There are a few things you don’t realize you’re giving up when you leave LA. You know you’ll miss the weather, the sunny winter days spent sunbathing on the beach, the fact that every band always has a tour stop in your town, and the unlimited Girls Night Out options.
I didn’t grow up in a cooking household. With two working parents and seven sisters it was more of a defrost and feed the masses situation. It was culinary triage every day.
I never saw a head of garlic, or a homemade cake, or real whipped cream my entire childhood. The focus was on feeding the herd of people who lived at my house, while still trying to pay the bills. Homemade fancy sunday supper wasn’t at the top of that hierarchy of needs.
Which is why meals like this mean so much to me. Being able to throw my figurative heart and soul into a meal, take a few hours doing it, and serve it to people I care about. Even if it’s on a Tuesday night.
Especially if it’s on a Tuesday night.
I use this Duck Fat
(affiliate link) because it’s well priced and good quality. A little goes a long way so one jar will last a while. Also, if you cook duck in duck fat, you can save the rendered fat for later use. Like these potatoes, or this Duck Confit.
I also use this Microplane
(affiliate link) all the time. Perfect for grating garlic in seconds, much easier than mincing with a knife.
A few years ago I’d had this unfortunate idea that a red eye from LAX to JFK was a great plan. I boarded a plane around 10pm in Los Angeles, alongside a 747 full of business travelers headed for jittery East Coast morning meetings.
It wasn’t so much that I irrationally figured that I could sleep on the plane, but I illogically decided that if I don’t really sleep well anyway, I might was well be not sleeping well on an airplane. When I arrived in New York 6 hours plus time change later, I hadn’t slept for a second. Although the decision to watch The Lovely Bones just after take off probably contributed to my lack of drowsiness.
By the time a subway ride and then a cab deposited me in Chelsea I was tired to catastrophic levels. Which, in the land of most girls means borderline weepy and slightly irrational. Finding out my hotel wasn’t ready for check in and realizing that my only option for sleep was cuddling up with the homeless man near the stairwell, I decided coffee was a necessity. And by necessity I quite literally mean as a route to avoid either crying hysterically or falling asleep on top of a man who smells like hot dogs and old cheese.
I stumbled into a coffee shop and begged for coffee. "Anything else?" The husky Brooklyn dweller spat at me from behind the counter.
"Umm, I…need…uh…the…" I did manage to point at a crumb cake.
"You want duh cake? Fuh breakfast?" Thank god it was just judgmental an rhetorical, he didn’t expect and answer and I couldn’t have given an intelligible one. He thrust it towards me with the coffee. I sat down at the counter, my bag still over my shoulder and started to devour it all. He smiled, one hand on his apron covered hip, "Not bad, huh?"
I nodded, words were still hours away from me.
I’ve learned a few things in the handful of days I’ve lived in Seattle.
People here drive like nice, sane, humans. Unfortunately, I’ve been conditioned by the LA freeways to drive like a pissed off asshole. I’ve been driving in LA since I was a teenager. I need to learn to drive like a sane human.
People here are just nice, in and out of the car. They even smile and say hi as they walk past. And when you email them, tell them you’re new in town and want to be friends, they buy you lunch. Or a beer.
You can also drink the tap water here, unlike the last place I lived it does not taste like smog. It’s actually pretty great.
It’s not even very cold here. It rains often, but really, it’s not that cold. And on that note, running in the rain beats running in the sweltering heat. So, that’s a win for the rainy land.
Beer is a bit different here too, it has a bit of an old soul. I’ll always have a big place in my Craft Beer Heart for California beer, and the burgeoning LA beer scene that is still cutting its baby teeth. The Seattle beer scene is established, it has an old soul’s wisdom with the freshness of youth. It’s exciting in a way that new things often are, but with the comfort of years of experience to guild the way.
