WOOT!
I’ve been on an unfortunate hiatus from Nosh Posh due to employmee and product spasms at work… hence, I have a backlog of posts…
and now they’re coming your way….
Rynn: Melon Vingette
It was the maniacal giggling emanating from behind a mound of bananas that captured my attention. The source of the laughter came in to view as I rounded the banana cart.
Crouched in front of a shelf cut into the side of the banana cart was my boyfriend. On the shelf before him were a variety of melons that could easily have been the brainchild of Dr. Seuss himself. Both of Boyfriend’s hands rested on a melon. I watched as he squeezed each melon with an alternating rhythm, his vaudevillian giggling increasing with each squeeze.
“They’re like Nerf melons,” said Boyfriend. “Very squeezable. Squeezy. Squeeeeeeezy.”
It was then that someone’s blue-haired granny turned into our grocery aisle and took in the scene before her. I watched her face darken in an obviously disapproving scowl.
Both the moment and old blue haired begged for a sarcastic comment- the gods nearly had nearly decreed it so.
“Stop molesting the melons. You’re making my breasts jealous,” I quipped.
Out of my peripheral vision I saw granny’s mouth drop and her face turn ashy with shock. She gripped the shopping cart handle till her knuckles whitened. With a huff and a push to her cart, she fled the scene.
“That wasn’t nice,” exclaimed Boyfriend, still crouching, his head turning to watch granny’s escape.
“You’re the one groping the produce,” I retorted.
“Yeah,” he said with a slow pause. “I am.”
I watched Boyfriend bring one hand to his knee. With his other hand he gripped a yellow and green stripped “Nerf” melon tighter. He pushed himself up and with a graceful swoop of his arm, brought the melon to rest directly in front of my face.
“We’re getting a Nerf melon.”
“What kind of melon is it?” I inquired.
Boyfriend turned the melon round in his hands till he found the label.
“It says Casaba.”
“And what are you going to do with the Nerf melon?”
Boyfriend wrinkled his nose. An expression I’ve come to know as “what an asinine question” graced his face.
“Eat it,” he replied then stalked off towards the cashier.
Thirty minutes later we were positioned side by side, laptops open, scouring the web for Casaba melon recipes.
“Watermelon salad, cantaloupe salad, honeydew salad. You know, I just don’t like salad that much.”
Boyfriend laughed. “Yes you do you just don’t like melon that much.”
“Touché,” I replied with a tilt of the head.
Boyfriend reached out and grabbed the melon. He twirled the melon in his hands and began tossing it in the air like it was a football.
“Barbequed casaba?” he asked.
Now my own faced darkened with the ‘what an asinine question’ look. It was a question only a desperate foodie with a shot memory would’ve asked.
“We’re out of propane,” I replied.
“What about the prosciutto?”
“The last of it went on our pizzas last night.” I turned from my laptop to face him. “It’s a hundred and eight degrees outside.* Are you really thinking of cooking?”
Ignoring my comment he stood, melon in hand and walked to the fridge.
“Forget the fridge,” I said. “Get the rum. And not the Bacardi. Get the Leblon”
Grinning, he grabbed the bottle of Leblon rum from the liquor cabinet. He soon made short work of the melon and quickly deposited it’s pale lime-colored flesh in a blender with ice and a fair amount of rum. He sugar rimmed two highball glasses. The frozen rum and Casaba made sloping noises as it filled each glass.
“Dinner is served,” he proclaimed. I noticed his glass was already half drained as he set my own high ball in front of me.
“Kudos to the chef, in all his melon molesting glory,” I said as I raised my glass and put the glass to my lips.
A self-satisfied look and wicked smile came to his face. “Not as good as your melons. But satisfying nonetheless,” said Boyfriend.
I sputtered, showering the table with frozen rum and melon.
“I see you agree,” said Boyfriend.
And to that, I have no comment.
*Yes, it was 108 degrees farenheit outside. I was visiting Boyfriend who currently lives in a place Buck Owens once called home and is in So. Cal.
Rynn: Breakfast Diaries
Here’s my breakfast diary from the past week. Not as scintillating and titillating as some diaries but…you can’t please everybody!
July 1
Breakfast: One overripe banana sporting an oh so fashionable leopard print coat has been shoved into my mouth. I ate it with such speed that I can’t remember what it tasted like. Frankly, in my OH-MY-GOD-I’M LATE-FOR-WORK frenzy I wouldn’t have noticed if it had tasted like ferret.
July 2
Hot coffee and 2% milk stamped with an expiration date from two weeks ago today. Here’s to living dangerously.
July 3
Same hot coffee and 2% milk as yesterday. Only today it’s expiration date reads from two weeks and 24 hours ago. I am such a rebel.
