Tableau Vivante

I had mentioned, back when I had moved over to my new online home, that there were things that I wanted to do differently with this ballooning blog and the community that came with it. For a while now, it’s been a lot of me posting this picture or that post and you dutifully reading. And I know you’re reading because the stats tell me so. But before I moved, I had no real idea how many of you there actually were. Comments were my only real way of tracking interest. Then I learned a few skills and discovered that, sweet barking cheese*, there’s a lot of you.

But save for a few of you, the quantity of comments have been, well, let’s be honest, anemic. Too many veggies, not enough protein? I know you’re there. I see you. But I thought to myself, how can I convince people to participate more? What possible incentive would they have?

The answer was instant – if you give it, they will come.

Also, I am not above bribery. Read the rest of this entry »

Someone left the fridge door open today, cause dang, it was a might bit chilly outside. Low clouds. No sun. A slight breeze. I waltzed out in a thin shirt and regretted it. Took my pictures fast and furious, but not just because of the cold. I had an important task to set up for today. But more on that later.

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I tend to look at maki rolls the same way I do burritos - anything goes. As long as it’s in my fridge, it’s fair game. I made JJ a ‘club sandwich’ maki roll for his bento with rolled up deli turkey slices and mayo. Mine is a sort of pseudo-California roll, sans avocado (which kind of takes out the California part - oh well), with crab and assorted veggies and herbs.  It’s handy eating, though perhaps a little less ‘rustic’ than the noble burrito.   Click through the pic for details, as per usual.

With this lunch, I am offically done with the duck, quiche, and Juliet tomatoes.  Next week will be a whole new kettle o’ something.  Not sure what yet.

That’s not really the news. And thankfully, my bus driver knows to shoo off his regulars when it looks like the outside world is not on their radar. But what caused this near calamity of transit?

Every once in a while, maybe two or three times a year, the Los Angeles Times Food section (published every Wednesday) will produce an issue that is so completely in tune with how I do and think food that it should be named Tableau Vivante’s Tremendous Party Pack of Yay. This week? One of those issues. I gave a muted squeal. The only thing that would have made the experience more perfect would have been to have lunch at the Times’ test kitchen while they were testing the recipes they published today. The Acacia panna cotta alone…

Where do we begin? Russ Parsons’ detailed feature on the hopes and dreams of almond growers in the Central Valley? Amy Scattergood’s whipping back of the cultural curtain on beans (she touts the Christmas lima bean as a possible carne asada replacement in tacos…sound like a challenge to this chicana!)? Jen Garbee’s praise of good honey? Corie Brown’s excursion into ratafia cordials and the making of said libations (Corie suggested a kumquat ratafia, and it was this story that was responsible for the near missage on the bus stop.)?

Go read it. Yes, yes, the LA Times website requires registration which will likely pop up annoyingly on your screen at either the first or second click through. Small price to pay though. Dooooo it. Dooooo it.

I’m not going to be posting these every day.  Just on the days I remember to take a picture.  And, let’s be honest, with bento it’s got to look the part, as well as taste good. Some days I will miserably fail at the former depending on how much time I had to make my lunch, and if I deem it to be a Fail Day, I won’t subject you to the outcome.   Click the picture for notes on what’s what.

Favorite item today happens to be a leftover from Easter – Coffee and Brown Sugar Duck Breast.  It’s a recipe I may post some day if I remember to take pictures while I’m making it.

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I was stumbling around the intarwobs this morning, cup of tea not-so-firmly in hand, looking for a break. A window. A crack in the pavement.

I found a poem.

Tossing aside the slightly misogynistic comparison of food and woman (T.Vivante’s Log, supplemental: I find it funny that when I’m writing, the English major in me goes silent, leaving me to commit all manner of grammatical crime. But when I’m reading? Pop out the critical theory and let’s get dissect-y!), I found it fun to read. The alliteration held me. The rhyme amused me. And really, these days? I’ve barely had the time for a chapter of anything. I have a copy of Jhumpa Lahiri’s The Namesake taunting me waiting for me on my table (and about a dozen other books that need a good spine cracking). I am a little tickled about something though - my schedule may be tight, but I found I have time for recipes and poems.
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Today’s lunch, which I was itching to photograph this morning. Ended up waiting until I got to the office. And look! Still beautiful! Click the image for picture notes on what’s what. Item I’m most proud of? The mini quiche. I made them with spare quiche filling and dough from the full-sized quiche I made yesterday. Used a biscuit cutter on the re-rolled dough and a muffin pan for shape. So very nice.  Minus the chicken, everything else is farmers’ market fare.

At a fromagerie, Rue Mouffetard, Paris, February 2008

So many long counters of cheese in every shape, flavor, and texture. Each cheese is administered in pharmacy-like precision by an apron-wearing woman or man who takes rightful pride in the bounty of their country’s curd. They are in every neighborhood in Paris, usually near the butcher or boulangerie.

To coin a popular phrase…NOM NOM NOM. I loves me some cheese.

Someone asked me, “why so much Rue Mouffetard?” Well, I had planned to hit the Marchè Bastille. I had also planned a bunch of other food-oriented wanderings. But I arrived in Paris with a bad chest cold, which the cooler winter air aggravated into embarrassing spasms of goose-like honking every time I went out of doors. My time in Rue Mouffetard was magical in that I rarely coughed the entire time I was there. That Saturday was sunny and even a bit springy. The next day though? Ugh. Aside from just feeling awful, the thought of imposing my lung hacking on the innocent market-going public was just plain wrong. So I bought my brioche and tea, holed up in my room, and watched a lot of French costume dramas.

I suppose I’m just going to have to go back and make up for the lost time.

I’ve been managing to bring a bento to work every day for the past few weeks (go me). I’ve just been lax about documenting them. And some of them have been so very wow (you’ll just have to take my word for it though). Remembered to shoot today’s lunch. Click through for notes on what’s what. Also? Dear Label bento boxes are now my favorite way to lunch it. My local Marukai has plenty of them on hand, though I’ve been hard pressed to find a good online source for them.

etiolate (n. etiolation)

To alter the natural development of a plant by excluding sunlight, often resulting in pale or bleached foliage. Etiolation is one method of layering for propagation; the shaded parts turn white or cream and develop no leaves. Also known as ‘blanching’.

I first knew I needed a kitchen in Paris the first day I walked through Rue Mouffetard’s open air market. I showed you one of the butchers already. I’ve highlighted cheese. But the first thing that brought it home? Etiolated vegetables.

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