SOUNDTRACKS

We hike up the hill towards the track, running shoes on, holding hands, pretending we're forest ninjas. 

Are pumpkins still alive after they're picked? Why have you been drinking so much tea? Who is this King Tut guy? This stick totally looks like a machine gun. I want a robot, don't you? Did I tell you I got a Kangaskhan card and it has 230 life? I don't think there's a God. I want a new dog and I will name him Biscuit. Oh my God, mom, look at that beautiful sky.

Swaths of orange and red blaze across the bay, a sunset so breathtaking that dozens of people sit in the bleachers, reveling, taking photos, leaning in towards one another. It would be so easy to join them.

Don't sit down. Don't sit down. Don't sit down.

Mom, are you talking to yourself again?

Maybe.

We shift. We smile. We feed on each other's hesitations.

Ready, mom?

Ready, Dash.

Set?

Set.

Go.

I don't go. Shit. I don't go.

He is halfway around the track.

I own a different body now. My breasts are three inches lower. My legs are three inches thicker.

He has almost completed a lap.

My abdominals are split open. My pelvic floor is a foreign country.

He swings by for lap number two, slows down, tries to grab me. 

Come on, mom.

He doesn't know that scraped out feeling. Always searching for the on button.

We're here to run.

He wakes up running. I wake up recalibrating.

Mom?

Bound by bound, breath by breath, I match his gait. My legs glide without effort. My arms pump. We move and move and move. Faster and faster and faster. He has me.

Dash. Oh my God. I'm running!

He gives me the I-love-you-even-though-you're-crazy look.

Dude, I didn't think I would make it more than ten steps. The last time I ran was on my wedding day. 

You mean you haven't run since way before I was born?

Nope, Dash. I haven't run for 13 years.

Up and down the attic stairs to fetch laundry, paper towels, dead rats. In circles. From the house to the car to the house to the car. Down the supermarket aisle to catch a tumbling bottle of wine, a jar of pickles, an avalanche of apples. Towards a choking child. Out of the house in anger. Into my husband's arms. Behind a child's teetering bicycle. Towards speeding cars, crashing waves, third story windows.

He stops to process. To catch his breath. To search for the moon. To be seven years old.

Mom, it's dark and I want to go home and I'm so hungry.

Dash, I want shakshuka more than anything.

I want mac and cheese more than anything. 

I chase my little running man down the hill, endorphins dancing around my head, superhero rocket jets still humming. 

I have let my stories get too big. 

What did you say, mom? Why are you smiling?

Dash, please eat shakshuka with me.

(recipe written up by Dash; layout inspired by Pokémon cards)

Shack shooka. Shakshuka. Shakshouka. Chakchouka. Many spellings from around my house. And from around the world. I understand it has Tunisian and Israeli origins. I have never followed a shakshuka recipe but I've been inspired by dozens of photos from all over the web. 

My Berkeley version involves a harissa-spiced tomato and onion sauce, dotted with feta, topped with baked eggs and chopped herbs. 

Scoop it up with grilled bread. Add white beans, grilled sausages, braised lamb, or cooked potatoes.

Add on. Take away. Make it your own.

Here's my shakshuka. Please tell me about yours. 

SHAKSHUKA
printable recipe
serves 4

The only thing you need to make ahead of time is the garlic confit. Or just skip it! 

You can make this a one-dish dinner by cooking the sauce in an ovenproof pan, adding the eggs, and throwing it into the oven. Or, make the sauce a a few days ahead of time and store it in the fridge. Or freeze it. You can make individual shakshukas. Or spoon the sauce into a large baking dish for 4 people. Or double the recipe and make it for 8.