July 4
I woke up at noon. Forget breakfast, where’s lunch?
July 5
Breakfast of champions equals the leftover crumbs of barbecue, cheese, and salt and vinegar potato chips from your friend’s Independence Day celebration. And a beer.
July 6
1 Corona Lite with chorizo, eggs, and yummy tortillas.
July 7
I ate so much over the holiday I am abstaining from breakfast this fine morning. I’ll probably avoid food altogether now that I think of it.
Rynn: King’s Cake Recipe
I have no idea why it’s called a King’s Cake. Well, I know why it has King in the name but the cake part is totally a misnomer. Like Rhode Island. Rhode Island isn’t an island any more that a King’s Cake is a cake. Still, this weekend is both the weekend preceding Mardi Gras…and Super Bowl. For real Catholics (like my boyfriend), this is a double-whopper of a weekend to celebrate before Lent. For us recovering Catholics (that would be me), Lent means nothing but Mardi Gras and Superbowl still retain their status. Hence, I made my first King’s Cake (pictures will be uploaded once my boyfriend sends them too me). But as if that wasn’t enough, I also made tamales. I know, I know: I’m getting my holiday food traditions mixed up. But what the hell, life is for living and a part of living is eating well. Hence here are the smash up & altered recipes I mixed together to make my version of a King’s Cake. Thanks to Danno at Nola Cuisine (http://www.nolacuisine.com/2007/01/06/king-cake-recipe/) and Monica Glass at the Gilded Fork (http://www.gildedfork.com/recipes/mardi-gras-king-cake.html) for providing the inspirational recipes. I will say that I used Danno’s brioche recipe verbatim and altered Monica’s a bit.
I will say, I was a bit worried that my experimental filling would be a culinary Frankenstein’s monster, but when my friend’s 92-year-old grandmother (who’s a notoriously picky eater) proclaimed it, “excellent”, I exhaled the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. Even better when people asked for the recipes!
King Cake Recipe
For the Brioche:
1 Envelope Active Dry Yeast
2 Tbsp Warm Water (115 degree F)
1 tsp Iodized Salt
2 Tbsp Granulated Sugar
1/4 Cup Milk
2 tsp Orange Zest, minced
2 Cups All Purpose Flour, sifted
1 tsp Cinnamon
2 Eggs, beaten
1 1/4 sticks cold Unslated Butter, cut into very small dice
1 Egg beaten and 2 Tbsp water, for the eggwash
1 plastic baby trinket
Dissolve the yeast in the workbowl of a stand mixer fitted with the dough hook attachment, let stand until frothy.
Dissolve the salt, sugar, orange zest and milk in a small bowl. When dissolved combine the milk mixture with the yeast mixture. Mix the cinnamon with the flour.
With the mixer on low speed, add the eggs, then gradually add the flour, until all is incorporated. Knead on low speed for 10 minutes, or until a smooth elastic dough is formed. A little more flour may be necessary. With the motor running, incorporate the butter into the dough, a little at a time but rather quickly so that it doesn’t heat up and melt.
Turn the dough into an oiled bowl, loosely cover with plastic wrap and let rise for 1 hour in a warm spot.
When the dough has doubled in bulk punch it down, cover and place in the refrigerator overnight.
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.
Roll the dough out to a 6 x 18 inch rectangle. Spread the filling (recipe below) out in the middle of the rectangle along the whole length, leaving about 1 1/2 inch on each side. Place the baby trinket somewhere with the filling. Fold the length of the dough over the filling and roll up tightly, leaving the seam side down. Turn the roll into a circle, seam side down and put one end inside of the other to hide the seam, and seal the circle. Place the cake on a baking sheet and let rise, loosely covered with plastic wrap, for 45 minutes or until doubled in bulk.
Place the king cake into the oven and bake for 30 minutes or until golden brown.
When the cake cools, brush with some of the glaze (recipe below). This will help the sugars adhere. Decorate the cake with the colored sugars and drizzle some of the thicker glaze onto the cake.
For the bourbon pecan filling:
1 (8-oz) package cream cheese, room temperature
1/2 cup confectioner’s sugar, sifted
1/2 cup light brown sugar
2 tablespoons Sailor Jerry’s rum (traditionally bourbon, I’d have used Maker’s Mark if I’d had it)
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 cup chopped pecans
Prepare the rum pecan filling:
Place the cream cheese, confectioner’s sugar, brown sugar, bourbon, vanilla and cinnamon in a work bowl. Using a spoon, fork, paddle attachment, or whatever you use to mix your ingredients, blend the ingredients until they are thoroughly combined and smooth. Add the pecans and mix. Set aside until ready for use.
