sprinklefingers

The internet is simultaneously the most terrifying and the most luxurious place to hang out, is it not? 

On one hand, it contains all the correct information and all the incorrect information one could ever want (terrifying.) Add in endless  hours of cat videos and tiny hamsters eating tiny burritos (luxurious), and I’m not sure why you’d want to do anything else with your very limited time each day. Oh, wait. Uhh...

You ever Google yourself? I had to do such a thing for work a couple of weeks ago - to pull together a press list (how embarrassing) for a book proposal I’m working on.  You’d think I’d keep track of all the bits and pieces of who said what about candy or whatever, but I don’t. It’s not that I don't appreciate it (I DO SO MUCH,) it’s just that I learned a long time ago to treat the positive and the negative things people say about me or my business with equal weight. If you only pay attention to the good stuff, then the bad stuff is gonna probably sneak up and bite you at some point. And no person should EVER live under the weight of the negative things people say. Right? Right. So, unless I need to do it (for work!) I kind of steer clear of thinking too much about press either way (in a thankful, grateful, overwhelmed manner.) You get it, you do.

Anyways, you know how when you Google something Google does that trick where it automatically fills in what has been a popular search with those same letters/words? And then it shows you a list of the things people have been Googling? Well. Get a load of this:

It says JAMI CURL HUSBAND. Not Jami Curl Business or Jami Curl QUIN or Jami Curl anything else. It says JAMI CURL HUSBAND. People, you need to wise up and get real. What year is this? Am I seriously defined by who my husband is (or, in my case, ISN’T)? Does it really matter THAT much whether or not I’m married? Is it really my name and then the man I’m attached to? So, let me get this straight: all the work I’ve done, all the jobs I’ve provided, all the local producers I’ve supported - none of it matters because people are more interested in either who my husband is or whether or not I’m married?

I know this sounds like a crazy-ass rant, and it kind of is. Thank God Hillary announced she’s running for President this weekend - otherwise this would be a very dark period for me. Or something like that.

Let’s let powerful women be powerful women and stop wondering about their martial status, okay? Okay. I agree. Good point. 

I’ll be back soon to tell you about the latest Project // Breakfast I threw in Portland (NOW THAT’S SOMETHING TO GOOGLE!) xoxo. And, Girl Power.

I like being an adult.

Mostly because it means I can eat whatever I want. Generally I make good choices, then days like yesterday happen:

Yesterday was horrifying. I made the mistake of having five cups (FIVE CUPS) of coffee for breakfast and then ate an 8 oz bag of gummy bears. Then I got to work and topped that off with just one Fruit Punch Dreams Come Chew (fruity and chewy and so so good). I wrote a couple of wild sugar-high emails (including one to a 2nd grader who wrote to me asking for small business advice (oh man, I’m sure my response was pretty spectacular)), tried to figure out why our candy wrapping machine wasn’t working and then had a couple of quick meetings - then it was 3 pm and I was starting to regret my choices, adult or not. (PS to my co-workers: I’m sorry I didn’t chime in on what could be wrong with the printer. Given the amount of gummy bears in my system I can assure you I would have been 100% useless had I decided to open my mouth. So, I stayed quiet. You’re welcome.)

All I could think about was getting home and finding something to eat that wasn’t sweet and that was preferably made of cheese. But first! First I had to stop off at the bike shop and pick up a bike for my kid. Which would be the easiest thing on earth if this wasn’t Portland, Oregon - land of the bike snob and home of the completely obsessive bike shop salesperson. To me buying a bike for a kid is like buying shoes for a kid - it doesn’t really matter! At best it’s a temporary item in the life of the kid - one that will be worn hard, outgrown quickly and then will be so wrecked that you can’t toss it in the hand-me-down pile. Translation: Does it have pedals and move in a forward motion? Great! Give me the bike, I need to go home and eat cheese.

