How Corny: Becoming a Corn on the Cob Convert

Look at what I found at the market the other day - sweet red corn! You almost never see the red corn for sale as an edible entity; it usually only crops up this time of year in dried form intended for use in Autumn decorations. So when these garnet beauties winked at me from across the produce aisle, I was smitten. There was no question that a few of the ears would be making their way home with me.

But get this: historically, I've never been a fan of corn. Not in its straight-from-nature form anyway. Niblets make me gag; corn on the cob (even slathered with butter and salt) is just icky - I'll take a pass, thank you. Don't even think about mentioning creamed corn. But not liking corn on the cob - I find that fact pretty inconceivable. This is me we're talking about here - lover of all things fresh from Mother Nature. And I adore corn in other forms: polenta, tortillas, cornbread, popcorn, high-fructose corn syrup in every manufactured food on the planet (kidding about that last one, of course). Seriously - my corn aversion was just inexplicable.

And that's where some Mexican migrant farm workers entered the picture, and changed my attitude about fresh corn forever.

As you know, I live in the beautiful Napa Valley. We have a little thing called the grape harvest here, and every year right about this time, the valley is inundated with migrant field workers who are essential to the whole harvest machine. It's no secret that many of them are from Mexico, and the cultural influence they have on the valley - harvest time or otherwise - is astounding and rewarding.

After moving to the valley some eight years ago, I learned real quick that the entire economy would screech to a halt if the Mexicans were suddenly out of the picture. I also learned that farm workers of any nationality not only work hard, they play hard. And when they play, it's almost always traditional Mexican fare that graces the tables of the fiestas.

I'll never forget my first harvest party. It was a beautiful Indian summer evening, warm well after it got dark. The barn where the party was held was simply lit; hay bales for seating; doors flung wide open, perfectly framing the views of the colorful vines. Cowboy boots were the most prevalent footwear; cowboy hats almost as popular. Beer, overflowing (as the saying goes, it takes a lot of beer to make wine); Tejano music somehow playing in the background.

(We're still talking about corn, right? Sorry - I digress.) So the food - the food! The smell of traditional carnitas, slow-cooked for days, wafted through the air. Fresh tortillas were being turned out and griddled almost as fast as they could be eaten. Tripe, pesole, hand-rolled tamales, rice, beans... and grilled corn on the cob. I was devouring everything in sight - tripe included (I think) - but still, I ignored the corn.

Noticing my obvious disdain for the most simple thing on the menu, a couple of the guys pointed out to me the garnishing method they employed for their corn on the cob, and assured me that I would not only like it, but come to crave it.

Their not-so-secret secret? Dipping a wedge of lime into chili powder, and squeezing the wedge as it is rubbed up and down the length of a hot cob fresh off the grill. The lime juice saturates every nib, taking the chili powder along with it. No butter. No salt. And un-frikkin-believeable. I sat there like one of the kids - who were all well versed in this method - letting the corn/lime/chili juice freely run down my arms, getting the fibers caught in my teeth, and cleaning the cob like a logger clear-cutting a forest.

The Mexicans were right - I had instantly become addicted.

From that point on, there has been no turning back. I now look forward to corn season - and not just for the corn bread. And everyone I have ever introduced to this method has loved it as well. I still turn up my nose at niblets, and I'll never be able to stomach creamed corn, but corn on the cob? I'm a convert.

I don't know about you, but I call that good. I also call it Fare to Remember. I suggest you try it immediately.

99 Ranch Market, A Love Story

Am I weird? Is it odd that I love love love really good grocery stores and will find a good reason to be in a far-off neighborhood to frequent some of my favorites? As a grocery store geek, I was ecstatic when I heard that the legendary 99 Ranch Market was opening a new location in Concord, a mere 34.5 miles from my house door-to-door. And, as luck would have it, I actually have legitimate reasons to be in or around Concord on a fairly frequent basis. One of those reasons (a darling niece's 2 year-old birthday) just happened to coincide with the market's grand opening celebration. No brainer - 99 Ranch, here I come.

If you're unfamiliar with 99 Ranch Market, just imagine all of Asia under one roof. They are gorgeous stores, with aisle after aisle teeming with Asian products I'll never decipher (most labels are not in English). In fact, I have to stick to the peripheries of the stores - heading into the heart of the market is just out of my league (fish powder? seaweed candy? dried nuts, seeds and herbs that look unlike anything I've ever seen? Yikes - I need some cultural immersion!). At any rate, the outside edges of the stores are where the good things are anyway; several laps were in order.

There are massive bakeries with stunning pastry concoctions; immense fish markets with sushi-grade fish, live fish and fresh shellfish; beautiful produce sections stocked with all the basics, as well as plenty of exotic things you've never heard of; and of course, the take-out counters. You can load up at the buffet and get your fill of everything from Pad Thai to Mu Shui Pork. Or stop by the grill to get a Peking duck or a roast chicken. Or my favorite, the Dim Sum bar, where you can get 3 pieces of dim sum - anything on display - for $2.20. Are you kidding me? No wonder the little old Chinese ladies and the high school saggy-pants boys were jockeying for position in the line that snaked to the back of the store.

