The Perfect...French Press Coffee

It's been a long, long week, full of deadlines and jungle heat and generally feeling sorry for myself that I am in an office rather than doing the civilized thing, which is to camp out at some seaside retreat until the weather cools. How very French of me.

Speaking of French -- let's talk French Press, and my Saturday Morning Ritual.

Thinking about my SMR is what keeps me going during weeks like this. We all have some personal opinion about what constitutes a perfect Saturday morning.

My SMR is a one-person celebration of how very not like a weekday Saturday is. It involves coffee, poached eggs, and butter and marmalade on toast; the weekend paper; the couch; and not putting on proper clothing until at least 11 AM.

When I say coffee, I'm not talking about just any coffee. The weekdays are defined by multiple espresso shots emanating from our Nespresso machine, or Starbucks, or in the worst of times, the instant stuff. Whatever rocket fuel is quick to come by. My weekend coffee should be cafe au lait, medium strength, and very, very hot.

My favorite coffee comes out of a percolator, but that's not practical (or better put, not medically advisable) if you're only brewing for one. The next best option is a French Press. Contrary to popular belief, operating a French Press correctly is not merely a matter of throwing some coffee and hot water together for a while and seeing what happens. There are nuances here, people, and they make all the difference.

I like Bodum's Chambord press pot (pictured above). I also strongly recommend investing $15 in a coffee grinder and buying whole beans rather than ground coffee. Coffee loses its flavor by the minute as soon as it's ground, so you'll get a much more flavorful brew by grinding your beans to order.

The Perfect French Press

1. Add 2 ounces of coffee ground for a French Press (coarser than for standard brewed coffee) to the press pot.

2. Boil water on the stove or in the microwave and pour it into the press pot on top of the grounds, filling it to about 1.5 inches from the top. The grounds will rise to the top. Set a timer for four minutes.

3. After one minute has elapsed, break up the crust of grounds with a spoon - this will cause them to sink towards the bottom.

4. Apply the lid to the press pot, with the plunger in the up position, and wait until the timer runs out.

5. Depress the plunger slowly until all the coffee grounds are in the bottom of the cup. Drink immediately.

Welcome To Our Garden

Believe it or not, in Manhattan this passes for a garden. Don't laugh. I've worked really hard on it.

I had goals for the place, I really did. I had visions of skipping through the apartment with an apron full of tomatoes, of serving dinner guests home-grown strawberries with cream. This was before I understood anything about growing stuff, and even thought it might be fun to have a fig tree in a big pot on the terrace (no, I am not kidding).

In reality, it's a daily struggle just to keep everybody alive. The unusually hot, dry summer that New York is currently experiencing hasn't helped; for the past month, the terrace has been practically radioactive, which means we've lost a lot of good men out there. It also means that rather than lounging on the terrace in our spare time we mainly dart out in the evening with a couple of cans of water and then retreat back into the safety and comfort of our air-conditioned apartment. So much for that idea.

I took the above picture last night while I was tending to our crops. It captures our ramshackle assortment of plants (the Bad News Bears of rooftop agriculture), and the tools of my trade: a utility broom, a watering can, a pair of clippers, and a glass of wine. Everything that a farmer needs.

Over the past few months, trial and error has taught me a thing or two about rooftop plant husbandry, and I thought I would pass these lessons on to you.

Plant herbs: Unless you want to sit around waiting for your three tomatoes and eight beans to ripen (or possibly to die in the meantime, as mine did), stick to herbs. Herbs grow fast (they are, after all, mostly weeds), they are resilient, and being able to go outside and choose from a wide array of available herbs will do wonders for your cooking. It's a genuine money-saver to be able to snip off a few sprigs rosemary instead of buying a fistful of it at the grocery store.

Specifically, basil: You can use basil to flavor just about anything during the summer, and our two plants produce more than we can eat. Every few weeks the basil threatens to take over the world and I have to cut it all down and make pesto. What's more, I've brought my basil to the brink of death at least three times and it has always snapped back quickly, so that's a good sign for those of you without a green thumb. The only thing to keep in mind about this herb is that it will continuously sprout little white flowers, and you need to pull them off in order to keep it strong and productive.

