kale & cardamom

creamy herb cashew cheese

2012-01-23T07:45:00.000-05:00

this cashew cheese is the first non-smoothie concoction i've tried with my new vitamix so far. silky-smooth and savory, it's a nice raw vegan alternative to include on a cheese or appetizer platter, spread on flatbreads or toast, or layer into a sandwich. and so simple to make. i soaked some raw cashews for a few hours, drained off the water, and blended them up with fresh lemon juice, a little shoyu for salt and depth (you can also use miso paste), dried italian herbs, a dash of tabasco, and chile flakes.

i used aleppo pepper, a gentle chile variety that's fruity, a little smoky, and mildly spicy. you can play around with the herb/spice combinations...herbes de provence, cumin and coriander, thyme and rosemary, smoked paprika, chipotle powder. make it as spicy or mild as you like. i'd also like to try using miso and maybe some nutritional flakes next time for a funkier, cheesier flavor.

right after blending, the cheese is very soft and spreadable - like a thick hummus. you could serve it right away as a spread or even a dip with vegetable spears and pita chips. i wanted to firm it up a bit and wrapped the cashew mixture in cheesecloth, letting it sit in the fridge overnight in a strainer set over a bowl. after about 12 hours it had the consistency of a soft chevre, drier but still creamy and spreadable.

creamy cashew cheese with herbs and aleppo pepper

1 cup raw cashews, soaked 6 hours (any longer and they may get slimy)
juice of 1 lemon
1/2 tsp dried italian herb blend (oregano, basil, marjoram, thyme, rosemary, sage)
dash of tabasco
pinch of chile flakes
1 to 1-1/2 tsp shoyu, tamari, or miso (to taste)
a few grinds of black pepper
1-2 Tbsp water, if needed, for blending

combine all ingredients in container of a high-powered blender. process on high for a few minutes until cashews are completely blended and mixture is creamy. may need to scrape down the sides a few times and/or add a little water to ensure that the nuts blend evenly.

enjoy as is, or wrap in cheesecloth, tie with kitchen twine, and strain for 12 to 24 hours for a firmer, drier consistency. to serve, unwrap and invert the cheese onto a plate.

chicken & leek soup with shiitakes

2012-01-16T09:35:00.000-05:00

well, hello there.

welcome to the blog previously known as the smart palate.

now it's kale and cardamom, named in honor of my favorite leafy green and favorite spice, both of which happen to be my favorite color (if we're talking green cardamom pods, at least). i decided on the name change because the smart palate had always sounded too serious to me, and i wanted something with a bit more whimsy. i mean, it's not all flax meal and wheatgrass juice around here :) i even figured out how to redirect the old blogspot address to the updated domain name (miracle of miracles). so there's a purdy new .com too.

gripped by a bad case of blog inertia last summer, i couldn't bring myself to post a damn thing. i thought about taking down the site (dead blogs are so depressing), but i guess part of me missed it around here, just a teeny bit, and suspected i might come back for an encore somewhere down the line. so it was spared.

i'm aiming to keep my posts simple and avoid anything too precious .... a lot of food writing these days kinda makes me want to hurl. blogging should be approached like getting dressed -- when you think you're ready to walk out the door, take another look in the mirror and remove one accessory.

so there you have it. i'm back. for now ;)

and since it's winter there will be lots of soups, stews, braises, and other long-cooked, one-pot meals.

why not get started -- here's one for ya. every winter i land on a favorite soup recipe, and this year it's a hearty chicken and leek soup based on a rich, long-simmered broth and pumped up with shiitakes, ginger, and garlic. a great immunity booster. i've made a big pot the last three weekends and don't think i'll be tiring of it any time soon.

(ps - life's too short to capitalize! i'm starting an anti-capitalization campaign.)

chicken & leek soup with shiitakes

olive oil
3 large leeks (white and light green parts), thinly sliced and washed well
3 carrots, sliced into half moons
2 celery stalks, chopped
3 cloves of garlic, sliced
2 inch piece of ginger, peeled and sliced into matchsticks
6 cups rich chicken-leek-ginger broth* (or flavorful veg broth/stock)
6 dried whole shiitake mushrooms (or 1/3 cup dried sliced or 1/2 cup fresh sliced)
1/3 cup uncooked brown rice
6 small or 2 large potatoes, cut into 3/4 inch chunks
2-inch piece of kombu (dried kelp)
1 tsp herbes de provence
red pepper flakes, to taste
sea salt
black pepper
optional: cooked chicken, cut into bite size pieces
lemon juice or apple cider vinegar
torn parsley or cilantro leaves

heat a couple of tablespoons of olive oil in a heavy bottomed pot (5 or 6 quart capacity) over medium heat.

add the leeks and saute for a few minutes until beginning to brown. add the carrots, celery, garlic, and ginger and a pinch of salt and pepper. cook for another few minutes till vegetables begin to soften.

add the broth, shiitakes, rice, potatoes, kombu, herbes, and red pepper flakes, and a little more s+p. add a little more broth or water if needed to cover the solids, and partially cover the pot.

simmer until everything is tender, at least an hour but closer to 2 if you have the time - the broth gets silkier as the rice and potatoes release more of their starch. break apart the kombu with a spoon if it hasn't fallen apart already. i left the shiitakes whole (good idea if someone in your house doesn't like mushrooms, since they can be easily identified and avoided.) otherwise remove their tough stems, slice the caps, and return them to the pot.

add the cooked chicken (if using) for the last 5 or 10 minutes to let it heat through. add a squeeze of fresh lemon juice/apple cider vinegar and s+p to taste before serving. garnish each both with parsley or cilantro for a dash of green.

rich chicken-leek-ginger broth
there tends to be a lot of debate about what constitutes a broth vs a stock. the way i learned it is that a broth is seasoned (salt, pepper, spices, etc), whereas a stock is unseasoned (just water and meat/bones/veg). i'm calling this a broth since i added salt, pepper, and other spices to it.

onion skin and long cooking time give the broth a really deep golden brown color and rich flavor. the cider vinegar helps pull minerals, esp. calcium, from the bones into the broth. yields a about 6 cups of broth.

1 chicken (whole chicken or bones)
2 quarts filtered water (+ more as needed)
1 yellow or spanish onion, root end removed and halved
dark green tops of 3 or 4 leeks, very roughly chopped
1 carrot, roughly chopped
1 celery stalk, roughly chopped
2 inch piece of fresh ginger (skin on), sliced
3 cloves of garlic, peeled and smacked with a knife
2-inch piece of kombu
bay leaf
juniper berries (4 or 5)
1/2 tsp black peppercorns
sea salt
2 tbsp apple cider vinegar

combine the chicken, water, vegetables, herbs, and spices (everything except the vinegar) in a large pot and throw in a couple of big pinches of salt. bring to a boil and reduce to a gentle simmer. skim any foam from the top.

cook the chicken for about 1 hour, then remove it and pull meat from bones. set aside the meat for soup and toss the bones and skin back into the pot. add the vinegar. simmer the broth for 6 to 12 hours, partially covered -- its volume will reduce and its color will deepen (add more water if needed to keep the solids covered).

strain the broth. i like to refrigerate it and skim off the fat (easier done when it's cold) before using in soup.

zucchini with mint & preserved lemon

2011-06-15T08:14:00.002-04:00

It is possible that I have hit upon my favorite zucchini dish of the summer. Now, considering that the summer is young (okay, officially it hasn't even arrived yet) and that I'm bound to make about 108 more zucchini dishes between now and Labor Day, I might contradict myself at some point and announce a new favorite. But for now, this is where it's at.

The zucchini gets a quick high-heat saute to get the browned flavors going, followed by a gentle braise in a generous amount of olive oil, along with onion, garlic, and fruity Aleppo pepper. Emerging meltingly tender and sweet, the tangle of squash is joined by the brightness of fresh mint and dill and the salty-sour complexity of preserved lemon. And a crumble of feta; I love feta with zucchini. Eat it by itself, or as a side, or tossed with pasta or a whole grain for a main course.

I've become quite smitten with my first batch of preserved lemons and have been dipping into the jar on a daily basis to add the salty-fruity-sour peel to whole grains, lentils, salads, and cooked vegetables. If you've never made preserved lemons at home, you must make yourself a jar of these! It's incredibly easy and the uses are endless. Just don't repeat my mistake of putting up only a half recipe because you think 2 pounds of lemons sounds like, well, a lot of lemons. Go all the way and make a full batch. Once they've matured you'll be adding them to anything and everything and not a single wedge will go to waste.

The feta I served with the zucchini is an incredible goat's milk variety from Ardith Mae that I picked up at the Sunday farmers' market near the Natural History Museum. It's softer, creamier, and less grainy than the usual sheep's milk feta -- with an almost spreadable consistency -- and mild with a hint of goaty tang. {Ardith Mae's bigelo (ash-coated, soft-ripened) and mammuth (creamy, Camembert-like) cheeses are also fantastic. As if I needed another reason to wander this stretch of Columbus on a Sunday afternoon. . .}

zucchini with mint & preserved lemon

extra virgin olive oil
1 onion, thinly sliced (about 3/4 cup)
4 medium zucchini, thinly sliced (about 5 cups)
2 small heads of green/young/spring garlic, chopped (or sub in 2 cloves of mature garlic)
1/2 tsp Aleppo pepper flakes
1/4 cup chopped fresh mint
1/4 cup chopped fresh dill
half of a preserved lemon, flesh discarded, peel rinsed to remove excess salt and chopped (about 1 Tbsp)
sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
feta cheese (optional)

Heat a big glug of olive oil (about 3 Tbsp) in a heavy-bottomed pot or skillet over medium-high heat. Add the onion and zucchini and a pinch of salt. Saute, stirring occasionally, until the edges of the vegetables are beginning to brown, about 5 minutes.

Stir in the garlic, Aleppo pepper, and a few grinds of black pepper. If the mixture looks dry, add a drizzle of oil (1 to 2 Tbsp). Lower heat, cover, and cook until the squash is very tender, about 10 minutes more. If the zucchini has released a lot of liquid, simmer uncovered for another minute or two to evaporate some of the water and concentrate the juices.

Turn off the heat, stir in the herbs and preserved lemon, and season to taste with salt and black pepper. Garnish each serving with crumbled feta, if desired.

berry & arugula salad with creamy mint dressing

2011-06-10T15:14:00.001-04:00

This morning I returned from the greenmarket with strawberries and blueberries, arugula, shell peas, and a giant bunch of fresh mint. There's no mistaking it, we're in the thick of June. And our first heat wave of the season: ninety-eight and humid in New York yesterday, and it's getting up there today, too. I don't have much desire to do any official cooking. My mind is on berries and greens.

Shell peas. I can handle turning on a burner when it's for a quick blanch. These boiled in salted water for a couple of minutes and then went into an ice bath. Salad-ready.

Fresh spearmint for a creamy salad dressing.

The dressing. A dreamy shade of green, infused with fresh mint, lemon, and coriander seed, it's the perfect counterpart to the spicy greens and sweet berries and shell peas. You bet I could drink this straight out of a mason jar (it does bear an uncanny resemblance to my superpowered green smoothie) ... but drizzling it over a salad is nice, too.

Process in a blender until smooth and creamy:

1/2 cup plain whole milk yogurt (I used a thinner style yogurt from Ronnybrook; if using a very thick yogurt such as Greek, you can thin out the dressing with a little water or lemon juice)
1/3 cup (packed) fresh mint leaves
2 Tbsp tahini
1 tsp grated lemon zest
1/2 tsp ground coriander seed
1/2 tsp sea salt (or to taste)
a few grinds of black pepper (to taste)

{This recipe yields about 3/4 cup of dressing; store the leftover dressing in the fridge and use within 2 to 3 days.}

Assembly. A few handfuls of arugula seasoned with a little salt and black pepper, a scattering of sweet shell peas, lots of juicy berries, a drizzle of mint dressing. My idea of a perfect June lunch.

I was planning to garnish the salad with slivers of homemade preserved lemon peel -- I recently made up a fantastic batch according to the Tigress' recipe -- but hunger got the best of me and they never made it out of the jar. A sprinkling of toasted, chopped nuts would be a welcome addition, too.

green garlic quinoa

2011-06-01T13:40:00.001-04:00

I make a batch of quinoa a couple of times during the week to keep on hand for quick dinners, packable work lunches, even breakfasts. Light and nutty, gluten-free, and packed with protein, it's been a pantry favorite for a while {I store it in a jar, which I replenish from the bulk bin section of my local natural foods store}. Quinoa is among the quickest cooking in the whole grains category, so I can simmer up a pot in the morning for a fuss-free bring-to-work lunch.

With all this quinoa cooking in my kitchen, I'm always looking for new combinations to perk up the latest pot. This morning I added thinly sliced green garlic, a knob of butter, and grated lemon zest. Nutty, bright, buttery, and delicious. So good that I had some for breakfast, drizzled with extra virgin olive oil and sprinkled with walnuts and gomasio. Another healthy portion became the foundation for a lunch bowl along with braised kale and mustard greens spiced with homemade curry powder, slices of hard-cooked egg, more walnuts and gomasio, a spritz of lemon juice and a drizzle of olive oil. Yes, it's been a double quinoa kind of day.

Lately I've been snatching up green garlic whenever and wherever I see it. I became acquainted with it during the last couple of years, when I began shopping the farmers markets on a regular basis and encountering items that rarely see the inside of a supermarket. Green garlic is one. Harvested while the outer layers of the bulb and membranes encasing the individual cloves are tender and edible -- unlike the tough and papery skins you see with mature garlic -- you can slice right through the head and use the entire thing.

The cloves are crisp and juicy, packing a fresh garlicky flavor that's gentler and less pungent than their aged counterparts. It's delicious raw, especially in vinaigrettes, and I love to cook with it too -- it turns mellow, subtle, and sweet. Like so many lovely spring things, its season is fleeting, so get it while you can!

green garlic quinoa

1 cup quinoa, rinsed until the water runs clear and drained
1-3/4 cups water
1 Tbsp unsalted butter
2 green garlic bulbs, thinly sliced (or 1 clove of mature garlic, minced)
1 tsp finely grated or minced lemon zest
1/2 tsp sea salt

Combine all ingredients in a pot, cover, and bring to a boil.

Reduce heat to low and simmer for 15 minutes or until water is absorbed and quinoa is tender.

