So "Lost"

I am lost nearly every week. But I love the challenges the ABC mind-bender, "Lost," generates. I love the acting and the storytelling. I also love these photos, taken during the show's 100th episode celebration in Hawaii.



Jeremy Davies plays Daniel Faraday.



Jorge Garcia plays Hugo "Hurley" Reyes.



The cake comes from the crew at "Ace of Cakes" on the Food Network. (The photos are from ABC.)

In the Sunday paper

The San Francisco Chronicle looks at French macarons, "perfectly round cookie sandwiches in pastel greens, bright pinks and vibrant yellows."

(Photo credit goes to Eric Luse of the San Francisco Chronicle.)

I have been thinking about macarons on and off for months now. I first tried them at Miette in the Ferry Building Marketplace in San Francisco. True, they are wickedly expensive. Then again, they are wickedly good.

The reporter highlights a handful of other places in the Bay Area where these cookies are also available, including Masse's Pastries in Berkeley, Pamplemousse in Redwood City and Bouchon Bakery farther out in Yountville. Grab the sunscreen. I feel a road trip coming on.

Meeting for lunch

Google might have cut back on afternoon tea for its employees in Mountain View. But during its annual meeting at corporate headquarters, the company still offers an impressive lunch buffet for shareholders who attend.

In addition to items such as salad greens and hard-boiled eggs, we have an orange couscous salad, and a Greek pasta salad with olives and artichoke hearts.

We have bacon-wrapped pork tenderloin, rotisserie chicken, and mini pot roast sandwiches. We have crab cakes with little to no fillers. We have asparagus, macaroni and cheese, and corn and lima bean succotash. We have so-called raw lasagna layered with thin slices of zucchini and "cheese" made from macadamia nuts. We have strawberries and fresh-cut pineapple.

For dessert, we have eclairs, white chocolate chip and cranberry cookies, berry cobbler, and IT'S-ITs packaged with the Google logo.

I'm sorry. Is the CEO talking? Is there investor business to conduct?

Sugar, sugar

"All I ever really want is sugar."

Andy Warhol, who spent time at Serendipity 3 in New York City, something I learn in the gift shop for "Warhol Live," on exhibit through May 17 at the de Young museum in San Francisco.

Was he talking only of sugar, what we bake with? Or was he referring to something more?

Sun-made, ice-cold

When the weather is hot, an unseasonably 91 degrees, and there are leftovers in the refrigerator, I do not cook. I think only to brew sun tea. It is something I learned to do from a good friend, who learned it from his mother years ago.

I grab a two-quart Rubbermaid jug, put in six teabags, fill the container with tap water, tighten the lid, and set it outdoors. The sun does the rest of the work.

Hours later, I bring the plastic container into the kitchen, remove the teabags floating inside, screw the lid tight again, shake things a bit for proper effect, and pour tea into a glass filled with ice. I pause to take a long drink. It goes down nice and cold.

What I must take for granted

At a farmers' market across town, I stock up on strawberries but can not yet locate rhubarb. Darn.

When I email a friend in snowy Colorado, and talk of having enough luscious red fruit to last the week but unfortunately still no rhubarb, she envies the year-round farmers' markets in the Bay Area.

To which I ask, semi-seriously: What, aren't all farmers' markets year-round?

Spoken like a fruit-privileged Californian.

I am reminded of the mildly morbid but telling story a brother used to share about a man who complained of having no shoes until he saw somebody else with no feet.

Cake love

"Cake holds a family together. I really believed it did. My father was a different man when there was cake in the house. Warm. The sort of man I wanted to hug rather than shy away from. If he had a plate of cake in his hand I knew it would be all right to climb up onto his lap. There was something about the way my mother put a cake on the table that made me feel that all was well. Safe. Secure. Unshakable."

Nigel Slater, in his memoir "Toast: The Story of a Boy's Hunger."

Schedule C for cake

I finish taxes and send the suckers off. Hallelujah! This calls for cake. Well, technically, anything can call for cake.

