The Answer is Always Pork

It’s 6:30 in the morning and dark in our apartment. This is the only time the neighborhood seems mostly quiet, it’s too early for most of the Tenderloin.  It’s been so long since I last wrote. Once you’re out of a routine, it’s surprisingly hard to get back into one. Inertia. (So hard in fact, I’ve been working on this fairly mediocre post for three weeks – ha!).

So brace yourselves. Who knows what will pop out of my head and onto the computer screen. I imagine my copyeditor is out of practice too …

Civic Activism. We’re trying our best to stay informed and participate thoughtfully in our democracy. Marching, contributing to causes we believe in, learning from people who know more than us, listening to people who have experienced life differently than us. Many of the changes made by our recent administration are more disheartening and terrifying than I dared to imagine in November when I last wrote. It feels strange to write about baking in the midst of all this, but there is an eternal comfort in cooking a meal to share with people you love.

Painting. I’ve been painting a lot, mostly abstract watercolors. It’s meditative and a lovely way to keep calm. It’s rewarding to make something beautiful and put it out into a world that can be ugly. I’ve been selling my paintings, mostly to friends, with all proceeds benefitting organizations dedicated to social justice, women’s rights and education.

Hotdish. We learned about hotdish on a Wikipedia deep dive. The initial search topic has been since eclipsed by excitement for the native Minnesotan casserole.  During this exploration, we found this gem: a hotdish cook-off competition cookbook written by none other than the United States Congressmen and Congresswomen from Minnesota. Always check the Wikipedia source links! The Herman the German Hotdish was delicious. Make it.

Whiskey Before Breakfast. We went recording shopping at a new local spot, opened by some friends of friends. We’ve been digging classic country and folk lately, and we found a few fun ones to round out our collection.

Gateau Basque. Tartine, the bakery I adore that made our wedding cakes, recently opened a new restaurant Tartine Manufactory. We went for dinner and it was great. Fresh, fun and a little different. Uni toast! Plus it smells like baking bread inside the whole place.  We had a version of a gateau basque at Tartine Manufactory, and then I dug up a recipe from a beautiful cookbook, A Kitchen in France by Mimi Thorisson. I made a few tweaks, and though it’s not quite at Tartine level, it was pretty dang good. Especially after it was topped with a blueberry compote seasoned with the leftover syrup from an empty jar of luxardo cherries. I haven’t written a recipe in months, so fingers crossed this one is reproducible.

Gateau Basque, serves 8
For the dough
1 cup sugar
13 tablespoons butter
2 eggs
4 egg yolks
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon almond extract
3 1/3 cups all purpose flour (400g)
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon baking power
1 egg yolk for glazing

For the blood orange filling
2 blood oranges (any orange will do)
1/4 cup water
1/2 cup sugar

For the blueberry topping
1 cup fresh or frozen blueberries
1/4 cup maple syrup (or luxardo cherry syrup)
a pinch of salt

Cream the butter and sugar together, until light and fluffy. Add the vanilla, almond extract and then the eggs and egg yolks. Beat to combine. In another bowl, mix together the flour, salt and baking powder. Combine the flour and butter mixtures, stirring just to combine. It should look like a soft, tacky sugar cookie dough.

Divide the dough into two balls, wrap each in plastic wrap and flatten into disks. Refrigerate for an hour.

Meanwhile, make the candied orange filling. Slice two oranges very thinly. In a saucepan, combine the sugar and water together, then add the orange slices on top. Turn the heat to low and let the oranges simmer for 30 minutes to an hour. Every so often, swirl the pan to coat the oranges that float to the top. This will soften the orange peels, but they won’t become hard candy.

Preheat an oven to 350° F. Butter a 9-inch baking dish or springform pan. Flour a work surface. Take out one of your balls of dough. Quickly roll it out to about the size of your baking dish. Using a spatula and your hands, transfer the round of dough into the bottom of the pan. It’s very soft, so if it falls apart, just press it into the dish. No harm.

On top of the first layer of dough, layer the candied orange slices. I did a few staggered layers. Then roll out your second ball of dough and lay it on top of the oranges. Press the dough down around the edges to seal.

