Detour to K-Town.

Admittedly, I'm not the world's most graceful handler of detours. I like to know where I'm going and when. And how long it will take to get there.

Los Angeles, on the other hand, is doing it's best to school me in the art of the alternative route. Case in point, The L.A. Marathon.

Every Sunday I have a standing date with my girlfriends, Emily and Kendra, to go to yoga. Not just any old yoga either, Power Yoga. It's hot, it's hard to breathe, and it's one of the best things that has happened to me this year.

It affords me time, each week, to see my friends. We chatter nervously on our mats before class, catching up on the week's highs and lows. After class, and after we've changed out of our soaked yoga clothing, we toast to each other's athletic accomplishments with OJ-free Mimosas at brunch(to Emily, "What a beautiful half moon pose you have..", to me, "way to not fall off your mat today").

The yoga gives my overworked mind a break and a chance to focus on something other than my troubles of the real or imagined variety.
And, it is lifting my bum to heights unattainable for me even when I was in my twenties.

I hold on to this time with my best death grip. I hate missing class.
And wouldn't you know it..
today I missed class.

Partly the fault of an alarm malfunction, also known as -I didn't set it, but mostly because the entire city came to a halt to make way for the marathon this morning.  It's participants make their way from Dodger Stadium, 26 miles to Santa Monica, where my class lives. What it meant was that the city was divided into two halves, north and south, and, that I couldn't get down off my hill.  I shook my fists at the sky(and at you runners) and then I recalculated.

I wouldn't be able to make it to yoga but I could attempt to travel to the East, to the other side of town. I rerouted my directions and gave my Sunday plans a new destination. As I loaded myself and Olivia into the car I sent out a hope and a prayer that I wasn't on the verge of making a terrible decision. My gamble was on the 101 and that it could safely and swiftly deposit me in Koreatown where Elliott's mother was holding the third installment of her baking extravaganza known as La Weekend, in the lobby of the Ancelle building.

The highway part of the 101 moved freely, it was the exits that made me shudder. They were jammed for miles. I nervously took a place in a long line of automobiles headed for the Western exit and crossed my fingers that the 1/2 mile wait would be painless. I inched along slowly, visions of cream biscuits dancing in my head. I tried not to panic or turn my fingernails into nubs. Forty five minutes later I was rewarded for my patience with rockstar parking outside of the Ancelle building and I made my way into the lobby.

I was welcomed by the seductive smell of freshly brewed coffee.

As they adjusted from sunlight to indoor light, my eyes zeroed in on this week's spread. Since the menu changes each week I wasn't quite sure what I would find.

Elliott and Fred were already camped out with Eduardo and Besito. Olivia joined them.

The Beatles cheerfully sang their way out of an iPod dock and filled the room.

Ellsworth was just finishing up her cup of coffee as I walked in and handed me her mug(the coffee is free at La Weekend if you bring your own cup).
It saved me a dollar, a dollar that I could invest in the sweet and savory treats Kathy Emerson and Annie Boxell artfully arranged across a clean, white tablecloth.

My eyes, wide and unblinking, traveled along the table. There were baking dishes with Bene Breakfast Quiche and Buttermilk Pie. I peered into a jar full of Left on Reds, cream biscuits with pimento cheese in the middle. There was a basket of Cafe Breads, pie plates featuring Byrd's Spiced Apple Cake, Divvy's Carrot Cake, Brownies and Sweet Potato Pie. My eyes settled themselves on Lavender Lumples. Kathy's lumples are one part creamy biscuit mixed with one part blueberry muffin, dipped in sugary white frosting. I was no stranger to her lumples and no fool either. I started ordering. They were my first purchase and the last of the lumples, so, I thanked the traffic gods for my fortunate timing.

Next I ordered the Byrd's Apple Cake, a Brownie, a slice of Divvy's Carrot Cake with cream cheese frosting(Hellooo Lactaids), and double slice of Buttermilk Pie.
To Go.....
naturally.

