Six california kitchens a collection of recipes stories and cooking lessons from a pioneer of califo

Six California Kitchens: A Collection of Recipes, Stories, and Cooking Lessons from a Pioneer of California Cuisine

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Six California Kitchens

A Collection of Recipes, Stories, and Cooking Lessons from a Pioneer of California Cuisine by Sally Schmitt with Bruce Smith photography by Troyce Hoffman forewords from Thomas Keller and Cindy Pawlcyn

Text copyright © 2022 by Sally Schmitt

All photographs copyright © 2022 by Troyce Hoffman, except page 336 by Mariah Tauger. Archival photos and illustrations provided by Sally’s family and friends with the exception of page 75 by Gerry Pickering, page 85 by Joseph Rychetnik, pages 242 and 244 by Kate Klein May, and page 339 by Brown W. Cannon III.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher.

ISBN 9781797208831 (epub, mobi)

Page 351 constitutes a continuation of the copyright page.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Schmitt, Sally, 1932- author. | Smith, Bruce (Food writer), author. | Hoffman, Troyce, photographer.

Title: Six California kitchens : a collection of recipes, stories, and cooking lessons from a pioneer of California cuisine / by Sally Schmitt with Bruce Smith ; photography by Troyce Hoffman.

Description: San Francisco : Chronicle Books, [2022] | Includes index.

Identifiers: LCCN 2021023787 | ISBN 9781797208824 (hardcover)

Subjects: LCSH: Cooking, American--California style. | Cooking--California. | Schmitt, Sally, 1932- | LCGFT: Cookbooks.

Classification: LCC TX715.2.C34 S33 2022 | DDC 641.59794--dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021023787

Design by Byron Hoffman (Sally’s grandson).

Food and prop styling by Sally Schmitt, Byron Hoffman, Troyce Hoffman (Sally’s grandson), Karen Bates (Sally’s d aughter), Kathy Hoffman (Sally’s daughter), Terry Schmitt (Sally’s daughter), Debey Zito (Sally’s daughter-in-law), Perry Hoffman (Sally’s grandson), and Rita Bates (Sally’s grandaughter).

Sally Schmitt. Her name is revered at the French Laundry restaurant. Not just as our original cofounder, but as our original cook and guiding light. Her influence endures in so many ways. It was Sally who established the practice of inviting guests into the kitchen after a meal for a tour or a chat, a tradition that we carry on today. The prix fixe menu that we offer once a year to Yountville neighbors is the very menu that Sally used to serve.

Kind and generous, forthright, and unpretentious. A culinary pioneer but also a throwback, preparing dishes that evoked the most delicious versions of your favorite childhood meals. That is the Sally we all came to know. And that is the Sally who comes through in her first cookbook, Six California Kitchens, written from her home on the Apple Farm in Philo, California, where she is enjoying retirement with her family close by.

Flipping through these pages, I was transported back to 1992, the year I first laid eyes on the French Laundry. I knew almost immediately that I wanted it to be my future, that I could build on the foundation Sally and her husband, Don, had established. It took another two years before that dream began to come together, two years of struggle and setbacks as I strove to raise money to buy the restaurant, two years during which Sally and Don never lost faith in me. I owe them my undying gratitude.

I also owe them the restaurant’s name. In 1978, they set up shop in the body of what had been an actual laundry. Sally operated from a minimalist kitchen that somehow reflected her cooking style, which was based on approachable French technique. There was nothing grandstanding about Sally’s food. Her repertoire employed Gallic touches but also drew on cherished elements of Americana: tomato soup, braised oxtails, cranberry and apple kuchen. I have fond memories of standing at her green stove with its blue hood—uncommon colors for restaurant kitchens. Years later, when we remodeled the restaurant and I saw the work crew hauling off the blue hood, it struck me that they were removing a tangible link to the restaurant’s history, to all the meals Sally cooked and all the memories she and Don helped create. I decided to paint the front door the same blue as that hood: the color now known as French Laundry Blue.

Sally has given us so much already. And now, she has gifted us with this book. Proud of her second-generation California roots, she describes her cooking as being informed by what was around her, by what was in season, fresh and carefully raised. We can all learn from Sally and her approach to food, to say nothing of her approach to life.

Thomas Keller is the chef and proprietor of the French Laundry, in Napa Valley, and Per Se, in New York, among other restaurants. He is the first and only American-born chef to hold multiple threestar ratings from the prestigious Michelin Guide, as well as the first American male chef to be designated a Chevalier of the French Legion of Honor, the highest decoration in France. Named America’s Best Chef by Time magazine, Chef Keller led a team from the United States in 2017 to its first-ever gold medal in the Bocuse d’Or, the prestigious biannual competition that is regarded as the Olympics of the culinary world.

