Shouldn’t your face cream be as clean as the food you put in your body? Ideally yes, but it’s not always the case. In today’s episode, Emily Yeston, co-founder of Doré, joins us to talk about clean skincare and how her company is bringing that to French pharmacy staples in a safe way. Emily discusses her journey transitioning from digital media into the beauty industry with her French business partner Garance Doré and how her own skin challenges inspired her to create effective yet gentle skincare products. She delves into the formulation process, providing insights into common problematic ingredients and how Doré formulates with safety and efficacy in mind. Most importantly, the results speak for themselves. Much like seeking out authenticity and terroir in a fine wine, Doré takes the same approach to clean eating–for your face, which ultimately leads to a glowy complexion.

In this episode we talk about:

• Emily’s background and how she transitioned from media to skincare with her French business partner, Garance
Doré
• The origin of French pharmacy skincare and how Doré set out to modernize it
• Why origin and source of ingredients matter in skin care & how she & Garance formulated their products to be
clean
• A breakdown of the big difference between EU & US ingredient safety and why Doré defers to the EU
• Travel hacks to keep your skin healthy and glowing while in transit

Resources:
Instagram: @Doré, @em_note @garancedore
Website: www.wearedore.com
Get 10% off your order with Doré: click here.

The post In Search of Flavor, Episode 35: Emily Yeston of Doré on French Clean Skincare appeared first on Liz Caskey Culinary and Wine Experiences.

It’s simple, flavor-forward, and most often centered around seasonal local produce. I love dishes with only a handful of ingredients (or less) that celebrate their inherent flavors. I am particularly obsessed with vegetables and coaxing them into blissful concoctions.

For many years, though, I never gave much thought to what my cooking style was. It was a mish mash of so many things. I loved cooking world cuisines at home and bounced around from one to the next in my own kitchen. Indian? No, wait! Vietnamese. Hold on, now Mexican! And on and on.

A major turning point in the evolution of my own taste, and one of my most important culinary aha moments, was during a trip to San Francisco in 2008. I had arranged for us to dine with friends at the Zuni Cafe, the restaurant of the late chef Judy Rodgers. I had been gifted her cookbook the previous Christmas and was completely enthralled (okay, obsessed) with her cooking philosophy of “less is more”. I studied the book, and cooked from it, like a textbook, trying wrap my head around this approach.

Dinner at Zuni was incredibly simple; perhaps you could even say stripped down. We ordered perfectly grilled wild salmon, Zuni’s famous salt-cured, fire-roasted whole chicken, the creamiest mashed potatoes, and the crispiest gem lettuce salad with a perky vinaigrette that made every flavor pop. The dishes were so honorable in their origins, and totally respected in their preparation, that the result was a level of intensity and succulence that was mind-blowing. As we savored every morsel, a collective wave of silence washed over the table. Between sips of wine, we ate, almost as if it was a group meditation, until everything had been devoured.

For me as a cook, it was a culinary epiphany as to how simple, delicious, and satisfying food could be.
 
 

 
 
Back in Santiago, that experience of Zuni lingered in my mind, like a flavor compass, for many years. I was determined to find this same freshness and flavor in Chile. After all, our climate is nearly identical to California with an abundance of seasonal, fresh produce year-round.

I have always been a farmers market goer and find so much inspiration in them. As the popularity of our market tours in Santiago grew, and I frequented them almost daily, I continued to train and hone my instincts as I cooked from them for our guests, my friends, and my husband. I was essentially teaching myself to cook with the seasons.

I slowly surrendered and let my intuition and palate take the reigns. I stopped using recipes as a crutch and started using them only to springboard to my own preparations. I learned how to salt correctly (a valuable life skill!). I started listening to the produce on market day and let it “speak to me”. As I walked past the piles of perfectly stacked tomatoes, rosy-hued peaches, and fragrant bunches of basil in summer, for example, the dishes of lunch would appear like a vision in my mind. I could, quite literally, taste the end result and intuitively knew where everything needed to go.

Over time, I became a sort of “vegetable whisperer” and loved any challenge of seeking out the right preparation to magnify the charms of a purple potato, a tender stalk of asparagus, a humble Jerusalem artichoke, just-picked spring fava beans, and many more. I also started to search for that same freshness and seasonality in my cheeses, fish, bread, wine…pretty much everything that crossed my plate and was poured in my glass. The less-is-more philosophy wasn’t only limited to the table, my kitchen and wine cellar…it infiltrated pretty much my entire world.
 
 

 
 
One constant I have learned from market cooking and being a lifetime student of cooking is that good cooking requires good ingredients as the starting point. Period.

The same could be said for making wine, cheese, and really any “craft” where organic materials are used and permuted by man’s hands. When you take care of the ingredients and harvest them at their peak flavor and sweetness, little needs to be done to them other than exalting their natural flavor. This doesn’t necessarily mean they are not labor intensive nor do you sacrifice technique. Saving time is not eliminated necessarily either (sometimes it’s even more involved), but the end result is always exquisite.

Today I find it hard to cook without thinking about where all the ingredients come from. There is truly no greater luxury than knowing where your food is grown (even you maybe even know the farmer!), who makes your cheese, your olive oil, your bread, how the meat is raised. You could have the simplest dinner of roast chicken, grilled vegetables, and a garden salad but that meal’s story and its flavors run so deep and are full of meaning. A simple meal becomes a symphony; a feast to be celebrated for no reason other than it’s inherent vibrancy.
 
 

 
 
Our family lives a totally urban lifestyle here in downtown Santiago. While I hit the markets every week, any attempt at planting our own garden project is destined for our (very narrow) terraces. This has been a major source of frustration for me. I dream of walking in a garden, not bending over (and fighting vertigo) to water my plants and be with them. Being surrounded by green, by nature, brings a soothing peace that I am craving more and more frequently.

Fortunately, we are blessed to have good friends, Rodrigo & Silvia, who live in the countryside south of Santiago when we need an escape from city life. They love to cook and entertain as much as we do, so visiting them is a total pleasure. The agenda never involves anything other than “hanging out” over a late breakfast, putzing around their garden, cooking in their beautiful kitchen, drinking a lot of good wine, and having many good conversations over a shared love of exquisite food and life.

Pretty much, the perfect weekend.

The garden is Silvia’s work of art. Encased by pircas, stone walls made by an ancient Incan technique of arranging stones with nothing to hold them together other than their own weight, the beds are meticulously planted and rotated on a seasonal base with dozens of varieties of herbs, vegetables and fruits. Silvia herself is quite the force to reckon with; she’s one of those renaissance women who can do anything and everything. She’s a passionate cook, an expert gardener (vegetables, flowers, and plants), a loving mom, an interior decorator who oversaw the entire interior design of her gorgeous home, among many other titles. Her huerta, though, is where her creativity, quite literally, blossoms. I want to live in it every time we visit. I come home pumped to start my own garden project someday soon.

When we cook at Silvia and Rodrigo’s, like at our home, the seasons and weather dictate the menu, which is as important in cooking as the seasonality of produce. Nothing is planned too far ahead of time. Rather, we default to the garden, the weather that particular day, what wines we want to drink (always an important consideration!), if we have meat or fish, and of course, we bring “goodies” from Santiago like fresh seafood (ironically not easy to find in the countryside even given Chile’s coastline), artisan cheeses, and my weakness, French macarons.

Garden or market cooking is something I often find that many people despair with as a way of cooking. It’s too “freestyle” if you don’t have some basic tenets of cooking in place. I personally find it to be totally liberating in every sense. It gives me the chance to indulge my spontaneity and be creative with what’s on hand, something I overlook being the planner I am. Sometimes, going with the creative flow and following my instincts from the market or garden is exactly what I need.

Having access to a fresh market, or even better a garden, bursting with fresh produce makes it fairly easy to cook this way. You just take a little walk, choose what is ripe, or whatever calls you, then head to the kitchen, review what’s on hand in the pantry, and then pull it all together to optimize the flavor. Technique comes into play depending on the season, if it’s hot or cold out, how long you want to be in the kitchen, but overall the mantra is “keep it simple and respect the natural flavors”. What I truly love about this form of cooking is that you pick whatever looks good that day and listo, your meal is already halfway there.
 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 
During our cooking weekends with Rodrigo & Silvia, we prepare a line up of many dishes but the main event is centered around the long Saturday lunch, a typical event in Chile every weekend. Given the amount of wine involved, this works perfectly since a siesta after is always needed.

One winter weekend in late August, we met and staged a feast that started with some beautiful baby carrots and beets I had spotted. They were begging to be scrubbed with their skins on and roasted in some peppery local olive oil. We tossed them with flor de sal from Cahuil and fresh thyme from the garden.

I volunteered to make my favorite (French) salad: steamed leeks (in their peak sweetness in August in Chile) with a mustardy vinaigrette. I pan-fried delicate sole fillets I had sourced from my fish monger, Don Raul, at Mercado Central and whipped up a creamy shallot sauce that was absolutely perfect for that cold day. The fish was succulent and velvety. I am going to digress, but could someone please tell me why cold weather makes my body beg for cream and butter!!! I don’t know why but it does!!

Rodrigo had arrived that morning from the market in town with chagual, an evergreen perennial that grows on the hillsides in central Chile. In the countryside they core it, peel it and shred it as a raw salad. It has a texture similar to cabbage but slightly more fibrous with a neutral taste. He served it with chopped cilantro, and dressed the salad only with a squeeze of lemon juice and a pinch of sea salt.

During another visit, most recently in the summer, the garden was in full swing. That Saturday morning, I meandered out alone after breakfast to forage for some ripe cherry tomatoes on the vines climbing the garden wall. I was dreaming of tomato salad for lunch. While harvesting, I noticed some Tuscan kale needing to be used asap or it would die in the upcoming heat wave. I carefully harvested the leaves, still firm, placing them in a wicker basket.