While Annie tallied my goodies, I helped myself to the coffee and was excited to see that they'd included a non-dairy creamer option for the likes of me. I settled on the floor in a sea of mini dogs(pups are welcome at La Weekend) and took one last look at the gorgeous lumple in front of me. What happened next, I can't say exactly, all I know for sure is that I came out of a dizzying cloud of all things delicious to find not a crumb left behind on my plate.

I was licking traces of frosting off of my fingers when I spotted my friend Andy walking into the lobby.
Suffering from a budding baked goods addiction that took hold of him last week when he crossed paths with one of Kathy's Lavender Cupcakes, Andy, too, braved the mean marathon'd streets of Los Angeles to make it back for his second week of La Weekend. And for a lavender fix. Less than thrilled to hear that I'd wiped out the lumple supply, he more than made up for it by ordering a full week's worth of pies and biscuits, putting my stash to shame. Andy explained that he'd only made it to Wednesday with what he'd purchased the previous week and that was, simply put, unacceptable.
Impressed by Andy's style and buzzing from my coffee, I was flooded with a wave of pure happiness that rivaled my post-yoga high. I promised myself that I'd make up class tomorrow and that I'd see everyone back at Gramercy Dr. next week.
After class of course...

Oh! And I sold two aprons at La Weekend. How's that for a little detour in my Sunday plans?!

La Weekend
701 Gramercy Dr.
Los Angeles, California
9am-2pm Sundays
(Saturdays Coming Soon)

See you there!
XOXO
Maggie Mae

If it walks like a duck and it talks like a duck...

How come it's not a duck?!

It's been a couple of strange months. Perplexing, Busy, Emotional, and rolling by like a freight train with bad brakes. I recently managed to open up some time in my otherwise packed schedule, presumably, to sew. I needed some free time to welcome creative energy back into my life. Think that's how it's gone down..?
MMnMMn, Nope.
Instead I have been reckless with my time, hemorrhaging money and ignoring my better judgement. It hasn't been all bad though. I have spent time (and half of my paycheck) wandering through Anthropologie also known as Apromiseofabetterlifethanyoursheadquarters.
I managed to clock some serious hours at Coffee Commissary drinking my favorite Ethiopian pour over and eating my new favorite breakfast from the Egg Slut truck (Pancake Tacos!). I wrote half a dozen unfinished blog posts while leafing through countless food related magazines.

I spent an entire day making a brisket for friends, just for fun. Elliott and I spent a glorious warm, sunny afternoon inside and baking together and I elected to spend some of that precious time with someone that made me laugh.
The thing I wrestled with the most engaging in these fun-but-less-than-responsible-because-I-should-be-taking-care-of-fifty-other-things activities is that very little in life ever turns out the way you think it should. The big conundrum is what to do about it. Ideally we are able to roll with the punches, gracefully. Turn lemons into lemonade. Shake it off. Get back on the horse. Shift gears, etc. And though I am capable of seamlessly shifting gears in a standard transmission, in my life it's a little more.....shall we say.. grind-y and lurch-y.

In the last two months very little has turned out the way I thought it should, whether it was in relation to what I identify as my Home, to recipes or to my personal relationships, there have been some pleasant surprises and inevitably there was a disappointment or two.  In some instances I needed only to shift my perspective a little bit and others I had to let go completely.

Kenny Rogers sang it best, "You gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, know when to run". And while the country crooner was right, his poker turn life lesson serenade did little to clarify HOW you know. I don't like to give up on things. More specifically people. As a result I am often busy trying to find a way to make something work rather than trust my gut and leave it alone. I have stayed in toxic relationships too long on account of this habit and I've been fortunate to have had some of my most rewarding friendships because of it, too.

Invariably in budding relationships there is a moment where you begin to suspect that a person or a situation is not what you thought it was going to be.

What do you do.
Do you stick around for a while and see if you can find a way to figure it out or do you fold 'em and walk away? What if with a little more time spent, peeling back someone's layers, you are rewarded with getting to know an amazing, entertaining, complex person that makes your life feel richer. What if you invest precious time and energy into something that was never meant to be, resulting in a bit more emotional baggage than you had before.

The same catch-22 exists in the kitchen. I have been experiencing this first hand because I have spent my spare moments chopping, braising, sauteing and baking.

