You can’t see the tree for the forest: Ginny’s Chicken Cheddar Chowder

Here’s a tune for our friends who love dogs and for the dogs who love our friends, compliments of Ginny, the ultimate dog lover. If you receive this post from Marla in the Kitchen, rather than an email from me, click on the post title, “You can’t see the tree”  and you will be taken to the blog’s website where YouTube videos can be played.

Some of our family dogs. See, we don’t need a dog of our own, we have plenty. 

From left to right: Lucy, Susie, Palouse, Gracie, Jack, Rusty, Bayer, Gina, Riva, Arthur, and Louie.




Anyways, back to life in Chicago. Once again, we have a minor medical mishap and no bandaids. But without a car, a quick trip to the drugstore is out of the question. I can see a Walgreen’s sign from the hotel window, so it can’t be far. iPhone and I head out the door and turn left on Grand. The blue Google Maps arrow dances around, finally resting at “left on Michigan” and we’re off. 

What? “right on Rush”? I don’t see any “Rush.” (I figured out today that at every other downtown Chicago intersection, the street sign faces the opposite direction of the one before. So if you are lost, just go to the middle of the street, turn around, pause, and look up. If you don’t get run over, you can see what street you’re on.) My Google choices are to climb up two flights of stairs (to who knows where) or to walk straight on, through a dark underpass. I choose the stairs, climb up toward the light, stepping away from the herd once to catch my breath, and reach a beautiful courtyard plaza and an open, blue sky. Photo-worthy, but where’s Walgreen’s? The building front is old and ornate, farmer’s produce stands line the courtyard, statues grace the perimeter, someone is installing a skating rink, selfie-taking abounds. All very cool, but where’s Walgreen’s?

I sit down on a bench, pondering my options. Pulsing blue orb has replaced dancing arrow, so I’ve gotta be close. Then I notice walkers with Walgreen’s sacks coming out of the first floor of that old, ornate building in the middle of the plaza. Ta Da! Walgreen’s is inside the famous Wrigley Building, who knew? Chicago, your secret is safe with me.

We are camp cooking again: this time, it’s with two small burners and a microwave. Can Mr. Coffee vegetables be far behind? As for kitchen equipment: three cheap stainless steel pans (certain to burn everything), no peeler, no grater, one knife, no cutting board—but there is a sink. Everything has to be one-pot: one pot pasta, sautéed chicken breasts, pork chops, or soup—forget anything stuffed, pounded, or having more than three ingredients. TJ’s is two blocks away, so look for microwaved brown rice, pre-made polenta, cooked chicken strips, and the occasional steak. Last night we had a passable creamy broccoli, potato, cheesy (enough good cheddar makes anything taste better) soup, similar to Ginny’s Chicken Cheddar Chowder, and a pre-made TJ’s spinach salad. 

Mario Batali’s amazing (but outrageously expensive), two-story Italian supermarket, Eataly, is a block away. So, for the cost of a vacation in Sicily, we can have burrata, arancini, truffled risotto, Lidia Bastianich’s spaghetti sauce with house-made pasta, dry-aged New York steaks, veal chops, and “rustic bread.” But Eataly is a post for another time.

Chicken Cheddar Chowder

  • 1 cup cooked chicken pieces (one sautéed, raw, diced, chicken breast, chicken pieces from roasted chicken, or canned chicken breast.)
  • 4 ounces bacon, chopped 
  • 2 tablespoons olive oil
  • 1 large sweet onion, diced 
  • 1 tablespoons butter 
  • 1 tablespoon flour 
  • 1/2 teaspoon salt 
  • 1/4 teaspoon black pepper 
  • 4 cups chicken stock 
  • 1  cup diced potatoes
  • 1/2 cup corn kernels, fresh or frozen
  • 1/2 cup half-and-half 
  • 4 ounces sharp white Cheddar cheese, grated

In a stockpot over medium heat, cook the bacon and olive oil until the bacon fat is rendered, about 5 minutes. Remove the bacon with a slotted spoon and reserve. 

If you are using an uncooked skinless, boneless chicken breast, cut raw breast into cubes. Sauté in rendered bacon fat until cooked through. Remove and reserve. 

Add the onions and butter to the bacon fat, and cook for 10 minutes, until the onions are translucent. 

Stir in the flour, salt, pepper and cook for 3 minutes. Add the chicken stock and potatoes, bring to a boil, and simmer uncovered for 15 minutes, until the potatoes are tender.

If using fresh corn, cut the kernels off the cob and blanch them for 3 minutes in boiling salted water. Drain. (If using frozen corn you can skip this step.) Add the corn, cooked chicken pieces to the soup, then add the half-and-half and grated Cheddar. 

Cook for 5 more minutes, until the cheese is melted. Season to taste with salt and pepper. 

Serve with a garnish of bacon. 

Posted in Travel | 3 Comments

Big city girl

If you received this new post as an email from Marla in the Kitchen, listen to Chicago by clicking on the post title, “Big city girl.” You’ll be redirected to the blog’s website where YouTube videos can be played.

