often, simple things delight us most. like watching Elroy’s jowls quiver as he snores through a power nap. or sitting in front of a 1940′s MGM musical with a bowl of butter-drenched popcorn. or a little hike, where you can breathe in crisp, clean Colorado air at 9,300 feet on a sunny, summer day. or those evenings my dad would enthusiastically serve us an appetizer of half a grapefruit, sprinkled liberally with sugar and majestically topped with a maraschino cherry.
it was with that kind of simplicity in mind that i went about to create mom’s birthday tribute dinner. 
i began with her childhood favorite, lamb rib chops. on the occasions i had the privilege to make them for her, our little bird would daintily pick up a diminutive broiled chop and eat every bit—until only the bone remained. she’d then look up and grin that signature grin of pure satisfaction. no lamb in my experience has been as tender and buttery as the Sea Breeze Farm chops i discovered this weekend. i was fortunate to meet the Vashon Island-based Sea Breeze team at the U District Farmers’ Market in Seattle—i appreciate the knowledge they willingly share and admire their farming practices. mom loved meandering through this market; i know she would have adored these chops.
to accompany the lamb, i served grilled asparagus on a bed of fresh linguini—tossed together in a sticky, rich balsamic reduction. simple, for sure, but packed with flavor. i like to think mom would have been grinning from ear to ear had she been at the table with us. she definitely would have enjoyed an accompanying glass of Vignalta Fior d’Arancio Colli Euganei. loved that bubbly.
for dessert, a melt-in-your-mouth Montmorency cherry shortbread cookie, sprinkled with a little organic cane sugar bling. it just wouldn’t be mom, without the bling.
for those of you who revel in the simple things, you can find the basic recipes here:
pasta and asparagus with balsamic reduction (again, i grilled the asparagus)
shortbread cookies (tweaks: roll the dough to 1/2-inch; add 1/2 to 3/4 cup tart, dried cherries to the dough; also consider adding some orange zest, but nix the icing)
i’ll be seeing you in all those old familiar places, little bird. like tonight, i plan to grab a patty melt at our favorite burger joint. not as elegant, perhaps, as our special birthday dinners at Ken’s Steak House or the Wayside Inn (and you can cool believe i won’t be wearing a dress), but my Vanilla Coke toast will be straight from the heart. cranking up 40′s on 4 and sending you a humongous hug and smooches on this birthday and always. with love.
this morning, i grabbed your favorite mug, made a cup of tea and settled in to look through our family photo boxes. two years ago, you would have been sitting here next to me. and i would have been saying something like, oh, remember that snow storm?? you would have been saying something more like, oh, i loved that outfit! i’ve always thought we each had our own unique spin on the world. but with the passing of time, i realized we were much more alike than i ever imagined.
sure, you had impeccable taste. and style (like in the above photo. seriously, who looks that put together at the bowling alley??); i, while clean and tidy, am at home only in flannel and Levi’s. you enjoyed travel on the high seas; i’m completely content paddling along the shoreline. you were the belle of every ball; i prefer to watch the ball in some 40′s film. yes, on some levels we were seemingly incompatible. on what matters most, we were of one mind.
over the last 24 months, i’ve missed sharing our common ground. lively conversation and well-articulated wisdom (on your part, of course). family and food (today, consumed lobstah tails in your honor). long, brisk walks (we slowed the pace over the years, but our spirits sprinted). marathon shopping excursions (your stamina far exceeded mine). curling up on the couch with good books or to watch classic movies (i bowed to your seniority and bragging rights because you’d seen them in the theater).
i now grasp why you might have worn your fleece vest in the house, when the thermostat was set on 73 degrees. or you left that 1/8″ of half and half in a pint container. or closed the blinds at 3:30 in the afternoon, on dreary November days. i embrace my inner Fran, when i do the same. and silently (well, sometimes i just shout it out, and the dogs roll their eyes indulgently) express my gratitude for your lifelong guidance and unconditional love.
can’t wait see you on the flip side, little bird. until then, bowl a 300 game. cut it up with dad on the dance floor. and keep sending the big blue heron my way. with infinite love and smooches.
