Oh, Rain - Where Art Thou?

I could nearly kick myself as I utter the words: "Why is it still so warm?" I never thought as a webbed-between-the-toes Northwesterner that I'd ever long for cooler days and endless drizzle. But here I am. It's early October and it feels like July! Sure, a few leaves are dropping from the birch in my backyard, but we're nearing a record in Seattle: 76 days of the driest days on record. Yup! Our soggy, bring-your-umbrella city is gasping for rain!

My boots sit, unworn, by the front door - envious that my Keen sandals have seen more foot-time this Fall than they may see before Thanksgiving. My raincoat still mothballed from early Spring. I have to wonder what this city could become if this were to become the norm.

Swimming in October? My daughter's still flopping about in Lake Washington on a regular basis, while pumpkins are on sale at Whole Foods. The dogs still willingly frolic into the yard in the morning; stark contrast to the wimpy pups they become when rain appears and they hug the side of the house looking for dry spots for leg-lifting.

I'm becoming spoiled. As I walk to my bus each morning, rather than bemoaning Fall's drizzle and accepting the inevitable doom that follows in November, I relish each morning the brilliance of sunrises, the stamina of neighboring gardens and my ability to leave for work without a jacket. (Gasp!)

And oh, the sunsets! Something about crisper evenings and late day clouds make for some of the most spectacular sunsets I've ever seen. It must have to do with the angle of the sun, or planetary alignment or something, but I swear the sunsets we've seen this year have set the bar at a whole new level.

But deep down inside I'm keeping a secret: A wish for Fall rains and dark skies. Yes, I've loved this never-ending summer, but I realize the change in the seasons is an expectation of mine sure as the sun falls each night. Without the rain my lawn slowly browns (it just doesn't seem right to pull out a sprinkler and water in October). The streets look bare without their usual rain-soaked sheen. And I'm missing the smell of wet-dog after our morning walks.

As another sun rises to another blue-skied day, I think I'll go sit out on the patio with a cup of coffee in hand and ponder it a little longer. Without a jacket.

Of Champagne and Chablis

I'm not a wine snob. In fact, it's only been in the last 10 or so years that I've begun to note the subtle flavors from wine to wine. When the invitation to partake in local restaurant RN74's 'Saturdays with the Somms' came up, I quickly accepted - knowing this might be a perfect opportunity for me to learn more. And boy, did I!

I'd never consider myself a white wine lover. In fact, I've always been drawn to the deep, earthy flavors of reds. Cabernets draw me in on every menu before whites, but this was a day for chablis and champagne, so I quickly put aside my world of tannins and stains and opened myself up for fruity freshness!

Based on their name and background ('RN 74' refers to the "Route Nationale 74" which is the highway traveling through the major wine region of France) one could reasonably surmise that the staff and sommeliers at RN 74 are well-versed in wine. "Knowledgeable" doesn't do them justice - led by Jeff Lindsay-Thorsen, our group was taken by the hand by sommelier Luke Wohler on a vintactular (that's a combination of vintners & spectacular, in case you're wondering) stroll through France's Grand Cru wine region - where a tiny percentage of the best wine grapes in the world are grown. Surprisingly enough, I found a preference for the chablis fermented in steel tanks, rather than oak, suited my palate rather than that soaked in oak. Luke gave us all an appreciation for noticing the vivid fruity notes that come only from a long, warm growing season as found in the Grand Cru. My fondness of the steel came as a surprise to me - as did my ability to better focus on the subtle notes of the wine itself.

The second half of our class was spent tasting champagne. Again, not being an aficionado of wine, nor specifically of champagne, I wondered how much I could truly take away from this casual education. What a silly skeptic I am! Within an hour's time I was able to distinctly taste the differences of the blanc de blanc sour apple and lime, the smooth mix of the blend and thesubtle summer berry notes of the blanc de noir. Luke's casual and unassuming persona made me comfortable - thus helping me to not feel intimidated (and opened me up to a wealth of knowledge of champagne that may last my lifetime). 

