In the words of the great John Cleese, “And now for something completely different.” Instead of presenting you with food I am presenting you with a versatile and magical aromatherapeutic elixer: Frankincense infused oil. This is something you can make at home really cheaply and you will find a million uses for it. It does, however, taste terrible. This stuff is for topical use only.

Like many neo-hippy types I like my food and beauty products to be as natural, non-toxic, and economical as possible while preserving quality and efficacy. Additionally, I pride myself on my bargain-hunting and creative macgyvering abilities. When you live in a city like San Francisco, those are crucial life skills. All these predilections have come together in my experiments with aromatherapy. 

One drawback to home aromatherapy is that certain essential oils are often very pricey. Frankincense essential oil, for example, can easily cost $30 an ounce. I have found my way around this issue by putting some of the pricier ones on my X-mas wish list, and purchasing others from places like www.sfherb.com. There are also some substitutions that can be made, such and ylang ylang for jasmine, or one can buy diluted oils that are 1/5 the strength of pure essential oils. This can sometimes be a good option since essential oils are used in tiny quantities measured by the drop and this is especially true for bottom notes. 

However, one of my personal mantras is: “If it's worth doing, it's worth overdoing.” I habitually make my oils blends as strong as possible and this requires a lot of ingredients.  A 20% solution just won't cut it sometimes especially for an ingredient as versatile as frankincense. In aromatherapy it is used to alleviate anxiety, treat acne, fade scars and stretch marks, moisturize skin, and slow aging. It has many more benefits and uses, but these are the ones that interest me. Do a bit of independent research and you'll find out much much more. 

Click thru for directions.

Some time ago Honey and I were exploring one of the local shopping malls. This mall, in fact, furnished us with the inspiration for the previously mentioned Birthday Duck Feast. The megamart there carries geese, duck, and pig offal as a matter of course. In addition to this wondrously stocked emporium, the mall is home to a Hawaiian bbq joint. Just about everything there is fried, or marinaded in a sweet sauce. It's fantastic! I even got them to halve the rice and double the macaroni salad. My lord! Honey and I began to frequent the place, and on one of these trips my roommate Sailor Moon (don't ask me, she chose the nickname) and I convinced him to try the spam musubi. 

Generally, Honey is a very sensible person, the kind of guy who likes his warm, comfy, ugly sweaters and finally admits that they are ugly when he sees his partner (ie: me) wearing them. Those sweaters have now been donated. Honey likes things his way, but is willing to see reason.

When I proposed sharing an order of spam musubi I knew the greatest obstacle would be getting him to try it. Once he consented I knew he would enjoy it. Sailor Moon encouraged him and modeled the correct response by ordering a portion for herself. Honey gave me a skeptical side eye, but put in the order.

A few days later he called me.

“I went to Costco and I did a terrible thing.”

“Oh dear. What did you do?”

“Guess.” Honey is also the kind of guy who ages rib eye primals in his home refrigerator. What in the world could he have gotten himself into at Costco?

“Uhm...” then I started to get excited, “You bought a whole frozen lamb!”

“No, I bought spam.”

“What? You got spam at Costco!? How big is Costco spam?”

“8 cans.”

“You got an 8 pack of spam?” I started cackling in that way which indicates I have absolutely no sympathy for his plight.

“Yes,” he sounded ashamed.

“Don't worry,” I said, “I'll help you eat it. Sailor Moon will too.”

Those who know me offline are aware that I despise almost all forms of exercise. Rote, repetitive movements, meat heads grunting and dropping dumbbells on the floor, chicks in pony tails and ear buds running on treadmills... all serve to repel me. That is why "discovering" yoga felt like a revelation. Not off putting fashion lalalimey, or unattainable cirque du soliel yoga, but actual "tell the instructor you got a bum knee" yoga with copious blocks, straps, blankets, mats, bolsters, and even chairs.

