Foods for breast health

Eating has never seemed so complicated, especially when it comes to our health. Food wrappers and labels shout their supposed benefits: Low-fat, no trans-fats, anti-oxidant, heart-healthy. But in the end, as a nation we’re fatter than ever and continuing to suffer in record numbers from diabetes, cardiovascular disease and cancer. So what’s the answer?
Even among nutritionists, there’s debate, but what almost all agree on for everything from cancer prevention to losing weight: Lowering fat, limiting processed foods and eating more fruits and vegetables. Pretty much the same stuff we’ve been hearing for years and ignoring. Author Michael Pollan, whose books, “the Omnivore’s Dillemma” and “In Defense of Food” have helped to ignite a wider understanding of our current food crisis says simply, “Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.”
And when it comes to breast cancer, specifically, there are many theories about obesity, alcohol use, refined sugars and meat consumption. But the truth is that doctors still don’t know with any complete certainty what causes breast cancer. Nor is there any magic food that will cure or prevent cancer.
Strong evidence, however, is emerging that animal products and pesticides may be at least part of the problem.
“As far as the anti-cancer diets go in general-most advocates suggest people avoid pesticides and all animal products.  The China Study, though not written by a doctor or nutritionist, has become a Bible for some. The authors advocate for a vegan diet as a way to suppress cancer,” said Nora Bulloch, a registered dietician and nutritionist who teaches at the Northern California Center for Well-Being. “Other anticancer diets encourage the anti-inflammatory diet which eliminates all refined foods, sugar and really anything that is high on the glycemic index.  The theory is that high glycemic index foods raise insulin levels quickly and this leads to inflammation-the cause of all disease,” she added.
But for many, a diet without meat, flour, sugar, dairy or eggs is simply too restrictive. So what Bulloch and other nutritionists I spoke to advocate is boosting up “good foods” and cutting back on “culprit” foods that may have negative effects.  Here are a few of their recommendations…
Mushrooms: Medicinal mushrooms (such as shiitake, maitake, oyster and even white button or crimini or portabella) are high on the list of healthy helper foods for registered dietician and teacher Jill Nussinow, aka The Veggie Queen. Mushrooms are rich in selenium, an antioxidant. Nussinow also is a fan of fermented foods (pickles, sauerkraut) and home grown sprouts, especially in the cruciferous vegetable family.
Seaweed: Nurse Practioner Elaine Weil of the Amitabha Medical Clinic and Healing Center in Sebastopol suggests incorporating small amounts of seaweed (sea vegetables into your diet) which contain trace minerals including iodine which are very important for breast health. “Try sprinkling dulse flakes on your salads and grains, or add vegetarian sushi to your diet,” she suggests.
Turmeric: There’s increasing evidence that this yellow spice native to the ginger family may have some powerful health benefits. Considered an anti-oxidant and anti-inflamatory, turmeric is an integral ingredient in curry and gives regular mustard it’s bright yellow color.
Alcohol: When it comes to breast cancer, limiting or eliminating alcohol is suggested, with no more than one small drink per day.
Soy: Because soy contains estrogen-like isoflavones, there is concern that it may stimulate the estrogen receptors of breast cancer cells to grow, which is why many doctors warn breast cancer patients against eating soy products. The jury’s still out, however, as others point to the positive effects of soy on Asian diets and as a substitute for meat and dairy. Experts say to use in moderation and ask your doctor about avoiding soy supplements if you have breast cancer.
Flax seed: Another phytoestrogen, flax seeds have long helped with menopausal symptoms. Nutritionists love this mega-seed for its health-giving alpha-linolenic acid (a plant form of Omega-3 fatty acids), but again, its worth talking to your doctor about if you already have breast cancer.
Nuts and fish: Although fish at the high-end of the food chain can contain high levels of mercury, wild-caught salmon and sardines (which are at the low end of the chain) are top picks for their Omega-3 oil content. Walnuts also have high levels of Omega-3.
Leafy Greens and Cruciferous Veggies: Kale, cabbage, Bok Choy, broccoli and cauliflower should become your new best friends if you’re worried about your breast health. High in natural cancer-fighting plant chemicals, it’s thought to help inhibit breast cancer cells from growing as quickly. They’re also rich in Vitamin C.
Green Tea: As with many Asian foods, scientists are finding positive health effects from this powerful antioxidant. Studies show that it inhibits cancer and tumor growth.
Olive Oil: Food needs fat for taste and cooking, but not all fats are created equal. Olive oil is the choice of nutritionists not only for its monounsaturated fats, but also for its high antioxidant content.
Berry Good: Ripe berries in every color are good for the body and soul. Dark blue or black fruits (blueberries, blackberries) are thought to have the most antioxidants, but the vitamin C and fiber of all berries make them a top breast-cancer pick. Keep in mind, however, that berries often contain high amounts of pesticide, so opt for locally-grown organics whenever possible for all your fruits and veggies.

