Technical difficulties...

I am aware that there are some glitches in the post formats when they are viewed on mobile phones, or even on a PC rather than on a Mac...this is really annoying to me, and I will try to figure out if it's my fault or Blogger's fault. Please excuse anything odd you see, as far as spacing errors, gaps between photos, etc. 

Thanks for reading! 

Detroit

"Coney Islands are a unique type of Greek American restaurant. Two of the most well-known Coney Island restaurants are the Lafayette Coney Island and the American Coney Island, which are located adjacent to one another on Lafayette St. in downtown Detroit. They have a common root, with the original restaurant having been established by Greek immigrant brothers Bill and Gus Keros in 1914. The brothers got into business dispute soon thereafter, and in 1917 split their restaurant into the two establishments that exist today."

-Wikipedia, of course. 

Two Sundays ago, I was in Michigan for my Uncle Al's wedding. I ate a Coney dog for lunch in downtown Detroit, and for dinner in the suburbs, Aunt Julie's Pulled Pork. 

A Coney Island is a hot dog with chili and onions. This one is from Lafayette Coney. 

Recipe for a Coney 

Boil a natural casing hot dog.

Open a can of chili and heat it up. 

Chop some onions. 

Mustard. 

No ketchup, unless you are weak like me.  

Get a generic hot dog bun and assemble as shown above...

JUST KIDDING, why would you try to make a Coney at home? It would lose it's diner  allure and taste like nothing more than a common Chili dog. 

This week's recipe: Aunt Julie's Pulled Pork. In Mid-October, we held on to the last flavors of summer. 

Both my parents grew up in Detroit, and my mom has an extended network of Chisholm family all around the area. Being reunited with so many Chisholm's was restorative, with the festive clatter and cacophony of grandparents, aunts and my eleven cousins filtering through kitchens and dining rooms.  I couldn't believe I had forgotten that cozy and rambunctious feeling of togetherness in sheer numbers. My tidy, McElroy nuclear family of four has always known quiet Sunday evenings in far flung Seattle, outposted a thousand miles from the nearest relatives. 

The suburbs (townships, rather): one must get out of the car and into the forest. 

Two of my countless, beautiful cousins. 

Every day in the Michigan suburbs was an October dream of spotless blue skies and bright, piercing sunlight. There were still crickets chirping in the hot fields and bushes - perhaps no frost had yet arrived to silence them. Everyone admitted that the weather was unusually nice for mid October. The roadside produce stands were still spilling with tomatoes. The colors orange and yellow were just half tinging the limitless swaths of trees, stretching out beyond every highway vista. The blues, greens and reds in early fall sun were jewel toned and sparkling. 

If I wasn't seeing green - I was noticing red, white and blue everywhere. 

The Cider Mill - where to get your apples, cider and doughnuts, and corn maze. 

The transition from summer tomatoes to autumn apples. 

These boxes were everywhere: I took one home as a souvenir. 

As we drove between Shelby and Washington townships for pre-wedding errands and cider mill stops, crackled looking corn fields blurred though the passenger windows. The surroundings seemed like an expression of an idyllic harvest time; not any cold decay of autumn, but the bounty and bright landscape still left from summer. I now regret that we didn't venture into the thick of the orchard to pick any bushels of apples ourselves (there were just so many already nicely bagged for sale). I'm consoled by this: 

"May something go always unharvested!

May much stay out of our stated plan,

Apples or something forgotten and left,

So smelling their sweetness would be no theft." 

-Robert Frost

The morning of the wedding, my mom brought crates of tomatoes to the kitchen of Piccirilli's Ristorante, where Uncle Al held his reception. I picked basil from the back garden and Linda sliced up ten platters of Caprese salad for the reception dinner. That night, in the glowing white and purple festoons of the brick banquet room, everything tasted like midwestern Italian (except for the Vietnamese summer rolls and lotus root salad from Hoa, Allan's beautiful bride).

Allan and Hoa in traditional Vietnamese dress - I see red, white and blue. 