When I set out to become a chef, Sally Schmitt was my hero. Later, when I opened my first restaurant, she was my mentor. I grew up in Minnesota, and Sally didn’t know me then, or how important she was to me. I had always wanted to cook. I started doing catering when I was still in high school, and went on to graduate from the University of Wisconsin in hotel and restaurant management.

I was told many times by many people that it would be “impossible” for me to be a woman chef. Maybe I could work in a kitchen doing salads, or in a bakery, but that would be as close as I would ever get to being a real chef. Then, on a trip to California, my sister-in-law found an article in Sunset magazine about this woman chef, Sally Schmitt. She brought it back for me, and it was one of the best gifts I’ve ever received. It had a photo showing Sally in the herb garden at the French Laundry. Finally, I had proof! Here was a real woman chef. I cut it out and kept that photo in my wallet for years, holding on to it to quiet my fears as I worked toward the “impossible.”

In 1980 I moved to Northern California and three years later opened my own restaurant, Mustards Grill, just up the road from the French Laundry, in Yountville. One day, shortly after we opened, Sally and Don walked in. I told Sally the story of how I had learned about her and how much she meant to me. It was the beginning of a long and valuable friendship.

When Sally and Don started the French Laundry, it became the place where the locals went to really enjoy themselves, eating, drinking, and just being with each other. The upstairs room was notorious for wild evenings of great fun—and often a bit of trouble. When I bring up those days with the oldtimers, most just start a story, then smile and stop, saying, “Well, it was a bit wild back then, so maybe that’s not for publication!” Darn! I try to get it out of them, and from the look in their eyes, I could tell it was a riot of fun.

Don would greet you at the door, making you feel like royalty, and then help you select the wine to match that night’s menu. I can still taste Sally’s lamb shanks. Oh, how I enjoyed her cooking! Her olive oil crust, her oxtails, and the Zanzibar duck were to live for! Her orzo, like other simple dishes, was memorable in its deliciousness, equal parts cream and butter with some black pepper. Like everything she cooked, it was made with love.

But most of all, Sally was always there to answer any questions and guide you in the right direction. She took no prisoners either. She is famous for saying, “You could do that, but I wouldn’t.” What she did do, what she achieved, made her important to me and to so many others. She did the “impossible” ahead of her time and on her own terms.

Cindy Pawlcyn is the chef and proprietor of the legendary Mustards Grill, named for the wild mustard flowers that grow in the Napa Valley. She not only grows her own organic vegetables at the restaurant, but also was an early advocate for using local sustainable produce and meats for her wine-country cuisine. She has partnered in the creation of over a dozen iconic San Francisco Bay Area restaurants, including Fog City Diner, Roti, and Tra Vigne, and authored five cookbooks, the James Beard Award–winning Mustards Grill Napa Valley Cookbook, Fog City Diner Cookbook, Big Small Plates, Cindy Pawlcyn’s Appetizers, and Cindy’s Supper Club

Preface: My Six Kitchens

We all have a ladder to climb, and then descend. We first learn, then achieve, and finally share what our lives have been all about. My ladder was made up of six kitchens, all of them in California.

My first rung was my mother’s kitchen. There I was taught the craft of cooking, which had been handed down through generations of my family. It was passed along to me with care and an emphasis on quality, and it was done gently, with love.

The second kitchen was my first commercial one. It was an established operation, but when I was abruptly thrust into it, I had to figure out how to make it work. So I used what I had learned in my mother’s kitchen: quality, care, craft.

On the next rung up the ladder, I had the chance to design my kitchen and really cook in it for the first time, in my own restaurant, the Chutney Kitchen. I did it the way I wanted to, using what I’d learned, and I learned much from doing it.

When starting out, one never knows how high the ladder will reach. My husband, Don, and I reached the apex at the second restaurant we started together, the French Laundry, where we worked for sixteen years. They were magnificent years—cooking for others, sharing food, creating a welcoming atmosphere, striving for quality.

The steps down the ladder are about passing forth, sharing what one has learned and figured out. My years at the French Laundry were followed by fourteen wonderful years of teaching in my fifth kitchen, at the 30-acre [12-hectare] apple farm we had purchased. It was a time of expanding our community and sharing the joy of cooking, with hope, gentleness, and love.

And then, finally, in my sixth kitchen in the small cottage on the Northern California coast, where we had retired, I didn’t cook for others; I cooked only for Don and myself. I had to learn to cook for two again, which was a pleasure in itself. These were sublime years, and I wish they could have gone on forever.

I am actually now in my seventh kitchen, the one I have not counted. My beloved husband died several years ago, and I cook for just myself now. I am still surrounded by my family, friends, former students, and customers, who all visit me. This matters. Now on the cusp of my ninetieth year, I live on the Apple Farm. I have a window I look out and can watch the change of seasons in the trees, the flowers, and the animals that pass by. I have a kitchen to cook in. And I have a desk for writing.