Wingstop, Penzey’s Spices coming

Are we in a franchise tsunami?

Is anyone else feeling like we’re being hit by a franchise tsunami, lately?
There’s the new In-N-Out (we hear it’s October and has the number 8 in the date), El Pollo Loco in RP, and now word of a Wingstop (chicken wings ‘n such) franchise hiring in Santa Rosa along with Penzey’s Spices (a Milwaukee-based spice and herb retailer well known to foodies) soon to take up residence at Montgomery Village.
And while it feels like a bonanza of pending culinary openings after a relative dry-spell in these parts, the news is bittersweet as many local businesses continue to struggle to make ends meet. While it’s nice to see storefronts come back to life, are we losing some of our homegrown Sonoma County personality?
What’s your take?

Tov Tofu coming

A new Korean restaurant, Tov Tofu, is set to open near the Yulupa Whole Foods in Santa Rosa in the coming weeks. Yay!
Sonoma County’s long been short on Korean restaurants (though there are a number of Asian-or-otherwise eateries owned by Korean folks), this much-on-the-radar cuisine.
The space was previously occupied by Thai eatery, Bangkok Villa, which closed in late July. Bangkok Villa owners sold the Bennett Valley restaurant space, BiteClub hears, after a whirlwind success at their second eatery, Tomi Thai, which opened in Windsor last year. 

