Sicilian artichoke and tuna stew

Artichokes, Santa Cruz News.

After Pablo Neruda

        Find a tuna among the market vegetables, a solitary man of war. Pair it with artichokes, their sides burnished as grenades. Take them in your market basket, home to the deep soup pot. I am envisioning a Sicilian fish stew, one where you start by sauteeing the small diced onion and smashed cloves of garlic (two, maybe, or three) in olive oil that smells of the dusty October hillsides where it was harvested. After the onion and garlic have scented the kitchen, stir in the baby artichokes, two dozen or so cut into quarters, and stir them sizzling but not burning for a good five minutes. Then it will be time to splash in half a dozen crushed tomatoes, red with the blood of the New World from which they came, along with the chopped green celery stalk and its leaves, and the bright bitter parsley -- enough to bring summer into this autumn dish.

        You will stir this with salt and pepper ("to taste,"as all of the good books say), half a glass of white wine, a cup of stock (fish or vegetable) and simmer for half an hour, while you turn back to the noble tuna, the missile that has become a missive, a letter from Pablo Neruda to your kitchen. Now you must bravely cut the tuna into one-inch pieces, of a size to cook quickly and tenderly, each piece a word, and together a pound of the red muscles that propelled the tuna through the deeps. When the artichokes have let down their guard and are al dente, slip the tuna chunks into the pot, and quickly toast some slices of ciabbata that have been brushed with more of the olive oil from the harvest. They will be done at the same time, the tuna and the toasted bread, and you may ladle the stew over the slice of bread in the bottom of each bowl. Some would fling more parsley atop the stew, or a lemon aioli, or some other garnish. You must be the judge. Take the bowls outside, sit with them under the fig tree in the evening, and drink a wine from the slopes of Mt. Aetna with your meal.


Artichoke, tuna --
Neruda immortalized
you. I make a stew.





Northern blue-fin tuna.

Pablo Neruda, Ode to a Large Tuna in a Market; Ode to the Artichoke

la Baleine -- the Whale -- arrives on the Homer Spit

             la Baleiene (French for "the whale") on the Homer Spit, its windows reflecting the mountains across Kachemak Bay.

    The freshest food in Homer is easy to find. Just go almost all the way to the end of the Homer Spit, and there on the left is la Baleiene, painted the ocean's blue. Inside, le Cordon Bleu-trained Mandy Dixon greets her guests warmly.

                                        Mandy Dixon surveys the Dixon family's new restaurant, la Baleiene.

     The cafe opened on May 10, little more than a week before we arrived on May 19. The deep familiarity with  restaurants showed -- even though it had been in business only a few days, everything was in order. The staff handled each new customer with ease and consideration, whether they were asking for soup and sandwiches to be served at one of the wooden tables, or choosing pastries and box lunches to go. And the prices

     Mandy's seafood ramen dish, with crab beignet and shrimp toast tied for second in an invitational seafood cooking competition on May 8. While the salmon ramen dish is on the menu, we tried the cafe's chowder, which shows her skill at marrying wild seafood  flavors with a rich cream base and the perfect seasonings.

             The breakfast sandwich, veggie version (you can get it with bacon too ) on grilled ciabbata with fresh greens, cheese, and caramelized onions, leeks and mushrooms. 

     I ordered the breakfast sandwich, with its variety of options -- bacon, egg, more cheese, and always with  bright greens, rich onions, leeks and mushrooms, and a few bites of fruit to set off the other tastes.

      We decided on chocolate chip cookies to go for our dessert, but could have had many other choices.

                                    Hard to beat these chocolate chip cookies that exemplify Mandy's years of training as a pastry chef -- buttery, chocolate filled, rich -- all the things that they should be.

       Catering to locals with a 5:00 a.m. opening, and to visitors with lunch served until 4:00 p.m., la Baleiene is open Tuesday through Sunday at 4460 Homer Spit Road across from the SeaFarers Memorial.

        The to-go items were disappearing fast; the staff replenishes them throughout the day.


       A Homer Tribune article gives more information about the local foods and "Homer Style" cooking that guests will enjoy at the cafe.