Balsamic Roasted Plums, a Burglary and a Birthday

Ah yes, one of those things is not like the other. I'll get there.

Above we have a scene from the kitchen during tonight's Monday meal prep. Karyn ran over from Old Town, showered and spent the rest of her birthday dinner in her birthday suit and a very stylish towel wrap. Gina came straight from training but skipped the shower. Joner was a frock-rocking basil-tearing machine and Bec wore one of my oversize buttondowns around, buttoned all the way up as mosquito/frosting protection.

I'd put the picture up but I think I need approval on that one first.

Menu:

• Zucchini fritters with yogurt and apricot jam
• Mixed greens with balsamic roasted plums and blue cheese*
• Pork scallopini (Divina Cucina style=fennel pollen!)
• Pappardelle with heirloom tomatoes and fresh pesto
• Chocolate Cake with Guiness poured over the top

I'm grateful for beautiful nights like this one. I snuck off to the downtown farm stand to grab beautiful plums at lunch was home in time to head to the butcher shop. I've made that chocolate cake so many times that I think I could do it blindfolded and the rest...while creating a breathtaking path of dishes and destruction...came together simply. We ate outside in the magic garden and I just needed that.

It's been an interesting seven days. My apartment was broken into, my laptop and iPods stolen and some peace of mind taken along with them. I am a tough cookie most of the time but knowing someone was in my home is jarring. Even though it could have been a whole lot worse (I wasn't there at the time), I still feel violated. And pissed, if we're being candid. Five separate friends offered HC and I a place to stay that night and all I could think of was straight, stubborn, crimson fury.

A planned work trip got me out of town for the weekend and it was truly awesome. I still wasn't feeling quite myself but Philadelphia with a bunch of professional optimists and an old school partner in crime were the best kinds of distractions.

Police reports filed, fingerprints collected and now we wait. It's not the first time I've been here but that doesn't make it easier. Some simple precautions like new windows, fresh locks do wonders but having a house full of people who love you and the smells that go along with that are the fastest ways to restore order to my world. Monday mission accomplished.

I lied about the picture. I'm sorry, friends. It was too perfect. I love you enough to delete it later if you want to raise a protest.

A chocolate beer cake cheers to houses that feel like home and to the people that fill them with light. Dinner was very much in Karyn's honor tonight but I'm definitely going to bed feeling gifted.

Balsamic Roasted Plums

6 small, ripe plums

2 tablespoons good balsamic vinegar

Smoked salt to taste

Rinse and dry your plums then cut them in half, removing the pit. Toss in balsamic in a glass baking dish and top with a pinch of smoked salt. Roast at 375 for 4-5 minutes. I don't even know that this counts as a recipe, it's that easy.

Serve over mixed greens with blue cheese and just pour your roasting juices from the plums over the salad as a dressing. It's a delight.

Weekend Cat Blogging: Look at Me Edition

As far as Sundays go, it's a good one. Up early and at Lula Cafe for breakfast with Janine when they opened. We don't see each other nearly as often as we mean to but it's like inhaling a series of cool, deep breaths every time we do. I don't know why that's the thing that comes to mind when we change topics so rapidly that a breath could easily be forgotten but it's refreshing.

I'm reminded again why that place remains one of my best brunches in Chicago ( just about tied for first with Longman & Eagle). Delicious. And afterward a lap around the Logan Square Farmers Market with the woman who, no joke, wrote the book on Midwestern Farmers Markets. That means stopping to chat with all the vendors and sampling along the way. Janine is a naturally charming person but she also asks the questions I don't always remember when confronted by something tempting. For me, it was an excellent reminder of "conscious consumption" in action. And sometimes that includes a mini cone of Cashew Crunch.

I nabbed a number of goodies to supplement my own growing bounty but a jar from the Chicago Honey Co-op and a bright bouquet from Tempel Farm Organics topped out I think.

Of course just when I start to grab a couple pictures of what is now a very happy kitchen table, I am reminded of who the star of Sunday is in reality.

"Oh a few photos? Of course I don't mind."