Cider is a new venture for me when it comes to cooking. This is the first recipe that’s crossed that boundary into cider cookin' territory. Like craft beer, craft cider is beautiful and thoughtful and insanely drinkable. Washington has given me no shortage of ciders to sample and Finnriver has some beautiful bottles. I used Finnriver Black Currant Cider, which will probably be served with dessert at my next dinner party, it’s beautiful and bold but with a dryness that doesn’t let it get overly sweet. It’s perfect with a tart pie.
So that’s what I made.
A pie with Washington blueberries and Washington cider.
I hope this is an adequate apology for my driving. I’m working on it.
This is a GREAT cast iron skillet. It’s a splurge, but it will last for the rest of your life. You can even pass it down to your kids (affiliate link).
When you write a cookbook, you fall in love with some of the recipe. You don’t love them all the same, you don’t even remember them all the same. Recipes aren’t like children, you’re completely allowed to have favorites.
When I wrote The Craft Beer Cookbook (affiliate link), there were a few recipes I immediately feel love with, like Hefeweizen Brioche Pull Apart Bread (page 82), and the Porter Osso Buco (page129), and Amber Ale Carrot Cake with Mascarpone & Beer Spiked Cream Cheese Frosting (page 179) and a few I added because I was already in love with them, like the Beer Pecan Cinnamon Rolls (SO GOOD! page 26) and this soup.
This was a soup that I’d been making for years, with and without beer. Gleefully sprinkling the bowls with two of my culinary guilty pelasures: goat cheese and pomegranate seeds. Adding in the hop bitterness of an Irish red ale gave a great balance to the creamy decadence.
Now that we are around the corner from Saint Patricks day, I’m sharing this recipe with you. It’s a new way to celebrate the Irish, and a vegetarian friendly one at that (if that’s your thing). After all, corned beef isn’t even a tradition in Ireland. But beer always is.
You can buy The Craft Beer Cookbook at cookbook, Barnes & Noble and Urban Outfitters.
These are easier than you think.
And the possibilities are endless. Try your favorite extracts (coconut marshmallows?!), or food coloring to match your party, or covering them in chocolate. Once you make them, it’s hard to remember why you went so long without trying your hand at these.
Step one:
Prepare the pan. Grease well (cooking spray, butter or vegetable shortening) and then cover in powdered sugar.
Step two:
In the bowl of a stand mixer add 3 1/2 packets of gelatin to 1/2 cup ice cold water. Let stand while you prepare the sugar.
Step three:
In a pan over medium heat add 2 cups granulated sugar, 1/2 cup corn syrup and 1/2 cup water. Once the sugar has dissolved, turn the heat to high, allow to boil until the mixture has reached 240 on a candy thermometer.
Step four:
Turn the mixer on low and slowly pour the hot sugar into the gelatin mixture. Once all the sugar has been added, raise speed to high. Beat on high until light and fluffy and tripled in volume, about 6 minutes.
Step five:
In a medium bowl, add the egg whites and salt. Beat with a hand mixer until stiff peaks form. Gently fold the egg whites and vanilla into the marshmallows.
Step six:
Pour marshmallows into prepared pan. Smooth into an even layer, sprinkle with powdered sugar.
Step seven:
Allow to sit at room temperature until set, about 3 hours. Invert pan on a flat surface, slice into squares.
To make beer marshmallows, check out Chocolate Stout Covered Beer Marshmallows.
Ingredients
Instructions
There are some rules to Party Food.
Not a lot, just a few. After all, parties are about lack of restrictions. First, there needs to be a bit of portability involved. One hand, no utensils type of portability. If you’ve every tried to navigate the consumption of food that requires a knife and fork while trying to mingle, you understand the hard and fast nature of that rule.
You also need something low maintinace. Something you can set down and leave for your guests to grab, sans explanation.
Lastly (only three rules, after all, this is a party), you want something fairly quick and easy to put together. After all, you have other dishes to make, and dishes to wash, and people to mingle with.
But if you can work in beer, there are some bonus points involved.
