Get my Cowboy Cookie recipe

I shared an exclusive recipe with Fresh-Picked Seattle. The only cookie I ever make is my grandmother's Cowboy Cookie, a chocolate-chip oatmeal bit of perfection that, when paired with a cold glass of milk, is sure to make your day. Get the recipe here, and let me know what you think.

Cooking with condiments

Last night, I trotted over to my friend's house for chili and cornbread. Darcey Howard is not only an accomplished, stylish business owner, she's a mean cook. I always admire folks who can whip up incredible dishes from stuff they have tucked away in their cupboards and fridge. Darcey is one of these talented people, to say the least.

As I was leaving, I suddenly remembered that she loves to collect condiment and spice packets during her travels. Beyond ketchup, mustard, and mayo, I wondered what sort of packets she picked up so I asked her to show me her stash. Out of the fridge came a large plastic container chock full of Sriracha, lemon juice, taco sauce, Tabasco, sweet and sour sauce, wasabi, chopped onions, honey, relish, peanut butter, and Nutella (amongst other things).

My jaw dropped.

As Darcey sorted through these treasures, she showed me which packets came from Germany and displayed a wide variety of taco sauces (girl likes her Mexican and Asian food, if her condiment collection is any indication).

Darcey once told me she wanted to experiment with the different packets, perhaps making pad Thai with a few (peanut butter, honey, Siracha, soy, and vinegar) or a spicy shrimp glaze with another group (sweet and sour sauce, ketchup, lemon juice, and horseradish). I'd love to see this sort of kitchen McGyver action go down and I have every confidence that Darcey could whip up some seriously tasty vittles with these packets as her only seasonings and sauces.

What could you imagine cooking up with condiment packets?

Duck fat is the new bacon fat

I went to a Basque wine tasting/food pairing last night at European Vine Selections with my foodie friend Elise. The wines were great and the food was bananas. Check out the menu:

• Sliced Green Pears with Flor de Sel
• Salad of Bitter Greens with Truffle Vinaigrette
• Seared Muscovy Duck Breast with Caramel-Vinegar Sauce
• Wilted Red Cabbage with Chestnuts & Watercress
• Sarlat Potatoes with Hachis
• Stewed Quince with Bay-Scented Cream

The chef from Feast was just wonderful, adding fresh fennel seeds from a plant she found at 19th & Roy to the pears. Several dishes were cooked in the duck fat from the breasts she served and it was beyond decadent. The stewed quince with cream filled my mouth with fall and I'm eager to whip up a harvest crisp now.

I highly recommend looking into these informal events at European Vine Selections. It was a small, friendly crowd talking food and politics; I can't wait to go back.

My newest obsession

Lavender ice cream topped with loganberries. ’Nuff said.

My birthday's for the birds

I am having a lovely time in Philadelphia, spending quality time with old friends. I've also spent quality time with gin and tonics, spicy sausage, and baked beans. My former neighbors hosted a cookout last night in the courtyard I used to share with them. It was a lovely and joyous occasion, filled with laughter, intrigue, and a whole lotta food and drink.

Melissa brought me the most amazing birthday gift. When we were in Spool last week, I happened to ooh and ah over the window display. She's making me this bird mobile. She had about six birds done and I cannot wait to hang the finished mobile in my home. I'm trying to determine the best place to showcase this lovely work of art.

That's a spicy (duck) meatball!

Today is my birthday, a big one, and it's been fun of love and joy. I went to New York for the weekend and spent time with my best friend Alison, my cousin Amy and her husband Paul, and my pal Ben. Last night, we headed to Perilla for dinner, as I wanted to blend my love of Top Chef, pop culture, good food, and good friends.

As Alison and I were prepared to grab a cab, the heavens opened up and wept. Or more accurately, they sobbed all over us. Cabbies laughed at us, I fell off the curb because the water level was higher than the curb and I couldn't tell where it met the street. Alison was drenched, while I, armed with an umbrella, stubbornly (and ultimately futilely) refused to give my hair over to the elements. We jumped on the subway and, after wandering around the Village for 20 minutes, found the restaurant.

All was soon well.

Please indulge a bit of navel (or piehole) gazing, as I run down my meal:

• Gin and tonic (with some boutique gin), natch
• Spicy duck meatballs with quail egg (Ben had risotto, Alison had the special: fois gras with cashew/banana mash and pomegranate sauce)
• Hanger steak with creamed spinach and sunchoke purée
• Alison ordered creamed corn and I helped myself to several spoonfuls of the insanely good side
• Vanilla scented doughnuts with both Meyer lemon sauce and chocolate sauce (which Ben and I are munching on in the photo)

The meal was just perfection. There was no weak link. I often wind up wishing I'd ordered something else. That didn't happen here. The meatballs were perfectly spicy, the hanger steak was the most flavorful beef ever, and the doughnuts, oh my goodness, the doughnuts! I don't even like doughnuts that much, but apparently it's my new favorite dessert as evidenced by this post.