We’re getting used to living in downtown Chicago. The background din has softened; the audible impatience of a honk, the hum of too many cars, and the urgency of intermittent sirens are all blending in. If I open the window of our 11th floor room, the sound is harshly symphonic—both intrusive and soothing; close the window and I am hermetically sealed. When I step out into the streets, I become part of the beehive swarm and the noise is manageable.

The view out of our window

We don’t have a clock in our room, but we do have the Wrigley Building’s clock tower. How cool is that!

Here we are.

I’ve never lived downtown in a big city before. Here are a few impressions from this small-city rube.

  • The majority of pedestrians are under 30, dressed in black-casual (if you want to stick out on the streets of downtown Chicago, wear a bright color), carrying backpacks. The stereotypical “old”, bent over a walker, doesn’t exist. Chicago “grays” stride with purpose in stylish sneakers, wear black, and carry backpacks—maybe it’s survival of the fittest.
  • There are few noticeably overweight people walking on the sidewalks. Again, natural selection at work, I assume.
  • Oncoming pedestrians don’t move to the side. Shoulder brushes, met at home with a murmured apology, are run of the mill (no offense given/no offense taken) encounters. 
  • Street birds are scruffy and sad.
  • Pre-made, grocery-store food, whether from Whole Foods or 7-Eleven, is mediocre.
  • Don’t be fooled by a sunny day—if it’s after Halloween, it’s cold.
  • Chicago pedestrians don’t wait for the walking man’s go-ahead light to cross the street and they don’t hesitate to jay walk. Chicago police have meaner fish to fry.
  • Big-city hotel rooms are small.
West Park neighborhood
Fannie May, Dearborn Street
Divvy, Chicago’s bike share program
This week’s edition of “You Had To Be There”
Don’t assume it’s about you: 
I walk through the door of After Words, a Seattle-style, independent book store. I am the only customer. A city hipster, sitting behind the check-out desk sporting a scruffy beard and knit watch cap, is reading David Foster Wallace’s latest book and doesn’t look up. I browse a bit: sci-fi, young adult, philosophy, a few New York Times’ Best Sellers. I notice steps leading downstairs. “What’s downstairs?” “More books,” said hipster, not looking up from his book. 
Hmph, more books, indeed. Found a collection of Alice Munro stories, approach hipster to pay, “Sorry, didn’t mean to ignore you,” he beamed. “I’m having a hard time getting through this one.”
Posted in Travel | 4 Comments

Three nights, three beds: Chicago-style hot dog

If you received this new post as an email from Marla in the Kitchen, listen to Frank Sinatra by clicking on the post title, “Three nights, three beds.” You’ll be redirected to the blog’s website where YouTube videos can be played

It was a dark and stormy night when we left our heroine tied to a moving truck, with her Sweetie far, far away. The large white truck did show up on Wednesday; three small, but wirey, Russians did move all her possessions from two storage units; the Sweetie did gallop in from Chicago on Friday night to her rescue; the happy couple did spend Saturday night in their new house, in their own bed, surrounded by boxes; they did catch the Sunday noon flight back to Chicago; she did learn how to wire transfer funds and she didn’t lock all the pertinent keys in the car. All in all, the move was a huge success.

My middle-of-the-night yips starring no-show trucks, lost keys, misplaced documents, and doors that refused to open didn’t materialize—however, the movers were two hours late and it rained off and on all day. Two of the guys spoke no English (except, “Excuse me…?”), but they set everything up, stacked all the boxes in the garage, took their shoes off every time they walked in the door, and worked politely, swiftly, and efficiently from 4:00-10:00. The move took at least twice as long as I thought it would, cost twice as much as I thought it would, and was more difficult than I imagined. As I said in July, if you’re thinking of moving, reconsider.

Chicago is a hoot: deep dish pizza or hot dogs tonight at the Hotel Allerton’s Tip Top Tap at the Sweetie’s meet and mingle, so all’s well that ends well. 

The Tip Top Tap in the 100 year-old Allerton Hotel

Bloomingdales’s on Michigan Ave

La Salle Street, River North

Thought I would add a short Chicago feature, “You had to be there.”

Honking does not necessarily result in forward motion: a fortyish woman walks across the street, struggling with a large box, her carry-all purse slipping off her shoulder. She steps up her pace to cross before the walking-man light turns into the orange hand. A long, impatient honk blatts from behind the privacy windows of an imposing, black SUV. Fortyish woman stops in the middle of the street, puts the box down, adjusts her purse, turns around, hands-on-her-hips, to face the SUV, and says, “Really?”