So, after what was supposed to be a quick stop that turned into an hour long ordeal, I made it home. In the fridge I had four pounds of cheese in various varieties, flour tortillas and hot sauce (plus other stuff but that hardly matters right now, just as it hardly mattered yesterday.) So, yeah, I decided to make quesadillas.

Now, I have this chef in my life who tolerates my weirdness, loves sugar as much as I do and is definitely able to make even the simplest foods one thousand times better due to his legitimate chef skills - and when I start to make something - even the simplest something - like a quesadilla or an egg or even a slice of toast - the eye rolling starts and he usually says something like, “Do you want me to show you the proper way to do that?” And I say, “Look, I’ve been doing this a long time, you just put the cheese in the tortilla, but the tortilla in a pan and cook it,” before I can end that sentence he's pushing me out of the way, setting up a proper station and separating a white from a yolk. And you know what I do? I don’t get mad. I don’t get offended. I just sit back and watch the magic happen because the only thing better than eating something someone else has made for you is eating something a chef has made for you in your own kitchen.

So, I didn’t make myself a quesadilla. I let chef make me a quesadilla and here’s how he did it:

The Art of the Quesadilla

Cheese:

What kind do you like? Jack? Colby Jack? Mild Cheddar? White Cheddar? Good. Whatever it is, shred it with the small holes on the grater. Don’t slice it. End of story.

Tortillas:

Oh, you like white ones? You like whole wheat? Great. Find one you like, and use it.

The Pan:

Cast iron pans love quesadillas.

The Fat:

Butter over oil, hands down. (I learned something here! For forever I just cooked my quesadillas in oil because I thought it didn’t matter. I WAS SO WRONG IT MATTERS SO MUCH!)

The Egg:

THIS IS THE SECRET. Separate the white from the yolk. Whip the white up with a fork so that it’s not weird like whites sometimes are.

The Plate:

Find a plate that’s about 1/2″ smaller in circumference than your tortilla.

Quesadilla Time:

Now that you’ve gathered that stuff, plop some butter in the cast iron pan and put it over medium heat. You want to get it hot.

Next, take one tortilla and pile some cheese into it, leaving an approximate 1″ border cheeseless. Carefully brush the egg white around that cheeseless border. Then grab another tortilla and brush egg white around the border of that one, then set it on top of the tortilla that is holding the cheese. Grab the plate, set the plate on top of the stacked tortillas and press down with a good amount of pressure to seal the edges. Next, use a sharp knife to trim the excess tortilla away and carefully lift the plate away from the quesadilla.

Slide the quesadilla into the hot, buttery pan and allow it to cook in the butter until golden.

Add additional butter to the pan, flip the quesadilla and let it cook until golden. Remove from the pan, cut into wedges and serve.

Here's what's happening: the egg white seals the edges of the tortilla causing steam to form inside the quesadilla. Steam is the best way to make cheese taste delicious. It's perfectly melted and crazy good. This is a proven fact because I ate two quesadillas prepared in exactly this manner and they were, in fact, some of the most delicious things I have ever eaten, ever. (And really I was just eating white flour tortillas and cheese.)

Seems precious and particular (and it kind of is,) but I will never again just plop some cheese on a tortilla and heat it up. Ever. 

The chef and I call this kind of stuff Mom Tricks & Chef Tips. I have a very mom approach to foodstuffs such as quesadillas (easy, fast, here's your dinner,) while he has a very chef approach (technique that leads to a much better result paired with the ability to translate that technique for the home cook.) Or something like that. It made a lot more sense when we were talking about it while stuffing our faces with steamed cheese pockets (quesadillas.)

The most exciting thing:

I was poking around in my drafts and I found this completely complete (but unposted) post from February 18, 2012! I cannot believe it. And for the life of me I cannot remember what occurred that caused me to not post this because, really - it's kind of a gem. I mean, who doesn't want to make their own chocolate fortune cookies? 

Read for yourself:

February 18, 2012

It's been well established that my kid is a kitchen wiz in the making. The latest evidence to support such statements? His desire to hand-make fortune cookies for the kids in his preschool class.

