Also, interestingly, I’ve found that as I’ve settled into this new life with my husband-to-be, I’m entertaining and cooking more than ever, but compelled (less than ever) to photograph what I’m making, Tweet my updates, check in on Facebook, or write posts.  All of that social media activity tends to break the flow of what’s really happening, and it has become harder and harder for me to do as I’ve felt more rooted and connected to the real world around me.  (As I write this, I notice that my last Tweet was over a month ago – yikes.)  Someone suggested that I hire a PR assistant to tweet and post for me, but then, what’s the point of that?  It seems so inauthentic and deceitful to my readers, for that matter.  Do other bloggers really do that?  I hope not.

As much as I know I’ll miss my friends in the blogging community, I feel more enriched and more grounded in a broader sense than ever before.  I feel present and happy and appreciative of this special time.

My television pilots and instructional videos continue to float around in the entertainment world, and I hope with all my heart that one of the networks will pick me up someday soon.  Everyone seems to want “big concept” shows like Top Chef and Cake Wars these days, which isn’t really me.  I hope that eventually the trend will shift back to a style of programming that is geared toward an audience that actually wants to learn how to cook.  If it does, and there’s room for me in the lineup, I’ll be ready!

For now, I leave you with a virtual potluck of some favorite recipes that have appeared on this blog over the past three years.  Click on the picture, and you’ll be taken to the recipe in the archives.  I hope this is enough to keep you cooking and happy until I return.

I sign off with the deepest gratitude for the many talented bloggers, producers, photographers and stylists who have inspired me and supported me from the beginning.  We’re not done yet!  I’ll be back as soon as I’m ready, and we’ll dive back in.

-Miri

1. Fresh bright cheeses go with fresh bright wines. For example, a sauvignon blanc would go well with an herbed goats milk cheese like Fleur Verte.

2. At the other end of the spectrum… a “bigger” wine like cabernet sauvignon goes well with more complex cheeses that are aged and nutty in flavor, such as a stilton.

3. “Raw milk cheese” simply means that the milk was not pasteurized before the cheese making process began, which in turn means that the cheese making process began within two hours of when the milk was collected from the animal.

4. The hardness of the cheese is correlated with how long the cheese is aged. Hard cheeses like parmigiano-reggiano are aged 18-24 months. A semi-soft cheese such as ossau araty (Basque sheep’s milk cheese) is aged 30-60 days. Semi-soft cheeses must be made with pasteurized milk in the US because raw milk contains live microflora that (according to the USDA) can cause illness.

5. In a soft, aged cheese like Tomme Crayeuse, the center of the round is less aged than the outer portion. So it will have a different texture and flavor… it’s softer and more tart.

6. There is no lactose in cheese aged over 60 days. Goat, sheep and water buffalo cheeses are the easiest to digest for people who have lactose or dairy intolerance.

7. Butterfat content has to do with the creaminess of the cheese. Swiss has 45% bf, double crème cheese (brie) are about 65% bf, and triple crème cheeses (like Brillat-Savarin) are 75% bf. To put all of this into perspective… butter is at least 85% butterfat.

8. How long before guests arrive should you take your cheeses out of the fridge? Hard cheese can sit out for up to an hour, semi-hard cheeses can sit out for about 20 minutes. Soft and fresh cheeses should come out of the fridge just as guests are arriving.

9. Some of my favorite pairings… aged balsamic on parmigiano-reggiano… Tomme Crayeuse with dried figs and port… Colston Bassett Stilton with honey and port… Epoisses with Riesling.

10. Honey is incredible on all cheeses. You can’t go wrong.

The summer season at Lake Tahoe lasted 13 weekends this year, and we managed to soak up an impressive 11 of them.  We’d sneak out of work a little early on Friday and shoot up the mountain ahead of the evening crush.  We stayed in cheap motels, a few decent condos and occasionally at a swanky cabin owned by one of my coworkers.  But it never much mattered where we were staying because our days were spent on that breathtaking, sparkling expanse of blue water.  Every morning, we’d pack our boat with a picnic and a little wine, smear ourselves with sunscreen and set out for a long relaxing day of sunshine and total, decadent inactivity.