Chicago-style hot dog, “dragged through the garden”

  • all-beef hot dog
  • 1 poppyseed hot dog bun 
  • 1 tablespoon yellow mustard 
  • 1 tablespoon sweet green (bright green, if possible) pickle relish
  • 1 tablespoon chopped onion
  • chopped tomato
  • 1 dill pickle spear
  • 2 sport peppers 
  • celery salt

Place hot dog in the steamed bun. Pile on the toppings in this order: yellow mustard, sweet green pickle relish, onion, chopped tomato, pickle spear, sport peppers, and celery salt. The tomatoes should be nestled between the hot dog and the top of the bun. Place the pickle between the hot dog and the bottom of the bun. Shake celery salt over everything. Don’t even think about using ketchup.

BTW, not only is winter right around the corner, tomorrow is the end of daylight savings time. As a New Yorker piece said, “At 2:01 on the first Sunday in November, the clock is turned back an hour; in an instant, “now” becomes “then”, and we live sixty minutes all over again.”

Posted in Recipes, Travel | 3 Comments

The Move

If you received this new post as an email from Marla in the Kitchen, listen to Carole King by clicking on the post title, “The Move.” You’ll be redirected to the blog’s website where YouTube videos can be played.

Here we go, ready or not. After three months of couch surfing, wandering, and renting—our new house is ready, papers have been signed, and the move is on. The Sweetie is working in Chicago, squeezed into a tiny downtown hotel room, washing his clothes at the Laundromat, hunting for food, and picking out his own tie. I’m home, wrangling funds transfers, storage units, and packing boxes. 

We were in our thirties when we met, both independent, hard-working, and individually involved with our families and friends. We had separate lives, separate bank accounts, and separate living spaces. We combined resources, moved to Los Angeles, and began a forty-year relationship. Over the years, we have settled into more traditional roles: I am the nurturer, Sweetie is the decider. It makes more sense for me to cook (I know how), I don’t mind cleaning, I fold a mean fitted sheet, and I truly enjoy taking care of our home. Sweetie has a good mind for financial details, prepares our taxes, takes care of the cars, and knows his way around a tool-box. 

So, we have become specialists—each proficient in our chosen field. I am glad he wants to drive, set the agenda, and take care of the details. Unfortunately, for the past fifteen years, I haven’t paid that much attention to his part of our equation. I day dream when we’re in the car, my mind blurs when he talks about Vanguard, I don’t always remember which credit card to use, and I have no idea how to wire transfer funds. Well, the jig is up, it’s time for me to pay the piper, face the music, and get this move moved. 

The process as a whole is impossible. How can I possibly stay on top of the myriad financial details that accompany an enormous purchase, keep track of all the keys, and wrangle three big strong movers without my partner? How in the world can I move every item we possess from one reality to another? Using one of my favorite quotes from one of my favorite books, “Bird by bird, buddy, bird by bird.” (Anne Lamott, “Bird by Bird”) 

Posted in Family and friends | 5 Comments

Me and the Blue Whale: Enchilada sauce

As soon as we got off the elevator, the smell was unmistakable—bad shrimp, old fish sticks, and rotten crab cakes, with just a hint of room-temperature lobster tails. As we walked into the restaurant’s kitchen, a murky leak coming from beneath the large commercial freezer in the prep area confirmed my worst fears. My first week in the Los Angeles Pacific Design Center’s Blue Whale was not off to a good start. 

Pacific Design Center 

The Blue Whale building

My new job as kitchen manager at a corporate, Mexican-ish restaurant came with a a good salary, health benefits, and a regular 7:00 am-6:00 pm, Monday through Friday, work week. I liked the front manager, knew I could improve the bland, American-Mexican menu, and thought I could turn the tightly knit, subtly hostile, kitchen staff into allies. I had never worked with pre-battered, boxed, seafood (thawed and deep-fried into submission), and frozen vegetables, so I started there. Using my old Border Grill contacts, I ordered local produce and fresh seafood and by Friday, the walk-in was filled with tomatillos, cactus paddles, Ortega chiles, fresh mahi mahi, sturgeon, and oysters, ready to shine on my revised menu. 

Eager to organize the kitchen, I tackled the walk-in freezer trying to find the profitable and create order. On Friday night, I set the white elephant in the room to “Defrost”, turned off the kitchen, and went home. I expected to come in on Sunday, plan the week’s menu around the usable, and throw out the rest. But defrost apparently meant off, and by the time I returned, all the food in the freezer had melted into a smelly, lukewarm, mess. 

The Sweetie (drafted into service) and I spent the day scooping food into garbage bags, pushbrooming sludge toward the drain, and swabbing the kitchen. It took us well into evening, but eventually, we shoved all the dripping bags down the garbage chute, Lysoled the floors and hallway, and hosed down the freezer. 

The menu stayed the same (corporate food czars said, “No input is necessary from you”), I learned to live with the fried and the frozen, the food didn’t get much better, and most of the kitchen staff remained subtly hostile. I only lasted five months but one of my allies did give me his Mom’s recipe for enchilada sauce.

