By Valli Herman
Times Staff Writer
December 17, 2003
The petite pop songstress with the cat-eye glasses and the guitarist son of rock music legend Frank Zappa may have touring and recording schedules that keep them far away from home. But Loeb and Zappa still find time to share their passion for cooking.
Loeb has even taken baking to the stage. To promote her "Cake and Pie" album, she brought along their chef friend, Mark Tarbell, to bake an apple pie on stage while Loeb and Zappa performed — and between songs, Loeb jumped in to roll out dough.
Beginning Jan. 16, the two will star in their own Food Network show, "Dweezil and Lisa." Last summer, they filmed 10 episodes of the weekly half-hour food travelogue, in which they visit restaurants, ask experts about their favorite foods and get cooking lessons from Tarbell, chef at Tarbell's in Phoenix, and Scott Conant, the chef at L'Impero in New York.
Sharing her roots
The latke holds a special place for Loeb, 35, who grew up eating the ones her mother made from the Manischewitz box mix. Now, she says, "I realize I love the simple, fresh shredded potatoes. I guess it's an old tradition coming back."
To Loeb, the latke is both a cultural artifact of Jewishness and a crispy diplomat that, with some sour cream and applesauce, finds universal acceptance.
"Dweezil is very anti-religious, and I am Jewish culturally, but always learning more and more about it," says Loeb, who admits that sharing her religious roots with her boyfriend is way easier through food.
Free to think of latkes as just potato pancakes, Zappa goes to work grating potatoes and onions, risking his knuckles on an old-fashioned box grater. He slams half a dozen russet potatoes and part of a big Maui onion through the grater in no time flat. Meanwhile, Loeb functions as head chef and strategist.
Loeb took a basic latke recipe and riffed on it over the last couple of years, adding touches such as green onion to the potatoes and topping the latkes with nicely vinegary apple-quince chutney.
They painstakingly squeeze the liquid out of the potatoes using dish towels. Moisture in the batter, Zappa explains, makes for a soggy latke.
Baby Jackson, the couple's tortoiseshell cat, suddenly comes out of hiding and sings a musical meow that catches Zappa's ear. He picks up a blue glitter electric guitar (what kitchen would be complete without one?), strums and re-creates the meow: C sharp, D sharp, almost E flat.
At the Viking stove, in the otherwise Hello Kitty-pink kitchen, Zappa tests the oil temperature with a bit of batter. Slow sizzle; it's not ready. Loeb has fear of frying, so Zappa's the fry cook — the type who goes by gut instinct, not directions. Loeb, an exacting recipe follower, arrives with a cooking thermometer.
Zappa tastes a finished latke; not enough salt. Fishing out some broken bits of potato from the hot oil, he passes along a tip for beginners: "They start burning and make it taste bitter."
"Frying things is complicated," says Zappa. "You have to have the regulated temperature and not put too many things in at the same time. Also, it stinks up the house for a while."
For Zappa, 34, the holidays always meant turkey, his mom's popovers and tangerines in their Christmas stockings. For Loeb, the holidays meant typical Jewish American food — brisket, fancy cookies and, of course, those latkes.
Zappa has been cooking for his family and friends for more than 15 years. Lately he's been studying "Think Like a Chef," by Tom Colicchio, the chef of Gramercy Tavern in New York. He's been known to drive to Phoenix just to eat and learn from Tarbell. The chef became a cooking mentor to the couple after Zappa family friend and restaurant regular Alice Cooper introduced them.
Loeb learned to bake from her mother and friends. "I still call my mom for tips," she said, though she's long been trolling Food Network's recipe site. During her years in New York, Loeb picked up her favorite coconut cream pie recipe from the Little Pie Company.
After a couple of hours, the couple is deep into the preparations for a feast that includes the latkes, a gingery apple-quince chutney to accompany them; roasted beet salad; a brisket (Loeb's mother sent the recipe from Dallas); a pecan-crusted roasted salmon (since Loeb has sworn off of red meat); and macaroons (coconut, not almond).
The brisket's secret ingredients? Kosher dill pickle juice and that mainstay of Jewish pantries, Lipton's Onion Soup Mix. Four hours baked and wrapped up in a foil papoose, and, like magic, it comes out just like mom's. "My siblings have this brisket shipped to them," says Loeb.
The pecan-crusted salmon is her new Hanukkah favorite. Pecans are a very Dallas thing. For the beet salad, she's roasted and peeled an enormous bowl of beets and created what Zappa teases is her version of a Christmas salad. It's a circle of green (spinach) on the outside and red (beets) on the inside that's ringed with white goat cheese crumbles and a few icicles of roasted carrots.
"I'm more about assembling," says Loeb as she layers in the carrots.
And so, the macaroons emerge from the oven, looking "bendy and flat, like macaroon puddles," Zappa says. Nevermind. The brisket is perfect. And the latkes are a huge success, crisp and light. The gingery chutney makes a delicious counterpoint.
"Whether it's your culture or your religion," says Loeb, "I think it's food that really brings you together. For someone who is anti-religious, how can you say no to potato pancakes?"
No one can. They vanish.
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