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