The Big Sur Bakery CookbookMichelle Wojtowicz, Phillip Wojtowicz, Michael Gilson, Catherine Price
Here from the celebrated California restaurant Big Sur Bakery is a stunningly photographed cookbook showcasing seasonal ingredients, local vintners, fishermen, and farmers—and the food that makes the Big Sur Bakery unique.
Tucked behind a gas station off California's legendary Highway 1, the Big Sur Bakery is easy to miss. But don't be fooled by its unassuming location—stumbling across the Bakery, as countless visitors have done on their way up and down the Pacific Coast, will make you feel as if you've discovered a secret: a gem of a restaurant where the food, people, and atmosphere meld together in a perfect embodiment of the spirit of Big Sur.
The three restaurant owners, chef Philip Wojtowicz, baker Michelle Wojtowicz, and host Michael Gilson, escaped the Los Angeles food scene to create their version of the ideal restaurant, nestled in the heart of some of the most beautiful country in the world. This is simple, wood-fired American cooking at its best, executed in a way that lets the ingredients—seasonal and often locally produced—shine. Weekend brunches feature thick, nine-grain pancakes and savory breakfast pizza topped with crisp bacon, fresh herbs, and pasture-raised eggs. At night, Phil offers classics like Grilled Prime Rib Steak with Red Wine Sauce along with twists on traditional favorites like Venison Osso Buco or Rockfish Scampi. And every meal should end with one of Michelle's great desserts, whether it's a homemade Peppermint Ice Cream Sundae or Hazelnut Flan with Roasted Cherries.
But this is more than a cookbook; it's a yearlong glimpse into what it's really like to live in Big Sur, introducing the people and places that make the restaurant's renowned food possible, including Wayne Hyland, hunter and forager, Jamie Collins, organic row cropper, and Gary Pisoni, the eccentric vintner who supplies some of the restaurant's most beloved wine. With its outstanding photography, lively profiles, and dozens of must-make recipes, this book helps bring the experience of Big Sur home.
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Foreword by Eric Schlosser The Big Sur Bakery Cookbook A Year in the Life of a Restaurant by Michelle and Philip Wojtowicz and Mike Gilson with Catherine Price Photography by Sara Remington Photographs by Kodiak Greenwood Photographs by Sara Remington For our mothers…and Terry Contents Foreword by Eric Schlosser Introduction Our Philosophy March Breakfast at the Bakery A Brief History of Big Sur Profile: Jim, Pasture Farmer Recipes April Dinnertime Honey Profile: Jack, Beekeeper Recipes May Fishing in Monterey The Mountain Lion Profile: Eric and Jasmine, Porch Farmers Recipes June Pork and Beer Dinner TLC Ranch Profile: Justin, Butcher Recipes July Heat July Fourth Profile: Jamie, Organic Row Cropper Recipes Photographs by Sara Remington August Fishing with Wayne Our Wood-Fired Pizza Profile: Forrest, Poke Pole Fisherman Recipes September Gary, Bacchus The Hospitality Business Profile: Mike, Host Recipes October Phil and Michelle Profile: Philip, Chief Profile: Michelle, Baker Recipes November Thanksgiving Profile: Erik, “The Eye” Recipes December Christmas Eve Winter Debt Profile: Marilyn, Bean Counter Recipes January Chanterelles Bartering Profile: Wayne, Hunter and Forager Recipes February Our Inspiration Profile: Terry, Sandalmaker, and Rachel, Beader Recipes Epilogue Basics Recipes Equipment Techniques Resources Acknowledgments Searchable Terms About the Authors Credits Copyright About the Publisher Photographs by Kodiak Greenwood Foreword “Big Sur has a climate of its own and a character all of its own,” Henry Miller wrote. “It is a region where extremes meet, where one is always conscious of weather, of space, of eloquent silence.” In the nearly half-century since Miller lived there, Big Sur’s extremes hav; e grown more extreme. The droughts have gotten longer; the fires, mudslides, and winter storms, much bigger. And the number of eccentrics roaming the hills—like Miller once did, dragging a wagon full of groceries up steep roads while wearing only a jockstrap—is much smaller. And yet Big Sur remains so damn beautiful that the most extreme thing about it is its vast difference from just about anywhere else in the United States. There are other spectacular landscapes, but none that like look Big Sur, ending so wildly and abruptly at the coast. In the early-morning light, as mist rises from the sea, the place feels surreal. It’s hard to believe that in the twenty-first century, amid the country’s most heavily populated state, where the car culture has indelibly left its mark, Big Sur is still remarkably unscathed and pristine. A lot of people move to Big Sur with high hopes—and leave within a year. Despite its beauty, it isn’t an easy place to live. There’s a toughness, a strength, and a slightly odd quality to the people who learn to ride out the storms and coexist with the tourists. The unique spirit of the place comes not only from the land but from a community of people who’ve chosen to live differently from almost everybody else. Like so many of my favorite spots there, the Big Sur Bakery is hiding in plain sight. You could drive past it a thousand times without noticing it. There’s nothing mass-produced about it, nothing predictable or pretentious. The bread and the baked goods are as good as they get; the food leaving the kitchen rivals the best in London and New York, without the attitude. The Big Sur Bakery is a little gem, set beside the road. And it is without question the finest restaurant in America with gasoline pumps out front. Mike, Phil, and Michelle have created a space where anyone is welcome—local, out-of-town, rich, poor, or strange. There’s a humility to the whole operation that fits perfectly with the grandeur all around it. I think Henry Miller would’ve loved it and would’ve gone there almost every night (as long as someone else was picking up the bill). ERIC SCHLOSSER Photographs by Sara Remington Photographs by Sara Remington Introduction All of this wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for Mike’s pants. If he hadn’t been wearing one of his signature pairs of overalls, we might not have noticed him standing on a street corner in Los Angeles, lugging a pair of chain saws on the way back from a landscaping job. If we hadn’t noticed him, we wouldn’t have pulled over. And if we hadn’t stopped to say hello, Mike never would have announced to us that he was moving to Big Sur to open a restaurant, and the Big Sur Bakery would not exist. Luckily, Mike was wearing overalls. We pulled over our borrowed car (ours had just been stolen) and asked Mike how he was doing. He told us he was about to sell his house in Topanga and move to the most beautiful place on Earth. “Where’s that?” Phil asked. “Big Sur,” Mike said. “I’m opening a restaurant. Want to come check it out?” It was January 2001 and at that point Michelle didn’t even know where Big Sur was. Phil only knew about it from reading Kerouac. As a cook and a baker at Campanile, we loved what we were doing and weren’t looking to move or change jobs. Also, even though Mike had been a waiter at Joe’s in Venice when Phil was a cook, our friendship had never extended outside the restaurant, let alone into joint business ventures. But Mike was on a mission, and several hours later, we were talking with him over grilled cheese sandwiches at Campanile, learning about Big Sur. It was beautiful, he told us, describing redwoods and dramatic cliffs and the building he was leasing, a 1930s ranch house that was full of potential, despite the fact that its most recent incarnation was as a failed Italian restaurant. Plus, it had a hand-built wood-fired oven. We should come see it—maybe we’d be interested in helping him with the food. Mike convinced us to come up for a night, and so a couple days later we took a six-hour drive up the coast, carefully navigating Highway 1 as it twisted along the edge of the ocean, trying not to drive off the edge as we stared at the view. For us, two kids born and raised in New Jersey, the panorama of the Pacific was unlike anything we’d ever seen, jaw-and stomach-dropping at the same time. Photographs by Sara Remington When we arrived in the early afternoon, Mike and his friend Terry “Hide” Prince—an extraordinarily generous Englishman whom Mike had been visiting in Big Sur for some twenty years—welcomed us into a house-turned-abandoned-restaurant next to a gas stop and a deserted nursery, with a dusty dirt driveway and a pair of outdoor washrooms. Painted purple, orange, and blue, the restaurant had been left in disarray by the former tenant, and the garden was filled with screaming, mud-splattered children. This was no Los Angeles. But Terry put the kettle on, offered us our first installment of his famous homemade Hide bread, and gave us a tour of the restaurant, which had a bunch of bakery equipment and, as promised, a giant hand-built Alan Scott wood-fired oven. Before long we were sipping tea, talking story, and getting some of our first impressions of the place from locals who popped into the restaurant to say hello. But Michelle was unconvinced. We had great jobs at Campanile and while we dreamed of someday opening up our own place, it was a fantasy that seemed years away from becoming a reality. Heading back down the coast, she bid farewell to Big Sur. Then she got a look at Phil. He had what she calls his “crazy eyes” and even before he said anything, she knew his mind was made up. Michelle managed to hold him off for a day so that she could meet with Mike again and confirm with friends and family that Phil had, in fact, gone insane. But, as we said, Mike was determined. Two days after we got back, we had quit our jobs. Two weeks later, we were in Big Sur, sleeping on the restaurant’s floor because there was nowhere else to rent. It was terrifying, but then again, as Phil kept saying, we were in Big Sur. If we failed, no one would ever know. As Terry started repainting, we cleaned up the place and Mike headed back down to Los Angeles to sell his house so that we would have funds to open. (Did we mention we didn’t have money to start a restaurant?) We slept on the floor until an old-timer named Everett offered us a room in his house. We finally moved the day before we were supposed to open, but Mike kept sleeping in the dining room for several weeks before he found a place. Michelle would come in to start baking and there would be Mike, conked out on an army cot in the dining room. He’d wake up just around the time the pastries were coming out of the oven, tuck away his cot, and get to work serving coffee. In those days we just offered a sit-down breakfast and baked goods, and besides the two of us, Mike, and Terry, we only had one other employee, our dishwasher. Terry kept us going with strong cups of tea and Hide bread sandwiches and, well, we worked our asses off—which was ironic, given that, as we quickly learned, Big Sur does not attract many people looking for eighty-hour workweeks. People here work to live; they don’t live to work—which is a great life philosophy but makes it difficult to find good help. Our staff was always late, and if it was a beautiful day out, it was hard to get them to show up at all. Few of our employees had any restaurant experience, and eventually our rule of thumb boiled down to this: If the person looked “clear eyed,” they were hired. One time Mike decided to hire a woman based on the fact that she’d hiked the Appalachian Trail. When Michelle asked what the hell that had to do with the restaurant business, he just said, “Determination.” As it turns out, he was right—she ended up being one of the best employees we ever had. Photographs by Sara Remington As for us, we were used to working all the time. It’s probably in our blood—we both grew up in New Jersey in third-generation-immigrant working-class families and once we’d caught the cooking bug as teenagers, we never stopped. We worked in the kitchen of the Metuchen Inn in New Jersey, we worked our way through the Culinary Institute of America, and when we went to California for our mandatory eighteen-week externship, we extended it so that we could work for a full year. Once we’d moved out to Los Angeles, Michelle worked in a boutique hotel on Sunset Boulevard and, later, at the Four Seasons and Campanile; Phil started at the Four Oaks restaurant, moved on to Joe’s in Venice, then Melisse, Axe, and finally Campanile—all high-pressure, high-quality kitchens run by people who were as serious about their businesses as they were passionate about their food. When we took a summer off to backpack through Europe, we used it as an opportunity to learn as much as we could about different foods and cooking