Sometimes, I use my cast iron pan for this but some people swear you should never put acidic tomatoes into cast iron. I've never had a problem. Do this at your own risk. I think it might depend on the depth of buildup on the interior of your pan.

ingredients:
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1 large yellow onion, finely diced (yielding 2 to 2.5 cups)
1 heaping teaspoon salt

8 cloves garlic confit, squeezed out of their skins
2 cloves garlic, peeled and grated

3 anchovy fillets, packed in oil

1 box or can of crushed or diced tomatoes, 26 to 28 ounces (avoid those with too many additional ingredients, salt and basil are fine)

2 tablespoons tomato paste

1 tablespoon harissa
1 tablespoon honey
2 sprigs fresh thyme
sherry wine vinegar, to taste

1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley

1/4 cup chopped fresh mint

1 tablespoon lemon zest (either stripped with a zester or microplaned)

6 ounces of your favorite feta (any kind is fine but I prefer one with a creamier texture)

4 eggs
1/4 cup garlic oil from garlic confit

directions:

Place medium-sized ovenproof pan on medium heat. Add olive oil and butter. Once butter is melted, add onions and salt.  Stir every few minutes until translucent. Turn the heat to a simmer  Cover. Cook for about an hour. Stir every 10 minutes or so. If it starts to stick, add a splash of water. It's okay if it browns a bit. This will just add flavor. It's done when the texture is creamy and the color is golden. Remove the lid and boil off most of the liquid (if there is any). Keep the heat on low.

With your mortar and pestle, make a paste out of the garlic confit, fresh garlic, and anchovies. Add to cooked onions. Cook for 30 seconds. Stirring constantly. Add diced tomatoes, tomato paste, harissa, honey, and thyme. Stir. Bring to the boil. Turn down to a simmer and cook for about an hour, stirring every 10 minutes or so. You want it to thicken and sweeten and intensify. Taste. Adjust. 1 tablespoon of harissa can be quite powerful, but add more if the sauce doesn't have enough kick. I usually add some more salt and a splash of sherry wine vinegar. Remove the thyme sprigs. At this point, you can cool the sauce and then refrigerate or freeze until needed.

When you're ready to eat shakshuka, preheat the oven to 450°F. Combine parsley, mint, and lemon zest. Set aside.

Either leave your sauce in your ovenproof pan or spoon the sauce into a baking dish that allows about 1/2-inch of room at the top. Crumble or cube the feta and press it down into the sauce. It's okay if some of the pieces are poking up through the sauce. Place the dish in the oven until the sauce is piping hot, about 10 minutes. Remove from the oven. With a spoon, make 4 circular holes for the eggs in the tomato sauce. Crack an egg into a bowl and slide it into a hole. Repeat 3 more times. Sprinkle half of the parsley, mint, and lemon zest over the surface. Spoon over some garlic oil.

Bake until eggs are cooked to your liking. It's okay for the top of the sauce to start browning a bit. Sometimes I find that the yolk is set before the white is cooked. In that case, the best thing to do is cover the dish or pan with a lid or tin foil for about 1 minute. Remove from the oven before it looks done because it will keep cooking. You can always throw it back in for a minute or two. Garnish with remaining herb and lemon zest mixture. Serve immediately with grilled bread and extra garlic oil.

LET'S START WITH DESSERT

Nutella Crêpe Cake

Biscuits with Summer Berries and Whipped Cream

Pea and Bacon Panzanella with Warm VinaigrettePasta with Summer Corn, Slow-Cooked Tomatoes, and Garlic Confit

I've been saving my stories for the book that I'm writing. Most of them, at least. A few have slipped their way over to Food52 (see above).  I've posted one of my early summer favorites below.

Once my manuscript is turned in, I'll be back here with lots to say. Just keep chanting you can do it, you can do it, Phyllis, you can fucking do it.

Thanks. It helps. A lot.

xoxo

P.S. You can find me posting excessively over on Instagram. And sometimes I have a few things to rant about on Twitter or Facebook.

------------------------------------

After a weekend away and some heavy-duty denial about the fact that it’s officially June, I wake up early Monday morning to find the rest of my life sitting on my chest. This unfamiliar weight scares me. 

I make my coffee, paw around in the freezer, pray that there is something I can MacGyver into two school lunches. Frozen peas land on my jet-lagged son's head. Lamb bones fall onto my bare toes. And before I can stop it, an avalanche of unlabeled freeze-burned Ziplocked scraps slides down to the floor.  

I shove it all back into the freezer, heave my body weight against the door, and lock the chaos back in. 

And things don’t improve. 

