Favas: Not Just for Liver Anymore

My friend Sam (who might be the best California guitarist you never heard of and an extremely talented cook to boot) invited a group of people over last night for an impromptu gathering at his tiny abode with the only instructions being "Bring something Mediterranean to nibble on. It's too hot to cook anything." It'd been a scorching weekend, and we were all a bit sunburned and wilted. Having picked up some favas at the Farmers Market on Saturday along with some blood oranges, I decided to bastardize a recipe for a fava bean bruschetta I’d seen and put together a little crostini. I like to do that—find something to reinvent or experiment with ingredients. It’s like the foundation of a joke:  One day this piece of manchengo walks into a bar and sits down next to some grilled artichokes and roasted tomatoes . . . . You're waiting for the punchline and hoping it's a gut-buster. But sometimes my little “culinary dalliances” don’t end well and I have to call out for pizza (which is not a total loss because I love pizza).

With some leftover rosemary and lemon bread as the base of the crostini, I spread on some lovely bucheron goat cheese. Next I added a dollop of fava bean puree, a blood orange segment and sprinkle of microgreens on top. And with Russ helping with the assembly, it took just minutes to come together with very little slaving over a hot stove. And I’m very pleased to report that it was tasty. And it was beautiful. And it was healthy. And it was gobbled up. 

I think part of the success of the dish was that it was satisfying--you tasted the different layers as you bit into it--but it was refreshing. And even with the doors and windows open at Sam's, it felt like a sauna inside. It was too oppressive to possibly consider expending the energy to pick up a cracker, spread on some gorgonzola and drizzle it with honey. That was just way too much work. You wanted something that could be fed to you as you reclined on the sofa while someone fanned you. Unfortunately, the party did not come with any such service, but the crostini made a good food substitute. 

Tamara was in attendance and wearing this beautiful teal green maxi dress that was perfect attire for being fed grapes to. She is a total movie buff and is amazing to talk to as she exposes you to movies you'd never know to watch and offers such interesting perspectives. Well, it's difficult for me to think of movies and fava beans without hearing Hannibal Lecter's creepy voice saying, "A census taker once tried to test me. I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti." According to the AFI, this is the 21st most popular movie quote in America cinema.

Thanks to Silence of the Lambs, I think fava beans have kind of gotten a bad rap (or at minimum a very unappetizing association). It's the opposite of the "Sideways Effect" on Pinot Noir, where the obscure wine varietal in the US was catapulted to an almost overnight success in the wake of the movie. While it's likely you've developed a soft spot for the fickle grape that put the Santa Barbara wine region on the map, you may still be holding the fava at bay. But I would encourage you to give it a go this Spring. I don't like liver much myself and I assure you there are lots of other fabulous ways to delight in one of spring's most under-appreciated legume. 

 

The ancient fava is one of the oldest cultivated plants, believed to date back to 6000 BC. They were the only beans Europeans ate before they discovered America's plethora of legumes. However, they took our beans home and left us the fava, which never really caught on here. It's surprising because they're easy to grow, make excellent ground cover and help prevent erosion, and are delicious to eat with a buttery texture, slight bitterness and lovely, nutty flavor. Granted they do look a bit cartoonish at first sight--think bumpy string beans on steroids. [These are clearly the beans Jack used to grow his beanstalk.] 

And you do have to do some work to prepare them. Maybe we've become too lazy as a society to warm up to the fava. First they must be shelled, which isn't too bad because of their size. But then if they're not young, you must parboil them to remove the outer waxy shell around the bean. They really just slide off but it is an extra step. Since I can have lazy tendencies (which I call my "quest for efficiency") at times, I try to buy the young ones so I can avoid that whole boiling scene. But trust me; they're worth the extra effort. [I just recalled a childhood memory: I had to help my grandmother shell a bunch of peas and I would search out the largest ones which made for the easiest shelling, leaving her all the dregs. What an embarrassingly horrible thing to do to your granny! I bet she'd be a bit surprised to find me promoting any kind of bean shelling.]  If you're lucky, maybe you can find them already shelled fresh at a farmers market. If that is the case, snap some up immediately. And then head to your nearest convenience store and buy a lottery ticket. 