Give your plants room to grow: Plant each starter plant with plenty of room to breathe and grow -- more than seems necessary. I arranged mine too close together and after a week had to rip them all out and replant them. If they're too crowded, they won't grow to their full potential and will compete with each other for resources.

Water, water, water: In case you haven't heard, water is very important for plants, especially for ones in small pots sitting on baking-hot pavement. Unlike plants growing in the ground which can spread their roots and pull water from far and wide, plants in containers have very limited water supplies. We water once if not twice a day and that still probably isn't enough.

Use plant food: I water with Miracle Grow at least once a week. This is important in a container garden, because the amount of soil that your plants have access to -- and therefore the amount of nutrients -- is so limited.

Keep the faith: If you forget to water your plants for a while and they look like goners for sure (I'm talking splayed out on the soil, leaves shriveled up, brown, the works), keep watering them anyway because they might not have given up the ghost yet. They might not be dead, just playing dead. If after a couple of weeks there is no sign of life, then it's time to stop CPR.

BYOL: A Hearty Gazpacho

My earliest memories of gazpacho are not positive ones.

I have this vague recollection from when I was a little girl of my mother announcing that she was going to make a gazpacho, and setting to work merrily chopping and stirring. It's an exciting word, gazpacho, which if it didn't mean a chilled vegetable soup might mean a joyful dance, or maybe even a miracle (I can walk! It's a gazpacho!). A mom's enthusiasm is contagious, so I waited anxiously to try it.

Once it arrived at the table, I soon realized that this "gazpacho" had been dramatically oversold. It was, in fact, nothing more than a pile of chopped up vegetables. No chunks of sausage or chicken, no dumplings, nary an alphabet-shaped pasta. In short, it was the worst kind of soup, devoid of anything that might be of any interest to a six year old.

My mother is an excellent cook, so I'm sure that as gazpachos go, the ones she made were terrific. But the heat of the garlic and onion, its vegetal smell and bright, summery flavor, the tartness and acidity of the vinegar...these things were lost on me.

Luckily, my palate has matured over the past two decades and now I can appreciate this soup for everything that it is: packed with nutrients and antioxidants, low in fat and calories, and pungently flavorful. It's also very cheap to make (this recipe cost under $15) and doesn't require a stove or an oven -- no small thing during these dogs days of summer.

All of these qualities make it an excellent weekday lunch.

There are loads of gazpacho recipes out there, and they fall across a wide chunky-to-smooth continuum. The ones my mother made featured big chunks of tomato and cucumber in a vinegary, raw tomato broth; the one I made this week is a coarse puree. I like this recipe because the addition of bread gives the soup more body and makes it more filling than one containing just vegetables, which is a crucial consideration if you intend for it to stand on its own as lunch.



Hearty Gazpacho
Adapted from Bon Appetit

Serves 4

2 pounds large tomatoes, halved
1/2 pound country-style bread, crust removed, cut into 1/2-inch pieces (about 4 cups)
1 red bell pepper, seeded, diced
1 1/4 cup chopped peeled English hothouse cucumber
3/4 cup chopped red onion
1/4 cup Sherry wine vinegar
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
1 garlic clove, minced
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon paprika
1 cup water
Low-fat sour cream to garnish

Working over a bowl and strainer, gently squeeze tomato halves to release seeds and juices. Strain juices, pressing on solids to extract as much juice as possible. Discard seeds. Chop tomatoes. Transfer chopped tomatoes and tomato juices to large glass bowl. Add next 9 ingredients. Let stand at room temperature 1 hour.

Puree gazpacho with 1 cup water in blender until smooth (work in two batches if necessary). Season with salt and pepper. Chill at least 2 hours and up to 1 day. Serve cold, with a dollop of sour cream.

