Dom Polski and double dating with senior citizens.

I've done a shit job of keeping this little blog up to date. Shall we?

Jeff has these very old neighbors that introduced him to mushrooming. I tagged along for a hunt back in the fall. Peter is Polish and well over 80 years old. His knowledge of and interest in mushrooming is rooted in his country days as a child in Poland---From what I've gathered from his wife Arlene (who due to her vertigo sits in the car eating Ritz crackers and reading while we forage) he'll basically try to eat EVERY thing he finds. Luckily, Jeff has enrolled in a mushroom class and will be protecting Peter from himself on future trips.

In the meantime, Peter and Arlene have requested fairly regular get-togethers with Jeff and myself. They had us over for a meal of mushrooms, kraut and sausage a few months ago. I'd like to say this whole thing is an entirely wholesome activity--driving out to Burien with Jeff, having nice conversation with old people, eating home cooked meals....it's not. Peter's goal from the moment we step into his house is to get us hammered. "Shall we drink now or later?" "How about both, yes!?"

Peter brings out his various sports trophies, whether we've seen them before or not. We (Peter and Jeff) talk about tennis and we (mostly just me) kick back gin and tonics. I offered to cook for them a few months ago, sensing it was a lot to take on for Arlene these days. I was all set to go with a pork roast when I came upon Dom Polksi on Yelp.

The Polish Home Association opens as restaurant on Friday nights. We went and picked them up this Friday and drove them back to Capitol Hill. Our meal was good, not great. The highlight being the dark strong Polish beers the bartender served up. The pierogi was outstanding and someone in that kitchen pounded and breaded up an incredibly tasty wiener schnitzel--listed on the menu as "breaded pork chop." The cabbage rolls were a bit bland, the kraut was cold. Bummer. Peter wanted dessert off the menu but I (in only a slightly self-serving manner) convinced them to let me drive everybody over to Dick's for hot fudge sundaes. If you haven't tried the hot fudge at Dick's and are continuing to spend oodles of money down the street at Dilettante's, you are a failed Seattleite in my book. (I do like Dilletantes, though, take me there any time).

Peter made a couple goofy comments about my German car and I think was maybe a little perturbed that I was driving and not Jeff. We've explained plenty of times that we aren't a couple, and yet when collecting my contact information on a post-it from Arlene's handbag, Peter still asked "Do you have your own email or do you use Jeff's?"

When we got back to Burien, Peter and Arlene insisted we come in---more liquor was served of course, trophies were displayed proudly and tennis talk continued.  My absolute favorite moment of the evening came when Peter brought out a handwritten short story he'd written at Seattle U several decades ago. Titled "The Gypsy" it read like the beginning of one of those pornographic romance novels written exclusively for bored suburban housewives. "The young soldier's eyes followed the wild gypsy girl as she ran along the road beside her caravan... " Oofta.

I really really like all my friends, but there's something to be said of trying something COMPLETELY different on a Friday night.

I wrote something!!

But not here. Bad Maddie.

A blog I wrote for ReGen.

This is mostly what I've been up to lately.

Honestly have not been cooking a ton. This may be what happens when your roommate starts dating a chef and he seems entirely adequate (and thrilled) to just be in a regular kitchen after hours of hectic restaurant world. When I have cooked it's been clean out the refrigerator stuff...baked pasta with random ends of cheese... my standard winey veggie soup...all tasty but in no way noteworthy. Marianne and I have begun a tradition of weekend Prosecco mimosas and HGTV marathons. We love House Hunters. Just LOVE it. Don't tell anyone, but last weekend we went to Taco Time after our 2nd mimosa and it was glorious. High school adventures on Rainier with Marianne and that clunky gray Volvo came flooding back and I was oh-so-content.

Feel sort of bad to have neglected this little blog. I received some really flattering praise from our food consultant, Becky about my blog on the ReGen site. I like writing when it occurs to me...but the real benefit for me with blogging is that my head gets nicely organized...It's like regularly cleaning out your closet or something--only with your brains and thoughts and worries and inklings. I walk away with a bit of clarity and an awareness that I've saved some little moment for myself for later.. I guess that means I should continue trying to keep my shit together here.

Be back soon.

