eggbeater

Party Tomato

the life of a cream puff

"I'm a cream puff and I don't care. I sleep all day and I work all night."
"I'm in the mood for cream puff, simply because you're booootifullll."

"Your cream puff gives me such a thrill. But it won't pay the bills. I want money. Money. That's what I want."

"Once again back it's the incredible cream puff."

"I'd like to give a shout out to all the cream puffs in the house."
"Wave your cream puffs in da air and wave 'em like ya just don care!"

"My cream puff has a first name it's C. R. E. A. M.  My cream puff has a second name it's  P. U. F. F. F. Y.  Oh I love to eat it everydaaaayyyy, and if you ask me why I'll sayyy, cuz cream puff has a way with C. R. E. A. M. E. Y.    How's that?"

"The eency weency cream puff climbed up the water spout. Down rained the chocolate sauce and washed the cream puff out. Out came the sun and dried up all the rain. And the eency weency cream puff went up the spout again."

"These creampuffs were made for eatin' That's what I'm gonna do. One of these days these creampuffs are gonna eat up all of you."

"Cream Puff, O Cream Puff. Wherefore art thou Cream Puff?" "I eat cream puff, therefore I am." "E = cream puff2"

"Behind Door #1, A Lifetime Supply Of Cream Puffs!!"

"Whoever said cream puffs could dance?" "My cream puff is your cream puff."

"Where have all the good cream puffs gone?" "Cream puffs these days..." "Youth is wasted on the cream puff." "I wouldn't trust an eclair." "Cream puffs? Not a lazy one in sight."

"Some of my best friends are cream puffs."

"A cream puff is blocking my driveway."

"For a cream puff near you, look no further--"

Eggbeater's having his way with the mighty Cream Puff. For $2 what have you got to lose? Come into Poulet, say hello, get messy.

"What? I can't hear you, I have a cream puff in my ear."

September 11, 2006

Today marks 5 years of continuous living on after a day, those of us alive to remember, will never forget.

Last year Eggbeater commemorated Heather Ho, a colleague, friend and inspiration to me and those of us in whites she worked with. This year I think of her too. And all the people lost that day.

I think about grief a lot. How unforgettable, but invisible it is. How nothing prepares us for how grief is so private, how it separates us, how, when we are grieving, we seems to move back from our lives and watch it continuing to go by, as if we had just been plucked from the stage to the back row of the dark and quiet theater. How grieving is quiet, silent, but intrusive; it places a wall between what we know to be a life continuing to live with or without us on board.

We lose, we reassess. Our friends and lovers and parents and family-- no one escapes re-assessment. How come I was convinced grief would bring those I love and love me closer? It's a terrible lie. We all escape, like hurt animals, to our corners to mourn, to dress wounds in the quiet, to our own private alone.

We walk out of the fire stronger, more confident, and completely un-interested in the drama people bored with their lives have to create to feel important. We are not only disinterested in bullshit, we have no tolerance for it.

Will we ever be happy-go-lucky again? Can we ever close our eyes and see pictures of those who we loved well again? Will we ever allow anyone to enter our heart again? Will anything/anyone ever bring comfort again?

What I've been most struck with is the fact that when I lost her I lost my history. It's no coincidence to me that at the end of one's life they need their own history. They speak of years past easily. Even in pain they speak of subjects long buried. If you're strong and awake enough you can show up and converse with them and see the door opening, walk through it, and speak of amends and reparations.

our grief is not a cry for war.

Five years ago the city that is my home lost many in one fell swoop. Months after the attacks I read a poignant article in the NY Times Sunday magazine about how awful it was for the people who didn't lose anyone they knew firsthand. In grief there is the repetitive horror movie for the person(s) left standing. How dare we survive. "Take me instead," we plead with god.

But instead we are left. Left to go on. To re-build. Re-make. And life keeps on, slowly sometimes and uneventful. Sometimes painfully uneventful. We wish there were another thing to come by so we could be more prepared and "save the day."

But mostly we re-build from the inside out. We water our own garden. We weed and replant. We make room for that which we know not yet we will plant. We make room for those who were strong and capable enough to wait us out. We make room for the dirt to just be dirt. Not what we own, but what we tend.

Steamed Pudding? Some Answers and Recipes.