Enchilada Sauce 

  • 2-3 T. oil 
  • ½ onion, fine-dice
  • 2 T. garlic  
  • ½ tsp. salt 
  • 1 t. cumin 
  • 1 t. oregano 
  • 5 T. chili powder  
  • 1 tsp. chipotle chili powder 
  • 1 T. flour 
  • 1 cup tomato sauce or jarred salsa 
  • 3 c. chicken stock or water 
  • 1 T. sugar 
  • 2 drops Liquid Smoke 

Sauté onion and garlic in oil. Add salt, chili powders, cumin, and oregano, sauté until spices are browned and onions are soft. Add flour, sauté until well mixed. 

Add tomato sauce, and stock or water. Simmer 15-20 minutes or until smooth and glossy. If you have a hand blender, use it to blend the enchilada sauce. Otherwise, use a regular blender, no need to strain. You may wish to thin the sauce more, so use either water or stock.  

Posted in Recipes, Restaurants | 3 Comments

Cooking without fire

If you received this new post as an email from Marla in the Kitchen, listen to The Doors by clicking on the post title, “Cooking without fire.” You’ll be redirected to the blog’s website where YouTube videos can be played.


You don’t need a designer kitchen with a Miele refrigerator and a Wolf range to produce tasty food. One of my favorite food memories is sharing a loaf of bread, a roll of salami, a wedge of brie, and a Hershey bar with my kids while sitting on a driftwood log at KVI beach. Granted, the lack of a knife meant tearing off a hunk of Bill bread, gnawing on the roll of salami, and scooping an ooze of brie, but the meal was perfect. 

I’ve cooked in commercial kitchens from Stratton’s 6’x8′ stainless steel closet, to a slightly larger Border Grill box, to the 1984 LA Olympics commissary kitchen, housed in the cavernous Hughes aircraft plant. Some of our home kitchens have also been less than fabulous. As a new bride, I lived in a converted chicken coop that had a toilet in the kitchen, discretely surrounded by a ceiling-hung, flamingo-themed, shower curtain. 

Then there was the Cove Motel with its unique “kitchen work triangle.” In this triangle, the stove was in one corner of a huge square room, the sink was in the opposite corner, and the refrigerator was out on the back porch. On Strathmore Avenue in Los Angeles, the kitchen was so small, I could touch the stove, the refrigerator, and the sink without moving. I could also, without moving, open the screenless window and toss a garbage bag from our second floor apartment into the dumpster below. (The apartment manager chastised me one afternoon after I tossed a bag of raw chicken scraps out the window, missing the dumpster and nearly hitting him.)  

Anyways, our current kitchen has granite countertops, teak wood floors, and plenty of cupboards; but no stove, no dishwasher, only two working electric outlets, and a refrigerator that opens halfway. I’ve prepared melty cheese sandwiches, tomato sauce (thanks to “As Seen on TV” copper sheets), and pizza, as well as chicken, fish, and steaks on the outdoor Weber. I grilled peaches for a peach, ricotta cheese, prosciutto salad, made “cowboy caviar” (black beans, diced tomatoes, corn, and cilantro), cooked pasta in the microwave, and stir-fried Thai noodles in an electric skillet. 

But my favorite came straight from TJ’s freezer section: frozen brown rice mixed with “Multigrain Blend with Vegetables” (both zapped in the mw) topped with diced avocado, chopped tomatoes, boiled egg (see recipe below), and served with a whisk of Greek-style yogurt, tahini, garlic, lemon, and Sriracha. This no-fire Buddha bowl is the gourmet version of my favorite quick lunch: brown rice, jarred salsa, and yogurt. 

Then there’s coffee pot cuisine: fill the machine with chicken stock instead of water, run the cycle into a Cup O’ Noodles bowl, add diced tofu, and ¡Viola!, ramen soup. Or how about this: put eggs into the coffee carafe, run a cycle of hot water through the filter, and let it sit on the heat for 5-8 minutes—boiled eggs. And don’t forget your vegetables: fill the coffee machine basket half full of raw broccoli, run the cycle twice (or until done to your taste), and—a nicely steamed side dish. I read about a dorm rat who made grilled cheese sandwiches with her clothes iron and bacon with her curling iron, so the possibilities are endless, if messy. 

So, man up, fire is for kitchen sissies—claim your microwave, celebrate your Mr. Coffee, and if you’re flush with cash—buy a fancy toaster oven or a George Forman. BTW, the coffee machine’s heat element makes an acceptable piece of toast. It has to be round and may take a while, but we fireless cooks are in no hurry.


Posted in Family and friends, Rants and Raves | 1 Comment

There will be blood: City Restaurant Tandoori Chicken

If you received this new post as an email from Marla in the Kitchen, listen to Tom Petty below by clicking on the post title, “There will be blood.” You’ll be redirected to the blog’s website where YouTube videos can be played

We’ll miss your music, Tom Petty

Our temporary rental is fully furnished—comfortable leather couch, stylish side chairs, dining room table, cozy bed, dishes, etc. However, there are a few things missing. There is no stove or cooktop (a refrigerator-sized wine cooler has replaced the oven), no dishwasher, no working vacuum cleaner; there are no top sheets (the landlord is Danish—”Danes don’t use top sheets”) and the kitchen is missing a few tools. There was no can opener (now in Ina Garten’s world this may not have mattered), no sieve, (how in the world do you get the lumps out?) and no vegetable peeler.