Qu'est-ce Que C'est Dans Ma Boite Du CSA? Japanese Eggplant, Zucchini, Kale, Fava Beans, Green Beans, Radishes, Apricots, & Sugar Plums

I'm happy to report that there's one upside, at least, to moving ever-deeper into the jaws of summer: the CSA box is finally graduating away from lettuces, skillet greens and garlic and into more inspiring fare. Fava beans! Japanese eggplant! Oh, the possibilities are endless...

That having been said, I still had kale to contend with in this past delivery, and you've already born witness to the sad results. Will the kale never stop coming?? It feels like I'm caught in some kind of cosmic loop where kale will perpetually show up on my doorstep no matter how I try to stop it. Have you ever seen Groundhog Day? It's like that, except instead of Andy McDowell it's kale. Kale, kale, and more kale. Shudder.

Anyway, moving on.

The three firm little Japanese eggplants went into the topping for bruschetta. I sauteed thinly sliced red onions and the eggplant in olive oil, and once they were soft and brown I added a splash of red wine vinegar. I took this off the heat and mixed in cubed mozzarella, shredded basil, salt, and pepper. That all got piled onto grilled bread and topped with prosciutto and a drizzle of olive oil. Trust me when I say that if you start out with all the ingredients named above, it is nearly impossible to end up with something that doesn't taste good.



On to the green beans. FYI, the word "green bean" is simply a general term for many different types of bean. These guys were long, fat, and slightly leathery, so I think they were pole beans. Recipes do not abound for the pole bean, but I thought the only way to get them tender enough to eat would be to stew them. I did this the Southern way, in salt pork broth. I put a dutch oven over medium-high heat, added a ham hock, and let that give off most of its fat. I then added some finely chopped onion and a pint of water. I let that simmer loosely covered for half an hour, then added the beans (topped, tailed, and cut into 1" lengths) and left them partially covered at a low simmer for 90 minutes. The beans came out tender and with a distinctly smoky, briney, pork-tastic flavor.



The fava beans and a few radishes became a salad (dressed with sage, chives, lemon juice, and walnut pesto) atop slices of prosciutto. It was light, fresh, and flavorful, and very quick to throw together. The recipe can be found in Tom Colicchio's Think Like A Chef.



For the zucchini, I used a recipe from this month's Fine Cooking, which can be found here. The general idea is to saute zucchini and a little bit of red onion, toss it in a Middle Eastern spice blend (I traded za'atar for Ras El Hanout, but the effect is the same), and top with chick peas that you've crisped up by coating them in cornstarch and pan frying them in olive oil.



Now here's an interesting one: did you know that radishes could be roasted? Because they can! And they taste more or less like turnips, which is not really what I expected. I found a recipe for roasted radishes by Gerard Craft (a superstar chef from St. Louis and former Food & Wine Best New Chef) on the Food & Wine website -- the key with this is to make sure you get a good sear on the radishes, to give them that caramelized flavor. Speaking of "searing," be very careful when dealing with with cast iron skillets and 500 degree ovens. A cast iron skillet gets very hot and stays that way for a long time, as I learned the hard way last night when I absent-mindedly grabbed for its handle...suffice it to say that I spent a couple of hours last night with my left hand submerged in vodka (an old Swedish burn remedy).



Aaaannnddd that's all she wrote. Oh -- if you're wondering what happened to the fruits, those were all hoarded by the The Viking and eaten as snacks.

Take Me To Your Freezer

Q: What is the item pictured above?

A: If you guessed "a Martian communication device" or "a prop from a Michael Crichton film," you are incorrect. It is, in fact, the Play & Freeze ice cream maker.

It was given to me for Christmas several years ago and has languished in disuse ever since, waiting for that special moment when I have the urge both to play and to freeze something simultaneously.

The Play & Freeze's big chance came this weekend thanks to a brutal heatwave and 48 hours devoted to being a homebody. For the past two days I have been absorbed with cooking, home improvement projects, working my way diligently through the Neverending To Do List, and keeping up with the Tour de France (there is nothing, nothing, quite so satisfying on a hot day as lying splayed out on the couch with a breakfast pastry and watching a gaggle of men with 1% body fat scramble after each other up a 10% incline). In yuppie terminology this is known as "recharging." I spent the weekend recharging.