So I braved the crowds and loaded up. I took home enough dim sum to feed me for a week (lunches, done!), and spent all of about 14 bucks. I also got some beautiful fresh tuna, some pretty desserts, a packet of dried mandarin peel, some nori wraps for sushi, and a random can of soup (Randall called... he wanted clam chowder. Go figure.) I was out of there in under three hours - maybe a record (oh how I love to browse...) - and have been enjoying my bounty pretty much ever since. Take a look for yourself, and be sure to get there when you can. There's perfectly good dim sum just waiting!

Bao (I got chicken and BBQ pork)

Pork Shumai

Sticky Rice in Lotus Leaves

Grilled and Stuffed Eggplant; Shrimp Wonton

My Dim Sum Bonanza

My Dim Sum Bonanza, v.2

Mochi

Pineapple Candy; Lotus Cake

Napa Valley, Harvest 2009

I think I'll let the pictures speak for themselves, because honestly - what else can I say? I live here. It's gorgeous. Come visit.

To see the complete slideshow of the day I spent puttering around my hood (oh yes, there are LOTS more photos of this stunning time of year - these are just a tease), please visit my flickr site:

Harvest Photos, Napa Valley 2009

Happy Birthday to Me

I had a birthday over the weekend. Not a milestone year (one that ends in a zero), but rather, my last birthday to ever start with a 3. My youth: officially over. (How did that happen?) But time marches on, and lucky for me, I had the fortune of ringing in my 4th decade in true Fare to Remember style: good friends, good food, good times.

It was a happy day.

So what does happiness look like when you're me? Pretty simple:

• Happiness is a husband who plans a party and cares enough to fill me in on the surprise.
• Happiness is a friendly game of softball, played simply for the joy of camaraderie.

• Happiness is six strike-outs for the kids, and practice swings all around.
• Happiness is having a mom who not only came all the way from Utah to help celebrate, but spoiled me rotten when she was here.
• Happiness is five dozen gourmet cupcakes. Five dozen.

• Happiness is grilled hot dogs with all the fixins. Sausages too.

• Happiness is peanuts and Cracker Jacks.
• Happiness is Jessica's chocolate peanut butter brownies and Jeff's Amish Apple Cake.
• Happiness is a crowd of friends and family members, many strangers to each other, making themselves at home.
• Happiness is a brand new set of pots and pans.

• Happiness is Linda's famous 3-ingredient artichoke dip.
  
• Happiness is a dad who can always be counted on to have a cooler full of ice and drinks.
• Happiness is a perfect October afternoon.
• Happiness is a barking blind dog.
• Happiness is Anthony's first base skills, Dolly's second base skills, Dunny's outfield skills and Glen's lack of base running skills.
• Happiness is Jeff on the mound, and Kelsey taking one for the team.
• Happiness is the Australian pulling off the bunt play.
  
• Happiness is "Happy Birthday" sung by Mia.
• Happiness is dozens of kids, both young and old.
• Happiness is having way too many happy moments than could ever be listed here.

Thanks everybody who came out to play. It means the world. As for next year? Bring it on 40, bring it on.

Whole Wheat Spaghetti Carbonara, When Only Pasta Will Do

When I get home from a long day, making dinner is usually the last thing on my mind. Food, yes. But cooking? Fuhgettaboutit. But if I haven't been diligent over the weekend and planned ahead (I try to pre-plan and even prep or pre-cook our meals for the week), I have generally two options: flirt with my husband until he is under my spell, therefore tricking him into cooking; or, forage. Neither are exactly ideal. Don't get me wrong - I love it when Randall cooks for me, but if you've seen some of his Hubby Helpings on this blog, you know I could wind up with something not exactly from the health food aisle. As for foraging, apple slices smeared with peanut butter is often as good as it gets.

It's times like these when a comfort food of my youth comes to the rescue. A simple spaghetti carbonara is a breeze to prepare, comforting after one of "those days," and perfectly satisfying. It's a dish my single mom would make for us three kids after her own long, harried days (job 1/job 2/job 3) - let alone ours (school/sports/ballet/music/homework/chores/horseplay). The fact that she could get dinner on the table at all astounds me now that I look back on it, but it was the one thing we did with scheduled regularity as a family. So this dish makes sense to me in that context - it's quick, filling, and an economical way to feed a crowd.

Of course, I've given it my own spin over the years. I don't eat pasta too much, but sometimes, you just gotta have it. I've gotten in the habit of using whole wheat pasta for starters, and tend to load up the dish with herbs as well as steamed or sauteed vegetables (great way to sneak in the veggie servings!). So I guess my version is a cross between a carbonara and a primavera. But call it what you want - I just call it good.

Whole Wheat Spaghetti Carbonara

• 1/2 pound of whole wheat spaghetti
• 1/4 pound of pancetta or bacon, diced
• 2 eggs
• 1/2 cup Parmesan cheese, grated
  
• Olive oil - be your own judge on the quantity
• Salt and pepper, to taste
• Optional: fresh herbs (I like basil), fresh tomatoes, sauteed or steamed veggies (use what's in season, and load it up! My favorites to toss in with the pasta are asparagus, peas, zucchini, yellow squash, peppers, artichoke hearts and mushrooms).
  

