Lummi Love

This past weekend, I discovered and fell in love with Lummi Island. As a +1 to the boyfriend, I was lucky enough to tag along with him on a weekend wedding full of sun, fun, love and indulgence.

The wedding itself was gorgeous perfection. The bride was nothing short of stunning. The groom was beaming. The venue was amazing. (Willows Inn, if you ever find yourself in the area). The ceremony was intimate, personal and tear-jerking (yep, I cried, despite the fact that I'd only met the couple the night before). The weather was epic. And the food...well, the food was spectacular. Probably some of the best wedding food I've had.

I had a hunch it was going to be a treat when I overheard the officiator introduce herself to the chef as he cruised around the deck during the rehearsal dinner. He introduced himself as Justin, and I thought, gosh this guy looks familiar. I dismissed the small chance I knew who he was and blamed my bad eyesight for failing me yet again. But then, my boyfriend's dad casually mentioned that the guy use to have a place in Capitol Hill in Seattle. Ding-Ding-Ding. I guess my eyes aren't that bad after all. Justin Niedermeyer--the former and premiere pasta maker at Spinasse--was cooking this lovely couple's wedding meal. AWESOME.

I didn't get the full story on how he ended up at this place but know it has something to do with him hunkering down for a bit after traveling to Italy. And to be frank, I didn't care why he was on that that little, idyllic island--I just thought it was amazing to be eating the guy's food for a wedding I was already adoring.

The even better part? The bulk of the meal was sourced with ingredients from Lummi. I've known local, farm-to-table meals have a different, most often better taste than dishes that were made the other way around for awhile (much love, Alice Waters). But this meal slapped me in the face with a tasty reminder. Some salmon from the Sound. Some greens from one of the many nearby farms. Some bread that was made in the kitchen earlier that day. Some lamb that was raised on the island. All of it incredible.

And yes, Niedermeyer of course did a pasta. It was a spinach-filled Cannelloni that was rich and crispy and tender and savory and...sigh, perfect. But the taste that's still making my mouth water is the roasted cauliflower, made with olive oil, salt, pepper and red chili flakes. It really is the simple things with me.

I tried a bit of everything and was so full I could barely do a second glass of champagne, a rarity for me, as I think I've been clear that I love my bubbles. A lot.

Unfortunately, I didn't get any shots of the food (or the rest of the wedding, for that matter). A memory lapse meant I left my camera on the bed at the farmhouse where we stayed. I did get a few shots earlier that day of the scenery though, which I actually think are more important in this case. The food was definitely a standout. But it was sharing it with some pretty incredible people, during a weekend I felt seriously fortunate to be a part of, in a place that looked like this, that really made it an experience:

It's Been Awhile....

Yes, it's been awhile since I've posted anything. But no, I'm not going to detail all of my excuses for my little leave of absence. They're not that great, and I also honestly just don't really feel all that obligated. It basically comes down to not liking the idea of writing something when I'm not feeling creative, motivated or inspired. I don't feel compelled to post something for the sake of posting, or because feel like I have to because I've pinned myself into some sort of schedule.

Now, I know that I'm breaking one of the core "rules" of blogging with that mentality. I'm supposed to post frequently. I'm supposed to post often. But I don't like the idea of attaching a feeling of must-dos to something I consider a fun hobby. I've got enough of those elsewhere in my life.

To be clear, I am oh-so-thankful for and envious of the real bloggers out there. People who do post everyday and manage to keep it interesting and worth reading each and every time. And honestly, getting lost in a week's worth of Cupcakes and Cashmere, Eat Drink Pretty and Smitten Kitchen posts makes my Sunday mornings.

Anyway, this space hasn't really been about volume of posts. It's been about sharing the food related experiences that move me enough to jot them down before I forget them.

And, well, it's been awhile.

I blame it on France. France and all of its amazing, delicious indulgences. Its cheese, bread, crepes and patisseries. Its chalk board menus and its open-air markets with special salami, bright and bountiful produce and macaroons. Its cafe au laits, croissants and cafe culture. Its prix-fixe meals, giggle-inducing lamb chops, Joel Robuchon potatoes and picnics in perfect parks. France and its real butter, surprising obsession with pizza and all of its carafes of Chablis, Rose and Sancerre.

