Birthdays!

Taking pictures of the food at this event was a complete afterthought. I had been drinking wine and making no attempt at capturing a quality photograph. Just fucking deal with it. Sorry if your eye balls start to hurt.

September is birthday month in my family. My husband Trevor had his 30th on Sunday, and my sister Brooke had her 27th on Friday. This year, my parents hosted the annual double birthday party with their "Joint Effort Lasagne". My dad is somewhat famous for his meat sauce. Pork and beef are lovingly ground in his own little meat grinder, then he drinks what is left from the bottle of red wine needed for the sauce while it simmers away*

* I'm pretty sure his recipe calls for about a cup. Leaving him with plently of happy-happy-joy-joy


Ricotta has no place here. We are a "strictly bechamel" people.
We also forget to turn off the flash.

Mom covers the rest of the prep, whisking up the bechamel (ricotta, while tasty in and of itself, is slanderous in their lasagne, as it should be in everyone's.) making the pasta, and layering it all together. She also takes care of the required giant caesar salad and caprese, for an Adams Family Lasagne Feed is not complete with out these valuable supporting roles.

Tomatoes picked from mom's garden minutes before making the salads- you can't see the candy-sweet sungolds in the caesar, but they're there, making it the best goddamn caesar ever....am I spelling caesar correctly?


Brooke and Trevor, both being very diplomatic and sharing the happy birthday song and candle blowing out ceremony. Personally, I prefer to be the center of attention and would hate it if my stupid brother-in-law was in the way. Brooke, you truly are and selfless being.

I made a triple layer chocolate cake iced with ganache and vanilla bean ice cream. We all made gluttons of ourselves, Trevor drank a healthy portion of the growler of beer Brooke and CK gave him, then we all went home early and passed from food comas.

It was a good day.

I should also mention that this here blog celebrated it's first birthday this month. Time has flown by, as I still feel like a complete noob at this whole food blogging movement.

Happy birthday the pie lady. Thanks y'all for reading.

Pie #7- Peach, as promised

Apologies for taking so long to get this baby posted, I seem to be suffering from lack of hours in the day-itis. Not to mention, I'm trying to get my ass into the gym regularly these days to pay for the summer-long shmorgisborg of bbq'd pork products and booze. Sitting on it editing pictures of pie seemed counter intuitive to my efforts.

Having said that, this pie is too good not to share before the peach's cruelly short season is over. Yeah, it's a little bit of an ugly duckling. It doesn't have the vibrant colors or cut into a tidy slice like some of the others, but the flavor is worth over looking those superficial aesthetic-only qualities.

This is pretty much your all purpose, unadulterated peach pie recipe- meaning unfucked with by mace. I do not care for spices in my peach pie. In fact, it pisses me right off. If ruining peach pie is a behavior that you are into, by all means, add mace. It's a free country. Just don't come crying to me when the delicate peach flavor is besmirched by the taste of metal.

Another thing I don't do is boil the peaches to peel them. I cuss enough already. Making peach pie is a folksy, grandma-like activity. Calling the slimy peel that doesn't seem to "slip right off" after the blanching process a stupid cocksucking mother fucker totally inhibits my pie making chi.
Instead, I invested in an 8$ serrated peeler- a tool that I adore.

Peaches, peeled without angst.

Also- peach peels are full of flavor. I squeeze the juices from the peels into my pie filling to pump up the deliciousness. Just let the peels fall into a bowl (see above), then pick them up and squish the life out of them.

Extracted peel juice. Rich in peachly goodness.

My last piece of advice is, as always, use the best quality fruit available- or don't even bother. I know I say this all the time, but it's the golden rule for good pie. For Northwest readers, look for Pence Orchard peaches out of Wapato, WA. They're huge, freestone, and juicy.
...And don't worry about the fact that it's kind of hideous looking.

Peach Pie

7 large peaches
2 Tb fresh lemon juice
1/2 cup sugar
1/3 cup cornstarch
1/4 tsp salt
2 Tb cold unsalted butter, cut into cubes
your favorite pie dough- enough for a 9" double crust pie

In a small bowl, whisk together the sugar, starch, and salt. Set aside. Peel the peaches. Squeeze the juice from the peach peels into a large bowl. Slice the peaches and toss with the reserved peel juice and lemon juice. Add the dry ingredients and stir gently with a spatula until the dry ingredients are absorbed.
Place filling into bottom crust and dot with butter. Brush over hanging dough with water and adhere the top crust. Fold the edges under and form a crimped pattern. Sprinkle with sugar and bake at 375 degrees for 45 minutes. Turn heat down to 325 and bake for 30 minutes.