For the icing:
2 cups confectioner’s sugar, sifted
1 tablespoons warm milk
1 tablespoon orange juice
1 tablespoon Sailor Jerry’s rum
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon melted butter
Purple, green and gold tinted sugar
Heat the milk until it’s warm. Place the butter in the milk and stir until it dissolves. Add the rum, OJ, vanilla, and cinnamon and combine. Sift the powdered sugar and add it slowly to the liquid (or be lazy like me and just dump it in the bowl). Stir until the frosting is a nice glaze with no weird powdered sugar lumps. I like mine to be a little thinker so I added a bit more sugar, but if you prefer a runnier glaze, go with your preference.
Rynn’s Take: California has other wine regions other than Napa?
So Jen is NOW a convert to wine’s produced in Central California now (where’s Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus when you need it?) and she wants the world to know (FYI: that last phrase should have a sing-song interior monologue thing going)…. Wanna know how long it took her to be converted?
Five years too long… *shakes head*
and why is that?
BECAUSE SHE WOULDN’T GET HER IN VINO VERITAS LOVING BUTT TO CENTRAL CALIFORNIA!!!
For five friggin’ years, I begged, pleaded, cajoled, and entreated her, “come meet me in Cambria, Santa Barbara, Edna Valley, Paso Robles…We’ll sniff, slurp, swill, and guzzle til Bacchus is sick, Dionysus is jealous, and we can turn water into wine. We shall delve in to the hedonistic pleasures of wine with the sheer bravado of culinary whores…we shall make it an epicurious orgy for our mouths!!!
Her response: Uuhhhh…..I don’t really have the time.
My interpretation of her response: Getting plastered on a wine trip in Central Cali with you is not my priority.
Now regardless of which response was correct, if your friend ever says, “lets have a once-in-a-lifetime trip doing XYZ that is super out of our daily doldrum normal routine that masquerades as life,” your response should always be, “lemme get a couple a pairs of underwear, my toothbrush, tooth paste, and some deodorant. Will you be ready to leave in 5 minutes?”
When I think of those five years lost to, “I don’t really have the time,” I have to choke back the tears that threaten to be shed …for Jen of course. OH THE LOST TIME!!! THE UNSAMPLED VINTAGES! THE SHEER SCANDAL!!
The situation of her infuriating ignorance of Central Cali’s wine region was more than unfortunate– it was travesty (especially when you consider that while most women save for a $1k Prada handbag, she instead saves for a $1k purchase of VINO!). Think of the small, non-distributed labels that could have benefited from her patronage (and one glass/3 tastings and I’m plastered) ways.
Thank GOD Jen saw the light…and to think that was only because our random last minute flight to Vegas baby YEAH! got canceled. Don’t tell her but I was happy- I wanted to get drunk in Cambria (not Vegas baby YEAH!) that weekend. Though she choses not to remember this, I had suggested going to Cambria that weekend LOOOONG before she had a martini after work on Friday, saw an incredible once in a lifetime price for two to fly to Vegas, and bought two tickets to the land of a thousand Elvis’. Sure, I said yes to Vegas, but then I live by the, “lemme grab my ESSENTIALS. Will you be ready in 5 minutos,” rule. Seriously, I have a travel bag packed. ALWAYS. Just to be fair, it also doubles as an “I live in Earthquake Capitol USA, be prepared,” bag. But seriously… What true earthquake emergency bags have Bath and Body Works Glitter hair product in them?
But anyway, back to vino… I got my Cambrian wish…Jen got to experience Central Cali’s finest wines…and we both got great wines (Dunning Vineyards Cab Franc was my personal fave).
Also, I think Jen was drunk when she wrote her post because we went to Cambria BEFORE she went to Santa Barbara.
And I’m spent.
Jenn: Merciful God
So Saturday was the big day! The big day to see whether or not we have a gracious and compassionate God or one that is spiteful and full of vengeance. This was the day that I was allowed to drink wine to test whether or not I had developed an allergy to it…and the result…God is Oh SO Good!!!
Dining over at Zitune’s Moroccan Restaurant in Downtown Los Altos, I ate with my fellow cohort Rynn and her boyfriend (also a self-proclaimed foodie). I started my night of decadence out with a glass of Veuve-Clicquot…you really can’t go wrong here for the price (can be found for around $40-50 a bottle). An elegant and crisp champagne, this was a perfect way to start off my evening.
Now, even though I was allowed to give in to my wine craving, I had to yield on many other food options for the night. However, do not fear, Zitune’s pleasant servers and gracious owner and hostess, catered to my every whim and need. First serving me a home made soup that was both gluten and dairy free, with flavors of saffron, turmeric complimenting the lentils and chickpeas that warmed my insides on that cold night. Thereafter, the owner and chef, created for me a wonderful striped bass that oozed with wonderful herbs and was complimented by a lovely bed of spinach.
