Sunday Supper: Bound Together With Basil

It's good to KNOW people, the kind that hook you up, show you the ropes, spark your appetite and send you to the kitchen. This morning, over corned beef hash and eggs, The Chef whispered his secret source for morels, so most certainly those little honeycombed beauties will soon appear as a Fish Tale.

Here on the Coast, people swap mushroom hunting intel the way others slide stock tips across the table. So much bounty in them woods: chanterelles, oysters, maitakes, matsutakes and of course, the mysterious Oregon Black Truffle, which I have yet to see or taste, but sources assure me it exists SOMEWHERE OUT THERE, not unlike Big Foot and Weapons of Mass Destruction.

In the laboratory, Second Edition is digging deep into Alice Waters' new tome, "The Art of Simple Food," because we like her philosophy. Fuss-free, organic, local and eaten together. Always share your food...that's my girl. And although the Ranger and I can't enjoy Sunday Supper together, I still try to slip into something comfy and whip him up a to-go box while breaking all the OSHA guidelines regarding cooking without underwear. No tuna fish sandwiches for my man/boy.

A wise guru once told me, "Prepare food with an open heart, because once your guests take that first bite, your intentions will be clear to them." That said, when the Ranger sits down to dinner over at Ranger Station, that first bite...well, it should make him blush.



Brown rice tossed with snap peas, unsnapped peas, mustard greens, jalapeno, loads of ginger, garlic, shallots and sauced up with coconut milk, tamari, pine nuts and a chiffonade of basil. Inspired by Yoga Journal and The New Whole Grain Cookbook. Sadly, my photography skills don't do it justice.




My own supper was a little simpler: pureed asparagus soup with the tips kept whole, caramalized shallots and a pinch of wasabi powder before blending, topped with shavings of Asiago and a chiffonade of basil (once again). Inspired by Flutephobia. Check her out. A woman of few words, she returns again and again to the drawing board.

I wish I was making Sunday Supper for my Dad on Father's Day. Nothing fancy because he's not a fancy guy. I'm thinking raviolis stuffed with wild mushrooms (he loves pasta) as a starter, lamb chops rubbed with rosemary and garlic (the son of a sheep herder) and grilled corn cobs slathered with jalapeno butter (the man loves his chiles). He used to travel around with the tiniest bottle of Tabasco sauce tucked into his suit jacket, a habit that embarrassed me to no end as a child, but one that I now find, not only endearing, but somehow have come to emulate, except I choose Chalula. Guess this hot pepper didn't fall too far from the bush.