Stop, Waffle Time!

I would like to dedicate this breakfast to MC Hammer, in honor of his single "U Can't Touch This," which was the first tape I ever bought and the song that was in the nightmare that woke me up at 5:30am yesterday morning. That, and for giving the world Hammer pants for a brief stint in the 90s. Thanks a lot.

As I was laying in bed wide awake at 5:30 I decided I wanted to make waffles. Strawberry chocolate waffles to be exact. I was going to use my new waffle iron I got for Christmas. We're still getting to know each other, this appliance and I, but so far I've figured out that it doesn't handle "add ins" very well. It wants batter, and only batter, thank you very much get those damn blueberries out of here. Adding in chocolate chips AND strawberries would be tempting fate.

To play it safe, I kept the waffles plain (waffle iron cooperated beautifully) and made some sauces to top things off. I heated some strawberries with orange juice, fresh squeezed from oranges my grandpa grows in his backyard. A little whiz with the immersion blender, and damn I just made a nice little fruit sauce.


For the chocolate, I melted semi-sweet chocolate chips with a little soymilk and maple syrup. I also added in a few squares of my favorite chocolate bar, this Chuao Spicy Maya. It's from a local San Diego chocolatier, dark chocolate with a hint of spicy chiles. I thought the bit o spice would go well with the sweet fruit. And I was pretty much right.

The waffles were topped with the strawberry/orange sauce, drizzled with the chocolate, and finished off with a little Soyatoo whipped cream and Spicy Maya shavings. Here, have a bite:

Brought to you by the color Orange

I brought some of these tomato-rosemary scones to work with me. They seem to attract a lot of attention in the lunchroom due to their bright color, those attention whore scones. They are another tester from the upcoming cookbook "The Crack of Noon." The taste is a little bit like pizza.



The nasturtium in my garden is blooming, knowing full well the scones can barely compete when it comes to provocative color. Little do they know, nasturtium are edible flowers and I've got some plans for them. (and yeah, the scones are hanging out in the garden, they like it out there.)

These mystery flowers started blooming on a plant I've had for several years. For the longest time it was just a green, chronically dehydrated shrub. Then my husband took custody of the shrub, and it has blossomed under his tutelage.



Happy Spring!

I think I'm turning Japanese

This weekend my friend from Japan hosted a dinner party at her house and taught us to make our own authentic Japanese Sushi. The first step was to take a field trip to the Japanese market to pick up ingredients. I planned to make vegetable sushi, so I chose (clockwise from top) pickled japanese eggplant (tokoton ganko nasu), spicy radish sprouts, a salted yellow radish (jumbo takuan), japanese cucumber, avocado, and (center) ohba leaves. In the top left corner are sweet shirakiku inari pockets. Not pictured are several bottles of premium Japanese beer.



My friend the sushi-sensei prepared the rice. After rinsing the grains, she cooks the rice in her fancy digital rice cooker. Then she seasons it with sweetened rice vinegar. She stirs it well to help it cool.



The sushi-sensei also prepared the vegetables. She slices the cucumber and yellow radish into spears that are the same length as a nori sheet. The pickled eggplant is in a brine, so she drains it a bit before using. At this point in the evening, the only help I've contributed is getting my sensei a beer.



But soon we got down to business. Our hostess laid down sheets of foil on the table, and distributed bamboo sushi mats. She recommends the mats made of thin strips of bamboo because they are easier to roll in comparison to thicker bamboo. Interestingly, our imported Japanese sushi mats had stickers on them that said "made in China."

Basically, we spread a thin layer of rice on a nori sheet using rice paddles, then placed fillings on the bottom half. Pictured above is a pickled radish, radish sprout, and ohba roll. Our sushi-sensei emphasized the importance of getting the rice spread out all the way to the top, so it's stickyness will help seal the nori once it's rolled.



Here's a nice fat radish roll, my first sushi. Once it's rolled up in the bamboo mat, we squeeze it tight to help it seal and stay together. Then we place them seam side down on a tray.



The process is repeated until we think we have enough. Then we make a few more just because.



This cucumber, avocado, radish sprout, and ohba roll ended up being one of my favorites.



Once all the sushi is rolled, find the sharpest knife you can and get to work slicing. Make sure to put your beer in a safe place when using the knife! If the ends of the sushi fall apart or don't look so pretty, sushi-sensei says to put those aside or just eat them. Don't put inferior sushi on the platter!



Here are the fruits of my labor. Luckily I had some friends to help me eat all this veggie sushi, and still had plenty to take home. It was served with the typical soy sauce, wasabi, and sake accompaniments.



For a sweet treat we also made inari sushi. The inari pockets are made of sweetened tofu that is somehow cooked in thin squares. When one is cut in half, it is like a pita bread and the middle just opens up. Then it's stuffed with sushi rice and the bottom is folded over as a seal.

