AN OLD RECIPE

 

The Barefoot Contessa lives in the Hamptons (NY), her home by the Atlantic sea, and she has a beautiful show in the food network cooking beautiful things. I love her relaxed demeanor in the kitchen and her tranquil teaching voice going through recipes, measures, temperatures and equipment. She's mellow, focused and homely classy: roast the quartered potatoes and rosemary sprigs on an oiled sheet pan at 400 degrees, and while waiting have a citron drink using those candied grapefruit peels you processed the night before. Whenever I watch the show, I can appreciate her privileged lifestyle because she can inspire you to replicate an ambience in your own life with the gathering forces of culinary artfulness bespoken. The beach supplies the natural lighting in her home and her countertop facing it is like a view deck on a sail. When she cooks, the world around seems alive; it's an elemental dimension I think is capturing beauty even more and it's saying to the cook, Here you are in paradise. Indelible memories I aspire when I set out to work as a cook, and presenting my food is a gathering of details that's like a set to the music of the table. Portland, Ore. was my Hamptons, those days I was "Count," our home was urbane rustic and well-lit around of sky pines, there was a European espresso machine in my kitchen, and our communal long table looked out into a garden wild, and autumn mornings would have on it fresh-baked milky scones in baskets lined with linen. White hydrangeas. Elegant dogwoods. Flurries. I studied works of chefs. The rain I was accustomed to for all its worth over the evergreens of the northwest. It was cozy because of the grey. And when it snowed. 

Milky Scones (adapted from Ina Garten)

1 1/2 c. all purpose flour

1/2 c. cake flour

1/2 tsp. kosher salt

1 stick unsalted Land O'Lakes butter

1 1/2 c. whole fat milk

(Mix all ingredients above, diligently, with rubber spatula first, then by the time to cut in the butter, crumble up the mix with your hands. Pour all the milk and fold in ingredients to a ball. Set in fridge for ten minutes in cellophane.)

Extra flour for kneading

Zest of one small lemon

Dustings of brown sugar and nutmeg 

Brushes of heavy cream

(Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Set your countertop clean and dry and flour around. Unwrap the dough, knead a few times on the floured surface and then shape it nicely to a flat rectangle an inch or so high. You can use a wood crepe turner to smoothen the sides and top of your shaped dough. Sprinkle the zest, the sugar, the nutmeg, in that order, and then brush lightly with heavy cream. 

Cut from the vertical long about four or five equal strands of dough, and with each strand about four squares of pre-scones. Assemble the pieces on a sheet pan buttered or with parchment - I prefer buttering the parchment paper for an easy slide when ready - and stick the scones in the oven for 18 or so minutes, check at 15 when the surface is goldening and aroma is exuding like sweet bread, and harvest on time.)

In Portland, I make scones early and quietly before work, I am and have always been an early riser, and when the morning comes, that's when your loved one is up, a warm kitchen from baking and smelling like a boulangerie in Paris, then both your breakfasts and coffee (or to grab them) are ready. Once upon a time in Venice, Italy we woke up to bread-baking and bialetti coffee brewing and gondolas through the hotel window with view of the spire of San Giorgio Maggiore. That romantic time, to say the least, of food and travel, was indelible.