Why I Love New Orleans on Katrina’s Anniversary and Chicken Fricassee

To be a New Orleanian requires one to harbor a certain philosophical slant. More than once I’ve entertained discussions with non-New Orleanian folk that became arguments at a predictable impasse: why choose to live somewhere that is near-certain to flood again? There will always be another Katrina, they say, it doesn’t make any sense; why choose to live in a place that is doomed? I suppose I feel such a question is akin to asking a person with cancer why they chose to be born. We all live in no certain jeopardy; death and suffering are absolutes in this life and the sooner you come to accept those truths of existence, the more unflappable you will stand in the wind of tragedy. No one can predict from whence their blow will strike. Your dog could turn on your stove gas while you are away and burn the house down. Some psychotic person could shoot you in a theater. If you live on a mountain, it could crumble or explode with lava. If you live at the sea, there are tsunamis and landslides. If you live in the Dust Bowl, sandstorms; in the Midwest, tornadoes. If you take a plane, drive a car…you get the idea—physics spares no one entropy’s final say.

We do not choose our homes because they offer us the promise of longevity and prosperity, or perhaps some people do purchase and locate upon that impossible guarantee, but I am no such person. I chose New Orleans as home full-well knowing that life is brutish and short; rather than cushion the ride to the pearly gates in a padded and quiet high-walled carriage, I’d rather dance along the streets with the common folk wearing some bright-colored costume, tossing confetti, dipping out of the way of trombone handles and second-line umbrellas in a parade of celebrating the fortune that still we breathe, still we walk, and sing and dance and eat while we can! I have tasted the savory spice and salt of life among people who would choose to live out their lives in an endangered place, and my appetite has been forever changed.

I believe that the recognition of our mortality is what calls humankind to art, and this is fundamentally why New Orleans is one of the most electric and beautifully bandaged cities in the world. Arcadia, as described by Pliny the Elder, was an ancient field of gravestones where a shepherd once wet his finger with spit and traced his friend’s shadow against a tomb. The world’s first painting, the first canvas, was a gravestone. Humans are a strange kind—for us, destruction curiously engenders its diametric opposite—creation. Art, thus, is one of humankind’s most powerful, and most natural, responses to death. It is no wonder that New Orleans stands today more beautiful and strange than ever it was. Survival is both a gift over which we have no control and at the same time an attitude we can choose to wear on our shoulders.

I didn’t mean for that to become a small essay, but so it goes. Happy Anniversary Katrina. You rotted this fancy bench left to rust in your storm water. I see you that rust in the trash heap and raise you a rescued red-painted garden piece upon which to feature my favorite purple aloe.

We are celebrating this Katrina Anniversary with a BBQ– here is a wonderful southern style BBQ dish to enjoy, and just as fun to say as it is delicious.

Rosemary Chicken with Corn and Sausage Fricassee

Adapted from Food and Wine

CHICKEN

1/2 cup kosher salt

12 chicken drumsticks (or thighs, like I used)

1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil

4 large garlic cloves, chopped

2 tablespoons finely chopped rosemary

1 tablespoon finely grated lemon zest

1 teaspoon crushed red pepper

FRICASSEE

6 scallions

3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

1 medium sweet onion, halved and thinly sliced lengthwise

4 ounces hot Italian sausage, casings removed

3 cups fresh corn kernels (from 4 ears

2 cups cherry tomatoes (10 ounces), halved

1/4 pound sugar snap peas, halved lengthwise

1/2 cup torn basil leaves

Salt

1.Make the chicken In a large bowl, whisk the salt with 6 cups of cold water until dissolved. Add the chicken and refrigerate for 45 minutes. Remove the chicken and pat dry with paper towels. Wipe out the bowl.

2.In the same bowl, whisk the olive oil with the garlic, rosemary, lemon zest and crushed red pepper. Add the chicken and turn to coat, rubbing some of the marinade under the skin. Marinate the chicken at room temperature for 45 minutes.

3.Light a grill or preheat a grill pan. Grill the chicken over moderate heat, turning occasionally, until lightly charred and  an instant-read thermometer inserted in the thickest part of each leg registers 165°, about 25 minutes.