Wino Country!

...Because you know you love looking at other people's vacation pictures.

I've been back for a week now, as many of you may have noticed my lurking on your blog. I just haven't had a moment to breathe, let alone unpack, until now. So between loads of laundry, why don't I regail you of the shenanigans that occured in Chelan, Washington's wine country? For those just interested in looking at the pictures- Highlights include getting the last two spots at an amazing wine maker's dinner, drunken karaoke (is there any other kind?), barfing at a farmer's market (I can now check that one off of my life's "To Do" list), and some hardcore Mother/Daughter-bonding/drinking.

The Lake Chelan Valley is located in the North Cascades National Forest and surrounds a 50 mile glacier fed lake. It is 1486 feet at it's deepest point and 1.5 miles at it's widest. Apple, pear, and peach orchirds are everywhere here. Recently, it was decided to replace a few of them with wine grapes. Good thinking! There are now just over a dozen wineries and more to come.

Vin Du Lac
This place is like France. Enough said.

sipping wine under the apple trees

little nibbles, enjoyed with the Syrah

Mom, in her element

Tsillan Cellars Winery (pronounced "chelan")
I am so pissed off at myself for never taking any pictures here. It is one of the most beautiful wineries in Chelan, looking like a little Tuscan Village. I had some really good reds here, and an awful rose- it was a just little too heavy on the strawberry. Who am I kidding? It tasted like kool-aid.

Tildio Winery
Right when we drove into town, we stopped at a little natural foods store for some cheese. We were trying to make our dinner plans and asked the ponytailed British Hippie shopkeep for suggestions. He pointed us toward Tildio, where we got the last two spots available at the last wine makers dinner of the summer. The meal, view, and company was perfect. However, it was the beginning of my downfall. I had already been to a couple of tastings, and had a few cocktails before this event, where with each coarse, we were served at least 2 full glasses of wine.
Here is the menu:

First:
Yellow and red tomatoes with julienne greens, mint, feta cheese, and green tomato vinaigrette.
Tildio 2007 Sauvignon Blanc

Second:
Zucchini fritters served with baba ghanouj, pesto, and lemons.
Tildio 2006 Chardonnay

Entree:
Grilled steak with sundried tomato relish, corn succotash and mushroom scented farro.
Tildio 2006 Syrah

Dessert:
Nectarine crostada with cherry sauce
Tildio 2007 Riesling


The view from our table




the sun set before I could get any pictures past the first course

mom enjoying the first course. I have to remember to email this picture to my dad. Grrrawl!

I don't remember the circumstanses of this picture, other than it was 7 or 8 glasses into the dinner. You can't take me anywhere.

After the fabulousness of that dinner, we decided to stop by the little sports bar next to our hotel, where karaoke was in full swing. After all that wine, I was ready for beer. Coors light in the bottle to be exact (what the fuck?????). After a few bottles, I grabbed the mike. I then proceeded to wail, yes, wail "Freedom" by George Michael. It's the first time I have ever karaoked by myself. Usually I have a gay guy next to me and it's "Islands in the Stream" Seth- you would have been so proud of me!


In a few minutes, I'm gonna get up there and turn that mother out.

So. If you're still reading, you may have guessed that I am completely sloshed by now. However, we had plans to get up early and check out the Manson Farmer's Market. We stopped for an awful latte (one thing about Chelan, there is nothing but Starbucks' and horrible coffee stands. Plan to go through withdrawl), and headed to the market. First off, let me just say that I NEVER puke. Never. That is my husband's job. It is my job to just have a slight headache and laugh at my puking husband. Well. I got my comeuppance for that. I started by puking up my latte AT THE FARMER'S MARKET. Any of you ever puked at a farmer's market? It is horrbile. It just does not mix with the little jars of jam and fresh fruit. At all.
I composed myself, bought a few jars of Apricot jam, and we went out to breakfast.
I managed to barf several more times over the course of the morning, including the few bites of hashbrowns I managed to eat. I almost never actually made it to the toilet. So glad I brought that febreeze.

The scene of the crime

Raaaaalph!!!

After some serious loafing by the pool, I magically started to feel like eating. By the way- thank you mom for putting up with this wretched behavior. We went on a quest for hangover food.