Fluff quinoa with a fork to separate the grains.

lemon dill miso butter {+ a tasty lunch plate}

2011-05-31T12:45:00.007-04:00

Miso paste and butter are two ingredients I'm pretty sure I never would have thought to combine, if not for auspiciously coming across David Chang's recipe for asparagus with miso butter in the ny times a while back. The chef/owner of the Momofuku empire, Chang is an umami master and creator of many an improbably fabulous flavor combination. Intrigued, I mentally bookmarked the idea to recreate at home -- unsurprisingly, once I got around to making it myself, this stuff really stopped me in my tracks. The miso's salt, tang, and slightly funky fermentedness provide intrigue and cut through the richness of the butter; the butter, in turn, creates a wonderfully creamy texture and tames the assertiveness of the miso. A match made in heaven. I can -- and will! -- put this on anything.

I've made up a few batches now, sometimes simply butter and miso, and when I'm feeling fancier, adding in fresh herbs, spices, and citrus zests. Over the weekend I mixed up a batch seasoned with lemon zest and fresh dill as a finishing touch for sole en papillote with asparagus. Oh, boy, did that work.

You can vary the flavor elements to customize the miso butter as you like -- orange zest and lemon with a pinch of red chile or cayenne is great for sauteed asparagus, minced fresh cilantro, parsley, or thyme for mashed potatoes. You garlic lovers out there could add some minced fresh garlic to make a particularly pungent butter. Play around, you really can't go wrong. With summer just ahead, the miso butter pairing possibilities are endless: smear it on corn on the cob, stir a spoonful into a bowl of steamed green beans or sauteed summer squash, finish warm, grilled peaches with a citrus and rosemary-spiked concoction. And, my current favorite cook's treat, a generous layer of softened miso butter spread onto a rye crisp.

Yesterday's lunch plate was a random and tasty assortment of fresh vegetables and pantry items: cubes of greenmarket tomato and (not greenmarket) avocado, discs of purple carrot, a big handful of cilantro leaves, marinated artichoke hearts, thinly sliced green garlic, and homemade pickled ramps and asparagus, all drizzled with a quick dressing of tahini thinned with lemon juice and water and seasoned with sea salt, black pepper, and red chile flakes. Joined by a couple of ryvita crisps slathered with leftover lemon dill miso butter, it was a satisfying no-cook lunch, perfect for a hot day.

miso butter with lemon and dill

3 Tbsp unsalted butter, softened (I used Kerry Gold)
2 to 3 Tbsp mild miso paste (such as sweet white miso or mellow chickpea miso) (to taste)
1 tsp finely grated lemon zest
1 tsp minced fresh dill

Mix together the butter and miso until well combined (I like to use more butter than miso, but you might prefer a 1:1 ratio as in David Chang's recipe). Stir in the lemon zest and dill.

Let sit (room temp or refrigerated) for about 30 minutes before serving to allow flavors to meld.

strawberry rhubarb yogurt cake

2011-05-29T16:45:00.001-04:00

With the bounty of rhubarb and strawberries I brought home from the farmers' market on Friday, it seemed only fitting to make a cake.

There are so many tempting recipes out there for strawberry and rhubarb desserts -- from pudding cake to krack -- it was hard to settle on one. I was thoroughly overwhelmed, with about 10 tabs open in safari, toggling back and forth and comparing ingredients and photos, when I remembered this dependable yogurt cake. I've made it on a number of occasions and always with impressive results, just what I was looking for since I wanted a recipe I felt fairly confident could tolerate a number of tweaks (taking things a few shades darker, as usual) and still turn out well.

I used whole spelt flour in place of white flour, golden coconut palm sugar in place of white sugar, and olive oil in place of canola. I also added orange and lemon zests to liven up the cake and provide a fresh, citrusy foundation for the sweet strawberries and tart rhubarb.

With plenty of fruit left to play around with after getting the cake into the oven, I decided to make a coulis to serve alongside. So simple: just rhubarb simmered with fresh orange juice and a little palm sugar until it falls apart and gets all saucy, then blended with strawberries and a little more orange juice till it forms a silky, pourable sauce. Sweet and tart perfection.

I also froze a portion of the sauce after being hit by the following revelation: a spoonful of this stuff would make a fantastic dog-days-of-summer cocktail stirred into a glass of prosecco, or, if we're feeling really festive, blended with tequila and lime juice for a kicker of a margarita. That could make a 100-degree July-in-nyc day almost tolerable. {Well, that and a strong air conditioner; even one that sounds like a jackhammer crossed with a lawn mower.}

And finally, the piece de resistance: a slice of citrusy, fruit-studded, sweet-tart strawberry rhubarb cake with a melty scoop of vanilla Haagen Dazs and a drizzle of tangy strawberry-rhubarb coulis. Heavenly.

strawberry rhubarb yogurt cake
Adapted from Orangette

I was a bit overzealous in adding the strawberries and rhubarb to the cake batter, and the finished cake was a bit soggy on the bottom. Delicious, but soggy. I have halved the amounts in the recipe below.

3 large eggs
1 cup unrefined sugar (I used coconut palm sugar; sucanat or rapadura would work as well)
1/2 cup plain yogurt (I used whole milk yogurt, but low fat or nonfat would work too)
finely grated zest of 1 orange (about 1 Tbsp) (save juice for coulis, below)
finely grated zest of 1 lemon (about 1 tsp)
1/4 tsp salt
1 cup whole spelt flour
1/2 cup almond meal (purchased or ground in the food processor from about 1/2 cup [rounded] of whole almonds)
1/2 cup olive oil
1/2 cup sliced rhubarb (1/2-inch pieces)
1/2 cup strawberries, hulled and halved or quartered, depending on size

Heat oven to 350 F and grease a 9-inch round cake pan

Whisk together the eggs, sugar, yogurt, orange zest, lemon zest, and salt in a large bowl until smooth. Add the flour and almond meal and mix until just combined. Add the olive oil and whisk until incorporated (the batter will separate at first but then come together again).

Pour about 2/3 of the batter into the prepared pan. Arrange the rhubarb and strawberries evenly over the batter, then pour the remaining batter on top.

Bake for 45 to 55 minutes until the center of the cake springs back when lightly pressed and a cake tester comes out clean.

Cool the cake on a wire rack for at least 15 minutes before transferring to a plate. Serve with strawberry rhubarb coulis and vanilla ice cream or whipped cream.

strawberry rhubarb coulis
makes about 3 cups (freeze any leftover sauce for cocktails!)

2 cups sliced rhubarb
2 Tbsp coconut palm sugar
juice of one orange, divided (about 1/2 cup total)
2 Tbsp water
1 cup strawberries, hulled and halved

Bring the rhubarb, sugar, half of the orange juice, and water to a boil in a covered saucepan. Lower heat and simmer until the rhubarb becomes very soft, 5 to 8 minutes.

Remove rhubarb mixture from heat. Transfer to a blender, add strawberries and remaining orange juice and puree until smooth and pourable. Thin with a little more orange juice or water if the sauce is too thick.

greenmarket Friday

2011-05-27T13:19:00.003-04:00

A morning trip to the greenmarket -- what better way to kick off a warm and sunny Friday and a long holiday weekend?

See those rhubarb stalks on the front table? I snagged them.

I am sensing a strawberry and rhubarb concoction in my future...I've been thinking about this whole-grain loaf cake for a while.

The grand tally for today: strawberries, rhubarb, two hothouse tomatoes, a bunch of green garlic, asparagus, cilantro, dill, two bunches of purple kale, mustard greens, a dozen eggs from Raghoo farms, and a quart of whole, unhomogenized, cream-on-top milk from Ronnybrook.

My little apartment fridge doesn't know what hit it.

Have a fabulous weekend!

sugar snap & radish salad with spicy miso vinaigrette

2011-05-26T11:56:00.001-04:00

In the mood for some crunch?

I made a salad for you. (But then I ate it.)

During the colder months my tastes gravitate toward the hearty and comforting textures of all things braised, baked, simmered, and roasted. Now that summer is just around the corner (and maybe arriving a tad early -- they're predicting highs near 90 in nyc tomorrow!), I'm feeling the raw-crispy-crunchy veg vibe again. On my last greenmarket visit I picked up a bunch of Easter egg radishes, looking all adorable in their white, pink, and purple skins, and a few generous fistfuls of sweet and crunchy, just-plucked sugar snap peas. They joined forces to create a salad with a most satisfying crunch, the whole thing tied together by a chile-flecked miso vinaigrette.

Miso paste is one of my go-to fridge staples. It's an incredibly versatile ingredient that imparts the magical umami -- that hard to define rich-salty-savory depth of flavor -- to everything it touches. Unpasteurized miso (South River Miso is my favorite brand) sold in the refrigerator case is the best way to get a good dose of the health-promoting microorganisms that flourish during the fermentation process (the miso pastes sold at room temp on grocery store shelves have usually been treated with high heat to prevent spoilage). Boiling miso or otherwise exposing it to high heat kills off those good guys -- so I always add it to soup after it's cooled for a few minutes, and toss vegetables with miso dressing only off the heat.

I keep a couple of varieties of miso paste in the fridge: a rich, hearty miso for soups (aduki bean miso is my current favorite) and a milder miso to use in dressings, sauces, and vinaigrettes (like mellow chickpea miso or sweet white soybean miso). The milder miso pastes also make a crazy-good citrus miso butter for sauteed asparagus - I'll get that up here one of these days! All this to say -- a jar of miso is a handy thing to have in the kitchen.

sugar snap and radish salad with spicy miso dressing
serves 1

I bought a packet of Aleppo pepper flakes at Penzey's in Grand Central Market recently and have been using it in everything ever since. Aleppo is a mildly spicy pepper with a complex, fruity, raisiny, and slightly smoky flavor. If you don't have Aleppo on hand, substitute dried red chile flakes but use a little less -- the Aleppo flakes do not contain seeds so their heat level is lower than that of regular crushed red chile.

1 generous Tbsp mild miso paste (such as sweet white miso or chickpea miso)
2 Tbsp freshly squeezed lemon juice
2 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil
2 Tbsp thinly sliced spring garlic or scallion
1/4 tsp Aleppo pepper flakes (or to taste)
1/2 cup radishes, scrubbed and thinly sliced or quartered (depending on size)
1 cup sugar snap pea pods, stems removed and sliced in half on a diagonal
sea salt (to taste)

Whisk together the miso paste, lemon juice, olive oil, spring garlic or scallion, and chile flakes in a bowl.

Add the radishes and sugar snaps and toss to combine. Season to taste with sea salt if needed (depends on the salt level of the miso paste).

Crunch away!

chickpea curry with spring garlic, sweet potato, & lambs-quarters

2011-05-22T14:59:00.003-04:00

After a week of running around in the chill and rain that have descended upon New York and seem determined to stay for a while (we had a break yesterday with warm breezes and sunny blue skies--until the downpours started again in the evening), I have come down with a bit of a cold. Woe is me. The people close to me know that I tend toward the dramatic when under the weather, sequestering myself at home and making huge pots of soups and stews that I consume three bowls at a time while watching marathons of Curb Your Enthusiasm on dvd. All washed down with a near-constant stream of lemon-ginger cure-all.

This time it's not too bad, just a mild sore throat and congestion; I've been mostly functional and haven't even felt the need to quit the morning coffee, which is always a good sign. I have been faithfully taking the gan mao ling prescribed by my acupuncturist (it really works!) and eating nourishing and cleansing foods that are immune-supportive and light on the digestive system -- lots of greens, garlic and onions, ginger, lemons, avocadoes, miso, copious amounts of olive and coconut oils (and savoring my first pint of strawberries this season -- heaven). Also dousing nearly every dish with Tabasco and red chile flakes. Good medicine.

I've been craving spice, and last night nothing sounded better to me than an Indian curry. Rather than using the prepared Madras curry powder I often resort to when the measuring, toasting, and grinding of spices seems like too much effort, I decided to go for it and make my own blend. With Madhur Jaffrey's basic curry powder recipe from World Vegetarian as a starting point (coriander, cumin, fenugreek, and mustard seeds, black peppercorns, cloves, dried red chiles, and ground turmeric), I added a couple of spices (cardamom and cinnamon) to make it my own, and whipped up a double batch so I could use a portion for a chickpea curry and save the rest for another time.

Not surprisingly, the aroma and flavor of the finished curry far surpassed anything made with prepared curry powder -- from now on I'm going to remind myself that it's totally worth the effort (and not even that much effort, really) of making the curry powder from scratch.

Once the spices were toasted and ground, the rest of the curry came together quickly. I cubed a sweet potato, washed a bunch of lambs-quarters (that's them above -- best in springtime, they're similar to spinach, but milder and more tender), drained some chickpeas I had cooked the night before in the slow-cooker, sliced an onion and a couple of stalks of spring garlic, minced a chunk of fresh ginger, and opened cans of coconut milk and chopped tomatoes.

Thirty minutes later I was curled up with a warming and heartily spiced bowl of Indian curry cupped in my palms, a cup of herbal tea steeping on the side table, and an episode of Curb going (Thanks, LD ..... Get me the head!!!).

chickpea curry with spring garlic, sweet potato, and lambs-quarters
serves 4; the curry can be served solo, like a stew, or over cooked brown basmati rice

1 tablespoon coconut oil
1 onion, thinly sliced
1 medium sweet potato, cubed (about 1-1/2 cups)
2-inch piece of fresh ginger, peeled and chopped
3 Tbsp curry powder (see below; or substitute Madras curry powder)
2 cups cooked chickpeas (or 1 can of chickpeas, rinsed and drained)
1 13.5-ounce can coconut milk
1 14.5-ounce can diced fire-roasted tomatoes
2 stalks of spring garlic, sliced into 1/4-inch rounds
5 to 6 cups lambs-quarters leaves (I discarded the thicker stems)
lemon wedges, for serving
sea salt

Heat the coconut oil in a heavy-bottomed pot over medium-high heat until shimmering. Add the onion and a pinch of salt and saute for a few minutes until the onion begins to brown. Add the sweet potato and saute a few minutes more. Stir in the ginger and curry powder and cook for another minute or two until fragrant.

Add the chickpeas, coconut milk, and diced tomatoes, along with another pinch of salt. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to a simmer, and cover. Cook for 20 minutes until sweet potatoes are tender, stirring occasionally.

