Midnight Snack

The truth about my eating habits. . . REVEALED!

Time to come clean. I have a deep and undying devotion to certain low-brow pleasures. Gossip Girl, cheap-o super crunch pickles (usually the supermarket brand), and fried potatoes in most any form. Usually with- go easy on me, this is pretty tough to admit- ranch dressing. Ranch! Oh Ranch, why can I never say no!?



MMmmm, so good and so bad. It's just so love hate with Ranch and I- so Blair and Chuck.

I digress.

So when, more often then I probably ought to, I find myself scavenging around in the kitchen for a midnight snack, my beloved combo of crunchy fried potato and cool creamy counterpart often tip toes its way into the front of my brain.

Vanity really has no place in the life of a true gourmand. This I know. That said, I would like to keep my girlish figure as long as possible thank you very much, and a midnight hunt through the fridge is not this time to indulge one's inner gourmand. Quite the opposite. Thus I care to neither fry up a batch of frites nor keep a bottles of things like ranch dressing in the house.

Still, a girl wants what she wants and she pretty much must have it (or an satisfactory approximation) so I've discovered an extremely delicious solution that I am so very pleased to share with you in the following photo essay. . . It's pretty self-explanatory, and quite adaptable.









Don't knock it till you try it. . .

Food + Friends + Movie

>




As a member of the service industry, my very longest and busiest day of the week is Saturday. I open up in the morning and am on my poor little feetsies for 9 hours straight. In truth, it flies by, and it is actually a very pleasant way to spend 9 hours, especially when the regulars come by and there are no wild rushes of demanding strangers. I'm sure you understand.



But, however enjoyable the day is, I am often a useless pile of hunger and grump when my very sweet (and by 7pm on Saturday, very well rested) dear David comes to pick me up. Try as I might, I never seem to believe that my mood is a bit compromised and I certainly haven't got a clue what I truely need to lift my spirits.



Hmm, yes that might work. . .

Thankfully, I find myself surrounded by people who know me better then I know myself- but don't quote me on that, especially right when I get off work as I have been known to bite. Anyway, I have these whacky people in my life who really seem to care about my well-being lovingly bring me back, defrosting my smile with the tried and true food and drink...




Warm summer night, windows open, family, friends, food. Is there absolutely anything better? So easily acheieved- a quick few phone calls, take-out, a few bottles of something cold and easy. I am one lucky lady.



Peace and happieness are truly attainable. May you find some of both tonight.

Paradigm Shift

That may be a bit extreme as titles so, but I'm trying something new here and I thought I'd try and catch your eye. Sorry to be so manipulative.

I think about food an awful lot- actually it's my job to think about it all day long, which I think is pretty great. Then, I go home and eat some food, and then read about it and think about it some more. I even talk to my friends about it, but only until they look like they can't stand it anymore and we absolutely must change the topic. Then we talk about something relevent, like if pink scarves look good with brown jackets (they do). Everyone has their limit, and I try to be mindful of that.

What I'm getting at here is that I want to be a better blogger, so I'm going to write more often, though it may not always be a pristine entry, and there will probably not be a picture with every entry because
a) it will take me a while to learn to carry my camera around AND more importantly

b) I refuse to be that person snapping pictures in a restaurant while everyone around me is trying to enjoy their meal. Now, I mean no offense to bloggers who choose to do that- if you are comfortable with that, by all means snap away. However, for me it is an issue of truly experiencing a meal body and soul versus frantically trying to capture it on film for all posterity at the expense of living a moment as it happens.

So, in the interest of being all quick and update-y, which is what this whole blogger/twitter/facebook/digg world seems to be all about these days, I want to share with you my dreamy dinner from tonight! First, a failed attempt to go to Laurelhurst Market--we were very sweetly turned away because they were still in soft-opening mode and I'm not awesome enough yet to go to that. I'll be back Simpatica Boys! Just you wait! I drink your sazerac! I eat your steak frites! I bet I will love it too so just take that!

Hungry and headed back to the 'hood, we wound up at 23 Hoyt. Why don't I go there every night? I have no good answer for that, and I'm not going to try to hard to find one.

