Fleshing it Out: Cooking Raw Meat

It's been quite some time since we last spoke of meat.

Here's a glimpse into where I'm at, now more than half a year into my meat-eating foray. I've garnered a new love for turkey sandwiches, cheated a few times with bacon, and even ordered chicken saltimbocca this weekend (yes, with the pancetta).

Notice what these all have in common: Someone else was doing the dirty work of preparing my meats.

Alas, it's time to jump over a hurdle.

When I first reintroduced fish into my diet a few years ago, cooking got interesting. It wasn't so much the cooking as it was the preparation. Peeling back the plasticwrap and handling the raw fish used to make me squeamish; I'd use knives and tongs and spatulas - anything I could get my hands on to keep my hands off the actual fish.

I've since relaxed. It took some getting used to (and a lot of handsoap), but I'm now comfortable with letting the raw meat drape over my palm as I tug out thin bones with my fingernails; massaging oil and spice into the flesh; placing the slab directly from fishwrap to foil-lined baking trays without hesitation.

I felt a stronger resistance, though, when I envisioned doing the same with poultry...

So much so that it took me nearly 8 months to bite the bullet and buy some raw chicken to cook.

I've had a bag of frozen chicken breasts in the freezer. Even those made me nervous because I had to think about properly thawing then properly cooking the flesh (neither of which I have to worry about for vegetarian options).

But, last week, I finally got brave. And it's all because of my October edition of Food + Wine magazine. As I thumbed through the pages of recipes, I noticed a new trend: I was dog-earring recipes that contained meat - and, for possibly the first time in more than a decade, I wasn't thinking about what faux meats to substitute.

Progress.

I landed on this Chicken Scarpariello recipe. It looked relatively easy and very tasty.

So off I went to Whole Foods' meat section to buy some boneless chicken thighs and the various accoutrements to finish the recipe. I invited another meat-eating friend over for dinner, got out my skillet, and went to work.

I only hesitated once, trying to figure out how to season the chicken before landing it in the pan - without touching it (I quickly remembered a trick I saw on Rachael Ray; leave the meat on the tray you buy it in, and season the top side. Flip that seasoned-side down into your pan, then re-season the new "top" as the bottom starts to cook.)

Easy-peasy. And immensely satisfying - even cold, as leftovers, the next day. I can see this becoming a new go-to and I'm so happy I'm over the hump.

My Other Love: Musings on Music Journalism

Music. Words. Both are things that define me to the core.

I've been music-obsessed from the start. My mom tells that as a toddler, I'd teeter up to the record player (one of those massive, furniture-piece consoles with turntable + speakers + storage) and bob along to Lou Rawls. I apparently had a penchant for "Groovy People."

When MTV launched in 1981, I was there. I can't prove that I remember tuning in on the very first airing of Buggles' "Video Killed the Radio Star," but it couldn't have been long after. That old MTV moon man intro, played between actual videos (back when the "M" actually stood for "music"), still gives me the chills.

I started piano lessons in my single-digit years, then transitioned to the more portable flute in fifth grade. I toted that tin whistle around through to my early twenties when I graduated from college with a Minor in Music.

My other love, words, started just as early. I'm a talker, insisting on the last word. At some point my smart parents must have realized they could hand me a pen and paper and have me channel some of my Chatty Cathy into written words.

And so, for much of my elementary school years, you'd find me passing my free time by creating books and having them bound and "published" at our school library's own printing press.

It wasn't until about age 14 that I put two and two together, realizing I could marry my love of music and writing into a career as a magazine journalist. And so, my hobby of poring over music rags like Rolling Stone and SPIN become dually focused: I read the articles to learn about the bands + to see how the journalists crafted their stories.

About this time, my hometown of Seattle spiked the nationwide radar as an emerging hotbed of cool. Bands like Nirvana, Pearl Jam, and Soundgarden were suddenly household names. When we'd travel out of state, we'd see fewer and fewer blank stares when we described where we called home. Seattle, and its gritty music, was on the map.

I couldn't have dreamed up a better place to be. Right place, right time.

Those years solidified my goal to be a music journalist. I rapidly set forth my path, eying journalism colleges with strong music programs, finally enrolling in the University of Oregon to study magazine journalism + minor in music. While in school, I landed an internship at the renowned Seattle music mag The Rocket. My senior thesis investigated Girl Zines (which, inevitably, centered mostly around boys in bands). I covered the music & entertainment beat at the university newspapers, continued to freelance at The Rocket until it folded, and found a longstanding home as a contributor to ThreeImaginaryGirls.com (a Seattle-based music website). I was living the dream.