Tov Tofu, 1169 Yulupa, Santa Rosa

Cooking For Kids with Just Three Ingredients

Polenta, Raclette, and Crispy Ham
Creamy Polenta w/ Raclette and Crispy Ham

About a month ago, lacking my hoped-for, fleeting, and frustratingly oft-absent daily quotient of inspiration and incisiveness, I decided to try something new and, I admit, sort of gimmicky: I decided to find out out how many distinct, complete dishes I could compose using just three ingredients. (To be precise, “how many” pending boredom, constructive dismissal, failure to get out of bed, or any other inherent vice of the would-be blogger.)
In some respects, cooking with a severely restricted number of ingredients is endemic to my whole approach: If I buy less but better stuff and take care in its preparation, I’ll increase the odds of the final product not sucking. Further, much as I imagine the process of getting dressed to be for a really hot chick (or dude, depending which team and side of the plate you bat on), these two basic prerogatives reinforce one another: The better the raw material, the less it needs dressing-up, and the skimpier the dressing, the more pronounced its inner hotness. And, importantly for our household, nowhere does the fewer-ingredients/simpler-technique approach bear sweeter fruit than in response to my frustration of cooking for kids. Don’t get me wrong: I love, love, to cook for, and particularly with, my children; I find great joy in bringing them into the kitchen and watching them learn to think about and prepare the food they will eat; and I believe strongly that it is my responsibility as a parent to help my littles learn what real food tastes like, what tastes good to them, and why. But when the homework still isn’t done, the bath is getting cold, and our evening routine careens off the rails like some life-imitating-art version of Wiley Coyote piloting a locomotive into a swan dive off the rim of the Grand Canyon, I will readily confess that I find preparing several different versions of several different dishes in order to accommodate this week’s litany of idiosyncratic likes and dislikes, exceedingly trying.
So, why not codify the project and cook using just three ingredients? I recently asked myself this question while staring down the barrel of yet another Monday night meal (Mondays are consistently hard for me; maybe it’s the hangover from cooking fun stuff straight from the market all weekend; or perhaps the kids are grumpy with the first homework assignments of the week; there are lunches to be made; the TV is crap; all in all, the whole family has bounced around like loose electrons since we all got let out on Friday, and Monday’s demand that we all return to our valences amidst a broader rekindling of the household order). A quick inventory of the cupboards yielded nothing revolutionary: the ubiquitous pasta-with-butter; some leftover mac-n-cheese; a breakfast burrito; a bag of polenta; and of course my standing order to Choose something I already mentioned, go get yourself a bowl of cold cereal, or don’t eat. Because I’m done. To the munchkins’ credit, the polenta took it by several lengths, leaving me with the sort of problem I like best: How do I transform a simple ingredient into a main-course dish with a minimum of fuss?
Another quick scouring of lower and forgotten drawers, a few experimental unveilings of mysterious shapes shrouded in plastic wrap or foil, and a quick mental palate gut-check yielded a few translucent slices of still-good if slightly dry Serrano ham and a hunk of really stinky (“stinky” in a good way, as in that uniquely French capacity to make “gym-locker aroma” complimentary), washed-rind Raclette. The result was a very tasty little plate consisting of just three ingredients:
Creamy Polenta with Raclette & Serrano Crisps

  1. Prepare a basic polenta, as described on the package or here. (I’ve heard that you can make acceptable polenta with a “no-stir” method, and Marcella Hazan agrees, but I’ve not tried it; I do know that if you do it the right way, it takes a small amount of simple work, and the result is consistently outstanding.)
  2. While the polenta is cooking, separate several slices of the ham (Serrano is particularly good, but you could use a Prosciutto or any number of thinly sliced charcuterie and get much the same effect), tear it into pieces, and saute them over low to medium-low heat, either in a nonstick skillet or a lightly oiled fry pan. Flip and toss the meat from time to time, breaking it up with the edge of a spatula, until it is lightly crispy (it will scorch easily, so be careful). Drain and reserve on a paper towel.
  3. Grate the Raclette (again, it needn’t be Raclette, but try to use something with a pungent flavor and good melting qualities; anything in the “fondue” family would be ideal) across a microplane or the smaller side of a box grater.
  4. As soon as it’s finished cooking, mound the polenta in the middle of a pasta bowl, cover with a handful of the cheese while the cereal is still piping hot, and top with the ham chips.

A Fondolicious Slice

If you live in Sonoma County, either you rode your bike with Levi Leipheimer in the Gran Fondo this past Saturday, and it’s still all you want to talk about; or you didn’t, and you’re ready to cave in the skull of the next person who regales you with his or her war stories from the event. I count myself amongst the former, but empathize with the latter, so I’m just not going there, at least not in this forum (close friends and family, however, remain at risk, what with the post-ride buzz still in effect and inevitable further encouragement of the official results and pictures not yet posted) .
That being said, I’d like to take a brief moment out of my morning and yours to send a big PK shout-out to one particular local purveyor of food, Gran Fondo supporter, and all-around kick-ass pizza maker, Kashaya of Kashaya’s Brick Oven Pizza.  There were lots of local eateries offering up sustenance to the calorie-deprived cyclist (check out the full list at BiteClub), but I only had one meal ticket, and suffice it to say, I wouldn’t have it any other way: Kashaya makes a chewy, perfectly-charred-but-not-burnt crust and tops it with a well-conceived combination of locally-grown goodies. I’m a pizza snob of the very highest order, and while we may not be talking about DiFara, Brooklyn is a very long drive, and Kashaya (along with Rosso and perhaps a few others) is an oasis in the largely barren pizza wasteland of my adopted home county.
So, knowing next to nothing about either Kashaya or her food (in point of fact, I still know next to nothing, although some useful reviews may be found here), I learned all I needed to from my first bite and this little anecdote: When I got to the order-window, they tragically had run out of dough, and Kashaya was nowhere in sight. Why? Because she had gone home, in the middle of the event, to knead more dough, by hand and to order, all to help me re-load my carbs. Now that is my kind of cook.