He had it all planned out: We'd make the cookies and fill them with sweet fortunes, then put them in bags and attach handmade valentines to the bags. And I quote, "This is for Valentine's Day, so it has to be special."

Who am I to argue? Except...

...The last time I made fortune cookies was when my sister got married. I made hundreds upon hundreds of vanilla (and chocolate!) fortune cookies as her wedding favors. I hand wrote the fortunes (using her list of preselected lines from her favorite songs and poems). I packaged said cookies up and flew them (in a pre-9/11 world) all the way from Oregon to South Carolina (in an enormous bin which I kept on my lap the entire trip, thank you very much.) Needless to say, it was so much work (even though I love my sister) that I swore off all future fortune cookie making. But, the passage of time and the enthusiasm of a cute 4-year-old kind of made me forget the burnt fingertips from fast (!!) cookie folding and cramped hands from all the tiny writing. And so, when the kid asked if we could do it, I stupidly said yes.

I made the cookies. We folded them (careful!) together, tucking the fortunes that the dictated safely inside. 

Here are my favorites:

You have excellent manners.

You will listen to your mom today.

You will be a good listener - always.

I hope your dreams come true.

You will follow the rules.

Not exactly fortunes - more like orders (which, if you know this kid you know is very fitting.) 

DIY Fortune Cookies

Approximately 30 cookies

Making fortune cookies is a relatively easy undertaking, especially if you don't get all crazy and try to make hundreds of them. A couple of items make this project easier: a non-stick baking mat (like a Sil-pat), a teaspoon that acts as a ladle for the batter and a couple of muffin tins to set the cookies inside of as they cool - the confines of the muffin tin will help the cookies keep their shape while cooling. 

It's also a good idea to prepare your fortunes before you start baking. Print or handwrite your message on small strips of paper - colored paper is fun, personalized messages are even more fun. 

You need:

1 1/2 c AP flour

1 1/2 c granulated sugar

3/4 t kosher salt

6 egg whites, room temperature

1 1/2 t vegetable oil

1 1/2 t vanilla extract

1 vanilla bean, seeds scraped (and the bean saved for another use) 

Make the batter:

Combine all of the listed ingredients in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment.

Mix until the batter is smooth and creamy with no lumps.

Bake the cookies:

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

Dip the teaspoon into the batter and then drop the batter out onto the non-stick baking mat.

Using the bottom of the teaspoon, swirl the batter gently on the mat until it is a thin and even circle. This takes a tiny bit of practice - just make a circular motion with the teaspoon and keep going around in a circle until the batter is spread out into an even more perfect circle and is thin but the mat isn't showing through at all. (Don't worry, you may not get this on the first or even the fourth try. Practice is what helps and practice is necessary.)

Repeat step 2, keeping in mind you should only bake a few cookies at a time because they all have to be shaped into fortune cookies pretty much as soon as they emerge from the oven. I suggest, until you've transformed yourself into the greatest fortune cookie wizard of all time, that you bake three to four cookies at a time, no more. 

Slide the cookies into the oven and bake for 3 - 4 - 5 minutes or until the cookies are set and they are the tiniest bit golden (with darker edges) and starting to dry at the edges (see photos below for examples.)

When the cookies are ready, remove them from the oven and let them sit until cool enough to handle while still being slightly uncomfortable for your fingertips. Now would be a good time to set a fortune in the middle of each circle. 

Gently lift a circular cookie from the baking mat and in one movement, fold it in half and then using your thumb and your middle finger on the outside of the cookie, push in a bit with your pointer finger while pulling back with your thumb and your middle finger, causing the cookie to fold in on itself and actually look like a fortune cookie. (See photos below and it will all make sense.) Gently set the cookie inside a cavity of the muffin tin and move on to the next one, repeating the process until you've used all of the batter.

Variations:

For chocolate fortune cookies: omit the vanilla bean and add 1 1/2 T best quality dutch-processed cocoa powder to the mixer bowl.

For almond fortune cookies: omit the vanilla bean and the vanilla extract and replace them with 1 1/2 t almond extract.