 

Fava Bean Puree

Ingredients

1 3/4 cup fava beans (double shelled, if necessary)

1 cup water

1 garlic clove, minched

2-3 Tbsp fresh lemon juice

3 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil

 

Directions

Place the fava beans, water and garlic in a large skillet. Bring to a boil and reduce heat to medium. Simmer uncovered until beans are tender, stirring occasionally, about 10 minutes. Drain favas, reserving cooking liquid. Transfer to food processor. Add olive oil and lemon juice and puree until smooth, adding a little reserved cooking liquid as needed. Season with salt and pepper and transfer to a small bowl. 

 

Lazy Man's Directions

Since fava beans aren't always available or we don't always have the time/desire to go through the whole shelling drill, you can also "cheat" on this recipe and use a bag of fresh english peas. They don't have exactly the same flavor but it's still delicious. Just put the frozen peas in a microwave safe bowl with 1/4 cup of water and zap them in the microwave for 3 minutes. Then follow the recipe as noted above. 

Get Yer Grits On

I don't consider myself the jealous type. When I do feel pangs of envy, it usually revolves around photographs of food I would consider giving my right arm for in order to eat (which would really not set me back all that much considering I'm a lefty). That seems like a reasonable reaction though for any food lover. But then there are all the clothes in the J.Crew and Anthroplogie catalogs that I lust after. And the fantastic boots I saw this boho chic walking down State Street in. Who am I kidding? I've just incriminated myself. I knew I should've been a lawyer. . . . 

I guess it should come as no big surprise then that I was steeped in jealousy upon hearing the news my friend E.G. was on his way to Saint George, SC for the World Grit Festival — for work. Yes, that's right. He is getting paid to attend a whole weekend dedicated to grits. I thought his job with Quaker Oats was pretty cool anyway, but it's officially been elevated to a whole new stratosphere.

Although I try to be a good Southerner, I must admit that I was not familiar with this prestigious affair. I mean it's not just a regional event but a world event!  [Well done, Saint George!] So I immediately went about investigating. Apparently, in 1985, Bill Hunter, store manager of the town's Piggly Wiggly Supermarket, discovered some pleasantly shocking news. The quaint town of Saint George (population 2000) ate more grits per capita than anywhere else in the United States--and even the whole world! The following year, the World Grits Festival was born, and today it draws crowds of 45,000 people. Sadly I am not one of them this year. 

If, like me, you enjoy having some good trivia handy for cocktail parties, you may be interested in knowing that Americans eat a whopping 100 million pounds of grits each year. I'd wager a bet it's not all consumed south of the Mason-Dixon line. I'm sure the many Southerners sprinkled around the nation are happily buying up all the Quaker instant grits they can get their hands on. I recall the first time I tried to buy grits at my local grocery store in Santa Barbara. I had to repeat my request twice to the poor cashier who looked at me like I was asking for plutonium, but the manager, upon overhearing my plight, smiled and told me my beloved could be found on aisle 5 amongst the hot cereal. I must have stood in front of the ocean of oatmeal (seriously, how many flavors of oatmeal do we need?) for 10 minutes before the sky parted, the angels started singing and the rays of light beamed down upon the single box of instant grits. Grateful, grateful, that's what I was (even though the box was past its expiration date). And for the record: Cream of Wheat is not a substitute for grits.

I believe anything as popular as grits deserves its own festival. So each April the good folks of Saint George (about an hour west of Charleston) host the annual World Grits Festival, probably drawing both hardcore grits lovers and the curious. Aside from the obligatory grits-eating contest, attractions include grits grinding, the corn shelling competition and the crowning of "Miss Grits." There is also lots and lots of food involving grits to be had. But I was not prepared for the Great Grits Roll. 

In a nut shell, an inflatable swimming pool is filled with cooked grits and contestants have 10 seconds to dive in and coat themselves with as much grits as possible. Contestants wear big hats and loose pants with lots of pockets because the person with the most pounds of grits on their body wins the first prize (they weigh you before and after to determine this). Shut your eyes and picture solo mud wrestling but in grits--and with more clothes on. Seriously, I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried! 

