Late Night with Lisa Walker...

Seriously, right hand is still repetitive stressing, so, can I please just joke the pain away?

I got played a bad hand. ba dum. Still hurts.

Maybe if I had the right joke...

But my acupuncturist has all the right jokes. And my lunatic friends keep me in a junior high continuum of laughs that would kill any comedy club. So as much funny as I am having, I am still hurting. And the last thing I want is for the new hand doctor to play me a hand of hand surgery. Because at that point I may find myself reaching for the joke that's been played on me.

What I can do, in terms of right now, is write the pain away. And in an attempt to write myself a happy ending, as the greeting card saying goes, I will enjoy every minute of this homebound freedom at my desk. In fact, it's the one place I have dreamt of being, forever. So, I will write my book, and this crazy blog, into the arms of an editor, or two.

Wish me luck.

And thanks for the sympathy.

XO TLC

Strawberry Jam Session

My family home in northern California had both a plum and an apricot tree and every summer mom would make jar, upon jar, of jam. While my brother and I were outside playing newspaper tag and catching pollywogs mom was elbo deep in fallen fruit, as they now say. She must have had fifty jars to boil, dry, and fill with cooked fruit. Then simmer in a bain marie; to seal up their waxed lids.

Finally, when I was old enough, I got to stir the piping hot fruit, thinking how much work that jam making business was, but worth every dirty pot. When mom cracked open the first jar of warm jam we closed in on her for the first taste.

For many years I didn't make jam and to this day, I still think of jam making as this big thing, more like an event. Who knows, maybe it has something to do with the time my brother and I ran into the house hungry only to find mom napping in a chair while the kitchen wall burned to the ceiling. The stove had combusted with piping hot fruit and sugar, and mom, startled by our screams jumped up and called the fire department; sacking the fire herself with a fire extinguisher. It was quite a moment and even the firemen were impressed. We may not have had homemade jam that summer, but we certainly got a favorite family story.

Over my years of cooking I stayed away from jam making. Too messy, too much time, stovetop fires and fire extinguishers... No thank you. It was my one mental culinary block. Until one summer when I made a camp stove blackberry jam on the Klamath River.  Blackberries were everywhere and friends picked a bucket-full for me to make a blackberry skillet pie. I baked a crust in a skillet in the fire pit, and cooked the berries in a pan on the stovetop. And I was struck by the simplicity of it. The simple fruit filling reminded me of mom's jars of jam.

I made jam all summer long.

So, when Harry's Berries, gaviotas and seascapes (two varieties of strawberries that draw a crowd three people deep at their Santa Monica farmers market) burst into season, all I could think of was fresh jam on toast. One basket of berries, a curl of lemon peel, a spoonfull of sugar, a splash of water and a small sauce pot, you can have jam in twenty minutes!

And my favorite is to hard-toast a slice of seeded bread, smear it with goat butter or goat cheese and top with warm jam... perfection.

And don't get me started on buttermilk pancakes with melting jam... A ripened cheese board... A scoop of creme fraiche ice cream...

Here's my Strawberry Jam Session:


A basket of fresh seascape strawberries are washed and quartered and heated over a medium flame with a tablespoon of sugar (optional), a sliver of washed lemon peel, and a couple tablespoons of water.  Be sure to turn down the heat to low after the berries come to a bubble. And you can take the berries as far as you want to go. Mine are extra jammy but a looser, fresher style is nice too.

After 10 minutes

After 20 minutes

On toast with goat cheese

L'omelette Amour

Anthony Bourdain once said every man should know how to make an omelet for the woman he's just slept with. Well, you certainly won't hear me arguing with romantic standards like that, eh hem, blushing... But let's be honest, a chef like Bourdain can make omelets in bed, if he chooses. For most regular people the reality of coaxing a couple of beaten eggs out of a skillet in one masterful piece (in your skivvies, no less) may be as likely as walking on water. Talk about pressure.

But anyone can learn. You just have to share his enthusiasm. I do, and can still remember my first omelet lesson with chef Herve at the California Culinary Academy in San Francisco, where I was a student.

Loud and commanding, chef would march back and forth, giving orders over the exhaust-fan, spitting French consonants and vowels on the backside of our toques:

"A fork and a pan! Tis is all the tools you need!" 

"Right away chef!", as we lined up like soldiers along the stovetop, side-towel in hand.

