Hedonia

White gazpacho

In 2001, DPaul and I spent a month traveling and eating our way through Spain. We began the trip in Sitges and Barcelona, meandered our way through Andalucía for nearly two weeks, then wrapped things up with a quick jaunt to Toledo and finally nearly a week in Madrid. It was a life-changing trip on many levels.

Andalucia was the unqualified highlight. Being the last holdout of the Moorish kingdoms until the advent of the Catholic Monarchs at the end of the 15th century, it remains a place that speaks of cultural connections to the Islamic world in a way otherwise unseen in modern Europe. To this day, the whitewashed streets of Granada sport signs in Arabic, and you're more likely to encounter a tea house offering strong, tooth-achingly sweet mint tea than a Starbucks.

Our last stop in Andalucia was Córdoba, once the Moorish seat of government of nearly all of Iberia. The site to be seen is the Mezquita, a former mosque-turned-cathedral, famed for its forest of columns spanned by candy-striped arches.

Traveling with our friend Kate, we descended upon Córdoba by train from Sevilla, having already spent some ten days in the region. The Mezquita was our destination, but first, lunch beckoned.

We didn't really have a plan, just stumbling into the first place that looked nice nearby the Mezquita. Not uncommonly, this restaurant was nestled into an older building, occupying an al fresco courtyard, almost a cloisters. We took our seat, and were immediately presented with a glass of sherry poured directly from a cask in the middle of the floor. Good start.

I don't remember everything we had that day; in fact, I remember only one thing: A white gazpacho. It had never occurred to me that there was any kind of gazpacho other than the tomato-based variety, and I was entranced.

I knew it was made with almonds, but nothing more. For years it haunted me, and until recently I could find no recipes or even reference that such a thing existed. But then, just as it once again began to knock about in the dark corners of my memory, it presented itself to me. Catherine had beaten me to the punch, and posted a recipe. Such timing.

Similar to the classic ajo blanco, utilizing the same ingredients but with a lighter hand on the garlic and more grapes, this dish is everything I remember: The richness of almonds, sweetness from grapes, coolness from cucumbers and an unctuous texture. There's nothing like it.

Where to buy Spanish stuff: The Spanish Table

A major part of planning is shopping, and a major part of shopping is knowing where to shop.

While the grocery list for our Iberian dinner contained plenty of items that were easily gathered in one morning's visit to the Ferry Building -- produce at the farmer's market, pork from Golden Gate Meats, clams from San Francisco Fish Company -- there were some particular items special to Spain that we needed to source separately. I could probably have found it all by scouring the city and buying a little here, a little there, but I saw no reason to when we have a place like The Spanish Table just across the bridge in Berkeley.

The Spanish Table is an astonishingly comprehensive emporium of all things Iberian: Manchego, cabrales, jamon serrano, lomo, marcona almonds (blanched or roasted and salted), angulas, bacalao, piquillos, padrones, and of course sardines are just a few of the items at your fingertips. The array of olive oils, sherry vinegars and of course wines, sherries, madeiras and ports is dizzying. Luckily, the friendly and courteous staff is eager to help you navigate those waters.

We stocked up on meats and cheeses, bought almonds and sherry vinegar for the gazpacho, and picked a couple sherries to pair with various courses. Our mighty haul wasn't exactly cheap, but still less expensive than airfare to Madrid, so all good.

Not in the Bay Area? Why, check out their flagship location in Seattle or satellite store in Santa Fe. Or, just shop online.

The Spanish Table
1814 San Pablo Ave, Berkeley, CA

Effortless entertaining

The name of this post is a bald-faced lie. A ruse, a marketing hook to make you read on.

You see, there truly is no such thing as effortless entertaining. But you can make it look effortless. All it takes is a little ... effort.

Ah, delicious irony.

In point of fact, there is a perfect inverse relationship to the amount of effort you put into entertaining, and the amount perceived. Cut corners and skimp on prep, and you will look like a crazed weasel throwing pans and dishes around. Make a plan and start well in advance, and food magically appears as if on command from a sparkling clean kitchen.

DPaul and I entertain a lot, and over the years we've developed a few tips and tricks. We've learned a lot from über-organized kitchen mavens like our friends Anita and Kathleen, and DPaul himself, being one of the more detail-oriented people I've ever met, brings a lot to the table, so to speak.

