Even the Water Tastes Better at The Ledbury

I have unfortunate news. News that even I am having a hard time coming to terms with. It seems that my taste buds have been destroyed. Well, perhaps not destroyed, more like sucked into a black hole of delectable sensations, and now they cannot be repaired. I have made perhaps one of the greatest, most amazing mistakes of my life and there is no turning back.

Last Thursday night my uncle took me out to dinner. Not just any dinner. Dinner at The Ledbury. Now just a week ago I had no idea what The Ledbury was. I found the London-based gem after hours of online research. It is a two-star restaurant (my first!) boasting a heavenly menu of contemporary British cuisine. My uncle's job followed by making a reservation, getting us there on time and settling the bill...all and all a win-win situation.

Taking the latest and only reservation available, we promptly arrived at the quaint local at 10pm. The fifteen or so tables rested under the glow of soft lighting, each surrounded by men in Armani suits and women in Louboutins, quietly discussing business deals or wedding plans. We were escorted to a four-top nestled in the corner overlooking the place, so far so perfect. Our waiter, Stephen, who we ended up befriending, smiled, handed us menus and gave us a quick over-view of what we were about to experience.

Each course came with a pre-course. We began with bite-sized foie gras - sweet, rich and creamy. Heaven sent. I had already considered busting into the kitchen, marching right up to the chef, getting down on one knee and proposing. In order to curb my completely rational urges, I focused my attention on the first course, in particular my uncle's dish. He ordered the Flame Grilled Mackerel, it was served with a tartar of sorts in a small, compact roll. That's when the taste buds started to go. No longer would pizza of any kind, not even that of Delphina status, suffice.

As the dishes were cleared, the waitered giggled as we gushed over the food, eagerly awaiting the next course. Now this was the course that I would have sold my soul for. It was lobster. Not just any lobster, the best lobster I have ever had. Lobster seasoned with butter and Indian spices. It literally melted as it touched my lips, each flavor exploding, branding my mouth forever. The last bite was enough encouragement for me to ask Stephen if I could in fact marry the chef, he said I still had a chance, as the chef was only engaged....lucky lady.

I didn't fully realize how lucky she was until the dessert arrived. So I don't really have words to describe how fulfilling the Caramelized Banana Galette with Salted Caramel was, this much I can say, I will NEVER forget it. Crispy, sweet, savory, warm, mouthwatering. The point of no return. My taste buds entered a state of euphoria.

A shot of espresso, some good conversation with Stephen and a very full stomach later we left The Ledbury two hours after we had arrived. My life way changed for ever. I am damaged goods. Zuma's langostine, Nobu's tartar, not even Babbo's linguine can bring me back. I mean even the water tasted better at The Ladbury.

That enlightened state that the Dali Lama is always going on about...I reached it and I must say I am very attached.

Family Cheesecake

There is something to be said about family. Despite the name calling, the arguments, the constant ups and downs, there are those moments when the family sits down together around the dinner table and it all comes together. The jokes, the memories, the brief silences when a glance across the table at your father, your sister, your uncle, or your best friend says it all. As each course comes and goes, as each plate is passed around for all members of the clan to taste, doors are opened, doors filled with raw emotion. This is where the magic happens.

I have been blessed with numerous families around the world, families made-up of perhaps the most generous, kind, intelligent, interesting people this planet has to offer. Families so bonded that their love is intoxicating. My families are my life, my soul, my very being. Without them I would be nothing. They have given me support when I thought I could not go on, strength when I was weak and most importantly love when I had none to spare. And what have I given in return? Well hopefully, at the very least, food on their plates.

Just over a year ago my friends poured into my apartment in Barcelona, bottles of wine in hand and each with a delightful dish to celebrate Thanksgiving. I was frantically attempting to roast turkey legs (a full turkey was almost impossible to find) and bake a pumpkin pie from scratch. As they stepped into the kitchen with helping hands, my anxiety vanished. Sitting around the table devouring food made by people from around the world, most of whom had never celebrated the holiday before, talking politics and telling stories, I realized this was what I was grateful for. This was my family who stood by me through it all, who held my hand as I learnt how to grow in a new country, who always leant a shoulder to cry on and a room to sleep in. Months later I was to be welcomed by another family, a different one.

