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.

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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

DEPTH

"Mama. You talk a lot about cows."
 - Dash

I woke up at 2:30 a.m. in a sweaty panic, an unfamiliar weight on my chest, a heaviness of death around me. I had never met him, but his soft face was in my dreams. He had these uneven black and white splotches around large mournful eyes. I wrapped my arms around him like I would a sick child.

The next morning, I drove into San Francisco, sleep-deprived, under-caffeinated, stressed that I hadn't gotten everything in caregiver-order for my kids. Then some goddamn beautiful piece by Bach started playing on the radio and I started sobbing. For the cow.

It had already been a week filled with death and bones.

When is our dog dying?
Did Mozart die? 

Mama, I'm drawing a picture of the inside of you — your bones. 

I had a dream I was dying.

I arrived at 4505 Meats for a 9-hour cow butchering class. Five fellow students and I entered the restaurant kitchen and met the amazing Ryan Farr: butcher, teacher, owner of 4505 Meats, and author of the just-released Whole Beast Butchery.

And then we met our cow.

He was not the still-warm, shiny-eyed, pink-tongued cow of my dreams. This Angus-Hereford cross, after living the happy life for 2 years at Magruder Ranch in Potter Valley, California, had already been dead for a week. He was skinned, beheaded, and in four pieces. Not very huggable.

"Just cut." 
 - Butcher Ryan Farr

They hung him up one piece at a time. A hind quarter. A fore quarter. These lovely butchers don't use chainsaws. They use their hands, their intuition, their sharp knives, and multiple bone saws. I was very moved by the delicate balance between their quiet precision and brute strength.

"Eww. Mama! You smell like COW!"

- Dash and Bella

We circled the pieces of dripping carcass like humble vultures, tentatively prodding, smelling, manipulating, questioning. I steadied the swaying rib cage with my hand and dug in deep with my fingers.

I (unevenly) sawed the left front fore quarter, between the 4th and 5th ribs, until it split in half with a crack that  reverberated through my body and down into my heels. I tidied up one of the kidneys.  I struggled to separate some t-bone steaks as sweat poured down my back. I removed the skirt, the flank, and the flap from what looked like a cow suit jacket.

"How can I eat this? Not, how can I cut this?"

- Butcher Ryan Farr

I brought home 86 pounds of Cryovaced beef parts. One sixth of the cow.

If you come over to my house, I will geek out and offer you a tour of my freezer that's packed with beef grind, bones, chuck roast, flank, flap, heart, kidney, leg steaks, liver. marrow, porterhouse, rib eye bone in, round steaks, shanks, short/plate rib, sirloin roasts, skirt, t-bone, tenderloin, and tri tip. 

Round one: SHORT RIBS. 

We tossed our ribs into the slow cooker to bring out all kinds of tastiness. 

One piece of cow down. 

Nineteen more to go. 

And I just ordered a bone saw. Because I'm in training. 

SLOW-COOKED SHORT RIBS:
According to Kent Schoberle of 4505 Meats: "The short ribs attach to the prime rib section, specifically the middle to upper section of the ribs closest to the rib eyes. The lower you get down the ribs, the closer you are to the plate meat. They work well slow-cooked because there are plenty of connective tissues and fibers that need long cooking times to coax out the flavor."

Season the short ribs with salt and pepper. Add 1 tablespoon of canola or olive oil to a skillet and heat until smoking hot. Sear the heck out of all the sides. Remove meat from the pan and set aside. Turn the heat to medium and toss in 6 or so sliced shallots. Cook until translucent and soft. Turn heat down to low and add anywhere from 1-6 anchovy fillets and 4 cloves of finely chopped garlic. Stir for about a minute until garlic smells nutty and anchovies have melted a bit. Turn off heat.

Place meat in a slow cooker (or place meat in a large ovenproof pot with a lid and preheat oven to 225°F). Add anchovy/garlic/shallot mixture to the meat. Throw in a whole lemon. Pour in liquid to cover the meat (any combination of red wine, water, stock). Cover with a lid. Cook until the meat falls apart at the touch of a fork. Be patient. It can take anywhere from 3 to 6 hours. Remove meat from the sauce. Use the back of a soup spoon to press down on the lemon and release the juices. Stir to combine. Let the sauce sit for 10 minutes. Then skim off the fat that has risen to the top of the sauce. Let sit for 10 more minutes and skim fat off again.

If you can track down some fresh cranberry beans, simmer them in some chicken stock with sliced garlic until tender (you could also use any already-cooked white beans from a jar or can). Use some of the short rib sauce as the base for couscous (1/2 chicken stock and 1/2 short rib sauce).  Combine the cooked beans with the remaining sauce. Serve the short ribs on couscous topped with cranberry beans and sauce. Garnish with lots of chopped parsley.

"When do you think we'll finish eating that cow? Because I want you to do a lamb." 

 - Bella