I understand that this undertaking isn't for everyone - but for the very, very most special of occasions why not burn your fingertips a little?

xoxo.

After I discovered this lost post I went to my dropbox and dug through about one million (really just hundreds) of photos to find these. It's like a time capsule of cute, isn't it?

Original photos from the preschool fortune cookie Valentine's Day extravaganza:

(Speaking of cool campers,) at camp I met a set of twins who are essentially magic. In a move I can only thank the universe for, we were in the same cabin, we connected instantly and quickly figured out our plan for surviving camp: sticking together and making the most of the experience.

These girls are individually incredible. And then when they join forces you might as well forget about everything you've seen or thought about or heard in terms of event aesthetics, food styling, design and any other pretty thing you've seen in a magazine. I don't really know how to explain it. One is a private chef/food stylist/napkin maker. The other calls herself a creative generalist. I just say they are perfection. An example? This Martha Stewart Weddings spread. One of the twins got married, but they both planned the event. Prepare yourself: we're talking perfection at every turn, including a miniature horse.

So now that you've met the twins, let me tell you about Project//Breakfast. In 2014 I traveled away from home (for work) for 9 or more days (on average) of every month. I attended several conferences and workshops and seminars and all of them left me feeling a little lonely and a little cold. To start, I attended these things alone. With no friend buffer you're really kind of throwing yourself out there - and if the hosts of the event aren't skilled at reading a room and understanding that they need to do more to help attendees make real connections, then things are basically reduced to a large group of people sitting in a room judging one another's choice of footwear or handbag or party dress. Even during the opening remarks there was never a call to come together - there was always a call to take photos, post them to social media and include the event hashtag, but there was never a call to introduce yourself to your neighbor, to just be yourself and to be open to the experience.

That said, I'm a firm believer that making a real connection with someone makes it easier to cut the crap with the weird girl-on-girl judgements. But how do you make a real connection? How do you gather a gaggle of smart people who are quite interesting and "force" them to connect? How do you make "connection" less about compliments on clothing or jewelry and more about the multitude of layers hiding underneath?

Based on my tragic role as the girl showing up to events completely alone, wearing the same shoes as always, carrying a canvas tote bag while wearing something not even close to a party dress, I put a lot of thought into this question - into the question of how to encourage connection and sharing and (hopefully) bonding and relating in a way that will last far beyond the event itself. Most of the time I was asking this question and answering this question while sitting at a crowded table (feeling alone) trying to figure out a clever caption for a photo I was about to post that would gently convey the disappointment I was feeling on the inside while simultaneously capturing the perfectly laid table replete with designer flowers, special embossed pencils and perfect custom printed notebooks meant to look so perfect on the internet.

And that's how Project//Breakfast was born.

I wanted to create an event that truly brought people together. And I figured the one way to do that is to pretty much level the playing field. To gather strangers in a room and (knowing full well that I'm the common denominator) set the tone. Be myself. I'm loud and funny and I like to laugh. I have energy spilling out of me. I love to talk, I like ideas and I'm really good at listening. I've always preferred hosting to being hosted. And I'm good at making people feel welcome. So Project//Breakfast would start with me.

And from there we'd do a project. The kind of project that forces connection because it's a great project and people most likely have to reach over one another to grab things like a glue gun or a spatula or a glass of champagne or maybe an oyster knife or perhaps some more pickling liquid.

By the time the project portion of Project//Breakfast is complete - after the entire group has learned a new skill together - there's a bond there. We've exchanged stories. We've talked about kids and jobs and ideas and hopes. We've focused on the positive instead of the negative. We've bumped into each other while hanging a project up to dry. We've admired one another's embroidery skills or have wondered how she got those lines so straight. We've discussed how it feels so good to make something with our hands while simultaneously opening our hearts. It's almost like magic.