I can't wait to go back to Perilla, even though there were no Harold Dieterle sightings.

Enjoying small doses of summer

Seeing spots has not kept me from a vigorous social schedule. Along with Jenna, Joey, and Kate, we struck out for the Mariners game last night. While the Mariners are not exactly setting the world on fire, they did manage to take one from the Florida Marlins.

But what do I care? I just went for the food.

Seattlites assume that it's the garlic fries I beeline for. After all, it's garlic + fries. Nothing wrong with that equation. Some assume (because they can see into my soul) that I am dying for a Polish sausage. Good guess, as evidenced by this post. Oh, this one too.

But no, when I go to Safeco Field, I hurriedly walk around the concourse until I find Dixie's Barbeque. Dixie's started as a side business to a mechanic named Gene and quickly earned a following on the Eastside (Bellevue, to be exact). I don't get to Bellevue much so it's a real treat when I can settle down with a barbeque pork or brisket sandwich and get to work. Dixie's has the hottest hot sauce known to man and in fact, the sauce is called "The Man."

And yes, I've met the Man. And it was love at first bite.

This says it all

Taken by my friend Kim in Leavenworth.

Totally (Leaven)worth it

I had a booksigning on Saturday at A Book for All Seasons in Leavenworth and it was just magical. The balcony signing and talk was great and I met some lovely people (Sonia, I'm counting on you to help me out with my next book!).

Then I met some lovely kielbasa at München Haus.

You haven't lived until you've sampled their grilled sausage and doctored it up with their different mustards and curry ketchup from their condiment bar.

But Alex, Kim, and I didn't stop there. We sampled horseradish havarti at The Cheesemonger's Shop (they take online orders). We chatted with the proprietress of Wooly Bully Yarns before attacking chocolate samples and the like before heading out of town and back over Stevens Pass.

Remember: Sausage is never a bad idea.

The slow-food breakfast

The menu from Marché's slow-food breakfast:

1st course
Kenny's farmhouse cheeses (with curiously tasty pickled onions)
artisan biscuit with strawberry-rhubarb jam

2nd course
two heirloom eggs any style (over-easy, thank you very much)
house-made breakfast sausage
stone ground white corn grits

Dessert
whole-wheat graham cracker with honey crème

Thick French-brewed coffee

This was four hours ago and I am about to pop.

The meal was delicious and the company a delight. My only crabby comment is how eagerly the waitstaff refilled my coffee cup. Now, if it was empty, I wouldn't have an issue. But after I add the perfect amount of cream and sugar and drink maybe 1/4 of the cup, I am irked to be topped off. I have to start the process all over again and become ever vigilant whenever they are in my vicinity, pot in hand. It reminds me of a scene in the otherwise forgettable Coffee and Cigarettes. (Jim Jarmusch, I've tried to love you. I really have.)

What's even more offensive is that they often don't ask. They just go for your mug. I love a solicitous waitron but this just seems downright wrong unless you're clearly taking your coffee black.

Does this ever happen to you, or am I just being a sourpuss? (I also have to admit I don't like it when I'm at an establishment like TGIFridays and my pop or iced tea is automatically replaced with a fresh, full glass. Sometimes I like to monitor the copious amounts of caffeine and sugar I'm downing. Call me crazy. Seriously, go ahead. I know I'm a bit nutters about this but sometimes I don't want a fourth glass of Fresca.)

A "full" day

Whoa Nelly, it's been a full day and I do mean full. I had a lovely lunch at the Loveless Cafe with author (and new BFF) Ann Shayne (that's her on the tractor!). I managed to stuff pulled pork, biscuits, mashed potatoes, and candied sweet potatoes down the hatch. It was a "yum"/"oy vey" combo platter, for sure.

After my lecture tonight at Belmont University, Gillian and Maria took me to Ted's Montana Grill, where in a feat of impressive gastrointestinal fortitude, I downed half a chili-cheese bison burger (with fries, salad, and rolls, natch).

Oy.

I'm laying here like a beached whale, thinking about the breakfast at Marché tomorrow morning.

Yum.

A meat and three

I just arrived in Nashville for a Worst-Case Scenario Dating, Sex & College lecture at Belmont University tomorrow night. Nashville is fast becoming one of my favorite cities, for the great music, culture, and yep, food. After wading through an avalanche of e-mails, I headed out to the corner steakhouse for some ribs, mac and cheese, yeast rolls, and sweet tea. Needless to say, I'm slightly illin' right now.

I was happy to see that my favorite "meat and three" restaurant Swett's now has an outpost at the airport. Since I have an evening flight on Friday, I will happily shove some pulled pork and three sides into my piehole.