techniques. Back in America, we worked overtime and volunteered at different restaurant gigs. Even when we were working in the same restaurant in Los Angeles, we hardly saw each other—if we got one day off together in an entire month, we were stoked. So adjusting to life in Big Sur was challenging. Photographs by Sara Remington Terry and his girlfriend, Rachel, told us we needed to learn how to slow down and enjoy Big Sur. Otherwise, they asked, what’s the point of living here? And eventually we began to figure out how to balance our ambition for the restaurant with our desire to enjoy Big Sur. We went on walks together and took our dog to the beach every day. We snuck away in the afternoons, spent time with our new Big Sur friends, and cooked food for countless dinner parties. We were still always busy, but we began to find time to have lives outside of our jobs. At the same time, we were in the midst of figuring out what to do with our favorite part of the restaurant: the wood-fired oven. You can cook almost anything in a wood-fired oven—these days we use it for our breads, chicken, oysters, leg of lamb, suckling pig, fish, beans, and pizza, to name a few items. But learning to use it is difficult. If it’s too hot or too cold, a normal evening at the restaurant can turn into a nightmare. If it’s chilly and rainy out, the oven performs differently than it does when it’s hot and sunny. Sometimes the wood isn’t dry enough. Sometimes our fans go out and smoke floods the kitchen. What’s more, it requires a ton of fuel, which means we’ve basically created a year-round job for our friend Wayne, supplying our oak. We love the pioneer vibe of having a wood-fired oven and cooking with fire, but there are also some nights when we long for something a little less rugged. As we kept working on the Bakery, we got to know Terry’s friends, many of whom we now consider friends of our own. The first person we met—in fact, he stopped by the restaurant on our very first trip up to Big Sur—was Wayne Hyland, a local fisherman, forager, and hunter. And the list has grown since then. There’s Forrest, a former commercial fisherman who takes us poke poling for rockfish and helps us split wood for the fireplace. There’s Jack the Bee Guy, a machinist and longtime resident who treats us to some of his stash of his local Big Sur honey. A few of our friends are former or current employees, like Eric, a farmer and waiter who now runs a microgreen business with his girlfriend, Jasmine. Marilyn Epp, a former Air Force linguist, started off as our bookkeeper and now is one of Michelle’s best friends. Over the years we’ve also gotten to know our local producers, like Jamie at Serendipity Farms in Carmel, who supplies us with organic vegetables. And thanks to Justin Severino, who worked our pizza station and now makes a living as a butcher, we met Jim Dunlop of TLC Ranch, who provides us with pork and pasture-raised eggs. In those early days, we also had a parade of locals coming into the restaurant to give us suggestions and remind us that no restaurant had ever survived at our spot. But we managed to make it through that first summer, and at the end of the season, we sat down with Mike to have a powwow about where we wanted the restaurant to go. We decided that if we were going to stay in Big Sur, we had to raise the bar and turn the restaurant into a place where we could serve the kind of food we’d been trained to cook, the kind of food we felt passionate about. So we closed the Bakery for eight weeks and completely revamped it. At that point, we’d just met Erik Seniska, a brilliant artist and designer who’s now in charge of everything artistic in the Bakery, and we gave him free reign to reinvent the Bakery’s décor. We also switched to serving pastries and coffee during the day, pre-made sandwiches for lunch, and a more upscale dinner menu at night. We lit candles, changed the evening music, and bought wineglasses. Two months and several thousand dollars of debt later, we reopened. The local response was mixed. We’d developed a following by that point, and some of our regular customers were none too pleased to see wineglasses on the tables and increased prices on the menu. But Phil stuck to his guns and insisted that we needed to cook food that we could be proud of, the kind of food we were taught to make by our teachers at the CIA and by our mentors in Los Angeles. That food required good ingredients, those ingredients cost more, and as a result, we needed to raise our prices. We began working on perfecting our chicken and mashed potatoes, figuring out ways to make fantastic burgers and soups, and devising a pizza that could rival those we grew up with in New Jersey. Eventually, the burger moved to our brunch menu to make room for grilled steaks and fish, the vegetable side category grew, and we began running daily specials. Instead of assigning each entree a specific vegetable side dish, we gave customers the option to choose their own, creating a touch of individuality that we loved. Through the process, we had a constant desire to expand and grow, to make the Bakery into a restaurant we could be truly proud of. And this process hasn’t stopped. Recently a chef friend asked Phil if, after seven years of running the Bakery, he felt he was still learning. After thinking about it for a moment, Phil realized that learning is all we do. It’s a constant, unending process—and luckily, we love it. It’s good, too, to feel our work is paying off. Our location and the Bakery’s unassuming exterior make people feel they’ve discovered something special when they eat here, a treasure tucked in next to a gas station. That might be part of the reason we’ve started to have yearly regulars, families who camp in Big Sur every summer who have made dinner at the Bakery into a vacation tradition. And the locals have come around, too. When we first opened, Tony Staude, a ninety-something-year-old local who was an institution in the Big Sur community, complained that our portions were too small and our prices were too high. But it wasn’t long before he started eating here regularly, and when he died at ninety-six, he left instructions that we cater his memorial service. When we were offered a chance to write a cookbook based on the Bakery, it took a while to decide how to structure it. Yes, Big Sur is one of the most beautiful places we’ve ever seen, but most articles and books about Big Sur give an overly glossy sense of what life here is like. They don’t mention that there’s only one power line connecting us to Carmel, and when that gets knocked out, we can lose electricity for hours—or days. They don’t mention that in the rainy winter season, our business slows to a trickle, our bank accounts run down, and we struggle to make it through to the next summer. They don’t mention that Big Sur’s wildlife, a draw for many tourists, can also pose a danger, like when a huge mountain lion started eating our neighbors’ dogs. And, most importantly, they don’t give a sense of the people who actually live here—the eclectic, eccentric community we’ve come to know and love. So we decided to keep a journal of twelve months here in Big Sur, starting with March, which marks the beginning of spring and a new year of produce. We also included profiles of some of the friends and community members who have shaped our experience here, not to mention our food. We wanted a way to acknowledge and thank them for all they have done to make the Bakery what it is today. As for us, we’re proud of our lives here in Big Sur. We’ve taken an abandoned, failed restaurant next to a gas station and turned it into a place that people remember and want to revisit. We’re running our own business. We’re cooking what we want to. We’re working together as partners and have found our places in a community that feels like family. And though it can be difficult to keep all this in mind when business is bad or the electricity is out or small-town life feels suffocating, we’re living our dream in one of the most beautiful places in the world. As Terry and Rachel would be happy to remind us, what more, really, could we ask for? Photographs by Sara Remington Photographs by Sara Remington Our Philosophy If you ask us to describe the type of cooking we do, we always come up with the same three terms: “restore,” “mom and pop,” and “meat and potatoes.” “Restore” because that’s where the word “restaurant” comes from, and it’s how we like to think of what we do here at the Bakery: people come in, hungry after a long day, and we restore them with our food. That’s what this building has been used for since it was built in 1936, and we like to think that we’re keeping up that tradition, but raising the bar. “Mom and Pop” are, of course, us. We love owning our own place, staking our claim out here on the California coast and taking care of the people who come through our doors. But we’re a new generation of mom and pop—cooking with fire, using fresh seasonal ingredients, and serving food that’s good not just for the people who eat it, but also for the community that provided it and the land from which it came. Photographs by Sara Remington “Meat and potatoes” refers to the food itself. But our overarching goal is to serve simple, rustic food made with the freshest, highest-quality ingredients possible—down to earth, but kicked up a notch. We make everything we can from scratch—no processed foods here—and choose preparation methods that highlight foods’ natural flavors without overwhelming them. We might be gourmands ourselves, with years of culinary training under our belts, but we never want our restaurant to feel beyond the reach of how we were raised. That’s why we try not to add fancy sauces or sprinkle the menu with esoteric cooking terms. We want to make people feel comfortable and familiar with all the foods we serve—and then blow them away. MICHELLE WOJTOWICZ PHILIP WOJTOWICZ MIKE GILSON Photographs by Sara Remington Photographs by Sara Remington March Breakfast at the Bakery A Brief History of Big Sur Profile: Jim, Pasture Farmer Scones Potato Frittata Breakfast Pizza Nine-Grain Pancake Meyer Lemon Bars Date and Quinoa Muffins Doughnuts Chocolate Bundt Cake Brown Butter Rhubarb Bars Photographs by Sara Remington Breakfast at the Bakery For our customers, mornings at the Bakery begin when we open our doors at 8:00, but the real start time is at 4 a.m., when our morning bakers get here to start the day’s bread and pastries. Working in the quiet darkness, they take the preshaped bread out of the refrigerator, remove the ash from the oven, and check the oven temperature—an important task, since it will set the pace of the morning and determine in what order the bread and pastries will be baked. After rolling, filling, and shaping the croissants, they set them near the warm oven to proof; and then bake the muffins, scones, cookies, coffee cakes, quiches, and frittatas; fry the doughnuts; and start the day’s bread. At around 7:00, our morning barista arrives to set up the Bakery and start brewing the coffee, and as the morning sun slides into the valley, our first customers pull in, tires crunching on the driveway’s gravel. The room they walk into doesn’t look like a restaurant—there are no place settings or candles, no waiters or table service. Instead people line up at the counter for coffee and pastries and thick slices of potato frittata and take their breakfasts outside to the front patio, soaking up the sunshine as they sip their morning dose of caffeine. The early crowd includes tourists from nearby hotels and campgrounds, filling up on food before starting out on their day. But the morning is also all about the locals. They come in for coffee in a long, leisurely procession, drawn as much by their hunger for gossip as for breakfast. Since there’s no actual “town” in Big Sur, people gather at a handful of hangouts to catch up, and the Bakery’s front patio has become a popular spot to meet. As Phil oversees prep work in the kitchen, Michelle helps with the rest of the day’s baking—everything from pies, cookies, plated dinner desserts, and homemade ice cream to the occasional wedding cake. When she has a free moment, she hangs out in the front of the house, answering the phone and chatting with the parade of friends who stop by: Eric and Jasmine, dropping off microgreens with their son, Haven, bouncing on Eric’s arm. Forrie, taking a break from chopping wood to read the morning paper. Erik, back from his latest decorating adventure, dressed to the nines even though it’s barely 9 a.m. Jack the Bee Guy stops by for a soy latte and gives an update on the spring bloom. Wayne drops off some firewood. Marilyn tucks herself into a corner and starts on the day’s paperwork. Wrenches in hand, Mike rolls in for a cup of tea on his way to fix a