She was promptly shooed off the table but another reminder that Honeycat will not accept second billing to a single other organic entity in this house. What on earth was I thinking.

The Garden of Good & Evil: Year Three and an Ode to the Eves

These were the leftovers if that tells you anything about the kind of party it was.

And this was the evolution of the spread if that tells you anything about what kind of party it was.
And the two singing and dancing lovemuppets were my co-celebrants if that tells you anything about what kind of party it was.

It was supposed to rain all day long and we never felt a drop. Equal numbers of friends showed up in yoga pants as in maxi dresses. Both claiming room for cake. Two different pitchers of alcoholic nectar and a jug of cucumber water never seemed to run out. Stevie Nicks was on rotation with Animal Collective and the potatoes I roasted when I was perhaps a little toasted came out perfectly. That's what kind of party it was.

The Garden of Good & Evil party is an annual ode to my girlfriends disguised as my birthday party. The first two years I co-hosted with my much beloved friend Caroline who is now living in Telluride. I got really lucky this year when it turned out two kindred spirits who also happened to be Geminis liked the concept. And so. Hadley came bearing the best mango salsa and homemade hummus and craft supplies. Molly L brought cheese plate skewers and a general's eye for detail (that's her supervising the hanging of paper lanterns above).

Ah, but what is that concept? The garden part is pretty obvious. Wicked Park is a little bit of magic right in the city and it loves a soiree. The Good is meant to be something wholly holistic. Deep stretching, yoga, a little revival for your insides. My own guru of sorts, Mary Beth Janssen came down two years ago to lead the Good.

Yes, this is all very hippie dippy. I love hippie dippy. An afternoon where the only thing anyone is allowed to bring is flowers or wine unless they are moved to cook in theme (or bring a pineapple- thanks Alexis!). Then we all sit in the grass telling dirty jokes, drinking spiked lemonade, making new friends and then there's cake. Fini.

This year, due to the alleged rain, we were fully prepared to make vision boards in the living room in lieu of yoga. But when the guests arrived and the sun stayed out, I'll be the first to admit I got a little too excited and wanted to break out the wine to celebrate our Good fortune. So HC is the only one who really got her stretching in this year. In the spirit of self love and preservation, we weren't too hard on ourselves. Or at all.

This is the enchanted beverage station. I'm only half kidding when I use names like that. I mean there was a swan champagne cooler courtesy of the Milwaukee Duo...that's basically the definition of enchanted. The main party beverage has traditionally been Wicked Lemonade which is the ever-so-glamorous concoction of Crystal Light Raspberry Lemonade with Black Cherry Vodka, sparkling water and some fresh raspberries in every clear plastic dixie cup. Look friends, you know I love my frou frou fancy cocktails and my dark syrupy bourbon but there is no shame here. We aim to please in bulk. Apart from a rather unfortunate incident involving a nonexistent water:lemonade:vodka ratio two years ago and an enthusiastic group of GG's (who will all promptly disown me), it's only been beneficial by the barrel. This year we also managed copious amounts of sparkling wine and a delicious sangria a la Ellie.

Lest you think all that colorful seating went to waste though, you would be wrong. The Evil refers to more of a pleasantly dark sense of humor than anything actually demonic. Sparing a mixed audience the details, it was kind of like a tupperware party hosted by Bacchus. Only instead of an actual nymphic creature we got Samuel who was pretty darn close and just the most adorable person ever. I might be inclined to whisper more about this over a glass of wine but for now that is all I feel at liberty to share. Onward! To the feast!

At this point in the afternoon, I was leaving my camera all over the place so the only snapshot I have of the spread I snuck inside to prepare was taken with my phone. Alas, better than nothing. Tradition dictates a large salad bar is a popular way for friends to be able to customize their meals.

Earlier in the day, HC and I grilled up almost ten pounds of free range chicken breasts that had been marinating overnight in lemon juice, olive oil, garlic and rosemary. To that we added a couple varieties of mixed greens, sugar snap peas, sliced sweet peppers, cherry tomatoes, roasted golden beets, homemade croutons, walnuts, dried cherries and some of Jo's fresh eggs hard-boiled and ready to be shelled. Those are good friends who can't come to the party but give you eggs their chickens laid. They were also in the cake. Magic chickens.

