Tamago-no-Shinzo Yaki

 In Lucky Peach’s All About Eggs, there’s a photo of “Michael Anthony’s Tamagoyaki.” It looks so special: a rectangular, mid-century modern-ish spiral-layered omelet. I instantly wanted to make it.When I actually read the recipe, I definitely did …

In Lucky Peach's All About Eggs, there's a photo of "Michael Anthony's Tamagoyaki." It looks so special: a rectangular, mid-century modern-ish spiral-layered omelet. I instantly wanted to make it.

When I actually read the recipe, I definitely did not want to make it. It required a special square pan as well as seemingly lots of practice and technique. I moved on. I don't speak a lick of Japanese, but the title of the next recipe sounded like a play on the previous one. I read the description and was one-hundred-percent on board to give it a try:

"My mother's tamagoyaki defied all tamagoyaki conventions. She didn't bother making the spirally layers. She didn't even own a square pan. She used a round 10-inch cast iron skillet to make a communal tamagoyaki. Hers was basically scrambled eggs packed together like an ugly pillow. She called it shinzo-yaki ('pan-fried heart), and sure enough, it looked like an organ... Every time I watched my mother make this tamagoyaki, it looked like a disaster. But she didn't seem worried. She was a brave cook."

It's written by Sonoko Sakai. I had never heard of her before but now consider myself a fan. I love the way she writes about her mother. And from her description, I love her mother too! (It looked like a disaster. But she didn't seem worried!)  She feels like an embodiment of what Tannaz and I were talking about re: women and mothers and their practical magic, in the kitchen and far beyond.

Indeed, this dish does come together quite magically. It also does look like disaster for most of the cooking time. But then eventually, it begins to shape into something. And then you flip it and see how the underneath has gotten all caramel-y and amazing.

I really, truly enjoyed making this. Sadly, Matt didn't love how it tasted. He thought it was too sweet. I thought as long as you paired it with some rice, vinegary greens, and vinegary hot sauce, it was quite delicious. In fact, since Matt didn't eat much of it, I ate the leftovers over the next couple of lunches (as I am a practicing practical woman), wrapping it alongside rice and avocado dressed in rice vinegar inside a sheet of nori, and I was very very happy.

I also wanted to quickly thank you all for your generous, kind comments on my last post. I feel semi-positive that if I didn't have a blog to voice that complaint, I may have slipped into a dark, dark place. So, thank the gods for the Internet, I guess? (I also feel the need to declare that I know Baked Ziti's real name and he/she is definitely not a young intern.)

Lastly, re: the first photo up there, Teddy's been learning all about the solar system, or as he would say it, "the saw-ler system." It's spurred so much conversation around here, like did you guys know the sun is eventually going to burn out and die? I didn't! Or else, if I did, I forgot. Speaking of dying, within two minutes of having picked him up at school, Teddy asked me: "When am I going to die?" I said that I didn't know but hopefully not for a really long time. He followed this up with: "And when I die, everyone dies?" Alkjdfljkafdaaflkakjfdljkafdladfljkafljkaflkjlkajfd.

On that note, I'm out of here. Enjoy this miraculous egg dish! xoxxo
Tamago-no-Shinzo Yaki by Sonoko Sakai via All About Eggs
makes 1 omelet (2 to 4 servings)

10 eggs
1 1/2 cups dashi (I actually made dashi for this! But am pretty sure substituting with chicken broth wouldn't be a heinous crime against humanity.)
1/2 cup sake
1/4 cup sugar
2 tbsp. soy sauce
1/2 tsp. sea salt
2 tbsp. sesame oil
1 cup grated daikon radish (optional)

Whisk the eggs, dashi, sake, sugar, soy sauce, and salt in a large bowl.

Heat the sesame oil in a well-seasoned cast iron or nonstick pan over medium heat. Pour the soupy egg mixture into the heated pan all at once and stir until the eggs split from the broth and start to coagulate. Using a spatula, start to push the cooked eggs to one side of the pan, packing the tamagoyaki so it holds together and scraping the bottom of the pan to make sure it is not sticking. When most of the egg has bound together in a heap at one side of the pan, after about 10 minutes, reduce the heat to low. Work the omelet into the middle of the pan, packing it into a wiggly oval. It will be very tender so treat it gently. Ladle the broth pooling in the skillet over the entire tamagoyaki while moving it around in the pan so it cooks evenly. Repeat until the tamgoyaki absorbs all the broth, about 15 minutes. (This is Amelia: try not to stray too far from the stovetop here and don't rush!)

When there is only syrupy dashi left in the skillet, and the bottom of the omelet is caramel colored, carefully flip the tamagoyaki and caramelize the other side, about 5 minutes.

Carefully transfer the tamagoyaki to a cutting board. Let it cool slightly, then cut it into square or rectangular pieces and serve it with grated daikon radish, if desired.