Oh yes. This looks promising.

And....hangover gone. The silo of diet pepsi in particular was like some sort of beautiful healing nectar.

better throw in a shaved ice for good measure.

Finally on the mend and holding down food, it was time for more wine!
KarMa Vineyards and Cave
This place was lovely, and had the best Gewurztraminer I have ever tasted. It was dry and had a mineral taste, rather than the syrupy sweet Gewurztraminers I am used to.


Coriander flatbread and tzatziki with our wine flight. Enjoyed on the patio next to the koi pond.



Nefarious Cellars
A cute young couple from Seattle and their dog run this place. Beautiful view from the patio where mom and I drank a glass and debated the best way to roast a chicken.


Chelan Estae Vineyards & Winery
There are no pictures of this place, because it is basically a shack on top of a hill. However, here is where my favorite wines of the trip are made. A 2006 Merlot Rose that had the flavors of a chicken dinner, and the Pinot Noir had a smokiness that I fell in love with. This is one of those little places that would be easy to pass up. But don't. You will end up leaving with cases of wine.

Benson Vineyards Estate Winery
Two blondes listening to Jimmy Buffet pouring a remarkable 8 tasting flight. For free. Plus an gigantic cheese platter, which we ate outside while the weather began to turn stormy. We took this opportunity to call our husbands. We both lied and told them it was 85 degrees and sunny. It was a delight to hear the envy in their voices as they told us that it was raining cats and dogs in Seattle.
We are such bitches.


Well folks, thats about it. I could go on forever, but it's time to wrap this baby up. I have things to do today, including getting my butt into the gym. My wasteline will be paying for this trip for the next month.

It was so totally worth it.

Thanks again Mom! That was the most fun I've had all summer.
Next summer: WALLA WALLA!!!

I have no idea what "arte y pico" is, but.....

Apparently, I've GOT it! Because the other day, my buddy Norm at Eat or Die awarded me with this:

Moi?

From what I can tell (after clicking on the link to the entirely Spanish speaking blog), it means I have in some way demonstrated something artful.

I am both baffled and totally honored. As "artistic" is an adjective never used when describing me.

Seems like this is the type of thing that is meant to be passed on to 5 people. Well, here's the deal: Pretty much all 5 of my choices have received this award. I'm sure of it, because they are all kick fucking ass blogs. Also- I got shit to do. I'm going on vacation early tomorrow- wine tasting beetches!- so I need to pack.

So I am hereby bestowing this arte y pico to "my sista in Brittany-ness", Brittany at Musings of a barefoot foodie, for this particular post.

Artful Blogging at it's finest people. Plus she spells our name CORRECTLY, which is reason enough for an award of some kind.

Anyway, thanks again Norm- I will taste some of the Northwest's finest potent potables for you this weekend. You have truly given me a big head.

Tiny, yet faithful and awesome group of readers: I'll be back next week, with tales of Eastern Washington wine country and also a Pie Lady Pie.
Hint:


Cheers!

Cobbler n' Clams (diary of a day of glutteny)

This will be a long post where you will begin to wonder if I am in training to be an olympic swimmer.


Yesterday, I ventured Northward to Ye Olde Towne of Everett to visit my sister Brooke (and author of the revamped blog brookielizabeth, formerly The Diet Cronichles. She realized that blogging about dieting is totally f'ing boring). I am always happy to visit Everett and all of it's charm- but on this day, I had an alterior motive.
THIS:

D'aaaaaaaaaw!!!!!

That tiny little creature is Brooke and CK's latest addition to the militia of cats they are forming. Baby Grendel is just 4 weeks old. Brooke and CK rescued her a little more than a week ago, because a teensy tiny kitten found clinging to life in the woods and at risk of being euthanized if a home is not found ASAP is more than Brooke's heart can take. They have 3 cats at home already, but COME ON:

Tiny cat-creature is roughly the size of a gerbal

After cooing over this little bundle of grey fluff for about 2 hours, we went out to brunch at The Vintage where the constant parade of delicious food began. Brooke took this opportunity to disclose her disdain for drinking hot beverages from clear mugs. Isn't that wierd? I really don't care if my coffee is served in a clear or ceramic mug. But she keeps looking down at her tea and pursing her lips. Omelettes and my bloody mary however, were well executed. My vegetable and cheese omlelette was not overly cheesy, full of decent vegetables, and cooked in a clean pan. While I may not care what vessel you choose to serve my hot beverage in, I do care if my eggs are greasy and redolent of old sausage. I care bigtime.

