Such a grey and rainy mournful Brooklyn day, what’s a girl to do? Why, obviously, make a bunch of coffee, put on some Gershwin, and do a little light nesting and bake some deep, dark, subtley spicy Mexican Chocolate Cookies (and then eat them for breakfast). Here’s the simple recipe (cut out from Cooking Light in 2009 and found this morning stuck in the back of my recipe book, never made). I only had the tail-end of a bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips (and gawd knows I’m not going out in the rain until it’s utterly necessary/time to go play music over at John and Janelle’s), but due to sweetheart’s sweet tooth there was half a fancy pantsy bar of Theo Dark Chocolate with Spicy Chile on hand, which, quite frankly, was utterly perfect. I dusted with powdered sugar and cocoa, but- if you didn’t have any bougie chile chocolate on hand, adding a little bit the ground red pepper to the sugar/cocoa would be awesome. Anyway, rainy day vanquished, nest nested!
Category: Delicious
“Nobody’s Perfect”
And then I went to Cubana Social for drinks, where they had two awesome things happening at the same time in the same place: a noise-jazz quartet with a bassist with a hottentot, and “Some like it Hot” playing on mute in the background. I’m not sure which I liked better. You can see in this picture that it’s that part at the very end where Jack Lemmon (as Geraldine) tells Osgood that they can’t be together because he’s a man, and Osgood says “Well, Nobody’s Perfect”+ Micheladas, and it almost was.
“Irene Blows”- church sign on Virginia’s Eastern Shore
As I fled Irene-frenzied-New-York like a wine drunk carpetbagger, my hometown was getting thoroughly pummeled. Trees as big around as sewing circles crashed through living rooms and flipped Volvos, taking out power and phone lines like so many cobwebs. My family (much like we did when we heard the Civil War was coming) retreated. To meet them in exile, I found myself cruising down the verdant Eastern Shore down to the Southside via the bay bridge tunnel (drive: recommended). To give succor in times of trouble, I turned to the bounty of my fair Virginia, via a sweet farmstand with a handsome farmer, fresh sweet corn, luscious peaches, and (ohmygodohmygodohmygod) just caught Virginia Blue Crabs.
And, of course, if you’re going to have Chesapeake Bay Blue crabs you also must have Old Bay, a big peppery pot, and plenty of old newspaper.
Last days of summer….
I came to simultaneous epiphanies the other day:
Summer is almost over! I haven’t had a lobster roll yet! AGHHHH!
No, this just won’t do. I’m a grown ass woman, master of my own destiny. So:
Thankfully, sweetheart and I had already planned to head up to Connecticut to see Bruce and Bela so we decided to make a day of it, take the slow road, and have what may be one of our last adventures of the summer. Le sigh. Lobster rolls from crookedy old Lobster Landing- Connecticut style of course (meaning hot in a griddled bun and doused in butter- after all, this was the Friday before Hurricane Mothra/Irene was coming to destroy New York, so we had better have our last hurrah and make it count). Then on to a curvy route north and inland that had us cruising by scenic (and perhaps magical/gypsy headquarters) Lake Zoar for hand dipped chocolate ice cream (for sweetheart) and (for moi) all-time-summer-favorite-and-somewhat-hard-to-find, a peach milkshake. Ahhhh, summer.
Here are some Lobster Roll Rules for those of you who, like me, enjoy rules exclusively governing sandwiches.
It’s not over til the… ahem. until the Lady sings.
All it takes is a cool breeze and I got an itchin in my bones for fall. I am not alone. Just as I was about to spend some time yearning for sweaters, I had the delicious fortune to stumble upon New York Magazine’s stunning roundup of get-em-while-it’s-hot-ephemeral-summer-eats. Oh baby, it ain’t over til it’s over. I see a trip to Randazzo’s in my near future… 
Yum Yum Yum: Zucchini thin pie from Franny’s , Blueberry (thick!) pie from Four and Twenty Blackbirds, Tomatoes (for Andrew) from whatevs farmers market you can muster, ‘wichcraft BLT (LOOK at it), Pearl Oyster Bar Po Boy, and Key Lime Frozen Yogurt from Culture… so much outer borough love!
All Courtesy of Robin Raisfeld and Rob Patronite
Napamazing
Next on our travels we were blown by a gilded wind into St. Helena at the gracious invitation of the divine Miss Julia Esser. Julia is a kindred spirit with a love for party games, leisure sports, floaty dresses, and making things be as lovely as they possibly can be. Please refer to her utterly stellar blog How To Hostess . We were put into teams. Us, the Road (s)Trippers (image above courtesy of the marvelous Mia Baxter, co-captain and choreographer), the Movie Stars- a group of LA beauties streaming Rickie Lee Jones and smelling of orange blossoms, and the Skidmore Skiddies- a hirsute crew of farmers and bon vivants. We made team dinners, foisted fierce competitions, and generally lolled about amidst grace and beauty. There was lavender and raw sugar to rim our drinks, there was a box full of straw hats, there were homemade elixirs of peach and berries and thyme, there were games and music playing all day and night, and there was the supreme loveliness of the place and its doyenne.