The forms take about three weekends, on and off, and plenty of hair-pulling (even with TurboTax). But, in the end, I complete my taxes and my parents' taxes, and crosscheck returns for a few sisters and brothers.

If the threats of IRS audits don't hang perpetually over their heads, I swear, people would not worry half as much as they do about numbers and calculations, explanation and documentation.

Suffice to say, I am greatly relieved, and look forward to again engaging my creative right brain (leaving the methodical left brain alone until next April). In the meantime, Uncle Sam gets its share; and I, well, I get cake.

To market, to market

Imagine the excitement when I learned of a farmers' market opening nearby. Finally, I thought, I could walk on a slow, casual Saturday to an outdoor market, and head home shortly afterward with fresh, seasonal fruits.

I wouldn't need to get into a car to wander farmers' markets in other parts of the city. I wouldn't need to find parking to sample an array of lovely and sometimes unusual produce. I wouldn't need to drum up a list of errands "in that area" to justify visits to markets 20 or 25 minutes away from where I live.

In other cities, I have happily strolled farmers' markets, taking the train or the car, finding (and paying for) parking.

I love the Ferry Plaza farmers' market, for example, and try as much as possible to include it in plans when I BART into San Francisco. Trips to see a brother in Southern California also feel much more satisfying when we get to go to the market in Santa Monica.

But this new farmers' market, this one would be different, I thought. This one would actually be in my very own back yard. Finally, I could tumble out of bed, slap on a pair of sneakers and walk there.

Imagine the disappointment when I arrived during the second weekend to find less than two handfuls of stalls and vendors, and even fewer people shopping.

Organizers say they hope to see the farmers' market expand in weeks, months and years ahead, as more growers come and word spreads inevitably across the neighborhood. I do, too.

The knead to succeed

The first time I made focaccia, the dough did not rise at all. It sat bored and bewildered, a lazy blob in a mixing bowl atop the counter. I tossed it reluctantly into the compost bin outside.

Weeks earlier, my brother had brought an olive-and-onion focaccia to the house. He had gotten it at the store. Soft, fresh and flavorful, the bread had gone remarkably well with our supper: pasta with sausage and peppers. It had been splendid.

Inspired by its apparent simplicity and versatility, I decided to re-create that loaf in my kitchen. Though I am not a bread baker, I have learned to follow directions fairly efficiently. I like to believe I understood enough about cooking and ingredients that complemented one another to prove somewhat adept.

With a recipe culled from a few different sources, I set to work. Alas... I checked the date on the yeast packet; it had been almost a decade old, presumably when I last attempted bread.


The second time I made focaccia, with a new package of Fleischmann's, the dough rose only slightly. Had the water been warm enough? I wondered. Had it generated a sort of fizz when it hit the yeast? I was stumped.

I carried on nevertheless, ambitiously stretching the dough across a baking sheet before drizzling olive oil and scattering herbs. I dimpled the surface artistically with my fingers, pressing in handfuls of sliced olives and sautéed onions. Warm from the oven, the focaccia tasted fine, if not entirely fluffy.


According to Marcella Hazan, focaccia is most closely linked to Liguria, the Italian Riviera along the country's northwestern Mediterranean coast. In some towns, she notes in "Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking," focaccia is known as "pizza Genoese, Genoese-style pizza."

Focaccia does resemble pizza in some ways. It can have a similar texture, and often incorporates familiar toppings such as basil, garlic and mushrooms. Fortunately, however, focaccia is seldom inundated with tomato sauce or drowned in melted cheese, making it easier to handle.

Ordering focaccia in Italian bakeries can be a tricky endeavor. In Bologna, "if you're looking for focaccia, the appropriate word to use is crescentina; in Florence, Rome, and a few other parts of central Italy, it is schiacciata," Hazan writes. "If you ask for focaccia in Bologna or Venice, you will be given a very sweet panettone-like cake, studded with candied fruit and raisins."

Focaccia can be eaten as a side to the main course, the way my brother and I approached our meal that night. It can be considered an appetizer, served warm perhaps with a lovely bowl of soup.