as i sit down to write this post, my mind rushes back to those first, early fall days of school. sitting at my desk, hands folded and donning a new dress (what a little lady) expertly chosen by my mother, i’d hang on every word uttered by my adored teachers. then, at their direction—and this was my favorite part—i’d choose a shiny new, razor-sharp #2 pencil and begin to craft my annual essay about how i spent my summer vacation.
had i been assigned the same teacher two years in a row, she likely would have been lulled into a coma by the redundancy of my essays: 50 percent dedicated to the blast i had at girl scout camp and the remaining 50 percent to the wicked-good times i had with my family at the beach. i was never bored by either.
an older me, sis at the Cape
my parents, younger sister and i spent several summers down the Cape (translation: at Cape Cod, Massachusetts): wonderful, lazy weeks of swimming, combing the beach for sea shells and soaking up sunshine—without the oppression of inland humidity. but some of favorite beach days were spent at Crane’s Beach, on Massachusett’s north shore.
we’d jump out of bed early on a weekend morning and throw on our swimsuits. my dad would back the Impala out of the garage and pack the cooler with ice. then, mom would yell, what kind of sandwiches do you want, peanut butter and jelly? GAG. i think Cheryl wants peanut butter. can i please have bologna? in my mind, i said a bologna prayer. anything to avoid peanut butter.
with sandwiches, chips, sodas and Oreos snuggled inside the cooler, we headed to Crane’s. upon arrival, mom and dad scouted out an ideal location, spread out beach towels and hunkered down with books. my sister took her pail and shovel and began the dig to China. i’d walk down to the shore and up through the garnet sand to the dunes; we’d all take dips in the frigid water to cool down.
in a few hours, mom inevitably declared time for lunch! as inevitably, Cheryl’s peanut butter sandwich attracted sand, and she’d cry. i’d happily sit on my towel, munching on my bologna. in the middle of the afternoon, we’d haul ourselves back to the Impala and make the drive back to suburbia. satisfied with yet another beautiful New England day at the beach.
this summer’s essay: i spent a lot of time at the farmers’ markets, enjoying the amazing weather and cooking up dishes with fresh produce. i made a few pies and grilled a fair amount of pizzas. but didn’t begin baking in earnest until this month. ever on a quest to find a replacement for the dreaded peanut butter, i stumbled upon Artisana nut butters. their team was kind enough to send me some samples, and i decided to test out the pecan butter with a dense, dark chocolate sandwich cookie recipe, reminiscent of our best days at the north shore.
little sis, this one’s for you. infinitely better than what was on your white bread. and now i’ll have some nut butter to put on mine!
Homemade Chocolate Sandwich Cookies
a recipe from the flour cookbook with a slight variation
makes 16 – 18 good-size cookies
plan in advance, as the dough sits in two stages for a total time of at least 3 hours before baking.
INGREDIENTS
for dough
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, melted and cooled slightly
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup semi-sweet chocolate, melted and cooled slightly (recipe calls for chips; i used 4 2-ounce Schaffenberger semi-sweet squares)
1 egg
1 1/2 cups organic unbleached all-purpose flour
3/4 cup Dutch-processed cocoa powder
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
for nut-butter filling
1/4 cup (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, softened
3/4 cup confectioners’ sugar
1/2 cup smooth nut butter (my pecan butter wasn’t completely smooth, but worked well and received kudos from those who snarfed them down and wanted more)
pinch of kosher salt
DIRECTIONS
- in a medium-size bowl, whisk together the butter and granulated sugar until well combined.
- whisk in the vanilla and melted chocolate, then add the egg, and whisk until completely incorporated.
- in another medium-size bowl, mix together the flour, cocoa powder, salt and baking soda.
- using a spoon, stir the flour mixture into the chocolate mixture to form a dough.
- let sit at room temperature for an hour.
- transfer the dough to a 15-inch square of parchment paper.
- shape the dough into a rough log, about 10 inches long and 2 1/2 inches wide.
- roll the parchment paper around the log.
- with the log fully encased in parchment, roll until smooth, maintaining the 2 1/2-inch diameter.
- put in the frig for at least 2 hours or until firm; reroll every 15 minutes or so to maintain the round shape.
- preheat oven to 325 degrees.
- cover baking sheets with parchment paper.
- cut the dough log into 1/4-inch slices, and place them at least 1 inch apart on the baking sheets.