I hoped on a plane and headed back home to the east coast for Christmas. Locked away from the icy cold, safe between the walls of my mother's cozy apartment I was set on preparing lasagna for my mom, sister and a few of my very best friends...this was my childhood family, the ones who watched me grow up, screw up and then helped me get myself together. Appropriately, the oven was still covered in oven cleaner, leaking a toxic smell into the air, and the lasagna dish was not meant for the oven, exploding half way through the process, causing my mother and friend Monique to help me scoop the remaindered of gooey cheese and tomato sauce into another dish. A possible disaster, we all sat around the table and each person ate and enjoyed (or at least pretended to for my benefit). As we cracked jokes and laughed until we cried, it seemed as though that meal was a reflection of our very relationship. Unable to believe my family could grow, my move to San Francisco would prove me otherwise.

As I settled down in my new apartment, I was enjoying a day off by cooking a celebratory first meal. As I stirred bolognese sauce, my friend Rachel was showing our friend Andreas spots on the living room walls that needed to be touched up with paint. As the spaghetti simmered in the pot, I called for them to come to the table. They were my grown-up family, my family who was watching me transition into an adult, my family who came out with me to late night dinners after a long day at work, who gave me advice, who encouraged me to be more. As I served the pasta into individual bowls, I heard glass crashing. Shaking my head, unable to imagine what it could have possibly been, Andreas was hanging out of the window as his arm slipped while painting and went bursting through the glass. Unharmed, he came to the table, as we sat down to eat, giggling, we figured it was a sign of good luck. A new life, a new mentality. But there was always the old life.

The past two days I have spent baking cheesecake. A very special family recipe passed down through the generations. Perhaps the only bond between my mother's and father's family. My mother used to bake this cheesecake when we lived in Pakistan and it was an overnight sensation. Everyone went crazy for it, in specific my father and my uncle. My uncle begged me to make it this year, and after one down I have two more to go. Thinking about the next one on the list, a large group of my family sat around the dinner table together, after years of being separated. This was the family who knew me from day one, who talked to me while I was tucked inside my mothers stomach, who remembers all the outrageous things I used to say, who watched me grow from so small to so tall, this was my blood family. And the only thing that ties this blood family to my other is a decadent, rich, highly-addictive cheesecake.

A cheesecake for the ages, one that I have made for each of my families because this cake brings people together, it bonds them and it allows me show how much I care.

I swore to my mother I would never share the recipe, but if you do have a cheesecake recipe, bake it, share it, and spread the family love.

Stone Fruit Salad for One

Of all the elaborate dinners, lunches, breakfasts and snacks I have made throughout the years, never once have I made a real meal just for myself. I mean of course I've whipped up some scrambled eggs in the morning or thrown together a quick turkey sandwich to curb my hunger pangs, but not once have I thoughtfully gone to the supermarket, come up with a recipe and made a three course meal for my mouth only.

I've always seen cooking as something that is done for others, perhaps that's the nona in me, but I always figured, why put all that effort in just for myself? Well guess what, I was wrong and I am not afraid to admit it.

It all started at about 10:30 AM yesterday. It was my first day off after a very long, very inspiring week at work and as usual I had planned to accomplish my usual list of tasks. I have a horrible habit of planning all the "relaxing" events I "need" to do on my days off. The night before I sit in bed, Blackberry in hand jotting down notes in my calendar that go something like this: "9 AM wakeup," "10am read in the park," "12pm yoga class," "2pm pay cellphone bill" and on and on until my day off suddenly becomes a day on. As each alarm dings one by one I find that rather than subsiding my stress, my stress level grows as I become obsessed with making my free day the most productive one possible. This was a bad habit I was able to rid myself of while residing in Spain, basking in the lax European lifestyle. Less than a year back in the U.S. I have forgotten what it was like to enjoy the more tranquil things in life.

