Stories

Wi-Fi. Hi-def. Super-sized. 200GB. High protein. Low fat. With every brand getting upgraded to meet today’s newfangled demands, you might think there would be no room in the market for good old-fashioned values. That’s where you’d be mistaken. With so much hubris cluttering the shelves, a little bit of minimalism can offer weary customers a breath of fresh air.

Enter Little Pepi’s, the Hatfield, Pennsylvania-based company whose secret recipe is simplicity. Since 1963, they’ve been following the same ages-old recipe for their waffle cookies, keeping the ingredients as basic as when Italians whipped up the first batch somewhere around 700 B.C. Little has changed since then. Even back in the cookie’s native Abruzzo region of Italy, where they are still enormously popular, pizzelles (the cookies have the same etymological origin as “pizza”; both words mean “round and flat”) are still made from the same basic ingredients: flour, eggs, butter or vegetable oil, sugar, and a special flavoring, such as vanilla — almost the very same ingredients that Little Pepi’s uses in its own pizzelles.

Broccoli is my least favorite vegetable. To me, there is simply nothing appealing about its taste, texture, or appearance. The sign above it at the farmer’s market, heralding “broccoli crowns cheap today” does not make my pulse beat faster or my heart sing. I’ve tried chopping up those crowns and hiding tiny slivers among carrots and zucchini. I’ve buried florets in omelets, fajitas, and quiches and covered them up with sauces ranging from hollandaise to mole to duck sauce and ketchup. I’ve tried arguing myself into taking just a bite or two under the category of “strong medicine” for the sake of health and wellness. But nothing has led me to reconsider my position: I don’t like broccoli. This may in fact be the only philosophical stance that I share with former president George Bush, who once went on record to declare his aversion to this particular vegetable.

I realize, as George Bush soon discovered after his impolitic announcement, that broccoli has its aficionados, but I cannot find a single thing about it that’s enticing. Its very name is off putting. There is nothing sensual or succulent here: just that harsh opening of “br” followed by the even harsher short ”o” and “k” sounds (and not just one “c,” but two). And even then the word isn’t finished. It continues on, through two more syllables, the final syllable with its “l” and plural end form—i—working together to produce a sort of shriek that makes poetic hash of its singular form’s more musical ending (broccolo). It’s an altogether unappetizing and uninviting name.

From the LA Times

Long before Rick Bayless, the Too Hot Tamales and even Diana Kennedy, there was another teacher and cookbook writer who introduced authentic Mexican food to a wider American audience. Though she is all but unknown today, at the turn of the 20th century a remarkable woman named Bertha Haffner-Ginger not only learned how to cook Mexican favorites but also packed lecture halls nationwide and published a cookbook sharing her knowledge, whetting the country's appetite for a cuisine that wouldn't travel outside of the borderlands in earnest until the 1950s.

And she got her start at the Los Angeles Times.

Haffner-Ginger was hired by the newspaper in 1912 to head the inaugural Times School of Domestic Science, an institute the paper devoted to the art of teaching the region how to cook via test kitchens, classrooms and hands-on training. She lectured weekly on subjects ranging from French techniques to baking, dairy to poultry, in an auditorium in the Times' then-new office building. From there, she took her show on the road, touring the country teaching.

Among her most popular topics: Mexican cooking. "An announcement that my lesson for the day would be Spanish dishes invariably brought record-breaking crowds in any city in the United States," she claimed in the introduction to her "California Mexican-Spanish Cook Book," published in 1914.

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Every once in a while, the stars align: a magical setting.  The flickering call and response of candlelight touches the senses.

The right group of friends.  Cool night breezes filled with laughter and conversations that run deep and late into the night.

And, of course, the food...the fancy, incredible food. The meal itself...love incarnate.  Blood Orange Martinis prepare our palates for miniature blintzes dolloped in salmon cream followed by sips of ice cold, luxury Dutch vodka.  Sautéed radicchio leaves wrap and lovingly showcase asparagus, prosciutto and cheese, while pairing well with fifteen year old French Champagne.

Endive from Belgium drizzled generously with a bright, white-balsamic vinaigrette, easily cradle pungent Danish blue cheese and crunchy, candied-pecans. Warm, crusty rolls begin to make their way around the table....still more French Champagne to enjoy.

Then, lobster done two ways....first bisqued, then tails stuffed with crab, lobster and buttery cream. The tails sit atop clouds of creamy Yukon Golds and saddle nicely with tender green beans doused in a warm bacon-shallot vinaigrette.