Then, take a fork and create a crosshatch pattern in the dough. Have the tines curving up towards you as you drag them across the dough so your dough doesn’t get too roughed up. Whisk the egg yolk with a pinch of salt, and brush the top of the cake with the egg yolk.

Bake for 30-40 minutes, until the cake is golden brown. While the cake is cooking, make your blueberry topping. In a saucepan, add the blueberries and syrup. Let them simmer on low hea, stirring occasionally, until they are jammy.

To serve, slice the cake and top with the blueberry topping.

With love until I write again,
Emily

I spent last weekend in the company of two of my most favorite women. Strong, intelligent women with compassion and humor beyond words. Women who wake up every day energized to do good work to help others.

I stand at the end of a long line of smart, resourceful, empathetic mothers. Mothers who live in the grey area, who refuse to see the world in black and white, who constantly broaden the birth and depth of their compassion. Mothers who will do anything to help their families and their friends. Mothers who have never, not even once, told me that I was less than because I am a woman.

These are the qualities I voted for on Tuesday morning. I had happy tears in my eyes and I drew the little black line next to Hillary Clinton’s name. Not only did I vote for her vast experience, her belief that we are better together, her belief that every American deserves equal respect and access to opportunity, but I also voted for fact that the person who would be leading our country has moved through the same male-dominated world I do. A world that can be harsh and unsafe, a world that is far from easy. Electing Hillary Clinton as my president not only meant electing a qualified president, it also meant bringing a new type of compassion to the most powerful, visible role in our country.

It meant a so much to me to vote for a woman for President. It felt like progress deep in my bones. But I was not just voting for any woman, I was voting for the woman who I knew in my heart would do the very best job. I voted for myself, for my husband who’s belief in equality runs just as deep as mine, for our future children, for every young girl and boy so they would grow up in a world with this example, and for every woman in the world because America’s example reaches far and wide. I really thought that together we we would shatter that highest, hardest glass ceiling. I felt empowered, and so, so hopeful.

As I watched the results come in from across the country, I felt sick. I felt heartbroken. Tears poured down my face, Jordan poured us each a whiskey. We watched, my stomach in my throat, my hands at my face. We cried when the path of reason was obliterated.

It is a heartbreaking and terrifying thing to realize we have not come as far as I thought we had. I had no illusions that America was perfect, I knew we had a lot to of work to do, but I did honestly believe that most Americans would understand that there is place in America for all of us, that making America safe for all people is empowering all people, that our diversity is our greatest strength, that racism and misogyny would not run quite so deep.

To elect a man for president that preaches a message of hate, of aggression, of racism, of misogyny. Who has sexually assaulted women, who has repeatedly disrespected the collective rules that make America work, who’s hate is so much his hallmark that he was endorsed by the KKK. I am outraged. I am heartbroken. I have no idea how I will meet in the middle with the Americans who voted for a man like this.

People talk about the fact that they wanted a change. They wanted someone to ‘blow the system up’. They wanted something new in politics. To that I say, your frustration has blinded you. You are not looking two steps into the future. Our government serves 318 million people, and supports countries all over the world. It is not perfect, but we live in comparative luxury and security. These things work because of our politicians. Yes, political corruption is a real thing. Corruption is a real thing across every aspect of our lives. You are taking your stability for granted. This is blindness of privilege, I did not realize just how blinding it was.

I want to have hope for the future, but from where I sit today, the future is grim. As a white, educated woman, a place of privilege for certain, even I do not feel I will have representation in our national government come January. A Republican house, a Republican senate, a President elect who brings out the worst demons in all of us. The progress we have fought so hard for over the past 50 years, it feels so tenuous. I feel sick and I expect I will feel that way for a long time. This is no regular election, these are not the feelings of a typical transition of power from a Democratic president to a Republican one. This is very different. Tears of worry continue to well in my eyes and anxiety sits in the pit of my stomach.

But, what is there to do but get to work. Work to build a future for myself, for the people I love, and for people who are far more marginalized that I am, a future that is safe, respectful and inclusive. We cannot be silent. We cannot be afraid. This work will summon all of the courage we have, but there is hope in the work.

Oh hi. I forgot we had a blog for a few months there. Kidding. I’ve been guilt-wracked since my last post in May. Sort of kidding?