Planning and organization is everything. We may start working on a dinner party two or three days in advance, more if we're charting new territory. Case in point, we recently hosted an Iberian-themed dinner for eight at our house, and I thought it worth documenting our processes (and recipes) for posterity.

We conceived a five-course menu (elucidated in future posts):

• A mixed plate of cured meats, cheeses and grapes.
• White gazpacho
• Pimientos piquillos rellenos de bacalao en salmorejo
• Carne de porco com amêijoas à alentejana
• Crema catalana

Normally, I have little trepidation about trying out new material on guests, even those that have never been to our house before. But this time, we were having among our guests one notable chef who specializes in Spanish fare. (Ballsy of me, no?) And while I know that chefs and foodies are in fact generally more appreciative than overcritical, I still wanted everything to be just so.

And you know what? It was.

So please follow me on a multi-post excursion exploring the ins and outs of entertaining in the Castello di Noi.

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One year ago today ... speaking of pork, read all about Moonlite Bar-B-Q (which I later covered again for their mutton).

The Eatsdropper wants it tempura-ized

I mean, really, isn't everything better tempura-ized? Keep sending in your flash-fried tidbits to eatsdropper-at-seantimberlake-dot-com.

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Manager, setting a plate of pasta in front of woman diner with a flourish:
    "Your tag-li-a-tell"
Woman, wide-eyed, waits until he is out of earshot and whispers to her dining partner:
    "I don't think he said that right."

- Eatsdropped by Sam at Zuppa

Jewish BLT eater: "I stabbed my lip with a piece of bacon today. It was so biblical."

- Eatsdropped by Shelly in her home

Diner, to server, pointing to item on menu: "Can you tempura-ize that?"

- Eatsdropped by yours truly at Eiji

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One year ago today ... I confessed my infidelity to you. But don't worry. It's over between us now.

Muffuletta

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the Least Vegetarian Sandwich Ever.

Yes, friends, lest there be any fear that I should slip back into my vegetarian ways (not that it wouldn't be a good idea!), I opted to make the meatiest sandwich I could imagine to anchor our sun-dappled day at Bouchaine.

To be fair, I didn't really make a true muffuletta. This mighty meaty 'wich, native to New Orleans, is traditionally made with a large, round loaf of crusty bread, a variety of cured meats and cheeses (typically capicola, salami, mortadella, emmenthaler and provolone, according to Wikipedia) and -- most importantly -- olive salad. This salad of course has olives, but also carrots, cauliflower and celery; its dressing is meant to saturate the bread.

But here's the thing: You can purchase this olive salad quite readily in the delis of New Orleans, but around these parts not so much. And as I was already in the throes of making a few other courses, I really wanted to cut a corner here. So I just combined tapenades of green and black olives with some rinsed and drained capers, and voilà.

Also, the muffs in New Orleans are jaw-breakingly tall, sometimes reaching several inches in height toward the center. In the interest of daintiness and easier portioning, I used a ciabatta, which retained an even thickness and allowed for more consistent cutting.

The resulting sandwich has a stunning display of pink-and-white strata, kind of like layers of sedimentary rock, if the earth's crust were made of meat and cheese. Which, for better or worse, it is not.

I ended up making, oh, about 20 times as much of the olive spread as I needed, so it has casually made its way into almost everything I've made since -- a dollop in salad dressing, gobs smeared under and atop the skin of a roasted chicken, a touch thrown into braising liquid. It's a remarkably versatile condiment, lending a fruity and complex flavor to everything it touches.

Herbed green bean-potato salad

Editor's note: While taking a blog hiatus seems to be all the rage these days, I'm not trying to be trendy. Life, work and everything else has gotten in the way these past couple of weeks, and I have had to put Hedonia on a back burner. I hope to resume more regular posts now. Back to our previously scheduled wine country picnic.

Stepping up the absorption quotient of our wine-soaked picnic, potato salad seemed like a natural choice. After all, potato salad is American picnic food royalty, a default selection for any outdoor meal. But as we were going to be in the sun on a warm day, I really didn't want to go down the mayonnaise route. Sun plus heat plus mayonnaise equals yuck. Plus, I'm not really a mayonnaise kinda guy to begin with.