A new peeler might not spell disaster in your world, but I was blithely peeling a cucumber when I peeled the tip, with attached fingernail, off the ring finger on my left hand. Restaurant rule #2 came to mind, “Don’t bleed in the food” and I pinched what remained of the tip tightly with my thumb. Also missing in our furnished apartment were bandaids. I wrapped a kitchen towel around the offending finger and we drove quickly to Bartell’s on 6th Avenue, managing to leave only a few drops of blood on their floor. BTW, if you are going to peel off a finger tip, choose the ring finger on your left hand—aside from holding your ring on, it’s relatively useless.

This somewhat self-absorbed tale is an introduction to the larger theme of restaurant kitchen dangers. Dealing with cut fingertips, thumbs, and palms comes naturally to restaurant cooks, as does burns, scalds, and being on the receiving end of a heavy, falling, object. There are a million stories of blood in the kitchen, here are three.

1. When I started on the grill at Trumps in 1983 (there is no connection to POTUS, the name Trump had not yet been ruined), it was my first job in the controlled chaos of a trendy, high-end Los Angeles restaurant kitchen. Stratton’s was smaller, formal, and intimidating but it was ruled by kind-hearted (mostly) but tightly-wound, Dennis. Michael Roberts ran a French-influenced, strict, disciplined operation and took no prisoners, so I danced as fast as I could to keep up.

As grill chef, I was responsible for the mesquite fire under the 50 pound grill grate. Started too early, the coals faded; started too late, there were only flames and big trouble for me when service started. One night, the heat was just right but I was in the weeds: six steaks, five chicken breasts, four racks of lamb, two lobsters, and a foie gras on the grill with more orders waiting on the Remanco. One of the smoldering coals popped, sending a burning ember down the front of my coat and into my bra. I yelped, stepped back, shook out the hot cinder, and was back in action before Chef started to yell. I still have the scar and never wore a bra in the kitchen again. 

2. Andre, City Restaurant’s newest turnstile CIA intern, stood by the industrial blender while I showed him how to finish the horseradish coulis. We sautéed the shallots and mushrooms until soft and golden, glazed the pan with wine, grated the horseradish root, added and reduced the cream and were ready to smooth the whole mess into a sauce. The commercial Robot Coupe, able to turn old shoes into a creamy paste, was bolted to the counter to prevent liftoff. Andre poured the hot sauce into the jar, screwed it tightly onto the base, and waited for me to set the lid on top. At that moment, Fish Guy finally came through the back door with our seafood order. As I turned to yell at him for being late, Andre pushed the blend button, and the contents of the blender shot out of the unattached lid, covering Andre’s right side from head to toe with a hot, lumpy sheen. He blistered slightly and, I’m ashamed to say, my first words to him were, “You are going to finish your shift though, right?”
3. One of the unique details of the City Restaurant kitchen was the Indian tandoor oven. The tandoor, fired with charcoal, produced chicken, beef, lamb, and chicken skewers, and naan bread. To cook naan bread, the cook brushed clarified butter from a tall, round soup inset onto each side of the flat dough, dipped one arm into a bucket of ice water, stuck his arm down the tandoor’s round hole, and slapped the bread along the wall of the 800° oven. Needless to say, no one who worked the tandoor had any hair on their left arm. 
One night a grill cook from Spago, interested in learning about tandoor ovens, was working the line with Dennis, City’s sous chef. Neither was used to sharing the grill space, so there was bumping and jostling. Spago guy tipped the clarified butter directly into the tandoor hole—the oven erupted, shooting chicken bits, naan bread, skewers, and lumps of charcoal all the way down the line to the startled pantry cook. No one died, but there were plenty of singed eyebrows, fried bangs, and crisp beard hairs. The bar patrons, watching the live feed from the Kitchen Cam on the bar TV, cheered and hollered for more. 
City Restaurant Tandoori Chicken 
1 4-5 pound cut up roaster or individual chicken breasts and legs 
Yogurt marinade: 
Add to blender:
  • 3 T. garlic
  • 3 T. fresh ginger
  • 1 t. chili powder
  • 2 tablespoons Spice mix (cumin/cardamom/coriander mix)
  • 1/2 tsp. turmeric
  • 1/2 tsp. salt
  • 1/4 tsp. cayenne
  • 1 c. yogurt 
  • Spice mix: Roast 1/4 c. cumin seeds, 1/4 c. whole cardamom seeds, and 1/4 c. coriander seeds in sauté pan over medium heat, shaking pan constantly to avoid burning. When you can see wisps of smoke coming off the spices, remove from heat, let cool and whiz in spice blender. I have at least two coffee grinders with missing parts that work perfectly as spice grinders. 

