Basques in Bakersfield

photo credit

There's a new book out, one that will never be known and probably almost never read, but is full of incredible stories about the American history of one of the world's most mysterious people groups: the Basques.

The Basques of Kern County, by Stephen Bass and George Ansolabehere, tells this unique story of a people "guided by a fierce internal drive that told them they'd have to work harder than anyone else to earn any sense of belonging".

Our history books often call Basques 'Spaniards', but it's not hard to distinguish them either by their occupation (shepherd), their looks (noses!), and their work ethic (oh-so-unSpanish). This book, however, is full of legit personal histories, like this one from Jean Arambel:

The worst thing about sheepherding was the loneliness and cold in the desert. These were the hardest things I remember. Most of the time I spent in the Sierra Nevada Mountains by myself with my two dogs and a donkey. The camp tender came once a week with supplies but only stayed one or two hours. I looked forward to these visits because it gave me a chance to speak to another human being and to speak to someone in the Basque language. It was very lonesome but I had no choice.

For more, read the article here.

Behind-The-Scenes at Savannah Bee

I'm in the United States!

This too-short trip has me running around all over the South, and earlier this week I had the amazing opportunity to visit the coolest honey harvesters ever, the folks at Savannah Bee Company.  We stopped in at their world headquarters on Wilmington Island, outside of Savannah, and Ted Dennard took us around the site. We saw barrels and barrels of nature's liquid gold, some from single sources (my favorite is the tupelo), others from various plants. We dipped our fingers in the vats of honey (it's a natural antibacterial). Then Ted took us out back.

Yes, that's my hand, full of bees. First he advised us to stay calm, walk slowly and think happy thoughts. Then we walked into the honeybees.  He pulled a honeycomb out of the hive, grabbed our fingers, and stuck them into this sunshine-y warm honey, and we tasted it straight from the comb to our mouths. Incredible. 

Then, carefully, he gathered a huge bunch of bees in his hands and passed them onto each of us. My hand was full of bees! They tickled, and most of them flew off in a matter of minutes, but I had several stay, walking around my hand and arms, doing their special wiggle dance.   It was so amazing. This is someone who is just as passionate as I am, as we are, about what he does. This man is a bee lover.

That's all of us. If you haven't checked out Ted's honey, you better do so, soon.

The Best Classic Brownie

Brownies. Another classic American dessert that is often imitated and never duplicated. Earlier this week, I taught another American baking class at The Loaf, this time on this wonderful baked good, invented at the start of the 20th century. The brownie is traced back to the Boston Cooking School cookbook, where it evolved from what we would call a blondie (1896), to something with a bit of chocolate, to something with more chocolate and more eggs (1908). Then, things went awry in 1954 with the introduction of the first brownie mix, aka something that does not save any time.

I love gleaning cultural viewpoints from my students during these classes, whether they're on cookies or cupcakes. My question posed this week was: "What would you call a brownie in Spanish?" And the answers ranged from "bizcocho de chocolate" (chocolate cake) to "morenitos" (little brown things). Ay ama.

So of course I had to explain the brownie polemic, about those strange people who want a bar of melted chocolate with extra sugar and an egg; and about the even stranger ones who want, indeed, a piece of chocolate cake.

I fall right in the middle. I want a brownie at least two inches high. I want a brownie that has a crispy crust on top. The outside part better crunch then be chewy. The middle better be soft and slightly underbaked. I don't want any interruptions (okay, a few nuggets of dark chocolate studding the dough is okay, but NUTS? No.) That is my ideal brownie.  And this is the recipe to end all recipes.

Baking time is the unsung hero of the brownie recipe. Talk about making or breaking something...I find that these are perfect to my taste at around 42-45 minutes, but you can take them out as early as 35 minutes for a brownie reminiscent of the batter from whence it came. Or leave it for up to an hour if you want something cakey. You DON'T want the knife/toothpick to come out clean.