Harvesting produce has become a zen activity for me as it engages my hands and senses while quieting my monkey mind. I was in my element snipping away kale and then pimientos padrones, padron peppers, to saute in olive oil and sea salt for tapas in the evening. I returned to plucking more of the sweet cherry tomatoes. I popped one in my mouth, still warm-from-the-sun. It was as sweet as a grape, almost candy-like. I stood tucked away among the tomato vines for a few minutes, just noshing away and savoring that lingering taste of summer in my mouth.

That afternoon for lunch, I sliced the kale into a fine chiffonade and tossed it (by hand) with a hearty handful of freshly grated Manchego-style sheep’s milk cheese from Patagonia. After, I simply laced the salad right before serving with piquant olive oil, sea salt, and black pepper and the secret ingredient…a little lemon zest. Divino.

We slow-roasted Patagonian hake fillets in the oven with a citrusy sauce studded with herbs from the garden. The cherry tomatoes were halved into a salad with three kinds of basil and really only needed a drizzle of olive oil, sherry vinegar, and pinch of salt to exalt their flavor. As the mercury hit 36C that afternoon, we sat down at 3pm to eat (after the prerequisite dip in the pool and obligatory appetizers and cocktails). Lunch was light, fragrant, and paired perfectly with the line up of crisp white wines from the south of Chile.

During that morning cooking session, in an inspired moment, I decided to leverage the last red currants I had brought from Santiago. I recruited Silvia to dust off the gelato machine and help me make a red currant sorbet accented with elderflower cordial. I know what you are thinking…elderflower cordial??? Yes, it was a long shot to find this in the middle of the Chilean countryside, but I was also in the company of Rodrigo, who’s a skilled barman with probably the best stocked bar in all of Chile! He came back smiling with a bottle of it in his hand. We were in business!! The red currant sorbet was a showstopper and worked wonderfully as a palate cleanser before we detoured into the intensity of the espresso and macarons.
 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 
Spending time cooking from the garden always shows me, time and time again, that the garden is about so much more than just the food being grown. A garden is a direct connection to the cycle of life, to nature, and the universal force that flows through everything. In this day and age, when we are more separated from nature than ever, as soon as we dig our hands into the soil, or even walk through a garden, a silent transformation begins inside. Witnessing the cycle of nature from seed to germination, sprouting, growth into a young plant, flowering, and then giving its fruit to sustain us, this, my friends, is nothing short of amazing! A garden reminds us that we are part of a nature. It is the cycle of life and the creative process lived in front of our eyes.

The garden also gives us the privilege of learning to eat with the seasons and cook a variety of products year round which can be a defining force in our own eating and health. Eating with the seasons is totally empowering. It completely rewires our brains and bodies to sync with nature. Receiving those treasures are a constant delight, along with challenge of showing them at their best. It becomes another level of self care, of connection with our friends/family/community, love for our earth, and of course, depth of flavor. I do believe that we should appreciate the hedonistic and pleasurable aspects of eating…always!

As I now step into the next chapter of my own relationship to food and how it’s grown, I am really studying if I can have an urban garden. How? Where? Could we start a community garden here among friends and neighbors? If not immediately, who are the organic farmers I know and how can I support them more? How do I convince my suegros (in-laws) to plant a garden for next spring/summer? And well, if none of that pans out, I will just have to make peace with our terraces and start there–and go visit with Rodrigo & Silvia in the campo again.
 
 

 
 
Red Currant Elderflower Sorbet

This sorbet is a tongue dazzler. It is barely sweet and serves as the perfect ending to a light meal in warm weather or works well as a palate cleanser. You could also spike it with a shot of vodka or gin for a delicious “slushy” at cocktail hour or by the pool on a hot afternoon.

Red currants are far more tart than its berry cousins (blueberries, strawberries, raspberries, and blackberries). They appear in our markets in late December/early January right before the summer heat crushes the delicate fruit. Currants are not pleasant to eat raw with their chewy seeds. They need to be strained and made into a puree before being transformed into a gorgeous jelly or sorbet.

In this recipe, I was looking for an undertone that was not citrus. I arrived to elderflowers, remembering that they always go nicely with lemon (also tart), for a distinct floral note. You could also take this in a citrusy direction using orange zest and Cointreau.

If you choose to serve this as a dessert and want it a little sweeter, you can up the sugar to 375 grams, or more to taste (warning: you will cover the delicate berry flavor as you up the sugar). The best texture is achieved by using a gelato machine. Just a little tip here, remember that sorbet does not hold its texture very well once in the freezer–the air disappears quite rapidly and since it doesn’t have any fat to hold the texture, the ice crystals freeze and the texture gets icy.

My suggestion? Make it and enjoy it the same day.

Ingredients

750 grams red currants, de-stemmed and washed
250 grams caster sugar
500 ml water
2-3 tablespoons elderflower cordial
1 pasteurized egg white, beaten to a stiff white foam
 
 
Method
 
 
Remove red currants from stems and wash. Put in a pan with 3 tbsp water and bring to the boil, lower the heat, cover and simmer for 5 mins until softened. Push through a sieve to make a purée. Alternatively, if you have a powerful mixer (Blendtec or Vitamix), you can blitz the berries in the blender and push through a sieve. You will have a deep reddish-pink puree.

Stir in the elderflower cordial and set aside. If you heated the mixture, let it cool completely.

Put the caster sugar in a pan with the water and leave over a low heat for 5 mins until the sugar completely dissolves. Raise heat and boil for 10 mins to form a simple syrup. Completely cool before continuing.

Mix the puree and syrup together and place in the bowl of a gelato machine. Follow the machine instructions to operate. It took us 35-40 minutes to churn for the sorbet.

Towards the end of the churning, add the beaten egg white (make sure it forms soft, white peaks before adding). This technique will add creaminess and air to the sorbet. This little “trick” maintains the soft texture rather than having it become a granita. Do remember to use a pasteurized egg white!!

Continue to churn for another 10 minutes or so after you add the egg white, until the sorbet is very creamy. Place in the freezer until ready to serve.

Serves 8
 
 

 

The post Elemental Eating appeared first on Liz Caskey Culinary and Wine Experiences.

I am standing, or better said, paralyzed on a steep mountainside in the Chilean Patagonia. To the west in the distance, the Torres del Paine (the three granite towers from which the park takes it name) are shrouded in dark, threatening clouds.

We are already a couple hours into this trek and it’s only been pura subida. An icy wind whips against our backs. Gazing up at the summit, our progress feels like we are inching along. There’s no path here. Just loose stones, gravel, and boulders with patches of snow and ice.

Daniel, our guide, suggests zigzagging compactly in this last section as it becomes more vertical. I look below and see our hotel, Awasi Patagonia, nearly 1,000 vertical meters below. We are almost at the top of Sierra Contreras, the mountains rising directly behind the hotel. Somehow, those mountains didn’t look quite so tall from the lodge. A strong wind gust rips again, making me wobble and almost I loose my balance. I slide and catch myself.

What on earth did I sign up for?!

I momentarily curse my decision to have embarked on this full day “adventure” trek. This is supposed to be fun? Surveying my options, there’s no easy way up nor down. The only solution is that I have to get a handle on this situation. NOW. I collect myself and focus. I follow Daniel by stepping in his footsteps. I concentrate on taking that one step with all my intention. I don’t look up nor down. I stay totally present. I breathe deep and have some faith that I can do it and I will (eventually) get there.

After what felt like an eternity on that mountainside, we arrive at the summit of Sierra Contreras and are rewarded with a stunning 360-degree panoramic vista of Sierra Baguales, the Torres, the Horns of Paine, Sarmiento Lake, rolling valleys and the golden prairie of estepa extending towards El Calafate, Argentina. I feel like the last woman on earth. A lone condor circles low overhead keeping a cautious eye on us. In reality, this was only the half point of the trek (getting off the mountain proved to be equally harrowing), but it was the mental tipping point of the excursion for me. I had conquered myself. During this trip to Patagonia, our sixth time (if I haven’t lost count…), I would conquer myself again…and again.

We returned to our villa at Awasi in the late afternoon with our private, wood-fired hot tub heated up and bubbling away with a dry sparkling wine in an ice bucket. I could have hardly imagined a better set up after the severe thumping my quads had just taken. Awasi is remote. Very remote. From our home in Santiago, it had taken us nearly 12 hours to get there, door-to-door. Entering their reserve, partitioned off from the Tercera Barranca Estancia, the sensation is perhaps the same isolation and grandeur of nature that the European settlers felt when they arrived in these far-flung lands over a century ago.

Remoteness is the big draw and reason why people make the journey. The twelve luxury yet eco-friendly villas (860 sq. ft. each) were built with native lenga (beech) wood and each has a sweeping view of the Torres del Paine. The view of those granite towers and the Paine Massif is haunting. Inside the villas are planked with the same wood to mimic the surrounding beech forest with handsome, warming touches like sheep’s wool skins on the floor and blue oversized armchairs. The villas are discreet and blend into the surroundings of the reserve. Here it’s not uncommon to see guanacos (Patagonian llamas), rheas, foxes, condors, and according to guides, even Puma tracks. I sincerely hoped not to have a close encounter with a Puma walking back from dinner that evening.

The main lodge sits slightly above the villas with picture windows framing that bewitching view. Awasi Patagonia is now a Relais & Chateaux property and is the most intimate and exquisite of all the properties in Chilean Patagonia today. With a staff-to-client ratio of 3:1, the service is outstanding as is the cuisine, headed up by the dynamic duo of Federico Ziegler and his sous chef Víctor Vilugrón. Every evening, after a hard day of excursions and being exposed to Patagonia’s fickle climate, you sit down to a Michelin-star level restaurant with a tasting menu that creatively incorporates indigenous ingredients, local flavors and often foraged foods. Everything is made from scratch on-site: the bread made daily from a collection of different sour dough starters to the exquisite desserts, including a chocolate cake scented with pines from the property. The cuisine is refined yet experimental, pushes the envelope yet is sufficiently familiar, and most interestingly, channels the rugged Patagonian landscape outside the window onto your plate.

