Think on Something Really Lovely

Have you ever been paralyzed by the sheer amount you want to say? I have to think that's common but it's unnerving. I talk too much as it is but to literally have week after week of not knowing what to say is so daunting.

The short of it is this: Jaimeson and I parted ways about a month ago. There's a lot that could be said. He is a kind, generous and talented man but years of being apart most of the time took its toll. You can't help but grow in different directions and I know it's the right thing for me. While this has been hard and I still feel like a jerk sometimes, I'm proud of the fact that we were honest with each other and ourselves without a single unkind intention. It is still pretty fresh.

I don't have anything else to say there but that's the gist of it. Rather than linger, I'm leaving you with a set of things from the last few days that have me smiling. It's really and truly beautiful in Chicago right now and I'm off to Lincoln Square for some time in the park with Williamasaurus Rex and Kate, the closest thing I have to an older sister.



The happiest table in my apartment. I found the little tin at the Fremont market in Seattle last weekend and filled it with Santa Maria Novella, my favorite potpourri (which was also, miraculously, found in Fremont at Essenza). The Eiffel Tower is exactly what it looks like. I bought it in Paris when I was 13 which is probably explanation enough.

The orange roses were $6 at Jewel and the concert poster was found for $3 in the back of Una Mae's. The owls- the larger is a print by Emily Leonard and the smaller is a Japanese pencil sketch by way of Pop Pop. I had the pleasure of making a pie for Pop last weekend and that was its very own happy event.

Yesterday, Gina and took a daytrip to Korea. At least that's what we were telling ourselves. Both coming off an exhausting few weeks, we decided we needed an adventure and the fact that it was a 15 minutes drive to Albany Park rather than a 15 hour flight to Seoul did not diminish the experience. A proper bi bim bop lunch at Kang Nam (so so good) followed by a few hours at Paradise Sauna.

Per the sauna, words elude me a bit again but if you are looking to really drop off the map, this is the place to do it. $50 bucks will get you all the steam, heat and hot tub you can handle along with a "scrub" that will leave you polished like a piece of silver. Nevermind that it shares space with a Mexican restaurant. This is not your frilly, fluffy "spa day." Bring your bravery, leave your modesty and sweat it out.


Sunday Breakfast:

• A piece of multigrain toast from Flourish
  
• A thin layer of garlic & herb goat cheese
• Tomato Mountain sun gold tomato preserves
• Assorted cherry tomatoes from my garden and my generous neighbor's
• Leftover honey/thyme pork tenderloin from a dinner party Friday night
• Basil plucked while watering first thing this morning

Some variation of this combination has been my favorite snack since I picked up the sun gold sweetness at the farmers market a few weeks ago. Need to grab another jar for the preserve reserves, thus securing bites of summer in the middle of winter.

When I went out to weed later, Honeycat came to help. If you want to talk about really lovely, you cannot omit the Lady of the Garden from the conversation. She's ready for fall like I am only I don't think she realizes her shady spot under the tomatoes will be relinquished to rows of kale and collards.

Dear Universe,
Thank you for the lovely and all it brought with it.
TKTC

A Slow (Food) Soul: Thomas Keller's Roast Chicken, Potato Sunchoke Puree and Beet/Watercress Salad

As is typical with Chicago, Spring has been a bit of a tug-of-war. It was 70-something for a spell in March and now it's May. There were ice chips at my windowsill last night.

Ice aside, there's tall grass in the yard and the flowers are at full tilt. This week marked the first of the big summer farmers markets opening for their regular seasons and there was a rebel yell that went up in my heart at the site of those tents.

The market wasn't the only thing that returned. Jaimeson came home after being on the road, but for a night, since February. What has been a rigorous tour schedule is relenting a bit for May and June and thus, a feast was in order.


Enter Dill Pickle Food Coop. A beautiful, fresh and "happy" chicken. Locally grown parsley and watercress. Prairie Fruits Farm goat cheese. An organic lemon. Sunchokes and gold potatoes.

And the beets. Deep garnet and bright gold with sunset orange on the edges. I wrapped each beet in foil and roast them for an hour at 425. Once they were cool enough to handle, the skins rubbed right off and those colors revealed themselves like gems in rock quarry.

