Breakfast of Champions

A facebook post from Bon Appetit magazine recently gave a shout out to local musician/photographer Jon Huck whose Breakfast Project is getting some major attention. Huck chronicled the eating habits of more than 100 of his friends and neighbors by photographing their faces along with the first meal of their day.

Comments flooded in, with Bon Appetit fans confessing what they had for breakfast that morning. I was impressed with the healthy delicacies fellow foodies are getting into their mouths for the so-called most important meal. Breakfast is what can often make me motivate myself from the bed. These days the thought of a smoothie from Naturewell on Sunset gets me up and going. The better I start out, as in the healthier, the less guilty I feel if I bend in a not so healthy direction later in the day. Eggs, oatmeal, high protein and high fiber are a sure fire way to keep things rolling (no pun intended). Grapefruit and avocados are winners. And forget cold boxed cereals. They will put me to sleep an hour later on my mid-morning commute. Plain Greek yogurt with sliced almonds and pumpkin seeds and a squeeze of agave is my favorite thing right now. For breakfast and dessert.


Some mornings though, I am defiantly in the mood for baked goods and old fashioned coffee. Fresh, just out of the oven, baked goods. And baking first thing in the morning is a lovely way to sort through the sleepiness and start a quick science project in your kitchen with a (hopefully) tasty result.

Despite my deep love of the act of baking, I am admittedly pretty bad at it. Due to lack of practice and my experimental tendencies in the kitchen I can understand why.
I once attempted to improvise a pan of brownies with a gorgeous block of Valrhona chocolate only to serve up an embarrassing goopy layer of something resembling hardened chocolate flavored mud. I would not be surprised if I enrolled in some pastry program in the near future and tried to tackle the art and intricacies of baking although my belly asks me firmly not to even consider it.

One recipe I tend to not screw up too royally is the muffin. Muffins are easy, quick and very adaptable to be incredibly chock full of fiber, texture and good morning ingredients. One can easily substitute the standard ingredients of butter and eggs with oil, yogurt and applesauce, use honey, maple syrup or agave instead of sugar, and whole-wheat flour, oats and flax meal can take over for the white stuff. And that makes spreading real butter on a hot muffin right out of the oven that much more pleasurable.

I have adapted and played with a few recipes over time to come up with this ramshackle but dependable recipe. I prefer a muffin that is hearty yet does not sit in the gut and one that is not too sweet so I can rub preserves all over it.




*Mind you, I know blueberries are presently out of season, so you can easily sub frozen blueberries or bananas. Yum.

Breakfast (or anytime) Blueberry muffins

(Makes about a dozen muffins)

1 1/2 cups whole-wheat flour
(pastry flour is best but all-purpose also works great)
1/2 cup ground flax or quick rolled oats
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp cardamom
1/2 tsp dried ginger (or 1 Tbsp fresh grated)
2 eggs
1/4 -1/2 cup agave, honey or maple syrup (depending on you, sweetie)
1 1/4 cup plain yogurt
1/2 cup vegetable or olive oil
1 Tbsp lemon zest
1 cup fresh blueberries

Preheat your oven to 375 degrees. Mix dry ingredients in bowl. Sift if you have a sieve. If not, no worries.

In separate bowl mix wet ingredients. Stir into dry ingredients. Please do not over mix.

Spoon batter in greased muffin tins to about 2/3 full. Bake for 15-18 minutes until a gorgeous brown on top and your knife pulls out dry.

Slather with butter and homemade jam.
They keep well for a few days and are even better toasted the next morning.

You say Oysters...

I hate to say it, but I think the moment I knew it wouldn't last with my former flame was when he made a face as I slurped down a freshly shucked oyster at the Hollywood farmers market. I knew if he wasn't brave enough to dive into the succulent sensual raw goodness of Vancouver's best, then it most likely wouldn't work out between us.

Maybe my initial oyster encounter is not as prophetic and life changing as Anthony Bourdain's. But I still feel best when immersed in the sweetness and brine, the feeling of the ocean covering my head, my entire being awash in some sea that lingers in my memory. And if you love oysters, dear reader, you know I am not being dramatic.