Instead of frolicking about in the sun on a surprisingly warm February day, Elliott and I spent it inside and in front of the oven. We attempted a recipe from a girl whose whole blog is dedicated to The Attempt. And whether she succeeds, fails or gets drunk, she posts it. She reminds me that while not everything turns out the way the picture illustrates, all is not lost, it can even be more fun or just plain funny. Inspired by this concept and a whole bunch of borrowed-from-the-neighbor's-tree oranges, we tried our hand at an Orange Cake. Somewhere in our collaborative baking effort we took a wrong turn and our orange cake didn't turn out like we expected. Much more dry than any cake should be, I was about to give up before it dawned on me that this "cake" seemed more like cornbread. So I spread a little butter on it and drizzled it with honey and changed my 'tude. Our cornbread-cake was not so bad after all.

photo courtesy of F For Food

Next up was a Buttery Crab Bread Pudding recipe that I saw in Food and Wine magazine that included a picture I salivated all over. My lactose challenged digestive system gave a preemptive groan in response. I immediately bought a box of Lactaids, tied on my on my apron and attempted to make it for myself and my friend- the one who made me laugh.

The bread pudding didn't look like I expected. I followed the recipe directions, they seemed off. I made adjustments, more crab here, less butter there, a touch of lemon zest and then into the oven. After the proposed baking time the bread pudding still looked too wet. I left it in longer. After twenty more minutes it still didn't look like the picture promised. I left it in longer. At 10:45, close to an hour past the suggested baking time, I was marginally more satisfied with it's appearance but more importantly I was pretty sure I was going to starve to death so I took it out and served it up.

I'd killed it.

Dead.

I'd ruined the bread pudding because it didn't look like I thought it should. It had potential, it could have been sublime if I'd let go of what I thought it should have been and let it be what it was supposed to be. But I'll never really know for sure.

As for my friend, that too went from something to something completely different than I expected. This time instead of trying to fix it I just had to let go. Things aren't always going to be what I think they should be and that's life. That's why I've got Kenny Rogers in my ipod, a sewing studio beckoning my return, a B.F.F. or two to have Girltime with and this no fail recipe to cushion the blow.

Gin and Juice.

• 2 1/2 oz. Death's Door Gin
• 1 Large Pink Grapefruit
• 1 Small Borrowed-From-The-Neighbor's-Tree Orange
• 1/2 Lemon

Find a big glass.
Add a few ice cubes, juice the fruit directly into the glass, pour gin on top. Watch Beetlejuice.
The End.
xoxo
Maggie Mae

Tree of Life.

I haven't written a post in quite a while. I had my holiday post all ready for the month of December. I knew just what I wanted to say about the holidays in all of their shining glory and all of my Scroogedness this year.

Then I got the call.
My world is forever changed.

Sifting through the broken, or shall I say disassembled, Timex watches, crossword puzzles, piles of reading glasses, drawers of still-in-the-package tube socks(evidently my Dad had become a sock hoarder in his later years) and unopened packs of his beloved Kool cigarettes, I wanted to keep everything. Even the disgusting Kools that, more often than not, forced me to wear a snorkel mask out the window of the car on long road trips with my father.(it was pink)
I wanted it all. All of my Dad's belongings. Everything my father had touched, forever and ever. But, these things live on a mountain in Virginia and I in L.A. which means I can't. I can't keep it all. This tribulation has left me thinking about life, in all of it's fragility, about what we hold dear, what we pass on and what we leave behind.

In my life, I sew aprons.
They're just aprons.