This summer is breezing by. Despite the fact we both work in education, summer seems to be our busiest time of year.  Jordan was teaching a summer course in statistics, and we all know that brain research never sleeps. I was busy shepherding new versions of Seesaw into the edtechnoverse, planning and attending a huge education technology trade show, and then rolling right off of that into Back to School. Back to School is to us what Christmas is to every retailer. It’s go time.

Somehow, we also managed to squeeze in a trip to Portland, a trip to New York, a few weekend visits to Sacramento, and a bit of surfing as well. I decided the best way to tackle the massive time gap between my last post and today’s is by letting the photos on my iPhone dictate the story. According to my camera roll, I did a some halfway decent painting, made some food, and hung out with a lot of sleepy dogs. It’s a magical dream life.

San Francisco
First, Willow. Willow knows what she likes and what she likes is napping. Preferably in the most comfortable spot available, ideally our bed. Second Jordan. Jordan is working in two research labs right now, teaching undergrads how to do psych statistics, and helping any student or lab-mate who asks for it. He is so open and generous with his time, San Francisco State is lucky to have him. Lastly, Emmanoodle. I love my job. Working to build something that has a real impact in classrooms, that helps kids feel engaged and empowered in their learning, helps families know how to support their kids, and makes teachers lives easier, and I get to to that all day with smart, fun, kind people, it’s my dream job. I don’t think I’ve ever been able to say that before, and am so happy it’s true now.

Portland
We visited our friends Josh and Erin. They were incredible hosts, showing us their favorite spots in Portland—Sweedeedee for brunch, Shift, Pepe Le Moko and Expatriate for cocktails, Biwa for ramen/izakaya, Arbor Lodge for coffee, Otto’s for sausages, Bollywood Cinema for Indian. We drank a lot of coffee, cocktails and beer, ate great food, and admired the lush front yards of Overlook. Portland, you’re cute. Erin, Josh and Moon, you’re even cuter.

San Francisco
We celebrated our one year wedding anniversary with cakes from Tartine Bakery, the same cake we had at our wedding. We ordered three cakes, ate lasagna with a dozen friends in our living room, and played Hank Williams’s ‘Baby We’re Really in Love’ on the hi-fi. I hope we host this party every year.

Also, the new SF Moma opened! It is huge and beautiful and well worth a visit. There are two coffee shops inside! And a few thousand pieces of precious art, if you’re into that kind of thing.

New York
We stayed in Park Slope, Brooklyn with our dearest Miykaelah, a hostess with the mostess if there ever was one. It was a college reunion trip of sorts, meeting up with our favorites from my time at Georgetown. We walked all over Brooklyn, had three slices of pizza in one day (two slices after a dinner of BBQ and bluegrass). There was free opera in Brooklyn Bridge Park, bagels and smoked fish at Russ & Daughters. We watched the ever-elegant Katie Norton marry her sweetie Mark, and then stayed out until three in the morning catching up with some real good folks, even when we had flights that same morning at six. It’s hard to leave the bar when your heart is so full, and there’s early 2000s alternative rock on the stereo. This short trip was another reminder from this summer that our life is full of good, good people.

Denver
The International Society for Technology in Education Conference. 15,000 K-12 teachers, a bunch of edtech vendors and a whole lot of Seesaw buzz. Our booth was packed all day, and it was such a joy to meet many teachers in person that I’ve talked to over email throughout the past year. To really feel the impact we’re having in classrooms, to hear our teachers’ stories firsthand, and to thank them for everything they do each day for their students. It was an even better experience than I could have imagined. And I’m so glad it’s done. Planning trade shows is no joke.

While we were bopping all over the country, Willow stayed at my mom’s house and worked on her suntan. Such an elegant hound.

San Francisco
San Francisco summer has descended upon us. It is chilly and foggy and l love it. It feels like the first summer we moved here, waking up in a cloud, the sound of the fog horn in the distance, that misty city smell. We’ve both been heads-down at work, but taking a breather on the weekends to cook a bit, surf a bit, pop around the city and hang out with some really cute dogs. There’s always something to do when you live in the most beautiful city in the world, you’ve just got to walk outside.

Growing up I was never really a big ham fan. It was turkey or peanut butter (hold the jelly), or nothing. And then I entered into a six year vegetarian phase, considered to be a dark period by both our families, and so I really didn’t have much experience with ham before moving to Buenos Aires, Argentina for my third year of college.