A little tipsy, but sporting a barrelful of knowledge, I walked out the door of RN 74 - sad that two hours had passed so quickly. Classes are the third Saturday of each month from 2-4pm. Cost: $45 for a single class or $105 for a series of three.  http://michaelmina.net/pdfs/saturday-with-the-somms.jpg

When Life Gives You Lemons ...

... make Lemon Pudding Cake! Oh, I know, the "Life gives you lemons" bit is a bit cliche, but there's nothing cliche about my zest for all things lemon. My love for lemon-everything began early-on. Lemon meringue pie (why don't I make those more often?!), lemonade (what could be more refreshing?), and my all-time favorite lemon dessert: Lemon Pudding Cake clearly had a dramatic effect on me growing up. My family was never big on desserts - or, I should say: the children in my family rarely indulged in desserts and sweets. I'm positive that it had nothing to do with dental caries, and more to do with raising four kids on the cheap. But I do have vague recollections of waking early in the morning and seeing remnants of (gasp!) desserts shared by my mom and dad. Ice cream dishes with an enviable coating of homemade caramel sauce was what I remember most for some reason. But of the desserts we shared in our family, my favorite by far was the Lemon Pudding Cake.

Imagine this as a pillowy-lemony-cloud-meets-tastebuds moment. Then imagine it warm and gooey, with just the right amount of tart and sweet and you've got one of my all-time favorite desserts. I don't know that my mom was the best cook around, but she certainly was a great baker. This recipe is the proof in the proverbial pudding:

LEMON PUDDING CAKE:


4 eggs, separated
1/3 C lemon juice (I add lime if I have it, too)
1 t lemon zest
1 tbsp butter (melted)
1.5 C sugar
.5 C flour
½ tsp salt
1.5 C milk
Beat egg yolks, lemon juice, rind and melted butter until thick and lemony-colored. Combine sugar, flour & salt; add alternately with milk (many times I’ll go half milk / half cream) to the yolk mixture – beating well after each addition.

Beat egg whites until they form stiff, glossy peaks. Fold into batter with a spatula, then nearly/fully integrate with a spoon.

Spoon into ramekins being sure to keep a good ratio of the frothy-part of the batter to the gooier part.

Set ramekins into a dish of hot water, then into the oven. (My mom always baked this in a larger pan suitable to be divided up for four servings, but I love individual ramekins!) Bake at 350 for 35-45 minutes.

I've never tasted these cold, as I never have the patience after mixing and baking to wait any longer than until they're somewhat less than molten before eating. :o)

And now that I've typed this out and thought long and hard about moms and desserts and lemons, I find myself thinking about my mom's delicious custardy peach pie. But, that's another story.

Oh, baby!

I've been eating them for years, and making them for decades. Babies, folks. Dutch Babies. Golden, hot, pillowy cushions of fluffy egg goodness. A perfect blending of savory, tart and sweet (at least in my incarnation).

Taking a minimum of usually-in-the-fridge-and-pantry items, in a half an hour Dutch Babies can be yours. While mixing the following ingredients in a blender, fire up the oven to 450 degrees and place a cast iron skillet on the middle rack. My skillet is 8" diameter, but you can proportion the recipe up or down as necessary for your skillet's size.
Toss 5 eggs into the blender and whirl until a frothy light-yellow. Add alternately 2/3 C flour and 2/3 C whole milk. Mix until thoroughly combined, then add a 1/2 tsp of salt.
Now back to that smokin' hot skillet: once it's up to temperature, toss a half cube of butter into it until nearly melted. Quickly pour the egg/milk/flour mixture in, and set the timer for 15 minutes. Once your baby-in-the-making begins to puff on the edges (at the 15 minute mark) turn the temperature down to 375 degrees until it has a uniform brown and the center has fully set. Immediately remove from the pan, add a dollop of butter ... Sprinkle with sifted powdered sugar and drizzle with lemon (or lime juice) to your preference. Work quickly, as these deflate quickly once pulled from the oven.
Although I've only had the aforementioned topping, other recipes call for the addition of a tablespoon of sugar, a half-teaspoon of cinnamon, a teaspoon of vanilla and a topping of homemade apple pie filling. Blueacre Seafood in downtown Seattle is the first restaurant I know of in the core of the city to offer Dutch Babies on their weekend brunch menu. Their addition of macerated strawberries and house made Cool Whip sounds delicious!

