When you come across an abundance of beautiful, flavorful fruit at the peak of the season, the only thing to do is to try and not mess it up. The impulse to preserve the fresh delights of the season has driven people to make jam and can forever, and it’s a nice thing to see that twentysomethings like me find just as much pleasure in bubbling pots as our grandmothers did. These strawberries from Gloria’s farm were perfect candidates for the jam pot–busting at the seams with huge strawberry flavor, freshly picked that very day, firm and full of pectin–so I did my best not to mess them up. Just the strawberries, sugar, and a squeeze of lemon. Done.
Simple Strawberry Jam
- 2 lbs strawberries, hulled and halved
- 1 1/2 lbs sugar, about 3 1/3 cups
- 1 lemon
Candy thermometer
Mason jars with new lids, sterilized in a hot dishwasher
Gently toss the strawberries and sugar in a large, wide pot, and leave to macerate slightly. The sugar will begin to draw the juice out of the berries. When the sugar looks dampened, put the pot over medium-low heat and cook, stirring gently, until a syrup forms and the sugar dissolves. Turn the heat up to medium-high and continue to cook, stirring occasionally to keep it from scorching, until the jam reaches 224F on the candy thermometer, skimming the opaque foam that rises to the surface from time to time. Remove from the heat and let it settle while you set up your jars and clean ladle, about 3 minutes. Ladle the jam into jars, being sure to get a good distribution of fruit and syrup in each, and seal tightly. Enjoy with fresh baked scones, warmed on vanilla ice cream, or with stinky cheese for a sweet relief. Or, a buttered brioche PBJ to die for.
I’m a devotee of the Santa Monica Farmer’s Market. The bustle of the chefs in and out of stalls, bumping into young moms and anxious foodies, everyone weaving betweens stalls full of gorgeous produce and passionate farmers–it’s magnetic. Two weeks ago, when I made my rounds, the smell of strawberries was everywhere, and particularly sweet at Gloria’s. While I fondled my basket of Gaviotas, the ladies handed me a flier for a U-Pick day out at their farm in Oxnard, and said “hey, come on out! It’s customer appreciation day!” And if they only knew how much this customer appreciates that day.
The boss was out of town that Monday, and with the day off it was a no-brainer. I borrowed the fiancé’s car (mine is still sans-air conditioning, which is a requirement for driving to Oxnard in mid-July) and trucked it up the PCH to their beautiful farm right off the 101. Gloria Tamai and her daughter Julia were there all day, hanging out in the shade and happily watching toddlers smear their faces with ripe strawberries. While not nearly as cute as that, I did manage to pick myself a boatload of strawberries: pounds of Camarosas, Albions, Gaviotas and Chandlers. (For a great guide to market strawberries, check out this column by David Karp). I spent the whole morning picking and talking recipes with the Tamai family ladies–it was a fantastic summer day.
Back in downtown LA, my kitchen turned into a strawberry processing plant. I washed what seemed like a gazillion strawberries (I picked all those??), hulled and halved them, and prepared them for recipe testing. Camarosas went into a fresh strawberry jam, the best I’ve ever made, and then into a rich and subtly flavored strawberry basil ice cream. Albions went into strawberry walnut mini-pies, and Gaviotas went into Strawberry Gimlet Sorbet with lime zest and juniper. I promised Julia that I’d only pick the Chandlers if I’d eat them that day, since their shelf life is tragically short, and so that’s exactly what I did–devoured a massive bowl. As for the left over berries (can you believe it?), I hulled and halved them to keep frozen. Just spread in a single, loose layer on a parchment-lined sheet pan and freeze, tightly wrapped in plastic, before transferring to a freezer ziplock for storage. They’re gorgeous, no frostbite here, and ready to be pureed or cooked down at a moment’s notice.
So over the next few weeks, we’ll have a strawberryathon, with wonderful recipes for making the most of the absolute explosion of fruit at the farmer’s markets right now around the country. First up:
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Seriously. This sangria.
This started when I found a big, beautiful glass drink dispenser with a 4 gallon capacity and a brass spout at a discount store. I couldn’t stop lusting after it, and soon the coveting began, which grew in intensity until I couldn’t imagine anyone owning it but me. So I bought it. I looked at it’s beautiful curves for about a week before deciding that yes, I DO need to have a party, so that I can serve something beautiful out of this amazing piece of glassware. I didn’t want to do something boring like plain punch, or lemonade, and to spruce them up with herbs would mean that the spout would block up, so those were obviously out. So I coordinated an entire party around the idea of a summertime sangria with big chunks of ripe fruit. Since the drink dispenser was huge, I went to my standby Spanish favorite for a basic sangria formula. I reworked the fruit selections and rations, and quadrupled the quantities, which worked out beautifully for the party but might be a bit much for an afternoon on the patio with a good book and sunglasses (which, by the way, is how I highly recommend experiencing this beverage). So for a more reasonable quantity, I scaled it back down and it still works beautifully. It’s a soft, romantic pink but don’t worry, the guys loved it too. The fresh fruit and overall deliciousness overwhelms any qualms about this being a “chick drink.” So go ahead, make a big pitcher, and kick back! It’s summer!
