Kaua'i, Hawaii and a Gluten-Free Chocolate Marmalade Cake

T and I got back last night from our honeymoon trip to Kaua'i, Hawaii. It was our first trip to Hawaii and our first vacation in seven years, so needless to say we were chomping at the bit for a week alone on a coast where the water is actually swimmable.

We weren't disappointed.

Everything you hear about Hawaii--that it's paradise, that the water is warm and aqua, that flurries of colorful fish swim just below the surface in shallow reefs (that they share with giant sea turtles!) and coral--it's all true. The picture above is from a hike we took on the Na Pali coastline on the north side of the island. The hike was muddy and rigorous, taking us over the sea cliffs and into a guava jungle to a 100 ft waterfall with a cold, deep pool. (Where no one was nude--it just looks that way.)

T taught me to snorkle, which was fun after I stopped hyperventilating. We swam and snorkeled in the calm waters of Ke'e Beach and Anini Beach on the north side, on the very slightly rougher (and my favorite) Po'ipu Beach on the southeast of the island--where on the same afternoon a monk seal crawled onto the beach to nap in the sun and a giant sea turtle hauled herself on shore to lay her eggs--and we waded in the body-slamming surf at Barking Sands Beach, on the western shore.

Other than fresh fish, the food on Kaua'i wasn't exciting. We found ourselves missing home-cooked meals and fresh vegetables, but the ahi tuna was deep red and buttery and the fruit was unbelievable. If you go, economize by eating ahi poke, avocados, and any fresh fruit you can find. I was particularly taken with dragon fruit, if only for its name and unique appearance.

And drink mai thais. The late afternoon we discovered the $3 mai thais at the poolside bar was a drunken, sweet and happy one.

T's favorite day was when we took a boat up the Na Pali coastline, stopping to snorkel and cheering on the spinner dolphins as they leaped alongside us. My favorite was our second visit to Po'ipu Beach, when we exhausted ourselves snorkeling and then lay in the shade of a palm tree, reading, sunning, and watching the chickens.

I suppose catching a wild chicken would be another bright way to economize. They're everywhere, and the roosters, while beautiful, lose some appeal during their customary 4am salute to the dawn.

If the snorkeling, wildlife, mountain valleys and bright blue ocean doesn't do it for you, then go to Kaua'i for the flowers. This is plumeria, my favorite, for its rich scent and waxy white petals.

But for those of you with a more wintry mind, or for whom the words "Hawaii" and "vacation" elicit feelings of bitterness, longing or despair, try this chocolate marmalade cake. Rich, with a light crumb, sticky, ridiculously easy and gluten-free.

Chocolate Marmalade Cake (adapted from Nigella Lawson's Feast)

• 10-14 ounces marmalade (pick your poison)
• 6 eggs
• 2 C almond meal
• 1/2 C cocoa powder
• 1/2 tsp baking soda
• 1 heaping tsp baking powder
• 1 C light brown sugar, not packed
• a pinch of salt
• a handful or two of bittersweet chocolate chips or shards

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Butter and line an 8-inch springform pan. In a bowl or food processor, combine all of the ingredients above until smooth. Pour into prepared pan and bake for around an hour (mine took about 70 minutes). You'll want to check after 45 minutes to make sure the top isn't burning--if it is, simply cover the top loosely with aluminum foil and continue baking until a cake tester comes out mostly clean. (A few fudgy crumbs clinging to the tester are fine--better to under cook slightly than to dry the cake out.)

Cool completely in the pan before slicing and serving. Enjoy alone, with barely sweetened whipped cream, with a liquored whipped cream (orange liquor or maybe brandy or rum), or ice cream.

The Meat of the Matter, and How to Make a Monte Cristo

(Or Two Dumb Bums with Beef on the Brain.)

This is me and Nathan:

About a month ago our spouses, T and M, decided to instigate a food feud between us; it was their thinly veiled objective to inspire countless evenings during which they would be fed, copiously, beautiful sandwiches inspired by mutual contempt and competition.

Unfortunately, being who we are, the competition's been mild. (Exhibit A: we keep voting for each other's sandwiches.) But the food...that's been anything but.