They were then diced and scattered among the watercress, dotted with the soft goat cheese. We cut the sweetness with a lemon vinaigrette. Nothing fancy- juice of half a lemon with a quarter cup of olive oil, some salt and some pepper. The salad was simple. And it tasted sublime. Highly recommend.
The chicken was similarly simple in its ingredients but I need to give credit to ad hoc at home for teaching me a few new techniques. Ad hoc is one of the cookbooks I picked up at the IACP Culinary Trust Dinner...the night after Thomas Keller picked up an award for best cookbook in the Chefs and Restaurants category on its behalf. The book lived up to its reputation and delivered not only a gorgeous chicken but a straightforward bread pudding for dessert (not pictured...we gobbled).

As a product of all of the above, J walked into a house that smelled like home. It takes me awhile to get used to being with company again but I'll just keep feeding him. Welcome back, buddy.

Dear Universe: Home Edition

Backyard (1994-ish)

I just got off the phone with my mom. The event first discussed over a year ago has finally come to pass. The house I grew up in outside of Memphis has sold. 21 years of thinking of it as home and there will not be a Langsen living there anymore. Instead a young Canadian doctor from St Jude and his wife. I feel good about that. I like Canadians.

And it will still be home in a lot of ways because our family is there. Not blood relations, per se, but koumbara. That would be the Greek word for the family you're not related to, the ones you choose. Six degrees stronger than "community" implies, equally crazy and loved unconditionally. It was a great place to grow up. I'm surprised that I'm still surprised, even with plenty of time to get my head around it, if not every tendril. My parents have already divided themselves between Florida and the Cape, Dad officially retires in January. Times they are a-changing, etc.

Funny that today would be the day. Dear Universe, you may not be subtle but I kinda like it that way. Jaimeson is getting on a plane at LAX in an hour, bound for Chicago. With several boxes and suitcases because.....

Jaimeson is moving into Wicked Park with me (and HC, of course).

To the degree that he lives anywhere, this will be home for both of us now. We had a massive Craigslist/Garage Sale "happening" in LA last weekend and he has been going nonstop ever since to get here by Christmas. Like he hasn't had a big enough holiday season already (you can find his record HERE). We've talked about it loosely and gently for awhile and now it is happening. We've come a long way, most of it documented here.

I don't know how much will change because he'll still be on the road a lot and back to LA as much as he needs to be but it still feels like something. Something very good that smells like roast chicken and fresh lemons and some combination of lavender, rosemary and sandalwood.

Home is where the heart is, n'est ce pas?

In lieu of Jaimeson's traditional welcome back pie, I went a little over the top with Dorie Greenspan's Rosy Poached Pear and Pistachio Tart. Special, seasonal and involving pistachio pastry cream with a honey wine syrup. Welcome home, my dear.

*Note: Now that I live with a Greek, I will drop Greek words into posts at will. In tandem with the odd French words and phrases that help me up the "intellect" quotient of my writing about frosting, feline love triangles and being hungry. I could feel embarrassed for myself but I don't. I live with one. I am LEGIT.

**Note: Also, you're welcome for photographic evidence of why I have not capitalized on the "bangs" trend.

In Your Honor

In your honor, I made myself a cheese plate for lunch. As proof that I do have a modicum of self control (if we're being generous), this is what was left and then I even shared. The things I do...in your honor.

Are you wondering what you had to do with this? Confusion is, no doubt, the first symptom of cheese-deprivation which I don't find to be taken seriously enough by American society. You should really have some. The options in my current possession are comte` and leonora, a divine Spanish goat concoction, both courtesy of the comprehensive and charming cheese shop that is cruelly on my way to the train from work, Pastoral.

I have created this dejeuner tribute to you because when I asked about your favorite foods? Just about everyone said cheese. I've known cheese to turn vegan friends veggie. To turn frowns upside down. I've espoused my love of sharp cheddar and brie in the past but have I mentioned appenzeller? Gruyere? You would be hard-pressed to find a cheese not beloved by me.

Now that does not mean I run around eating it every day. No, much like lox, I save up my tastebuds for the good stuff and then I whittle away at it like the city/country mouse that I am. Today I do so while giving a little curtsy in your general direction while wearing a brightly patterned purple polyester dress.

