I figured out what I want to do with those pluot-plums in the freezer, and the wad of rose petals I ganked from the Albany shoreline trail and my old Fruitvale house. Plum-rose jam!
I haven't made jam in a long time, not since culinary school when we made buckets of jam, any and all flavors. Some of them are still sitting around my Somerville house. Some were given away as presents. Not sure when I will get around to this jam, but likely I'll try to get a sourdough starter going so that my the time I'm jammed up there will be good toast. I am such a bread-brat these days; I only eat Acme.
My favorite jam excursion is from my days on the farm, when I went across the river to my favorite farmer EVER's house and we had gallons of strawberries from the PFP and we made jam all day long, some with pectin and some without. I'm sure we talked about love, and why we love the wrong people or love too soon, too long, or without giving away all of ourselves. But now I only remember the jam.
I've got three fresh burns from last week as a reminder not to work distracted, and worked distracted all day.
I just got to say to a friend Autumn leaves and apples!
This is why I'm going to Boston in October (and hopefully NYC, the city I love to hate, as well). I make up little lists that go something like apples, apple cider, apple cider doughnuts, apples, ICA, Oleana, East Coast Grill, Lydia Shire stories, Herrell's, Harvard square, crunch of leaves
or
finding the Doughnut Plant for real, McNulty's, Bklyn, Grand Central, the 6 train, my two favorite places on Broadway ever, will I ever eat at Gramercy Tavern, I could go to Babbo, maybe I'll go be a line cook like Bill Buford, still haven't been to Cafe Lalo, or the Cloisters, Spuyten Duyvil, did I really ever live here.
God I love apples and I'm so nervous they won't have my apples here.
Thinking of doing utterly crazy things, specifically two, but they are secrets.
No more cooking with herbs. Get over this lavender, rose geranium, lemon verbena, slight thyme kick. Find something else and it better not be a spice.
Ai, forgot to make Chez Panisse reservations. I'm gong to have to put Chez Panisse in my cell phone and that is kind of sad. Determined also to go to another fine restaurant while Leah's here...Where I have been in this town: A16, Delfina, Frisson, Jardiniere.
Showing posts with label lydia shire. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lydia shire. Show all posts
Friday, August 10, 2007
Monday, April 23, 2007
small towns.
Is is Boston or is it SF?
Throw a stone in Boston and you hit Lydia Shire. Ken Oringer. Todd English.
Throw a stone in SF, you hit a Bostonian. Sox fan. Everyone here knows the places I've been so far, and I've only just gotten here and already the San Francisco chef community feels both small and insular, and weirdly connected to the community I left behind. Is it chefs the country over, or is there some kind of SF siren song us cold New Englanders are particularly susceptible to?
I was walking around the Gourmet Ghetto this afternoon looking for a good pastry, reached as far as I wanted to go and crossed the street to turn around when I notice Poulet is hiring. What the hell, I think, why not? If I fill out an application I can at least try to snatch a copy of Edible San Francisco without feeling so guilty about it.
So I fill out the application, take the magazine, go to leave the application on the counter and they're like, wait, we'll get someone for you to talk with, and they do, and I sit down with this woman Michelle who has lived in Cambridge. Worked at the Bostonian with Lydia Shire. I mention Sonsie, how Bill Poirer used to work with Lydia at the Bostonian, etc. She's eaten at Sonsie. I describe the French doors, how the tables face Newbury Street, I ask her how Lydia Shire was to work for, etc. She asks me if I'd like to bake one day a week or so if they need the help. Yes, duh, definitely. I've got an interview/trial there Thursday. Mmmmh roast chicken. I think working in the Gourmet Ghetto would be fun and dangerous (for the wallet). It makes me happy, so much good food. In the same way the Ferry Building does.
Apparently there's some Ferry-Building-is-the-temple-of-food article in GQ. Don't have my issue yet, though.
Went to Masse's after Poulet for some opera cake and coffee. The cake wasn't coffee-ish enough for my taste. It was strange. Eating it made me realize I've only had Cheffy's opera cake. Kind of like a lover's touch, you think you like being touched that way and then you realize it was only with those hands.
Throw a stone in Boston and you hit Lydia Shire. Ken Oringer. Todd English.
Throw a stone in SF, you hit a Bostonian. Sox fan. Everyone here knows the places I've been so far, and I've only just gotten here and already the San Francisco chef community feels both small and insular, and weirdly connected to the community I left behind. Is it chefs the country over, or is there some kind of SF siren song us cold New Englanders are particularly susceptible to?
I was walking around the Gourmet Ghetto this afternoon looking for a good pastry, reached as far as I wanted to go and crossed the street to turn around when I notice Poulet is hiring. What the hell, I think, why not? If I fill out an application I can at least try to snatch a copy of Edible San Francisco without feeling so guilty about it.
So I fill out the application, take the magazine, go to leave the application on the counter and they're like, wait, we'll get someone for you to talk with, and they do, and I sit down with this woman Michelle who has lived in Cambridge. Worked at the Bostonian with Lydia Shire. I mention Sonsie, how Bill Poirer used to work with Lydia at the Bostonian, etc. She's eaten at Sonsie. I describe the French doors, how the tables face Newbury Street, I ask her how Lydia Shire was to work for, etc. She asks me if I'd like to bake one day a week or so if they need the help. Yes, duh, definitely. I've got an interview/trial there Thursday. Mmmmh roast chicken. I think working in the Gourmet Ghetto would be fun and dangerous (for the wallet). It makes me happy, so much good food. In the same way the Ferry Building does.
Apparently there's some Ferry-Building-is-the-temple-of-food article in GQ. Don't have my issue yet, though.
Went to Masse's after Poulet for some opera cake and coffee. The cake wasn't coffee-ish enough for my taste. It was strange. Eating it made me realize I've only had Cheffy's opera cake. Kind of like a lover's touch, you think you like being touched that way and then you realize it was only with those hands.
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