In the kitchen with my sous chef, Bentley Danger, age 2

For two weeks I’ve been staring at these words: what defines you as a food blogger and why should you be the next food blog star? I’ve tried staring at the words at 6 am whilst catching the sunrise and slamming back a glass of freshly-juiced Chioggia beets. I’ve tried making sense of the words at midnight, port-goggles in full effect. I’ve allowed the words to ruminate in my head during long jogs by the lake. Today, finally, I decided to use the Dictaphone feature on the iPhone and answer the question in different ways out loud while driving from Pike Place Market (for leeks, bresaola & duck eggs) to my favorite butcher shop (for a rabbit) to a baking supply (for molecular gastronomy chemicals) to an art supply (for an X-acto knife and acetate- yes, for use in the kitchen).

Here are a few of the things worth painfully transcribing from my dictations (I feel like a Mad Men secretary right now- someone get me bourbon and a bullet bra- stat!).

Mad Men Birthday, Draper-Style (image links to post)

I’ve been asking myself who I am for 32 years. The answer to that question remains ephemeral. Right now, I’m a mother, wife, eater, cook, former expat and desperate-misser of La Bella Italia, creative writing graduate who hates to be defined by the word “creative,” molecular gastronomist-in-training, early-adopter of cooking en sous vide, former Stiletto Ninja who swapped nun chucks for an apron to become the Foodie Fashionista.

Stiletto Ninja, day before her wedding in Rapallo, Italy transitions to Foodie Fashionista

I make bacon at home, cure meat, make salt from scratch, extrude bucatini, and use syringes and pipettes in my kitchen. In the words of the (in)famous folks over at ShutUp Foodies, I am a “kitschy madwoman.”

Freshly-Extruded Pasta

A year ago I loved my life, my child, my cuisine, and my husband, but I knew there was something missing.  I started a food blog. Now, I am a food blogger, part of a community of food bloggers. Within the last year, I have had the opportunity to communicate with and in many cases meet IRL some of the most talented people on the continent. I also learned that IRL means In Real Life, LOL means Laugh Out Loud, and (learned the hard way) that NSFW means Not Safe For Work. I dislike these acronyms, though I thought I should use one to prove I’m really a part of the digital world.  Food bloggers are the unsung (I know, right?) heroes of modern culture, and it’s time they got their due. They are an opinionated, strong-willed cadre, though they’re quick to support one of their own should the need arise, as was the case with Ivory Hut recently. In some ways, being a food blogger defines me more than the sum total of the other parts, because it is the sum total of the other parts. As with many of you, this is my respite- the place I can 100% say whatever the hell I want to say, and be proud to own those words.

The dish that landed me on MasterChef: Duck Confit 3 Ways (image links to post)

I work really hard at this. I’m not ashamed to admit that I cannot knock out a blog post in an hour like I know some über-talented people can. It takes me many hours of focused work from concept inception to edited completion of every post I gently nestle onto my site. Even after it’s there, I want to rip it down and make a nip here, a tuck there, though I resist that urge. Blogs are like people- more beautiful if left to age naturally. That is not to say they shouldn’t be eating well, getting adequate sleep and exercising along the way, however, hence the good food, days of rest, and frequent practice.

BLT Ice Cream Sandwich (image links to post)

Right now, I’m lingering on every word the culinary mad scientist Grant Achatz (Alinea) utters. A particularly echoing bit of wisdom I recently gleaned from him is this: creativity is primarily the result of hard work and study. I look back on my most-resonant posts- I made a BLT from ice cream, gelato and sorbet, I admitted to the world I was far from perfect given how eviscerated I felt after leaving MasterChef, or when I made a meal for my mother’s 69^th birthday using thoroughly modern cooking techniques like spherification and sous vide- and the uniting thread recurrent in all of them is just what Achatz notes- hard work and study. Any old genius off the street might have come up with the theory of relativity, but it took a hard-working, studied one to actually do it. Since I begrudgingly admit that I have no genius-level proclivities, I must content myself to toil along making mozzarella balloons and poaching duck egg yolks in clarified butter until a really good idea turns into a really good taste, then a really good recipe, and finally- I hope- a really good blog post.

Spherification in action

What I’m saying is that I should be the next food blog star because I’m willing to put in the effort and devotion, but I promise we will have a wild ride together along the way. I’ve only been blogging for just over one year, (crap- went back to look at the date of my first post and I realize I missed my blog-o-versary, damn, damn, must open champagne… there, that’s better) but I’m on my way toward proving I’ve got what it takes to stick around like a splatter of Bolognese on a white Valentino shirt. I look at these challenges as a way to test my mettle. I look at Project Food Blog as a way for Foodbuzz to nurture one of us (relative) newbies toward the status of full-blown Bloggin’ Gaga. That’s right, the victor of Project Food Blog deserves the accolades and fame (in the blogosphere at least) of the Great Gaga because s/he squeezed a lot of lemons, minced a ton of shallots and pureed a passel of potatoes to get there.  I promise, if it’s me, I’ll wear a meat dress to accept my crown.  (There’s a crown, right?)

