Late summer breakfast skillet with grated zucchini, pasture-raised eggs & feta.
This is one of my favorite summer breakfasts. This is a great way to use up all the seasonal goodies that are leftover from your abundant farmers market basket/garden/etc.
Cut a handful of cherry tomatoes in half. Chop a garlic clove or two.
Quickly grate a whole zucchini with a cheese grater (it will take you less than 3 minutes, I promise). Remove the organic corn from the freezer that you froze over the course of the summer ;) Feel free to use fresh or any other frozen corn as well - this is your breakfast, do what you want.
Add some olive oil to a cast iron - toss the tomatoes in as well. Pan car the tomatoes on high heat, adding in the garlic at the last minute.
Before the garlic turns brown, add the grated zucchini. Mix together and then let it be. Leave uncovered - zucchini has a high water content, as do tomatoes. We want that to steam off.
In 5 min, or when it seems less watery, mix in corn.
Using a spoon, create 2-4 small pockets in the mixture.
Gently crack eggs into the pockets.
Cover pan with a lid and allow the eggs to steam for 3-5 min. Check them occassionally, by gently touching their yolk. Once the yolk is almost at the firmness you desire (I love runny eggs - but not everyone does), crumble some feta over the dish. Cover for another minute to let the cheese get a little melty.
Serve with crusty buttered bread. Top with avocado if you’re feeling real dangerous.
I always find an inherent conflict between my love for photography and my commitment to yoga/being present/enjoying the moment. This is the conflict that pushed me away from photography and into cooking. This is the conflict I face when adventuring into nature surrounded by beautiful people and an overwhelming amount of magic. Photography means a certain thing out in the wild. It means looking at the world through the lens in your mind, waiting for perfect moments, improving on them with creative direction. This produces amazing photos. The kind you're thrilled about for years to come. But this crafting of the world in your mind for the image also means that you are never fully in the Moment, letting it roll on without pause, snowballing down the mountain of life. Add to this the idea that we are ALL now photographers, with our iPhones and that every moment exists solely for Instagram, Facebook, Snapchat or whatever form of social media your self worth is embedded in, and we've got a whole society of people who just aren't being present. But they are making a lot of damn great photos. Photos that maybe they'll never remember in 5 years. The glut of fantastic imager makes iphonography as delicious as a Vegas buffet. The first bites are amazing, the rest of the meal though? Forgettable at best, despite your need to keep filling up your plate. http://www.newyorker.com/business/currency/in-the-future-we-will-photograph-everything-and-look-at-nothing
There is something magical about knowing exactly where your food comes from. Here's a teaser image from my recent Nopalize Seasons with www.Nopalize.com to Riverdog Farm. We had a spectacular trip complete with a picnic lunch by NOPA chef Laurence Jossel. I'll keep you all updated on where you can find more of these images and a story on the trip!
Across the table from me, a friend bites into her half of our big & crusty grilled cheese sandwich. I offer up a bowl of tomato soup for dipping - the vivid orange color makes me fairly sure they're sun golds.
"I prefer my food unadulterated," she says.
Fair enough. All the more savory saucing for me. I wouldn't have even considered ordering the grilled cheese unless there was soup to dunk it in. I live by the sauce creed: always do it. Start simple. Steadily introduce new flavors onto your plate, like a colorful palette. End with a bang.
My uncle always cordoned his food into separate sections on his plate, all the way to the last untarnished bite. I imagined his food to feel lonely - separated & imbalanced.
I mix in what seems like an indiscriminate manner - by the end of my meal, there is a small pile in the center that consists of every flavor I've tasted throughout the meal.
It's the same with my life. Messy but tasty. All mixed up at the end, but hell if it isn't the most flavorful thing I've ever experienced.
Compartmentalizing seems to be a growing trend. We put our friends into our various Google Circles and tell strangers at networking events a prescribed version of our CV. A recipe for a bland, but safe, life.