And then, THEN! We EAT. And the table is full of friends. And I'm not afraid to ask the woman two seats down to pass me the syrup. And she's not afraid to ask me for the granola. And I'm not afraid to eat three pieces of bacon that have been glazed with caramel. And the woman at the end of the table doesn't feel funny about asking the chef for the recipe for that garlicky kale with baked eggs and parm.

Together. A group. Of friends. The kind you want to keep in touch with. The kind you will keep in touch with. And that's what I call Project//Breakfast. 

I swear to you, it works.

------------ 

Together with those amazing twins, I hosted the first Project//Breakfast in LA. Here's what it looked like:

Beautiful photos thanks to the ever talented Andrea Patricia.

for Shannon. 

I'd like to preface this post by saying that I really (used to) have nothing against meal replacement/protein/energy/pre-workout/post-workout bars. And then I went to summer camp.

Except the summer camp wasn't held during the summer. And i'm not 12 anymore. And while the idea of a bunk bed situation is somewhat alluring on paper, the internet, what you don't think about is the vinyl-encased mattress, with its worn out places as a result of summer after summer of little boys deep in a slumber only days spent swimming, target shooting, horseback riding can produce. You don't think about the "camper" who may be above you (or below you) or even the "campers" who may be in the other set of bunk beds just two-and-a-half feet away from your face. Because you see these photos of cool stuff happening and cool people doing the cool stuff that's happening and then you're suddenly packing up a headlamp, bug spray and outfits that haven't seen the light of day since you decided to take up hiking eight years ago and next thing you know you're on a bus that's headed to a Boy Scout camp in the mountains.

You know one other thing you don't think about? The food. And even if you do think about the food for a second that thought is basically just "I wonder what we'll eat?" then you stop thinking about it because everything looks so cool -how can the food not be cool too? (What is cool food? God, such a good question.)

So, you're at summer camp (but it's not summer,) all the activities you saw on the internet are either overrun with cool people or are being run by surly summer camp employees who hate adults who are pretending to be summer campers. So, the vision you had of yourself on a happy summer camp horse or tackling the ropes course or even shooting that arrow right into a picture perfect target basically become the reality of this: you sitting in the arts & crafts cabin trying to figure out how to work a rainbow loom. Also, you're 38.

And then it's lunch time. And at first the chili dog with a massive slice of watermelon nestled into an old-school cafeteria tray is not only perfect for Instagram (although you're without a cell phone (because they took it) so you have to take a photo of it with your instant camera and then take a photo of that photo with your phone four days later when you have regained possession of said phone - creating what those who are cool call a true #latergram,) but it's also kind of delicious in a nostalgic "cool" kind of way. 

Fast forward four days and let me tell you - things are not cool anymore. Why? Because the food options only went downhill after the CHILI DOG you were so excited about. And while the first two days were spent being hopelessly optimistic about the whole thing, the third day is when deep food depression sets in and you're trying to figure out how to steal a car (or pay off a counselor) to drive to the nearest actual store and buy some kind of actual food. And you quickly learn that sharing a bathroom with a group doesn't matter as much as you thought it would four days ago because you haven't really eaten a vegetable so who cares anyways, weirdo. 

But you know what you have eaten? At a median rate of six per day? Kind Bars. For reasons due to only sponsorship and the resulting extreme photo opportunities, Kind Bars are all over the place. And when faced with the decision of eating an oyster sandwich (keep in mind I said I was at a Boy Scout camp IN THE MOUNTAINS) and a granola bar, the granola bar wins out every time. In this case the bars were consumed as breakfast, lunch, dinner and snacks for as many days as I was referred to as a "camper." 

The final day of camp I found myself on the outbound bus over an hour before camp was actually over. It was there, on that bus, that I made a promise to myself that I'd never, ever (so help me god) eat a Kind Bar again. I'm pretty sure I made several other promises to myself during that hour - that I'd teach my kid how to rainbow loom (look what mommy learned at camp!), that I'd do my best to figure out ways to work with the handful of the (actual) cool campers I met and (perhaps most importantly) I'd never again travel without at least a portion of my luggage dedicated to food.

actual photo of actual chili dog:

Oh my lord, we've established that I'm back. And here I am! Back! 

