A Better Cup of Coffee

I use a refillable thermos for water. I bike and walk to where I need to go. I frequently buy vintage dresses. I bring a coffee mug across the street to Flying Fish  Coffee and Tea to courier my caffeine back to my apartment. But of course, I’m not always traveling with a mug.

And when I spot places that minimize my guilt over wasting paper for a transient cup of coffee, I take notice.

I’m not one to grab a sleeve for hot beverages (my hands are always cold – I love the burn!) And I never double cup it. An old coworker of mine used to bring a cloth sleeve with her, and I thought it was quite an adorable way to stylize. While I appreciated her commitment to fashion, I never bought a sleeve.

That was a few years ago. I stopped expecting new ways to minimize waste in coffee cups. And then I ordered a latte at Lagkagehuset in Copenhagen. The famous danish shop poured my order in a ridged cup. The sleeve was now the entire cup, alleviating the need for both a sleeve and double cupping.

Now if only I didn’t feel bad about my carbon footprint for wanting to go to Denmark every time I want a latte.

More on Copenhagen

All About the Quest

One of the best things about cooking is the quest. A dish can always be better. It can always be tweaked. And of course, it can always be fucked up. But the pursuit is worth it.

I thought I knew the tricks for oven-drying tomatoes. I tossed halved tomatoes, usually sun gold or cherry or grape, with oil, salt and pepper. I would line up the tomatoes, cut-side up on a baking sheet, and let them slowly shrink and deflate in a low-temperature oven.

I always admired the results. And then Chris Jakubiec, chef of Plume and The Greenhouse in the Jefferson Hotel in DC, told me a trick.  Place the tomatoes cut-side down on a cooling rack, over a baking sheet to catch the juice. The tomatoes remained juicy and finished quicker.

And while this method may cut it this summer, I’m still searching. It’s all about the quest, ya know.

Why Does Organic Almond Butter Cost $18?

I spent $18 on organic almond butter. It wasn’t on purpose. Co-ops, like farmers markets, bring out the reckless shopper in me. I see lots of awesome food. I buy lots of awesome food. And, well, I just forgot to check the price.

At the Takoma Park Silver Spring Co-op register I thought my total was a bit high, but I picked up quite a few items, and as I don’t frequent the co-op that much, I didn’t think much of it.

I adored that almond butter, both dressing up my oatmeal and slipping it right into my mouth with a spoon. Then I checked the receipt and HOLY SHIT. A 16oz jar of Woodstock Farms’ Organic Almond Butter, crunchy, unsalted cost $18. I thought it was a misprint. I called the store, thinking it may have been $8.

But no. That thing is 18 bucks. I tried to get ahold of someone at the company to find out why this particular nut butter cost so much, but I never got a hold of anyone. Are almonds difficult to grow or pick or process? Is it that much more difficult to grow organic versus conventional almonds? Are almonds that much more valued?

Please, please, please tell me. Why does this particular nut butter cost so much fucking money?

Artsy Photo of the Day

Peach season. Best season.

Now Simmering on Tumblr and Pinterest

We’re full service over here at Endless Simmer: we travel where the food lovers live.

We’ve recently expanded our food porn to Tumblr and Pinterest. So if you play on those sites, come by and say hi. And of course, we’re already on Facebook and Twitter.

Speaking of Twitter, make sure you follow the whole gang: @gansie, @russellwarnick (formerly Britannia), @bakersroyal, @forkitude, @emilyteachout, @madelinesho (ML), @mcj4476 (tvff), @BellyRulesMind (Borracho) and @roodeloo.

 

Friday Fuck Up Redeemed: Tomato and Egg Success Story

On Friday I left you with my most recent Fuck Up (and a discussion on whether or not we should continue using the word fuck). I’m awfully glad I did, because we actually figured out why my open omelet, which I’ve successfully made before, turned to mushy, gross shit.

Last week I started the egg dish with the tomatoes warming on the pan, oozing out all sorts of acidic liquid. I added the eggs into that big, ol’ mess, and the eggs never set. I had no idea why. But from some reader advice here and on Facebook, I learned that I should add the tomato at the end.

Advice highlights:

Jenna: Did you de-seed your tomatoes? The omelet looks really watery, and the extra water from the tomatoes could cause the eggs to break like that. And then you’d be steaming the egg bits in their excess water, which would totally mess up the texture.

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Friday Fuck Up: An Unsettling Omelet

I know, I know. How could I fuck up eggs?

Believe me, as I pushed each sad bite into my mouth I thought the exact same thing. I’ve made this dish before with great success. Well, a version of the dish. Last time I wanted to create an open omelet I played it safe: whipping up an egg, letting it set, adding cheese to finish. See, it’s beautiful:

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