After the Harvest

Here we are at the end of September, the first part of the second school year. After the wheat was harvested (and all the respective little towns went back to school the week following their own individual harvest schedule), everything went back to the same kind of grind. Rob in school 10 hours a day, the sunlight hours noticeably dwindling already. It's hard this time of year not to be extra homesick, when the feeling in the air changes and its easy to think about the bowls of hot, porky ramen we could be eating at Ippudo, the last of the outdoor concerts at Central Park, the mimosas at brunch we could be enjoying with friends. I don't know what it is about changing seasons that makes it so much harder to stay put here in the middle of nowhere, but it's hitting me hard this autumn.

But before I get all bummy and miserable, I do have to admit we had an awesome summer. We went to Portland about once a month to visit family, explore, shop, and dine in hipstery restaurants that reminded us of home. It was a great way to recharge.

On our last visit, we had a great early dinner at The Farm Cafe, sitting in their cute backyard and soaking up a few Northwest rays of sun. The salty, crispy trout with summer vegetables was enough to make up for many months of no fresh seafood in Pullman. 

The next morning, a tapas-style brunch at Tasty n Alder was literally all I could eat all day. I suppose we didn't really need to order four things when it's just the two of us. There was fried oysters with bacon and a cheddar biscuit. There was polenta with stringy fresh mozzarella and a sunny side up egg. Thinking of our favorite tapas spot Tia Pol in NYC, we gave in to the patatas bravas with aioli. And an egg. And then, just to try something sweet, we tore into some french toast with raspberry-apricot maple and whipped cream. 

It was great fuel for our touristy stop at Multnomah Falls on the way home. The waterfall is so high and the stream is so thin in comparison, it's hard to get a good picture of the whole sight. It's also hard to block out all the heads of the other tourists and their five million kids with ice cream cones that are dripping everywhere. 

By far, the best thing we did all summer (I mean aside from get married and the honeymoon and all that) is our camping trip to the Gorge. I know, I did not expect to do camping again anytime soon, and especially to enjoy it as much as I did. But the only way we'd be able to see the Arcade Fire at this glorious location was either to drive 40 minutes to an overpriced motel in Moses Lake, or just bite the bullet and set up camp. 

We don't know what we're doing when we show up to these places like everyone else does. All of a sudden there are sleeping tents and overhead tents and RVs and awnings and barbeques, there's a whole community to our little two-person tent with an aerobed inside and that's it. Luckily, we wound up next to a pretty awesome group of people that took us under their wing, fed us grilled sandwiches and gourmet cheese, showed us where to pick up the bus when the concert was ready to start.

I really don't think anything could have prepared me for the truly breathtaking setting. It's like I walked onto a painting. I couldn't make sense of the river far below or the size of the clifs. My brain literally could not comprehend all the beauty, and combined with phenomenal acoustics of our favorite band that reminded me of Brooklyn, I don't think it could have been a more perfect concert.

We left early the next morning and waved goodbye to the one or two friends that were awake already. I didn't want to ask their full names or try to keep in touch. It made me too sad to think about following them on Facebook and reading their posts about what they ate for breakfast that day and marring the real connection we had that made the night before. That's how things worked back at Woodstock, and with all the talk of Woodstock that inevitably came up that day, it seemed only right to respect experience in the time period this type of experience was born in. 

But I am hoping we see them again next summer. Next time, grilled brats are on us.

Brooklyn's Five Leaves Burger in Pullman

I'll be honest: I've been kind of homesick for the city lately. Maybe it's because I don't have the wedding to keep me occupied anymore and now here I am actually feeling present in the present moment and who wants to do that when you live in the boonies! I miss my friends and the subway and the artsy people and the random finds and the crazy connections. Woody Allen said it best about the country: there's no place to walk after dinner.

In my fit of NYC-homesickness this past weekend I dug out the old New Brooklyn Cookbook with recipes from some of my favorite haunts. In my old life as a Brooklyn restaurant blogger I made my favorite burger once and felt quite proud of myself. This time I felt inspired to do it again, but do it BETTER, with all my post-registry kitchen items. And so, ladies and gents, the post-wedding, Pullmanized Five Leaves Burger!

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The Five Leaves burger is known for its unique combination of sweet pineapple, pickled beet, creamy egg and spicy mayo. It's such a fabulous combination for a burger that you don't even realize there isn't cheese on it. 

