Marla in the Kitchen

One of my favorite ‘50s singers, Patsy Cline.

In the early 1950s Midwest, along with lazy days, ice cream trucks, and DDT spraying, summer brought the ominous threat of polio. The specter of “infantile paralysis” showed up every summer, terrifying parents and health officials, banning birthday parties, closing swimming pools, interrupting my favorite Saturday matinee serial, and isolating children to their own back yards. No one knew for sure how the disease was transmitted—one summer, the prevalent theory blamed cats. The next year it was open windows, unknown water sources, and imported fruit. Ginny remembers getting a polio shot in kindergarten and having her picture taken for the Dakota County Star—“Probably because I had the most terrified look on my face.” Bob also remembers that he and his siblings were on the front page of the local paper in a group shot, receiving their vaccinations.

Middle class parents felt helpless—they had survived the Great Depression, fought and won a war, and they expected buoyancy and good fortune. A crippling disease that targeted children distorted the idealized notion of what family life should be. There were polio epidemics every summer but they tended to be regional not nationwide with an economic impact limited to the surrounding geographical area, and mainly affected children, not wage earners or businesses. In 1955, Jonas Salk’s polio vaccine was declared safe and effective and the public lined up eagerly for the vaccine; in 1962 polio cases were reduced by 90%; and by the end of the century, polio had become a memory.

2020’s pandemic brought along a year of losses: we lost our freedom to mingle, to hug, to swim, to celebrate in a noisy bar, to sneeze unabashedly in a crowd, to eat popcorn in a darkened theatre, and to jump up and down at a sporting event; but our children, sisters, brothers, and grands are healthy and safe so thank you for that. This year we lost members of our extended family: the Sweetie’s sister—her husband, our long-time friends—their siblings, my sister-in-law—her niece, our daughter-in-law—her dog Lucy, and my daughter—our dog Louie. We remember them all and our other lost brothers, sisters, Moms and Dads—here’s thinking of you.

Here’s a recipe from the Food Network and Anne Burrell adapted so that I could use the leftovers in tacos.

Braised Pork Shoulder

• 2 tablespoons coriander seeds, toasted
• 2 tablespoons cumin seeds, toasted
• One 4-pound boneless pork picnic shoulder, sliced in half along the grain
• Kosher salt
• Extra-virgin olive oil
• 1 large onion, sliced
• 1 tablespoon minced canned chipotle in sauce
• 4 cloves garlic, smashed and finely chopped
• 1 cup red wine
• 2 T. Dijon mustard
• 3 bay leaves
• 1 teaspoon dried oregano
• 2-3 cups chicken or beef stock
• 3 to 4 Roma tomatoes, peeled and diced or 1 cup diced-in-juice tomatoes
• 1/2 bag frozen pearl onions (Ginny told me about these and they’re fabulous)
• Root vegetables (carrots, potatoes, turnips), diced yams or squash, if desired

Toast seeds in a sauté pan over medium heat and grind to a fine powder—using a spice grinder or mortar and pestle.

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. Sprinkle the divided pork shoulder with the ground spices and salt, then tie each piece so it cooks evenly.

Coat a Dutch oven with olive oil and bring to a medium-high heat. Brown pork on all sides, remove from the pan and reserve.

Lower the heat to medium and add onions and season with salt. Cook the onions until soft and aromatic, 7 to 8 minutes. Add the garlic, minced chipotle, and 1 more teaspoon of ground coriander/cumin and cook 2 to 3 minutes longer.

Add the wine and reduce by half. Stir in the mustard and add the bay leaves and oregano.

Return the pork to the Dutch oven. Add stock and tomatoes to the pan until the liquid comes halfway up the side of the pork. Add salt if needed. Bring the liquid to a boil, cover, and put the Dutch oven in the preheated oven.

After 1 hour, turn the pork over and add more liquid to the pan if the liquid level has gone down. Add pearl onions, cover, and return to the oven for 1 hour.

Remove pork from oven, turn the pork back over, return to the oven without the lid, and cook for 45 more minutes. The liquid should concentrate. Put root vegetables in now, if desired. (I roasted the vegetables separately and added when everything was done.)