And speaking of things done in honor, I have a favor. A favor that will likely mortify one or more persons but they are used to being in the spotlight so I'm going to just put this out there.

Jason/Jaimeson is going to be on Ellen on Monday, playing guitar alongside the incomparable Angel Taylor.

I used a period to end that sentence because my cheesemongering self did not feel professional punctuating a bolded sentence with "!!!!!!**?!!!!?!*." Lines in the sand.

Check your local listings and hit RECORD please. I hope he wears his Chucks and does a little dance with Ellen, whom I adore. He's done some pretty cool TV before but for whatever reason, this strikes me as especially fantastic. Also, if you click Angel's link, you can see their tour dates. And if they go to your city, I expect you to attend and attend enthusiastically. Also, please remember that he is a professional in the wild and he responds favorably to baked goods. Okay, girlfriend infomercial over. For now.

Also, I'll be having kale and quinoa for dinner. In my honor. Because moderation.

The Good Bad Apples

About four years ago, I went apple-picking for the first time and it changed the way I looked at fruit.

I'd picked strawberries off bushes in Maryland. I'd picked wild blackberries in Massachusetts brambles, purple stains on my face disguised as violet freckles. I was familiar with the greedy gratification of living hand to mouth in the nice way, the way of seeing something sweet and eating it thoughtlessly.

But my first time in an actual working orchard was a fully sensual experience, one I've wanted to build on since but hadn't committed to making the time. When J decided to come in for a long weekend after some busybusy work weeks for both of us, we put it on the calendars immediately. After all, that's how we communicate, as kitchen-lovers and people of pie.

The day was not a traditionally pretty one. It was gray. It was wet. It was cool. I admit that J caught me pouting every time a raindrop hit the windshield as we drove north. That said, it was fall. It was very fall. And did we not have scarves? And hats? And a Culver's drive-thru?

For those of you who remain uninitiated to the Midwestern fantasma known as Culver's, there are really only two basics. #1 They call their burgers "butter-burgers." Guess why. #2 Fried cheese curds. That would be slightly battered nuggets of salty cheese. Once a year. Don't push that either because your heart might go all kinds of Independence Day due to overly gleeful arteries. We felt much better after that. Seriously- look at that man's face. The amateur might see his patient twinkle and deep dimples as a wordless expression of love, affection and mutual understanding toward the photographer. I know better and I do not fault him for this.

We had junk food and we had a plan. A plan that apparently involved a $40 plastic bag of apples.

This is me. This is me eating my way through a wet orchard, plucking pretty orbs off the trees and eating them. Both because never will an apple taste as good as it does straight off the tree in early October when it's just finished raining and because orchards less than 3 hours outside of major cities charge tourist prices to PICK YOUR OWN APPLES.


When I saw the small plastic bag assigned to us and noted the price, I was appalled. Not because I'm naturally all that frugal (getting better) but because I was there to do it myself and probably buy cider and other goodies too so try not to rip me off from the outset.

It is very lucky that J finds it enchanting when get all Huffy McTerrier Don'tWrongMe. So when you watch the video at the end of this post, try not to judge me too harshly. I swear, I've been carrying a tote bag as a purse for at least the last month and a half and it just happened to come in handy. I have a strong if altered sense of justice.

We'll get there though. J and I munched and crunched and sploshed our way all through the orchard. We even came across a lovely pumpkin patch, the namesake of the boots that saved me last winter. Pumpkin the boots and Tangerine the mixer. Sensing a pattern?


By the time we got back to the Gala aisle, we were alone and faced with an embarrassment of apple riches. Trees that were bursting at the branch to rain apples down upon us. Each piping up to become turnovers, pies, compotes and candied. It was divine.

When our plastic bag was heavy and I was inexplicably walking a little lopsidedly, we headed in. In to buy off my guilt with ciders and apple butter and decorative gourds and two of the most beautiful carving pumpkins I've ever seen. And thank God I brought the muscle with me because those buddies were heavy. I am considering doing lunges with them even as we speak.


