Priscilla

A piece of so-called London broil which had been marinating in soy, mirin, sesame oil, sliced shallot, big handful of chopped garlic. Crustified in a very hot cast iron pan outside on the butane burner, sliced thinly on the diagonal. Remaining marinade simmered, reduced. Spinach seasoned with sesame spinach-seasoning packet. Carrot batons simmered in soy & sake & raw sugar, with a sizeable hit of Japanese mixed pepper. My own pickled napa, little soy sauce over for those who like that. Steamed rice from the old cooker. Cold sake.

This discussion piqued my memory of a similar, delicious dish I made years ago from a recipe of the aforementioned Charles Perry. It appeared in the LA Times in 1997, reprinted from a 1984 book. "The Eastern Mediterranean is not rich in fish, and the Egyptians, Lebanese and Syrians cannot boast a highly developed seafood cuisine. One sign is that few of their recipes call for a particular fish. However, they do have one spectacular specialty baked in rich, spicy tahineh sauce. The recipe is at least 1,000 years old (before red pepper was known, the spice was mustard). Adding dill is an Egyptian touch." (From Totally Hot: The Ultimate Hot Pepper Cookbook by Michael Goodwin, Charles Perry and Naomi Wise. ) SAMAK BI-TAHINEH (Fish in Hot Tahineh Sauce) 1 1/2 cups chopped onion 1/2 cup olive oil 2 pounds fish fillets 4 medium garlic cloves 1 1/2 cup tahineh 2 teaspoons salt 2 teaspoons cayenne pepper 3/4 cup fresh lemon juice 1/2 cup water Cooked rice 2 teaspoons dill weed Put onion in skillet with olive oil and saute over low heat until onion is golden brown, about 15 minutes. Remove onion with slotted spoon and drain. Fry fish fillets in remaining olive oil until cooked through, about 10 minutes, turning 1/2 way through. (Alternatively, fish can be baked in greased baking dish 10 minutes per inch of thickness.) In small bowl crush garlic. In mixing bowl, combine garlic, tahineh, salt, cayenne, lemon juice and water. Stir until entirely mixed and thickened. Add onions. Place fish in greased baking dish, pour sauce over fish and bake at 350 degrees 20 minutes. Serve fillets over rice, pouring any excess sauce over rice. Sprinkle with dill. Makes 6 servings. Relatedly, after reading this discussion, Charles Perry said: "Maybe you could pass on my opinion that samak tari has BOTH senses, fresh fish and moist fish. Because of the theory of the humors, which dominated medieval medical thinking, people feared that fresh/moist fish (samak tari) would be harmful to the diner because it was too 'watery.' So cookbooks contain descriptions of salting fish to remove water before cooking it. "For this reason, 'salted fish' doesn't necessarily mean fish that's been salted until it's hard as a rock, as we would expect. It may mean fish that's been salted just enough to ameliorate its wateriness, which would make it just a mildly treated fresh fish, by our standards. [And, CP BOOK NEWS!!!] "By the way, I have another medieval cookbook translation coming out. Kitab al-Tabikh, the 13th-century book by al-Baghdadi which was the basis of Kitab Wasf al-At'ima al-Mu'tada, was translated into English by A.J. Arberry in 1939. I've gone to the original manuscript (now held at the Suleymaniye Library, Istanbul) and made a fresh translation. It turns out Arberry made a great number of embarrassing mistakes (I really pull his pants down about it in an appendix), and on top of that the poor guy was working from a flawed published text. This new translation corrects all that. "It will appear in Petits Propos Magazine soon, and then Prospect Books will reissue it as a short book. My translation has also been translated into Turkish and will be published in Yemek ve Kultur magazine, Istanbul."

I love the pix of burgers too -- among liking all the pix. Yesterday, 100ish rather than 103. Luxury! Stopped to chat with a neighbor, quickly it developed that she and her husband were coming to dinner. Fortunately, we had been on our way out to forage for ingredients at the time. Good-looking skirt steak, a good thing to find. Fresh tortillas, the makings for fresh green salsa, guacamole, crumbly cotijo cheese, nice big clamshells of blueberries. Steak put to marinate in I know not what by the man of the house. A pitcher & a back-up of sangria-type mixture of also I know not what, for the same reason. When it's hot I don't ask as many questions, clearly. Did not stop me from gratefully quaffing said mixture. The marinated meat grilled over a hot fire and then cut thinly across the grain, for tacos, with everything. Lovely evening, not too hot for candles for the first time all week. Sat at the table on the promontory and watched the no-longer-full moon rise over the hillside, eating and talking in profusion. [A short magic interlude as the 13-year-old tried out some new stuff, (mentalism!), but also revisited old, including up-close sleight of hand (my fave).] Afterwards, (in the homemade frozen treat category running like wildfire here through Dinner!) sumptuous blueberry sorbet, so icy pretty, so icy good, so blueberry, a collaborative effort of the two males and the old Simac.

