A favorite cocktail in our house this summer involves market strawberries muddled with mint or basil, a few healthy squeezes of lime juice, and copious amounts of gin, often topped up with a little tonic water or club soda.  While enjoying one of these beverages after a long day of summer, and while staring at the mountains of strawberries in the fridge, inspiration struck for the perfect hot afternoon refresher.  Since a gimlet is all about the gin and lime, I boost the flavor of gin with a few crushed juniper berries, and include the zest as well as the juice of the limes.

Strawberry Gimlet Sorbet

• 4 cups strawberries, hulled and halved
• 2 limes
• 3-5 whole juniper berries
• 2 shots of gin (2 1/2 ounces)
• 2 tablespoons sugar

Puree strawberries in a blender or food processor.  Grate the zest of the limes into sugar in large bowl. Smash the juniper berries, and toss them in with the sugar. Juice both limes,  and add with a shot of gin, and whisk until completely dissolved.  Add puree and chill until very cold, 1-2 hours or overnight.  Pick out the juniper berries and freeze in electric ice cream maker 20 min, then add the second shot of gin and continue to churn another 10 minutes or until stiff soft serve consistency. Transfer to container and freeze in freezer until firm.

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.

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:

Strawberry Basil Ice Cream

• 1 3/4 cups heavy cream
• Pared zest of a lemon
• 2-3 sprigs fresh basil
• 2 eggs
• 3/4 cup sugar
• 1 lb strawberries, hulled and halved, about 3 cups
• Lemon juice to taste

Add the whole sprigs of fresh basil to the heavy cream in a medium saucepan, along with the lemon zest.  Heat the cream to just below boiling, then remove it from the heat.  Whisk the eggs with ½ cup sugar until the whisk leaves a ribbon trail. Leaving the zest and basil in the pan, pour half of the hot cream into the eggs, whisking constantly, until it’s been incorporated. Take care not to let the eggs curdle.  Pour the tempered eggs back into the saucepan, and stir over low heat until the custard thickens slightly. Pour it through a fine strainer to remove the basil and zest before letting the custard it cool to room temperature.  Chill in the refrigerator until very, very cold; overnight if possible (nothing like fresh ice cream for breakfast!).

Meanwhile, puree the strawberries in a blender or food processor with the remaining ¼ cup sugar.  Add the puree to the custard, and taste, adjusting with lemon juice as needed.  Freeze in an ice cream machine 20-30 minutes or until stiff but still pliable.  Serve right away, or transfer a container to freeze further until hardened.

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!

Watermelon Lime Sangria

• 4 cups seedless watermellon, cut in 1-inch cubes
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 1 cup water
• 1 pint strawberries, halved
• 1/2 cup orange liqueur, such as Grand Marnier
• 9 limes
• 2 bottles Rosé wine

To make watermelon ice cubes, start as early as the evening before. Spread your watermelon cubes on a sheet pan lined with parchment paper. They should be well spaced out. Wrap the pan tightly with plastic wrap and freeze until the cubes are thoroughly ice-like, 3-4 hours.  Meanwhile, chill the wine and macerate the strawberries:  Pour the sugar and water into a small saucepan and dissolve over low heat until the syrup is crystal clear and no sugar granules remain. Cool to room temperature. Put the strawberries in the bottom of a large pitcher, pour in the orange liqueur and cooled syrup and leave to macerate at least 30 minutes.

Juice 8 of the limes, and very thinly slice the other one, discarding the ends. When ready to serve, add the watermelon cubes and lime slices to the pitcher. Pour in the lime juice and chilled wine and stir to combine.  Serve in wide glasses with chunks of fruit in each, ice cold on a hot summer day.

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.