Sure, I labor over the details of each one. Agonizing over each stitch. Hours spent pouring over the new bolts of fabric at Michael Levine's. To bow or not to bow. But, in the end they're not one of life's necessities, they are something you can opt to wear, or not, to protect your clothing while you are in the kitchen.
An apron.
However, my attitude has shifted.
This holiday a man called Jin ordered an apron for his girlfriend for Christmas. Pretty standard.
But then.. He ordered three more.
One for his sweet girl and two for her daughters. These aprons were all to be cut from the same cloth. Made just for them. Now I realize, these seemingly simple aprons will be a part of the fabric of the little girls' childhoods. They will wear them with their mother while they all work together in the kitchen. They will cook, they will laugh, they will make a mess, they will lovingly move a stray hair out of one another's face while rolling dough, they will talk about their days, tell stories, move together through family recipes- and they will eat. Together. The aprons will be a part of their memories for years to come.
It was this particular order that made me understand that as frivolous as they may seem, these aprons are something real, something tangible, that they can keep forever and maybe even pass on.
As for my Dad, I will always have him in my heart, I will always have crossword puzzles in his handwriting and this recipe, the one I was in the middle of preparing while I spoke with him for the last time.

Linguini and Clam Sauce


1lb. linguini
1lb. Live Manila Clams
2 cans baby clams - reserve juice
1 1/4 cup white wine
1/2 cup water
1 can or 6 anchovy filets, chopped
1 1/2 tbsp red pepper flakes
1 head garlic or 10 cloves, smashed
1 stick butter
1 cup fresh parsley, chopped
olive oil
salt & pepper
loaf of crusty bread

Boil pasta, for 2 minutes less than the package instructs, in salted water. Drain and run cold water over pasta to keep it from cooking further. Set aside.

The clams I used in this recipe were already clean thanks to the good folks at Whole Foods. Just have a quick look at yours before you use them. If they are sandy, soak and lightly scrub them before you use them, otherwise, ouch. No one likes to eat sandy pasta.
In a large pot or saute pan, over medium heat, saute garlic in 1/4 cup olive oil until you've scented the pan and the garlic begins to look translucent. Remove garlic, chop, set aside. In the pan add water, 1 cup wine, and clams. Cover and cook for 4 minutes or until they are all open wide. Toss any that haven't opened. Remove from pan and keep warm.
Pour the juice into a separate bowl.
Back to the saute pan, combine 1/4 cup olive oil, 1/2 stick of butter, 1tbsp red pepper flakes, garlic, anchovies, generous pinch salt, fresh cracked pepper. Saute over med/high heat until anchovies dissolve. Add wine and fresh clam juice mixture to the pan. Reduce about 2 minutes. Add canned baby clams and linguini. Cook together about two minutes, salt and pepper to taste as you go.
Meanwhile put the canned clam juice and 1/2 stick of butter in a separate sauce pan with salt and pepper, 1/4 cup wine , 1/2 tbsp red pepper flakes. Reduce. You can use this to dunk crusty chunks of lightly toasted bread in or if you prefer to make your clam sauce saucier.
When pasta is coated, stir in parsley then transfer to bowls and top with Manila clams.
Makes 4 generous servings.

Eat. Enjoy. Hug Someone.
xoxo
Maggie Mae

For my Dad, who asked me to FedEx him Linguini and Clam Sauce.

Aloha.

Before I landed in the City of Angels I was an East Coast transplant turned Maui Girl. I loved Maui. I loved my simple, easy life. I had my favorite beach, my favorite friends, a great job and my bike ride home from work smelled like pikake and gardenia flowers. I surfed, I paddled and I rode that little red beach cruiser everywhere and usually with Olivia, my chihuahua sidekick, in the straw basket. I never would have guessed that in a few years time I would trade my Locals in for Fryes and my bike for .... well.. road rage. And even though we are in the throes of Fall and staring down the barrel of yet another holiday season, Maui has been on my mind. Maybe it's that my dear friend, and former surf buddy, Courtney was just in town. Maybe it was the conversation I had with Pakala, my Hawaiian boss, about his upcoming trip to Molokai. Maybe it's the up coming trip to Salt's Cure with two more Maui visitors, Leah and Jay. Who knows.
Cut to a particularly uneventful evening this week in Los Angeles. I had time to day dream, my thoughts swimming from all things Thanksgiving to more tropical waters. A friend sensing my boredom offered me the only bit of entertainment available. Beer magazine. Not my go-to periodical but I gave it a whirl. Flipping past the ads for craft beers, I landed on a Do-it-Yourself tutorial for Beer Can Chicken. BCC has been on my mental "Must Try" list for way too long.