Thick loaves can also be cut horizontally for sandwiches and filled with coppa and provolone, prosciutto and slices of mozzarella, or a mix of grilled or roasted vegetables. Or it can be eaten the way it is served in Ligurian bakeries: hot from the oven, wrapped in paper and downed on the spot.


In "Lidia's Family Table," Lidia Bastianich delivers an intriguing fig focaccia. In "How to Cook Everything: Simple Recipes for Great Food," Mark Bittman's basic focaccia is essentially a pizza dough, with different ideas for toppings.

And in his latest, "The Modern Baker," Nick Malgieri gets creative. His focaccia recipes include combinations such as tomatoes, anchovies and dried breadcrumbs; sliced onions, anchovies, black olives and green olives; and prosciutto, mozzarella and Parmigiano-Reggiano, for a ham-and-cheese-filled focaccia.


The third time I made focaccia, I added warm water to the yeast and watched it fizz. I proofed the dough in the hottest place in the house: an upstairs bedroom with strong afternoon sun, nowhere near the kitchen. The dough rose significantly and developed an elasticity with which I was satisfied. It stretched amicably and went into and out of the oven effortlessly.

Cut and plated nicely, the focaccia looked terrific, speckled with the contrasting colors of black olives, red onions and green herbs. Fluffier than the previous loaf, the bread felt soft and spongy; the toppings tasted savory and mildly sweet. I ate chunks of it meal after meal, until nary a crumb remained.

Why, I wondered, had focaccia even mattered? What was the big deal? So what if I messed up the first time, or the second. Why was it important to make bread when I could go to the store? Could I not have resisted the challenge? Maybe I was trying to impress my brother. More likely, however, I was trying to impress myself.

(The site www.culinate.com, where the photo is from, publishes a version of this food essay.)


Olive and Onion Focaccia

dough:

2 tsp. active dry yeast
1 cup warm water
2 Tbsp. sugar
3 1/2 to 4 cups flour
1 Tbsp. coarse salt
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil

topping:

1 Tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil
1 onion, peeled and sliced
2 cups olives, pitted and sliced
1 tsp. dried herbs (rosemary, basil, thyme or oregano) or 2 tsp. chopped fresh herbs
salt
freshly ground black pepper

To make the dough: In the bowl of a stand mixer, combine the dry yeast, warm water and sugar. Stir gently to dissolve. Wait 3 to 5 minutes for the yeast to activate; it should fizz. Attach the dough hook. With the machine on low, gradually add the flour. Dissolve the salt in 2 Tbsp. of water. Add it to the mixture as well. Pour in the olive oil.

When the dough begins to form, increase the speed to medium. Periodically scrape the dough off the hook. Mix about 10 minutes, until the dough is smooth and elastic, adding a little flour if necessary.

Turn the dough out onto a board and fold it over itself a few times. Shape it into a ball. Put it into an oiled bowl. Cover with plastic wrap or a damp cloth and let it rise in a warm spot in the house for about 45 minutes, until it has doubled in size.

To make the topping: In a medium-sized skillet over low to medium heat, caramelize the onions in olive oil.

To bake the focaccia: Lightly oil a baking sheet. When the dough is ready, turn it out. Roll and stretch it into the pan until the dough is about 1/2-inch thick. Cover with plastic wrap again. Let it rest for 15 minutes more.

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. Uncover the dough and dimple it with your fingers. Brush it with a little more olive oil. Top the dough with the caramelized onions, olives, herbs, salt and freshly ground black pepper.

Bake on the bottom rack for 15 to 20 minutes. Serve warm or at room temperature. Makes 1 sheet.

No foolin'

What I would do to eat at 10 Downing Street, where Jamie Oliver, among my favorite rock star chefs, and a crew from Fifteen London prepare dinner for politicians and world leaders the evening before the G-20 economic summit.