I finally found a source, imported from France of all places, for a frozen yellow passion fruit (aka lilikoi) puree, available at my favorite restaurant supply and specialty store, Surfas. It’s a kilo of really high quality stuff, so supplied with the tub in my freezer, the recipe testing has begun once again.  First up had to be this island classic, a tangy and fragrant take on the classic lemon bar. It’s mostly lilikoi juice, with a splash of lemon juice and zest to accent it’s tart, bright flavor.  Served chilled, lilikoi bars are a perfect summer picnic dessert. The shorbread layer is rich and supple with plenty of butter, and not overly sweet.  It’s an awesome way to introduce the uninitiated to the wonders of the lilikoi–they’re always gone in an instant.

Shortbread crust:

• 1 1/4 cups butter
• 3/4 cup sugar
• 2 1/2 cups flour
• 1/2 teaspoon salt

Lilikoi Lemon layer:

• 3/4 cup sugar
• Grated zest of 1 lemon
• 2 tablespoons lemon juice
• 1/4 cup lilikoi juice
• 3 eggs plus 2 yolks
• 3 tablespoons flour
• Pinch of salt

Powdered sugar, for dusting

Buttered 9×13 baking pan

Cream the butter with the sugar and a pinch of salt with an electric mixer until light and fluffy. Add about half of the flour to the bowl, and work it in with a wooden spoon. Add the remaining flour, mixing it into the dough so that it becomes crumbly and pliable, while still soft and light. Heat the oven to 350F. Dump the dough into the buttered pan, and use the back of your knuckles to press it into an even layer and chill 20 minutes.  Bake until just barely colored, with golden brown around the edges, 20-25 minutes.

Meanwhile, make the filling.  Whisk the sugar, zest and juices together with the eggs.  Sift in the flour and salt and whisk until smooth.  Pour into the pan over the hot baked shortbread and return it to the oven to bake until the filling is just, about 15 minutes.  Set on a rack to cool to room temperature, then refrigerate until cold.  Just before serving, dust generously with confectioners sugar and cut into bars.

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!

Lavash Crackers (Adapted from Peter Reinhart’s Bread Baker’s Apprentice)

To get uniform shapes like these, cut the thinly rolled dough with a pizza cutter before they go into the oven, but after they’ve been sprinkled with their garnishes.  If you prefer a more dramatic organic shape, bake the sheets uncut, cool completely, and break into large shards by hand. The proportions are from Peter Reinhart, but I’ve adjusted the method slightly so it’s foolproof for me.

• 1 1/2 cups unbleached bread flour
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 teaspoon instant yeast
• 1 tablespoon honey
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• 1/3 cup water, more if needed
• Seeds, herbs, and kosher salt for garnishing

Stir the flour, salt and yeast together in a large bowl or the bowl of a stand mixer.  Make a well in the center, and add the honey, olive oil, and water. Stir with a spoon until the dough forms a shaggy ball.  If there’s a good amount of unincorporated flour, add a couple more tablespoons of water to bring it together.  Transfer to a floured board to knead by hand, or to a stand mixer fitted with the dough hook.  Knead 7-10 minutes, until the dough is nice and elastic and makes a transparent windowpane when a little bit is stretched between your fingers.  It should be fairly firm and satiny. Transfer the dough to a lightly oiled bowl, turn to coat all sides of the dough with oil, and cover it with plastic wrap.  Let it rise for about an hour and a half, or until it doubles in bulk.

Heat the oven to 350F.  Lightly spray the counter with oil, and turn the dough out onto it.  Divide the dough in two. Roll out the first half into a 10- by 15-inch rectangle, letting it rest for 5-10 minute elasticity breaks if it threatens to spring back into a wrinkly mass during rolling. Once it’s reached the desired dimensions, let it rest another 5 minutes to relax under a towel, then transfer it to a baking sheet lined with parchment.  Brush the dough with water, and sprinkle with kosher salt and whatever other garnishes your heart desires.  Cut into strips with a pizza cutter if preferred, or leave the sheets whole to break later.  Bake 15-20 minutes, or until they reach an even, golden brown.  Let them cool for about 10 minutes in the pan, then serve warm, or cool completely on a wire rack before storing in an airtight container.

