Your musical appetite needs satiating.

This is the first part of l'Enfant et les Sortileges, an opera sometimes staged as a ballet with singers offstage. It's absolutely delightful. The composer is Maurice Ravel, an impressionist of great precision and whimsical charm, one of the few lengendary artists to achieve aesthetic greatness in all realms of music.

Watch it! I'm currently working on the fire aria (its right at the beginning of part two, which I haven't posted but you'll find right after this on youtube).

Valentines Day

Is not necessarily about being lovey-dovey. It's an excuse to cook something fabulous and prove to your mate that they are DAMN LUCKY to have you around. Especially if you cook well.

So here's what I made for my sweetie:

Pan-roasted shallot crusted salmon with pea-ricotta pesto and roasted tomatoes
served with..
Shiitake mushroom and leek ragout
followed by..
Kaley's secret mascarpone chocolate tart. ;-)

Pan-roasted salmon

2 4 oz. filets salmon, skin on (we used fresh Coho)
1 shallot, minced
½ lemon

Roasted tomatoes, from Italian deli/antipasto counter
Pea pesto

Season salmon with salt and pepper. Rub minced shallot into the skinless side. Heat enough olive oil to lightly coat a deep sauté pan (not non-stick) over very high heat, until almost smoking. Add salmon filets, shallot side down.

Do not move the salmon. Cook until a crust has formed, about 3-5 minutes, then turn down heat to medium. Squeeze in the lemon and cover until cooked, about 5 minutes more.

Serve salmon with a large dollop of the pea pesto (at room temperature) on top, and a few roasted tomatoes on either side. Serve with shittake and leek ragout. (recipe follows).

Pea Pesto

225g/8oz frozen peas (thawed)
1 large handful fresh basil
4 tbsp grated parmesan
1 tbsp walnuts (I used ¼ cup)
2 tbsp ricotta (I used 40g)
2 tbsp olive oil
2 garlic cloves, crushed

Dash of lemon
salt & freshly ground black pepper

Puree all ingredients in a food processor. Drizzle in olive oil until desired consistency. Taste and season if necessary.

Shiitake mushroom and leek "ragout"
in quotes because its not intended to be chopped as fine as a ragout traditionally is.

1 large leek, cleaned and halved, sliced into ¼ inch strips
½ lb shiitake mushrooms, quartered (halved if small)
½ lemon
Olive oil
Salt and pepper
¼ cup (or to taste) chicken stock

Toss the chopped leeks and shiitake mushrooms with the lemon juice and lots of olive oil in a large bowl. Season with salt and pepper. Heat a large heavy saucepan over high heat and add leeks and mushrooms. Cover and cook until slightly softened, then add chicken stock to help steam. Cover again and cook until softened but still bright and crisp. Serve alongside salmon.

They'll be obsessed with you after this. You may want to run.

All recipes are of my own invention!

The Culture Queen Faces Defeat!

And so we've come upon the flaw of a college student having a food blog. Not only do I have limited time to write, but limited time to cook, which means limited means of new discoveries to share with you all. But a recent lesson I learned proved that life itself has to do with food, which is fodder enough to write meaningful things about.

I was particularly looking forward to food adventure I shared with my boyfriend last weekend, although the outcome, at the time, was certainly not meritous of an entry, which upset me the most out of anything. We were looking forward to cooking a simple, fresh, healthy romantic dinner - a rare occurence in dorms with communal kitchens and many flights of stairs and other occupants who don't do dishes. So we went to the grocery store to buy ingredients for a Moroccan inspired something or other, something I am proud to say that, while mundane to some, is thrillingly exciting with my man by my side.

Both of us tend to just buy whatever looks good - this is the best fool proof way of ensuring a delicious meal (although, you will learn, not completely). We picked up some delicious organic carrots, rutabaga, onions, garlic, and eggplant; some spices and olive oil to roast it in. We thought we would throw some chicken drumsticks on the whole thing (after browning, of course), stick it in the oven, and voila. We left the grocery store satisfied with bags full of gleaming produce and fresh organic chicken.

I told my boyfriend to brown the chicken in whatever mixture he found most exciting. This was thrilling for him. Although I try, I always end up denying him any work in the kitchen - not since he started zesting a lemon into the garbage disposal, mistaking the fact that it isn't the white part that holds the flavor, but the yellow. (He won't forgive himself for this, but I did right away, because even the Kitchen Bitch has a heart.) So he took this opportunity to renew and redeem his lemon catastrophe from long ago. He rolled the chicken in honey and Moroccan spices and browned it on all sides until perfectly crispy and adorned with flavor. I was ecstatic, offering him the kind of high-pitched praise that most girlfriends reserve for jewelry.

But this time, I was the lemon.