In the course of my ongoing battle to get my kitchen into some semblance of order, I came upon the Play & Freeze. As any of you who live in a New York apartment know, every possession must pull its own weight. That square foot being used by the Play & Freeze could be a salad bowl. It could be a copper roasting pan. The Play & Freeze simply cannot go on taking up space without proving its utility.

So, I decided I would put it to the test with a batch of ginger ice cream.

I heated 2 cups cream, 2 cups whole milk, and a few slices of peeled fresh ginger in a saucepan over low heat. As soon as bubbles started forming around the edges, I stirred it for five minutes.



I removed it from the heat, fished out the ginger slices, and stirred in 2/3 cup sugar. I waited for the mixture to cool and then added 2 tablespoons of minced preserved ginger.



After a couple hours of cooling in the fridge, the time came to load my ice cream mix into the Play & Freeze. Into the other end of the ball went ice and 8 Tbsp of course (preferably rock) salt.



The instructions call for the ball to be kicked, spun, rolled, tossed, what have you, for 10 minutes. Then you open up the ice cream container, scrape down the sides, and continue with the playing for another 10 minutes.



After the allotted time had passed, I scooped the ice cream into chilled beer mugs and topped it with apricots and sugarplums.



Play & Freeze Pros:
-A carbon-neutral way to make ice cream
-If ever put in a situation with children, this may be a successful way to distract and subdue them
-Twenty minutes tossing ball makes you feel like "you've really earned this ice cream"



Play & Freeze Cons:
-Twenty minutes tossing ball makes you feel like "you've really earned this ice cream"
-Ice cream comes out just barely frozen, and melts almost immediately upon removal from ball (especially if put in anything but chilled glasses, then forget about it); would never serve this to guests
-Only makes enough for 2-3 servings anyway

In summary, the Play & Freeze is the ice cream equivalent of an Easy-Bake Oven: a toy which produces a result that's edible, but no substitute for the real deal. So, I'm giving this baby a thumbs down. Do not buy yourself a Play & Freeze. If ever you decide that it's really a good idea to own your own ice cream maker, you can get one that works at the touch of button for like $50 (and in that case, you should definitely try the above ginger ice cream recipe).

The Viking, if you're reading this: I'm already shopping for a new Le Creuset, now that we have the space.

Sometimes It Just Doesn't Work Out

Pictured above is the kale, mushroom, and sausage stew that I made for dinner last night. It really wasn't very good. My only defense is that the recipe was by Mark Bittman and it involved kale, which I was desperate to get rid of, so I thought it was worth a try. Had I read the entire recipe before buying ingredients, I probably would not have made it; any stew that quick and with that few ingredients should immediately be suspect.

Anyway, last night's dinner reinforced all of my worst prejudices against kale, namely that it's bitter and slimy and best left for the vegans. Bleegghh.

This has been a chaotic, tiring week. I brought this up to The Scribe yesterday and he told me in no uncertain terms that "if I was going to complain about how I was frazzled because of too much transatlantic travel, I would have trouble eliciting sympathy from him." Fair enough. As for The Viking, who wakes up every day at 5 AM, cycles 50K, eats nails for breakfast, and then proceeds to spend 14 hours clubbing people over the head and dragging them to his cave (figuratively, of course), he operates with a ruthless efficiency and an almost mechanical tirelessness that makes empathy with mere mortals difficult. He is trying his best to understand why the motor has run out on The Little Girlfriend That Could. He suggests more espresso, and if that fails, earlier bedtimes.

The really sad thing about it all is that I don't have a single good excuse to be stressed. I have a reasonable workday, I have no children, no health problems, no aging parents to look after...I don't even own anything! I don't own a car, or a house, or a dog. Nothing big that might break. When people talk about how great it is to be young and without a care in the world? Yes, that is me they're talking about.