plumbing problem at the Bakery, as a patient wine salesperson he forgot he had an appointment with smiles at him from a nearby table. Photographs by Sara Remington From the outside, the day’s pace seems leisurely and haphazard, but stick around long enough and you’ll realize that there’s a predictable rhythm to it all, not to mention a lot of work going on behind the scenes: prepping, baking, accepting deliveries, getting ready for the night ahead. At around 2:00, the last lunchtime sandwiches are sold. As the afternoon sun lights up Mount Manuel, the transition to evening begins. Photographs by Sara Remington A Brief History of Big Sur One of the biggest misconceptions people have about Big Sur is that it’s an actual town. It’s understandable—with all the hype, you’d think we’d at least have a main street. But no, Big Sur simply refers to the ninety-mile-long piece of land south of Carmel and north of San Luis Obispo. Flanked by the Pacific Ocean to the west and the Santa Lucia Mountains to the east, Big Sur is bisected by a stretch of Highway 1 made famous by its dramatic panoramas and knuckle-whitening curves. The part of Big Sur most tourists visit is a short run of road where the highway ducks back from the ocean into the Big Sur Valley. But as for a main street? Hell, we don’t even have a real grocery store. The history of Big Sur didn’t start with the opening of Highway 1, of course. The original inhabitants around here were the Esselen, the Salinan, and a division of the Ohlone called the Rumsien—all nomadic hunter-gatherer Native American tribes who lived in the Big Sur area for centuries before Spanish settlers got here in the 1770s. Those Spanish didn’t do good things for the Native Americans, but they did give Big Sur its name. After snagging some prime beachfront real estate and setting up their capital on the Monterey peninsula, they began referring to the area below them as El Pais Grande del Sur: the Big South Country. They might as well have called it “The Large, Impenetrable Area That Has Great Natural Resources but Is a Pain in the Ass to Get To” since, without a road or a permanent port, Big Sur was basically unreachable. Still, some settlers managed to set up ranches in the area, and in 1821 Big Sur (along with the rest of California) became a part of Mexico when the Mexicans won their independence from Spain. Things changed again in 1848, when California became part of the United States after the Mexican-American War. For Big Sur residents, the main impact of these various political shifts had to do with land: Mexico gave out land grants; subsequently, the 1862 Homestead Act lured Americans to the area by promising free 160-acre plots to settlers. While still difficult to get to, Big Sur then evolved into the home of a bunch of different businessmen: cattle ranchers, farmers, miners, millers, fishermen, and woods-men, to name a few. Many of the first settlers’ names can still be found all over the area—the Pfeiffers, the Partingtons, the Posts. It wasn’t until the completion of Highway 1 in 1937, thanks to money from the New Deal and convict labor, that the area became easily accessible to outsiders. But Big Sur wasn’t connected to the California electric grid until the early 1950s, and even today some people proudly live without electricity. Photographs by Sara Remington As for the Bakery itself, our building was built around 1936 by Frank Post’s daughter Alice (of the famous Post Ranch family) and her husband, Steve Jaeger, who’d come to Big Sur during World War I to break horses. Steve and Alice anticipated that the opening of Highway 1 would bring tourists to Big Sur, so they built a gas station and a ranch house that was divided into two parts: a café, which is now the front of the Bakery, and their home, which is now our dining room. They called it the Loma Vista Inn and opened every season from April to October until sometime in the mid-1970s, when Alice passed away. (The building then went through a few more incarnations before we got here.) Alice and Steve’s niece Norma, who lives on the property above us, has tons of black-and-white photographs of the building’s beginnings, one of which hangs right inside the Bakery’s front door. It shows a group of people gathered around what’s now the Bakery’s side door, right around the time when Highway 1 first made it easy to travel to Big Sur by car. The caption says “Loma Vista Open House 1937,” so the photo was taken about a year after the building was built. It turned out that Steve and Alice were right: once there was actually a paved road, it was inevitable that tourism (not to mention celebrities) would follow—drawn by the serenity, the natural beauty, and the breathtaking backdrop of the Pacific Ocean. Orson Welles and his then-wife Rita Hayworth bought a cabin on a whim here in 1944 that, rumor has it, they never even stayed in. Henry Miller fell in love with the area when visiting a friend in 1944 and stayed for eighteen years, helping to establish Big Sur’s reputation as a bohemian outpost. Other people following in Miller’s footsteps included Robinson Jeffers, Edward Weston, Richard Brautigan, Hunter S. Thompson, and Jack Kerouac, whose novel Big Sur was published in 1962. These days, Big Sur is a combination of elements from its past. There are still descendants of the original Native Americans and pioneers hanging around (our own Forrie is related to the Partingtons, and Wayne is part Miwok), but it also draws writers and artists, dreamers and seekers, tons of tourists, a few people on the lam, and the occasional couple looking to start a restaurant. Photographs by Sara Remington Photographs by Sara Remington PROFILE: JIM/PASTURE FARMER Photographs by Sara Remington Are your birds free-range or pasture-raised? Pasture-raised. Free-range doesn’t mean shit. Explain: “Free-range” can mean they’re raised in a warehouse, as long as they’re not in cages. “Pasture-raised” means they’re on pasture. I fence my chickens in with electric netting and move the coop every few days to give them new land. Number of eggs produced per day: At our highest, two hundred dozen. Number you personally eat: If I’m binging, I’ll eat four or six at a time. The most I ever had in a week was probably three dozen. Favorite preparation: Sunny side up, runny. On toast. Describe the odor of your pigs: When sows have piglets, they actually smell like a mixture of earth and caramel and sweetness. Have you ever been a vegan? I was a vegetarian for ten years. I care about how animals are treated. Philosophy on raising animals: I want to raise them in a way that allows them to display their natural instincts and behaviors. So my chickens can scratch in the dirt and eat bugs and grass. The pigs can run around and roll in the dust and the mud. Most interesting previous occupations: After-hours nightclub bouncer in Phoenix. Punk rocker in Manhattan. Ocean lifeguard in South Hampton, New York. Marine corporal, in charge of a machine gun cannon. How’d you end up out here? I met a girl. She’s now my wife—she’s the program director for ALBA, the organization that owns our farm’s land. She helps educate aspiring farmers. Unusual accomplishments: I hitchhiked 10,000 miles in Australia once. In 1986 some friends and I ran across the United States. My claim to fame, though, is that I set a course record for the Man Against Horse race in Prescott, Arizona. It’s fifty miles and you race against endurance horses. I beat all the horses. I was a bad motherfucker back then. Farthest distance run at one time: Eighty miles. It took nineteen hours. What keeps you going? I’m into coming up with new ways to do things. I like producing really good products and working outdoors. It’s funny…. First you pretend to be a farmer. Then you keep doing it. And the next thing you know, you actually are one. Recipes * * * Scones Photographs by Sara Remington Traditional scone and biscuit recipes often require rolling the dough into a cylinder and slicing off rounds, but those extra steps can make the pastry tough. Instead, we use a method Michelle learned when she was a pastry cook at Campanile: you start out with a shaggy dough that only takes shape when you press it into the cookie cutter. The less you handle the dough the better, so we cut in the butter with a pastry cutter and mix in the buttermilk and fruit by hand. You can avoid another common problem—fruit that breaks up and stains your dough—by starting with fresh fruit but freezing it for a couple hours just before mixing. As for flavor combinations, the possibilities depend on what’s in season. In the summer, we cut up nectarines, plums, peaches, and strawberries; in winter, we rely on dried fruit and candied ginger. Whatever fruits you pick, make sure to give your scones ample space on the cookie sheet, because they’ll spread until they’ve almost doubled in size. * * * INGREDIENTS 1 cup fresh huckleberries or blueberries 1 cup (2 sticks) cold unsalted butter, cubed 3 ½ cups all-purpose flour 1 cup granulated sugar 1 tablespoon baking powder 2 teaspoons baking soda 1 ½ teaspoons kosher salt 2 tablespoons vanilla extract ¾ cup buttermilk ¼ cup turbinado sugar Makes about 1 dozen scones About 2 hours before making the scones, scatter the berries on a cookie sheet and put it in the freezer. Put the cubed butter, flour, granulated sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt in a mixing bowl, put the bowl in the freezer, and leave it there for 30 minutes. Meanwhile, adjust the oven rack to the middle position and preheat the oven to 375ºF. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper and set it aside. Using a pastry cutter, work the chilled ingredients together in the bowl until the butter cubes are the size of peas. Make a well in the center. Combine the vanilla and buttermilk in a separate bowl, and pour the mixture into the well. Mix the ingredients with a wooden spoon to form a shaggy mass. Add the frozen berries and gently mix them in, trying not to crush them. To shape the scones, place a 3-inch round cookie or biscuit cutter on one corner of the prepared baking sheet. Take a handful of the scone dough and press it into the cutter, patting it down so that the top of the scone is flat. Pull the cutter off the sheet, leaving the scone behind. Repeat this process across the sheet, keeping enough space between the scones for them to double in size, until you’ve used all the dough. Sprinkle the tops of the scones with the turbinado sugar and bake for 15 to 20 minutes, until they’re golden brown along the sides but still tender inside. Transfer the scones to a cooling rack and let them sit for at least 10 minutes before serving. * * * Potato Frittata This frittata is available every morning at the Bakery, and it has become a staple for early-morning customers looking for eggs and potatoes. First we parcook the sliced potatoes and then we add just enough eggs to bind them into this hearty breakfast dish. Add bacon if you wish, and serve it with toast. It’s also great to take on the go, because it’s still delicious when eaten at room temperature. * * * INGREDIENTS 5 tablespoons rice bran oil or canola oil 1 small yellow onion, sliced 5 russet potatoes, peeled and cut into 1/8-inch-thick slices 3 tablespoons unsalted butter Kosher salt Freshly ground white pepper 7 eggs 1 tablespoon minced flat-leaf parsley 1 tablespoon minced chives 2 whole scallions, trimmed and thinly sliced Photographs by Sara Remington Serves 6 to 8 Adjust the oven rack to the middle position and preheat the oven to 400ºF. Heat a medium sauté pan over medium-high heat and drizzle 2 tablespoons of the oil into it. Add the onions and cook until they’re caramelized, 8 to 10 minutes. Deglaze the pan with ¼ cup water, scraping any brown bits from the bottom with a wooden spoon. Cook until the water evaporates and the onions take on a uniform brown color, about 5 minutes. Transfer the onions to a roasting pan and toss them with the potatoes. Add 1 tablespoon of the butter and the remaining 3 tablespoons oil to the potatoes. Season them generously with salt and white pepper. Cover the pan with aluminum foil and bake for 25 to 30 minutes, until the potatoes are tender. Set them aside to cool for 15 minutes. Reduce the oven temperature to 350ºF. Meanwhile, whisk the eggs, herbs, and scallions together and season them with salt and white pepper. Add the potatoes and onions to the egg mixture. Heat a 9-inch cast-iron skillet over medium-high heat. Melt the remaining 2 tablespoons butter in the skillet, and add the egg and potato mixture. Cover the skillet with aluminum foil, transfer it to the oven, and bake for 30 minutes. Remove the foil and bake for 10 more minutes. Slice and serve directly from the skillet, warm or at room temperature. * * * Breakfast Pizza This pizza was born on a