4.Meanwhile, make the fricassee In a large cast-iron skillet, cook the scallions over high heat until charred on the bottom, about 3 minutes. Transfer to a work surface and cut into 1-inch lengths. In the same skillet, heat the olive oil. Add the onion and a generous pinch of salt and cook over moderately high heat, stirring occasionally, until softened  and lightly browned, about 6 minutes. Add the sausage and cook, breaking up the meat with a wooden spoon, until nearly cooked through, 6 to 8 minutes. Add the corn and tomatoes and cook, stirring occasionally, until the corn is crisp-tender and the tomatoes are softened, about 5 minutes. Stir in the snap peas and cook until crisp-tender, about 2 minutes longer. Stir in the basil and scallions and season with salt. Transfer the fricassee to a platter, top with the chicken and serve.

Haiku #235 August 23^rd

For the body of

Christ, I think I am supposed

to be an h’ordeuvre.

Haiku #236 August 24^th

A cocktail inspired

by dusk tastes like the hour

that blurs dog from wolf.

Haiku #237 August 25^th

Fricassee: charred corn

bed for grilled chicken to take

a pre-supper nap.

Haiku #238 August 26^th

There is no lesson

to teach one Release. Quiet

one muscle and see.

Haiku #239 August 27^th

See how that old bench

changes when moved from the trash

pile to a garden?

Haiku #240 August 28^th

Ev’ry year today

we commemorate at once

a birth and a storm.

Haiku #241 August 29^th

Ten years hence no one

imagined the bathtub would

fill with hope, new homes.

Bake This Day Challah and Home

“All bread is the bread of heaven, her father used to say. It expresses the will of God to sustain us in this flesh, in this life. Weary or bitter or bewildered as we may be, God is faithful. He lets us wander so we will know what it means to come home.”

― Marilynne Robinson, Home

When I examine what draws me to bread-baking, I am transported back through time to the smell of French Toast on Saturday mornings, to the warm, yellow, pillowy Challah bread Grammie Barb brought every time she and Grandpa Stan came to visit, to the smell of yeast and bronzing crust in the hallways of Ashton Hall dorm room, and rosemary wheat vapors wafting through the stairwells in the Cremona Apartments in college. I have always been a bread lover, but I became a bread baker in college because of the way the simple smell of bread instantly brought me, and all of my fellow nomad “homeless” college peers, closer to a hearth. I baked and served fresh bread every Sunday night in my apartment when I was an RA with an ever open-door policy that I maintain to this day. Anyone hungry and needing an hour of family is welcome when fresh bread is served. It was then, while far from Oregon where home had always been, that I realized home has no place. Home is a provision we can create for ourselves, and yet can never build alone; the ingredients for home are found in others, and in the parts of yourself you are willing to give away; home is a true feeling; home is a foreshadowing.

Earlier this summer my husband and I moved from Rochester, MN, where we had lived for six years and where we felt very much at home, to New Orleans, LA, where we had lived from 2007 to 2009 post-Hurricane Katrina and where, once upon a time, we also felt at home. It was hard to say goodbye to the family in Rochester with whom we had become so closely imbricated. As the threads pulled loose on the impending move, and as we had to wash the color of our fuchsia house into something more mainstream (coffee brown), I felt the uncertainty of displacement—the weary of wander and bewilderment that always accompanies moving homes.

This time, returning to New Orleans, we decided to buy a home. As it was our first time, the process was daunting. We were sick of being renters, and we had been saving for years and years to accrue a decent-sized down payment. We were also under pressure of time—we needed to find a place to live in by June. Being a resident physician means you have NO time to relocate once you’ve started working in the hospital. The thought of moving everything twice was not favorable. Our priorities were: location (close to the hospital but in safe area with good neighbors), move-in-livability, backyard for chickens and my bulldog, and within our budget.

We didn’t really Google too much or read books on home-buying. We just found good people who we could trust to make it all happen. As it was, we only had time to make one visit to New Orleans for inspections, and so our team on the ground in New Orleans did a lot of legwork to ensure we were making a safe buy. Joann Fitzpatrick and Eileen Nolan of Latter and Blum in New Orleans (pictured below) did a phenomenal job spoon-feeding us home-buying babies the process.

