Cherry Tomato and Walnut Pasta Sauce with Honey & Lime

Non cooks don’t understand why cooks have sooo many cookbooks. It’s because they don’t realize that cooks are not just looking for recipes, some of us are mainly looking for means of inspiration. I might buy a new book not for the recipes, but for the thoughts that it provokes in me. It might be from the photos or the stories about the region it describes. It’s all about keeping a current flow of ideas in and hopefully, memorable dishes going out.

Tim comments about wanting to see more of our recipes, and I will try to print more here from time to time. Maybe they will inspire you to create something new on your own.

Here’s a recent versatile favorite that can be served hot or cold as a summer dish.

Cherry Tomato and Walnut Pasta Sauce with Honey & Lime

2 c cherry tomatoes, sliced in half
¾ c chopped walnuts
1 leek, white part only, sliced. separate each slice into rings and rinse.
¼ c honey
¼ c olive oil
Juice and zest of half a lime
Salt and cracked pepper
4 large basil leaves
Fresh shaved parmesan cheese

For cold pasta:
1lb boiled and rinsed penne pasta

For hot pasta:
1lb fresh fettuccine boiled and drained.

Preparation:
In a mixing bowl, add sliced cherry tomatoes, chopped walnuts and leek rings. In a measuring cup, combine honey and oil together with lime juice and zest. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Mix thoroughly.

At this point, you can add either use this cold or hot

For cold salad:
Add to a pound of boiled and rinsed penne pasta for a chilled side dish

For hot entrée:
Saute mixture until fully heated, about 3min. I like the cherry tomatoes to be hot, but not cooked to the point where they fall apart. Add a pound of boiled and drained fettuccine noodles to the sauté and heat together for 30 sec. Topped with chopped basil and parmesan cheese and serve immediately.

How to kill your restaurant (or any business for that matter)

I’ve only been in business for a year, so how am I in a position to propose a title that promises such sage advice? I just pay attention to the smaller voices in my mind and allow the democratic process to give them a vote also.

The food business is a romantic one. It carries with it a mystique that draws the dreamer to be foolish enough to consider owning one. But when reality hits, the dreamer has a choice to make; either cut the rope and sail away, or stay in and try to tough it out.

If the first is your choice, you don’t have much to worry about. Just move on to something easier and less risky. But remember if this is your option, anything of value has an equivalent price tag attached, so don’t complain if you hate your next line of work.

If you pick the alternative and stay with it, you have another set of choices from which to settle on. These I know very well because I face them on a regular basis. As I describe them, I would bet you might face them in your line of work also.

When you put your heart and soul into your vocation, you set yourself into a vulnerable predicament. And there probably is no other profession that exposes you so openly than making food for other people to take into their bodies and receive pleasure in doing so. I can think of another profession that does something similar, even though it is considered the oldest profession, it does appear to be illegal, so I won’t focus on that right now.

You cannot care deeply about something without risking getting hurt. Everyday, when I open my doors and trust my staff to take our values and put them into play, I expose myself to the possibility of something not going quite right, of an order not being on time or an improperly seasoned dish that gets sent back. When the comment comes in the negative form, I have to ask myself, “Will I take it to heart or will I callous myself from it.” The former is called wise, the latter is called cynical, and cynicism is the fastest way to kill any passionate pursuit.

Show me a cynical person and I will show you a wounded individual. You are not found cynical if you didn’t care about something at one time. The cynic has lost heart and has allowed those wounds to define him.

Before I opened bread&cup, I applied at a few restaurants to try and gain a little experience during the waiting period. I interviewed with one chef who sarcastically asked me why the hell I wanted to get into the restaurant business and inquired if I had any idea how hard it was. I told him that I wanted in for the very reasons he has seemed to have forgotten. Needless to say I didn’t get the job.

Yes, food is a hard business, but I can’t forget the ideals that drew me to it. Just like a good marriage, the tingle of romance might give way to the added pressures of life, but those pressures need not define the relationship. It takes both a vision and hard work to see the dream come true.

A Monday Afternoon Drive

I took the day to drive through the rolling Nebraska countryside and visit three of my primary growers. Harvest Home in Waverly, Sanders Farm in Dwight and Shadowbrook Farm just outside Lincoln. It was a great way to spend my day off.

It was interesting to see the distinct styles of their farms, each one reflecting the personalities of their owner, like how their tomatoes were caged or not, what varieties they chose to grow, or how they dealt with weeds. Every place was different, but they all had one thing in common. They are pursuing the life they love.

Growing food is hard work. Just like the kitchen, it requires constant movement and attention. But for all its rigor, it leaves the grower with an extreme sense of satisfaction that is evident in the conversations I had yesterday.

As we walked the rows of beans, the young sprouts of carrot tops and the myriad of colorful flowers, the talk always turned to their pleasure and fascination with the simple beauty of what they do.