We did three dressings- Lemon Vinaigrette, Pop's Caesar and a Spicy Ginger Peanut. Lizz modeling her plate so helpfully above also showcases the aforementioned baby potatoes that were on a whim thrown into a baking dish, coated with live oil and put in the oven with full sprigs of rosemary resting on top. This could have gone terribly awry but instead went terribly delicious. Those potatoes might be foolproof. As the fool, I would know.

When I got back outside to start corralling people in for the salad bar, I remember just surveying the crowd in the yard. I hear from a lot of people that it's been particularly hard to make new girlfriends in the city. I could see that but I also feel like I need to recognize I'm sitting on a treasure trove of awesome females. Some newer to me than others but all just wonderful. There is nothing that makes me happier than when they meet each other and fall in genuine like.

Going through the pictures afterward was a stream of "Doh! Of course you two love each other!" It's easy for women in their early twenties and thirties to get caught in a cycle of being set up and setting others up for romance. Love that- appreciate it! But being set up with a friend is a whole other kind of thing I forget about too often. Anyone else notice that? And then friends move away and it starts all over again.

I feel like an auctioneer going "Beautiful NEW mother of one, fresh to Miami Beach, culinary school grad and all around Grade A girlfriend material- who's got a match for farmers marketing and play dates and dog walking with strollers?" I'm ranting now. Chime in any time if you know what I'm talking about.

That was where I was going with the ode to the Eves. I'll be honest- year 27 had a couple proper rough patches. Mischief that was only managed by the presence of friends in walking and/or Internet distance. So here is a piece of cake for you. You beautiful, fully imperfect, hilarious bunch of hooligans. I don't care what year it is, you are some of the most charmed pieces of my life and I am very grateful for you.

Please do forgive the colorful mess of a frosting job on your confection.

It was done by your colorful mess of a hostess. Who is currently still fighting back vanity in sharing this photo everyone else thinks is terribly apropos and I think the only picture taken of me during the whole of the party (I am an excellent camera dodger. Blasted Instagram, Shecky). Not my most polished but accurate and happy.

Now here's a quick tutorial on how to make your own rainbow chips. My own inspiration was Ashley Rodriguez's significantly more professional tutorial at Not Without Salt. I'm telling you essentially the same thing but so you can see that if I can handle this, you can too.

1. Start with ramekins filled with while chocolate chunk for as many colors as you plan on making. Melt in the microwave via 30 second increments.
2. Stir in 2-3 drops of food coloring to start with. You can always add more.
3. Spread on to parchment paper laid on a tray or cutting board.
4. Freeze for 10-15 minutes.
5. Chop.
6. Ready for frosting.

I'm going to advocate adding them to vanilla cream cheese frosting to go with this chocolate cake recipe from I Am Baker. Bold statement: All frosting should be cream cheese frosting. Do not flinch when five or more friends swarm the bowl to take care of the leftovers.

And speaking of leftovers, how much prettier does a whole heap of dirty dishes look with those lovely flower arrangements all over the place?

Marauding on Weekend Street

It was just one of those good weekends. Friday night started with a knitting lesson with some new friends for Karen's hilarious 30th birthday project (I'm a little obsessed with this idea). That came with wine and a lovely spaghetti squash dish for dinner courtesy of Leah. Then thanks to the power of Twitter and an open-minded partner in crime, I got to toast Katie for her birthday at Innjoy with Robin and TC, then finally made it to the Burlington for one of Jim and Michelle's DJ gigs.

Saturday afternoon was pretty much strong-armed by the dentist. That was probably the least fun piece of weekend but I had a Fresh Air podcast and Terri Gross really did help pass the time. Reward was a fun trip to Whole Foods. If my face hadn't been numb, I might have even had a glass of wine. That would have been absolutely tragic given the circumstances so I just shot wanton looks at everyone else's wine and tried to avoid smiling so I didn't frighten the children. This became a totally moot point because I arrived home to see a snow family had been built in our front yard by the much beloved neighbor kids. They'd made a snow incarnation of Honeycat (who adores them as much as I do). N,o I don't have a picture of either the snowcat or my crazy Two-Facesque expression when I found it. Face still numb, smiling like a crazy person. I love neighbors/neighborhoods.

