Doomsday

I took this picture at about 7:30 this morning. I had already been up for about an hour, and when I first awoke I was surprised at how dark it was outside. There was definitely no rain in the forecast, so I stepped outside to see why it looked so overcast. The stench of smoke hit me as soon as I opened the front door: apparently the wind has shifted and is now pushing the smoke from the La Canada-Flintridge fire into the Pasadena foothills. Down the street I could see wisps of smoke swirling like eddies of fog.

I took this shot in our kitchen about 8:30 a.m. My little camera didn't begin to capture the angry orange of the morning light.

I took this picture yesterday on El Molino Avenue as I was driving home from work at about 2 p.m. Right at the base of that angry-looking plume of smoke you can just make out a spurt of flame. It's probably huge, but it doesn't look like much because it's on the ridge of that mountain and partially obscured by smoke.

A closer view of the smoke, probably a mile or so north on El Molino. I can't even see the mountains this morning because of all the smoke.

Book of the week

Page 70: Fingerling Potato and Crispy Bacon Pizzas. 'Nuff said.

BLT bread

I know I said "the end" in my last post, but there's an addendum to the whole BLT from scratch saga: BLT bread. When I first proposed the idea of the challenge to Sean, he suggested baking bread that contains bacon, lettuce and tomato. And that's what I did! I adapted a recipe for Olive Bread from Beth Hensperger's Bread Bible, omitting the olives and adding minced spicy salad greens, diced dried tomatoes, and chopped cooked bacon. It was a bit difficult to knead the additives into the dough, but I think I got pretty good distribution:

So good toasted -- tonight we're going to enjoy an appetizer of toasted BLT bread with melted mozzarella on top. Mmmmmm. And then I'm going to take a little break from this whole "from scratch" thing. For a day or two, anyway.

BLT from scratch: The end

I decided last week that tonight was the night: the last couple of months of prep work were going to culminate, finally, in BLTs from scratch. I invited a few friends over to help me and Sean enjoy our BLTs. I had to rush home from work to make the mayonnaise for the aioli.

I just saw Julie & Julia and finished reading Julia Child's delightful memoir, My Life in France, so it seemed perfectly natural to me to try out Julia's mayonnaise recipe. Apparently she worked incredibly hard to perfect a foolproof, scientifically sound method of whipping up a batch, so I thought that I, a mayo novice, could only benefit from her know-how. Above, the ingredients for homemade mayonnaise; egg yolks and olive oil comprise the bulk of the ingredients.

This morning, my friend Sherri gave me some freshly-laid eggs from her chicken coop. This isn't a great photo, but I hope you can get a sense of how rich and orange the yolks look.

What you do is whip the eggs until they are completely mixed and creamy, add some seasoning (salt, vinegar, mustard), and then slooooowly incorporate the olive oil. You have to keep whisking the whole time you add the oil, and you only add it a drop or two at a time. It took me almost 45 goddamn minutes to whisk a cup and a half of olive oil into those egg yolks. I thought my arm was going to fall off.

But here's the finished product. It doesn't look anything like store-bought mayonnaise -- it looks more like a rich custard.

I chopped up some of my dried tomatoes to add to the mayo, along with some fresh lemon juice and a lot of minced garlic (I grew the lemon but not the garlic, in case you're wondering). I got pretty nervous as I was chopping the tomatoes because they seemed really hard and brittle; I'd been hoping that storage in oil would soften them up a bit, but no such luck.

Ah, well, not much I could do about it now. I threw them in the aioli and hoped no one would chip a tooth on my crunchy dried tomato bits. I put the aioli back in the fridge for an hour or so before dinner, and miraculously, the tomatoes softened up nicely, becoming a little chewy instead of brittle.

Here's the finished aioli. It's hard to tell from this shot, but it was a sort of chartreuse color with flecks of red. Very pretty, and Sean couldn't get enough of it.

Sean volunteered to slice the bacon, and I let him. I put the bacon in the freezer for about half an hour to firm it up, and then Sean sliced it all by hand with our big chef's knife. It was greasy work but done well:

Mmmmm. That's one whole pork belly.