And anyway, I rather prefer a simple potato-green bean salad lightly dressed with vinaigrette. It's light and refreshing, and doesn't coat the palate with a creamy film. This sort of salad is pretty widespread, and the recipe is simple enough, but I took a cue from Elise and tossed the potatoes while hot in vermouth to infuse them with flavor before dressing the salad. Definitely makes a significant impact on the final product. The tarragon in the dressing plays nicely with the herbal notes in the vermouth, too.

In general, I don't love red potatoes, but they are exactly the right choice for this salad. Small creamers are waxy enough to retain their shape, yet take on a wonderfully creamy texture (hence the name) when cooked and cooled. Plus, the color of the skins adds great contrast against the white centers and green beans.

Quinoa salad with shrimp, cucumber, mango and mint

Quinoa is the new black. It is the darling ingredient of the hour, the what's-old-is-new favorite of foodies everywhere. Ancient in its roots, quinoa has become today's "it" grain.

I'm a fan. For years, I've loved quinoa's nutty flavor and crunchy, caviar-like texture. It's versatile, flavorful and easy -- easier, in my opinion, even than rice. It's a natural for salads, and I drew inspiration from several of my favorite bloggers:

• Tea discovered she likes quinoa, much to her chagrin, reveling in a red quinoa salad.
• Healthy grain advocate Heidi's lemon-scented quinoa salad is just one excellent preparation.
• Ilva gives it an Italian twist with radishes, ginger, pine nuts and balsamic.
• Clotilde continues the Mediterranean theme with red peppers and pine nuts.
• Catherine, writing at Bay Area Bites, hit closest to home for me with cucumber, tomato and mint.

I was also working off a salad I get occasionally from the take-away counter at Piperade, with shrimp, cucumber and herbs, with a lime dressing. The dish is well-intentioned and often flavorful, but all too often the shrimp are tough and it is overdressed and sloppy. I knew I could do better.

I wanted the combination of shrimp and cucumber to bring color and contrast to the dish, mango for gentle sweetness, just enough heat to tickle the palate, and lime and mint for a refreshing finish.

Finally, I chose red quinoa, which I have never used before. I love it. I'm not sure whether it genuinely has a nuttier flavor than its paler cousin, or whether the color simply has power of suggestion, but I thought it had a pronounced flavor that stood up well to the other players in the dish. (Like the other variety, though, you must rinse it before cooking, as all quinoa is naturally coated with a substance called saponin, which can taste bitter.)

For all its deceptive simplicity, this salad is satisfyingly complex. It's got sweet, sour, salty and hot. It's got crunch and chew. It's got earthy nuttiness and herbal freshness. It's got it all.

Wine country picnic

Summertime, and the living is easy ...

What a crock. The living's no easier in the summer. Work goes on every day as normal, tourists flood the farmer's market and a thick blanket of fog ensures that I lose my hard-earned trucker tan. Summer, feh.

But it is easy to get a small taste of the simple life, to bask in a carefree afternoon of food, friends and frivolity under a balmy summer sun. Certainly chief among the reasons we love living in San Francisco is fast and easy access to the wine country.

DPaul and I make excursions pretty frequently; in fact, we explicitly joined a few wineries' clubs just to have the excuse to get out of town once in a while. We've long been big fans of the Dry Creek Valley area in Sonoma County, but for the last year and change we've been enamored with Carneros, the region alongside the north side of San Francisco Bay that straddles the southern ends of both Sonoma and Napa counties. And even more specifically, we're best buds with Bouchaine.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Bouchaine rocks. I won't pretend to be any kind of wine expert, and certainly cannot rank their wines against comparable quaff from more esteemed producers (though their rosé of syrah got good marks in our taste-off). All I know is that I enjoy their wines immensely. But what Bouchaine does excellently, better than most, is deliver a flawlessly enjoyable wine country experience. No tour buses and limos, no snotty bling-laden tourists and harried winery staff. Just a sun-dappled back deck overlooking vineyards and serenity interrupted only by a cooling bay breeze.

Bouchaine is an ideal spot for a picnic, and so for DPaul's birthday last week, that's precisely what we did. Ten of us met to enjoy a flight of tastings alongside some tasty treats. Bouchaine does offer a picnic program, where you can purchase baskets of meats, cheeses and other goodies, and that's all well and good. But I thought it would be fun to bring our own picnic of wine-friendly foods to enjoy.