I recall our first coffee shop date when they explained the sequential steps:

CONSULTATION
SHOP FOR A LOAN
MAKE LIST OF HOMES
SHOP FOR A HOME
OFFER/CONTRACT
INSPECTIONS
SHOP FOR INSURANCE
FINANCING & APPRAISAL
FINAL WALK THROUGH
ACT OF SALE

We went through steps 1-10 in one month! Houses are selling in New Orleans in 24 hours—hot hot hot cakes. We feel so lucky to have found the place we did. We are already hard at work making it ours—kudos to the family who have already come to share in the labors of love.

This last week we finally all got together with our home-buying partners in crime in New Orleans to toast and celebrate.

I really don’t feel in a position to give great home-buying financial advice because honestly I just hired people I trust to make it happen, so I guess that is my advice. Try to keep your business local. My lender, Will Gandy of Guaranteed Rate Mortgage, and my realtors JoAnn and Eileen live or own property several blocks from the home we purchased, and I suppose their neighborly proximity gave me the inkling that they might have an extra incentive to treat us right as we would be seeing each other on the Endymion parade route for years to come, possibly in the hospital (but hopefully not!), at block parties and in the neighborhood pub. I highly recommend this dynamic trio—we have them largely to thank for having a home we so love!

Buying a house is certainly a form of saving—but with this first big purchase of my life I want to ensure that I do not stake inordinate claim on the curious notion of property our society has created. What I have is a gift to be shared. To whom much has been given, much shall be required, and all that. The door is open, the porch lights are on, and just as my Grandpa Florus would have delighted, Frank Sinatra and Billie Holiday are beckoning y’all neighbors to come inside, come to the kitchen and dine with me at my banqueting breakfast table.

Today you might enjoy what I am calling my Challah-day Bread, best if made with the accompaniment of Madonna.

Braided Challah with Whole Wheat and Wheat Germ

Adapted from Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day

5 cups whole wheat flour

3 cups unbleached all-purpose flour

1/4 cup wheat germ

1 1/2 cups sourdough starter

1 tablespoon kosher salt

3 cups lukewarm water

1/4 cup olive oil

1/2 cup honey

3 large eggs

Egg wash (1 egg lightly blended with 1 tablespoon water)

Whisk together the flours, wheat germ, starter, salt in a 5-quart bowl, or a lidded (not airtight food container. Add the liquid ingredients and stir them together with a spoon. Allow the dough to rest and rise at room temperature for about 2 hours, until it slows down its rising or begins to collapse.

Now follow the directions for challah at http://www.artisanbreadinfive.com/?p=360. Brush with egg wash, and then you can sprinkle with sesame seeds. Baking time is 30 to 35 minutes at 350 degrees F (use an oven thermometer). Make the dough ahead and rip off half after it has risen the first time to go in the freezer.

I want the smell of French Toast and Bread Pudding to waft up and down my street, an olfactory second line. Just like food, the best home isn’t found, it is made with tender time and loving hands.

I will ever and always be a fan of Marilynne Robinson’s work—she is the Faulkner of our time. I recommend her novel Home as a window through which you might glimpse how Home is indeed a foreshadowing.

“That odd capacity for destitution, as if by nature we ought to have so much more than nature gives us. As if we are shockingly unclothed when we lack the complacencies of ordinary life. In destitution, even of feeling or purpose, a human being is more hauntingly human and vulnerable to kindnesses because there is the sense that things should be otherwise, and then the thought of what is wanting and what alleviation would be, and how the soul could be put at ease, restored. At home. But the soul finds its own home if it ever has a home at all.”

― Marilynne Robinson, Home

Marcona Almond Blondies and August in August

It’s time to get Fancy. My medicine firm this Friday decided to go to brunch after our Friday morning didactics, and we chose to try August, John Besh’s fancy flagship restaurant in New Orleans, chandeliers, champagne, bouquets and all. I was reminded how not fancy I am when en route from the door to the table I was asked by three separate staff members if I wanted to check my moped helmet.