Luma | Petaluma

Luma was destined to be a neighborhood restaurant even before there was a neighborhood.
Newly minted restaurateur Tim Tatum (who developed several multi-story loft houses along G Street in Petaluma’s warehouse district) always envisioned this cozy corner as a gathering spot for the 150-plus new residences along this once-stark industrial stretch along the Petaluma River . (Three Twins Ice Cream and Cowgirl Creamery have warehouses across the street and the wildly popular Aqus Cafe and Sonoma Portworks are just a block away).
“We want it to have that moth-to-flame feel at night,” says Tatum, pointing to the neon sign LUMA sign that flickers on at dusk. With warm interior lights, clink of glasses and drifting scent of pizza spilling onto the sidewalks, its starting to feel that way, he says.
Over the last several months, Tatum has been building out the space and gathering up local talent to make this more than a watering hole, but a solid eatery as approachable to loft-dwellers and those in nearby established neighborhoods bordering the burgeoning warehouse district.

Open for lunch and dinner, Luma’s menu is a shifting landscape of small plates, afternoon sandwiches, pizzas and heartier Wine Country-Italian fare for dinner. Nothing’s overly precious, though there are drizzles and shavings here and there that remind you that you’re in Sonoma County. And though the wood-oven is a centerpiece of the kitchen, Tatum’s careful not to call Luma a pizzeria. Exec chef Jen Solomon (District, AsiaSF) masterminds the menu while Elizabeth Takuchi-Krist serves (Rubicon, Wine Spectrum) is bar and wine consultant, which means a cleverly-thought out wine list featuring some very unusual suspects (Slovenian furmint?) at weeknight-out prices.
The kitchen’s still perfecting flavors and techniques while the menu settles in, but early best bets include: Oven roasted pear, mache and blue cheese crostone with Marshall’s Farm honey drizzle ($9.50), Satan’s Kiss pizza, $15 (roasted cherry peppers, suasage, mozzarella, ricotta, leeks and bit of sweet heat); Korean bbq chicken banh mi with pickled daikon, carrots, cilantro, jalapeno and sriracha mayo wrapped up with a side of slaw ($11). Sandwiches disappear in the evening, replaced by larger-plate dishes including ancho-rubbed skirt steak with chimichurri, filo-wrapped salmon and a pasta or risotto of the night. Don’t miss: For dessert the chocolate pot de creme is an outrageously tasty splurge.
Luma, 500 First Street, Petaluma, 658.1940. Monday – Saturday: 11:30 a.m. – 9:00 p.m. Closed on Sunday. lumapetaluma.com

Meat, Braise, Love

Beef Short Ribs in a Zinfandel Chili Braise
Short Ribs in a Zinfandel-Ancho Chili Braise