Blue Plate Oysterette, the sister restaurant to the un-extraordinary diner Blue Plate on Montana avenue, is a fish haven. They carry oysters on the half shell, usually 6 choices from both the west and east coasts. About 5 catches of the day are written on the chalkboard, simply pan sauteed and served with a choice of sauce, such as lemon caper or roasted garlic pesto. I fell for the black bean chutney, a jammy intense concoction which played off well with the lightness of the Hake special.

A friend claimed the fish and chips to be the best in town, which is why on every visit to the Blue Plate it is the only thing he orders. He proved himself right; the ling cod is succulent and light; the crisp shell serves its purpose adding crunch and texture to the fish, never overriding or becoming soggy.



There is a generic list of about 5 beers on tap, which is surprising with all the great micro brews that are currently coming out of California. The wine list is not too adventurous but suitable and affordable. Heavy on the whites with a few choices of red. A Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand impressed us all.

While the fish tacos are not the best in town they are still incredibly tasty. I loved a recent appetizer special of Peruvian ceviche served with steamed baby potatoes, spicy paprika aioli and house-made tortilla chips.



The Lobster Roll, artichoke, and Lobster Mac n' cheese are the crowd favorites.
And don't miss desserts. I tend to always go for the coconut ice cream sandwich with a side of macaroon but I am a sucker for coconut ANYTHING.



What has also made me fall hard for the Oysterette is the awesome, friendly and efficient service.

When we called 15 minutes ahead to get our name on the list we were told a 30-45 minute wait. When we walked up 10 minutes later, we were seated right away. The place is jumping, gleaming and very friendly. One can sit and dine at the counter or get cozy in the banquet against the wall of mirrors.

On my first visit, while I pondered the wines, our waitress brought a bottle to the table so we could taste before choosing. She was not afraid to cite her favorite dishes and why, which is always a turn on. The manager will no doubt stop by your table and check on you as if you are regulars. It is sincere and consistent and makes you come back.

www.blueplatesantamonica.com
1355 Ocean Ave
Santa Monica, CA 90401
(310) 576-3474

Reminiscing on a few summer moments before we head full force into fall. Or Indian Summer no. 2. These are some of the delightful entries at the Orange County Fair.









Pure southern California...


A gorgeous trellis held together by gardening wire and thick string. Very inspiring.

Buena Comida

Eating with strangers should be a mandatory monthly event. It is good to get out of your comfort zone and sit among the folks in your community, eating excellent chow, watching hungry excitement turn into sated bloated satisfaction.

Last Monday I headed to Loteria Grill in Hollywood for a Mexi-Italian feast: my gift for supporting public radio and subscribing to KCRW during the Good Food radio hour. Loteria Grill is a gorgeous spacious place, with oversized Loteria cards hanging above the bar and banquet. I quenched my palate with a prickly pear margarita, hot pink and laced with salt and some chili pepper.



Folks are coming in fast, eyeing the large platters and bowls. Grab a seat then begin the rounds. Chicken mole tacos, zucchini blossom empanadas, carnitas enchiladas. But the star of the night was no doubt Evan Kleinman's butternut squash lasagna with fontina cheese. Sweet, nutty, creamy beyond the depths of cream. I gently reminded my fellow diners to the magic qualities of butter. And the gnocchi... I should have put a few dumplings in my purse to take home and freeze. Just to have them in my presence would create calm. Thyme Gnocchi with an Heirloom tomato sauce. Sort of puzzled by their beautiful rosy pink color. No idea why they would be pink. Don't really care.







The desserts were a city wide collaborative affair. Tres leches cake by Loteria, lemon tiramisu by Evan, caramel chili lollipops from Little Flower Candy Company in Pasadena. After a couple margaritas and all the goodness presented before, desserts were hard to get down, but still worth standing in line for.



My table of course fell into the subject of food quite easily; where to eat creole in LA, comparing good ice cream joints, recommendations for Brazilian food. I steered a couple towards a good BBQ joint in a parking lot in Alta Dena on Lake, then we all reminisced on our experiences at Bulgarini Gelato on Alta Dena Avenue. We got into our favorite treats at Trader Joe's. I am loudly celebrating the return of the almond macaroon, and now am on the lookout for chocolate covered caramels with fleur de sel.