“Oh no it’s fine, I’ll put it under my seat.” “It’s no trouble, I’ll take it.” “Oh don’t bother.” “No, I’m taking it.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

The meal was incredible and obviously each step so labor intensive. I couldn’t pronounce anything, ordered things I could only hope would be foods I liked. The portions for the prix fixe menu were like meager servings of cat food. But oh such Fancy Feast. And in particular, the company was the real treat.

Now I can say in an affected snooty accent, “Oh you simply must go to August in August, dahling.”

Speaking of fancy, these blondies are the best. I didn’t know what marcona almonds were, and almost substituted regular almonds but I’m so glad I found marconas. They are fancy and make all the difference. Enjoy enjoy enjoy.

Marcona Almond Blondie and August

Adapted from Food and Wine

INGREDIENTS

2 1/2 sticks unsalted butter, plus more for brushing

3 1/2 cups light brown sugar

5 large eggs, lightly beaten

1/2 cup roasted almond butter

1 tablespoon pure vanilla extract

1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt

1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon

3 cups all-purpose flour

2 cups marcona almonds, chopped (9 ounces)

1 3/4 cups chocolate chips (11 ounces)

Preheat the oven to 325º. Lightly brush a 9-by-13-inch metal baking pan with butter.

In a medium saucepan, cook the 2 1/2 sticks of butter over moderate heat until golden brown, 5 minutes. Transfer to a large bowl and let cool to room temperature, 30 minutes.

Add the sugar, eggs, almond butter, vanilla, salt and cinnamon to the butter and whisk until smooth. Stir in the flour, then fold in 1 1/2 cups of the almonds and 1 1/2 cups of the chocolate chips. Scrape the batter into the prepared pan and spread it evenly with an offset or a nonstick spatula. Scatter the remaining 1/2 cup of almonds and 1/4 cup of chocolate chips over the top. Bake for about 1 hour, until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out with a few moist crumbs attached. Transfer the pan to a rack and let the blondies cool completely before cutting.

Haiku #227 August 15^th

A dining room so

lacquered with color and sine

to treat our first guest.

Haiku #228 August 16^th

Hours on the porch

with neighbors and lemonade

and only good news.

Haiku #229 August 17^th

Those least skilled with vein

stabbing are those assigned to

put lines centrally?

Haiku #230 August 18^th

An electronic

medical record improves

with friends, cheese and wine.

Haiku #231 August 19^th

The exam table:

both the dunce corner and

an art pedestal.

Haiku #232 August 20^th

It has always been

harder for me to write my

day than to live it.

Haiku #233 August 21^st

At the Avenue

Pub I was offered sting ray.

Salt leather taffy.

Haiku #234 August 22^nd

Birthday for a three

year old in Audubon Park.

Swimsuits and sunshine.

Roasted Sweet Potatoes with Pecan-Orange Topping

I’m in a sweet spot. New job that I love, new home in a neighborhood so mood-congruent with who I have always been, and finally two days off in a row. To the kitchen!

Roasted Sweet Potatoes with Pecan-Orange Topping

Adapted from Penzeys

1 1/2 lbs. sweet potatoes, peeled and cut into 1-inch cubes (about 3 decent-sized potatoes)

2 large shallots, thinly sliced

3 TB. olive oil

1 tsp. salt

1/4 tsp. pepper

1 TB. brown sugar

1 TB. Aleppo pepper

Topping:

1/4 Cup pecans, toasted and coarsely chopped

2 tsp. freshly grated orange peel

2 TB. chopped fresh parsley

1/2 tsp. coriander

1/2 TB. light brown sugar

1/2 tsp. salt

Hope you have as sweet a potato peeler as me.

Preheat oven to 400°. Place the sweet potatoes and shallots in a single layer on a rimmed baking sheet. Drizzle with the olive oil. Sprinkle with the salt, pepper, brown sugar and Aleppo. Gently stir to evenly coat the sweet potatoes. Bake at 400° until the sweet potatoes are fork tender, about 30 minutes. While the sweet potatoes cook, prepare the topping by roasting the pecans and whole coriander seed, then crushing the seeds and combining with the rest of the ingredients in a bowl. Mix well. When the potatoes are ready, place in a serving bowl and sprinkle with the topping. Serve immediately.