It is time that I do that, do what I have been thinking about for years: write down and share what I have learned—my recipes, my techniques, and my thoughts on cooking, quality, and craft after working in my six kitchens. It is also my story of climbing up, then back down, this glorious ladder.

Introduction: A California Girl

When it comes to food, I always was, and still am, a true California girl. I grew up in the 1930s outside a small town near Sacramento, surrounded by good food that was grown locally, much of it out of our garden or from our own animals. We always had unpasteurized milk from our cow, and when we saved up enough cream to make butter, it was my job to churn it. We gorged on vine-ripened tomatoes and Kentucky Wonder beans from the garden all summer long, and when the season peaked, we canned the leftovers for winter.

Our basement was filled with jars of canned apricots, nectarines, applesauce, green beans, tomatoes in every shape and form, and pickles. Since our freezer at home was tiny, just big enough for ice cubes and the occasional carton of ice cream, we rented a locker in town when Pa butchered our pig or male calf.

I think I got this sense of pride of place from my mother, a thirdgeneration Californian. I recall hearing her complain when my father’s Texas relatives took their first trip out to visit us, driving the whole way, and passing through the Central Valley at night. “Why, they didn’t even see California!” she exclaimed. She had her revenge, however, by sending them out to taste, for the first time, olives freshly plucked from the tree.

In all of my six kitchens, I have been a California cook, making use of the food around me—in season, local, fresh, and carefully raised. I didn’t really think I had a choice, since I didn’t shop at supermarkets. I always welcomed what would turn up.

A friend would stop by and take a bag of chanterelles out of the trunk of her car. A local farmer would walk in through my kitchen door with a box of freshly picked tomatoes. Before dinner service, one of my staff would run out to grab a few Meyer lemons off the tree outside the French Laundry. And now, on a cool autumn afternoon, I can walk out of my home to see if there are any Gravenstein apples left at the farm stand on our apple farm.

I’ve always tried to keep it simple, which is why I’ve never felt the need to use a food processor or microwave. Instead, I’ve had good sharp knives, pots and pans, a big chopping block, a wooden spoon, and a whisk. I’ve always loved to work with my hands. It’s what cooking is all about.

But most important, I try to allow the food to be just what it is, but also, to let it be the best it can be.

Chronology

1932 February 28, Sally Kelsoe is born in Roseville, California.

1935 My Better Homes and Gardens Lifetime Cook Book is published.

1936 The Joy of Cooking, by Irma S. Rombauer, is published.

1937 Sally’s parents move the family to a farm a few miles outside of Roseville.

1947 Let’s Cook It Right, by Adelle Davis, is published.

1952 Sally graduates from the University of California, Davis, with a degree in home economics.

1953 Sally and Don marry.

C. A. Swanson and Sons produces their first TV Brand Frozen Dinner, a Thanksgiving meal consisting of turkey, cornbread dressing, frozen peas, and sweet potatoes. It sells for 98¢.

1956 Alan Hooker opens the Ranch House in Ojai.

1960 French Provincial Cooking, by Elizabeth David, is published.

1961 Mastering the Art of French Cooking, by Julia Child, Louisette Bertholle, and Simone Beck, is published.

1963 The French Chef debuts on WGBH.

1966 Alfred Peet open Peet’s Coffee, Tea & Spices in Berkeley, California.

1967 Sally and Don come to Yountville, where Don manages the historic winery turned shopping arcade, Vintage 1870, and Sally runs the Vintage Cafe (until 1978).

The Cheese Board opens in Berkeley.

The first compact microwave is introduced into the American market.

A rlo Guthrie, at age twenty, records his hit song “Alice’s Restaurant.”

1970 Don and Sally open the Chutney Kitchen in Yountville (remaining until 1977). Sally begins her Friday Night prix fixe dinners.

The French Menu Cookbook, by Richard Olney, is published.

The Tassajara Bread Book, by Edward Espe Brown, is published. General Mills introduces Hamburger Helper.

Diet for a Small Planet, by Frances Moore Lappé, is published.

The Random House Dictionary defines the word chef as “a cook, esp a male head cook.”

1971 Alice Waters opens Chez Panisse in Berkeley with a three-course dinner for $3.95.

1972 Narsai David opens Narsai’s in the Berkeley Hills, overlooking San Francisco Bay.

The Cheese Board Collective opens.

1973 Victoria Kroyer Wise opens the Pig by the Tail Charcuterie in Berkeley.

The Moosewood Restaurant opens in Ithaca, New York, serving a vegetarian menu inspired by Frances Moore Lappé and Adelle Davis.

The Cuisinart food processor is introduced to America at the National Housewares Exposition, in Chicago, and is priced at $140.

1974 Don and Sally purchase the French Laundry building in Yountville for $39,000. Sous vide cooking introduced into restaurant cooking at the Restaurant Troisgros in Roanne, France.

