Tuesday I'll be heading to California to thaw out and celebrate the holidays. A few things on my to-do list:

1. Escape across the border with James to eat crocodile in Tijuana—or to East LA for burritos at El Tepeyac—in anticipation of the next issue of Swallow.

2. Win the Christmas Eve Strufoli Wars, whereby I convince my son's godmother that boiling the honey syrup For Just One Minute will make the balls stick together rather than fall limp in a (lovingly created pile) at the bottom of the bowl.

Fun fact: This picture also appeared in my book "Sweet Sicily."

3. Go to Murietta Hot Springs to see if I can poach eggs in the hot spring the way they do in Japan...

Perhaps I  should explain:

Onsen tamago (literally "hot spring eggs") are cooked for 45 minutes in 140-degree water in the shell to achieve a miraculously silky-soft-boiled texture.

Photo from the blog My Epicurean Debauchery

This happens as a matter of course at Japanese hot springs ( reports my new assistant, Tomomi), where you can buy a sack of raw eggs and a packet of salt to soak along with you, although I have to say that it must get very stinky at those springs with all that egginess, but probably still not as smelly as borscht toots at the Russian baths. Next time I'm at the sulphur springs in Sicily, I'm gonna try it because it already stinks of rotten eggs there so who'd notice anyway.

White rice steamed in chicken broth with an onsen tamago on top, sprinkled with chopped scallions, is a mighty nice way to begin a Sunday, methinks.

I had these at Momofuku atop a bowl of bacon and grits, and may I have a moment of silence please while we reflect on this.

And 3: Chase down the Korean taco truck for a kimchee quesadilla, which—apart from anything David Chang cooks—is the only time I bend my rule against eating con-fusion food.

Happy Holidays.

When I was working on the Scandinavian issue of Swallow Magazine, James (Casey, the editor) told me about a sort of home brew he found over there, made by dissolving double-salted black liquorice in grain alcohol, or vodka. And then he brought out a bottle he'd smuggled back. It was inky-black, sweet-salty-anise-y, and strong—one of those things that make you vomit and then crave. In other words, addictive. I can imagine the Brothers Grimm writing those fairytales about the bleeding loaves of bread while under the influence of this stuff. 

Last weekend, someone gave me a tub of double-salted black liquorice, which makes me want to vomit, even before the alcohol goes in, so there was nothing to do but buy a half gallon of Georgi and dump it in. I'll get back to you in a few weeks with its progress.

Last weekend, we had Sauerkraut Sunday at Victoria's apartment in Brooklyn. She invited her longtime friend Carl, who teaches cooking classes at Astor Center in Manhattan. And me—I'm Kristina, her newish friend and the person who happily posts her images and text at this blog while she keeps busy as a food stylist and mom. And my pal Julia, a magazine designer by trade and a foodie at heart.

I got to Victoria's garden abode at around 1:30. She'd mentioned she'd be digging a hold in the backyard to store the sauerkraut, so I arrived ready and willing to pick up a shovel. A little manual labor does a city dweller good, in my opinion. Instead, there were Victoria and Carl at the kitchen table, a bottle of crisp white wine ready to be shared and a freshly made batch of macaroni and cheese for our feasting pleasure. Two words came to mind: yay and yum.

We had one of those lovely kitchen-table afternoons that you wish (or I wished) would go on forever. Eating, talking, laughing. Eating some more. Victoria showed us one of her recent projects. It was for the magazine Swallow Magazine (http://coolhunting.com has a nice interview with James Casey, its creative director, here, and if you go here, you'll see where the magazine was honored with a D&AD award earlier this year), and it was inspired by the stories of Hans Christian Andersen. Victoria's concept was to have an arrangement of food and related items on the lefthand side of the spread cast a shadow on the right that referred to a well-loved Andersen fable. (It's trick to explain, and I don't have the images handy, unfortunately. But if we can get them scanned, I promise to post them.)

Victoria also showed us The Foxfire Book—one of her favorite tomes—whose sauerkraut recipe we dutifully followed. The proportions are 1 quart of cabbage to 2 Tbsp salt. Not being much of a kitchen person myself (though I'm working on it), I can't give you step-by-step instructions, but I did take some photos of the goings-on.

Make sure you have your computer's audio on for this video clip. It includes some very important directions:

keep it up from kristina f on Vimeo.

Lunch was as delicious as it looks. Julia came by just in time for the apple tart tatin. Victoria didn't finish hers (you can see her dessert plate on the bottom here), but the rest of us didn't have that problem.

We got a late start because of our languorous lunch, and Carl had to leave before long. So Julia and Victoria established a sort of assembly-line process. Victoria grated the cabbage, and Julia added it to the large ceramic container Victoria had lugged out for the occasion. Julia also took care of the salting duties.

Here's what the would-be slaw looked like when it had been in the container for a bit and the salt had brought out the moisture.

When all the cabbage that could be shredded had gone under the blade, it was all about sealing the sauerkraut. Julia added a layer of the cabbage leaves Victoria had removed.

And then, on top of that, a plate.

And then, a baggie filled with water. One of the rare times that any of us considered water weight desirable.

At some point during the sauerkraut-making process, Victoria had the idea to start a food group. "Like a book club," she said, "only about food." I don't know if she's planning to make her macaroni and cheese a regular part of the proceedings (though I'd like to officially vote in favor of that right now), but if the food group does come to fruition, we'll be sure to include you by way of A Long Hot Simmer.