I have been stalling here, not sure where to begin or what exactly to write about, and meanwhile, I started cooking professionally again–nothing like throwing myself in the frying pan after a decade hiatus on the line.  Even so, with the weather shifting between winter and spring on any given day, I haven’t quite known where to lay my allegiances–do I fit in a new post or a swim, is it a pot of beans kind of day or do I branch out and try something new, like this Palestinian Chicken dish (which I made, and is delicious) from food writer, Joan Nathan–that kind of thing.

None of this internal wrestling, takes away that I am hungry for warmer days, the kind that send me careening towards the sea, allow longer afternoons at places like Muir Beach or Big Sur; for gathering wild strawberries and fennel, and all the other good things that herald spring, like artichokes, at their peak now through May.

But I’m not complaining, as an artist friend, recently implied, giving me pause. He then offered to buy me a glass of wine (it was lunch time, after all), and later invited me to his studio. It was there, immersed in fat strokes of paint, memory, and bold color that I became a happier person, right then. It is painting that I need in my life, I thought, and what am I going to do about it?

At the moment, painting is about what’s on the plate, layering a recital of colors and new flavors to taste. I’m smitten with Suzanne Goin, acclaimed chef of Lucques in LA, who creates such goregeous food, and continue to turn to her book Sunday Suppers (2005) for inspiration.

From my own kitchen, I have a spread of recipes forthcoming in a food glossy (August)–imagine an al fresco meal–which gives me something else to boast about (not really) besides my kids who despite their not always so certain mom, seem to be holding their own, each finding their own rhythm and way in life.

Today, it’s a beautiful thing to see them blossom, to more than occasionally share a meal with them around our tired, but familiar table, to still get a response of sure, when asked to play a game of dominoes, to make my daughter a lemon tart because I can. Mostly, it’s a joy to find our way together, to be rooting for them as they develop their voice, to have them close by, as I broaden mine.

Meyer Lemon Tart (from My Nepenthe)

A lemony custard tart is always a crowd pleaser, and looks beautiful on display. It is often made around the holidays at Nepenthe restaurant, and is one of my most favorite desserts to make at home. The sweet dough crust is easy, and simply pressed into the pan.

Ma k e s 1 ( 8 o r 9 – i n c h ) ta r t, s e r v i n g 8 t o 1 0

Sweet Dough

1/2 cup softened butter

4 tablespoons confectioners’ sugar

Pinch salt

1 cup flour

Lemon Curd

5 or 6 Meyer lemons (about 1 cup juice)

3 eggs plus 3 egg yolks

7/8 cup sugar, or to taste

4 tablespoons butter

To make the dough, beat the butter with the sugar, salt, and flour until just combined. Press the dough evenly into a 9-inc h round fluted tart pan. You can make the dough up to 4 days ahead; keep it in the refrigerator until ready to use. Freeze the prepared tart shell for at least 30 minutes before baking.

Meanwhile, make the lemon curd. Zest half the lemons (setting the zest aside), then extract the juice from all the lemons to make about 1 cup. In a medium nonreactive, heatproof bowl, whisk the eggs and sugar until well combined, then whisk in the lemon juice.

Place the bowl over a gently simmering pot of water, and whisk continuously until it begins to thicken, about 5 minutes. Whisk in the butter in pieces; cook, stirring frequently, until the curd coats the back of the spoon, another 5 minutes or so. This is a good time to taste and adjust the sweetness, as needed.

Strain the curd into a separate bowl, then whisk in the zest. Press a piece of plastic wrap on the surface while cooling. You can make the curd up to 2 days ahead as well; refrigerate the curd until needed.

Preheat the oven to 375F.

Bake the tart shell for 20 to 25 minutes until golden brown. Cool slightly, then spoon the lemon curd into the shell, spreading evenly with a spatula. Bake for 7 to 10 minutes, until just set but still slightly jiggly in the middle.

Serve chilled with a dollop of lightly whipped cream or with fresh berries.

For weeks I’ve been meaning to write a post about these lovely Murcott tangerines, but before I did, we ate what was on the table. In fact, I’ve gone back to the same store 3 or 4 times to buy a bagful, thinking this time I would surely use in a new marmalade, or as part of a salad, or some other recipe I could share, and yet, I got busy–there were kids to feed, other stories to write, taxes to deal with, and actual paid work to be done. Truth be told, they are perfect just as they are.

If you don’t know much about Murcotts, they are the season’s late bloomers; small, thin skinned tangerines, easily peeled, few seeds, with a deep orange flesh that is more sweet than tart and packs a punch when eaten. This little dandy is a cross between a tangerine (from Morocco) and a sweet orange, thought to have been developed in Florida by a Mr. Murcott in the early 19oo’s, also known as honey tangerines in some markets. But don’t confuse them with Florida honey tangerines, which tend to be a little larger and rounder and don’t have the “bright” flavor of these, smaller California ones.

At any rate, Murcotts are the perfect pick me up mid-morning or just before bed–a night-cap–as I have taken to eating them, and would add pazazz to just about any dish. Try a splash of their juice in a glass of bubbly water, or peel then slice the flesh into thin rounds and pair with shaved fennel and mâche, drizzled with a bit of walnut oil, for a delicious salad. Even simpler, set out on a platter with almonds, oil-cured olives and a smear of goat cheese–in fact, they were quite scrumptious noshed with a bit of salty Parmesan that I had lying about.

For something a little more finessed, pair with the flavors of Morocco as 5-Second Rule did in a rustic grain salad with garbanzos and pine-nuts, or go for gold and zest the peel of a few of these beauties, then pound with several garlic cloves and a smattering of fresh savory and sage to flavor a porchetta (slow-cooked pork belly), similar to what I inhaled this past Monday night during a butchery class at Cafe Rouge, a charming Mediterranean style restaurant and charcuterie in Berkeley’s 4th Street corridor. The sunny tang and lingering fragrance of the orange and herbs with succulent, wild beast is a combination that I just can’t get shake from my taste memory and begs to be repeated. Encore, I say.

And by the way, Cafe Rouge is offering a series of monthly Art of Butchery classes, on a Monday night. $65 gets you wine, tastings of the recipes, and a chance to meet the ranchers who harvest the meat.

And to think someone thought Elizabeth was me, or visa versa–

A huge thank you to John Ray at Kepler’s Bookstore in Menlo Park, for putting this trailer together. I had no idea what he planned to do when after minutes of arriving in the store last month for my reading, he asked if he could do a video interview with me for the author section of their website, and I said, “Well, ok–let me check my makeup (laughing).”

Neither did I know how much work John would end up putting into it, including fielding some of his own research and found images (Love the image of the train passing by Bixby bridge), and how delightful and perfectly wonderful, it would turn out. So, again–and clapping loudly from home–sending much kudos to Kepler’s and to John for this video, and for their support of authors everywhere.

It goes without saying, but I”ll say it anyway. Don’t walk over to the internet next time you want a book, all–run out and buy books from your favorite, local independent book store. Kepler’s is large and roomy and smack in sunny Menlo Park; it has an extensive collection of books and gifts with a cafe next door for when you get a little hungry, or have a cranky little one.

Now more than ever, we need bookstores like Kepler’s in our lives, and not least to keep us connected to the printed word, but how about connected to each other, to art and artists, to visuals, to stories larger than ourselves, to authors and our communities.

Let me know what you think.