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10 Legs in the Kitchen

~ Food. Dogs. Life!

10 Legs in the Kitchen

Monthly Archives: December 2014

We believe…

28 Sunday Dec 2014

Posted by Stacey Bender in cooking basics, Ginger + Buddy, holidays, the kitchen

≈ 17 Comments

Tags

Christmas brunch, Christmas memories, Christmas Strata, dog's Christmas, Ham and cheese strata, Letters to Santa

PS_letter 2001
2001: dear sandypaws, my name is ginger and i’m a pup.

What is life without hope?

Without hope, there is no hope and no hope brings dismay.  With a world filled of naysayers and unhappiness, I choose to remain hopeful (period). (exclamation point)!

The mind is a powerful thing.  The power of belief can fuel us to go on, knowing that good things will happen, or we can turn away and know that they will not (necessarily happen).  As children, my brothers (Scott and Mark) and I never questioned our belief in Santa Claus.  Even as we became pre-teens and many of our friends began to pellet us with doubt, we woke up every year to the magic of a child’s Christmas.  The magic was ours to believe in or turn away from.  To this day, we have yet to turn away.

PS_scott staceyScott & Stacey, ages 6 and 5.  Bad Santa, nice kids.

Scott is one year older and Mark, seven years younger than I.  In the past, as siblings so close in age can be, Scott and I were at odds with one another much of the year.  At Christmas though, we were elves together (we even have real pointed ears).  No bickering, or name-calling, just two kids eagerly awaiting the magical day: teaching our younger brother Mark, the traditions that we had come to know.

Christmas in Alaska is a magical place to be that time of year, and of course, is snowy white.  Darkness sets in early but earlier, the sun reflects off the snow and makes everything seem extra-bright.  As nighttime came, the glitter of Christmas used to light up the sky, as well as houses, yards and the trees from Cook Inlet to the mountains.  My Dad always went over the top with our twinkle lights, carefully stringing them up (in September to avoid the real chill) to emphasize the frosty trees.  Our garage was finished with a line of large, red, lit bells, that usually never came down until Spring, if at all.

Our grandparents, on my mom’s side, lived in our neighborhood and we saw them often.  Our paternal grandparents lived in California, so we didn’t see them nearly as much, but as Scott recently pointed out, they came for Christmas, every year; enormous trunks filled with warm, winter clothing in tow (something they only needed on their visits).  We always looked forward to their visit, timed perfectly with our last day of school for the Winter break.  I would come home to find them nestled in the living room, Grandpa in the his favorite lounge chair, dipping Christmas cookies into milk (of which he went through a gallon a day), and Grandma on the couch, awaiting our arrival home from school.

In addition to the trunks filled with long johns and down parkas, without fail, they came loaded with boxes of food to keep us munching happily throughout Christmas and into the New Year.  The line-up was predictably the same, and always anticipated.  There were boxes of fruit (apples, oranges and pears), because we couldn’t get good produce in Alaska that time of year (or ever really) back then.  There were bags and bags of nuts.  Pistachios for my Mom, cashews and almonds for roasting; my Grandpa had a special recipe he liked to make.  Best of all (in my humble opinion) there were mixed nuts, in large quantities, salted and without their shell; filberts, almonds, walnuts and pecans, Brazil nuts, cashews, hazel nuts and peanuts.  Then there were the bags of nuts, still in their shell.   It was one of our family’s past-times to sit around reading novels, telling stories, playing games… a n d . . .cracking nuts.  My mom had a collection of nutcrackers (Tom says, insert clever retort here).  They were put to great use.
PS_nutcrakers

Grandpa also brought candy.  Every year, it was the 5 lb box of See’s chocolates we looked forward to opening; he always brought two.  He also brought stories; never to be one who was short on words.  My brother Scott, would wake up early every morning and sit talking with him for hours.  No matter how early Scott got up, Grandpa would always be there, sitting in the lounge chair, even on Christmas morning, waiting to tell him more stories, of life, the war, and the world.