Anticipating Autumn

To be brief:

Scored some sweeeeet beeeets at the Madrona farmer's market last Friday. I love beets. Jeff also grew a bunch in his folks' garden. So we had an absolutely beautiful assortment.

 My friend Meredith showed me how to cook them this way last summer, and upon feeding them to my mother, I discovered that this was also my grandmother's favorite method.

The Beets
2 or 3 bunches of beets, peeled and sliced and halved (half moonish?) thrown in a saucepan and covered with orange juice, any vinegar but balsamic and a couple good squeezes of honey. If you don't have honey use sugar. A little shallot would be good in there too. Cook on medium low to medium heat until cooked to your liking...I prefer a little bite to them.

The same night I completely winged a beef stew (after seeing Julie/Julia I was craving it) and used up the various items in my fridge to make stuffing (which is technically called dressing when you don't stuff it into something).

Beef Stew
Brown up 3 slices of chopped bacon in a large pot. Ladle it out onto some paper towels, and brown up 2 lbs. chopped and well seasoned chuck roast in the bacon fat...YUM. Add a 1 large quartered onion, 4 chopped carrots and 4 sliced stalks of celery and about 3 cups quartered potatoes (again think ping pong ball size). You don't want the veggies too small because it's going to cook for a bit. Now the fun. Add a bottle of decent red wine and the bacon. And another bottle should now be opened for your enjoyment as the stew cooks. At the same time, add 2 cartons of beef stock, a handful of fresh parsley, thyme, any herbs you like really. And a little tomato paste is good too. Stick the pot on low and leave it alone for about an hour and half...or until the meat is tender. It will be super chewy if you try it too early so just be patient. Also if you like a thicker stew like I do, take a couple scoops out of the pot and puree it. You will literally have "meat shake" in your blender, but it's really for the best, I promise. This makes a LOT of stew, so have friends over or eat it for lunch all week!

Stuffing
Cubed stale bread, celery, onion, carrot, chestnuts (from Culinary Collective), sage, parsley, thyme, garlic, 2 cups veggie stock beaten in with 2 eggs (if you don't beat the eggs, you will have strata, bleck).  Toss it all together in a casserole and bake at 375 for about 45 minutes. It it's browning up too quickly, foil tent it.  Happy Thanksgiving... Happy Leftovers.

Fine Jazz and Fucked up Falafel

Tuesday night brought equally fantastic activity. Julia had been organizing an evening of music at Jazz Alley for weeks with Bettye LaVette. When I tripped over my dress, tumbled down the stairs, and literally fell into Jazz Alley (years of dance, only occasional grace),  I had to make a quick recovery...the place is so swank. I dusted myself off, winked at a waiter and rounded the corner to find Julia and Chris at a nice table tucked in the way back. Chris was already into a Manhattan (I think--it was dark) and I ordered a Hendricks Gin & tonic, my latest gin inclination (Thank you Broadmoor, Uncle Chester and Doug). It was a fairly perfect drink, Chris raised an approving eyebrow and even Julia I think was tempted.


The band warmed up as Bettye LaVatte ascended the stage in a striking black pant suit. As a not-so-tall girl addicted to bright color and t-lenth dresses, I will forever envy tall women who pull off the black pant suit with elegance.  Judy Garland did it and she wasn't so tall. But uh, it was Judy and she was wearing no pants...so anything goes. **That link is my favorite scene in movie history, by the way. I'm singing along right now.

But Bettye. Woo boy, that woman is croaky and sexy and smokey and bluuuuee. Some of the songs she sang Tuesday night were particular downers. At the end of one number, the band fell away and Bettye moaned and pleaded the last lyric of the song for a good 2 minutes before taking her bow. Julia and Chris laughed at me when I whispered, "I forgot how blue-zy the blues are!" But I am fairly certain I was not the only audience member with a tear in her eye and goosebumps up her arms. Bettye's musicality was notable. Her arms sailed with the music, bird-like as she danced. Her facial expressions were sometimes unsettling as she delivered cheerless lyrics. There was plenty of joy in the show, but I walked away with the inspiring raw human emotion of her songs. I don't need church, I need jazz.