Lettuce, freshly washed.

Finally, guests started to arrive. Lucy looks pretty excited about the prospect of homemade bacon, doesn't she? Norman is trying to appear blase, but I think he's actually eyeing the bowl of sweet potato chips before he goes in for another handful. Sean volunteered to fry up the bacon, and he did a masterful job.

Vern, Curtis' girlfriend, parked herself by the stove and took in the entire sensory experience of being near frying bacon: the sizzles and pops from the pan, the pungent aroma, and, at last, that first exquisite taste.

Lucy brought some Meyer lemons from her house, and we used them to make a big jug of homemade lemonade. (No, I did not process the sugar myself, in case you're wondering.)

Dinner was served alfresco on our picnic table. Sean brought a tacky and very shiny candelabrum home from the theatre department to lend some festivity to the occasion. I set everything up so that people could construct their own sandwiches; in addition to the bacon, lettuce, and tomato aioli, I provided homemade bread, aged Gruyere, and sliced avocados. (I didn't grow the avocados, in case you're wondering. I only know one person with an avocado tree, and it didn't seem right to call her up and say, "I know we haven't spoken in almost a year, but hey, got any ripe avocados you could give me for this little project I've got going on?")

*Sigh* This is so not the glam shot I wanted to get of my sandwich, but by the time I took it we were all starving and I wanted to be quick about it so we could start eating. You can see the homemade bread (not perfect sandwich bread, true, though it softened up nicely when the mayo soaked into it), the homegrown lettuce, the home-cured bacon, and the homemade dried tomato aioli, as well as the renegade avocado. It was a great sandwich, if I do say so myself. The lettuce, strangely enough, added the most interesting note to the sandwich, giving it an exotic, spicy taste. Curtis said that, as he ate his sandwich, he kept thinking how gratifying it was to know the provenance of each ingredient, and because he was concentrating so hard on his meal, he could really taste each ingredient in a way he's not used to.

Sean made a sort of bruschetta for himself and Vern for dessert: toasted bread, aioli, and sliced fresh tomatoes. Gag.

I'm kind of sorry the BLT from scratch challenge is over. I had a good time growing and preparing the various ingredients, and it was a great pleasure to feed my friends a meal that was truly homemade. I wonder what I'll do next? For years Sean and I have talked about making lasagna from scratch -- the pasta, sausage, cheeses, and tomato sauce. Maybe now is the time to get started on it!

Book of the week

It's "Choose Your Own Adventure" for grownups! The introduction warns readers, "BE VERY CAREFUL! You're DIRECTING THE STORY and the CHOICES you make can result in MURDER, GRADUATE SCHOOL ENROLLMENT, TORTURE, MARRIAGE, POSTAPOCALYPTIC SLAVERY, UNWANTED PREGNANCY, even TEMPING!" If you've already enjoyed this book, the sequel, The Terrible, Horrible, Temp-to-Perm Debacle, just came out last week.

BLT from scratch: Smokin'!

Here's our new electric smoker. When I couldn't decide between smoking my bacon in our temperamental oven or on our crummy old grill, Sean suggested we get an actual smoker to do the job for us. We found this inexpensive model at Home Depot in El Monte; even if we only use it a few times, we'll get our money's worth.

Applewood chips. I soaked them in water for about half an hour, then wrapped them in aluminum foil and poked a few holes through the foil. Wet chips should produce a lot of smoke, and smoke = flavor. Sean carefully placed them on top of the lava rocks next to the heating element.

Here's my fully-cured bacon. Two slabs of it, remember? Mmmmm.

Here's the first pork belly in situ. The pan below the rack is filled with a mixture of water, maple syrup, and liquid smoke. This acts as a sort of marinade that will infuse the meat as it heats up. I probably should have found an actual marinade recipe, but I figured maple syrup and smoke were the sort of flavor I wanted to impart, so who cares if I didn't know what I was doing? As it turned out, I made a good choice.

The smoker in action!

It took about three hours to smoke the bacon. Here it is, right after we removed the lid. Let me just turn that baby over so you can see the non-rind side of it . . .