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.

Raspberry Liqueur

Adapted from Anne Willan’s From My Chateau Kitchen

The original recipe gives an amount twice what I used below.  This quantity is convenient, since I always seem to have a pint-sized mason jar around.  But next time, I’m doubling, no! tripling the quantities!

• 8 oz raspberries
• 8 oz sugar

1 pint-sized mason jar

Pack the raspberries in the canning jar, layering them with the sugar. Screw the outside ring of the jar over a double thickness of cheesecloth, and leave the center of the lid off.  The sugar will begin to streak with pink juice that day, and gradually bubble and ferment as the days pass. Stir every couple of weeks.  When the bubbling stops, the liqueur is ready to drink. This sometimes takes as long as 6 months, but can be as few as 6 weeks. It will mellow and improve upon keeping.  Drink as a special reward for a large achievement.

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.

Grandma’s Oatmeal Cookies

• 1/2 cup butter, at room temperature
• 1/3 cup white sugar
• 1/2 cup brown sugar
• 1 egg, beaten
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
• 1 cup flour
• 1/2 teaspoon vanilla
• 1 cup oatmeal
• 1/2 cup wheat germ

Makes 4 dozen cookies

Heat the oven to 350F. Cream the butter with white and brown sugar until light and fluffy.  Stir in the beaten egg. Mix the salt and baking soda in with the flour, then add the flour 1/4 cup at a time, stirring only enough to incorporate fully. Mix in the vanilla, then with your hand, fold in the oatmeal and wheat germ.  Using a wet teaspoon, drop little mounds onto baking sheets lined with parchment paper, spaced well apart.  Using the back of a spoon or the bottom of a drinking glass, dip in water and use to press the dough into an 1/8-inch-thick round.  Chill 5 minutes in the freezer, then bake until the cookies are a deep golden brown, rotating once, about 12 minutes. Slide the whole sheet of parchment paper off the baking sheet and onto a cooling rack. Cool completely before serving.  Oatmeal cookies will keep up to 2 weeks in an airtight container, though they’re likely to be gone by the end of the weekend.

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.

Spicy Chocolate Pudding

• 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper, more to taste
• 2 2/3 cups whole milk
• 3/4 cup sugar
• 1/4 cup cornstarch
• 2 egg yolks
• 8oz bittersweet chocolate, chopped
• 1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
• 1/2 teaspoon allspice
• 2 tablespoons butter
• 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1/2 cup heavy cream with 1 tablespoon sugar, for whipping

Serves 4

Sprinkle  1/4 teaspoon powdered cayenne over the milk in a small saucepan.  Scald the milk, bringing it to just below the boiling point, then let it cool to room temperature, steeping the pepper in the milk. When cool, whisk the egg yolks into the milk.   Combine the sugar and cornstarch with a pinch of salt in a small bowl, sifting the cornstarch if pebbly. Transfer the sugar mixture to a larger saucepan and, whisking constantly over medium heat, gradually add the milk. Once all the milk has been incorporated, add the chopped chocolate, cinnamon and allspice, and whisk until the chocolate is melted and the mixture comes to a boil. Continue to whisk as the mixture thickens, about 1 minute longer, then remove from the heat.  Stir in the butter and vanilla.  Taste, and adjust with more cayenne to taste.  If any lumps have formed, push the hot pudding through a strainer, then spoon it into serving bowls.  To prevent a skin from forming, press plastic wrap directly against the surface of the pudding.  Chill until cold, about 30 minutes in the freezer or an hour in the refrigerator.

Meanwhile, whip the heavy cream with 2 tablespoons sugar until it holds soft peaks.  When ready to serve, top each bowl of pudding with a dollop of whipped cream and garnish with a (conservative) sprinkle of cayenne or a dried chili pepper.