But now you ask…well what did you have to drink? I shall tell you…
I brought a bottle from my collection. Upon my travels to Napa one day with my sister, our driver introduced us to this small family owned winery – Reynolds Family. I brought one of their reserve cabernets which, upon opening had a nose of delicious plum, strawberry and black cherry. With very little hint of alcohol or spice in my palate…this cab was ALL FRUIT! Fantastic! It wasn’t overpowering despite it’s boldness with the food. And for my friends, which enjoyed a lamb shank and a lavender duck breast, this wine seemed to enhance their dining experience as well.
Our post meal beverage was a gunpowder tea unlike anything I have ever had in any other restaurant. Typically served there as part of their dessert menu, we asked them not to add the honey they typically do and the result was a tea that was so fresh, that our food settled beautifully and it capped off the end of our decadent dining experience.
But that’s not all…
To really put my “allergy” to the test, we ventured back home to open up a bottle of Coppola Zinfandel. Now, typically, I don’t enjoy Coppola wines so much, but this was a bold but not too jammy zinfandel that I certainly helped top off at the end of the nightJ
So you may wonder what the result was? Well, upon my doctor’s instructions, I waited for 3 days to see if I had any affects from my night of decadence, and to my delight…wine is as safe as water! So drink up!
Cheers!
RYNN: Absinthe!!!
I’s a-gots my St. George Spirits Absinthe Verte!!! Woo-woo! A venerable product of the good USA and even better, the Bay Area, I am quite happy to have this lovely bottle in my greedy green fairy digits. The label sports a grinning monkey holding what appears to be a femur bone and a cow bell; his mouth is wide-open as if some fast moving artist captured the little beast in the middle of shouting, “you know what this song needs? MORE COWBELL!”
Kudos and a happy hour helping of Ernest Hemingway’s “Death in the Afternoon” to all the staff at St. George Spirits- especially to Lance Winters, the master distiller who tinkered and toiled for 11 years to perfect his absinthe verte. Note: Absinthe was illegal to produce in the US until this past year. That means that for eleven long years Mr. Winters experimented and each of those experiments, no matter how superb or sloppy, had to be dumped down the commode in order to comply with the US federales. Damn. That’s a lot of wasted absinthe!
Fun Fact: When St. George Spirits Absinthe Verte went on sale on Dec. 21, 2007, they became the only American company since 1912 to sell absinthe in the United States.
Rynn says: Vampire Goodness
Somethings in life are free….Like so bad it’s good vampire TV *aka Moonlight*….Unfortunately, though I can partake in Moonlight episodes lovingly Tivoed by my friend Ealasaid, our vices (being Round Table Pizza, Wicked Strawberry Blonde Ale) have associated costs. These costs, include $$$ and the uuber-geek glee that permeates is our beer buzz. But oh, the costs are worth the awesome company, fully bellies, bad vampire puns, and flavorful belches.
Jenn: So much more than a grape…
I have found that over the years my interest or dare say “passion” for wine has grown and thus many of the activities I enjoy tend to be centered around the crushed grape. From taking classes, going to tastings, throwing parties and now, co-initiating a wine and food blog, I can even further project the intimate relationship I have with said beverage.
I used to be almost ashamed of my love for wine thinking I could be viewed as an alcoholic…(especially since in my own life I am quite healthy and active.) To be frank, I am actually not a big “drinker”; in fact, I have been termed the “one-drink wonder” as my tolerance for alcohol is almost laughable.
However, it is not just the consumption of wine that has me so entranced, but rather all that comes with being ‘involved’ with vino. From the terrior to the vine; the vine to the grape; the grape to the barrel; the barrel to the bottle; the bottle to the glass…and for that moment in the glass as you swirl and waft the aromas that permeate with each breath of air, that moment, that time, is perfect. There are no hidden agendas, no anxieties, no right or wrong answers…it is a moment wholly unto itself that is meant to be shared with just one…you.
But it is also just not about the solo experience. With wine, comes good food and good friends. For me, wine can make any dinner a special occasion and thread together all elements of a social setting to make it unforgettable. Watching your guests sip on what you have poured, questioning their own palates, seeking out the perfect descriptors for what they had experienced. That is what wine ultimately is for me…an experience.
Finally, the beauty from which wine is grown is enough to inspire one into a place of serenity and peace. Moments in wine country are therapeutic solely for the aesthetics and ambiance that is found in every corner. Each vine helps to create a haven for families, friends, lovers and even inspires the individual soul to reflect and take note of the wonder that surrounds them.
So I can only hope that all you wine enthusiasts and foodies, young and old, new or proficient, can find some joy out of this blog as I have out of the whole wine experience.
