We enjoyed this fine lunch at a vineyard in the Penedes region of Catalunya. Every single dish was incredible. The soup duo we started with was comprised of a lovely gazpacho and unreal vichyssoise. Phil was sick of taking food shots at the table, opting to hop up between each course and chase the kitchen [...]]]>

We enjoyed this fine lunch at a vineyard in the Penedes region of Catalunya. Every single dish was incredible. The soup duo we started with was comprised of a lovely gazpacho and unreal vichyssoise. Phil was sick of taking food shots at the table, opting to hop up between each course and chase the kitchen staff around. We all looked forward to his return, because that was the signal the next course was about to begin.

These salads were spectacular. One was of mixed bitter lettuces and air dried duck (or magret as my new Catalan friend Josep taught me). The other was simple greens with romesco, tuna and the most glorious anchovies known to man.

This was the most tender tuna with roasted pimenton and baccalau. This blew me away. I have always been a bit timid about baccalau, something about the reconstituting of dried fish just didn’t send me running to get a fork, until now that is.

Phil’s new buddy the chef prepping the sweetest prawns I’ve ever had.

The gambas and the most gorgeous scallop ever. I wish from the deepest food loving part of my soul that we could get scallops in the shell with the roe in tact, it makes such a difference.

This is not simply acorn fed pork. It is the pork of porks. King Pork if you will. Much love the Berkshire and Heritage piggies, but as awesome as they are, they’ve got nothing on this.  It is not exported out of Spain, but that is probably a good thing since I would probably wind up on the streets after spending my savings on pork. At least this way it will ensure I return to Spain relatively soon.

The chef prepared it simply, with young favas (which I prefer) bacon and a lovely glug of olive oil.

The Crema Catalana was quite delicious like creme brulee, but more smoky which I really thought played well with the vanilla.

The chef used a hot iron to caramelize the top of the Crema Catalana, which I thought was way cooler than using a torch.

The final product. Nom, nom, nom!

This photo and the one below are a sneak preview of my next Catalan culinary adventure. The photo above was taken as I approached the Mediterranean for the first time in my life. We had just arrived at an amazing seafood restaurant near the water and I couldn’t resist. I kicked off my shoes and made a beeline for the water. It was one of my favorite moments from the trip. Or any trip for that matter.

I wanted to include this shot I have slated to be a part of the next post to see if anyone know what they are. I have nicknamed them dragon claws and they are incredible. Any guesses?

You know those moments and places you encounter in life that seem too perfect to be real? The cynic within lies in wait for something to spoil the mood and when it comes you are back in that familiar place most of us know as reality. Maybe it’s just me. In wine country this often comes [...]]]>

You know those moments and places you encounter in life that seem too perfect to be real? The cynic within lies in wait for something to spoil the mood and when it comes you are back in that familiar place most of us know as reality. Maybe it’s just me. In wine country this often comes in the form of promises of a perfect day sipping wine and enjoying the good life when reality it often just comes across as a cheap copy of another man’s work. Last Friday morning the cynic within me was effectively silenced by the staff of Jordan Winery.

Executive Chef Todd Knoll and Sous Chef (and pastry wizard) Manuel Reyes

We dropped our dog at the kennel and drove north to Healdsburg and Jordan Winery for what turned out to be two flawless wine country days. I was there in my official capacity, researching a story for Mutineer Magazine, but was able to get an inside glimpse of the Jordan kitchen, have a chat with Executive Chef Todd Knoll and was fortunate enough to have a few wonderful meals prepared by him and his talented staff. I may work for a fine beverage magazine, but we all know it’s all about the food for me.

The most gorgeous table in wine country.

From the road Jordan is an unassuming place, there is no giant sign announcing to the world that beyond these gates lies your wine country fantasy. If you blink you will miss it and we did, using what looked to be a well worn shoulder just beyond to get back to our destination. We drove slowly through the beautiful wild grounds, the road twisting and turning, branching and forking but ultimately leading us to our destination a beautiful winery that looked as if it had been plucked from the French countryside and placed in Northern California.

The winery suites and kitchen from the terrace, our luxurious room was in the corner with the ivy staircase. I would share photos of our suite, but I was doing the shooting on those and they turned out terrible. The decor was understated country French in shades of oyster to charcoal, complete with a stone fireplace, four poster bed and a luxurious tub. Combined with a breakfast in bed of fruit, croissants and fresh juice made for a lovely place to wake up.