So when a friend offered to take me on an adventure, my first reaction was to say no. If I went how could I possibly accomplish all the things on my list? The laundry would continue to pile up, I would miss out on a blog post and eventually my whole world would come crumbling down until all I was left with was anxiety and a messy apartment. Boy was I wrong...well at least about the anxiety part.

After some serious deliberation I thought to myself, the old Ayesha would never miss out on an opportunity to go on an adventure. So the next morning I left all my worries behind (well not all, but some) as we drove up the windy roads of wine country. I had no idea where we were going or what we were going to do and I would like to pretend like I didn't care, but my recent state of neurosis turned the drive into a constant guessing game of who, what where.

Two and a half hours later the secret was reveled. We approached the serene grounds of Harbin, a hot spring spa that I had been dying to go to for months. We spent hours soaking in the sunlight, lounging around in the various pools and sweating out toxins in the steamy saunas. I was truly revitalized from head to toe. I couldn't even remember the last time I had been in nature, let alone enjoyed a day that was orientated around personal relaxation. After a miraculous day of true rest, I arrived back in the city awaiting a 9:15 dinner reservation at Commonwealth.

Commonwealth is a Contemporary American restaurant set in the heart of in San Francisco's Mission District, boasting a tantalizing seasonal menu and $10 donations of each tasting menu to charity (all and all my idea of perfection). Perhaps one of the city's best, I had been eagerly awaiting my first dining experience there. The wait was well worth it. My friend Erick and I dined on lamb's tongue, sea urchin and albacore crudo, amongst the many mouth watering dishes. After four courses, two glasses of wine and a glass of prosecco I was fully immersed in a state of "me". Why had I not done this sooner?

When I woke up this morning, after an eleven hour sleep may I add, I was all about some serious me time. I purposely missed the 10:45 yoga class (even though my reminder went off) and went to the 12 o'clock class instead, went to work for a brief four and a half hours, treated myself to a manicure and pedicure and then I did something I had never done before, I decided to cook myself dinner.

Aimlessly walking through Whole Foods, my very own grown-up's playground, I chose to make a dish based on one I had greatly enjoyed at Commonwealth. It was a stone fruit salad paired with quite possible the most tender Burrata cheese I had even encountered. Without a recipe in hand, yet another rare occurrence, I sized up the plums, peaches, nectarines and tomatoes until I decided on my plan of action. Half an hour later I left with a juicy plum, a blood-red pluot, a perfectly marbleized heirloom tomato, the freshest Burrata I could find along with plenty of other goodies.

Tempted to call a friend and invite them over for dinner, I resisted and successfully cooked myself a three course meal, well three courses if you count the pint of double dutch chocolate ice cream waiting for me in the freezer. The salad was terrific. A true Eden of crisp mint leaves and spring greens, tangy stone fruits and soft cheese. I followed it up with a grilled filet of Tilapia dressed in a black olive and lemon sauce, which I must say pushed all the right buttons.

So here I am glowing from yesterday's sun, perfectly manicured and happily full and I did it all for myself. Tomorrow is another day, a day that will not revolve around meeting all my needs, but one that I can at least acknowledge them. I am officially making a promise to myself at 10:37 PM on July 7th, 2011 to dedicate 24 hours a month to me, no Blackberry reminders necessary. So leave the day behind, put on your sweatpants, play some Frank Sinatra and make yourself a salad because you deserve it just as much as I do.