Stir in the spring garlic and lambs-quarters, cover, and simmer for another 10 minutes. Season with additional salt, if needed. Squeeze a wedge of lemon over each serving.

curry powder
Adapted from Madhur Jaffrey's World Vegetarian
makes about 1/2 cup of curry powder

4 Tbsp coriander seeds
2 Tbsp cumin seeds
4 tsp black peppercorns
6 green cardamom pods
10 whole cloves
2 tsp fenugreek seeds
4 dried red chiles, broken into smaller pieces (I used Arbol chiles)
1 tsp mustard seeds
1/2 cinnamon stick, broken into smaller pieces
1 Tbsp ground turmeric

Toast all spices - except the ground turmeric - in a heavy-bottomed skillet over medium heat, stirring often, until fragrant and lightly browned, 5 to 7 minutes. Transfer to a bowl, add turmeric, and let cool.

Grind the spice mixture in an electric spice grinder or with mortar and pestle. Store in a tightly sealed glass jar, and for optimal flavor use within a month.

vanilla orange rhubarb jam

2011-05-18T07:19:00.004-04:00

It's been a rainy, windy, blustery, crazy-weathered week in New York. The last few days I've awakened in the early morning to the sound of raindrops crashing down upon the back of my bedroom air conditioner, like a thousand tiny hammers. I pull the covers over my head and consider the possibility of staying in bed all day. But jury duty beckons. So along comes strong-brewed coffee, application of rain boots and slicker, and then I'm on my way out to navigate the city's puddly streets and slick-floored subways.

I'm craving the warmth of sunshine on my face, looking at that photo above and reminiscing about sitting out in my parents' backyard a couple of weekends ago, gazing up through verdant branches towards a blue sky and brilliant, pleasantly blinding sun. And since the sunshine seems a distant memory right now -- and the forecast straight through this weekend looks less than promising -- I decided to make a potful of sunshine on the stovetop instead. Sweet-tart rhubarb jam, shot through with flecks of vanilla bean and bright, sun-shiny orange zest and juice.

I cannot claim this is a jam, technically speaking -- I did not use packaged pectin -- but I simmered the mixture with a diced apple {skin left on}, which contributed enough natural pectin to give extra body to the preserves. Using unrefined, golden-brown coconut palm sugar {my current favorite granular sweetener for cooking and baking, with a lower glycemic index compared with cane sugar} gives the jam a darker hue, but it also provides a deeper and more substantial flavor than white sugar ever could.

And there you go -- a potful of sunshine in about 30 minutes. Not too sweet, the jam is a perfect breakfast mix-in for plain whole-milk yogurt, with a handful of homemade granola sprinkled on top for crunch. It's also delicious slathered over almond butter on rye flatbreads. And, though I haven't tried it just yet, I'm pretty certain it would be spectacular warmed and spooned over vanilla ice cream for a quick and memorable dessert.

vanilla orange rhubarb jam
yields 1 pint jar {16 ounces/2 cups} of jam, plus another 4 ounces or so to eat immediately {see ice cream suggestion above!}

1-1/2 pounds rhubarb stems, roughly chopped (about 5 cups)
1 small apple, cored and diced (skin left on)
1 vanilla bean, split lengthwise
two ~1x3 inch strips of zest and juice from one orange
1/2 to 3/4 cup coconut palm sugar (to taste)
1/4 cup water

Combine all ingredients in a medium pot (start with 1/2 cup of the sugar). Bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer, uncovered, until the mixture is thick and jammy, 20 to 30 minutes. Taste about halfway through and add the remaining (1/4 cup) sugar if the mixture is too tart (I used 3/4 cup of sugar total).

Transfer jam to a jar(s), seal tightly, and store in the refrigerator. (I left the vanilla bean and strips of zest in there so their flavors can continue to permeate the jam as it chills.)

pickled ramps and asparagus

2011-05-16T12:47:00.007-04:00

It's a rainy Monday here in New York, and I'm downtown serving my first day {ever -- a momentous civic occasion!} of jury duty. While I'm sitting and waiting . . . waiting . . . waiting . . . I thought this might be a good opportunity to tell you about some fantastic pickles I made over the weekend. These are truly pickles of spring: ramps, those delicious and stinky little wild leeks with a fleeting season that's by now almost at an end; and asparagus, whose green spears are popping up in markets everywhere lately (I was finally able to set aside a batch for pickling that didn't go straight into a hot skillet).

Though I like fresh ramps just fine -- especially sauteed in butter and olive oil and tossed with soba noodles -- I've discovered that I actually like pickled ramps even better. Briefly blanched, they retain a fresh crunch, and their pungency stands up to an assertive spice mixture including mustard and fennel seeds, black peppercorns, and Aleppo pepper. These would made a great addition to a potato or whole grain salad, and would also be killer in a bloody mary -- maybe even a dirty martini? For now I'm just eating them plucked straight from the jar.

With its crisp, dense-fleshed stems, asparagus is also an ideal spring vegetable for pickling. The spicy and tangy pickling mixture complements but doesn't overwhelm its distinctive, sweet-savory-umami flavor. I might tuck a few spears into a sandwich, add them to pasta and salads, or use them to spice up a cheese plate along with rich marcona almonds and some dried or fresh fruit. {Seems to me that the bloody mary and dirty martini remain viable options here, too.}

Are you pickling vegetables this spring? Any favorites or tips you've gathered along the way?

pickled ramps and asparagus
adapted from sassy radish, natural health magazine, and food in jars
yield: one 20-ounce jar of asparagus pickles and one 16-ounce (pint) jar of ramp pickles

For the pickling liquid:

1 cup white wine vinegar
1 cup apple cider vinegar
1 cup water
1 Tbsp coarse salt
2 Tbsp coconut palm sugar {or sucanat, rapadura, natural cane sugar, etc.}
1/2 tsp mustard seeds
1/2 tsp fennel seeds
1/2 tsp coriander seeds
1/2 tsp black peppercorns
1/4 tsp Aleppo chile flakes {or any crushed red chile flakes}
2 bay leaves
2 sprigs of thyme

the remaining ingredients:

3 bunches of ramps, leaves removed and reserved for another use, bulb ends trimmed and washed well {yield is about 2 cups of bulbs}
3/4 pound of asparagus, washed well and tough bottom stems removed {I trimmed them to a height that would fit in the jar I was using and saved the tender sections that had to be removed for another time}
2 slices of lemon
1 stalk of spring garlic, cleaned and sliced into 1/2-inch segments {or 2 mature garlic cloves}

One tall, 20-ounce jar and one 16-ounce {pint} jar, sterilized in boiling water

Combine all ingredients for the pickling liquid in a saucepan. Bring to a boil and simmer for about 5 minutes. Remove from heat and allow to cool.

Bring a pot of water to a boil. Blanch the ramps first {for 10 seconds} and then the asparagus {for about 1 minute}, transferring each to an ice bath.

Place a slice of lemon at the bottom of each jar. Arrange the ramps in the pint jar and the asparagus in the taller jar, tucking in a few slices of spring garlic as you go along.

Pour the cooled pickling liquid into the jars {I used about 1 cup of liquid for the ramps and 2 cups for the asparagus}, placing a bay leaf and a thyme sprig in each jar and evenly distributing the spices between the jars.

Seal the jars tightly and refrigerate. The pickles will be ready to eat in about 2 days and will keep for weeks in the fridge.

brown sugar banana oat cookies

2011-05-12T07:14:00.003-04:00

These flourless, eggless, and dairy-free little beauties are moist and chewy, chocked full of oats, infused with banana-y goodness, and lightly sweetened with rich, dark Muscovado sugar. They're pantry cookies, too, which are my favorite kind -- created on-the-fly from ingredients I already had on hand: an overripe banana from the freezer, oats, almond butter, and brown sugar from the pantry, cinnamon and vanilla from the spice rack.

I was initially planning to make banana oat cookies without any added sugar; I think the banana would have provided enough sweetness for my taste. But these were destined for an office bake sale, so I thought it best to throw in some brown sugar for the sake of taste, texture, and not having to whip up a second batch if the first one didn't turn out bake-sale ready. I also thought the words 'brown sugar' in the title might increase sales :)

Even with the brown sugar I'm fairly certain these were the least sweet of the treats on offer. At the last bake sale someone contributed Double Stuf Oreo-stuffed chocolate chips cookies. The name basically says it all: an ungodly amount of tubular premade chocolate chip cookie dough molded around a Double Stuf Oreo and baked. {Anyone else thinking this might be the perfect dessert counterpart to the KFC Double-Down?} Not that there's anything wrong with that....just not quite up my food alley.

Okay, enough bake sale and KFC bashing for one post. I like these cookies; they resemble little bites of banana bread. And as with those raw cacao truffles I made recently, I'm going out on a limb to say these little guys are nutritious enough to eat for breakfast -- or at the very least for a mid-morning snack you can feel really good about.

brown sugar banana oat cookies
Makes about fourteen 1-1/2 inch cookies

1 ripe banana, mashed
1 cup unsalted almond butter {if using salted just leave out the salt listed below}
1/4 cup packed dark brown sugar (I used Muscovado)
1/4 tsp salt
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 cup rolled oats

Heat oven to 350 F.

Beat together the banana, almond butter, brown sugar, and salt (if using) in a large bowl until smooth. Stir in the cinnamon and vanilla, then mix in the oats.

Spoon dough onto a parchment-lined baking sheet, spaced about 2 inches apart. Bake until the cookies are golden brown on their bottoms, 14 to 16 minutes.

coconut cashew quinoa granola

2011-05-10T20:43:00.001-04:00

I have been on a serious granola-baking kick lately. It started with the lemon-cardamom batch I made back in March, right after I got back from Green Gulch Farm. Every day at GGF I poured myself a bowl of the homemade granola that the staff kept freshly stocked in the guest house kitchen. Mindfully munching the mixture one morning (no TV, no computer, no cell signal -- mindful eating comes rather easily in the gulch!), it struck me that this granola was spot-on perfect. Evenly toasted a deep, golden brown but without any burnt bits, crispy and light, and mercifully free of sticky or tooth-breaking clumps. Most importantly, I tasted how good granola could be without a speck of dried fruit. {I used to add chopped dried apricots or figs to my granola, but the fruit always turned hard and overly chewy -- not terribly pleasant to chew, plus their lost moisture often made the oats soft. So I've converted over to the no-fruit-granola crowd.}

Since that first batch back at home in March, I've been making granola nearly every week. Few things make the kitchen smell better, and I love having it at the ready for workday breakfasts all week. In my recent experimentation I've found two key ingredients that create even browning of the oats, nuts, and seeds, and make for a crispy, crunchy, clump-free mixture: olive oil and maple syrup. I've taken to using a one-to-one ratio of oil to syrup.

My latest concoction replaces some of the oats with quinoa flakes, which lighten up the granola and add a hint of fresh, grassy flavor. I added a few favorite seeds {pepitas, sunflower, and sesame} and cashews in place of the usual almonds. Some unsweetened shredded coconut, too. Into the oil-syrup mixture went a trio of warming spices: cinnamon, cardamom, and ginger. A good batch, and right now my favorite light spring breakfast heaped on top of creamy, whole milk yogurt.

coconut cashew quinoa granola

1 cup quinoa flakes
1-1/2 cups rolled oats (not instant)
1/2 cup unsweetened shredded coconut
1/3 cup sesame seeds
1/3 cup sunflower seeds
1/3 cup pepitas (hulled green pumpkin seeds)
1/2 cup cashews, roughly chopped
1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil
1/3 cup maple syrup
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1 tsp ground cardamom
1 tsp ground ginger
1/4 tsp sea salt

Heat oven to 350 F.

Combine the quinoa flakes, oats, seeds, and cashews in a large bowl.

In a separate bowl, whisk together the oil, syrup, spices, and sea salt. Pour over the dry ingredients and stir to coat evenly.

Bake until crispy and golden-brown, 30 to 40 minutes, stirring every 10 minutes or so.

Allow the granola to cool before transferring to a tightly sealed container. Keeps at cool room temperature for about 3 weeks (though in my kitchen it's gone long before that!).

dandelion pesto with sunflower seeds and miso

2011-05-06T07:11:00.002-04:00

When I told the yogi I had made a batch of dandelion pesto, he was dubious. 'Is that really pesto? I thought pesto was made with basil...' He's quite the food connoisseur and has been known to ~~question my culinary authority~~ make suggestions while I am cooking. I have to admit, the yogi's instincts are usually correct. But in the case of pesto, he did not know the whole story. (Though really it's beside the point -- since I'm Italian and pesto is Italian, I automatically win.)

Basil pesto, or pesto alla genovese, is the version we're most familar with in the US. But the word pesto simply means 'to pound' or 'to crush' -- as this is a sauce traditionally made using a mortar and pestle -- and it can include just about any greens, leafy herbs, and nuts or seeds you can get your hands on. Its mainstays are garlic, olive oil, and a salty and savory component (often an aged cheese like Parmigiano-Reggiano or Romano) for depth and richness. I've made pesto with arugula, radish greens, green pumpkin seeds, and walnuts. Loved them all.

This dandelion and sunflower seed version worked quite nicely, too. The brightness and bitter edge of the dandelion greens create a fresh, clean foundation, and using miso in place of cheese for the salty-savory-umami component makes for a lighter taste and texture that's perfect for spring. Sunflower seeds, which are nuttier and less rich than pine nuts, also contribute to the overall lighter feel of the pesto.

I tossed some of the freshly made pesto with cooked soba (thin Japanese buckwheat noodles), chickpeas, artichoke hearts, and sliced radishes for a simple and delicious one-bowl meal. The next day I added a dollop to roasted sweet potato cubes - the bright, garlicky greenness was a surprisingly great match for the potatoes' earthy sweetness. And I'm thinking the pesto also would be tasty stirred into scrambled eggs, spread on bruschetta, or added to a soup...so many possibilities.

dandelion pesto with sunflower seeds and miso

Young, tender dandelion leaves are best for pesto and other raw preparations, since they are more tender and less bitter than larger, older leaves.

Yield: approximately 1-1/2 cups

1/2 cup sunflower seeds
2 cloves garlic, roughly chopped
1 bunch of dandelion greens, washed, lower portions of stems removed, and roughly torn (about 5-6 cups)
1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil (plus more, as needed)
1 tsp freshly squeezed lemon juice
2 Tbsp mellow white miso paste (chickpea miso would be good too)
1/4 tsp crushed red chile flakes
sea salt, to taste
freshly ground black pepper, to taste

Toast the sunflower seeds in a heavy-bottomed skillet over medium heat, stirring frequently, until golden and fragrant (about 8 minutes). Transfer to a plate and allow to cool.

In a blender or food processor, pulse the garlic until finely minced. Add the cooled sunflower seeds and blend until finely chopped. Add about half of the dandelion leaves and half of the olive oil and blend until it forms a loose paste. Repeat with the remaining leaves, adding olive oil as you go along.

