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Cafe Flora's French Dip Sandwich – Earthy Vegetarian Garlicky Goodness

2/24/2016

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While preparing the following dish I felt like a medieval sorceress conjuring a different physical sensation with each step. The Mushroom Essence was simmering away for hours, tantalizing earthy steam heavy on the garlic clearing the sinuses. When the shallot, garlic, white wine, and garlic chives (plucked from my herb pot on the back porch while cackling with joy – Harbingers of Spring!) were cooking-down, mouths were watering uncontrollably. While the Portobello mushrooms roasted, slick with olive oil and garlic, stomachs were growling, cheeks were flushing with heat, and anticipation. 

​Did you notice mention of garlic, perchance? Here’s a confession: I am a garlic fiend. Wait, let me say that a different way: I am a Garlic Fiend. Almost any recipe I ever come across that lists “1 - 2 cloves of garlic” automatically gets doubled. At least. Of course I take into consideration that the size of a clove of garlic can range from a teeny-tiny, insignificant sliver that’s too much trouble to peel (put these aside somewhere so you can throw them into a simmering pot of stock in the future – peel and all, as it will be strained anyway), to a big, juicy nugget of a clove that inspires a just-struck-gold feeling of euphoria. But in cooking, indeed maybe a few too many areas of my life, I am not a fan of holding back. 
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​My attention was brought recently to my Café Flora cookbook (where this recipe hails from, with a couple minor variations) sitting on the shelf demurely in its sort-of lonely vegetarian slot. This restaurant has been serving up creative and delicious vegetarian and vegan dishes since 1991, and is not only renowned in Seattle, but the entire US! They’ve got an eco-conscious philosophy from the organic, local menu to the building itself, using reclaimed wood from local farms and soy-based stains on the floors. If you’re in the area go there. Meat-eater or not it will delight you. If you don’t or can’t go, and like a beefy-tasting-yet-vegetarian sandwich, make this. Dip a corner into the steaming magical mushroom concoction, roll your eyes upward and grin. Spring is on its way.

​Mushroom Essence
 
½ pound whole crimini or domestic mushrooms, including stems
6 cloves garlic, lightly crushed
2 Tbsp. tamari
 
Combine the mushrooms, garlic, and 6 cups of water in a 3-quart saucepan. Bring to a boil, lower the heat, and cook at a low boil. Cook for about 1 hour, or until the liquid has been reduced to 2 cups. If you want an even more intense mushroom flavor, keep the saucepan on the stove for several hours at a very low simmer, until the liquid has been reduced to 1 cup or less.
 
Strain the liquid, and add the tamari. (Just disregard the mushrooms – they’ll be depleted of flavor and just rubbery nothings after this.) Keep warm until ready to use, or refrigerate or freeze for use later.
PictureThis makes the best garlic bread!!!
​French Dip Spread
 
1/2 tsp. olive oil
½ large shallot, minced
½ tsp. minced garlic
1 Tbsp. chopped fresh herbs (parsley, thyme, chives, or basil),
or 1 tsp. dried
2 Tbsp. white wine
¼ pound (1 stick) unsalted butter, softened to room temperature (or soy-based margarine for vegans)
Salt and freshly ground pepper
 
Heat the olive oil in a small skillet over medium heat. Add the shallot, garlic, and herbs, and cook for 2 minutes, stirring constantly. Add the wine, and cook until most of it has evaporated, but the mixture is still moist. Remove from the heat, and cool completely.
 
Add the cooled shallot mixture to the softened butter, and mix well. Add salt and pepper to taste.

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​Café Flora French Dip Sandwich
 
2 Tbsp. olive oil
2 tsp. minced garlic
3 Portobello mushrooms, reserving the stems for Mushroom Essence
Salt and freshly ground pepper
1 large yellow onion, halved and sliced in thin crescents
1 rustic baguette
French Dip Spread (recipe above)
Optional: 4 slices Swiss, mozzarella, or provolone cheese
(I used Beecher’s cheddar and it was soooo good!)
About 1 1/3 cups Mushroom Essence (recipe above)
 
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Mix 2 tablespoons of the olive oil and garlic in a small bowl. Brush the Portobello caps on both sides with this mixture, and sprinkle each side with salt and pepper. Place gill sides down on a baking sheet, and roast for 25 minutes. (Leave oven on for subsequent step.)
When mushrooms are cool enough to handle, slice each cap thinly, trying to get at least 8 – 10 slices per cap. Set the mushrooms aside.
 