(photos copyright of World Grit Festival)

I was very upfront with E. G. about my job envy. But then he dropped the hammer: As the Quaker Oats representative, he gets to serve as the Master of Ceremonies for the Roll and also . . . drum roll please . . . must take the inaugural roll! Now I covet his job no more, but do want to see the photos. And while I will forever remain a staunch grits lover, I now know I want to be wrapped in cashmere not dipped in grits when I die. 

Off the Wagon

I know that your body is a temple. I also know that there are two kinds of people in this world: those who eat to live and those who live to eat. I definitely fall in the latter camp. I'd honestly rather starve than eat a bad meal. It's not my fault that so many of the glorious things that make for a good meal involve pork fat, which is not very temple-friendly. But I still try to be a healthy eater on an aggregate basis. [OK, I'm just going to come right out and acknowledge that I've had a long and tormented love affair with Dr. Pepper. Admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery, right?] Living in California actually helps. Firstly, you have access to amazing produce all year round. Secondly, the mild climate means more beach time and if seeing yourself in a bathing suit isn't motivation enough to make better food choices and/or exercise I don't know what is. Thirdly, there are no Chick-fil-A's out here. 

But I'm not the most disciplined person in the world. I have a terrible/brilliant (you decide) skill of rationalizing something I want. Like why I should continue lounging on the sofa watching Food Network instead of going to my yoga class. Or even though I've given up Dr. Pepper for Lent, if I drink the can while waiting for my lunch order to come up then it doesn't count. And to make matters worse, I can be quite stubborn. So if you tell me that something is off limits to eat, you can bet I'll take great pleasure in making that the primary food in my diet. The only solution viable for me is to leave room for a little sinning every now and then.  

While this philosophy works for the most part, there are times when the forces are against you and this whole approach goes completely out the window. Like last night. It was really windy and bizarrely cold for this time of year (a frigid 50 degrees! What are we paying for here?!). For me that is like kryptonite and Superman: there is no defense. The only reasonable thing I could do was pig out on fattening comfort foods.  

Since I'm an overachiever, I can't help but give 110% in all I do. So I had to start with this 

and then drudge onward to this 

Spurred on by the beautiful fire roaring nearby, there was no denying that several glasses of wine would be needed to wash down all that hard work. And when I thought it couldn't get any better/worse, I realized there was a box of Thin Mints in my freezer waiting for a "rainy day." 

Thankfully the winds have died down, the warm weather is back and I'm happy to report I'm eating a banana (although I'm really kicking myself for not saving any pizza to eat as leftovers). 

A Few of My Favorite Things

On the night before Easter, Russ and I found ourselves watching The Sound of Music, which has always been one of my all-time favorite movies. I dreamt of an acting career after seeing this for the first time at age 4 or 5, hoping to be cast as the next member of the Von Trapp family. The fact that I cannot sing did not seem to be an issue for me at that time. I can recite almost every line and have to hold myself back from singing each song, especially "My Favorite Things." While I'm not sure why they always show this classic at Easter, it got me thinking about some of my other springtime favorites. It may seem like a strange combination but asparagus, raspberries and peeps are at the top of the list. It seemed fitting that these very things had woven their way into my Easter plans.  

After some rainy, cool weather, I was so happy the Sun decided to grace us with her presence for the weekend. She generated a baseline buzz that was palpable Saturday at the Farmers Market and around town as people busied themselves with purchases and plans for Easter. I was out getting *provisions* for an Easter brunch for 15 friends and made a beeline for the asparagus stand at the market. It's a delight to see pencil-thin asparagus stacked a foot high and 15 feet across. Asparagus, glorious asparagus.

