Stop the World I Want to Get Off, is the name of a musical I have never seen. It is also how I feel. I’m having hard time being a person this week. Things keep exploding. And flooding. And being shameful. And being racist. And being anti-gay. And being irresponsible. And being ridiculous. And all anyone does is complain about it on Facebook.

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My best friend had a baby last week. Best friend doesn’t really do it justice. We are kin, and the most powerful kind of kin because we adopted each other—there were no obligations. She and her husband made the most beautiful baby that I have ever seen. Yes, I am biased but he really is perfect and I can already sense his extreme intelligence and creativity. He is currently experiencing his 7th day of life. Everything is new to him. Life is stretched out before him—The Future.

There are weeks (like this one) when the future seems completely terrifying to me. My initial response is always flight. I want to move to a forest (I can’t really explain this one). I want to move to another country (What is the name of that country that doesn’t have any problems?). I want to watch American Idol (the final three better be Kree, Amber, and Candice— otherwise I’m coming for you America). Then, I get angry and scream about fucking politicians or those idiots to Bryan who is overwhelmed by my intensity, but sympathetic. read more+++

What is the future of publishing?

LOL, how would I know?!

But maybe one thing might be more independently published books, which I am down with if they are all as beautiful as Lark, Cooking Against the Grain by John Sundstrom, chef/owner of Seattle’s Lark restaurant. The cookbook was funded through Kickstarter and produced entirely in Seattle, taking the whole local movement up a notch. The book is beautiful to the extreme, in fact, it is more beautiful than most of what is coming out of the major publishing houses in our country. So there’s that. I think the secret to that beauty is, in part, a singular, very personal vision. Lark tells the story of a way of cooking and interacting with the earth that draws you in and makes you want to be a part of it. It is comprehensive, not only including recipes, but also ways of dealing with ingredients and sourcing food.

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A while back, my friend Amelia wrote about this chopped salad which comes from the Mozza Cookbook by Nancy Silverton (and Matt Molina and Carolynn Carreno!). I had been eying the same recipe. As is often the case in these circumstances, I lost interest after reading Amelia’s post. Not because she made the salad seem bad, because, well, blogging is just weird—this sort of thing happens. But time passed and spring hit the horizon. All I want are fresh fruits and vegetables but I do not have them yet and I thought of this salad again. And I made it. And it is great and you should make it too. I agree with Amelia that you should make the chickpeas (ceci) as described, they are worth the effort. But I also think the whole salad is worth the effort. Chopped salads are among my favorites. It is a delicious meal, and we were able to get four hearty servings out of it. read more+++

Sarah Linden is the name of the main character in AMC’s drama The Killing. Her colleagues call her Linden, because they are police officers and that’s how they roll. But for the first few episodes I misunderstood what they were saying and thought her first name was Linda. When he realized this, Bryan had a good laugh at my expense. I still call her Linda.

Linda (played by the totally amazingly awesome Mireille Enos) is a tough nut to crack. Despite being kind of a shitty (though loving!) mom, a terrible partner (her poor fiancé!), and a loose cannon of a cop (what rules?!) she somehow manages to elicit an unusual amount of empathy from me. I love her. Love. I love her smarts. I love her sense of justice. I love her silence and her rage. I love her Fair Isle sweaters and somber parkas. I love her constant gum chewing. I love her ponytail. read more+++

A few weeks ago Luisa wrote about some beautiful bitter orange marmalade she made. I usually do whatever Luisa tells me, and I’ve been wanting to make marmalade for years, so I started checking around to see if I could find me some Seville (sour) oranges in Chicago. I found folklore-like reports online of sightings at this ethnic market or that grocery store…but nothing panned out. I started to give up and move onto other projects. But while we were in Los Angeles, some friends who took us to Lindy & Grundy, a super rad butcher shop in West Hollywood. I picked up a jar of orange marmalade that turned out to be fantastic and renewed my determination to find the oranges. I found a place online where I could order a case of Seville oranges, and despite the high cost, decided that the elusive Seville oranges would be mine.