Producing a braise in your own kitchen is a bit like making porn in your own bed: It rewards practice, because when you get it just right, it’s the best you’ll ever see, and all the times you don’t, it’s still a very long way from sucking. Similarly, there is just so much to love about the braise: Purely from a gastronomic perspective, no other cooking technique so easily employed by the home cook comes close to creating the depth and concentration of flavor than does the properly executed braise. It rewards economy:  The intelligent use of cheaper cuts, transformed as if by magic; the stuff otherwise too tough to chew transmogrified into fork-tender nuggets of gustatory gold by the application of little more than water, heat, and patience. It produces exceptional sauces and gravies almost as afterthoughts. The braise accommodates proteins, starches, and vegetables all in one pot, which can then be served family style in the cooking vessel itself, or re-plated and dressed up in style, depending. And, provided one follows some basic principles, an effective braise provides the cook with an exceptional amount of interpretive girth, requires no careful measurements, no indentured servitude to recipes and cookbooks, all of which amounts to solid structural engineering for the way I like to cook.
As to the title of this thread, just for the record, I’ve neither read the book, seen the movie, nor, for that matter, given any serious consideration to doing either, as I’m reasonably certain that I’d be repulsed but, like the ubiquitous fender-bender on the 101, find it impossible to look away; I strongly suspect that the experience would be very much like being force-fed Indian desserts while attending one of those made-for-TV mega-church Sunday sermons: Cloyingly sweet and offensively preachy all at the same time, a sort of psychological gavage. (Maybe that’s grossly unfair but, as with meals, I can only consume so many books, and I aim to make them all count.) Truth be told, I’m just trying to cross-stitch the title onto the longer thread, because braising, unlike snippy reviews of books I’ve not read or Julia Roberts’ teeth, will be a recurring theme in my kitchen and on this site, because a good braise is the sort of food that you smell all day long, that makes you want to open your best bottle of red wine and eat in your PJs at the same time, that can make a girl’s toes curl. For better or worse, and likely both, my wife doesn’t really eat land animals, so my best shot at getting a toe-curling endorsement, inasmuch as cooking is concerned, is probably mac-n-cheese (the subject of another ongoing thread), but today I’ve got braising on the brain and, more specifically, the braising of big hunks of prehistoric-looking meat, wrapped in butcher’s paper, studded with large bones, and replete with the potential to disturb small children.
Braised lamb with chocolate, rosemary, and preserved lemons
Braised Lamb with Chocolate, Rosemary, & Preserved Lemons

So what is braising? Larousse describes a braise as “a moist cooking method using a little liquid that barely simmers…” and goes on to point out that the classical technique involves first browning the meat in a little hot fat and then arranging it on a bed of cooked vegetables, partially covered in cooking liquid, and allowed to simmer slowly in a tightly covered pan so as not to lose moisture its (and, therefore, flavor and texture) due to excessive evaporation. That pretty much sums it up, although there are some other basic guidelines – use a cut with some connective tissue in order to create body in the sauce; be sure to have some acid in the liquid to break it all down and balance out the richness; generally, add some aromatics to the broth; finish the sauce at the end, while the meat rests; and always, try to have a general sense of how all the flavors will ultimately work together, and in proportions suited to the pot – which, when followed – invariably improve the final result. I recently noticed that McGee, in his essential On Food and Cooking, further advises that the meat be kept in relatively large pieces; that the initial browning kills microbes in addition to creating flavor; and – in a departure from almost every other cookbook I’ve read – recommends starting the pot in a cold oven and restricting the final cooking temperature to around 200F, which is considerably cooler than most recipes you’ll find. I have, in the past, used a pre-heated oven at a temperature of anywhere from 250-375F, depending on the particulars of the cut the dish is based upon. However, I make a general rule of listening to McGee -the guy is a scientist and does not mess around – so I’m going to do another one soon using his particular technique.
I’m not going to provide recipes in this post – I’ve got lots of favorites, some mine, some not, and I’ll put a bunch of them up over time – because I’m already over my daily word-count, and all I really hoped for was to inspire anyone who hasn’t braised to do so forthwith, and as to everybody else, to do it better, and more often.
(Click anywhere on the Foodista widget below for a step-by-step of the basic technique)
Producing a braise in your own kitchen is a bit like making porn in your own bed: It rewards practice, because when you get it just right, it's the best you'll ever see, and all the times you don't, it's still a very long way from sucking. Similarly, there is just so much to love about the braise: Purely from a gastronomic perspective, no other cooking technique so easily employed by the home cook comes close to creating the depth and concentration of flavor than does the properly executed braise.BraisingProducing a braise in your own kitchen is a bit like making porn in your own bed: It rewards practice, because when you get it just right, it's the best you'll ever see, and all the times you don't, it's still a very long way from sucking. Similarly, there is just so much to love about the braise: Purely from a gastronomic perspective, no other cooking technique so easily employed by the home cook comes close to creating the depth and concentration of flavor than does the properly executed braise.Producing a braise in your own kitchen is a bit like making porn in your own bed: It rewards practice, because when you get it just right, it's the best you'll ever see, and all the times you don't, it's still a very long way from sucking. Similarly, there is just so much to love about the braise: Purely from a gastronomic perspective, no other cooking technique so easily employed by the home cook comes close to creating the depth and concentration of flavor than does the properly executed braise.