 

As I child, I never imagined such a thought would cross my mind, considering most of the asparagus I recall pretending to eat had a mush-like consistency and a pukey green color. But, on the other hand, back then I could put away a whole can of Vienna sausages in minutes. [Have you ever wondered how poor Vienna got associated with questionable canned meat? I did and apparently in many European countries any pre-cooked and sometimes smoked wieners bought fresh from butcher shops are called Vienna sausage. I feel pretty strongly that Armour/Pinnacle Food Corp has taken some pretty extreme poetic license.]  

I'm glad to say that my tastes have changed dramatically since then. Asparagus is now one of my most loved vegetables. And with some bright raspberries in my sight, I picked up a few pints to make an oldie but a goodie: raspberry-asparagus medley. 

It rounded out the rest of the brunch menu: thyme-honey glazed ham, hash brown "quiche," Russ' applesauce, and my grandmother's buttermilk biscuits, which try as I might are never as good as hers. That's why I've asked her to will me her pans and skillets. I'm hoping they're the secret ingredient. 

And to properly celebrate Easter (even as adults), you've got to have the right candy, so I made sure to pick up some of the mandatories: chocolate covered marshmallow eggs, jelly beans and peeps! I got a Martha Stewart-esque wild hair when I saw the peeps and made these really cute utensil rolls. 

They were the perfect compliment to the sunny daisies and wheat grass (which the cat would not stop eating) I arranged as the centerpiece. 

But the real highlight of the brunch was not the food or decorations. It was the First Annual Peep Regatta. 

What, might you ask, is a Peep Regatta? It's the synthesis of a bunch of guys sitting out by the pool eating peeps and drinking Bloody Marys when one of them tosses out the question, "Hey, what do you think happens if you put a peep in the pool?" I'm sure you get the picture. 

It may not be be a well-known sport (or one with a long history) but it's full of drama:

 

Peeps getting sucked into the pool drain; some rebel peeps DQ-ed for sailing off course; 

and a photo finish to determine second place.

Unfortunately, our friend Ryan's idea of creating a sail made from toothpicks and Splenda packets back fired. 

I have to admit I was worried the bright yellow fellows would melt once they hit the water. I'm happy to report that they're resilient little creatures. And people are already buzzing about how to pimp their peep to walk away with the winner's cup next year. 

Raspberry-Asparagus Medley

by Linder Hunt (published by Southern Living)

This can be whipped up in minutes, serves a crowd and there is never any left over, which I take as the ultimate compliment. And for brunch, I was looking for something that was more interesting than your typical fruit bowl. 

Ingredients

1 Tbsp white wine vinegar

2 Tbsp raspberry preserves

1 1/2 tsp Dijon mustard

1/8 tsp salt

1/2 tsp lemon zest

1 lb asparagus, tender parts only

1 1/2 cup fresh raspberries

2 Tbsp chopped pecans toasted

Juice of 1/2 lemon

Directions

Combine first four ingredients in a small saucepan and bring to a boil. Remove from heat and stir in lemon zest. 

Cook asparagus in boiling water 2 minutes or until crisp-tender. Drain and plunge into ice water bath. Remove and drain. [The asparagus can also be steamed in the microwave. Just make sure you don't overcook them. I usually zap them for 2 to 3 minutes first to see how done they get and then add time accordingly. It's still a good idea to follow with the ice bath to keep the green color.]

Toss the asparagus in the raspberry mixture and place on a serving platter. For a more impressive presentation, make sure your asparagus are all pointing in the same direction. Sprinkle the fresh raspberries over the asparagus and drizzle the fresh lemon juice on top. For the final touch, sprinkle the pecans all around. Yields: Six servings. 

Faking It

I was thrilled to receive an unexpected box in the mail today. It wasn't my birthday though. And I'd already received an adult version of an Easter basket, which includes things like eggs brimming with fine dark chocolate and a beautiful scarf, from my parents a week earlier. I hadn't ordered anything that I could recall so my curiosity was definitely piqued. 

I am not a wrapping paper ripper though. I'm quite methodical when it comes to opening gifts (like many other things in my life), but I admit this one got me opening at an elevated pace due to its mysteriousness. Although it could also have been the fact that I was very hungry and there was a possibility that the box was filled with more dark chocolate since I'd already cleaned out my Easter basket.  