Saturday morning, right before our brunch service. As the last loaves of bread were coming out of the wood-fired oven, Phil walked into the Bakery hungry for eggs and bacon and decided to fix himself a little pizza with the leftover dough from the night before. He sprinkled it with Parmesan, mozzarella, and bacon pieces, cracked three raw eggs from our chickens right on top, seasoned it with minced herbs, salt, and pepper, and baked it until the egg yolks were set but still soft. It’s been a part of our brunch menu ever since. * * * INGREDIENTS Bread flour, for dusting 6 bacon strips 1 recipe pizza dough, shaped into 2 balls and refrigerated at least overnight ½ cup grated Parmesan 2 cups grated mozzarella 6 eggs Kosher salt Freshly ground black pepper 2 tablespoons minced flat-leaf parsley 2 tablespoons minced chives 2 whole scallions, trimmed and thinly sliced 1 shallot, minced Makes 2 pizzas (serves 2 to 4) At least 1 hour before you start baking, adjust the oven rack to the lowest position, put a baking stone on it, and preheat the oven to 450ºF. Generously dust the surface of a pizza peel (a flat wooden or metal shovel with a long handle) with bread flour. Heat a large sauté pan over medium-high heat, add the bacon strips, and pan-fry until crisp. Put the bacon on a plate lined with paper towels, let it cool, and then chop it into bite-size pieces. Lightly dust a work surface with bread flour. Working with one ball of pizza dough, dip your hands and the dough in the bread flour to make them less sticky, and pat the dough down into a disk shape with the tips of your fingers. Once the disk is large enough, drape the dough over your fists and carefully start stretching and expanding the dough from underneath to form a round that is 10 to 12 inches in diameter. (If you’re feeling lucky, try tossing the dough over your head in a circular motion to stretch it.) Place the dough on the prepared peel. Sprinkle it with half of the Parmesan, mozzarella, and bacon, and crack 3 eggs over the top. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Before you put the pizza in the oven, do the “stick test”: shake the peel slightly to make sure the pizza is not sticking (if it is, carefully lift the section that is sticking and sprinkle a bit more flour underneath). Then slide the pizza directly onto the baking stone and bake it for 8 to 12 minutes, checking on it after 5 minutes and rotating it if necessary to ensure that it’s baking evenly. When the crust is golden, the cheese is melted, and the egg yolks are cooked to medium, use the peel to remove the pizza from the oven and transfer it to a cutting board. Let it cool for 2 minutes and sprinkle with half of the parsley, chives, scallions, and shallots. Slice and serve immediately. Prepare your second pizza the same way. Photographs by Sara Remington * * * Nine-Grain Pancake Baked in a cast-iron skillet, this is a real pan “cake.” At the Bakery, we prepare it in the wood-fired oven, where it puffs up to an inch thick in just a couple minutes. We top it with huckleberries or strawberries, or serve it with maple syrup and butter—or even eat it with a thin European-style yogurt. One pancake should be enough for one person. If you want to serve the pancakes to a group of people, cut them into slices and allow your guests to help themselves. We buy our nine-grain mix from Giusto’s Millers & Bakers out of San Francisco; it’s a combination of steel-cut oats, millet, amaranth, barley, soft wheat, winter wheat, rye, flax seeds, and corn grits. * * * INGREDIENTS ¼ cup brown rice ½ cup plus 2 tablespoons nine-grain mix 2 tablespoons flax seeds 2 tablespoons sesame seeds ¼ cup sunflower seeds ½ cup plus 3 tablespoons all-purpose flour 2 cups whole-wheat flour 1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon baking powder 1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon baking soda 1 teaspoon kosher salt ½ cup plus 3 tablespoons old-fashioned rolled oats ¼ cup molasses 4 cups buttermilk 4 egg yolks 6 egg whites 4 tablespoons unsalted butter Makes 4 pancakes Place the brown rice in a small saucepan, add 1 cup water, and bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Reduce the heat and let simmer until the rice is tender, about 30 minutes. Transfer the rice to a separate dish to cool completely. Combine the nine-grain mix, flax seeds, sesame seeds, and sunflower seeds in a bowl. Bring 1 ¼ cups water to a boil, and pour it over the grains and seeds. Let them soak for 30 minutes or until they’re soft. Place the all-purpose flour, whole-wheat flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and oats in a mixing bowl. Stir to combine, and make a well in the center. In a separate bowl, whisk together the molasses, buttermilk, egg yolks, the grain and seed mixture, and ½ cup of the cooked brown rice. Pour the liquid mixture into the well, and combine with a wooden spoon. In an electric mixer fitted with the wire whisk attachment, whisk the egg whites at high speed until soft peaks form. Using a rubber spatula, fold the whites into the flour mixture. (You can hold the batter in the refrigerator until you’re ready to use it, but keep in mind that the sooner you bake the pancakes, the lighter they’ll be.) Adjust the oven rack to the middle position and preheat the oven to 350ºF. Preheat two 9-inch cast-iron skillets in the oven for 5 minutes. Add 1 tablespoon of the butter to each pan and swirl it around to coat the pan. Pour one fourth of the batter into each pan, transfer them to the oven, and bake for 15 to 20 minutes. Check the pancakes the same way you would a regular cake: the pancakes are ready when a skewer inserted in the middle comes out clean. Flip each pancake onto a plate, and serve. Bake the other 2 pancakes the same way. Photographs by Sara Remington * * * Meyer Lemon Bars When Meyer lemons hit Big Sur, they come all at once. We’ve developed marvelous ways of using them—from marmalades to salad dressings and, of course, our Meyer lemon bars. The crust on these bars is made with pine nuts and cornmeal, and the filling is much thicker than your average bar. * * * INGREDIENTS FOR THE DOUGH: 1 cup unsalted butter ½ cup pine nuts 2 ¾ cups all-purpose flour 1/3 cup plus 2 tablespoons sugar ½ cup yellow cornmeal 1 teaspoon kosher salt Grated zest of 2 Meyer lemons 2 egg yolks 2 tablespoons heavy cream FOR THE MEYER LEMON FILLING: 3 ¼ cups sugar ½ cup all-purpose flour Grated zest of 3 Meyer lemons 1 cup Meyer lemon juice ½ cup heavy cream 8 whole eggs 5 egg yolks FOR THE TOPPING: Powdered sugar, for sprinkling Makes 1 dozen bars To make the dough, first cut the butter into cubes, spread them out on a plate, and freeze for 30 minutes. Meanwhile, adjust the oven rack to the middle position and preheat the oven to 350ºF. Scatter the pine nuts on a cookie sheet, and toast them in the oven until they’re light brown, about 7 minutes. Let them cool completely. Pulse the flour, sugar, cornmeal, pine nuts, salt, and lemon zest in a food processor until the pine nuts have been broken into smaller pieces. Add the frozen butter cubes, and pulse until the mixture resembles a coarse meal. Transfer it to a mixing bowl and make a well in the center. Whisk the yolks and cream together in a separate bowl, and pour the mixture into the well. Knead with your hands until the ingredients are fully combined and the dough is uniform and smooth. Flatten it into a disk and wrap it in plastic wrap. Refrigerate for 3 hours. Roll the chilled dough between two pieces of parchment paper into a 15 by 17 inch rectangle, ¼ inch thick. Drape the dough inside a 9 by 13-inch baking dish, working it into the corners and up the sides of the dish. Trim off the excess dough with a paring knife, and refrigerate the dish for 30 minutes. While the crust is chilling, preheat the oven to 350ºF. Bake the crust until it’s a rich golden brown, about 20 minutes. Set it aside until completely cool. Reduce the oven temperature to 325ºF. Make the filling: In an electric mixer fitted with the wire whisk attachment, combine the sugar, flour, Meyer lemon zest and juice, heavy cream, eggs, and egg yolks on high speed until frothy, 2 to 3 minutes. Pour the filling into the cooled crust and bake until the filling is set but not browned, 25 to 30 minutes. Let it cool completely in the baking dish. Using a chef’s knife and wiping the blade clean with a wet towel between cuts, cut into 3-inch squares. Transfer the bars to a platter, sprinkle generously with powdered sugar, and serve. * * * Date and Quinoa Muffins We love dates, especially on long road or camping trips. Whenever we heard someone was going to Palm Springs, we used to beg them to bring us a couple cases of Medjool dates. Now we have a small group of friends who pick them up for us when they are down there. We serve these muffins from winter to early spring, when dried fruits are our staple. These started out as a brown sugar muffin but they needed something extra. After a little experimenting, Michelle decided to add dates and orange zest, and when we have candied kumquats, she chops some and folds them in. There’s quinoa flour, too, to sneak some whole grains into your diet. * * * INGREDIENTS FOR THE STREUSEL TOPPING: ¼ cup pecan halves ½ vanilla bean ¼ cup unsalted butter ¼ cup plus 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour ¼ cup (packed) light or dark brown sugar ¼ teaspoon kosher salt FOR THE MUFFIN BATTER: ½ cup pecan halves 1 cup unsalted butter, softened, plus extra for coating the pan ½ cup granulated sugar 1 cup (packed) light or dark brown sugar 1 tablespoon baking powder 1 teaspoon kosher salt 2 eggs 1 ½ teaspoons vanilla extract Grated zest from 1 orange 1 cup all-purpose flour 1 cup quinoa flour 1 cup buttermilk 10 dried dates, pitted and chopped into pieces Makes 1 dozen muffins Adjust the oven rack to the middle position and preheat the oven to 375ºF. Scatter the pecans, for both the streusel topping and the muffin batter, on a cookie sheet and toast until they’re golden through the center, about 10 minutes. (To check if they’re done, cut one open and inspect the color inside.) Let them cool and then roughly chop them. Use ¼ cup of chopped pecans for the streusel and reserve the rest for the muffin batter. (Leave the oven on.) To make the streusel topping: Split the vanilla bean lengthwise with a paring knife, scrape out the pulp with the back of the knife, and put the pulp and the pod in a small saucepan. Add the butter and melt over medium-high heat. Cook until the butter separates and the white milk solids start to brown and smell nutty, about 7 minutes. Remove the vanilla bean. Pour the hot brown butter into a dry bowl, place it in the freezer, and leave until solid, about 30 minutes. Remove the solidified butter from the bowl and chop it into small pieces. Combine the butter, flour, brown sugar, and salt in a bowl and work the mixture with a pastry blender until crumbly. Mix in the chopped pecans and refrigerate the streusel until ready to use. Butter a 12-cup muffin pan and set it aside. To make the batter: In an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, cream together the butter, granulated sugar, brown sugar, baking powder, and salt until light and fluffy. Add the eggs, one by one, and mix to incorporate. Mix in the vanilla extract and orange zest. Combine the all-purpose flour and the quinoa flour in a bowl. Then add the combined flours in three batches, alternating with the buttermilk, beginning and ending with flour. Using a rubber spatula, fold in the chopped dates and the reserved pecans. Fill each prepared muffin cup almost all the way to the top with batter, and sprinkle each muffin with a layer of streusel. Bake for 20 to 25 minutes, or until a cake tester inserted in the middle comes out clean. Let the muffins cool completely in the pan. Then remove them from the pan by running a knife around the edges. Serve. * * * Doughnuts Our first roommate in Big Sur was a longtime local named Everett Makowski, who was eighty when he offered to rent us one of the rooms in his big house down in Sycamore Canyon. Everett’s nickname was “The Doughnut King” because when he used to commute to work, he sometimes ate one or two dozen doughnuts a day—so when we were trying out this recipe at the Bakery, it seemed only natural for him to be our taste tester. Even to this day, we think the doughnuts had something to do with his decision to let us live with him. We make these doughnuts in a bunch of different ways: sometimes we glaze them, sometimes we fill them with homemade jam and then glaze them. (We make rhubarb, apricot, strawberry, peach, plum, and raspberry jams in the summer and use them in the doughnuts throughout the year.) Sometimes we fill them with vanilla pastry cream and dip them in chocolate glaze. We’ve also folded caramelized