Stone Fruit Salad with Burrata

Serves 1

1 pulot, sliced thin, each slice cut in half

1 plum, sliced thin, each slice cut in half

1 small heirloom tomato, sliced thin, each slice cut in half

About 2 large hand-fulls of spring mix greens

3 sprigs of fresh mint, leaves picked off the steams

1/2 ball fresh Burrata

1 1/2 Tbl balsamic vinegar

2 Tbl extra virgin olive oil

Freshly ground pepper and salt

1. Toss the greens, mint, stone fruits and tomato together until fully mixed.

2. Combine the vinegar and olive oil in a small bowl and whisk with salt and pepper to taste.

3. Toss the salad with dressing and place on a plate or in a bowl.

4. Place the Burrata on top, sprinkling with a little added pepper.

5. Enjoy by yourself!

Summer L-O-V-E Rolls

Tomorrow is the 4th of July, officially marking the first day of my summer agenda. From here on out the next three months will consist of taking in the morning sun while reading in Dolores Park, waiting for an hour in the Bi-Rite Creamery line for 10pm emergency banana splits and an extra daily dose of LOVE.

There is something about the combination of heat, sun and long days that makes love undeniable. Perhaps it's the reappearance of my collection of summer dresses, or the smell of fresh flowers on my hilly walk to work, or maybe it's simply just the lifting of the fog, but whatever it is I'm feeling extra loved up. I'm not talking about summer romance or the occasional vacation fling, I'm talking a surge of pure, raw emotion.

We had a bit of a rough one at work last night, feelings of frustration and agitation were apparent as groups flooded into the under-staffed restaurant. I left feeling tense, annoyed and honestly a tad bit angry (a very rare emotion for me). I went directly to the supermarket intent on cooking dinner for some friends, where I quickly purchased the basics for Spaghetti Bolognese. After huffing and puffing up the stairs to my apartment I realized I had forgotten olive oil, only the most essential of ingredients....perfect. I put in a quick phone call request and proceeded to unpack the grocery bag in a irritated frenzy. As I opened the fridge the box of cherry tomatoes I had sitting in my hand exploded open, resulting in a quick down pour of tiny, red fruits. As I squatted down to pick them up cursing under my breath, I couldn't help but start to laugh at myself.

For a girl who was so seemingly happy with her life I was getting pretty worked up about absolutely nothing. I mean wasn't there a saying about not crying over split cherry tomatoes? When it boiled down to it, all I had was love in my heart and pasta on my mind, so why think of anything else? As I lay in bed that night I couldn't help but wonder how I could make the staff feel the same way. We all have hard days, sometimes hard months or even hard years, but, at the expense of sounding cheesy, the one thing that keeps us going is love.

When I went into work today I was determined to spread the love. But how? In the middle of a meeting it came to me! Spread love by encouraging others to give it. So today our focus was for each and every member of the staff to say something nice to every one of their co-workers. It worked. The vibe went from tense to completely relaxed. The comments were wonderful, truly inspiring. They remembered not only how much they loved each other, but how much they loved themselves and what they were doing. As the staff members bounced around from table to table greeting customers with a smile and a warm heart, I could feel the summer love.

And what does one do when life throws them summer love? Well of course, make summer rolls...or something like that. Light, airy and packed with a melody of flavors, the rolls almost emulate feelings of love. While they do take some effort to make, the process can be meditative and very relaxing. I like to use Rachel Ray's recipe, the combination of mint, scallions, shrimp and rice noodles hit just the right spot while still leaving room for a very big ice cream sunday. Go ahead and love it up, summer only comes once a year.

Shrimp Summer Rolls

A recipe adapted from Rachel Ray

Serves 4

• 24 medium shrimp (about 1/2 pound), peeled and deveined
• Salt and pepper
• 3 ounces rice noodles (rice vermicelli)
• Eight 7-inch rice paper wrappers
• 24 mint leaves
• 1 large carrot, shredded
• 2 scallions, thinly sliced
• 2 cups finely shredded romaine lettuce
• 1/2 cup jarred sweet chili sauce sauce
• 
  