Remove the pan from the oven, remove the pork and reserve for 15 minutes, tented with aluminum foil. Skim any excess fat from the pan and reduce the pan juices, if needed. Slice the pork and serve with vegetables and juices.

Listen to Ella Fitzgerald singing New Year’s Eve by clicking on the post title.

In January 2020, we worried about our traveling friends and the brushfires near Sydney, Australia, growing tensions between the U.S. and Iran, Britain’s upcoming Brexit, and the the report of a new virus in Wuhan, China. Who could have predicted what the rest of the year would bring. It’s difficult to look back on 2020 with any degree of fondness. It was a year of rolling disasters: an impeachment, the killing of Floyd George and the ensuing social upheaval, the raging fires up and down the West coast, the bitter, acrimonious presidential election followed by the refusal of a petulant tyrant to admit defeat, and a global pandemic that seems to have no end. I should at least be bruised or battered but here I am, cozy, well-fed and comfortable—life is indeed not fair.

2020 Bright spots:

• Sweetie’s wildflowers
• Grosbeak pair who stayed around until July
• Dodgers’ World Series win
• Boston Harbor
• Gas fireplaces
• Dr. Fauci
• Neighborly chats with the Fros
• Cordless steam irons
• New bowls
• Screen doors
• Soft, beautiful throws
• New puppies
• Blog comments
• Dave Barry and David Sedaris
• Morning visits with Ginny
• Nighttime snuggles with the Sweetie
• Russell Wilson
• Groovicorns

Not-so-bright spots:

• Colonoscopies
• Dental implants
• Pandemic
• Murder hornets
• The hunt for toilet paper
• Anyone Trump
• Alabama Crimson Tide
• Commercials telling me, “We’re all in this together”
• No more Salted Caramel Gelato at TJs

So, my bright list far outweighs the not-so-bright list. And there you have it: my family and friends are healthy, my refrigerator is full, I spend my days with someone I love dearly, my sister lives close by, my kids are kind and successful in all ways, my grandchildren are generous and happy, the family is adding babies to the blend—I have so many things to be thankful for. Here’s looking at you, 2021. 

Favorite recipe of the year.

Thai chicken noodle soup

• 1 cup cooked shredded chicken 
• 1 tbsp coconut oil, 2 tsp sesame oil 
• Kosher salt 
• ½ lb rice noodles (I also have used both udon and ramen—cooked separately and added at the end)
• 1/2 onion, diced 
• 2 shallots, thinly sliced 
• 2 carrots, peeled and diced 
• ½ lb mushrooms, diced 
• 2 tbsp minced garlic 
• 2 tbsp minced ginger 
• 1 tbsp minced lemongrass (I rarely have lemongrass but I’m sure it would be good)
• 2 tbsp red curry paste or panang curry paste (try a little more if you like spicy)
• 1-2 tbsp sugar 
• 1 (13.5 oz) can coconut milk (don’t worry if the coconut milk is solid at the top. Just pour it in a bowl & whisk)
• 1 ½ qt chicken stock 
• 3 limes, juiced 
• 2 tbsp fish sauce 
• Garnishes: Thinly sliced scallions, cilantro leaves, lime wedges 

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil and cook the rice noodles one minute less than the package’s instructions. Drain the noodles and run under cold water. Set aside. 

Meanwhile, heat a large, heavy-bottom pot over medium heat. Add enough oil to coat the bottom. Add the onion and shallots. Cook for about 8 minutes, stirring often, until tender and slightly caramelized. Season with a pinch of salt. 

Add the carrots and mushrooms. Continue to cook for another 5 minutes or so. Stir in the garlic, ginger, and lemongrass. Cook for a minute until fragrant. 

Add the red curry paste and stir well to combine. Whisk in the coconut milk and chicken stock. Bring to a boil and then reduce the heat to simmer. Simmer the soup for 15 minutes, stirring often. 

Stir in the shredded chicken and cooked rice noodles to heat through. Taste for salty, sweet, sour, hot balance and add where necessary. Right before serving, stir in the lime juice and fish sauce. Serve the soup hot with scallions, cilantro leaves, and a squeeze of lime.