The reality of the situation is I'm making myself crazy with entirely optional activities that have all become very important to me in their own way: cooking, writing this blog, making evening plans with friends, maintaining our miniature terrace garden. I have many worthy magazine subscriptions. I belong to a book club. I work out. Oh God, I'm suddenly starting to hate myself for even writing this. The moral of the story is that I am a ridiculous person. The end.

The Scribe in his infinite wisdom has suggested that I prioritize. This is a fantastic idea, but requires that I decide what my priorities are, which sounds dangerous and complicated. Maybe it's a good project for August.

For the time being, I do have one priority straight on this hot, sunny Friday afternoon: to put the week to bed and then find the nearest cocktail.

Happy weekend, kids. We deserve it.

Go Fish

Be honest: does fish scare you?

Because recently it's come to my attention that the majority of Americans are freaked out by the idea of cooking fish. In a meeting with the product development team from a national kitchen and home goods store, I was told that food items relating to fish preparation (spices, marinades, sauces, etc.) typically didn't sell well in their stores, which has led them to realize that their customers don't cook much fish at home. Later in the same week an editor at a large entertainment news weekly informed me that they do not print fish recipes as a matter of policy, having deemed fish to be inaccessible by their readership.

To me, this is bizarre and worrisome. You want to know what's actually difficult to cook well? Chicken. Lean cuts of pork. In fact, all leans cuts of all meat. You know what's easy? Fish.

I assume that you, my readers, represent a higher order of person than those scared off by our legless friends. But just in case any of you number among the fish-phobic, I'm here to help. Today I bring you a cheap, quick, easy - dare I say foolproof? - method for cooking fish.

Take the lowly tilapia. This does not number among my favorite fish. It sounds like a tropical disease and, cooked plain, it tastes of wet sock. As soon as it begins to cook, tilapia gets VERY flaky and begins to fall apart. Every time I have cooked it in a skillet it has come out the other end looking like a pile of mashed potatoes. I've never tried grilling it, but can assume that that's a non-starter.

HOWEVER...tilapia is cheap, one of the most environmentally sustainable fish out there, and very low in fat and calories, so we should stop being such snobs and learn how to cook it properly. Let's focus on the positive, shall we?



Think of tilapia as the fish equivalent of tofu: it may not have a lot of flavor on its own, but it soaks up the flavors around it. When cooked with the right mix of pungent ingredients, it can really be lovely.

Here is how I recommend you prepare it: wrap it in a tin foil pouch with assorted flavorful things and stick it under the broiler for 20-30 minutes. This creates hassle-free, flavor-packed steamed fish with very minimal cleanup (just ball up the tin foil and throw it away). It also pretty much eliminates any wafting fish odors that threaten to weasel their way into your carpets and fabrics, which is always a consideration when pan-roasting fish.



I made tilapia this way last night, and have included below a recipe for the preparation I used. I've named it Tilapia Marseillaise, since the ingredients I used were a mix of Provencal and North African flavors, ones that you generally find in the cuisine of Marseilles (think Bouillabaisse). Also, today is Bastille Day, so I felt that I should nod in the direction of France. Ergo, Tilapia Marseillaise.

But get creative here, people; no need to use the same ingredients as I did. This is an opportunity to comb through your refrigerator and cupboards and experiment. You will be amazed at how exciting it is when you successfully cook something that you thought up all by yourself. The only guideline here is to include strong herbs and/or spices (mine were a Moroccan spice blend called ras el hanout and saffron).



Tilapia Marseillaise
Serves 2

2 6-8 oz tilapia fillets
1.5 cups chopped tomatoes
2 pinches saffron
1 Tbsp. ras el hanout
1/2 lemon
1/4 cup olive oil
1 Tbsp. fresh thyme leaves
6 sprigs thyme
2 cloves garlic, halved and crushed
2 large sheets tin foil

1. Place each fillet on its own sheet of tin foil, and sprinkle them with salt, pepper, ras el hanout, and saffron.
2. Squeeze lemon onto the fillets, coat with them olive oil, and place thyme, garlic, and tomatoes on top.
3. Wrap the tin foil sheets into pouches (folding the short ends inwards, and then rolling the long ends together like the top of a lunch bag).
4. Place them directly under broiler, seam side up, and let cook 20 - 30 minutes.
5. Unwrap and transfer to plates.