- bake for around 16 – 20 minutes, or until the cookies are firm to the touch. they’re dark, so you won’t be able to see if they’re done by just looking.
- let the cookies cool to room temperature on the baking sheets.
- to make the filling, using a hand mixer, cream the butter on low speed for around 30 seconds, or until soft and smooth.
- add the confectioners’ sugar and beat until the mixture is completely smooth.
- add the nut butter and salt, and beat until smooth.
- scoop one rounded tablespoon of the filling onto the bottom of one cookie.
- top with a second cookie, bottom-side down, then press the cookies together to spread the filling toward the edges.
i sent some of these babies with Tootie to her monthly staff meeting. rumored to be a huge hit (hope you enjoy the recipe, gals!). much like Oreos, a perfect accompaniment to a tall glass of whole organic milk. i bet they’re even better eaten at the beach.
ENDNOTE
alternatively, you can make a vanilla cream filling with the following:
1/2 cup unsalted butter
1 2/3 cup confectioners’ sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 tablespoon milk
pinch of kosher salt
i’m an early riser. seven days a week, i spring out of bed (ok, sometimes i groan and roll) at the crack of dawn to begin each shiny, new day. in the state of Washington, it’s mostly each dreary, new day, but you get the drift. during the week, i sometimes schedule 6:00 a.m. conference calls with an east-coast design colleague. and i usually begin the calls with my i-haven’t-talked-with-humans-yet disclaimer. (Michael, the designer and stalwart friend, is always patient with my initial incoherency.) but there’s something sacred about the morning stillness that beckons me to haul myself up to be a part of it.
for the past few early Saturday mornings, Tootie and i have driven an hour north to Bellingham, where we like to stroll through the farmers’ market packed with just-picked organic produce. before we head to the market, we stop for tea, then take brisk walks along the bay near Boulevard Park. last week, we jumped off the interstate and headed toward the boardwalk. just before our turn, my eye caught a brown state park sign: Larabee State Park, 7 miles. as many times as i’d driven on that road, i’d never noticed that sign. hmmm. me: want to go on a little adventure before the market opens?? Tootie: sure!
i maneuvered quickly into the left turn lane, heading south on Chuckanut Drive. each twist and turn in the road brought a new delight: a large property overflowing with brightly colored perennials. two does and three spotted fawns bouncing lightly along the tree line. ancient, moss-covered trunks embracing the roadway, their branches forming a welcoming arch as we traveled toward the park. soon we spotted a sign for the park’s boat launch. ever-inquisitive paddlers, we turned west toward the bay. in minutes, we pulled into the lot at Wildcat Cove.
the early-morning fog hadn’t completely lifted. a brisk wind slapped the choppy water against the shoreline. the small, rocky beach spilled over with the empty orange shells of Dungeness crabs. i looked up toward the cove’s southern-most point and then i saw her standing in the shallow water: a great blue heron. seriously? compelled by the bird to take an unplanned jaunt to the park that morning and specifically to the cove? well, i like to think she was the beak-in. certainly made me feel like mom is never too far away. i didn’t have my camera with me, but Tootie managed to take a blurry shot with her phone’s camera. mom would never have passed up a photo op.
we went back to the cove the next week. the sun shone; the water, calm and glassy, lazily lapped the rocks. ho-hum. ma? she wasn’t around. but this big boy sat atop the tallest pine in sight. 
majestic, to be sure. but not as cool as the great blue heron. we hiked through the park, then went up to the farmers’ market. we stuffed our bags with Ailsa Craig heritage onions, heirloom tomatoes and Krimson Lee peppers. with our booty, we made enough zingy tomato sauce to top future pizzas and pasta and to deck out some eggplant parmesan and lasagna. while spicy sauce has always reminded me of my dad, i imagine when i eat this Italian fare, i’ll be thinking lovingly of little bird.
i spent a lot of years playing in my school’s marching band. ok, i was a band geek. and darn proud of it. 
whether out on the field or in a parade, decked out in the 1950’s uniforms we inherited from classes long past, or just sitting in a rehearsal, band became my haven and heaven. not merely a class i’d attend during third period, band was the place i fine-tuned my listening skills, developed the discipline of practice and deepened my understanding of and commitment to ensemble. did i mention band meant hanging out with my dearest friends (translation: BFFs)??
the fourth of July and the thought of John Philip Sousa marches brings these warm memories flooding back. if you’re hanging out with family and friends on the 4th, i invite you to bake them this super simple, moist and fruity cake. 
constructed with fresh, juicy and perfect local frog strawberries (any strawberries will do), this cake can help usher in the evening’s fireworks.
i’ll be listening to Sousa marches (more intently to the piccolo parts, of course) and firing up the grill. i might have to turn on the Boston Pops for a few (right, ma?). and i’ll be thinking how amazing it is to live in the U.S.A. what will you be up to? happy 4th!