At the beginning of the summer, we’d often get out there and I’d wonder, in a moment of panic, what in the world will we do all day?  I’m so used to juggling tasks and busying myself with work and errands that the idea of sitting on a boat with only a book and a stack of magazines to distract me seemed a little daunting.

But it’s amazing how quickly you slow down when you have nowhere to go and nothing to do.  By the end of the season, I was so accustomed to the whole routine of nothingness that the day would sometimes seem to pass in the blink of an eye.  As the season wore on, the sun would start to sink toward the west shore just a little earlier each evening.  And we knew it all had to come to an end.

Indeed, the weather turns quickly at 6,500 feet elevation.  Last weekend, with a tear in our eyes, we pulled the boat out of the water and towed it down the hill for winter storage Reno.

We’ll always have pictures to remember the summer by, and surely next summer will be here before we know it.  In the meantime, I’ll have more time for baking and cooking now that we’re spending more time at home.

Just this week I made almond butter cookies one evening while Moe watched football in the living room.  Shorter days… football… cookies in the oven.  A new season begins.

Chewy Almond Butter Cookies

8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter, at room temperature
½ cup creamy almond butter
½ cup firmly packed light brown sugar
½ cup granulated sugar
1 large egg
½ teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 ½ cups all purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
¼ teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons turbinado sugar

Preheat the oven to 375.  Grease two cookie sheets.

Cream the butter, almond butter and sugars in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment.  Beat until light and fluffy.  Beat in the egg and vanilla until fully incorporated.

Sift together the flour, baking soda and salt in another bowl.  Add to the butter mixture and beat just until combined, scraping down the sides of the bowl with a spatula.

Drop batter by the tablespoonful and flatten slightly with the back of a fork.  Sprinkle each cookie with a pinch of turbinado sugar and bake 7-9 minutes for soft, chewy cookies, 9-11 minutes for denser cookies.

Serve warm.  Cool completely and store in an airtight container for up to four days.

A few months ago I posted an entry about my big move to San Francisco and now I’m all settled into our cozy city apartment.  Moe’s bachelor pad has been all girled up with curtains and decorative pillows and other pretty little things.  It’s been… transformed.

And what about apartment cooking, you ask?  It’s not that bad.  Our building dates to the mid-1930s, and while the kitchen is small and mostly original, it’s pretty functional.  I find that I make less of a mess because there really isn’t much counter space to make a mess of in the first place.  And I do dishes as I go since there’s no dishwasher, which means the post-meal cleanup is less of a chore.  (On that note, you’ll have to pardon the mountain of dishes drying in the rack pictured above; we’d just had brunch.  But the light coming in from the window was so pretty, I just had to snap a shot.  And I didn’t want to tidy it all up before I photographed it and so you would think that my kitchen always happens to look picture-perfect… because it doesn’t.)

Last weekend we stayed at a friend’s swanky Tahoe home and I found myself feeling somewhat lost and overwhelmed in the spacious modern kitchen, what with its endless planes of cool, slick granite and shiny stainless appliances.  I found I really missed my little kitchen, so full of character and history.  I love the old wooden window over the faucet and the single-basin ceramic sink, and the glass-paned door that leads to our patio herb garden.  It’s a kitchen that has interesting stories to tell, no doubt.  I’ve often wondered who else has cooked here and what they were like.  Who was this apartment’s first tenant, back in 1936, and was she wowed by the modernity of the place?  Who lived here when the milkman still delivered milk through the milk door, and when the ice box actually had ice in it? (It has now been converted to a cabinet.)

Who else has stood at that sink, their hands in warm soapy water, and paused for a moment to feel the cool, damp air blow in from the Bay?