The night before Christmas, we would all pile into the car and drive the five blocks to our other Grandparent’s house.  After dinner, we would open up presents, of which there were many, we were blessed.  Before heading over, Scott and I snooped around under our tree at home.  The packages kept growing in unison with our anticipation.  Mom always let us open one gift, which she cleverly made sure were our new pairs of pajamas.

It wasn’t just about the opening of gifts that we anticipated though, it was the magic of Christmas.  From the moment the large metal trunk of ornaments was brought out from under the stairs to Bing Crosby’s last verse of White Christmas being sung (and played on the reel to reel) for the last time until the following year, the season swept us up and united us.

PS_2006Ginger’s letter to Santa, 2006.

When we returned home from dinner on Christmas Eve, it was usually much later than Mom and Dad wanted it to be, so after leaving out cookies and milk for Santa, we were expected to go straight to sleep.  Scott and my bedrooms were downstairs, 15 feet down the hall from the tree.  He and I would sit in his room telling stories of past Christmases, making plans to wake up in time to see Santa Claus.

I was always too tired though and ended up falling asleep until morning when Scott would barge into my room, beaming from ear to toe, exclaiming that Santa had come!!!  Hurry, he would urge me, our stockings were filled to the brim, Santa had come and I needed to see what he brought.  We were allowed to look at the things in our stockings but had to wait to open presents until after breakfast (Dunkin Dougnuts or homemade quiche).

DSC00587

DSC00585
Ginger waiting in anticipation of her stocking.

I would jump out of bed and follow him out to the family room, heart racing, to see what there was to see.  I was always blown away by the sight; packages everywhere, almost entirely filling the large room (no, we weren’t spoiled).  How did Santa make it to everyone’s house in time?  The cookies we left him were always eaten and milk stained the glass that was left for dunking the cookies.

PS_2007Ginger’s letter to Santa, 2007.

When Mark was born and old enough to join us in our Christmas morning ritual, there were even more things filling the room.  Three stockings would be placed next to a separate pile of gifts wrapped in special paper from the North Pole.  There was usually also a sheet covering the presents that “Santa didn’t have time to wrap”.  Santa sometimes also left a large gift for the family, set up and ready to use.  One year it was an Atari console, another it was a foosball table, which kept us busy for hours, filling the time before Mom and Dad could be awakened for breakfast.

PS_drumsApparently one year, little Mark got a rockin’ (?) set of drums! (shhhh…)!

I loved the sight of the packages.  I didn’t want to open them though because I wanted the magic to last all day.  It was usually after 2:00 in the afternoon by the time the gifts were all opened, one-by-one, taking turns from youngest to oldest, stopping to appreciate each item.  I would end up skipping my turn, embarrassed to be in the spotlight and hoping that nobody would notice that my pile was stacking up.

PS_2011
2011: Dear Santa, I have a brother now??!…

PS_stockingdBuddy’s little stocking joins Ginger’s.

The three of us are all grown up now with children of our own (and yes, mine happen to be furry and four-legged).  The anticipation of Christmas has never wavered.  Now my pups leave a cookie with milk and a note for Santa, plus a carrot for the reindeer.  Ginger awakens early to go peak under the tree and stares longingly at her stocking.  The remnants of Santa’s cookie and carrot are left on the table and my favorite part of Christmas is waking to read her note to Santa and watching her dig under the tree.

IMG_10632013: Dear Santa (I guess my brother’s okay)…

ginger snoopingGinger can always sniff out her own gifts.

This year, my favorite part of Christmas was helping my brother Scott surprise his wife with an Audi TT.  He was like a six-year old kid again, beaming from ear to toe.  After two deals falling through, long conversations and advice, Tom and I went with him to buy the car and drove it home to store in our garage before delivering on the ferry to the island on Christmas Eve.  At midnight, he would sneak out of the house to collect it and place it in the garage with a big red bow and the key haphazardly wrapped under the tree.  The holiday spirit he exuded was infectious and it had been a long time since we spent so much time together near Christmas, reminiscing and plotting the day.  Giving is so much better than receiving and spending time with loved ones is the best gift of all.