Add the miso paste, lemon juice, and red chile flakes and blend until incorporated. If the pesto seems too thick, blend in a bit more olive oil and/or a little water. Season to taste with salt and black pepper.

The pesto is best used right away but will also keep for a couple of days in the fridge, though its color might darken. It also freezes well; when ready to use just thaw and stir well.

raw cacao superfood truffles

2011-05-04T07:21:00.002-04:00

After going through several batches of coconut date energy balls over the last couple of weeks {many of which didn't make it to their assigned late-afternoon snack time but instead were eaten right after lunch to satisfy my sweet tooth}, I started to think about tinkering with the recipe a bit and infusing them with chocolate. Because, first, when can adding a little chocolate ever be wrong? And second, I realized that then I could call them truffles and feel very decadent and spoiled whenever I eat one.

Did you know that 7 o'clock on a random Tuesday morning is the perfect time to make truffles? It is. Especially when the truffles are pumped up with antioxidant-rich raw cacao powder, chlorophyll-packed spirulina, and chia seeds, which are a good source of omega-3 fatty acids and fiber. Oh, and walnuts, too, chock-full of monounsaturated fatty acids and vitamin E. These truffles could practically pass for breakfast. Not that I would eat truffles for breakfast or anything.

{Okay, I had one, after my bowl of yogurt and granola.}

raw cacao superfood truffles
Makes about 25 truffles

The intense and -- how do I put this...pond-like? -- aroma of the spirulina powder intimidated me, so I used a small amount -- about a teaspoon. I could not detect any of its flavor in the finished truffles, though {which I consider a good thing}, so next time I might try doubling or even tripling the amount to up the nutrient profile of the truffles even more.

1/2 cup walnut halves or pieces
1 {packed} cup pitted dates
2 Tbsp coconut butter {or substitute 1 Tbsp coconut oil + 1 Tbsp unsweetened shredded coconut}
1/4 cup raw cacao powder, plus another 1/4 cup or so for rolling the truffles
1 tsp spirulina powder
1 Tbsp chia seeds, finely ground in a spice or coffee grinder
1 tsp vanilla extract
1-1/2 tsp ground cinnamon

Pulse the walnuts in a food processor for about a minute until ground medium-fine. Add the dates and pulse again until a paste forms, then add the coconut butter and pulse until evenly incorporated.

Add the cacao powder, spirulina, ground chia seeds, vanilla, and cinnamon, and pulse for about 30 seconds; the consistency will be something between wet sand and a paste.

Roll into balls, and then roll each ball in cacao powder to coat evenly. Transfer to a plate and chill until firm. Store in a covered container in the fridge or a cool place.

how to cook your life

2011-05-02T15:40:00.004-04:00

Have you seen How to Cook Your Life? I watched it over the weekend and absolutely loved it! It had me feeling all nostalgic about Green Gulch and working in the kitchen there. The documentary (it's not terribly new - released in 2007) profiles Edward Espe Brown, a chef and Zen Buddhist priest who was the tenzo (head chef) at Tassajara Zen Mountain Center for many years, was one of the founders of Greens Restaurant in San Francisco, and is the author of several cookbooks, including the Tassajara Bread Book and Tassajara Recipe Book. He now leads the Peaceful Sea Sangha in Northern California and regularly conducts classes and sittings there and at the other Zen centers.

Brown is a legend among the California Zen community, and I first heard about him when I was visiting Green Gulch. He's a character and a great story teller, and throughout the film he weaves tales from the kitchen together with childhood memories, life lessons, and Buddhist teachings. There is also a particularly intense scene about banged-up tea pots. And a hilarious only-in-Northern-California bit featuring a dumpster-diving and free-fruit-picking enthusiast -- she calls it the Creative Catering Company -- who hasn't bought groceries in years.

The film also includes beautiful shots of Tassajara, Green Gulch, and the San Francisco Zen Center and gives a glimpse of what it's like to live and work among these communities. After watching it, I felt so calm - as if I had just meditated for an hour.

Here's a trailer for the film (the dumpster-diver's in there!).

spring greens and garbanzo salad

2011-04-28T11:40:00.002-04:00

Today I wanted to share some photos from my weekly visit to the Dag Hammarskjold Plaza greenmarket {Wednesdays on 47th between 1st and 2nd Aves}. Didn't feel like lugging the big boy to work -- I took these with my point-and-shoot.

It was a gorgeous spring day, and Lani's was even more verdant than last week! A field day.

Lani's farmstand -- not big on square footage, but they really pack the veggies in there.

I tried the komatsuna last week. A little like a cross between bok choy and arugula, great raw in salads.

Asparagus, it's been a long, cold winter without you. Glad you're back.

Briefly sauteed in olive oil and finished with a knob of butter, sea salt and a couple of grinds of black pepper, it just doesn't get any better.

Everyone is freaking out over ramps. I'm partial to spring garlic, though.

These metal sculptures were recently installed around the plaza. Not sure what the story is behind them; I'll have to look more carefully next time. Must be a plaque somewhere.

I know they're not real, but when I get up close I still kind of expect them to move!

The apple inspector -- my favorite.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Last night for dinner I put together a yummy salad bowl with some of my greenmarket finds -- asparagus, radishes, dandelion greens and wild arugula, cucumber, some scallions and spring garlic -- and added some chickpeas that I'd simmered the previous night in my slow-cooker. A perfect light spring dinner. It's also travel friendly, so I packed up a container for lunch today. For the to-go version I put the chickpeas, olive oil, and lemon juice on the bottom and the greens on top so they wouldn't get soggy. Just shake it up and lunch is ready to go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

spring greens and garbanzo salad

some cooked garbanzo beans {or canned -- discard liquid, rinse, and drain}
a couple of handfuls of greens (I used a mixture of dandelion and wild arugula), roughly torn and washed thoroughly
sauteed asparagus, cut into bite-sized pieces
a few radishes, thinly sliced
slices of cucumber
thinly sliced scallions or spring garlic {optional; I left them out of my work-lunch version :) }
nuts or seeds {I used walnuts}
extra-virgin olive oil
lemon juice
sea salt or gomasio
freshly ground black pepper

Put your veggies and beans in a big bowl, add olive oil and lemon juice to taste, season with salt/gomasio and pepper, toss to combine, eat and feel fabulous!

coconut curried mustard greens

2011-04-25T18:29:00.001-04:00

Over the winter I tried, mostly successfully, to keep my produce shopping local. This meant my daily greens fix alternated rather predictably between the greenhouse-grown kale and collards available at the farmer's markets, with the occasional broccoli rabe, chard, and spinach making an appearance. Not a ton of variety in the green department, but actually I was surprised and happy to find locally grown leafy greens straight through the cold months this year -- just a few years ago the greenmarket produce selection was limited to root vegetables, squash, and stored apples during the January through March freeze.

So it was with great excitement that, arriving at the Dag Hammarskjold market last Wednesday afternoon, I noticed Lani's Farm was back. Come midsummer, the Bordentown, NJ-based farm has hands-down the most gorgeous stand at the market: fragile-skinned, candy-sweet heirloom tomatoes, jewel-like miniature varieties of eggplant and summer squash, and my favorites of the bunch -- tiny green shishito and padron peppers. Last summer I developed quite an addiction to those little gems, quickly blistered in an oiled cast-iron skillet, sea-salted, and nibbled seeds and all from their little stems. (Lani's refers to them as the Russian roulette of peppers -- about 1 out of 10 is hot, and when you pop one into your mouth you never know which you're going to get.)

Obviously my brain (and my stomach) wants to skip straight past the current rainy spring days and 30-degree temperature swings and dive directly into summer and all its colorful culinary delights. But whoa, Nelly! Let me get back to the present. It's April -- though some days it feels like April going on February -- and a bounty of young, leafy greens has begun to make its appearance. Lani's baskets overfloweth with baby bok choy, tender, early spring broccoli rabe, red-tinged collards, delicate mustard greens, and a few varieties of Asian greens whose exotic-sounding names now escape me. So much to choose from. On this visit I made a bee-line for the bitter and peppery mustard greens, my favorite of the dark leafies -- sort of like arugula on steroids.

I had initially intended to toss the mustard greens into a lightly dressed raw salad in order to experience them at their most potent. But then, taking note of coconut milk and Madras curry in the pantry, a slightly shriveled apple in the fruit bowl, and the 50-degrees-and-drizzly day outside my window, I switched direction toward a sweet, spicy, and creamy braise. And it was a winner. The greens mellowed after simmering in the apple- and curry-infused coconut base, with fresh ginger and shredded coconut adding textural interest, red chile flakes and spring garlic providing depth and heat, and a touch of bright lime juice to finish.

I ate the braised greens solo, and they were just dandy. Add some protein, in the form of cooked chickpeas or cubes of firm tofu, tossed in for the last 5 minutes of cooking to heat through, and you could easily serve this as a one-bowl vegetarian main over brown rice, quinoa, or millet. And if you don't happen to have mustard greens around, no problem -- this is a good strategy for all sorts of greens: try it with kale, collards, broccoli rabe, chard, or spinach. Like my other go-to greens recipe, quick-braised kale and apple, this is a great menu idea for people who might be wary of green things that don't come carbonated in a bottle, since the natural sweetness of the coconut and apple and warmth of the curry powder balance out any bitter notes from the greens.

coconut curried mustard greens with apple

1 Tbsp coconut oil
1 onion, thinly sliced
1 apple, cored and diced
2 stalks of young garlic or 1 clove of mature garlic , thinly sliced
2-inch piece of ginger, peeled and chopped
1-1/2 Tbsp Madras curry powder
1/4 tsp crushed red chile
1 bunch of mustard greens, tough stems removed and leaves roughly torn and washed (about 5 cups)
3/4 cup coconut milk
1/4 cup dried shredded coconut (unsweetened)
juice of 1/2 lime
sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Heat the coconut oil over medium-high heat in a heavy-bottomed pot. Add the onion and apple and saute until golden-edged and beginning to soften, about 8 minutes. Add the garlic and ginger and saute for a minute more.

Add the curry powder and red chile. Stir until fragrant, about a minute. Add the mustard greens and stir for a minute or two until they are wilted. Add the coconut milk, shredded coconut, and a pinch of sea salt, and stir to scrape up the browned bits from the bottom of the pot. Cover and simmer gently for about 10 minutes, until the apple and greens are tender.

Stir in the lime juice, season to taste with salt and pepper, and serve.

Anatolian red lentil and chickpea stew

2011-04-21T17:51:00.002-04:00

For a while I've been thinking about adding one of Madhur Jaffrey's cookbooks to my kitchen bookshelf. She is, after all, the queen of Indian cooking. After paging through a well-worn copy of her World Vegetarian in the Green Gulch kitchen, I decided it was the one; I liked that it included a range of not only Indian recipes but also Middle Eastern, African, Caribbean, and more.

On my first flip-through back at home, a recipe for Anatolian red lentil and chickpea stew caught my eye. This very stew had made an appearance one evening in the Green Gulch dining room, and after savoring a chunky, gently spiced, chickpea-studded bowl (or two) I had jotted it down as a dish to recreate at home. Its belly-warming effects were conducive to my GG schedule of lights out at 8:30 pm to be well rested for 5 am zazen. It's also my favorite kind of meal for cool, rainy spring days -- like the ones we've been having in New York lately.

Jaffrey's recipe is based on a dish served at the swanky Ciragan Hotel in Istanbul, where it's thinned out and served as a soup. Her version is a thicker, heartier stew, and I followed suit. I made a few tweaks to her recipe, leaving out the eggplant since it's not yet in season locally and substituting Camargue red rice for wheat berries since that's what was in the pantry. After going to three stores still for the life of me I could not find dried mint (which I believe is one of the key components that makes this stew classically Anatolian...but bear with me) so I substituted a combination of dried thyme, basil, and coriander seed (this situation calls for a trip to Kalustyan's so I'm prepared next time). For a more complex flavor base and to up the heat level I also included some chopped fresh ginger, garlic, and a couple of dried red chiles de arbol.

Although it's possible that I took the Anatolian out of the recipe along with the eggplant and mint, the stew turned out pretty darn tasty nevertheless -- full of richly layered flavors, hearty, and satisfying. Everything I want in a one-bowl, plant-based meal. And even better reheated the next day.

Anatolian {-inspired} red lentil and chickpea stew

Adapted from Madhur Jaffrey's World Vegetarian

The original recipe calls for separately cooking the wheat berries before adding them to the stew; I instead added uncooked, soaked red rice to the soup and let it cook along with the lentils, which saves a step (and a pot).

I cooked the chickpeas overnight in my new slow cooker, which I am completely obsessed with. It turns out the creamiest and most tender -- and evenly cooked -- beans I've ever made at home. I will never again cook dried beans on the stovetop! If you don't have time to cook the chickpeas from scratch, canned would work, too.

And, as mentioned above, due to circumstances beyond my control I substituted dried thyme, basil, and coriander seed for the dried mint; if you have dried mint, though (lucky you!), go ahead and use 2 tablespoons of it in place of this mix.

2 Tbsp extra-virgin olive oil, plus more for serving
1 medium onion, chopped (about 1 cup)
1 carrot, chopped (about 1/2 cup)
2- inch piece of fresh ginger, peeled and chopped
2 cloves of garlic, chopped
3 Tbsp tomato paste
1 tsp dried basil
1 tsp dried thyme
1 tsp coriander seeds, roughly smashed with a mortar and pestle (or 3/4 tsp ground coriander seed)
2 dried red chile peppers
1/4 cup red rice, soaked for 8 to 12 hours and drained
1 cup red lentils, picked through and rinsed
1-1/2 cups cooked chickpeas (from 1/2 cup dried chickpeas, soaked and cooked until tender; or 1 can of chickpeas, drained and rinsed) (Save 1 cup of cooking liquid if making the beans from scratch)
juice of 1 lemon
chopped flat-leaf parsley, to garnish
sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Heat the olive oil in a large, heavy-bottomed pot. Add the onion and carrot and saute for 8 to 10 minutes until lightly browned. Add the ginger and garlic and saute for another minute or two.

Stir in the tomato paste and let it sizzle for a minute, then add the dried basil, thyme, coriander seeds, chiles, and rice. Cook for a couple of minutes more.

Add 4 cups of water, the lentils, and 1 tsp sea salt. Stir well, scraping up the browned bits on the bottom of the pot. (I also added a cup of chickpea cooking liquid to the pot at this point -- but if you don't have it, just add another cup of water.)

Bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer and cook, covered, for about 45 minutes until the lentils have broken down and the rice is tender. Add the cooked chickpeas and simmer for another 15 to 20 minutes.