Got a good one this week, R.S.V.P.: Menus for Entertaining from People Who Really Know How, by Nan Kempner, who died recently. She was already ill when profiled in Vanity Fair some months before, April's issue I think. The article showcased her funny, self-deprecating personality, and had a nice scene of her longtime cook serving lunch. She was always my favorite of the handful of socialites said to be the models for Tom Wolfe's social x-rays, and her fashion sense (she was most famous for being an incredible clotheshorse) was absolute perfection, mixing the cream of couture with street-derived items in a fearless, influential way. ANYway, this book, which is part Lifestyles of the Rich & Famous and part VF photo essay, has some very good menus from the cooks and chefs of Mrs. Kempner's friends. I also appreciate seeing the homes, some absolutely gauche, and others decorated with remarkable good taste. There is a cold soup, a puree of raw green ingredients mostly, from I ferget which friend's cook, that I'll be making this 100-degree weekend.

In a food-handling certification course I took, the instructor told us she always used a straw in a restaurant, to avoid contact with the rim of any glass. Saliva residue from previous patrons was one risk, she said, but also pointed out how glasses, both dirty ones being bussed and clean ones for set-up, are often in grabbed in groups by their rims, in sequence, by the same bare hands. She also did not approve of bag o' salad.

Priscilla what is clarissa squash?? ← Hi LMF, Clarissa is what some vendors at my local farmer's markets call a slightly teardrop-shaped pale green stripey zucchini type summer squash. Some also call it Mexican squash. (I've also seen a similar squash labeled Middle Eastern squash at the Middle Eastern market.) Among summer squashes it's a favorite.

I'll take it!

One box would do me.

Inspiring photos and menus, again, up there above. Last evening, nice little lamb loin chops on the old Weber, marinated briefly in olive oil and brushed with more of the same from a rosemary brush while cooking. Clarissa squash, sliced and grilled before the lamb, cut up and stirred into risotto. Nice crispy salad mix dressed with olive oil and Balsamic. Il Fornaio ciabatta. Cold pink wine. Icy sparkling water.

Veal skirt steak? My brain begins to race! How do they prepare it at the restaurant?

Adam, thank you for yet another whirlwind visual treat. Did you get to try the goat cheese from those cute goats eating all those wild herbs? How was the meal you cooked received? I'll bet they loved it.

Sunday evening, 100-degree day, actually 98 I think but still, experimentally bunged a couple of tri-tips on the old Weber rotisserie for the first time. (Tri-tips we have historically grilled.) Turned out to be a very good method. The meat was destined to be thinly sliced and used in tacos. Fresh green salsa, corn tortillas heated on the grill stacked wrapped in foil to fully steam, homemade refried beans, & c. Cactus salad. Coupla icy margaritas for the adults, an attempt at temperature adjustment.

Malawry, have you looked at the John Boos stuff? There are 36"-high worktables in both the residential and restaurant sections.

Thursday, Bastille Day, a 100-degree Bastille Day, poulet frites. Chicken cooked on the old Weber rotisserie, having been sage-leafed under the skin and salted for a couple of days in advance. Proper frites. A big Caesar salad on which to land the chicken. Cold pink wine -- absolutely delicious Bergerac rose. Last evening, in honor of the season 8 premiere of "Stargate SG-1," I was served an excellent delicious juicy cheeseburger by the man of the house.

Saturday a beautiful whole Copper River salmon, fileted and grilled skin-side-down without turning, crispy skin-side landed on crispy dressed salad, La Brea Bakery baguette. Cold pink wine. Excellent -- best salmon so far this season. Looking forward to further exploration. Edited to put in a left-out r.

Malawry, this is all very exciting, from the new house to the teaching cooking to the future children at the table! My kitchen table is a thick beech butcher block slab on chunky tubular Ikea legs. (22 years ago when I bought it it had a beech trestle, which just took up too dang much space under there.) I really can't say enough about the wonderfulness of having a big old butcher block surface in the kitchen. It can take anything, it can do anything, and I love the look of butcher block, too. (The aesthetic appeal is totally subjective, of course.) I also tend to agree with SS and DtheC about table-height rather than bar-height ... but if you have a vision you must follow it! A big old farmhouse-style table is beautiful to look at, but seems like, for teaching purposes esp., having enough cutting boards for multiple students to work simultaneously on it would be cluttery. Will you be providing us your table story as it unfolds?