The Caffeine Addict: Hooked, Locally

Freshly roasted, freshly ground, freshly brewed
Freshly roasted, freshly ground, freshly brewed

Although I recently admitted to my failings as a true coffee connoisseur, my palate remains resolute in its hatred of oxidation. Or, having puzzled over the chemical processes involved, I should say that I hate the change in flavors and aromas caused by reduction-oxidation, but that takes too long, and efficiency matters in the kitchen. Furthermore, while my math skills may be passable and I find physics fascinating, chemistry has, at least since the 7th grade, given me a headache: Something about all that rote memorization and what I always took to be an unhealthy and mind-numbing emphasis on the “what” at the expense of the “how”.
In any case, suffice it to say that the taste and smell of  a food (for the avoidance of doubt, coffee is closer to the bottom than the top of the Food Pyramid, at least in my kitchen) changes by virtue of the food’s contact with the air we breathe, and most of these changes are not for the better. Oxidation creates that nasty metallic taste, the perception of acridness and overcooked-ness. This process is particularly acute in two of my favorite beverages, wine and coffee; fortunately, water, by my accounting the only other liquid truly essential to the sustenance of life, seems a bit more stable when left to its own devices.
In the case of coffee, the important thing to know is that the process of oxidation begins immediately, and the engine for this process is heat, although it is also deleteriously influenced by the piercing of the shell of the bean (the excellent if slightly more technical discussion I base this on may be found here): As soon as the bean is roasted, its taste and smell begins to degrade, in ways both subtle and profound: The compounds responsible for “good” flavors fade away, and the concentration of those responsible for “bad” flavors increases. The good news is that Mother Nature is also a coffee lover and, as is her wont, designed the bean in a particularly clever way: First, the external structure of the bean itself traps and protects many of the desirable features of coffee’s flavor profile inside; second, even after grinding, some of the aromatics remain inside the coffee by virtue of the bean’s naturally occurring oils and waxes known as lipids.
So what’s a deeply entrenched caffeine addict to do?

  1. Buy your beans in smaller amounts, as frequently as practical, and as close as possible to the date on which the beans were actually roasted. Clearly, this gives a huge edge to your local micro-roaster, and not because it’s “free trade”, or “local”, or even because they buy better beans (all of which may, or may not, matter to you), but because the chemistry itself dictates that locally roasted coffee will taste better. Funny how often this basic lesson seems to come up so frequently in food and cooking, and how much better suited to good eating (albeit more time consuming) is the old-school model of grocery shopping, in which we would buy our daily bread from a baker, our vegetables from the produce stand of a farmer who grew them, the fish from a fishmonger who just caught it. Easy rule: If you can’t figure out when it was roasted, you probably don’t want to buy it.
  2. If you’re going to store your beans for any length of time (and we do this as a matter of course – there is idealism, and there is keeping the family sane and the parents well-fueled at all times), try to get them in vacuum packs (to reduce air contact), and store them in the freezer (to mitigate the deleterious effects of temperature).
  3. Grind it when you’re going to drink it, and only brew what you’re going to drink. I don’t know about you, but I just don’t buy the argument that grinding your own beans is messy and time-consuming; and since the actual science tells me that I can drink better coffee simply by grinding my own, that seems to me a pretty cheap and easy way to consume a superior product. If you must brew a larger quantity first thing in the morning, then at least transfer it to an airtight carafe or thermos or whatever in order to slow down the nasty effects of heat and air on your beverage.

