My new obsession is chestnut honey. I had my first taste a few months back when my boyfriend brought some to me from Italy. The first time that I tried it I did not like it at all. Honey is supposed to be unabashedly sweet, yet this was not. It was dark and bitter, the Guinness of honeys. Yet I found myself intrigued. This honey is not going to just give itself away, I remember thinking to myself. It was not like the flowery rhododendron honey or loose agave nectar that quickly dissolved happily into any salad dressing or steeping brew that I prepared. Unlike most honeys that I have tried, chestnut not only sweetens the foods that it is added to, but it also makes them sit up straight. And that is only if it likes what you put it on. So how did I learn to ever love it? I began by slowly starting to use it to sweeten my teas. I went from drinking plain tea, to then adding an exaggerated spoonful of the honey, to ignoring the tea altogether and just using it as an excuse for the sweet, thick resin I found awaiting me at the bottom of each mug. Now it has even creeped into my morning ritual. My favorite breakfast has become puffed farro and kamut mixed together with blueberries or peaches, set in some soymilk, and drizzled with a spoonful of chestnut honey. My days of this Guinness honey are just beginning, as it will be the center of much of my culinary attention.

So I am chronicling my boyfriend’s stay here in the United States and documenting his likes and dislikes of my cooking. As I mentioned in my previous entry, I was going to try and wow him with my special dishes. The other night I made my famous Amor Prohibido Pasta (Forbidden Love Pasta), which will appear in our Pomegranate episode late in our fall season. Basically, it is a roasted acorn squash sauce served over pasta and garnished with different nuts and seeds (I can’t give too much away here now!). I am happy to announce that he ate it all and really liked it. They do not have acorn squash in Italy, but he was open to trying a pasta prepared with something unfamiliar. While I was cooking, he kept gobbling up the pumpkin seeds that I had toasted and sprinkled with chile ancho. He praised the final dish and said it was really good, and I really did believe him. I had complained to him before that I felt he was not happy with the dishes that I make him, which had made me nervous that he would overcompensate with his praise, and be overly emphatic about how much he liked anything that I prepared afterwards. But in reality, he seems to be opening up to a new style of cooking- mine. Although I do not get the “oohs” and “aahs” that the Rhode Island lobster rolls and broiled flounder receive, I am happy that he is open to exploring the unknown. I, too, am coming to appreciate his tastes and make things that are more simple and authentic, which is something that I started exploring early on in our relationship. It is easy to get caught up in fusion cooking, new versions of classic dishes, and changing familiar textures, but with him I have learned the beauty in the simple things. Great ingredients prepared well can never go wrong.

This week I have my boyfriend visiting me. Although we enjoy eating out together, I often feel unsatisfied with his reactions to my home cooking. And I cook for a living! This whole issue came about when I made him the Champurrado Tart, which is comprised of dense dark chocolate and anise set inside a perfectly crumbly shell. This is a tart that everyone devours without shame, and he didn’t like it! I really suffered over that tart experience. I felt like I was Juliette Binoche in the movie “Chocolat”, trying to detect Johnny Depp’s favorite chocolate. The frustration of not being able to satisfy someone with something that you have always felt that you do well is overwhelmingly irritating, especially if it is someone that you care about and want to impress. This week I have decided to focus my blog entries on what I have been cooking for my boyfriend, and tracking what he likes and what he doesn’t. It is pretty easy to tell when he is indifferent about a dish, because he lightly shrugs his shoulders and says, “it’s good”. This week I will track my attempts at having him reach for seconds and getting emphatic praises of my dishes.

The first thing that I made for him when he arrived was the ceviche from our Coconut episode. He had requested a ceviche for his arrival meal, and I decided that the coconut one would be the best option. Coconut milk is soothing and restorative for people who are getting in from a long trip, and the variety of shellfish and fish are fulfilling without being too heavy. I served the dish with some baked tostada shells that I brought back from Mexico. I could tell that he liked it because he had many servings, and did not season it with any salt or pepper. He even gobbled up the tostadas . . . Great success! I can’t tell yet if he was just trying to make me feel good, or if in reality he really enjoyed the ceviche, but that is what I will investigate this next week. Next on my agenda: my famous Amor Prohibido (Forbidden Love) pasta . . . we will see!