We’re on our second artificial Christmas tree. Our first one came from the Hillcrest Ace Hardware in San Diego and twinkled every Christmas for twenty years. But last year, expecting the usual, I opened the long tree box, found the elusive plastic feet, set the top on the bottom, plugged in the cord…nothing. No twinkle, no glimmer, nothing. A quick trip to Lowe’s solved that lack of twinkle and this year, the new tree lit up as expected.

Setting up a tree for a few weeks seems like a lot of trouble, but then, there’s the fun of unwrapping old friends: Sweetie’s yearly angel, the beautiful glass squares from Patty and Jim, Nikki’s sparkly cat ornaments, my Gramma’s swan and penguin that Ginny gave me, the cherub Muth brought me from Brussels, the gold leaf we got at Wall Drug, and Lara’s wonderful red birds. Putting up the tree certainly unwraps the memories.

In December 1984, we were finally getting settled in Los Angeles after the move from Vashon. The Sweetie was training educational software in Texas and I had a job at Stratton’s, a fancy continental restaurant in Westwood. He flew home on Christmas Eve and I had Christmas Day off, so we decided to have a Christmas picnic at the beach. On my way home from work I picked up California rolls at Cowboy Sushi, bialys and lox cream cheese at I N’Joy Bagels, and a tin of chocolate chip cookies from Mrs. Fields. Bob bought the finest champagne Westward Ho had to offer and the next morning, we tossed our Mexican rug in the trunk, and set off for Santa Monica. The beach was almost empty—a few gulls lurking nearby to snatch up our crumbs, one lone Christmas surfer, and endless blue skies. The only thing missing was The Beach Boys.  

The Fosters show up in several of my favorite Yule time memories. There was that year we went to D. C. and saw a Man Ray exhibit at the Smithsonian, shopped at fancy city malls, ate Ethiopian food in Adams Morgan, and cooked an elaborate Christmas dinner at Dick’s house. Then there was the winter we decided to fly down for a San Diego Christmas. December weather in the Northwest can be treacherous, and sure enough, a blizzard cancelled our flight. Not to be deterred we thought, “We’ll just drive. No treachery there!” Six hours later we were at a dead stop on the 205 around Portland where we stayed for eight more hours. We burned through one jar of Ruby’s special strawberry jam, two tubes of Pringles, a tin of gingerbread men, a bag of Cheetos, and our backup Diet Cokes. Luckily for me, we brought along paper cups; after all that Coke, there was no choice.

Frosty is his usual jolly, happy soul.

Gnome reluctantly agreed to participate

Grumpy Santa, snowmen, and Karen’s Christmas stockings

Ginny’s basket with 101 red balls and Bridget’s Christmas runner

Doubletree

So turn on the tree, bring in the dogs, gather up all your special ones, wrap up in that new silky throw and listen to these wistful Christmas songs.

BTW, forget about that enormous, shiny Costco pumpkin pie. Buy a frozen Marie Calendar pie shell and make this instead.

Pumpkin Chiffon Pie

• 1 tablespoon gelatin
• 1⁄4 cup cool water
• 3 whole eggs, separated
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 1 1/2 cup cooked or canned pumpkin
• 1/2 cup milk
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1/4 teaspoons each, cinnamon, nutmeg and ginger
• 1/2 cup granulated white sugar
• Whipped cream

Soak the gelatin 1/4 cup cold water Separate eggs, reserve whites in metal bowl. Beat the egg yolks slightly. Combine beaten yolks with 1⁄2 cup sugar, pumpkin, milk, salt and spices in the top of a double boiler. Cook ingredients over boiling water, stirring frequently until thick. Stir in the soaked gelatin until dissolved. Remove from the cook top and chill until mixture begins to set. 30 minutes to 1 hour. Beat egg whites with 1⁄2 c. sugar. Fold pumpkin mixture into egg whites. Pour into baked pie shell. Refrigerate

Listen to John Popper and the Blues Traveler by clicking on the post title.

