Amazing Cookies

I was nonplussed tonight, running rejoinders through my head…
My mother had said to me on the phone, “Of course, I know you’re not interested in politics…” She’d spent the last four hours watching CNN on the day’s proceedings for Teddy Kennedy. “Did you watch it, Sylvia?” “No, Ma, I didn’t.” “Why not?” “Uh, well, I was working and—” My mother said, “I see. Well, it’s been magnificent, inspiring.” “I’m so glad, Ma.” “Yes. It’s too bad you’re not interested...”
Stung, my natural defenses coursed into action and I said, “Ma, you know how much I love politics. I’m the one that worked so hard for Obama, remember? I’m the one who went to Texas for him...” My mother shot back, “That was a year ago.”
I needed a cookie.
I remembered there was a little storage container in the fridge packed with four cookies left from the batch I made some time ago. I pulled it out, lifted the top, picked up a bar, ate.
Whoa. The bottom crust was as crisp—was it crisper?—as the day I baked it. The flavors, hazelnut, raspberry, coconut, came through clearly. Amazing.
So if you have a celebration coming up in which you’ll need a platter of handsome cookies or want to give a gift of cookies at the holidays, some that can be baked weeks in advance, see my entry of July 22nd, “Lovely Easy Bar Cookies for Picnics”—I should drop the “for Picnics”—and whomp up a batch.
Maybe I'll make them and take some over to Ma.
Except I know in my heart of hearts that tussles between mothers and daughters are not about what they appear to be.
And throwing cookies at them in hopes of gaining ground is by and large not the highest and best use of good cookies.

Picnic Pasta Salad from Sea and Garden…

Last night my friend and I went to the Hollywood Bowl. Yo-Yo Ma and Placido Domigo were on the bill and the place was jammed to the gills. Placido (I call him by his first name because he is an intimate friend of the sister of an intimate friend…not really, but because he is such a sweet man, warm as toast) took the microphone in the beginning and said it was a banner night for him, his first conducting the Los Angeles Philharmonic (I’ve heard him conduct the LA Opera Orchestra and it was wonderful but this was better), his first in the Bowl, his first appearing with his “dear friend, Yo-Yo.” Ma played a Dvorák cello concerto, enomously complex, his face was wreathed in smiles. The second half of the concert was Tchaikovsky's Fifth Symphony. The night was balmy, the audience adoring, it was a perfect Bowl evening. But the memory of a lifetime came after the Dvorák when Placido and Ma gifted us with an encore, rare these days. Placido sang in French (a song I did not recognize, turns out it was Massenet's “Élégie”) to Ma’s accompaniment…just the two of them on that cavernous stage for about five minutes. The giant screens with a camera close up captured their expressions, their passions. It could not have felt more intimate.
Our supper before the music was simple, starting with cheeses —Saint-André (my fave), double Gloucester, Italian truffle—on toasts, then a seafood pasta salad, then dessert of chunks of perfumed cantaloupe and watermelon, all washed down with a cool Ruffino Pinot Grigio. Oh, and at Intermission, we split a Snickerdoodle.
The salad is worth handing on to you. A charm of the dish is that most of the seashells somehow end up stuffed with bright red dice of sweet peppers, tiny green peas, flecks of sweet basil or minced red onion, a wee pink bay shrimp or creamy scallop. The composition can be made in the morning to eat later, it transports beautifully (keep ice packs around the container), and is easy to eat off a plate on your lap. Black Greek or Niçoise olives are a handsome garnish but not necessary.
Inspired by a recipe in “The Silver Palate Cookbook,” this amount fills a 6-cup container—it was supper for me and my friend, I brought the rest home, and it was supper for me tonight as I watched the sad homages to Ted Kennedy.
Picnic Pasta Salad from Sea and Garden…
Buy about 6 ounces uncooked seafood—your choice of bay shrimps, bay scallops, squid. Also buy a 4-ounce chunk of line-caught Ahi tuna. Cut squid in ½-inch rings, cut clusters of tentacles in half. Leave tuna as is.
Bring 2 quarts salted water to a boil over high heat. Drop in the shrimps and scallops, count 1 minute, scoop out with slotted spoon and place in a colander. Add squid pieces to the boiling water and time 5 minutes, testing the last minute or so, and when tender-chewy, scoop out and add to the colander. Shake excess moisture from seafood and turn into a medium bowl. Drizzle over ¼ cup flavorful olive oil and squeeze in the juice of 1 lime or small lemon. Stir gently. Return the water to a boil* and drop in 2 cups (6 ounces) conchiglie (seashell) pasta—I used Montebello organic (from Whole Foods). Stir and start tasting after 7 minutes, it should be al dente in about 8 minutes. Scoop out, drain in the colander, shake off excess moisture, add to the seafood--keep the pasta water.
Quickly steam the tuna: set on a heatproof rimmed dish on a trivet over boiling water, cover, time 4 minutes (the center should be barely pink when you cut into it), remove tuna—give the juices it exuded to the cat—and cover to keep moist.
For the vegetables, drop ½ cup frozen petite peas into the hot pasta water, stir, scoop out, shake in the colander, add to the bowl. Cut ½ fresh sweet red pepper into small dice, slice ½ cup cherry tomatoes in half, add both.
In the food processor, process 1 to 1½ lightly packed cups fresh sweet basil leaves (as much as you can pull together), about ½ cup fresh parsley leaves, ½ tablespoon dried sweet basil leaves, and about 2 tablespoons olive oil until the leaves are finely chopped. Peel half a small red onion, cut in small chunks, add to the herbs and process in bursts till the onion is minced. Turn this into the bowl with 3 tablespoons drained capers. Cut the tuna into half-inch chunks and add. Toss the salad gently with a rubber spatula or wooden spoon. Add salt and freshly ground white pepper to taste, and if the flavor still needs point, blend in 1 to 2 tablespoons sherry vinegar or cider vinegar.
Cover tightly and refrigerate up to 24 hours. Best at room temperature. 2 to 3 servings.
*Cooking the seafood, pasta, and peas in the same water not only saves resources but intensifies flavors, I find.