I speak of Iyengar yoga. In the class I wandered into were senior ladies doing sun salutes next to hard bodies and chubby bodies alike. These were ordinary people striving, learning, tipping over, and trying again. At one point the students stopped and helped each other feel what it's like to be in a perfect down dog: shoulders broad, neck relaxed, and a straight line from hips to hands. The whole thing was lead by a tall elegant man with a mellifluous voice and a humble papa bear personality. His words of wisdom echo in my mind even outside of class: ”you are your own guru,” ”do what you can do, be happy with what you can do,”"lengthen the exhale," and of course, ”soften the face." I knew he was conducting class with me in mind when he asked us to stand with our feet together, "heels touching, big toe mounds touching," then followed this directive with the adjustment, "those with fuller thighs may stand with their feet hip width apart." "Yes!" I thought, "He's looking out for me!" That first day I took heart, stayed, and learned.

The Iyengar style is actually perfect for a pedant like myself. The detailed instructions and emphasis on precision in alignment make certain that you learn properly and help reduce potential for injury. At the same time it is wonderfully flexible (haha, get it?) and you can modify at will to suit your needs.

Since then I have also sampled Kundalini, Hatha, and Vinyasa styles. While Kudalini was too hard, the Hatha classes were too soft, and Vinyasa was just right, Kundalini taught me something incredibly important: always drink your chai.

Yogi chai tea is just the thing to help your body recover from a great yoga class, no matter what style you prefer. I make it caffeine free with rooibos, while traditional recipes call for a tiny amount of black tea.  It will soothe your muscles, stoke your digestive fire, and save you from flu season. I swear by it and drink it by the gallon. In fact I am drinking some right now to speed my recovery from a sprained ankle because ginger helps inflammation. Even if it is all placebo effect I don't care cuz the stuff is delicious! 

A few weeks ago Honey and I had dinner at a french bistro. We had routinely walked past it in favor of other, more familiar restaurants since it opened about 3 years ago. In a fit of adventurousness we decided to give it a try. We walked in and the hostess had a rather strong accent such that I had some trouble understanding her. Then our waiter had an accent and I could hear wisps of Gallic conversation coming from the kitchen. Wow! This place actually is staffed by real French people! The food was wonderful: pork for him, duck confit for me (we all know how much of a fan of duck I am). The wine pairings were impeccable, but what truly stood out for me was the crème brulee. 

This dessert was smooth, silky, with more of a custard quality to it than other crème brulees (cremes brulee?) I’ve had before. This crème brulee blew away all the others I’d ever tasted. As I spooned the custard reverently into my mouth I became convinced that the key was a higher egg to cream ratio than “ordinary” “american” cremes brulee, such as those served in steakhouses. Yes, a quality steakhouse can serve a fabulous crème brulee, but this one was a revelation. These French people know their business.

Oh, and I had promised you a food high in vitamin D. This is it! Aside from oily fish (which make dubious dessert ingredients) and artificially enriched dairy, egg yolks naturally contain vitamin D. Crème Brulee, the most delicious health food around!                 Click to read more -------------------->

Ah, my loves, and oh, my friends last week we talked about making a melt in your mouth roast duck in the comfort of your own home. Aren't you glad we had that little talk? Cooking a whole bird has never been so decadent. The wonderful thing about buying whole birds is they come with a little packet of goodies: the giblets. The heart, gizzard, and neck maye be used for stock... because you will make stock from the leftover bones, of course. But the liver is destined for a far greater purpose: pate. 

Mmm, mmm, mmm, pate. That luscious spread is the epitome of fancy. I order it at restaurants every chance I get. Whether it be served at a French, American, or Hoffbrau establishment pate is always a pleasure to experience. It also usually comes paired with elegant little toasts, mini pickles, or whole grain mustards. Every bite is an adventure.

Do you realize this luxurious snack can be made at home with very humble ingredients? Do you? Nevermind, if you didn't, you do now. BEHOLD: my recipe for chicken liver and apple pate. As for the duck liver, just throw it in with the chicken livers. My version cuts back the butter content by half. I don't want to eat liver flavored butter, I want to eat liver.                 Click to read more    ------------------------------------->

Birthday duck, birthday duck, it's the best day of the year girl! Last week I mentioned the wonderful dinner Honey and I prepared for my most recent birthday. The centerpieces of the meal were a goose and a duck. "Why that combination?" I hear you asking. Honey and I had recently discovered a megamart near us that carries these fowl as a standard part of their stock. Never having cooked and eaten goose before, we thought my birthday offered a dandy opportunity for experimentation. We acquired one of each due to the fact that 2 geese would have been too much for the number of guests we anticipated. As it happened this was a lucky accident. 

