Potatoes Anna

I bought a bag of Yukon Gold’s at the grocery store the other day fully intending to create the classic french potato dish known as “pommes anna” or “Anna Potatoes.” The attraction, I believe is obvious.  And, naturally, my kitchen idol Alice Waters has instructions on page 103 of the softcover Chez Panisse Menu Cookbook, and thus I was going to launch into the brave new world of foods named for me (nope, not a narcissist, why do you ask?).

But bowing under the heavy weight of many pictures to edit and CD’s to burn, I decided that I’d cut the potatoes into pieces and roast them in the oven drizzled in olive oil, with salt and freshly ground black pepper and rosemary needles sprinkled liberally over the top.  The rosemary is from my very own bush, which, after sort of languishing all summer apparently decided that it likes it colder.  Who knew?

I’m still calling them potatoes Anna though.  My rationale? I’m Anna, and I made a potato dish, so potatoes Anna is whatever the h-e-double toothpicks I decide it is.  (not actual swearing by the way unless you spell it out in your head and then say what you spelled… I was just talking about toothpicks, whatever you see is your problem).

I’m serving them with wild caught salmon, courtesy of Whole Foods.

Jody’s pairing the potatoes with a New York Strip Steak that he grilled in our Le Cruset Grill pan.

and we added a salad of mixed greens with a Roquefort Vinaigrette (only I subbed blue cheese) and plated it looks like this:

And I accompanied all of it with a lovely Yellow Tail Reisling.

Today's Randomness

So did you hear I started a new blog today?  Random, right?

I had a three shoot day which always makes me tired and sort of hyper-observant at the same time.


Playing outside with my dogs despite the 22 degree weather.

Seeing Cormac McCarthy’s “The Road” on the “books for cooks” shelf at Target (my apologies to all of you who have seen the movie or read the book).

Reading Ben Witherington’s excellent take on Downey’s Sherlock Holmes, which I recommend despite the fact that he called Doyle’s lady foil “Irena” Adler instead of “Irene.”  Ben, Ben, what am I going to do with you?

Passing a fairly demure older gal as I was coming out of Target and hearing an award winning burp from the same vicinity (I won’t say it was her, but it sure wasn’t me!).

Having the guy at Starbucks ask me where I was from because I replied “no worries” when he apologized for the wait.

Breaking the “rules” of photography and taking pictures into the sun.

Reveling in the lens flare.

Enjoying the quiet of woods asleep for the winter, bathed in a winter afternoon sunset.