I told you last year that I wouldn’t further assault you with tales of my trip to Ireland for Saint Patrick’s day, until it was close to Saint Patrick’s Day.
But here we are, just a week away. So I’ll force another story of Ireland down your throat. But I made you some beer marshmallows so I hope we can call it even.
The night after I arrived in Dublin, still jet-lagged and a bit shaky, I found myself at a table in the back of an old Irish pub with a couple of Irish farmers in their early twenties. A scrawny, fair-haired, Irish boy, who admitted that he’d never left the mossy soil of Mother Ireland, asked me about life in the famed Los Angeles. "So…you’ve, like, met famous people. Like movie stars? and people in bands?"
I said that I had. Just part of living in LA and having friends who work in music. It wasn’t a big deal. His eyes widened, he bought the next round and pressed me for details, "WHO HAVE YOU MET?!"
I was felt slightly pushed back and delved into the database of my past celebrity meetings. I wasn’t sure who he’d like to hear about so I started to go with my favorites, "Ummm. I met James Brown once. He told me I was pretty and did a spin for me."
He was confused. "Who’s that? Who else have you met? Do you know Madonna"
"No. But I did go to Elton Johns birthday party. It was small, only a handful of people but I was too nervous to talk to him. But I did spend the night talking with-"
"Let me cut to the chase." He turned serious, he wanted to get right to the information he was looking for, "I want to know if you’ve met THE GUY."
I was blank. Who was the GUY? Which guy?
"You know!" The dozen Guinnesses he’d had since he’d left the sheep farm were starting to settle into his demeanor.
"I really don’t know. Who’s THE GUY in Hollywood?" I was more curious than confused.
Exasperated he finally spit it out, "EDDIE MURPHY!"
"Oh. No." If I’d had one million guesses I wouldn’t have pulled that name, "I haven’t met him."
"That’s too bad. But you know, he lives in LA. So, you might. Right? At some point, like at Starbucks or something?"
"Ummm, yeah. I guess there’s still hope."
But, sadly I did leave LA never having met Eddie Murphy. So unless he’s a Seahawks fan, we may never meet. But I do suspect that if he’s a beer drinker, he might like beer marshmallows. With stout chocolate sauce. And if he doesn’t, then it’s probably a good thing we never met.
No matter how often you move, there are things that you forget. Every time. You forget that you won’t know which drawer to put Sharpie markers and batteries in (they always end up in the same drawer), you’ll turn to grab the knife from where is "used to be," you won’t know where the Target is, or where to take your dry cleaning, or where to buy the best prosciutto and you can forget about that guy who offered to sharpen your knives for free if you bring him cookies THAT guy doesn’t exist in your new land.
I have a gypsy soul, I’ve never missed my own bed, I don’t have the home sick gene, I’m never nervous about new roads or new words or new food. I look forward to building a new database of people and place. But there is a learning curve with a new place. Things I didn’t know that I didn’t know. I’ve had to adapt to a new climate, one that was not 80 degrees on Christmas, and involves a near wardrobe change when I need to run out to the car to grab the beer I left in the back.
But the upside is that beer would have been overly warm in my old land, in this place, it was the perfect 43 degrees and ready to drink.
Now I just need to find a guy to trade knife sharpening for baked goods and I’ll be half way there.
Photos from my Instagram account
I made it.
From LA to Seattle, up Highway 1. Past fat lazy seals, miles of winding coastlines, epic Redwoods, and into an unusually sunny Seattle. Although the sun has now given way to the typical rain, it’s somehow comforting.
Although figuring out how to wield a camera in low light has been a bit challenging.
But the food isn’t. This part of the word has gorgeous produce, fantastic seafood, incredible beer. I’m starting to get familiar with the Northwest breweries and the beautiful beer that I’m now so close to. If you know of a local brewery I should go to, please, I’m all ears.
As I unpack the boxes, rely heavily on my navigation to get around, figure out what local stations to set my car radio to, and try to amend my ill-equipped wardrobe (warm socks?? I need new socks?), I’m excited to be here. My Gypsy Soul gets to wander a new city.