Until then, I'm going to lunch with another author tomorrow. Ann Shayne is an amazing knitter, blogger, and author. Check out her blog with Kay Gardiner: mason-dixon knitting is the third-most popular knitting blog out there, which is saying a lot. But when you read Ann and Kay's hilarious, faux arch posts, you'll be quick to subscribe to the blog. I'm so excited about seeing Ann that I had a dream about her before I left Seattle. In it, she was wearing a knitted western-wear shirt, complete with fringe. I guess that's how my subconscious imagines a knitting author from Nashville. Go figure. Anyway, I'm looking forward to both lunch and good conversation.

And then I'm hitting a slow food breakfast (I don't know what that quite means, either) on Friday with another writer. Usually my lecture trips involve flying into a remote location, giving a lecture, hitting a drive-thru, and leaving at the ass-crack of dawn the next day. Luckily, I have a bit more time on this trip. I'll be able to savor a pulled pork sandwich or maybe some sweet potato pie at the airport, probably while listening to live music.

Eggstravaganza

I wish I knew how to quit you, after-Easter, half-price Cadbury Creme Eggs!

Until she retired in January from Rite-Aid, I could always count on my mom to send me a little Easter care package full of Cadbury Creme Eggs. I am now forced to be my own Easter Bunny but that's okay. I got a 4-pack for $1.12 at Bartells today.

Four words

Zinfandel grape jelly doughnuts.

Healdsburg's Zin is bomb.

Digestive digest

About two hours after the last post, I rethought the wisdom of the hot dog bar. Perhaps my enthusiasm for the chili cheese dog AND a ketchup-mustard-onion combo was misguided. Burp.

Apple of My Pie

The most memorable experiences involving me and a piece of pie:

Alison baked a blueberry crumble pie for my birthday a few years back. It was sweltering in Philadelphia, and after having drinks at a fancy white bar, a group of us piled into Mary and Ron's car to go get Tony Luke's pulled-pork hoagies in South Philly. We capped off the night by returning to my Trinity House and busting out Alison's pie and milk. A glorious nightcap to a night of eating and drinking with good friends.

Alison roadtripped to Michigan with me a couple of months later and made a variation on this recipe. Since it was peach festival time, she whipped up a couple of peach pies in the kitchen with my mom. Since it was raining, we ate them in the garage on a long picnic table covered with a plastic red-and-white checked tablecloth. It was just the thing to eat while listening to my stepdad Jim talk about dousing a wasps' nest in gasoline. "That sucker burned for four days." Yeah, yeah, whatever. The memory of that pie will keep me warm for a whole lot longer.

Whenever I make the trek over to Whidbey Island, I stop at the Whidbey Winery, which sells all sorts of island-produced wines. But it also sells a magnificent marionberry pie. Tart and sweet, it's just the thing you want after a long day in the car. Some (Kerry, Rob, and Laurel: I'm talking about you) prefer to heat up pie for a few minutes, but I like mine chilled with a cold glass of milk or a dollop of ice cream on the side.

I don't know what's in shoo-fly pie, but I can tell you, after flea marketing in Shipshewana all day, a thick slice of this buttery, sugary pie hits the spot. Find yourself an Amish restaurant in Indiana and order some up.

I love Dutch apple pie and I made a variation on this last Thanksgiving. Armed with a dough recipe from my new book (The Prairie Girl's Guide to Life), I made a granny smith apple pie but included dried cherries in the filling. Since we were all so full, I plated it by serving tiny slivers on white dessert plates with some French vanilla ice cream. Top Chef, eat your heart out. Or rather, eat this pie.

When I was a kid, Grandma Worick used to pop in around once a week. "Woo hoo, Jenny, John, Chris. I made some chocolate pie!" she'd exclaim in her thick German accent. Chocolate pie was a flaky pie crust with a whole lot of chocolate pudding dumped into it. We didn't complain. We just shoved it down our pieholes.

A lovely boy (who obviously knows me very well) sent me a cherry pie (shipped all the way from Iowa!) for my birthday (which is tomorrow). Breakfast this morning, as you can imagine, consisted of pie and milk. It's going to be a good day. Pie and affection are part of it, after all.

Poached eggs on toast

I'm under the weather today (literally, as it just hailed outside my window) so I'm hunkering down and taking care of myself. For some reason, however, I still lay in bed and moan, hoping my mother with materialize to take care of me. That's what I did as a kid and it worked like a charm.

Today, however, the only response I get to my wailing is in the form of my unsympathetic cat, who has more important things on his mind (namely, his next feeding). Sadly, one of the things I miss out on as a single gal is someone to take care of me. (Mac Daddy, I love you but you are a bit selfish.) As a self-employed person, I don't get a sick day either. I just take a quick tub, all the while fretting about the work that's not getting done. Boo hoo, right?

When I was sick as a kid, my mom would make me poached eggs on toast with a glass of 7-Up or cup of Lipton tea to wash it all down. I still seek out the same comfort food when I have to fend for myself. I don't know if I like any of it; it's just that I like the memories of love and caring that accompany it.

I've gotta go; the tea kettle is whistling.