Blend until smooth. 

Tandoori chicken: 

Coat chicken pieces well with marinade and refrigerate overnight. Remove chicken from refrigerator 2-3 hours before cooking. 

Heat oven to 450 degrees. 

Remove chicken from marinade and shake off any excess marinade. Discard leftover marinade. 

Place chicken pieces on rack placed in a sheet pan or tray. Cook chicken for ten minutes, turn pieces over and cook for 5 minutes more. 

Squeeze fresh lemon juice on chicken pieces and serve with basmati rice. 

You can also grill the chicken—5-10 minutes per side.

Posted in Chefs, Recipes, Restaurants | 2 Comments

Seabeck Succotash: Poached pears with cardamom and saffron

At twenty, Beth was a good cook and nearing sixty, she’s an even better one. She went to Evergreen College for a few years and followed her interest in plants to a job at the Looking Glass Gardens, a degree in Horticulture at the U. of Washington, a job at Seattle City Light, and eventually a thirty-year stint at the Seattle Center. We have cooked for each other during all those years and I can say that there was never a dud from Beth’s kitchen. Her food is well-cooked, perfectly seasoned, and beautifully presented. 

This year she and her husband hosted the annual Succotash event at their Hood Canal house, where charm is abundant, views are spectacular, but the kitchen can be challenging. Regardless of the culinary surroundings, this year’s menu, from Yotam Ottolenghi’s Jerusalem, was a stunner. His Middle Eastern recipes emphasize bold, clean flavors, call for fresh produce and herbs, and require plenty of mincing, chopping, squeezing, dicing, and sautéing.

We ate too much, drank just enough, stayed til the summer sun was gone, told many tales, and had a wonderful time.

Fava bean kuku


Rice pilaf

Bean and red pepper salad


Poached Pears With Cardamom And Saffron, from Yotam Ottolenghi’s Jerusalem

  • 1/2 tablespoon cardamom pods
  • 2 cups dry white wine
  • 3/4 cup sugar
  • 1 1/2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
  • 1/4 teaspoon saffron threads
  • Pinch of kosher salt
  • 4 firm pears, peeled, stems intact
  • 1 6-ounce container crème fraîche

Gently crush cardamom with a rolling pin or the bottom of a skillet to slightly crack open pods without releasing seeds.  

Combine cardamom, wine, sugar, lemon juice, saffron, and salt in a medium saucepan over medium heat, stirring until sugar dissolves. Bring to a simmer. Add pears; add water if needed to completely submerge pears. Cover with lid slightly ajar and simmer, turning occasionally, until pears are tender but not mushy, about 30 minutes.

Using a slotted spoon, transfer pears to a plate. Increase heat and boil poaching liquid until reduced to 1 cup, 10–15 minutes. Can be made 8 hours ahead. 

Cover and refrigerate pears. Let syrup stand at room temperature. Rewarm syrup before continuing. 

Spoon some of syrup over cold or room-temperature pears. Serve with a dollop of crème fraîche; pass remaining syrup.

Fava bean kuku

“This frittata-like dish is characteristic of the Iranian Jewish cuisine. Barberries, another typical ingredient, are tiny sharp berries. Try looking for them online or in specialist Middle Eastern and Iranian shops, otherwise substitute with chopped up dried sour cherries. Serve this as a starter with Yoghurt and cucumber.” Yotam Ottolenghi’s Jerusalem

  • 1 pound fava or broad beans, fresh or frozen
  • 5 tbsp olive oil
  • 2 medium onions, finely chopped
  • 4 garlic cloves, crushed
  • 6 medium eggs
  • 1 Tbsp flour
  • 1/2 tsp baking powder
  • 2 tbsp sugar
  • 1 tbsp fresh dill, chopped
  • 1 tbsp fresh mint, chopped
  • 1/2 tsp saffron threads dissolved in 1 Tbsp water
  • 1/4 cup dried cherries
  • 3 tbsp crème fraîche or plain Greek-style yogurt
  • salt and black pepper

Bring 4 cups of water to a boil, season with salt then add fava beans. Cook covered for 5 minutes if fresh, or 8 minutes if frozen. Drain fava beans in a colander.

Sauté diced onion and minced garlic in olive oil until translucent. Set aside. 

In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs, flour, baking powder, sugar, dill, mint, saffron and its water, salt and pepper. Once smooth, fold in the cherries, crème fraîche, and onion mix.

To the egg flour mixture add cooked fava beans and sautéed onion. Mix well.

Grease oven proof dish with olive oil, then add the batter. Bake for 30 minutes or until done.

Serves 6.


Posted in Uncategorized | 3 Comments

Adventures at the Faire: Onion burgers, Scones

If you received this new post as an email from Marla in the Kitchen, listen to Grace Slick below by clicking on the post title, “Adventures at the Faire.” You’ll be redirected to the blog’s website where YouTube videos can be played

With apologies to Lewis Carroll

I was sitting on a curb in Puyallup, when a black and white, googly-eyed cow wearing white fur gloves and a black matador’s hat ran by me crying, “Oh dear, oh dear, she’ll have me executed.” Having dozed off while day-dreaming in the sun, it took precious minutes before I could rouse myself and follow him.