Jordan Winery Bento Box Luncheon

Ponzu Gelée, Roasted Cipollini, American Caviar and Quail Egg

Mirin and Togarashi Glazed Salmon, Bok Choy, Seared Endive, Forbidden Rice with House pickled Ginger

Grilled and Braised Sonoma Duck Breast, with Shiitake, Morels and Enoki

Kumquat Compote, Financier and a Consommé of Our First Strawberries

Mero Seabass and Tasmanian Salmon with Their First Peas and Ramps from the Wine Blogger’s lunch on Saturday.

Grilled Sonoma (milk fed) Lamb and this Morning’s Carrots with Fava, Morels and Black Garlic Jus from the Wine Blogger’s lunch on Saturday.

Me, and Chef Todd Knoll. He is telling me about the craftsman who made his stainless steel spice rack. I am trying to figure out what tools I will need to come back with in order to steal it.

My Interview with Chef Todd Knoll

Upon arriving in Chef Todd’s kitchen I was immediately treated to a taste of green almonds done sous vide with rice vinegar and a few other ingredients. They were amazing. It was like eating a lightly pickled cucumber instead of an almond. I had been in his kitchen for all of about 30 seconds and my mind was officially blown.

This is my interview with project manager turned chef, Todd Knoll who is probably the happiest  most easy going chef I have ever met. My interview was originally significantly longer, sadly a few bits had to be cut out, because of clanging pots and pans. I think it is still pretty great.

How did growing up in Hawaii influence your style of cooking?

TK: It did really, because the end of my day after getting out of school would be diving, spear fishing its almost like growing up in a foreign country . . . beautiful foods, really being in touch with nature, just when you catch a fish and you cook it that day, or when I’d go fishing with my father and actually make sashimi on the boat, that’s an imprint.

Is that the reason you decided to pursue the culinary arts?

TK: I always wanted to cook. I wanted an Easy Bake Oven when I was a kid, they didn’t give it to me, but my mother is a wonderful cook, my father is a wonderful cook and I just always wanted to do it. I worked with my father, he passed away, as a project manager. I decided that I just wanted to do what I loved, so I actually started late professionally. . . I went to the Culinary Academy in San Francisco and worked at The Ritz which was a great experience worked through all the kitchens, went to banquets which isn’t the most glamorous thing, but was probably the most useful thing I would recommend it to anyone. I would go to school for eight hours and I would change coats and cook for eight hours. It was pretty brutal, but if you can’t do it then this is the wrong job.

Then my executive sous Chef Didier Georges called me and said they needed an executive chef here. I wasn’t looking for a job, I was moving up in the Ritz and Nitsa* cried, she didn’t want to come to wine country. She’s a city girl, but now we’d never go back.

What are the benefits of working at Jordan?

TK: Its funny, the first day I worked her here I called my friends at The Ritz there are no windows in the kitchen, great place to work but, nothing like this. I was looking out at the garden calling them and they were just “aw screw you” (laughs). I said, “You wouldn’t believe what I’m seeing here, all the trees and the garden”. I go down and I pick what I need for the day, thyme, herbs everything comes from this morning. The oldest thing that we have in the walk-in is from the day before. Being able to design a garden , I have a few chef friends who are jealous. Its a great place to work.

Are a lot of your ingredients grown on the grounds?

TK: As much as possible. During the winter it is difficult, but in the spring and the summer I have 15 varieties of tomatoes going in, I love to use their heirloom seeds, daikon, beautiful stone fruit coming in our raspberries are amazing, strawberries, but yeah we do as much as we can. White asparagus, which is really good.

Jordan produces olive oil, what part do you have in that?

TK: It’s interesting, the most important part is getting it off the tree carefully, which they do wonderfully. The most important part is to get it milled within 24 hours, but we can do it in four hours since we have the mobile mill. So they are picking the olives and there’s a truck out here and we’re doing a crush right there in the olive grove. Olive oil, unlike wine is best right then. You have the new olive oil thats not stable then we let it naturally rack for a couple of months . . . We do blend, but unlike wine, its just about getting it in that bottle quick thats the secret.

What are some of the challenges of working in a winery kitchen?

TK: Its a small kitchen, it’s beautiful, I have all the toys. I mean I showed you the vacuum machine I also have a pacojet. I have no budget, I have the best china in the world. John affords me anything I want. I mean I get not American Kobe, I get Kobe. It’s not a challenge so much as it is fun. Its a surprise everyday, if I think of anything I can find it.

What do you like to cook at home?

TK: Braised dishes, I love doing a classically roasted chicken, that’s the test of a chef really. A lot of Greek food, stiphado, I love Greek cooking. But simple cooking, bold flavors and just pure food, wine country cooking.

Are there any ingredients that you are really into right now?