There is, as ever in the kitchen, an object lesson in all this: Simply by buying my coffee fresh and close to home, by preparing it when I actually want to drink it, and by only making the quantity that I actually want to drink, I will drink better coffee.

Sex, Lies, and Tomatoes: The Recipes

tomato and pesto on cranberry semolina bread
Super simple tomato sandwiches

The good news, as of this writing (a reprint from my previous website, if you’re wondering about the timeline), is that our local tomato spring truly has sprung. Not exactly on-time, however – more like, finally. As in, Finally, it’s about [expletive] time, because I live alongside some of the finest tomato plants in the known universe, and it’s just plain wrong to make me wait until late August to get my fix. In fairness, to live in Sonoma County is hardly akin to the forced deprivation of an extended tour on a nuclear submarine or offshore oil rig; sufficiently desperate for Solanum lycopersicum, I could purchase the irredeemable supermarket facsimile year-round. However, as I’ve already tried to explain, I won’t – I can’t – subject my family’s taste buds to such effrontery, and neither should you to yours. But here and now, the farmer’s market is literally teeming with tomatoes, at the stalls of the dedicated specialists (e.g, Dan Magnuson’s Soda Rock Farms), as well those of the many other outstanding growers I’m lucky enough to shop with (Preston Vineyards, Foggy River and Early Bird Farms, to name but a few); I’m even getting regular contributions from my own garden, and I really suck at growing tomatoes.
I’ll cook all sorts of things with tomatoes over the next couple of months, and once in a while I may even get a little cutesy and dress them up (for years I’ve been tempted, but failed to muster the courage, to mount an assault on Alain Passard’s legendary tomate farcie confit aux douze saveurs, still, as I understand it, a fixture of the menu at L’Arpege). Still and all, I typically treat tomatoes much the way I’d treat a peach, erring on the side of simplicity over complexity, part of my ongoing effort simply not to screw up a thing that began as nearly perfect before I got involved. However, unlike a peach – the peach being one of those rare foods that seems almost impossible to improve either by fiddling with or adorning it – the tomato is a remarkably versatile foil, tolerating temperatures from hot to cold, equally content as condiment and centerpiece, visually arresting whether highly processed or nearly naked, an unimpeachable accompaniment for seafood, steak, and cheese alike. The first tomatoes of the season, however, deserve a special respect, a period of honest assessment and contemplation, and this – more than a little like the first night back with your spouse after a long business trip or following an exaggerated bitchfest about something neither of you can even remember – seems best done naked, or at least nearly so.
Thus, as we continue eat our way through the first few batches of ripe little gems from our own garden, the dominant themes resonate around salads and sandwiches. The variations are truly limitless, but I really liked the most recent incarnation, as pictured at the top of this post, so here you go (the recipe for pesto follows at the end):
Heirloom Tomato Sandwiches on Cranberry-Semolina with Pesto, Olive Oil, and Salt
You could use virtually any tomatoes here, and – ideally – I think you’d serve a few different ones, both for variety of color and flavor. A red-toned beauty (Purple Cherokee, Pink Lady, or Early Girl), a yellow (Tangerine or Lemon Boy), and a green (Green Zebra) would provide a gorgeous array of color as well as a distinctive breadth of flavors, sweetness, and acidity. Similarly with the bread, you could use anything, really, but a lightly toasted, crusty sourdough works particularly well. I hadn’t planned it ahead of time, and I would not have thought of a fruit-laced bread had it not been lying around, but the almost impossibly good Cranberry-Semolina from the Full Circle Bakery in Penngrove worked exceedingly well, with the chewy, sweet-tart bite of the cranberries adding just the right ballast against the acidic tomatoes and the licorice notes in the pesto.