So we drove home. A pit stop for relevant kitchen goodies and one for hugs at J's mom's house. Then we were home to take a good look at our bounty. You've never seen me so possessed as I was figuring out the price per apple. Lining them up one by one and polishing them. My precious'.
But even as I arranged them in bowls and gazed at them lovingly, I knew that the price wasn't at all the point in this case. $40 is taking a cab to the airport when you could have taken the train. $40 is the cheap blouse that falls apart in the washer. But a full afternoon of rosy cheeks and rain and mud and the kissing of fruit as it's pulled from the tree? Of my pointing and J reaching to get that big, glossy one up near the top? $40 of potential for gifts of pie and pork tenderloin? That is $40 well spent.

And man alive did those apples deliver. Golden Delicious, Jonathon, Gala and McIntosh. Perhaps one Empire. All in this pie. This pie that maybe could have used a few more minutes but don't worry because that aged white cheddar I grated into the crust? Melted like butter. And we were hungry with laughter from watching the improvised concert of the ages unfold in Lisa and Dave's new living room.

And no complaints from Jaimeson when it was warmed up with fresh coffee this morning. Because when you make a man a pie, less than two slices would be against the rules. So here you are, the vLog report of the Good Bad Apples. Now who has a good recipe for applesauce?

Apple Pickers from ToKissTheCook on Vimeo.

The last word, per usual, belongs to HC. The quintessential Halloween cat on her golden stairs, flanked by our two perfect pumpkins this afternoon.

Plate Lickers: Berry Baked French Toast Edition

I like using words like "edition" and "installment" in post titles because it infers that the entry is part of a greater cause. As though there was a plan and an editorial calendar. Or real sentence structure. That sort of thing.

In reparation for denying you actual writing as it applies to established grammatical rules, I have brought you some French toast. It's a chilly Friday morning and I'm much better at communicating with food anyhow...no poker face required. I could never be a card shark, let's just say that.

After having a thoroughly stunning weekend in San Francisco at BlogHer Food and getting my virtual girlfriend time in with a bunch of fellow food-communicators, I've been tired. Tired and busy. Too tired and busy to cook much with the exception of a rebellious night when I started making panko crusted chicken with pesto at 10pm. With polenta and broccoli. I may have put the leftover broccoli in the freezer by accident but everything else came out and it made me feel better, as chopping and stirring is wont to do.

Then I got word that Friday (today) could be a recharge day. A day to breathe in the cooler fall air and hang some pictures and drop off dry-cleaning. And go apple-picking, my favorite autumnal activity. Jaimeson arrived last night and I woke up this morning feeling as though an exercise in gratitude was in order. Dear Universe, thank you for reminding me to inhale and exhale with enthusiasm. I also owed J for the dinner I came home to last night. Man does not fool around with roast chickens.

So here is my exercise in gratitude- using the leftover baguette from dinner and some odds and ends around the house to make Berry Baked French Toast.


1) I am grateful to have affection in my life. This was dinner last night. Love is love and that is the necessity. But affection and sweetness have been around this house in spades lately, both in person and in spirit.

Preheat oven to 375. Slice bread about 1/4 inch thick and laid in a lightly buttered dish. Melt 1 tablespoon of butter and brush the tops with a basting brush. In a separate bowl, 3 eggs, 1/3 cup of milk (skim is fine), 1/2 tsp cinnamon, 1/2 tsp salt, any remaining butter. Whisk and pour over the top of your bread, ensuring all is covered. Let sit for 10-15 minutes till most egg has been absorbed. I had about a tablespoon of raspberry sauce leftover from Molly's birthday cake so I dotted across the top of the bread. Last step pre-oven? Sprinkle 2 tablespoons of dark brown sugar over the top.

2) I am grateful be invested in projects on every side of my life. I work hard because I love it. I love it because it's something I wanted to do before I knew it could be a profession. Even personal projects like redoing "my office" (I'm sitting in it now!) or learning how to make a terrine or putting together one ridiculous Halloween party...puts my insides aflutter in a good way.

Berry sauce. My fridge has gone empty. My cabinets have gone empty. But my freezer? Stocked for just such an occasion. Two handfuls of frozen mixed berries in a saucepan, then covered with 1/2 cup of orange juice and a couple glugs of maple syrup. Medium heat to a good simmer. Reduce it by a third and add a 1/4 cup of sugar if you really like the sweetness, though I don't find it a necessity. Remove from heat.