Just finished a month on wards and was so lucky to have the best team of medical students, attendings, my co-intern and resident. We celebrated at Johnny Sánchez, wearing the red bolos that are the hallmark of Tulane medicine Red Firm–Yolo Bolo.

I got a little choked up that the medical students gifted us with Tulane mugs. Once a teacher, always a teacher.

Haiku #223 August 11^th

Last call. You have but

fourteen hours to be my

inpatient. Last call.

Haiku #224 August 12^th

Thrilled to have a job

and to live in a city

so mood congruent.

Haiku #225 August 13^th

I have nausea

of the eyeballs, also called

Residents Disease.

Haiku #226 August 14^th

Skylark by torchlight

Dark empty bottles, lips and

hearts outlined in red.

Pesto Pine Nut Bread and Eudora Welty

In the style of Sesame Street, for lit geeks like myself, this Monday is brought to you by: Eudora Welty and two full French Press carafes of coffee.

“For her life, any life, she had to believe, was nothing but the continuity of its love.”

― Eudora Welty, The Optimist’s Daughter

I could not imagine reading anything more important in the present moment than this novel, The Optimist’s Daughter, which won for Eudora Welty, deservingly, the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction in 1973. It is a delicious read, each line on every page a gem of a stratagem.

“And perhaps it didn’t matter to them, not always, what they read aloud; it was the breath of life flowing between them, and the words of the moment riding on it that held them in delight. Between some two people every word is beautiful, or might as well be beautiful.”

It will be among the beautiful words of Welty that I find some new way of seeing the work that I do as doctor with my patients. I promise to teach from this book at the Examined Life this coming October, if they’ll have me.

Our friends Jeremy and Kristen recently gifted us a baby fig tree for housewarming. I think this tree, in honor of Welty’s character and because Kristen is a lawyer, shall be named Judge McKelva.

I used to grow my own basil in the backyard, and my best plant was named Count Basie.

I imagine she will return in some reincarnation when the August New Orleans heat finally abates to the more temperate Southern September.

For the record my beans are climbing up the fence at a marvelous pace and my gourds have blossomed under the blistering sun. Go figure.

Thankfully I have a lovely neighbor Inga who shares her fresh basil (hers planted in May; I’m taking note for next year) for recipes such as the following:

Pesto and Pinenut Bread

2 cups spelt flour

2 cups whole wheat flour

3 cups all purpose flour

1 1/2 cups sourdough starter

1 tablespoon kosher salt or 2 teaspoons table salt

3 1/2 cups lukewarm water

¾ cup pesto (homemade, see here)

1 cup Crushed pine nuts

Mix sourdough and water and pesto until well combined. You can do this by hand, using a dough whisk or big spoon; or in a stand mixer. Then blend in the flours. Let dough rest 40 minutes, covered, and then add the salt in another 20 mL of water.

Cover the dough, and let it rest at cool room temperature for 2 hours.

At this point, you can cover and refrigerate the dough for up to 7 days. The flavor will gradually become more assertive and tangier, as the yeast continues to grow and create organic acids.

Scoop off a 1-pound piece of dough – about the size of a large grapefruit. You’ll get 3 to 4 loaves out of the entire batch of dough, depending on how big you actually make the loaves. You can also use this dough for pizza…mmmm.

Shape into a boule or a batard.

Let the bread rise for about 90 minutes.

Towards the end of the rising time, heat the oven to 450°F. If you’re using a pizza stone, put it on a lower-middle shelf. Whether or not you’re using a stone, place a shallow pan – such as a broiler pan, or small rimmed cookie sheet – on the lowest oven shelf.

Have 1 cup of hot water ready; you’re going to pour it into the pan in the oven to create steam.

Make a couple of quick, aggressive cuts in the loaf and put it into the hot oven – either on your stone or, if it’s on a baking sheet, on the oven rack.

Pour the hot water into the pan below, and shut the oven door.

Bake for 25-30 minutes, or until it sounds hollow when thumped.