Cleary displeased

Next stop: Farmer's market for the clams and blackberries needed for the sweet ass lunch we were devising. The Everett market is located on the marina. Beautiful view, THRONGS of people. I took a picture of the view from the market, but any actual pictures of produce would have been blockaded by the backsides of the locals. Not good for foodporn.

The Everett Farmer's Market. Not pictured: The farmers or the market

After the market, and a long ass drive all over Mukelteo getting lost on our way to this cool grocery store for wine and pancetta and stuff (which was totally worth the time it took to find the place) we were hungry again. We got home and ripped into a little wheel of camembert and yukon gold potato bread. Brooke opened up a jar of gooseberry preserves and we procceded to gorge ourselves. I would have photographed the pure, simplistic beauty of this snack, but we were too busy mmmm-ing and chomping. Second occurance of gluttenous behavior.

More cooing over tiny cat, and I am then commissioned to make a blackberry cobbler. Recipe was basically pulled out of my ass and god damn if it wasn't some deliciousness. But more on that later. While the cobbler baked, we steamed up those clams.

sigh.
We sauteed some pancetta and small onions from the garden, added garlic, diced freah tomato, chile flakes, white wine, and the clams. Once they opened, we hit it with some butter, fresh parsley (also from Brooke's garden- amazingly flavorful), lemon juice and a little cream. They were enjoyed outside on a picnic table, with cold beer and what potato bread we didn't wolf down with the camembert. Perfect Lunch...perhaps ate too much.



Check out Brooke's blog for more in depth information on those clams (her post should be up soon). And now, on to that cobbler. I mentioned in my last post that this year's blackberry crop has been stupendous. This cobbler really helped bring that fact to light. I did not have a recipe to work with, but this turned out quite good and I insist you make it if you consider yourself to be in any way a blackberry fan. Juicy filling, balanced sweetness, and a tender textured biscuit. Cornmeal= one of my favorite things to include in pastries. I jotted down the recipe as I went and am 99.9% sure of it's accuracy....

Blackberry Cobbler
Cornmeal Sweet Biscuit:
1 1/2 cup flour
1/2 cup cornmeal, yellow or white
1/4 cup sugar
2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp kosher salt
4 oz cold unsalted butter, cut into cubes
1- 1/3(ish) cup heavy cream

Filling:
5 heaping pints fresh blackberries (buy a half flat and eat the remaining pint as we did)
pinch salt
1/2 cup sugar
3 T cornstarch
2 T fresh lemon juice

amply cobbled with cornmeal sweet biscuit and ready to bake....

Butter a large pyrex pie dish and set aside. Pre heat the oven to 350 degrees. In a small bowl, whisk together the cornstarch, sugar, and salt. In a large bowl, toss the berries with the lemon juice. Add the dry ingredients and gently toss until absorbed with juice. Spoon filling into baking dish and set aside.

In a food processor, pulse the dry ingredients with the butter until mixture is crumbly and the butter is pea sized. Dump the mixture into a large bowl and add about 1 cup of cream. Stir with a wooden spoon until a loose dough forms. Add more cream as needed. drop silver dollar-sized pieces of dough onto the berries until surface is covered. There will be a few clumps of dough left- bake them off on the same sheet pan and eat them (quite good with the leftover camembert and gooseberry preserves from ealier- I told you we were pigs!).

Sprinkle the surface with sugar (turbonado if you have it). Bake in a 350 degree oven for (and here is where I'm iffy) about 45 minutes. We were eating clams and drinking beer, so I kind of lost track of time. It's done when there is no goo under the surface of the biscuit and the fruit is bubbly.

as you can see, this cobbler was "just okay"

After giant bowls of cobbler with huge scoops of ice cream, I developed that uncomforably full feeling. Where if someone even taps you on the tummy, you will barf everywhere. It was time to go home and pass out.

On my way home I decided to blow off the invitation to a friends "bacon tasting" where he would be roasting pork shoulder and serving several incarnations of homemade bacon. I had totally meant to stop by, but the idea of even being near more food made me dizzy. As I walked in my front door, I was greeted by my husband, wondering what we were doing for dinner.


Dinner.

And now, if you would all excuse me, I'm going to spend the next 4 days in a food coma.