If only a kitchen could talk.

We definitely only buy what we need, because the fridge is about the size of a large upright cooler. It's hard to tell from the photo but believe me, you've never seen one smaller except perhaps on an RV.

My cookbooks now live, quite happily, in the built-in in the dining room.

The most prized feature of any city apartment -- a deck! Complete with herbs, lettuce, tomatoes, and flowers.

Flowers picked from planter boxes on the deck - nasturtium, lavender, and violets.

]]> http://www.mirileigh.com/2011/08/so-this-is-where-i-cook-now/feed/ 5 http://www.mirileigh.com/2011/07/ive-been-interviewed-at-inspired-taste/ http://www.mirileigh.com/2011/07/ive-been-interviewed-at-inspired-taste/#comments Thu, 28 Jul 2011 22:56:04 +0000 miri http://www.mirileigh.com/?p=2598 Well, what an honor this is.  I was interviewed by the lovely folks at Inspired Taste, and the interview is now online.  Click below read more!

Because after 4th of July, we went right back to Tahoe for more boating on the lake, and then I went to visit my grandmother in St. Louis for a few days.  Somehow we managed to squeeze in a few days in Cabo somewhere in there, too.

So of course I’ve felt a little guilty about “blog neglect” and I’ve been meaning to cook something really fabulous and spend some time photographing it and writing up a really fascinating post about it.  I’ve been trolling around on other blogs for inspiration and falling asleep with cooking magazines tucked under my chin, searching for the perfect recipe.

Then tonight I came home from work and Moe had brought home lobster tail for dinner.  Along with bell peppers in a rainbow of colors and two big, fat artichokes.  Everything looked so good and fresh that I couldn’t help but ask myself, who needs a recipe?  Fresh, seasonal food needs nothing at all except a little olive oil and salt.

So that’s what we did.  We cracked those lobster tails, par-boiled the artichokes, skewered the bell peppers, drizzled everything olive oil, and threw it all on the grill.  And then I photographed the feast with my iPhone. No food styling, no lights or filters.  Just a fabulous, fuss-free, no-recipe dinner.

And then we cracked open a bottle of chardonnay, and we ate.

On a recent Friday, I ditched work early and picked up my guy so we could get a head start on a long-awaited Yosemite weekend.  We managed to escape the Bay Area Traffic Nightmare that is called Friday night rush hour, and crossed the Central Valley in an eastward beeline just as the sun was starting to sink in the rearview mirror.  We drove through the low, green crop fields of Tracy and Manteca, just as the farm stands were shuttering up for the evening.

At dusk, we reached the Yosemite Westgate Lodge and settled into our simple little room.  The lodge is nothing fancy – the room looked out onto the pool, which was in the middle of the parking lot, which was directly adjacent to the highway — but it really was all much lovelier than it sounds.  The setting alone just seems to slow you down… the majestic evergreens and the expansive blue sky that stretches out behind them.  We dropped our bags, freshened up and strolled over to the Buck Meadows Diner, where we had burgers, fries, and beer, which was the best meal we could have dreamed of after the long drive.

In the morning, we were wakened by the sounds of eager travelers packing their cars and  slamming their trunks.  We knew we ought to get moving, too, to stay ahead of the rush at Yosemite’s west entrance.  Soon we had packed up our own car and were descending into the park, surrounded by towering trees, lush green grass, and… water. More water than we’d ever seen in our lives.

It’s true – people who have lived and work in the park for 25 years are saying they’ve never seen as much water as is pouring into the park this summer. With the heavy snows that hit the sierras earlier this year, and the sudden appearance of warmer weather, there is an indescribable amount of water gushing into the valley from every direction.  There are waterfalls where there have never been waterfalls before. It’s truly breathtaking.

