Baked Feta with Dates and Honey

In winter, feta becomes an orphan, a forgotten cheese. Unless you’re basking in the Greek Isles surrounded by plump tomatoes and cukes, you skip over feta in favor of triple crèmes, butterscotchy Goudas, balsa wood boxes of Epoisses. Am I right?

I’m here to negotiate in favor of feta. If you bake it with honey and dates, you’ve got an easy appetizer, a succulent puff of briny softness, a winter warmer, if you will. I love an island of baked feta accompanied by dried fruit, a handful of walnuts, a sprig of thyme, and some homemade pita chips. To continue reading, please visit the DiBruno Blog.

Full disclosure: This is part of a freelance series I write for Di Bruno Bros. Twice a month, I select a cheese and develop a post for their blog. This is how I cover the cost of my dairy habit.

Tasting Honey by Zip Code

Yesterday, I had my first story in the food section of The Philadelphia Inquirer. This was a proud moment for me. Since I moved to the web (this makes me sound like a spider), I haven't written for newsprint. It was gratifying to run my fingers across real ink again.

My story on Urban Apiaries, a Philadelphia honey company that bottles by neighborhood, came about via cheese. Three weeks ago, I stopped in to peruse the dairy case at Milk & Honey Market in West Philadelphia and ended up spending an hour talking to the owner, Annie Baum-Stein. We'd been keyboard friends but had never met face to face.

"I have a new project that I'm so excited about," she told me, pulling a jar of honey off a shelf. On the lid was a label printed with her zip code -- the honey came from the hive just above us, on her roof. Intrigued, I whipped out my notebook.

Annie's enthusiasm for rooftop beekeeping and her observations about different flavors of honey from around the city were riveting. Later, I muddled over how I would condense our conversation into a blog post. Then it occurred to me: maybe this story was bigger than a post.

As a blogger, it's easy to think that everything happens online. But as a former newspaper editor, I remember the thrill of seeing bales of newsprint arrive on street corners and in coffee shops. Yesterday, that pleasure returned when I walked to the corner kiosk and bought a copy of my very own story -- the first printed story about the city I now call my home.

To read the full story, click here.

Out Takes
One of my favorite shots that didn't make it into the story is this one (below) of Chef Corey Baver in his roof garden above Restaurant Paradiso. The hives aren't visible because they're behind me.



I was amazed to taste honey from three different zip codes. Each one was distinct. If you look closely, you can see that the colors are slightly different.



The honeys were especially good with local cheese. Sean Faeth (below), of Biba, put together a tasting that I attended for this story. My favorite combination was Birchrun Hill's Red Cat with 19148 honey. But of course.



If you live in Philadelphia and haven't visited Annie Baum-Stein at Milk & Honey Market, do yourself a favor. She's on the forefront of food in interesting ways. She also owns Roost, a chiken-and-biscuits delivery service.

Manchego with Figs and Honey

Last week, I rekindled my interest in Manchego, thanks to some grilled figs and a jar of honey. 

A friend served this combination at a party, using fresh figs from her backyard tree. 

Manchego, a subtle Spanish sheep’s milk cheese, was just the right accent, draped over each fig half to form a tiny, briny duvet cover. 

Manchego is a salty lover. Think of seaside air, perspiring brows. This salinity makes Manchego a fine foil for traditional Spanish sides, like quince paste (also known as membrillo) and Marcona almonds, or cracked green olives plugged with lemon peel.

Grilled Figs with Manchego, photo by Amanda Riesman

To continue reading, please visit the Di Bruno Blog.

Full disclosure: This is part of a series I write for Di Bruno Bros. in Philadelphia. The deal is, I choose a cheese and write a post for their blog. This is how I cover the cost of my dairy habit.