The Taste of Country Cooking, by Edna Lewis, is published.

1976 “The Judgment of Paris,” the blind tasting by French judges in France of California wines against the best of Burgundy and Bordeaux. To everyone’s amazement, the American wines came in first.

1977 Don and Sally leave Vintage 1870 and go to work renovating the French Laundry building, turning it into a restaurant.

The restaurant at the Domaine Chandon winery in Yountville opens.

1978 The French Laundry opens, with a hand-printed menu offering pasta with clam sauce, blanquette de veau, fresh asparagus, rice, green salad, cheese, rhubarb mousse, and coffee for $12.50.

The French Laundry building is designated a National Historic Site.

Ben Cohen and Jerry Greenfield open Ben and Jerry’s Homemade Ice Cream in a converted gas station in Burlington, Vermont.

1979 Sally is on the cover of the September issue of Napa Valley Magazine, with a feature story inside about the restaurant.

1980 Bruce LeFavour opens Rose et LeFavour in St. Helena.

Cook’s Magazine begins publication.

1981 First Auction Napa Valley held, organized by Napa Valley Vintners.

1982 Wolfgang Puck opens Spago on the Sunset Strip in Los Angeles.

Chez Panisse Menu Cookbook, by Alice Waters, is published.

1983 Cindy Pawlcyn, a Rose et LeFavour alum, opens Mustards Grill in Yountville.

Joyce Goldstein, a Chez Panisse alum, opens Square One in San Francisco.

Jeremiah Tower, another Chez Panisse alum, opens Stars in San Francisco.

Jonathan Waxman opens Jams in New York City, taking California cuisine to the East Coast.

1984 Don and Sally purchase what will become the Apple Farm, outside of Philo, with daughter

Karen Bates and her husband, Tim.

1985 Cindy Pawlcyn opens Fog City Diner in San Francisco.

1987 Judy Rodgers, a Chez Panisse alum, takes over as chef at Zuni Café, in San Francisco.

1988 McDonald’s opens its 10,000th restaurant.

1992 Thomas Keller enters a contract to purchase the French Laundry.

1993 On December 19, Sally cooks her last dinner at the French Laundry.

1994 Thomas Keller takes over the French Laundry. Sally and Don move to the Apple Farm.

1995 Sally teaches the first class at the Apple Farm.

2005 Starbucks opens its 10,000th coffeehouse.

2007 Sally has a stroke.

“Locavore” is the Oxford word of the year, having been coined two years before by the Berkeley chef Jessica Prentice.

2008 Don and Sally move to their cottage in Elk.

2011 Modernist Cuisine, by Maxime Bilet and Nathan Myhrvoid, is published.

2016 Don and Sally move back to their home at the Apple Farm.

2017 Don passes.

2021 Sally is still cooking.

Sally’s Basics

A few notes and recommendations to make preparing my recipes easier. Also, please see Sally’s Pantry (page 340) about the ingredients I use with some sources for them.

• When I call for butter in my recipes, it is salted butter.

• I prefer to make my own stock, (see Making Stock, page 328) and some of my recipes call for strong or weak chicken stock. For strong chicken stock, reduce regular stock by about a quarter. For weak chicken stock, dilute it with a third more water.

• The oil I use for cooking is a good olive oil from Sciabica Family Olive Oil in Modesto, California.

• I like to buy all my spices, seeds, and peppercorns whole and grind only the amount I need for a recipe. Several of them I heat first, using a little sesame seed toaster. I toast each type of seed or peppercorn separately because I’ve found they each take a different amount of time to reach full potency. The sesame seed toaster is just a very small, light-weight pan with a mesh lid that I can hold over the burner on my stove. A small frying pan will work just as well, and you don’t need oil. Just put the seeds into the dry pan, hold it over medium heat, and keep it moving, stirring or shaking, until it becomes fragrant and starts to brown. When cooled down, you can use a spice grinder if you like, but I use (and highly recommend) a Japanese version of the mortar and pestle called a suribachi .

• Pepper is one of my favorite spices, and Tellicherry black peppercorns are my pepper of choice. I keep them whole until I need them, and never use them without toasting them first in the little sesame seed toaster. After they’ve cooled down, I’ll grind a few peppercorns by hand in my suribachi.

• For salt, I stay with Diamond Crystal Kosher Salt. I’ve played with almost everything through the years, and there are so many different types, different grinds, flakes, ways of processing, and sourcing, but the one thing I’ve learned is that every time you try a new salt, you need to learn all over again how to use it.

• When I call for parsley in a recipe, I mean the flat-leaf type, also known as Italian parsley, which has more flavor than the more decorative curly-leaf variety.

• When I use raw onions, I like to take the bitterness out by first slicing or chopping them, depending on the recipe, and then dousing them with a few tablespoons of white vinegar. Drain them right away with a sieve, because if they soak too long, they will lose their delightful crunch.