TK: These right now (points to a dish of partially prepared ramps), the ramps are fun. These are really just blinks in the eye of the season, the ramps and the green almonds and morels. That is what I really focus on this time of the year.

What is your death row meal?

TK: Death row meal . . . chile verde. (then I blathered on a bit about pho and foie gras and it came out that his other choice would be pho)

During my stay I ate several of Chef Todd’s dishes and was impressed with each one. His dishes are well thought out and all such seamless fusion that you almost forget the cuisines the ingredients have been borrowed from. The lamb, duck and fish were some of the best I have ever tasted and the veggies were gorgeous. I was most impressed when I tasted the melange of mushrooms in the bento box lunch. Several months ago I had a dish with similar mushrooms and the same seasonings at a restaurant that will not be named, it was an epic fail. But, out of Chef Todd’s kitchen it was nothing short of perfection. I am officially a fan and I am glad I am able to share this with you.

*Nitsa is Todd’s wife, Jordan Winery’s Director of Hospitality and Special Events and quite possibly one of the cutest people ever.

Special note: I have to include a shout out to Lisa Mattson who is Jordan’s Communications Director and for all intents and purposes of the weekend, our Cruise Director. Upon arrival we immediately encountered a tiny blond woman lugging the largest tripod in existence across a beautiful stone courtyard; this was Lisa. She exudes boundless energy, entertains journalists, shoots video for the Jordan Blog, writes and I am pretty sure if I asked we’d find out that she can rub her stomach while patting her head and spinning a plate on the end of her toes all while filming a video for the Jordan website. Thanks Lisa!

This was a gorgeous kitchen. The hand painted tile was brought in from Portugal by Mrs. Jordan in the 1970’s.

They were preparing our bento boxes during the interview and Phil was all over the place shooting. This is one of my favorite photos.

Mise en Place

Sous Chef Manuel Reyes zesting oranges. Look at the endive on his board, I have never seen it so lovely before. I should also mention that Chef Manuel is also the pastry chef and from what I understand makes a mean chocolate mousse.

This salmon was amazing and beautiful.

This financier was lovely, the vanilla bean was so robust and the fruit lightly sweet and full of flavor.

From converting classic dishes for a vegetarian diet to writing about my favorite butcher shop, I certainly do like to keep things diverse here at The Endive Chronicles.

A few years ago on a chilly winter day I sat in our drafty Westhampton Beach, NY house drooling over a blog entry on Becks and Posh about [...]]]>

From converting classic dishes for a vegetarian diet to writing about my favorite butcher shop, I certainly do like to keep things diverse here at The Endive Chronicles.

A few years ago on a chilly winter day I sat in our drafty Westhampton Beach, NY house drooling over a blog entry on Becks and Posh about a salad made with jambon persille from Fatted Calf in Napa, Ca. I didn’t know when, I didn’t know how, but I did know that someday, come hell or high water, I would claw my way through the doors of the Fatted Calf if it were the last thing I did. Thankfully things didn’t get that serious and as luck would have it, last summer we transferred within 20 miles to this temple of carnivorous delights.

If being a carnivore was a religion, than visiting the Fatted Calf would be a religious experience. One of the first things that struck me about this place was the scent of  something gloriously meaty baking in the back,  filling the shop with its heady scent. I had experienced clean smelling butcher shops and foul smelling butcher shops, but good? It was a sign.

The butchers case was like nothing I have seen outside of the charcuteries of France. Duck legs sit preserved in their own delicious fat, bacon and prosciutto, smoked duck breast, piles of gorgeous sausages and crepinetes all waiting for me to take them home. The walls are lined with local products from soda made with varietal grapes and heirloom beans from Rancho Gordo and interspersed throughout were packages of dry cured sausages and bouquets of beef jerky. I should tell you that this is not just any beef jerkey, this is without a doubt the best beef jerky on the planet (it also pairs surprisingly well with bourbon). I put a bouquet of it in Phil’s stocking at Christmas this year and I am pretty sure he liked it better than all his other gifts combined.

The sausages and crepinettes at Fatted Calf are like nothing I have ever experienced before. Air dried or fresh, these are the most flavorful sausages in existence. The chorizo (pictured above) is not just good, it seems to capture the essence of Spain with its paprika laced porky goodness. While writing this yesterday, I was so overcome with Fatted Calf cravings that we were compelled to drive to Napa and buy a hefty supply of sausages namely, a ring of chorizo, a few mergueze, andouille, mushroom and breakfast sausages. I had no choice, there is so way one can spend an entire day thinking about Fatted Calf and not end up going to Fatted Calf.