Two plump sea scallops were salt-crispy on the sides, with juicy sweet centers. Pillows of brandade brought the deeper ocean. Hen of the woods mushrooms made it totally over the top. Actually, I thought they were so over the top they were sort of lost in the dish, but they were the thing that sold me on t dish, so what does that say? Good marketing idea, if not the most inspired addition flavor-wise? Or perhaps my palate sucks, and they're in fact absolutely necessary. Thoughts?

Burger is a burger, but this one was VERY much a burger. What I mean is that so many restaurants seem to want to mess with the idea Burger and put some sort of little extra on it that make it theirs. I'm an old fashioned girl when it comes to burgers, but that's all you need to know for now-- more on that later, I'd imagine. Anyway, the 23 Hoyt burger is blessedly straightforward. Medium rare came out very much on the rare side, which is more than fine by me, and the meat was just that- meaty. A little white cheddar, and some arugula- one lending salt, the other pepper. Perfect.

Finally, the mac and cheese. Blue cheese, gruyere, thick cubes of bacon. Heavy Cream. Crusty top, curly-Q pasta. Platonic ideal MAC & CHEESE. The pleasant and oh so clean burn of a Vesper and a Zefiro martini, respectively, proved quite helpful in polishing off the majority of this feast. I highly recommend their services.

That's the story, folks. Enjoy the spring, eat some pea shoots. Or some lemon cake. Or best of all, hop yourself over to Sahagun Chocolates and sip a Chile Limon soda, only the very most tasty soda there is in all of Portland! (Couldn't resist a little plug. . .)

I hope your Friday is full of fabulous flavors!

MIA. . .

An artist I greatly enjoy, as well as what I have been of late. Please accept an true and sincere apology from the bottom of my heart. Would you like a list of lame excuses, or I can cut to the chase and simply show you what has lured me back?

Recipe Style!!

Take a bunch of These:








Add this:




Back to life! Spring is blooming here in Portland, and not a day too soon. I hope it is blooming where you are too, and that it treats you as sweetly as it has me. Mountains of morels and fiddlehead ferns made a dreamy meal tonight, along with the ubiquitous rounder- outer of all great meals; bread and butter.







In other news, and part of the reason I've been away for a bit, is this;



I know, I know, I said no lists of excuses, but I'm pretty excited about this particular distraction so you'll have to forgive me yet again. I'll be moving away from my beloved Portland, and there is no Spring bounty luscious enough to change my mind. Thus, morellobello will go on, a different but hopefully still lovely animal!


Happy Spring! Let's eat it up!

What do you call cheese that isn't yours?

NACHO CHEESE!!!


Sorry, I couldn't resist. Well, my friends, Lent is upon us and I have given up cheese. Thus, right now, all cheese is not my cheese. Do you realize how many foods have cheese in them? I'm learning, and trust me, the curve of said learning has proven steep. My cheese-free eating troubles have been compounded by the fact that my darling boyfriend has given up meat.

Together we are, dare I say, vegan. At least in all the important ways, like not eating bacon or cheeseburgers. Or steak. Fresh mozzarella. Chunks of gruyere. Oh dear, I have to stop.

Needless to say, dinner time has presented a challenge of late. But a challenge I believe we have risen to! Thankfully, I am more than happy to spend all day pondering my dinner. To be honest, I have little choice in the matter as it seems to be what my brain does whether I ask it to or not. But I digress.

Last Monday, all this pondering led us to one of the happiest evenings we have spent in a while. Maybe we really will go vegan!* We ended up having an absolute dream of a dinner at Pok Pok, a sort of Thai street food restaurant here in Portland. It is very well loved around town, in addition to getting boat-loads of national mentions. I've been dying to go there for ages, but have only grabbed a bite of take out from their little to-go hut (really, it's a hut) in passing. We are a little slow on the uptake.




Warm and buzzing, the cozy bobble of a space put me at ease instantly. We ordered with relative abandon, considering the aforementioned limitations. Our table was soon gloriously overrun with plates, mounds of this, steaming bowls of that. Even sweet little baskets of the stickiest rice that just begs to be eaten with your fingers. One for me, one for him.

A mellow yellow curry noodle soup with fresh coconut milk stole David's heart, while a deeply pungent wild mushroom salad swept me away. Three days later, eating anything else remains perfunctory. Limey brightness, Thai chili heat, and meaty beautiful mushrooms swirled together to make my mouth in those moments the most dazzled in the world.