• With whipping cream, I never sweeten it because it goes on top of what is already sweet. It actually adds moisture and richness to complement the sweetness. You want to get a heavy cream to whip, one that has a high butterfat content. Regular whipping cream has around 30 percent, which will work, but look for what is called heavy cream, or heavy whipping cream, which has between 36 and 38 percent butterfat. It will whip better, holds it shape better, and actually tastes better.

• My recipes reflect my minimalist approach to cooking tools. I use only two knives, a paring knife and a santoku (the Japanese version of a chef’s knife). I don’t have anything to plug in except my toaster and a blender to purée soups, pâtés, and sauces. I keep the blender in a drawer so the countertop can be free for actual cooking. I rather enjoy mixing things by hand with either a whisk or a wooden spoon.

ABOUT THE RECIPE FORMAT

• I have written these recipes the way I cooked and taught them over the past fifty years. Each instruction is paired to the ingredient(s) being used. I know that this is not the usual way for cookbooks, where you see all the instructions bundled together and the ingredients in a separate itemized list, which I suppose, is to make shopping easier. With my way of doing it, which is common in professional kitchens, it is easy to see what ingredients you’ll be using by looking down the right side. You will find instructions to the left of each ingredient. This makes it easier to keep your place in the recipe, as you are not jumping back and forth between ingredients and instructions.

• I’ve listed for each recipe how many portions it makes, and how long it takes to prepare, but be aware that I aimed for the middle ground. The number serves will change if you are cooking for a hungry young person, or light eaters, or preparing the dish as one of several courses or a simple, oneplate meal. The prep time is your time at the stove, the cutting board, the sink, while the cook time is when you can relax on the sofa with a glass of wine, when your meal is safely in the oven, or on the stove. The total time is the time the recipe takes, prep and cooking time plus any related tasks, with the exception of letting something chill, freeze, gel, or rest, specified at the end of a recipe. You need to read the recipe carefully to figure out when you will actually be able to serve it, and I recommend you read it through at least three times before you start cooking. You will find that carefully visualizing each step will streamline the whole process, and prevent errors.

about red margin notes: My red Margin Notes are comments about the stories, recipes, and photos in the book, sometimes with a memory or observation from a friend or family member.

about blue margin notes: My blue Margin Notes are suggestions, comments, and variations directly relating to the actual steps and ingredients of the recipes that I think might help you in preparing the dishes the way I would.

The cherrywood and pine hutch in the Apple Farm kitchen. It is full of our favorite things, a small part of our extensive collection of beautiful and useful items that appear throughout the book. Among them, our porcelain ducks, a handmade batter bowl, my first real antique—a Jaspé pitcher, striped soup bowls from France, a set of twelve dessert plates brought back from Norway—a gift from one of my mother’s trips, an original Earl Thollander sketch, my very dear, little blue pitcher— for a bunch of violets or tiny rosebuds, a checkered pitcher from Moustier St. Marie, oval Mexican plates— very frequently used, dinner plates by Ukiah potters Hoyman-Browe, a wonderful polka-dot platter, and a large green pitcher from a thrift shop in Napa.

First: My Mother’s Kitchen

Where It Started (1932 to 1948)

Our Homestead

As I think back to my childhood days, I realize that food has always taken center stage. In 1937, when I was five, my family moved from the small California town of Roseville, in the Sacramento Valley, into the countryside. I think it was less than 5 miles [8 kilometers] from town to the 2½ acres [1 hectare] of rolling land my parents bought, right next to an old almond orchard. Doing much of the finish work themselves, they built a simple ranch house for us and planted a vegetable garden for their kitchen use.

We raised potatoes, carrots, beans of all kinds, onions, lots of corn in the summertime, parsley, and of course, tomatoes, tomatoes, and more tomatoes. We didn’t raise much lettuce because it was too hot in the valley, but we did grow cucumbers, which we pickled. My father planted his favorite roses and irises, which he was always proud to show at the country fair.

There were two old apricot trees on the property, both Royal Blenheim, which to this day I consider the king of all apricots. The trees were big enough so that we could string our Uncle Willy’s US Navy hammock between them. When our mother wasn’t stretched out in it reading a book, we would climb those trees, gorging ourselves on the ripe fruit, or try to dump each other out of the hammock. How we loved those trees!

There was also a black walnut, a guava, a persimmon, and several oak trees surrounding us. Lining our driveway was an abandoned row of muscat grapes. Getting full sunlight and little water, the vines gave us the most delicious, intensely flavored grapes, deep gold in color. Just outside our kitchen was a huge, very old weeping willow. Our father made a swing and hung it from a top branch. We could really go high, at least high enough to scare me. Then we played hide and seek in the tall grasses until the dark drove us inside.