This is how crazy I go on Halloween. See, I'll wear a meat dress, no problem.

I’m thankful for the opportunity to have written this post regardless of the outcome of this challenge because it’s given me a platform to say some things I’ve been meaning to say for awhile to all my lovely readers.  Every day something new happens that humbles me in the face of all your greatness, generosity and underlying human spirit.  All of you have helped immeasurably to make the last year one of the best I’ve ever lived, so grazie mille. (Now look at me- big ol’ tears are inching down my cheeks- must be that champagne you made me open!)  I’m just a girl teetering in topsy turvy heels on the precipice of something positively cavernous, and I desperately want for you all to jump in with me.

I had never been to the Corson Building but have been very happy with head chef Matt Dillon’s other enterprises around Seattle (including the newly revamped Sitka and Spruce) so thought it would be an appropriate setting for our third anniversary.  The actual structure and grounds of the building itself cast a spell on me the moment I arrived, and Jonas and I spent an enchanted half hour sipping an aperitif walking the spaces in marvel.  An Italian family is responsible for the building and it shows in the quality construction. It’s worth going to the Corson Building for the ambience alone.  I was able to snap some photos in the kitchen of our upcoming meal, and it was a good thing too, since once we were seated there was very little opportunity for photography. 

Saturday evening meals are done communally at the Corson building, with essentially four tables that each seat eight people. If you are fortunate you will dine with jovial compatriots as passionate about food and wine as yourselves, or maybe not. We got lucky with most of our table mates, the couple across from us regaled us with tales of the inner workings of being defense attorneys- talk about the underbelly of society! 

The other reason I wouldn’t have been able to photograph the food is that the dishes are served family-style for the entire table of eight, and since we were at the foot end of the table, by the time each platter reached me it was no longer in a terribly photogenic state.  I think this is a brilliant way to set up an evening, and I don’t think concessions or adjustments based on dietary preferences are necessary, however the menu should be posted in advance so diners can choose whether to attend that particular dinner.  When my husband called to make the reservation they basically asked if any food would kill him, which it won’t, though the fact that he doesn’t eat seafood or mushrooms limited him to just two courses of the entire meal, which is significant considering what you’re paying.  Again, I don’t think a chef should make apologies for the menu he creates, and diners should be encouraged to step out on a culinary limb and eat outside their comfort zone, just make the menu available in advance. 

This particular evening the menu consisted of smoked trout with pickled vegetables and fiddlehead ferns, brine-cured local lox with crème fraiche, bresaola with raw beets, fennel and dill as well as horseradish and purslane to start.  Next we moved to a delicate halibut bone broth with steamed halibut and mussels from Taylor’s shellfish along with watercress, and lovage.  It was the standout dish of the night.  Next were soft shell crabs served with porcini mushrooms on a walnut sauce, followed by duck eggs with morels from Cle Elum served with leeks and caraway seeds.  We completed the savory dishes with duck from Stokesberry Farm braised in red wine with fennel, green garlic, asparagus, spring onions, and pea shoots accompanied by duck fat fried potatoes with pork belly cured like pancetta but flat, not rolled.  Dessert was an effervescent sorbet made with goat’s milk yogurt finished with strawberries and two types of shortbread cookies.  I greatly appreciate their use of local producers such as Stokesberry Farms and Taylor’s Shellfish.

We went to the Corson Building on the evening of the soft-opening for Sitka and Spruce, the head chef’s other local restaurant, so naturally he was attending to the details of the opening and not at the Corson Building.  I wish he had been with us instead, although I understood the circumstances.  I think perhaps the food suffered a little in his absence as well.  All of the elements were there, but several of the dishes fell flat upon execution. Sometimes too many ingredients marred the natural elegance of the base flavor in the dish, as was the case with the bresaola. Bresaola is my favorite cured cut of meat, made from beef eye of round.  Perhaps my expectations are too high, given that. The bresaola itself was perfectly cured, perfectly sliced and a thing of beauty. Unfortunately too many ingredients masked its flavor, and it wasn’t just me as I asked around the table if folks knew what meat they were eating and most of them thought it was a very mild pork. Had it been allowed to stand with fewer accoutrements it would have shone brighter.  The stronger dishes were the less complicated ones, such as duck braised in wine, and duck eggs with mushrooms.  I was surprised that the delicate halibut in clear broth was so delightful given that it was much more refined in presentation than everything else. In fact it was the only dish that was served individually to each patron. 