GB stocking 1Kiss, kiss…

photo 3Happy Christmas, 2014!  Love, Ginger.

PS_strata 2

Christmas Strata – Serves four (easily doubles)

Our Christmas breakfast, growing up, was similar to the whole holiday season.  A good way to describe it is the scene from “When Harry Met Sally” where they are talking about sex fantasies.  Billy Crystal’s character asks Meg Ryan’s character to describe her sex fantasy, so she does (it is classic, yet Sally-predictable) and Harry exclaims, “That’s it?  Some faceless guy rips off all your clothes, and THAT’S the sex fantasy you’ve been having since you were twelve?”.

Sally: “Well sometimes I vary it a little.”
Harry: “Which part?”
Sally: “What I’m wearing.”

Our Christmas breakfast varied by what flavor of donuts we ate.  Each year growing up, our breakfast consisted of Dunkin Donuts and orange juice.  I liked the maple-glazed but sometimes chose the apple fritter; now I am partial to an old fashioned, but Tom is lucky to ever see a donut in our house.  Then in the eighties, breakfast moved into quiche; apparently “real men didn’t eat it”, but we did.  We gave my Mom a hard time and put up a pretty good fuss, but I secretly loved it and still do.  I have never actually made quiche (because there are so many great French bakeries from which I can purchase a far better version).  Strata is our country’s cousin.  It is easy to make for two or for a crowd.  I have experimented with many fillings, but this is the version Tom and I eat about every Christmas morning.

Using high-quality eggs and milk make a noticeable difference; I recommend sticking with whole milk, but skim milk works too.   I used to think it was important to be prepped the night before for the bread to soak up the egg, but I have found that not to be as important as I once did.  As it bakes, the air fills with wonderful smells, Christmas music is played, and gifts are still being opened.

INGREDIENTS

4 eggs (the best quality you can attain, preferably pastured)
1/2 cup milk (I use whole milk from Grays Harbor)
Pinch of salt
Many grinds fresh pepper
1/2 cup coarsely chopped, caramelized onions
1/4 cup diced, red bell pepper
6 oz diced ham (I used Beeler’s this year)
1 tsp chopped, fresh thyme
1/2 cup shredded gruyere and drunken goat cheese (or a mix of your favorite combination)
3 cups of 1/2″ cubes of crusty white bread

PREPARE

Whisk the eggs, milk, salt and pepper in a medium-sized bowl.  Add the rest of the ingredients and stir well.  Pour the filling, divided amongst 4 ramekins (or one small baking dish) that have been wiped down with butter or olive oil to keep things from sticking.

I like to top them with a little extra shredded cheese.  Bake in a pre-heated 375-degee oven for approximately 45 minutes.  They will puff up and turn golden.  To prevent them from burning, loosely cover with foil if they brown before being cooked through.

strata tom 2

PS_strata plateServe with tomato sauce for a nice (and yes, blurry) finish! 

PS_g'night
Exhausted Christmas pups “in” their new blankies.

photo 2…and to all, a  g o o d  n i g h t !

Notoriously late…

20 Saturday Dec 2014

Posted by Stacey Bender in Eating Out, holidays, Reviews, the kitchen

≈ 19 Comments

Tags

Maui, O'o Farm, Pacifico, Roast Cornish game hens

 

maui signSo late!

I’m notoriously late. Truly, notoriously, can count on it, late!

I have a long-time relationship with a car service that has taken me to the airport for the better part of twenty years (wow, has it really been that long?).  Owners of Bellevue Towncar Service, Mark and Natasha, are like family.  As Mark was driving Tom and I to the airport for our Thanksgiving/Tom’s birthday trip to Maui, we were discussing individual behaviors.  He has a client base that, with time, he has come to know their behaviors are unchanging.  I am one of those un-changables; he always schedules in an extra 20 minutes for my tardiness, because he knows I always will be t a r d y .