Our All-Time Favorite Candy Apple Recipe, Perfected

Before writing this post, I had never eaten a candy apple that I enjoyed. In the past, I had been drawn in by their glossy, hypnotic-red exterior—and inevitably ended up disappointed by a mealy, sub-par apple while wiping shards of sugar off of my nose…

Before writing this post, I had never eaten a candy apple that I enjoyed. In the past, I had been drawn in by their glossy, hypnotic-red exterior—and inevitably ended up disappointed by a mealy, sub-par apple while wiping shards of sugar off of my nose. But apples are amazing when they’re at their peak during fall! And sugar is definitely good, of course! So why is their union so consistently lackluster, artificial-tasting, and downright bad? Answer: we don’t know, but we know it doesn't have to be this way. Not if you source some top-notch apples and lightly coat them in melted, spiced sugar (and maybe even roll them in salted nuts or seeds, if you're over the top like that).

I flavored the sugar shell mixture with cinnamon oil (which has a much stronger kick than ground cinnamon and blends seamlessly into the melted sugar) and a shake of cayenne pepper, for spice. Finally, I went a bit over-the-top by rolling the bottoms of my just-dipped apples into roasted, salted pepitas. If you're not feeling that ambitious, they will still look—and taste—lovely without this extra step.


EatingWell Magazine: Putting the FREE in Freelance

I want to tell you a quick story in screen grabs. Ready? OK.It all started on a Friday. Out of the blue, an editor at EatingWell magazine contacted me. To protect the guilty, I’m gonna call the editor Baked Ziti. Here’s what Baked Ziti wrote:…

I want to tell you a quick story in screen grabs. Ready? OK.

It all started on a Friday. Out of the blue, an editor at EatingWell magazine contacted me. To protect the guilty, I'm gonna call the editor Baked Ziti. Here's what Baked Ziti wrote:

[Update: Before posting this story, I briefly spoke with a lawyer who advised me to quote Baked Ziti's emails instead of using screenshots. "Fine!" I said. So, actually, it'll be a story in 50% screenshots of my emails and 50% quoted emails.]

"Hi Amelia,

I edit a new humor column at the magazine and wanted to reach out to see if you’d be interested in writing for us. It’s an essay (around 700 words) and it can be on any subject you like as long as it has something to do with food/cooking. Thought this was right up your alley. Happy to give you more details.

Baked Ziti"

I'm so used to pitching magazines and not getting responses that this email from an editor actually seeking me out(!) instead of vice versa seemed almost too good to be true. I think you can see my skepticism in my reply:

I am very used to people expecting creative work for free. And in fact, like an idiot, I've given my work for free before to places like Food52--for, you know, exposure! (Sidebar: people make exposure sound like some crazy reward when really, they can give you exposure and also pay you!) My point is that I am very careful to ask: How much does it pay? Baked Ziti responds:

"Hi Amelia,

It does. Generally around $1000. If you’re interested we could hop on a call to talk through possible ideas."

I write back:

To briefly sum up the next few emails: Baked Ziti is on the east coast. Baked Ziti throws out a time to talk that would be 8am my time. We land on 8:30am, after explaining that I've got to get my 1 1/2 year old and 3 1/2 year old out the door. And even still, getting back home by 8:30am is a hustle, but whatever. I'm freeeeeelancing! Weeeee! Let's ride this snake!

So, Baked Ziti and I talk about potential ideas on Friday. It's a nice chat. Baked Ziti tells me to write a few sentences down and send the ideas back, when they're ready, via email. I work on the ideas for much of Saturday while Matt cares for the kids. To be honest, I'm really excited about this opportunity. Not only do I need the money, but it really does sound like a perfect assignment. 

Late on Sunday, I send off my ideas. (NOTE: In my experience, the editor will either be on board with the pitch, in which case you've got the job and you will then come to an agreement on terms/payment or they're not, in which case you don't have the job and buh-byyee!!)
Baked Ziti replies with: 

"Hi Amelia,

I like the first idea of the challenges of working and getting a decent meal on the table--especially for someone who loves to cook. With new writers, we usually do these pieces on spec, if you're down. I'm attaching a couple of the other columns I was telling you about, as an FYI.


In the moment, I am definitely a bit deflated. If you are a writer or creative person, you will know all about doing things "on spec." Basically, it means that the company/person/entity wants you to do all the work for free and then if they publish it, they will pay you for it. I'm also slightly bothered by Baked Ziti's classification of me as a "new" writer. I mean... I do have a book and I've been writing this blog and publishing essays specifically in this food/lifestyle space for almost a decade! That's why Baked Ziti reached out to me, right? Because of my experience as a food/humor writer? 

As you can see below, I immediately forward this email to Matt and we have a nice little back and forth about how lame "spec" work is and how Baked Ziti should've really mentioned this in the beginning, back when I asked about payment instead of just dangling $1000 in front of me like it was nothing. After all, it would have been pretty easy to do, right?

That being said, I've essentially written the piece already. I like it and feel like I can get the job. I write Ziti back:

Baked Ziti writes back right away:


I didn't want to spend too much more time on it, knowing how editors are always editing. So, in two days, I write back with this:

Baked Ziti doesn't get back to me to say they received it or anything. So, in a few days, I follow up, mentioning that I wanted to check in before leaving town for a few days. Baked Ziti says they forwarded it to their editor and to check back with them when I return. 