The wedding was gorgeous -  a total success. The next day, a field trip to downtown Detroit was in order. I lobbied fairly enthusiastically to see some of the "forgotten" city. My personal curiosity centers around the unfathomable notion of Detroit's general abandonment. It's hard for me to imagine how the Chisholm's feel, hardly recognizing the place where they grew up, every window in their old neighborhood broken or barred.  (Although, I was happy to learn that my energetic and intrepid cousin, Alexandra, really likes going out in the city - to bars and restaurants and the weekend farmers market.)  

In the 1970's, my parents made a westward migration to San Francisco. As there are no such new American frontiers left today, no such exotic and golden new destinations or uncharted territories, it occurs to me that in order to make a bold migration myself, Detroit would be an ironic yet logical answer. (That is, if the next big things are the comebacks of those old places waiting for renewal.) I trust that good things are growing in the city of Detroit. Just the day before our field trip, Alexandra and her co-workers spent hours planting trees on one bare city street.  

The Coney Islands on Lafayette St. and the Tigers have always been resilient. 

My aunt Sue remembers how things looked 40 years ago. 

The Heidelberg Project: abandoned houses became the city's block long art installation.

Cousins, on the steps of the newest Heidelberg art house project. 

Hot dogs, onions, and mustard: The kitchen of Lafayette Coney. 

As we drove home from our colorful day in Detroit, I was satisfied having seen so much life, color and positivity. While dozing in the car, though, I realized how briefly I had toured this troubled city. Nearing closer to the peaceful, familiar suburbs, I reflected on the inevitable dark and deserted parts of life. I allowed myself a certain amount of rumination over places neglected fairly or unfairly: forgotten, fled from, or lapsed into decay and oblivion...but I jolted awake from my half sleep, and -    

fortunately, the joyous refrains of the reunited Chisholms ( and McElroy's) awaited me that Sunday evening.  For our final meal, Aunt Julie made her slow cooker pulled pork, accompanied by the last of the season's tomatoes and corn. 

Aunt Julie's Pulled Pork (From Chow.com) 

• 2 medium yellow onions, thinly sliced
• 4 medium garlic cloves, thinly sliced
• 1 cup chicken stock or low-sodium chicken broth
• 1 tablespoon packed dark brown sugar
• 1 tablespoon chili powder
• 1 tablespoon kosher salt, plus more as needed
• 1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
• 1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 1 (4-1/2- to 5-pound) boneless or bone-in pork shoulder (also known as pork butt), twine or netting removed
• 2 cups barbecue sauce (optional)

"Place the onions and garlic in an even layer in the slow cooker and pour in the stock or broth. Combine the sugar, chili powder, measured salt, cumin, and cinnamon in a small bowl. Pat the pork dry with paper towels. Rub the spice mixture all over the pork and place the meat on top of the onions and garlic. Cover and cook until the pork is fork tender, about 6 to 8 hours on high or 8 to 10 hours on low.

Turn off the slow cooker and remove the pork to a cutting board. Set a fine-mesh strainer over a medium heatproof bowl. Pour the onion mixture from the slow cooker through the strainer and return the solids to the slow cooker. Set the strained liquid aside.

If the pork has a bone, remove and discard it. Using 2 forks, shred the meat into bite-sized pieces, discarding any large pieces of fat. Return the shredded meat to the slow cooker, add the barbecue sauce, if using, and mix to combine. If you’re not using barbecue sauce, use a spoon to skim and discard the fat from the surface of the strained cooking liquid, and then add 1/4 cup of the liquid at a time to the slow cooker until the pork is just moistened. Taste and season with salt as needed." 

Grey and Yellow

"All good things must come to an end and August is no exception -

 They don't call it "Fall" for nothing."

-Gossip Girl, Season 2, Episode 2

What happened to Sunday Dinner? You ask with furrowed brow. Trust me, it didn't go anywhere, there were many dinners since my last post in August. I never meant to leave them undocumented for so long, and would have kept happily posting had summer not ended so suddenly. I was somehow convinced that summer never would end, as I fried fish for my mother's birthday dinner at the end of August.