Good enough.

How is it possible that people are still so nutty for bacon? Here in Portland it's almost as if bacon is the new bacon, day after day. Only most restaurant menus aren't calling it bacon. Instead they're doing stuff with pork belly and guanciale and whatever other word they've conjured up to mean, essentially, bacon. 

But not me. I call bacon bacon and only bacon. Except for when I call it burned bacon. Then I just called it burned bacon.

A few weeks ago I was prepping breakfast for my kid - I placed a few strips of bacon in a cast iron skillet, put it over medium and walked away (hint: it was the walking away that was the problem here.) I'm pretty sure I transferred wet clothes from the washer to the dryer, maybe put on some mascara (oh, who am I kidding, I most likely only washed my face that day,) took the recycling out, put a coffee mug into the dishwasher, gave my kid the 5 minute wake-up warning - then I remembered THE BACON. (Uh, yes, I did go into the kitchen to put that mug into the dishwasher and still didn't check on the bacon. Stop looking at me.) Anyways, I got caught up in weird morning duties and forgot all about the bacon in the pan on the stove and burned it. Whoopsie.

Just as I was about to toss the bacon, rework my breakfast game plan and open up some windows to air out the kitchen, the chef in my life (more on this guy at some point I promise) told me what to do. He said, "Chop the bacon. Warm up the maple syrup. Stir the chopped bacon into the syrup. Pour that syrup over the waffles." (He doesn't really talk in short sentences like that. I did that mostly to emphasize how his words were hitting my brain. Like a giant chef secret that I literally would have NEVER THOUGHT OF ON MY OWN.) I collected myself and acted all cool like I have been doing that move since birth. Whatever, chef. Meanwhile my insides were practically melting down due to the fact that I felt as if I was in the presence of the burned bacon savior. 

So, that's what I did. I poured some maple syrup from the gallon jug I keep in my fridge (for real. It is practically the most photographed item in my home because people are constantly in awe of that much pure maple syrup in one place) into a tiny saucepan, heated it gently, stirred in the bacon and felt like a hero. Especially when it came time to pour the concoction over a pile of crispy waffles. 

Then I realized I could do at least a small handful of other things with burned bacon. (Note: I almost said a million things right there instead of a small handful of things, but I'm trying to be realistic. Even I'll admit a million things is a stretch.) Here they are:

Ideas for Burned Bacon 

note: begin with burned bacon that you have crumbled or chopped into smallish pieces.

1. Stir it into warm maple syrup and pour it over the breakfast food of your choice. Even oatmeal. Not joking.

2. Make some waffle or pancake batter - gently fold the burned bacon into the batter just before you cook it.

3. Stir the bacon into warm caramel sauce. Then grab a spoon. Just kidding. Maybe pour it over some kind of dessert THEN grab a spoon. 

4. Make some type of vinaigrette salad dressing. Stir the bacon into it. 

I have written and rewritten this sentence for the length of time it's taken me to drink two cups of coffee (with half n' half because it's Saturday and why not be special), and I still can't find the words that can capture all of the things I'm trying to say.

In general I keep this online journal (of sorts) to amuse myself. It's a handy place to store recipes that I use super often. It's a place to send my thoughts and feelings (and won't talk back or complicate things by bringing up boring stuff like reality and circumstances and responsibilities.) As a result, when things get busy, the area of my life that experiences the most neglect is this.

And this past year has been a busy one. Not just working and running and trying to make it all happen, but busy in the ways that all of your energy and spirit and spark and light combine, mix up and form some sort of super force that can't possibly support itself so it all turns off and goes dark.

(We're gettin' serious now!)

In the past year I closed a business. I laid off a huge workforce. I left my husband. I moved out of my beloved home. I spent a great deal of time alone. I ended friendships. I went for days without sleeping. I worked some of the longest hours of my life.