While the goose was very handsome and stuffed with a scrumptious wild rice dressing (Honey and I like to live on the edge), the meat was tough. It was flavorful, of a dark hue reminiscent of red meat, and definitely required a patient set of choppers to consume. Everybody present nodded graciously over their servings of tough bird while hacking with their knives. In testimony to its toothsomeness the gallant goose was soon reduced to its natural armature... which I later used as the basis for a stock. Our conclusion after the meal was that goose is the mutton of fowl.  Ah well, now we know.

Without a doubt, the duck was the jewel in the crown of our meal. Everybody got at least a taste, and as the birthday girl I ate the drumsticks. When I had my first bite I believe my first words were, “Oh my god, Honey! Mmm, oh my god.” Yes, sampling my Honey's cooking is a near tantric experience. 

How to describe this duck? It was moist and literally dripped juice when carved. The flesh was more tender than a kitten sleeping nestled in the palm of your hand. The glaze was a balanced combination of sweet, salty, and spicy that produced a pleasant tingle and complemented the meat rather than candying it. The result was glorious. Ah, my loves, and oh, my friends you will be moved when you taste this bird. You will swoon, you will weep, you will slap yo mama. Honey and I immediately agreed that we should make this dish more often.

Ah, my loves, and oh, my friends, Miz Gee recently celebrated the anniversary of her birth. As with any holiday of note this one was marked with feasting and drinking. Honey gallantly offered to cook in my honor and took on the challenge of roasting a pair of odd birds: a duck and a goose.

The duck had a sweet and spicy glaze, while the goose was filled with a wild rice and bacon stuffing. Honey also made a rustic pate from the livers. I contributed what any self respecting Latina would prepare: Irish colcannon!

Yeah, ok, maybe not the obvious choice. Colcannon is my favorite form of mashed potatoes since I first prepared it on St. Patrick's Day 2 years ago. That day I took one taste and knew I would be fighting our guests for the last spoonful. My concept of what mashed potatoes could be had been revolutionized. Why had I never encountered these amazing potatoes before? 

Nevermind, I know now. No time for regrets. This amazecats recipe calls for both butter and olive oil, which makes for delectable flavor without overwhelming you with milk fat... or lactose, the bane of many dairy lovers. The kale and garlic give this recipe a modern California twist and your taste buds a lovely little tickle.

Try it, and you'll see why Miz Gee will make her mashed potatoes no other way.

Recently there was a gorgeous heat wave here in San Francisco. For two weeks the sun shone down directly on our pasty faces instead of filtering weakly through layers of clouds and fog. Generally unused to true direct sunlight we gratefully receive the pathetic little tendrils of light that emerge attenuated from the mist as we would a loving caress upon our countenance from His Noodly Appendage. 

It was with delight and astonishment that I rediscovered how much more vibrant the world is when properly lit! The bougainvillea, sweet pea, and geranium blossoms I encounter along my walk to work leapt out from their background foliage. Just looking at them made my shoulders drop and my serotonin levels rise. Of course, despite enjoying the added light and brilliance, I still wore long sleeves and a broad brimmed hat. So much for Vitamin D. At a later date I'll have to work in a recipe for a Vitamin D rich food.

For now I shall focus on something cool to drink after a long, hot day and a sweaty, awkward commute home. Speaking of awkward, has anyone noticed that San Franciscans don't know how to dress for summer? We still wear our dresses with boots and tights, except as a concession to the higher temperature the tights are hiked up to show a few inches of shin, and the quotidian boho scarf is draped loosely about our shoulders, rather than wound snugly around our neck. Really, we just look silly: like adolescent birds halfway thru molting into their adult feathers, or Goths wearing their weeds in Arizona.

So what is a somewhat health conscious self styled foodie to do when caught in an unexpected tho welcome summer? I'll give you a hint (pretend you didn't read the tile of this post) mint grows like a weed in Honey's garden. What better use for it than a mint infused simple syrup? 

