*sigh*

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woof: birthday not-really-cake for the fabulous GiGi and her dachshund* obsession

Left-over experimental brownies (v2.8.1) taking up space in freezer: $0.
Chocolate, cream cheese and Bonne Maman cherry preserves lying around: $0.
Crabby mood in need of light relief: $0.
Squeals of delight when she finally opened the cake box at 3am: priceless.
(Overworked meme: because you’re worth it.)

*Don’t ask me to call it a wiener dog - that just makes me want to head to Gray’s Papaya.

If you really love me …

… you’ll get me an emu egg from Whole Foods. So much more fun than Hallmark.

Everyone should have friends who are constantly on the hunt for the perfect pickle. They take aim at the pick of the Union Square farmers’ market, armed with ridiculous quantities of vinegar, a crate of mason jars, and an ever-evolving family recipe. I was allowed to assist last weekend, and thus become an initiate into the Way of the Pickle. I could tell you the secret, but then I wouldn’t get invited over for the tasting ceremony in three months’ time and, well, there will be bloody marys. Priorities.

baby carrots, persian cucumbers and a peck of peppers

*and yes, if you get this, then you are showing your age.

salt air, sunshine, and blue skies in Hyères: local mustard

The French place great importance on the concept of terroir: how the geography of an area affects the personality of the wines and foods it produces. This is more than just a stricture in the interests of AOC authenticity, and here in the US, the locavore gospel, albeit expounded from a differently oriented soapbox, is building an awareness of the damage we have done by allowing ourselves to ignore the origins of the food we eat. If we accept that the flavor of what we put in our mouths is directly affected by where it comes from then we must maintain our respect for the land, for the crops and livestock raised on it, for the producers and their generations of experience, and for ourselves as consumers. If we accept it, we are encouraged to remember, for example, that many of the things we eat have seasons, and that many others don’t travel well.

As a flipside to all this, I often think about how the setting of our consumption also directly affects the flavor of our foods. Mulled wine by a bonfire, fish and chips wrapped in newspaper while walking down the street, cucumber and cream cheese baps sitting on the hill in Scotland (yes, even in the rain), coconut water in the shade on a hot day - there are locations that add another dimension to the meals we eat in them. It’s what makes this a truly great toasted ham and cheese sandwich: not just the fresh bread, the plain slices of ham and the French gruyere, not just the terroir, but the locale. It’s why picnics are special. It’s why we put candles and silver on the table for a special occasion. It’s the topographical equivalent of umami, and it’s why even the simplest meal can be an event.

When you are lucky enough to have a friend who went deep water fishing way out in the Atlantic yesterday and calls you up today and offers you fresh fish tacos for supper when the fridge is empty (or even when it’s not), what do you do?

ridiculously fresh bluefish tacos with guacamole, tomato, red onion, sour cream and cilantro

One thing you categorically don’t do is argue over the composition of an authentic fish taco. For those in doubt, cf pizza.

It’s fresh. It’s delicious. We happily followed the only authentic course of action: shut up and eat.

Max, who is 5 and loves lobster, grew this for me in a bowl of water. What do you think - Thermidor or Newburg?

Why are these people standing in line for 40 minutes at 4 o’clock on a beautiful sunday afternoon?

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