And while all of that may sound a little awful (it was at times, believe me,) here I am on what could be considered the other side - and I'm still pretty much myself. I'm spending more time than ever with my kid, certain relationships in my life have now been made permanently strong, I'm obsessed with my work, I've let myself fall in actual love, I have cleaned up and patched up and dusted myself off - I feel cautiously better. At least 'better' enough to start doing some of the things that really make me happy, make me who I am and make me who I want to be.

I really have just one person to thank for this kind of brave magic and that's Ronnie Fein. 

Several months ago I had the pleasure of running into Ronnie in New York City. If you don't know Ronnie, you should know Ronnie - and you can start by reading her work here. Ronnie essentially pulled the mom card and asked me why I haven't been writing - reminding me that she actually likes to read my words. I'm certain Ronnie has no way of knowing, but at that exact moment in time she was saying to me exactly what I needed to hear. She gave me a gift - essentially she helped me to be brave enough to return to something from "before" this year and to remember how much I love it. It just took several more months for me to figure out how to get started. 

And here I am now, getting started.

I now hate blog posts that begin by talking about a particular season and how it makes the writer want to eat.

Fall is in the air so naturally I turn to soup.

I now hate blog posts that begin by talking about geographic place and how it makes the writer want to eat.

Here in the Pacific Northwest we love our salmon.

I now hate blog posts that begin by complaining about family members and how it keeps the writer from eating what she wants to eat.

I love kale, giant piles of kale. But when I'm cooking for the kids and hubby kale is just off the table.

So, how in the world am I supposed to figure out how to start this blog post? Or any blog post for that matter? You take away season, place and family and what are you left with? I'm not quite sure, but I can tell you one thing: I'm pledging to figure out a different way. And while we're at it, I'm also pledging to stop saying delicious. Because when you think about it, as a descriptive word, delicious really doesn't say anything about food.

PHEW! Glad I got all that off my chest. Now let's get down to business.

I have a real love/hate relationship with the CSA we belong to. I think it's common. When you sign up everything is exciting and you can't wait to get your first box. Then your first box arrives and it happens to coincide with a week where you're extra busy at work so you can't quite get around to cooking all the stuff in the box. Then before you know it the second week sneaks up while the first week's greens are rotting away in the fridge and what in the hell are you supposed to do now? It goes on and on until finally you get a handle on it: you get the box, you go through the box. You save what you know you'll cook. You give the rest to your neighbor or your officemate or you just plop it down on the breakroom table with a note reading "someone please save us." 

It took me five weeks this year to figure out the CSA dance. And now I'm on it. Nothing wasted, nothing unnecessarily composted, nothing even sacrificed to the break room table. I've got us eating eggplant three times a week and loving it (although I can't wait for eggplant season to wrap up!)

One thing we seem to have a literal too-much-of-a-good-thing-is-too-much situation on our hands with is basil. So much basil. Pounds and pounds of basil. 

So much basil that I now have a freezer literally stockpiled with pesto. Of various varieties. For all our pesto needs pretty much all year long. All the pesto for all the days.

Our favorite of the pestos of the Great Basil Flood of 2013 is one made with walnuts and pumpkin seeds.

Here's how you make it:

Walnut, Pumpkin Seed and Lemon Pesto Makes approximately 6 cups

You need:

1/2 cup walnuts

1/2 cup pumpkin seeds

3-4 big cloves garlic, smashed and peeled

zest and juice of one good sized lemon

7 1/2 well-packed cups basil leaves

2 cups best quality olive oil

1 1/2 cups shredded Parmesan cheese

salt

pepper

Make the pesto:

Dump the walnuts and pumpkin seeds into the bowl of your food processor. Add the garlic and the lemon zest and juice. Turn on the food processor and let all this good stuff whirl around until it turns into a paste.

Cram the basil leaves into the food processor and turn it on. Slowly but surely add the olive oil in a steady stream. At first it will seem as if nothing is happening, then the leaves will start to catch and incorporate themselves into what is becoming pesto. 