History: Manca's Cafe at 2nd & Columbia was opened in the early 1900s - closing somewhere in the early 1950s. Dutch Babies were a staple there - said to be the first restaurant  in the area to have them regularly on their menu.

Biscuit, Meet Gravy

Not quite sure where my love of biscuits and gravy blossomed. I never had 'em as a kid. Found the gravy rather gelatinous and gaggy as a 20-something, but now find they move me like magnetic north moves a compass needle. I'd never consider myself a connoiseur of anything, but I guess I come close to it when visiting the world of biscuits and gravy.

I found myself on the road just a morning ago - dropping the boy off at the crack o' dawn for an early-morning roll-out with the UW Huskies. Hating traffic as I do, I drove the usually up-around-and-down circuitous route into the campus, which just happened to take me past Voula's Offshore Cafe. After dropping the boy, it occurred to me that I'd be nearly 2 hours early to work if I just jetted around Lake Union and back into downtown, so instead, I pondered my options: Find a spectacular spot to watch the sunrise (immediately shot down due to cloud cover and impending rain) or ... go back to Voula's - where I'd only been once before, but where I felt my magnetic north was pulling me.

Backing into a spot in front of the restaurant that really seemed to be calling out my name, I knew by looking into the brightly-lit diner that this was, indeed, the right choice. Crusty marine techs and grease-under-the-nails dudes sat at nearly every table. Not an eye batted as I made my way over to a counter-roost at the far corner of the line. 'Mellow' would be an understatement, 'tho there was a friendly 'G'morning' from the head hashbrown-flipper as I passed by.

I immediately spotted 'Billy Biscuits' on the menu and knew I'd found my calling. The only problem? There was no way I was telling the waitress I wanted 'Billy Biscuits'. Who makes up a name like that for biscuits and gravy, anyway?

Order placed (with a note that I wanted my hashbrowns extra crispy, of course), I enjoyed my piping-hot coffee and morning Seattle P-I. I've got to say, listening to two slightly rough-hewn characters sitting at the counter next to me talking about one's new love interest was nearly more than I could bear. Their girl-talk about how SHE didn't have a job (i.e., she's an artist), and he didn't know if he could keep up with her spontaneous schedule was hilarious. Hearing him say that he'd been up half the night wondering why she hadn't called was over-the-top. They were sounding more sorority girl and less marine mechanic by the second!

Fortunately, my order came quickly. The hashbrowns were cooked to perfection - the crispiest I've had in the city, without a big of sogginess. Golden brown turned to the dark side ... just to my liking. Already, Voula's was bringing me their A-game. The real test would be the star of the plate: my biscuits and gravy, of course. Voula's biscuits were a close second to the best I've had, and the gravy couldn't have been hotter. I'd watched the line chef check the temp and heat it up on the induction plate (as if he could read my mind) - which pleased me to no end. I'm shocked how many restaurants serve these with tepid gravy. Nothing worse than a beige heap of luke-warm gravy first thing in the morning. I dove in fork-first: biscuits with gravy ... gravy with hashbrowns ... hashbrowns with gravy and biscuit ... egg with biscuit ... egg with gravy ... I felt like a pig in a poke! After what seemed like an hour of shoveling in this mound of salty, sausage-y deliciousness into my face, I sat back sated - sadly having nearly half left on my plate.

Doggie bags for breakfast just aren't my thing. I knew I'd never have the same experience with an hour's-old (or next day) re-heat, so I waddled away from the residual of my breakfast, paid the bill (barely over $10!) and plunked myself back in the car.