A-Frame is the reigning heavy weight in the BCC department but rarely do I ever find myself all the way in Culver City.

As I flipped through my guide I was skeptical that I could pull this off. Surely there was some complicated grilling contraption or Bobby Flay-worthy skill involved. I was tickled to learn that I needn't be a master of the barbeque to pull off BCC. I just needed an oven. Still not entirely convinced, I flipped the page. There it was, a recipe featuring my friend's beer company, Maui Brew Co. It was a sign. I would have to ditch the doubt and get cooking. Garrett Marrero is the man behind the brew and also singlehandedly responsible for interrupting a strictly wine and scotch period, bringing me back around to beer. He makes a beautiful I.P.A., the Big Swell, my favorite is the Bikini Blonde; a Hellas lager, but they're most famed effort is the Coconut Porter and this was the main ingredient in the BCC challenge.

I remember the day that I was introduced to Maui Brew Co.. Garrett was conducting a tasting to showcase his locally crafted selection.  He set up several cans. This was back before cans were again the fashion and he was armed with a laundry list of can-pros for us to consider. The most convincing reason is that they're more environmentally friendly than bottles and when you rely on the limited resources provided by a smattering of specks in a vast Pacific sea, you consider these things.

As we untangled the stigma from our thoughts, he began pouring.
Full of flavor, round and fresh, Garrett explained that rarely would you come across a MBC beer that was more than seven days old. I was hooked. I began stalking Maui Brew Co. deliveries at the local wine shop. I waited outside, my bike basket emptied in anticipation (sorry Olivia). I would try to rearrange my impatient face to a nonchalant expression before Garrett arrived with those gleaming cans.
These days Maui Brew Co. is much easier to come by. I can find it in several places in my current zip code, many miles and a few years away from my toe tapping stalker days. And so it was with sheer delight that I turned the page to find this recipe that included my favorite little/big brewing company.

Maui Brew Co. Coconut Porter Beer Can Chicken
with a Thai Curry Basting Sauce
(recipe adapted from Beer magazine)

(I Puff Daddyied, P Diddyied, Puffalufugased the original recipe to suit my tastes and my pantry. Feel free to do some "sampling" of your own. Try fresh basil and mint in your basting sauce.)

Ingredients:
1 4lb. Organic chicken (try Lindy and Grundy)
1 can Coconut Porter
1 stalk lemongrass cut into 3in pieces and lengthwise (put into can)
Kosher salt and fresh ground pepper

Sauce Ingredients:
1 1/4 cup coconut milk
1/4 cup scallions
1 3in. piece lemongrass
3 Tbsp sweet Thai chili
2 Tbsp red curry paste
1 tsp Sriracha hot sauce (more if you like it spicy)
2 tsp ground ginger
juice of 1/2 lime
zest of 1 1/2 limes

Preheat oven to 450*
Pour enough Porter into a glass to fit the lemongrass in the can without an overflow.
Remove gizzards from the chicken and rinse with cold water.  Pat the chicken dry thoroughly with paper towels.
Season the bird with a nice crust of S&P then in a roasting pan, fit the chicken around the can. It should sit up on it's own.

Next combine sauce ingredients in a bowl and whisk until smooth. Pour 1/2 sauce in a separate bowl to use later.

Baste the chicken in the sauce and put it in the oven. Ten minutes baste again, repeat in ten more minutes.

Turn the oven down to 375* for 45 minutes or until the internal temperature reaches 165*.
Tip- put the chicken on the lowest shelf, if the top looks like it's getting too dark too fast, you can always put a little tin foil hat on top to prevent burning.
When the chicken is finished carefully remove the can. This can be tricky but if you can push down on the top of the can through the opening in the bird while lifting up on the chicken it should slide out easily. Let it rest for ten minutes on a separate platter. Pour the chicken drippings into a sauce pan and add the remaining (untouched) sauce. Whisk over medium heat until smooth. Carve. Serve. Enjoy.

Beer Can Chicken with Jalapeno and Cilantro Cole Slaw.

The Devil in Miss Mae.

Deviled Quail Egg.