Hi Shuna,
I am a great fan of Eggbeater, I read it every morning with my Times. I am the pastry chef at a small american restaurant in Brooklyn, baby! I am trying to develop a steamed brown sugar and walnut cake recipe. Fall lends itself to the perfect paring of hardy fruits and nuts. The dish as a whole is steamed brown sugar walnut cake with vanilla poached pear and spiced cream anglaise. I have been working from an old brown sugar pound cake recipe I have, so far I have reduced the AP flour content and add some walnut flour, plus toasted walnuts. My end goal is to use black walnuts, which I order online from Missouri. (I am a native Kansan and recall eating black walnuts from the Ozarks as a kid). Just wondering if you could shed some light on steamed cakes, dual flour (nut and AP content) etc. Again thanks for being you and your wonderful blog which always gives me inspirations, if not yearnings for Northern CA.
Thanks,
Star

Hello Star, I am so happy you've asked these questions. Eggbeater loves questions!! Especially when they're the hard ones that force me to do research.

Steamed puddings are indeed a mysterious and quizzical subject. And although I've not attempted to write a complete explanation, I've written a little historical background, and given two side-by-side modern recipes in the foreground for a comparative starting point.

Flip the internet page, you'll find the rest over yonder ho at KQED...

Eggbeater Announcement: For Commenters All

Dear Person Whose Email Address Bounced Back My Email,

Thank you for participating in a difficult conversation on eggbeater. I responded to your comment (t)here.

Privately I wanted to email you because I am going to edit/omit one word from your comment. The word "girl" as it refers to me. Whether you are a fellow queer person saying this in jest or not, I do not identify as a girl and, as eggbeater is an extension of myself, I ask that people do not refer to me as such.

You are always welcome to comment on eggbeater and say whatever you wish, I am not here to censor you. If you look around you will see I have written a number of controversial subjects for which I have received a number of comments from those who disagree with me strongly and my ideas/opinions. I have only ever deleted comments that are direct attacks to myself. And I have asked another commenter/friend to not call me a girl either.

Thank you again for being brave and convicted enough to participate in a difficult discussion.

              ___________________________________________________

I think it's great when you all see posts you want to comment on here. We bloggers love the comments, o yes we do! And I understand that if you don't have a blog yourself you may not want to leave your email address behind on the "return envelope" of your comment, {Even though me and TypePad are the only ones seeing it.} But sometimes a personal email is in order and if I can't send it to you I would have to leave it in my comments section, where it is quite public.

{To hear more on this just click on the link "Interview at BlogHer," my first podcasted interview.}

Look around Eggbeater. You will see that I have kept many comments up whose tones were not exactly pleasant or agreeable. I started Eggbeater for a conversation, an exchange. I love when new people, new voices come to visit, especially if they're brave enough to jump into the pit and engage in an honest way. Or challenge me.

As Eggbeater is an extension of myself, I am finding that certain ways of commenting are not ok too. I hope you can all understand and remember that, although the Internet feels cold and lonely, there are humans at the other end of screens and keyboards, and many of us blog for connection. To hear our voice being spoken, to listen to other voices we may not hear through other media byways. Or ever, at all.

Because I recently came out on Eggbeater, to let you all in a little more, and to remain true to myself in all areas of my life, I hope that you will read the above missive and take it to heart. Or if you don't understand some of this stuff, ask a question or two. The only stupid question is the one un-asked.

Thank you for your time and I look forward to hearing from all of you: near and far, agreeing and disagreeing, ambivalent and non-plussed, cute and handsome, queer and kinky, vanilla and gay, big and lanky, old fashioned and new fangled, Republican and religious, pagan and quirky, delightful and sour, salty and crunchy, mellow and Texan, uncaring and OCD, on and on.

I want to keep the comments here easy to make to encourage you all to leave them. Unfortunately with all the odd and dreadful spam out there, not to mention creepy people who stalk outspoken people on the internet, leaving comments freely is actually becoming less and less possible.

Those of you who read and comment on eggbeater keep it going. You buoy me, remind me that others out there are interested in some of the odd minutiae that I'm interested in. Chime in when I've forgotten something, added stories of your own into the mix, asked questions and changed recipes. THIS is blogging, yes. A verb. A new verb, but still a verb. A place where I can learn a little about you and you from me, all through the byways of food: that which binds us all.