I also need food, though. And the food at Jazz Alley is not something I would recommend. Tasty, albeit, but not exceptional and certainly not affordable. The caesar on the menu cost me 12 bucks and had I wanted chicken or salmon, we're talking $18.50. Julia ordered a mediocre calamari, and the bit of bread I smeared around Chris's creamy, wine-y pesto rotini tasted pretty alright. Oh and we also ordered a decent bottle of syrah. Columbia Valley 2006. The cheapest on the menu but entirely adequate.

The performance left me a little shaken up. I must have been in a sort of emotional (and slightly inebriated) state that left me especially susceptible to the intensity of Bettye's talent. Wanting to lighten things up a bit, I suggested we go to see my cousin Rob's band Fiasco.  The Paragon, Tuesday nights, 10 o'clock. It's loud, fun and friendly. The kitchen there is actually quite good--and they serve fries in a cone. Full from our bank-breaking dinner earlier though, we just ordered a couple more gin and tonics. We shouldered danced in our booth, yelled at each other over the music, people-watched a bit and  called it a night. I think I was home by 11:30...pretty impressive.

Jeff hosted a game night Wednesday night. I showed up early, we shared a kombucha from the farmer's market (less vinegar-y than the store brands), and I snuck out before the hard-core gaming began. I love charades--years of playing with a family of actors has (I like to think) provided me with some expertise but board games...card games..all that...No good. It just bores me...Ooh, I do like Taboo though...anyway. MOSTLY, I don't like playing games. I headed south to Mt. Baker and watched the top 15 perfomances on So You Think You Can Dance (another addiction of mine) with my mom and was ready to call it a night when Rach and Ilana invited me over for a "Mediterranean Feast." "Coming right over, friends."

The meal was great--for the most part. They made yogurt dip (not tzatziki but close), baked fresh pita (thanks, La) and Rach had made her new fav, Foule (Egyptian fava bean chili, believe it or not, that is SOO delicious and way too good for you). When Julia and I arrived, Ilana was in the process giving the falafel some last touches and heating up the oil for fried goodness. Oh man, was this a disaster. One of the best I have encountered in awhile.

An audio recap:
"It needs salt. It needs lemon. It needs chutney. Fine! Let's just fry it. Oh shit, it fell apart and it's all burnt. Make the balls bigger. Add baking powder. Heat up the oil. Cool down the oil. Let's eat it raw. Salmonella packed hummos! Mmm...gross...Shit. Damn. Rats....Motherfucker."

I suggested we bake it. This sort of worked but the result was not nearly as indulgent and had a horrible resemblance to cat vomit. We ate it all in the end, fried bits and falafel throw up cookies all taste the same when smushed into pita with a plethora of other things.

More later.

Mushroom Toast

I thought about just doing the one post from this week and not telling you about all the other rad stuff that happened, but it's really just been one of those weeks. You should come next time, though...

Julia is currently on a housesitting stint that should last a while. You know how I feel about the north end, but I can obviously make the exception for Miss Eckels. Also, housesitting is the very best gig ever. I could probably write a whole book about all the fantastic shenagagins that have occurred while housesitting or staying with someone who is housesitting. Man.

Anyhoo, I joined Julia in Wedgwood and we sat in the yard for a bit. We perused Yelp (I am an addict) and decided on an Italian joint that ended up being closed. Continuing down Roosevelt, Julia spotted Divine. Open until ten on Sundays, we lucked out. The heavily accented waiter recommended a bunch of dips and fresh pita (12 bucks). He didn't have to. Dipping is one of my favorite ways to eat. It was essentially the same sort of spread they do at Lola only for a lot less money. Our second choice was perhaps one of the tastiest things I'd had in a while. Seared scallops atop sweet potato croquettes mounted with a coconut harissa and peanut sauce. And the whole plate scattered with arugula--$13. Lordy. Our third choice was forgettable (as in I forget it) next to these freaking scallops. Unfortunately, this dish was to be trumped by an entirely random bite of toast I had the following night.