Hello everyone. I baked my first sourdough loaves and while the bread was tasty (especially slathered with some nice salted butter) I think it was more valuable as a learning experience. 
The recipe I followed is more like a formula and is known as the 1, 2, 3 formula on several websites. It was devised by a French food blogger named Flo Makanai, who introduced it to American sourdough bakers out of curiosity to see if her formula worked with american style flours. You may see her original post in English here: http://www.thefreshloaf.com/node/9346/123-easy-formula-sourdough-bread

A few bakers have tried her formula, but the one whose example I followed was blogger and baker Shiao Ping on sourdough companion. http://sourdough.com/recipes/home-bread

As a novice sourdough baker I still have quite a bit of learning to do. The main question for me is regarding the timing of feeding the starter and then using the starter. For this initial attempt at baking I decided to just use my starter pretty much straight out of the fridge. I had fed it on Wednesday night and I was baking on a Saturday. That morning I had to go run some errands, so I pulled the liquid starter out of the fridge and let it sit on the counter for a couple hours while I was out. When I returned home I decided to make two loaves, one using the liquid starter and one using the sponge starter. Hence, the sponge starter did not get a chance to come up to room temperature before I used it.

I wanted to make 1.5 pound loaves, so using the 1,2,3 formula the ingredients were as follows for each loaf:

4 ounces by weight starter 
8 ounces by weight warm water
12 ounces by weight whole wheat flour (I used Bob's Red Mill)
1 generous teaspoon salt (I used Real Salt)

Hence forth all steps were carried out twice, once for Dough 1 (liquid starter) and again for Dough 2 (sponge starter).

I stirred up the liquid starter and weighed out 4 oz. and poured 8 oz of warm water on top. I stirred that up until it was a thin slurry and then mixed in the flour. I covered it and set it in my oven with the light on for half and hour. This is the "autolyse" period, where the goal is for the flour to absorb the liquid.

I did the same for the sponge starter (which I believe is 75% hydration) except I had to cut it into little pieces and then smush it in the water with my fingers. 

After half an hour I did some stretch and folds of the dough within the bowls. I did not count how many, but I did it until it seemed to resist. I oiled the bowls, turned the doughs, covered and stored in the oven.

Every hour for 3 hours I stretched and folded the doughs, but I think I was too rough and ended up kneading out most of the gas bubbles.  Dough 1 was softer and easier to stretch, while Dough 2 retained more of its shape and it was easy to see the folds. They both rose and had nicely sized bubbles.

At the end of the 3 hours I let the doughs sit for another half hour, Then shaped them into batards. I don't have any fancy proofing baskets, so I just used a couple plastic containers and lined them with floured cotton cloth. The batards proofed for a final two hours.

At this point I realized I had deflated my dough and that the final proof was probably not going to restore the rise. Ah well.

When It was time to bake I preheated my oven to 500 degrees with an old pan in the bottom.  I placed the batards on a cookie sheet, slashed them down the middle with a razor, and measured out a cup of water. I slid the cookie sheet into the oven, threw the water at the hot pan in the bottom, sloshed most of the water onto the floor of the oven, and shut the door.  I lowered the heat to 450 degrees and baked the loaves for 35 min. I pulled them out, checked the temperature with a probe thermometer and they measured 211 degrees. My target was 200, but 211 is acceptable.

I let the batards sit for 3 hours before slicing them. 

Assessment:
The bread had a very dark brown crust and a very dense crumb. The batard from Dough 1 was flatter than the one from Dough 2. The flavor was identical. The bread was hearty and not sour, which is fine with me. I prefer less sour bread. The crust was crunchy and chewy. Batard 2 had a better tear at the slash when baked, but both loaves cracked at the edges. I don't know if that is because I didn't slash deep enough, or if I baked it at too high a temperature.

Next time I will be more careful when stretching and folding. I also will feed up the starter more before baking. I also might try baking the loaf in a dutch oven, or using ice cubes in the oven for steam, rather than water. 

