helping to make a vibrant salad and hear, “Honey, will you go pick out some flowers for the center?”

The Nasturtiums were always my favorite: bright orange and corn yellow petals that felt like raw silk and added just a slight bitter edge to mixed greens. Always creating meals with lots of healthy color, it almost felt like cheating to put such an element of beauty to top it all off.

Gotta love it when you can have your bouquet (and eat it, too).

(Here’s an informative source I came across on edible flowers…bon appetit!)

Mo Beta’ (Carotene)

When (author unknown) came up with the  phrase “Everything’s bigger in Texas,” I don’t think he or she was referring to carrots…

Found this lovely at the Ferry Building Plaza Farmer’s Market last fall, cut it into slabs that more closely resembled sweet potatoes than its true identity, drizzled olive oil, chopped parsley and red pepper flakes, and the sweetness came out all on its own.

Point California!

For the Love of Crab

Crab season is upon us in the Bay Area, otherwise known as my-personal-heaven. Crab hits a particular childhood note with me, as the site of it sends me back to our little white leather dining room table covered with newspapers, fresh steamed crab, petite bowls of melted butter, and plenty of lemon. My parents enjoyed a few bottles of wine and we let our otherwise sensible dining room etiquette overlook eating with our hands and double dipping in butter butter butter.

Now an adult and living just a few blocks from San Francisco’s Fisherman’s Wharf, I planned a crab date with my (soon-to-be-newlywed!) friends Alicia & Jim. While as a child I’d left the crab buying up to my parents, I was (silly perhaps but nonetheless) excited to pick out my own.

We walked the main aisle of the Wharf, where loads of tourists, rows of whole crabs, shrimp cocktail, oysters and mussels were lined up before us, and you can peer through the nearby restaurant windows to the view of the fishing boats that no doubt delivered the goods at dawn that morning.

I peaked into a case of seemingly-just-steamed bright coral crabs and pointed, “these look good!”

My fellow foodie Alicia wagged her finger once in my direction, “no no no, we go for the live ones. She glanced around at her options, then approached an older man at Nick’s Lighthouse stand and sauntered in a low voice, “we’re looking for the live ones.”

The fisherman gave Jim and I a knowing nod and motioned for us to come around to the backside of the stand. He soon appeared with a large box filled with blue-brown-white-olive toned crabbies, clanking awkwardly.  Not knowing what our next move should be, and suddenly self-councious about our fingertips, our fisherman (we’ll call him Nick) reappeared and effortlessly began digging through the box.

Nick said gruffly as he picked up the first candidate, “I’ll pick out some good ones for you. You have to feel right here,” he squeezed what I would call the belly of the crab firmly with his thumb, “you gotta feel here to make sure it’s full which means there’s a lot of meat. You want a lot of meat.”

“So you pick a crab like you pick a man?!” I exclaimed unabashedly. Made sense to me.

Nick selected a suitable trio, and off the went into the huge concrete vat of boiling water.

Perhaps fifteen minutes later (and a seeming eternity as we politely sipped our Heinekens and couldn’t stop peaking over to the boiling barrel to see if our lunch was ready), Nick fished out our crustaceans with the world’s most fabulous (and hard core) strainer–now with that I could summon a whole batch of homemade raviolis in one snatch. Tapping our impatient feet and doting over Franklin, Alicia and Jim’s too-adorable-baby-puppy–who was also experiencing his first trip to the wharf I might add, we waited while Nick carefully cracked and cleaned our three wins.

Deciding on a nearby outside metal table, sans the newspaper but with an equal love of the feast, we eagerly sat down to conquer the task before us.

And, it was as good as I always remember it to be.

Pink Martini for Dinner, Anyone?

Happy New Year! I had the joy of welcoming 2010 with one of my favorite bands, Pink Martini, as they vivified the old art deco Arlene Schnitzer concert hall in downtown Portland (Oregon). My Mama and I had seen them numerous times before, and often opted for a festive “pink martini” cosmopolitan to mark the event in the lobby before the show. This time, sharing a Jameson on the rocks, we ventured in to see our old friends.

Pink Martini formed in 1994 when China Forbes and Thomas Lauderdale (who met while studying literature & painting at Harvard), put some tunes together to create an opening act for the Del Rubio Triplets who were then playing benefit concerts all over Portland. Thomas Lauderdale had been involved in local politics and sought to provide more spunk in the music that rallied at fundraisers for progressive causes such as civil rights, affordable housing, the environment, libraries, public broadcasting, education and parks. Bravo, Thomas.

He had flown in the Del Rubio Triplets to add some spice to the mix, but then added the real flavor himself.

Allegedly dressed to the nines in a Betsy Johnson cocktail dress, Thomas Lauderdale made quite a splash alongside the innately sexy China, and thereafter the two began writing songs together (the first being “Sympathique,” which they scribbled the lyrics for on a cocktail napkin at Portland’s Blue Hour after chatting it up with some nearby seated French Canadians to perfect the French lyrics). Their first CD (named after their first song) made a debut in 1997.

The enchanted duo has since expanded to a full breath of talented musicians (now reaching a solid twelve!) and are known internationally as the “little orchestra”, (humbly) boasting gold albums in France, Canada, Greece and Turkey. The diverse backgrounds of their band members bring in musical influences from all over the world and they have created songs in Croatian, English, Spanish, French, Italian, Portuguese, Japanese, Arabic, Turkish and Greek. Now there’s a mouthful.

I no-less-complicatedly describe them to friends as “bossa-nova-y, salsa-y, a little big band-y and well, they just make you want to dance (whether meringue or a waltz).”

But beyond their bongos and slide guitars, I love the honesty of the music they produce. The melodies are romantic and infinitely optimistic. While they often will reinvent a song from the 1930′s (Carmen Miranda’s “Tempo Perdido”), 1970′s, or even the 1920′s (“Tea for Two”), their music also relays simple, modern reflections on life: “Hey Eugene!” was written by China about a boy she met at a party who never called her and so proves a playful poke; “Lily” was written about a friend’s boisterous dog whose relationship with her owner paralleled one of a mischievous coquette. The common bind throughout all of their songs is an upbeat energy and ingrained sense of celebration. I love seeing them in concert because their diverse beats appeal to such a realm of folks: there’s hipster college kids to my right and 80-year-old sweethearts reliving a first date to my left. Their music somehow bring about a flurry of nostalgia even if it’s a song you’ve never heard.

It is for this reason that Pink Martini is always my go-to when having friends and loved ones over for dinner. I like starting with the string-instrument rush of “Let’s Never Stop Falling in Love” (wherein China suggests “I know a falling star can’t fall forever, But let’s never stop falling in love”….that sounds about right to me), the comic relief and sexy swing of “Hey Eugene” and the reviving “Cante y Dance” (“sing and dance” in Portuguese, which you seem to receive via osmosis despite the language barrier).

It’s when I’m surrounded by friends or family, and sharing good food, that my favorite quote by Brian Andres rings true: “There are things you do because they feel right & they make no sense & they may make no money & it may be the real reason we are here: to love each other & to eat each other’s cooking & say it was good.”

Their songs provide an appropriate background soundtrack to that truth.