But low and behold inside was a pair of sparkly flip-flops from my mom!  

The card said she hoped I was already enjoying "barefoot weather." For a period of three years when I was in elementary school, my father was stationed at the US Military Academy in West Point, NY. We embraced the four seasons there, but I have to point out that in the Northeast Spring gets the short end of the stick. You often go from snow to rain, rain, and more rain and then all of a sudden it's June and Summer shows up. I used to call my granddad and ask him if he was having barefoot weather. That was how I defined Spring growing up, and I had come to really miss it when April showers overstayed their welcome. 

The problem with rain in Southern California is that it's not supposed to rain here. So when it does it's like a snow storm in Atlanta. People forget how to drive, the stores are empty because people hole up indoors, and I get depressed. As much as I enjoy visiting (and more importantly eating in) Seattle and Portland, I know I could never live there. I'd be one of those orange people walking around, clearly having spent way too much time at a tanning parlor. And I'd be crabby. I think I might suffer from seasonal affective disorder, which is why I live in Santa Barbara. But today was not cooperating. It was decidedly gray with rain showers to add salt to the wound. 

Using my surprise package as inspiration, I decided that I would fake some barefoot weather. I painted my toenails and walked around the house in my dazzling new thongs as people out here say. It makes me laugh every time because I associate that with "unmentionables," not something I'd put on my feet. But I'll call them anything you want if it means they can run in high rotation in my wardrobe. And I gazed admiringly at this photo of a flower that Russ bought for me at the Farmers Market last month. I thought it would serve as a good stand-in for the Sun until it gets its act together. 

And in case you're interested in a little cultural anthropology, Southerners like things that sparkle and shine. I have no doubt that the vast majority of BeDazzler owners live in the Southeast. Even Tana from the TV commercial said she searched all over New York and couldn't find one anywhere. She was clearly searching at too high of a latitude. Rhinestones, sequins, grommets, studs and metallics are all highly celebrated down South. No item is too sacred for some embellishment.  And something else near and dear to a Southerner's heart is painted toenails with open-toed shoes. Unpainted toe nails = tacky. And, perhaps surprisingly, sequined covered flip-flops = not tacky. Look, I don't know who makes up these rules, but they're alive and well in the South (and in Southerners afar). 

And shall we ever have the chance to meet, I'll be the one with the sparkly flip-flops and painted toenails in the midst of unadorned flip-flop wearing California girls with lovely manicured yet natural toenails. But I'll be sure to wait until after Easter to sport any of my white flip-flops or sandals because every good Southerner knows no white until after Easter! 

Guest of Honor

Growing up it seems my parents and their friends were quite the entertainers. I have such great memories of hanging out with lots of people, playing games, eating past a comfortable level and staying up late. Whether it was our home or a neighbor's, the motto "the more the merrier" really did seem to be the backbone philosophy and food was always at the center. It didn't have to be fancy — who doesn't love a grilled hotdog?! — but everything was always served with love and you went to bed wrapped in a blanket of community and comfort. 

Honestly, that's why I love to host parties. But I also really appreciate receiving an invitation to come to someone else's home to break bread, catch up, and foster that sense of a smaller world. There is a lot of work that goes into opening your home to others and feeding them (not to mention all the work required once everyone leaves). In return, I think it's nice to try to be a good dinner guest. Here are some thoughts on how to do that--and hopefully get invited back: 

1. Don't come early. Don't even come on time. Even the most organized hostess is probably not 100% done with all the preparations when the designated start time rolls around. Giving them a 10-15 minute grace period can do wonders to reduce their stress, allowing for the completion of last minute details. If it's a surprise party or you've made arrangements with the host to help set up, then of course punctuality is key.  But be wary of arriving too fashionably late for a dinner party. No one wants to be sitting around crunching on carrot sticks for 45 minutes waiting for the laggards to show up so the main course can commence.  