Domo arigato sushi-sensei! Kampai!

Brunch is the Most Important Meal of the Day

My husband and my brother are both homebrewers; they make their own beer. They have just started the spring maintenance on their mini farm where they grow hops. My brother came over early this morning with big plans to get right to work.

I couldn't let them out the door on empty stomachs, and who really can say no to a hot plate of buckwheat pancakes?

The pancake recipe is from an upcoming vegan cookbook, The Crack of Noon, that's all about the fine cuisine of brunch. The blueberry topping is thawed frozen blueberries heated with a little agave nectar.

My brother, who contributed to the actual cooking of the flapjacks because I was dealing with a sink full of dirty dishes (damn those dishes!), gave them an enthusiastic endorsement.

How to Make My Day

Well, I just got home from one of those banner days at work. You know, when the delicate house of cards I've been building for the past few months comes crashing down in one fell swoop. And the only thing I can do is swallow the agonizing frustration, pick up the pieces and start over. I'm really earning this Ph.D, that's for sure.

I came home planning to drown my sorrows in sake and reality tv, perhaps topping off the night by falling asleep on the couch. That was not to be the case, however. My spirits brightened considerably when I walked in the door and was greeted by this on our kitchen table:



My parents have just returned from Las Vegas. Through a relay exchange between at least three different family members, a long drive through the desert, and probably horse drawn carriage or pack mule, these brave vegan donuts found their way to me!

Not only do my parents get major thanks for orchestrating delivery of said donuts, but serious bonus points go to my Dad for walking into a donut shop and inquiring about vegan items with ease. At least now I think he knows what the word means! (He didn't actually eat one, that would be going TOO far.)

The frosting is a little banged up from the journey, but hot damn do they taste good.



Tomorrow I'll return to work, fueled entirely by apple fritters. Can't wait to see how the day goes!

Kickin it Old School

I went on my first motorcycle ride this weekend, a little joyride up the coast on the back of my husband's bike. I felt really badass, I almost forgot about the girly purple flowers airbrushed on my helmet. I've been known to have a dainty stomach, however, so when we got home I felt a little woozy. Too much racing around corners and knocking helmets. We head out on the highway, looking for adventure, and what comes my way is nausea.

So I whipped up a batch of fauxstess cupcakes because a sugar high makes everything feel better.

Inspired by Jackson Pollack

I just dropped a container of barbecue sauce. Big Rorschach BBQ blots on the kitchen floor, bright red splatters on the wall. Am I cooking dinner or does someone have a gushing flesh wound?
I wish I had a dog to help clean up.

Tijuana Makes Me Happy

Tonight I took a trip south of the border, because nothing says Happy St. Patrick's day quite like a plate of tacos. Instead of spilling green beer all over ourselves at a crowded bar, my husband and I opted to visit a famous taqueria and stuff ourselves silly. The tacos there are legendary; when the owner rolls open the door at 6pm, he is greeted by a small crowd eager to get in on some hott taco action. Then the party starts.

We took seats at the bar and our friend commenced ordering in a rapid exchange with the chef. The chef nodded, greeted the gringos with a smile, and stopped slicing avocados just long enough to get our food on the grill. Meanwhile, we were scorching our taste buds on the appetizer, sliced cucumbers presented with about 20 different salsas.

Soon we were elbow deep in a fabulous taco frenzy. My favorites were the potato taco (baked potato mixed with pinto beans, mushrooms, and roasted jalapeños, topped with a rich chipotle sauce on a fresh corn tortilla... St. Patrick would approve) and the taco dulce.

My novice photo skills don't do the taco dulce justice. It is a heavenly creation of caramelized pineapple topped with mango sauce, raspberry sauce, strawberry sauce, and finished off with chopped walnuts. I swear the chef didn't even have to stop slicing avocados to make this; it just magically appeared in front of me.

Nothing could really compete after that, so we hoisted ourselves off the barstools and lumbered back outside. We tipped the security guy who watched our car with a bottle of aspirin and were on our way back stateside. Aside from a lingering paranoia that I may have contracted Montezuma's Revenge, it was a perfect meal.

The Thunder Rolls

This morning at some wee ungodly hour I was startled awake by a huge booming crack of thunder. At first I didn't know what it was, being half asleep and from a land where thunder is not a common occurrence. I peeked out the window, fully expecting to see a mushroom cloud and the end of the world as I know it.

And what did I see?
Nothing, it was dark. Maybe a raccoon in the dumpster. Hardly an apocalypse.

Nevertheless, I decided that if there indeed was an emergency, I didn't want the SDPD or the Red Cross or FEMA or whoever to see the week's worth of dishes that was piled high in my kitchen sink. So right then and there, in the still of the night, I firmly resolved to clean up my act.

And by "act" I mean "kitchen."