Looking at the Smart watch on his front hoof, he said “Hurry, we’re late, we’re late. This is the last day of the fair, and the pickle judging is almost over.” And with that, he hopped on a red scooter and disappeared through a hole in the chain link fence.

Without considering the consequences, I followed him through the fence hole and along a long, green tunnel, when suddenly we were falling down a very deep well. He landed first, brushed off his blue waistcoat, and hurried away, leaving me to consider my predicament. I jumped up, looked around, and saw his tail disappear into a small room with a three-legged table full of craft beers and Strawberritas beautifully marked “DRINK ME” in cursive along one side and a three-legged table with onion burgers, Krusty pups, and raspberry scones on which were spelled “EAT ME” in currants along the other side.

Although I felt the urgency of Cow’s mission, the onion burger called to me and I took a bite. Feeling a bit smaller, I stretched up on tiptoes and helped myself to a raspberry scone. 


Licking the last crumb off the scone paper, I scurried to catch up and saw Cow walk into the Farm Animal barn and hide among the other cows. Bossie, the Goth Guernsey with tattooed ears, a headband, and a nose ring, gave him up for a salt block and a ticket to the rodeo, gesturing toward the show ring with her large white head.

“Have you seen a Holstein in a blue waistcoat?”,  I asked Doorgirl sitting on a long, brown Hereford table consulting her magic tablet.

“He rounded the corner and caught a ride on the flying elephants”, she said.

“Curiouser and curiouser”, I thought as Cow whirled through the blue sky on his big, pink elephant. “But Cow”, I shouted, “Where are you going?”

“I’m on my way to see the Red Queen”, he said. “But first, we must get permission from Soothsayer. Follow me.” He dismounted with a triple SowCow, skinning one knee, then scootered on, while I followed on my white horse. 

We secured our steeds, stood in front of the mysterious yellow bird, and looked at him in silence. Taking the hookah out of his mouth, he bubbled to us in a languid, sleepy voice, “Who are you?”


“This is Dora, I’m Cow and we want to see the Red Queen”, Cow said firmly.

Dora.jpg  Cow.jpg

“A magic carpet is your best bet, but beware the Jabberwolk“, Soothsayer replied. So I chose a pink carpet, Cow chose a blue one and, in the time it took to say “Oh frabjous day, calooh callay”, we glided to a stop in front of the Red Queen’s throne.


The Red Queen stepped down imperiously onto the ground in front of Dora and Cow. Spiderman, SpongeBob, and Hello Kitty soldiers quickly surrounded her and lifted her onto their shoulders. The Red Queen shouted, “Off with their heads!”, in a thunderous voice and pointed her royal scepter directly at us.


“But wait, wait!”, said Cow, “We know who won the pickle judging!”

“Hold your tongue until you’re spoken to!”, screamed the Red Queen. Then, she leaned down and whispered, “So…which pickle is it?”

“It’s the Nelson dill, from Pe El…or Doty”, said Cow.


“Splendid”, said the Red Queen. “The morning line had him at 5-1 and I made a bundle, so we’re done. Back to your humdrum lives and, as a reward for your efforts, choose a jam from the display.”

Cow chose a Duncan peach marmalade, I picked out a Goebel figgy plum ginger (surreptitiously slipping a jar of Pringle tomato jam into my pocket), and we wandered off to ride the ferris wheel.

Onion burgers

  • 2 pounds ground beef
  • 1/2 teaspoon Lawry’s seasoning salt 
  • 1/2 cup grated sharp Cheddar, divided
  • 4 sesame seed hamburger buns, lightly toasted
  • Lettuce leaves
  • Sliced tomatoes
  • Caramelized Onions, recipe follows
  • Sriracha mayonnaise: Stir ample drops of Sriracha into Best Foods mayo 

Season ground beef in large bowl and shape into 4 balls. Poke deep hole in each ball and fill each with 1 1/2 tablespoons of cheese. Mold meat around cheese to enclose. Flatten each filled burger to 3/4-inch-thick patty.

Grill burgers to desired doneness, about 5 minutes per side for medium.

Place burgers on bottom halves of buns, squirt with Sriracha mayonnaise. Top with lettuce, tomatoes, caramelized onions and upper halves of buns.

Caramelized Onions:

  • 2 yellow onions
  • 2 tablespoons butter
  • 1/2 salt

Peel and slice onions into 1/2″ rounds. Melt butter into skillet, add onions and salt. Sauté over medium low heat, stirring occasionally for 10-15 minutes or until soft and brown.