Walk on the wild side, walk like a man, a walk in the park, walking the walk, walk of fame, walk of shame—walking runs through our lives. Used to be that only kids and elders walked, pre-teens rode their bikes, teenagers cruised in packs, and adults drove everywhere. No one ran, unless someone was chasing them. In 1980 when we lived at the Klinks’ (a boat-sized house perched on Vashon’s Tramp Harbor), Bob watched the Olympic Trials. Lying on the floor in front of our small black and white TV one morning, he followed along during an athlete’s exercise routine—tired after ten sit-ups, he vowed to get into better shape. Thus began a forty-year program. That day he walked along the beach road from Tramp Harbor to Portage, around the bend and back again. 

Later that year I was riding my scooter home from soccer practice and got hit by an orange Volkswagen. I remember lying in the middle of the Vashon Highway watching the Volkswagen’s red tail lights disappear. An oncoming car pulled over immediately and helped me get off to the side of the road. As part of my broken ankle rehab the physical therapist advised a short walk, so walk I did. Bob and Foster walked with me, Bob watching for traffic along Portage Road and Foster, a serious power walker, forging on ahead, looping back to us when he got too far away. We walked every day and before long, I was back at work. I quit walking, the Sweetie never did. We looked for that orange Volkswagen for years but never found it.

When we first moved to LA in 1982 we lived in Westwood, a few blocks from UCLA, and had a spectacular walk. A quick left turn out the door onto Strathmore and we were on fraternity row, ears still ringing from last night’s parties. Down the hill, and onto the campus—past Pauley Pavilion, along Bruin Walk, the Ackerman Student Union, Schoenberg Music Building, Sproul Hall, and into the Murphy Sculpture Garden. In the spring, we walked under spreading jacaranda trees, buds bursting with lavender blooms.

We exited on Hilgard, cruised down the hill, and always took a brief detour through the Mildred E. Mathias Botanical Garden. Every morning we marveled at our good fortune and tried to avoid buying a cookie at the brand-new Mrs. Field’s.

In 2008 when were in Chicago for a winter EPIC install, the temperature dipped to 10-15° below zero, with a cold wind blowing off Lake Michigan. On our first morning there, Bob put on everything warm he brought with him, laced up his new Doc Martens, and started out for his daily walk. He went about 50 yards and realized that this was not your Puget Sound cold—this cold did not pussyfoot, this cold killed. He turned around, went back into the hotel and used the treadmill in the fitness room. Whenever the temperature warmed to above zero, an outdoor walk was possible with long underwear, earmuffs, two scarves, and a mask, but his getup ruled out entering a 7-11.

This is just the thing to eat after a long, winter walk.

Slow-cooked pork with tomatillos 

• 2 pounds boneless pork butt 
• 3 slivered garlic cloves, plus 1 minced garlic clove, divided 
• 1/2 teaspoon salt 
• 1/4 teaspoon black pepper 
• 2 tablespoons oil 
• 1 cup chopped onion 
• 1/2 small Serrano chile, seeded and minced 
• 1 pound tomatillos, husks removed and coarsely chopped into 1-inch pieces 
• 1 1/2 cups chicken broth 
• 1 tablespoon grated orange zest 
• 2 teaspoons fresh oregano
• 1 tablespoon chopped basil 
• 1 tablespoon chopped mint 
• 1 tablespoon lime juice 
• Black pepper 

Heat the oven to 350 degrees. Use a small sharp knife to make small 1-inch deep cuts all over the surface of the pork, and push one sliver of garlic into each slit. Season the pork with salt and pepper, rubbing the seasonings all over the meat.

In a large, heavy ovenproof casserole, heat the oil over medium-high heat. Add the pork and sear on all sides to a rich brown, 10 to 12 minutes. Remove the pork to a plate and set aside.

Add the onion to the casserole and reduce the heat to medium. Sauté the onion until tender, 5 to 6 minutes, stirring occasionally. Stir in the minced garlic, the Serrano chile and the tomatillos and continue to sauté until the tomatillos are tender, about 5 minutes. Add the chicken broth to deglaze the pan. Stir in the orange peel and the oregano.