Stars and Stripes Strawberry Cake
as found on smitten kitchen and adapted from a Martha Stewart recipe
INGREDIENTS
6 tablespoons butter, at room temperature, plus extra for pie plate
1 1/2 cups organic all-purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 scant cup plus 2 tablespoons granulated sugar
1 large egg
1/2 cup whole organic milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 pound strawberries, hulled and halved
optional topping
heavy whipping cream, vanilla bean and sugar
DIRECTIONS
- preheat oven to 350°F.
- butter a 9-inch, deep-dish pie pan or 9-inch cake pan.
- in a small bowl, whisk flour, baking powder and salt.
- in the bowl of a stand mixer, with beater attachment, beat butter and scant 1 cup sugar until pale and fluffy, about 3 minutes.
- add egg, milk and vanilla, and mix until just combined.
- add dry mixture gradually, mixing until just smooth.
- pour cake batter into prepared pie plate.
- as close together as possible, arrange strawberries in a single layer on top of batter, cut side down.
- sprinkle remaining 2 tablespoons sugar over berries.
- bake cake for 10 minutes, then reduce oven temperature to 325°F, and continue to bake cake until golden brown and a tester comes out free of wet batter, about 50 to 60 minutes.
- let cake cool in pan on a rack.
- to serve, cut into wedges, and top with whipped cream infused with vanilla bean.
as mom would say, mmmmmmmmmmmm. enjoy!
we’ve all been taking it kind of easy at our house this month. the temperature has been unseasonably cool and the sky gray. and that’s probably a good thing for Winnie, as she hasn’t been feeling particularly spritely. at nearly 15, her pace has slowed dramatically in contrast to when she lived in the mountains above Colorado Springs. now, those were some days.
back then, Winnie rarely slept in. she liked to hang out on the back deck, sniffing the crisp mountain air and, undoubtedly, all the native creatures who shared our property (with big cats nearby, Winnie never got to stay out on the deck too awfully long without human supervision). when she wasn’t surveying the outdoor scene, she spent her time wedged between me and the kitchen counter—every time i fixed a meal. another favorite pastime? sunning. if there was a patch of sunshine to be found in the house, Winnie would be in it. asleep on her back, with all four in the air.
a true-blue mountain dog, Winnie would hike valiantly by our sides (or pull so hard on her leash, she’d wear herself out). like that time on the Women’s Trail, when she laid down in the middle of the path and refused to go any further, forcing Tootie to carry her back to the car. Winnie’s sense of direction: as accurate as any GPS. like that time when she mysteriously got out of the yard, and got lost, and Lisa searched for and ultimately retrieved her from the home of a distant neighbor, who’d graciously corralled her. Winnie’s valor: unsurpassed. like that time we were instructed to evacuate during the Hayman fire, and she barked her butt off in the hotel room (and i was afraid we’d be ejected), until we put her up on the bed with us (don’t tell).
i always imagine when Winnie dreams (and her little feet are running in her sleep), she’s dreaming of her life as a Colorado mountain dog. my heart is there, too. with family and friends. with those who’ve lost their homes. and with the fire warriors, who tirelessly fight the good fight.
there’s an old farm field, a mile or so south of the town where we live. when it rains, large pools of water form in the middle of it. a frequent condition in nearly-always-drenched western Washington. i never thought there was anything extraordinary about that former pumpkin patch—until one dark night in November.
my sister, nieces and i were headed home from hospice, after a visit with my mom. along the stretch of highway between the hospital and the house, we drove with heavy hearts, in silence. suddenly, a great blue heron arose from the field, crossed in front of my windshield—lanky legs dangling in my line of vision—and headed west toward the sound. the next day, my mom passed away.