Ginny’s Scones

  • 2 cups flour
  • 3 Tbs. sugar
  • 1 tsp. salt
  • Tbs. baking powder
  • ½ cup cold butter (1 stick cut into ½” pieces)
  • ½ cup dried currants
  • 1 egg
  • ¾ cup milk or half and half
  • Glaze of 1 egg and 1 Tbs. sugar

Preheat oven to 350˚. In a food processor or large mixing bowl, combine flour, sugar, salt, and baking powder. Cut in butter until mixture in crumbly. Stir in currants or nuts if desired.

Beat egg with milk and add all at once to flour mixture. Process or stir just until mixture comes together in a sticky mass. Transfer mixture to a work table and knead briefly to form dough.

Divide dough in half and pat each half into a 5” circle. Cut each circle into six wedges and arrange wedges on an ungreased baking sheet. Brush, if desired, with beaten egg and sugar. Bake on thee uppermost rack of the oven to 12 minutes or until golden brown.

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Before the fall: Lamb stew

 If you received this new post as an email from Marla in the Kitchen, listen to Willie and Frank below by clicking on the post title, “Before the fall.” You’ll be redirected to the blog’s website where YouTube videos can be played.

There seems to be a specific moment in mid to late September when the season shifts from summer to fall. The light is golden, spider webs hang in every corner, the air is sharp on the intake, and in the morning you find leaves floating in the bird bath. Then back-to-school supplies are everywhere, Costco brings out the Christmas wrapping paper, you can’t find a bathing suit or shorts, and you know for sure that summer is not going to last. Autumn is my favorite season, although October makes me sad—must be those Frank Sinatra songs about days dwindling down and leaves drifting by the window. 

Siskiyou County, Oregon

Even though I’m far past school age, the end of August brings with it the teeniest bit of childhood angst, then I remember that I don’t have to go back to school. The earliest memory I have is that of being taken down the alley behind our house (my inner child says “dragged”) to Kindergarten kicking and screaming every step of the way. When she dropped me off at Mrs. Henkie’s door Muth promised, “You stay here, I’ll be right back.” Forty-five years later I brought up this betrayal to Muth, but she wouldn’t have any part of it. “I did come back,” she insisted. 

My reluctance to be educated went on on for several weeks and finally Muth threatened, “All right then, don’t go to school. But you’ll have to stay in your room.” Music to my ears Brer Fox, but three days later, we were back to the drag and drop routine. Eventually I grew accustomed to being confined in a room that smelled like wet wool and had all the windows closed, with no outdoors available, my dog at home, soggy baloney sandwiches for lunch, mean boys, and tight shoes instead of bare feet. 

Yakima Avenue, Tacoma

Smokey Mountains, Tennessee

Vashon Island

Harvard University campus

You would think that I’d develop a spine by the time I went to college, but not so much. Every Sunday night, around the time my family was watching Bonanza, I called home on the dorm phone and begged to be allowed to return. ‘Fraid not much had improved by the time I got married at twenty. My young husband was stationed at the Dover Air Force Base and our newly-married drive from Iowa to Delaware (in my Dad’s 1954 Buick Roadmaster) was not my strongest hour. I did buck up, however, through that first Spring and Summer away from home, but in October I called home every day until Daddy gently said, “All these long distant calls must be costing you a lot of money.”

A fragrant pot of lamb stew with carrots and those forgotten green beans from the garden go a long way towards alleviating autumn blues. So if you’re feeling sad and lonely, bring out the stew pot, call your Mom, and sit back and listen to Willie, Frank, and Nelson Riddle

Hmm, seems like I’m on a lamb/green bean roll.

Lamb stew

  • 1/4 cup all-purpose flour
  • Salt and pepper
  • 4 pounds boneless lamb shoulder, cut into 2-inch cubes
  • 1/2 cup olive oil
  • 1 cups dry red wine
  • 2 tablespoons sherry vinegar
  • 4 cups chicken stock
  • 2 tablespoons chopped fresh tarragon or 2 teaspoons dried tarragon
  • 1 pound carrots, peeled and cubed or 1 pound baby carrots
  • 1 pound green beans
  • 1 large shallot, minced

Preheat the oven to 350°. 

Put the flour in a large bowl and season generously with salt and pepper. Add the lamb cubes in 4 batches, tossing to coat thoroughly.

In a large enameled cast-iron casserole, heat 2 tablespoons of the oil until shimmering. Brown lamb cubes; transfer to a plate. 

Return lamb cubes to the casserole. Add the wine, vinegar and bring to a simmer. Add chicken stock and tarragon and return to a simmer. Season with salt and pepper. Cover the casserole and braise the stew in the oven for about 1 hour, or until the meat is nearly tender.

Add the carrots, green beans and shallot to the lamb stew. Season with salt and pepper and bring to a simmer. Cover the casserole, return it to the oven and cook until the meat and vegetables are tender, about 1 hour longer. 

Add the carrots, green beans and shallot to the lamb stew. Season with salt and pepper and bring to a simmer. Cover the casserole, return it to the oven and cook until the meat and vegetables are tender, about 1 hour longer. 

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