Add the lemon juice and season to taste with salt and black pepper. Sprinkle some chopped parsley over each serving, and drizzle with a little olive oil.

coconut date energy balls

2011-04-19T14:30:00.004-04:00

I try to get to yoga most days of the week; it's my refuge from office life and the midtown Manhattan jungle. On workdays this means gearing myself up for an after-work class where the sweat might keep flowing till almost 9pm -- not always easy since that's not my high-energy time of day. Having a light snack an hour or two before class helps motivate me to get to the studio instead of retreating home to watch reruns of The Office and eat Bobolink cheddar on Ryvita (which would be my natural inclination after a long day).

Thus, I am eternally searching for the perfect pre-yoga snack. Something that is energy-boosting, capable of bridging the gap between lunch and a late dinner, but not heavy or filling; a source of natural sugars accompanied by healthy fats to prevent the dreaded blood sugar spike-and-slump. Nothing packaged seems to fit the bill -- processed energy and protein bars nearly always contain soy protein isolate (the culinary equivalent of styrofoam, essentially) and refined sugars. And Larabars are a little too sweet for me. Homemade granola is a good snacking option, but I like to go grain-free before exercise since I find it easier on the stomach.

A while back, I dog-eared a recipe for coconut-date energy balls in Jessica Prentice's book Full Moon Feast. Jessica, a chef and fellow NGI alumna, is one of the worker-owners of the community-supported kitchen where I interned a couple of years ago (she also coined the term locavore and created the Local Foods Wheel -- I don't know where she finds the time! :). In Full Moon Feast she dives into the traditional agricultural and cooking practices among native populations according to the 13 lunar cycles, from Hunger Moon to Wolf Moon (my favorite is Moon When Salmon Return to Earth), concluding each chapter with recipes that correspond to that lunar period. It is a beautifully written book; if you haven't read it, I highly recommend it.

The energy balls sounded so good -- just a few simple, natural ingredients whizzed in the food processor, rolled up into little balls and then bathed in shredded coconut so they resemble tiny snowballs. And now that I've finally gotten around to making them (after scribbling 'make date-coconut balls!' about nineteen times in my little notebook), I can report they're very tasty, too, pleasantly less sweet than other date-coconut concoctions I've tried. A hint of citrusy brightness from lemon and orange zests makes them really special.

Dates are a rich source of natural sugars, and when paired with good fats from the coconut butter and oil, which help slow down the absorption of the sugars, supply a sustained boost of energy. The combination is satisfying but not heavy, grain-free so it's light on the digestion. Portable and a cinch to make. What's not to love? Plus they keep well, so you can make a double batch and store them in the fridge for several weeks. Besides being an ideal before-yoga treat, my night-owl Yogi says they also make a good midnight snack.

coconut date energy balls
Adapted from Full Moon Feast; makes about 20 balls

I used Cocopura Coconut Creme in place of the coconut butter in the original recipe, which worked great, and also increased the amount of shredded coconut incorporated into the date-coconut mixture. Jessica's recipe calls for dipping the balls in melted coconut oil before rolling them in the shredded coconut. I found this wasn't necessary as the mixture was still warm from the food processor and sticky enough for the coconut to adhere, but if you find the coconut isn't adhering well you might want to try that trick.

1-1/2 cups dates, pitted
1/2 cup coconut creme or coconut butter, softened (place jar in a bowl of warm water for 5 to 10 minutes)
1 tsp finely grated lemon zest
1 tsp finely grated orange zest
1 Tbsp extra virgin coconut oil, melted and cooled slightly
1/3 cup unsweetened shredded coconut, plus more for rolling the balls

Pulse the pitted dates in a food processor until a paste forms. Add the coconut creme and citrus zests. Pulse until combined. With the processor running, slowly pour in the melted coconut oil through the tube.

Add 1/3 cup shredded coconut and pulse again until combined. While the mixture is still warm, roll into balls and then roll the balls in shredded coconut.

Place the balls on a plate and refrigerate until firm, 20 to 30 minutes. Transfer to a tighly sealed container and store in the fridge or a cool, dry place. Will keep for about a month.

baked sweet potato fries with furikake

2011-04-11T17:02:00.006-04:00

Sweet potato fries. Close to perfect with just a sprinkling of sea salt, and even better with a scattering of furikake, a Japanese condiment made from sesame seeds and nori. I was reading the April issue of Food and Wine on my flight back from New Orleans last week when a photo of sweet potato fries with furikake caught my eye -- they serve them at the Bar at the Peninsula in Chicago. The F&W recipe called for using store-bought furikake, but I decided to make my own simply by adding some ground nori to the gomasio I made recently (prepared versions of furikake usually also contain dried fish, salt, sugar, and sometimes MSG).

For my fries I used a combination of white and orange sweet potatoes, sliced into thin batons with the skin left on -- I love the crispness the skin gives to baked fries. Tossed with a little olive oil and then into a high-heat oven, you can have these fries on the table in no time. The nutty, savory, salty, and mildly ocean-y notes of the sesame-sea salt-nori combination beautifully complement the earthiness of the sweet potatoes. Next time I might try adding some cayenne or crushed red pepper for heat.

baked sweet potato fries with furikake

1-1/2 pounds sweet potatoes, scrubbed and cut into batons (1/4 inch x 1/4 inch by 2 to 3 inches in length)
2 Tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
1 Tbsp sesame seeds, toasted
1/2 tsp sea salt
1/2 nori sheet, roughly torn and ground in a spice grinder

Preheat oven to 425 F.

Toss the sweet potatoes with about 1 Tbsp of olive oil and arrange in a single layer on a rimmed baking sheet (or two). Bake until fries are golden brown and crisp on the edges, about 25 minutes, stirring/turning the pans halfway through (and switching the positions of the pans if you are using two).

Combine the sesame seeds and salt and grind using a mortar and pestle. Stir in the ground nori.

Toss the baked fries with the remaining olive oil and season to taste with the sesame-salt-nori mixture. Eat them while they're hot.

green gulch gomasio

2011-04-02T00:05:00.001-04:00

As Jessica deciphered from my cryptic previous post, the verdant gulch I recently returned from is the Green Gulch Farm Zen Center in Muir Beach, California. Green Gulch is one of three centers -- together with City Center and Tassajara -- comprising the San Francisco Zen Center, founded in 1969 by Shunryo Suzuki Roshi, a Japanese Soto Zen Buddhist priest. About an hour’s drive northwest of San Francisco, the center is reached via a steep and scenic descent from highway 1 along a winding (as in, every turn is a hairpin) road, a ride made especially exciting by a shuttle-bus driver playing cowboy behind the wheel.

A deeply peaceful energy runs through Green Gulch. The minute I arrived, I felt the sound of silence moving through me, instilling a grounded calmness that I can still sense after a week back at my urban routine. A community of about seventy Zen Buddhist priests, dharma teachers, and other practitioners live at the center year round, joined by an ever-evolving group of students and work-apprentices who stay anywhere from a week to a few months for practice periods and to work on the farm and in the kitchen.

My 5-day guest retreat included early-morning group meditation (zazen) in the meditation hall (zendo), a few hours of work each morning (to my delight I ended up in the kitchen), and free time in the afternoons and evenings. Additional periods of zazen are held before and after dinner, which guests are welcome to attend if the spirit moves them.

I stayed in the guest house, cozy and bright with a vaulted, skylit atrium and central fireplace. Beyond the farm, an easy 15-minute stroll along a dirt road leads to a quiet beach, perfect for listening to the surf and stretching legs in the sand. Hiking trails are nearby too, though I did not get around to exploring them this time around.

Each day I looked forward to the delicious and thoughtfully prepared vegetarian meals that emerged from the kitchen -- hearty bean soups and stews, whole grains, lots of leafy greens, and incredible from-scratch breads and baked goods. Many of the ingredients are plucked from the earth right at Green Gulch or sourced from local farms, and all are organic. Working in the Zen kitchen was one of the highlights of my stay. The cooks observe noble silence while working (conversations are limited to the work-related, idle chatter is avoided); periodically the kitchen supervisor rings a mindfulness bell, and everyone takes a few moments to breathe and stretch before resuming their work.

The abundant fresh air and mindful silence that accompanied meals (silence was observed during breakfast and for the first 10 minutes of lunch and dinner) seemed to heighten the food's flavors and textures -- I recall a particularly transcendent bowl of toasted millet porridge one morning (I know I sound dramatic, but really – breakfast porridge never tasted so good!).

I had big plans for today (Free Friday number 4, I think?). Dreams of homemade chocolate almond butter and lemon-coconut energy bars have been blossoming in my mind. But I leave for a work trip to New Orleans (could there be more of a 180 from Green Gulch? Well, Vegas, I suppose…) at the crack of dawn tomorrow, and packing grew into a full-blown closet rummage as I searched for the few articles of clothing suitable for 80-degree weather that aren’t packed away in storage containers under my bed. Then I decided an apartment cleaning was in order, and before I knew it, the day was half over.

So instead of freshly ground almond butter and energy bars, today I’m sharing a recipe for one of the simplest condiments ever created – gomasio. A mixture of toasted sesame seeds and sea salt, it is commonly used in Japanese and macrobiotic cuisine and is a mainstay in the Green Gulch dining hall. I sprinkled gomasio on almost everything while I was there – from salads to soups and stews to that aforementioned toasted millet porridge. It’s incredibly versatile and a great way to add a touch of salty, nutty, toasty savoriness to just about anything. Eating a bowl of steamed short-grain brown rice with a drizzle of extra-virgin olive oil and a sprinkling of gomasio is an exercise in delicious simplicity. Very Zen.

gomasio (toasted sesame seeds and sea salt)

Traditionally, gomasio is ground in a suribachi, but I used my little mortar and pestle and it turned out just fine. Sesame seeds are a good source of calcium and magnesium and, according to traditional Chinese medicine, are warming in energy. You can make gomasio using oven-toasted sea vegetable, such as dulse or wakame, in place of the sea salt, for a version that is lower in sodium and higher in calcium and iodine. I'd like to try that for my next batch.

1 cup raw, hulled sesame seeds

1 Tbsp good-quality sea salt (moist, pale grey Celtic is nice)

Preheat oven to 325 degrees F.

Evenly spread out the sesame seeds on a rimmed baking sheet. Toast in the oven until golden brown and fragrant, about 15 minutes, stirring every 5 minutes.

Remove seeds from the oven, transfer to a plate, and let cool to room temperature, about 15 minutes (if you grind them while they’re too warm you might end up with sesame butter, aka tahini).

Grind the seeds together with the sea salt using a suribachi or mortar and pestle until you have about a half of the seeds are ground and half remain whole. My mortar is quite small so I did this in batches, adding a portion of sea salt each time.

Store the gomasio in an airtight container in a cool, dry place. Sprinkle on anything you like.

lemon cardamom granola

2011-03-27T21:30:00.003-04:00

This past week I visited a place that is very green and in a gulch. Off the grid. I emptied my mind of all extraneous thoughts, breathed the cleanest air my lungs had seen in quite some time, and listened to a constantly changing orchestra of birds, frogs, water rushing along a stream, and branches rustling in the wind. It was a good week.

home-sprouted lentils and quinoa

2011-03-19T07:19:00.002-04:00

This week I wanted to mix up my grain-and-bean routine, and with spring right around the corner, decided it was time for some home-grown sprouts. Green lentils and quinoa seemed good choices, since both happened to be in the pantry and from what I've read they are some of the easiest and quickest seeds to sprout. I didn't use any special sprouting trays or anything, just bowls covered with cheesecloth so the sprouts could breathe but were protected from dust and other undesirables.

The handy website SproutPeople offers instructions on sprouting virtually any seed imaginable -- even fenugreek seeds, which I normally consider a spice and had never thought of sprouting. They also have a handy Sprouting 101 and glossary page (plus they sell a huge variety of organic grains, legumes, and other type of seeds so you can really go sprout-crazy).

To get my sprouts started, I rinsed the lentils (1/2 cup, yields about 1-1/2 cup of sprouts) and quinoa (2/3 cup, yields about 1-1/2 cups of sprouts) and soaked them in separate bowls (8 hours for the lentils; just 30 minutes for the quinoa). Post-soak I drained off the water, rinsed the seeds, and put them back into their bowls, which I covered in cheesecloth secured with kitchen twine. Every 8 to 12 hours (morning and evening) I rinsed the seeds in a sieve, drained them well, and back they went into their bowls. The SproutPeople recommend tasting the sprouts as you go along -- you want to catch them at the crisp-tender stage.

Forty-eight hours after the initial soak I had a batch of sweet-smelling quinoa sprouts, and in 72 hours the green lentil sprouts were crunchy and ready to use. I've been adding the sprouts to all sorts of things, my two favorites so far being a creamy curried sprout salad and sprouted lentil miso soup. (The sprouts have stayed fresh in the fridge in covered containers with a piece of paper towel at the bottom to absorb moisture -- the drier they are, the longer they last).

It's pretty amazing to watch the transformation of the seeds from hard, starchy pellets into the tiniest of plants, fully alive, their delicate rootlets ambitiously unfurling as they grow. They're pure potential, just waiting for the right conditions and a little time to show their stuff.

Sprouting also increases nutrient bioavailability in grains and legumes. The process inactivates the seeds' enzyme inhibitors -- substances that hinder the absorption of certain nutrients, especially minerals like zinc -- making it an effective way to enhance nutrient absorption.

Green lentil sprouts at 48 hours

Green lentil sprouts at 72 hours

As the lentils sprouted, they took on a sweet, grassy aroma and a flavor reminiscent of pea shoots and wheatgrass. More info on sprouting green lentils here.

Quinoa sprouts (shown here at 48 hours) grow quickly. Their little tendrils began unfurling during the first 12-hour sprouting phase, and by 48 hours they were ready to go (if sprouted too long they turn soft). Though raw quinoa has an assertive grassy aroma and flavor, as it sprouts the taste becomes sweeter, nuttier, and more mellow. More on sprouting quinoa here.

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creamy curried sprouts salad

This enzyme-rich salad combines crunchy lentil sprouts and nutty quinoa sprouts with bright ribbons of carrot, slivers of celery, and parsley, bound by a creamy curry-infused tahini dressing, and with a sprinkling of sunflower seeds on top for extra crunch. Tahini (sesame seed paste) is my go-to ingredient for making creamy dressings and sauces without dairy or eggs. It is an excellent source of protein, fiber, healthy fatty acids, and iron -- and naturally cholesterol-free.