The next morning I awoke very sore. Sore as in getting up or sitting down from any position was near impossible. A day of restoration was in order. Plus, we wanted another afternoon to relish that view from our villa, followed by another hot tub / sparkling wine session and, most likely, a long siesta. We went to ride on the far side of Sarmiento Lake in an ancient lenga forest. Many of these native deciduous grow to be huge, like redwoods, and date back hundreds of years. They possess a particular elegance and presence that I find very zen. Tragically during the fire in late December 2011, which burned over 40,000 acres of forest, many of these trees perished. Somehow, though, this particular forest had been spared.

Our gaucho was a quiet, pensive guy who was very at one with his horses. It was exactly the energy we needed that morning. He silently led us across crystalline babbling streams, weaving the horses through the lenga forest covered in old man’s beard. Many trees bore clusters of pan de indio, a sweet, spongy funghi found only in the Patagonian region. This local delicacy foraged by Natalinos and the cooks at Awasi was prepared as a pickle for dinner that night. We rested up because the next day we had a very long trek ahead of us. A trek that I had been putting off for over 18 years to repeat.

We arose to blue skies, not a single cloud, and no wind. The Universe was providing the perfect opportunity to tackle the hardest trek in the park to the base of the Torres del Paine. I had done the trek many years before as a study abroad student in Chile in 1998. On that first trip as an ill-prepared, non-camping backpacker in the park, our group had set off in not the best of conditions: high winds, no guide, non-sufficient food and water, no map, and zero idea of what to expect. Even in the greatest conditions, this trek is quite demanding. On that trip as a student, in the “Valle de los Vientos”, a windy pass, we had encountered nearly 90km wind gusts. Mind you this is a narrow stretch of the trail with a sheer drop off (no guard rails) thousands of vertical feet below. Then, towards the end to reach the base of the towers, scaling the vertically stacked boulders proved to dizzying. Not being much of a hiker at the time, compounded with no guide, I nearly lost it. I came home unscathed but mentally traumatized. I was acutely aware of the real danger you could get in trekking. It had been one of the longest days of my life. I swore I would never do it again.

My husband on the other hand, a real mountain goat, had been lobbying for this hike for years during many trips to the park. With the Awasi set-up of a private (experienced guide), an appropriate amount of food and water (that the guide even carries, how wonderful!), hiking sticks, proper shoes, and no wind, I finally caved. Deep down, I knew I had prove to myself it could be different. It could even be a wonderful experience.

The trek is the longest in the Torres del Paine at 19 kilometers round trip. Keeping a good pace, that means eight full hours of hiking. Even if you just walked leisurely (not considering several serious climbing/cardio parts), that’s nearly a half marathon on your feet. It’s also a trail that you do twice: you ascend and descend the same valley. More than the stamina, which I knew I had, my challenge would be in facing my fear of the Wind Valley, that vertigo, and those big, scary boulders.

I decided to employ the same strategy as on Sierra Contreras. As we got to the first hairy section, the Valle de los Vientos, I just took a deep breath and moved through it.

“Don’t look down. Don’t look up. Just concentrate on where you step. Daniel knows what he’s doing. Francisco (my husband) is behind me. All cool, Liz, all cool.”

And like that….it was over. Not a single breeze blew through that valley the entire time (I gave a nod of gratitude to Mother Nature). We hiked peacefully for a long time alongside the river and then through the forest. As the terrain became rockier and higher approaching the base of the Towers, I knew what was coming. The boulders still had snowpack melting which formed gushing streams diverting around the stones. It was muddy, slippy, and even icy in parts. We had to crisscross back and forth over the water, leaping at times. The guys naturally read the best line to follow so I let them show me the way: where and how to step. When unsure, I stopped to assess and accepted a steady helping hand. My walking stick was my BFF. Near the top, I didn’t look down at the huge rock pile hundreds of feet below. I was too busy figuring out my footing in knee-high snow on an edge. Once again, the summit felt so close yet so far away. We arrived to those magnificent granite towers stretching 3,000 vertical feet into the blue sky above, like they had for millions of years. Nature like this is so incredibly humbling. We often forget that in our modern lives where we look more at our phones than at the sky. At that moment, human life felt so small and fragile against something so large and eternal.

Daniel set up a delicious lunch on an improvised “table”, a large boulder, complete with a checkered table cloth. The warm sweet pea soup was incredibly nourishing. We absorbed the sun’s warm energy and our weary feet were grateful for much needed rest (only 10km  to get “home” afterwards). After a noisy Brazilian group left, the silence became deafening. Occasionally a boulder would shake loose and barrel with a hollow echo towards the frozen lagoon. As it hit the water (or ice), it sounded like a loud clap of thunder.

The return trip was easier. I visualized the complicated parts and moved with more assurance. I actually was, wow!, enjoying myself. On the last downhill stretch, in the bliss of the nearing the finish, I gained too much speed gawking at the stunning view of the shiny turquoise Nordensjkola lake below. I took one distracted step and rammed my hiking boot at full speed into a very large rock. Mierda!!! Pain, pain, pain in my right big toe. I did the “OMG that hurt” jig and tried shake it off, keeping the pace. It was throbbing. Back at the hotel, peeling off my socks, I was relieved that nothing was broken, but definitely some damage had been done. I had stunned (rather, killed) my toenail from the blunt hit. It was already turning deep purple from the trauma. A couple of months later, it would completely fall off as a new one grew in. I had to laugh at my souvenir–a physical reminder of having conquered myself on those Patagonian mountainsides. The good news: the toenail would grow back. The slight pain and discomfort was worth it for the huge breakthrough I had experienced on this trip.

We bid farewell to Awasi the next day and started the long journey home to Santiago; our toddler was anxiously awaiting our return. As we crossed kilometers of golden estepa, I reflected on the few past days . I didn’t have anything to show for it (other than my purple toenail) but what mattered was what I had proven to myself; what I was capable of doing.

Isn’t this what we seek when we travel? Besides a little adventure, we want to push ourselves beyond our comfort zone, no? We have to stretch to grow and believe in what we can achieve. This is an analogy that applies not just to trekking but to life in general. It is a way of approaching everything. It is a way of being. Patagonia had simply been the catalyst to help me reconnect with my inner confidence and knowing that I can succeed at whatever I decide to commit to. It was profoundly empowering.

Back in the civilization, I continue to keep conquering myself, again and again. The process is pretty simple: focus on the goal, stay present, and always take one step at a time.

Chupe de Centolla (Creamy King Crab)

This dish appears on the permanent Awasi Patagonia lunch menu. Chef Federico agreed to generously share his recipe with us as we loved it. Chupe in Chile can often be synonymous with a gloppy, heavy casserole-type dish. This version was light and succulent with a copious amount of king crab meat and the addition of savory vegetables. King Crab is in season during the spring and summer months in the southern waters of Magallanes. While this chupe can be served family style in a single dish, I prefer the individual ramekins. It’s too yummy to share.

3 tablespoons butter

1/3 cup fresh red bell pepper, minced

1 clove of garlic, minced

1 medium onion en pluma, thinly cut with the grain

1 teaspoon paprika

1/2 cup fish or seafood stock (if neither available, use vegetable stock)

3 tablespoons heavy cream

½ cup fresh (white) bread crumbs

½ cup good quality grated Parmesan

1 teaspoon leaves of fresh oregano

3 tablespoons fresh chives, minced

1 ¼ pounds (500grs) cooked king crab

Juice of half a lemon

Sea salt and fresh black pepper to taste

Method:

Pre-heat the oven to 190C / 375 F.

Heat a fry pan and melt the butter. Add the garlic, red pepper, and onion, sweating until they are cooked but not browned. Add the paprika and fry for 1 minute. Incorporate the stock and cream, whisking. Reduce to low heat and cook for five minutes. Remove from heat and let cool slightly.

Add the bread crumbs, most of the Parmesan (reserve a little for the topping), and let sit for 10 minutes to absorb some of the liquid while the flavors develop. After, gently fold in the fresh herbs. Combine with the crab meat, lemon juice, and season with salt and pepper to taste.

Divide among four deep ramekins or in greda (Chilean clay pots). Sprinkle the remaining Parmesan on top. Bake for 20 minutes, or until the cheese on top is melted and bubbling. Serve hot, ideally with a crisp Chardonnay.

Four Portions.

The post A Patagonian Crusade appeared first on Liz Caskey Culinary and Wine Experiences.

The last day of our Southern Cone Sampler tour, we woke up to glorious sun streaming through the hotel curtains. A mixture of clouds and golden rays illuminated swathes of the blue-grey waters of the Rio de la Plata. It was that kind of pure light that only appears after a stormy night.

We set off to visit the Villa Biarritz market located right off the Rambla, in Punta Carretas–one of the largest and oldest markets in the Uruguayan capital. Ferias, open-air markets, are a tradition in Montevideo and nearly every neighborhood has them at least twice a week. These outdoor markets take place rain or shine, no matter what the weather is up to. The vendors never go on strike and even work on holidays. They are always there selling their fruits, vegetables, eggs, cheeses, fish, and meats to Montevideanos.

The morning was blustery and brisk and it was the first time I needed a scarf in months. Perhaps it a preview for the scores of leeks, gourds, potatoes, and citrus I’d see in the market, signaling the change of seasons to cooler months ahead. To get to the heart of the market, where the food stalls are, we had to skirt a branch that has sprouted up with all kinds of “stuff”: toys, household items, vendors hawking colorful mate gourds (which every single person had in hand sucking through a straw). Villa Biarritz reminds me so much of European markets (particularly French) that I get nostalgic even writing about it. Certainly it stems from Uruguay’s strong European heritage (many Uruguayans are only second generation of European immigrants) from Spain, Italy, France, Germany, and Switzerland. It’s quite the cultural melting pot.