We started with the short and easy walk to Bridal Veil Falls, which wasn’t quite as short or easy as it once was, since the hiking path itself is flowing like a shallow river.  We had to hitch up our pants and practically wade up to the lookout point.  Then we hit Yosemite falls and, later, Vernal Falls, both of which soaked us thoroughly with dramatic spray.   The park was crowded (as you can see from that long line of cars lining the park road in the photo above) but we didn’t mind.

As we walked across the valley floor at one point in the afternoon, we came across a deer munching on some grass.  I wanted to get a little closer to get a photo of his newly-formed antlers, and he did indeed allow me to come quite close.  Until, that is, he decided he needed to use the restroom and needed a little privacy.  He politely stepped behind a bush and relieved himself.  I realize it was terribly rude of me, but I couldn’t help but snap a picture of that, too.

We splurged on upgraded digs on Saturday night… a room at the historic Ahwahnee Hotel in the heart of the valley.  I hadn’t been there since I was just a girl and the place hasn’t changed much, so it was a little bit like stepping back in time.  It was lovely.  We dined in the dining room and our room had a view of half dome, which was fantastic, all washed in the orange light of sundown.  The following photo was taken from the window of our guest room.

Wary of the crowds, we decided (a bit reluctantly) to leave the park early on Sunday.  We were sad to say goodbye to that magical place, but the leisurely drive home allowed us to stop at some of those farm stands in Manteca and pick up some local produce and goodies, including some white balsamic vinegar, which I’ll be using to make salad dressing, and red cherries which I used to make cherry petite pies.  Check back for that recipe next week.

Where will your travels take you this summer?  Drop me a line and let me know!

I’ve lived in the Bay Area my whole life but I’ve never actually lived in San Francisco.  I grew up in the suburbs, in the small town of Orinda just 15 miles east of the city skyline and have lived in various parts of the East Bay for much of the past 10 years.  I’ve always spent a lot of time in the city for dinners and parties and girls’ nights out, but I just never felt the urge to live there.  What can I say?  I’m sort of a suburban girl.  I’ve always liked coming home to my little neighborhood, where I could tend to my garden and watch my neighbors’ kids play in their front yards.

But earlier this year I met someone special.  I started tweeting things like “we” are doing this, and “we” are doing that.  And “we” are cooking dinner.  Or, even better, “he” is cooking dinner.  Which he does!  He roasts the tenderest matzoh-stuffed chicken, makes the most beautiful salads and sets a lovely table.  Oh – and did I mention the wine collection?  He has racks and racks of fabulous wine… it’s his passion.  If ever a girl were wined and dined, it was I.

So things have been going well, as you can imagine, and effective exactly this week… we’re living together.  And for the first time in her life, this Bay Area native is a resident of the city of San Francisco.

We’re living in a 1930’s building in the Marina (that’s our neighborhood, pictured above), which has lovely wood floors and big windows and arched doorways.  There’s no garden, but we do have a large deck and since I’d been doing a lot of container gardening anyway (since my previous landlord had filled in my old garden patch), I’m quite content.  We have herbs in pots and a couple of tomatoes that, we’re told, are cultivated specifically to withstand the city’s cool, damp climate.

It will be a few months before we have our first tomato, I’m sure.  San Francisco doesn’t get warm until the fall, so I’ll be lucky to harvest anything before August or September if the fog doesn’t get to the plants first.  So in honor of my move to San Francisco, I’m doing something with a slightly more immediate gratification value: I’m making sourdough.  I’m making the starter, to be exact, which entails making a wet, yeasty dough and leaving it on the kitchen counter to bubble and ferment for a couple of weeks.

My guy crinkled up his nose a little bit last night when I showed him what I had done.  But I told him that if making sourdough starter isn’t  an effective way to put your scent on a new place, I don’t know what is.

