Super Bowl? Time for Guac & Chips, La Mesa style

OK, here's the deal. I don't really give a hoot about football... unless the Chargers are involved. But it's not what you think: I'm not donning a powder-blue throw-back jersey nor am I placing electric bolt stickers on our car's rear window. Heh. I only sort of root for my hometown's team because one of my brothers is a big fan. He speaks of this team in the collective: "We played a good game." "We had a building year." See, I'm such a good sister that I hope this team does well only because it will make my brother's day. Guaranteed happiness... awwww. Sibling love.

Anyway. This non-Chargers game will be on the TV at our house. I will spend some time in the room. I like a good game. But, truth be told, I really only look forward to this event for the food. By that, I mean, the terribly naughty snacks. I try to eat pretty healthy... vegetables, fruit, blah blah blah. But in my view, the Super Bowl is a totally worthy excuse to plan for some cheesy, gooey, crispy, spicy yumminess.

I thought I'd post a couple of recipes this week that honor this Big Game food ethos.

One of my must-have, go-to dishes for any festive occasion is Guacamole with Homemade Chips. Yes, guac is not groundbreaking -- I think I was explaining to Toby that it's probably a required dish, if one were to consult the Super Bowl Noshing Bilaws -- but I must modestly say that my guac is good.

Although, the homemade chips are really the star of the show. The taqueria near my childhood home inspired me to start making my own. It was either that, or carry them home on the plane. At this strip-mall den of awesomeness, you can order "bag chips" which is actually chips and salsa. The sign used to just say "bag chips" -- and we still order it that way. Anyway, the actual chips part comes in a double-paper bag which is instantly spotty with oily goodness. The chips are WARM and they're liberally salted. The salsa is great, too. Heaven.

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Guacamole & Homemade Chips, La Mesa Style

Guacamole: First off, please step away from the blender, the food processor and the sour cream. Their services will not be required. Start by slicing open 4 or so ripe Hass* avocados. Scoop the flesh into a bowl, mash up with a fork until chunky and immediately squirt with the juice of half a lime (prevents browning). Mince a medium-hot (taste to test--if too hot, reduce quantity) Serrano pepper, dice 1/2 a red onion, chop a good handful of cilantro, dice a flavorful tomato (but this is February, so leave it out if you like), and mince a small clove of garlic. Scrape all into the bowl. Liberally season with sea salt. Combine everything with the fork, mashing the avocado further until it's as smooth or as chunky as you like. (I like a nice balance between smoothness and slight chunkiness.) Add more lime juice and salt as needed. Once you're happy, either gobble it up immediately or do the responsible thing and "let the flavors meld" as they say. Press cling wrap onto the surface of the guac (further prevents browning) and refrigerate for a couple of hours or overnight. Then, greedily gobble it up.

Oh wait, you need chips!

Fabulous Homemade Chips: In a heavy-bottomed pan or deep pot, heat a half-inch or so of neutral oil that can get REALLY hot (i.e., not olive oil). I like to use organic canola oil. Pile up a dozen or more all-corn tortillas and slice the stack into 8 wedges (like a pizza). Once the oil is ready (i.e., vigorously frying--throw in a sacrificial tortilla wedge to test), carefully lay a single layer of your little tortilla wedges in the oil. Fry, turning over carefully with tongs once they begin to lightly brown. Pull out a test chip and test for crispiness. If it's good, pull them all out and drain on paper towels. Sprinkle liberally with sea salt. Repeat until you've turned all your little tortilla wedges into golden, crispy chips (monitor the heat as needed so they don't brown too fast). Serve warm. Ahhh.

I'll post photos of my batch on Sunday!

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*Hass are now in season in California and are far superior (i.e., buttery) to other varieties.

the weekend, pictorially

{{ SCENES FROM THE WEEKEND }}

- Act 1 -

Misty canyon walk

the mud was starting to dry... but more rain is on the way?

baby yoga

(with beloved remote... sorry, spoon. sorry, hammer.)

Spring is coming!

- Act 2 -

The best calendar

Got together with Kristen to peruse plants (see below)... she gave me this beautiful letterpressed calendar from Krank Press. I love it for the the artwork, but it's also useful, with lists of what's in season and what to plant each month.

Thanks, Kristen!! I love it.

- Act 3 -

Flora Grubb Gardens with Kristen

Orange Pincushion

Agave Paryii

Cow Horn Agave

I'd like a big round stone, please.

...and a pretty cappuccino, of course.

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pizza of the week: sunchoke, squash & bacon

A delicious, rich pizza for a rainy winter night. In our weekly organic veggie delivery, we received the cutest, tiniest butternut squash and some gorgeously ugly sunchokes, one of my favorite tubers. I baked half of the squash for Jacky's morning squash mash. Moving on to the adult fare, and with pizza on the mind, I roasted the rest of the squash in slices along side whole sunchokes. The very handy Flavor Bible recommended bacon as a good match... and who am I to argue? This was a delicious riff on the potato pizza concept.

