MORE INFORMATION, PLEASE!

This week I had dinner at Bastide. Lovely atmosphere, great service, good but not outstanding food. Not good enough for the prices they are asking. But there was something else that started irritating me while studying the menu. I felt that something essential was missing there: information about where the products they use in the kitchen come from. Are the eggs from a happy small flock of chickens raised on a sustainable family farm? Are the vegetables local and organic? Has the  beef grazed on lush green pastures all year long? What's the name of the farm? Where is it located? Why do restaurants in Los Angeles not tell their customers about the provenance of the food on their plates? Knowing about all the horrors of industrial agriculture, I strongly feel that I have the right to know where the food I am going to put in my body comes from. Certainly at a place that surrounds itself with a sophisticated air.

PRESERVED APPETIZERS

It seems that nowadays everybody is crazy about preserving food. So you probably know how to make jams, pickles and sauces. I am not going to bore you with another of those typical preserves. While in Europe, I came across a recipe for preserved zucchini rolls with a soft goat cheese filling. I love the idea of having something instantly ready for your guests coming over for a glass of wine or as an appetizer before you serve dinner.

2 small zucchini

salt, pepper

1 cup olive oil

half a bunch fresh thyme

3/4 pounds soft goat cheese

half a teaspoon coarse pepper

1 teaspoon mild paprika

2 tablespoons sesame seeds  

Slice zucchini lengthwise with a mandolin - make them as thin as you can. Season with salt and pepper. Sauté them in a olive oiled pan at medium heat until tender. Add thyme leaves and let cool.

Put soft goat cheese in a bowl. Mix in coarse pepper, paprika and sesame seeds. Place cooled zucchini slices on a clean work surface, spread goat cheese mixture on top, and roll. Rinse a glass jar with very hot water, dry it, and snuggle the zucchini rolls into the jar. Fill with olive oil until covered. Seal with the lid.

Bon appétit!

DUMPLING QUEEN

Call me crazy. I drove all the way to Arcadia (yes, deep in the San Gabriel Valley) at lunchtime, just to satisfy a little craving. After a trip to Europe with great, but exclusively local food, I could not stop thinking of those juicy, delicious dumplings at Din Tai Fung - the obsessive desire probably triggered by another of those yucky airline meals. I had to go. Truth is, I have never been big on Chinese food, but I find those cute dumplings at the Arcadian outpost of the Taiwanese legend simply irresistible. Plus, it has great entertainment value. It is so much fun watching through the huge plate glass the crew of adept dumpling-makers briskly composing golf-ballsized in a meticulously spotless kitchen. The dumplinistas swiftly roll out small circles of dough with a wooden dowel until almost transparent, spooning minced pork, shrimp and vegetables on top along with a spoonful of a heavenly fragrant consommé. Then they start pitching and twisting (just watching makes your head spin) those little guys into shape, placing them in round steel steamers - ten to a serving. Who needs to see a movie? The hostess usually has to drag me away from the huge window pane to seat me (shrieking “you now sit”); only succeeding because I already can smell the steamy juices of my dumplings floating in the air. I usually order nothing else along - no soups, no vegetables, no drinks, except for a little hot green tea. Those dumplings need my undivided attention. I carefully put each one of them on the spoon, add a little ponzu sauce together with the julienned ginger, inhale deeply and then bite through softly. In an almost religious experience, the aromas and juices start dancing in my mouth. Geez, am I happy to back in L.A. Its that magic place where midst of a broad nothingness you can discover truly the greatest treasures on this planet.

CHOCOLATE NIRVANA

My husband went on a business trip to Paris last week and took the time to go to my favorite chocolatier, Pierre Hermé, on rue Bonaparte. He got me a box of tiny chocolate creations, which I slowly devoured lost in reverie. It's been way, WAY, too long since my palate felt that kind of extatic pleasure from chocolate. Brilliance, roundness, intense flavors, the crunch of the brittle coating that gives way as you bite into it...then the chocolate melts in your mouth, it's tender texture triggering a cascade of aromas, a lingering aftertaste that sings in your body as if it were a precious musical instrument! It became instantly clear that I have become too indulgent with what L.A. has to offer in European food traditions, especially chocolates, joining the singsong that after all, there is some decent stuff out there. Truth is, I have not been worthy of my name foodbitch.