Thank you Miss Esser.
And we bought a delicious case of wine for the road. Perfect!
Tomales Bay Oyster Company
We had been in California for less than 12 hours when we debarked for the Pacific Coast Highway and our dear friends took us to Tomales Bay Oyster Company. We got two spidery mesh bags of 50 oysters each (yes, 100 oysters), buttery and fat and still fresh wet from their briny homes, shucked and raw with fresh lemon and tabasco or smoked and yawning open on the grill. Add a cast iron skillet full of sweet butter, caramelized onions and squash from the Bolinas Farmstand, crusty sourdough bread, haloumi cheese, and plenty of cold beer and, well, we are doing quite well for ourselves.
Bolinas Farmstand
On the way to Bolinas there is a roadside farmstand that uses the “Honest John” system… the last time we used an Honest John system we were a couple of Dishonest Jakes, but the boys who run this place are too cute and the vegetables too fresh and delicious for such espionage. So we coughed up a mere $20 for zucchini, onions, fennel, carrots, kale, and some marvelous Araucana blue eggs. Not too shabby.
Quoting the amazing Anne Emond Ann Marie pointed to the kale and said “Hey, Baby Spinach get the F out of here” to which the FarmStandHand replied “I like the way you talk”. Anne Emond’s comique, in addition to being awesome, is also an exact likeness (down to the black pants and striped shirt) of Ann Marie when she said it:
The Jamaica Bay Jerks
I’m having a total love affair with summer right now. Probably because I’ve been hopping in and out of New York and have only seen the most lovely and tantalizing parts (roof parties, sunsets, music outside, picnics) and none of the armpit parts (hot.smell.subway.toes.). In the former category: we went out to the ball fields on Bay 16th to see Andrew’s little brother’s Little League team play their championship tournament. The gods of small ball pitted the sweetest band of intrepid, full-hearted, and popsicle-mouthed 8 year olds against this pitcher. See above. A side-slinging lowballer, towering a full three heads over the runts in right field, a little league leviathan who almost had a perfect game (our guys’ third baseman, who had been in tears earlier over a tie-gone-to-the-runner-this-ump-is-a-union-scab-type-call, got on base with a frozen rope to shortstop to ruin Goliath’s no-hitter. Yes.). The boys lost, but bless their little hearts, when the game was over they were quiet and kind to each other and held their heads high with honor beyond their years. After the game at Spumoni Gardens they were back to fighting over corner pieces of the perfect-sweet-sauced sicilian square pie and spitting soda at each other, but for a dusky sunset moment you could see just a shade of the men they’d be. Ahh, Summer, how fine you are.
Cold Brew: Brewhaha!
It started in 2007. Ann Marie and I had moved to E.7th street in the winter and it was our first warm weather in our 6th floor walkup. And by warm weather I mean it was hot as blue blazes. She worked from home (inexplicably, marvelously, and exclusively by fax), I was bartending and it was an amazing time of long, jort filled days. We had taken to drinking whole pots of espresso in highly sugared three-quarter-tasse cups during our first New York Februaries but now that the clothes were coming off and the air conditioners had not yet been delivered to deliver us from July evils we needed something different. Enter New Orleans Cold Brew Coffee. The superbly easy, utterly delicious, and super cheap wiles of coffee concentrate suited us like ugly on a monkey. Deep, dark and smooth, not at all bitter, inky and mellow, a little milk, lots of ice, it was perfect. One by one, like bad girls, we got everyone we knew hooked on it. Our mothers bought toddys and perfected the 8’oclock cheap brew, Molly downed it by the mason jar, Andrew drinks it hand over tervis-tumbler-fist, it put Sara back on caffeine, and McKay discovered it abroad (and sent back the picture above).
A Missive from the West Coast: Stumptown has started selling Cold Brew Shorties:
The Verdict? From Ann Marie: Not as good as ours. Its the chicory. Chicory= crucial.
The Recipe that Started it All:
1 pound dark roast coffee and chicory, medium ground
10 cups cold water
Ice
Milk.
1. Put coffee in a nonreactive container, like a stainless-steel stockpot. Add 2 cups water, stirring gently to wet the grounds, then add remaining 8 cups water, agitating the grounds as little as possible. Cover and let steep at room temperature for 12 hours.
2. Strain coffee concentrate through a medium sieve, then again through a fine-mesh sieve.
3. To make iced coffee, fill a glass with ice, add ¼ cup coffee concentrate and 3/4 to 1 cup milk, then stir. (Concentrate will keep in the refrigerator for up to two weeks.)
Feather By Feather 