While the Portobello caps are in the oven heat the remaining tablespoon of oil in a pan over medium heat. Add the onion, and cook for 5 minutes, stirring once or twice, until it has begun to soften. Turn down the heat to low, and cook the onion for 15 – 20 minutes, stirring occasionally.
If the onion starts to stick, add 1 to 2 tablespoons of water (or some of that white wine since you have it), and stir to remove any bits of onion from the bottom of the pan. When done, the onions should be various shades of brown, soft, and sweet. Remove from heat and set aside.
 
Cut the baguette into 4 equal portions, 5 or 6-inches long. (Don’t use the ends.) Slice each hunk in half lengthwise. Spread each of the 8 halves with 1 tablespoon of French Dip Spread.
Heat a large skillet over medium heat. Place as many baguette pieces as can fit in the pan spread-side down, and griddle the bread for 3 minutes. Repeat this process for remaining bread.
 
Place 4 baguette pieces, griddled side up, on a lightly oiled baking sheet. Top each with ¼ of the Portobello slices and sautéed onions. Top with a slice of cheese, if using.
 
Put these 4 bottom halves in the 350-degree oven, and bake until the cheese melts and the sandwich is heated through, about 10 minutes. Top with remaining buttered halves of baguette, and bake for 3 minutes longer.
 
Slice each sandwich in half at an angle (carefully, or everything will smush out), and serve with a side bowl of Mushroom Essence as a dipping sauce, about 1/3 cup for each serving.

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Working at Home

2/18/2016

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​My morning task today is to file the bills and paperwork that's been piling on top of the file cabinet for months and months (plus a secret cache in between the armoire and cabinet where I hastily stuffed a pile of paper in a whirl of some speed cleaning before a party) drag it all onto the floor so I can sort it, then I look at the top of the cabinet and it’s dusty so I move the plant that lives there and dust it and then I'm thinking a sarong or scarf would look cute draped over it to cover up the worn area that got ruined by water spillage from overwatering the plant once or twice – water on wood, no good, no good – so I walk over towards the closet area where the scarves and the sarongs are and I see a little dust devil peeking out from underneath the bed so I stop and grab it and then I get down on my belly to look and realize that it really needs a thorough dust mopping under the bed and maybe I should add cleaning the house to my list of chores today, and I wonder if there’s a better place to store the LED hula hoop, but I carry the little devil to the bathroom trash can then I get distracted by my bangs for a minute in the mirror because they look like Mr. Peabody’s and/or Sherman’s then turn around and realize I haven't had any of the coffee that I poured a while ago that is now in the cup on top of the clean filing cabinet, so I have a big swig and look at the backyard through the sliders and the cat is moonwalking in front of the door inside barfing. I struggle with the Kleenex box (if you can call it a ‘box’ because it’s cylindrical…can you?) because they came in a set of three and very cleverly fit into the cup holders of the car but I ran out of Kleenex for the bathroom the other day so grabbed one of these and have been mauling them ever since trying to get them out of the ‘box.’ I get a couple tissues, clean up the barf, roll up the rug to put in the laundry basket which isn't there because it's in the basement where there may just possibly be wet laundry stinking of neglect. The laundry is dry and survives the sniff test so I haul it all up, and now there is a mountain of clothes, sheets and the tips of two dark cat ears on my bed whispering: “Fold us!” (the laundry not the cat, of course) to me sitting in front of my pile of paperwork. I sort the papers into piles in a semi-circle around myself, legs splayed and bare feet and toes wiggling to some inner song and see that I still have remnants of sparkly teal polish on several toe nails from that pedicure I had back in September and decide I will remove at least one distraction, but realize the alcohol wipe I'm using just ruined the edge of my thumb nails that I painted last night on a whim with sample polish (in the exact shade of purple of the chaise lounge!) that I got from my Buy Nothing Project group in an Ipsy bag, (which was what I really wanted – the bag) which I’d never heard of but it had all these hair and make-up samples in it and I was selected because the giver asked for funny memes or stories to help her make her selection and out of 55 people I was the only one who wrote a story—using all the product names and descriptions, which was pretty clever if I do say so myself: 

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​Product Placement: Octavio kicked the colorful Fallen Leaves on the trail down to the Balm(y) Brazilian beach. The bright lights and City Color behind him, he walked barefoot in the sand as he waited to Meet Matt Hughes who promised to divulge to him “My Amazing Hair Secret.” Before him hundreds of Jelly Pong Pong fish swam in the surf, their tendrils shining like gossamer. He waited for hours and must have Dose(d) off, as when he opened his eyes he was startled to see a brilliant Novex streaming across the matte black sky.