At first it was a forgotten wallet or one more shirt to pack; five more minutes, please!  Sometimes, it was Buffy, taking too long outside to pee (Wheeee! Now it is Ginger and Buddy).  Early on, I realized that when I told him to pick me up at 5:00 am, he would be outside at 4:45, and I would usually make it to the curb by 5:15.  He never missed a pick-up time, was always early and never late.  I was always late, and never early.

As we were conversing in the car this trip, he eluded that he knows me well.  Some clients are waiting curbside, bags packed, no matter how early he shows up.  With me, he can count on my rushing out the door, with more bags than I need, and never less than 15 minutes late.

So yes, it is December, and as I’m cutting into my Halloween pumpkins, almost six weeks after Halloween (because the Christmas tree has decided to move-in in their place and I don’t want them to go to waste), it occurs to me, I haven’t yet finished writing about O’o Farms.  I started writing about it in November…2013!  Yes, I said 2013 (more than a year ago, for those of you not paying attention).

B & G 1 A little Grinchy (but festive) with the tree waiting to come inside, but no licks on the candy cane.

So, rewind to the beginning…November, 2013, lunch on “the Farm” (this is what I had to say back then):

“I am not one to be caught acting like a tourist, even if I am (which in this case I’m not) nor would I be the one asking for someone’s autograph; that’s like asking for someone to sign my trash.  We are all living life in similar capacity, some just luckier, smarter, or more talented than the others.  Some who need for material things and some that are fueled by love.  Each of us has, or has had, capacity to change their situation or move geography if desired.  I would love to live a million lifetimes, doing something different with each and every one of them.  If asked today what it is I want to do and where, the answer would be upcountry, down country or any country – on a farm; a beautiful, spectacular, breathtaking farm.  I don’t mean a milking the cows or shoveling manure kind of farm (even though that is part of the package for farm life).  I mean a “wow”, I’m lucky to be alive and be allowed to work on this farm kind-of-place!

Now, I can’t say that I’m a gardener (because I’m not); it wasn’t something I ever chose to learn.  I can snip my herbs and appreciate the tomatoes that Tom readies every Summer; awaiting their peak as they ripen in the sun.  I can plant a row of seeds or pick a crop of berries, if not too large a crop.  I do neither of those things particularly well, but I can appreciate those that do.  Those that allow we who appreciate the best the land can offer, to partake.  I appreciate those that nurture, grow and have respect of land and life.  O’o Farms is comprised of just those kind of people.  As with any place that is good, it is the people behind that place that make it a good place.  O’o Farms is such a place.

We had been meaning to go for a few years but could never drag ourselves off the beach for long enough to see how beautiful this farm is and enjoy the deliciousness it has to offer.  When I was on island this (that) past July, I had made reservations online in the wee hours of the night, but apparently, technology didn’t quite make it up the mountain, so we (nieces + Mom) weren’t able to join the farm hands on that trip; much to their dismay.  This trip I used the POT device (plain old telephone) so Tom and I were able to join a group of people to tour the farm, harvest fixings for our salad and consume an undeniably delicious lunch, outdoors, looking down over the valley and out to the beach.

view 1

Yes, this farm is a spectacular place.  It wasn’t always this way though.  It might have been beautiful, always, but hard work, passion and good people made it into the magical place that it is today.

tour start

Ansel begins the tour at his coffee and olive trees.  I was immediately drawn into the enthusiasm he portrayed. He was like a child who was describing (tearing into) a beautifully wrapped gift and simultaneously, a proud papa who had nurtured his child to become prosperous, charitable and kind.  He was like an educator who could discover new things alongside his students.  Ansel is the orchard manager and the pride that he takes shows, in his words, in his eyes and in the crops that he helps nurture; it is infectious.

After Ansel educated us on their farming practices and agricultural efforts and we had taken the walking tour where we harvested bits for our lunch, JJ wowed us with the edibles from his outdoor kitchen; I thought him to be the luckiest man on earth at the time, and us to be the luckiest of diners.  I couldn’t wait to go back.”