Impossible to stop eating!

That was the subject of the email I sent my friend Susan last night. She suggested I post it, so here it is. [I’ve added a couple of elaborations in brackets.]
I had half a dozen beets, some biggish, some a little on the wan side, leaves were certainly goners, that I steamed tonight. Did them in the Cuisinart rice cooker, came out perfectly. [I peeled them, which I don’t usually do when cooking beets, but otherwise they wouldn’t have fit in the steaming basket…cut the big ones in half to be the same size as the smaller ones. Steaming time was about 25 minutes.] While they were hot, I cut them in thinnish slices.
Looking around for a nice marinade or pickle, in Amelia Saltsman’s “The Santa Monica Farmers’ Market Cookbook” I found a notion for roasted beets--no proportions--from Beechwood Restaurant in Venice.
The combination is honey (I used Greek, 3 tablespoons), olive oil (Spanish, ditto), shallots (I thinly sliced 4 green onions all the way up), thyme (I used dried leaves, a teaspoon), sherry vinegar (1 tablespoon) [if I hadn’t had sherry vinegar, I would have used cider vinegar], and salt (a good pinch of Maldon’s). Pepper isn’t mentioned and I think that's right, because everything is so delicate, but I expect a few twists of the white pepper mill couldn’t hurt.
I blended the dressing to dissolve the honey and poured it over, stirred gently...not hardly anything left in the bottom.
It was just about the best thing on beets I’ve ever tasted. I couldn’t stop eating them.
Finally I set the bowl in the fridge…this morning I stirred them up, took a slice—how each piece glistens!—again I couldn’t stop. Beechwood lets their beets marinate for “at least 24 hours.” In my house, they won’t last that long…
Next I will try this honeyed marinade with steamed carrots…then how about chunks of butternut squash?...roasted fennel…cipolline…leeks? …yummy cool made-ahead salads for autumn…maybe sprinkle with pomegranate seeds when they come into season?
Thank you Amelia…and Beechwood Restaurant!