Here, market vendors neatly arrange their seasonal produce so that it looks like a still life. Butchers, cheese mongers, fishmongers all sell their goods from refurbished, and miraculously still running, 1940s vintage trucks that just add another layer of charm to the experience. As Uruguayans haggled over cuts of beef and which is the best artisan morcilla (sweet black sausage with walnuts) or chorizo (sausage) for their afternoon asado, at the next truck, the cheese truck (my favorite), clients lined up for slices of artisan cheeses from Colonia, particularly the ubiquitous Queso Colonia, the base of the beloved dessert/cheese course, Martin Fierro which is paired with Dulce de Membrillo (quince paste). At the next truck, the poultry guy sold milanesas (breaded cutlets) like hotcakes. Along the stalls with homemade goodies, there was a casera selling pascualina, a classic covered quiche made with eggs and Swiss chard, frequently gracing Uruguayan tables. All of us made a pit stop to stock up on one, cannot-live-without-it item: dulce de leche. The literal translation is “candied milk”, and that pretty much sums up this milk caramel. This stuff begs to be slathered on toast and many Uruguayan desserts have it as the centerpiece. Of course, you can also just eat it (shamelessly) with a spoon. In fact, at this market, it was sold from huge tubs (yes, you read that right) of easily 30+ kilos.

Locals wheeled their little trolleys around filled to the brim with all the fresh ingredients and stoppped to chat with each friendly casero (vendor). Caseros are often farmers themselves, or sometimes a middleman who’s had a stall for decades with his family. These are relationships with people you have for years; they see patrons’ kids grow up and then bring their own kids back to this same market.

Walk through any market anywhere in the world (not just in Montevideo), and you quickly understand a lot about the country you’re in and its people. It always, always starts with the food. People everywhere need to eat and nothing says more about a culture than the seasonal foodstuffs, preparations, and folks shopping. Since we were heading to the airport later, the frustrated cook in me could only ogle the produce and buy a few portable goodies to take home (like dulce de leche, of course). During our stroll though, I became obsessed with the adorable round zucchini I kept seeing everywhere, the last of the summer season. Uruguayans just love to fill them with ground meat and top them with creamy cheese. It’s the perfect one-dish oven meal. Paired with a robust Tannat, it’s Uruguayan comfort food at its finest.

When we landed back in Santiago, guess what was the first thing I prepared? You guessed it. Here’s the recipe. Good thing we also thought to slip a few extra bottles of Tannat into our suitcase, too.

Stuffed Round Zucchini

6-8 medium round zucchini

500grs. Ground beef

½ cup grated (mild) cheese

1 onion, finely chopped

2 cloves of garlic, minced

2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

2 tablespoons minced parsley

1 egg, beaten

1 egg yolk

1/3 cup fresh bread crumbs

Sea salt and black pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 190°C/375°F.

In a frying pan over medium, heat the olive oil. Caramelize the onions and garlic until golden brown. Add with the meat and rest of the ingredients.

Prepare the zucchini. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Blanch the zucchini for 4 minutes. Drain and refresh in cold water. Let cool to handle then scoop out the pulp and reserve the shells and tops.

Fill the zucchini shells with the meat and top them. Place in a deep oven pan and cover with aluminum foil. Bake for 20-25 minutes until meat is cooked through and zucchini is soft.

Remove the tops and sprinkle with the cheese. Turn the oven to broiler mode and gratin for about 5 minutes until golden and bubbling.

Makes 4 portions.

The post One Fall Day appeared first on Liz Caskey Culinary and Wine Experiences.

Meet Mark Gerrits. He’s the energy, and passion, behind Chile’s first bean-to-bar chocolate: ÓBOLO. Made right here in Santiago de Chile.

ÓBOLO is provoking a long-awaited, and very necessary, revolution in chocolate here in Chile. Prior to existing, chocolate was imported and mostly manipulated into sweet bonbons with remelted European chocolate. ÓBOLO is turning that playing field upside down. It’s Chile’s first, and only, bean-to-bar chocolate project. That means a bar of ÓBOLO chocolate only contains two ingredients: (organic) cacao and cane sugar.

ÓBOLO’s name is symbolic. Meaning gift, a synonym of regalo in Spanish, its origins can be traced back to ancient Greece where it also was the word for a coin. Fittingly, prior to the Spanish arrival to the New World, the cacao bean was used as currency for trade in Mesoamerica.  Gerrits also adds that, “I have a lot to be thankful and grateful for.  I am in debt for everything that Latin America has given me in the past 20+years. I would like to be able to say thanks and pay back a bit, and ÓBOLO is a way of doing it.  If I can contribute by inspiring a tectonic shift in the chocolate culture in Chile, improving quality and connecting the consumers to its roots in the rainforest, then that will be my grain of sand to the country.”

So how did a gringo like Mark get to making chocolate here, anyhow?

Gerrits has been living in Chile for over two decades during two separate stints from 1993 to 1999 and then in 2003 to present. In between, he lived in Ecuador where he discovered the fascinating world of cacao and chocolate in the rainforest. He worked with the cacao-producing communities for Yachana Gourmet (a direct trade, gourmet chocolate company) and got first hand experience in directly sourcing cacao from small farmers to transform those beans into a finished chocolate product for export. Around that time, he met Robert Steinberg, the co-founder of the outstanding San Francisco-based Scharffen Berger chocolate who was traveling to Ecuador to search for new sources of cacao beans. In particular, Steinberg was on a quest to procure the rare porcelana, a white cacao bean.

Having heard of Mark’s work with cacao producers in the Ecuadorian jungle, he outreached and they set off on epic adventure in search of those highly coverted porcelana beans. They traveled by canoe through Amazonian tributaries, trekking into the forest to meet locals, learn about their cacao, and sample beans.  While they never did find them, Gerrits unearthed something equally valuable—a friendship with Steinberg who became his chocolate mentor. He credits Steinberg with teaching him much about cacao and chocolate making; things he employs today with ÓBOLO.  As Gerrits points out, “The most significant lesson I learned from Steinberg is about cacao bean fermentation: How to do it properly and how it influences the final taste and quality of the chocolate. “

As a chocolate-maker, Mark sources his production from the central Peruvian jungle in “nano-lots”, bringing in several sacs of 64 kilos at a time. He found the organic farm sourcing his beans on a scouting trip to Peru in 2015. He selected them not only for the quality of the beans (flavors, aroma, fermentation, and genotype), but also the co-op’s governance, relationship with producers, and finally social and environmental impact. He has the beans selected, dried, and imported (via ship) to Chile. While this sounds easy enough, dealing with SAG (Chile’s agricultural police), is a huge hurdle no other chocolatero has done locally. Ever. Given the strict limitations on how organic goods can come into the country (Chile is essentially an island and free of many pests found elsewhere in the world), it took significant time, energy, and patience to navigate the red tape to get his dried cacao beans to Santiago.

Perservance, though, paid off. He received his precious cargo and was able to start his venture. Things have gone so well that he took the leap and quit his ten-year job at The Nature Conservancy to fully dedicate himself to ÓBOLO. Currently, he makes three bars: plain, with sea salt from Cahuil, and fresh nibs. He also sells freshly ground chocolate nibs, whole cacao beans, and is evaluating selling the cacao skins in the future for winter-time infusions (tea), given the health benefits of pure cacao.

According to Garrits, “Making a bean-to-bar chocolate is difficult.  Making a successful business out of bean to bar chocolate is even more difficult.  I respect and find inspiration in all of the bean-to-bar chocolate makers around the world who are following their dreams and sharing their passion with others, while trying to make a living out of it.”  He also mentions that his goal is to produce a world-class chocolate that can be enjoyed locally in Chile, and put Chile on the chocolate-making map. For the time being, he is focusing on sourcing the beans from Peru and growing his chocolate baby. Down the road, though, he doesn’t rule out single origin bars from Ecuador, Bolivia, and Colombia.

Not long ago, we met with Mark and his wife, Annie, at our home for wine, tapas, and an ÓBOLO (dessert) tasting. During our ramblings on life, food, wine, chocolate and Chile, we discussed if there really are discernable differences between varieties and origins of cacao beans, similar to grape varietals and terroir in wine.  Flavor obviously varies not only in the origin (between say Peru, Madasgascar and Java) but can potentially change from year-to-year. To this point, he had just received an importation of the 2015 harvest and is still working on test roasts and batches in order to identify the unique flavor and aromatic profile. We thought a “vertical” chocolate tasting of his two harvests, 2014 and 2015, would be incredibly fun.

While I don’t want to ruin your own impressions of ÓBOLO, because you HAVE to try it, the flavor is brisk and fruity with almost no bitterness or harshness in the aftertaste. It lingers and leaves your mouth clean. We also found some nuttiness in the ending. The mildness of the bar allows some of the gentler flavors of the beans to shine through. This was the first time both my husband and I truly sensed how a chocolate is born from a fruit. Yes, cacao is a fruit.

We’ve tried ÓBOLO with coffee and wine, and for our palates, wine wins every time. Sparkling wine, a variety of reds from Pinot Noir to Cabernet Franc, Carmenere, blends…all worked. This chocolate is truly one of the most wine friendly chocolates out there. Mark cited that many high-end wineries have started pairing their wines with his chocolate, too, for the same reasons. Dark, complex, fruity, low in sugar, it’s the perfect partner for a glass of Chilean red.

The night we got together, Mark had (beforehand) generously “sourced” me some samples of his 70% and 100% chocolate to let my culinary creativity run with ÓBOLO. While I initially had visions of recreating a Pierre Hermé layered chocolate dessert, after assessing options, ÓBOLO is so pure that I decided I had to take the road of least intervention in order to honor it’s flavor profile. That is, I only needed to play with texture. I decided to do a trio: moist classic US-style brownies with the 100% chocolate and the 70% for chocolate covered almonds and truffles. The truffles went in two directions: one nutty & fruity rolled in crushed pistachios and matcha powder; the other, intense and chocolaty rolled in crushed (ÓBOLO) nibs and flaky sea salt from the Argentine Patagonia (similar to Maldon). Both truffles were insanely good. Deep, deep, DEEP flavor. Clean. Fruity. Intense. Nutty. I loved them both, but the nibs-sea salt won (Mark agreed).