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I’ve been sitting on this recipe for a while now. Lilikoi is pretty darn hard to come by, even in the mecca of produce that is Southern California, so I’ve been scouring Los Angeles for a source for a few months now. I started working on this dish back in January when I spent time in Honolulu. I had a chance to visit a crazy lady with an organic farm that just spilled lilikoi off the vines that covered all the trees on her 3 acres in Waimanalo. We had a fascinating conversation about her PhD in agricultural economics and the farm school project she was pioneering in a poor area of country Oahu. And she also told me about how the land speaks to her, saying for instance, ‘the universe wants papaya trees,’ or ‘the ipu gourd shall be your guardian.’
The upside of this, um, communing with her garden is that she doesn’t feel the need to use any pesticides, or fertilizer, or grafts, or seeds, or rows, or much of anything. She has volunteers who clear dead brush, but otherwise relies on the wild neighborhood chickens to scatter her seeds for her. It was an enlightening afternoon. I took home 3 dozen fresh, beautiful lilikoi to experiment with: seared ahi with a lilikoi herb marinade, lilikoi sorbet, lilikoi cocktails, and of course, lilikoi lemon bars. But, when I ran out of testing time in Honolulu and came back to LA to perfect the recipes, I encountered a problem. No lilikoi.
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You may not know this, but I’m deep into a project I like to call, “Christine’s Continuing Education.” I’ve been picking up odd catering jobs, bugging people I respect to let me come shadow them, and doing freelance jobs from food publicity to, well, just about anything. I find myself looking for an elegant, made-from-scratch finger food to keep on hand, and over and over I’ve been reaching for these versatile lavash crackers, adapted out of Peter Reinhart’s Bread Baker’s Apprentice. They’re kind of a blank slate food; flavor them with Italian herbs and you’ve got a Mederranean party. 5-spice with sesame seeds give you an Asian feeling, or big salt crystals are beautiful and work well with just about anything. So many options!
Last weekend I had the great pleasure of helping out Denise Vivaldo & Cindie Flannigan of Food Fanatics (the very best in the business, no joke) and photographer Matt Armendariz of Matt Bites at their food styling and photography seminar. I learned an enormous amount, met some fabulous people, and have a whole new set of tricks up my sleeve for beautiful pictures. It was so great to spend two working days in Matt’s Long Beach studio (the props, my god, the props!). Seriously, I can’t recommend it enough–it was an invaluable addition to the “Continuing Education” quest, and a hell of a lot of fun with these hilarious, slightly crazy, and totally wonderful food professionals. For the second day of the seminar, we had the opportunity to bring in our own projects to style and shoot with the help of all three experts. Since I’m so in love with these lavash flatbread crackers right now, I was giddy like a little kid at the chance to bring them into Matt’s studio to style and shoot. And photograph we did. Look!
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Guys. I need a drink.
The last month has been a whirlwind of incredibly rewarding work for Taste of the Nation: Los Angeles. I’ve been working harder and harder to pull together the restaurant participants for this amazing event, and in the last couple of weeks I’ve become the official Restaurant Co-Chair for this year’s event. It’s been hours upon hours of work with 40 of the city’s very best chefs to ensure we have an amazing event on June 6, which is (holycrap) less than 1 week away. If you’d like to see the killer list of restaurants in person this Sunday, go buy some freaking tickets! And hey, I’ll even give you a secret discount code: F&F2010. Beware, it expires on Saturday at 12pm, and then, at the door, all the prices jump another $25. So. All the cooking I’ve had time to do in the last few weeks is well, none, since every night is either a meeting or an evening full of phone calls, emails, layouts and spreadsheets. So instead, I’ve been watching a jar of gorgeous early summer raspberries ferment with sugar in a jar on my counter, and watching the days fly by while it turns into rich, delicious liqueur courtesy of the natural yeast on the raspberries’ skin. Read the rest of this entry »
Wow, what a week in Portland. It was non-stop meeting to lunch to meeting to seminar to meeting, and it was pretty amazing. I met some fascinating people who are doing such cool work in the food world, and I can’t wait to see them all again next year in Austin.