Saturday night (once I had full use of my face back) was just a beautiful chunk of absurdity. A bunch of us met up at Big Star and even the wait was a joy thanks to some delicious margaritas and some "preview tacos" holding us over (that would be KP and I up top, photo credit to G's iPhone). Different people came to meet us throughout the night and by the end of our taco tenure, there was dancing. So much dancing that we decided to take our talents elsewhere and ended up at Rodan. More dancing. Til the music stopped. Were we done? Apparently not. Off to the Flat Iron. Pool and 90's hip hop and ohmyGOODNIGHT it is 5 in the morning. As in a half hour before my alarm goes off for the gym on weekdays. I could not tell you the last time that happened.

I slept for a lot of a beautiful day on Sunday and I wouldn't take it back. I opened the windows and the cat and I just languished in heavy covers, fresh air and sunshine. I called Gina from bed and we recapped the evening with cracked voices and laughter that hurts a little bit because it feels like your brain is part of a pinball machine. When I did get up it was done with jaunty step. A long walk around the neighborhood, a cake to bake and all the fixings.The weekend shop closed with a proper Sunday supper. Lo and Christina are two of my best friends from college and it was just the most delicious rewind to have them around the table. Dinner was inspired by Kona Bistro, our favorite restaurant in Oxford. Smashed Salmon Salad (which has even been documented here before) and "Winning of Hearts and Minds Cake" from Orangette. I wish I could have shown a clip of it to the three twenty year olds sitting in our dining room on West Collins. They're both wives now- one husband makes tremendous chocolate cookies, one sent his wife to my house with miniature artisan grilled cheese sandwiches. Which is to say, they are both winners in my book. Everyone with joy in their work and life in general. These are good things.

This is a strange type of post for this place- more of a journal entry and kind of a throwback to days of yore. I just don't want to forget it. Not the time untangling yarn and telling stories, not the cabs dotting the west side, not the solo adventures in food shopping, not the hiccups or the hijinks. I don't want to forget cool sheets and the sweetest cat or a house that feels like home and smells like cake.

Snow Day (Spinach, Sausage and Shallot Quiche)

This is what a Sunday snow day looks like. This is what it tastes like too but never let it be said that I am cruel enough to ask you to imagine that. For the record, you're looking at a spinach, sausage (banger, if we're going to get specific) and shallot quiche, baked into my favorite pie crust.
To be even more specific, this is another view of the same snow day.

Sunday Snow Day from ToKissTheCook on Vimeo.

For those of you in warmer climates (cough *parents* ahem), this is what a snow day looks and sounds like. Please forgive the low-fi recording but I think you get the idea.


Yes, I think we all prefer the view from here a little better though it has to be said that from inside a cozy house, hot coffee in hand, looking at evergreens heavy with snow isn't the worst way to spend an afternooon. It's potentially the best way to spend an afternoon when it involves a long lunch with Miss Rebecca.

The coffee in this case is my latest little addiction- Tanzanian from Steaming Bean. A friend brought an extra pound back from a Colorado adventure and I'm officially hooked.

Incidentally, it washes this down really well and will properly defrost any toes that dare trudge through the snow toward quiche.
I love days like this. I was up early early early for no particular reason and just started making pie crusts. Then watched Hannah and Her Sisters followed by a snowmelt sweatfest and then the lunchy brunchy business above. Tonight is a turkey dinner with yet another neighborhood friend/family and I go bearing apple pie. A great day and it's just nice to write that down from time to time.