One minute, I was excited to share a late summer fish fry and iceberg party salad with the world. The next minute, September knocked three times and showed summer the door. I morphed into my alter ego, the girl with no umbrella. 

Les Parapluies by Renoir

I saw this in painting in person, at the Hugh Lane Gallery in Dublin, Ireland. I was 19, wandering alone through the city's January grey. When I met with the girl in black I squinted long and hard into her eyes. I thought of her again recently as I trudged through the rainy streets of Seattle, feeling the damp chill set into my bones and my discontent of seasonal transition.

Here was the first evening I attempted to take food photos under indoor, evening kitchen light: 

It TASTED good, I promise! 

I don't think this photo is particularly inspiring. I don't think it would make you excited about roast lamb with vegetable curry. Clearly, my natural summer lighting is no more, forcing me to come up with new photographic coping strategies for a long winter ahead.  

Matters ARE starting to improve. Both my October mood and photo skills are gradually lightening; here is Take 2. 

This picture could make me respectably hungry for dinner - halibut with lemon and dill, and farro salad with butternut squash and kale. 

Last Saturday, I mustered up enough enthusiasm to go visit a one day "pop-up" event in Seattle - The Depressed Cake Shop.  This ingenious idea involves volunteer bakers who contribute all varieties of grey and melancholy themed baked goods for sale, to raise awareness of depression and benefit mental health organizations. Ironically, it was a beautiful October day, and there was no reason to be glum, but I was excited to see frowning cookies and brokenhearted cupcakes, as these advertisements show:

Sadly, upon my arrival, everything was completely sold out! I am sure that the lemon meringue tartlets must have been the first to go...

Photo courtesy of Depressedcakeshop.com

The doorman's shoes were the same color as a popular grey meringue tart with BRIGHT lemon yellow filling!

I found no depressed lemon meringue - but it's colors were everywhere. 

Grey and Yellow. My theme colors for October, easy enough to find in the lit up leaves of an entire tree against a darkened sky. I am still trudging around like the girl with no umbrella, looking for yellow accent flashes and settling into a new mood, new season. And once I've found my groove, I will be delighted to share the whole new season of dinners with you. 

Pancakes and Wedding Vows

"Archaeological evidence suggests that pancakes are probably the earliest and most widespread cereal food eaten in prehistoric societies. The pancake's shape and structure varies worldwide."

-Wikipedia, "the true source of knowledge..."

Are you ready to learn the structure for the perfect pancake?

Blueberry Pancakes every Sunday - the Cast Iron Skillet Variety

My Mom, Linda, makes pancakes every Sunday. This morning, I was around to partake with her in a pancake date. I can't imagine how many millions of people in the world eat pancakes on Sunday. I can't imagine how many millions of varieties of pancakes were whipped together across the globe today - but as far as American style, blueberry griddle flapjacks, these ones are truly the best known to man. I am confident in saying so, and proud to offer Linda's revered recipe and method. 

Of all the recipes taped to the cupboard door, this one is the most aged...

Only a cast iron skillet can produce such a crispy, melt in the mouth pancake edge.

Linda McElroy's Skillet Pancakes

For 4 large pancakes: adjust ratios as you like for more or less.

1 egg

1/2 C buttermilk

1/2  C regular milk

1/2 C white flour

1/2 C whole wheat flour

1 Tbsp brown sugar

1 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp baking soda

Optional: handful blueberries

1. Mix the dry ingredients together in a large bowl.

2. Whisk milk with egg thoroughly, stir into dry ingredients.

3. Preheat your skillet so it's quite hot but not smoking, and put a couple of generous tablespoons of oil in the pan until it's shimmering hot. If the pan's not hot enough to start out, your pancakes won't get nice and crispy brown. Don't skimp on the oil, either, if you want the melt in your mouth edges. A 9 inch cast iron skillet is great for ladling in batter to form one big pancake, about 7 inches wide. 