Have You Ever Grated Raw Beet into Salad?

Last night for dinner I put together my weekly salad with cold pink salmon (Trader Joe’s Alaskan wild-caught, from a can, delicious and a bargain). Generally, just for me, in summer I add something like a diced Persian cucumber and half a sweet red pepper, two or three sliced green onions (all the way up), a handful of pitted Niçoise olives, and a few batons of cheese (last night it was cheddar). I was also lucky enough to have a luscious red heirloom tomato, which I cut in in small juicy knobs. At the bottom of my big wooden salad bowl was the bed of mixed greens, the sort I used to gather in my mountain garden but now I pick from a tub at the farmers’ market or shelf at Trader Joe’s. As I pulled out the jar of sort-of-Caesar dressing I’d made for my granddaughters on the weekend, I noticed the beets I’d bought to make my friend Danielle’s rapée but never got to. I took one, peeled it, and shredded it on the medium blade of the grater over the bowl. I dressed the salad, added a few turns of the mignonette pepper mill, and tossed with my hands. Boy, were the colors pretty—rosy pink, bright and dark red, purple, gold, black, orange, half a dozen hues of green. Took the bowl and my glass of wine—I was thrilled to find a Muscadet Sèvre et Maine Sur Lie at TJ’s, had not had Muscadet in years and although it’s perfect with fish, I’m afraid the Val de Loire vintner would blanch to find his delicate wine served with my salad mishmosh—to my accustomed dinner place (I’m ashamed to admit it’s the stool at the kitchen counter in front of my old Mac laptop, next to the television, I put a cloth napkin over the computer and set my plate or bowl on top, Gene would not approve). Turned on my recorded-from-earlier Charlie Rose and tucked in to my supper. Well, it was absolutely delicious with unexpected flashes of sweetness. No question that the surprises of sweet beet made it special... and it was so easy. It occurred to me that the possibilities of salad companions for grated raw beets are endless...starting with apples... walnuts...oranges...endive...fennel...carrots...cole slaw...cauliflower...celery root...sweet pickles...cold meats...marinated herring...certainly potatoes... white beans...lentils...avocados...hard cooked eggs...asparagus...green beans...bean sprouts...raw shreds of summer squashes...sprinklings of caraway, cilantro or chervil... Gotta go now, but oh my!

Comfort Me With Chanterelles

OK. When I think about Daw Aung San Suu Kyi in Myanmar facing 18 more months of house arrest…or women moldering in refugee camps all over the world…I have no complaints. Zero. Zip. Nada. I am covered with blessings.

Still, I confess, relative to my modest life in context, it has been a nasty week…nah, week-and-a-half. Of course we live in our own context, the spectre of the beautiful martyr in Myanmar is real/not real. Here sitting where we sit, we are relatively better or worse than we might be…might have been…were. Indeed, I want for nothing. I am hugely blessed. But, Pollyanna that I am, even so it has been a stressful time. (I will spare you the details.)

This afternoon I worked my usual Thursday as a volunteer at UCLA’s new hospital. I work in the surgical waiting area, helping people who sit for hours waiting for family and friends in surgery. It’s a great job, rewarding, and every week sets my world in order, particularly because there are always small children involved…today “Baby Boy Jones” wasn’t three days old. How can you come away not filled with gratitude?

But by 5:00 o’clock as I headed home, I felt in need of comfort food. What would it be? I didn’t have breakfast (had to take my panicked mother to the doctor’s early), no lunch to speak of (had to take Ma marketing before taking her home), so I could afford something frivolous with calories. I settled on it: polenta and mushrooms—not just mushrooms, chanterelles. Perfect.

I went to Ralph’s and picked out several handfuls of chanterelles, a handful of shiitake, and half a dozen crimini. Chanterelles always make me think of my cherished Susan Lescher, as I had never seen chanterelles before Gene and I went to dinner at Susan and Bob’s in Sneden’s Landing—she served us buttery pasta with chanterelles. I was agog.