Voula's - I'll be back.

Oyster Love

As  Space Needle and salmon are the posterchildren for Seattle, the same is true for oysters ... and I love 'em! Again and again I'm asked my opinion - not only on the best restaurants to get these sweet, briney treats-of-the-sea, but which varieties scintillate my tastebuds most. From my discussions of all-things-oyster with those in the know, I'm finding that love for a specific oyster type varies as much as flavors of ice cream. With four distinctive types in the NW (Olympia, Pacific, European Flat and Kumamoto), there's truly something for everything in Washington's oyster world! My understanding is that the tiny, yet plump, Olympia is the only native variety to the area - perhaps adding to my love-addiction.

My first introduction to the oyster world came early on with the cracker-crusted, baked, out-of-a-jar type my mom was infamous for preparing. While not favorites as I reflect back, they certainly warmed my palate for the future. A trip in my early 20's to Florida reminds me never to eat an oyster on the east coast.

If you're looking for a 'gateway oyster', Olympia is your bivalve of choice. Their sweet, palatable flavors (with a distinguishable cucumber aftertaste) is a perfect way to begin. Not too briney, and relatively mild, most anyone trying an Olympia will have a second (and a third).

Let's get down to the nitty (but not gritty) of this. Where do I recommend you satisfy your oyster cravings? Elliott's Oysterhouse on Pier 55 has a reputation for excellence and absolutely stand behind it. Their shuckers are virtually an encyclopedia of knowledge when it comes to the little guys. The Brooklyn Steak, Seafood and Oysterhouse is another beautiful example of the plethora of options in the northwest (with accompanying vodka samplers to boot!). Blueacre, Harborside and Aqua by El Gaucho all have a stunning number of just-out-of-the-bay selections that'll knock your socks off. But the crowning jewel for me? The flash-fried Totten Inlet Pacific oysters available at Steelhead Diner in the Pike Place Market. Can't find me at lunch time? Look no further than the chef's counter at Steelhead Diner watching on as chef Anthony prepares crispy, golden orbs of oystery-goodness nestled on a bed of bloody mary sauce. Wow! A surprising second-choice for the crisp-fried type? Just as the name suggests, Emmett Watson's Oyster Bar, tucked in the bowels of the Pike Place Market marries 'homey feel' and ''delicious oysters' perfectly.

My advice? Don't be afraid. Like ice cream flavors, they all beg for a taste. Try 'em and let me know -- what's your favorite?

Oh, for the Love of Frozen Custard!

I should have seen it coming - the Frozen Custard magnet's pulled me in! Sure, I'd stopped off on a hot summer day at Old School Frozen Custard's newly-opened shop last summer. Yup - it was creamy and delicious. Surprised? Naw - I knew going in on a hot day that it'd be just the elixer after a long day at Madison Beach. Occasionally over the months it's now been I've had fleeting thought of chocolatey-goodness from their frozen trove, but I'd overcome these little cravings with a busy life and a lack geographical convenience.

But then, they Tweeted: "Orange Creamsicle is our FOD today and tonight! http://bit.ly/bGFm9F". It was in my head. Their orange creamsicle tweet sat in some sweet spot in my brain the entire day. I knew it wouldn't be 'on the way' to anything in my day's range of motion, yet I knew I'd find a way.

Perhaps it was knowing I'd be walking through their doorway by day's end that made me a little more motivated to walk - a little more chipper when toiling in the yard. There was a little spring in my step all day knowing I'd find a way.

And so I sit this morning - pint-container in hand, licking out the last tiny bits of orange creamsicly-goodness - reflecting back on a day full of motivation .... and full of frozen custard!

Oh the creamy goodness. Reflecting back, I wonder why I ever enjoyed ice cream and/or gelato. Is this how drug addicts feel when they go from gateway drugs to the hard stuff? Can you never look back once you've tried it? Color me addicted.