4. Right after ladling in the batter and hearing a good sizzle, turn the heat down fairly low. Drop some blueberries in the batter, if using. Cook the first side longer than the second - wait for the bubbles to appear in the batter and lift up the edge to see if it's brown enough for you, then turn with spatula. Cooking time is anywhere from 5-7 minutes total. 

Obviously: serve with lots of (real) maple syrup and salted butter. 

Don't ignore the things I wrote in bold lettering!

I can't read anything hefty until AFTER having breakfast...

I never realized what gems lay in the Wedding Vows section of the New York times. I enjoyed reading some quotes aloud to my mom at this morning's pancake date. I truly am happy for these couples, don't get me wrong, I just want to poke a little fun - do you think the "Vows" section can hold up to a little of my teasing? Here are my votes for:

Best of "Vows," The New York Times, Sunday, August 18

Best Senior Citizen social networking anxiety:

"She says, 'You need to find this guy, you need to look him up, see if he's on Facebook,' and I say, "No, no, no, no, no, no, no," 

(seven "no's", to be exact. Yet, she made the plunge, and now they're married. Bravo.)

Best Shout-Out to an Ex:

"The Groom's first marriage ended in divorce." 

:(  - in case first wife needed to be reminded via a nationally circulated newspaper. 

Best "Chillaxed" Wedding Vow:

"I promise I'll never forget your phone number again" (recites perfectly memorized phone number) "and I know now exactly what you like in a Chipotle burrito." 

Best expert commentary on "Chillaxed" Wedding Vow:

"Ms. Abbot said couples today place great importance on these kinds of highly personal, carefully crafted vows. 'It's a talisman against the misfortunes of marriage,' she said." 

Best convoluted Law Firm Name where the Bride works:

"the Chicago office of the New York law firm Skadden, Arps, Slate, Meagher and Flom." 

Cool, sounds like something out of the Lord of the Rings. 

Best minimalist wedding vow:

"I want to have your babies. I want to watch you die." 

Best expert advice for preserving such "personal and idiosyncratic" wedding vows:

Frame them and hang them above your desk.

Best Depressing Head Scratcher to make you nostalgic for the 20th century:

"Writing your own vows is in the 'my life is your life' spirit of Facebook, Twitter and reality shows about marriage. 'This is just one other way we've broken down the walls and are allowing people to see our humanity,' said (the bride.)"

I'll have to get on facebook to check out her photos! 

Best thing I learned about the harp:

"You can't leave your harp in the car in Texas in August. It will literally explode."

Enter future husband on the scene - holds the car door open for harp removal. 

Vows (2013 August 18). New York Times, p. ST12-15

Poetry

"Almost anything can be romanticized, if under the control of a really good romanticizer."

-Richard McElroy

"But elegies don't have a moral,

They're aimless-that's what makes one weep-

Whereas an ode's majestic sweep

Is noble and...' 'Here's cause to quarrel,

But I'll restrain myself before

I make two ages go to war."

-Alexander Pushkin

Prosciutto Wrapped Pork Tenderloin with Fried Sage, Creamed White Beans and Kale

My Uncle Richard is sweet to indulge the notion that I am "in control." I'll never forget the letter I received from him in the fifth grade. He kindly wrote to me explaining that I was some kind of "artist," which can be a hard thing to deal with, what with the anxious insecurity involved and perils of drama. I think his letter has always bolstered me. Whether or not I am an "artist" today, (I am a classical musician, which doesn't necessarily make one an artist in my estimation) the temperament in me is surely alive and well. 

In my own definitions, an elegy is a poetic nostalgia for something that's dead and gone, while an ode is a poetic song that is exultant in praise of what is more real and tangible. If you ever want to accuse me of seeming elegiac about the the memory of last Sunday's meal, remember that I sing a rejoicing ode to the reality of today's Sunday and tonight's dinner. I am guilty of romanticizing considerable portions of life, but certainly don't want to stamp Sunday Dinner with such tenuous behavior. Here I know I'm discussing something quite solidly real, and that's the only reason I grant myself such free and whimsical license, playing with poetry. On Sundays, I'm particularly grateful for everything I have, and for a tradition I am lucky to be a part of. Writing these posts is a bit of an anthropological foray into my family, our food and Sunday, the most meaningful day of the week to me. If you are reading this, I want you not only to find food inspiration or a recipe, but also share in my experience and continual quest for what's beautiful and true. 

