Happy birthday, Jean!

When I first came to the US and wasn't able to work, I started volunteering in an elementary school library (and herewith, a quick plug for the fabulous Cambridge School Volunteers).

Jean was the school librarian, and we got along really well. Getting to hang out with her was part of the reason I stayed in the same school for seven years, until I had a green card and a degree and had to find paying work.

We've been friends ever since — 16 years so far — and get together when we can for lunch, shopping, movies.

Yesterday was Jean's birthday. Her daughter Alex and friend Mary had sneakily arranged a surprise dinner for family and friends, and The Boy and I were invited.

It was a very Italian evening; not only were half the guests born in Italy, but the menu was inspired by Mario and Lidia.

We began with marinated zucchini:



Amazingly tender stuffed cuttlefish with pine nuts and raisins:



And scallops gratinate with butter, lemon and sage:



Those, mind you, were just the appetizers. While we stood in the kitchen, chatting and nibbling and sipping prosecco, Mary casually threw together the main course, cavatappi affumicati.



We moved into the dining room, where the table was set with lead crystal and yellow roses and wine in carafes (y'know, rather than just plunking the bottle on the table as we do).



Oh, and place-cards.



Then there was a vibrant anise-citrus salad with honey-poppyseed dressing:



And homemade biscotti with almonds, brown sugar, cinnamon and cloves, which were good by themselves but positively danced with the Vin Santo.

And then the birthday cake: a zuppe inglese.



Think light, fluffy layers of sponge cake sandwiching chocolate and vanilla pastry cream. Assume the involvement of, oh, a dozen eggs.



It was a lovely evening, and we felt privileged to be a part of it. Thanks, Mary — and happy birthday, Jean!

Back when we were sea bean farmers ...

Earlier this summer, we spent a lovely week in a house on the Annisquam River in Gloucester. The Annisquam is tidal and feeds into the Atlantic, so the terrain changed four times a day.

The difference between high and low tide was about ten feet:



At low tide, we spent a lot of time on the tiny beach, discovering all kinds of interesting finds.

My dad was particularly interested in the live mussels that appeared under the dock. I admired his adventurousness, but this is a man who forages interesting fungi, fries them up for lunch, and then refers to identification guides. I pointed to a recent red tide warning, and suggested we look elsewhere for seafood.

And then we discovered the treasure at the bottom of the garden.

I've made mention here before about sea beans, salty, green-bean-like veggies occasionally found in WholeFoods for $10 a pound. (Luckily, a lightweight fistful goes a long way.)



One low-tide afternoon, I was checking out the tidepools when I spotted something familiar.



Sea beans! A whole field of them!

I dragged The Boy down to take a look, and he was equally impressed. We tried a couple — perfectly crunchy, salty, beany — and took some for my parents to sample.

The next day, we checked again — and there were more!



Sadly, that was also our last day, so we were unable to continue to track the speed or spread of their growth. Still, it's good to know these lovely little veggies grow wild in our area. Even if they are underwater most of the time.

Who moved my pork cakes?

Consider this a eulogy of sorts.

Last night we went to Tu y Yo, the bestest Mexican restaurant in Somerville (and beyond).

We know the menu pretty well at this point, so it didn't take us long to order.

The Boy chose the cochinita pibil and I asked for the tortitas de puerco, which are fist-sized patties of shredded pork in a sauce of xoconostle, a sweet-sour cactus fruit. This has become one of my favorite dishes, a perfectly balanced blend of flavors and textures.

When my parents were visiting, we brought them to Tu y Yo and my mom had them. She loved them too.

"I'm so sorry," our lovely waiter said. "I don't think we have any more."

Okay, I figured, they're out. Not surprising; we're coming up on a holiday weekend, and—

"We're changing the menu," he continued, "and that's one of the dishes we've discontinued."

What??

Okay, must recover. Let's go with the usual Plan B: the Pollo Yunkaax.

"Yes, that we have," our waiter said, looking strangely apologetic. "But ... um ... we'll be taking that off the menu soon as well."

And so, we come together to remember the loveliness of Pollo Yunkaax.



Kind of startling if you haven't encountered it before. So green! So vibrant! (That's the spinach and cream sauce, by the way).

Inside, its secret weapon: cuitlocoche.



The menu at Tu y Yo describes cuitlocoche as "corn's black mushroom," which is a polite way of saying "a disease of maize caused by a pathogenic plant fungus." (Which would you rather eat?)

The flavor is neither mushroomy nor moldy; it has a light, fresh, subtle earthiness. Together with the moist chicken and the creamy sauce, it makes—um, made—for a perfect summer meal.

I ate extra-slowly, realizing this was probably the last time I'd get to taste this particular dish.

The Boy consoled me with forkfuls of his fabulous pibil.



As usual, the beans were divine.



So, Tu y Yo, I have just two questions:

1) Can I get the recipe for the tortitas de puerco (and a source for xoconostle)?

2) Do you need someone to taste-test the new menu??