​I've also discovered through the stinging of alcohol on my finger pad that I have a splinter or miniature puncture wound, so I go get the magnifying glass (with a carved bone handle that we bought in an antique store in Portland years ago on a wonderful get-away/foodie fest/shopping spree) for closer examination and see no splinter but do see I did a total crap-job on polishing my nails and blow it off because no one’s going to be looking at them with a freakin’ magnifying glass after all, but now that I’ve put it out into the Interether I can predict kindly-disguised comments in the near future on how they don’t look that bad, or worse, confirmation of their sloppiness, but I like them anyway because they’re all purple and shiny, and a little bit punk. After finally finishing the filing, I decide I’ll take a picture of my nails on the couch, so take a squeegee I have for the sole purpose of spot-cleaning the couches but in my over-zealous raking break the handle. I fix the handle, take the photo and wonder when my hands started looking so old. They're still good for filing, working around the house and writing, though.
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Dancing the Blues

2/10/2016

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​It seems as if this January the Reaper awoke from a holiday stupor, burped up the last dregs of alcohol, rolled some kinks out of his neck, cracked his knuckles and scythe a-swingin’ started mowing down creative souls left and right. With David Bowie he cut a large swath of my youth out of my heart.
 
At high school dances in the late 70’s whenever I heard the beginning of Suffragette City I would stop whatever I was doing if not already on the dance floor, and grab a hand to drag a partner out, or if no one was around fly solo, dancing with abandon and joy. When it came to the climax of the song I was sure to throw back my head and howl the loudest: “Awwwwww wham bam, thank you ma’am!” Then continue dancing, a whirling blur of long blonde hair and thrusting hips.
 

My best friend Hannah was responsible for most of my musical education from my teens onward, including David Bowie. She adored the Thin White Duke with an unrivaled passion. We would sit on the floor of her college dorm room listening to album after album of Bowie in the candlelight, getting lost in the lyrics, alternately pumped up and calmed by the music. She read to me from the liner-notes, knew every word to every song, glowed with reverence while I was comfortable just knowing the chorus, enjoying the feelings each song evoked, and rolling a particularly poignant or poetic phrase around in my head with pleasure.
 
In college student dances evolved from DJ’s to more live bands; in the early 80’s a mix of skinny-tie New Wave and the leathery whiff of bad boy rock and roll. I remember one time in particular dancing with Hannah, and the unmistakable opening riff of Rebel Rebel whipped us into a proper frenzy. I was wearing black tights and leotard with a wrap-around skirt and when the lead singer sang “Rebel Rebel you’ve torn your dress” I tore off my skirt and flung it over to the side of the dance floor. When the lyrics came around to that line again he changed it to “Rebel Rebel where is your dress?”
 
The first week of mourning Bowie’s passing was spent watching videos, listening to his music in the car, grabbing dusty CD’s and riding a nostalgic wave along with the rest of the world. This last weekend, nearly a month later, Hannah and I joined a sold-out crowd of fans at a local venue, The Tractor, to see a tribute band called Bowie Vision. The band was phenomenal. They didn’t impersonate or dress up, but got down to business playing and singing the songs we all know and love. The stage was packed with eight band members, each impressive in their own right, but the lead singer, Stefan Mitchell, brought it all together with charm and style. I realized as the show went on that the beauty of a tribute band, especially this one considering the sad timing, is that everyone is welcome, even encouraged, to sing along, whereas at other shows I’ve had to talk-down overzealous fans whom I felt were competing with my enjoyment of the person I paid to hear and see sing. Ahem.
 
Hannah, true to form, danced and sang every word to every song, so that by the end of the night she was hoarse, but smiling. I was holding my hard cider can for a large portion, which slightly hindered my dancing, but was delighted to find that when the audience sang loud enough the can vibrated with the raw energy. A tall Flannel-Shirt in front of me stood unmoving throughout the show while we all undulated, sweated, and pogoed around him, and I was sorely tempted to tap him on the shoulder and tell him that if he wasn’t going to at least tap his foot he had to move somewhere else. I was wearing red boots (yes, I “put on my red shoes and danced the blues”) and started poking a pointy toe between his legs, unbeknownst to his stoic self. You do what you gotta do to deal.
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    Hi, I'm Lori, a lover of feeding people. Be it with words, whimsy, or some tasty food, I want to warm your belly or your heart.  Or at the very least tease out a little smile.

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