Until I fizzled. I'd had enough of reviewing CD after CD, trying to come up with witty ways to describe what felt like the same ol' thing, over and over. I tired of going to live gigs, staying out late and cramming to wrap a review before the next day's publication. My swan song was covering a two-day megafest celebrating Sub Pop's 20 years as a Seattle music label. It was exhilarating and exhausting.

And so, as you know, I switched my focus to the kitchen. For the last couple of years, my creative energy has been directed at all things food. Yet, in the back of my mind, the wheels always cranked around What I Might Do Next. I knew music would return.

For the past couple of months, I've been putting on that old hat. The details are nascent, but I should be sharing more soon. Suffice it to say you may start to see more musical references in my recipe reviews...perhaps more posts as we get closer to the big reveal. I'm also hinting at a few things over on Twitter.

One thing I'd like to know: Do you care if I write about music here? Or, would you prefer to see that on a different site? Leave me a comment to let me know.

How doth my garden grow (or die): Learning lessons from an urban gardener

Summer has shown its last rays of sun, replaced by rain. Torrential downpours, even. Yesterday, during a break from the drops, I headed out to my garden patch to harvest a handful of cherry tomatoes. I had to get to them before the pelting rain split them open.

While there, I also yanked up bushels of baby carrots, tugged out 4 baby bulbs of garlic, and took stock of the growing season on a whole.

Not good.

Early on, we lost the warm-weather crops: the jalapenos and sweet pepper plants withered almost immediately in Seattle's cool spring. Next time, I'll have to exercise patience and plant those after, say, Memorial Day.

I had a pretty good run with the carrots and radishes, but learned a lot about planting techniques. The carrots look like corkscrews; planted much too close together and not "thinned" properly, they didn't have space to grow straight. The radish patch was a success - but too much so! Next year, I will stagger my plantings so we aren't left with 80 ripened radishes on exactly the same day.

The lettuces - all romaine - performed great. I'll try those again next year with some additional varieties like butter or red-leaf for my salads.

The 2 pea plants dried out. We got a few pods, but not enough for full meals. Next season, I need 2 things: poles for the vines to climb, and moats surrounding the plants to corral the moisture.

The one zucchini plant proffered 1 squash thus far. Earlier in summer, I used a few of the blossoms in a delightful, soft salad (blossoms, butter lettuce, and avocado gently tossed with lemon/olive-oil + sunflower seeds). But I noticed that after I plucked the blossoms, the then-baby zucchinis seemed to rot away. Did I prematurely remove their nourishment? I had expected an abundance of squash - anticipating making chocolate zucchini cake. Not this year.

My 4 tomato plants showed promise. They grew mightily and without blight (something that had plagued my potted plants the last few years). Their new locale in the baking sun, with tall, box-shaped trellises to crawl, turned out ok. Flowers bloomed abundantly. But our "summer" weather - so grey, so cool - didn't serve them well. We only started seeing ripened fruit a few weeks ago; today, more than half of the plants are loaded with green tomatoes.

The edible flowers - nasturtiums and violas - both grew well, but their spot wasn't right. Next year I'll transfer them into the raised beds so they don't get covered over by the tall-grass weeds that invaded our rockery.

The herbs - sage and parsley - also did well. But, frankly, I forgot to use them. Next year I'll pot my herbs and put them on the front porch to gently remind me, daily, of their presence.

The Italian kale held its own, but I don't crave kale until the weather turns dark and dreary. Next season I'll search for a variety I can plant closer to end-of-summer so I can harvest it come autumn.

The straight carrots - the ones I remembered to thin.

Now, after weeks of neglect (because the weather has turned, I haven't been outside), my raised beds look somewhat shameful. The parsley shot 3-feet high and is going to seed; the romaine, too, stretches, spindly, toward the sky. Now, the space formerly occupied by the radishes is overrun with pallid, 2-inch toadstool mushrooms. I did some tidying, but part of me is ready to let all of the remaining crops die out and start anew next spring.

So, we'll call this a building year, full of learning lessons.

In that spirit, here are my notes for what I need to do for the 2011 garden:

• Raise the height of the dirt at least another 6-10" - which will also require that I build up the height of the sides of the raised beds
• Install more poles
• Track down a few more pots for herbs
• Find a good landscaper to reclaim our rockery (Have a recommendation? Send 'em my way!) and put down weed block.

2011 Planting List:

HERBS:

• cilantro
• parsley
• basil (grow inside)

GREENS:

• butter lettuce - 2
• romaine - 2 or 3
• red leaf lettuce - 1
• arugula - 1
• (Can you tell that I love salad?!)