mom would have found it ironic that i believe she’s been channeled by a stunningly bright blue heron. blue was her least favorite color, an aversion that seemed totally irrational to me: i just don’t like it, she’d say emphatically. yeah, i don’t like beets, but there’s a darn good reason for that; they’re completely disgusting. it took me about 10 years to coerce her into even considering wearing blue jeans. but once she warmed up to the idea—and later in life—she rarely went out in anything else on her bottom half.
now, pink. pink was a color my mom could get behind. 
she gravitated toward all shades of pink equally. so for birthdays and holidays, i kept an eye out for pink gifts: handbags, hats, tank tops, fleece jackets, even candy (who could resist Godiva dark chocolate filled with raspberries??). whatever the season, whatever the reason, pink was in. to celebrate mom this year, i set out to make pink cupcakes loosely based on a revered childhood snack: Hostess Sno Balls. it seemed like a fitting tribute to my mom and to a now-struggling company whose treats had been the shining stars in my Twiggy lunchbox.
lesson learned: my skill sets lay in something less demanding than cupcake creation, like making pies. but i’m sharing the recipe here, for those of you who can hold on to a pastry bag and aren’t challenged by Pantone color-matching frosting. the cupcakes tasted great, but the all-natural food coloring i incorporated lost its rosy glow.
every time i drive by the old farm field, i watch for my blue heron. sometimes i see her there. like i did this mother’s day. i break into a smile and wave. and i get a little teary-eyed. but i was always kind of a sap, right, ma?
Not-So-Pretty in Pink Cupcakes
inspired by a Back in the Day Bakery recipe
a combination of chocolate cupcake and coconut frosting recipes from Joanne Chang’s flour cookbook (as i’ve said previously, an absolutely fabulous, gotta-have volume)
makes 12 moist dark chocolatey cupcakes
INGREDIENTS
for the cupcakes
2 ounces unsweetened chocolate, chopped
1/4 cup Dutch-processed cocoa powder
1 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup (1 stick) butter
1/3 cup water
1/2 cup whole organic milk
1 egg
1 egg yolk (save the egg white)
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup organic all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
for the frosting
3/4 cups sugar
3 eggs whites (use the egg white saved from the batter recipe)
3/4 cup (1 1/2 sticks) butter, at room temperature, cut into 2-inch chunks
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/8 teaspoon salt
1/3 cup coconut milk
for the topping
2 cups sweetened shredded coconut
DIRECTIONS
- place paper cupcake liners in a standard 12-cup muffin tin.
- in a medium-size heatproof bowl, combine the chocolate and the cocoa powder.
- in a small saucepan, combine the sugar, butter and water.
- over medium-high heat, whisk until the butter is melted and sugar dissolved, around 3 to 4 minutes.
- pour the hot butter mixture over the chocolate-cocoa, and whisk until the chocolate is completely melted, and the mixture is homogenous.
- then whisk the milk, egg, egg yolk and vanilla into the chocolate mixture, until thoroughly combined.
- in a small bowl, whisk the flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt.
- dump the flour mixture on top of the chocolate mixture, and whisk until the dry ingredients are completely incorporated into the chocolate mixture.
- let the batter sit at room temperature for at least an hour. or transfer to an airtight container, and store in the frig for up to three days.
- preheat the oven to 350F.
- spoon the batter into the prepared cups, dividing the batter evenly.
- bake on center rack of oven for 20 to 30 minutes, until the tops spring back.
- cool completely on a wire rack.
- to make the frosting, in a small heatproof bowl, whisk the sugar and egg whites to form a thick slurry.
- place the bowl over simmering water (should not touch the water) in a saucepan and heat, whisking occasionally, until the mixture is hot to the touch, around 6 to 8 minutes.
- remove the bowl from the heat, and scrape the mixture into the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a whip attachment.
- whip on medium-high speed for 6 to 8 minutes, or until the mixture becomes a light, white meringue, cool to the touch. (i whipped until soft peaks just began to form, which seemed to work.)
- on low speed, add the chunks of butter, a few at a time.
- increase the speed to medium, and mix for 4 to 5 minutes, or until the butter is completely incorporated; the mixture should look smooth and glossy. at first it looks as if it’s curdling, but don’t panic. just keep going until it smooths out.
