Prunes, prisms, Pastilla Nash

One of my favorite discoveries at last week's Fancy Food Show resembled blood sausage from afar, but was in fact a "sugar plum and walnut log" made by an Australian company called Pastilla Nash. It's a dense roll of toasty nuts and fruit paste that can be sliced into pretty little rounds and served with cheese; I sampled a bit with blue cheese and it was very tasty indeed. It's like membrillo in that it offers a thick, mildly sweet dose of fruit that tempers the intensity of certain cheeses.

It seems that the term "sugar plum" can be applied to a variety of foodstuffs, but in this case the log appears to be made of good old-fashioned prunes. A Mason jar of Armagnac that's been piled high with plump, boozy prunes presently occupies a proud position on my pantry shelf, so I consider myself to be part of the pro-prune posse, as it were, but I understand why they might not want to market their product as a "prune log" in the U.S., where poor, put-upon prunes still suffer from unfortunate geriatric associations.

I'm too lazy to keep the "P" words going much longer (thankfully, right?), but if you ever see the Pastilla Nash plum/prune logs in a shop near you, you might want to pick one up and pair it with a pungent piece of cheese. Perhaps for a party.*




*An editor I used to work with called alliteration "the last refuge of the hack writer." Positively.

Clever cake pan

Call me a nerd, but I get excited when companies take a thoughtful approach to redesigning and improving upon everyday products, especially when they do away with minor flaws and annoyances. Sometimes the tweaks are just for fun, as in the case of my pink sparkly spatula,* and other times they are borderline brilliant, like the Beater Blade or the zigzaggy brownie pan that everybody loves.

Well, fellow culinary design nerds, behold the Ding3000 cake pan.

Isn't this smart? It makes it easy to address all the strange size-related sensitivities, proclivities and dark, smouldering desires of your guests. As long as their darkest desires are of the devil's food variety, that is. And the resulting cake is kind of architectural and strangely beautiful in its multi-leveled state. You can buy one here or here. Yes, yes, I KNOW that you can just use a knife and cut different size pieces for each person according to their desires as has been done since time immemorial, but this is still a neat idea, don't you think?



*I know that buying stuff, at least for me, leads only to the most fleeting, false sense of happiness or satisfaction, which is then followed by some delicious combination of guilt, despair, boredom, and inevitably a new desire for something else, but my stupid pink spatula continues to spark a tiny zing of cheeriness in me every time I use it, as does my Fire-King jadeite pie plate. Who knows why?

Spirit of Christmas ...passed

Last month we took my parents to an open house at McEvoy Ranch to taste their new batch of olive oil and see the property.

Yes, yes, it was gorgeous:

And I'm still thinking about the lemon olive oil shortbread cookies they were handing out. (The recipe is apparently in their cookbook.)

But the highlight of the trip was seeing this guy on the way home:

As they say on Cute Overload, ENHANCE!!

Le Fancy Jam de Christine Ferber

Before I left Paris last month, I had to buy an extra suitcase to cart back all the foods that I simply couldn’t live without. Yes, I’m one of those sad individuals who insists on bringing foreign items back (including four bottles of wine!) even if I know perfectly well that I can find them in the U.S.—and probably at a lower price, too. There’s just something about that cheery little carton of brown sugar cubes sitting on my shelf that wouldn’t be quite the same if I had bought it in Brisbane.

And no, I'm not an international drug smuggler. That's a bag of cornstarch-free powdered sugar, if you must know.

This morning while I was still in bed, Randy came into my room holding an unopened jar of Christine Ferber’s raspberry jam, fresh from its trans-oceanic journey and still bedecked with a charming little polka dot hat and white ribbon.

“Can I open this?”
“Sure. That’s the famous jam woman. We saw her cookbook at Powells, remember?”
“Oh. Sort of. Can I use it in my PB&J?”
“Sure. But remember that it’s $9 a jar.”*

At this Randy fell to the carpet, writhing in mock agony. Once back on his feet, his voice rose an octave and his eyelids lowered to cruel slits as he began channeling Snotty Foodie, a character we like to drag out every now and again. “But perhaps a peanut butter and jelly sandwich will be the best possible application for this jam, so simple in its elegance! What HONESTY! The purest expression of a humble sandwich! A raspberry jam of this type of perfection will complement the rustic wholegrain goodness of the bread, the smooth creaminess of the peanuts!”

Groaning, I pulled the covers back over my head.

An hour later, still pajama-clad, I am staring at the jam. The cute little polka dot cap and jaunty white ribbon have been callously flung aside and now lie sadly clinging to our sticky counter top. I throw them both in the trash. All this charming packaging is wasted on us. I love the idea, but what are we supposed to DO with it? It lies between me and the food. Therefore, it must be speedily discarded. What do the French do with all their wrapping paper, their ribbons, their expensive stickers? And the Japanese? My god, the Japanese! Everything's elaborately wrapped in Japan. How am I supposed to appreciate this packaging enough to justify the increased price? Stare at it? Photograph it? I need tips.

Randy’s sandwich has been built and there is no bread left, so I reach for a package of $1 Trader Joe’s hot dog buns (stale, naturally). I toast one and smear it with butter. Then I smear the butter with Madame Ferber’s raspberry jam. It’s wonderful. Dare I say that it’s worth 9 euros? The berry flavor is intense. The color is deep scarlet. I'm sorry. It's worth 9 euros.**

The next day when I get home from work, I open the fridge and see this:

Elegant Madame Ferber had been replaced by Mary Ellen, that trashy ho! I guess a certain person had decided that Madame's jam WAS too good for a lowly PB&J. But it'll still have a home on my hot dog buns.


*I was wrong. It’s actually 9 EUROS a jar.

**But I wasn’t as big a fan of her blood orange marmalade. It’s good, just not as earth-shatteringly yummy.