A stack of stainless steel skillets were quickly dispersed over high BTU's and a bain marie, crowded with misshapen forks, passed down the line.  Each student cracked three large eggs into a bowl and quickly whisked them well with salt and pepper. Within seconds a lump of room-temp, unsalted butter slipped into each six-inch, hot saute` and from there the chef's direction was simple:

Twist and turn the skillet allowing the butter to melt and foam, lacquering every inch of the pan. Then drop the heat and drop the egg. The egg will set-up around the edges and beg to be scrambled. This is when you work quickly with the fork, pulling the egg away from itself, to set-up an even base. Once the egg achieves a wrinkled roundness, tilt the pan toward yourself to gather the eggs softness at the lip of the pan and gently shake it, roll it, and slip it's crescent shape onto a warm plate.

Or, if the temptation is there, give it a flip with the flick of the wrist, careful to give it the smallest amount of heat before cajoling it onto the plate. Something I can't help every time I make one; and I have made more than enough to please even Mr. Bourdain. No, silly, just for me.

I'm sure you'll have fun practicing. Wink, wink.


                                

Move Over Popcorn!

There's a new snack in town! Chickpeas and kale. Ok, not entirely new, just sorta new. The hippies were doing it ages ago when they went to India to see the Maharishi with the Beatles. And yes, kale and chickpeas have certainly been inducted into the All Things Californian Hall of Fame; just like avocados, juicing and liberalism.

Kale, best known for its calcium and vitamin C properties, is apparently the best thing since the fish oil craze. Just the other year I heard a woman say-- kale saved my life. She was yoga-serious. Also very Californian.

Chickpeas, mostly celebrated in the form of lovely pulses such as hummus, and variations of it, are a great source of fiber and protein. In fact, Veganism might have shuttered its doors without them; and are now a standard at many restaurants and markets. I find myself making hummus for clients, sometimes twice a day.

And roasting them and eating them crunchy and salty, as a snack, is very Middle Eastern, as well as South Asian. Not new to them at all. Thankfully, we've adopted them as our own. A little cumin, vinegar, garlic and chili flakes can transform these wonderful dried beans into something more satisfying and healthy than the most buttery bucket of popcorn. And matched with a tray of crispy kale, so easy to make,  its even more irresistible.

Here's how


Stuff

Kale-- washed and dried-- I got mine from TJ's already washed and prepped. I've only got one hand!
Dried chick peas
Garlic-- pressed
Cumin
Chili flakes
Olive oil or grape seed oil
Red Vinegar
Salt and Pepper

Cook

A night ahead...

Soak the chickpeas in water, being sure to cover them completely.  They will soak up every bit of moisture.

Next day...


Spicy Chickpeas


Drain the chickpeas. They should appear plump and fresh-- what chefs call, reconstituted.

Heat an oven to 400' and line a large tray with parchment if you have it. Otherwise, a large skillet will work just fine. Spread the chickpeas on the tray.

Make a dressing-- combine 2 tablespoons of vinegar or lemon, 4 tablespoons of olive oil or grape seed oil, a tablespoon of cumin, a teaspoon of chili flake, a teaspoon of crushed garlic, a teaspoon of salt and some fresh cracks of black pepper. Pour 3/4 of the dressing over the chickpeas and coat each chick evenly. Reserve the rest of the dressing for later.

Roast the chicks for about 30-40 minutes until crispy and brown, checking every fifteen minutes. And coat them once again with the remaining dressing. Check for seasoning. They should be salty and spicy like spicy peanuts.

Crispy Kale

Turn the oven down to 300' and line your tray with parchment if you have it. A large skillet will work fine for this too. Sometimes you just have to use what you've got!

Evenly lay the kale on the tray, careful not to overcrowd them. Drizzle lightly with one of the oils and season with an even sprinkling of salt and pepper. Gently massage the kale with the oil and seasoning. Don't bruise it.  A little chili flake is nice too.

Bake for 20 minutes or until dark and crispy. Mix gently with warm chick peas and snack-away!

Tortillas and Tea~ A Lifetime Together

I grew up between two cultures, Latin and European. My father, a handsome Englishman, and my mother, a beautiful Mexican/Native American, were married forty-six years ago today. An unusual and unlikely possibility for most people these days, (I have friends who can't commit to dinner plans let alone a lengthy marriage) somehow my parents have managed to go the distance. With a great sense of humor, commitment, and of course lots of love, anything is possible. Here, here!