2 heaping Tbsp tahini
juice of 1 lemon
3/4 tsp curry powder (I used Madras)
pinch of red chile flakes
1/4 tsp salt
a few grinds of black pepper
1/2 cup green lentil sprouts
1/2 cup quinoa sprouts
1 small carrot, peeled and sliced into ribbons with a vegetable peeler
1 celery rib, thinly sliced
1/2 cup flat-leaf parsley, roughly torn
Sunflower seeds, for garnish

In a large bowl whisk together the tahini, lemon juice, curry powder, red chile flakes, salt and pepper until smooth.

Add the sprouts, carrot, celery, and parsley, tossing well to coat with the dressing. Season to taste with more salt and pepper, if needed.

Sprinkle sunflower or pumpkin seeds on top.

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sprouted lentil miso soup

Over the last couple of days I've eaten this soup for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and can report that it's delightful at any meal. Chocked with toothsome lentil sprouts and tender strips of deep-green wakame, it's alkalizing, rich with with health-promoting probiotics, and a good source of calcium and iodine. I used a hearty, soy-free aduki bean miso from South River Miso, which infuses the broth with deep, almost meaty savoriness. Make sure to let the broth cool for a few minutes before incorporating the miso -- adding the paste when the soup is too hot can kill the beneficial bacteria. When reheating leftover soup, gently simmer for just a minute or so (don't boil).

1 onion, thinly sliced

1 carrot, sliced into thin quarter-moons

1 small parsnip, sliced into thin quarter-moons

2 garlic cloves, sliced

4 cups filtered water

1/2 cup sprouted green lentils

3 Tbsp dried wakame, soaked in 1/2 cup cool water for 10 minutes and drained

1 tsp grated ginger

4 Tbsp miso paste

Combine the onion, carrot, parsnip, garlic, and water in a medium soup pot. Bring to a boil, reduce heat, cover and simmer for 15 minutes until the carrot and parsnip are tender.

Add the lentil sprouts and wakame and simmer for 5 minutes more. Turn off heat and let the soup cool for a few minutes.

Transfer about 1 cup of broth to a bowl and add the ginger and miso paste, stirring until miso is dissolved. Pour back into the pot and stir to combine.

around town

2011-03-12T19:35:00.002-05:00

For free Friday part two, I decided to wander around an area of the city I don't get to very often -- the east village. After my morning greenmarketing and a lunch of stewed collards and cranberry beans with sourdough rye croutons, I made my way downtown. My new camera arrived yesterday so I brought it along to experiment with. It's a digital SLR, quite a departure from the tiny point-and-shoot I've been using the last few years. It feels substantial in the hands and reminds me of the 35-mm SLR I used during photography classes in high school, which I loved. So much fun to use.

It was a beautiful day - blue skies and temperatures in the mid-50s. Perfect weather for exploring.

Things are sprouting! Spring is springing up. These shoots (crocuses?) inspired me to get some edible sprouts going in the kitchen - green lentil and quinoa. More on those soon.

I passed by Momofuku Milk Bar but did not go in for fear I would be helpless in the face of their Crack Pie and end up in sugar shock.

I stopped at Ost, an espresso bar on east 12th street at Avenue A that I've been wanting to check out.

It's a cute place, with a mellow crowd and friendly baristas. I had a cappuccino at the bar and read the Sicily issue of Saveur. Which made me very hungry.

After Ost I walked a little further south to meet Adena for an early bird dinner at Gabrielle Hamilton's restaurant Prune, on east 1st street between 1st and 2nd Ave. I'd like to read her memoir soon.

I ordered a pink drink called an Italian Greyhound, a blend of ruby grapefruit juice and vodka with rosemary. Bright and fruity and refreshing. Adena had a Junipero gibson (in the background), intense and herbaceous and finished with a house-pickled pearl onion. We loved the glass it was served in - very Mad Men.

Enjoy the weekend, and remember to spring ahead!

wild mushroom toasts

2011-03-07T07:14:00.005-05:00

On Saturday mornings I head down to Hell's Kitchen for a yoga class. After class finishes at noon, I stroll back uptown along 9th avenue, through the transition between HK and the upper west side, and past Lincoln Center. Across from the center's newly redesigned north end I stop at the small but densely stocked Tucker Square greenmarket, which inhabits the triangle created by the intersection of Columbus and Broadway at 66th street. I love the yoga class, but the opportunity to visit the farmer's market afterwards is a huge part of the draw, too.

Two vendors in particular make this greenmarket very dear to my heart: Bobolink Farm, purveyor of stellar artisan breads and knee-weakeningly delicious raw-milk cheeses, and the mushroom guy, who presides over a table overflowing with fresh wild mushrooms -- shiitake, porcini, oyster, king oyster, maitake. He's a character (not as much of a character as this mushroom guy, perhaps, but close). I have him to thank for introducing me to the gustatory pleasures of the ruffled, earthy, and subtly truffle-scented maitake -- he tossed one into my bag of shiitakes as a rainy-day bonus during a recent visit, and I've been craving them ever since. This week, noticing that the Bobolink stall was set up adjacent to the mushroom guy's table, a lightbulb went off -- lunch (glorious, ravenous, post-yoga lunch!) would be sauteed wild mushrooms on toast.

(l-r) shiitake, oyster, maitake

From the mushroom guy I selected a quarter-pound of shiitakes, a hunk broken from one of his enormous oyster mushrooms, and a maitake of course. Have you ever nestled your nose right up to a pile of wild mushrooms? The aroma is intoxicating, like inhaling a forest floor (assuming this sort of thing appeals to your olfactory senses. It does to mine). My mushrooms safely tucked into a paper bag, I moved on to Bobolink and chose a hearty, 100% sourdough rye levain as the foundational layer for my toasts. With an accompanying salad in mind, I picked up some greenhouse-grown pea shoots at one of the other vendors, and I was on my way.

Arriving home and growing hungrier by the minute, I got to work sauteing the mushrooms in butter and olive oil until they were tender and golden and crisp-edged, then finishing them with minced garlic. I toasted slices of levain and slathered them with chevre, into which I had mixed fresh thyme and rosemary, and then piled the warm, buttery, garlic-kissed mushrooms on top. I arranged the toasts alongside a small mountain of pea shoots, dressed simply with olive oil, lemon juice, flaky Maldon sea salt, and black pepper. And, remembering a bottle of rich, syrupy 9-year balsamic in the fridge, I drizzled a touch over everything; a perfect complement to the earthy mushrooms and bright, grassy greens.

wild mushroom toasts with herbed chevre
Accompanied by lightly dressed greens these toasts make a satisfying meal for one. They would also be a great first course or, cut into smaller portions, a tasty hors d'oeurve or appetizer for a group. If you don't have wild mushrooms, button mushrooms or portobellos would make fine stand-ins.

1 Tbsp unsalted butter
1 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil, plus a little more for finishing the toasts
3/4 pound mixed wild mushrooms, such as shiitake, maitake, oyster, or porcini, tough stems removed, and thinly sliced
1 garlic clove, minced
sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
2 Tbsp chevre or other soft goat cheese
3/4 tsp minced fresh herbs (I used a combination of rosemary and thyme)
2 slices of hearty peasant-style bread, or a few slices of baguette, toasted
balsamic vinegar, for finishing
Maldon sea salt, for finishing

Heat the butter and olive oil in a skillet over medium-high heat. When the butter stops foaming, add the mushrooms and cook, stirring every few minutes, until they are golden-brown and slightly crisp around the edges, about 12 minutes. Turn off the heat and stir in the garlic. Season with salt and pepper, to taste.

Stir together the chevre and herbs and spread the mixture over the toasts. Pile the warm mushrooms on top of the toasts and drizzle with olive oil and balsamic. If you like, sprinkle a little sea salt over each toast.

one day / day one

2011-03-04T17:29:00.002-05:00

I did not go to work today. It wasn't a vacation day, or a personal day, or a sick day, though. Starting this week I've switched to a part-time schedule at my job; I'll be in the office Mondays through Thursdays and off on Fridays. Going part-time has been on my mind for a couple of years, since right around the time I finished culinary school, and recently things came together in an auspicious way that's allowed it to happen. It's a change, albeit a small one, so it's exciting and a little scary and unfamiliar at the same time.

Today felt kind of odd -- for the first few hours I kept thinking I was late for work, and then it switched to, well, since I'm home on a day I would normally be in the office, clearly I should take advantage of this found time and get something done - like vacuuming the apartment, or cleaning out my closets, or some other productive activity. And in true Gemini fashion, part of me has been thinking it's only one day a week, what difference can that make? while another part exclaims, wow, it's one day, an entire day!

What's in a day, anyway?

On this first free Friday of mine, there was leisurely drinking of coffee in my favorite chair in a sunny spot in front of my bedroom window. A mellow yoga practice without a single glance at the clock or mental calculation of how much time I have before I must sprint to the subway. A banana coconut chia smoothie for breakfast. A mid-morning trip to the greenmarket, blessedly sans watch-checking. The assembly of a slightly wacky but delicious beet-avocado-apple salad for lunch. A mid-day (day-lit!) photo shoot with a bowl of cute red fingerling potatoes. Right now, reveling in the deep, mingling aromas of red wine, balsamic, and fresh herbs emerging from a pot of stew that's gently simmering on the stove. Those fingerlings are going to end up in the stew at some point. And there's been no vacuuming or swiffering or closet cleaning. Those things can wait till tomorrow.

This has definitely not been my usual, run-of-the-mill Friday.

I'm making a promise to myself that, for the time being, I will let my new Friday freedom unfold as it will and avoid forcing myself to do things I think I 'should' do. Back when I made my New Year's intentions, one of them was to create more space for the two things I like best -- cooking and practicing yoga. My loose free-Friday plan is to open up as much time for these activities as I can, and just see what happens. To be curious and open to possibilities.

Some other things that sounds good to me . . . having a cappuccino at Joe, drinking it sitting down and from a real mug, not a cardboard cup (they're so crazy busy on weekends I usually settle for a capp-to-go). Sun-shiny walks around the central park reservoir, camera in hand. Maybe I'll even attempt a bike ride around the loop this spring (I'm still a novice with my road bike, and riding it on tourist-packed weekends has led to several freak-out moments). Perfect a chewy-crispy oatmeal cookie recipe. Experiment with gluten-free baking. Make (and eat) lots of nori chips. Oh, and work on my napping ability (I'm a terrible napper).

I wish you a lovely weekend, and leave you with two new recipes from my first Friday of freedom.

banana coconut chia smoothie

I used canned coconut milk here; the carton-packaged varieties that I've tried were watery and had a funny, gritty consistency that I found rather unpleasant.

1/2 cup coconut milk

1/2 cup filtered water

1 ripe banana

2 tsp chia seeds

1-inch piece of ginger, peeled and chopped

juice of 1 lemon

optional: several ice cubes, if you like your smoothies icy

Put everything in the blender, and blend on high till creamy.

beet, avocado, and apple salad with jalapeno vinaigrette

1 roasted beet, peeled and diced
1 avocado, diced
1/2 apple, diced
1/4 cup walnuts, roughly broken into pieces
goat cheese, crumbled

1/2 jalapeno pepper, minced
juice of 1 lemon
1/2 tsp tahini
3 Tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
1/4 tsp toasted and crushed coriander seeds
sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Combine the beets, avocado, and apple in a bowl.

Whisk together the jalapeno, lemon juice, tahini, olive oil, and coriander, and season to taste with salt and black pepper.

Drizzle dressing over the salad and garnish with walnuts and goat cheese.

spicy tomato ragu with chickpeas and olives

2011-02-24T16:15:00.003-05:00

Meatless dishes are especially satisfying when they serve up an ebullient kick of heat. This past weekend I made a rustic tomato and chickpea ragu that was spiced with jalapenos and crushed red chile, brightened with fresh spinach, and livened up with salty brined olives. Tossed with wagon wheel pasta (one of my favorite shapes -- so cute!), the combination made for a hearty and satisfying vegetarian supper.

This ragu is an ideal cooking project for a Sunday afternoon -- easy-going and comforting, the simmering sauce fills the kitchen with tantalizing aromas. Prepping the vegetables and aromatics took all of 10 minutes. Once the tomatoes and herbs were in the pot I left them to simmer for about 2 hours so the flavors would deepen and meld together and become more complex. I added the chickpeas, spinach, and olives toward the end of cooking to keep the chickpeas intact and the flavors fresh and bright.

The protein-rich, toothsome chickpeas were a good match with the spicy tomato base and al dente pasta; creamy cannellini beans would also be great in their place, so I'm going to try them next time. If you're not in a pasta mood, the hearty ragu would be delicious slathered over a pile of quinoa, farro, or soft polenta, or simply mopped up with a hunk of crusty peasant bread.

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spicy tomato ragu with chickpeas and olives
Serves 4 to 6

extra virgin olive oil
1 onion, diced small (about 1/4-inch pieces)
1 carrot, diced small
1 celery rib, diced small
1/2 green bell pepper, diced small
2 jalapeno peppers, minced (seeds included)
2 garlic cloves, minced
1/2 tsp red chile flakes (or to taste)
One 28-oz can diced fire-roasted tomatoes
1 bay leaf
1/2 tsp dried basil
1/2 tsp dried oregano
One 15-ounce can chickpeas, drained and rinsed (or 2 cups cooked chickpeas)
1/2 cup pitted brined olives, such as kalamata, quartered
4 cups fresh spinach, washed and torn into bite-size pieces
sea salt and black pepper, to taste

>>For serving: 1 pound pasta, cooked al dente

>>Optional: cheese, for garnish, such as Parmesigiano-Reggiano, Romano, feta, or ricotta salata, grated or crumbled

Heat 2 to 3 Tbsp olive oil in a heavy-bottomed pot over medium heat. Add the onion, carrot, celery, bell pepper, and a pinch of salt, and saute for 5 to 8 minutes until the vegetables have softened. Add the jalapenos, garlic, and red chile flakes, and saute for another minute or two, stirring often.

Add the tomatoes, bay leaf, basil, oregano, and another pinch of salt. Simmer, covered, for 1-1/2 to 2 hours, stirring occasionally. Add a little water if the sauce starts to look too dry.

Stir in the chickpeas and olives, and simmer for an additional 20 minutes. Then add the spinach and cook for 10 minutes more.

