From the Los Angeles Times
The happy childhood goes like this: My mother unwraps the silver boxes
of cream cheese as if they are presents. She beats the soft cheese –
the crack of eggs, a dust-storm of sugar – into pale snowbanks in the
bowl while she lets me crush the graham crackers with a hammer. I sneak
a few butter-laced crumbs and, later, watch the cooling cheesecake with
that wistful ache children can have about certain foods. Such moments,
repeated through the years, transform simple favorites into profound
emblems.
Cheesecake has that kind of power; it also has range. Stamped with an ancient provenance (Alan Davidson reports a description of a Roman cheesecake in Cato's 2nd century "De Re Rustica") and European pedigree, it's made with ricotta in Italy, quark (a fresh curd cheese) or farmer cheese in Eastern Europe. And the distinctive texture and clean flavor of classic American cheesecakes comes from silky smooth, creamy but tart cream cheese.
“I always use a combination of cumin, sweet paprika, garlic powder (not garlic salt, it’s way too synthetic tasting), kosher salt, white pepper, and a bit of sugar. OH MY GOD! And hot paprika! I recently bought some fresh hot paprika and I can’t believe how much depth of flavor it packs with the smokiness of paprika and the spiciness of cayenne!” My spice rant had gotten me so excited I almost skidded off the leather couch of the Pasadena tapas bar we were chatting in.
My mother had a lifelong, deep obsession with everything Mexican. I mean, obsessed. Is there a word for it? I looked it up just now and it’s Mexicophile.
Pilgrimages to the mountains this fall by my grandparents have yielded this Farmer with apples aplenty. Pies, cakes, and tarts have abounded this season and finally, after much persistence i.e. nagging and
begging on my part, Mimi has made her Apple Butter.
Growing up, my brother Paul was good at baseball, my brother Chris was good at math, and I was good at eating.