Haiku #219 August 7^th

A mental status

exam: alert, pleasant, yet

one bubble off plumb.

Haiku #220 August 8^th

Iams senior dog food

topped with Parmegiano Reg

cheese. Pampered bulldog.

Haiku #221 August 9^th

Back to the mirror

to stare at the new name badge,

“Dr.” and say, “Yes.”

Haiku #222 August 10^th

And the painted walls

shall collect ever new art

works; Home is gallery.

Green Beans and Charred Romaine with Anchovy Butter

Tonight felt like an early Thanksgiving. Anchovy butter, I’m convinced, is the Golden Ticket for vegetables. Just half a stick of butter, and couple salty fish, and suddenly, two pounds of green fibrous plants become dinner. Really. I ate this for dinner and I felt just as satisfied as though I had eaten a cheeseburger. Delish.

Green Beans and Charred Romaine with Anchovy Butter

Adapted from Food and Wine

4 tablespoons unsalted butter

1 pound green beans, trimmed

6 oil-packed anchovy fillets, drained and chopped

2 garlic cloves, minced (or a whole garlic, which of course I prefer)

4 heads Little Gem or baby romaine lettuce, quartered lengthwise

2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice, plus lemon wedges for serving

Sea salt and Pepper

1 scallion, thinly sliced

Chopped pistachios and extra-virgin olive oil, for garnish

1. In a large skillet, melt 3 tablespoons of the butter. Add the green beans, anchovies and garlic and cook over moderate heat, stirring occasionally, until the beans are tender, about 5 minutes. Transfer the beans to a large plate.

2. Add the remaining 1 tablespoon of butter and the lettuce to the skillet and cook, turning occasionally, until the lettuce is golden and crisp-tender, about 2 minutes. Add the green beans and lemon juice and season with salt and pepper; toss to coat. Transfer the beans and lettuce to a serving platter and top with the sliced scallion. Scatter with pistachios, drizzle with olive oil and serve warm with lemon wedges.

I’m going into the home stretch of my last week on hospital wards… this little motivational blurb was hanging on the bathroom door of my yoga studio, and I take it to heart. Thanks Dalai Lama– in the running community, they always say that the last 20% of your race is where you serve to gain the most ground. In the same way, the last week of call, the last 20% is certainly where you serve to develop and grow in heart (God knows not in mind because I can barely remember the last time I ate! Never mind the subtlies of Duke’s Criteria.)

Haiku #215 August 3^rd

With the storm cloud of

call comes the thunderclap of

untimely menses.

Haiku #216 August 4^th

To a bulldog it’s

a crackle and snarl—I’m glad

someone likes junk mail.

Haiku #217 August 5th

August evening jog

down on the bayou. Extreme

vasodilation.

Haiku #218 August 6^th

A homeless woman

sleeping under graffiti

that says: You Go Girl.

Quinoa Bread

All the time that I would spend coming up with some clever drivel to write here I conscientiously divert to the husband who has been gone for six weeks. Meanwhile, enjoy this happy commercial for easy quinoa bread.

Quinoa Bread

Adapted from Five Minutes a Day Artisan Bread

3 cups whole wheat flour

3 ½ cups all purpose flour

1 cup whole grain quinoa, uncooked

1 Tbl kosher salt

1 cup sourdough starter

3 3/4 c water

The recipe proceeds like the other 5 Minutes a Day no knead recipes. Mix the dry ingredients, add the wet, let rise and then, in this case, let the dough sit in the fridge for 24 hours to give the whole kernels time to absorb the water. Tastes great plain, or toasted with a little egg white and pepper and paprika on top!

Haiku #210 July 29th

Looking back I now

see options where once I saw

all imperatives.

Haiku #211 July 30^th

Here we are at work

lunching like relatives who

don’t know each other.

Haiku #212 July 31^st

One last night being

single mother to my back

yard menagerie.

Haiku #213 August 1^st

Paracentesis

How strange that ascites looks

like beer from a keg.

Haiku #214 August 2^nd

A hospital is

no sanctuary on a

bright Sunday morning.