Rach, Ilana and I have been trying to get ourselves to Poppy Hour for weeks now. Finally committing to going before the Square Dance, we only at the last minute discovered it was closed Mondays and that Rachel had to bail. Bummed, La and I headed to Ocho. I'd been there once before and really liked it but this particular visit had to be one of the most perfect dinners--ever. Ilana ordered the sangria and I went for one the gin concoctions (shocking).  Foodwise, we were differing in preference a bit and as we are both "pleasers," I was honestly a bit concerned that we'd over order in an effort to please. Ilana wanted the sherried mushroom toast and I wanted the Catalan tomato toast. We agreed on the Croquetas Borrachas (goat cheese croquettes),  fried potatoes (a bit over paprika-ed for me but w/ a tasty artichoke aoli), and finally, broccoli and escarole with lemon, garlic, chili and pine nuts. Everything was perfectly cooked and came out gradually while we sipped out drinks. Tapas done right.  Also--gin and broccoli, again an ironic reference to a title that I thought would never come up except as "Why did you name your blog that?"

I don't actually like mushrooms. I recently discovered that I LOVE to hunt them. Look at how sneaky and elusive this morel was!

But honestly, just not a huge fan of that earthy flavor...what do you call that? Oh uh huh, dirt. So Ilana ordered her toast and I ordered mine. Her's came way before anything else in the meal and I literally saw something like ectasy in her eyes when she tasted it (similar to Julia's face when she ate those scallops). I think they were crimini mushrooms, with chopped arugula (clearly a trendy and tasty garnish). I tried a little cautious bite, tasted sweet sherry, shallots, garlic, copious amounts of butter and yes, earthy meaty mushrooms...then ordered two more.
*To be fair, we ordered two more of the tomato toasts too...but this wasn't so surprising. Cheese, garlic, sea salt and crushed tomato. Sounds awful, right?

Perhaps the best thing about this meal was the fact that I didn't feel like I was going to die when I left the restaurant and proceeded to dance the rest of the evening away at the Tractor. It's so easy to overeat when you go out,  I was sort of dreading the sideaches to come while twirling around the dance floor.  But they never came, perfect satisfaction. I'll be back in two weeks.

Cluck the dismembered chicken

I have inherited the party gene. I like to think it's a slightly more refined party gene than your average "Let's get schnockered" variety but it's there nonetheless. I sincerely hope I end up with someone who doesn't really mind my never ending desire to invite everyone I know to my house for food and drink.

One of the first parties I ever hosted was for my class in CEP. We had a grand time--I grilled avocados for guacamole and fixed a peanut butter sandwich for my cousin Drew...Oh, the early days.

Several people slept on my couches and floor that night, most of us having to be at the same class at 8:30 the next morning. When I wandered out of my room in the morning I found this note from my friend Jesse on my kitchen table...

The switch-y arrow is my favorite part. The crumbled piece of paper has been on my fridge for over three years now. It's my kitchen mantra and I am currently in the process of having it framed.

After that night, my apartment was the go-to get together household for my class. My apartment senior year was more out of the way and we were all so wrapped up in graduating that we didn't play the way we did as juniors. But my apartment now is ideal. Centrally located with an open floor plan.

I had folks over for a roast chicken on Saturday. My friend Jeff picked blackberries earlier in the day and we all wanted to reap the desserty benefits of his scratched and blue-stained hands. Almost immediately we had a problem--I had accidentally purchased "Best of Fryer," which as some of you may know, looks like a whole chicken when you buy it but once the packaging is off just topples apart into the breasts, legs and wings. Dammmmmn. It was weird--while seeing a whole chicken doesn't weird me out and I deal with the boneless skinless all the time, there was something about having such big pieces of chicken scattered on my backing sheet. I felt bad and wasn't as distanced from the idea of dead animal as I usually am in the kitchen. We reassembled the poor little guy (whom we will now affectionately refer to as Cluck), basically just propping his dismembered parts up in way that I could still salt him really well and slide butter, rosemary, garlic, onion, oranges and lemon under the skin of (his?) breasts and legs and "stuff" Cluck's "cavity" with more of the same. A final seasoning and oil rub down and into the oven he went.

We tossed oil, s&p, potatoes, carrots, fennel and onions with rosemary, lemon zest and more garlic. We stuck them in the oven about 20 minutes after the chicken and opened a bottle of Septima Malbec. As I've mentioned, I spent a few months in Argentina last year and have since developed a perhaps unfair preference for Malbec as my choice red wine.

Rachel arrived a little late and assembled a little salad. I made the vinegarette (Dijon, Mom's raspberry jam, some of Jeff's blackberries, white wine vinegar, s&p, a bit of sugar and olive oil) and Rachel tossed it with spinach, goat cheese, more blackberries, and walnuts (I think).