I might not be inspired to write on Sunday without the precursor of a Saturday evening walk in Seattle's Volunteer Park - peeking through the iron grating of the water tower. 

Oh, I have so many more pretty postcards from Seattle to show you, but the world through that heart is enough for now, lest I provoke too much elegy with another sunset: let's move on to the ode. 

Ode to crusty bread and butter: It is too rare that I know this simple delight. How often we forget it these days, or think that gluten must be banned. 

Ode to a 35 year old carving board, who knows the memories of a thousand different roasts. 

Pork Tenderloin Wrapped in Prosciutto and Marscapone

From Linda McElroy to you

*** Note: If marscapone is a hassle to obtain, just substitute a good quality mustard, it would taste fantastic. ***
Season the tenderloin with salt and pepper. Spread marscapone cheese on one side, then lay the cheese side down on slightly overlapped slices of prosciutto - 6 pieces for the piece of meat shown above. Spread the top side of the meat with more marscapone. Roll the prosciutto over the meat, covering it entirely. Turn it over- now the "seam side" is on the bottom, and you'll put it in a roasting pan. Bake at 425 degrees for 20 minutes. (If you check it by inserting a meat thermometer, it should read 140 degrees.) You can make a little sauce out of the browned bits on the bottom of the pan when you take out the meat. Just place the pan directly on the stove, and deglaze it by adding some white wine and a little stock, or even just water. Finish with a little butter. To garnish the pork, fried sage leaves are a must. Throw them into a saute pan with hot oil - but watch out - it's very easy to burn them. They only need around 30 seconds. 

For the white flageolet beans, (3/4 cups for four people) saute 1/3 of a diced onion in a saucepan, add a couple of sage leaves, cover with water and cook for about an hour and a half, until they're nice and tender and just starting to fall apart a little. Don't let them dry out, rather, keep the consistency on the soupy side. Don't add salt until the beans are close to being done: salting beans too early in the cooking process can make the skins tough. Finish by stirring in 3 Tbsp of cream and 1/3 C parmesan cheese. 

Saute some kale with chopped garlic - you'll have a complete food trinity on a plate. The deep green variety of kale you see above is called "Dinosaur" or "Lascinato/Tuscan" kale - it really is the best.     

Don't forget the bread and butter! 

All right, I lied. I think I will inundate you with one more sunset: so here's another postcard:

As you can see, Summer evenings in Seattle are a mixture of both elegy and ode. 

Relish Tray

"Their peaceful lives went on, retaining 

The customs of antiquity...

And at their table guests were served

With dishes, as their rank deserved. "

-Alexander Pushkin

Everything pickled - corn, snap peas, cauliflower, and pink beets. 

Last Sunday, the concept of "The Relish Tray" was brought to my attention. Of course, my imagination was captivated by this ancient custom from my parent's Michigan upbringing in the 1960's, surely an offshoot of some old world tradition, wherein a heavy meal is balanced with a platter of pickled condiments. 

I don't think my parents ever found any reason to bring up memories of the Relish Tray until last Sunday. Linda has recently hit a stride in pickling anything that will fit into a jar, and these four pickled vegetables are a pretty good representation of her practice. (She claims that the next time there are any leftover watermelon rinds around, she will pickle them.) Apparently, the Relish Tray was a a common item on restaurant tables in the retro midwest, and surely the east coast as well. It featured all varieties of pickled vegetables, olives, a couple pieces of salami, cottage cheese (potentially with horseradish!) white beans, or some whole green onions. To serve one properly, the divided glass crystal tray was a must. 