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Sunchoke, Squash & Bacon Pizza

Do ahead: In a 400˚ oven, roast a dozen or so thin slices of butternut squash (lightly oil and salt and pepper; no need to peel), as well as 3 small sunchoke tubers (scrubbed clean and left whole). Roast until the squash slices are lightly browned and the sunchokes are tender. Chop up one slice of bacon and fry until cooked. Drain on paper towels.

To make pizza, start with basic pizza recipe. Chop one clove garlic and steep it in extra virgin olive oil for a few minutes. Roll out your dough and brush with garlic oil. Reserve garlic. Sprinkle oiled dough with a handful each of grated mozzarella and gruyere cheeses. Place roasted squash slices on top of cheese. Slice roasted sunchokes (no need to peel) and nestle slices around squash. Sprinkle over a few thin slices of red onion, the reserved bacon and garlic, and some rosemary needles. Lightly salt the crust and cook according to basic recipe. Garnish with chopped Italian parsley and a squirt of lemon.

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on planting and pruning

January is a time for new beginnings. Yes, a terrible cliché... but I don't refer to diets or exercise regimes or filthy habit cessation. My mind is in the garden. As I mentioned in a particularly memorializing post, my parents were gardeners. Seems the one (yes, just one) thing I absorbed from their efforts was "always prune roses in January." This rule is permanently tattooed on my brain. All through my early adulthood, during which time I never ever gardened, if you asked me what I knew about green things that grew in dirt, I'd probably have parroted back, zombie-like: PRUNE. ROSES. JANUARY.

A few years ago, I started tending roses as a memorial to my parents. They're my first real plant babies, and the 2010 pruning ritual has been carried out. My three potted roses have taken on the appearance of graceful, vase-shaped (hopefully; I'm a pruning rookie) clusters of thorny olive-green sticks. It's a yearly investment of custodial care. By which I mean standing in the January cold, Felcos in hand, pacing circles around the unsuspecting bushes, visualizing and agonizing over each potential cut. Roses (and many other plants) thrive after a dramatic, brave pruning of misguided or overzealous growth. A lesson there?

And now there are a few more sticks populating our nascent garden. Ones that I have high, hungry hopes for. We're growing three semi-dwarf apples. Or, rather, we're currently growing some pretty reddish brown twigs that will sprout a little this season, get pruned a little in a year, grow some more, get pruned some more... and on for a few years until they start to bear fruit. I'm anticipating some kind of "plant goes through puberty and becomes an adult" type of ritual. Ha. (I admit I've been doing a lot of reading on apple hormones, preparing for those first nervous pruning cuts.)

Anyway, it's a long, patient, worthwhile investment. At some point, I'll be swooning under branches of delicate crepe-paper blossoms and ecstatically counting each of the first baby fruits. First bites into first apples. There will be lots more reading and agonizing... and eventually much jumping up and down. I can't wait. For now, every few days I'm sneaking out to the back of the garden to steal glimpses of those pretty brown sticks.

image via Flickr

morning hilarity

How Jacky sends Mama off to work 3 mornings per week...

wait for it...

Cute OR crazy?

Or both? :D

finally! vertical garden gear!

Ever since taking the above photo at Flora Grubb Gardens, my local fancy plant nursery, I've been scouring the web for the gear to make my own vertical succulent garden. Google searches, emailing manufacturers, eBay, posting on gardening blogs... a pathetic business. And, uh, no dice.

photo: floragrubb.com

I actually almost got Toby to agree to making me a wooden replica, but no need! I found it, back at the original source. Flora Grubb is now selling the vertical garden frame directly. No more sad web trolling for me. For now.

for lunch: pasta puttanesca

Rain is streaking down our windows again. How many days in a row now? Oh well, I can't complain. We need the water (the big "we" -- as well as the little plants out back). And besides, the streaky windows make the view out to our little valley a vaguely tree-filled, misty abstract painting.

On cozy indoor days like this, I've been opting for soup. Lots and lots of hot brothy soup. But today, I reached WAY back and pulled a lunch out that I haven't made for... oh, nine years? Pasta Puttanesca, which means "working girl" pasta. Apparently it was a cheap and satisfying dish Italian ladies of a certain profession would make between clients*. Nine years ago, I would make this delicious lunch while working freelance from home, unmarried and unencumbered. A working girl of another sort.

Today, I updated the dish for a little more nutrition: quinoa pasta for more protein, and some of last night's baked salmon.

Method (for 1 working girl or boy): Cook 2 oz pasta (I used quinoa fusilli) according to package directions and drain. Set aside in the warm pot. Meanwhile, sauté a few chopped garlic cloves with a good shake of dried red pepper flakes. When fragrant, add a few oil-packed anchovy filets, chopped. Sauté until garlic is lightly golden. Tip in 7 oz (1/2 small can) whole tomatoes and their juice. Raise heat to high and break up tomatoes with a wooden spoon. Add a spoonful of capers, a small handful of chopped oil-cured olives. Cook on high to reduce tomato juices. When thickened, add a few ounces of cooked wild Alaskan salmon, broken up by hand, and a bit of chopped Italian parsley. Stir in cooked pasta, mix well. Plate, garnish with more chopped parsley. Dig in and watch the raindrops.

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*Hellooo garlic breath! -- right?!