We threw the chicken all over my marinated vegetables, and it looked fantastic. Into the oven it went, and we waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Me: It's probably done. There's no way chicken can take that long.
Him: Are you sure? I mean, really?
Me: *condescending look* Who's done this before?
Him: *throws hands up in the air to signal that I reign supreme on all matters kitchen*

So out of the oven it came. The vegetables were still slightly crisp, but, eh, that happens. I wasn't phased by it and was sure the chicken was ready for eating.

So we started. It tasted kind of funny. It felt kind of funny. I cut a deep incision in one of the drumsticks and found the inside to be unpleasantly, well, not cooked.

Me: *extremely frustrated* Its not done.
Him: *trying to make me happy* Yes it is. Its perfectly done. Look!
Me: *gives the condescending look again*
Him: Delicious. MMM! *continues eating. does not want me to be upset*
Me: No. Its not done.
Him: Fine, well, we can just microwave it for a few minutes, and I"m sure it will be fine, dear. Don't worry.
Me: Whatever.

DEFEAT!!! Anytime the microwave comes into the show unannounced is a sure sign of failure. I do not understand microwaves. To me, they are the instruments of uncertainty and unharnessed, wild bursts of unwanted heat. But we did it anyway, and one minute into it, I could not take it. I removed and thought it had to be cooked, why else would it be making all of those awful popping noises? This time, while he was right, the boy refrained from giving his two cents - even though he is much more microwave savvy than myself. He didn't want another condescending look.

And lo and behold, the chicken was hardly cooked, still.

So I threw a tantrum, alright? And my man is an absolute saint for still loving me even though a raw chicken drumstick can ruin my life for a few hours. We ate ourselves to fullness with delicious (locally baked) whole wheat pita and olive oil. We put the chicken back in the oven. For what seemed like forever.

By the time it came out, I was so defeated that I didn't care. I had failed. The microwave had come. It was over. The chicken, thanks to my boy's delicious browning, was quite delectable once it had cooked; but truthfully, I was so turned off by the still lingering taste of uncooked chicken (or the taste of failure) that it was much more pleasant for me to enjoy the vegetables. But one look from my man across the table, smiling and eating it perfectly contentedly despite our struggle, made it all worthwhile.

So, this entry brings not a recipe, but a lesson:

The best way to enjoy your meal is with a big, warm mug of true love.

Pasta Pasta Pasta

Am I a picky eater? Not anymore. I've eaten everything from pancreas to yak, foie gras to ostrich, celery root to fish eggs. Of course, my food allergy is an obstacle (that will be another long, mournful entry) to experiencing the world in the style of Anthony Bourdain, but I suppose I just ignore it and enjoy the wealth of other options open to me now.

But as a wee one, despite my obsession with tasty things, I fell into the conformity of pickiness. Probably not because I sincerely disliked things - but more likely because my brother was (is) picky. However, in the style of the rebellious little girl that I was, my pickiness manifested itself in my only eating "girl" foods - that is, the foods that Lucas didn't eat. I wouldn't drink orange juice, eat peanut butter sandwiches or steak because those were "boy" foods, obviously, because of my brother's preference for them. Instead I drank grape juice, ate jelly sandwiches and pasta.

Which is the kernel of this post:

Pasta.

I have too many memories to recount. But lets just say, as a 7 year old during our 4 month sojourn in Europe, I became quite the connoisseur of spaghetti. Everywhere, no matter what luscious ducks and hens and lentils and cheeses and truffles and confits were on the menu, I ordered spaghetti. Everywhere. I became quite curious about the composition of the dish - was it chunky and meaty, or smooth? Was the noodle thin or angel haired? Were there vegetables in the sauce? Too spicy or nutty and sweet?

Sadly, all of my spaghetti memories are a swift blur, though a delicious one. But my love of pasta is fervent and strong today, though it comes with new meaning. When the Whitman dining hall options are mush and mush with meat, I head to the pasta line and get a good ol' dollop of sauce on some spaghetti, some times many nights in a row. And, as a busy college student, health conscious and wary of meats, a lover of fresh and interesting combinations, easy pasta dishes are the ultimate when there is time and motivation to cook.

Before you read my recipe, I will remind you that this is not a definite "one dish" to try, although the particular combination is indeed delightful. Working at an Italian restaurant, I learned a thing or two. The steps to an excellent and fast pasta dish are fool-proof:

Make sure you have:
-An herb
-A cheese
-A vegetable
-An aromatic (onion, garlic, shallot, etc)
- For more substantial but still simple pastas, a liquid, fat, or "binder" (this is your sauce-base ingredient, though it doesnt necessarily have to constitute a sauce. This will, in almost any case, be cream, tomatoes, yogurt, sour cream, butter, olive oil, etc etc).