During our evening together, Mark said something that really resonated with my husband and I: “I have always found beauty and peace in observing the expert craftsperson working purposefully on their art and passion.  I find it noble, courageous and contributing.  I do believe that I have found my craft and passion with chocolate and ÓBOLO.”

We most definitely, too, think he has.

Chocolate Truffles

Makes about 16-18 truffles

These truffles actually get better in flavor the next day. Ideally make 12-24 hours ahead and keep in the frig in a tin, or wax paper-lined plastic container.

For the truffles:

4 cups premium dark chocolate like ÓBOLO (if in the US, Gerrits suggests companies like Rogue Chocolate), broken into small chunks

2/3 cup heavy cream, at room temperature

1/3 cup pistachios, toasted, shelled and pulsed in food processor to a find meal

1 tablespoon matcha powder (available from Asian grocers)

1/2 cup freshly ground cacao nibs

1 tablespoon sea salt (I used flaky crystals from the Argentine Patagonia (Chabut province) similar to Maldon, which would work nicely as a substitute)

In a large saucepan, bring 2 to 3 cups of water to a simmer. Create a warm water bath by placing a heatproof glass or stainless-steel bowl over the saucepan of simmering water.  Add the chocolate and heavy cream to the bowl. Mix well with a spatula to combine as the chocolate melts. Be gentle here when tempering chocolate!

Remove the bowl from the heat and transfer the chocolate mixture to a parchment paper–lined loaf pan or shallow bowl and cool completely to room temperature. Place in to the fridge for 90 minutes to solidify.

Using a small melon baller, or your hands, scoop out the truffle mixture and roll into 1-inch balls.

On a plate, place the ground pistachios and roll half the truffles in them, pressing the nuts gently into the surface. Using a sifter (or fine-mesh strainer), dust the truffles with the matcha powder.

Pulse the nibs and sea salt in a food processor to grind to a fine, even meal. Place on a plate and repeat the truffle-rolling process with the other half of the truffles.

Refrigerate until ready to serve.

I suggest letting them sit out at room temperature approximately 20-30 minutes before serving so they are tender in texture when you bite into them. Similar to decanting a wine (which you could do when you get the truffles out of the frig), you fully appreciate the flavors at room temperature. Eating a cold truffle will mute all that gorgeous fruity chocolaty expression.

The post The Chilean Chocolatero appeared first on Liz Caskey Culinary and Wine Experiences.

We had no longer taken off from the southern city of Puerto Montt and we were already preparing to land on the island of Chiloé, the fifth largest in South America. Twenty minutes in the air, to be exact. As the plane descended through wispy, bumpy clouds, we caught glimpses of the undulating hills covered with dense pine forests and green pastures by the sparkling sea. Chiloé may be only a ferry crossing (or now a short flight) from Chile’s southern lake district, but the archipelago is still a world away.

In fact, ask any Chilean about Chiloé and they will likely respond, “it’s magical”. This wet, emerald land cradled by the Pacific holds a special place in the country’s collective imagination, history, and cuisine. It certainly has a distinct flavor from the rest of Chile, and Chilotes still refer to mainland Chile as the “continent”.

Chiloé’s isolation creates its pristine culture, its romanticism, paired with the terrain and a rainy maritime climate. Wood and wool are used everywhere. Ferries still harbor cars, buses, and people back and forth across smaller islands and inlets. There are the rustic towns with their picturesque palafitos (houses mounted on stilts along the water’s edge), iconic wooden churches (16 of which are Unesco World Heritage sites), and homes constructed with ornate tejuelas (shaped wooden shingles). And then, there’s the cuisine. Oh, the food! Delectable tiny oysters, curanto (meat, potato and seafood stew), shellfish, salmon ceviche, one of the tastiest sheep’s milk cheese in Chile, and many creations with native potatoes. A closer look at Chilote culture also reveals a mythology of witchcraft, ghost ships and forest gnomes.

We had visited almost twenty years ago so it was high time to “rediscover” this corner of Chile. However, unlike other far-flung destinations like the Atacama Desert or Patagonia, Chiloé is certainly not an adrenaline-driven, nature-only destination. These magical islands seem to have been stopped in time, part of its allure. The islands’ natural pace also forces you to slow down. And clean air…what more can I say?

We landed on a typical Chilote, late winter day peppered with sun and rain showers. Rain, what a treat! We were so happy to see it, smell it, feel and hear it on the roof of the car and hotel. The air was heavily scented with eucalyptus, pine and that saline freshness belonging to the sea. I wished I could bottle it and take it home with me.

We based from Tierra Chiloé, the newest member of the Tierra Hotels in Chile, a petite lodge well-positioned on a bluff overlooking a quiet inlet. The hotel had floor to ceiling glass windows so we could savor the view from every angle. We lunched and decompressed in the living area and watched Mother Nature’s “show”. The sky would darken and the wind would howl. Then, it would rain like crazy for a few minutes. And, just like that, a few rays of sun would push through the clouds and a rainbow would appear. Like magic. Sometimes, we’d get just a peek of a rainbow slyly hiding across the fjord or tucked behind a hill. Another one we caught was a full glorious arch that landed near the hotel’s boat, Williche, bobbing in the waves below. In a sweet moment, seeing her first rainbow, our toddler, Micaela, reached her tiny had to the window pane trying to touch it. Rainbows are simply happiness. They are full of color, light…the magic of nature. What a divine way to return to the island.

For the next few days, we explored (more posts to come on Chiloé, there was quite a lot to see, do, and eat here!). Saturday in Castro, the largest town on the island, is market day. We had to go, of course! We made our way to the Mercado along the water’s edge and wandered the stalls hawking dried luche (seaweed), smoked meats and cholgas (type of tender mussel), papas topinabor (Jerusalem artichokes), glorious bunches of chard, and then, I saw them from afar…tiny brightly colored native potatoes. I could barely contain my excitement. The casera who sold them had them baby-sized with more than half a dozen varieties, something I’d never seen in Santiago. I mentally revised how much space we had left in the carry-on. I decided I could make room to take home a couple prized kilos of these jewels to remember Chiloé in my kitchen later.

With this inspiration from the south, upon return, I decided to create this potato salad. I love potato salads, particularly the French style that are vinaigrette-based rather than with mayonnaise, which tends to be a favorite in Chile but yields a heavier result. Here, other vegetables grown on the island are incorporated such as fava beans, peas, radishes, and Chilean hazelnuts (completely unlike European ones, earthy tasting and very crunchy). Quail’s eggs are also consumed widely as an appetizer so their addition make the salad more of a main-course or hearty side salad. This recipe works beautifully with grilled salmon (prolifically farmed in the sound off the island), or of course, with any barbecued meat (which Chileans love dearly).

Chilote Native Potato Salad

660g / 1.5 pounds small (baby) native potatoes (substitute: fingerling potatoes)
1 cup double shelled fresh fava beans
1 cup sweet peas (fresh or frozen and defrosted)
1 medium red onion, cut paper-thin with the grain, separated
2 cloves garlic, minced
18 quail’s eggs, hard-boiled, peeled and cut in half
4 medium-sized radishes, scrubbed and cut into paper-thin half moons
2-3 tablespoons finely chopped Chilean hazelnuts (substitute: whole toasted pine nuts)
2 tablespoons minced parsley
1 tablespoon finely chopped dill
1 tablespoon finely chopped cilantro (substitute: chives if you dislike flavor of cilantro)
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon raw apple cider vinegar (substitute: sherry vinegar)
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
Ground sea salt / fresh black pepper

Scrub the potatoes and dry. Place in a steamer and cook until tender and easily pierced with a knife, about 20 minutes. Let cool until they can be handled and then cut in half to form a variety of lengths and widths. Reserve.

If you using fresh fava beans, after removing from the large pod, blanch for 3-4 minutes in boiling, salted water and then refresh in ice-cold water. Peel and pop out the brilliant green fava bean. Reserve.

Place the quail’s eggs in a pot and bring to a boil. Boil for 3 minutes and then shock in cold water. Peel immediately as the delicate shell is much easier to peel when warm than after. Cut lengthwise.

For the onion, Chileans cut en pluma, which means cutting with the grain (paper-thin), and then separating with your fingers. If the onion is quite strong, many Chilean cooks “soften” the raw onion by mixing it with a sprinkle or two of sugar, and letting it rest for 15 minutes. After they rinse it with water and squeeze out the excess before adding to the salad. This takes the bite out of raw onions. Decide for yourself if you think it’s necessary, or use a shallot, instead.

Make the dressing. In a small bowl, whisk together the mustard and vinegar and slowly incorporate the olive oil in a small stream to create a creamy emulsion.

In a large bowl, combine the potatoes, fava beans, peas, onions, radishes, herbs, and hazelnuts. Fold in the dressing until lightly coated. Serve immediately. Personally, I prefer the salad at room temperature when you can fully appreciate the flavors.

6-8 servings

The post Chilote Magic appeared first on Liz Caskey Culinary and Wine Experiences.

In late June, we decided to ditch the smoggy air in Santiago and head south to the clean breezes of the Colchagua Valley for one of our last (adult) weekends as a couple Little One’s due date arrived. That Saturday in Colchagua was cold but clear, typical of central Mediterranean Chile in winter. We made record time driving, only two hours, on a nearly empty road. Between the cold and Chile playing in the World Cup at noon, nobody was venturing out. Of course, when we’d planned our weekend away, I had never even glanced at a World Cup game schedule. Who knew the Chilean national selection would be playing a deciding game against Brazil?

There’s nothing like soccer to bring the country to a grinding halt. Banks and businesses close. There are no taxis, no cars on the road, and life pretty much is on hold until the game ends. Then, either delirious celebration ensues or deep mourning follows, usually with copious drinking with either result.