Cook the pasta according to package directions, making sure to properly salt the cooking water. As the pasta is cooking, brown the pancetta or bacon in a saute pan to the crispiness of your preference. In a separate bowl, whisk two eggs. When the pasta is done, drain and quickly return to the still-warm cooking pot (the heat can be turned off or keep on very low). Immediately toss the pasta with olive oil - enough to coat it lightly. Add the pancetta, eggs and Parmesan; toss to thoroughly coat the noodles. The residual heat will cook the eggs. Add any optional herbs or vegetables. Season with salt and pepper, to taste.

So Much Sorrel, So Little Time, Part 1: Pan-Seared Halibut with Sorrel Sauce

Any sorrel fans out there? I'm a big fan, but my affection for the leafy herb is still young. The first time I ever had sorrel was a scant year ago when my friend Jane made sorrel soup as her contribution to the Fare to Remember cookbook. She made the elegant yet simple soup from sorrel grown in her own garden, cultivated from seeds that had been lovingly been brought from France by another mutual friend.

The soup was a revelation. I learned that I've been missing out my entire life! Ever since, I can't get enough of it. I promptly bought a seedling, and when my herb beds were completed last Spring, the seedling had a permanent home where it has grown and grown...and grown (sorrel is know for its propensity to grow like a weed). No matter. Sorrel has a bright, verdant flavor that requires little else to spruce it up - so I've been using it in salads and oftentimes in place of spinach in certain recipes. It's divine.

This recipe came about simply because my garden was brimming with both sorrel and parsley. And after reading up about sorrel, I learned that pairing sorrel sauces with fish is very traditional in French cooking. Well ooh la la... saisissez le jour!

As for the soup that started it all... there's plenty more sorrel in my garden, just waiting for "soup weather" to arrive. Any day now... any day.

Pan-Seared Halibut with Sorrel Sauce

• 2 pounds of fresh halibut filets, skin removed and cut into portion-sized pieces
  
• 2 shallots, minced fine
• 2-3 tablespoons of olive oil (maybe more to pan-sear the fish)
  
• 1-1/2 cups dry white wine (I used a chardonnay - a typical "fat" Napa chard with lots of buttery/oakey flavors... not what I like to drink, but perfect for this recipe.)
  
• 1/2 cup nonfat sour cream (or go for broke and use creme fraiche or heavy cream)
• 2 cups fresh sorrel leaves, rough chopped
• 2 cups fresh parsley, rough chopped
• Salt and pepper, to taste

Place the shallots and olive oil in a small saucepan and cook over low heat until the shallots are soft. Add the sorrel and parsley; cook gently until the herbs are wilted. Add 1/2 cup of the wine to deglaze the pan; cook until reduced by 1/4. Transfer everything to a blender; blend until smooth. Return to saucepan and add the remainder of the wine; bring to a simmer and reduce again by 1/4. Add the cream and continue to simmer until the sauce naps a spoon. Do not allow to boil. Season with salt and pepper to taste; remove from heat.

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Meanwhile, lightly brush the halibut with olive oil on both sides. Preheat an oven-proof skillet on the stove with a coating of olive oil in the bottom of the pan. When the pan is smoking hot, drop in the filets in a single layer and sear each side until caramel in color. Transfer to hot oven and continue to roast until done (about 10-12 minutes per inch of thickness).

So Much Sorrel, So Little Time, Part 2: Sorrel Pesto

If you read Part 1 of this little sorrel series, you know that I have too much of a good thing: a garden overflowing with beautiful French sorrel. Yumm-o! By overflowing, I mean more sorrel than my little household will ever use in a timely or realistic manner. So, pesto to the rescue!

I have been making pestos right and left with all of the bountiful herbs in my garden. Pestos are one of my favorite things to do with copious quantities of fresh herbs. They last and last (you can freeze or can them); are extremely versatile (I use them on pastas, meats of all kind, grilled veggies, sandwiches, omelets... too many uses to list!); and can be made in an endless variety of ways (just made a sage/walnut pesto that is amazing, if I say so myself). Pestos are a great way to brighten up your meals any time of year... but I know come January when fresh herbs and veggies are limited, I won't be hurting for vibrant flavors since I can just bust out a pesto or two from my frozen stash.

This sorrel pesto is a simple take on the classic basil pesto, using pinenuts, Parmesan cheese and olive oil. It is pictured served with a grilled tri-tip steak. Simple, and so, so good.

Bring it on January. Bring it on.

Sorrel Pesto

• 2 cups fresh sorrel leaves, rough chopped
  
• 1/2 cup pinenuts, toasted
• 1/2 cup Parmesan cheese, grated
• Kosher salt, to taste
• 2 tablespoons olive oil, plus 1-2 tablespoons olive oil for drizzling into food processor
  

Add all ingredients to a food processor fit with the flat blade. Blend until smooth, adding the reserved olive oil by drizzling into the pesto as it is being blended. The oil will act as an emulsifier and the finished project should be creamy, but not necessarily smooth, and have a thick, paste-like texture.