Spinach Sausage and Shallot Quiche
1 half pie crust recipe ( or just make a full one and save the other half for some other noble cause)
1 8 oz package frozen organic spinach (thawed and wrung of as much liquid as possible)
5 pork bangers (I love Spencer's- great quality, posh tasty)
2 shallots, minced
1 cup shredded or shaved Pecorino cheese
7 eggs
3/4 cup whole milk (2% would work fine)
Pinch of Nutmeg
Salt and Pepper (hooked on Maldon Smoked Salt)

1) Put your pie crust together, chill it for at least an hour, roll it out, put in your pie or quich dish and put it in the fridge till you're ready to fill it.
2) Preheat oven to 400 F.
3) Saute your bangers in a frying pan over medium heat, ensuring even browning on all sides. Bangers tell you they're done by splitting open. Once your little meats are split and browned, put them on a plate lined with paper towels and let them cool a bit.
4) Saute your shallots in the banger drippings. There are healthier ways to do this but I ran 5 miles this morning and was feeling a little cheeky/counterproductive. Sue me.
5) Scramble your eggs and use a basting brush to glaze the top of your quiche crust. You'll appreciate this later when your edges are all glossy. Once that's done, add your milk and continue to beat egg mixture till everything is incorporated and it's a uniform consistency.
6) Add spinach, bangers, cheese and sauteed shallots to egg mixture. Season but go a little heavier on the pepper than the salt- both the bangers and the cheese are giving you a little extra sel already.
7) Pour mixture into your pie crust, tent loosely with foil and bake for 1 hour at 400. Check it at 45 minutes and remove the foil if you need some extra browning on top.
8) Once the quiche is set in the middle (no more jiggling), pull it out and let it cool for 10-15 minutes before slicing. Know that sounds like torture because the house is going to smell really really good but it's worth it to have slices that actually come out of the pan in the way nature intended.

TGI Pieday: Pie to Bring You Back from the Brink

It's not really a secret that I'm a pie person. It's my thing. I can make a mean cake but it will never be pie. Pie is proof that somewhere in me lies the ability to be patient for all the right reasons. Pie requires me to know what I'm doing but hold it loosely without overthinking. All things I could stand to mimic in other nooks. But pie did not spring from a kitchenwomb fully formed. In the last few years, I've tried all butter crusts, half butter/half shortening crusts, crusts with ice water and crusts with ice vodka. Hand pies and lattice pies and pies that required a turkey baster to unjuice.

The pies themselves have been chocolate cream, lemon meringue, apple cheddar, cherry bourbon (Manhattan), cherry peach, strawberry rhubarb, coconut cream and, finally, peach straight up. All throughout my pie-making history I've made them for the people I loved and they consistently reflect the state of my non-pastry being. I'm a big believer in the ability to infuse food made by hand with a little bit of what you're going through at the time, a la Like Water for Chocolate. With pie crust, all ten fingers are literally in the dough- kneading and patting and shaping- how could you not lose track of a few stray pieces of love, lust, sad or worry? The crust- it knows.

But in August, I wasn't making pie at all. In the height of Midwestern fruit season, that was a signpost and all it said was "lost." I was at a fork in the road and I had nothing of substance to eat with that fork. No clear direction in the proverbial yellow wood.

Sometimes the light ahead appears from the least deliberate of places. Meet Kate. My pie angel and the voice of Art of the Pie, which incidentally sounds exactly like her speaking and you should read it regularly. I met her at the end of August when I headed up to Seattle for a pretty fantastic weekend at IFBC and some quality time with Pop Pop. The fact that there was a pie class offered through a conference I was technically attending as part of my job is yet another marker that I'm in the right line of work.

I signed up at the last minute and knew immediately that I was in the right place. Kate is every bit herself, but she reminded me of a cross between my friends Mary Beth and Janine in spirit.

Beyond introducing me to the pie crust I'd been looking for, she showed us that it just doesn't have to be that hard. No need to peel the peaches before slicing them, they're fine as they are. No fussing with a food processor when a couple forks and cold fingers would do. No crying over dry pie dough. It's almost always fixable and when it's not? You can start over. I didn't realize until then that I was looking for the permission to do exactly that.

