Margaret Pilgrim

Chard from the yard Sweet Italian sausage saute with potatoes, peppers, onions

This book is quirkily iconic. I bought it when it came out, got rid of it along the way and rebought a copy at a garage sale. Artichoke and crab recipes. Blum's crunch cake recipe. And one I have recently dusted off and trotted out at dinner parties to rave reviews, "Rumaki paté", an easy take on Trader Vic's signature appetizer. Pretty much THIS.

Side story. Many years ago I locked myself out of my car while parking behind my local super. I went into the fish department, closest to the door, and asked the fishmonger if he could help me break in. He brought out a long flexible boning knife and proceeded to do a fair number on the rubber window fittings before finally springing the lock. My husband shook his head and reminded me that this man had been a prisoner of war from Italy, held at the Presidio here during WWII, Didn't bust out of the brig then, nor into cars since. ETA Here is a story of a similarly imprisoned Italian who married a relative-in-law. Sweet.

The Sunset Cookbook, 1960, is a treasury of West Coast flavors and ingredients.

I'm with your father! This menu and execution is truly over-the-top in pleasure giving.

Both poached eggs and rye as a bread option were on the menu. Probably, or obviously, not frequent orders but not just an off-menu whim on my part. Realize also that in normal times tourists and their tastes bring major chunk of change to these small towns and businesses.

Totally indulgent wok of "greasy noodles" = ham, green onion, yellow onion, noodles, soy. Kiss of Sriracha. Two bowls. Stuffed but happy..

re caps or hats indoors, I hear your angst, Captain. But I am so old that I realize that my standards and expectations are quaint. What is, is. And I may as well enjoy it.

Another poaching story with a better ending, and one of my favorite self-indulgent memories. I went downtown to pick up something for husband and found that the shop didn't open for another hour. Damn! And purple smoke mad since this area held nothing of interest...until I saw Zuni Cafe across the street. YES! I walk in, just like i had breakfast at Zuni every day, claim the table in the sunny window, order my standard...poached eggs on rye toast..., pick up a copy of the daily rag from the window seat and purr like a kitten when my beautiful plate arrives.

Nevada City! Hangtown, I'd be tempted to order the fry. Which reminds me that oysters are one thing I'm kinda missing in sequestration and grocery delivery.

Poached eggs are my ultimate comfort food. But sometimes they're a story. I was breakfasting alone in a small gold country town, perched at the counter of the town cafe, the only person in the house without a baseball cap, On. So I order my poached eggs on rye toast. Waitress looks me in the eye and says something like, "Riiiiight." Fry cook gets the order and turns around to see who was the kook/jerk who placed the order, guesses me. And I wait. And wait. And wait while he boils water on the back of the grill while flipping pancakes and turning eggs. I finally got my plate and gave him a thumbs up thanks. But not sure that that sufficed for the hammer I had thrown in his breakfast machine.

Indeed. St. Benoit is why God invented cows. Strauss heavy cream is in a class of its own.

Intentionally left last night's pork chop pan unwashed -> homemade baguette grilled in porky jus.

Asparagus / green goddess, pork chop

My daily uniform is jeans and sweater or t-shirt. Not jeans, sweaters or t-shirt I might wear to a casual gathering. When, like last hour before a dinner party, I have to man the piano in concert clothes, I wear an apron. Or more usually a chefs' jacket or smock.

One of my favorite Italian memories was the afternoon cafe freddo. Absolutely not the frappe you get when you Google it, but "back in the day". a cold second extraction of used espresso grounds. It certainly had no milk, and I can't remember if it was sweetened, probably it was. But at times when I wanted something cold and not alcoholic, it was lovely.

Could it not also be done stovetop? i.e., why melt/brown butter in the oven except to use the pre-heat heat?

Rethink how repurposed need to resemble the original. I'm not 16 anymore, a different being but not necessarily less.

This begs the question how best to scramble an egg in an abelskiver pan. Sure, one can imagine and suggest a number of off-product suggestions, but might it also be as helpful to suggest a different pan?

I thought you were going to ask, "What time is dinner?"

Sweetie, granted I'm a shiksa from California but even I know that it ain't an egg cream with Hershey's syrup. Oatmilk, well, that's another stretch, but without Fox's U-Bet, it just ain't an egg cream. Maybe you call it frothy Hershey oatmilk?

"carnitas" tacos...were really fried up pork rillettes. Kissing cousins.

I used the cold oil method last night. Fries were CRISP and remained so to the last straw. 3/8" cut, BTW.

Gorgeous. Lobster should never get farther from the ocean than this.