This gave me a laugh -- in our house "Tuscan" has come to be referred to as The Forbidden Word. An ongoing source of hilarity -- we vie to outdo one another finding the best instances of its (mis)use. ← I am curious - do you find Tuscan to be more misused than other Italian local cuisines? Around here I don't find that much labled 'Tuscan' in particular, but in the shadow of philly, red gravey is king. BTW - Is your icon the Stargate symbol for Earth ? Hehe how cool is that, I am totally into that series lately. ← The criminal misuse of Tuscan is only sometimes food-related -- our household ban on the term was actually fueled by the seemingly eightieth homeowner on various HGTV & related shows announcing they are seeking a "Tuscan villa" look for their kitchen, or their pool cabana, or their custom dog house. Food-wise, my husband and son and I were recently hilarified by a local supermarket chain's (Ralph's, in Southern California) majorly promoting its "Tuscan melons." Now, said melons may well be Italian in origin -- although I have my doubts, I did not investigate -- but to see the gigantic TUSCAN trumpeted all around on signs set us off. It's just another idle pastime, like watching for Jonathon Gold to use the word "fugue" in his restaurant reviews, or, "shatteringly crisp." Indeed, as Teal'c would say -- my avatar is the Earth chevron!

This gave me a laugh -- in our house "Tuscan" has come to be referred to as The Forbidden Word. An ongoing source of hilarity -- we vie to outdo one another finding the best instances of its (mis)use.

Yes, I think frisee with lardons is welcome anytime. It's a great late-night meal, and, as you say of course lunch & dinner. Never had it for breakfast but would not rule it out. Our current cold pink wine is an inexpensive Costieres de Nimes, packing quite a punch. There are few Southern California summer dinners it doesn't suit, at least in my house.

Last evening, salad of nice farmer's market frisee with bacon ... not slab bacon, so not true lardons, but thick-sliced and good nonetheless. Dressing made from the bacon fat + vinegar and seasoning, the whole shebang topped with the man of the house's perfect poached eggs. Excellent Il Fornaio ciabatta, saltylicious Tillamook butter. Cold pink wine. Just right.

Saturday a.m., on the way to the Irvine Farmer's Market, everybody ravenous. Lee's! The young workers all share a weird (though not negative) automaton-like disconnect; thanks to preprogrammed register buttons the job gets done. One sardine with x-x-jalapeno, one char siu, one cured pork. One typically luridly pink strawberry smoothie. Two Lee's cafes, their little propriety taken with cafe filtre. Aaah. As dinner planning continued apace, in fact renewedly, two baguettes to go were collected after eating. These were quickly complemented by farmer's market fruit & veg. And a nice wedge of Winchester Cheese's super-aged gouda. God Bless Lee's.

I loved this article! Years ago we detoured through Santa Maria on a trip north just to see what was what about this tri-tip tradition, and with the first sandwich we understood. We've been cooking it at home ever after, on the old Weber, fat cap-up for incredible self-bastage, after a little upside-down sizzle to get things moving. We love to serve it as tacos to a bunch of guests -- sliced thin right on the board, pile of hot fresh tortillas, big bowl of fresh salsa, red or green depending on what's fresh. Appropriate bev. The sort of thing of which summer evenings are made. (Tri-tip also makes excellent rich melty stew meat.)

Late late late here, too -- but after-meeting known-in-advance lateness. Nice homemade pizza, pesto and fresh mozz, cooked on the old pizza stone. Nice salad mix salad with balsamic & very good olive oil.

Good run of really good dinners, up there. Last evening, two well-seasoned chickens on the Weber rotisserie rig, one predestined to be future cold chicken, the other disjointed over thick grilled slices of an LBB Vienna loaf and served with the bread. Big salad mix salad with walnut oil vinaigrette, toasted walnuts, fresh goat cheese.

Cleanup concerns and a general aversion to one-use appliances was what kept me righteously -- foolishly, turns out -- avoiding electric juicers all those years. That Cuisinart attachment looks just about perfect, DtheC, esp. since the base unit you already own and use. Neatly avoids the one-use curse. For me, there are three levels of juicing need. The first, half a lemon or lime, for mayonnaise, say: I squeeze the half by hand directly into the mix, picking out seeds as necessary. Second, a couple of lemons' worth, for hummus e.g.: I use the wooden hand-held reamer over a poury-thing receptacle. And the third level, enough for blood-orange juice for cocktails or lemons for lemonade or limes for margaritas or Valencias for straight OJ, it's straight to electric. (I have largely overcome cleanup concerns in general; either everything can be bunged in the dishwasher, or the item in question doesn't add an onerous amount to all the OTHER stuff I'll be washing as I go along. Anything that doesn't earn its keep soon shows itself, and is eliminated. Are you listening, vintage Farberware rotisserie rig? I don't care how evocative you are!)