Linda describes picking up a whole green onion from the tray, dipping it in a pile of salt, and chomping it raw. The bracing bite was chased down with a tomato wedge. This strikes me as a little curious, although I shouldn't judge until I've tried it. That tradition has died out, but Linda's still in the practice of eating toast topped with a juicy tomato slice and peanut butter. I always love hearing stories about what she and her six brothers and sisters ate at their Detroit table growing up. OH - ACTUALLY, as I write this paragraph, I spy her enjoying some toast with almond butter and tomato - Michigan moment? What coincidences visit me on Sundays. 

This tomato not from Michigan, but Linda did bring back some beauties from a summer trip last year.  

I am indeed fascinated by the lore of the Midwest, when my ancestors still lived and ate in "Detroit the city not the suburbs." Linda claims the first cookbook she ever owned was: Betty Crocker's Cookbook. It is still on her shelf. When I open its ridiculously vintage pages, I see that the particular copyright date on this version is from 1974. Sometime, I'll write all about the quirky ways of this entertaining volume. For now, this page leaps out at me, and I wonder if this recipe was inspired by Relish Tray...

But I digress and digress...our guest for Sunday Dinner was my dear friend Lauren. I hope that she was impressed by the candy-colored novelty of the Relish Tray. Everything old is new again. Pickling is all the rage these days, don't you know. Honestly, I'm not sure if it made much of an impression on her, but we did make Panzanella Salad, which is her favorite. When Lauren and I were roommates the thing she most often said to me was: "You know, I would just love to make a nice Panzanella Salad tonight," in a sweet musing way, her flexible sanguineness almost making you doubt that she's a steely strong, high powered lawyer who daily bikes the hills of Seattle: rain or shine. 

Dear, dear Lauren. Probably discussing Matt's new white linen pants. Also, whether or not Matt should put a bleach streak in his hair? 

Grilled Soy Marinated Hanger Steak and Panzanella Salad. 

Panzanella: oven toasted bread chunks, tomato, fresh Mozarella, basil, and red wine/balsamic viniagrette.

I will provide for you some of the recipes that Linda used for Relish Tray, which come from Cooking Light, Bon Appetit, and the ever popular Smitten Kitchen. She is also partial to the book Pickled Pantry by Andrea Chessman.

Here are the links:

Rose and Raspberry Beets (Bougeouis sounding, no? Linda only used half the sugar called for in the recipe, and used the leftover brine to pickle some red onion slices.)

Pickled Corn

Pickled Snap Peas

If any great peaches come your way in August or September, you may want to make this tart, which is Linda's original creation. 

Peach Tart

For the crust: 

5.2 oz of flour (basically one cup, if you can't bear to weigh flour.)

4 oz butter

3 tsp sugar

1 to 2 T ice-water

1/2 tsp vanilla

1/2 tsp lemon juice

Cut chilled butter into chunks and work it into the flour and sugar, with a pastry cutter, or pulse in a food processor, until dough is crumbly and you see pea sized lumps. Add the liquids to the dough gradually as you toss and mix with your hands, until it just holds together. Try not to squeeze or knead it too much - overworking it will make the pastry tough. If it needs a little help coming together from the crumbly stage, add a little more water. Form it into a 4 or 5 inch flat disk shape, and make sure to refrigerate for at least one hour. Roll it out on a floured surface, until it's wide enough that the dough can extend over the edges of a 9 inch tart pan. Press the shell into the tart pan, pushing the dough into the ridged sides. Freeze it for an hour, then bake at 425 for 15-20 mins, until it looks light golden. 

Wait to fill the tart just before eating it, so that the crust will stay nice and crispy. Spread some raspberry jam on the shell. Mix together 4 oz creme fraiche, 2 oz marscapone cheese, and 2 Tbps sugar, and carefully layer that over the raspberry jam. Slice very ripe peaches and nestle them snugly together on top, then sift or sprinkle a little brown sugar to finish. 

So, if anybody wants to help me trace the roots of the Relish Tray, I'd be much obliged. If you ever had a vivid experience eating some outrageously obscure pickled thing on a dish, platter, tray, etc, let me know. And, I'm fully aware that I didn't even touch on the subject of Korean banchan in this post...