It is the kind of morning where my son cries because his daddy will miss his Ninjago-themed sleepover birthday party. It is the kind of morning where I drop my husband off at the airport, lean in for a long deep kiss, and say goodbye for the entire summer. My heart aches so much that it is hard to turn my head over my shoulder to change lanes. I find myself driving down the freeway singing along and sobbing away to John Cougar Mellencamp. 

It’s only 11 AM. 

Bird by bird. 

I open the freezer. I face my future. 

Ten years ago, if you were scrounging around in my freezer for a stick of butter, you would have run into a placenta, a dozen bags of breast milk, some very stale pot, and lots of New York Super Fudge Chunk. Period. 

Now you’ll find enough tortillas to open a Mexican restaurant, fancy-ass square ice cubes (small, medium, large), lardo, bacon, bacon, bacon, two uncooked short ribs from this year’s Super Bowl party, fresh horseradish, a smorgasbord of pastries, pesto, egg whites, my neighbor’s homemade lemon curd, mini pissaladières, brown butter cupcake brownies, chocolate chip cookies, pulled pork, garlic confit, slow-cooked tomatoes, soup, pizza, pizza, pizza. And that, my friends, is just the beginning.  

Starting with the short ribs, I begin cooking the next six meals that will go into my kids’ bellies. I sear off the frozen meat in bacon fat, toss in some onions, garlic, and anchovies. I deglaze with wine while the meat is still in the pan. I break all of the rules. And then I add some gooey balsamic and a large frozen block of diced tomatoes. 

I throw the mess into the oven and forget about it until the smell brings me back.

I lift the lid. I shred the meat. I pick out the fatty bits. My heart rate slows down.

Braised Short Rib Tacos

SUMMER VINYASA

Wake up with the birds and the sun. Check to make sure the dog is still alive.  Clean rat shit off the butcher block. Take tart dough out of the freezer. Make a hella strong cup of coffee. Ninja your way into your son's locked room and find him asleep with a pocket knife, Liquid Paper, and a spy pen. Offer eggs. Offer oatmeal. Offer cinnamon toast. Watch your kids' eyes bug out above the cinnamon toast when you rant about the importance of gun control. Pile into the car. Tell your daughter you're sorry but you just can't explain Pink's lyrics it's just you and your hand tonight. End up at Target. Try to talk your daughter out of the short short denim shorts. Try to talk yourself out of the hot pink bikini. Buy both. Yell at a woman in a black SUV to slow down bitch and pick a fucking lane already. Boil garlic cloves in olive oil. Listen to your daughter do a mama-style door slam when you tell her she can't have a new iPod. Pour hot garlic oil over cherry tomatoes and simmer them with salt, sugar, and lemon thyme. Consider returning the hot pink bikini. Ask your son how much he loves you and shiver when he says mama I love you neverending and forever. Assemble your third cherry tomato, garlic confit, and anchovy tart of the week. Drink a martini and cut your son's hair. Regret being that annoying mom who says you don't like anchovies what is wrong with you? Smile when your daughter offers to do the dishes. Snuggle in bed with your daughter and allow her to pet your head. Sit down at the computer to try to articulate your excitement about this tart and realize you're so tired that all that you can write is I fucking love this tart I fucking love this tart I fucking love this tart. Crawl into bed without brushing your teeth and notice you're still wearing your apron. Hug your dog and mumble who the heck do I think I am attempting to do anything around here except trying to keep all of you creatures alive? Wake up at 3 a.m. drenched in sweat. Check on your kids. Go back to sleep until your screaming son wakes you up at 5 a.m. Lie down forehead to forehead until his nightmare fades and he drifts back to sleep. Flip on the kitchen lights and say good morning motherfuckers to the rats. Watch the sun rise. Eat some cold tomato and anchovy tart. Clean the rat shit off the butcher block. Make a hella strong cup of coffee. Remove the tags and tuck the hot pink bikini into your underwear drawer.

CHERRY TOMATO, GARLIC CONFIT, AND ANCHOVY TART

printable recipe

This tart would be super tasty made with pizza dough or puff pastry.