A lovely festive atmosphere. The chefs were followed by cameras and fans, a little manic but worthy of the praise. Nothing too obnoxious. I would have gotten a photo of the chefs as well, but I was too full.

Eating Paste

I need a culinary incentive.

Something to lure me away from my usual food haunts, to keep my dollars close, to cook at home and plan menus. A store bought bottle of wine which costs as much as a glass out is a good way to spend the night in, but what can make an unmotivated breakfast palette want to cook in her own kitchen?

A singular ingredient that works morning, noon and night. Something to take pride in, something to spread and dollop and accentuate.

This week's motivator turned out to be pesto.

It started with me recreating my favorite sandwich from the Downbeat Cafe. Mozzarella Pesto on Baguette. Extra-toasted please and add avocado.

I avert my eyes from the cafe and head to market. Fresh mozzarella, a demi-baguette, an overpriced but perfectly ripe avocado from Gelson's. I spot flat leaf parsley and grab a bunch, but refuse to pay the 3 dollars for the measly sprig of basil in the plastic container. The full and lush plant of basil from Trader Joe's still sits on my stoop beckoning.

If you buy jarred pesto, I must insist you stop immediately. At Italian delis there are often containers of frozen or refrigerated pesto that are quite excellent. But jarred pesto reeks of citric acid and cheese by products, remnants of something that was once crisp and green.

I make my pesto in a mini Black and Decker food processor. I grew up on a smoother blended pesto, but have been getting accustomed to a more rustic grandmotherly pesto, where the herbs and texture are more prominent. (My food processor is effective but dinky.)

I add basil but also add Italian parsley, arugula, maybe spinach if it's on hand. And pine nuts are too expensive today, so I do walnuts. A tiny clove of garlic. High quality extra virgin olive oil. Juice of 1/2 a lemon. Too lazy to pick out the seeds that fell in. Blend again. I don't add parmesan only because I don't have any. I am cheap. Or forgetful.

This pesto is good enough to eat by the spoonful. I proclaim it a true elixir of health, warding off all diseases and weak minded folks.



This pesto cracks my tired imagination slightly open. Awesome downbeat sandwich gets made (I am even motivated to make my own coffee) but the next day I add it to pasta with sauteed chard and zucchini. Green on green on green.

I make a very thin omelette and spread the pesto, maybe some chopped treviso, now time to add the parmesan that was once forgotten. (Never again, I promise.)

Little toasts with cheese and pesto make the perfect afternoon snack. Mix with a bit of oil and vinegar to make a salad dressing. Folded into rice. Spread on a piece of fish. Use it as a face scrub. Minus the cheese. Lots of basil left. More motivation to come.

Post Summer Mortem

Now that was a great summer.

Mild weather.
Lots of swimming.
Long lazy afternoon lunches.
Twilight dinners.
Old and new friends.
Cooking for 30. Cooking for 1.
Immersed in a river in Eastern Washington with a cup of Sangria made by a dear friend.
The carving of a massive 20 pound slightly perverse zucchini.



Things have changed.
The boy mentioned frequently in my last post is no longer in my life. I will no longer refer to him or his culinary choices. It was a good run while it lasted but consistency is key.

Speaking of consistency, I have sorely neglected this seedling of a blog. I have thought of it often, maybe like one thinks of the mountains of boxes lying in the attic above them. Treasures galore, but the weariness sets in and summer is just outside.

But I can honestly say, I have fallen more in love with food than ever and this summer I cooked with feverish joy and curiosity. With time and space (physical and mental both), inspired by articles, books, moods, friends and boredom.







As we venture into Autumn, my favorite season, I hope to reflect back on some good recipes and good times. This blog currently lives in Los Angeles where seasons are subtle and intricate. A bounty awaits. I want to follow it, pick at it, explore the possibilities.

Back in my small apartment with my clumsy ill-equipped kitchen. My cat lies next me, eyes closed, arms overhead in full surrender. Fall down, fall in. Eat up, eat out. Record these adventures. They come and go so fast.