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.

What I Love (and Hate) about Sundays

I have a love/hate relationship with Sundays. I spend half of them angry and pouting about my blessed weekend being over, cursing myself for all of the things I didn't and wont get done and dreading the sound of a Monday morning alarm clock. The other half are spent basking in the light and free feeling that comes with wide open mornings and having no plans other than to make myself happy. Doing only the things I want to do. Taking my time with at the grocery store, cooking real meals and going to bed ready to face the work week because I've had a healthy dose of me time.

Sundays as of late have been all about the latter. They've been the epitome of lazy with noon wake-up times immediately followed by greasy but delicious pizza, pajamas and movies like The Hangover watched from the comfort of the couch (necessary and appropriate after a previous night's Bayless inspired gathering).

This last Sunday was one part lazy with a splash of productivity and a heavy hand of indulgence. Waking up at 10:30a.m. for no other reason than to eat eggs with mojo and chives, bacon and homemade hash browns; curling up on the couch to finish The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo (good read, by the way) and ending the night with Indian take-out and The Invention of Lying made-up the lazy portion. The splash of productivity included a quick drive into the office for a forgotten power cord (frustrating), scrubbing the kitchen after a Saturday baking extravaganza (more on that to come) and paying bills over a glass of Oyster Bay Sauvingon Blanc.

The indulgence was in between and really wasn't much of a splurge (unless you count the Indian food, which I probably should). It consisted of a cup of coffee, an itty-bitty doughnut and a newspaper. The thing is I'm not supposed to have coffee right now. Doctor's orders for the next three weeks. And I love coffee. Hot coffee with milk and sugar sipped slowly from a big mug that I can wrap my hands around is complete luxury to me. I felt like I needed something special, so I had it anyway. Shhh. I nibbled a perfect little cinnamon and sugar Mighty-O donut with it and lingered over both in the cafe at Elliot Bay Book Company while reading the paper. A hard copy, which I feel like I rarely feel in my hands anymore. I then moved upstairs and spent an hour wandering through the travel loft, the cooking section and selected a couple of fun new paperbacks (Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat Pray Love and Ruth Reichl's Sapphires and Garlic--I'm behind, I know).

A simple, uneventful day that was pretty perfect for just that reason. What's your favorite way to waste a Sunday?

Beloved Bayless

There's a lot of love for Chicago-based celebrity chef Rick Bayless in my apartment. We're still celebrating his win on Top Chef Masters, and a Frontera Grill menu is proudly displayed among a collection of others on a bulletin board in the kitchen. His show, Mexico--One Plate at a Time, is on the regular DVR rotation, and I can't get over how active this man is on Twitter. OK, so I haven't actually eaten at one of his restaurants (the menu is a souvenir from the boy's trip to Chicago awhile back), but I swear I've been able to taste his food through the screen. Plus, the guy just seems so genuinely...nice.

So It felt right to theme a little housewarming party after him. We had a few friends over for Bayless inspired menu last weekend that included chipotle roasted peanuts, chillied peanuts and pumpkin seeds and popcorn with Bayless' mojo de ajo (slow roasted garlic oil), also known as "liquid gold." I was slowly but surely slinging Topolo margaritas as folks walked in the door, and we served both black bean queso fresco and creamy chipotle shrimp tostaditas (bite-sized tostadas) before brava steak and duck carnitas.

The credit for all of it goes to my boyfriend. He did an amazing amount of prep and cooking in 24 hours, and the food was incredible. The duck carnitas were superb, which just might have had something to do with a smidge of the fat it was cooked in. It was amazingly tender and rich, but a chunky tomatillo-avocado salsa made it taste bright.

My minor contribution was a mango lime ice. The suggestion actually came from Mr. Bayless himself on Twitter (highlight of my boyfriend's life, as he put it). I'll be honest that I probably made making the stuff more complicated than it needed to be. It took me forever to juice the limes, I was caffeine deprived and got frustrated fast when pureeing the mangoes made a huge mess (my bad for filling the processor bowl too full). But I'll say the end result was pretty cool. They were like cups of slushy. But not like the Sno-Cone ice. Almost like a sorbet. And definitely a nice little palate cleanser after all of the savory treats.

We even had an appearance from the celeb chef himself. Kind of. Well, OK, as close as we're probably ever going to get to him coming to dinner.

Cheers.

Refreshed

Like a lot of those who grew up in the PacNW, I fell for Cannon Beach at an early age. We'd go for the day when I was younger. Cannon meant a day trip, picnic meals and kites. It meant saltwater taffy, sandy shoes and waffle cones.

Some but not all of that changed as I got older. Throughout college, I forced Cannon on new friends who were more familiar with beaches than coasts. At that point, the trips involved fewer pieces of taffy and more pints at Bill's Tavern. Cannon and I lost touch for awhile there but reunited in February '08 when the boy brought me to his family's cabin for the first time. I fell in love all over again. Funnily enough, that was also about the same time I realized I'd completely fallen for the boy. Coincidence? Yes, actually, but undoubtedly one of the many reasons I smile when I think about going to the cabin for the weekend.

Cannon means different things now than it did when I was little. It means I've worked hard and the getaway feels better deserved. It means a longer drive (it's four plus hours from Seattle) full of Splendid Table and Bill Simmons podcasts. It means getting in late, going to bed early and waking up rested.

It also means way better food and a special bottle of wine these days, as was the case last weekend. I was battling a cold and worried it wouldn't be the weekend I wanted. I was wrong. I woke up feeling refreshed and ready for some actual sustenance after a week of broth, tea and juice.

So I indulged. And imbibed. Highlights included snacks like cantaloupe brought down from Sosio's at Pike Place Market. Some of the first of the season apparently, and it tasted like fresh, juicy candy. Amazing. Slices from Pizza a'fetta for lunch. Always.

Cheese, prosciutto and crackers started off the evening along with a close but disappointing (for me, at least) game of Scrabble. But not just any cheese. The hard was a basque and the soft was heaven in the form of quadrello di bufala. Dinner itself was an arugula salad of tomatoes, crispy shallots, chives and a vinaigrette with a main course of braised lamb, farro with beet greens, hedgehog mushrooms and rainbow carrots and a bottle of Six Vineyards Pinot Noir. Lovely.

I also took got my hands on a maple bar from Cannon Beach Bakery I mentioned craving and worked it off with a little beach hike followed by a healthy dose of reading and a whole lot of sleeping. Refreshed indeed.

Getting Away

I'm headed to Cannon Beach for the weekend. The boy's family has a cabin there, and we've been going every few months since we got together a couple of years back. I've most recently been pushing for it after especially busy times because the place and town relaxes me like nothing else. Right now, I've got one of the worst colds I've had in years, and my hope is that the fresh, salty air and downtime will help kick it to the curb. Massive amounts of water, sleep, Airborne, tea, orange juice and Dayquil aren't working.

I'm going to be one grumpy girl if I can't taste some of my favorite Cannon Beach treats, like a maple bar from Cannon Beach Bakery, a slice of pepperoni from Pizza a'fetta and whatever beautifully braised piece of meat the boy whips up as part of the special meal that's become somewhat of a tradition for the second night we're there.

Fingers crossed. Have a happy weekend people.