The pie we made in class was a peach pie with peaches from Frog Hollow Farm. This is a place I was totally ignorant of until August and I'm not entirely sure how that happened. All I can offer by way of excuse is that my Southern/Midwestern life has been thousands of miles from the perfect groves of peaches, apples, pears and apricots. Kate passed an uncut peach around the class, followed by a plate of slices. You did not need to actually get your snout right down to the fuzz to smell the sweetness coming off the whole fruit. When the slices got to me, I knew why. Whoa. I'm a fan of more locally grown Michigan peaches but this was another hemisphere of flavor.

I don't know how they did it but I needed more peaches and I needed them fast. As a gift of timing, it turned out that we were in Seattle for the end of Peachorama at Seattle's City Markets which meant I could actually buy fresh Frog Hollow peaches while in town. The next chance I got, I was in line with my own pallet-o-peaches and everything I needed to recreate that pie for my grandfather (the perfect audience for all edible treasure).

Once the conference wrapped, I got myself straight back to Sammamish with all my treasures in tow. I couldn't rectify the leaf lard situation (Kate's reco) without some serious sourcing but there's nothing wrong with an all-butter crust so long as you're using a Euro-style butter (Kerrygold, Plugra).

Another little revelation beyond the leaf lard was the inclusion of tapioca with the fruit to hold the pie together. I'd never had anything with tapioca in it other than bubble tea and had also been a little wary of thickeners in my pie. Flour always seems to dull the flavors a bit and Arrowroot and Cream of Tartar can be detectable flavors if not stored correctly. Kate's pie actually sliced without hemorrhaging all the sauciness that makes a proper bite. Not a hint of minerality. I'm officially a believer, particularly for juicy fruits like high season peaches or cherries.

I sliced a peach for Pop to snack on while I worked out the crust with a floured wine bottle. By 8 we were happily couched watching Moonstruck and digging into a beautiful piece of pastry still warm in the middle. I was one slice into the first of my new pie life and actually brought peaches home to make another pie for friends immediately.


We may have had it cold for breakfast with a little yogurt before I left for the airport. These are the things one does with an unapologetically hedonistic grandfather. At least I know I come by it honestly.

Once I got back to Chicago, I got in touch with my pig people at Slagel Family Farm on the hunt for leaf lard (the fat between the kidneys on pigs) and they did not disappoint. Three days later I retrieved a 5 lb tub of lard from my customary pick-up at Mado. The waitstaff was just ramping up when I got there and I explained my plans to them. I still think I owe Rob and Allie a pie for opening up the connection with Slagel. Seems like an appropriate gift on the opening of there new butcher shop, Butcher and the Larder (all responsibly, sustainably raised animals). Note that the tub actually says "Jeffy" which amused Molly to no end. The lard is mostly tasteless but definitely has a subtle, savory hint of bacon. Can you imagine anything better to complement a sweet peach pie?

True to promise, Kate's crust recipe held up and my Chicago peach pie had the layers of crust I'd been looking for (thanks to the different melting points of the lard and butter). I know I sound dramatic here but I'd been working at it for years- this was big.

Now that I had my crust, it was game on for baking. I made a little chocolate cream pie just because the Dawson sisters stopped by.


I made a miniature coconut cream pie for Molly's birthday. By the by, these little pie dishes are a bargain and come in every color of the rainbow.

There was another little chocolate cream pie for Nicole and Jamie's visit to Chicago.


Then apple season arrived by the truckload from Michigan and Indiana.

The crust held up when latticed with ribbons of pastry puffing up in all the right places.

The crust held up in general. Tomorrow, Thanksgiving, marks the unofficial climax of pie season. I hope that those of you who are baking will take this crust into consideration and fill it with all the thanks you want to give to the people at your table. I'm thankful for the pies that got me to this one and the ones still ahead of me. I'm grateful for a kitchen consistently full of people I care about to eat the pies that are made there.

I know it sounds cheesy but it's not. It's pie. And pie is love.

Kate McDermott's Pie Crust Recipe can be found on her blog, Art of the Pie. If you are ever in the Seattle area and in need of spiritual pastry guidance, she meditates on 8 inch pie plates regularly.