2. Don't come empty handed. Keep an eye out for hostess gifts throughout the year and pick up a few items so you always have them on hand. Possibilities are kitchen towels, candles, or fine food items like olive oil. Wine is almost always welcomed. [Note: the hostess doesn't have to serve your wine that evening.] I like to dress up a bottle with a pack of clever cocktail napkins or a beautiful wine stopper. It just adds a titch more to the whole presentation. There are some interesting (in a good way) spirits available that might make for a nice change. [Anyone for sweet tea vodka? It makes a wonderful base for a spiked Arnold Palmer.] You might find some beautiful fruit or vegetables to present. Just make sure they're hearty and not high maintanence. For instance, citrus has a longer shelf life than say a flat of ripe strawberries. However for the right person the strawberries may be the more thoughtful and appreciated gesture if you know they'd find great joy in making a pie with this unexpected windfall. Don't bring flowers unless they're in a container. It's a pain for the hostess to find a vase, trim the flowers, and make an arrangement.

3. Offer to help. It's nice to offer your assistance with the food prep, but most likely your host will appreciate you taking care of some of the often overlooked details of "making it all come together" like taking/filling drink orders, setting dishes on the table, getting serving utencils, etc.  One area I personally appreciate help on is clearing away the hors d'oeuvres.  While you're not expected to wash dishes, it's a nice gesture to help clear plates. You can stack plates on the kitchen counter (not in the sink) to make the clean up process more manageable and quicker. 

4. Volunteer to bring dessert. Unless your host is a baker at heart, dessert is often an afterthought or a nuisance. Elevating the dessert course is often a welcome and delicious contribution. If you don't have the time or desire to bake something, there are usually wonderful bakeries or gelaterias in most towns where you could pick up a dozen or so cookies or a few pints of various gelato flavors that are often seasonal — like blood orange or Thin Mint. Divine. But don't be daunted by the prospect of making a dessert. It doesn't have to be an all day commitment or a complicated, scary endeavor. There are some delicious comfort food desserts that take no skill and very little time to create. One of my all time dessert saviors (and favorites) is a fruit crumble. It's impossible to mess up, you can use any combination of available fresh (or even frozen) fruit, and you can bring it with you to bake at the host's home. Paired with vanilla ice cream it's really hard to beat. I have an upside-down cake recipe that might be one of the easiest desserts I've ever made. Not even a mixer is required! And no icing, which if you recall is one of my dessert deterrents. 

5. Don't become campers. Leave before you wear out your welcome. It's a sign of a good party when you lose track of time and realize you've been at your host's home longer than most people sleep in a night, but the hosts shouldn't be the ones who suffer. Remember they still have to clean up after you leave. 

6. And of course, don't forget to write a thank you note! 

Upside-Down Berry Cornmeal Cake

Adapted from Better Homes and Gardens

The cornmeal adds a nice texture and depth in flavor making this both luscious and homey. It's not overly sweet or filling and would compliment almost any meal.  

Ingredients

2 1/2 cups fresh berries (blueberries, raspberries, blackberries, and/or strawberries)

1 1/3 cup all-purpose flour

1/2 cup yellow cornmeal

1 Tbsp each finely chopped fresh basil and mint

2 tsp baking powder

1/4 tsp salt

2 eggs, lightly beaten

2/3 cup plus 2 tsp milk

1/2 cup sugar

1/3 cup canola oil

1/3 cup powdered sugar

1 tsp fresh lemon juice

1 tsp lemon zest

Honey

Fresh mint to garnish

Directions

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Lightly grease 8 x 1 1/2 inch round cake pan and line with greased parchment paper. Arrange 2 cups berries in bottom of pan; set aside. In large bowl stir together flour, cornmeal, chopped basil and mint, baking powder and salt. Set aside. 

In medium bowl whisk eggs and then add 2/3 cup milk, sugar and oil. Add egg mixture all at once to the flour mixture. Stir by hand until combined. Pour batter over into prepared pan over berries and spread evenly. 

Bake for 40-45 minutes or until toothpick inserted near center comes out clean. [Note: I usually start checking at 35 minutes because all ovens are slightly different and you don't want to overcook it.] Cool in pan on wire rack for 5 minutes. Run small knife around edge of pan to loosen sides of cake. Invert onto serving plate and remove parchment paper. 