I came home and put together—

Paula Wolfert’s incomparable baked polenta. For just me for two meals (or for me and a friend), I set the toaster oven to 350 degrees while, in a round 4-cup earthenware baking dish I combine 3 cups water, ¾ cup polenta, a scant tablespoon olive oil, and ¾ teaspoon salt. The oil floats on the surface, the cornmeal and water don’t mix, not to worry. I place the uncovered dish in the oven (the temp doesn’t have to have reached 350). I set the timer for an hour, at which point the polenta has a bit of a crust…I stir it with a fork, then cook it another half-hour, and serve. (For more people, I multiply the ingredients out…temperature and times are the same.)

I poured myself a glass of my Spanish red wine, watched the recording of tonight’s "Newshour"—delighted to see Renée Montagne from Afghanistan, I’m a big fan of hers on NPR’s “Morning Edition”—prepared the mushrooms. I cut the crimini into odd shapes, à la Deborah Madison, cut the delicate shiitake in half, sliced only the largest chanterelles in half. I had two heirloom tomatoes in danger of being lost, so I peeled them, pressed out seeds and juice, and roughly chopped them. When the polenta was about ready, I heated a drizzle of olive oil in a big skillet and sautéed two minced shallots and four minced garlic cloves until softened. Added a lump of butter and the crimini and shiitake, sautéed them a couple of minutes, then mixed in the chanterelles and tomatoes. Sautéed, stirring, another few minutes till the chanterelles were tender. I plopped polenta on my plate and the mushrooms over it. Sprinkled over a handful of shredded aged SarVecchio Wisconsin (pleasing stand-in for Parmigiano-Reggiano). Sat in my accustomed chair watching Jon Stewart.

Felt better.

The Quintessential Cheese Soufflé and Rustic Fresh Fruit Pastry

In “The Greens Cook Book” in her recipe for “Taglierini, Zucchini, Lemon, Pine Nuts, and Herbs,” Deborah Madison instructs: “Slice the zucchini diagonally into pieces about the same thickness as the pasta. Line up the slices and cut them into narrow matchsticks. Each one will be tipped with green or gold…” When I first did that, I was in awe of such attention to esthetics. Next, in a recipe with mushrooms (I forget where), Deborah suggests cutting up the buttons randomly, into chunks, bumps, knobs, widges, so the dish not only has a more interesting texture but somehow the mushrooms feel as though they were gathered in the wild. In time, I became privileged to gain Deborah as friend and mentor. I know of no more sensual cook and she continues to be an inspiration.

Last night, I promised my granddaughters a cheese soufflé for supper. Now I have a recipe for cheese soufflé in one of my books, but it’s from another lifetime, so I opened Deborah’s “Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone.” I adapted her Goat Cheese Soufflé with Thyme, used half medium cheddar and half Monterey jack—few children like goat cheese, alas—and baked it in a relatively shallow square dish (Le Creuset, 7 cup capacity, 8-1/2 inches square by a scant 1-3/4-inches deep). Perfection. The trick before baking—as for soufflés baked in traditional deep round dishes—is to run a finger around the rim of the dish, slightly pushing the preparation up toward the center. It baked high, puffed, with a lovely square hat, fully cooked but still moist in the center. Everyone—especially Grandma—was thrilled.

Deborah Madison’s Cheese Soufflé (via SVT)

Place 6 large eggs in a bowl and cover with warm water—chilled whites don’t beat to fullest volume. Place the oven rack in the lower-middle position, use a baking stone if you have one, and set the temperature to 400o. Butter a 6-cup soufflé dish or 7-cup square or oval baking dish, then dredge with about 2 tablespoons grated or ¼ cup flakes of Parmesan cheese.