On Wednesday afternoon, late after a meeting with the boss, I missed the beginning of the 3-hour seminar I was supposed to attend, which was actually just fine by me because it meant I could steal away for an hour or so to Powell’s Books, just a few blocks away in downtown Portland. Powell’s is a mecca for bibliophiles like me–it’s the largest bookstore in the world that combines new and used books, and it takes up a whole city block. So I switched from slacks and heels to jeans and sneakers to walk over and get lost in the stacks of cookbooks.
I found some truly wonderful books (packing to come home became something of an issue) like one of Gourmet’s first cookbooks from 1950, a really cool book on canning and preserving the produce of Hawaii and a 70’s era reproduction of the very first Fannie Farmer edition. As I was checking out, I wondered aloud to the guy at the counter if they had a Hawaiian Cooking section I might have missed. He said, ‘oh, yeah! Come, follow me,’ and led me to a little shelf at the back of the regional section, a good 2 feet above my eye level. I set down my stack of books and pulled over a ladder. In the middle of the shelf was a pretty green book, the kind put out by associations of women or charity leagues, and this one was titled “We, The Women of Hawaii.” It came out in 1986, the year I turned one, and was compiled by a group of influential women in Honolulu social scene. I found a list of contributors on the inside cover, and there in bold print was my grandma’s name! What a rock star!
When I got home yesterday, the first thing I did was sit down on the couch with a cup of tea and flip through the pages to find the recipes with ‘Amy Matsuda’ printed in the margins next to the text. I should have known–her recipes in the book were her two most famous specialties, cream puffs and oatmeal cookies. They’re legends in the family, and apparently they were known outside the Matsuda household too. Grandma’s oatmeal cookies are super special, and totally unlike the doughy soft raisiney things you most often find. These are crisp and thin, almost wafers, with brown sugar and vanilla, and the taste of oats in the starring role. Perfect with coffee, delicious with ice cream, these guys are snacked on any time of day, so the cookie jar never stays full for long. As for the crumbs at the bottom of the jar, the crushed cookies make an amazing cheesecake or pie crust–substitute the oatmeal cookies for graham crackers and you’ve got a hearty, crunchy crust. Grandma’s original recipe makes about 8 dozen cookies, which is perfectly practical if your house is full of 6 kids and 14 grandkids like hers. For my somewhat smaller household, I’ve halved the recipe and made a couple of small changes. Don’t worry, I have Grandma’s approval.
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For the next week, I’ll be drinking beer, tasting Northwestern delicacies and doing my best to schmooze the sea of food professionals flocking to Downtown Portland. Some of the highlights I’m really looking forward to include a late-night discussion between Virgina Willis and Anne Willan, a food photography seminary put on by mattbites, and cocktails (nightly) with Nealey Dozier of Dixie Caviar. Hooray!
Chocolate, while tempting in nearly any state, becomes irresistible to me when it’s got a hint of heat. A spicy hot chocolate (a la the movie Chocolat) is an incredible treat for a blustery winter afternoon. But, as the weather is finally warming up and beginning to look like Spring, it’s time for a cool, smooth luscious dessert with a kick. I served this recipe to two of my very willing recipe taster friends, one of whom got the bowl with an, ahem, very healthy sprinkle of cayenne pepper garnish. He was sweating, licking the spoon, cursing, licking the bowl–that’s all to say, be gentle with the cayenne. It’s addictive and intense, and it’s easy to go overboard.
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Every Easter weekend growing up, Mom and I celebrated with her circle of artist friends with an amazing feast. These women, weavers, sculptors, paper makers, fiber artists, taught me the beauty and thrill of making by hand. These stunning Easter eggs are a perfect example–the dramatic amber color comes from a dye of onion skins, saved from New Year’s day to April, and a resist technique creates the delicate graphic designs on the surface. As a little girl, I was responsible for picking ferns and leaves from the garden outside, while all the women in attendance had to bring their old stockings & nylons (pre-washed, please!) to sacrifice to the scissors. We use the delicate stretchy mesh to secure the leaves and petals on the eggs while they sit in the dye. Fishnets make some great chain-link designs, by the way. Instead of hiding these garnet-colored beauties, we proudly display them at each place setting to whet the appetite for the five course dinner to come. Here in Downtown LA, I not only lack a garden — I can’t even keep anything alive in my windowsill. However, I think I did pretty well with simple parsley leaves and the tops from carrots I got in my weekly CSA box, fresh from the farm.
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