A couple of weeks ago we made vegetarian sandwiches with brie and goat cheese, oven roasted tomatoes and roasted garlic mayonnaise, fresh basil, bell peppers, and toasted pine nuts. They were mighty fine. I ended up being handicapped by the goat cheese--not a crowd pleaser--but even I had to concede that Nathan's fresh-tasting yet creamy sandwich was delicious.

Tonight was round two, the Meat Sandwich, and I was ready to dominate. Unfortunately, Nathan slaved away all day and made the most glorious French Dips we've ever had. He smoked and then roasted the beef, sliced it into thin strips and smattered the top with pan-fried onions. The meat and onions ended up on very lightly toasted baguettes with aged Gruyere, dipped by the eater into a rich, salty jus. Somehow intensely satisfying yet not rich.


Thank goodness, because we had to save room for the Monte Cristos.

A Monte Cristo, though recipes vary, is a battered sandwich stuffed with thinly sliced ham and melted cheese. I made mine by pressing two crustless pieces of high-quality white bread around black forest ham and Havarti, with thin smears of butter and homemade currant jelly. The sandwich is chilled, tightly wrapped, for a few hours, and then dipped into a simple batter (think thick pancake batter) and fried like grilled cheese in a hot buttered pan. The hot golden sandwiches get a final dusting of confectioners sugar and are eaten dipped into jam. Homemade blackberry jam.

In all honesty, as luscious as the monte cristo was--like savory French Toast, crisp and creamy, salty and sweet--I preferred the French Dip. I just wouldn't order anything like a Monte Cristo in a restaurant, because I don't enjoy very rich foods.

T agreed with me, but M and Nathan liked the monte cristos. So we tied.

Which, with all of the objectivity I can muster, was exactly the right decision.

To Make Your Own Monte Cristo: (1 sandwich)

• 2 slices high-quality white bread, with the crusts cut off and saved for another use (I ferret mine away in the freezer for future bread crumbs)
• 2 slices thinly cut ham or turkey
• 1 nice slice of havarti / any melty cheese you like
• butter
• jam
• confectioners sugar
• 1/3 C flour
• 1/3 C water
• 1/2 tsp baking powder
• 1/4 tsp salt
• 1 egg
  

Lay bread slices on your working surface. Butter both slices of white bread and spread jam onto one of the pieces.

Fold the ham or turkey so that it fits onto one of the slices of bread (nothing should hang off the side of the slice).

Top the meat with the cheese.

Cap the sandwich with the second slice of buttered bread and firmly press on the top and sides so that the sandwich is sealed.

Wrap tightly in plastic wrap and chill for 45 minutes to several hours. This helps to seal the bread and keeps the sandwich from falling apart during the frying process.

Next, Prepare a thick batter using the flour, water, salt, baking powder and egg. Whisk until uniform.

Unwrap the sandwich and dip into the batter, covering completely.

Fry the sandwich in butter over medium heat until golden on both sides.

Hint: My technique--and this makes flawless grilled cheese sandwiches, too--is to heat the butter until golden, set the sandwich into the butter, and then cover the pan and lower the heat to medium/medium low. Flip when golden on the bottom and repeat process. Covering the pan over a low heat encourages a golden crust to develop while trapping enough heat to melt the cheese before the sandwich burns.

Serve hot, sprinkled with confectioners sugar and dipped into jam.

Apple Dried Cherry Challah and Sweet Corn Chowder

One of the best parts of summer's end is using summer produce, like tomatoes and sweet corn, in fall dishes like soups and stews. On a rainy day earlier this week a bundle of delicate, baby carrots and sweet onion went into a beef bourguignon, and tonight we'll eat a light, creamy chowder of sweet corn and heirloom tomatoes. All week we've been biting into challah stuffed with new apples and dried cherries to welcome in the Jewish New Year, Rosh Ha'shanah.