What most tied the meal together for me was the fact that I was sipping vinegar all through it. As a child, I used to drink white vinegar by the capfull, and don't even get me started on pickle juice, so the thought of being able to drink vinegar in the grown-up world was quite exciting.

You see, at Pok Pok, they make these very special fruit-infused vinegars for drinking. They come in glass, 2oz of vinegar, and the rest spritzy water! Or, better still, make it boozy and add a shot of vodka. The waitress promised that was a popular way to go and who am I to argue? Kumquat vinegar & vodka? Yes please!

I am wholly enamored of this beverage, and I want to share it with you. However, I've come to the realization that I could never use words alone to begin to do it justice. Therefore, here in the Morellobello laboratories, we are working hard to bring you a recipe for making it yourself! I will be experimenting this week, and ask your patience as I attempt to bring you tangy perfection. Think tart, think fresh, bright, Spring! I'll have it for you before Spring is here, I promise!

Though I must ask you to wait on the beverage, I'll hop off topic for a moment and give you a little movie recommendation to tide you over. The perfect ending of a night whose theme seems to have been slowness on the uptake, we rented Vicky Christina Barcelona and lounged in our spice-soaked stupor. I highly recommend both! Happy almost Spring my lovelies!!






*Doubt it.

I can have whatever I like. . . .

Or so says T.I. in my new favorite song. Did I tell you I have horrid taste in music?

Glitz-ishly festive was my mood this past Thursday as I closed up shop at the end of a long and pleasantly busy day. The song "Whatever you like" was playing on my ipod, further encouraging me towards lush excess.

Dreamily scrub scrub scrubbing away at the dishes, I remembered that the Oscars-- as lush and glitzy event if there ever was one-- were coming up and it would be a good thing if had a festive cocktail ready. Also,and better still, I'd best TEST said cocktail recipe immediately and without delay. An excuse for instant gratification! Yes please!

Now, in the interest of journalistic integrity, I feel you should know that I stole this straight from Gourmet online. However, I don't feel like anyone reads that stuff except for me, so my writing about the cocktail is really more like doing the beverage a favor seeing as it's delicious and people should know that.

Phew. Ok, so it's called the Meryl Streep and if you really want to know why, go to Gourmet.com and look it up. I'd say it really doesn't matter, all you need to know is that it tastes like a glittering night sky in a glass and it looks like one too.




Simple and dreamy, this has only 3 ingrediants. No muddling, steeping, shaking, stirring, nothing. Just bubbly (I used that fabulous CRISTALino stuff), Goldschlager and Benedictine ( I used B&B because it was available in a not-giant bottle that suited me). In my dreams of this cocktail there would be a goldfleck to adorne each and every soaring bubble in the glass, but don't get too hung up on that because it is unlikely to happen that way. The color is gorgeous and the sipping will leave you mesmerized. You'll have stars in your eyes no matter what.



THE MERYL STREEP

adapted from Gourmet.com

1tsp Goldschlager
1tsp B&B
Plenty of Bubbly

Measure the Goldschlager and B&B into lovely flutes, top with bubbly. Be star-struck.

serves 1.



Here's a little picture, with a rose, for cheese factor. It is Oscar night after all.

a bunch of Bologn. . .

...ese.

haha! Awesome.



Today's story is a bittersweet one about a failed recipe, and a failed post. Last night I composed a beautiful post for you (whoever you are, possibly no one), each word painstakingly selected for your reading pleasure. In all honesty, though it sounded pretty, I wasn't entirely happy with it. 3 am and I was pooped, I resolved to look it over once more in the morning and put the finishing touches on it.

Then blogger ate it. In retrospect, it's very possible that the Big Editor in the Sky stepped in to save me from myself and my attachment to what I write. Now in the light of day, I can see that B.E. in the S. was giving me a fresh start.



I'm going to keep it simple, because what I have to tell you is just that. In a nutshell, I tried a recipe and it wasn't what I'd hoped.

Did you see the Jan. issue of Gourmet? The one with the dazzling spaghetti and meatballs on the cover? Well I wanted to make everything in that issue, and I know I'm not alone. We are a country of pasta lovers. I've always thought that was why low-carb is so big, as a we are also a country of people who seem to think if we love something, we should stay away from it. But that's another story.