apples into the dough and made apple fritters. Once you have mastered the recipe, feel free to experiment. Just remember to plan ahead: the dough needs to rest overnight. * * * INGREDIENTS 1 tablespoon plus ½ teaspoon active dry yeast 2 ¼ cups bread flour plus extra, for dusting 1 ¼ cups plus 1 tablespoon pastry flour 1 ½ teaspoons baking powder 2 tablespoons sugar, plus extra for dusting 1 ½ teaspoons kosher salt 1 ½ teaspoons freshly grated nutmeg 5 tablespoons powdered milk 6 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened, plus extra for coating the bowl 1 egg Rice bran oil or canola oil for frying Doughnut glaze (recipe follows) 2 cups rhubarb jam Makes 1 dozen jelly or glazed doughnuts Place ¼ cup lukewarm water in the bowl of an electric mixer, and sprinkle the yeast over the water. Stir, and then set it aside to activate for 5 minutes. In another bowl, mix together the bread flour, pastry flour, baking powder, sugar, salt, nutmeg, and powdered milk. Add 1 ½ cups of this mixture, ¾ cup cold water, the butter, and the egg to the yeast mixture. Combine in the electric mixer fitted with the dough hook on very low speed for 1 minute. Then, over a 1-minute period, add the remaining flour mixture. Increase the speed to medium and mix for 2 minutes. Stop the mixer, scrape down the sides of the bowl with a rubber spatula, and beat on high speed for 2 minutes. Transfer the dough to a large buttered bowl (large enough to let the dough double in size), cover the bowl loosely with a plastic bag (we use plastic garbage bags in various sizes, depending on the size of the pan), and refrigerate it overnight. The next morning, remove the dough from the refrigerator, turn it onto a floured surface, and roll it down until it’s ½ inch thick. If you’re making jelly-filled doughnuts, cut out 12 rounds with a 3 ½ inch round cookie or biscuit cutter. If you want to make glazed doughnuts, cut the same 12 rounds and then turn them into rings by cutting a hole in the center of each one with a 1 inch cutter. Line a cookie sheet with a linen napkin and dust it generously with flour. Place the doughnuts and their holes on the prepared cookie sheet. Put the entire sheet in a plastic bag and tie it loosely. Let the doughnuts rise in a warm part of the kitchen until they double in size, about 30 minutes. While the doughnuts are rising, fill a large heavy-bottomed pot with oil about 2 inches deep, and heat it over medium heat until the oil reaches 350ºF on a deep-fry thermometer. Working in batches, carefully drop the doughnuts, one by one, into the hot oil without overcrowding the pot. Fry until the doughnuts are golden brown, then flip them over and fry the other side—this should take about 4 minutes total. Test for doneness by picking out a sacrificial doughnut and cutting it right in the middle to see if it’s cooked through—this will help you gauge how much more time the doughnuts need. When they’re done, remove the doughnuts with a slotted spoon and place them on a plate lined with paper towels. Continue the process with the rest of the doughnuts and the holes (the holes will fry much faster). Let them sit until they’re cool enough to handle. To make glazed doughnuts, dip the top of each doughnut into the glaze until half of the doughnut is coated. Shake off the excess. Put the doughnuts, glaze side up, on a cooling rack and let them dry slightly. Then toss the holes in sugar, place them on top of the doughnuts, and serve. To make jelly doughnuts, use the handle of a wooden spoon to poke a hole three quarters of the way into each doughnut. Gently move it around to create a nice-size cavern for the jam. Put the jam in a pastry bag fitted with a plain decorating tip. Insert the tip into the doughnut and fill it until it feels heavy. Repeat with the rest of the doughnuts. Dip these in the glaze as well. Doughnut Glaze Whisk all the ingredients together in a bowl until a smooth glaze is formed. Keep covered until ready to use. INGREDIENTS 1 ½ cups powdered sugar, sifted 3 tablespoons honey Grated zest of 1 lemon 3 tablespoons whole milk Photographs by Sara Remington * * * Chocolate Bundt Cake In her years as a young pastry cook, Michelle made a devil’s food cake under every chef she ever worked for—and each one of them had a different opinion about what makes a cake good. One thing they all believe in, though, is using Dutch-process cocoa powder. One of the best is Valrhona cocoa powder, which is wonderfully dark and rich. After many trials, Michelle decided that she likes a very thin layer of frosting and mostly cake. * * * INGREDIENTS FOR THE CAKE: 1 tablespoon unsalted butter, softened 1 ¼ cups plus 1 tablespoon brewed coffee ¾ cup Dutch-process cocoa powder 2 ¼ cups sugar 1 ¼ teaspoons kosher salt 2 ½ teaspoons baking soda 2 whole eggs 1 egg yolk 1 ¼ cups plus 1 tablespoon buttermilk 1 cup plus 2 tablespoons rice bran oil or canola oil 1 ½ teaspoons vanilla extract 2 ½ cups plus 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour, sifted FOR THE ICING: 6 ounces bittersweet chocolate ¾ cup unsalted butter 2 cups powdered sugar ½ cup sour cream, at room temperature ¼ cup brewed coffee, cooled (used for Bundt cake only) Makes one 10-inch Bundt cake or two 9-inch cakes to be layered and iced Adjust the oven rack to the middle position and preheat the oven to 350ºF. Use the 1 tablespoon butter to thoroughly butter a 10-inch Bundt cake pan, using your fingertips to get into all the ridges. Set it aside. If making a layer cake, butter two 9-inch pans and set them aside. To make the cake batter: Put the coffee and cocoa powder in a small saucepan and bring to a boil while whisking constantly. Remove from the heat and let it cool to room temperature. In an electric mixer fitted with the wire whisk attachment, mix together the sugar, salt, baking soda, eggs, and egg yolk on low speed until well combined, 30 seconds. Add the buttermilk, oil, and vanilla extract, and mix for another 30 seconds. Add the flour and mix on medium speed for 2 minutes. Add the cooled cocoa mixture and mix on high speed for 3 minutes. Pour the batter into the prepared cake pan(s) and bake for 1 hour (35 minutes if making cake layers). Let the cake cool completely in the pan. Remove the cake from the pan by inverting it onto a cooling rack. To make the icing: Chop the chocolate into small pieces, put them in a heatproof bowl (or a double boiler), and set the bowl over a pot of barely simmering water, making sure the bottom of the bowl doesn’t touch the water. Remove the bowl from the heat when all the chocolate pieces have melted. Melt the butter in a separate pan, pour it over the melted chocolate, and whisk by hand to incorporate. Sift half of the powdered sugar right into the chocolate mixture, and whisk to combine. Add the sour cream and whisk to combine. Then sift in the remaining powdered sugar and whisk until smooth. The icing should be thick and shiny. Add the coffee and whisk to create a glossy glaze. Pour the glaze over the Bundt cake, covering it completely. Leave it at room temperature until ready to serve. If you are making a layer cake, omit the coffee when preparing the icing and let the icing sit at room temperature for 2 hours, until it thickens to the consistency of soft cream cheese. To assemble the cake, spread about ½ cup of the frosting evenly over the first layer and top with the second layer. Frost the top and sides of the layer cake with the remaining icing. Leave at room temperature until ready to serve. Photographs by Sara Remington * * * Brown Butter Rhubarb Bars Michelle loves rhubarb. She used to think that she was the only one who did, until she started making these bars and realized that if you surround it with brown butter, everyone loves rhubarb. There are a few homes in Big Sur with rhubarb patches, and when it comes into season, locals will bring bunches to Michelle as a treat. At that time of year, we still have blood oranges arriving on our doorstep, so we combine them and make a very grown-up bar. The blood oranges give the bars a vibrant red color, and their sweetness balances the tartness of the rhubarb, which in turn helps cut the richness of the buttery crust and filling. These bars are perfect for traveling long distances or packing in a picnic basket—the brown butter will keep them moist. And if your rhubarb is abundant, you can also make a bigger batch of the filling and can it. That way you can make these bars all year ’round. (Be aware that as the jam cooks it will splatter—we recommend wearing long sleeves to prevent burns.) * * * INGREDIENTS FOR THE RHUBARB JAM: 1 cup sugar Grated zest and juice of 2 blood oranges ½ vanilla bean 4 rhubarb stalks, cut into ½-inch pieces FOR THE CRUST: 1 cup unsalted butter ½ cup powdered sugar 1 ½ cups all-purpose flour Makes 1 dozen bars To prepare the rhubarb jam: Place the sugar, blood orange zest and juice in a medium saucepan. Split the vanilla bean lengthwise with a paring knife, scrape out the pulp with the back of the knife, put the pulp and the pod in the pan, and bring the mixture to a boil over high heat. Continue cooking until the faintest bit of caramel color starts to appear around the edge of the pot. Add the rhubarb. Continue to cook, stirring with a wooden spoon, until the rhubarb turns into a smooth jam, 7 to 10 minutes. Transfer the jam (discarding the vanilla bean) to a separate dish to cool while you make the crust and filling. Make the crust next: Melt the butter in a saucepan over medium-high heat, whisking frequently. Cook until the butter separates and the white milk solids start to brown and smell nutty, about 5 minutes. Pour the hot brown butter into a dry bowl and freeze until solid, about 30 minutes. Place the powdered sugar and flour in a bowl and mix to combine. Take out the frozen butter and cut it into small cubes. Mix the cubes into the flour mixture, using a pastry cutter to break up the butter until large crumbs start to form. Work the crumbs together into a crumbly dough with both hands, and place it in a 9 by 13-inch baking dish. Press the dough firmly with the bottom of a glass to make sure that the crust evenly covers the entire bottom of the dish. Chill the crust in the refrigerator for 30 minutes. While the crust is chilling, adjust the oven rack to the middle position and preheat the oven to 375°F. Bake the crust for 15 to 18 minutes, until golden brown. Let it cool before assembling the bars. (Leave the oven on.) While the crust is cooling, make the brown butter filling: Whisk together the eggs, sugar, orange zest, and flour in a medium bowl. Split and scrape the vanilla bean just as you did for the rhubarb jam, and put the pulp and the pod in a medium saucepan. Add the butter and melt over medium-high heat. Cook until the butter separates and the white milk solids start to brown and smell nutty. (Discard the vanilla bean.) Carefully add the warm brown butter to the egg mixture, whisking constantly until all the butter is incorporated. FOR THE BROWN BUTTER FILLING: 3 eggs 1 ¼ cups sugar Grated zest of 2 oranges ¾ cup plus 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour ½ vanilla bean ½ cup plus 2 tablespoons unsalted butter To assemble the bars, spread half of the brown butter filling over the cooled baked crust. Spoon large dollops of the rhubarb jam over the filling, reserving a quarter of the jam. Spread the remaining brown butter filling over the rhubarb, and finish by spooning smaller dollops of the reserved jam randomly over the top. Bake for 25 to 30 minutes, until the filling is deep golden brown. Remove the dish from the oven and let it cool completely. Cut into 3-inch squares and serve. Photographs by Sara Remington Photographs by Sara Remington April Dinnertime Honey Profile: Jack, Beekeeper Grilled Sardines with Frisée and Whole-Grain Mustard Dressing Roasted Leg of Lamb with Pesto Ruccola, Endive, and Radicchio Salad with Pine Nuts and Aged Goat Cheese Braised Green Garlic, Roasted Spring Onions, and Grilled Ramps Artichokes and Asparagus with Almonds and Grapefruit Dressing Clovis’s Lime Tart with Lime Marmalade and Ginger Ice Cream Photographs by Sara Remington Dinnertime If you stopped by the Bakery at breakfast and again at dinnertime, you could be forgiven for thinking that you’d walked into a different restaurant. In the evening, the casual neighborhood hangout is transformed into a real dining room: candles on the tables, wineglasses, and customers who have come to the Bakery as a treat. We stay open between lunch and dinner, so throughout the afternoon there’s still a stream of passersby stopping in for coffee and any pastries left over from the morning. In the meantime, the servers polish glasses and silverware, fold napkins, replace old menus with new ones, set the tables, and nudge the coffee customers out of the