Nestle the roast back with the vegetables and spoon some of the juices over the meat. Cover and roast 2 hours, until the pork is tender (it will pull apart easily).

Remove the casserole from the oven. Carefully lift the meat out of the casserole onto a carving board. Stir the basil, mint, lime juice and a few grinds of black pepper into the sauce. Use a fork to break the meat apart into bite size pieces. Divide the pork evenly among six plates and spoon the tomatillo sauce evenly over the portions. Serve with grilled tortillas and/or rice.

 Click on the post title to listen to Tigertown’s Lonely Cities.

It’s dark by 4:00, there is no baseball, the virus is still raging, the election is still raging—what to do? Make soup. Soup is the ultimate comfort food: cream of tomato soup—a hug in a bowl; lentil soup—a hearty greeting when you walk in the door after a brutal day; chicken soup—the only thing when you’re flat on your back with a runny nose and bleary eyes.

Cream of tomato soup:
When Tommy was alive, the Sweetie and I would drive from Tacoma through Bremerton, over the bridge and through the woods, to Lariat Loop. The boys were usually in school; Ali was working, hoeing in the garden, mowing the lawn, or baking muffins; Tommy was in the garage working on a car, in his woods chopping down a tree, on the roof fixing the gutters, or up in a tree building a treehouse. Feets, the cocker spaniel, or later Skittles, would race around the house from the backyard and greet us in the driveway with enthusiastic wags and wiggles. Whenever we arrived, it was time for lunch: cream of tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. We still remember those lunches whenever we eat a grilled cheese sandwich. Here’s thinking of you, Tommy.

City Restaurant cream of tomato soup 

• 2 tablespoons butter  
• 1 medium onion, julienned or sliced  
• 1 large fennel bulb (optional) you can also use 1⁄2-1 teaspoon fennel seeds  
• 2 teaspoons salt  
• 1⁄2 teaspoon white pepper  
• 1⁄2 cup Pernod (optional)  
• 4-6 ripe Romas, seeded & chopped or 1 can diced-in-juice tomatoes (best quality possible)  
• 2 cups chicken stock  
• 1⁄2 cup heavy cream  
• 1⁄2 cup half & half 
• Dash of Tabasco  

Trim fennel, discarding stem. Thinly slice stalks.

Melt butter over moderate heat in large stockpot or Dutch oven. Add onions and cook with salt and pepper until soft, about 10 minutes. Add fennel, reduce heat to low, cook additional ten minutes. 

Add Pernod and reduce liquid by half.

Add tomatoes and chicken stock. Reduce to simmer and cook, covered about 20 minutes.  

Puree in a blender until smooth. Return to pot and add cream and half and half. Bring to a boil, simmer 5 minutes, and remove from heat. Add Tabasco. 

Fennel bulb and Pernod are optional. I usually don’t have either so almost always make the soup without. Good quality canned tomatoes are preferred, but I often use regular old grocery store Hunt’s. The imported Italian are the best but cost plenty more—San Marzano or Muir Glen are both good brands.  Heavy cream and half and half make for a silky delicious soup, but you can substitute less caloric milk for part of the dairy or leave it out and use only stock. Thin to your preference. Restaurants make many variations on this method for soup of the day, substituting any other vegetable: broccoli, mushroom, spinach, asparagus, potato/leek, squash, beet, carrot, etc.  

Lentil soup:
In 1974 when I started working at Sound Food, I was no stranger to lentils. Dick’s dad, Pop, made Umjudada, Lebanese lentils and rice, on a regular basis so it became one of my rotating dinner favorites. Surprise then, when a few years later lentils showed up on every “Hippie” communal table. Our friend Ted, regaled us with stories of the lentil loaf served at a counterculture Thanksgiving dinner on the Everson-Goshen Road and the gastric distress that followed. Back at Sound Food, Jeffrey’s vegetarian lentil soup (finished off with fried onion bits), a lunchtime favorite with both locals and hippies, has been on my rotating favorites ever since.