FRUITS:

• strawberries
• raspberries (already have, but need to be cut back/moved)

VEGGIES

• tomatoes - 4 plants
• jalapenos (plant later in spring!)
• sweet peppers (same!)
• carrots (need to raise the dirt level + remember to thin after they poke up)
• zucchini
• pumpkins
• radishes (1 packet was enough, but i need to stagger my planting!)
• peas
• pole beans

ETC

• nasturtiums (move from rockery)
• violas (move from rockery)
• sunflowers
• marigolds

Kicking out the Jams

I've been sitting on this story until it was good and steeped, ready to roll out to the world. I'm giddy with excitement to announce to you that my dear pal Rebecca has officially launched Deluxe Foods, an artisan house selling jams, jellies, and chutneys. Basically, anything good and sweet that will come in a jar and be served alongside toast. Or meat. Or cheese. (She's crafty that way; when you pick up some of her wares, be sure to check out the label copy for tips on how to enjoy the products. You might find some surprises!)

Rebecca can best be described as a maven of all things wonderful -- she's one of the most authentically happy people you'll ever meet. She's got a verve for life that is unstoppable. And her taste -- for food, handbags, and vintage trinkets -- is simply spectacular. (Bottom line: You really should meet her, if you don't already know her.)

In her professional life, including a stint as Amazon.com's first-ever cookbook editor, she more than excelled. Case in point: When she left her post as a Microsoft vendor last year, I inherited her project. I was thrilled for the opportunity, but jittery about stepping into those shoes (which, while fashionable, were big ones to fill).

Rebecca, smiling yet wielding a (label) gun. Watch out! (Photo courtesy Rebecca Staffel/Deluxe Foods)

But her time on the nine-to-five circuit had run its course. When she turned in her two-weeks notice, of course everyone asked, "Where are you going? What will you do next?"

Her answer?

Jam.

And so, off to business-planning and goal-setting and permit-securing and commercial-kitchen-finding she trotted. After securing all the necessities (surprisingly, not many of them having to do with melding fruits and sugars into sweet delicacies), she announced Deluxe Foods' stamp on the market. And has been running at a feverish pitch ever since.

Strawberries, macerating (Photo courtesy Rebecca Staffel/Deluxe Foods)

Some 14 short months after turning in her dayjob laptop for good, Deluxe Foods is ready to sell. You can find the jams and jellies at Seattle's Picnic and 106 Pine, and she'll be showing (and sampling!) at the upcoming Artisan Food Festival at the Pike Place Market Sept 25-26.

Please plan to stop by for a taste (or three). I think I'll be there sometime Saturday, helping sling syrupy concoctions. I'd love to introduce you to my friend -- a living, real-life example of someone living her dream.



Pictured above is a sample from last fall of Deluxe Foods' delightful Sakuma Strawberry -- bursting with color and flavor and perfectly great on toast with PB (Or, straight out of the jar. Not that I've tried that.).

Dear Vancouver

Dear Vancouver,

I'm sorry it's been so long since you've heard from me.  It's not that I didn't want to stay in touch. I've simply found myself so busy...

Remember when we had so much fun together in the early 2000s? Great meals, wonderful shopping... those times we watched Indy cars spin around the track.

You've really grown up since then, ramping up the chic factor and erecting big arenas to host legions of fans during the 2010 Olympics. It's no wonder the Olympics committee picked you for the Winter Games: You always dress so stylish, with international flair, and have been leap years ahead of your time (especially compared to Seattle) with your lightning-fast SkyTrain.

It's true -- your taste has gotten more glam (Hello, Gucci, Tiffany, and Burberry). Your restaurants cost a lot more, too (especially now that our American dollar is so weak in comparison). But, you're worth it.

I'm so happy I took my mom up to see you for her special birthday celebration! We dined on some of the freshest seafood from COAST. Plus, how cool is it that your aquarium endorses sustainable, "safe" fish to eat -- so I knew instantly what to order. Thanks for that!

Thanks, too, for fueling us up on caffeine with your many Starbucks (nearly every corner!) plus the Murchies tea shops where I picked up some black currant tea and the stone fruit teas for my Seattle mornings.

Thanks for the wonderful shops on Robson (Zara! Aldo! Lush!) I can't wait to wear my my new treats from each once the weather cools off.

And, you know what? Thanks for being zany, choosing to host a Zombie day. We quite laughed as we walked into the Art Gallery to see the (incredible) Modern Woman exhibit and were suddenly surrounded by bloody zombies. Awesome. (I think my favorite was the zombie-housewife chasing her zombie-husband with an oven mitt.)