dining room. Late afternoon at the Bakery is a calm time, in both the front and the back of the house, since most of the chaos has happened between 9:00 and 3:00. The night cooks come in to set up their stations and Phil puts some music on in the kitchen to give everyone something to listen to as they work. The pizza cook stokes the fire, tends the oven, and arranges more wood near the stove in the pizza room so it can dry. Mike reorganizes the wine room and puts together a wine list. Erik comes in to create the flower arrangement. It isn’t until around 5 o’clock that things start to heat up and pressure begins to build—the big show is coming. Our reservation book gives us a general sense of how busy a night will be, but since we get a lot of walk-ins, we can never really predict what’s going to happen. When the evening kicks into gear, everyone goes on autopilot. No one talks much in the kitchen, except to explain special orders, which tend to be minimal since Phil doesn’t allow many changes to his menu. Our kitchen is so small that it requires a constant dance for people not to run into each other. Pizzas fly, and the pizza room gets hot—very hot. When the night is a good one, you can feel a buzz in the air—everyone totally in their groove, customers sometimes even sticking their heads into the kitchen to give their thanks. We usually close the kitchen around 9:00 or 10:00, but it takes another hour or so to clean everything up. Once all the guests are gone, we sit at the bar to decompress. Phil challenges someone to a game of chess, or we share a bottle of wine. Eventually Phil locks up the restaurant and we all retreat home to our beds for some much-needed sleep. Five or so hours later, our morning bakers arrive to prepare the morning’s pastries, and the cycle begins again. Photographs by Sara Remington Photographs by Sara Remington Honey If you’d asked us a few years ago how honey was produced, we wouldn’t have been able to tell you much. But that was before we met Jack Koch, otherwise known as “Jack the Bee Guy.” He’s our resident honey expert, and he has taught us everything we know about bees. Jack keeps his bees in Langstroth hives, which consist of white wooden boxes built without tops or bottoms that stack on top of one another to form a shaft. The bee colony lives in the bottom two boxes and builds the comb from the bottom up. The worker bees (which are all female) gather pollen and nectar from every plant they can—in Big Sur, they have access to a menu that includes huckleberry, dandelion, lupine, rosemary, fennel, and even poison oak. During spring bloom, when fruit trees start to flower, the bees have yet more choices, taking their pick of avocados, apples, berries, and persimmons, to name a few. Jack harvests his honey after each season, as soon as he notices its color start to change. That way the seasons’ flavors don’t get blended together. In addition to doing “waggle dances,” bees communicate with each other primarily through smell. The queen bee, who sits tight in the center of the hive and can live for more than five years, releases pheromones that dictate the whole mood of the hive. So if she’s anxious, it rubs off on all the other bees. Jack says that if you’re experienced enough, you can smell the variations too. “It’s like the difference between the air freshener you put in a bathroom versus a living room,” he says. “It’s almost the same, but slightly different—and it triggers the whole hive.” Because bees rely so heavily on their sense of smell, it’s important to pay close attention to odor when you’re approaching the hive. Jack tries not to wash his hair or use deodorant before he works with the hive because the smell would be, as he puts it, like blasting the bees in the face with a firehose—the strong smell overwhelms their communication systems, and they get angry. One time, when Jack made the mistake of wearing freshly laundered clothes under his bee suit, the smell of fabric softener on his cuffs got the bees so upset that he ended up with about forty of them swarming around each ankle, stinging. Now, he blows a few puffs of smoke from burnt burlap on himself before working with the bees—for some reason, they don’t mind the smell. Photographs by Sara Remington To make honey, worker bees fly out of the hive and collect nectar from flowering plants, helping to pollinate them in the meantime. After ingesting and regurgitating the nectar a few times until it is partially digested, they deposit it in the comb’s cells. Then the bees in the hive beat their wings to create a breeze to help the water in the honey evaporate. The bees are looking for about an 80/20 ratio of sugar to water—too much sugar and the honey will become solid; too much water and it will ferment into mead. Once they think they’ve gotten the ratio about right, they cap off each cell with beeswax and allow it to sit, checking on it occasionally to make sure that the ratios are still correct. So far, Jack’s bees haven’t succumbed to colony collapse disorder, the mysterious killer of thousands of beehives across the United States. But he still has to deal with natural predators like skunks and ants, both of whom love honey, and blue jays, who like to prey on the bees themselves. Pesticides that are used along the side of Highway 1 knock out thousands of bees, and a dry year with little rain will shorten each season’s bloom. In other words, honey takes a lot of work—from bees and beekeeper alike. We’re happy that Jack is willing to share his with us. Photographs by Sara Remington Photographs by Sara Remington PROFILE: JACK/BEEKEEPER Photographs by Sara Remington How do the bees fit in? Beekeeping is a side hobby. It’s not an easy thing these days. People think the bee just squeezes honey into the jar, but there’s a lot of process there. Number of hives Between five and twenty, depending on the year. Largest amount of honey produced in a year Fifty-five gallons. Smallest? Three. There was a drought. What do you use your honey for? I eat it with tea, oatmeal, cereal, chai. Oh—and I carry honey on me in the backcountry in case I get cut. It’s an antiseptic. As soon as it hits blood, the honey turns to hydrogen peroxide. Amount personally consumed per year If I don’t have five gallons of honey, I’m in trouble. Who gets the leftovers? It’s not commercial—just for local people and people I’ve known for years. When you get thirty-five people in Big Sur who buy honey, that takes care of a lot of the surplus. First experience with bees I fell into a beehive when I was young and got stung head to toe and didn’t die. I was lucky. What kind of plants do your bees use? It depends on the time of year. We’ve got rosemary, sage, thyme, orange trees, avocados, apricots, heather, poison oak. That’s just a few. I keep flashcards with lists of each year’s blooms. Favorite honey From the spring bloom. It’s the soft, delicate end of honey. Crystal clear. Personality traits necessary for beekeeping You have to be really calm. You can’t go in with residual feelings from someplace else because the bees will pick up on it. They can smell if you’re upset. Best part of living in Big Sur To be able to be familiar with the local community. A lot of times people come through and take what they can get and then leave. So it’s nice to be able to add to it. Best part of beekeeping Communicating with nature. If you can keep the hive happy and the queen happy, they reward you. Recipes * * * Grilled Sardines with Frisée and Whole-Grain Mustard Dressing Our sardines come right out of Monterey Bay and are a real gift with their sweet, rich taste and flavorful skin. Only problem is, they take a long time to clean. A few lucky guests get to eat these, but usually once Phil has finished the tedious task of cleaning them, he asks, “Should we cook some up?” Soon after, our bellies are full—and the sardines never make it to the menu. It’s not that often that you see sardines at fish markets, but they’re worth searching out. We also love to bake sardines in a cast-iron skillet in the wood-fired oven with a ladleful of tomato sauce and a drizzle of olive oil. Then we put them over toast—they make great open-face sandwiches. * * * INGREDIENTS FOR THE FRISÉE: 1 head frisée 2 tablespoons minced chives 2 tablespoons minced flat-leaf parsley 2 tablespoons minced shallots FOR THE WHOLE-GRAIN MUSTARD DRESSING: 1 tablespoon whole-grain mustard ¼ cup golden (or white) balsamic vinegar Kosher salt Freshly ground black pepper ½ cup rice bran oil or canola oil FOR THE SARDINES: 12 fresh sardines, cleaned and butterflied (see sidebar) ¼ cup rice bran oil or canola oil Kosher salt Freshly ground black pepper 3 tablespoons minced flat-leaf parsley Serves 4 Start a fire in your grill 30 minutes in advance, burning the wood down until you have a red-hot coal base. You don’t want flames touching the fish. (See backmatter for preparing a wood-fired grill.) Wash the frisée and snip the green tips off the leaves, leaving behind only the white and yellow part of the head. Cut off and discard the core. Tear the remaining leaves into medium pieces. Place the frisée in a bowl, toss in the herbs and shallots, and set it aside, undressed, until ready to serve. In a medium bowl, whisk the mustard and vinegar with a pinch of salt and pepper until combined. Add the oil in a slow, steady stream until the dressing is thick and emulsified—it should come together pretty quickly. Check the seasoning and add more salt and pepper if necessary. Set the dressing aside. Brush the sardines on both sides with the oil, season with salt and pepper, and sprinkle with the parsley. Place the fish on the hot grill, skin side down, and cook until their flesh turns opaque, 2 to 3 minutes. Remove the fish from the grill and set them aside on a plate with the skin side up. Toss the frisée salad lightly with the dressing, add salt and pepper to taste, and arrange the salad on a platter. Place the sardines on top, skin side up. Cleaning Sardines Using a sharp knife, slice open the belly of each fish and remove its innards. Cut off the head, open the fish with your fingers, and pull out its spine (this should remove most of the bones, though there may be a few stragglers). Keep the fish butterflied for grilling. * * * Roasted Leg of Lamb with Pesto Roasting works well on meat that’s attached to the bone because the exterior will caramelize to a crispy crust while the bone will keep the meat moist and red on the inside. To keep the meat as juicy as possible, let it rest for several minutes after taking it out of the oven. How you carve it is also important—always make sure to slice across the grain. * * * INGREDIENTS FOR THE LAMB: 2 cups kosher salt 2 tablespoons sugar 3 bay leaves 1 cinnamon stick 10 coffee beans 5 black peppercorns 5 garlic cloves 2 star anise pods 1 leg of spring lamb, bone in, 4 to 5 pounds 8 rosemary sprigs ¼ cup olive oil FOR THE PESTO: Kosher salt 1 cup (packed) fresh basil leaves ½ cup flat-leaf parsley leaves 1 cup rice bran oil or canola oil Freshly ground black pepper Serves 6 to 8 Fill a large pot with 5 quarts water and bring it to a boil over high heat. Turn off the heat and add the salt, sugar, bay leaves, cinnamon stick, coffee beans, peppercorns, garlic, and star anise. Stir until the salt and sugar dissolve. Set the brine aside to cool completely. Once the brine has cooled, put the lamb leg in it, placing a heavy plate on top of the meat to keep it submerged. Cover the pot with plastic wrap and let it sit overnight (12 to 15 hours) in the refrigerator. The next day, pull the lamb leg out of the brine, rinse it under cold running water, and pat it dry with paper towels. Discard the brine. Adjust the oven rack to the middle position and preheat the oven to 375ºF. Trim the excess fat off the lamb, leaving a little to help flavor and moisten the meat. Using a knife, score the surface with long slashes in a diamond-shaped pattern to allow the fat to expand while the meat is cooking. Place 4 rosemary sprigs in a deep roasting pan, and lay the lamb right on top. Remove the leaves from another 4 rosemary sprigs. Rub the meat with the olive oil, and sprinkle the rosemary leaves on top. Roast the lamb until the top is browned, about 40 minutes. Carefully turn the leg over and continue roasting until a meat thermometer inserted near the bone reads 128ºF, about 30 minutes. While the lamb is roasting, prepare the pesto: Fill a medium bowl halfway with water, and put about a dozen ice cubes in it. Set it aside. Bring 2 quarts water to a boil in a large pot. Add 1 tablespoon salt, and blanch the basil and parsley in the boiling water for 10 to 20 seconds, until they’re bright green. Immediately strain the herbs through a colander and place the colander in the ice water to cool for 2 minutes (the ice water will stop them from overcooking and will help them retain their color). Drain, and squeeze the herbs dry with a kitchen towel. Combine the herbs and the oil in a blender or food processor, and pulse for a few seconds, until smooth. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Remove the lamb from the oven and let it sit for 15 minutes before carving. Slice the lamb and serve it on a platter, accompanied by the pesto. * * * Ruccola, Endive, and Radicchio Salad with Pine Nuts and Aged Goat Cheese Endive and radicchio are bitter leaf vegetables that pair well with the rich peppery flavor and leathery texture of ruccola. This is a very sturdy salad that can hold up to the aged goat cheese and the thick dressing, so feel free to dress it heavily. We like to use a goat cheese from Cypress Grove Chevre called the Mad River Roll (see Resources), but any quality goat cheese will do. If you can’t find ruccola, you can use arugula—but if you can, try to hold out for the real deal. Ruccola is a peppery, sturdy green with a nice bite to it. * * * INGREDIENTS FOR THE BALSAMIC DRESSING: ¼ cup pine nuts ¼ cup balsamic vinegar 1 tablespoon Dijon mustard Kosher salt Freshly ground black pepper ¾ cup rice bran oil or canola oil FOR THE SALAD: 2 tablespoons pine nuts 1 small head radicchio 2 heads Belgian endive 2 handfuls ruccola 1 tablespoon minced flat-leaf parsley 1 tablespoon minced chives 2 whole scallions, trimmed and thinly sliced 1 shallot, minced 4 ounces aged goat cheese, cut into four ½-inch-thick rounds Kosher salt Freshly ground black pepper Serves 4 Adjust the oven rack to the middle position and preheat the oven to 350ºF. Scatter the pine nuts, for both the dressing and the salad, on a cookie sheet and toast in the oven until golden brown, about 7 minutes. Cool completely (leave the oven on). Set aside 2 tablespoons of the toasted pine nuts for the salad and reserve the rest for the dressing. To make the balsamic dressing, put the pine nuts, vinegar, mustard, 1 teaspoon salt, and ¼ teaspoon pepper in a blender and purée until smooth. With the blender running, add the oil in a slow, steady stream until the dressing is thick and emulsified. Check the seasoning and add more salt and pepper if necessary. Set the dressing aside. To make the salad, pull the leaves off the head of radicchio and discard the core. Cut the leaves into long, thin strips and place them in a large mixing bowl. Carefully pull the leaves off the endive heads and discard the cores. Cut the leaves into long, thin strips and add them to the radicchio. Add the ruccola, parsley, chives, scallions, and shallots, and toss together gently. Keep refrigerated. Arrange the 4 slices of goat cheese on a baking sheet and place it in the oven. Warm the goat cheese but don’t let it melt—check on it after 2 minutes. While the goat cheese is in the oven, generously dress the salad with the balsamic dressing, sprinkle with the reserved 2 tablespoons toasted pine nuts, and season with salt and pepper to taste. Transfer the salad to a platter, arrange the warmed goat cheese on top, and serve immediately. * * * All three of the following vegetables come into season at around the same time, marking the beginning of spring. We serve these preparations as accompaniments to many of our dishes throughout the season. Their methods of preparation are interchangeable. * * * * * * Braised Green Garlic Green garlic, available only in spring, is picked before the garlic’s paper-like skin has developed. It has a more delicate flavor than mature garlic and is great raw—but we also like to braise it and add it to any recipe that calls for garlic. * * * INGREDIENTS 8 green garlic stalks 1 tablespoon rice bran oil or canola oil 1 cup chicken stock, warmed ¼ cup orange juice Kosher salt Freshly ground black pepper Serves 4 Adjust the oven rack to the middle position and preheat the oven to 350ºF. Wash the garlic thoroughly and trim the green stems—they should all be the same length, 4 to 5 inches. Place the garlic in a roasting pan, drizzle with the oil, and add the warm chicken stock and orange juice. Season the garlic with salt and pepper. Cover the pan with aluminum foil and bake for 40 to 45 minutes, until the garlic is tender. Gently remove the garlic stalks from the pan and reserve then. Transfer the braising liquid to a small saucepan, and reduce it by half over medium-low heat. Check the seasoning, and add salt and pepper if necessary. Arrange the reserved green garlic stalks on a serving dish and spoon the reduced liquid over them. Photographs by Sara Remington Photographs by Sara Remington Photographs by Sara Remington * * * Roasted Spring Onions These onions are young enough to have their greens still intact. Like the garlic, their flavor is more delicate than the adult version. While the terms “scallions” and “green onions” are often used interchangeably, they’re actually separate vegetables. Scallions are long and thin with no bulb to speak of, and while their flavor strengthens with age, they don’t develop into onions. Spring onions, on the other hand, are baby versions of regular onions, harvested while the bulbs are still small. * * * INGREDIENTS 4 large or 8 small spring onions 1 tablespoon rice bran oil or canola oil ½ cup chicken stock, warmed Kosher salt Freshly ground black pepper Serves 4 Adjust the oven rack to the middle position and preheat the oven to 350ºF. Cut the spring onions in half lengthwise and place them in a roasting pan. Add the oil and toss until the onions are evenly coated. Pour in the stock, and season with salt and pepper. Cover the pan with aluminum foil and bake for 30 to 35 minutes, until the onions are tender. Serve with grilled fish or your favorite vegetable side. * * * Grilled Ramps Ramps are Appalachian wild onions that combine the flavors of both garlic and onions. We often treat them like scallions. They have a short season and are delicate enough that they, too, can be eaten raw—but we also love to grill them. * * * INGREDIENTS 8 ramps 2 tablespoons olive oil Kosher salt Freshly ground black pepper Serves 4 Preheat a grill. Place all the ingredients in a large bowl, toss until the ramps are evenly coated with the oil, and set aside to marinate for 10 minutes. Arrange the ramps on the hot grill. Watch them carefully, moving them around with a pair of tongs to keep them from burning. The ramps are done when they wilt and soften—it should take only a couple minutes. Photographs by Sara Remington * * * Artichokes and Asparagus with Almonds and Grapefruit Dressing Asparagus and artichokes start showing up in Big Sur around April. Since we can still get ruby red grapefruit then, we like to combine them all into this salad. The flavors go together perfectly. We roast the asparagus in the wood-burning oven, which runs so hot that their flesh gets little char marks and develops a nice nutty flavor. For the baby greens, any kind will do; choose according to what’s in season. * * * INGREDIENTS FOR THE ARTICHOKES: 4 artichokes 1 lemon 1 medium yellow onion, roughly chopped 1 small carrot, roughly chopped 1 celery stalk, roughly chopped 1 bay leaf 1 tablespoon kosher salt FOR THE ALMONDS: ½ cup unblanched almonds 1 teaspoon rice bran oil or canola oil Kosher salt Freshly ground black pepper FOR THE ASPARAGUS: 8 asparagus spears, ends removed 1 tablespoon rice bran oil or canola oil 1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves Kosher salt Freshly ground black pepper Serves 4 Start with the artichokes since they will take the longest to prepare. When cleaning the artichokes your goal is to remove all the exterior leaves, leaving just the heart. To do so, use a serrated knife to cut off one third of the artichokes’ tops. Working around each artichoke in a circle, remove the rough green leaves until only soft yellow leaves remain. To clean the stem, peel it with a paring knife and trim off about ¼ inch at the bottom. Immediately put the cleaned artichokes in a large pot filled with cold water. Cut the lemon in half, squeeze its juice into the pot, and then toss in the rest of the lemon (this will prevent the artichokes from oxidizing and turning brown). Add the onions, carrots, celery, bay leaf, and salt. Put a heavy plate over the artichokes to keep them submerged as they cook. Bring the liquid to a lazy simmer and cook until you can easily insert a paring knife through the center of an artichoke, about 30 minutes. Let them cool in the pot, keeping them submerged (this helps preserve their color and flavor). While the artichokes are cooling, adjust the oven rack to the middle position and preheat the oven to 350ºF. Place the almonds on a cookie sheet. Drizzle them with the oil, season with salt and pepper, and toast them until they’re golden brown through the center, about 12 minutes. (To check if they’re done, cut one open and inspect the color on the inside.) Let the almonds cool, and then roughly chop them. Increase the oven heat to 450ºF. Place the asparagus on a baking sheet, drizzle with the oil, sprinkle with the thyme leaves, and season lightly with salt and pepper. Roast for 8 to 10 minutes, until the asparagus spears are fork-tender. Allow the asparagus to cool to room temperature. Photographs by Sara Remington Photographs by Sara Remington Photographs by Sara Remington FOR THE GRAPEFRUIT DRESSING: Juice of 1 ruby red grapefruit 1 tablespoon golden (or white) balsamic vinegar ½ teaspoon Dijon mustard Juice of ½ lemon ¾ teaspoon kosher salt, or more if needed ¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper, or more if needed 6 tablespoons rice bran oil or canola oil TO FINISH: Kosher salt Freshly ground black pepper 2 handfuls baby greens To make the dressing, put the grapefruit juice in a small saucepan. Reduce the juice over high heat until syrupy, 5 to 7 minutes—you should be left with about 1 tablespoon. Whisk together the reduced grapefruit juice, vinegar, mustard, lemon juice, salt, and pepper in a medium bowl until combined. Add the oil in a slow, steady stream, whisking until the dressing is thick and emulsified—it should come together pretty quickly. Check the seasoning and add more salt and pepper if necessary. Once they’ve cooled completely, cut the artichokes in half through the stem. Take each half and remove its fibrous center with a spoon, making sure to leave the heart intact. Gently toss the artichoke hearts and the asparagus with about ¼ cup of the dressing, and season them with salt and pepper. Right before serving, dress the baby greens lightly with a couple of teaspoons of the dressing, and combine with the vegetables. Arrange on a platter and sprinkle with the toasted almonds. Photographs by Sara Remington * * * Clovis’s Lime Tart with Lime Marmalade and Ginger Ice Cream Clovis, a Big Sur local who’s lived here for more than fifty years, brings us amazing Bearss limes from early November until late April. All the fruit comes from a lime tree that she planted next to her front door thirty-five years ago in hopes that the scent of the blossoms would remind her of her childhood in southern California. Her interest in limes grew after she traveled to Mexico, where she had fresh lime juice in her margaritas. Clovis keeps a log of the fruit her tree bears, and the record shows that a few years ago her tree produced 200 pounds in one season. She brought them into the Bakery in a woven basket, 20 pounds at a time, and Michelle bought over 160 pounds. Clovis puts the money she earns from her limes into a jar; over time, her lime tree has paid for her vegetable garden and her flower garden. Bearss limes are different from the conventional limes you see at the grocery store. They have a yellow rind and green flesh and are a bit smaller than a lemon. They’re exploding with juice and are absolutely delicious. Buy extra, and you can chase your lime tart with a margarita. * * * INGREDIENTS FOR THE SHELL: 2 cups graham cracker crumbs (recipe follows) 2 tablespoons sugar 2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted, plus more for the pan FOR THE LIME FILLING: 1 ½ cups fresh lime juice (Bearss preferred) 1 cup sugar 6 eggs 1 cup heavy cream Makes one 10-inch tart Adjust the oven rack to the middle position and preheat the oven to 350ºF. To make the shell, combine the graham cracker crumbs, sugar, and melted butter in a bowl. Lightly grease with butter a 10-inch tart pan with a removable bottom. Sprinkle the crumbs over the tart pan, and use the bottom of a glass to press them into a crust, making sure that the crust evenly covers the entire bottom and sides of the pan. Refrigerate for 20 minutes. Then bake for 7 to 10 minutes, until the graham cracker crust starts to smell toasty. Remove from the oven and place on a cooling rack. Reduce the oven temperature to 325ºF. While the tart shell cools, start the filling by whisking together