Fast-forward to: November, 2014, and our “recent” lunch on the Farm.

On return to the Farm, on the way up the volcano of Haleakala, I breathed in the fresh air and rejoiced.

O’o farms.  A tour and a lunch.

A snack, and a tour, and a lunch.

An education, a snack, and a meal!

tour start ansel

Plus the view, once again, isn’t bad either, of the farm, the distant ocean or the guide.  Ansel, once again greets his crowd at the start of the epicurean adventure and thoroughly recreates the history, past and present, that went into making this farm the special place that it is.  This young man is passionate about the land and the work that goes into cultivating a product special enough to boast itself proudly on menus in Lahaina and at the farm, for which the produce is grown.  It is not found in the markets, which makes it coveted by the lucky patrons that are smart enough to book a table (I recommend the table located on the mountain, under the thatched roof, looking down on the valley and out onto the ocean…at this place, called O’o Farm.

ansel

I could spiel off all the facts he told us, but that would be like giving away the ending of a movie, you just need to go there to hear about the plot yourself.  I will say…compost, chickens, wattle trees, 1,000 crops in rotation…oh my (to the tune of “Lions & Tigers & Bears…oh my).

kitchen 1

What I really want to tell you about, is the food.  Needless to say, the produce is über fresh and this fact alone, well, this coupled with the wood-fired oven, sets the tone for a spectacular meal.  While the group is off touring the farm, harvesting ingredients for the salad, Chef is preparing a glorious feast.  Chef JJ, who was with us last year has moved back to the Mainland.

walking garden

Joining the Farm in October of this year, the sous chef at the sister restaurant Pacific’o (located in Lahaina and definitely worthy of a visit), was Chef Daniel.  We really like Chef Daniel.  Not only is he a fabulous chef, he is a good guy.  He too has that infectious passion for what he does and he openly shares his process with the inquisitives (such as myself) without the airy pretension that can sometimes accompany those donning the coat of a chef.

PS2_buffet 1The Chef

THE FOOD:

wood oven 1After-the-fact, dark now, but still red coals inside. Lovely heat on a cool mountainside (John, I need one of these!).

Wine: Irony chardonnay, BYOB, purchased from our favorite wine shop, Wailea Wine.  You are able to bring with you a bottle (or more) of wine to enjoy with your meal.  They will keep it chilled (if needed) until lunch and then open it and provide stemware.

Simple focaccia bread, doused heavily in olive oil (made from the harvest of Ansel’s olive trees) and baked in the wood-fired oven.  This was so good a fight almost broke out for the last piece (honest, no kidding).

Salad of hand-harvested baby lettuces, spinach, arugula, fennel fronds & purple Osaka (a mustard green that is reminiscent of wasabi) and whatever other stray greens we decided to harvest and throw into the basket on our tour.  The salad is dressed with an addictive lemon vinaigrette made by reducing citrus to a syrup and whisking in oil, infused with kafir lime and lemongrass, all from the site.  I think everyone at our table would have drank it if offered a cup.

lunch 3

Crispy tofu with wood-fired vegetables, rutabaga, daikon, and watermelon radish.  The tofu is memorable, almost magical.  It is seared for almost 2 hours to deplete it of excess moisture then cooked amongst a nest of root vegetables to produce a fluffy pillow of flavor with just the right amount of crisp.  If you think you don’t like tofu (or even if you do), you will (even more-so) after this.

Fresh-caught local Mahi Mahi roasted in the wood-fired oven.  This is finished with a crush of fresh Kafir lime leaf and seared in lemongrass-infused oil, then topped with braised scallions and leeks.  The fish is so fresh that it cuts like butter and melts in your mouth, exploding with flavor.  Never have I enjoyed this type of fish so much.

lunch 2

lunch 4

Rosemary lemon-brined chicken roasted in the wood-fired oven, topped with juices from the pan and chayote squash (which tastes like a cross between a potato and a cucumber).  The chicken was so moist and tender that I almost mistook it for the fish as I put in on my plate.  For a moment, I thought of replicating it for our Thanksgiving supper but decided to keep traditional with our beach grill of Hawaiian fish.  Instead I have semi-replicated it here at home using Cornish hen; my new favorite roasted bird.

buffet 2Chicken with root vegetables in foreground.