Avocado Hollandaise on Poached Eggs on Rye

Glorious, just glorious. This is what my honorary grandfather Stanley says of everything he eats. His voice rang through my brain this morning when finally I had a breath of fresh time to make my own breakfast, slow, and with luxury. I sat with a full French press of coffee next to me on the couch and languidly pawed through the latest edition of Food and Wine for a solid hour. Izzy insisted she have a turn when I was through ripping out recipes I fancy. She is an avid eater, ahem, reader.

After eating meal upon meal that mainly consists of Teddy Grahams and Cocoa Puffs…

(free, I can’t complain about the call room stash, but my pancreas will)

…to have a meal of what my brother calls Real Food, and what Stanley calls Glorious, was heaven.

Avocado Hollandaise on Poached Eggs on Rye

Adapted from Food and Wine (just before Izzy ate it)

1/2 very ripe medium Hass avocado, peeled and chopped

2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice

2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

Kosher salt

Freshly ground pepper

Poached eggs, for serving

In a blender, combine the avocado and lemon juice with 1/3 cup of hot water. Puree until smooth and light in texture, about 2 minutes, scraping down the side of the bowl occasionally. With the machine on, drizzle in the olive oil and puree until combined. Season with salt and pepper. Serve the hollandaise over poached eggs.

I toasted smoked sprouted rye bread to put the eggs and hollandaise on. Divine.

A good day off looks like this at the end. I feel like my mood got some good soap suds too– all clean and ready to head back into the grease tomorrow.

Haiku #207 July 26^th

The stench issuing

from my unwashed dishes is

near-primordial.

Haiku #208 July 27^th

I am a sessile

polyp by the end of call.

Flat and sinister.

Haiku #209 July 28^th

For brunch she ate Food

And Wine Magazine; paper

shreds her costume beard.

Cocoa Snowflakes

Just got off the phone with my dear dear friend, forever neighbor, Janelle—and I’m about to dream in snowflakes before I wake up and it all melts with the adrenaline of yet another call day. Happy memories of Minnesota, and more to be make in the land of cocoa snowballs.

Cocoa Snowflakes

Adapted from Penzeys Spices

1 cup all purpose flour

1 tsp. baking powder

1/4 tsp. salt

5 TB. butter

6 TB. Dark cocoa powder

1 Cup sugar

1 tsp. vanilla

2 extra large eggs

1/2 Cup finely chopped nuts (optional)

1/2 Cup powdered sugar (for rolling)

In a medium bowl, sift flour, baking powder and salt, set aside. In a small heavy saucepan, melt butter over low heat, add cocoa powder, blend well until smooth. Remove pan from heat, stir in sugar until combined (it will be dark brown at this point). Transfer to a large mixing bowl, add vanilla extract, then eggs one at a time, stirring well after each addition. Add flour mixture and nuts if desired, mix well. Cover the dough with plastic wrap, refrigerate until chilled (at least 2 hours). The dough never gets really stiff, but it won’t roll into nice balls if it’s warm. Preheat oven to 400°. Grab a handful of dough, enough to fill a cookie sheet, leaving the rest in the fridge.

Roll each hunk of dough into 3/4-inch balls and then roll in powdered sugar.

It is easier to roll the dough into balls if you coat your hands with powdered sugar.

Place the sugar-coated balls onto a greased cookie sheet, 2” apart. Bake cookies for 8 minutes at 400°, let cool a minute, and then remove from pan.

Haiku #202 July 21^st

One day can be a

vacation if spent with Mom

and Mumbo Gumbo

Haiku #203 July 22^nd

A Cajun founder

colony: Acadia,

stork from a dark cloud.

Haiku #204 July 23^rd

Up before chickens,

before the mosquitos can

savage my soft flesh.

Haiku #205 July 24^th

the stairs, round the halls, down the

stairs, login, log out.

Haiku #206 July 25^th

Breathe in, breath out, to

the unit, to the floor, the

days are eerie same.