Goodbye Thames, Hello Bosphorus

Selam! I'm back in New York now, experiencing that thorough shell-shock that comes along with returning after a week away from real life. Gone are carefree mornings of raspberry picking and afternoons of poolside cocktails, replaced by a terrace full of dead or dying houseplants, unpaid bills, unanswered emails, local weather evocative of a Vietnamese rice paddy, vegetables growing interesting facial hair in the fridge, 27 new voicemail messages?!, and the sudden realization that we are in fact in MID-JULY already. Here I thought it was still June.

But, even with all that, the time away was every bit worthwhile. The Viking can be extremely useful sometimes; this past week was one of those times. Work took him to Turkey and he brought me along. It's opportunities like this one that just about make up for his lifelong aversion to housework and his stubborn insistence on storing bicycles in the middle of our living room.

If ever you get the chance to go to Istanbul, I recommend that you jump on it. It’s a beautiful city, an old city, very full of young people who are proud of its history and eager to take advantage of the developing market there.

That’s all that I'm going to say in the way of sweeping statements about Istanbul. I only spent two and half days there, after all, and while for your average travel journalist that might qualify as deep cultural immersion, I don’t feel too qualified to speak with authority about the Turkish people, their foodways, or the ins and outs of the city.

Instead I'll give a brief overview of my impressions of the place, in no particular order.

Things That I Liked:

The Four Seasons Bosphorus

This hotel is a renovated palace with a marble terrace and pool that butt right up against the sea wall of the mighty Bosphorus (yachts and speedboats can pull up alongside, for minimum river-to-vodka-martini transition time). Think espionage-thriller chic; have a glass of wine on the terrace at sunset and you’ll half expect to see one of the many Gucci-clad women surrounding you pull a pistol out of her cleavage. This hotel is highly recommended, if someone else will be paying for it. Otherwise, that money is probably better spent on a college fund for your unborn children.

Simit

Simit are bagel-shaped breads covered in sesame seeds (some call them "Turkish bagels," in fact). They are sweet, soft, freshly baked throughout the day -- sometimes even still warm when you get them -- and sold all around the city by street vendors from little carts. At 1 Lira a pop (66 cents), it’s the cheapest snack around. Not for the faint of carbs.

Kebaps

Turkey is famous for its kebaps (a.k.a. kabobs), so you’ve got to go to a kebap shop at least once while in Istanbul. They come in many varieties, but are traditionally lamb and veal that’s been chopped, mixed with spices, formed into balls, and grilled. The one pictured above was served alongside rice, roasted tomatoes, and red onion with paprika. It was delicious. Finding a good recipe and recreating kebaps at home is currently a high priority.

Stray Cats

Istanbul is lousy with feral cats. They sprawl on the grass in parks, strut along the sidewalks, and even sleep inside important historical landmarks, as it turns out. Above is a picture of a gray cat that was sleeping on the altar of the Hagia Sophia when I visited. Some would find this extremely unsanitary and off-putting, but I thought it gave the place character.

Turkish Coffee/Chai Tea
Like Morocco, Turkey is a place where people drink an awful lot of coffee and tea. They sweeten it heavily and sip it at meals as well as in between them. Really whenever you want to take a break from your day and have a good sit, that's where coffee and tea come in. In America we drink lots of the stuff too, but we do it in the most antisocial way possible, out of big paper cups while sitting at our computers or standing on the subway or similar. I stopped for a coffee or a tea at every opportunity during my visit to Istanbul, and mostly spent that time thinking about how sad it is that we do not have a proper tea/coffee ritual in the US. Remind me to institute one.


The Hagia Sophia
When I'm not being a food nerd, I moonlight as an architecture nerd, which made Istanbul a particularly fabulous place to visit. There are lots of historical structures in this city – mosques, palaces, tombs, statues – but if I could only see one in a visit it would be the Hagia Sophia. It’s got a central dome 100 feet wide, which made it kind of a big deal when it was built in the 6th Century. If you’ve taken an art history course in your life you're liable to have studied it. It also has really kickass mosaics, some of which are still intact and are in themselves worth the price of admission.