I've never eaten as well as I did in Paris, Lyon and Provence. It felt new and I felt lucky. I had aspirations of chronicling each and every meal, taking and sharing pictures of all of the beautiful presentations and documenting flavor profiles, because, as I said above, that's what this space has been about for me. But once I got there, I kind of just lost myself in all of it. I shot photos where I felt it appropriate and tried to journal as many meals as I could.

I've been asked a couple of times what the best thing I ate was. I could probably narrow it down, but I don't really want to. Though, I did pick a few of my favorite photos taken during some of the most memorable days.

Scanning back through these photos has in fact given me a shot of motivation. A little jolt of inspiration, happiness and gratitude. It was a vacation that makes me crave more new adventures that are similarly foreign in more ways than one. The sign of a good trip, I'd say. Hopefully it won't be awhile until I have more of those to share.

Life's Been Full & So Am I

So I've been away. For a month now, looking at my last post. Things have been hectic, and life has been all over the place...figuratively and literally, actually. I left a job, started another, took some time off, went to the Oregon Coast and spent a couple of weeks abroad. And I've been without a computer!

But I've been having a blast--meeting new people, seeing cool stuff and tasting some absolutely amazing things. Life's been full and so am I. I'm getting the computer situation sorted out this weekend, so more to come soon.

Best of Intentions

I use to have a recipe book that was covered with a black and white asparagus print. The book was optimistically purchased after I moved into my first post-college apartment with one of my oldest friends. I remember when and where I bought it. I was in a bookstore downtown on a Sunday afternoon I spent musing about how our tiny two bedroom in SE Portland would provide a perfect backdrop for brunches, cocktail parties and special roommate dinners.

The book moved with me to Seattle, where I dreamed about buying the ingredients for the recipes I'd started to collect at Pike Place Market. I was certain my new living companion would happily benefit from all the cooking I was going to do. From Queen Anne to South Lake Union (SLU), SLU to Eastlake and back again to Queen Anne, the book bounced from one tiny kitchen counter to the next. I spent years stuffing the thing full of recipes I'd ripped from magazines, printed from the Internet or scribbled down during phone calls with family.

In all honesty, I probably only made a handful of the dozens of recipes that spilled out of the book's pages. It seemed every time I decided to make something special I'd find a different recipe that seemed better. And then I came into a rather large collection of past issues of Bon Appetit, Food and Wine and Gourmet (tear) and got lost in them. The book was admittedly a victim of neglect.

I had the best of intentions though. Still do. But now it's gone, disappearing after the latest move. I've searched the apartment and think it probably got recycled with a box of old InStyles. While I realize I could probably easily pull some of its contents--like the recipe for a maple Dijon glaze (one of the recipes I actually made, a whole three times)--from the Internet, I still feel I'm in need of a way to keep some handwritten replacements. Online recipes for things like my mom's sausage stuffing or my grandma's chocolate chip pumpkin bread won't do, so my darling sister is now going to have to recite and send the details for the versions I grew up loving.

I found these cute vintage-looking recipe cards from Rifle Paper Co. via a Bon Appetit tweet that seem like a pretty perfect start (over):

But I still need something to house them. Tasting Table is pushing Moleskin's recipe journal, but I'm not sure it's for me. So I'm putting it on my list of possible Paris or Provence purchases during my upcoming vacation later this month. Some might call the idea of a recipe book obsolete. But I love the thought of it, especially if it comes from a trip that will in theory yield a story as good as the recipes.

*Photos from Bon Appetit and Rifle Paper Co.

Mistral Kitchen

Sometimes I worry that if I don't jot down my thoughts on a delicious experience soon enough that I wont remember what it made it so great later. That I'll forget why I fell silent for a few seconds after taking a bite or what it was about a certain dish that left me craving it hours after determining I'm full beyond belief.

I thought that might be the case with Mistral Kitchen given I went weeks ago. Not so.