• 1. Preheat a grill to high. Season the shrimp with salt and pepper. Arrange on the grill, cover and cook, turning once, until the shrimp are just cooked through, about 3 minutes. Let cool, then halve lengthwise.
• 2. In a pot of boiling, salted water, cook the rice noodles until tender, about 3 minutes; drain and rinse with cold water.
• 3. Fill a shallow bowl with warm water. Working with 1 rice paper wrapper at a time, soak a wrapper for 30 seconds and transfer to a work surface. Arrange 3 shrimp halves across the bottom third of the wrapper, top with 3 mint leaves, one-eighth of the noodles, about 1 tablespoon each carrot and scallions and 1/4 cup romaine. Fold in the sides and, starting from the bottom, roll up the rice paper, stopping at the halfway point. Top with 3 more shrimp halves and continue rolling. Cover with a damp paper towel and repeat to make 8 summer rolls. Cut in half diagonally and serve with the sweet chili sauce.

Unleashing the Italian Grandmother Within

It's funny how satisfying a bag of Honey Dijon Kettle Potato Chips, a pint of Ben & Jerry's New York Super Fudge Chunk ice cream and a nice cold Pilsner can be after a long Friday at work. Some 23 year-olds enjoy the glamour of nightclubs and noisy bars to jump start the weekend. I, on the other hand, currently find happiness surrounded by junk food, the dishes piling up in my kitchen sink and the noise of my finger tips tapping away at the keyboard.

Half way through my latest read, 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, I have begun what can be considered my journey of self-awareness. Essentially it is my quest to reconnect with my base principles and my basic human nature. I have spent years of my life trying to follow the rules (always leading to failure), trying to become what I thought was expected (more failure) and attempting to please everyone around me (biggest failure of all). As I stop and reflect I realize that I am just who I am. I am not the girl who finished college in four years, not the girl who gave up her dreams to make big bucks and most definitely not the girl who kept it together when she knew she could not. I AM the girl who once ate an entire stick of butter in one sitting, the girl who finds so much joy in her job that she gushes about it until her friend's have to restrain her and the girl who feels so overwhelmed with love for the amazing people who surround her that she sometimes sends sappy text messages at all hours of the night in pure gratitude.

Discussing this today at Samovar with one of my all time favorite clients I came across another realization, my true nature is actually that of a very large Italian grandmother. I do believe that nothing gives me more pleasure than cooking ridiculous amounts of food and stuffing people with it until they are practically unconscious. This is the true source of my happiness. It is a slightly unconventional, some may say unhealthy source, but i'm sure there is a nona or two standing over her stove in Italy, stirring an oversized pot of homemade tomato sauce grinning from ear to ear, who could relate.

One of my favorite dishes to whip together when I step into this role is apple crumble. It is not in fact Italian, but it is the ultimate comfort food, sure to satisfy any growling stomach. It is effortless, simple and always results in full bellies and happy minds. The perfect remedy for even the worst of days. The buttery crumb top paired with the warm flavors of nutmeg and cinnamon create an immediate sense of security and well being. I like to serve it right out of the oven with vanilla bean ice cream while screaming, "you're too skinny, mange, mange!" I know I may sound crazy, but don't knock it till you tried it.

Apple Crumble

1 1/2 cup flour

1/2 cup vegetable oil

2 tablespoons cold milk

1 1/2 teaspoon white sugar

1 teaspoon salt

6 green apples cored and sliced

3/4 cup white sugar

3 tablespoons flour

3/4 teaspoons ground cinnamon

1/2 teaspoons ground nutmeg

1/2 cup flour

1/2 cup white sugar

1/2 cup butter, cold enough to crumble

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees fahrenheit

2. Mix the first five ingredients together in a large bowl.

3. Place the mixture in a pie pan and pat down on the bottom and sides to form a crust.

4. Mix together the next five ingredients in a bowl and transfer to the pie shell.

5. Mix the remaining ingredients in a bowl and crumble over the top of the pie

6. Bake for 45 minutes

7. Serve warm with vanilla ice cream

How Risotto Taught Me How to Cope

Finally back at work after three days in Vegas and two days spent locked up in my apartment detoxing from flashing lights, the "ding, ding, ding!" of slot machines and the smell of second hand smoke seeping through air conditioning vents. Yes, it is good to be back in the real world.