A quick note on the wine: the sommelier is a self-proclaimed Francophile, which is a wonderful thing to be most of the time. I love French wines, almost as much as I love Piedmontese wines, so I was mostly happy with his wine pairings.  I wish there were a bona fide red-only wine pairing, as we opted out of the whites, though instead of adding additional reds to our pours, he simply poured us more glasses of the two reds in his original pairing.  In retrospect I probably would have gotten a bottle or two of something I really loved, then maybe had a glass or two of his selections if they intrigued me.  Since the meal lasts from 6:30 until 10ish (which is long by American standards, though short and early by Italian ones) you could easily bring a few bottles and just pay corkage, sampling from his glass pours when they tickle your fancy. 

On the whole it was a Seattle dining experience I would recommend, though next time I go I will make sure Matt Dillon is in the house and I will attempt to learn the basics of the menu of the evening as well.

I set out to make agnolotti stuffed with braised chuck and spinach but the universe conspired against me.  Well, not really, I just got three hours and nine hand-rolled pasta sheets into the dish and decided rather than take the time to carefully form agnolotti I would cheat and no one would be the wiser.  It’s not really cheating if you slow-braise your stuffing, hand cut your pasta and grow your own spinach, too, but I still felt a touch of guilt for not molding my little squares into perfect agnolotti.  You see agnolotti requires some fancy folding, pinching and crimping, but my lovely quadrati (squares) stay together so nicely with just a slathering of egg wash and a few quick cuts in a way I view them as the perfect filled pasta. 

I had a wine-soaked weekend of sexy soirees and tantalizing tastings, so I felt some classic comfort food was in order. My go-to is always hand-cut pasta because the meditative process is so soul-soothing.  I’m experimenting with different ratios of semolina, tipo 00 flour, and eggs/egg yolks in my dough lately.  This time I decided to try 100% tipo 00 (which is basically standard unbleached white flour), forego the semolina, and do whole eggs instead of a mixture of egg and yolk. I added a touch of salt, but held back adding oil, which I sometimes do for viscosity.

It turned out the oil was far from necessary this time- the dough lacked the stiffness semolina adds to it and it was malleable and soft as putty. It was a dream to roll into rectangular sheets, so acquiescent to the rolling pin, and not at all sticky.  I prefer semolina pasta if I’m going to turn it into tagliolini, fettucine or another non-filled noodle, but all-flour dough is a dream if you’re making precision pasta. 

I had a glut of spinach begging to be eaten, so I steamed it up and mixed it along with some duck eggs into braised, minced chuck.  I added a few sprinkles of parmesan and I had the perfect filling.  I retained the stock in which I braised the chuck; that’s what I used to make the sauce that would ultimately coat the quadrati.  Normally I would have braised in a wine/stock combo, but after such a heavy red weekend I was feeling a tad wined-out, so straight stock won in the end. 

I tend to make my pasta dough, let it rest for maybe half an hour while I’m finalizing the filling, then roll it into sheets as needed to stuff and cut.  This way the sheets won’t dry out, though it does go against the rule of finishing like tasks at the same time.  I roll out two rectangular sheets, maybe 3-4” wide by 30” long and dollop filling every few inches down one of the sheets.  Then I wash it with egg everywhere the filling is not. This way the top sheet sticks beautifully and they meld as if into one sheet. I also think the egg wash helps the two sheets to thin out once they grab one another, which makes for better, less chewy pasta. 

Once I drape the top sheet onto the bottom, I squeeze it shut down its entire length.  All that remains is to cut the final pasta forms (in this case quadrati, or squares) and set them to dry on a baking sheet.  Different pasta-makers have different rules on air-drying before the boiling plunge, but I’ve always found 30-45 minutes to be ideal. I like a touch of crispness, but not so dry the pasta cracks and cooks unevenly. 

I add a bit of stock to the pasta water so the meaty flavor soaks through the noodle- a little trick I happened upon accidentally when I had excess stock one day.  While the pasta is boiling I reheat the sauce and whisk in a few tablespoons of butter to emulsify it.  After three or four minutes of boiling I remove the pasta from the water with a slotted spoon, and toss it in the sauce.  The perfect comfort plate consists of three or four of these lovely quadrati drenched in sauce and topped with a generous shaving of parmesan.  After the three hour process of making this pasta any impurities from a weekend spent having a ball virtually vanish and suddenly a bottle of Barolo isn’t sounding like such a bad thing.  It sure complements the lovingly-prepared meal to a tee, but don’t let me be a bad influence, drink what you will.  Mangia!