{"id":1788,"date":"2004-12-30T04:27:00","date_gmt":"2004-12-30T04:27:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/elitemporaryblog.wordpress.com\/2004\/12\/30\/san-francisco-synopsis-with-stockpot-and-soup"},"modified":"2015-09-24T03:54:34","modified_gmt":"2015-09-24T03:54:34","slug":"san-francisco-synopsis-with-stockpot-and-soup","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/orangette.net\/2004\/12\/san-francisco-synopsis-with-stockpot-and-soup\/","title":{"rendered":"San Francisco synopsis with stockpot and soup"},"content":{"rendered":"
A week in the Bay Area has come and gone, and I\u2019m back in my long black Neo-esque<\/a> wool coat, lugging groceries home in the Seattle rain, fingers numb in my gloves. But no matter. Though it was delicious to have a full seven days with people I adore in what may well be the best part of this enormous country, nothing could match my contentment last night upon returning to my cold little apartment after midnight, cranking up the heat and <\/strong>a gritty old Rolling Stones album<\/strong><\/a>, unpacking my suitcase, putting everything in its place, and folding myself into my poofy white bed. This is how vacation should feel.<\/p>\n And the holidays would be nothing without a few little adventures and last-minute errands for crafty present-related odds and ends, such as 9\u201d red zippers at JoAnn Fabrics, where my very petite cousin Katie found the wall of cheap fake flowers<\/strong> very appealing.<\/p>\n Best of all, my kitchen reeled in quite a load of gifts, such as a long-awaited pair of poultry shears<\/strong> (no more standing on my tip-toes for knife-handling leverage; no more breaking a sweat!); a sparkling white 9- by 13-inch French porcelain baking dish; <\/em>Katie, Sarah, and Jim\u2019s The Little Family Cookbook<\/em>; and an instant-read thermometer. There were also gifts for my geeky brain, such as Women Who Eat<\/a> <\/em>and Edward Tufte\u2019s The Visual Display of Quantitative Information<\/em><\/a>. And there were gifts that shocked and awed in the best possible way<\/strong>, such as the twelve-quart stainless-steel All-Clad Multipot<\/a> picked out for me by my half-brother David and his fianc\u00e9e.<\/p>\n So it was only appropriate that I get it down and dirty that very night and put it, naturally, to the old trial by fire. Indeed, my new stockpot was perfect for whipping up the evening\u2019s first course, a double batch of apple and butternut squash soup with curry, cardamom, and mace<\/strong>. It\u2019s a recipe my mother has been making for years, and it\u2019s well-traveled, having led off a very raucous, drink- and dancing-filled French-style Thanksgiving dinner in Paris in 1999. Also in its favor is the fact that it\u2019s very, very simple to make, assuming that you\u2019re not averse to a bit of chopping and have some sort of blending apparatus handy. Smooth and warming with an undertone of curry, it\u2019s just the thing for a San Francisco Christmas dinner, or Seattle winter nights with young Mick Jagger.<\/p>\n Apple and Butternut Squash Soup<\/strong><\/p>\n If possible, make this soup a day or two ahead; its flavors meld and deepen after a day or so of sitting the fridge.<\/p>\n<\/a>But as promised<\/a>, you, dear reader, get the two-dimensional dregs of my San Francisco stay. From Arizmendi Bakery<\/a>\u2019s eggy brioche knot flecked with cinnamon and golden raisins<\/strong> to Max\u2019s<\/a> obscenely huge dark-chocolate-dipped macaroons (approximately one pound each and best if bought at the to-go counter and brought home for quartering and sharing), Dungeness crabs<\/a>, and the Acme<\/strong><\/a> pain au levain and olive bread<\/strong>, it was a delicious week indeed.<\/p>\n
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And while a snowy white Christmas is appropriate every now and then, I never object to a Christmas Eve walk at Tennessee Valley and out to the beach with the twins<\/a>, all of us bundled ever-so-lightly in hooded sweatshirts and scarves.<\/p>\n<\/a>
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<\/a>And as for Christmas morning, there was the requisite wearing of gift bows around our heads<\/strong>, and there were the oddly perfect gag gifts, such as my mother\u2019s legwarmers<\/strong>, carefully selected by Sarah and Jim. After all, every Pilates instructor needs pink-and-gray legwarmers to wear with her high-heeled boots (aptly and unabashedly called \u201cfuck-me heels\u201d in this family).<\/p>\n
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I\u2019d always thought I\u2019d have to wait for a wedding gift registry to get one of these heavy, gleaming beauties, but I apparently underestimated the generosity of my relatives. This may be the most luscious piece of steel I\u2019ve ever seen<\/strong>. I held it and stroked its every curve and ridge. I\u2019ll be with this pot for the rest of my life, and that\u2019s a long time. Between me and this pot, it\u2019s till death do us part.<\/p>\n