Street Corn

Another very common street food: corn on the cob that's been slow-roasted over coals until the kernels become chewy and tough, and taste roughly like popcorn. It costs 1.5 Lira per cob and is particularly healthy as street food goes.

Things I Did Not Like (and therefore have no pictures of):

The Traffic
Istanbul has a serious traffic problem, which I suppose is inevitable given that it’s a massive city cut in half by two rivers (the Bosphorus and the Golden Horn), with only three bridges between them. There’s limited public transportation, too, which makes getting around a hassle. So, build lots of travel time into your day and walk wherever possible.

The Grand Bazaar
If you can’t get enough useless crap in your life, than the Grand Bazaar is for you. It is a giant covered market where you can buy everything from plastic alarm clocks that blast the call to prayer, to ugly head scarves, to souvenir miniatures of the sites in Istanbul. Picture Canal Street and Times Square rolled into one. Why you would care to lug any of this back home with you I’m not sure, but the Grand Bazaar is prominently featured in all of the guidebooks and on tourism maps so people must like it. My suggestion is to give it a miss, and invest the time elsewhere.

The Blue Mosque
Not that there's anything wrong with The Blue Mosque, I just think that it's overhyped. It's the most famous mosque in the city and a top tourist destination. While very impressive and beautiful from afar, I found the interior to be a let down. It's much more fun to pop into smaller mosques as you pass by them and get a real sense for the wealth of Islamic architecture on display in Istanbul (just don't forget your head covering and long skirt). The Nanny's favorite is a little 16th century one called the Rustem Pasha mosque, located next to the Spice Bazaar.

Regatta Life

As weeks go, this one has been pretty spectacular. We've been spending most of our time at The Viking's Valhalla, aka his mum's place. Here the usual routine is to roll out of bed, eat a lazy breakfast of toast with homemade jam or just-picked raspberries on cereal, take some exercise in the form of a run through the forest or a dip in the pool, and spend the rest of the day sunning, reading, and going on walks with the family Labrador.



But our main reason for coming across the pond was our annual trip to Henley Royal Regatta, a multi-day carnival of old-fashioned Britishness unrivaled in this day and age by anything except maybe the horse racing at Ascot, or the filming of certain period dramas.

If you are an American, then to understand Henley you need to forget everything that you thought you knew about sporting tournaments.

In preparation for the five days of racing, a large, gated facility is constructed on the banks of the Thames. This is called the Stewards' Enclosure. It features two grandstands, several open air bars and seating areas, bathrooms with porcelain sinks and toilets, and rows upon rows of canvas deck chairs facing the river (pictured above). There is, naturally, a Champagne and Oyster Bar on the premises.

To gain admission to the Stewards' Enclosure, you must be a member or a guest of a member (in true British fashion there doesn't seem to be any formal selection procedure for membership, but there is a long waiting list, and inherited titles and/or prominence in the rowing world helps). Gentlemen are required wear smart trousers, jackets, and ties at all times; ladies must wear skirts that cover their knees. Hats are encouraged. Neither cell phones nor children are permitted inside the Enclosure.

Anyone with a history of rowing wears his boat club blazer throughout the event. These range from the sartorially understated (Oxford University Boat Club's navy blue felt blazer, with navy gross-grain piping) to the utterly absurd (The Archetypals' mustard, black, robin's egg blue, red, and purple striped blazer). Their wearers range in age from about 18 to 89, and this is the only place I've ever been where people on both ends of that age spectrum get blind drunk side by side.

That's what's happening on the riverbank, anyway. In addition to being a giant five day garden party, Henley is also a very large rowing tournament, with everyone from international-level crews to schoolboys competing in a series of single elimination races (they even let the women have a race or two). I think as many as 1 in 4 spectators realizes that there is rowing going on in the background.