Once the leaves have all been chewed up, stop the machine and add the Parmesan. Whirl it around a bit then add some salt and pepper to taste. (I start with 1/2 of salt and 1/4 t pepper and build from there. I don't add a ton of salt now because I usually finish all my dishes with flake sea salt from Jacobsen Salt Co.)  

And now you too can have a stockpile of pesto in your freezer. How? Simply ladle the pesto into freezer-safe jars and pour a bit of olive oil over the top to seal and protect the basil-y goodness. Put these jars in the freezer. When you want pesto, simply remove a jar and let it thaw in the fridge - it will thaw faster than you think.

Two weeks ago I thought spring had arrived. Then it was 39º and raining again. Last week I thought, what with the 60º and bright sun in the sky, that cold and rainy was behind us - and then I woke up this morning to another cold and rainy one.

I'm not necessarily interested in rushing things, I just would like to leave my heavy raincoat at home for a while. And I'd like to stop wondering if I should stick my rain boots in the car just in case. Oh, and, I'd like to feel just a little bit closer to summer foods - like tomatoes.

Since the forecast for rain stretches further than I'd like, and because summer doesn't usually arrive in the Pacific Northwest until August, I was happy to find this great bit on tinned (canned) tomatoes from one of my favorites, Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall. I want to eat the bread and tomato gratin right this second - it sounds delicious enough to get me through the big wait for better weather and summer food (rejoice!)

Coffee and baking are best friends. They were made for each other. I know for a fact that early morning baking can't possibly happen without coffee. I personally can't even imagine it.

Back when I was working daily production my favorite thing in the world was to arrive at the bakery first. I'd immediately start the coffee then relish my alone time before the craziness of the day began. And speaking of crazy, this all took place at 3 am. Of course coffee would be my best friend then. Who else would wake up that early to keep me company?  

Still, there's a huge difference between the kind of coffee you make at 3 am when your body is literally screaming for it and the kind of coffee you make at 1 pm when your body is willing to wait a bit longer. Both types still have elements of ritual, but 1 pm coffee allows for more focus. And I love focus.

Speaking of focus, NPR recently ran a story about coffee that I loved. I adore anything that Harold McGee has his hand in, so hearing his take on the science of the perfect cup was fascinating. He even manages to bring the Maillard reaction into it. Seriously fun stuff.

And as for taking your time with coffee, on my much storied recent visit to San Francisco I was lucky enough to hang out at Blue Bottle Coffee a bit. This is a business that's truly all about focus. Even a simple cup is created pour over style. Unless there's no queue there's really no such thing as a quick cup of coffee at any of their cafés. Which I think is a grand thing. A certain shall-remain-nameless coffee giant has us all convinced that waiting longer than 3 minutes for a cup of coffee is a crime...and good lord, isn't that in itself a shame?

Blue Bottle recently published a really, really great book called The Blue Bottle Craft of Coffee and if there was ever a time to geek out over this divine beverage, now's your chance. The book literally teaches the science of the perfect cup - and not just one way, but several ways. I found it particularly helpful for brewing with my Chemex. As a baker I'm naturally drawn to weights when working in the kitchen and now that I know the weights involved in brewing pour over coffee I feel pretty legit.

Now that I'm out of the grind of daily production, I appreciate the time I can spend brewing coffee. My daily ritual no longer starts with an empty bakery, but with my kitchen countertop, a few tools of the trade and the anticipation of the perfect cup. Of course all of this is thanks to the Blue Bottle book.

And while I'm thankful for better coffee, there is one other element of the book that I adore: the illustrations are by a prize winning friend and former employee of ours, the talented Michelle Ott. Ms. Ott is really one of the best people you'll meet and her illustrations are simply perfect for the Blue Bottle book. (Plus, when visiting San Francisco Michelle took us to the Blue Bottle café at the SFMOMA and we ordered every single cake on the menu. And then ate them. Prize winning indeed.)

Here's a handy pour over guide from the Blue Bottle website. Plus a chance to see Michelle's illustrations for yourself:

(click the picture)