Make a cheese sauce: melt 3 tablespoons butter in a 2-quart saucepan, whisk in 3 tablespoons all-purpose flour. Cook over medium-low heat about 2 minutes (takes away the raw taste of the flour). Whisk in 1¼ cups whole milk or half-and-half and whisk over low heat until smooth and thick. Remove from the heat and blend in ¼ teaspoon nutmeg, several turns of the white pepper mill, and, depending on how salty the cheese you’ll use, ½ to ¾ teaspoon salt.

Separate 4 of the eggs: drop the white first into a small cup (if a speck of yolk falls in, whites won’t beat high—last night, TWO yolks broke, it happens when eggs aren’t spanking fresh), then turn it into a medium-size non-plastic mixing bowl. Drop each yolk as you go into the sauce and whisk until blended. Now whisk the cheese of your choice into the sauce, 4 ounces—rounded 1 cup—crumbled or coarsely grated (a portion of Parmesan adds depth).

Separate the remaining 2 eggs and add the whites to the others (save the yolks for something else). Beat until foamy, add a pinch of salt, then beat until stiff but moist—when you raise the beater, a little peak curls over. First lighten the cheese sauce by blending one-fourth the whites into it…use a broad rubber spatula to fold in completely. Quickly fold in the remaining whites: constantly turning the pan, blend using a down to the bottom up around the sides motion. Stop when there are no more patches of either sauce or whites. Smooth evenly into the prepared dish, pushing the preparation up toward the center. Run a forefinger ½-inch deep around the sides to make a channel. Set in the oven, reduce the heat to 375o, and bake until nicely browned, 30 to 35 minutes. If you like the center saucy, bake till the top is a bit jiggly. If you want it firm, gently shake the dish to make sure the top doesn’t jiggle. Rush to the table in triumph! Makes 4 to 5 servings.

I’ve never done it but I read you can refrigerate the cheese sauce in advance, then fold in the whites just before baking. I’ve also read you can pop the soufflé, all set to go, into the fridge for 15-30 minutes, then bake. I’m not brave enough.

A lovely summer supper for friends would be this cheese soufflé served with slices of heirloom tomatoes and a mixed green salad, and for dessert, Deborah’s galette of fresh fruit. The galette is also from “Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone,” an essential for every inventive cook’s library.

Deborah Madison’s Fresh Fruit Galette (via SVT)

This tart is the absolute easiest, funnest, handsomest, and one of the most delectable of pastries (once upon a time I wrote a little book on tarts, so I know whereof I speak.) The pastry is short and flaky, the dough quickly made, and those who have had trouble rolling out dough will find it eminently user-friendly. The galette’s shape is freeform—whatever ends up after rolling out, delightful. The flavors of the fruit are fresh and pure because they are lightly sugared and not thickened. And there’s the added flavor the fruit’s peel gives, as there is no need for peeling. And the galette is accommodating: you can serve it 20 minutes after pulling it from the oven or the next day. Utterly stress-free!

Pieces of fruit are casually arranged over a round or oval of dough observing a broad margin, then the margin of dough is folded up over the fruit, pleated and pinched to make a secure border (no escaped juices to burn on the oven floor). Finished, the handsome fruit is set off by a fetching frame—even the frame’s raggedy edge adds charm. Whatever fruit that bakes successfully works—apples, apricots, peaches, plums, cherries, figs, blueberries, raspberries, blackberries, gooseberries. Use a single fruit or, as I love to do, a mélange—my last was 6 large plums, 1 big peach, and 1 cup of blueberries. Blueberries, blackberries, and gooseberries can bake the full time, but raspberries should be lightly sugared and sprinkled over the last 10 to 20 minutes of baking.

There is one essential: a base of crumbs to absorb juices. Once I forgot them in a plum galette and the pastry was sopped. Deborah calls for amaretti, biscotti, or dry bread crumbs…I have also used gingersnaps.

Place the oven rack in the middle position, use a baking stone if you have one, and set the temperature to 425o. Preparation time is about 45 minutes.