By now it's not a secret that I love eggs.  Just about any food item adorned with an egg will have my full ("Squirrel") attention.  A burger crowned with a fried egg, flatbread pizza a la The Oaks baked with an egg and mushrooms, salmon roe topped with a raw quail egg,  a whiskey sour frothy with egg whites, an egg cracked open over a hot spicy bowl of soon, a creamy yolk placed lovingly on a pile of pasta,  over medium or over easy, scrambled soft, scrambled hard, coddled,  poached, boiled and baked, I love my eggs.

Last month, F for Food and I brought Dinner at Eight back into our crook of the canyon. We muddled and shucked, stewed and fried and if nothing else filled our guests to the brim with all things Southern.
There were mint juleps and oyster stew, fried chicken legs and gravy, biscuits and roasted pork loin but the meal began with a tiny little egg. A deviled egg. A deviled quail egg to be exact. I made other contributions to our Southern feast but this was one I insisted on right out of the gate. Small, tangy and rich, the deviled quail egg would make the perfect amuse bouche for our meal.

There was however a hitch. I've never made deviled quail eggs before, I've never prepared quail eggs of any sort in fact. I don't even know where to procure a quail egg.  The quail quest began with the most logical choice, The Hollywood Farmer's Market.  Elliott and I left ourselves with a tight schedule, we had one week until our dinner deadline and one day to test recipes as a complete team, Elliott, Kathy and me. There was little room for error or the birthday party we were also due to attend that day so we had to act fast.  Racing to the HFM, we kept our fingers crossed that the secret parking space was available. It wasn't. Still in drive, I opened the door rolled out into the alley behind the market, did a set of summersaults worthy of Nadia Comaneci and over my shoulder yelled to my getaway driver..err.. I mean FForFood to circle the block. Okay, okay, I may have exagerrated that last bit a tad but the scene wasn't far off.  I ran/walked through the crowd ducking absently handled french rolls, dodging baby strollers and flower pots to get to the egg man. Breathless, I asked the gentleman for quail eggs. "No Ma'am".
Alright, maybe there's another vendor? I ran/walked up and down the length of the market (no easy feat in a sea of leisurely market goers),found four more egg related stands and the closest I got was a "We sold out earlier, sorry...".  I leapt back into Elliott's car and we peeled out leaving the other early risers in our dust. Okay, maybe not, but the failed mission did put a crimp in our limited time.  We made it to the aforementioned birthday party, and then it was back on the hunt.  I vaguely remembered that ages ago The Merchantile restaurant sold quail eggs but the bartender delivered the bad news gently when we inquired attempting to restrain our desperate expressions. We tried Whole Foods and Bristol Farms. Nope and Nope. We were running out of ideas and daylight. 

As my confidence began to dissolve Elliott had a lightbulb moment. The Original Farmer's Market! I'd been there for shrimp tacos and cactus salad at Loteria. I'd been to see the passadores at Pampas Grill but it manages to escape me that it is in fact a farmer's market. SCORE!

The elusive eggs nestled together.

Clutching the trays of delicate bespeckled eggs, and wearing a smile with renewed confidence, F for Food and I returned to the Dinner at Eight kitchen quarters and with Kathy, got to work. Flour was flying as each dish was tested. Heads were scratched, salt was added,  but the easiest job belonged to me.  The eggs boiled in no time and before I knew it I was trying my first deviled quail egg. After the ordeal I had trying to find them the rest was easy and delicious! The Deviled Quail Eggs were a hit at the party too and even better, I had enough eggs left over for a few sunny sides up for breakfast! Win.

Fried Quail Egg.

To make your own Deviled Quail Eggs:

You can work with the ingredient list I provide in Something Borrowed, Something New. Quail Eggs take considerably less time to boil.  Add 1 part apple cider vinegar to 2 parts water, until the eggs are completely submerged. Exactly two minutes from the time the water starts to boil they're done. To open the shells, pop the bottom of the shell (there will be a small air bubble there) pinch and pull apart. Quail eggs are much more delicate than regular eggs so peeling them will require patience and a delicate hand. For one package of 10 quail eggs you will need far less Duke's (1tsp), honey, apple cider vinegar and dijon mustard can be measured with the tip of a demitasse spoon, the Blackie's pepper relish (1/2 tsp), and much smaller pinches of salt, pepper, cayenne, and paprika. Don't forget to taste as you go to allow for adjustments. Happy Tastebuds!