3) I am grateful to be on the move. A four hour flight to San Francisco or a 40 mile drive to southern Wisconsin, there is relief in the movement. The human equivalent of opening the windows to let the new, fresh air in. I'm too much of a homebody to be a true gypsy but there is life in other places and I hear they have macaroons and pie materials.

Bake the toast for 20-25 minutes or until golden on top and slightly risen, souffle-style.
4) I am grateful to be learning my limits. That doesn't sound terribly romantic but giving myself a few basic rules is going a long way. I need 7 hours of sleep. I need vegetables. I need kisses. I need cat food and the presence of canned tuna fish does not indicate that I can push off going to the store for another day.

Enjoy at the kitchen table and don't be shy with the sauce. Although if you're moderate, the leftovers would do magic to a bowl of ice cream or even Greek yogurt. Plate licking is fine, it's your house and you get to make your own basic rules.

Turn Around Bright Eyes (Drag Queen Karaoke in P-town)

We'd had a great dinner at Devon's, a restaurant the size of a pocket serving local striped bass and scallops. We'd strolled around Provincetown taking in the many variations of friends and families all enjoying their ice cream cones. My ice cream was Chocolate Mint Oreo and how that has not managed to become a modern standard baffles me. It's really really good.

We'd started thinking about going home but needed a bathroom break (home is about 25 miles down the road). A quick slip into the Governor Bradford which turns out to be a karaoke bar run by a quick and sweet-natured drag queen in a demure sequin tank and python pleather leggings. And motorcycle boots. Our intention was to split a drink but as I had retired the car keys to Jason, I got to have my own. And it was fun so that lead to two of my own.

Which led me to an epiphany.

I will never see anyone in this bar again. The exception being Jason and it is increasingly difficult to be embarrassed around him. He's a musician, he's WELL AWARE that I am not. I am surrounded by friendly, hammered boys and girls whose performances might even make mine look palatable because I could just swing my hair around if I muss the words.

I first try to talk Jason into a rendition of Islands in the Stream. No go. He does not karaoke and he is sober anyhow. But I'm adamant now that this is my last best opportunity to do this for the first time. It's between Bonnie Tyler and Juice Newton. Bonnie won and I felt a twinge of sick when I dropped my slip with my name and song code into the fish bowl.

It's a slow night. Very suddenly I'm up next. Medicinal shot of Jameson. Not sure if that helped but at least it coated my vocal chords. Made my way to the stage and whispered my first-timer status to Dana Danzel who I've come to know as the hostess.

There's a group of 5-6 middle-aged women directly to the right of the stage. They are complimentary and encouraging. I'm well aware that I'm shouting. It is a yelling, Shatneresque rendition of "Total Eclipse of the Heart." Jason is filming and I remember to look at him from time to time...more so later in the song when I've decided to "own it."

Dana jumped in to help me out on the chorus and with the "Turn around bright eyes..." and before I knew it I was belting it out. Monotonically but BELTING nonetheless. People danced. It was really fun. Intensely awful but still fun.

I walked off stage to a wildly amused boyfriend and some time later did convince him to be Kenny Rogers to my Dolly Parton. It was even worse but we did it and and then we did it again on the ride home when we found the song on one of my parents mix CD's, sandwiched between "Colors of the Wind" and "Roseanna."

Maybe next time I have a houseful of awesome, I'll be brave enough to try it again, bring the whole crew. Unlikely but I enjoy the thought.

And because I would never have done it with you IN the bar, I give you the footage. Because I'm moving a little slowly this morning and it will have seemed like a good idea at the time. Don't say I never gave you anything.

Total Eclipse of the Heart (TKTC 1st Karaoke) from ToKissTheCook on Vimeo.

Of Pancakes and Patios

It started with pancakes.Specifically, these pancakes.

Jaimeson and I were presented with a beautiful, office-free Chicago morning and no plans to speak of. I clearly love making plans so I have very little explanation for why this feels so incredible. Our conversations first thing sound like an extended word association game where onomatopoeic sounds count. One of those words? Buttermilk. I giddily remembered that I had some in the fridge. Buttermilk in the morning only means the good kind of pancakes.

Alas...we've no real fruit to speak of.

Time to text these two.