I’ve learned a thing or two about what you like since I joined Pinterest. You like heathy food, football food, chocolate food and pie food. Today, I’m focusing on those last two, they’re the most fun anyway.
If you fancy yourself a bit of a Pinterest junkie and need a new fix, you might want to wander over to Foodie and check that out as well. It’s just as easy to make collections and much easier to share those with the embed feature.
In honor of the upcoming Pi Day (March 14th), here is my collection of Chocolate Pies. Now if you’ll just grab me the strongest coffee you can find and fork, I’d like to get started.
This is a sponsored post. All opinions are my own.
I’m sitting in a coffee shop in a little part of East LA called Silverlake. Near the house that’s no longer my home. All of my belongings, except an oversized suitcase and some beer, are packed tightly into a moving truck somewhere along the West Coast.
It occurs to me that I don’t really live anywhere right now. My old house is gone, no longer mine, and I have yet to move in to the new place that’s waiting for me on Lake Washington. I’m no longer a resident of California and have yet to become a resident of Washington State.
It’s a strange feeling, sitting here in my quasi-homeless state, feeling like a Man Without A Country. Simultaneously excited to get to Seattle and start a new chapter of my life, and grieving the loss of my old life. It’s not a polarizing feeling, it’s both happy and sad. It’s both sweet and savory. After all, you should never live a life that you wouldn’t be sad to leave behind. And you should never go seeking a change that doesn’t both excited and terrify you.
And that’s me. As I sit here and finish my cold brewed coffee on a warm day in February in Silverlake. I’m sad, excited and terrified. And I couldn’t be happier about it.
I’m on the road now! I’d love to have you along for the ride.
I’ll keep you updated here:
In high school I had a guidance councilor ask me what I thought I would be when I grew up. Not "what do you want to be" but "what do you think you will be," much different questions for a kid, and much more accurate window into the future.
I thought about it for a minute. What do I think I will be? I thought about the way I normally answer the question when it’s phrased the other way, I wanted to be a veterinarian. I wanted to help sick animals. But when I was asked where I thought I’d end up, it made me realize that I didn’t even believe that I’d end up as a vet.
I paused for a minute and said I thought I’d have a job that wasn’t invented yet, "You know, something that isn’t included in those check boxes in those forms," was my response. Non-comital, vague, but for the first time, I actually believed my response. He wasn’t so sure. He leaned back in his old wheeled desk chair and looked at me like I was a genuine crazy person.
"Hasn’t been invented? There are jobs that haven’t been invented? Like a robot mechanic?"
Now I got to look at him like he was the genuine crazy person, "I’m pretty sure that robot mechanic exists. And I think the world is changing enough that there are jobs that aren’t invented yet." He quickly dismissed me, apparently I had reached the maximum level of guidance that he had for the day.
I thought about this today, as I was being filmed for a feature-length documentary about the craft beer industry. Among other titles that I hold, I’m a food blogger. A job that had not been invented was I was a freshman in high school. A job that I couldn’t be happier to do. After years of forcing myself into the check boxes on the high school guidance counselors forms, there is an absolute freedom in breaking away from that. A freedom in inventing my own job, and working tirelessly to make it happen.
It took me too many years to chase this dream, and the change happened years after I left that cluttered office in the last semester of my first year of high school.
The change happened when I stopped asking, "Who am I to want a job like that?" and starting asking, "Why not me?"
I’m a big fan of this cast iron skillet, it’s amazing and I use it several times a week (affiliate link).
I’m living in a maze of boxes that seem to push up from the ground like stalagmites in a mid century modern cave. The move is just a week away, starting with a meandering drive up Highway 1 with my fat lazy bulldog. And still, it doesn’t seem real. The 78 degree days, don’t feel like the last open-the-back-door-bare-feet-outside kind of weekend for a while.