XOXO Maggie Mae

The Olivia Apron.

The Olivia Apron.

The yellow plaid neck bow pops with chocolate brown and white polka dot fabric.

The reverse side of the apron is as wearable as the front with the polka dot design.

Apron strings never looked so good.

The Olivia Apron is available in Half Hostess, Knee Length Hostess, Baby Aprons and Custom Orders.

Fried.

Run.  Walk.  Sunburn.  Work.  Laundry.  Repeat.
This has been my life for the last fourteen days.  Today is my first day off.  Leading up to this Sunday, I had my plan for the day all mapped out for maximum productivity; Eat, Pray, Sew.  And Run.  It was all set.  But, when I arrived at this beautiful fall day I realized- I was a little crispy around the edges.  So I scrapped my plan.

Instead I read, had coffee and chocolate chip cookie-scones at my favorite coffee spot, shopped for groceries and checked in with my Mom, my Dad, and my Grandma Eloise for a few overdue catch-ups.  Rather than beat myself up about not going for my daily run/therapy session I listened to my gut instead.  It was telling me two things.  Relax. Make fried chicken.

By now you know that I've had Southern cooking on the brain.  FForFood and I are rapidly approaching the relaunch of Dinner at Eight.  As I mentioned in Bringing it Home, we are drawing inspiration from our Virginia roots and introducing A Sunday Supper in the South, except here, in Los Angeles, in our nook of the Canyon.   Recipes are being tested.  Cabinets are being stocked.  And the vintage cookbooks, well, they're a pilin' up.
With FForFood away in Virginia reconnecting with her Aunt Babe, I am here, about to reconnect with the cast iron.  This marks my first attempt at fried chicken since The Fried Chicken Catastrophe of 2002.  I'm not worried though,  I have my partner's recipe as a guide,  a flannel sleeve full of tricks, and my trusty apron.
As for the fried chicken that we'll be serving at Dinner at Eight, there's no need to fear, the locally sourced, organic, Lindy & Grundy chicken, will be in the more than capable hands of Kathy Emerson.  Not yours truly....

A Sunday Supper in the South.  October 23rd. Seatings at 7pm and 9pm.
Click here to make a reservation.

The Cherry Pie Apron.

The Cherry Pie Sweetheart Bib Apron.

Finished with cream rick-rack, cream bows, red buttons and the inside of the pockets are lined.

The bows pop with a peek at the reverse side fabric.

This is the "back" of the apron. It's reversible!

       Also available in this fabric, Half Hostess Aprons, Knee Length Hostess and Baby Aprons.

Bringing it Home.

Pungent slabs of Virginia ham on flakey biscuits never far from reach.  Tomato Sandwiches on Pepperidge Farm bread.  Pulling onions right out of the garden and eating them raw.  Green bean casserole.  Macaroni and cheese, heavy with crust.  Endless hours spent swimming in the pool.  Warm towels fresh from the dryer.  Food Everywhere. All the time. A refrigerator so stuffed that it practically let out a sigh when coaxed to close.  Laurence's Grocery.  "One scoop or two?".  Peach soda pop.  A seemingly endless supply of libations.

Dewars was the preferred spirit of my grandparents.  In my grandparent's house this scene is set.  My Grandfather, Jim, was never one to shy away from a good time or a good joke.  He liked to drink, he liked to dance and he loved him some mischief.  His devilish grin rarely ever left his face and sorry was the slowpoke that didn't scatter when he passed by to clunk you on the noggin' with one of his thick fingers.  And as he was the rock of our family, my grandmother Eloise was the heart of the house and undisputedly, the kitchen.  She was the one responsible for those warm towels.  She hand fed us snacks when we swam up to the hot, sizzling concrete edge of the pool, eager for the slice of salted cantaloupe she was offering.  She always kept us full and even if we weren't hungry- a meatball sandwich would appear under of our sunburned noses anyway.  This is the slideshow of my youth in southwest Virginia.