So, remember that movie, Bound, the one where Gina Gershon and Jennifer Tilly are two extremely good looking lesbians? I know you remember it. You must. Nobody ever made house painting look so good until Gina's Corky busted out the rollers. They even had Susie Sexpert consult on the sex scenes... There's a scene in that movie that I kept thinking about while in Pescadero. No, I don't mean the sexy one, I mean the scene when Christopher Meloni and Joey Pants are torturing a guy in the bathroom and Jennifer Tilly wants to leave. Joey croons to her sympathetically, "Baby, that's what I love about you. You're so fuckin sensitive." Then he kisses her on the shoulder. Yes, his response was completely inappropriate, but he was showing his appreciation of her in his own special way. 

Well, Pescadero is so fuckin picturesque. I know. I know. I shouldn't say it that way, but I can't help it. It's beautiful. Gorgeous. The rolling hills, the verdant grass, the adorable goats, all of it is absolutely fuckin picturesque. Yes it's a bit gauche, but a city rat like myself must express her appreciation in whatever manner she can.

Our weekend away was basically a series of naps interrupted by moments of socialization.  Or at least I took as many naps as possible, Honey exercised his right to vegetate on the sofa. That Saturday we rose for breakfast, then took a nap. We visited Harley Dairy Goat farm, then took a nap. We had wine and cheese in the dining room of the B&B, then took a nap. Lastly, we had dinner at the Half Moon Bay Brewery and then... stayed up!  

One of the funny things about a B&B is that you often must break your fast at a communal table with your fellow lodgers. This encourages conversation, tho I must admit that I was a bit too sluggish to contribute a great deal. I did, however, learn that another couple had tickets to a guided tour and a catered luncheon at Harley farm. I wondered aloud if they served goat at these luncheons and the female member of the couple responded, "That would be too inhumane." 

I thought it best not to respond. 

The dairy was a lovely walk from the B&B. We had only to follow the main road for a little less than a mile and arrived quite quickly.  The little girl and her goat point the way for you. It is a working dairy so it is full of barnyard smells, gravel, and mud. The baby goats are quite lovable and you can hold them if you ask the owners, or are part of an organized tour. 
They have a lovely garden where they cultivate the flowers they use to decorate their chevre. I was rather disappointed to note walk-on visitors are not permitted in, but quickly forgot said disappointment when I found the cheese room. 
The cheese room is located in an old barn with floorboards so worn they are actually wavy. The exterior is not particularly picturesque, and while inside I was too absorbed in tasting, so there are no pictures of it to show you. Their cheese is fantastic! Soft, creamy, smooth, flavorful mounds of chevre are lovingly decorated with edible flowers and herbs. Harley Farms as yet does not offer any aged cheeses, but their fresh cheeses are silky spreadable joy. Aside from their herb, fruit, and flower bedecked cheeses they also have three flavors of fromage blanc, and a feta. All of it was delicious. I must confess, my favorite was the chevre in olive oil, because I could then top it with their raspberry preserve.  O My Gawd, Heavenly. I think I made the same circuit 5 times dodging around other customers and their children. I had found a good thing and I was going to make the most of it! To our great good luck they had a tray of goat milk fudge that was available and Honey bought a square of it. It existed only because the friendly lady at the counter had forgotten to set it out for sale the previous day. It was gone within the next two hours.  Other edible offerings were raspberry syrup, honey, and olive oil so virginal it had sediment. 

Inside the cheese room there was a sign directing customers to the barn "next door" for the farm's  goat milk skin care line and other products. I stepped outside to look for the barn "next door" and could only find one at what seemed like a considerable distance, say a city block, or two away. Ha! Silly city girl! In the country "next door" means "the next habitation you encounter despite the linear distance." Above is my attempt at an artful picture of the neighboring barn. They had more little goats there which were transitioning to eating hay. The was no goaty smell at this location so Honey and I sat at a picnic table and shared some of the fudge. Very interesting. The flavor was very chocolatey on the front, like common fudge, and then it subsided into that distinctive flavor of goat's milk at the finish. It was a strange but pleasant sensation. The day was warm so the fudge was soft and tacky. We had fun licking it off our fingers.

I never did work up the courage to ask if they sold goat meat, preferring instead to enjoy the sun and the scenery. However, the B&B guests who attended the luncheon reported that they had been served a course of "lamb." They did not, however, report any feeling of inhumanity while consuming it.