Oh, yeah.

Here they are, all salty and sweet and sticky. They kind of smell like ham.

I went ahead and fried up a cut-in-two piece to see what it tastes like, although the bacon already seems to be cooked through. Heavenly! (It was even better when I cut off the inedible rind that is impossible to chew through.) I may not make the best BLT in this challenge, but it's hard to believe anyone will produce better-tasting bacon than me. Then again, I've never eaten bad bacon -- I'm not sure it exists.

BLT from scratch: L as in lettuce

Lettuce. Growing in my garden. Eh, what else can I say? It's some kind of salad mix from Renee's Garden; I have no idea what kind of lettuce we're looking at in the picture. All I know is, lettuce does not love Southern California in August, and it has been growing underneath a screen for most of the summer. It will probably be a bit past its prime when I serve it on my sandwiches.

BLT from scratch: Nothing says lovin' like something from the oven

I enjoy cooking, but I really love to bake. Cookies, quick breads, cakes, muffins -- I got hooked on making those things while still in elementary school. I always wanted to learn to bake bread, but the thought of working with yeast intimidated me. For years I dreamed of baking my own bread from scratch but never had the guts to try it. I dreaded ending up with some kind of bread disaster on my hands. Then, a number of years ago, I was talking to a co-worker about my bread-baking fears. Judy was about fifteen years older than me and lived in a 200-year-old farmhouse on the edge of town. ("Town" was West Lafayette, Indiana.) She was a potter and a weaver. She kept and sheared her own flock of sheep so she would have a constant supply of wool. She raised turkeys for food. She had a pet mule. And she was an avid baker, so when I told her I was nervous about working with yeast, she looked at me like I was crazy. She assured me that making yeast-risen breads is really no big deal -- as long as you have lively yeast and follow the recipe directions, you'll end up with great bread. Then she gave me some of the best advice I've ever received: "What's the worst that could happen? Your bread won't rise and you'll end up with a bunch of dough. So what?"

Sure enough, my first loaf of bread came out just fine. I used a recipe called The Learning Loaf from The Wooden Spoon Bread Book by Marilyn M. Moore, which holds the baker's hand through every teensy step of the bread-making process and produces one perfect loaf of white bread. It sounds ridiculous now, but having an experienced baker scoff at my fears and force me to contemplate, "What's the worst that could happen?" changed my outlook on life. It gave me the courage to try anything in the kitchen (and just about anything outside of it). And you know what? So far, nothing really terrible has happened, either in the kitchen or out, and my bread almost always comes out perfectly. Thanks, Judy!

I decided to make White Mountain Bread from The Bread Bible by Beth Hensperger, a cookbook I highly recommend. (I particularly like her recipes for Fresh Apple Coffee Cake, Stollen with Dried Cherries and Pineapple, and pizza dough.) Hensperger claims that White Mountain Bread makes great sandwich bread, though my experience with every bread I've ever baked is that, no, it's not great sandwich bread -- homemade bread, while certainly some of the best-tasting food on the planet, is simply too dry and crumby to make excellent sandwich bread. But I decided to take her at her word and proceed. Above, the yeast proofing with a little sugar and warm water. See how it's starting to get foamy? My active dry yeast was lively.

Whole milk, good quality butter, sea salt, and honey are about to get scalded on the stove. The honey was a Christmas gift from my friend Sherri -- her next door neighbor keeps bees and she bought a bunch of his honey to give to friends this past holiday season. It's a very light yet flavorful honey. Nice to be able to add another home-produced element to my sandwich!

I like to knead dough by hand, but I usually mix the yeast, milk and flour in my KitchenAid. It's much easier than mixing by hand and gives the dough a good start on developing its gluten (the stuff that makes the dough rise and become elastic).

I have just turned the dough out onto my floured bread board and am now ready to knead by hand. The dough was pretty springy already from the mixer so I only had to knead it for 2 or 3 minutes. Then I put it in a buttered bowl, covered it, and left it to rise on top of the dryer for about an hour. Sorry there are no action shots -- kneading takes two hands, and I was the camera operator as well.