Anyway, I decided to start by trying my hand at Lasagne Bolognese, the likes of which I have never before attempted. Always a good idea.

To this day, I couldn't say if it was me or the recipe. Ignorant tastebuds? Crappy ricotta? Over baked? Under baked? Who knows, but the bottom line is that after two days of chopping, stirring-while-simmering, and generally pouring my love into this effort I was met with rather a disappointment.

All was not lost though, and this is why;






Yes, half the recipe was a keeper, though by the time I realized that I had already sullied it with the other half. That is to say, the Bolognese was BolognaMAZING and all would have been hunky dory had I realized that before splashing it around in a pan with the noodle-y spinach gunk.

Spreading this knoweledge to you also redeems my efforts. I can convince myself that my time and money was well spent if you promise to hop along and whip up this Bolognese and stop there. Skip the Lasagne and just eat the Bolognese right out of the pan. Everything tastes better that way anyway. Or if you insist on an accompaniment, stay simple. A plate of penne, a bowl of bucatini.


Now you know. Ciao Bellas! Mangia!

So far, so good. . .

The first drink of 2009. I am off to a good start!

In case I haven't mentioned this yet, I am very head-over-heels for Champagne. Take me out to dinner, chances are if I have a drink it will sparkle. Level-headed working girl that I am, I often opt for Prosecco or a lovely Cremant. However, more often then I'd care to admit, if I'm buying a bottle of bubbles, I'll take Champagne. No substitutes thank you very much.

Nothing compares to the excitement of tasting a new Champagne, or popping a known favorite. It could be in my head. In fact, that's likely. But isn't that the magic of a favorite food or drink? Full sensory immersion, the chance to taste a moment, taste earth, nature, even a person.

Champagne is something we covet, that we deny ourselves when things are tight as they are now. In my eyes, that is absolutely wrong wrong wrong. Shame on you, Eric Asimov! Suggesting that this is not the year of champagne?! This is exactly when we NEED Champagne! We've been slapped in the face by the transient nature of our lives as we know them. Comforts were fewer and farther between in 2008 and we're supposed to welcome a New Year, and all the hopes and fears it brings, with a glass of CAVA!?! Have we learned nothing from the hardships of late 2008? 2009 would no doubt hold a grudge at such a shabby welcome (and who could blame it!?) and that's the last thing we need.

Sheesh. Live a little.

I decided to live a lot this past New Years eve, drinking a delicious bottle that I've been sitting on for more than a year now. Left over from last Christmas, this particular bottle has been put on ice more then once over the course of the year. I always intended to drink it, getting my hopes up and it's temperature down, but something always got in the way.

New Years was it, I decided. Champagne or bust. Thanks to a pre-party bet with some of my fellow New Years revellers, I knew that though I'd be waiting until at least 1 am to drink it, drink it I would!



New Years eve arrived and I nursed a bright little flute of Prosecco, waiting patiently for midnight and then 1, the sparkling hour, to roll around. The party was a smash, a glitzy treat with everyone dolled up for the new year, toasting over and over from 10pm on, bubbles of all kinds flowing freely.

Of course, what is a New Years Eve bash with out a few sparks and dramatics? Ours certainly was no exception, meaning that 1am came and went without my knowledge as I was quite busy alternately reasoning with a locked bathroom door and yelling at he-whose-fault-it-was-that-said-door-was-locked.

3am rolled around and as the party dwindled the dramatics settles themselves-- or at least took a taxi back to their hotel. I was left to watch the candles flicker their last flecks and reflect on what was--Prosecco-- and what was yet to be-- Champagne.

"So. . . I'm still game if you are." said he with whom I had the bet, my fellow bubble believer. I glanced over at my lovely other half where he sat fading fast, as he had already partaken of his share of beverages. But because he is wonderful and nice like that, he nodded 'sure, go ahead. I'll have a sip'.

There it was, patiently hiding in the back of the fridge. Stark and thrilling, the label stared back at our greedy little eyes --

C H A M P A G N E

Jacques Lassaigne~ Millesime


Without hesitation, we popped the precious bottle. Softly golden, its candlelit glow fizzed into our glasses. A million ferocious bubbles rush to our lips us as we toast. It is divine, at once rich, clean and totally captivating. Hesitant, curious sips become deep luxuriant pulls. Optimism reigns and we welcome the new year.