While the Tea Expo was inspiring, Vegas leaves little for the imagination. Drunken women zig-zag down carpeted corridors cross-eyed and yanking down their florescent mini skirts, while testosterone-filled men throw back a shot, pump their fists in the air and eagerly look for the easiest lay. Fun? For a fleeting moment. Relaxing? Not in the slightest.

When not basking in the safe walls of tea tranquility I spent most of my time overwhelmed by the constant stimulation. Floating around glassy-eyed and confused, often running into walls, people and occasionally tripping over my own two feet, I was unable to focus on the simple task of getting from one end of a casino to the other. Drunk? I was not. Slightly stupid? I may be.

The only road to recovery was some serious hibernation. I have spent the last two days in my very own castle...well perhaps more like a two bedroom victorian nestled in the sunny hills of the Castro, but none the less it's paradise to me. Here I have made a very large batch of hearty soup, baked an ultra-sweet pecan pie (which I quickly brought to work...once you bake a pecan pie you understand the danger of keeping it around), made some serious progress on my latest bead mosaic arts and crafts project, snuck out for a brisk yoga session, caught up on my latest book, 7 Habits of Highly Effective People (if you haven't read it yet I strongly recommend it), and drooled over season four's True Blood cast. And yes, clearly I drank far too much caffeinated tea all the while.

The result? Absolute and utter piece of mind. I literally shot out of bed this morning, anticipating my first day back at the tea lounge. It was exactly what I expected it to be: pure chaotic amazingness. It reminded me of the first time I made Jamie Oliver's (yes, this guy again) Risotto ai Frutti di Mare for a dinner party of fifteen. I began at the outdoor market in Barcelona excitedly stopping by my favorite fish and vegetables stalls to pick up the creme de la creme of ingredients. Once home I put everything away in it's proper place, looked down at the recipe and suddenly panic struck. What the hell was I thinking? I was no chef, no Anthony Bourdain! Fish stock from scratch?! Perfectly cooked rice?! I was just some silly girl in her early twenties with a dream and ladle.

But I drank a glass of wine, took a deep breath and jumped in head first, following each instruction step-by-step and as I went comfort set in (it may have been the three glasses of wine, but let's just call it confidence for now). Each bite tasted better, each step felt easier and a few hours later I had mastered the perfect risotto.

This was my day...well, minus the wine. It took a little while to get back into the grove, to feel comfortable and confident, but finally Ayesha got her grove back (yes, I said it) and it felt just right. This is what I was looking forward to all morning! So here I am back in my kitchen after nine hours at Samovar and all I can do is compare my day to seafood risotto, but if you ask me it's a pretty fair comparison.

Photo from Jamieoliver.com

Risotto ai Frutti di Mare

Recipe from Jamie Oliver's Jamie's Italy

Serves 6

3 pints water
2 small carrots, roughly chopped
3 tomatoes, squashed
1 bay leaf
A small bunch of fresh parsley, one sprig left whole, remaining leaves picked and finely chopped
3 1/2 lbs mixed seafood: clams, mussels (debearded and cleaned) , shrimp, sliced squid and monk fish, scaled, cleaned, gutted, with heads and gills removed
1 risotto bianco (recipe below)
1/2 a bulb of fennel, finely chopped, herby tops reserved
1 teaspoon fennel seeds
A pinch of crumbled dried chili
A pinch of saffron strands
Extra virgin olive oil
Juice of 1 lemon

1. Put the exact amount of water into a large pan with the carrots, tomatoes, bay leaf, and whole parsley sprig and bring to a boil, adding your whole fish but not your shellfish. Simmer for 10 minutes, then remove each fish from the pan and flake the flesh away from the bones. 2. Put the flaked fish on a plate to one side; return any bones to the stock to simmer for another 15 minutes max, skimming any froth off the surface every so often. Meanwhile, start your basic risotto bianco, adding the fennel, fennel seeds, chili, and saffron to the pan at Stage one.
3.Pass the stock through a colander into another pan and throw away the vegetables and bones. Add most of the fish stock to your risotto, keeping a little to finish the dish. When the rice is nearly cooked toward the end of Stage 3, add your flaked fish and shellfish. After 3 or 4 minutes the shellfish will have opened (discard any that remain closed); then remove from the heat.
4. Add the butter, check the seasoning, drizzle with a glug of extra virgin olive oil, and squeeze over the lemon juice. To serve, divide the risotto between your plates and spoon over the remaining stock.