We arrived at the Lapostolle Residence in the micro-appellation of Apalta, located at the winery’s showcase winemaking facility that was built in 2004-2005. Here they produce their finest labels, Clos Apalta and Borobo in the state-of-the-art facility buried six floors into the steep hillside (mostly of granite). The Residence has four standalone casitas, each decorated individually and named after a grape varietal that often goes into the Clos Apalta blend: Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, Petit Verdot and Carmenere. On this visit, we had Merlot, the villa decorated with pink accents, perhaps the most romantic in color scheme (how fitting). The terrace and picture glass windows peered out over the valley with the Andes in the distance. That night we’d cozy up by the roaring fireplace on two armchairs as the temperature plummeted.

By the time we checked in, the match was tied. We settled in for an aperitivo in the form of a dainty empanada stuffed with chard, zesty cheese and tomato and a glass of their silky Casa Grand Selection Sauvignon Blanc. We monitored the game on my iPhone (no volume). Outside, we spotted another couple moseying around the garden. As the server placed down a smoked salmon croquette, she casually mentioned, “They’re Brazilian. They went for a walk while Brazil beat Chile”. Oh really? To their chagrin, Chile had some plans in store for the Brazilian soccer team that day.

Sitting down in the dining room, we turned off the game since soccer does not make for fine dining ambience. From the kitchen, we heard a muffled voice on the radio that squealed with excitement every time the Chile team entered Brazilian territory. As the game elapsed into overtime, it became senseless to try to pretend anything else could happen while La Roja, Chile’s national selection, was playing. Then the game went to penalty kicks and we could no longer stand it. We had to watch.

There we were…a gorgeous view of the vines, savoring a fabulous lunch, and about to witness World Cup history. The young Brazilian couple at the next table, who I secretly came to loath, was growing visibly tense. They anxiously sipped their wine. With each penalty shot, tension grew. The Brazilians seemed incredulous that maybe, just maybe, this was not a shoe in. Maybe their victory was not so assured. I was trying to control my enthusiasm. Chile had a real shot at winning, of making that dream real. In the end, two missed penalties by Chile sealed their fate and sent the Brazilians on their way. As we say here…UFFFFFF!!!!

At mid-afternoon with only a couple hours of daylight left, we headed out into the vineyard for a walk and rendezvous shortly after at the biodynamic garden with the chef, Rodrigo Acuña.**(see note below) Rodrigo took over the reigns of the kitchen at Residence, now a Relais & Chateaux, and has transformed the gastronomy to something truly extraordinary. Working closer with the agricultural team in the biodynamic huerto, garden, he focuses on seasonal, home grown produce and exalting its purity in the kitchen with refined techniques. There’s a deep understanding of flavor, texture and how to contrast those highs and lows to create umami in nearly every dish without being too fussy. It is stripped down cuisine that in its simplicity is elegant.

We foraged some herbs in the garden and he showed us where they’d harvested fresh peas that morning for the pasta. He invited us into the kitchen for a demo of how dinner would be made—saffron agnolotti stuffed with those fresh peas. For dinner, he mounted this sublime pasta with a perfectly seared filet of Patagonian hake. At dinner, the gracious Casa Lapostolle staff indulged us witha delicious Cuvee Alexandre Pinot Noir 2006 from their cellar. Even after eight years, it was very bright with oodles of red fruit like cherries, fresh acidity, and some complex notes on the back of the palate that were “earthy” but did not overwhelm the dish. Very delicate wine to accompany this equally delicate pasta.

Saffron Agnolotti stuffed with Pea & Smoked Salmon Puree
Recipe courtesy of Casa Lapostolle Residence

Ingredients:

Agnolotti:
100 grams flour
1 egg
1 drizzle of olive oil
Pinch of saffron, soaked in 1 tablespoon warm water
Pinch or two of salt

Filling:
¾ cup fresh sweet peas, shucked
100 grams smoked salmon (no skin), flaked or chopped
80 grams fresh ricotta
100 grams cream cheese (substitute: mascarpone)
2 eggs
1-2 tablespoons minced chives
20 grams minced Moroccan preserved lemon (substitute 2 tablespoons lemon zest)
Salt & pepper to taste

Beurre Blanc Aromatized with Truffle:
1/3 cup dry white wine
1/3 cup fish stock (substitute: vegetable stock)
150 grams chilled butter, cut into small cubes
3 tablespoons cream
1 teaspoon black truffle oil
½ shallot, minced
Salt & pepper to taste

Method:

Steep the saffron in hot water. Sift the flour and make a well. In the center, add the egg, salt, olive oil, and saffron. Knead until you get a soft, uniform dough. Let rest in the refrigerator at least 30 minutes.

In the meantime, make the filling. Blanch the peas in boiling water for 3-4 minutes and refresh in cold water. In a bowl, puree the peas and then add the ricotta, cream cheese and mash with a fork until you achieve a consistent paste. Fold in the chopped salmon, chives, eggs, and lemons. Mix well and chill.

For the beurre blanc, in a small pot combine the white wine, stock, and shallots. Reduce volume by ¾ to concentrate flavors. Strain stock and return to a clean pot and begin to reheat on medium. Add the cubes of chilled butter, whisking vigorously until emulsified. Whisk in the cream, truffle oil and season to taste.

To roll out the pasta, follow the instructions on the machine for the ravioli thickness setting. This will require about 4 passes or so through the machine. Once rolled out, you will have a long strip of pasta about 4 inches wide by 12 inches lengthwise. To form agnolotti, place a long line of filling 3 inches apart in the center. Fold top of pasta down to bottom and pinch closed. Press dough flat between lumps of filling. Using a pastry cutter, cut half moons using folded part as flat side of moon. Continue until pasta and filling are finished. The pasta can be prepped and kept in the refrigerator on a tray dusted with flour.

To cook, drop into boiling water, lower heat, and cook at high simmer until tender. Drain agnolotti and place in dish. Drizzle with beurre blanc, chopped chives, and serve.

4-6 portions (depending if main or appetizer)

**Since writing this post, Chef Rodrigo has since left Lapostolle and crossed over the hills to the new hotel and winery, Vik Millahue, as their head chef.

The post Soccer, Wine & Killer Pasta in Apalta appeared first on Liz Caskey Culinary and Wine Experiences.

This past Saturday was my first baby shower. This last trimester has snuck up on me so quickly. I am finding it hard to believe in little more than a month and a half I will have a babe in arms; a little person completely dependent on me for everything. It’s not as if I have not known this was coming, but moving from a far off date to the present feels like it’s happening all of a sudden. Pregnancy, for me, has been delightfully creative, vital, and productive with lots of “me” time. I have enjoyed it so much. The shower hit home the realization that this period of our life “together” (me, husband, in utero baby) will be ending very soon, and we’ll be three. It makes me appreciate how fleeting the time is during these ten months, and how I must relish every second of it…even the afternoons when my cramped rib cage feels props up little feet and Gaviscon is my preferred “beverage” of choice as the karate-style baby kicks churn my stomach acid.

Baby showers in Chile are still a fairly new concept and certainly not as common as in the US. In fact, I was not even sure I would have one earlier in the year. In the US, from the time we are little girls, we attend baby showers and are groomed that when it is our turn to have a baby, well, not having one would be unthinkable. In fact, many friends up north mentioned they had not one but multiple showers (family, office, best girlfriends) to outfit them for the new arrival. In Chile, my hypothesis is that baby showers have never been totally necessary since the family network here is very strong to start. It is normal to have aunts, uncles, grandparents, and extended family showering the new parents with gifts, lending cribs and baby equipment, offering child care support. It’s a different social structure. Thus, the need to throw a “party” for baby stuff is only now arriving, much like Chileans began importing Halloween ten years ago.

Baby showers here tend to feel more like birthday parties with baby presents. Registries and lists are optional and often not adhered to at all. A Chilean friend of mine even mentioned many Chilean women opt to have baby showers in the evening almost like a carrete, party with booze, starting at the very Chilean hour of 9pm versus a more typical weekend afternoon or brunch in the US. What mother-to-be can stay up that late, anyways (not me!)?

So all this being said, a couple of my girls offered to help organize the shower. We decided they’d manage the invites, the décor, the games. I tried but I just could not outsource the food (nor venue). Blame it on the entertainer and cook in me but I had to micromanage this part of the event. My mother seemed to be a little shocked by this and mentioned, more than once, “the mother-to-be should not have to lift a finger”. Nonetheless, I knew that if I have my immaculately produced brunch filled with “baby-sized” portions, petit fours, and favorite flowers, I would need to be involved. It was important—to me–and that, my friends, counts. A lot.

I also calculated this probably would be my last entertaining foray for the next 6 months, at least, so why not enjoy it . The thought of planning the menu and spending an afternoon “playing” in the kitchen to crank out gorgeous honey-dijon ham-Parmesan palmiers, choux puffs for shrimp cocktail salad, baby-sized quiche, stuffed rosemary baby muffins, among others, all sounded like fun to me. What joy to prepare for an intimate celebration with my best girlfriends marking my transition into motherhood and the arrival of our baby. What more noble reason could there be to cook and share?

Given that baby will be born in the middle of the Chilean winter, the weather has turned and is feeling more season. Citrus and pomegranates are flooding the markets. In fact, on many corners of Santiago, vendors crack open pomegranates and sell them like popcorn, which people buy to snack on. Pomegranates have a delightfully sweet-tart-crunchy flavor and texture. I was itching to make a dessert with them and something citrusy.

Then I remembered an old go to recipe from my catering years: sticky orange-almond cakes. Back in the day, this was always a huge crowd pleaser, and marvelously gluten free/flourless (not sugar free so it’s not health food!). The recipe for the cakes itself is extremely easy and has few ingredients. The magic here is the union of pureed oranges, eggs, almond flour, and sugar that all join together to form a moist cake. I stamp these out with a pastry cutter into the cutest little circles and put a dollop of natural yogurt and pomegranate seeds on top. You could make these cakes larger for a proper-sized dessert but they are so dainty, why not just serve them as nibbles?