They have an ever changing variety of pates, rillettes and sausages. The pate, like many of their items change depending to the week and even though I still haven’t seen the jambon persille, I can tell you that each one of these are nothing less than perfection. The rillettes are all amazing, but duck is definitely my favorite.

Want to know what else is sold at Fatted Calf? Only heritage pork, the porkiest pork in the land my friends. I thought I knew what good pork was, but after eating this, I realised I had never known it at all. It was as if my dog suddenly revealed he could talk, not that he wasn’t rad before, its just that now he is so much better. They sell many cuts of heritage pork, but where they truly excell is in the prepared roasts. The porchetta is not only herbaceous and tender, but addictively crunchy on the outside. Our favorite butcher there always gives us a taste of it (and everything else) whenever we’re in!

For my birthday in December, Philip gave my the gift of a class at Fatted Calf. It was a lively afternoon of forming chanterelle crepinettes, deveining livers, forming terrines and massaging truffled lardo across a prep table. I should also add that this lardo recipe was learned by our awesome instructor, Taylor Boetticher, from famous Tuscan butcher Dario Cecchini, who some of you may know from Bill Buford’s fantastic book Heat or Bourdain’s show “No Reservations“. Pretty cool, eh?

Throughout the class we were treated to various charcuterie such as pistachio mortadella, duck confit on crostini and the extraordinary and beloved porchetta. After all of that you wouldn’t think we needed lunch, but gather a group of passionate epicureans together and there will be some serious eating. We dined on more charcuterie, roasted beets and the crowning glory of the meal, a crown pork roast with apple. It was amazing. I can tell you all, that as I drove home from class that day I knew how fortunate I was to be living so close to such a treasure.

I hope you enjoyed this latest peek into My California. Do you have a favorite place like Fatted Calf or The Olive Press? I’d love to hear about it. Thanks for reading.

As much as I miss the green glory of the Puget Sound, it is mornings like the one I had on December 5th, 2009 when I am reminded that Sonoma County isn’t such a bad alternative. On that particular morning I woke to find that the hills were a little less brown, the sky a [...]]]>

As much as I miss the green glory of the Puget Sound, it is mornings like the one I had on December 5th, 2009 when I am reminded that Sonoma County isn’t such a bad alternative. On that particular morning I woke to find that the hills were a little less brown, the sky a clear and perfect blue and my mind filled with the knowledge that today I would learn how olives are transformed into the most important staple of my kitchen.

A couple of weeks earlier, I was notified by Twitter that I was being followed by @TheOlivePress1. It just so happened that I was trying to find an olive oil maker to let me in on a pressing, so I sent @TheOlivePress1 a message. Within an hour or so I was chatting with the lovely Deborah Rogers, co-founder of The Olive Press, planning a visit to observe the annual community olive pressing in a couple of weeks time.

The roads between Petaluma and Sonoma wind through hills the color of wet straw dotted with cattle and sheep. Roadsides are studded with ripened pears and quince. The Olive Press is housed in a beautiful stone building that sits nestled at the base of the Sonoma Mountains. On a morning like that one, it is a beautiful sight.

My photographer (aka Phil) and I arrived just after the first batch was weighed and headed towards the press. Normally The Olive Press processes their own oil, but today was a little different. Today was a community pressing, where anyone with an olive tree and good fruit can bring their olives in to be pressed. It is the oldest program of its kind in the United States. Each small grower brings in their fruit, has it weighed, pays to have it processed and in a week or so they return to The Olive Press to pick up their very own olive oil. Some of the people I spoke with kept the oil for personal use, but many gave their oil as holiday gifts. I met one man, who gave it with his own vinegar and wine. I did my best to ingratiate myself to him, but did not end up on his holiday gift list.

I watched people carrying bins and buckets of lovingly tended fruit to be weighed and processed, silently cursing my pathetic little olive tree for not producing any fruit and envious of the bucket wielding growers. Thankfully there was too much action for me to just stand their sulking, soon I was helping unload olives, watching weigh ins and learning the particulars of what makes for a viable olive oil olive. Deborah showed me the effects of worm, frost and dehydration on an olive and taught me how they not only degrade the overall quality of the oil, but can produce some downright terrible flavors.

After weigh in, the olives are placed into a large bin that is poured into a giant hopper for cleaning and separating before the actual crush. Once they reach the crushing machine, it looks like the most luscious tapenade you’ve ever seen. Eventually, it ends up in a centrifuge where the olive is separated from the oil, resulting in the thick golden liquid we all know and love so well.