- add the vanilla, salt and coconut milk, and whip until the coconut milk is completely incorporated, and the frosting is smooth. you may need to scrape the bottom of the bowl in the process.
- remove the cupcakes from the muffin tin.
- hollow the center with an apple corer, going down a little shy of 1 inch.
- fit a pastry bag with a round tip, fill the bag, then pipe the frosting into the center of the cupcakes.
- if you’re brave and have the appropriate kind of food coloring, add to the remaining frosting until you’ve achieved the appropriate shade of pink.
- for prettier cupcakes, fit the pasty bag with a star tip, refill with the pink frosting, and decorate the cakes.
- alternatively, spread the frosting on the cupcakes with an icing spatula. (i employed this method as it made the cupcakes look more like Sno Balls.)
- place the shredded coconut in a small bowl.
- gently roll the frosted cupcakes in the shredded coconut.
you crack me up, roly poly
especially after a grueling, humorless workday
i crack you up, well, because, i’m genuinely funny
you are infinitely more modest
self-sacrificing and fragile
my perfect dinner (breakfast, lunch) companion
i’ll catch you on the flip side, baby
dedicated to my dear friend, Paul, and his eggceptional chickens
yeah, Elroy thought i was talking about him, not some silly egg. sorry, dude.
Go, Dutch Baby, Go
a slight variation of a Cole Dickinson recipe, as found in the Williams-Sonoma catalog
INGREDIENTS
for topping
1 cup heavy cream
1/2 vanilla bean
2 heaping teaspoons bakers’ sugar
fresh berries
for batter
3 eggs
3/4 cup all-purpose organic flour
3/4 cup organic whole milk
3/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) organic butter
DIRECTIONS
- preheat oven to 425 F.
- in an 11-inch French skillet over medium heat, melt the butter; set aside.
- in a blender, combine the eggs, flour, milk and vanilla; mix on high until frothy, about 30 seconds (stop and scrape down the sides, if needed).
- place the skillet with the melted butter in the oven (recommend covering the handle with foil to avoid burns).
- carefully pour the batter into the hot skillet.
- bake the Dutch baby until it’s lightly browned and the sides have risen, about 15 – 18 minutes.
- while the baby is in the oven, scrape the vanilla bean into the cream and whip with the sugar until light and fluffy; set aside.
- wash/slice berries; set aside.
- remove the Dutch baby and let cool for just a few minutes; the sides will fall, so don’t get deflated.
- divide the Dutch baby into wedges, then top each with whipped cream and berries.
when i was in high school, my dad and i acted out the same scene from our family play nearly every Friday night. he’d be sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. i’d walk in and put my hand on his shoulder. hey, dad. mom’s gonna be home in about an hour. what do you want to do for dinner? any other day of the week, he’d already have something simmering on the stove. but not on Friday. dad would look up at me over his reading glasses and say, as if it were an epiphany, how about getting a pizza? my lines: that’s a great idea! what kind should we get? dad’s line: well, your mother likes anchovies. seriously? my lines: that’s gross. let’s just get them on half. then one of us would move stage left, pick up the hand set of our avocado-colored wall phone (a chic complement to our major appliances) and dial Liberty Pizza.
to me, Liberty Pizza was the closest thing to pizza heaven in the galaxy. small and local, the staff took great pride in their craft and product. on Friday nights, Liberty’s was hopping. my dad would pull up in his VW, squeezing into any space that remotely resembled a parking spot; i’d run in to pickup our large Liberty’s special. to this day, my mouth waters just thinking about it. as an undergraduate home on holiday breaks, my parents would ask, well, where would you like to go out to eat first? they’d excitedly—and predictably—suggest very nice restaurants, where we could all dress up for a night out on the town (and i would strenuously object to wearing anything but jeans). but i’d just as enthusiastically and religiously reply, Liberty’s! faces fallen, but ever-supportive, the curtain would go up on an encore performance of the family pizza play.
over the many years my parents lived in our childhood home, visits meant having a least one delicious pie from Liberty Pizza. i’ve regularly experimented with pizza recipes, but all have paled in comparison to Liberty’s. until last Friday night, when i discovered the most wonderful, the most perfect pizza dough i’ve ever eaten. the texture: crispy on the outside, soft and chewy on the inside. i topped my first effort with scant amounts of whole-milk mozzarella and thin slices of red onion, Fresno peppers and Finocchiona salami. this week, as my next batch of dough is rising, i’m roasting garlic to use as my featured topping.
perhaps i was channeling my dad. or thinking back fondly on those dad and daughter runs to Liberty’s. as mom and i used to say (giggling and simultaneously), it was definitely serendipitous. i’m dedicating this post to my friend Mary-Ellen, whose love and appreciation for family, uplifting spirit and geographic proximity to Liberty Pizza command admiration, respect and a little green envy.