Nick Stellino’s lentil soup with sausage

• 3 tablespoons olive oil 
• 5 cloves garlic, cut thickly 
• 1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes 
• 1/2 cup finely chopped carrots 
• 1/2 cup finely chopped celery 
• 1/2 cup finely chopped onion 
• 1/2 teaspoon brown sugar 
• 1 pound cooked sweet Italian sausages, cut into 1/4” dice 
• 1/2 cup white wine 
• 1 cup dry lentils 
• 2 cups beef or chicken stock 
• 1 cup tomato sauce
• 1 tablespoon red wine vinegar 
• 1 cup ricotta 
• 1 tablespoon ground black pepper  

Stir the oil and the garlic in a nonstick pot over medium-high heat for 1 minute. Add the red pepper flakes, stir, and cook for about 1 minute until the garlic starts to brown.

Reduce the heat to medium and add the onion, celery, carrots, and brown sugar. Stir well and cook for 2 minutes.

Add the sausages and cook for 2 minutes, stirring well.

Pour in the wine, stir, and cook for 2 minutes.

Stir in the lentils and cook for 1 minute.

Add the beef stock and tomato sauce, Bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer for 20-30 minutes.

Add red wine vinegar and simmer for 10 minutes.

Top each serving with a tablespoon of fresh ricotta.

Chicken soup:

Chicken soup—liquid penicillin, comfort served up steamy and fragrant, guaranteed to warm both body and soul. When I was in fifth grade, despite Daddy’s misgivings about my reliability, I started a paper route (A girl could always use a little money). Every weekday at 5:00 pm (5:00 am on Sundays) I rode my bike down the street to Mr. Connor’s house to load up my bike sack with the day’s edition of the Sioux City Journal. Rain or shine, sleet or snow, the paper had to be delivered. At the end of the route, I would start looking in the windows of those houses that had a television. Captain Video and His Video Rangers was on at 7:00 so I would pick up the pace to be home on the couch when the theme song began.

Daddy was right—I hated that paper route and complained daily. One especially severe winter day I whined into the kitchen, shoulders slumping, sad-faced and droopy. “Please take me in the car!” Daddy relented, we finished off the route in no time, and came home to Muth’s chicken noodle soup in our warm kitchen and Captain Video’s rangers in the living room. No greater love…

Thai chicken noodle soup

• 1 cup cooked shredded chicken 
• 1 tbsp coconut oil, 2 tsp sesame oil 
• Kosher salt 
• ½ lb rice noodles (I also have used both udon and ramen—cooked separately and added at the end)
• 1/2 onion, diced 
• 2 shallots, thinly sliced 
• 2 carrots, peeled and diced 
• ½ lb mushrooms, diced 
• 2 tbsp minced garlic 
• 2 tbsp minced ginger 
• 1 tbsp minced lemongrass (I rarely have lemongrass but I’m sure it would be good)
• 2 tbsp red curry paste or panang curry paste (try a little more if you like spicy)
• 1-2 tbsp sugar 
• 1 (13.5 oz) can coconut milk (don’t worry if the coconut milk is solid at the top. Just pour it in a bowl & whisk)
• 1 ½ qt chicken stock 
• 3 limes, juiced 
• 2 tbsp fish sauce 
• Garnishes: Thinly sliced scallions, cilantro leaves, lime wedges 

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil and cook the rice noodles one minute less than the package’s instructions. Drain the noodles and run under cold water. Set aside. 

Meanwhile, heat a large, heavy-bottom pot over medium heat. Add enough oil to coat the bottom. Add the onion and shallots. Cook for about 8 minutes, stirring often, until tender and slightly caramelized. Season with a pinch of salt. 

Add the carrots and mushrooms. Continue to cook for another 5 minutes or so. Stir in the garlic, ginger, and lemongrass. Cook for a minute until fragrant. 

Add the red curry paste and stir well to combine. Whisk in the coconut milk and chicken stock. Bring to a boil and then reduce the heat to simmer. Simmer the soup for 15 minutes, stirring often. 

Stir in the shredded chicken and cooked rice noodles to heat through. Taste for salty, sweet, sour, hot balance and add where necessary. Right before serving, stir in the lime juice and fish sauce. Serve the soup hot with scallions, cilantro leaves, and a squeeze of lime.