While the olives were in the final stage of their process, I headed into the shop to do an olive oil tasting. While the actual physical act of tasting olive oil is different, than say wine or coffee tasting, the structure is the same. I started out with the more delicate varietals, such as the Arbequina, the progressed on through the spectrum to the blended oils like the intense and buttery Master Blend. It was a difficult choice to make, but I went home with a bottle of the Sevillano oil and resisted the urge to buy the gorgeous olive frond sculptures . . . and the olive wood nesting bowls. I really want those bowls!

I rejoined Deborah and a grower for a little fresh out of the centrifuge tasting. The oils I had tasted inside had all provided a throat warming sensation, and they had the previous year to mellow. But this was fresh off the press and the throat warming sensation was intensified threefold. Maybe in a few months it would be more my strength.

My visit to The Olive Press was an interesting and tasty one. The oil is gorgeous and has definitely earned a permanent spot in my kitchen.

Haitian Relief

The Haitians need help. Their country has been decimated and yesterday I saw a report that the Red Cross was out of supplies in Haiti. The Coast Guard and Army are helping, but they need our support. If you are in a position to help, even a little, please click on one of the links below to donate.

The Red Cross: http://american.redcross.org/site/PageServer?pagename=ntld_main

Wyclef Jean’s humanitarian organization: http://www.yele.org/

The White House: http://www.whitehouse.gov/haitiearthquake_embed

The evening of December 2nd, Phil and I were invited to join various members of the Seattle food media for an evening of wining and dining at Barolo Ristorante in downtown Seattle. What a lovely evening it was. The posh restaurant is [...]]]> The Endive Chronicles 2008 Holiday Bonanza Rolls On. . . today’s installment Barolo Ristorante.

The evening of December 2nd, Phil and I were invited to join various members of the Seattle food media for an evening of wining and dining at Barolo Ristorante in downtown Seattle. What a lovely evening it was. The posh restaurant is dimly lit with flowing curtains and secluded spaces, the sort of place one can expect anonymity and exhibition in equal measure. We were greeted in the dining room with a glass of prosecco by Chef Leo Varchetta under a row of glittering chandeliers, solidifying my first impressions of swank.

We were introduced to some very interesting people such as Jay Friedman of Gastrolust and his partner Akiko both of whom I liked instantly, I was pleased we were seated together. I also met Julien Perry the fabulous host of “Go Eat!” on KOMO AM 1000 and Braiden Rex-Johnson author of The Pike Place Market Cookbook.

We were treated to three delicious courses consisting of Insalata di Granchio (king crab, fennel and endive) paired with Soave Inama, Tortelloni al Brunet e Asparagi (porcini stuffed tortelloni, with a goat cheese sauce and asparagus) paired with Sangiovese Rubio San Polo and Branzino alle Olive Bianche e Pomodoro Appassiti (Chilean Sea Bass with castelvetrano olives and tomato confit) paired with Barbaresco Casetta. It was a wonderful meal. But the shining star of the evening had yet to make an appearance.

Our glasses were filled once again, this time with a sweet sparkling moscato. When our dessert arrived I thought okay, cannoli is fine, not what I was hoping for but I am sure it will be good. It wasn’t good, it was great. No, it wasn’t great it was luscious and surprisingly light. This wasn’t the so sweet it hurts cannoli I had grown accustomed to. In fact the filling wasn’t sweet at all and when paired with the moscato it was flawless. The shell was so tender and full of flavor it put even the most renown Italian American bakeries to shame.

I used to rave about the cannoli at Cafe Roma on Mulberry Street in Manhattan and Mikes Pastry on Hanover Street in Boston believing they had no equal let alone a superior, but after having a cannoli at Barolo they are but a distant memory. While I must assert that this post is not a restaurant review*, I must say that the next time I am hungry for an exceptional dessert I will head back to Barolo for a glass of sparkling moscato and a cannoli.

* I only review a restaurant I have visited several times under wraps.

**Sorry there is no photo, we had some technical difficulties.

Historically, honey has been used as anything from an offering, to medicine and even a celebratory ingredient. This golden ambrosia is a frequent guest in my cooking and I am a big fan of both it’s sweet and savory applications. So, a few weeks ago when Phil’s co-worker/friend Dan invited us to take part in [...]]]>  

Historically, honey has been used as anything from an offering, to medicine and even a celebratory ingredient. This golden ambrosia is a frequent guest in my cooking and I am a big fan of both it’s sweet and savory applications. So, a few weeks ago when Phil’s co-worker/friend Dan invited us to take part in a honey harvest I jumped at the chance.

