Allow me to introduce a good, no, a very good friend of mine. Her name is Lana.
Lana Elmore Cochrun is the full name. And she is an artist.
I have known her for more decades than either of us would want to admit. She spent the bulk of her life as an art teacher in Indiana, trying to inspire the youth of her area to indulge in their gifts and their talents.
Now, she lives in California, on the Central Coast, where she has had the opportunity to indulge herself, her talent, her gifts. She has had great success and I believe she has a great future.
You can see her most recent show at the Windward Gallery here. If you are in her area (Cambria) I would suggest you buy her work now. It can only get better and more dear.
Congratulations, dear friend.
My attempt at making Lemon Souffle Pancakes (from James McNair's Favorites) was a fair success this morning. Pretty simple recipe, though you wouldn't have known it by the amount of dishes I had to clean up afterwards. I topped them with the rest of the blueberry sauce from yesterday's Dutch babies and SWMBO fried up some hickory smoked bacon to accompany. Cooking is fun but eating is better.
And now a story of life that a good friend has just e-mailed to me. Men may appreciate it more than women but I think you'll all enjoy it.
A group of 15-year old guys discussed where they should meet for dinner. It was agreed they should meet at the Dairy Queen next to the Ocean View Restaurant because they only had $6.00 between them, and Jannie Johnson, that cute girl in Social Studies, lives on that street, and they might see her, and they can ride their bikes there.
Ten years later, the group of 25-year-old guys discussed where they should meet for dinner. It was agreed they should meet at the Ocean View Restaurant because the beer was cheap, they had free snacks, the band was good, there was no cover, and there were lots of cute girls.
Ten years later, at 35 years of age, the group once again discussed where they should meet for dinner. It was agreed they should meet at the Ocean View Restaurant because the booze was good, it was right near the gym, and if they went late enough, there wouldn't be too many whiny little kids.
Ten years later, at 45 years of age, the group once again discussed where they should meet for dinner. It was agreed they should meet at the Ocean View Restaurant because the martinis were big, and the waitresses wore tight tops and tighter pants.
Ten years later, at 55 years of age, the group once again discussed where they should meet for dinner. It was agreed they should meet at the Ocean View Restaurant because the prices were reasonable, the wine list was good, and fish is good for your cholesterol.
Ten years later, at 65 years of age, the group once again discussed where they should meet for dinner. It was agreed they should meet at the Ocean View Restaurant because the lighting was good, and they have an early bird special.
Ten years later, at 75 years of age, the group once again discussed where they should meet for dinner. It was agreed they should meet at the Ocean View Restaurant because the food was not too spicy, and the restaurant was handicapped accessible.
Ten years later, at 85 years of age, the group once again discussed where they should meet for dinner. It was agreed they should meet at the Ocean View Restaurant because they had never been there before.
(Thanks, Lori!)
I'd like to have photos to show you but I have to master my camera and its intricacies first.
I go through one of these "spasms" from time to time. I love reading about food, watching t.v. food shows, imagining all the recipes I could concoct or at least master.
Well, as SWMBO pointed out tonight at the dinner table, cooking is mastered (or at least made competent) by doing it every day, for days and weeks and months at a time. I have in the past taken on some recipe that was way beyond my talents, gotten frustrated by the results and said some version of "I'll never cook again!"
But then, at some point in the future, having watched Bobby Flay or Mario Batali or the sexy Cat Cora easily polish off a wonderful gourmet dish . . or having read some fabulous recipe in a magazine or a cookbook . . . the juices get stirring again.
I have recently taken a look at one book in our (SWMBO says) "massive" cookbook collection. It is "James McNair's Favorites" and I have fallen in love with the kitchen again. This time I've decided to take it from the beginning, trying some of his simple recipes from the very front of the book, then working my way forward. Thus I came to his second recipe - "Oven-Puffed Pancakes", which he says also are known as "Dutch babies". They're very simple and my first attempt was successful. I used the "standard" lemon juice and powdered sugar on them, then tried some "out of the bottle" pancake syrup. They were o.k. Today, I made them again, for SWMBO and I. This time, I filled the cavity with a heated and sweetened blueberry syrup which was in the refrigerator and topped them with a bit of powdered sugar. We both loved them.
Well, what can encourage a fledgling in the kitchen except success, right? So this afternoon I tried one of Mark Bittmann's recipes for red pepper puree. Again, success.
And that led, of course, to something more complicated. Chicken saltimbocca, which I've made before, and fettucini alfredo, which I've also made before.
First was a salad and I found, to my despair, that the refrigerator held only a quarter of a dessicated head of iceberg lettuce for the greens. Oh, there was some bok choy but I think that's for cooking and some romaine hearts, but I usually just tear one of those leaves off, dip it in some ranch dressing and munch it along with Friday night pizza. So I experimented, chopping up what remained of the iceberg, adding some chopped radishes, green onions and orange peppers. As I told SWMBO at the table, I guessed it what is called these days "a chopped salad." It wasn't bad.
Then on to the entree. I had some trouble with the chicken. Ended up with one fairly large piece, one slightly smaller piece and a couple of little pieces. The prosciutto may have come out of the refrigerator too soon as it tended to shred, rather than peel off nicely in a slice. Then the basil leaves were smaller than I had expected so instead of two per piece of chicken, there were four or so and fastening them and the prosciutto with toothpicks became somewhat of a problem. But I got it done, after a fashion. (Kind of looked like a Civil War soldier sutured up on the battlefield by some guy whose previous experience was as a blacksmith.)
Then there was the pasta. Damn! One of my front burners just doesn't put out enough heat so I struggled getting the fettucini to a fair resemblance of al dente. Then I (as I usually do) undercalculated the amount of alfredo sauce. So, the pasta was a little tough and a little dry.
But. . . wonder of it all . . . the saltimbocca was wonderful.
So I am a moderate success. And, as SWMBO was good to point out (as she cowered in the other room), I neither screamed in agony during the process nor yelled the F word once.
Tomorrow morning . . . McNair's lemon souffle pancakes.
TRADER JOE'S IS COMING!!!
After years of pleading the Corporate Office has confirmed that TJ's will open a store in Prescott this year.
Here is the story as reported in today's Daily Courier.
I have to thank my good friend, travelin' man Tom "Tombo" Check for bringing this video to my attention. All I can say is what I said to him on hearing it: "wow"!
When I looked out my back window this morning, I saw a pair, a couple, a brace, of pigeons sitting on the fence. Innocently looking around, taking in a coolish but sunny morning, thinking about plans for the day. Or perhaps, as I am wont to surmise, thinking about nothing because their brains are too small. But they certainly are plump.
Perhaps, if one were inclined to shoot and eat them, perfect for a pigeon pie.
Which introduces British chef Simon Goodman.
Well, I'm sorry. Not to my taste. But it's up to you. At least you now know how to do it.
Buddy Guy (on the left) is 74. B.B. King (on the right) is 85. They both still play and sing some remarkable blues. Enjoy.