Thanks for fostering the musical talent of Michael Buble. That cat is one helluva charmer, and we loved every minute of his show at GM -- er, Rogers -- arena.

Finally, thanks for the lovely landscape of Stanley Park -- 1000 winding acres of muted blues, greens, browns, and greys; of huge salt-water burnished rocks awash in sea kelp; of low-hanging fog atop the Lions Gate bridge (comparable to the beauty of the my first love's Golden Gate). True tranquility.

I had a great visit, and can't thank you enough for your open arms in welcoming me back.

XO, and I promise not to stay away so long this time,

*A

Oh, PS! Thanks SO MUCH for keeping English candy in stock in your quickie-marts! I'm in Cadbury heaven...

Quick bites: The latest tastes

Thanks to a rush of social engagements and some extra free time, I've eaten a veritable smorgasbord of new tastes over the past few weeks in Seattle. Some of my favorites:

• Slices of sweet, luscious Pence Orchards peaches at Metropolitan Market (and, now, found in my fruit bowl). Bonus: As part of his Peach-o-Rama festival at Met Market, Jon Rowley charts the peaches' sucrose levels with his beloved refractometer so we know how much (or how little) sugar to add to our pies.
• A soft, salty big pretzel with a kicky Welsh Rarebit cheese sauce at Quinn's. Strangely, we ordered this alongside the dessert course and it paired wonderfully with the sweets.
• Beauteous beignets at Where Ya At Matt. These fluffy pillows are heavily dusted in powdered sugar that melts, sensuously, as it hits the tongue. Eat them while they're still warm.

And finally, to wash it down, I've found 2 new favorite warm-weather wine vintages:

• Tart, tangy, and slightly effervescent Albarino -- a Spanish white from the northwestern region of the country
• The crisp, refreshing zing of chilled rose -- especially Vinho Verde rose.

(I'd hoped to hit up the Melrose Market and sample some treats at Sitka & Spruce last night. We took our chances and went sans reservations; alas, the walk-in tables were all full. We'll try again in a couple weeks and I hope to tell you it was delicious!)

Dill-icious home-made pickles

Today, my mom and I set out to pack a peck of pickles. Or a baker's dozen of quart jars. I'm not even sure what a peck is...

We've long planned this summertime event. The last time we made pickles was August 1986. I was nine, immeasurably blonde and tan from all-day-every-day swimming sessions. I'm guessing I wore something neon, maybe some jelly bracelets, Aqua Socks, and leggings. Wham! was likely on the stereo.

Today, 24 years later, I'm not so much blonde (nor tan; summer, come on!). There was no Wham! on the stereo -- instead, mother-daughter chatter rang through the kitchen. We still had a blast. And I did wear leggings.

In assembly-line fashion, we set up stations: jars (cleaned and sterilized in the dishwasher), 1/4"-thick rings of onions, peeled whole cloves of garlic, plumes of dill (trimmed down from tree-size stalks), a collection of spices (pickling, red pepper flakes, mustard seed among them), o-rings for sealing. And, of course, cucumbers. Brine (apple cider vinegar, pickling salt -- no iodine included, and water) bubbled behind us on the stove; a smaller pan of water cradled simmering lids, ready to seal our treasures.

We layered, seasoned, and packed the contents, ladling in the brine then screwing the lids on tightly. The cucumbers looked so verdant in their sour, warm bath.

And then we waited for the "ping!" of the lids' indicator button sinking in, heralding that the seal had taken.

As we pickled, my mom told the story of the recipe's history. She first made these pickles in 1970 -- an annual tradition that would be repeated until 1986. Through those 16 years, my mom penned studious notations about the statistics surrounding her canning process: the date, how much the cukes cost per pound, how many jars made.

In 1975, the little cucumbers cost a mere $.10/lb. By 1984 they were up to $.31/lb (And probably purchased at the Yakima Fruit Market in Bothell, where we'd frequently pick our produce. I fondly recall wandering through the aisles and rising on my tippy-toes to peer into bins of seasonal loot.). This year, we paid $1.99/lb at the Market -- a whopping 642% percent increase. I'm already thinking that we should plan to grow my own to stave this cost, as we did in '86 (Though our yield was only a slight 2 qts that year...).

Another jarring fact: At the apex of her pickling, my mom made 47 quarts of the little devils. 47 QUARTS.

I recall eating a lot of pickles as a kid -- now I have more context as to why there was always a jar open.

Alas, today we made only 13 quarts. Nearly one-fourth of that peak, but enough to send me home weighed down with a box of jars that will line my shelves for at least a month to cure before we dive in. I already can't wait until next year.