I love this comforting food that's still fresh and green. We're in that tiny space of the Oregon year where we can enjoy the colors and diversity of summer veggies while baking the breads and stirring the thick soups essential to our damp, chilly nights. It's also the time of year that I associate with returning to our kitchen table, and replacing the hastily gobbled tomato sandwiches and pesto pasta bowls that get us through summer with longer, more complicated meals that involve sitting together with cloth napkins, silverware, a glass of wine. Summer is supposed to be languorous, but I find the fall and winter to be so; fall and winter in Oregon stretch from October to June, and the steady drip of rain sets a slow metronome rhythm to each day. The here-and-gone vitality of our summers is thrilling (look! the sun!), but it's easy to fall back into the seductive lull of rain and steamy tea pots.

That said I'm glad today is sunny. I've spent the afternoon outside sewing a quilt for Kate and listening to history podcasts on Catherine the Great and Catherine D'Medici (in case you've been wondering, the horse story is a myth, but the Black Queen earned her moniker) drinking thai iced tea with milk and sugar and missing my bike, which is at the shop, suffering from multiple mechanical woes. (The guy looked at me and said, "You ride your bike a lot, huh?" I wanted to be truthful and admit that I just commute on it, but I loved the unspoken assumption that I was a hardcore biker too much to say so. I don't know why I needed the charade, but I could almost feel my leg muscles strengthening and defining as I stood there.)

Tomorrow is phase two of the Nathan Whitney-Little Chef Sandwich Competition, in which neither chef is as competitive as his and her respective spouses, and everyone drinks too much hard cider. I think I'm going to do a riff on the Monte Cristo and stuff sturdy but soft bread with aged ham, Havarti cheese and some kind of chutney, press in the sides, dip the sandwich in egg, and fry it until golden and melty in butter or olive oil. It's not the kind of dish that I would normally eat, but it's luxurious and unusual.

And I feel compelled to say something political, given today's date, but all I feel is political exhaustion and frustration. I want the wars to be ended. I want there to be available healthcare and jobs and housing assistance for all Americans. I want the government to admit that we can't keep funneling money into a fight against an "-ism," which is only an idea and thus indefatigable in its ability to influence, to be acted upon, to be disseminated and undercut. 9/11 was a tragedy, but it is not a reason to continue dangerous and endless policies in countries whose histories and rivalries we do not understand.

To commemorate 9/11 I'm going to share a meal grown by local farmers with someone I love. I'm going to buy a Koran and put it next to my Hebrew bible. I'm going to approach my life as if I lived in the pluralistic, tolerant, humane world I would like my children to inherit. And maybe, inshallah, they will.

Slow Cooker Sweet Corn Chowder, However You Like It

This isn't so much a recipe as a suggestion. I used what I had on hand, and so should you: feel free to add in diced bell pepper, chunks of potato, leftover chicken, or sliced celery. You can also cook this on the stove--simmer until everything but the dairy is just tender and bright, and then add in the milk, heating through. It actually takes far less time on the stove--maybe 2o minutes of simmering and then 5-10 minutes after you add the cream. The advantage of the slow cooker is that it allows flavors to concentrate...and you can leave the house.

• approximately 3 C fresh or frozen sweet corn (remove the kernels from the cob)
• a few slices of bacon, diced
• 1 small onion, finely chopped
• 1-2 smashed garlic cloves
• 1 small hot pepper, minced, or a 1/4 tsp dried chili flakes
• an heirloom tomato, roughly chopped
• tiny fistful of fresh sage leaves
• 2-3 sprigs of fresh thyme
• a dash of smoked paprika
• stock
• 1-2 C milk or cream
• salt and pepper to taste

Heat a bit of olive oil in a pan and add the diced bacon. Cook until crisp and then add add the chopped onions, garlic and hot pepper (you may drain the bacon fat if you like, but it adds significant flavor). Saute until the onions are translucent but not browned. Add the onion mixture to the slow cooker, along with the corn, stock and spices. Stir and cook on low, covered, for 2-3 hours. If you are using potatoes, be sure to add them in at this stage.

About an hour before eating (less if you're making this on the stove), add the milk or cream to the soup and taste for seasoning. Salt and pepper as you desire. Cook the soup on high for about an hour. When finished, adjust seasoning as necessary and serve hot with grated cheddar and crusty bread. I bet a dash of hot sauce would be good, too.