So, here's the recipe that is truly the best classic brownie. Don't be afraid to mix vigorously...this is a key to the texture and shine of the batter and crust. You might want to add nuts, a swirl of chocolate, or pieces of dark chocolate. I don't.

Ah! Y para los que habeís venido a mi curso, aquí una receta para algo estilo 'blondie'.

the best classic brownie

• 2 sticks unsalted butter (226 g)
• 8 ounces good quality chocolate, coarsely chopped (70% or more) (227 g)
• 1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour (156 g)
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 2 cups sugar (400 g)
• 4 large eggs
• 2 teaspoons vanilla

Preheat oven to 350°F/175°C. Using two pieces of parchment paper, line the pan.
Melt butter and chocolate in the microwave, stirring occasionally.
Whisk together sugar, eggs, and vanilla in a large bowl, then pour in chocolate mixture, whisking until combined well. Add flour, baking powder, and salt, then stir really, really well.
Bake until top is shiny and set and sides have begun to pull away slightly, 45 minutes.

ollie irene : birmingham, alabama

Well...after a two-year absence, I can officialy verify that Birmingham has grown up, a lot.

Last time I was in town, a friend treated me to dinner and drinks at a new restaurant, Ollie Irene. A restaurant that's so new, it doesn't even have a proper website, but does have a proper James Beard nomination (!).

So this time, I went back, to see if I could dig a little deeper than cocktails, pickled vegetables and crostini.

What Ollie Irene really has going for it are the cocktails. Can't tell if it's the general sweet disposition of the bartender, Zach, or his carefully thought out, home-brewed liqueurs that I like more. Either way...his Moscow Mule was really, really good.

The shrimp salad came highly recommended by another barman, and it was crisp, refreshing, and delicious.  Another thing Ollie Irene has going for it are the prices. These plates are steals, people! And especially if you are converting them to euros!!! I mean, that plate of chicken liver pate was as much as two measly ensaladilla rusas!!

But since most of you don't measure your bill in pintxos, suffice it to say that the pate was outstanding. Perfect perfect and served with house-pickled veggies. The gnocchi was ricotta and spring-y.  My dinner date devoured his pub breakfast ($13) before we could snap a photo, partially because I was off chatting with the multitude of cooks that were spending their night off tasting what Ollie Irene had to offer.  The sticky toffee pudding, topped with a cookie and marscapone cream, didn't last long enough for a photo either.

This spot is the real deal, people.

a night in new orleans

Hello.

After a night in Cajun Country, celebrating the wedding of two very special people, the remaining reunited college friends set off for a little New Orleans magic. This city doesn't disappoint...it just doesn't.  With my dearest friends Katie, Emily, and Louise (missing a K and a J, but with a couple of men in tow), I hit the streets and the kitchens I love and wanted to get to know.

We started at Domenica, that John Besh spot that so reminds me of the food from that other restaurant but with a slightly different sensibility. That I love.  The chicken liver pate (above) surprised...super smooth, with tangy caperberries and hard-boiled eggs, and finger-lickin' good.

Then the octopus carpaccio, which never surprises.

Because it's always so dang good.  A few more appetizers, like this burrata with tomatoes and pesto (no way on earth that could be bad), and we hit the road to pursue slightly less *guaranteed* results.

What does that mean? That means Sylvain, a newbie, a darling of the French Quarter and of the city's chefs.  We called ahead. They told us not to come. We came anyway.

To be fair, it was the night of the Final Four.  There were a lot of drunk, hungry people stumbling around. But we were more hungry and less drunk, which is perhaps why they ended up letting us sit down with the stipulation that only one plate could be ordered (among 5 people).

We chose the pork roulades, on the recommendation of our waitress, which were served over polenta and deliciously rich collards. The serving was huge, the pork and veggies divine. And we were also allowed to pay $90 for a bottle of champagne and a plate heaped with French fries. And if that comes off sarcastic, well, it's not.

A night in the French Quarter, in a courtyard, listening to fireworks and drinking champagne, is priceless.