Gluten Free Sticky Orange-Almond Cakes
Adapted from Hors d’Oeuvres

5-6 whole clementines, peeled
6 large free-range eggs, lightly beaten
1 cup granulated sugar
2 cups almond flour (almonds with no skins)
1 teaspoon double-action baking powder (if you don’t have this, double)
1/2-cup non-sweetened yogurt, whipped
4 tablespoons pomegranate seeds, for garnish

In a small pot, cover the clementines with water and cook until very soft, at least 1 hour. They will become very pale. Cool thoroughly and then drain. Pick out any seeds that may have been left behind.

Preheat oven to 170C (350F). Prepare a jellyroll pan (approximately 14×10 inches or 55 x 25 cm) with greased parchment paper. You must cover the entire pan with paper and generously grease (canola spray or butter) to avoid sticking. I cannot emphasize this step enough.

Place the oranges in a food processor. Process till you get a very smooth, silky puree. Add the eggs, sugar, almond flour and baking powder. Pulse until blended. Pour the batter into the lined pan.

Bake until firm to the touch, 30-40 minutes. If the pan gets too brown/golden on one side, rotate half way through baking. It should feel firm and “bouncy” to the touch when done (do not use a knife to test for doneness, won’t give you any feedback!). Remove and cool completely.

Next, cut the cake into rounds with a pastry cutter. I used one that was about 1-inch diameter. Place the rounds on a tray with parchment paper. Whatever you do, do not toss the scraps. I repeat. Do not toss the scraps. This would be total sacrilege. While they are not adorable like the cut outs, this cake is so delicious, they should be shared with others. Trust me, they will easily disappear with afternoon tea at home or in the office (and you will be praised by your spouse or co-workers).

To assemble, spoon a little bit of yogurt onto the cake and artfully garnish with three pomegranate seeds. Dust with powdered sugar and serve on a silver tray for a dazzling presentation (I used the base of our Moroccan tea set since it seemed to go with that flavor theme). The cakes taste best at room temp so don’t stick them in the frig or heat them up.

The other beauty of these babies? They are ideal for work ahead for parties, like a baby shower. They can be made two days in advance and kept in an airtight container or frozen for up to one month and defrosted overnight in the frig.

Makes 30+ cakes, plus scraps (see note above).

The post Gluten Free Sticky Orange-Almond Cakes appeared first on Liz Caskey Culinary and Wine Experiences.

I have been meaning to write a post on our trip to Berlin in November. Between the holidays and summer high season, here we are at the end of January already. That being said, Berlin has been on my mind.

Way back in February of last year, when we decided to visit Europe en route to a trade show, we literally looked at the map, and cherry-picked the cities of most interest. Berlin, and Milan, won.

Nine months later, we landed in Berlin at Tegel airport on a cold, rainy night. The wind ripped through our lightweight jackets as we deplaned from the sunny warmth of Marrakech. I shivered as we loaded our luggage into the gleaming Mercedes sedan (common as taxis in these parts). I arrived in Berlin without many expectations; only a sense of adventure and limited knowledge of German beyond Guten Morgen” and Bitte (used for seemingly everything!). Friends who had been to Berlin prefaced the German capital as “vanguard”, “hip”, “unlike the rest of Germany”, “San Francisco in Europe”, and “utterly cool”. We were ready to check it out.

The sun rose the next morning after 8:00am. It was cold. Really cold—like parka cold. We bundled up and walked to the nearby Brandenburg Gate, an neoclassical triumphal arch, one of the city’s, and Germany’s, landmarks. On the way out of our hotel near Potsdamer Platz, the first Christmas markets had opened. Little Bavarian huts were cooking up grilled sausages, crepes with wild mushrooms, and pretzels. Berliners huddled around tables hugging mugs of gluhwein (warm wine with spices). A candy stand made wide-eyed child have visions of sugarplums with colorful licorice, chocolate lollipops, and gummy candies in various flavors. We moseyed around the Mitte heading towards Museum Island and the imposing Berliner Dom, Berlin’s Cathedral, across one of the many canals. Realizing we’d skipped lunch, we stopped on a scenic corner to be indoctrinated with my first currywurst sausage, on the street. Locals cued up and the smell was driving me crazy. A far cry from a hot dog–anywhere. Not easy street eating, mind you.

By 3:30pm, the sun was already sinking in the sky. It had only peaked its measly head out among the clouds for less than hour, providing no warmth whatsoever. We headed to Fassbender & Rausch, touted as the world’s largest chocolaterie. I felt like I had entered Willy Wonka’s. Row upon row of beautifully packaged bonbons, pralines, and truffles sat on the shelves. Gigantic molds of chocolate depicted iconic Berlin spots like the Reichstag and Fernsehtrum tower (look but do not touch nor eat). Upstairs in the café, I rendezvoused with my exchange sister from Finland, Annika, who I had not seen in nearly 15 years. I sipped a perfectly pulled espresso and devoured quite possibly the single most delicious dark chocolate mousse my palate has ever had the pleasure of experiencing. Needless to say, the line to get a table was pandemonium as the cold and darkness set in. It was only 4:30pm.

So were our days in Berlin. We explored much of the city and in the Mitte, I fell in love with neighborhoods around Augustrasse & Oranienburger Strasse, once part of East Berlin with the rambling trollies, tiny winding streets, charming facades,boutiques, cafes, plazas punctuated by green copper church spires, bells peeling, and glowing show windows, many decorated for Christmas. The lights, the wooden ornaments, the cold, coming into a warm café for treat, it pulled every nostalgic heartstring of my childhood. There was something familiar in Germany for me. Perhaps it was my upbringing in Pennsylvania Dutch (German) country and a tiny town called Lititz that had strong roots in Germanic traditions, especially at Christmas. With those cold, dark days I started to understand why Christmas in the north has these traditions—there’s a true need for the markets, the lights, the warmth, the holiday cheer at an otherwise bleak, cold time of the year. Our waiter at breakfast the one morning actually told us that sometimes, the sun doesn’t appear in November for 15-plus days at a stretch.

One foggy morning, we went for a long walk in the Tiergarten en route to the Bauhaus museum, a pilgrimage for my husband (a contemporary artist). After, we went to see an exhibit at the Museum Fur Fotografie near the Zoo honoring the life of exceptional photographer Helmut Newton, a well known German fashion photographer whose provocative, erotically charged black-and-white photos were a mainstay of Vogue, and other publications. We spent a whole morning in KaDeWe, a department store covering an entire square block. The top floor was dedicated exclusively to gourmet food. Dean & Deluca on steroids. I could have lived there. The aisles and aisles of meticulously prepared foods from all around the world, the section of advent calendars, those yummy sausages… so tantalizing.

Another afternoon, we went to the quiet gardens of Charlottenburg Schloss, the only surviving royal residence in Berlin built towards the end of the 17^th century. The Palace seemed to emerge straight out of a Prussian fairytale with its baroque and rococo style, and fittingly they were preparing the Christmas market to open the next weekend. We stopped nearby at a typical neighborhood brewery for beer, sauerkraut and sausage. The sun never made it out from behind the clouds that day so the hearty fare was exactly what our (freezing cold) bodies wanted. Another gray day, we took refuge at lunch time at Pauly Saal, in a renovated Jewish girl’s school for a modern take on German cuisine of the 1920s and ’30s. This translated to some yummy dishes like venison fettucine ragout, smoked sturgeon, excellent German and Austrian wines, plus a lovely the airy dining room complete with Murano chandeliers. I was amazed how pet dogs, very well behaved, were allowed everywhere—even in gourmet restaurants (like the above) and on the subway. We never heard a peep from that pup during the entire meal.

Things worked like clockwork in Berlin. I still could not get over the trains running exactly on time. Not that I had expected anything less from Germany, but I loved the efficiency, the cleanliness, the order of everything. After fourteen years in Chile and South America things working seemed like such a novelty (written with a hint of irony).

Berlin’s attitude was cool, low key, creative. It seemed so livable yet so cosmopolitan. A constant meshing of the traditional and avant-garde, idyllic yet some dark moments in the past (WWII history), a kinetic energy but always space to find a slower pace. I imagined those grassy parks, bars, and cafes teeming with Berliners in the summer time when the sun was out until late. We had to come back in warmer weather.

While exploring, we stopped sometimes for a coffee and a slice of küchen, a homey, sweet cake usually made with seasonal fruit. Funny enough, küchen is something we know quite well in Chile, given the German heritage concentrated in the lake district around near Valdivia, Osorno, Puerto Varas. With the German immigrants arriving in the mid 19^th century, küchen slowly penetrated most Chilean kitchens with its non-fussy nature and use of ingredients found easily in your pantry and fruit basket. Today, küchen in Chile is nearly as common as empanadas.

Küchen is really an old-fashioned cake with no pretense. It has a tender dough crust usually topped with custard, cheese, berries, apples, quince, or other fruits. Probably your abuela, or oma in German (grandma), has been making this cake for decades since it never goes out of fashion.

I love this recipe for being so easy. You do not even need a mixer or food processor. Most of the ingredients you should have on hand so you can make one on a moments notice. While easy to prepare, it looks spectacular for an afternoon tea, brunch, dinner party–and nobody will know you made this is in no time flat.

Right now we are swimming in fresh blueberries in Chile. I literally opened my refrigerator scanned the ingredients (eggs, natural yogurt, berries, check) and this küchen was born. If you are in the midst of winter and only have frozen berries, these work fine, too. The texture may be creamier and less juicy since they will yield less juice when baking. I used blueberries but feel free to improvise here—blackberries, raspberries, murtillas (Southern Mulberries, common in the Lake District), or even a combination. Best of all, the cake is quite low in fat because it uses natural yogurt, not cream cheese—you’d never know the difference though.

 
Now just turn on the espresso machine now and cut yourself a slice.