  1. Toast some slices of the bread, preferably a crusty sourdough with a baked-in dried fruit (cranberries, apricots… nuts in the bread, for some reason, sound unpleasant to me, although I can’t say why, because nuts and fruits go well together, there are already nuts in pesto… hmmmm… maybe next time?)
  2. Top each slice of bread with a thick slice of tomato – ideally, slices of a few different colors, although my garden wasn’t cooperating on that front – and then top each slice of tomato with a small quenelle of pesto. (Why bother with a quenelle? Because it takes almost zero effort and the uniform shape will look nice against the slightly irregular backdrop of the heirloom tomato and crusty bread, and because it will show off the effort you put into your pesto.)
  3. Sprinkle with fleur de sel and drizzle the plate with olive oil, preferably from Dry Creek, such as that from Preston or the pricier, but exceptional, Da Vero.

Classic Pesto (from M Hazan)
I’ve talked at length about pesto and its Mediterranean cousin, pistou here, and I like all sorts of variations, and many have a particular place (with cheese; without cheese; for fish; for pasta Genovese), but nothing – and I’ve made and consumed many hundreds in my life – is ever quite the equal of the classic Italian variety, and no version seems quite so perfect as the simple food-processor method of M Hazan’s, described accurately, along with some pretty decent comments and observations, here, in case you don’t have the book (Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking, which, by the way, is one of my few “must have” cookbooks, certainly a Top 10, maybe a Top 5).
Hazan’s is so easy, and so perfect, that I can not possibly add anything without also diluting it. However, I will emphasize that, if you’re going to make pesto, in addition to following Ms Hazan to the letter, you must heed a few basic rules (these are, of course, common to all cooking, but the simplicity and intensity of pesto offers even less slack than usual):

  • Use good basil. You really ought to grow your own – it’s cheap and easy, even for a challenged gardener like me. Make sure it’s the Genovese varietal: There are many basils, but you only want to make classic pesto with the particularly aromatic Genovese basil and its distinctive note of licorice.
  • Use good olive oil (it needn’t be your best – Costco’s organic extra virgin is just fine, and in fact better and cheaper than most), and probably an oil that leans more toward the grassy than the buttery end of the spectrum.
  • Use only freshly grated Parmigiano Reggiano and Pecorino Romano cheeses. Seriously, don’t buy the waxy, shrink-wrapped, Swiss-cheese-tasting crap from the market, don’t buy it pre-grated in tubs from Trader Joe’s, and never, not ever, shall you pour grated cheese from a shiny green can – not for any reason, but specifically not into your pesto.
  • Be careful about your garlic: First, try to find a grower that offers more than one kind, and that can describe the difference. Some are just way too hot and spicy. Rose de Lautrec is my go-to garlic if I can only have one, but obviously whatever the Italians classically use for pesto would be fine (I buy Rocambole from Bernier Farms, in the possibly misguided belief that this is what I would get in Italy). But be careful, because different garlics are not at all equivalent, and this extends to measurements: What, precisely, is a “clove” of garlic? The same bulb could have cloves varying in size by a factor of 4; and different types of garlic could have their heat vary by a factor of 4; so you could have a recipe calling for “2 cloves” and it could mean 2 or 32, from one extreme to the other. There is no way to deal with this uncertainty except to learn to do it by taste, to learn the garlic you use, to learn how much for your pesto.
  • Don’t forget to season it, but don’t risk over-salting until all the cheeses are incorporated, as Romano in particular is very salty.