You see Molly (right) has been my best friend since high school and frequent co-adventurer. And in a coup that can only be described as Napoleonic (with much larger hair), she has moved to Wicked Park. To the only other apartment in my building. Directly across the hall. The mirror image of mine. I could get into other aspects of best case scenarioism but I think that will reveal itself. She and her Jaime were playing a similar game of mumbled Good Mornings across the hall and she confirmed that she was in possession of...a banana.

Thusly, banana pancakes with syrup and blueberry compote were born. The four of us sat around with bedhead as I flipped pancakes onto plates as each was released from its buttery cast iron haven. Even Ala, landlord extraordinaire, came by for a couple of "whatever smells so good." At this point we were all wondering about what the day might bring...maybe grilling out later?

As the day meandered (lazily), it became abundantly clear that a cookout was in order. The previous weekend yielded Jaimeson running back and forth from the grill with lambchops in the middle of a thunderstorm so we were abundantly grateful for a warm, dry evening. Enter, Bon Appetit, August 2009.

I am not a current subscriber to Bon Appetit but a coworker had received two extra copies and offered me one so I greedily accepted...and proceeded to read cover to cover. One recipe, one photo essay after the next...I was enthralled and craving. You know the term "food porn" exists because photos of ingestibles can be an incredibly sensual experience, yes? Welcome to a 1977 Playboy.

The piece on peaches was particularly inviting but we were nothing short of inspired from cover to cover. We chose some must-haves and set about to the Mexican market and Jewel. First course is pictured above. Melon and prosciutto has been a long time favorite but a fresh basil leaf into the mix? It just works (inspired by p 56). I did the full recipe of sorts on Tumblr.


Smoky corn salsa. I hate to start with what could have been a standout of the whole night but I'm feeling especially chrono-sensitive. We grilled it all. Thanks to Jaime, we grill our corn husk-on which is not what the recipe calls for but I refuse to eat corn any other way now so there it is. When it comes in from the Coleman (as on the far left) it smells so sweet, earthy. And then you peel back the husk and you've got nothing but gold with little spots of light char on the kernels. From the corn to the peppers to the green onion it was all perfectly toasted. With sauteed cumin and garlic? Hot chipotle sauce? It sang. It sang ballads. Page 48. Trust.

Jaimeson going in for the corn salsa. Our guests are starting to look like a wine advertorial. If it weren't for all the beer bottles.

Speaking of beautiful grilled things, welcome to Jaimeson-burgers. 1 lb ground sirloin, 1 lb ground chuck, six cloves of garlic. Yes, six. They are incredible. And don't take my word for it, take the word of our friends still outside who didn't know we could hear them RAVING about the burgers with aged cheddar draped over the tops, raving with pungent garlic breath in each other's faces and joy in their eyes.

Beer bucket.

Now would be a good time to say that just because it now appears I'm skipping to dessert doesn't mean that we didn't have something other than burgers. We also managed Horseradish Potato Salad (page 44) with fresh asparagus tips added in. It was good but my shots and interactions were a touch blurry at that point so let's just leave it there.

Back to peaches. I know I already mentioned the sexy involved with this peace but talk to me about roasting high-season peaches with Italian almond cookies and butter. Talk to me and notice the glazed, open-mouth response you get. It was an easy recipe that allowed for me to prep the amaretti crumble ahead of time but roast the peaches on the spot, leaving lots of time for friends and merriment. Low-maintenance and smoking hot...my kind of dessert.

I urge you to click the picture for the close-up but it was prett-straightforward. Pit the peaches, sprinkle crumble generously and bake till glory (page 89). Serve with a generous helping of vanilla bean ice cream and a kiss of amaretto over the top.

The terrible twosome after another fabulous co-hosting job. I am not jaded into thinking I'm anything but a pawn on these nights. All the charm is with these two. I just chop things up and keep pouring cold red wine on top on my sangria fruit.

The UnVeiling: Jaimeson Edition

For the duration of this blog, I've been inconsistently discreet about my paramour and his professional life. Today I’m going to break from whatever opaque secrecy I’ve had and say that the music man you've known mostly as Jaimeson has been working on something rather rad for a very long time and the first piece of it is being previewed on Aurgasm.

This particular selection off Coalition of the Unwilling was composed by Jason Kanakis (that would be him) with lyrics by the ethereal Priscilla Ahn and sung by the belovelied Laura Jansen. Three favorites in one song and goodnight I could not be more proud.