We tried to make everything home made in this burger. I should have grabbed some of my coworkers' home grown eggs, but instead I bought a dozen. I should have tried to make my own rolls in the bread machine but that didn't happen either.

I did buy a whole pineapple -- not canned this time -- and marinaded the slices 48 hours in the boiled vinegar-honey solution.

The beets I bought whole and raw, baked for an hour, then marinaded in the pineapple solution with some lemon juice. It was the lazy person's pickling.

The meat was a chuck steak that we ground with the Kitchen Aid attachment, hand formed into patties, and grilled on our brand spankin' new grill out back.

I couldn't find harissa, so I made the sauce with mayo, Sriracha and juice from a whole lime.

The final product had that wobbly, amateur finish -- the pineapple slices still had coriander seeds stuck to it, the ciabatta roll was a little big for our little burger patties -- but man, if it didn't feel good to sink my teeth into a Five Leaves burger on a hot summer day.

Pretty good imitation, huh?

Want to try your hand at it? Find the full recipe here. 

Alone Time + How I'm Learning to Cook

When my new husband (!) left for Seattle for a few days this morning, I was kinda bummed. I was thinking The honeymoon is really over! and How is this fair for newlyweds to spend 3 whole days apart? But then I remembered I'm an INTROVERT and I haven't had alone time in WEEKS and how else am I going to regenerate my energy?

So after work I skipped merrily along to the farmer's market and came home with lots of fun goodies for my first solo night in a long time.

Now back in NYC I would head to the Union Square Market and pretty much shrug at everything because how am I supposed to cook that? And shouldn't I just let the experts do it and it's too hot to cook anyway but gee it sure looks pretty in that box and maybe I should just take a picture and then get a beer somewhere before I head back on the L train.

There are no such distractions here in Pullman, and no such luxuries as "someone else will cook it better" because they WON'T. I think it's this feeling of "it's me or no one" that has pushed me to actually start chopping things up and putting them in hot oil and then wow! Dinner!

My home cooking endeavors started off as finding a recipe, going out, buying all the ingredients, measuring everything, and carrying out all the tasks listed in the grease-splattered cookbook. But like any other craft, you start to get the hang of it. You read through a recipe and take the parts you like. You remember cooking techniques that work and apply it with different ingredients and flavors. And you stop measuring! Because unless you're baking then there's really no point. 1/4 teaspoon of salt should really be more, anyway, so why not just eyeball it? And then you save money because you're skilled at tailoring dinner towards what you have and not what's $10/lb at the grocery store. (See? I've learned to be frugal, too!)

Tonight I think I advanced a little more with a beet salad I made up with veggies from the market, a fried rice I tweaked from Cooking Light and a chicken I cooked on a memory and an instinct. I tried to match the dinner to the hot weather, to give me some cool relief with little nods to a fiery sun. I wanted something light and bright with little hints of earthy spiciness.

I call it Yogurt-Dill Chicken with Lemongrass Rice and Honey Beet Salad.

Whoooo-what! That sounds crazy. Like a real adult person's dinner and not what I used to do when Rob went away which was... um.. an excuse for a giant takeout pepperoni and ricotta calzone from a place on Manhattan Ave with lots of pictures of Italian people on the walls.

Oh, memories.

Well I'm not skilled at writing recipes yet (because again, I don't measure) but maybe you're an eyeball-er too and just want the highlights.

The chicken breast was marinated in plain yogurt, lots of fresh dill from the farmer's market, garam masala, lemon juice, garlic powder, curry powder, red pepper and cumin. Shook off the marinade. Sauteed about 4 minutes per side, then into the convection oven at 350 for about 15 minutes because its way too hot to turn on the actual oven. It didn't come out yogurt-y at all, just had lots of great aromatic Indian spices, and the creamy freshness from the yogurt adhered all those great flavors to the meat.

  
The white rice I cooked as usual, without salt or butter. Then I sauteed some onions in oil with lemongrass powder, added the rice in, turned the heat off and added lemon juice and lots of parsley.

The salad took a bit more creativity. I don't know if you're supposed to blanch beets or not, but I did. And as I was boiling them, the grassy smell made me think of peas, so I blanched some of the sugar snaps, too. Then I remembered I got cucumbers from the farmers market too, so I salted those and chopped them up. Fresh, green, crunch. Mixed everything together and chilled it. I made a vinagrette with olive oil, balsamic vinegar, honey and lemon juice. It tasted awful. I adjusted the amounts. It tasted better. I added more honey and a little orange peel. Perfect. Glazed it over the beet salad.