Jewels and other things that dazzle. . .

This Thanksgiving was unusually lovely for me, I hope that it was likewise for you. If somehow it wasn't, may I recommend a lovely tart to cure whatever leftover stings and bruises you may have? If somehow it was, you should try the tart anyway, because as Mae West famously said, too much of a good thing can be wonderful.



Here's something heart wrenching; I made this tart for someone else to take to their dinner. I presented some simple and sweet Pumpkin Pies at the dinner that I attended, but I selflessly gave this little beauty to my mother to bestow on her hosts (who were different from my own.)

Well, not entirely selflessly. I demanded at least a slice in return. Of course not until the dinner was over so that the dessert could be presented grandly, that is to say in its entirety.

In the end, I was glad to wait until late that night to taste the fruits of my labor. It was the perfect bite to round out a surprisingly peaceful day, something I'd been looking forward to for nearly 48 hours at that point.

Alright, enough suspense. Lifted straight out of the 2008 Thanksgiving issue of Gourmet, the Prune Cherry and Apricot Frangipane tart is one that initially I passed over. Somehow it called to me on a second, time-killing browse through the issue. Thank goodness for the boredom that drives us to reread and issue already cast aside, because without it I doubt such perfection would have passed my lips this year.

The ingredients are stupidly simple, and the tart more than the sum of its parts. Little mesmerizing jewels, the cherries, prunes and apricots soak overnight in Grappa and a little sugar, plumping and becoming wholly seductive.





Something about making a tart in one of those pans with the removable bottoms inspires me to make my own crust, but I'm sure that you could buy one and stuff it into the pan and few would be the wiser. Use whatever recipe is your favorite if you decide to make your own, I made an all-butter crust and it was, shockingly enough, dreamy.

Whip up a pillowy Frangipane filling while the tart shell pre-bakes. Pressing the glittering, tipsy with Grappa fruits into the frangipane is pretty much one of the most enticing things I've done in my baking career, so you may want to allow a lot of time for it. Or you could be done in under 2 minutes. Your call.

Sip the remaining Grappa as the tart bakes, this is a must.



May it bring you comfort and joy. It certainly did me.


Prune, Cherry and Apricot Frangipane Tart

(From Gourmet, Nov. 2008)

2/3 cup Grappa (I used Clear Creek Fresh Oregon Muscat Grappa)
3 1/2 tablespoons sugar
1/2 cup prunes
1/2 cup dried tart cherries
1/4 cup dried apricots

7 oz almond paste
1/2 stick of softened butter
3 tablespoons sugar
1/8 tsp almond extract
1/2 + tsp salt
2 eggs
3 tablespoons flour

Chop up the prunes and apricots. Or use all cherries and skip the chopping.
Heat the Grappa and sugar in a pan over med-low heat until sugar is dissolved. Add the fruit and simmer gently for 1 minute. Remove from heat and let it sit overnight. Stir now and then.

The next day, get your tart shell pressed into a round tart pan with a removable bottom. Prick it all over with a fork and bake the tart shell at 375 for about 15 minutes. Let it cool and work on the filling.

Beat the butter and almond paste together with the sugar, extract and salt. Add the eggs one at a time, and don't worry if it looks a little separated. Finally beat in the flour.

Pour the cloud-like mixture into the cool tart shells and press the strained jewels into it gently. Save the Grappa syrup that comes from straining.

Bake for 30 minutes at 375. It is done when puffed and just golden. Brush the hot tart with the Grappa Syrup. Impress your friends with your mad skills.

Big Night

Election night is finally upon us!

My fellow Americans, we have endured months and months of non-stop newsfeed not only from television, radio and newspapers, but also, and perhaps most tryingly, from those we hold most dear.




Not only have I seen and heard my very own friends and family become political junkies, I myself do not claim to have come through this election unscathed. I've chuckled at a Sarah Palin joke or five, I've got Obamagirl on my iPod. I'm only human.



If you've somehow missed my not-so-subliminal message I've been blaring thus far in todays post, here's what.



Thank the Lord this is over. Let's all have parties exactly like this post-- that is to say Absolutely Bubbling over with Champagne! Do everyone a solid and spring for the good stuff. We have more then earned it!



Cheers!