This is the good life, as indicated by the slogan on the big green and white sign that often gets laughed at as you cross our state line. But such is the case with goodness. It can get overlooked by more boisterous landscape, but learning to grow where you are planted, like the amazing orange and yellow Tiger Melon that we found tucked under cover of crabgrass stems is a gift few seem to unwrap.

Beauty is everywhere you look, you just have to have eyes to see it. Fascination with the colony of bees you nurture can bring as much amazement as the snowy peaks you long for when it’s a hundred in the shade. I witnessed this first hand on my little day trip.

Working for the weekend

One great thing about owning your own restaurant is that you get to serve what you like. No corporate dictation sent down to us from on high. Nope, I like the autonomy.

But it was your comments on the pasta selection last week that prompted us to repeat last Friday’s entrée. I counted at least a half dozen people, unrelated to one another, who said nearly verbatim, “I’ve never tasted anything like this before.” So why set it aside just yet?

Tonight’s Friday Pasta is Whole Wheat Fettuccine with Cherry Tomatoes and Walnuts. These cherries come from Harvest Home in Waverly and are sweet like candy. We use them to make a slightly sweet and tangy sauce of chopped walnuts, leeks, zest & juice of lime and a little honey & olive oil. It’s bright on the plate as well as on the palate. It’s a perfect summer dish to enjoy out on our patio with glass of wine. It sells for $13

We also serve our usual Fettuccine with Marinara or Olive Oil for $11. Both entrées are served with a small garden salad and our bread.

Dinner begins at 6pm. Our regular menu is also available

Market Meal Sneak Peek

When I first got into the joy of cooking for other people at home, my mainstay meal was handmade pizza. It’s such a pleasure to make and consume. When some of my past house guests find out we have a restaurant now, they often ask, “Are you selling your pizza?”

I’ve decided to make this week’s Market Meal centered on pizza. We’ll use our own SlowDough as crust, and depending on what we find at the Market, that will determine our topping choices. You can expect fresh, seasonal flavors applied to the wonderful tradition of pizza.

Everything on the Market Meal menu can be ordered individually. We post it by 9am on Saturday morning. Some have asked, and yes, our regular menu is also available.

We’ll set the table; you bring the conversation.

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bread&cup

find us at the corner of 8th & S Street in Lincoln’s Historic Haymarket

402-438-2255

www.breadandcup.com

Restoration

I feel so incredibly fortunate today.

I love my job. I love my restaurant. I love the weather this morning. I love the new music playing. I am about as happy as I can remember.

Strange that I had to force myself to type these words today. Why would I find it difficult to say that I am doing well and enjoying life as I am?

Let me speak from my experience.

I am coming out of a dark tunnel that has lasted maybe the last 8 years or so. Some might call it midlife crisis. Others would just simply label it depression. Whatever term you give it, I was not well. Sure, I could still function, but it takes days like today to remind myself of what should be normal.

I’m no psychologist, so I don’t write out of extensive education, but only out of my reflections. My point here is not to try and solve anyone’s problem but my own. If you find some solace here, so be it. We all have a unique journey.

I became depressed because I lost hope. I believed my best days were over. I thought I had peaked professionally at age 35. I really believed there was nothing left for me. That’s when the sun began to set, and the night began to fall.

Hope is essential to our well being. Hope is why we become willing to take a risk. We are looking for a better future.

Hope is why people turn to gambling. Ever feel tempted to buy a lottery ticket when it reaches $300 million? You never know what that next card, or handle pull or roll of the dice might bring. You wouldn’t do it if you didn’t have hope. Your judgment may be lost, but not your hope.

Once I got hope back again, everything started to change. And bread&cup was the thing to do it.

The idea is 14 years old. Little did I know that what started as a pipe dream would eventually become my deliverance.

The importance of a father

Many of you know I am inspired by the writing of Michael Ruhlman. I read today on his blog that his father has passed away. He writes about his dad in much the same way I have written about my father on this site. Here are his words of remembrance.

All you can eat for $4.99

I love to travel, though I don’t get to do it as much as I would like. I’ve been fortunate to visit a number of countries in my short years. I think this experience is an unseen force in shaping the restaurant. I wish I had kept track, but I would bet the most commented sentiment about our place in the first six months of opening was “I don’t feel like I’m in Lincoln.”

I take that as a compliment, not because I dislike my town, but because it affirms some of the risks we took in planning our place.

Traveling has had a wonderful affect on my soul. At best it has given me a better perspective on life and makes me a more informed person. It has opened my eyes to see how others make life work on a daily basis and in turn, makes me question some of the ways we have settled into here at home.

Our approach to food is one huge, glaring difference here than in most parts of the world.

You know your culture is in need of rediscovery when you see an advertisement in a food store for something called “Meal Solutions.”

As if dinner is a problem to be solved?

It was always hard to describe the idea of bread&cup to people before we opened, because it was not based on the “get in, get out, get on with your life” sentiment that has become the unspoken mantra of our idea of food. We believed in the opposite. We believed that a meal was not a dilemma in need of a solution. Instead, we saw the meal as much more central, not something you need to hurry through and get finished.