Ingredients:

Dough Crust

1 cup all-purpose flour

1/2 cup sugar

1/8 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon baking powder

1/4 cup butter, melted

2 egg whites

1 teaspoon vanilla

2 cups fresh or frozen blueberries

Filling

1-1/2 cups plain yogurt

2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

1/2 cup sugar

2 slightly beaten egg yolks

1 slightly beaten whole egg

1-1/2 teaspoons finely grated lemon zest (Microplane brilliant here!)

1 teaspoon vanilla

Method:

• Preheat oven to 350F degrees. Lightly grease bottom and sides of a 9-inch spring form pan. If using frozen berries, thaw at room temperature for 15 minutes then drain.
• In a mixing bowl, stir together 1 cup flour, 1/2 cup sugar, salt, and baking powder. Add the melted butter, 2 egg whites and vanilla. Stir by hand until mixed (you may need to use your hands a little to get a uniform texture).
• Press onto the bottom of greased spring form pan and sprinkle with berries to form a layer. Reserve.
• To make the filling, place the yogurt in a large mixing bowl and sprinkle with 2 tablespoons flour. Add the remaining sugar, egg yolks, beaten egg, lemon zest, and vanilla. Whisky until completely smooth. Pour over berries and tap to even.
• Bake for 55 minutes. Center should appear set when shaken gently. Cool for at least 15 minutes before removing the sides of the pan. Chill thoroughly before serving, at least 4-6 hours (better overnight). Yield: 8 – 12 servings, depending on your portions and whether or not there are Chileans at your table.

Buen provecho / Guten Appetit

The post Berlin & A Heavenly Blueberry Küchen Recipe appeared first on Liz Caskey Culinary and Wine Experiences.

It is so blustery that the wooden lodge seems to quiver with each wind gust. Ominous, heavy rain clouds darken the sky to the west, shrouding the snowy peaks. The rain begins to fall, slowly, than gaining force. As the wind howls, the rain is not really falling vertically, it is blowing—sideways.

I feel grateful to be inside, curled up with a book and my journal by the cozy fireplace. Actually, it is one of three fireplaces in the great room. I give a flip through Facebook (yes, there is the luxury of microwave wifi in this remote area here), and am relieved to be spared the sweltering dry heat of Santiago. In these latitudes, it feels like fall, maybe winter, in a refreshing way.

The pitter-patter of the rain drums on the roof. The fire hisses and crackles. The wind moans and sheets of precipitation blow across the dark lake, normally a shade of brillant sapphire. I try to remember the last time I heard rain on the roof while sitting by an open fire. I can’t–not at least since I relocated to Mediterranean Santiago. I rub my feet together. They feel toasty, bien calentitos, in the sheep-skin slippers. I conjure up memories of my childhood home in the Northeast (USA) where I would camp out many winter nights in front of the chimney, warming my back, as the snow quietly came down outside or a Nor’easter raged, tickling the windows. I could not have dreamed of a more perfect last night in Patagonia. These sounds just comforted my soul.

We are in a remote area of Chile in the region of Aysen wedged between the endless Argentinean pampas, the never-ending maze of Chilean fjords to the west, and to the south (only 10 minutes away by helicopter), the beginning of the “Campo del Hielo Norte”, Northern Ice field, which is kilometers and kilometers of glaciers. Aysen is commonly regarded among the fly-fishing community as Mecca with hundreds of crystalline rivers, streams, and lakes, all from glacial run-off.

We landed a few days prior in the frontier town of Balmaceda/Coyhaique. With its dinky airport and landing strip, it really felt like the end of the continent. We navigated, by 4×4, through windblown, rolling countryside dotted with cattle grazing for half an hour to arrive at a “port” (read: boat) on a lake. Fifteen minutes later in the jetboat, a choppy ride I may add, we arrived at the jetty of the Lodge. The water was so clear I easily peered 30-50 feet deep towards the bottom with my naked eye.

The lodge, called “Dos Lagos” or two lakes, is a retreat built on a peninsula between two lakes protected by centuries-old cohiue trees. The lakes were carved by ancient glaciers and are bordered by steep cliffs, with parts reaching nearly 350 meters deep. They are teeming with fresh water trout. This oasis set among tall peaks, rivers, and lakes, i.e. untouched nature, is also bit of a rich man’s folly.

Up in the surrounding mountains, there are intricate networks of trekking and mountain bike trails—with ATVs to zoom you to the top of the mountain, saving your quads the initial burn, and more energy for the ride down. This is not exactly beginner mountain biking. Some of the slopes are so steep with curves so sharp, you wonder how any rider could defy gravity to stay on the trail AND the bike at the same time. Trails are fittingly named “Snowball suicide”, or “Runaway Kamikaze”, apparently for those that have no fear of bodily harm and a serious addiction to adrenaline. One of the socios, partners, passion is mountain biking and essentially created this vast playground of immaculately groomed trails for his own pleasure—and now that of guests. We stuck to the trekking circuits, the most benign biking paths in many cases.

Our first hike on the day we arrived, a blustery afternoon, we were approached by the Huemul, the South Andean deer. In danger of extinction, these gentle creatures are a legend in Chile as few people ever have the privilege of spotting one alive. It is the animal represented on the coat of arms on the national flag. They are extremely rare to see in the wild. This particular animal was young and came over to us, quite close, with a curious look. He lingered long enough to give us a good look us up and down (while we bought time to snap away with our cameras). He bounced off and disappearing into the thick bush. I took the Huemul sighting to being a good omen. We never saw another one the rest of the trip, even though the guides mentioned they are more frequently seen in the area.

The next morning, we woke up to a cloudless sky. Pure blissful sunshine. Our good luck continued. We headed out on the jet boat west across the second lake to the area called El Desierto, “the desert”. The water was turquoise and sparkling. Cerro Castillo, one of the tallest mountains in the area, glittered with its eternal snow under the rays of sun. We set off on a hearty hike to see some of the turquoise waterfalls feeding the river. The trek followed the river, so clear we could see see the colored stones lining the bottom from several hundred meters above. The sun blazed. It got hot enough to peel down to a t-shirt. A cool Southern breeze from the ocean, only 40 kilometers or so as the crow flies, felt like refreshing ice against the skin.

We got back in the jet boat to go on a little joy ride up the river. Jet boats are insanely fun. They move at high velocity skimming over the shallow surface of the water, snaking with the contours of the river. We cruised along when our guide, Javier, told us to “hold on” traversing a deep section. Yep, he was gonna do a “180” to turn around to head back. Okay…here we go.

Turned achieved. He reignited the engine. Nada. We floated downstream with the current. Let’s try that again. The engine hacked and coughed.  Third try. Damn, apparently a stone had lodged in the motor. Everyone off of the boat to lighten the load. Meanwhile, the guides radio for help (no response).

We stepped off the boat into a windy pasture as the river babbled by. I tried to remember the distance we had traveled by river and was mentally calculating how much walking could likely be in our very near future. A lot. The upside. We had snacks, water, toilet paper, and daylight until 10pm. But I really did not want to trek back. I closed my eyes and visualized the boat getting fixed. Pronto.

The guides tinkered a little while more with the engine. A couple swift maneuvers and suddenly the boat spit out the rock with a loud BAM. We climbed back on board and raced upstream.

We arrived at the lodge just in time for lunch–a traditional cordero al palo, spit lamb barbeque. One of the cute sheep running around the property met its fate earlier that morning, which saddened me (full disclosure: I am not much of a carnivore). The lamb was slowly roasted for 2.5, spayed open like it had been crucified. Everybody was buzzing about the asado since it is such a beloved tradition in Patagonia. The crowd, however, went crazy and laid into the tender meat, salads, and other fixings like pebre served with local tortillas, a sort of Southern Sopiapilla.

That is pretty much the days roll in these pasts. Fly-fishing, hiking, biking, relaxation, eating, indulging in massages, hot tubbing, and mostly just enjoying the pristine setting. The uber-oxygenated air had my smog-ridden Santiago brain asleep by 10pm most nights.

Back in front of the fire, I had dozed off while waiting for dinner to be served. We sat down as the rain raged outside. We dug into a bowl of perfectly al dente rigatoni with a delicate king crab sauce accented garlic, butter, and fresh cream. It was lovely. It was the kind of simple, delicious flavors that I crave at home.  It was the taste of all that coziness surrounding us.

The next morning, it was snowing when we opened the curtains. Such excitement. I felt like a kid in December before Christmas.I forgot how much I missed snowy days (although never shoveling and the cold).  That night, we returned to the hot summer days of December in Santiago, only 2 hours away by plane but another world. Now that we are well into the New Year and summer here in Santiago, when I need a recourse from the heat, this pasta dish with a nicely chilled Chardonnay can take me straight back to Coyhaique and the south of Chile in only one bite–recipe below.

Recipe for Creamy King Crab Pasta

1 box rigatoni

2 pounds fresh king crab meat (if not available, substitute with lump crab meat like Dungeness)

3 shallots, minced

1 clove garlic, minced

½ cup dry white wine

1 cup vegetable stock

½ cup fresh cream

2 tbsp unsalted butter

salt and pepper to taste

nutmeg, pinch freshly grated

Freshly grated Parmesan

• In a saucepan, sauté the shallots in the melted butter over medium heat. When they become fragrant, add in the garlic for another 1-2 minutes, being careful not to burn. Deglaze with the white wine.

• Add the stock and let cook, stirring occasionally, for about ten minutes. It should reduce. Drink some wine while waiting if this seems tedious.

• Boil water for the pasta and slightly salt with sea salt. Cook the pasta according to the cooking instructions to al dente.

• Add the nutmeg to that sauce but just a touch. This is NOT pumpkin pie, people.

• Pure the sauce with an immersion blender until creamy. Add in the fresh, thick cream with a whisk along with the crab meat and gently heat.

• Strain the pasta then toss with the sauce. Serve with freshly grated Parmesan and optional fresh herbs like basil, parsley or chives.

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