Make sure to prepare the tart dough a few hours ahead of time. It works better to cool garlic confit and tomato mixture before assembling tart. But if you're in hurry then just throw it all together and it will be fine. And if anchovies gross you out, skip them. Corn is a wonderful addition. Or  spread under the tomatoes a layer of goat cheese mixed with 1 egg, salt, and heavy cream. Play. Maybe some pancetta? Prosciutto? Or an egg or two cracked on the tart? I'm hungry.

ingredients:

1 1/2 times this recipe for tart dough, refrigerated for a few hours (or just make double and saves scraps for mini-tarts)

1  head of garlic confit, cooled

2 pints cherry tomatoes (any kind, color, or size)

2 tablespoons garlic confit oil

4 sprigs lemon thyme (or regular thyme)

big pinch kosher salt

big pinch white sugar

2 tablespoons Dijon mustard (I love Grey Poupon)

at least 10 anchovy fillets (packed in oil)

parmesan or pecorino cheese

directions: 

Roll tart dough into desired shape. You can press it into a large tart pan or leave it free form on a sheet pan. Refrigerate until needed. Put garlic oil in medium-sized pot on medium heat. Add tomatoes, thyme, salt, and sugar. Cook and stir until tomatoes soften just a bit (about 3 minutes). A few tomatoes will probably explode. Take off heat and cool to room temperature.

Preheat oven to 350°F.

Spread mustard over cold tart dough leaving about 1/2" at the edges. Strain tomato mixture and save remaining broth for soup (very important or tart will be soggy). Spread cooked tomatoes all over tart dough. Drape anchovies over the tomatoes. Squeeze garlic confit cloves out of skins and onto the tart (I like placing a clove next to each anchovy fillet). If you want, place a few more cloves in the center of the tart along with the thyme sprigs. Grate cheese all over. Paint exposed tart dough edges with garlic oil.

Bake until nice and brown and beautiful. It should take between 30 and 40 minutes. A good test is to pick up the corner of the tart and see if it's floppy or firm. Take it out when it doesn't bow at all. Or, if you like it a bit gooey, take it out when it's not quite firm.

Eat right away. Maybe with arugula and avocado bowls and anchovy salad dressing.

NO WORDS

It was a shitstormclusterfuck of an evening with flat tires and such. So let's just look at tarts. And drink wine. And listen to Jeff Buckley. And Giovanni Pergolesi. And be grateful that we get to wake up to a brand new day.

CREME FRAICHE RECIPE #4:

I don't know how many people these tarts serve. The apricot tart was pretty much just for me. But I've been sharing the asparagus tart. These tarts are fundamentally the same. 

APRICOT RICOTTA TART WITH CARAMEL BUTTER

printable recipe

If you like your tarts sweet, you should definitely crank up the sugar in the ricotta mixture.

ingredients:

shortcrust pastry dough (make a least 3 hours ahead of time and refrigerate)

3/4 cup ricotta

1/2 cup crème fraiche

1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil

1 egg

1/8 cup flour

2 tablespoons sugar

1/2 teaspoon kosher salt

2 teaspoons lemon zest

6 apricots

2 tablespoons sugar

2 tablespoons melted butter

2 tablespoons caramel sauce (or brown sugar)

creme fraiche for topping

directions:

Roll out dough and press into an 8" round or rectangular pan. Or place free-form on a sheet pan. Place in freezer while you prepare the filling.

Preheat oven to 350º F.

In a standing mixer (or by hand), beat the ricotta, crème fraiche, olive oil, egg, flour, sugar, salt, and lemon zest. Set aside. Halve and pit apricots. Melt butter and caramel together.

Remove tart shell from the freezer. Pour in ricotta filling and spread evenly. Gently press apricot halves (cut side up) into the filling. Sprinkle sugar all over the apricots. Brush or spoon on butter/caramel mixture. Drip extra onto the cheese mixture.

Bake until crust is set and light brown (35-45 minutes). If the apricots don't have much color, you can place the tart under the broiler and brown (or char) things a bit. Allow to cool for 20 minutes before cutting.

Serve topped with creme fraiche or vanilla bean ice cream.