Then I set the table with new Crate & Barrell placemat and napkin from the registry and put the farmer's market snapdragons in water. And maybe I had a Topcutter IPA too. I'M ALLOWED!

Being a newlywedded introvert with a budding talent for fresh and local cooking is kind of awesome.

I still think about that calzone sometimes, though.

Snowy Befuddlements and Homemade Candles

I know I've already done that blog post ranting about how bad the roads are here in the winter. But the winter's still not over and I'm still not done complaining about it.

"You made it!" They might say when I huff into the office in the morning, looking like an angry Eskimo wrapped in way more winter gear than anyone else. "Yeah," I'd grunt. "I'm a little late because I got stuck behind a zamboni on my way here." They'll look at me funny because they don't quite get my humor yet, and I don't make it any easier by not smiling.

Obviously, there is no street-zamboni. But after it snows and melts a little and then freezes again, the roads are about as slippery as the skating rink I could never stay upright on as a teenager. And when everyone lives on a steep hill, they close down the super steep ones and you just have to pray your way down the lesser -- but still very scary -- ski jump of a neighborhood road.

Last week I learned that it's not even safe to leave the parking lot for lunch! Because they don't shovel or salt the parking lot. Well, they don't salt ANYTHING, because salt might ruin the crops in the springtime, and we can't risk not having wheat or garbanzos come spring! We must risk every human life in favor of a few more legumes, lest the Lentil Festival become just another lackluster day! But I digress, the parking lot was iced to this fun degree where the harder you break the faster you move forward? So as I'm barreling towards the road there is, of course, a very unaware pedestrian walking down the sidewalk, minding his own business, maybe playing with his phone, maybe looking at his shoes.

And I can't stop!

BEEP BEEP BEEEEP.

Frantically tapping on the horn is all I can think of to do, since the whole pumping-the-brakes thing doesn't seem to stick.

He hops out of the way just in time, and my car brushes his side on his warpath back to the street. I gain control of the car and check my rear view mirror. He's waving me on as if to say, I'm fine, this happens every day, don't worry about me. Kind of like the British guy in European Vacation who acts like everything's kosher even though blood is spurting out of his wrist. In England and in Pullman, before all else, you gotta be polite. 

The whole townwide and collegewide refusal to handle snow here will probably never stop baffling me.

But to prove I'm not all moans and groans, here's a fun soy candle recipe to try! Because if you're not a fan of ice, might as well make a little fire.

HOW TO MAKE SOY CANDLES

You'll need:

• Soy chips
• Thermometer
• Essential Oil
• Wicks
• Jars

Put jars in the oven at 125 degrees to pre-heat them. I like squat mason jars.

 
Set up a double boiler. Pour in the soy chips into the bowl and stir as they melt. I've found that measuring or weighing gets confusing, and who has time for that anyway? So instead, use the jar or container as a measuring cup and multiply by about four (so four jars of soy chips would equal about one jar of melted wax). Better to overestimate than underestimate. You can always put the extra wax in tea light candles, if you have those laying around.

Melt the wax to 185 degrees. In that time, the wax will go from melted and soapy, to clear with dollops of cloudiness, to straight up clear liquid. It's all normal.

Now turn off the heat! And take the bowl off the double boiler to bring it back down to temperature quicker. Now is when you want to add your essential oil. They usually say about an ounce of fragrance per pound of wax, but if you ask me, that's not enough! Pour that stuff in with a confident and steady hand. Some of it will evaporate anyway, even though you aren't still heating the wax. I used orange, which doesn't have the medicinal stink of teatree or eucalyptus. 

Wait til you're down to 125 before you pour wax into the pre-heated jars. Stick the wicks in. It's hard to keep them centered, but before you buy something dumb like a wick bar, just place scissors and pens and other miscellany around them to keep them in place. 

Let dry overnight, and hurray! A little ray of light to keep you warm until spring. Just make sure you cut down the wick so you don't burn the house down.

Stay tuned! Your favorite Brooklynite-turned-Pullmanite might try cheesemaking next.


*If you noticed that I was going for four candles and only had enough wax for three, maybe you'll remember why I said its best to overestimate a tad.