We soon acquired chickens, a pig, and a Guernsey cow. Sometimes we raised rabbits, too, which we dined on for special occasions. The rabbits were my little brother’s pets, so when we ate one, we made sure to call it chicken and hoped he wouldn’t ask for a wing, which he never did. I longed for a horse, but my father believed in raising only animals for meat, and he ruled with a rather heavy hand.

My father felt lucky to have survived the Depression with a steady job at the railroad, and he was determined to support his growing family. When my brother and I were old enough to help, he sent us out to the vegetable garden to pull weeds, reminding us to “Be sure to get the roots.” I also learned how to pick the beans, deadhead the roses, and change the sprinklers, while my father was at work in town. He would come home after a hard day, deposit his lunch pail on the porch, and go right into the vegetable garden, where he

previous page: Me (on the left), and my original teachers. Aunt Polly showing her gravy expertise, Aunt Saidie observing in the back, and my mother and Kay up front watching the action, circa 1950.

opposite: A family dinner at our homestead. Front and center, Aunt Polly, moving left around the table, me, mom, Aunt Saidie, sister Kay, brother Tag, nephew Terry, Uncle Bob, and Uncle Name (that’s really what we called him).

remained until he was called in for dinner. If we hadn’t done our chores, that was the time of reckoning.

It seems strange that my mother did such a good job of cooking some vegetables, but not others. Her green beans, which we called string beans, were always cooked to death. There was a running battle between my parents over those beans. My father planted way too many, which we had to harvest and also get rid of the surplus. We would take the extras to town for credit on our grocery bill, or deliver them to old friends in town who didn’t have gardens. Meanwhile, my father insisted that we eat the old green beans first, so they wouldn’t be wasted, while the young, tender ones grew old on the vine! My mother mixed them with a little onion and sometimes tomato and cooked them long and slow. They turned army green but were still tasty.

Years later, at our family table in Yountville, I served my father some tender, bright green beans, which I had blanched and then quickly sautéed in butter. He turned to my mother and said, “Why don’t you ever cook beans this way?” We all held back our howls of laughter until he was out of hearing.

We loved mushrooms. I recall one excursion after a rain when we went mushroom gathering with my grandmother out to the last of the unfenced fields right outside the town. We gathered buckets of field mushrooms. It must have been an extraordinary crop, because it was so hard not to step on them! Back home, my mother sautéed them in butter and served them in large soup bowls, filled to the brim. That was our dinner and clearly a wonderful one, as I still can picture those big slices and black juices to this day.

Whenever we had fish, my mother cooked mustard potatoes, small red potatoes from our garden when we had them, or russets from the store when we didn’t. Since my father was an avid fisherman, we had them often, and I never tired of them. My mother boiled them, rolled them in bacon fat and French’s mustard (the only mustard we knew) and roasted them until the skins were crisp and the interiors creamy.

This, the tastes and the attitudes, the love of food and cooking, are what sent me forth into the world.

Our family eventually grew to six in all, I being the second in the lineup. My older brother, Bob, was born in 1929, and I was born in 1932. John, whom we always called Tag, followed in 1936, and Kay, the last of the brood, was born in 1941.

Mustard Potatoes

serves 6 / prep time: 10 min / cook time: 30 to 45 min

Cooking these brings back a flood of good memories from my childhood. Any potato will work well here. If I have russets on hand, I cut them into chunks. Small red potatoes, like the ones I dug up out of our garden as a child, l keep whole. Yukon golds of any size are wonderful. And yes, these are wonderful served with fish, as my mother did.

Preheat the oven to 400°F [200°C].

Scrub and peel (or not) and cut into chunks if large. Transfer to a medium pot and cover with water:

Add:

2 lb [910 g] russet, small red, or Yukon gold potatoes

A generous pinch of salt

Place over medium heat, cover, and cook until tender, about 15 minutes.

Drain and toss them with a mixture of:

¼ cup [60 ml] olive oil or bacon fat, or [55 g] butter

About 2 Tbsp of Dijon mustard

Salt and coarsely ground black pepper

Cover the pot and shake it briskly to distribute the seasoning. Transfer the potatoes to a gratin dish and roast in the oven until they are browned and crispy around the edges and tender inside, 15 to 30 minutes. They will hold nicely, if you aren’t quite ready to serve them.

I find it hard to believe that I grew up before potato peelers were a common kitchen gadget, but my mother wasn’t big on gadgets, and I’m not either. For so many tasks, including peeling a potato, a good knife is all you need.

I used to use French’s, but my preference now is Dijon mustard.

first: my mother’s kitchen (1932 to 1948) our homestead

Lazy Housewife Pickles

makes enough to fill a 1 gal [3.8 L] container / total time: 15 min excluding curing time

This has always been my favorite pickle. Growing up, my mother would gather the cucumbers over several days from our garden, just as they were reaching the perfect size. As she picked them, she would add them to the pickling brine in the big brown crock we kept in a cooler. When the crock was full, it was carried down to our basement for storage.