I love the smell of a chicken roasting in the oven and despite the sad appearance of Cluck that night, whole or split, it's all the same. With the oven at about 400, the whole meal was ready in about an hour and a half--the chicken didn't dry out (my fear from it being in pieces) and the veggies were super. Ooh, about a hour hour before I took them out, I tossed in more lemon juice and about a quarter of a cup of white wine.

We had 6 people for dinner and I was convinced I'd have soup makings with my two pans of roasted delicious morsels but um....yeah, the pans were licked clean. I saw it. Jeff, Simon and I were so tired from all our sitting around that we took a nap while Rach and Ilana baked an AMAZING nectarine and blackberry cake. I'm not a dessert person, especially of the cooked fruit sort but this wasn't too sweet and served warm pretty much knocked my socks off. Also there is something great (gee, I don't know what) about wandering into your kitchen at one o'clock in the morning to find hot baked goods ready for you on the table. GOOD night!

Grilled Guac (For you, Leonie)

6(ish) avocados, halved, pitted (just in case you are truly a recipe follower I have included this), salted, oiled and grilled (with skins)
1 chopped onion (I prefer red)
2 chopped tomatoes (3 or 4 if they're small)
1 cup chopped cilantro
2 or 3 minced garlic cloves
1/2 can of Hernandez salsa verde
2 tablespoons olive oil (optional)
2 limes juiced (more if it needs it, I like lime-y dip)
A good dash of cumin, chili powder, s&p, Tapatio if you have it and a bit of jalepeno if you want a kick
1/2 cup plain yogurt or sour cream (extremely optional)

**Peel avocados, dice roughly for best "charred" taste, and toss it with everything else. Season to taste with all that stuff I listed at the end there.

Cluck and Veg

1 chicken, you pick how big
Lots of veggies that you like chopped reasonably small (think ping pong size, maybe smaller for quicker cooking)
Herbs you have handy
Garlic garlic garlic
2 lemons and 1 orange
1 onion, in slices
1/4 white wine
Oil, butter, s&p

Remove nasty bits of chicken. Don't forget whatever they left inside the cavity! Salt chicken in advance. Classic recipes call for a whole day but I think a 1/2 hour is still okay. Take it out of the fridge and wash your hands. Proceed to stuff. Skin gets pads of butter, sliced lemon, orange and onion, and sprigs of herbs and minced garlic. Cavity gets quartered lemon orange and onion (I also put the tough bits from the fennel bulb in there). The idea is to infuse the chicken with yumminess. After an oil, s&p rub down, stick it in the oven on the top shelf at 450, after 25 minutes or so (the skin should have nice color) cover with foil tent, reduce heat to 400 and stick in the veggies...

Toss veggies with herbs, lemon zest, juice, garlic, s&p, and olive oil. Turn a couple times in the oven so stuff gets evenly cooked/browned. When they're half way done, add wine and more lemon juice. Cook 'em till they've got some color.

The Cake but with some blackberries thrown in...

Monday Night

I am very proud to say that my current job has never made me dread Monday. Could be the regular three day weekend, could be the cute babies, could be all the entirely reasonable and hilarious people I work with...it's just a good gig. I nonetheless on occasion get little cases of the "Mondays." When Sasha started taking me to Monday night square dances this winter I was stoked to have something to look forward to post-weekend. Amazing band, diverse little crowd (no not racially, it's in Ballard) and heavy pours on the whiskey. There is no need to be a master of the square dance, the caller leads you through every dance, every song and it's way way easy. Several of my non-dancy friends have hesitantly joined me and been hooked about 20 minutes in. You meet a ton of people --a square takes 4 couples and folks constantly run around looking for partners. It's one of the few places where I've actually (God help me) thought "Wow, this is a good place to meet people." Wanna go? Wallflowers beware, you are about to enjoy yourself.

I was supposed to go square dancing last night but there was a bit of a snafu. I got a little eager about some salmon I saw at Bert's during my morning walk with the babies and invited everyone I know over to the house for a salmon feed. I completely forgot I had agreed to go to Ballard with Sasha. Soorrry Sash! And sorry Marianne for inviting you to your own house for a party via mass text message and not thinking to call and check beforehand. I'm still not quite used to you as "roommate."