5. Drizzle with some more extra virgin olive oil and sprinkle with the remaining parsley and the reserved fennel tops.

Risotto Bianco

Recipe from Jamie Oliver's Jamie's Italy

Approximately 2 pints fish stock (chicken, fish or vegetable as appropriate)
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 pat of butter
1 large onion, finely chopped
2 cloves of garlic, finely chopped
½ head of celery, finely chopped
14oz risotto rice
2 wine glasses of dry white vermouth (dry Martini or Noilly Prat) or dry white wine
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
5 tablespoons butter

1. Heat the stock. In a separate pan, heat the olive oil and butter, add the onion, garlic and celery, and fry very slowly for about 15 minutes without coloring. When the vegetables have softened, add the rice and turn up the heat.
2. The rice will now begin to lightly fry, so keep stirring it. After a minute it will look slightly translucent. Add the vermouth or wine and keep stirring. Any harsh alcohol flavors will evaporate and leave the rice with a tasty essence.
3. Once the vermouth or wine has cooked into the rice, add your first ladle of hot stock and a good pinch of salt. Turn down the heat to a simmer so the rice doesn’t cook too quickly on the outside. Keep adding ladlefuls of stock, stirring and almost massaging the creamy starch out of the rice, allowing each ladleful to be absorbed before adding the next. This will take around 15 minutes. Taste the rice and see if it's cooked. Continue adding stock until the rice is soft but with a slight bite. Don’t forget to check the seasoning carefully. If you run out of stock before the rice is cooked, add some boiling water.
4. Remove from the heat and add the butter. Stir well. Place a lid on the pan and allow to sit for 2 minutes. This is the most important part of making the perfect risotto, as this is when it becomes outrageously creamy and oozy like it should be. Eat it as soon as possible, while the risotto retains its beautiful texture.

Dedicated to the Practice: From Tea to Minestrone

It's been over 9 months since I wrote my last post and without a doubt I am ready to begin again. I have finally found a sense of dedication after a long roller coaster ride of self-exploration, and I don't believe I have ever felt so at ease. As I sit here in my fabulous kitchen in my new, beautiful apartment I can't help but think about how far I've come. No, my life is not perfect, but it's so perfectly imperfect I could literally scream.

I have just gotten back from a work weekend in Las Vegas with a group of my talented, inspiring co-workers and friends. We went for the World Tea Expo, something I didn't think was even real until just a few months ago. Walking from booth to booth, learning about the art of tea making and interacting with each knowledgeable group, a word kept flashing in my mind: dedication. These were people from around the world who were so passionate about tea that they were literally brimming with excitement. I felt inspired and in complete awe. Although I may have been in Vegas, I was surrounded by pure beauty. Most importantly our company was part of that beauty and we had something that made us stand apart: a serious set of values.

When I first began working at Samovar I saw my job as transitional, a way to make money until something better came along. I acknowledged the strong sense of community, powerful values and tranquil atmosphere, but I was unable to see anything beyond. Perhaps it was all the tea, but slowly I was swept away into the magical world surrounding me. It became my home, both physically and mentally. I began to understand the importance of making genuine human connections both within the staff and with customers, which slowly began to effect my personal life in the most positive of ways. As I saw the world of Samovar in a new light, my desire to understand the world of tea grew, and with it I grew. I was asked to help manage the location and on top of that write for our website, leading me to the path I had come to San Francisco to pursue. This is when the real learning happened. This is when I entered a state of bliss.