You want to saute your vegetable in the aromatic and a little oil or butter (more if this is the main component of the dish's flavor). Then to this you add the binder and the herb. You want to cook the pasta separately, and just when its al dente, add it to the pan with the "sauce" and stir until its all combined. Generally, with chunkier ingredients, you'll want to use a small pasta like penne or farfalle; with smoother ingredients, a long pasta like fettucine is preferable.

OK. Now to the good stuff.

fettucine with mint, almonds, and feta

1 cup heavy cream
4 cloves garlic
small handful black peppercorns
nutmeg
1/3 cup sour cream

½ cup unsalted raw almonds

whole-wheat fettucine

stock (or any relevant liquid, such as poaching liquid from an accompanying dish)
8 oz. grated asiago cheese
8 oz. feta, crumbled
large handful mint
large handful Italian flat leaf parsley

Heat cream in a medium saucepan over medium-high heat. Thinly slice the garlic. Add garlic, peppercorns, and nutmeg to cream, and heat until bubbling around the edges. Season with salt and pepper. The cream should be well infused with the flavors of garlic, pepper, and nutmeg.

Let cool; stir in the sour cream, and set aside.

Toast the almonds in a dry skillet until fragrant.

Cook the pasta according to package directions; drain and return to cooking pot. Add enough stock or liquid to moisten the pasta and thin the sauce. Stir in the cream infusion, asiago cheese, feta, mint, parsley, and almonds. Toss together and serve.

Campanelle ai tartuffi

½ box campanelle pasta
salt

1 tbsp walnut oil
2 tbsp butter
4-5 cloves garlic, thinly sliced (not minced!)
¼ cup white wine
Salt, white pepper

1-2 small black truffles, depending on intensity

4 oz. unsalted walnuts

Parmesan cheese

Cook campenelle pasta until very al dente. Drain, reserving a small amount of cooking liquid for later use.

Add butter, walnut oil, and garlic to heavy sauté pan. Heat until butter melts and slightly browns, softening and toasting the garlic. Season with salt and pepper. Add the white wine and let alcohol evaporate. Add cooked pasta, walnuts, and truffles, stirring until well incorporated and pasta tenderizes a bit more. Add parmesan cheese to taste; check for seasoning and add more salt and pepper if needed.

Serve with a hearty green salad with a robust vinaigrette.

spicy linguine with figs and lemon

1 package dried figs
white wine, hot water
olive oil and walnut oil

3 cloves garlic, sliced
1 teaspoon chile flakes
3/4 cup greek yogurt
zest of 1 ½ lemon
juice of 1 lemon

tablespoon each of olive oil and walnut oil

small handful of mint, chopped

¼ cup chicken stock (more or less, depending on desired consistency of sauce)

½ cup grated parmiggiano reggiano cheese

whole wheat linguine

Chop the figs in halves or thirds. Soak the dried figs in white wine and a little hot water, until slightly plump.

While the figs are soaking, stir the greek yogurt, lemon zest, lemon juice, olive oil, walnut oil, and mint together in a small bowl.

Heat the olive and walnut oils over medium heat in a pan big enough to hold the sauce and the pasta. When hot, add the garlic and sauté until slightly softened. Add the chile flakes. When fragrant, add the figs and soaking liquid. Cover and cook until figs are softened, about 5 minutes.

Meanwhile, heat water and cook pasta according to package directions.

While pasta is cooking, add the yogurt mixture to the figs. Cook until bubbling to meld the flavors. Add enough chicken stock to thin the sauce to desired consistency.

When pasta is cooked, drain, and add to the fig sauce. Stir until combined and add half the parmiggiano. Serve remaining cheese at table with pasta.

*You could use fresh figs, in which case they will not hold their shape. The sauce will be more jam like and become an intriguing purple color for a very different dish.

All of these recipes are of my own invention. Enjoy!

Queen of Culture... Queen of Quiche

The age of the quiche seems long gone. It has been replaced by frittatas, stratas, tarts, and other Italianate interpretations of something that is painfully French. But I - as amoro-Italian as I am - will never give up the peaceful balancing of textures and flowering couplings of flavors brought to us by the crusty and savory pie.

Thick and thin quiche has been with me through thick and thin. Not those measly, frozen Costco hors d'oeuvres that likely contain narcotic ingredients, that hold their place next to Little Smokies - no, not those, but the ones forged by loving and calloused hands of the old world. My memories are often blurred by foggy Parisian atmospheres and billowing cigarette smoke - but I can distinctly remember this eggy beacon, yelling to me among chevre chaud and soup a l'oignon in crowded lunch hours at French cafes.

One instance in particular summarizes all my quiche memories. I had climbed the steps of Montmartre and, like a Bohemian mecca, artists easles, cobblestones and berets jutted from the horizon as I took the last few steps. It was December. It was cold. Artists heckled me, asking to draw my picture, and I politely declined, for not even flattery is a match for the search for an espresso and a lunch.