A few days before we were set to attend the honey harvest my excitement was getting the better of me, so I decided to do a little research on beekeeping. Instead I read every article I possibly could on bee stings and anaphylactic shock while pondering what would happen if bees could smell fear. I haven’t been stung in years, but I had myself thoroughly convinced that during that time I had developed some sort of deadly allergy. All of this just a few hours after I had enthusiastically agreed to don the beekeepers suit.

As Friday afternoon approached I was so excited  and told anyone who would listen; though the guy in the elevator didn’t really seem to care, nor did the clerk at the market. My friend Leslie however was quite surprised and thought it very unlike me to put myself in harms way. My sister was confused by the fact that I was putting on the beekeeper’s suit and believed I was dressing as a bee for the occasion. She had a good laugh after learning the truth, though the heartiness of her laugh told me she was laughing at something other than just the misunderstanding. I have a bit of a reputation for being a giant chicken as you may have gathered.

When we arrived in Algona, Dan took us on a whirlwind tour of the vegetable patch, telling me to “eat this” and “pick that”. There were green beans, cauliflower, yellow squash, infant sized zucchini*, broccoli, tomatoes, fingerling tomatoes, Walla Walla Sweets, rosy colored garlic, Italian plums, grapes, apples, and blueberries, it was a veritable backyard smorgasbord. Our hostess Sue told us of once waking early to make breakfast for her guests only to find one already munching away in the garden. I could hardly blame them, I learned during my pre-harvest snack tour that this garden is difficult to resist.

After my tour the time came to suit up for the big game. My ill fitting beekeeper’s suit gave me the uncanny appearance of an Oompa Loompa and my head covering was about the same age as I am. it needed a bit of tape here and there to seal any openings a bee would find tempting. Phil tucked the suit into my socks and places rubber bands  around the wrists of my gloves. I was ready for battle.

Before we began the walk to the hive, Dan passed on a few sage words of advice that would prove very handy over the next half hour or so. The most important being; if the bees  begin to find your body a place of great interest, walk (don’t run) to the nearest set of trees and brush yourself off by turning around in the branches.

Comrades in comb, Dan, Steve and I set out for the hive, each armed with some offensive or defensive tool of the trade. I carried a garden sprayer full of sugar water used to calm angry bees looking to protect their treasure from our little invasion party.  When we arrived at the hive, Steve took pity on my nerves and allowed me to stand a comfortable distance away, observing, but not yet part of the swarm. I watched them remove frames coated thickly with bees from the hive.They showed me the three stages of the hive foundation, uncapped and capped as they scraped away their quarry.  From the look of things the harvest would be small this time, but promised to be very rewarding in a few week from now.

I finally moved in closer, though not before committing what could have been a grievous error by walking in front of the hive. A move that is advised against, as it agitates the bees. Like a sentinel I stood clutching my sprayer, trigger finger itchy and ready to strike if the bees became too agitated. Finally the bees had enough of us and began to retaliate. Dan was the first to fall being stung several times, most prominently on the nose. I was determined to tough it out, but a sting on the middle finger of my right hand sent me rolling around in the trees in an attempt to shake off any more assailants before making a beeline for the house.

I was done and Steve was the last man standing. Dan, a battle hardened soldier sucked it up and went back out to finish the job. I made my way back to the house where the rest of the party was waiting and was given a bee sting remedy that I must admit caught me by surprise. I have long railed against keeping meat tenderizer in the kitchen, but the papain it contained soothed the pain and kept the swelling down. After I had changed, and my sting had calmed a bit, Dan and Steve finished the job and returned with a heaping bowl of honeycomb in hand. Steve had been stung about the ankles.

Before I go on it must be said that as the three of us  were being swarmed and stung, Phil was, without suit mind you, jumping in and out of the action in an attempt to photograph every moment. How fitting that he, short sleeves and all was the only one not to receive a single sting.

With the hives back together, stings treated and smoker extinguished it was time to taste the honey. Dan held out the bowl for me to taste, his daughter Erin informed me that I was about to taste the best honey in the world and I believe she was right. As I tasted the raw honey I thought of Julia Child’s first experience with roast chicken in France, until that moment she had forgotten how real chicken tasted. For my part, I’m not sure I ever knew honey could taste like this. The rich sweetness seemed so intense and the uniquely juicy notes given to it by the blackberry bushes frequented by the bees was luxurious.

Our evening was capped off by sitting under a canopy strung with lights to a marvelous dinner filled with organic produce grown within sight of our table. My favorite dish of the evening was the simple boiled fingerling potatoes that were so full of flavor that I actually ate them completely plain so as not to spoil their creamy earthy flavor. We were sent home with enough veggies to feed an army, a giant pie with the thinnest most tender crust I have ever had and a jar of freshly harvested honey.

