![]() I predicted pork-y flavor along the lines of prosciutto, but this Lady Edison ham was not that - it was deep and funky and salty in ways I haven’t experienced before. If you’re not a fan of pork, then this is definitely not for you, but it was noticeably different and attention-grabbing. I won’t get into the weeds of the process of making this ham, but in Geoff’s hands it played beautifully against the figs and mustard seeds in funky-salty-sweet bites. June 24 Miyagi oysters at Bluestem Restaurant and Market Dianne de Guzman, Eater SF deputy editorĪdd on the fact that it was served alongside a cooling salad of melon, cucumber, buttermilk, and herbs that emitted sweet summer vibes, and it was a true Dinner Moment. The Slanted Door pop-up at Rice & Bones intersected two of my favorite things: Slanted Door, of course, and my alma mater of UC Berkeley. Adjust seasoning.The preview dinner was a nice way to (slowly) welcome back Slanted Door after a two-year closure, especially for those who have been awaiting its return. If you want, loosen it up with some more olive oil. If you have a slice of avocado lying about you can add that as well for some additional creaminess. Add a pinch or two of lemon zest, a splash of lemon juice, a drizzle of sherry wine vinegar, a glug of olive oil, and a pinch of salt. Blend until you have a thick green paste (again, some chunks are fine). Add a handful of herbs (try a combination of basil, parsley, and arugula). Blend vigorously until it’s almost creamy (a little remaining crunch is fine). Add a handful of toasted warm nuts (almonds, walnuts, pine nuts, or a combination). Make a paste out of one clove of garlic and one anchovy. To make a quick pesto: I use my mortar and pestle, but you could use a food processor, blender, or the kitchen counter and a chef's knife. It’s done when the bread is browned and the cheese just starts to ooze out the sides. If you’re using a pan or a grill, you can mimic a panini press by placing something heavy like the bottom of a cast iron pan or a brick wrapped in tin foil on the sandwich as it cooks. There is plenty of oil on the inside of this sandwich, so no need to oil the outside. Drape as many anchovy fillets as you like - I prefer those packed in oil - over the cheese. Layer one half with slices of creamy Havarti (cheddar, Monterey Jack, or mozzarella work as well). Spread pesto (see quick recipe below) all over both halves. To make this sandwich: Heat up your panini press, grill, or pan. Or maybe it was just that I was eating exactly when, what, and where I wanted. Or how I was suddenly aware - as my teeth plunged loudly into the crispy bread - of my very quiet house. Or how the freshly-bashed, garlic-heavy herbaceous pesto jumped around my mouth. Maybe it was the way the anchovies lost themselves in the creamy Havarti, merging into an umami fat bomb. I’m still not quite sure why, but last week, my quiet introspective lunch produced the best sandwich I’ve ever had. It's about cooking and eating exactly what I want, interference-free. It’s all about listening to my hunger, my cravings, my hormones. I can put my elbows on the table, use the dishtowel as a napkin, and fill my sandwich with as many little fishies as I like. In those twenty minutes, I’m not responsible for any child’s future. More: Another great way to get a little more anchovy into your meals? Bagna Cauda.įrom the initial gathering of ingredients to the assembly on my cutting board to the last salty bit I scoop up and lick off my fingers, my solo meals are quite meditative. ![]() And I’ll smile to myself, knowing that the next day I’ll get my kids off to camp, sit down to write, and listen for that moment when my belly says feed me, Phyllis, feed me some anchovies. And then (with a little nudging) they will admit that dinner is not nearly as disgusting as they had initially imagined. I channel that stand-your-ground eerily calm mama who says things like "Sweeties, this is dinner, I’m not making anything else - if you’re not eating it then please brush your teeth and go to bed." And more often than not, they will start to eat. That’s when the griping and gagging and pushing away of their plates begins, often escalating into an outburst or two: "that’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen!" ![]() But more often than I’d like to admit, at the end of a long day, my kids arrive at the table all crabby and tired and desperately wanting a cheeseburger and instead of that, an enormous cruciferous mash-up slaw made from every single vegetable in the CSA box sits right in front of their faces. Often their enthusiastic desire to help me plan, shop, and cook results in a dreamy, perfect dinner hour. But I don’t mean that in a snarky or selfish or overbearing way: the bottom line is that I don’t let my kids’ whims run the kitchen.
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