Here's the dough after it had risen for about an hour. The way to tell if it's ready is if it has doubled in bulk since you put it in the bowl, and if, when you poke it with a finger, the hole doesn't fill in immediately but keeps its shape. Check on both counts. I turned it out onto the board again, divided it in two, shaped it into two rolls, and placed the rolls in buttered baking pans. I let them rise again for 45 minutes.

Ready for the oven. I slashed the tops with a very sharp knife, then placed them in the preheated oven and baked them for another 45 minutes. After they had been baking for about 15 minutes, the most heavenly aroma filled the kitchen. Baking bread is one of the best smells in the universe.

Here they are. Freshly baked bread should pop right out of the pan and be evenly browned all over. You tap on the bottom of the loaf and hope to hear a hollow sound -- if you do, it's done.

Mmmmm, bread porn.

Here's Sean enjoying a slice with butter. I burned my fingers cutting the bread because I only let it cool for about 4 minutes before I attacked it with a knife.

See? Kinda dense and dry. Don't get me wrong: this is a good recipe, and I baked it correctly, but it's just not ideal sandwich bread. (It is, however, ideal for toasting.) Still, I'll probably bake a fresh batch of it when I'm ready for my BLT, as I don't know of a better recipe.

Next: the lettuce.

Look what I'm going to see tonight!

Admit it: you're a little jealous.

Dried tomato update, for those few who care

At 5:30 this morning I checked on my tomatoes, and they were dried to perfection. Slightly crispy, slightly chewy. They made a sound like tiny pieces of plastic clicking against one another as I gathered them up and stuffed them into a sterilized pint jar.

I packed them in good quality extra virgin olive oil with a sprig of homegrown rosemary on top and I'm storing them in the refrigerator. A pint of dried tomatoes should last me a long, looooonngg time.

BLT from scratch: The dreaded "T"

This whole post -- this whole evening, in fact -- is kind of making me sick because I really don't like tomatoes, yet they have been my constant companions for the past couple of hours as I readied my modest backyard harvest for the BLT from scratch challenge.

I always say, the farther a tomato gets from its natural state, the more likely I am to eat it. So: raw tomatoes? They are right out. Stewed tomatoes? Barf. Cream of tomato soup? You're getting warmer. Ketchup? Thumbs up. Spaghetti sauce? A-OK. Dried tomatoes aren't bad, either, and that's the form I've decided to use for my BLT. Since mayonnaise is another required element, I will make a garlic and dried tomato aioli that will effectively kill two birds with one stone. I even found a recipe for just such a condiment (called "Zesty Mayonnaise") in the cookbook How to Dry Foods by Deanne DeLong. I may try to spiff it up a bit, but it sounds pretty straightforward -- mayo, garlic, lemon juice, and dried tomatoes -- and I should probably use it as is. I'll call it aioli, though.

Romas after their rinse. Even though I despise them, I grow tomatoes every year, usually romas. I cannot judge them, but everyone who has tasted this year's crop says they're delicious. All I know is that they're a bit on the small side.

Here's all you need to dry tomatoes: tomatoes, some white vinegar, a little sea salt, and a dehydrator. You just quarter the tomatoes (I cut some of the bigger ones into sixths), scrape out and discard the guts and seeds (which is absolutely nauseating to me), lay the slices on the dehydrator tray, sprinkle them with a bit of vinegar and salt, and you're good to go.

Looks like some sort of obscene flower, doesn't it?

Here's the fully loaded dehydrator, with four trays of tomato slices. I will run it overnight, and with luck, the tomatoes will be done by the time I need to leave for work tomorrow morning. Without luck . . . well, I will be late and I will have to lay the blame at the feet of goddamn tomatoes.

The dehydrator in action! A thing of beauty, no? I got this for Sean for Christmas a few years ago when he thought it would be fun to try his hand at drying some of the fruit growing in our yard. The apples and plums came out fine, but the tangerines were a bit of a disaster (and a mess). It's just a heater and a fan that circulates the warmed air through the slotted trays. Someday I'm going to use it to make beef jerky.

Tomorrow: a bread test run.