Chocolate truffles, Maui pineapple and French-presss coffee, a finale:

coffee choco

THE SCENE:

view 2

The farm tour concludes with a look at the newly built coffee roasting facility, built by hand using eucalyptus and wattle trees fallen from the property.  Again, with great pride, Ansel describes the nuances of coffee production and describes what it takes to go from berry to cup.  The coffee can be purchased on-line at ‘āina Gourmet Coffee and Tom (and I) heartily recommend the mokka roast (that we were just drinking today).

coffee roast house ansel

From there, we walk back to the kitchen, wash our hands at the outdoor sink and gather around to plate up our food that is just being laid out upon our arrival.

sink

The wine we brought with us has been kept chilled and brought down to the tables to be opened.  Long communal tables made from full slabs of tree are all set with china, glassware and silver.  There were three of them nestled under a thatched roof, overlooking the farm, valley below, and of course, the ocean (both the North and South shores).  The air is clean, fragrant and warm, but definitely not hot.  If you breath in deeply, you can fill your lungs with the mountain air and capture the essence of the land.  As you breath out, slowly, actively engaged with the surrounding views, temporarily, you are in a moment of deep zen.

PS_lunch 1

ROSEMARY, LEMON-BRINED CORNISH HENS

I chose cornish hens here because I had been meaning to roast a few after being served a delicious dinner of said-bird at my mother-in-law’s place this past summer.  Chef Daniel described what he used for the brine and I translated that description into a more humble scale, suitable for four people rather than 20.

This is delicious served alongside just a simple green salad, or also, give roasted chayote squash a try.  The kafir lime leaves infuse a subtle, exotic flavor, but if you have trouble finding them, squeeze over a little extra citrus; either way, you won’t be disappointed with the finished dish.

PS_cornish hen roast

INGREDIENTS 

8 cups water
1/4 cup salt
1/4 cup honey
8 bay leaves
4 TB lemon juice
4 sprigs rosemary
3 sprigs thyme
1 stalk celery
1 tsp toasted corriander seed

2 cornish game hens (preferably organic, pastured hens), lemongrass, kaffir lime-infused oil (simply heat a pan and add a lemongrass stalk with outer shell removed, a few kaffir lime leaves and some coriander seeds. Let warm, then add some grape seed oil to cover, when the oil is warm, turn off the heat and let the flavor infuse).

PREPARE

Bring everything but the hens and the oil to a boil.  Turn off the heat and let cool to room temperature.

Meanwhile, cut out the backbone from the hens and cut the birds into two halves, consisting each of breast and leg.

Add the poultry to the brine liquid.  Let sit, covered and refrigerated for a minimum of 4 hours (maximum 24 hours).

Drain and pat dry.  Put all of the pieces into a stainless steel or glass bowl and cover loosely with paper towels.  Let sit overnight refrigerated (to dry further).

Brush with the infused oil and place the pieces in a single layer in a baking pan.  Toss a few lime leaves into the pan.

Roast in a pre-heated, 400-degree oven for approximately 45-60 minutes.  Turn once or twice during roasting and brush with the pan juices each turn.

When the skin is golden and the meat is cooked through (internal temp should be 165), remove from the oven and let rest for 10 minutes before serving.

TO SERVE:

Squeeze lemon juice over the hens and then squeeze the lime leaves over.  Brush with more infused oil and pan drippings.  If you like, you can heat the pan drippings with a little white wine plus more lemon juice and use that as a sauce.

PScornish hen plateJPG
Shown with roasted leeks and watermelon radish.

Don’t forget, it is perfectly acceptable to pick up the hens with your hands and be sure to lick the bone.  Keep the bones away from your dogs though, as poultry bones can be dangerous to their health.

swing
Always make time for play or contemplation.

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