For the dough, use a fork to mix 2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour, ½ teaspoon kosher salt, and 1 tablespoon sugar in a medium bowl. Cut in 1½ sticks (12 tablespoons) unsalted butter—cool but not ice cold—in small chips. With the tips of your fingers, rub butter and flour together until about half the butter is in pea-sized chunks (these make the pastry flaky), the rest of the mixture is crumbly. Drizzle over 1/3 cup ice water and use the fork to quickly blend it in—about 12 strokes. Gently press the dough into an inch-thick round. If the room is hot or the butter was soft or it’s helpful for your schedule, wrap and refrigerate for 15 minutes or freeze for several weeks. When ready to roll out, the dough should be cool but malleable.

Now Deborah and most pastry chefs prefer dough for tarts rolled 1/8-inch thick, which makes a delicate base. For this country matter, I prefer it a shade thicker (scant 3/16-inch) because the pastry is crunchier and holds up beautifully if there’s a second day. So roll out the dough on a lightly floured work surface to a 13-inch (slightly thicker crust) to-14-inch (classic thickness) round…the shape can be irregular but the thickness should be even. Butter a 14-inch or larger pizza pan or rimless pan or the underside of a rimmed sheet. Gently fold the dough in half then lift onto the pan and unfold. Patch as needed. If desired, you can cover tightly and refrigerate for a day—then when heating the oven, tuck in the pan just long enough to warm the dough to cool but malleable.

Prepare the fruit: about 6 cups of fresh ripe stemmed, pitted, and/or cored fruit, usually 2 pounds. Apricots and figs are sliced in half; peaches, nectarines, plums, and apples are sliced a generous 1/4-inch thick. Blackberries, blueberries, raspberries, gooseberries are just rinsed.

Leaving a 2-inch margin all around, smooth 1/3 to 1/2 cup (depending on the juiciness of the fruit) crushed cookie, dry bread, or cracker crumbs—or a tasty mixture—evenly over the dough. Arrange the fruit over the crumbs—apricot halves cut sides down, fig halves cut sides up, slices and berries evenly distributed. Fold the margin of dough up over the fruit and pinch to make wide pleats...pinch tight and look for any places a piece of fruit may have poked through or the dough looks suspiciously thin…this dough is a cinch to patch (no water needed). Melt 4 tablespoons unsalted butter and gingerly brush the dough all over, then brush the remaining over the fruit. Sprinkle both dough and fruit with 3-4 tablespoons sugar.

Bake 20 minutes, reduce the temperature to 375o, and bake until the fruit is tender and the pastry nicely browned, another 20 to 35 minutes. Carefully run a long thin spatula underneath the galette and slide onto a cooling rack for at least 20 minutes so the bottom will not soften. Best served warm with cream or vanilla ice cream. Makes 8 to 9 servings.

The Restorative Powers of Getting Away

Cakes (my maybe-a-year-and-a-half-old bichon-poodle angel of a rescue) and I just returned from six days on the road.

Our friend Danielle joined us, and we not only had a marvelous time damn near every minute, but to my amazement, when I landed back in LA, I felt an astonishing surge of happiness. It was as though the break blew out all the clouds glooming about in my head. It was the more amazing because I came home to my mother having an anxiety attack and my apartment recuperating from a terrible flood…

Cheery me, neither fazed me. All because I got away.

Last Wednesday, we drove up to Sonoma. For lunch, we stopped in a shady spot along highway 5 and made ham sandwiches French style (Danielle is from French Morocco)…crusty rolls I’d picked up at Emil’s bakery at 9 am…Black Forest ham, sliced cornichons, butter. I can’t be sure, but I may never use mustard instead of butter on a ham sandwich again. We stayed in a little cottage by a pear orchard (it’s called Pomegranate Cottage when, I think, it should be Pear Cottage), had our supper al fresco—Danielle brought a delicious wild rice/vegetable salad and a beet rapée (fine strands of raw peeled young organic beets, mild vinaigrette, minced dill—how come when I love carrot rapée as much as any salad on earth, I’ve never known about making it with beets?), Spanish red wine, and for dessert, my bar cookies (July 22nd entry—they really are longkeeping, delicious).