Season to taste with salt and black pepper. Toss about 1 cup of the sauce with the cooked pasta, and ladle additional sauce atop each portion. If you like, garnish with cheese and a drizzle of olive oil.

spicy toasted nori chips

2011-02-22T10:49:00.003-05:00

One afternoon a while back, craving a crunchy snack, I discovered a packet of nori sheets in the pantry, skillet-toasted them, and voila - a bowlful of satisfyingly crisp chips! They hit the spot. Then more recently I picked up a packet of Annie Chun's wasabi seaweed snacks at Health Nuts on Broadway and, after eating its entire contents in about 5 minutes flat (they go down like wasabi-kissed air!) decided to go back to the drawing board to perfect a spicy, oven-crisped variety of my own.

With the nori chip-making methods of Mark Bittman and The Kitchn's Emma Christensen as guides, I set about making a batch of spicy, double-layered nori chips, with a wasabi-water mixture functioning as the "glue" between the layers and a sprinkling of sea salt and sesame seeds inside. Oven-baked at a low heat and cooled for about 5 minutes, they crisped up to a lovely, shattering crunch. For extra heat (baking mellows the wasabi quite a bit), I lightly brushed them with hot sesame oil. Freakishly good. I dare say they are superior to the Annie Chun seaweed chips - thicker, with a more satisfying crunch and more complex flavor.

I also should add that, while I have a serious weakness for the crunch of Kettle potato chips (especially the jalapeno variety - oh, my), I envision these nori chips taking their place in my snacking repertoire. The nori chips have the added benefit of being nearly fat-free, save the small amounts contributed by the sesame seeds and hot sesame oil. Plus you're getting the myriad health benefits of sea vegetables in every bite! So you can crunch all you like. (If you're interested, here is a great run-down of the health benefits of sea vegetables. Stock up!)

Even if you're not a big fan of the oceany taste of nori, or of sea vegetables in general, I encourage you to give these chips a try. The flavor of the nori mellows nicely in the oven and contributes more of a back-up note to the assertiveness of the wasabi and hot sesame oil.

spicy oven-toasted nori chips
You might want to make a double batch - these go down easy. As in, I ate the whole batch by myself.
Makes about 30 chips

1 tsp wasabi powder
3 Tbsp water
5 sheets of nori
1/2 tsp sea salt, or as needed
2 Tbsp sesame seeds, or as needed
2 Tbsp hot sesame oil, or as needed

Preheat oven to 250 F.

Whisk together the wasabi powder and water in a small bowl. With a pastry brush, lightly brush a sheet of nori with the wasabi mixture, then sprinkle with sea salt and sesame seeds.

Fold the nori sheet in half, and press to adhere the two sides (they won't completely stick together, but it's okay - everything will come together in the oven). Cut into 1-inch strips (perpendicular to the fold) and transfer to a baking sheet. Repeat with the remaining nori sheets.

Bake for 12 to 15 minutes, until the chips are shriveled and crisp. Cool for about 5 minutes, brush lightly with hot sesame oil, and crunch away!

snowy monday

2011-02-21T21:32:00.002-05:00

farro and Christmas lima bowl

2011-02-20T14:29:00.001-05:00

My crush on Rancho Gordo's heirloom beans shows absolutely no sign of abating.

First was last weekend's auspicious introduction, in the form of their fat and creamy runner cannellini beans simmered into a chunky vegetable soup. A couple of days later, needing another Rancho Gordo fix, I cooked up a pot of Rio Zape beans, a variety similar to pinto beans. Rich, nutty, and creamy, they were delicious dressed simply with olive oil, minced garlic, and fresh herbs. Then later in the week, I made a batch of Christmas limas -- the enormous, burgundy-and-cream-mottled beans shown in the photo above. Earthy with a flavor reminiscent of chestnuts, these too were delectable treated very simply with a drizzle of olive oil and a little sea salt and black pepper. As for a favorite? I can't decide.

Cooking dried beans during the week requires a little pre-planning, but it is well worth it given all of the quick and delicious, protein-packed, and very economically friendly meals that can easily be thrown together when cooked beans are in the fridge. Soups, salads, bean-and-grain bowls, creamy purees. Before heading to work in the morning I set up some dried beans to soak; when I return in the evening the beans are rehydrated and plump, ready to simmer. I store the cooked beans in their cooking liquid, which helps them stay tender and creamy; they keep, chilled, for about a week.

One morning, poking around the fridge for the makings of a portable lunch bowl featuring leftover Christmas limas, I found promising accompaniments in the forms of cooked farro, roasted beets, greens, scallions, and a slab of Greek feta. A quickly whisked together tahini dressing, lemony and flecked with fresh herbs, made a great finishing touch drizzled across the top.

farro and Christmas lima lunch bowl
Lunch bowls are all about variety and experimentation. If you don't have farro around, you can substitute another hearty whole grain, such as spelt berries, wheat berries, barley, or brown rice. For the green element I chose Tuscan kale; spinach or arugula would also work well. And for the cheese, a crumbly goat cheese or ricotta salata would be great, too.

Serves 2

extra virgin olive oil
2 scallions, thinly sliced
1 cup cooked farro*
1 cup cooked Christmas lima beans*
4 or 5 leaves of Tuscan kale, torn into bite-size pieces
2 roasted beets, peeled and diced
Feta cheese
Sea salt and black pepper

Saute the scallions in a little olive oil over medium-high heat until they soften and begin to caramelize around the edges, about 5 minutes. Add the farro and beans and cook for a few minutes more, stirring occasionally, until warmed through. Then add the kale and a pinch of salt and grind of black pepper, toss to combine evenly, cover, and cook on low for a few minutes until the kale is wilted.

Transfer the mixture to bowls, top with the beets and feta, and drizzle with tahini dressing.

creamy tahini-herb dressing

3 Tbsp tahini
juice of 1 lemon
1/2 tsp minced fresh rosemary
1/2 tsp minced fresh thyme
sea salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste

For a rustic, herb-flecked dressing, whisk together the tahini, lemon juice, and herbs, add a little water to achieve a drizzle-able consistency, and season with salt and pepper. If you're in a fancy mood, puree the ingredients in a blender for a vibrantly green, silky-smooth dressing.

::::::::::::::::::::

*Cooking the farro and Christmas lima beans:

For the farro: Rinse 1 cup of farro, drain, and soak for 8 to 12 hours in 3 cups of water with a 1 Tbsp of apple cider vinegar. Transfer farro and its soaking liquid to a pot, adding additional water if needed to cover the grains by about 3 inches. Add 1 tsp sea salt and bring to a boil. Lower heat, cover, and simmer until the farro is tender, about 1 hour. Drain excess water. Yields about 2-1/2 cups of cooked farro.

For the beans: Soak 1 cup of dried Christmas lima beans in 3 cups of water for 6 to 8 hours. Drain and rinse the beans, transfer them to a pot, and cover with fresh water. Add 1 tsp sea salt and bring to a boil. Then reduce heat to a simmer, cover pot, and cook until beans are uniformly tender, about 1-1/2 hours. Yields about 3 cups of cooked beans.

A note on soaking: I cook grains in their soaking liquid, but not beans. With grains, some nutrients are lost to the soaking liquid, so cooking the grains in the liquid allows them to reabsorb the nutrients. With beans, soaking helps remove hard-to-digest, gas-producing substances, so it's best to discard the liquid and cook them in fresh water.

I add apple cider vinegar when soaking grains because the acid helps deactivate phytic acid (a substance that prevents GI absorption of certain minerals) in the grains. From what I've read this does not seem to be an issue with beans so I do not add vinegar when soaking them.

may the green force be with you

2011-02-18T12:50:00.003-05:00

The springlike weather in New York these last few days (expected high of 60 today!) has inspired me to experiment with breakfast smoothies. A raw greens smoothie is a great way to get a boost of leafy green power first thing in the morning - loaded with vitamins, minerals, and live enzymes - in a form that's delightfully creamy, lightly sweet, and portable, too.

This green smoothie is nothing like a drink made with "powdered greens," which often has an off-putting grainy texture and dark, swamplike taste. Making a smoothie with raw greens allows you to achieve an ultra-smooth texture, with the greens contributing bright, fresh flavors that are perfectly balanced by the other components, like banana and ginger.

My favorite combination so far has included Tuscan kale, cilantro, fresh ginger, lemon juice, banana, raw coconut creme, freshly ground flax seeds, and homemade almond milk.

Spring in a glass. Or a mason jar, which has become my preferred green smoothie drinking vessel. (It's sort of weird to tote a mason jar on the subway. So this might signal that it's time to move to Brooklyn. Or Berkeley. Or Portland - Maine or Oregon. Or Seattle. Any cities I'm forgetting here? ;)

superpowered raw greens smoothie
At home I use a regular blender to make my smoothies. But a Vita-Mix, if you have one, would make this even more kick-a$$ (yup, you know I have one on my wish list).

Combine the following in a blender and puree on high speed until thoroughly homogenized:

3 loosely packed cups of leafy greens and herbs (such as kale, spinach, romaine lettuce, parsley, cilantro)
1 cup almond milk (recipe below) (you could also use coconut water or plain water)
2-inch piece of fresh ginger, chopped (about 2 heaping Tbsp)
Juice of 1 lemon (about 2 Tbsp)

Then add:

1 banana, broken into smaller chunks
1 heaping tsp ground flax seeds
1 Tbsp raw coconut creme or coconut butter (you could also substitute almond butter)
A couple of ice cubes (optional - if you like your smoothies on the icy side)

Blend again until smooth. If the mixture is too thick, add a little more almond milk. Sip and feel the green energy (mason jar optional)!

Creamy Homemade Almond Milk
For almond milk I use raw California-grown almonds, which are softer and less crunchy than toasted almonds. By law, US-grown almonds must be steam-pasteurized before going to market, so technically speaking even almonds labeled "raw" are not truly raw. If you prefer using truly raw almonds, natural foods stores often carry imported raw almonds that have not been pasteurized (or so the label says).

This almond milk is great in the green smoothie and also makes a deliciously creamy bedtime brew, gently heated on the stovetop, spiced with ground cinnamon, and sweetened with a touch of raw honey.

Makes about 2 cups of almond milk.

1 cup organic raw almonds, soaked for 8 to 12 hours in filtered water, drained, and rinsed (soaking makes the almonds easier to blend)
2 cups filtered water
1/4 tsp organic almond extract (optional)
1/4 tsp organic vanilla extract (optional)

Blend almonds and 2 cups of water in a blender on high speed for a few minutes until homogenized. Strain through a large strainer lined with a double layer of cheesecloth (or a nut-milk bag or clean cotton dish towel - whichever you choose, rinse and wring out thoroughly before using), over a bowl.

Squeeze the cheesecloth tightly to extract all of the milk from the almonds. (Though I have not tried it yet, I have heard that the leftover almond solids can be used in baking.)

Optionally, if you would like to boost the flavor of the almond milk, stir in the almond and vanilla extracts.

The milk will keep, tightly covered and chilled, for up to 1 week.

and, of course, there was soup

2011-02-14T12:35:00.002-05:00

This weekend was a whirlwind.

Saturday there was a braising marathon with friends, finished off with thick, chewy whole wheat chocolate chip skillet cookies (have you seen the recipe here or here? If you haven't made them yet, I highly recommend you get to it!)

Sunday brought brunch with the yogi at our favorite place. So many variables to a good brunch - the food, the light, the crowd, the coffee! - and they somehow manage to get all the essential elements right, every time. I departed from my usual, the country breakfast, and ordered the farmer's plate. Softly scrambled eggs, two slabs of creamy, crumbly aged cheddar, herb-roasted tomatoes, and a hunk of warm baguette. It's my new usual.

The day continued with much watching of Mad Men (we just finished season 3, now the wait is on until season 4 is released on dvd. I can feel the Don Draper withdrawal starting already).

And then, of course, there was soup.

I know, it's Valentine's Day, why am I writing about soup? Everyone's in the mood to indulge in rich meals, chocolate truffles, and the like. Well, okay, but what are you going to eat tomorrow? Ah, see? You need a V-Day Recovery Soup. I knew it.

I've been curious about the heirloom beans from Napa-based Rancho Gordo for a while now. The final nudge to order some was provided by Nancy's recent post on her scumptious-looking white bean lasagna, where she sang the praises of RG's mammoth-sized and amazingly creamy runner cannellini beans. I made my way over to their website and selected the Desert Island Sampler, which features five 1-pound bags of some of their favorite varieties (when I ordered, it was Christmas lima, cranberry, brown tepary, Rio Zape, and the aforementioned cannellini).

The RG cannellinis are the biggest I've ever seen -- and they cook up into the creamiest and most delicious white beans that have ever graced my palate. Tender, meaty, and buttery. Simmered in a base of homemade chicken stock, the beans slowly released their starch, which added a silky body to the broth and boosted its richness. Matched with the usual aromatics (onion, carrot, garlic), dried shiitakes, ginger, a little red chile, tamari, and (big surprise!) kale, I ended up with a soup that is satisfying and full of flavor yet also light and rejuvenating, the perfect antidote to a V-Day induced chocolate overdose.

vegetable soup with white beans
Makes about 2 quarts of soup

1 cup dried white beans, such as cannellini, soaked in water for 6 to 8 hours and drained
1-inch square of dried kombu
1 bay leaf
6 cups stock or broth (or water)

1 onion, diced
2 carrots, diced
1/2 cup dried sliced wild mushrooms, such as shiitake, porcini, maitake, or a mixture
2-inch piece of fresh ginger, cut into short (about 1/2 inch-long) matchsticks
3 garlic cloves, chopped
3 small red chiles (such as pequins or bird chiles), crushed, or 1/4 tsp red chile flakes
1 bunch curly kale, chopped

tamari, to taste
sea salt and black pepper
chopped scallions, to garnish

Combine the soaked and drained beans, kombu, stock or water, and 1/2 tsp sea salt in a large pot. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer, covered, until the beans are tender (the time will depend on the size and age of the beans - the beans I used took about 2-1/2 hours).

Add the onion, carrot, mushrooms, ginger, garlic, red chile, and kale to the pot. Simmer for an additional 30 to 45 minutes, until the vegetables are tender. Season to taste with tamari (I used about 1 Tbsp) and black pepper. Garnish each bowl with scallions.

pear ginger muffins

2011-02-08T22:15:00.001-05:00

Just stopping in with a recipe for the pear ginger muffins that I mentioned in my last post.

Guided by a hunk of fresh ginger and a couple of Bosc pears about to turn the corner into overripe territory, I made these muffins up as I went along, and they turned out really well. Built on the goodness of whole grain spelt flour and unrefined coconut palm sugar, the muffins have a tender, airy crumb infused with the mouth-warming spiciness of fresh ginger and loaded with chunks of juicy pear. The batter is just barely sweet, which allows the natural sweetness of the pear to really shine through. I like them that way, but if you prefer a sweeter muffin, try increasing the palm sugar from 1/3 cup to 1/2 cup. (If you don't have palm sugar around but have another granular unrefined sweetener, such as sucanat or rapadura, you can substitute that in an equal amount.)