And then we waited; my mother would never allow any of our summer preserves to be opened until Thanksgiving. This made sense for a frugal household, since by then we were more than ready for a change in our daily fare, and the garden was sparse.

These days, I cheat. I put the pickles in our refrigerator and start using them after 2 weeks, when they are still crisp. For a container, be sure to use something that won’t corrode: stoneware crocks and large glass jars work well. If your lid is metal, you can cut a square of wax paper or parchment paper to cover the top of the jar before screwing on the lid.

This is embarrassingly simple—thus the name! I love to pair these pickles with our Duck Liver Pâté (page 180), but more often than not, I simply make a pickle and cheese sandwich with mayonnaise on sourdough or any good, sliced whole-grain bread.

Wash well:

2 to 3 lb [910 g to 1.4 kg] medium pickling cucumbers

Dry them and wedge into a 1 gal [3.8 L] container.

Mix together:

8 cups [2 L] apple cider vinegar, plus more as needed

½ cup [100 g] sugar

½ cup [80 g] kosher salt

Scant ½ cup [65 g] dry mustard

Pour the vinegar mix over the cucumbers. It should cover them completely. If it falls short, simply add a little more vinegar. The cucumbers must be completely submerged. If necessary, weight them down with a plate or a small plastic bag filled with some of the brine and sealed tightly. Cover and refrigerate.

After 2 weeks, pull out a pickle, slice it, and give it a try. If, like me, you like yours a little crisp, it’s time to start using them. They’ll last as long as your jar does.

Also called Kirby cucumbers, pickling cukes are shorter and have thinner skins than the ones you slice for your salad. They’re available in summer and can be found at your local farmers’ market. I also love to use Armenian cucumbers, which my granddaughter Rita grows, as they have a very tender skin, too. Do not try this recipe with those supermarket cucumbers wrapped in plastic; most have been waxed to keep in the moisture, which will interfere with the pickling. These days, there are many exotic shapes, including round lemon cucumbers and long, thin Persians. Grab them when you see them; next week they won’t be there.

first: my mother’s kitchen (1932 to 1948) our homestead

My First Kitchen

My first recollection of hands-on cooking is standing on a stool at my mother’s stove, patiently stirring the chocolate pudding, and watching it carefully as it came to a full boil and turned into a deliciously thick dessert. The smell was intoxicating, as was my awareness that I was responsible for it. After that, I recall churning butter, grinding beef with our old hand-cranked machine, setting the table, and, of course, doing dishes. That sometimes required sitting outside in our sandbox, and scouring with sand a pan that my mother had managed to burn, leaving it with a thick, brownish-black crust of food. To give her credit, she didn’t own any of the beautiful pans we have today. I recall a lot of thin aluminum pots, which got thinner with each disaster.

When I grew tall enough so that I did not need the stool, I was allowed to start the chocolate pudding from scratch, to brown the beef for the stew, and to put together the cookie dough. Since my father loved desserts, there was always a pie, cake, or cookies to finish off a dinner.

My first cake was a thrill, but it took a while before Mom thought I was ready for piecrust. Of course, I had been given the trimmings long before to roll, cut out with a cookie cutter, and sprinkle with sugar and cinnamon. Remarkably, even though the dough was over handled, after baking, the cookies were never tough. Later, I kept up this tradition with our children and grandchildren, who loved to shape them into animals.

As soon as I was ready, my mother put a paring knife in my hand, and I peeled potatoes. And when she thought I was ready for a larger knife, I was cutting vegetables by her side. She was always in the kitchen with me.

I learned first by helping her. She would stay there in the kitchen to instruct me as we went along. She was a teacher by training, and she was a good one. She was patient and knew how to present things. She always said that she wanted me to learn the right way to cook; I could make my own shortcuts only after I had learned it well.

I don’t remember her cooking from cookbooks. She did have a Better Homes and Gardens loose-leaf binder, to which she would add recipes from friends and family. And there was a drawerful of notes and recipes, which she had cut out of newspapers and magazines. But she only used the baking and dessert recipes. She knew the basics by heart, and this is what she taught me.

The kitchen wasn’t large, like old-fashioned farmhouse kitchens, where there was enough space for several people to work at one time. This was a modern kitchen from the mid-1930s, geared towards the housewife who did her own cooking without servants. It was, like the whole house, modest. We had one smallish refrigerator, an electric stove, and a drop-down ironing

opposite: Recipes evolve over time. Here is a good example of a page from my mother’s recipe book, complete with personal notes and substitutions.

board in the kitchen wall next to the cooler. We also had a basement, where we stored all of our summer produce, packed in jars and ready for the winter table.