ASPARAGUS RICOTTA TART

printable recipe

ingredients:

shortcrust pastry dough (make a least 3 hours ahead of time and refrigerate)

16 stalks asparagus, bottoms trimmed

3/4 cup ricotta

1/2 cup crème fraiche

1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil

1 egg

1/8 cup flour

1/2 teaspoon kosher salt

2 teaspoons lemon zest

1 tablespoons balsamic vinegar

2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

3 cloves garlic confit (or grated raw garlic)

1 teaspoon crunch salt (Maldon, or grey, or fleur de del)

3 tablespoons parmesan cheese, finely grated
chopped salted anchovy (super optional, super tasty)

creme fraiche for topping
chopped parsley

directions:

Roll out dough and press into an 8" round or rectangular pan. Or place free-form on a sheet pan. Put in freezer while you prepare the filling.

If your asparagus is delicate, you don't need to peel it. If it's thick, you might want to peel the stalks from the base all the way up to right underneath where the tip starts.

Preheat oven to 350º F.

In a standing mixer (or by hand), beat the ricotta, crème fraiche, olive oil, egg, flour, salt, and lemon zest. Set aside.

Whisk together vinegar, olive oil, and garlic confit.

Remove tart shell from the freezer. Pour in ricotta filling and spread evenly. Place asparagus in any cool pattern that you like. I like to have every other stalk pointing the same way. But it really doesn't matter. Coat stalks with vinegar/oil/garlic mixture. Drip extra between the stalks onto the cheese mixture. Sprinkle with parmesan and salt. Add optional anchovy.

Bake until crust is set and light brown. If the top of the tart doesn't have much color, you can place it under the broiler and brown (or char) things a bit. Allow to cool for at least 20 minutes. Cut this tart with an insanely sharp knife or poultry shears, otherwise you will have quite a mess on your hands. Serve topped with crème fraiche and chopped parsley.

MOTHER SHIP

He hovers around the bedside table, takes a sip of my water, spills it all over the books, tries to wipe up the mess with his pajama top, opens the shutters, run run run flings himself into my bed, walks around my head, steps on my hair, slips and catches himself on my forehead, shakes and pokes his daddy, gives up, slides underneath the covers, sighs and hums and sings, whispers a poem about the moon and knights and guns and the big blue sky, suctions himself onto me like a big warm leach, presses his forehead into mine, allows me to massage his earlobes, exhales his sour morning breath into my face, and starts whispering into my ear.

Mama mama mama hi mama hi good morning.

No Dash no no please go away.

But mama it is so zen in your bed 

So just close your eyes and be still.

But is it that time you know the time when I can come into your bed and still get a sticker for not getting into your bed in the night.

Dashi six in the morning is questionable.

Mama you have bad breath.

Maybe from all the pea pesto I've been eating.

Mama let's go make your coffee. 

Yes let's.

He finds the coffee cone, helps drag out the Cuisinart, asks what's so great about coffee, raises his eyebrows as I slowly lick a spoonful of Nutella, watches me blanch peas and parsley and kale and mint and sage, listens to the garlic popping in the oil, presses pause on the Beastie Boys song and says I know that guy died but that crazy music gives me a headache, nicks his finger while grating the cheese, picks a lemon, lets me listen to one more Beastie Boys song in exchange for five minutes playing Plants vs. Zombies, asks me to define the word addiction, sets the table, wakes up his daddy, wakes up his Bella, picks up my phone and announces I'll do your job and take photos of the pea pesto so why  don't you just sit down mama.

SOME THOUGHTS ON PESTO:

Around this time last year, I posted about pea shoot pesto. I just checked out the recipe. I like it but it's quite specific and leaves very little room for play. This recipe is all about experimenting. And it's also very good for kids because they can come up with their own combinations.

I'm calling this pea pesto but it really should be called green pesto. Almost anything in your fridge that's green can go in. I like peas but I'm not in love with them so it helps to have a few other vegetables and herbs in the pesto to mellow out the pea flavor. Amounts in the recipe below are approximate. The fun part about making pesto is that it's different every time and you taste as you go along. You get to decide which flavor dominates. For lamb or steak I would crank up the garlic flavor. For pasta add extra peas/greens because you can sprinkle on cheese at the end. For pizza I would probably do extra salty and cheesy.