From Bumpkin to Brooklynite and Back Again

The first trip back to NYC after a long absence was a funny experience. In some ways it was like I hadn't left at all. I'd picked up right where I'd left off and was back to speedwalking and running for trains and just riding the energy of the city. And then I'd realize that my bed was on the other side of the country and my Brooklyn apartment belonged to someone else now and it stung my heart. But then I'd sip a fantastic mocha and feel blissed out all over again. It's a confusing thing to feel like you're right where you belong and yet not really have a place there anymore. I kept saying it's a good thing I have a dog back in Pullman waiting for me or else I might never go back.

Because c'mon, how could I ever abandon this face.

Well, feelings of belonging and confusion and whatever else aside, I got to fill up on some great food while I was back in the city. I'd been deprived of so much -- bagels, oysters! -- for months, that the things I loved when I had them every day were appreciated so, so much more.

There was the spicy bowl of Akamaru Modern at Ippudo, with a seasoned soft boiled egg that added creaminess to the bone warming bites of thin noodles and fatty pork. The spicy soppressata sandwich from Faicco's with fresh mozzarella and artichokes, and the BLT from Murray's with burrata cheese and bacon that we're pretty sure was fried in butter. Around the corner I had my favorite dish at Annisa, the miso sable with silken tofu in a bonito broth brimming with roe. In the mornings I alternated chocolate croissants with almond croissants and a cup of Stumptown coffee with plenty of cream. At Bagelsmith, I alternated smearing fresh bagels -- egg sesame, pumpernickel --  with jalepeno cheddar cream cheese and hot butter.

At Sripraphai, I piled crispy basil pork onto coconut rice, crunching the porky shards into the sweet scented rice. At Cull & Pistol and of course at Maison Premier, I threw back freshly shucked oysters with tiny squeezes of lemon, keeping the shells level with salty liquid while the tiny fork did its job. I bit into a perfectly greasy double cheeseburger at Shake Shack and had a celebratory New Years waffle from the Waffles & Dinges truck parked in Forest Hills. 

In Jackson Heights, I had Nepalese food in the middle of a blizzard, warming up with some spicy chickpeas and beef dumplings. Another night I joined the vegetarians for dosas and spicy soup. In Long Island City, I savored the French trifecta of crepe: Swiss, ham, egg on top.

As I toured the city for my familiar favorites and sought out new specialties, I realized how lucky I was to have at my disposal the array of all types of cuisines, low end to high end, fast food to slow dine to elbowing at the bar. I immersed myself in it and tried to forget that the Thai and Chinese restaurants in Pullman aren't even sort of palatable.

I had a nice high end lunch with my family at Union Square Cafe and indulged in hours of omakase at Momo Sushi Shack. I got a ceremonious hug from Phil, the owner, and Rob got a print of Phil one on of his travels. 

I miss the randomness. I think it fed my creativity. Now I have to rely on endorphins from Jillian Michaels videos.

Anyway, this being New York, I had to stay on top of what's new and visit a highly recommended small plates spot in Nolita, Pearl & Ash. 

I really have missed the whole experience of dining out on a Friday night. Making a last minute reservation, rushing the train to get there on time, sliding across the sidewalk and trying not to get sidetracked by glorious things in windows -- like chocolately rice pudding at Rice to Riches. I miss taking in new atmospheres and people watching and overhearing ridiculous things that boys say to girls on dates because we're all squeezed into our tables shoulder to shoulder.

I didn't take many pictures while I was in the city, but I couldn't help snapping a few crappy iPhone pics when each new dish came. It's old habit, I guess.

Ahh. New flavors. Exotic ingredients. One plate after another of eyes-rolling-back-in-your-head bites. 

From top left:

Fluke crudo with cucumber -- a nice palate cleansing start

Dessert of blood orange, pistachio and graham cracker -- so much more than the sum of its parts. 

Diver scallop with green tomatillo and crispy corn nuts on a creamy white sauce... revelatory.

The BEST crispy sweetbread I've ever had, warm and crunchy with sherry and heart of palm.

Not shown: 
lamb belly with black garlic, gamey and fatty
cod as soft and mild as butter, colored by Thai flavors: coconut, Thai basil, lemongrass
butternut squash with mascarpone

Long story short, it was great to be back. It fed my desire for new things and familiar things simultaneously. Seeing old friends and joining them for brunch and beers and other normal things helped remind me that I'll still have a place in Brooklyn when I get home, and that I can jump back into things pretty easily.

For now, I'm back to homecooked meals and liver cleanse tea and couch snuggling with the above mentioned pooch. I think I'll be okay for another six months.