Come One, Come All. Come Hungry To Learn.

Ici Ice Cream. Actually Made With Serious Cream.

Ice cream with real cream. Brightens the tongue with infusions and multi sensory seasonal fruit additions. Makes you want more more more, and then it leaves you feeling mmmmmm soft, happy, like cool, crisp champagne bubbles.

Ici.

Don't wait for a formal invitation. Your favorite summer flavour? About to depart.

Please try the Raspberry ice cream. Ka-Pow Batman!

Soon.

I am so serious. It's unreal. Black Mission fig is light but a perfect cupmate with floral Honey. Crunchy, satisfying like the fig herself. A cream colored dress with black lingerie. A linen suit with hard leather shoes.

And the Chocolate tastes just as it should. Not so heavy it's hitting you over the head like a dark candy bar, no, this is an iced confection. Churned slowly. Ice molecules kneaded into something other than the hard cut squares they ought to be.

Sample the White Coffee. It's eggshell hue shouldn't fool you, this is the steam that rises off the first cup in early morning. Coffee without the bitter zing. Iced coffee without the punch. Beans without the stain.

Ici

Ice Cream Made Here
2948 College Avenue
Berkeley, California 94705

11-9 Tuesday-Sunday

Summer/Fall

Where are we?

Where were we?

Where are we going?

When will we get there?

What will we eat?

Will we play?

Will we dance?

Will we cry?

Will we laugh?

Will you hold my hand?

 

The Sugar Maples are dipped in oranges and reds. Peaches deepen, plums look antiqued, tomatoes are tight and deeply flavorful, apples arrive quietly, pears slip in before dawn, leaves shuffle papery underfoot, scarves appear on naked necks anew, the yellow light slants, fog gets thicker, the oven is on every night, friends huddle, lovers make home, knitting needles emerge, school starts.

almost autumn.

Hey Peach, Where're You Going With that Gun In Your Hand?

Goddamn but the peaches are good these days. My house is overrun with them. Peaches grand, peaches furry, peaches ripe, peaches waiting, peaches small, peaches wild, peaches famous, peaches mutt-nameless, peaches peaches peaches.

I can hardly bear to bake them, jam them, do anything but eat them out-of-hand. Sure if I were full time in a restaurant kitchen I would slice, dice, puree, poach, juice, freeze and wrap them in all sorts of exquisite sauces, sugars, pastries and herbs.

But I'm only consulting here and there.

So you'll have to chase me to catch me and my peach idea. Perhaps tomorrow will produce cloud-soft peach bavarians, little peach pies, or decorate butter touched angel food cakes.

At Poulet you might find these ideas transposed...

Or you might have to pick up a shovel and do some escavating.

Peaches peaches peaches. Peaches everywhere.

Peaches in the corners, peaches on the couch, peaches drunk, peaches sober, peaches naughty, peaches naive, peaches poly, peaches single, peaches yellow, peaches pink-white, peaches spicy, peaches mild-mannered, peaches on the lam, peaches in neat rows, peaches clingy, peaches freestone,  peaches closing down the party.

The party of Summer.

Stock up now, the party's almost over.

Ici, Finally Here!

ICE CREAM! ICE CREAM! ICE CREAM!

Day or night, breakfast or dinner, naked or bundled, give me ice cream!

Wrap me in ribbons of egg yolks and sugar, infuse me in Jersey milk, spin me with paddles, lick me before I melt! Ice cream.

Ici. It's here. Voici et Voila!

Finally, after all the June press teasings, the Chowhounds with ants in their pants, the excitement heard over the din of two bridges, a tunnel and one large bay, we have ice cream made by none other than Mary Canales, the quiet force behind Chez Panisses's subtle perfect desserts!

We have it, you know The East Bay yo!

Extra! Extra! Read all about it at KQED... the first one with the official opening day story!

*Labor Day Weekend Eating Plans

Who will you take home from the market this weekend? Do you fully understand the FIVE DAY BAY BRIDGE CLOSURE? If not, click on this link to find out more. It will affect you-- remember that even though BART is running 24 hour service, not every station will be stopped at!

Maybe you need to stock up for the long weekend? Make a list for all the yummies you'll need to buy/look for in advance?

May I make a few suggestions?