Little did I know that a mere 45 minutes away FForFood was carving out similar childhood memories at her Aunt Babe's dining room table in Roanoke.  As I sat outside of the chicken house helping my grandmother shell almost-too-pretty-to-eat cream and purple speckled beans for dinner, FForFood was spooning heaping forkfulls of her Aunt Babe's shelly beans onto her plate.  As I was crunching my way through the griddled crust of my grandmother's rich potato pancakes, FForFood was lost in the near transcendental creaminess of Aunt Babe's mashed potatoes.  And Now here we are. Tucked into the Hills of Holly and we are about to bring it all home.
FForFood, Kathy Emerson and I will be strapping on our Maggie Mae Aprons and bringing back Dinner at Eight.

Each month we will travel back to "the South" and the furthest reaches of our memories and pay homage to the women that inspired us.  A Sunday Supper in the South by Dinner at Eight is a true family affair and we hope, where you find yourself a memorable dining experience.

To make a reservation, click here. Dinner at Eight.

Something Borrowed, Something New

Pop Art Sweetheart Bib Apron

(say that three times fast)

Lately I have been thinking about pairs.  What goes together.  How one part of a pair compliments or influences it's counterpart.  As I have mentioned in previous posts, wearing an apron while you cook marries a fun homemaking experience AND it makes your food taste better.  In the last year or so I have been in the kitchen a lot more, inspired by my friend and housemate FForFood.  In the last week I  have also been in the studio more, sewing and musing about good couples.  People with people, fabric with fabric, food with wine, peanut butter with chocolate...  And so, I created a pop art inspired bib apron with a sweetheart neckline and complimented it with black and white polka dot fabric inside the pockets and on the reverse side of the apron.  The Pop Art Sweetheart Bib Apron is 50's-esque and when I tied it on suddenly I was craving a deviled egg.  I sprung into action, I borrowed a recipe from FForFood and put a new spin on it, replacing the pickle relish with my favorite hot pepper relish from Blackie's Hot Dogs in Cheshire Connecticut.  I boiled, I peeled, I whipped and I filled, and I got my deviled egg.
The Pop Art Apron and the deviled eggs went well together. As for my friend and I, we make a pretty good pair too.

Over Stuffed Deviled Eggs with Blackie's Hot Pepper Relish  

Ingredients:

Maggie Mae Pop Art Sweetheart Bib Apron 


16 eggs (4 extra eggs for yolks only)
1/3 cup Dukes mayonnaise
1 tbs unfiltered apple cider vinegar
3 tbs Blackies hot pepper relish (minced until you create a paste consistency)
2 1/2 tbs dijon mustard
1 tsp sage honey
dash of cayenne pepper
Hungarian Paprika
pink himalayan salt
freshly ground pepper

you can always improvise if these ingredients aren't readily available in your cupboard

but I highly recommend the Dukes mayonnaise and Blackie's relish 

Place the eggs in a large pot and fill with water until all of the eggs are covered. Boil eggs for 10 minutes and then remove from heat.  Run the eggs under cold water immediately and then let them rest for 10 more minutes. 

Next in a separate bowl mix mayonnaise, relish, apple cider vinegar, dijon mustard and honey.

When the eggs are cool enough to touch fill the pot with more cold water and begin peeling. I generally have trouble in this area as the peeling part can be tricky. Peeling them while they are submerged in cool water helps.

Dry the peeled eggs and begin slice them in half length wise. Carefully remove the yolks and add them to the bowl with the other ingredients.  When you've extracted all of the yolks set aside 24 of the best looking egg whites (salt and pepper any remaining egg whites and pass them out to the onlookers that have collected in your kitchen, after all you are so adorable in your Maggie Mae Apron..). 

Grab a fork and mash together the yolks with the mayonnaise and relish mixture. Whip until smooth. Add salt, pepper and a dash of cayenne to taste. Sprinkle eggs with paprika and then fill each egg with a generous spoonful of  the yolk mixture. Add a touch more paprika to garnish!

Overstuffed Deviled Eggs