I keep forgetting that those restaurant I’ve been meaning to go to won’t be eaten at and the friends I haven’t seen in a while probably won’t be seen again.
It doesn’t quite feel like I’ll be calling Seattle home in just a handful of days. That the amazing restaurants and breweries I’ve only heard about will be my new haunts. That those incredible oyster bars will be down the street and that I’ll be able to grab a quick drink with the friends I’ve accumulated up in the Pacific Northwest.
It still feels like I’m caught in a bit of an undertow and I’m not sure what the view will be like once I come up for air. But I do know that although I’m leaving the best produce state in the nation (California grows half of all the produce grown in the USA), I am going to a state that has an incredible amount to offer when it comes to food. Asparagus will probably become an obsession once I’m in the state that grows it best.
Asparagus, oysters, beer. I’m pretty sure I can handle the rain with a good beer and some great food.
I start my drive up the West Coast in just one week. Join me, it’s going to be a big move and a big adventure. I’d love to have you along for the ride.
Instagram – Facebook – Twitter
About the time I started to get really into cooking was right about the time I was talked into doing some runway modeling. At 5 foot 7 and 120 pounds, I was know as the "short chubby model," which was equal parts laughably ridiculous and self-esteem crushing. I only did a few runway shows before I realized that this was not a world I wanted to be a part of.
During those brief months of trying to fit into an unrealistic idea of what I was supposed to look like, the only thing of value that I walked away with was a few tricks to cooking healthy. I was never willing or able to starve myself to attain the coveted double zero dress size, I always wanted food that was full of flavor, even if I was cutting back on calories. Even now, several years and about a dozen pounds later, I need to eat. Healthy or un-healthy, my food has to taste good.
Lucky for us, there are a lot of ways to add big flavor that don’t add calories. Even if you aren’t trying to walk a cat walk, (and I would not recommend it, to be honest, it sucks), we all have times when eating healthy is more important to us. But flavor should always be on the top of the list.
Most of the phases of life we live fade in a way that we don’t really know the exact moment it ends. We don’t always know the day we stopped being children or the moment we fell out of love, or the day a big friendships started to drift away.
With moving, you know. You know the last day you lived in that house you loved so much. The last day you were a resident of city. And you know the day you started a new life in a new city.
The boxes are starting to get packed, the nonsense I’ve accumulated over the past few years has started to find it’s way to the donation centers, and my days as an LA resident are counting down. I’m saying Goodbye to things I didn’t know I’d miss, the warm weather is being reveled in, and the I’m finding more still moments to just enjoy the view. Even on the packed LA freeways.
I’m also preparing to live in a world were I’ll eat a lot of cold weather comfort food. Like slow cooked soup. I’m starting now, cooking big pots of warm soup, made with beer, and topped with fresh produce. Because some habits die hard.
I use my Dutch oven all the time, it’s essential in my kitchen (affiliate link).
Photos in this post were taken in Seattle with vintage Polaroid cameras by my incredibly talented sister Kim van Groos
Check out her Flickr, it’s very impressive.
I told you last week that I’m in the process of saying goodbye to Los Angeles. A process made easier by the fact that it will end with a move to Seattle, a city that I’ve loved for years. A city with a vibrant love for food, people who are aware and grateful, plus a craft beer scene that is one of the best in the world.
I’ll get to discover a new city, fall in love with the local beer, cook with the incredible produce. I’ll also be near my sister who took all these photos, as well as my other sister who almost died with me in Morocco. I’ll be around the world’s best hops and the country’s best seafood. The idea of wandering around a new city, losing myself in the streets and the strangers is incredibly exciting. Especially a city like Seattle that has so much to offer.
I’m not limiting my explorations to Seattle. The entire Pacific Northwest, from Medford to Bellingham, has an incredible craft beer scene that I can’t wait to explore. The beer, the people, the pubs and the events, I plan to jump in with both feet, grab a pint, and become a part of what’s happening up North.