A LIST ABOUT PESTO BECAUSE I  LOVE LISTS:

1. It needs more salt and acid (sherry wine vinegar, lemon) than you think. Keep adding. Keep tasting.

2. It's easier to integrate all the components when the nuts and vegetables are warm.

3. Garlic confit and its oil are kick ass additions (also great to look at on top).

4. Add fresh herbs (parsley, mint, basil, sage) by blanching them in the salty water when the peas are almost done cooking.

5. Blanch kale or chard stems in salty water and add to the pesto, just make sure to pulverize well. I've been keeping a bag of vegetable scraps in the fridge and it all goes into my pesto.

6. Almonds with skins on add nice texture and flavor.

7. Add a half a stick of sweet butter to the warm pesto. Motherfreakingfrackingyum.

8. Make the pesto in the morning and leave it out all day. Don't firm it up by placing it in the fridge. Just cover the top with a little bit of olive oil. Make cheddar and pesto grilled cheese sandwiches, ricotta and pesto-filled crepes, scoop a spoonful into half an avocado, add it to your salad dressing, just have it around as a general snack.

9. It turns an odd color when baked, but pea pesto is a tasty base on pizzas on tarts. Spread in on your dough; layer on purple potatoes, caramelized onions, pine nuts, parmesan cheese, and sautéed greens; bake it off; and you'll get something like this.

PEA PESTO

printable recipe

Makes enough to cover a tart or coat a pound of pasta with some leftover for sandwiches. The two final ingredients (garlic confit and butter) are optional. Make garlic confit ahead of time if you're going to use it (see below for details). Please know that these are approximate amounts. Play.

ingredients:

handful salt (for boiling water)

2 cups peas (fresh or frozen)

2 cups chopped kale and/or chard leaves (stems are great too)

1 cup fresh herbs (any combination of bail, sage, parsley, and mint leaves and stems)

3/4 cup toasted nuts (walnuts, almonds with skins or not, pine nuts, pecans)

1 cup (at least) of grated cheese (any combination of parmesan, pecorino, asiago, goat, manchego, gruyere)

juice/zest from 1 lemon

at least 3/4 cup olive oil (or garlic olive oil from garlic confit, see below for details)

2 teaspoons vinegar (sherry, white wine, or champagne)

salt to taste

pepper to taste

2 cloves garlic, grated or chopped

salt to taste

pepper to taste

6 cloves garlic confit, see below for details
3 tablespoons butter (optional)

directions:

Bring a large pot of water to the boil. Add a handful of salt. Add peas and cook for 2 minutes. Add combination of kale, chard and fresh herbs to the peas. After 10 seconds, drain everything. Drain really well. You might even need to squeeze some of the water out of the herbs and greens.

Throw peas, blanched greens/herbs and the remaining ingredients into a food processor and pulverize for 20 seconds. Scrape down the size. Pulverize some more. Taste. Start adding what's missing. If you're not sure, spread some on bread to taste. Or dip in a carrot. Or feed a spoonful to someone else in the house and ask what it needs. Sometimes it helps to use a few other mouths. 

Scoop into a jar and then cover the top with a think layer of olive oil. You can leave it room temperature if you're going to eat it that day. Or store it in the fridge for a few days. Or freeze for months. 

GARLIC CONFIT

Break apart a few heads of garlic. It's okay to have bunches of 2 or 3 cloves. Poke a tiny hole in each clove to prevent the cloves from exploding. Place unpeeled cloves in a deep pot and cover with olive oil. Add pinch of salt and herbs if you desire (sprig of thyme or branch of rosemary). Bring to the boil. Turn heat to low and cover with a lid. Simmer until garlic is cooked through, soft, and creamy (20-30 minutes). Cool to room temperature. You can keep the cloves (with skins on) and oil for a few weeks in the fridge. Make sure cloves are covered with oil. Add more oil if you need to. Squeeze garlic out of the skins as needed.