Flanked by two brothers at the kitchen table, we were stuffed full of delicious, homemade food. At Christmas time we ate from Grandma Medina's two-hundred tamales, and when we traveled to England, we cherished Grandma Walker's never ending tea sandwiches and cakes. But Mom really did all the cooking. Every night we sat down for dinner as a family. And once the word got out about the Walker family dinners, friends would show up hungry. The door was always open and if the food ran out Dad would run to the market for a small ham or another cut-up chicken; and Mom would make stir-fried rice, mashed potatoes, spaghetti, whatever she could quickly make to feed the hungry teenagers squeezed around our  small dinner table.  It's no wonder my parents are known, to this day, as Mom and Dad Walker, and no wonder Mom is hailed as the Left-Over Queen. No one has ever been more resourceful than her and no food could ever taste as good as Mom's.

But there's one dish that stood out over the years. Mom's sopa with handmade flour tortillas. This was my favorite and she would make it whenever I wanted it. She'd make it after school, for breakfast, even over a camp stove under the redwoods, and over a fire pit at the beach. She always used a heavy iron skillet and the smell of the pan roasting on the stove is still my favorite aroma. How many times I've watched her heat up the skillet, toast the broken pasta, fry the garlic, stew the tomatoes; while rolling-out fresh balls of tortilla dough to scorch over a hot skillet; I cannot begin to count. I could eat this for the rest of my life.

So, what is this favorite dish~ Sopa? Sopa de fidello, as it's called in Mexico, is not truly a soup as the name implies but a fried, soupy, thin spaghetti with garlic and tomatoes, eaten with fresh tortillas. Very similar to an Italian pasta pomodoro. The scorched bits of pasta give the dish a toasty undercurrent; and for me shouts-out 'Mom is cooking!'

So, today I wanted Mom's sopa. And as I began to fry the pasta I thought about my parents and their anniversary and I was inspired to cook like Mom~ the way she cooks for Dad. Dad is still very English in many ways, and loves his brussell sprouts, steak and kidney pie, sausage rolls; all dishes my mother loves and makes really well. And with that very thought, the proverbial skillet hit me over the head.  Toast the pasta and marry it with minced brussell sprouts and garlic. And what a fine dish it was!

Happy anniversary Mom and Dad. I love you!

The Daily Soak-- Chinese Herbs

I have so much time on my hands ( ha ha) and all I want to do is get back into the kitchen. But Dominant Hand is still out of commission. Drag...

Instead, I've become BFFs with the History Channel 2. It provides the perfect break from my culinary frustration, not to mention a perfect pairing for my daily tendon soaks. Instead of soaking and watching the Cooking Channel's Chefs-- David Rocco island-hopping in Sardinia, or Chuck, happily hoisting a giant iron skillet around his awesome Vancouver restaurant; I can learn about black holes and imagine that somewhere, in a parallel universe, I am cooking-- in my own awesome kitchen, on an island, on my own show...

Soon.

Until then I will watch science shows and relax with my hand-crafted tendon soak made by Mr. Rad-- Acupuncture Joe.

The Chinese herbal ingredients are new to me and really exciting, much like trying a new cuisine. Large pieces of bark and peel and branchy fibrous herbs are steeped in a gallon of water and used warm, as an anti-inflammatory soak or compress. Extraordinary stuff.

A steaming bath of AJ tendon soak and a portal to my alternate universe-- I'll be on my way!

Acupuncture-- Just What The Doctor Should Order

This business of healing is exhausting. My trip to the doctor revealed yet another possible diagnosis-- carpool tunnel, or whatever it is. Seriously, I haven't car-pooled in ages... Upsetting.

But I'll tell you one thing, it's been a long car ride. After seeing three of the nation's best hand specialists, all of whom had horrible bedside manners, I felt completely wasted. They hardly gave me a diagnosis, let alone new my first name. Being a patient at the prestigious UCLA hospital should make someone feel better, not worse.

By a huge contrast my acupuncturist, Joe, actually knows my full name and takes the time, and then some, to treat my car-pool problem. Imagine that, a practitioner who treats you like a person; a patient; and goes to great lengths to heal your body. And it's working. With every treatment the results are astounding, and with help from Dr. Joe I'll be back to the work-stove before Summer.

But until then I am still in the 'waiting room'. So I do what I do best-- crank up the oven and cook. A little digging in the fridge and I found some sweet, baby yams, shredded parmesan and farmers market walnuts-- the perfect feel better snack.

Roasted Baby Yams with Walnuts and Parm

Crank the oven to 400' and wash your yams clean. Rub them with grapeseed or olive oil and prick with a sharp knife. Season with salt and pepper and bake in the oven for twenty minutes, until soft, and the natural sugar from the yam has caramelized and broke through the skin. And don't forget to roast a few walnut pieces in the same roasting pan for five minutes, until golden. Slice open the yams and dress with walnuts and a shards of parmesan.