"The Peach Farm" (in quotes because they don't sell peaches) has various divine melons. My favorite of theirs has many a nomenclature. H'Aogen, Ogen, Haogen, or H'Ogen are just a few of the spellings I've seen. Think Mermaid Tail color: shimmery green with the musk of a faraway pleasant memory you can't exactly remember, but it makes you warm all over.

The melons are located next to Devoto farms at the Saturday Ferry Plaza Farmer's Market. Speaking of the latter, Stan Devoto is growing us some rare and magnificent apples. Have you seen the tiny Pink Pearl apples that have the skin of white glitter nail polish but once peeled they light up the room in ferocious pinkness. Really. So pink they could assault your masculinity and win.

In the best possible way.

Tart and crunchy, this is a no lay-down apple. And colorful even under the pressure of fire and pie crust. Give them a try. last year there were waiting lists for these beauties. This year every comrade in the land has a shot.

Put on a tie, grab a bunch of flowers and take that Pink Pearl apple to the dance! O Yeah. Sweet Ride.

Looking for okra but can't make it to Short Night in SF? Tip Top farm, located in warm and sunny Vacaville, is growing cute furry some little pods of Southern goodness and they can be found across the street from the Grand Lake Theater in Oakland on Saturday (Or Tues/Thurs in Berkeley) morning. A stand worth supporting, Tip Top also grows a wealth of tomatoes, summer squash, basil, peaches, French prune plums and more. You'll know which farm they are when you see the handsome women peopling the booth.

That okra at Tip Top is tender enough to eat raw. I did it today under the hot open blue sky for the first time and I have to say I was not disappointed. You want to savor the crunch in okra? This method is surely the way.

Might you have the addiction/affliction where if you don't get a fix of Joe's dry farmed Early Girls at Dirty Girl Farm you get anxious? No fear, he has plenty and they stay good on the counter top for over a week. Ooooooo sweet, tight, ripe tomato! O how I love you. Maybe it's lust, but who's splitting hairs here?

Ever since The Squirrel ate my coveted loaf of Seeded Wheat bread from Della Fattoria I have been mad. No problem, I went to The Cheeseboard today. Not an exact switch, but I was happy to find a loaf of potato bread. While you're there, of course the cheese is wondrous too. They require tasting before buying. Not as bad as the jacket and tie requirement, eh?

For the main part of the meal, Fatted Calf has yummy meaty treats, Minh Tsai, new Dad and owner of Hodo Soy is making what Daniel Peterson seems to have made famous in the NY Times, Tofu Skin. Tea, who lived in Japan for many years, says they called it "squeaky" because of how it feels in the mouth and teeth, and Minh says he's selling out in record time.

I could go on and on about Prather Ranch Lamb chops, but I already have. Have you not eaten them yet? What could you possibly be waiting for? Stop procrastinating/putting off the lamb love.

Sweet things? O Yeah. Ms. Fabulous Bakesale Betty appears to be baking hundreds of nectarine pies for some lucky people. And if you've waited this long to get your eyes on the Summer 2006 Edible San Francisco, I have just delivered a box to their lovely retro bakeshop. Feast on a myriad of foodstuffs related articles, FREE for the taking! Do let me know if you manage either of the peach recipes...

There's the opening of Ici that might happen this weekend. Wouldn't we just be the luckiest people in the world if Mary Canales, a recent long-term pastry chef from Chez Panisse opened an ice cream shop in Oakland of all places? O yeah, you know you want to take BART now!

Because summer only happens once a year I've been stocking up on peaches. Carl is on fire with his bad self. All up into those stone fruit trees in Oroville at Woodleaf Farm. Last week I bought too many Cassie's and this week the O'Henry's are sure to stop you from saying anything. Zow. Peaches worth their hefty iconic stance in American culture. But a little secret? His red pears are like the softest kiss you've ever received. My goodness I'm blushing writing this. Place those pears on your table until the shoulders of the stem end give to a little bit of pressure.

Pears ripen from the inside -out. So when the whole pear feels soft it may be rotten in the middle. Pears get picked once and actually need to be cold-stored. Unless you plan to set up an illegal still and crush yourself some pear liquid and make Eau de Vie.

Bring the new month in right. Eat delicious nibbles. Support the good people who grow and make it.

*This post is dedicated to the Union.

"The Union.
From the people who brought you the weekend."

Happy September.