I continue to souse my sandwich in soup. After lunch, we make our way to the sea. After all, baptism isn't just for sandwiches.
It was dusk in San Francisco’s Mission district and my stomach was calling out for some tasty treats. I meandered the streets waiting for the perfect solo dinner to jump out at me. San Francisco’s food scene is continuing to explode, but a slamming, social restaurant is best experienced on a date or with friends.
I’ve been known to wait too long for the perfect restaurant. Once, on a date with my boyfriend in New York, I dragged us around the East Village for almost an hour until we found a place that ‘felt right’. I was in a similar predicament, with a rumbling belly and a craving for Latin food. Turning a corner, Panchita’s Restaurant #2 practically jumped at me. Outside the warmly lit Salvadorian restaurant were two women working quickly and carefully behind the hot and steamy glass of a pupusa cart.
I stared at their fingers for a moment as they deftly pinched at the yellow masa dough, filling them quickly, patting them out into pancakes and tossing them nonchalantly on to a lightly greased griddle. The women wore shorts, which I assume kept them at the perfect temperature behind the griddle on a cool San Francisco night. Making my way inside to the counter, I ordered quickly: one chicken, one mushroom/garlic, and one Negro Modelo.
Food regret is one of my worst enemies - I am always a little anxious that I ordered the wrong meal, questioning myself as I wait for my fated plate to arrive. Panchita’s managed to calm me. I sat at the lacquered wooden table alone with my beer, gazing over the latest copy of Lucky Peach magazine. Two stuffed cornmeal pancakes were quickly and casually set in front of me, followed by a large plastic bucket of a tangy, vinegar based, mayo-free slaw and a large container of red sauce.
The pupusa, a Salvadorian mainstay made of a cornmeal dough stuffed with a cheese based filling, is always served with slaw and hot sauce. Panchita’s pupusas were not oily and looked almost baked, with perfectly browned patches across their faces. I slathered them with red sauce and slaw, digging in with a fork and inhaling both. The chicken won me over, with it’s simple flavor, moisture and perfect cheese ratio. The mushroom and garlic reminded me a little too much of Italian food - the flavor was perfect until about halfway through, when suddenly I was less charmed.
At the table across from me, I learned a quick lesson on one of the many ways to eat a pupusa. A man sat with his steaming hot pupusa, which he had ordered to go. They came with two plastic baggies, one full of slaw and the other, red sauce. He tore off the top of his hot pupusa and let the cheese steam a little before ripping open his bag of slaw and pouring it onto the melty mess. Using his teeth, he ripped a corner off of the other knotted baggie and gently poured the red sauce into the mixture. Using his hands, he lifted the masa mixture into his mouth. He flirted briefly with the waitress and returned to his pupusa. I was fascinated.
I took to finishing my beer and reading my magazine. I glanced up later to see that the man who had been eating with his fingers holding a piece of paper (surprisingly without any greasy finger marks on it). It was in Spanish, but obviously a resume. He spoke to the man across from him about the resume. The man who sat with him had eaten his pupusa with a fork. Who was the man eating with his fingers? Did he own the pupuseria? He seemed like a lord - a pupusa lord.
I finally stopped staring and left the warmth of the pupuseria. Panchita’s has had their pupusa cart outside for a little over a year now and serve from it even on weekdays during the warmer months. Every pupusa is made fresh, costs about three dollars and is served with as much slaw as your Salvadorian loving face can handle.
They are located on 16th Street, between Mission and Valencia, in San Francisco and are open late for all you drunkies.
Recently stumbled upon a series I shot on the Big Island, Hawaii entitled 'Into the Volcano'. The most beautiful moment was bathing in the warm steam that was coming out of the volcano's vents. Warming, healing yet potentially scalding. Pure magic.
Loved art directing this shoot with Stephanie Williams of www.thismodernromance.com . It was a beautiful, foggy SF day and everything came together perfectly!
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