No-Knead Pizza Dough
based on a Jim Lahey recipe, published in bon appetit
makes two good-size, thicker pizza crusts (if you like your pizza crust thinner, divide the dough in thirds, rather than in half and stretch!)
this dough needs to ferment for 12 – 18 hours, so plan accordingly.
UPDATE – 13 April 2012: i’ve experimented with the pizza dough recipe several times and suggest a scant 3 1/2 cups flour to make the dough easier to wrangle. volume of flour lands between the quantity recommended in bon appetit and Jim Lahey’s My Pizza cookbook.
INGREDIENTS
3 1/2 (scant) cups all-purpose, organic flour, more for dusting
1⁄4 teaspoon active dry yeast
2 teaspoons sea salt
1 1⁄2 cups water
corn meal
olive oil
DIRECTIONS
- very lightly coat a medium-size bowl with olive oil; set aside.
- in the bowl of a stand mixer, hand-whisk the the flour, yeast and salt. alternatively, mix everything together for steps 2 and 3 in a large bowl with your hands or with a silicon spoon. just easier for me with the stand mixer.
- with the dough hook attachment in place, add the water and mix until the dough comes together. it will be extremely sticky and seem, well, unseemly for dough. be careful not to overwork it.
- gather the dough and place in the oiled bowl.
- cover the bowl with plastic wrap and let rest for 12 – 18 hours at a room temperature of 72°.
- when the dough’s surface is covered with bubbles (mine had large and small) and it has doubled in bulk, transfer it to a lightly floured work surface; sprinkle the top of the dough with flour.
- gently shape the dough into a rectangle.
- divide the dough in half; keep one half of the dough covered with plastic wrap, until you’re ready to work with it.
- take one half of the dough and fold each of the four corners into the center.
- with the seam side down, gently form into a ball, and dust with flour.
- repeat with the other half of the dough.
- cover each ball with plastic wrap and let rest at room temperature (72°) for 1 – 2 hours.
- while the dough is rising, preheat oven to 475°.
- sprinkle a large baking sheet lightly with corn meal; set aside.
- very gently shape one of the balls into a 12-inch disc, preserving as many of the bubbles as possible.
- place the dough on the baking sheet and stretch into desired shape. the dough will likely be more abstract/oblong than round.
- drizzle olive oil lightly over dough, then cover with the toppings of your choice.
- bake until bottom and top are golden brown, around 15 minutes.
- repeat with remaining dough.
yesterday, i received a catalog in the mail, its cover splashed with a single photo of dark purple lilacs. i thought the arrival of that catalog could not have been more perfect. closing my eyes, i could almost smell the unmistakable fragrance, as real as it was in my childhood backyard.
1927 family portrait: mom, grandma and grandpa
my mom adored her lilacs. she maintained three huge, stately bushes in our suburban heaven. every spring, when the lilacs bloomed, i found her near them. hovering and, what i perceived as, hugging them (well, i said, that’s what it looked like to me). let’s just say we were both elated to stand in the bushes’ presence.
mom would strategically clip lilacs from each cherished bush, and we’d inhale their sweetness as we carried them into the house. choosing just the right vase, she’d skillfully arrange them. then, stand back with a tilted head to assess her handiwork. finally, she’d look back at me and say, what do you think? i’d enthusiastically nod my head in approval. yay!
today marks what would have been my mom’s 90th birthday. even as a writer, i’m at a loss to articulate how much i miss her. what i can say is that my memories of her and of our adventures together are even more vivid, more deeply etched as the days go by. yeah, that could just be my advancing age, but that’s another story entirely.
so, here’s to you, little bird. may today—and every day—be carefree. i expect you and daddy will be gliding across that dance floor tonight. love you forever.