We Made it to December/Pullman Sucks in Winter

I know it shows a total lack of continuity to go from a happy post about flower picking to an unhappy post about cold and snow, but hey, this is my blog and there are no rules here. 

December has arrived and I feel like we deserve pats on the back for making it through our first six months in a wildly new environment. I was just starting to feel comfortable and well-adjusted and into a swing of things when boom! Here comes winter and I feel homesick for my people. East coasters that say "soda" instead of "pop" and know the value of a good sandwich and don't say things like "12 degrees is pretty warm" and define common sense in more or less the same terms. 

So here's the thing about Pullman: everyone knows each other. Everyone loves each other. Everyone goes to church and praises Jesus and sings in the choir. So can someone please explain to me why it's okay to leave 3 inches of snow on the ground, and not plow it, and let it get compacted and icy and let everyone slide around on these roller coaster-like hills that everyone lives on? 

I guess I'd understand if it was a town where everyone hated each other, but I mean, a single mother skidded on the "highway" (they call it a highway) going towards Moscow and was killed and everyone knew her of course so they all went to the funeral today and how is no one but me really upset that they don't bother to plow the roads?!

It kind of surprises me how much this infuriates me, but this kind of thing is so unnecessary and preventable. But when I mention how this is how things should be done, I get called a wimp and a New York snob and I guess if that's what common sense makes me, then so be it.

In the meantime I'm driving as slowly and carefully as I can, which is not easy on this really steep hill we live on, and it's literally under 10 degrees every morning which does not make the icy any less slippery. I'm following some Pullmanite advice to "tap gently as though an egg is under your brakes" and trying not to make an omelette of a disaster of my life. I refuse to let this winter kill me. Refuse to! But last time I gave myself an internal pep talk I was mid death defiance and took a pretty hard tumble in the parking lot. It was a church parking lot. The whole thing was so icy it could have been a skating rink. C'mon, pastor! Or minister, or whoever. This is straight up sinful neglect. And my ankle hurts.

And again! I slid pretty hard in my car on the turn up the hill towards home yesterday. The oncoming car blared at me, and I gained control and sped out of the way just in time. I was pretty shook up and was ready to have a full-on meltdown in the carport but then I saw Christmas presents from the future in-laws on the porch and decided to put meltdown on hold and get a Christmas tree instead. Yay holidays?

Every year, me and lots of other adults have a hard time feeling "Christmassy" and getting into the spirit, but it's going to come a lot easier for me this year. I have the anticipation of going home and finally seeing my family and friends. I haven't been to Connecticut since May, and that visit doesn't even count because it was for my grandmother's funeral, and how is that even possible I haven't been home since then? I've been across America since my last hometown trip and deserve a warm reunion with family and friends and puppies and babies. And to get there on roads that are not slicked with ice from last week's snowfall.  

Amen.

I'm Leaving NYC!

There it is! After seven inspiring, energized, youthful 20-something years of Brooklyn living, I'm leaving the city. Fittingly, we'll get in the car (the car we have yet to buy) and head West to rural Pullman Washington the month I turn 30. This blog is intended to keep me grounded as I make the move, share a few bits of knowledge as I go through the process, keep friends and family in the loop, and to remind myself that this is actually happening, despite the fact that I haven't told my job and I go through the day acting like everything's normal. I'm pretending so well, I'm almost starting to fool myself! 

But things aren't normal. I got engaged 3 days ago. I got a puppy 9 days ago. Today, I sent in an application for a duplex 2-bedroom apartment in Washington that costs less than half of our rent in Greenpoint. Then I had two phone interviews for potential freelance work. It's all very overwhelming and frankly kind of exhausting. But more importantly, it's pretty exciting.

But before I move into the next phase toward rural life, there are a few things I need to do to wrap things up here nicely. Thus, an NYC bucket list:

• Visit the cloisters
• Go to a Nets game
• See the old City Hall subway stop
• Watch a movie at the Loewe's theater in NJ
• Eat dinner at Eleven Madison Park
• Try Lombardi's pizza
• See Once on Broadway
• Gorge at Dinosaur BBQ

Last night, two other items were drunkenly added to the list:

• Steal the "T" from the Black Rabbit sign
• Crash a wedding at the Polonaise.

I'm guessing we won't get to most of these. I bet we will not do the last two.

But the good news is, this past week we knocked off two other items: go to Yankee Stadium during opening week and head upstate to zipline at Hunter Mountain. 

It's gonna be quite a ride. Here we go!