I can still feel the little kusshi and Chelsea Gem oysters coming off the shell and into my mouth. I can still see the beautiful bed of fennel that the Hamachi Crudo came on, despite the fact I was too distracted (by the scene, the open kitchen and/or maybe even the waiter?) to snap a picture. The acidity from the lemon squeezed over a simple arugula salad with cremini mushrooms and Pecorino is still prickling my tongue, and I'm still awing over the mixture of textures that came with a dish of perfectly seared scallops with black quinoa, creamy puree and halved grapes. And the perfectly cooked veal chop--the one with the truffle mushroom relish and potatoes that might as well have been whipped butter--well, that still has me salivating.


I'll be back for a seat at the bar, a go with the prix-fixe menu and perhaps even a special occasion at the chef's table.

Feeling Fortunate....

I've mentioned before that I benefit from my boyfriend's culinary endeavors. I happily serve as a subject when he's recreating a recipe, deciding on a dish and figuring out the best way to please a group of people's palates. Countless random weeknight dinners have come from a test kitchen of sorts, and it's fun to later watch the people a menu was intended for enjoy, savor and thank him for whatever it is he's made.

Since moving in together a few months back, I've discovered it can be just as if not more fun to make semi-selfish meal requests for myself. Case in point. It's a wet Sunday night. I'm watching and trying to decide if Sunshine Cleaning is the most depressing or uplifting movie ever, and I say I'm craving something sweet. Instead of letting me grab a piece of chocolate, he tells me to stay put, heads into the kitchen and makes this:

Sauteed bananas with brown sugar, a chocolate marshmallow sauce and sea salt. He had a bite and I had the rest.

A few days later, I mentioned I was headed to the gym after work and half-jokingly asked if he was making me "a light, savory meal" (this term gets thrown around a lot, I think it makes us feel better about eating something that usually doesn't end up being all the light) for dinner. The answer was a nonchalant "sure," but when I came home to Whole Foods bags and his immersion blender on the counter I knew I was in for it. Half an hour later I had a plate of crusted halibut on top of a spicy pepper sauce and roasted carrots and parsnip in front of me.

Even better? He does the dishes too. Here's hoping my bi-weekly deep clean of our little apartment (ahem, both bathrooms?) reminds him I pull my weight around here.

Worth the Wait...

I've lived about three blocks from Paseo for the past two plus months and finally got my act together to go. No clue what I've been waiting for. I guess the epic lines were keeping me away. I've cruised by for about eight consecutive weekends now, wondering how good the food must be to have around twenty people patiently waiting, often in the rain, to edge their way into the tiny building with the aluminum (?) roof. Could those big, bountiful sandwiches be that good?

Most definitely.

Patience was put aside this past weekend, and the boy and I walked up the street and took our place in line. It was only sprinkling so I thought OK, not too bad (I'd also come prepared in my wellies). 15 minutes later and we were close to the front of line. Not too bad at all. And then we realized we'd forgotten to bring cash. Amateurs.

I kept our spot in line while the boy made a mad dash for an ATM. I ended up letting people in front of me when I got to the front. It was getting awkward, so I finally just went to the back of the line. Idiot. The boy was back about three minutes later with cash, a look of severe disappointment and questions about my decision making ability when he realized we now had another 15 to go. And then we found out the guy working the register was awesome and that I could have just ordered and paid when the boy got back. Insert more disappointed, questioning stares in my direction here.


But all was forgiven when we wrapped our hands around those sandwiches. We over-ordered, going with the Cuban Roast (amazing, marinated pork shoulder that lives up to the "succulent" description on the menu), Chicken Breast and an order of beans and rice. All of the sandwiches come on these big, toasty baguettes that are dripping with aioli, spilling over with caramelized onions and peppered with jalapenos. Oh, and don't forget the corn on the cob.

I left conflicted. Not because I couldn't decide if I liked it (loved it), but because I was so incredibly full but still wanted more. I dreamed about the Cuban Roast for the rest of the day and into the night. I might have gone back for Easter brunch if they were open on Sundays.

So worth the wait. Now we'll just have to see how long I'll be willing to wait for a second trip.