I want to share it all with you. Not just on the blog, but also on Instagram and Twitter. I want you to see the beer I find, the salmon I catch, the people I meet, the butcher shops, the breweries, the farmers markets, the coast and everything else that’s waiting for me up there.
As I pack the boxes and say goodbye to Los Angeles, I wanted to make something that has a bit of Seattle in it, a reminder of what I have to look forward to.
Seafood and beer it is. Can’t wait to dig in.
I start my trek North in two weeks. Join me, it’s going to be a big move and a big adventure. I’d love to have you along for the ride.
Instagram – Facebook – Twitter
Adapted from Epicurious
The photos in this post were taken with a vintage film camera
in or around Los Angeles over the past 10 years.
I took them with a 1965 Nikon F (excluding the pasta photos)
Los Angeles has become a part of me, imbedded itself into my soul and grew me into the person I have become. Leaving feels heavy. It’s hard to say goodbye, to walk away, but I’m ready. I’m excited to take the next step into a new phase of my life even with the feeling of grief I have over leaving the City I’ve been in for so long.
I’ve done more than just live here or even thrive here. LA has been more than just the backdrop to the majority of my life. She is a part of who I am and I love Los Angeles. I will fiercely defend her when outsiders can’t see past the Hollywood Portrayal of a very small side of the city I’m in love with.
I was born in LA, briefly left, making my way back in my late teens behind the wheel of an old Ford Bronco packed with little more than a suitcase.
I know LA, in a way that you can’t if you’ve never lived here. Like outsiders can never really know what it’s like to grow up in your family: it’s flawed and dirty and beautiful and yours. This is LA.
LA has been good to me. She’s seen me fall in love, become broken, find myself, find a love for food, chase my dreams. But I’ve seen her change too.
I’ve watched my friends go from homeless musicians to Grammy winners. I’ve worked with gang members in Compton. I’ve cried with holocaust survivors in Beverly Hills. I’ve smoked cigars on the roof of Chateau Marmont with literal rock stars. I’ve eaten bacon wrapped hot dogs outside The Short Stop and burritos on Sunset at 3 am. I’ve watched the sunrise over an empty beach in the middle of winter. I’ve been trapped inside a broken down car on the 405 at rush hour. I’ve watched the beer scene go from non-existent to thriving. I’ve played Guitar Hero with famous musicians at Sound City Recording Studio. I’ve worked a waitress job for a money launderer. I’ve bartended a party at a crumbling Frank Lloyd Wright house. I’ve stuck the Troubadour VIP sticker on the thigh of my jeans many, many times. I’ve spent the afternoon talking to homeless vets on the streets of Downtown. I’ve gotten lost on the worthless Metro. I taught a homeless kid how to drive a stick shift at 5am in a mall parking lot. I’ve eaten dinner on stage at The Hollywood Bowl. I’ve been an extra in a movie and witness a drive by shooting in the same day. I walked a catwalk in nearly nothing at a low-budget European designers US press show.
The moments haven’t all been pretty, but they haven’t been dull. There is this feeling in LA, that if you find the right place and stand there long enough, the entire world will walk past you. And it’s with a heavy heart that I leave. But I’m taking LA with me. The person I’ve been made into, the food I’ve fallen in love with, the beer that is a part of my story and a part of my life.
This isn’t Goodbye, LA. Not really. I’m moving North, LA, but a part of me will always be your girl.
I want you to join me on this journey. I’ll be posting on Instagram and Twitter. Follow me, give me your advice, show your support, watch me move and then explore a new city.
I’ll tell you more about where I’m going next week, come back and I’ll tell you all about the new city that I’ll be writing The Beeroness from and the great beer they have.
Today, lets eat some pasta. With beer from one of my favorite Los Angeles breweries, Angel City, as well as Avocados, which might as well be California’s official State Fruit.
Like The Beeroness on Facebook and Instagram to follow all the post from my move and into my new city! I might be leaving LA, but The Beeroness is coming with me. I will continue to write, post, cook, eat and drink.