I got home from work yesterday, unloaded a crap load of white king salmon, jumped into the shower with the largest spider I have ever seen, jumped out of the shower, killed said spider with an old copy of Darwin Awards that sits above my toilet, and emerged spiffy clean from the bathroom ten minutes later to find Marianne and Eric assembling concoctions for the household happy hour. My life is so very hard.

We made our way through a few drinks on the deck and Ilana showed up with the produce- tomatoes, basil, onions, garlic and lemons. We could have just had that all for dinner really, but you have to believe me when I tell you this salmon I bought was BEAUTIFUL. I planned to cook it like this. And when we finally got to cooking, I added about a cup of white white to the parsley butter and probably went WAY over the amount of the lemon and garlic the recipe calls for (but you should learn this about me now if you didn't know). Also-baked the fish at about 450 for a bit (sorry, I was tipsy I don't remember how long exactly) before I turned on the broiler. To be fair, Sober Maddie doesn't care about cook time either. I just keep checking until it looks tasty to me.

With the salmon, I made a thing of spaghetti in my big orange pot. I tossed the pasta with olive oil, balsalmic, chopped tomatoes, Ilana some sauteed onions and garlic (plus raw garlic for some zing), basil, parsley, more white wine and of course the juice of approximately 6 lemons (can't be sure, some were big some were small...and I was full on looped at this point). This may sound like a lot of lemon, especially with the vinegar too, but I don't think you understand how much pasta I made. I completely underestimated the amount of stuff (see above listed ingredients) we were going to need to dress the noodles. We were doctoring it up until the last minute trying to actually get some strong flavors out of the pot. It turned out well though, especially as a sort of side dish.

My housemate Gus and his girlfriend also brought down a broccoli salad. As I write this something occurs to me. I never ever cook broccoli except in a pan with oil, garlic and lemon. That's all. It's a perfect, tart, green, gas-producing meal--and one of my favorites, hence it's place in the title of this blog. But it's sort of odd that the first meal I share here had broccoli in a completely foreign form to me...raw and tossed with nuts, bacon and a sweet vinegarette. I like my broccoli with a bite to it but I am still unsure about raw broccoli--this was very tasty though!! As long as no one forces me to dip raw broccoli in Hidden Valley anytime soon, I'm a happy camper. **So weird, Gus just came down to pick of the salad bowl, "Oh hey Gus, I was just err, blogging about your salad?" Oy, what a dork. We'll see what comes of this whole thing, I do feel sort of awkward "blogging."

Salmon, pasta, broccoli. And...BOOZE. As mentioned before, we started the evening early. Vodka and blood orange soda garnished with craftily carved little pieces of cantaloupe (Thank you, Eric). Marianne and Finesser of Cantaloupe continued on the vodka kick but when Ilana arrived she and I went straight for the gin. Oh gin and your ability to bring me that little tickle on the back of my neck and turn in me into a smart ass. Jeff and his couchsurfer Sebastian brought wine and ice cream (such good boys), Casey and Enrico brought down beer and the party started. After dinner we were all too full for ice cream but Eric (who didn't have to work today) went upstairs to borrow a shaker for shots. Fresh raspberries, more vodka and all the left over lemons?? Raspberry lemon drops at 11 o'clock on a Monday? Welcome hangover.

The boys from upstairs went up stairs after dinner and Marianne and Eric drifted off to bed. For some reason I thought it would be a good idea to watch I Love You, Man. Jeff, La and Sebestian obliged but I could tell we were all fading. Yeah, um, passed out five minutes in, I think. And awoke on my couch with a blanket and a buzzing blank screen at about 1 AM. What a hostess.

I emailed Jeff today to apologize for not at least staying awake to say goodnight to my guests and this was his response: "Haha, I grabbed you and shook you a bit and said bye, wasn't sure if you were conscious to hear me or not. Ilana was still awake enough, or awake at that moment to mutter a goodbye...It was a fun night though, and those shots were delicious." Oy va voy.

Recipe for success? Mostly. As soon as I had one of those banana chocolate Vivannos at Starbucks today I was golden.

I heart you, Monday. Next week--square dance. Lo prometo, Sasha.