Thursday, over to Santa Rosa to pick up my cherished friend Norah. We drove up to Healdsburg, picnicked in the town park. We sat on a bench under a gazebo and ate off enameled tin plates dear friends Susan and Bob gave Gene and me a hundred years ago…salad of mixed greens with the rest of the ham and beets, plus niçoise olives, batons of cheddar, small chunks of apple. Dessert was enormous dark cherries from the plushy Sonoma Market. As much as I’ve been in the Sonoma Valley, I’d never been up to Healdsburg. We drove along Dry Creek Road with its carpets of vineyards flung over the hills, small wineries tucked away, banks of wildflowers. Mad for that part of the world.

After returning Norah, we drove to the coast across lush Marin dairyland to delightful Point Reyes Station. Near there, friends have one of the most beautiful houses I’ve ever been in, Japanese-inspired, remote, silent…the kitchen window looks out on wetlands and a creek running to Tomales Bay. Our friends gave us a splendid supper of roast chicken, risotto, and luscious yellow and white peaches splashed with Prosecco…

Next morning, our friends were off for the weekend, we lucky enough to house sit. For lunch came dear Hildy up from Tiburon and I served us Paula Wolfert’s incomparable oven-baked polenta (“The Slow Mediterranean Kitchen”—go thou and do likewise!) topped with a ragout of mushrooms (fresh shiitakes and dried chanterelles, porcini, morels, a thread of truffle oil). Shorty’s produce at Tomales Bay Food Company in Point Reyes Station provided the shiitakes and superb red and red and green heirloom tomatoes I sliced—there is no better way to present them, yes?—as well as organic spinach and basil for a small salad. Cowgirl Creamery’s nettle wrapped St Pat’s cheese (made right there in a corner of the market) and country bread that was warm when Danielle picked it up came before Shorty’s divine Brown Turkey figs for dessert.

For supper, my Coastie grandson Stuart and his lovely friend Christina brought us oysters fresh from up the road at Marshall—Hog Island oysters. I can’t remember what else we ate…

Saturday we drove down Shoreline Highway, California Route 1—as rapturous a drive with its ocean and redwoods and oaks and wildflowers as Big Sur, I think—to Mill Valley to visit my dear sister-in-law and her family. Corinne made us a glorious fresh fruit cup (every fruit she could think of) and a green salad, perfect on a hot summer day. Then back to Point Reyes, this time cutting over the mountain through Mt. Tamalpais State Park and its deep redwood forest. For supper, I’d brought along Trader Joe’s lemon pepper pappardelle and I dressed it with capers (wild organic Mediterranean capers oh my), pine nuts, Parmigiano-Reggiano, and Spanish olive oil. (I find myself reaching for the more robust Spanish and Greek oils these days, rather than delicate French and Italian, interesting how one’s palate changes.) Sweet watermelon for dessert.

Um, Sunday morning we made French toast with the remains of the great bread from the day before…Hildy had brought us raspberries, blueberries, and blackberries and we heaped them over the toast. Then off to visit a friend of Danielle’s for coffee and superb French pastries…on to my daughter Dinah’s for dinner and the night. My dear son-in-law Gary made us spaghetti with a creamy scallop and shrimp sauce, roasted asparagus, and twelve minutes later, we fell into bed.

Yesterday, time to come home, but Dinah gave us marvelous Italian coffee in thermi (mine was still hot when I unpacked). For lunch we stopped in San Luis Obispo to meet my Cal Poly grandson Weston and his sweet friend Amanda…I had a cheeseburger, my first since I came home from India a vegetarian. Then, driving down Highway 101, more of my blessed California, oaks and golden grain and vineyards and dark blue sea, back to the real world.

But, as I say, with the leisure to cook and eat and sit quietly and not answer the phone or turn on the television, to look out the window and soak up some of the most magnificent scenery on the planet, I was ready.