Now, what should I do with it?

***Update: Many of you have now likely heard of colony collapse, if not here is a link that will shed a little light on this very disturbing issue;  http://culinaryfool.spaces.live.com/blog/cns!A7D1373D92F448FA!3145.entry

* Everyone seemed a little surprised that I like the larger sized zucchini and I told them they were good for baking. As Phil and Erin had done most of the harvesting for me I didn’t know just how large a zucchini they were talking. As we unloaded the car that night my jaw hit the ground as I saw three zucchini the size of toddlers in my backseat. So far I have made two cakes, six batches of muffins and have added it to a chicken meatloaf, but have only managed to get through one zucchini. I even added extra to the recipe.

** I’m looking forward to my next visit, Dan promised to teach me about casting metal.**

Last June a friend and I visited the Westhampton Farmers Market. There among stands selling candy striped beets and bundles of lavender we came upon a new addition to the fray, a stand devoted to promoting the best in American artisanal cheese; Lucy’s Whey. We sampled mouthwatering cheeses, chatted with proprietor Catherine Bodziner, loaded up [...]]]>

Last June a friend and I visited the Westhampton Farmers Market. There among stands selling candy striped beets and bundles of lavender we came upon a new addition to the fray, a stand devoted to promoting the best in American artisanal cheese; Lucy’s Whey. We sampled mouthwatering cheeses, chatted with proprietor Catherine Bodziner, loaded up on chevre wrapped in Hoja leaves and a truly decadent ewe’s milk blue. We instantly became Lucy’s Whey devotees.

Ever since the market closed for the season I have been experiencing what can only be described as a serious jones. You can imagine my excitement when my friend and fellow cheese addict called to say that Lucy’s Whey would soon be opening it’s doors in East Hampton. Last week, my husband and I braved howling wind, soaking rain and a slow moving Cadillac to experience this new American style fromagerie. It was worth it.

Pulling up to Lucy’s Whey on this grey, gloomy day I was drawn to the bright warm light that seemed to radiate from the storefront. Upon stepping inside, I was greeted by a cheerful yellow and white shop, tantalizing cheeses and the most agreeable proprietor Catherine Bodziner. Catherine is a tiny woman with bright sparkling eyes, an excitement for her work and a true devotion to American artisanal products. She is truly someone who can help raise artisanal products in America from a subculture to a real American food culture by changing perceptions one tangy, creamy bite at a time.

When Bodziner first began speaking with investors she encountered quite a bit of skepticism. One friend/potential investor even asked if the local warehouse store would be her supplier. The answer, of course, was an emphatic “no”. For two years Catherine researched, tasted and visited artisanal dairies around the country, carefully discerning what she would sell at Lucy’s Whey and it shows.

During our visit we sampled our way through a selection of tangy aged Gouda, creamy Atlantic Mist, and Van Goat chevre and then Catherine brought out the big guns; Jasper Hill’s Bayley Hazen Blue (to satisfy my addiction), and Winnemere. The Winnemere is washed with lambic and wrapped in the bark of a spruce tree, which not only helps hold it’s shape, but imparts an earthy note. This nutty, decadent treat is only made in limited amounts and is highly sought after. When it melts in your mouth like the finest truffle you will understand why. The Bayley Hazen Blue is the tangiest blue I have ever tasted. All I kept thinking was how well it would replace the Roquefort in my Roquefort and Tomato Tart recipe.

Our visit to Lucy’s Whey was a wonderful success, aside from the fact that my enthusiasm to buy the two Jasper Hill cheeses led me to forget about purchasing a wedge of Fiscalini cheddar. Next time.

I would like to thank Catherine for her hospitality and time. I encourage anyone living in or visiting the Hamptons to visit her wonderful little shop. For those of you not in the Hampton, I encourage you to forgo apathy, sub-par and cookie cutter to discover how wonderful passion and attention to detail can taste.

Several months ago, I heard about an organization in Italy dedicated to the preservation of regional Italian food heritage. Home Food is collaboration between the Association for the Guardianship and Exploitation of the Traditional Culinary-Gastronomic Heritage of Italy, the Ministry of Agriculture Politics and the University of Bologna (whew!), all dedicated to keeping familial [...]]]>

Several months ago, I heard about an organization in Italy dedicated to the preservation of regional Italian food heritage. Home Food is collaboration between the Association for the Guardianship and Exploitation of the Traditional Culinary-Gastronomic Heritage of Italy, the Ministry of Agriculture Politics and the University of Bologna (whew!), all dedicated to keeping familial culinary traditions alive. Home Food is unique in the fact that your host or *Cesarine will not be a graduate of Le Cordon Bleu, but a home cook with vast knowledge of the food and local product history of her region. On a recent trip to Rome I had the opportunity of taking part in one of their events.