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At the risk of sounding like an old grump, remember when you only ever encountered a handful of pasta shapes on a restaurant menu—ravioli, spaghetti, penne? Just when we’d all mastered those we were presented with agnolotti, creste, and gigli. I like to joke that when I don’t know a word on a menu, it is usually a pasta shape(I’m hilarious!). Gnudi isn’t a pasta, but it is a name that makes me think of nudie and giggle.

This concludes my Italian lesson for the day. read more+++

English muffins are one of the first foods I can remember eating. My mom has always liked eating breakfast at diners, and as a child I would accompany her to various diners on the southwest side of Chicago. This was in the days when you could smoke in a diner, which lent a certain ambiance that doesn’t exist any more. They were pretty magical places full of regulars, and sassy waitresses. Our usual order was two English muffins and an order of bacon (crisp, please!), which we would split. She had coffee, black, and I had orange juice. It was fun.

When I was a teenager I made a lot of English muffin-pizza-things. It was a good after school snack at a time when I was always hungry.

In Paris I like to get the muffins from the American guy at the farmers market on boulevard Raspail. They are delicious, and a good venue for Bordier butter or preserves.

You see, English muffins and I go way back. I keep hoping there will be an English muffin renaissance in Chicago, but it is all bagels right now. Which left me no other choice but to make them myself. read more+++

We’ve been traveling for the past couple of weeks. We were mostly in Los Angeles visiting Bryan’s family and some friends (hi guys!). Bryan’s sister and her husband recently had the most adorable baby ever, and the highlight of our trip was getting to meet our sweet niece. She was in her fifth week of life when we were with her. Five weeks! It is hard to wrap your mind around. In addition to plenty of baby holding, we also took a small side trip to Las Vegas.

Last year when we attended the Saveur Blog awards party, Bryan entered a raffle. Luck was on our side that night because he won the grand prize: a stay at the Bellagio in Las Vegas. I think we’d need to be 10 years younger(or 30 years older?), heterosexual, and very drunk to really enjoy Las Vegas, but we did our best. Mostly we enjoyed our truly amazing suite (3 bathrooms!) and marveling at the insanity that is “The Strip”. We ate at a bunch of restaurants, but to be honest I didn’t love any of them. Everything was overpriced and under-loved. It was hard to find magic. We left the strip for a brief excursion to Amber Unicorn Books, which has the most glorious selection of used cookbooks I have ever seen—hundreds and hundreds…maybe even thousands? It is in a pretty nondescript strip mall, a fifteen minute drive from where we were staying. As we drove through the streets of Vegas that most tourists never encounter, I wondered what other secrets were lurking throughout the city. I know that if people come to Chicago and never leave the loop or Michigan Avenue, they have no idea of Chicago. I wondered if it is frustrating to live in a city mostly known for a couple of miles of casinos and shopping malls.

In any case, Las Vegas was a fun diversion, and we drove back to Los Angeles with a trunk full of cookbooks. read more+++

You hate to say things like this too soon, but it has been a remarkably easy winter in Chicago. I have done a minimal amount of complaining about the weather, which has been pretty mild. In fact, I have been thoroughly enjoying this winter and the food that goes along with it, I’m not even tired of citrus fruits yet. For the first time in a while, I am okay with winter sticking around a bit longer. I still have a bunch of cold-weather recipes I want to tackle, and I have been enjoying the excuse to embrace my homebodiness.

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I had to wait until (almost) February to post this recipe for Hot Yogurt and Barley soup. I didn’t want it to be mistaken for some sort of food cleanse or resolution—it contains barley, after all. Every January I am surprised by the intensity with which magazines are pushing “healthy eating”. I guess the idea is that if we drink juice for the month of January we can eat what we want the rest of the year? That seems like a stupid plan. Some food magazines are even profiling celebrities who only drink juice (and plankton) and who seem to generally dislike food (and joy?). Why??! What does the new year do to all of us?!

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