For no good reason, here’s Tusk, with a young Fleetwood Mac and the 1979 USC marching band. Click on the post title to listen to the video.

While browsing for wildflower tips, the Sweetie came across Dan Hinkley’s book, Windcliff, and ordered it from Amazon. It is a heavy, coffee table hardcover filled with beautiful photography, poetic prose, and advice on gardening in the Pacific Northwest. The book describes Windcliff, Hinkley’s home garden, and Heronswood, a fifteen-acre public botanical garden and nursery near Washington State’s Kingston ferry, established in 1987 by Dan Hinkley and his partner architect Robert Jones. Heronswood is currently owned by the Port Gamble S’Klallam Tribe and is being restored by the tribe, Heronswood volunteers, and Heronswood staff, with input from Hinkley and Jones.

Itching for a reason to get off the block, the Sweetie and I picked up Ginny at the Pt. Defiance ferry and headed up Hwy 16 to tour the garden. As an afternoon ride certainly calls for lunch, along the way we stopped at Mori Sushi & Bento in Poulsbo.

Poke bowl

Bibimbap

Bento box

The day was cool, the sun a dim reminder, and the clouds open to the suggestion of rain. We took a path that skirted the edges of Heronswood, passing through the folly (part fountain and part temple) in the woodland garden, past the kitchen potager, the pond, and the extensive collection of hydrangea varieties. As summer has turned into brisk fall and the colors are more subtle, visitors are fewer and we were almost the only people there. We hope to return again to see another season.

I’m giving this ”Gallery” feature a try and I think if you click on one of the small “thumbnail” pictures, it will open into a larger view.

Stone columns

Sheet pan chicken with plums, New York Times, Melissa Clark

“Beautiful to behold and easy to make, this sheet-pan dinner combines sweet plums and soft red onions with crisp-skinned pieces of roasted chicken. Toasted fennel seeds, red-pepper flakes and a touch of allspice add complexity while a mound of fresh torn herbs crowns the top. If good ripe plums aren’t available, you can substitute another stone fruit including peaches, nectarines or pluots, though if your fruit is very sweet, you might want to add a squeeze of lemon at the end. Serve this with rice pilaf, polenta or warm flatbread for a festive meal.”

Ingredients 

• 2 teaspoons fennel seeds 
• 2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice 
• 1 teaspoon grated lemon or orange zest 
• 4 garlic cloves, finely grated 
• 2 teaspoons honey 
• ¼ teaspoon ground allspice 
• Large pinch red-pepper flakes, or to taste 
• 1 chicken (about 3 1/2 pounds), cut into parts 
• Kosher salt and black pepper 
• 2 cups ripe, soft plums, pitted and cut into 3/4-inch thick slices 
• 6 fresh thyme sprigs 
• 1 medium red onion, peeled and sliced from root to stem in 1/2-inch wedges 
• Extra-virgin olive oil, for drizzling 
• ⅔ cup torn mint, basil or cilantro leaves (or a combination) 
• Flaky sea salt, for serving 

Preparation 

Toast the fennel seeds in a small skillet over medium heat, stirring, until fragrant, about 2 minutes. Pour seeds into a mortar and pound with a pestle until coarsely crushed (or lay seeds on a cutting board and pound them with a can or jar). Put the seeds into a large bowl and stir in lemon juice, zest, garlic, honey, allspice and red-pepper flakes.

Season chicken generously all over with salt and pepper and add to the bowl, turning the pieces to coat them with marinade. Mix in plums and thyme sprigs. Refrigerate for at least 2 hours or up to 24 hours. When ready to cook, heat the oven to 425 degrees.

Put the chicken pieces, plums, and thyme sprigs on a rimmed baking pan. Add onions, spreading them out around the chicken and plums. Season plums and onions lightly with salt. Drizzle everything with olive oil.

Roast until chicken is golden and cooked through, 30 to 45 minutes, removing the white meat if it’s done before the dark meat.

Transfer chicken pieces as they are done to a platter. Spoon the plums and onions around the chicken. Drizzle a little of the pan drippings over the chicken and serve, garnished with the herbs and flaky salt.