Sourdough Starter

1 1/4 cup all purpose flour
3/4 cup rye flour
2 cups potato water (water that potatoes have been boiled in until soft.)
2 teaspoons active dry yeast

Mix all ingredients in a bowl until thoroughly combined.  Pour into a 2 quart mason jar and cover the jar with cheesecloth and place in a warm spot.  Every couple of days, stir the separated liquid back into the starter gently with a wooden spoon and allow to ferment until the desired sourness is achieved, about 4-10 days.  Store loosely covered in the refrigerator and use as called for in sourdough recipes.  Replace what you take with the equivalent 1 part water to 1 part flour.

When I was growing up, we had a great backyard.  I lived in Orinda, about 15 miles east of San Francisco (just beyond the fog line), in a 1940s house that sat on about a half acre of land.  That’s not a lot of land, but we used every square inch of it.  The yard was terraced into a hillside: on the top level there was a deck built by my father, where we barbequed and ate dinner on warm summer nights.  The middle level featured a long flat lawn that was nothing short of perfect for slip-n-sliding.  That’s also where our swingset was, which provided hours of entertainment.

The lowest terrace was where we kept the vegetable garden, where my dad built raised beds for tomatoes, corn, beans, cucumbers, and lettuce.  In the corner there was a compost bin, where we recycled organic waste, weeds, lawn clippings and the like.  The compost got worked back into the soil every year when it was time to replant the beds, and anything too tough to compost got used as mulch.  In addition to the vegetable garden, we had fruit trees: three apple trees and a pear.  And under the largest apple tree, grapes growing on a trellis.  Every weekend, my dad was out there in the dirt, sweating and raking and shoveling.  I used to love to be in the garden with my dad, working alongside him in the sunshine. I loved the rhythm and balance of it all.

I don’t have a very big yard now, I rent a small apartment in a 100-year-old house in the historic community of Piedmont.  But last year my landlord did a wonderful thing — he tore out the landscaping in the rear of the building and then left the beds bare.  It was wonderful!  I promptly planted every square inch of the empty beds with all the vegetables I grew up with: the beans and tomatoes and pumpkins did especially well. These photos were taken early last summer.

This year, the beds have been planted with drought-tolerant grasses and low-maintenance shrubs.  It’s a little sad for me, though I’m learning to love container gardening.  So far I have cilantro, chives and tarragon in a pot right outside my door.  It’s not the same as working in a vegetable bed, but it’s still gratifying.

What will you grow this summer… in your garden, in a pot, or on your windowsill?

Yes, it’s true, I’m signing off until 2011.  Saturday I’ll board a plane bound for Bali, where I’m meeting my sister Kate for two weeks of scuba diving, hiking, beaching, and adventuring.  I say, ‘Tis the season to go somewhere warm.

Kate’s coming from Bangkok.  Have I mentioned that she lives there?  She’s a CPA who practiced tax accounting in Los Angeles until she couldn’t stand another day of it, and then she packed all of her things into a storage unit and traveled to Southeast Asia with absolutely no plan whatsoever.  Does she sound like the coolest chick you’ll ever meet?  She is.  Eight months later, she has a job (not in accounting), an apartment, and a host of Thai, American, and other assorted friends.  And she’s living a real life in a foreign land and meeting amazing people and doing all sorts of amazing things.  She kept a blog for a few months (until she settled down) and you can read it here.

I was originally planning to go to Bangkok to see Kate’s apartment and hang out with her on her “home” turf.  But she ended up twisting my arm into the whole Bali idea.  This is how our conversation unfolded:

Me: So I was thinking of coming to visit you in Bangkok.

Kate: Really?! That would be fabulous, but I kinda wanted to get away for the holidays.

Me: Well, where were you thinking of going?  Maybe I’ll meet you there.

Kate: Bali.

Me: DONE!

Okay, so there wasn’t much arm twisting.  I booked my ticket last week and we got one of the very last hotel rooms on the island.

So I’m off.  I wish you and yours the very happiest of holidays and peace and joy in the New Year.  I’ll be tweeting along the way, and I promise to return with lots of photos and good stories to tell.

Be Merry,

-Miri