There is probably no way to rescue the masses from this identity crisis, and that certainly is not my job to worry about. Ours is more like the response to the mysterious exhortation that Ray Kinsella heard in Field of Dreams. “If you build it, they will come.” Believe in the idea and the reasons behind the idea and let people figure out if they need it or not.

It smells good in here

Thomas Keller refers to the sound of the kitchen as a barometer of how his staff is doing in their work. He says he can tell if everyone is on top of their tasks or if they are in the weeds just by what he hears. I didn’t understand this until I got a kitchen of my own.

I remember in the first few months out of college while at my first job when I realized that class work was no longer the norm. How odd that after years and years of education and wanting to be through with it, that in such a short time of being out, I would find that there was an element of it I missed, and that was the pattern of learning.

The great thing about my work is that I am always discovering something new. And like Keller, I am learning to use my senses to be aware of how my kitchen is operating.

I don’t have to look at the onions on the stove to know if they are caramelizing properly. The loud sizzle from across the room informed me that the heat was too high. The increase noise of the fan motor says someone didn’t shut the hot box latch. Less conversation indicates that the staff is intent on getting their tasks completed.

The sense of smell is an equal partner to sound, as it lets me know if the steam table has simmered dry and needs refreshed or the meat is braising properly. One morning after going to the Post Office, I picked up a foreign odor as I walked back in the restaurant. It was the faint scent of black beans burning on the bottom of the stock pot. Even though they looked like they had plenty of water from the surface, the olfactory police apprehended the culprit.

We purposefully designed our restaurant with this vulnerability. Why is our bread oven close to the front door? So you could smell the wonderful, intoxicating scent of fresh baked bread every morning you enter. Granted, if we burn the crostini, you get to know it, but we are planning on the 999 times we do it right and not the one mistake that is eventually going to happen.

No regrets

I've made some bad decisions in life, and depending on their degree of severity, the impact of those choices linger long after the action is complete.

But I’ve also made a few good decisions along the way, ones that I don’t regret, but am glad I did so. One is buying my wife a dog for Valentine’s Day. Even though I should have done it years ago, it was a great move. I think I may be nominated for Husband of the Year.

Seriously, this time of year reminds me that I did the right thing about three years ago as my dad was in the hospital recovering from surgery to repair the damage sustain to his hip due to a fall. Since dad had difficulty hearing, I decided to write him a letter of thanks, expressing appreciation for how he lived his life and the example he set for me. Writing allows me to craft words into a message, and I wanted him to know how proud I am being his son.

Little did I know, those would be the last words I would ever get to communicate to him. He passed away a very short time later, due to complications from the surgery. When we arrived soon after his passing, I saw the letter next to his bed. Mom told me about reading it to him. I was so glad I took the time to say what I did.

I’ve decided to print the letter here, as much as a reminder to me to act on those little promptings I get once in a while. Many of you knew my dad and you know what he was like. He was what some refer to as a “hinge generation.” He refused to pass on the family traits that were given to him by his father. Though he was yelled at as a boy, he never treated me that way. Growing up poor, he never wanted me to go without, but neither did he give me everything I wanted. He is a man that grows larger in my eyes with each passing year of his death.

Funny how I remember this, but my very first thought when I knew he was gone was that he would never see my restaurant. I would never be able to slide a pint across the bar and watch him be proud. It’s been almost three years now, and while I don’t have that opportunity, I do have the letter, and I think the latter is the more important one.

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

Dear Dad,

I wasn’t sure when I would be able to talk with you on the phone, but I figured I might be able to better express some things in words on paper than in voice. I am so sorry you broke your leg and are holed up in the hospital. It sounds like you have a good amount of support around you, and for that I am very thankful.

I just wanted to say how proud I am that you are my Dad. Of all the things I have learned from you over the years, the fact that you are not a bitter man is of high importance to me. Karen was imagining you saying after the fall, “Gee, I wish I hadn’t done that.” She, too, has watched your response to life’s ups and downs with grace and style.

Often friends of yours will comment to me about what a great spirit you have within you. They tell me how positive you are, how you always have a kind word to say and a gentle graciousness in your demeanor. I smile with pride as they tell me these things, knowing it could be different, but you have chosen not to let the harshness of life affect you. I remember watching Ray over the years become colder. You have not done that. That is a wonderful gift, more than you know.

I know the days ahead may be uncertain, but I stand with you and what needs to be done. However we can help, we will. Whatever decision needs to be made, so be it. That’s another lesson you and Mom have taught me. Complaining won’t change things, but the right attitude will.

My prayers for you include a regular request that the Heavenly Father’s presence would be very near to you. I know He is proud of you, your life and contribution you have made as a result of your faith. I have aimed high as a result. Hope you get well soon.

Love,

Kevin