The menu:

Baked Scottish Salmon with Seashore Vegetables, Broad Beans, Herb Garden Salad, Mayonnaise and Wild Garlic-scented Irish Soda Bread

Slow-Roasted Shoulder of Welsh Lamb, very first of the season Jersey Royals, first of the season Asparagus and Wild St. George Mushrooms, Mint Sauce and Gravy

Hot Bakewell Tart with Homemade Custard

(The image is from www.jamieoliver.com.)

Vegetarian options include:

Childwickbury Goat's Cheese with Roast Shallots, Seashore Vegetables, Herb Green Salad and Wild Garlic-scented Irish Soda Bread

Lovage and Potato Dumplings with first of the season Asparagus and Wild St. George Mushrooms


I am going to have to figure out what lovage is exactly. The lamb, however, reminds me of a terrific recipe from "Jamie at Home: Cook Your Way to the Good Life":


Incredible Roasted Shoulder of Lamb with Smashed Vegetables and Greens

for the lamb:

1 (2.2-lb.) shoulder of lamb
extra virgin olive oil
sea salt
freshly ground black pepper
1 large bunch fresh rosemary
1 bulb garlic, unpeeled, broken into cloves

for the smashed vegetables:

1 1/2 lbs. peeled potatoes, cut into large chunks
3 large carrots, peeled and cut into small chunks
1/2 a large rutabaga, peeled and cut into small chunks
6 Tbsp. butter

for the sauce:

1 Tbsp. all-purpose flour
2 cups good-quality hot chicken or vegetable stock
2 Tbsp. capers, soaked, drained and chopped
1 large bunch fresh mint, leaves picked
2 Tbsp. red wine vinegar
1 lb. lovely greens, such as white cabbage, savoy cabbage, Brussels sprouts tops or cavolo nero, leaves separated, stalks finely sliced

for the lamb:

Preheat your oven to full whack (450 to 500 degrees F).

Slash the fat side of the lamb all over with a sharp knife. Lay half the sprigs of rosemary and half the garlic cloves on the bottom of a high-sided roasting pan, rub the lamb all over with olive oil and season with salt and pepper.

Place it in the pan on top of the rosemary and garlic, and put the rest of the rosemary and garlic on top of the lamb. Tightly cover the tray with aluminum foil and place in the oven.

Turn the oven down immediately to 325 degrees F and cook for 4 hours - it's done if you can pull the meat apart easily with two forks.

for the vegetables:

When the lamb is nearly cooked, put the potatoes, carrots and rutabaga into a large pot of boiling salted water and boil hard for 20 minutes or so until you can slide a knife into the rutabaga easily.

Drain and allow to steam dry, then smash them up in the pan with most of the butter. If you prefer a smooth texture, add some cooking water. Spoon into a bowl, cover with foil and keep warm over a pan of simmering water.

for the sauce:

Remove the lamb from the oven and place it on a chopping board. Cover it with foil, then a kitchen towel, and leave it to rest.

Put a large pan of salted water on to boil for the greens.

Pour away most of the fat from the roasting pan, discarding any bits of rosemary. Put the pan on the stovetop over medium heat and mix in the flour. Add the stock, stirring and scraping all the sticky goodness off the bottom of the pan. You won't need gallons of gravy, just a couple of flavorsome spoonfuls for each serving.

Add the capers, turn the heat down and simmer for a few minutes. Finely chop the mint and add it to the sauce with the red wine vinegar at the last minute then pour into a pitcher.

Add the greens and stalks to the pan of fast-boiling salted water and cook for 4 to 5 minutes to just soften them. Drain and toss with a knob of butter and a pinch of salt and pepper.

Place everything in the middle of the table, and shred the lamb in front of your guests. Absolutely delish! Makes 6 servings.

Sour grapes

Shame on me. I should know better.

I had Chilean grapes the other week. They tasted horrible. Or, to put it more accurately, they tasted like nothing. They were not sweet at all. What a waste of time and effort.

From now on, so long as I am living in California, I am spending money on California grapes. There is no point in purchasing mediocre produce packed and shipped from afar when all I need to do is wait. It is better that I support local agriculture when it is in season.

