Hedonia

This is why the Eatsdropper drinks wine

Whew, hot stuff in the city today! You know what else is hot? When you whisper sweet little overheard nothings in my electronic ear at eatsdropper-at-seantimberlake-dot-com or by Twittering them to @Hedonia. Mwah!

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Mommy, with whining, flailing tot:
    "This is why mommy drinks wine."

- Eatsdropped by yours truly at Plumpjack Wines

Julie: "Quercia Rossa Berkshire ham? Oh ... I think I know this pig!"

- Self-eatsdropped by Julie at Laïola

Middle-eastern guy to middle-eastern coworker:
    "Mas lavash, por favor"

- Eatsdropped by Anita at Ali Baba's Cave

Him, in shorts and flip-flops: "I wrote you a two page poem, I'd like to read it to you. I wanted to get you a rose to hold while I read it."
Her, in a beautiful dress and gorgeous heels: (looks around nervously) "Maybe not here."
Him: "I spent so much time writing it, I really want to read it to you. It's romantic. What, should I pretend I haven't spent days writing it?"
Her: "That would be okay, yes."
Him: "Okay, I'll just forget it. I'll forget I wrote you a two page poem and was going to read it."
Her: "Yes, that sounds like a good plan."
Him: repeats himself over and over, saying same thing...
Her: "Maybe we could just leave."
Him: "And ruin this evening I have planned? What's changed between us?"

- Eatsdropped by Poshmama at "kind of a nice French place, but small with tables close together. you know the type" (via Twitter)

Student:  How do you tell which ones are the male squash blossoms? Teacher:  You can tell.  Seen one, seen 'em all.

- Eatsdropped by Elise at a cooking class

A jack-and-coke-drinking young gay man, tasting his halibut:
    "You know what it reminds me of? The turkey at Boston Market!"

- Eatsdropped by Anita at Range

Amy: "I haven't made that soup since I made that soup."

- Eatsdropped by yours truly at Canteen

English pea soup

I am addicted to KCRW's Good Food podcast. I love host Evan Kleiman's effervescent yet lucid tone as she investigates a wide spectrum of food-related topics. And I especially love the kick-off segment, the Market Report with Laura Avery, who interviews farmer's market vendors and local chefs with the intensity and sincerity of an embedded reporter in Tikrit.

The main reason I enjoy the Market Report, though, is hearing what produce is coming into season in sunny SoCal, knowing that in a matter of weeks the same things are likely to crop up here in the north. Case in point: English peas.

The peas first made their market debut during Avery's March 1 report, and started appearing at Ferry Plaza a few weeks later. Now, at the tail end of their season, I was able to nab a good hearty bagful at the Noe Valley market, pods plump with bright green orbs within. In Avery's report, she talked with LA überchef Mark Peel of Campanile, who shared a simple, fresh pea soup with a luscious, creamy texture without using actual cream. In fact, Peel's original recipe is completely vegan, with just peas, potatoes, onion and garlic. I used chicken stock simply because we have gallons of the stuff.

The pureed potatoes and peas lend a soothing, velvety texture and pleasant weight. A simple garnish of a few glowing dots of bright-green McEvoy Ranch olive oil completes the presentation. A perfect bowlful of springtime freshness.

Coniglio alla cacciatora

My great grandfather, Carmine Battaglia, came over from the wee town of Salle, in Abruzzo (that's the calf of the boot, for the visually inclined) at the tender age of 16 in 1906. I never knew Grandpa Battaglia -- he passed when I was just an infant -- but the stories about him are legendary. A man of lusty appetites, he fancied himself quite the ladies' man (though the ladies perhaps did not see things quite the same). At the dinner table, he would consume not only the meat from a chicken, but noisily crunch down the bones as well.

He also notoriously loved his wine and whiskey. In fact, the family would often say that his car wasn't capable of making it up Broadway hill in my hometown of Schenectady, NY, to the house, as Cappie's bar was halfway up. He was an avid hunter, which in itself is not a bad thing, but in combination with his drinking had unfortunate results. When he'd return home from the hunt short one of his dogs, he'd say that it got "gun-shy," which no doubt any creature would be after being shot by a crazy, drunk paisan'.

Still, he managed to bring home the occasional rabbit (at least, I hope they were rabbits), and when he did he would prepare them, aptly, in the hunter's style, or alla cacciatora. This quintessentially rustic Italian preparation has been popularized with chicken in restaurants everywhere, but really lends itself to any small game. Since we prefer to keep our dog, we decided to get our rabbits the new-fashioned way: at the meat market.

Rabbit is not commonly cooked in American homes these days, and finding it can be a challenge. Luckily, when I called Golden Gate Meats to inquire whether I would need to special-order it, I was told that they always have it in stock. Perfect.

Now, when you attempt to butcher a rabbit of your own (and you will have to), you may think you have found yourself on the set of Alien Autopsy. The instinct is to dissect it much like a chicken, but this is no fowl. Do yourself a favor and procure a copy of the excellent Essentials of Cooking by James Peterson and follow the exceedingly lucid step-by-step instructions there.

Not long ago, my aunt decided to make Giada De Laurentiis' chicken cacciatore recipe after seeing it on the tube. From the first Proustian bite, she was transported back to childhood and Grandpa Battaglia's rabbit. The only difference, I'm told, true to his lusty nature, was that he had a heavier hand with the red pepper. That is one trait I myself have inherited.

Good morning

Squash blossom frittata with spring garlic, anyone? Yes, please. What, you want a recipe? Uh, how about some eggs; a mess of grated parmigiano; your blossoms (chopped, with a few whole reserved for effect) and garlic; dash of salt, pepper and Tabasco; a little too much butter; and a painter's eye for drama. Easy enough to do on a languorous Sunday morning.

Bicicletta

Hey, we only get so many hot days a year here in San Francisco, so when the season approaches, I like to be prepared and have a cooling cocktail at the ready. Last year, it was all about the michelada. But as the summer came to a close, and we journeyed to perhaps the hottest place of all, Palm Springs, I enjoyed a spectacularly refreshing drink at Spencer's, called the Bicicletta.

The drink is simplicity itself, just Campari, white wine and a spritz of club soda, but the whole is more than the sum of its parts. I am fond of Campari in general, but especially on hot days. Aside from memories of sweltering days on the Amalfi Coast, I find that Campari actually has a cooling effect. The white wine rounds out the cocktail, mellowing the intense bittersweet of the amaro, and of course the club gives it a fizzy kick. They are surprisingly easy to sip on during the dog day afternoons when nothing else is feasible. Luckily, the club soda and ice ensure that you can do so without getting completely fuore come un balcone.