After the registration and acceptance process you are invited to dine at the home of your Cesarine. We were fortunate enough to be welcomed into the home of our cesarine, Nella and her husband Luigi. Not only was Nella a tremendous cook and knowledgeable about the cookery of Lazio, but she was one of the loveliest people I have ever had the privilege to meet.

Getting to the home of our Cesarine was an adventure in itself. The night was dark, cold and rainy as we climbed into our cab. The streets of Rome were clogged with cars and scooters. It occured to me as I watched a scooter sliding out of control that the Romans probably don’t drive in the rain very often. As the minutes ticked by, our anxiety grew as we recalled a stern warning against tardiness. Sensing our anxiety, our kind but slightly misguided driver offered us sections of orange and cigarettes to help ease our minds.

As we reached the Salario Hills, traffic lightened as did our drivers inhibitions. In search of the elusive Via Cesare Fani, we streaked down wet streets, bowled over medians and shook our fists at scooter drivers. Finally after stopping three times for directions (and achieving greater understanding of the Pope’s call for driver safety), we reached our destination.

We were buzzed in by Nella’s husband Luigi, an energetic, lively man in his sixties, who came bounding down the stairs to greet us. We were ushed into a cozy apartment filled with books, art and the most enticing cooking smells imaginable, where we met Nella, our Cesarine. Nella is not only the quintessential hostess and wonderful cook, but spirited and interesting. The other guests were actually good friend of Nella and Luigi’s and the four together made some of the most delightful dinner companions I have ever had.

We started our meal with antipasti of olives, artichokes and the most succulent sundried tomatoes I have ever had, served with a *local red wine. Next we had *Gradoli beans flavored with sofrito, seasonings and dressed with a lavish dose of *olive oil from the more than two thousand year old trees of the Sabina region of Lazio. Talk about connecting yourself to history.

Next up was my personal favorite, the fennel and celery salad. In the beginning I was actually dreading this dish as raw fennel is usually on the short list of things I will not eat, but Nella’s dish has changed my mind. The vinagrette she used tamed the bold anise flavor, but did not to drown our the flavors of the *local pecorino romano that was highlighted in this salad. At dinner, I couldn’t get enough of this dish. When I returned home I immediately set out to create my own version (recipe to come).

Then we were treated to semolina gnocchi which was comfort food in its highest form. This dish is a mixture of semolina, milk, parmigiano reggiano, butter and eggs. The gnocchi are cut into circles, layered in a pan and baked till crispy on top. Each bite was heaven, I had to stop myself from finishing my dish or have no room for the next course; saltimbocca alla romana. A dish of veal, ham and sage sauteed in olive oil, saltimbocca alla romana is delicious. According to Home Food this dish is not native to Rome, but has been adopted and stamped with a uniquely Roman seal. The accompanying dish reminded my husband of the Lithuanian kugeli his mother makes. Potatoes guanciale (meat made of a pigs cheek and throat), was a welcome taste of home.

Our meal was punctuated by a trio of desserts, starting with the traditional pizza polenta. This Roman dessert is comprised of *local sheep’s milk, ricotta, polenta, sugar, pine nuts and sultanas. Pizza polenta is part crust, part cookie and makes for an elegant dessert bite. The next offering was the most delicious dish of poached pears I have ever had. Delicately scented with oranges and anise this was a very familiar yet unique dessert.
Last, but certainly not least was the torta ai cioccolato. At first it seemed as if it would be dry and a bit crumbly, but those words ceased to exist once this miraculous sweet hit my tongue dissolving into creamy oblivion. I was devastated to learn that this was a closely guarded family recipe and was not to be revealed. I studied each bite carefully and have hopes to one day figure out the secret. For now I will visit the torta ai cioccolato in my daydreams.

I would like to thank Nella, Luigi and the Home Food Project for providing us with this unique cultural experience; it will stay with us for the rest of our lives. For those of you interested in culinary tradition, I encourage you to experience Home Food.

* A Cesarine can be a mother, aunt, grandmother or servant, but is above all the woman who takes care of the household.

* The products of Lazio highlighted in this meal were, Extra virgin olive oil from Sabina, pecorino romano cheese, ricotta romana cheese, gradoli beans, Cesanese del Piglio wine and Cannellino del Lazio wine.

* Source: Home Food