Besides, in no time, I should have access to berries, beans, rhubarb and a mess of spring and summer produce also grown in California.

Alas... only when I find myself in Chile will I eat Chilean grapes again.

Ice cream

"We dare not trust our wit for making our house pleasant to our friend, so we buy ice cream."

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Deep-fried goodness

"They are my favorite food in the whole wide world... I could live on french fries."

Michelle Obama, speaking of food indulgences in The New York Times.

I have got to love this woman. She chooses to eat well and exercises regularly, yet can not resist an occasional side order of goodness. Her French fries are my lemon doughnuts.

The White House gardens

Marian Burros describes the vegetable garden about to take shape on the South Lawn, a stone's throw from the new children's swing set:

"The Obamas will feed their love of Mexican food with cilantro, tomatilloes and hot peppers. Lettuces will include red romaine, green oak leaf, butterhead, red leaf and galactic. There will be spinach, chard, collards and black kale. For desserts, there will be a patch of berries. And herbs will include some more unusual varieties, like anise hyssop and Thai basil. A White House carpenter who is a beekeeper will tend two hives for honey.

"Total cost for the seeds, mulch, etc., is $200."

The White House has this shot:




Though vegetable gardening is not something I aspire to do, it is something I can admire. More so given the national profile here. Imagine the possibilities on this patch of public land.

Irish eats

I must have a bit of Irish (ingenuity) in me after all.

Bored with the usual corned beef and cabbage, I decide to try a sort of stew. I use lamb, which I love but do not cook often enough. I use broth for further flavor. And I use parsley for that requisite splash of green.

For dessert, of course, there is Baileys Irish Cream on (or in) anything.

Irish Lamb Stew

2 lbs. boneless lamb, trimmed and cut into 1-inch pieces
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. freshly ground black pepper
1 Tbsp. olive oil
3 medium yellow onions, peeled and cut into 1-inch chunks
3 to 4 medium carrots, peeled and cut into 1-inch chunks
3 to 4 cups chicken or vegetable broth
1 tsp. dried thyme
1 bay leaf
3 to 4 medium russet potatoes, peeled and cut into 1-inch chunks
1/4 cup packed fresh parsley leaves, chopped

Salt and pepper the boneless lamb. In a Dutch oven over medium-high heat, heat the olive oil until just smoking. Brown the meat. Remove pieces to a plate lined with paper towels to soak up the fat. Set aside. Pour out most of the fat from the pot.

Saute the onions and carrots in the Dutch oven for 3 to 5 minutes over medium-high heat, scraping up any browned bits, until the onions are translucent. Return the boneless lamb to the pot.

Add enough broth to cover the vegetables and meat, about 3 cups. Add the thyme and bay leaf. Put the lid on. Bring to a boil then simmer for 1 to 1 1/2 hours. Add the potatoes and cook another 20 to 30 minutes. Remove the bay leaf and stir in the parsley. Makes 8 servings.

Cashew chicken

Southern food writer John T. Edge looks at the cashew chicken phenomenon in Springfield, Missouri.

Its incarnation - "deep-fried chicken chunks in a brown slurry of soy sauce, oyster sauce and stock, scattered with green onions and halved cashews" - frightens me actually. I can imagine the chicken goop, for lack of a better word, and remain grateful to know true Chinese food.

The version from Kylie Kwong's "Simple Chinese Cooking," for example, is more healthful and tastes much cleaner:

Stir-Fried Chicken Fillets with Cashews

1 lb. 10 oz. chicken thigh fillets, cut into 1-inch slices
1 medium cucumber
1/4 cup vegetable oil
1 cup unsalted and roasted cashew nuts, about 5 oz.
6 cloves garlic, finely diced
2 Tbsp. Shao Hsing wine or dry sherry
2 tsp. sea salt
3/4 cup finely sliced scallions

marinade:
2 Tbsp. Shao Hsing wine or dry sherry
2 Tbsp. cornstarch
1 Tbsp. cold water
1 tsp. sea salt

Combine chicken with marinade ingredients in a large bowl, cover, and leave to marinate in the refrigerator for 30 minutes.