I have immersed myself in the world that is surrounding me, eager to learn more about the farms, the plants, the people, myself, and here I have found dedication. I have found what it means to care about something so much that no challenge can stand in the way, no bad day can bring it crumbling down. This dedication is spreading like a wildfire. Inspiring me to get back to my roots, to pick up a pencil and draw, to get lost in a book for hours, to reconnect with myself in the yoga studio, to love and to live. So here I am back in the kitchen, dedicated to the pots and the pans, dedicated to the written word and most importantly dedicated to myself.

This realization has turned cooking from a hobby to an art form. As the blade of the knife comes down time after time it is done with awareness and precision, because each thoughtful step is what turns a dish from mere food to a piece of art.

As my first piece in my new space I found a recipe for Smoky Minestrone with Tortellini and Parsley or Basil Pesto on Food52. This soup is truly magnificent. The bacon gives an extra layer of flavor that adds depth and fullness. My only regret is that I did not have time to make the tortellini and chicken broth from scratch, which I will most definitely do next time. I tweaked the recipe a bit and added in bay leafs, chili flakes and pepper to enrich the flavor. I used parsley for the pesto which rounded out the flavor and added the right amount of garlic kick. Try pairing it with a full-bodied, ultra smoky black tea like Lapsang Souchong to complete the meal. I encourage you to play around with it a bit and even just for a moment dedicate yourself to the practice. A little love goes a long way and I swear you can taste the difference.

Smoky Minestrone with Tortellini and Parsley or Basil Pesto

Adapted from a recipe by WinnieAb on Food52

Serves 6-8

Soup

• 3 tablespoons olive oil
• 2 slices preservative-free, all-natural bacon, chopped into small pieces
• 1 large onion, peeled and chopped
• 2 large cloves of garlic, minced
• 1 leek, trimmed and sliced thinly
• 3 carrots, peeled and chopped
• 2 ribs of celery, chopped
• 1 zucchini, chopped
• 1 potato, peeled and chopped
• 4 cups vegetable or chicken stock, preferably homemade
• 1 15 oz. can of cooked chickpeas, preferably organic
• 1 28 oz. can of peeled San Marzano tomatoes, with juice
• Salt
• 1 cup kale, chopped fine
• 1 9-ounce package of high quality, all-natural cheese tortellini
• Aged balsamic vinegar, for drizzling- optional
• Grated parmesan cheese for garnish- optional

1. Heat 1 tablespoon of the olive oil in a large pot over medium heat. Add the bacon pieces and cook for a couple of minutes, until they start to brown.
2. Add 2 more tablespoons of oil along with the chopped onion, garlic and leek. Continue to cook, strirring occasionally, over medium heat until softened.
3. Add the chopped carrot, celery, zucchini, potato and stir around for a minute or two.
4. Add the stock, the chickpeas, and then the tomatoes, crushing them with your hands as you go. Add a few generous pinches of salt (be judicious if your stock is salted already). Bring the soup to a boil, then reduce the heat to a simmer and cook for 30-40 minutes, until the potatoes are just tender.
5. Add the kale and the tortellini, and continue to cook over a simmer until both are tender and cooked through, 5 to 7 minutes. Taste and add more salt if necessary. Serve garnished with a spoonful of the pesto, a few drops of the aged balsamic, and a generous sprinkling of grated Parmesan cheese, if desired.

Parsley or Basil Pesto

• 1 cup loosely packed basil or parsley
• 2 tablespoons pine nuts, toasted
• 2 cloves garlic, peeled
• 2 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
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• 1. Chop, chop, and chop the basil or parsley some more by hand until it's very fine...when you do this, you'll reduce it down to about 1/4 cup.
• 2.As you chop the basil, start to incorporate the other ingredients and chop them fine, too, until you have a lovely, finely chopped pesto.
• 3. Transfer to a small bowl and stir in the olive oil. Use as a garnish for the minestrone.