But then, before I even return, I get an email from Baked Ziti. It says: 

"Hi Amelia,

Hope you had a good getaway! I love the topic of this piece—the idea of loving to cook and having no time to do it and screw all those people claiming you can throw together a great “dinner with ease.” The realness and honestness of that is really appealing to me. But I feel like it would be stronger and funnier in first-person form. I totally get why you spun it this way, I just crave hearing your voice saying all this stuff. Make sense?


This response, in my opinion, is borderline infuriating. Not that the editor is giving me notes. I always expect notes. What's so frustrating is that BZ is treating me like their hired hack without hiring me, and asking for more work without mentioning whether or not I got the job. As if I haven't already spent a decent amount of time on this job. To me, this is unacceptable. I gather up my tiny amount of self-respect and kindly write back:
Baked Ziti doesn't write back.

Three days later, I follow up. Baked Ziti still doesn't write back. 

I actually considered following up again, but what was left of my small, mostly-broken ego held me back. (Also, Matt told me not to.) (Thank you, Matt!)

We had exchanged multiple emails, a call, and the work of writing a column all in one week's time. Now there's been radio silence for two straight weeks. I think it's pretty safe to say I've been ghosted.

Here are a few scenarios in which I would not have gone to the trouble to write this blog post. 

1. The editor had written me back, saying something like: "Sorry! We just aren't gonna pay you until we are 100% sure we are going to publish the piece." 

2. The editor had written me back, saying something like, "Hey, Amelia. Thanks so much for your time and work on this. Unfortunately, we don't see ourselves running this piece. It's a pass. All the best!"

3. Baked Ziti had written me back, saying "Hey, Amelia. Sounds fair! After all, we came to you. You did a lot of work. And now we want you to do more work on the piece. Seems only right. Let's come to some agreement re: payment. I sure did tell you the job pays $1,000, when you asked after all! Oh, and by the way, thanks for clearly communicating with me like that. People generally don't ask if the job pays, they just cross their fingers that we treat them fairly! LOL."

3. The editor had written me back. 

4. If they wrote me back.

NOTE #1: Me being (overly?) sensitive and thoughtful, I Googled this editor's name to make sure that they hadn't died before posting this. After all, Baked Ziti reached out to me initially and had always been semi-quick to respond to my emails. Maybe Baked Ziti had died, part of me worried.

NOTE #2: I'm well aware that this is a minor (and super common) injustice in the grand scheme of things. (Puerto Rico, the history of women being sexual assaulted in this country, and specifically within USA Gymnastics, just to name two that I can't stop thinking about.) And as I said above, if Baked Ziti had just written me back, I would never have posted this. 

To me, this total lack of response is an example of something sick in our culture that causes problems far more serious and complicated than the one I am sharing--the ease with which we are able to dismiss one another. 

OK, friends. That's my story. EatingWell can certainly suck it. 

Big (Huge) Sur

We all know the saying: If Vanity Fair isn’t coming to you. You go to Vanity Fair. Or, put another way (in case that’s not a familiar saying to you): these idyllic photos of me and my family in Big Sur are what I imagine our fictional Vanity Fair sprea…

We all know the saying: If Vanity Fair isn’t coming to you. You go to Vanity Fair. Or, put another way (in case that’s not a familiar saying to you): these idyllic photos of me and my family in Big Sur are what I imagine our fictional Vanity Fair spread might look like.
Our family (sans Mavis) spent most of last week at an old friend’s place in Big Sur. The trip was both an adventure and a Walden-esque escape pod from the noise of the world. For the past eight months, because of fires followed by cataclysmic rains, this portion of the coast has only been accessible by a 26-mile windy, narrow mountain pass with no cell service or guardrails. In a small way, we were mercifully off the grid. We had satellite Internet, but we couldn’t use our phones to actually call anyone—something Matt still does with regularity. The only TV monitors we saw were dead and stacked in a cross outside of the Henry Miller Memorial Library. We fell into a pretty simple routine that went mostly like this: breakfast, coffee, hike, lunch by the ocean, exploration, wine, dinner at 5pm, campfire, songs, stories, and sleep. It was a really good trip.

As for that noisy world that we instantly returned to? Well, the thing that I’m holding tight to, the thing that became so obviously clear to me during this trip is that of all of the things, people, institutions, etc. one can choose to worship in this world, I choose nature. I choose the ocean—the otters we saw floating on their backs, cracking open abalone, the whales we saw slapping their flippers against the surface of the water, and the giant, heart-expanding redwoods. I choose the sea air, the moon, the sun, the planets. The universe!

As for food, I made another Japanese egg dish. I’ll be sure to share it with you soon.

Teddy inside one heck of a spirit nest.

Isaac got a stick!
Isaac lost his stick!

One million cheers for the hummingbird that just barely made the frame.