Comfort + food

My life of late has included a certain amount of discomfort.  Uncertainty being the ultimate discomfort, in my opinion.  Unknowing.  I take great comfort in the knowing, in decisions made, items on my ever-evolving list ticked off, goals met, plans made and followed.

I have been taking comfort in some sameness, the routine of daily life, waking up to the sun rising through the Sonoma morning mist, the peachy colored sun filtering through the window in my morning nook, strong milky coffee.  Working always feels good.  Peace is in the everyday tasks: waiting for toast to crisp, deciding on dinner at breakfast, the gathering of groceries, chopping and stirring.

Yes, I am feeling out of sorts, although I am finding immense comfort in the rituals of food and cooking.  It’s what I do, it seems. On “weekend mornings,” which, for me, just so happen to mostly be on a Monday or quite possibly a Thursday, I rediscover a soothing treat: lingering with friends for longer than usual in the coziness of the Sunflower; the heady smell of waffles as comforting as the lengthy, lovely conversation.  A carefully made, velvety latte here will never let me down, never disappoints me.  I am comforted by the fact that it is always there, and envelopes me in place of a much-needed, long hug, sitting with me like an old chum.

My mom has this thing she does with her coffee mug, resting it against her forehead, easing the pressure there.  I do that mindlessly and it feels good.  It brings me a bit of joy to simply warm my idle hands on the bowl-like mug.

Many people turn to the comforting, healing affects of cozy foods in meh times, like now; the watery winter days, the post-holiday blehs.  Gooey, cheese-filled pastas or too-many chocolatey desserts filling bellies, attempting to mend hearts.  I have always taken immense comfort in food, but more the making it, never the eating it really when I’m down.  When most of Sonoma is still sleeping, I am grounded by the serenity of my quiet kitchen.  This is why my freezer is now swollen with Tupperware containers of duck-laden lentils, clear quarts of golden chicken stock, and long, slow cooked batches of rustic tomato ragú.

I am forever calmed by the certainty of cooking, the way my fingers automatically pinch the right amount of salt, glug just enough olive oil.  Something magical happens in the kitchen when making something you have made a million times, something utterly peaceful about instinctively moving from the fridge to the stove without having to poke your finger repeatedly at a recipe.  I’ve grown and learned a lot from when first making that dish, it has been with me, loyally through the years, like a best friend, it doesn’t let me down.  It comforts me.

Nothing brings me more comfort this time of year then when cooking a bubbling pot of beans.  Tender, tiny, Navy beans are a favorite of mine, stewed forever with plenty of woodsy herbs and rustic chunks of carrot.  Those earthy French green lentils need nothing more than good roasted chicken stock and a bit of something onion-y.  My “Good JuJu” New Year’s black-eyed peas are thick with ribbons of bright green collards and a vinegary kick.  The essential ingredient no matter the bean is a meaty ham hock allowed to simmer slowly, bobbing amongst the herbs, infusing each bean with its porky, cozy, goodness.

I hear from smarty pants friends that it can be kind of amazing to get out of your comfort zone, to be “uncomfortable,” to sit peacefully with the unknown, to embrace this prickly discomfort.  Ack.  I guess it is like cooking something new, exploring an unfamiliar cuisine, roaming the curious shelves of an exotic ethnic market.  This New Year, with a tummy full of Good JuJu, I will clasp the recipe for uncertainty to my chest, poke my fingers – line by line – at the instructions, and utterly stew the hell out of my inner chicken.  I am confident that I will be stronger for it and, in the very least; I will be really well fed.

Best buy: beans

The tradition of eating beans in the New Year, a custom my family regularly practiced, is meant to bring prosperity in the coming year.  Who wouldn’t be thrilled to devour a bowl of prosperity?  Since discovering Napa’s Rancho Gordo Heirloom Beans, you couldn’t make me purchase those old, yucky grocery store beans!  Rancho Gordo beans, no matter the variety, are amazingly fresh, always beautiful and extraordinarily scrumptious!  Find Rancho Gordo beans locally at Bram, on the Plaza.

Good JuJu Beans

Serves 6

• 2 cups dried black-eyed peas
• 1 large, meaty ham hock
• 1 large yellow onion, diced
• 1 bay leaf
• 4 cups chicken broth
• 3 large carrots, peeled and sliced on the bias
• 3 packed cups collard greens or kale, rinsed, ribs removed, and cut into thin ribbons
• Salt and fresh-ground black pepper, to taste

Pick over the dried peas to remove any pebbles or ill-formed beans. Soak for a couple of hours, rinse and drain the peas. Place peas in a large pot over medium-high heat and add broth. Bring to a boil, skimming any foam off that accumulates, and reduce heat to low. Add the ham hock, onion, and bay leaf. Reduce heat to medium-low and cook for 1 1/2-2 hours or until the peas are tender. Remove ham hock and let cool. Shred off the meat, discarding bone and fat, and return it to the pot. Add carrots and simmer for an additional 25 minutes.  Add the greens and simmer for 5 more minutes. Season aggressively with salt and pepper, and serve with cornbread and vinegar.

Must-have (comfy) ingredient: Smoked pork shank

Where I come from, we just call it a ham hock.  I never would have thunk that, this far from the good ole’ south, a hock found behind the meat counter at Sonoma Market would be so gloriously hammy.  So wonderfully southern.  Ask the sweet staff to cut the whole hunk into three meaty chunks, exposing the rich marrow, which promises to melt luxuriously into whatever pot you’re tossing it into.  Greens, beans, stock; they all benefit from a comfy chunk of cozy pig product.

The five most comforting dishes in Sonoma

There can’t possibly be something more comforting, more delicious, than a simple meal of soft-cooked eggs, poached preferably, their golden, buttery yolks running into the crevices of a gorgeous piece of heavily buttered country-style bread; crunchy salt is all you need.  Or, a perfectly ripe avocado smashed quickly onto a dark-toasted baguette, finished with a decadent drizzle of super peppery olive oil.  Buttered toast and apricot preserves.  A slab of quivering Mt. Tam a top a slice of grilled toast.  Obviously, I find mass quantities of comfort in a simple piece of bread.  Although, when yearning for copious comfort without the strength needed to even slice some bread, I head to one of the following Sonoma spots for one of these five most comforting dishes.

Duck confit at the girl and the fig: No matter the preparation, this dish – one leg or two – is always a homey combination of rich, salty, falling apart duck paired with a scattering of vegetables and something warming, like lentils or fat-roasted potatoes.

Posole at El Molino Central: In this colossal bowl of lush broth floats soft nuggets of the corniest corn posole, slivers of crisp radish, and fatty avocado; all under a glistening, wonderfully greasy film of smoky chile.

Any soup from 599 Thai Cafe: Screaming for a rainstorm, these soups begin with a rich ginger and lemongrass-infused broth, and sometimes include ample amounts of creamy coconut milk, all of which conceal a tangle of noodles, intense herbs, and tiny bites of pretty vegetables or shrimp.

Collard greens and cornbread from Fremont Diner: Heaven for a true Southerner is a bowl of long-cooked collards studded with ribbons of smoked pig and accompanied by a wedge of not-sweet cornbread to crumble straight into the greens.  The cornbread soaks up the smoke and pork scented “pot likker” in the happiest way, only made more addictive by a great dousing of spicy, mouth-puckering chile-infused vinegar.

Truffle fries at EDK: The musky scent of truffle oil arrives to the table before the mountain of potatoes do.  The skinny fries are utterly crisp on the outside and fluffy inside, salty in the best possible way, and coated with a delicate showering of parmesan.  A garlicky aioli is the essential, over-the-top addition.