Argentines are big fans of ham. You can get just about anything ‘completo’, which means topped with ham, cheese and egg. You can get a sandwich completo. An empanada completo. A pizza completo. Pizza! Topped with ham, cheese and egg! I was forced to confront my ham prejudices head on. Ham was inescapable.

And so I embraced it. My favorite way to eat ham and cheese was as a tostada. There was a little cafe in my neighborhood where you could get a cafe con leche with ham and cheese toasty. Made on thin white bread (pan de miga) with ham (jamon cocido) and mild, melty cheese (port salut), it was toasted on this terrifying wire contraption, which I tried to use at home and which always, always resulted in burnt toast. Alongside your coffee and sandwich, they’d give you two of the tiniest creme puffs. Marble sized balls of pastry filled with a tiny squeeze of vanilla pastry creme, dusted with a sprinkling of powdered sugar. If that is not a totally adorable touch, I don’t know what is.

For some reason, one particular tostada stands out in my memory. It was a rainy day, it can really pour in Buenos Aires, and so we took shelter inside a cafe to fortify ourselves with tostadas. That tostada, it was a sandwich that felt like a hug. Or maybe a towel that’s warm and fresh from the dryer. A sandwich so perfectly suited to the moment it was eaten that I still haven’t forgotten it eight years later. This specific memory popped into my head last weekend, and I had to try to recreate that sandwich.

We got close. Not perfect, but close.

For this sandwich, contrary to grilled cheese wisdom, it’s important not to butter the bread. I’ll pause there to let you take it that in. It’s a pretty dry sandwich. The cheese should melt, but not so much that it bubbles or browns. You also want a ham that is pretty mild. I’d stay away from anything honey-baked or too smokey. Honey-baked is not the Argentine way.

Ham and Cheese Tostada
2 slices of pain de mie bread, crusts cut off (do it, it makes a difference, ask any 4 year old)
a few slices of ham (we used a french ham from our favorite cheese spot in the neighborhood)
a few slices of mild, melty cheese (we used a french port salut, raclette would also be nice)

Cut the crusts off the bread. Put the bread on a baking sheet. Top one slice with ham, one slice with cheese. Put into your oven at 350° F and warm until the cheese melts. Once the cheese has melted, put the slices together and toast each side under your boiler, just a minute or two per side.

We’ve reached the point in winter where our CSA box consists primarily of oranges and braising greens. Though I am an ardent lover of vegetables, I just can’t do braised greens. Especially mustard greens. And mizuna. Peppery, bitter and pungent, I quickly eat my portion trying not to taste them, like a kid who has to clear their plate before they’re allowed dessert. Braised greens don’t seem to phase Jordan, and as I pitifully shove greens into my face without stopping to take a breath, he just stares. If you stop shoveling or let them cool, that’s when you can really taste them.

But, these particular collard greens, they are something else. We first had great collards when our friend Billy brought them over for dinner, along with a Velveeta mac and cheese, which was also heaven and I still think about on the regular. His collards featured a smoked turkey leg and I’m not sure what else, but it was transformative. Smoked meat and collard greens are meant to be together, and that night I learned there was a braised green I could get behind.

Silky and bacony, these collards are the essence of comfort, not the least bit abrasive like those pesky mustards. Jordan has been making these every other week or so and I imagine that will continue until we stop getting them in our farm box. A word to the wise, do not add collard greens into a smoothie. That was a mistake.

Braised Collard Greens
3 slices of bacon, cut into lardon (a smoked turkey leg or ham hock also do just fine)
1 large onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
3 cups chicken broth
1 pinch red pepper flakes
1 large bunch collard greens, cut into 2 inch pieces, stems included
salt and fresh pepper

In a large, heavy pot over medium heat, cook the bacon to render out its fat. Once the fat has rendered,  remove the bacon and set aside. Turn the heat to low and add the onion and garlic and let sweat for 5-10 minutes. Then add the collards and cook until they start to wilt. Add the bacon back in, along with the broth, chili flake, a pinch of salt and a few grinds of pepper. Cover, and let simmer for 45 minutes to 1 hour. Serve over rice or grits.