I am the biggest birthday brat that I know. I love celebrating my birthday, and always start reminding people about two months in advance that the important day is arriving. The culmination of my day is always the birthday cake. For me, it is the supreme indulgence that I can enjoy and feel totally glutinous without any feelings of remorse. Usually my choice in cake involves many hours of inspecting different pastry shops, supermarkets, and restaurants, in order to find the most luxurious cake that suits my taste. This year was no different, but I took a new approach. I would make my own cake. I have been exploring the idea of the act of indulgence, and wanted to take full part in the production and consumption of the dessert that would be my object. I have been feeling lately that being part of the construction of an indulgent dessert makes for its consumption that much more pleasurable, and even brings in a level of restraint that is abandoned with other acts of indulgence.

The Persian Love Cake. I was flipping through old copies of Bon Appétit and found a recipe for a layered cake with saffron- infused whipped cream frosting and candied rose petals. I fell in love with the photograph in the magazine, and started obsessing about the cake. I had never candied rose petals before, and I knew that I would have to find organic roses in order to be able to do it. Since it is now September, I was hesitant to use a flower that flourishes in June. I was also considering not infusing the whipped cream, because I am not the biggest fan of saffron. Its subtle flavor is always lost on me, and its color has never been very appealing. We began putting the cake together the night before, by making the sponge layers, which were two 8 “ cakes made with pastry flour, eggs, and sugar. Although the cakes were quite easy to put together, they were so delicate, that after seeing them leave the oven, I knew that I would be doing everything possible to make sure that the cake came out perfectly, even if that meant infusing the cream with saffron. With each passing step in the cake, I found myself more and more invested in its impeccable outcome. The rose petals had to be candied twice because the first ones were too crispy and stuck to the pan. And in the end I did in fact infuse the cream, because I had gotten in too deep, and found saffron in my drawer. When I tasted the frosting, I was happy that I had followed the minute instructions, because its subtle flavor was no longer lost on me, but exposed an element of flavor in the most modest of ways. The result was a sweet interior mellowed out by the neutral whipped cream. The off- white exterior was made alert with the red of the roses. Simply put, the cake was beautiful. It put the Baked Alaskas that are typical of my father’s birthdays to shame, and made me almost embarrassed to have made something of such luxury for myself.

I found myself more than content with just having one piece. When I went to eat my cake, it was not the usual fork shoveling of rich chocolate into my mouth that I usually equate with birthday indulgence. Instead, it was a steady ceremony of small bites that were given adequate attention by every part of my mouth. Since each element required attention in being put together, each element was enjoyed for its own flavors and textures. It was not a cake to be eaten hastily or with wanton excess; it was a cake that demanded a slow undoing and moderation. I feel that my explorations in the world of indulgence are just beginning, and the Persian Love Cake was just the first study of many.

This Wednesday we are doing a presentation at the Farmington Public Library (Click here for details). Since our first episode of the fall season features corn- we thought it would be fun to give out pop-corn and spice mixes to the people who come see us… this evening, after filming, we laid out all of our spices on the countertop along with little bowls. Then we started mixing! We came up with some fun combinations (and some that were more fun in theory)… the most exciting was dark chocolate powder and anise. It was salty and sweet and deeply delicious. Though, I will admit that it is a bit unusual– I guess time will tell if anyone else gets as excited about this combination as we did.

Ooh! And on an unrelated note… a fun article from BBC News courtesy of Mr. Tom Peter… it takes me back to 7th grade and the bitter vegetarianism debates that would divide the classroom.

We are currently in the midst of filming Season Two in Avon, Connecticut. While shopping for ingredients for the shoot we have been spending a lot of time at local farmer's markets, farm stands and pick-your-own vegetable patches (yay!). There were so many beautiful heirloom tomatoes of every imaginable color that we just wanted to try them all... it was a hard choice but we finally settled on four tomatoes for an impromptu tasting, below are our tasting notes:

Brandywine (red)
Sophia: A bit watery, mild acidity, very soft. I thought that it was just ok, and not “the best tomato in the world” as was advertised on its sign.
Emma: Not my favorite tomato texture, grainy... in all fairness this tomato was rather huge- it's hard for me to find anything so oversized tasting that good.

Old Flame (yellow)
S: Very mild, with underlying citrus tones.
E: Tastes like an old flame- looks good from far away- all rosy and nostalgic, then I bite it and it just tastes a little musty, maybe past it's prime?

Tennessee Green (green)
S: I know why we fry green tomatoes.
E: Tastes a little grassy, not in a bad way, just in a "it's a green tomato and it tastes like it would be green."

Persimmon (pale peach)
S: Full flavored, sweet, and full of life. By far the best tomato of the bunch, not to mention the fact that it came in three little balls.
E: Based on looks alone this is my favorite. Then I bite it and it's still delicious- tart and juicy.

And the final verdict of our experiment? Persimmon. Hands down.