2. This Halloween is going to be the best yet. I'm going as Poison Ivy from the Batman comic books/movies/animated series. Mr. Luz is going as Lady Gaga at the MTV Video Music Awards, and I'm making a double batch of BBQ pulled pork. All is right with the world.
The Daring Baker's challenge this month, French Macarons, caused me to question myself, given the semantics of our fancy lil' baking/blogger group. "Daring"--okay, that one's fairly obvious. Are you daring? Do you want to be daring? I'm in the latter group. It's the second part I'm having a problem with. "Baker." This month's challenge made it all to clear that daring as I may be, I am no baker.
Normally I can fudge it, but these fussy little sugar bombs require about 20 minutes of real work, and (in my non-baker experience) about 5 hours of waiting, cussing, and general crabbiness. Along with patience, I also lack: a kitchen larger than a bathroom; more than one cookie sheet, an oven that cooks at the temperature you set it at. None of this matters when I'm cooking, but it makes all the difference when you're making cookies that are more temperamental than my sister, BaCon Bit, in her teenage years. I'm no baker and these cookies spent 5 hours and 20 minutes reminding me of that fact on one dark and stormy Sunday.
That said, they are freaking adorable. And they are crispy, and chewy, and versatile enough to make in all of your favorite flavor combinations. I chose to do a simple lemon cookie (adding lemon zest I'd dried in the oven to the almond flour when I ground it with my Salvation Army food processor) and a goat cheese buttercream (that I made in my Salvation Army Kitchenaid stand mixer). I'd make batches and batches to share if I could get more than 10 cookies off of the "non-stick" silicon mat I bought for this challenge--which cost as much as the SalVay food processor--without them completely disintegrating. Alas, I am no baker.
An adaptation of Claudia Fleming’s Macaron Recipe
Sticky Rice on H Street SE in D.C. will serve you your very own pitcher of bloody marys if you're lucky enough to catch their brunch menu.
During law school, Mr. Jacoby loaded me up with baked goods that he made from fresh and exotic ingredients. I still dream about a loaf of blueberry bread that he brough me--it probably had at least 3 sticks of butter in it, it was so rich! MMmsnorglemmmm. Mr. Jacoby is in Texas now, a mere 1000-something miles from D.C. Even so, he managed to deliver some tasty baked goods recently in the form of Zingerman's Pepper Bacon Farmhouse bread! Zingerman's has a Deli and Bakehouse in Ann Arbor, MI and its full-service bar restaurant, The Roadhouse, has been recognized by the James Beard Foundation. They do a booming "mail order" business, which is how I came to experience the glory that is Zingerman's thanks to Mr. Jacoby. (On my Christmas list, their "Guide to Better Bacon"..it has a bacon fat mayonnaise recipe!) And in my opinion, they make the best bread in the country. What's so special about it?Short answer: Everything. 
The crust is rich and crackling, the inside is dense and chewy. And the black pepper applewood smoked bacon flavor? Aacckkk((09danl;iwer*!!!!! I maybe had it for dinner one night covered in goat cheese. It was so smoky, and salty, and spicy. I mean, its meat bread. How can you go wrong? (FYI, we also had another loaf jam-packed with huge raisins and walnuts, but I ate it before I could take any pictures.) And so, Mr. Jacoby, I'd like to take this opportunity to thank you, for being a wonderful friend and my culinary co-counsel, and especially for sending me meat bread. You are my favorite.
It's Autumn in D.C., which means I'm thinking about 3 things...Halloween, comfort food, and watching Saints games in NOLA every Sunday with a bucket of Popeye's chicken. (Ok, 4 things--I'm also thinking about how much I hate the onset of winter in D.C., but it's a bit early to start whining about that now.)
Melt butter over medium heat in a heavy bottomed soup pot. Cook leeks, carrots, celery, garlic, and bay leaf in butter, stirring occasionally, until vegetables begin to soften.
Reduce heat to low and sprinkle flour over vegetables, then cook, stirring often, for 3 minutes. Add milk, broth, and beer whisking continuously, then simmer, whisking occasionally, 5 minutes but do NOT boil. Stir in Worcestershire sauce, mustard, salt, and pepper.
Remove bay leaf, and carefully blend with either a handheld blender or a counter-top blender until the vegetables are in small pieces and the soup is mostly smooth. Add cheese by handfuls, stirring constantly, and cook until melted, 3 to 4 minutes. Serve hot garnished with sliced green leeks or warm soft pretzels.
Bon appetite magazine's September 2008 feature, The Best Italian Food in America, welcomes readers to the "Italian-American renaissance" by highlighting recipes from restaurants across the U.S. that the editors would include on their Italian-American "fantasy menu."
I also tried Acero's Egg Raviolo--a large, thin ravioli filled with herbs, spinach, and soft cheeses, and topped with a farm fresh egg yolk. The pure opaque richness of the soft-boiled egg yolk essentially served as a sauce for the light, sweet pasta and delicately herbed cheeses. If Acero's Egg Raviolo was my last meal on earth (hopefully paired with a dry aged steak and a SuperTuscan of Glenn Bardgett's choosing), I could certainly die happy.
Next came what Chef Gnau jokingly described as meat doughnuts (Wooohoooo!) The simple presentation of thinly shaved prosciutto, deep fried bread beignets, a ripe and golden olive oil, and biting red lava salt was seriously heavenly and appealed to all of the senses at once.
The parade of riches at Acero continued when my secondi course arrived--seared sea scallops with heirloom beans and oyster mushrooms. Acero may take the prize for the perfectly cooked scallop (though I'll take offers for a challenger)--the outside was so crispy, and evenly caramelized while the inside was perfectly succulent and not overcooked. The heirloom beans and mushrooms added grassy, earthy flavors wholly distinct from, but also complementary to, the scallops. Like all of Jim Fiala's restaurants, Acero is unassuming and friendly despite its superstar status and the utterly confident talent and innovation that characterizes its kitchen. As if I were in an old friend's kitchen after a long and successful dinner party, I finished my meal at Acero with a glass of port, their simple dessert of vanilla gelato covered with a shot of espresso, and happy, drowsy conversation that drifted off as we each got lost in our thoughts, remembering our favorite parts of our meal. And no, Chef Gnau didn't send out his personal phone number with my tawny port, but there's always next time.