Of the eating and drinking at Henley: this is an event best known for stupendous quantities of the latter. You can say a lot of things against the British, but my God do they know how to day drink. The bars in the Enclosure open when the racing begins, at 9:30 AM daily, and from then onwards a small army of bartenders is in perpetual motion fetching draft beers, bottles of champagne and white wine, and jugs of Pimm's.


Meanwhile, the only food available for purchase tends to be pretty flimsy fare. There is a sit-down seafood luncheon where you can get a meal for two of cold langoustines, boiled potatoes, and a bottle of white wine for about GBP 75 ($120); there are the oysters on offer at the Champagne and Oyster Bar; the Leander Club, a posh rowing club located just next door to the Enclosure, serves strawberries and cream at tea time.

If you're wise, you bring a hearty picnic lunch and eat it in the big Cricket field where everyone parks their cars. Many spectators do this, so it's the Henley version of tailgating -- which is to say that men in pink ties, linen blazers and straw hats sit around eating cucumber sandwiches and drinking rose wine.

By 3 PM, you'll begin to see the first people too drunk to stand being escorted out of the Enclosure to collect themselves (this will continue for hours). Women wearing chiffon dresses, hats, and guilty smiles will be inexplicably covered in grass stains. Ahhh. Regatta life.

No food or drink is so closely associated with Henley as a jug of Pimm's. I thought I'd share the recipe here, in an effort to bring a little bit of HRR to you -- it's normally made with a carbonated drink called Schweppes Lemonade, which isn't widely available in the US, but Sprite will work instead.



Pimm's Cup

Serves 8

2 cups Pimms No. 1
4 cups Schweppes Lemonade or Sprite
1/2 orange, sliced in 8
1/2 apple, sliced in 8
1/2 small cucumber, sliced in 8
4 sprigs mint, cut in half

Mix Pimms and soda in a jug over ice, then diving among 8 glasses. Garnish each glass with a slice of orange, apple, cucumber, and a sprig of mint. Serve immediately and often.

Happy Fourth of July; Now Get Me Out of Here.

In most places, summer is a time for coming together. It is a time for long weekends, good friends, cold beers, steaks on the grill, slip n’ slides, lazy afternoons, picnics, and dinner parties.

Not so in New York City. In New York, summer is an absentee season. As the temperature climbs into the 90s, the air thickens and the pavement begins to throb in the sun. It’s an unnatural heat, one of humming electrical wires and scantily clad homeless people. The air smells of rancid fat and wet dog. Everywhere people are sweating, weary, impossibly grumpy. In short, all signs point one way: get me the hell out of here.

If you’re lucky enough to have a family with a summer house anywhere near Manhattan, so much the better for you. If not, you must piece together a summer strategy.

Out of town weddings provide some respite. Close friends and significant others may extend invitations to country homes, and you will graciously accept. But things may have to get creative. If necessary, you will share a 1,000 square foot beach house with 15 other people; you will sleep on a wet towel if that's what it comes to.

One of your nodding acquaintances may have a place in the Hamptons. You will become very interested in this person around mid-May, he whom you once referred to as a “sociopath” and now merely as a “real character.” You cling to any possibility of getting out of Manhattan, no matter how awful.

Of course, it has nothing to do with the relative merits of being in the City, and everything to do with not getting left behind. Because when you find yourself in New York on a summer weekend, you should count on being alone. There is no camaraderie in the summer season. For this reason it’s the time of year when I cook the least, entertain the least, and despite the big new terrace and Weber grill, I suspect that this will stay largely unchanged this year. So, we'll need to find things to talk about other than cooking, you and I.

As for my summer plans, I have no grand strategy, no weekend home, but I do have enough trips up my sleeve to keep sanity and civility in tact.



I write this from The Viking's family's (The Viking Family's?) house outside London, which will serve as home base for the next nine days. Yes, it is highly unpatriotic of me to spend Independence Day with the Redcoats, but there you have it.

I can’t promise that I’ll be doing much cooking during that time, but I won’t desert you entirely. The English summer season provides endless opportunities for American amusement -- both intentional, and otherwise...