all the filling ingredients in a medium saucepan. Cook over low heat, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon, until the liquid is thick enough to coat the back of a spoon, 7 to 10 minutes. Pour it into the crust and bake for 10 to 15 minutes, or until the filling is set. (You can tell if it’s set by gently touching the center—if it doesn’t stick to your finger, it’s done.) Let the tart cool to room temperature. Then place it in the freezer until the filling is firm to the touch, about 25 minutes. (This step will prevent the filling from overbaking when you place the tart back in the oven to brown the meringue.) While the tart is chilling, increase the oven temperature to 400ºF. Photographs by Sara Remington FOR THE MERINGUE TOPPING: 6 egg whites 1 cup plus 2 tablespoons sugar ¼ teaspoon kosher salt ¼ teaspoon vanilla extract FOR SERVING: Lime marmalade (recipe follows) Ginger ice cream (recipe follows) Graham Cracker Crumbs INGREDIENTS ¾ cup unsalted butter, softened ¼ cup granulated sugar 1/3 cup plus 1 tablespoon (packed) light or dark brown sugar 1 tablespoon honey 1 1/3 cups all-purpose flour ½ cup plus 1 tablespoon whole-wheat flour 1 teaspoon kosher salt ½ teaspoon baking soda 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon Prepare the meringue: Place the egg whites, sugar, and salt in a heatproof bowl (or double boiler). Place the bowl over a saucepan of barely simmering water, making sure the bowl does not touch the water. Whisk the mixture constantly until the sugar crystals have dissolved (check for sugar granules with your fingers). Remove the bowl from the heat, and whisk the whites with an electric mixer fitted with the wire whisk attachment on high speed until medium peaks form. Add the vanilla extract and whisk to combine. Remove the tart from the freezer. Spread the meringue over the top of the tart, covering the filling but leaving the edges of the shell uncovered. (You may also pipe the meringue, using a pastry bag fitted with a decorating tip.) Place the tart in the oven and bake until the meringue has browned, 2 to 4 minutes. Refrigerate until ready to serve. Remove the tart from the pan and transfer it to a platter. To serve, rinse a chef’s knife under hot running water, dry it with a kitchen towel, and cut the tart into slices, wiping the blade clean after each cut. Accompany each slice with a dollop of lime marmalade and a scoop of ginger ice cream. Cream the butter, granulated sugar, brown sugar, and honey in an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment until light and fluffy. Add all the remaining ingredients and continue to mix until the dough comes together. Roll the dough out between two pieces of parchment paper until you have a rough ¼-inch-thick rectangle. Chill it in the refrigerator for at least 30 minutes or as long as three days. Adjust the oven rack to the middle position and preheat the oven to 375ºF. Peel back the top piece of parchment paper, leaving the one on the bottom, and place the dough on a cookie sheet. Bake it for 20 to 25 minutes, until brown. Let it cool to room temperature. Break the graham cracker into pieces. Put the pieces into a food processor and pulse until fine. Reserve 2 cups of the crumbs for the graham cracker crust. Store the leftovers in an airtight container and keep in the refrigerator for a later use. Lime Marmalade INGREDIENTS 10 Bearss limes, or 15 conventional limes 4 thumb-size pieces fresh ginger 1 cup freshly squeezed lime juice 2 cups sugar Makes 2 ½ cups Take 3 limes and halve them lengthwise. Place the halves, cut side down, on a cutting board and slice them into 1/8-inch-thick half-moons. Cut off both ends of the remaining fruit with a sharp knife. Place the limes on a cutting board, cut-end down, and following the curve of the fruit, shave off the rind from top to bottom with the knife, revealing the flesh of the citrus and leaving absolutely no pith. Cut each lime into quarters and cut away the core. Throw away the cores and the peels. Place the half-moon slices and the fruit segments in a stainless-steel pot, add 2 ½ cups water, and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer until the rinds of the half-moons are soft, about 10 minutes. Remove from the heat. Peel the ginger with a vegetable peeler or a spoon, and place the pieces in a small pot. Add water to cover and bring to a boil. Strain, and rinse the ginger under cold water. Place the ginger in a blender, add the lime juice, and blend until the ginger is completely puréed. Add the ginger mixture to the cooked lime and mix to combine. Refrigerate overnight or until very cold. Add the sugar to the lime mixture and bring it to a boil. Reduce the heat to a simmer and cook until the mixture registers 219ºF. To determine if the marmalade is done, spoon a dollop onto a chilled plate. If it doesn’t spread, it’s ready. Ginger Ice Cream INGREDIENTS 4 thumb-size pieces fresh ginger 2 cups whole milk 2 cups heavy cream ½ cup honey 2 cups sugar 12 egg yolks Makes 6 cups Peel the ginger with a vegetable peeler or a spoon, and cut it into slices. Place the slices in a saucepan, add just enough cold water to cover, and bring it to a boil. Strain, and rinse the ginger under cold running water. Combine the ginger and 1 cup of the milk in a blender, and purée until smooth. Combine the ginger mixture with the cream, the remaining 1 cup milk, the honey, and half of the sugar in a medium saucepan and bring to a boil. Remove the mixture from the heat and let it steep for 10 minutes. Meanwhile, whisk the egg yolks with the remaining 1 cup sugar in a large bowl until smooth. Bring the cream mixture back to a boil and temper the hot liquid into the egg yolks by adding it to the yolks a ladle at a time while whisking vigorously. Strain the liquid through a fine-mesh sieve into a bowl. Discard the ginger, and return the liquid to the pan. Cook over very low heat, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon, until the liquid is thick enough to coat the back of the spoon. Refrigerate until it’s cold. Freeze the mixture in an ice cream maker, according to the manufacturer’s directions. Photographs by Sara Remington May Fishing in Monterey The Mountain Lion Profile: Eric and Jasmine, Porch Farmers Braised Rabbit with White Wine, Scallions, Mustard Seeds, and Ham-Wrapped Roasted Loin Spring Risotto House-Cured Salmon Grilled Salmon with Meyer Lemon Dressing Strawberry and Rose Geranium Shake Peppermint Ice Cream Sundae Photographs by Sara Remington Fishing in Monterey Today Monterey is probably best known for sea otters and John Steinbeck (his novel Cannery Row was set in Monterey). But for us, Monterey is all about fish. Located about thirty miles north of Big Sur, Monterey’s history of commercial fishing began in the mid-1800s when Chinese settlers started harvesting abalone, yellowtail, sardines, squid, and shark, among other creatures, from the bay’s deep waters. By the beginning of the 20th century, Monterey was best known for its vast production of canned sardines—and in fact the sardine frenzy was so intense that by the end of World War II, the region’s supplies had been depleted. In 1945, John Steinbeck published Cannery Row, and Monterey began its evolution into what it is today: a spot still known as a commercial fishery, but with a downtown devoted primarily to tourism. The Monterey Bay Aquarium represents both worlds. People come from all over the globe to check out its exhibits (and, yes, otters), but it also has become a leader in the sustainable fishing movement. Its Seafood Watch program helps protect the ocean’s fish stocks by recommending which varieties to buy or to avoid, depending on the health of fish populations and the methods that are being used to catch or farm them. One repercussion of the sustainability movement is that it has become much more difficult to fish commercially. These days, the California Department of Fish and Game has an ever-growing list of regulations governing what species you can fish (and for that matter, how you can fish them). The regulations are stringent enough that some fishermen have left the area in search of less restrictive waters—and those who stick around sometimes have to call the department daily to stay abreast of the latest rules. But of course there are reasons for the regulations. Take, for example, the mysterious disappearance of the Sacramento River fall-run Chinook salmon, which usually make up the bulk of the salmon caught in the Sacramento River system and off the California and southern Oregon coast. The situation was so bad in 2008 that the California Department of Fish and Game canceled the commercial and recreational ocean salmon fishing seasons. We don’t have the necessary licenses to serve our own catches at the restaurant, but we still try to stock our menu with choices that are both sustainable and local. Luckily, even with all its restrictions (or perhaps because of them), Monterey Bay provides a continuous abundance of seafood for our menus. Photographs by Sara Remington Photographs by Sara Remington The Mountain Lion May—or more specifically, Memorial Day weekend—marks the real start of the tourist season in Big Sur. After a winter’s worth of Sunday afternoons off and quiet morning coffee with the locals, our quiet hamlet turns into sudden chaos. The parking lot fills with strangers’ cars, many of whom are expecting to get sucked into another tourist trap—and it’s always a thrill to see their looks of surprise when they realize that, despite being next to a gas station, we’re not a greasy spoon. Lucky them—and lucky us. Locals might call the tourists “tourons” and complain about having to share the highway with RVs, but it doesn’t take long for our business sense to kick in. This May was dramatic for reasons that had nothing to do with tourists: a mountain lion began stalking and attacking local dogs. One night, Wayne Hyland’s son Rowan’s mother watched as the lion grabbed their dog by the neck after she had let it out for the night and killed it. Several nights later, their second dog met the same fate. Now, when a wild animal starts attacking domestic ones, people in Big Sur start to get a little nervous. When a wild animal starts grabbing them twenty feet away from their owners, people get hysterical. They put out traps; they called the game warden. Parents became worried about letting their kids play outside—after all, a toddler would be easier prey than a golden retriever. Michelle stopped taking walks on the ranch at morning and nightfall, and eventually stopped altogether. Over the course of four months, the same mountain lion killed fifteen dogs. All this played out just as the tourists started to flow. Ironically, they were attracted to the natural beauty of Big Sur at the same time that a part of Big Sur’s nature started eating our pets. Thank god, then, for Wayne Hyland. Wayne’s an essential part of our lives at the Bakery, helping with maintenance, taking us fishing, foraging for mushrooms—and he’s also an amazing hunter and outdoorsman. Even before Rowan’s second dog was eaten, Wayne took matters into his own hands. He tracked the lion, learning where it buried its prey and came back to feed. And then one night at midnight, as the fog rolled in off the ocean, he went out to hunt the lion. He could hear the sounds of it feeding as he approached—ripping muscle and tendon from bone—but he still snuck closer. He told us later that the lion knew he was there but was too engrossed in its meal to care. It took only one shot. Wayne fired directly into the lion’s heart, killing it as it fed. That might sound heartless and cruel, but this lion had become a threat, not just to dogs, but to humans too. Wayne, who believes that people in general have moved too far away from nature, made the neighbors come and see the lion after he killed it, so that people could appreciate how large it was. He’d told us when he shot it that it was big enough to take out a grown man, and when people saw its carcass, it was clear that he was right. Life subsequently went back to normal—complaints about the busy roads, stress about covering all the Bakery’s shifts—but when we went home at night, we slept better than we had in weeks. Photographs by Sara Remington PROFILE: ERIC AND JASMINE/PORCH FARMERS Photographs by Sara Remington Microgreens grown: Watercress, arugula, daikon, endive, pea shoots, basil, cilantro, radish, broccoli, cabbage, celery, beet—a lot of different types. How’d you get into microgreens? We were farming in Maine, where in the winter there’s less than seven or eight hours of light a day. We were trying to find things to do and realized you can always make seeds germinate because it doesn’t take light. How many pounds do you sell each week? About five to ten pounds’ worth of four-ounce pack