Cut cucumber in half lengthwise and scoop out the seeds using a spoon. Place cucumber cut-side down on a chopping board, finely slice on the diagonal and set aside.

Heat 2 Tbsp. of the oil in a hot wok until the surface seems to shimmer slightly. Add half the marinated chicken and stir-fry for 1 minute. Remove from wok with a slotted spoon and set aside. Add remaining chicken and stir-fry for 1 minute, remove from wok and set aside.

Add remaining oil to the hot wok, stir in nuts and garlic and stir-fry on medium heat for 30 seconds, stirring constantly to ensure garlic does not burn. Immediately return chicken to the wok and increase heat to high. Pour in wine or sherry and stir-fry for 30 seconds.

Add salt and continue to stir-fry for a further 30 seconds or until chicken is lightly browned and just cooked through. Lastly, add reserved cucumber and stir-fry for 10 seconds.

Arrange chicken on a platter, garnish with scallions. Makes 4 servings.

The White House cooks

The New York Times, offers insight on the eating habits of Pres. and Michelle Obama and their daughters, Malia and Sasha.

"White House officials say the focus on healthy living will be a significant item on Mrs. Obama's agenda... As the nation battles an obesity epidemic and a hard-to-break taste for oversweetened and oversalted dishes, her message is clear: Fresh, nutritious foods are not delicacies to be savored by the wealthy, but critical components of the diets of ordinary and struggling families..."

At some point, I will have to try the recipe from White House chef Cristeta Comerford:

No Cream Creamed Spinach

2 lbs. baby spinach, washed and cleaned
2 Tbsp. olive oil
4 shallots, minced
2 cloves garlic, minced
salt
freshly ground black pepper

Blanch half a pound of spinach in salted, boiling water. Immediately, "shock" the blanched spinach in a bowl of iced water. Drain and squeeze out the excess water. Puree in a blender. Set aside.

In a large skillet, sweat the shallots and garlic until translucent. Add the rest of the spinach leaves. Toss and sauté until wilted. Fold in the spinach puree. Season with salt and freshly ground black pepper. Makes 6 servings.

Why ask why?

"I forget what we ate, except for the end of the meal. It was a big round peach pie, still warm from Old Mary's oven and the ride over the desert. It was deep, with lots of juice, and bursting with ripe peaches picked that noon. Royal Albertas, Father said they were. The crust was the most perfect I have ever tasted, except perhaps once upstairs at Simpson's in London, on a hot plum tart.

"And there was a quart mason jar, the old-fashioned bluish kind like Mexican glass, full of cream. It was still cold, probably because we all knew the stream it had lain in, Old Mary's stream.

"Father cut the pie in three pieces and put them on white soup plates in front of us, and then spooned out the thick cream. We ate with spoons too, blissful after the forks we were learning to use with Mother.

"And we ate the whole pie, and all the cream. We can't remember if we gave any to the shadowy old man who sold water... and then drove on sleepily toward Los Angeles, and none of us said anything about it for many years, but it was one of the best meals we ever ate...

"I suppose that happens at least once to every human. I hope so.

"Now the hills are cut through with superhighways, and I can't say whether we sat that night in Mint Canyon or Bouquet, and the three of us are in some ways even more than twenty-five years older than we were then. And still the warm round peach pie and the cool yellow cream we ate together that August night live in our hearts' palates, succulent, secret, delicious."

M.F.K. Fisher, writing about peach pie in "The Gastronomical Me."

To taste

A brother offers my mother Indian food left over from his take-out lunch: tandoori chicken, chickpea curry, naan. They are items she seldom eats, prepared in ways with which she is not entirely familiar.

"Try it," he says. "It's different. You might like it."

"Taste it," my mother says, correcting his Cantonese. "With food, the word is taste."

It is a small distinction, I realize, between trying something and tasting something. But it is an important one. It is the same subtle distinction perhaps between seeing and knowing, between hearing and listening. "Taste it," she says.