I remember the day I was given, for the first time, full responsibility for dinner. My mother sat in her rocker in the living room, reading her latest Ladies Home Journal . She was available to answer questions, but would not come into the kitchen to stand and look over my shoulder. She was such a good teacher!

My younger sister later pointed out that she really never learned to do the canning and pickling and slow cooking that I did, since when I left for college, my mother went back to teaching, and their lifestyle changed. Looking back on it now from some eighty-odd years’ distance, I am so grateful that I had that time in the kitchen with my mother, learning early to cook simple, basic foods in such a gentle, caring way.

A cooler, also known as a California cooler, was the West Coast’s alternative to a cellar as a place to store perishable foods such as fruits, vegetables, milk, butter, and cheese. Dating to the turn-of-the-last-century bungalows, it was a kitchen cabinet vented at the top and bottom with slatted shelves. This allowed warmer air to escape, making it a few degrees cooler than the rest of the kitchen, especially in the temperate climate of California.

first: my mother’s kitchen (1932 to 1948)

my first kitchen

Basic White Sauce

makes 2 cups [480 ml] / total time: 20 min

Since my inventive and frugal mother used her white sauce as a base for all sorts of concoctions, this was one of the very first things she taught me to make at a young age.

In a small saucepan over low heat, melt:

Stir in:

3 Tbsp butter

2 Tbsp all-purpose flour

Cook, stirring, until the mixture foams up and gets a tinge of brown.

Whisk in:

2 cups [480 ml] light cream or milk

Bring to a boil, stirring constantly. Lower the heat and simmer, stirring, until the sauce thickens. The whole process should take 5 to 10 minutes.

This is the base to work from. You can season the sauce with: Salt and white pepper, preferably freshly ground

This is where white pepper really shines, but don’t toast it before grinding, as that gives it an unpleasant flavor.

Now you have a good white sauce ready for anything. You can thin it, if necessary. I sometimes make it with half chicken stock and half milk or cream, and add a little good mustard.

I always make this sauce first, and set it, covered, on the back of the stove to let the flavors meld. It keeps just fine at room temperature until you’re ready for it.

I learned later in life that this is one of the five classic French “mother sauces,” as codified by the great French chef and cookbook author Auguste Escoffier. Though known as béchamel, I still call it my white sauce.

Often you will read that you should heat the cream or milk before adding it to the butter and flour. My mother taught me, though, that adding it cold prevents lumps, because the flour gets incorporated before it starts the thickening process. It also saves you from having to wash another pan!

variation: I rarely make my white sauce without adding a touch of lemon in some form. The zest and juice of ½ lemon; or finely chopped preserved lemons, homemade (page 251) or store bought, are wonderful here. At the French Laundry, we called this variation Lemon Cream Sauce, as we always made it with half-and-half.

Mom’s Potato Salad

serves 8 to 10 / total time: 1 hour

This is the salad I learned to make from my mother. I grew up with it, and we made it often, always in large batches. This is best served while still warm, but if you have any left over, it will taste delicious the next day, cold from the fridge.

Peel and quarter lengthwise:

6 russet potatoes

Transfer to a large pot and cover with water. Salt generously and bring to a boil. Lower the heat and simmer until the potatoes are fork-tender, about 15 minutes. It’s rather tricky to get them just right. You want them tender, but not falling apart. Drain and spread out on a large baking sheet to cool.

Meanwhile, in a small saucepan with a lid, place:

3 eggs

Cover with cold water. Bring to a boil and turn off the heat. Cover and let sit for 15 minutes. Drain, and fill the saucepan with cold water. One at a time, take out each egg, gently crack the eggshell, and return to the cold water. Let sit for 15 minutes. Cracking the shells lets a little water seep in, which makes them much easier to peel.

For the dressing, whisk together in a medium pitcher:

¼ cup [60 ml] apple cider vinegar

¼ cup [60ml] good olive oil

½ onion, minced

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Then add, whisking until smooth:

½ cup [120 g] mayonnaise

½ cup [120 g] sour cream

1 Tbsp Dijon mustard

Peel and dice the cooled eggs and add to the dressing. Pour over the potatoes. With your hands, gently toss everything together.

If you have them available (ideally, from your garden), add:

A handful of chopped fresh parsley

A handful of minced fresh chives

A handful of chopped fresh dill

first: my mother’s kitchen (1932 to 1948)

After Don and I were married, there was always a bit of a competition between my mother’s and my mother-in-law’s recipes for potato salad. Don’s mother was famous for her version, which she always had ready for us when we made the long drive down the Central Valley to Visalia to visit her. We would arrive, sit in her kitchen nook, and feast on it with a couple of cold beers to dampen the travel dust. Hers was similar to my mom’s, but she thinned the mayonnaise with condensed milk, which she kept on hand for her coffee. It was very good, but not as good as my mother’s. So, here is my mother’s recipe, with no condensed milk.

my first kitchen