Combine powdered sugar, remaining 2 tsp milk, lemon juice and lemon zest in small bowl to form a glaze. Lightly brush over warm cake. Top with remaining fresh berries and mint for garnish; drizzle with honey. Yields 10 servings. 

Provisions

Provisions. It's such a good word yet we seldom use it. It's a word more often associated with spending a month camping in a remote wilderness than jumping in the car and scooting down to the grocery store. But I like that word. It has a homey feel to it. You've got to make stuff with provisions. They don't come all tied up in a bow on a silver platter. 

Frankly, it's not even a word that I can remember ever using in normal conversation. But last weekend, Russ and I were driving back from the East Bay and we stopped in Shell Beach. Although often when on a road trip we get a free pass to dine on junk food all day (i.e. Egg McMuffin for breakfast, In-and-Out burger for lunch. . . you get the grease-laden picture), we both were really in the mood for something fresh and tasty to help right us of our wrong eating over the weekend (like the three enormous pieces of fully loaded Everest pizza from Mountain Mike's and the half pitcher of beer for dinner the previous night--and that was just what I consumed!). Much to our delight, we spied the Spyglass Deli. But much to my delight was their sign, which read "Provisions. Spirits. Fine Wines." 

Dazzled by the rows of high-end wines, olive oils, cheeses and chocolates, we wandered through the shop ooh-ing and ahh-ing. Should I ever find myself miles away from civilization, those are precisely the kind of provisions I want with me. We walked into the back room and, like an oasis, a glorious deli offered so many delicious looking options we were both rendered speechless as we ogled the case. Excuse me but I just realized that I do need to pause and paint a bit more context to this picture. The Spyglass Deli is the metaphorical diamond in the rough amongst gas stations and greasy fried seafood shacks. It's a kin to the time I was in Salt Lake City on a business trip and was desperate for an adult beverage. I could hardly contain the squeals of my good fortune when I saw a bottle of 2002 Caymus Special Select Cabernet on the menu for a measly $60 (which retails for more than $125!). I guess there weren't a lot of wine drinkers who frequented that restaurant — much to my advantage and appreciation. The Spyglass Deli is like finding a $60 bottle of Caymus.

After much mouth-watering deliberation, we decided on the veggie sandwich. I know that may seem like a letdown to some people, but trust me, it was a thing of beauty. Soft, fresh squaw bread. Thick slices of brie. Cream cheese spiked with bright basil and oregano. Juicy red tomatoes. Crisp cucumbers. Crunchy sprouts. A drizzle of sweet balsamic vinegar. Yum. It definitely rated very high on my fine provision index. 

 

As you might have guessed, I've heartily adopted "provision" into my lexicon, and a little smile forms on my lips whenever I say the word. I've started to reassure Russ that I've got "some fine provisions for dinner." Like tonight. I'm making steamed clams with spicy sausage and fragrant fennel. With a hunk of crusty bread at the ready, I can hardly wait to sop up all the glorious broth.

Steamed Clams with Fennel and Spicy Italian Sausage

from Bon Appetit

Ingredients

2 Tbsp stick butter

1 cup chopped onion

2 cups chopped fennel

1 tsp fennel seeds, crushed

1/2 lb spicy Italian sausages, casings removed

1 Tbsp chopped fresh oregano

1 14.5-oz can diced tomatoes in juice

1/2 cup dry white wine

2 lbs Manilla or littleneck clams, scrubbed

2 Tbsp chopped fresh parsley

Directions

Melt butter in a heavy large skillet over medium heat. Add onion, chopped fennel and fennel seeds; saute until vegetables begin to soften, about 5 minutes. Add sausage and cook until browed, breaking up lumps with back of spoon and stirring frequently, about 5 minutes. Stir in oregano, tomatoes with juice, and wine; increase heat and bring to a boil. Add clams, cover skillet and cook until clams open, about 5 minutes. Discard any clams that don't open. Divide among bowls, sprinkle with parsley and serve. Yields 4 servings.