Cinnamon Swirl Bread and Human Training Wheels

I can think of few things for which I am more grateful than my mother coming to live here during my first two weeks of intern year, human training wheels. She has been busy sprucing up the dwelling, cooking meals, kissing my bulldog and mowing my stubborn grass patch with an impossible push mower—basically a butter knife on wheels. I hereby nominate her for sainthood. It is like giving up a sacred cow to not bake my own bread, but the next best thing is to have the loving touch of Mother Dearest. I’m so glad she taught me how to balance–so that when she’s gone I know I won’t crash. I’ll just hear her clapping and whooping from a distance.

Cinnamon Swirl Bread

Adapted from Baking Illustrated

Ingredients:

For dough

1/2 cup half and half or heavy cream

4 TBS (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch pieces

1 cup sourdough starter

1/2 cup warm water (105-112ºF)

1/3 cup granulated sugar

2 large eggs, room temperature

1 1/2 tsp kosher salt

1 1/2 cups whole wheat flour

1 3/4 – 2 1/4 cups unbleached all-purpose, plus extra for dusting work surface

1 heaping cup of raisins, soaked in hot water, drained, and patted dry

For filling

1/4 cup granulated sugar

5 tsp ground cinnamon

milk for brushing dough

For egg glaze

1 large egg

2 tsp milk

Directions:

For dough: Heat the milk and butter in a small saucepan over medium-low heat (or in the microwave) until the butter melts. Cool until it reaches 110ºF, and add the sourdough starter and let sit for 20 minutes.
Beat in the sugar and eggs at low speed to blend (or stir to combine). Add the salt, warm milk mixture, and whole wheat flour plus 1/2 cup of all-purpose flour (to equal 2 cups of flour total).
Transfer the dough to a lightly oiled large bowl. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and let the dough rise in a warm place until doubled in size, 2 to 2 1/2 hours. After the rise, punch down the center of the dough once. (At this point, the dough can be refrigerated, covered, up to 18 hours.) Without folding the dough, turn it out onto an unfloured work surface, and let it rest about 10 minutes.
For filling: Grease the bottom and sides of a 9 by 5-inch loaf pan. Mix the sugar and cinnamon in a small bowl.
To shape dough: Press the dough into an evenly shaped 8 by 6-inch rectangle.

With a short side of the dough facing you, roll the dough with a rolling pin into an evenly shaped 18 by 8-inch rectangle. Brush the dough liberally with the milk. Sprinkle the filling evenly over the dough, leaving a 1/2-inch border on the far side. Starting at the side closest to you, roll up the dough tightly. Push the ends in occasionally to keep it from stretching wider than 9 inches. When you finish rolling, pinch the seam tightly. Push in the center of both ends, and firmly pinch the dough

Place the loaf, seam side down, into the greased pan. Press lightly to flatten. Cover the top loosely with plastic wrap and let rise in a warm place until the dough is 1 inch above the top of the pan, about 1 1/2 hours (1 hour longer if the dough was refrigerated). As the dough nears the top of the pan, preheat the oven to 350ºF with a rack in the center.

Admire the paint job? Thanks Mom.

For glaze: Whisk together the egg and milk. Brush the top of the loaf with the glaze

Bake until the loaf is golden brown and an instant-read thermometer reads 185-190ºF, 30-35 minutes. Remove the bread from the pan and cool on its side on a wire rack until room temperature, at least 45 minutes. Don’t slice before it cools.

Haiku #193 July 12^th

Into the dry ground

we planted succulent sage

and bright lantana.

Haiku #194 July 13^th

A new job is a

Revascularization

of the ischemic self.

Haiku #195 July 14^th

Got a mosquito

Bite first day at clinic for

Infectious disease.

Haiku #196 July 15^th

An island of care

Is not for the land folk but

For those still at sea.

Haiku #197 July 16^th

Adolfo’s ocean

sauce—crawfish and shrimp melted

into spice and cream.

Haiku #198 July 17^th

Now I compensate

with knowledge what I used to

with alkalosis.

Haiku #199 July 18^th

No woman no cry

serenaded me on the

way to my first call.

Haiku #200 July 19^th

Twelve hours went by

the only food I had to

eat, my liver made.

Haiku #201 July 20^th

The hospital is

the one place where I’d rather

not write about it.

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