My family and I padded across the square, over each rough stone in a number of alleyways, in order to avoid a tourist-heavy cafe. We stumbled into what looked like an old auberge, and our stomachs worked in tandem with our noses, telling us to stop the search.

And there the flowery prose ends. I had a cappucino. Frothy and strong. And a piece of quiche lorraine. Bacony, eggy, salty, crusty, smooth, spongy. In my mouth.

This is no quiche lorraine, but its my own mustering of simple ingredients - and thats really what a quiche is all about. Something that will dance nicely in your mouth and fill you up, recalling a memory or two while it does its job. Use whatever you'd like in this recipe, but try not to stray from these ideas: only 1 cheese, egg, vegetable, herb, dairy. Replace the vegetable with meat if wanting to make it non-vegetarian. The key is not to overdo it - 2 or 3 flavors at once is the goal. And, much to many people's surprise, the filling of a quiche should be primarily milk or cream - not egg. It's not a crusted omelette, people! Its a custard tart.

Have fun!

Quiche au chevre, oignons, et herbes de provence
Quiche with goat cheese, carmelized onions, and herbs de provence

1 9 inch pie crust (you could buy one, or, better yet, make one)

1 small sweet onion

2 teaspoons herbes de provence (more or less if you'd like)

4 organic eggs

¾ cup low-fat milk

¼ cup Greek style plain yogurt

¼ log soft goat cheese

¼ cup (or to taste) grated parmesan cheese

olive oil, salt, pepper

Preheat oven to 375. Roll out pie crust and fit into deep 9-inch pie dish. Prick the bottom all over with a fork.

Slice the onion thinly, in long strips. Heat a little bit of olive oil (just a little!) in a sauté-pan over very high heat and add the sliced onions. Season with salt and pepper. Stir occasionally to make sure they do not brown too much. When they are very soft, sweet, and brown yet still firm, turn off the heat and pour them into the pie crust. Let cool slightly.

Meanwhile, whisk the milk, yogurt, eggs, and herbs together until very smooth. Season with salt and pepper.

Crumble the goat cheese over the cooled onions in the tart shell, then sprinkle on the Parmesan (you may want to add more or less – too much will interfere with the goat cheese; its primary purpose is for a slight nuttiness and saltiness). Pour the egg mixture into the shell. Bake for exactly 30 minutes (it should be mostly set and lightly browned on the edges). Let cool slightly and serve warm with roasted vegetables or a simple green salad.

Bonjour et Grosse Bisoux!

Hello all -

I write to you after a delicious baking feat - organic chocolate chip cookies, from my oven to my mouth. The residual smell of these seems to mingle quite nicely with my current listening, Bach's English suite in G minor for keyboard. Why hippie cookies and stuffy music complement each other, I do not know, but I'm choosing not to question this.

That should tell you something about myself. I am a music major in voice performance, obsessed in every way shape and form, since I left the womb. I could write entries and entries about the different pieces I've studied, or my favorite components of theory, or what classical singers I prefer, but that would be heinously boring for most people. So I come to you with my second passion.

Food.

Who doesn't like food? I mean, we need it in order to NOT DIE. So we might as well enjoy it. And I enjoy it more than most people I know, perhaps to an unusual degree. I will quote my mother in a tender home video from when I was 18 months old:

"True to my child's character, Kaley ate an entire chicken breast and thigh. And then it was 'more chicken mommy!!'"

Maybe food and music are somehow intertwined in my weird brain chemistry - both are arts of sense, developments of basic human instinct that are, in many ways, entirely self-obsessed. So maybe I'm not intelligent or talented at all, just obsessed with my senses. Who knows.

So, I cook, and I eat. And I consider myself a pioneer of sorts with the way I rip up my pantry. Who knew that sauteed raisins tasted marvelous with Irish cheddar?

Which brings me to my "point of view", the reason I believe I need to rub all of this in the Internet's face. Most people who discover these things about food pursue it, trying culinary school, or business, or some way of inventing new food for the world as a career. Well, I tried that. This summer I cooked at a popular, high-end Seattle Italian trattoria, an institution in this city, and for the most part it was a definite positive experience. But me - an artist, a solider of expression - well, food for me is most enjoyed in lavish prose accompanied by some lovely Bach or Dvorak, not by screaming angry Italian men and moody waiters and tickets and dishes and bleach rags and metal tongs and STRESS. Unfortunately, the production end of the food industry is not for me. But the artistic end can be.

And that is why I write this blog as the Queen of Culture, in all its forms. I will write primarily about my experiences with food, but included in this is inevitably my rich life experience with travel, art, music, and theater. For, as I learned as a child in France (don't worry, you will be hearing much about that) - food is really a LIFE pleasure that deserves the utmost respect and leisure. I'm the kind of cook that wants to see the people eat. That wants to talk with them, to play them some music, to be human with them.


Bon appetit!