I finely grated the ginger using a ceramic grater (one of my favorite kitchen gadgets - it looks a lot like this one); a microplane would work well, too. I didn't even bother to peel the ginger before I grated it -- the bits of ginger skin go unnoticed in the final product, and they might even add to the flavor.

pear ginger muffins
Makes about 10 standard-size (2-inch) muffins

wet ingredients:
1 large egg
1/3 cup coconut palm sugar
3/4 cup plain whole milk yogurt
2-inch piece of fresh ginger, grated
1 Tbsp butter, melted and cooled

dry ingredients:
1-1/2 cups whole grain spelt flour
1/4 tsp salt
2 tsp baking powder

2 firm-ripe pears, peeled, cored, and diced (I used Bosc)

Preheat the oven to 350 F with rack in the middle.

Whisk together the wet ingredients in a large bowl. In a separate bowl stir together the dry ingredients. Then stir the dry ingredients into the wet, being careful not to overmix. Fold in the pears.

Pour the batter into a buttered muffin tin and bake for 15 to 18 minutes, until a cake tester inserted in the center comes out clean.

this weekend

2011-02-06T20:02:00.002-05:00

Since we're watching the Super Bowl right now, I thought it would be a good time to post some images from the weekend. (If anything exciting happens, I'll catch it on the replay.)

There was lunch at the recently opened Mooncake Foods, 54th St near 9th Ave. I had fish tacos with spicy hoisin sauce. Yum.

And shiitakes from the mushroom guy at the Saturday Lincoln Square greenmarket (plus a maitake he threw in as a bonus). Sauteed in butter and sprinkled with Maldon sea salt and black pepper, crazy good. I need to cook with maitakes more - so intensely earthy, the aroma reminded me of black truffle.

Coconut chicken soup with Thai red curry and kale.

Pear ginger muffins, for the yogi (recipe coming soon).

old-school breakfast: kasha with egg

2011-02-04T17:45:00.002-05:00

I seem to be channeling an Eastern European grandmother these days. For breakfast this morning I made kasha with egg. And added a spoonful of schmaltz.

Does anyone else think of Frank Costanza when they hear the word kasha? The famous Seinfeld kasha scene! It's one of my favorites (obviously I have watched one too many series reruns, but bear with me). I can't seem to find a clip of the scene on youtube, so instead I share with you an excerpt from the episode's script.

======================

[George's Apartment]

George sits up in bed reading a magazine. Frank enters, carrying a small bowl. George puts his magazine to one side, as Frank carefully climbs into bed whilst keeping hold of the bowl. George takes off his glasses, as Frank settles back. Picking up a spoon from the bowl Frank is about to eat, when a thought occurs. Carefully, Frank reaches over with the spoon, to offer George a taste.

FRANK: Kasha?

George looks disdainfully at the spoonful. A few morsels have fallen onto the bedclothes, George picks them up and puts them back into Frank's bowl.

GEORGE: No. Thanks, dad.

Wearily, George puts his glasses on the bedside table, and switches off his bedside lamp, bringing darkness to the room. George shuffles down beneath the bedclothes, to get comfortable, just as Frank switches on his bedside lamp. Exasperated, George lifts his pillow and places it over his own face, as Frank continues to eat his kasha.

======================

Although I've never eaten a bowl of it in bed, I do love kasha. My mom used to make it for breakfast, and it was one of my favorites. But I must have lost touch with kasha at some point, forgot about it entirely, until I was reintroduced to it in a whole-grains class during cooking school. The moment the aroma of steaming kasha hit me, I knew this was a food I had loved at a young age (behold the power of olfactory memories!). I've been cooking kasha ever since.

Kasha, or buckwheat groats, is one of my pantry staples -- it's quick-cooking, gluten-free, great at any meal, and has a unique, wonderfully nutty flavor. Though we often lump it into the grain category, botanically speaking the buckwheat groat is not truly a grain but rather the fruit seed of a plant related to rhubard. High in antioxidant compounds called flavonoids, and one in particular called rutin, which helps to normalize blood lipid levels and mediate blood clotting. Also rich in magnesium, which promotes blood vessel relaxation, and manganese, which acts as a cofactor in many enzymatic reactions in the body. Altogether, a nice synergy of beneficial effects for the cardiovascular system.

This cold morning I decided to make kasha and egg, and since I can't resist tinkering, fancied it up with some fresh rosemary and parsley and a sprinkling of dulse flakes (a variety of sea vegetable). Remembering a container of schmaltz in the fridge, I stirred in a spoonful of that, too. The result was comfort food at its best: the kasha was tender, nutty and earthy, with notes of brightess from the fresh herbs and complexity from the rich schmaltz and savory, umami-rich dulse.

(dulse flakes)

I have a feeling kasha is going to be a regular in my breakfast rotation from now on. Although I made a savory combination this morning, I can also imagine taking the kasha in a sweet direction, topping it with milk (dairy or not), butter, cinnamon, and honey or maple syrup. Maybe some diced apple or pear on top, too.

kasha with egg, herbs, and dulse
Serves 4

1 cup kasha (buckwheat groats), rinsed and drained
1 egg
2 cups boiling water
1/2 tsp sea salt
small sprig of rosemary, finely chopped (about 3/4 tsp)
1 Tbsp schmaltz (see below), unsalted organic butter, or extra virgin olive oil
1/3 cup roughly chopped flat-leaf parsley
1 Tbsp dulse flakes
black pepper

In a medium saucepot combine the kasha and egg, stirring well so all the groats are coated. Cook over medium-low heat, stirring frequently, until the grains are separated and dry, and the kasha begins to smell nutty (about 5 minutes).

Add the boiling water, salt, and rosemary to the kasha mixture, stir well, cover, and simmer until water is absorbed and kasha is tender, 15 to 18 minutes.

Stir in the schmaltz or other fat, parsley, and dulse, and season to taste with salt and freshly ground black pepper. Serve hot.

a word on schmaltz

I made schmaltz for the first time a couple of weeks ago. As I was preparing to roast a pasture-raised chicken that I had brought home from the greenmarket, I noticed two large pieces of fat just inside the cavity, and immediately thought schmaltz! (This was a treat, since even when buying direct from the farm these fatty lobes are often removed before you buy the chicken.)

I removed the pieces of fat with kitchen shears, tossed them into a small pan, and cooked the fat, covered, over low heat for about 15 minutes (I learned later that it's traditional to also add some chopped onion when rendering the fat). It spat and sputtered a good deal, and eventually I was left with liquified, translucent yellow chicken fat and two well-browned cracklin'-like things (which I discarded; though it's possible they are edible, I wasn't too eager to find out). I strained the fat to remove the brown bits, refrigerated the clear portion, and now have about 1/4 cup of lovely schmaltz to use in all sorts of things.

hello, february

2011-02-01T21:20:00.006-05:00

Well....I did it!

My new year's intention to post here every day during the month of January has officially been fulfilled! 31 days, 31 posts. Whew.

I learned that daily posting really makes time fly. When I wasn't actually posting, I was thinking about what to post, running out to gather ingredients, making grand (and delicious) messes in the kitchen, wandering the blogosphere looking for interesting tidbits to share, and snapping lots of photos. Inhabiting this space more regularly inspired me to think about things in different ways and devise some new combinations. Quite fun.

Now I'd like to keep the momentum going. There is so much more to explore, and my little Moleskine notebook is filled with possibilities. Stay tuned - who knows what February will bring?

For the time being, here's a recap of the 5 most-read posts during my January blogging spree. Enjoy!

1 ::: An homage to Rowan Jacobsen's book American Terroir.

2 ::: A creamy and comforting root vegetable soup - a snap to prepare and perfect for a cold winter day. (And which another Nancy liked enough to write about on her beautiful blog - thanks, Nancy!)

3 ::: A weekly round-up of food news, coffee geekery, and things I am coveting at the moment.

4 ::: More on coffee (and prana).

5 ::: Everybody loves kale! (Yay, kale!)

meyer lemon kuzu

2011-01-31T22:18:00.001-05:00

Now that we're really in the depths of winter, I've been craving citrus fruits. I love local apples and pears, don't get me wrong...but these days the grapefruits and clementines are calling to me. So when I saw a bin of plump, yellow-orange Meyer lemons at the grocery store over the weekend I could not pass them up. Thinking about a very simple preparation that wouldn't interfere with the delicate, floral flavor of the lemons, a warm lemon kuzu came to mind.

The kuzu is one of my favorite winter bedtime brews - sort of a cross between a tea and a pudding, there are few things more gentle and comforting. The term kuzu is used to describe any liquid thickened with kuzu, a starch from the root of the kuzu plant that is used as a thickener in Japanese and macrobiotic cooking. The liquid is often a fruit juice, sometimes a more savory preparation with umeboshi, shoyu, and ginger. Depending on how much kuzu powder you add, you can achieve anything from a lightly thickened beverage (1 Tbsp kuzu to 1 cup liquid) to a pudding-like dessert (2 Tbsp kuzu to 1 cup liquid).

With the addition of ginger and honey, this kuzu brew reminds me of a hot toddy with extra texture and body. It's perfect for a cold night. Kuzu's calming properties promote relaxation and sleep; it is also beneficial for the GI tract and useful for soothing anxiety and hyperactivity.

Meyer lemon kuzu
Kuzu powder (aka kudzu powder) can be found in Asian and natural foods stores

juice from 2 Meyer lemons, strained (about 1/3 cup)
1 tsp ginger juice (squeezed from about 1 Tbsp of freshly grated ginger)
2/3 cup water
1 to 2 Tbsp honey (to taste)
1 to 2 Tbsp kuzu, depending on how thick you prefer

In a small saucepan combine the lemon and ginger juices, water, and honey to taste. Whisk in the kuzu powder; the liquid will turn cloudy.

Bring the mixture to a simmer over medium heat, whisking often. Once it begins to simmer, whisk constantly; as soon as the mixture has thickened and changed from cloudy to translucent, remove from heat and transfer to serving cups (it will take about 5 minutes total). Drink, or eat with a spoon, warm or at room temperature.

sake poached pears with star anise

2011-01-30T19:58:00.001-05:00

Today I tried a new combination for poaching pears, and it worked really well: sake and star anise. I've had a jar of star anise pods in the spice rack for a while, but never manage to do anything with them. I think I've been intimidated by its potent licorice-y aroma and worry that the flavor will overshadow the other elements of a dish. Although I love fennel I'm not a big fan of black licorice. But today I learned that star anise can actually play nicely with others; in the poaching liquid for the pears, accompanied by cinnamon, cardamom, and vanilla, the star anise imparted a subtle licorice flavor that was pleasant and not overwhelming.

The sake was also a winner here, creating a nice floral base for the poaching liquid, which I then reduced to make a sauce for the pears. The sake and spices came together really nicely, helped I'm sure by a pat of butter whisked in at the end, and the finished sauce had a balanced, delicate flavor, without any one component screaming above the others. Though I served the pears simply with their sauce, I'm quite sure freshly whipped cream and toasted, chopped almonds or walnuts would be delicious additions.

sake poached pears with star anise
I used Bosc pears this time; Bartlett and D'Anjou would also work well here.

1/2 cup sake
1-1/2 cups water
1 star anise pod
2 cardamom pods
1 inch piece of vanilla bean, split
1 inch piece of cinnamon stick
1 Tbsp maple syrup
2 firm-ripe pears, peeled, halved lengthwise, and cored
1 Tbsp unsalted butter

Combine the sake, water, star anise, cardamom, vanilla bean, cinnamon, and maple syrup in in a medium saucepan and whisk to combine. Add the pear halves to the pot in a single layer. Cover with a round of parchment paper (this helps the pears cook more evenly; if you don't have parchment, just cover the pan with a lid). Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer until the pears are tender when pierced with a knife, about 25 minutes, turning over the pears halfway through.

Remove the pears from the liquid, raise the heat and boil until its volume reduces by about two-thirds. Strain the sauce and whisk in the butter.

Serve the pears with the sauce spooned over them.

black bean soup with mulato chile

2011-01-29T22:10:00.003-05:00

My mom gave me a jar of dried mulato chiles a couple of months ago; I've been thinking about what to do with them ever since, and this week decided to try them in a black bean soup. Mulato chiles are a variety of dried poblano, reddish black in color with a chocolatey, smoky flavor and a touch of heat; they're commonly used in mole sauces. Since mulatos aren't too spicy, I upped the soup's heat quotient by adding two fresh, chopped jalapenos (seeds and ribs included). I remembered a few slices of bacon in the freezer and decided to include them, too, but if you'd rather leave the bacon out just saute the vegetables in olive oil and double the amount of smoked paprika later on. This is one of the best black bean soups I've ever tasted -- the mulato adds richness and depth of flavor, the jalapenos provide a hit of fresh, clean heat, and cumin, smoked paprika, lime juice, and fresh cilantro round out the flavors and tie everything together. One day for lunch I garnished my bowl with cooling chopped avocado and hard-cooked egg; another day with chopped baked tofu. Delicious both ways.

black bean soup with mulato chile

1 cup dried black beans, soaked for 8 hours, rinsed and drained
4 slices of bacon, thinly sliced OR 2 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil
1 red onion, chopped (about 1 cup)
1 medium carrot, peeled and chopped (about 1/2 cup)
1 celery rib, chopped (about 1/3 cup)
1 green bell pepper, seeds and ribs removed, chopped (about 1 cup)
2 jalapenos, chopped
1 clove of garlic, chopped
1 Tbsp cumin seeds
1/4 tsp smoked paprika (use 1/2 tsp if not including the bacon)
1 dried mulato chile
roughly 1-by-1-inch piece of dried kombu
2 medium potatoes, diced (about 1-1/2 cups)
sea salt
freshly squeezed lime juice, to taste
chopped fresh cilantro (for garnish)
diced hard-cooked egg, avocado, baked tofu, and/or crispy bacon (for garnish)

If using the bacon, saute it in a large soup pot over medium-high heat until crispy and browned. Drain off all of the fat except about 2 Tbsp (reserve some of the crisped bacon if you'd like to garnish the soup with it later). (If not using bacon, heat 2 Tbsp olive oil before proceeding to the next step.)

Add the onion, carrot, celery, and jalapeno to the pot, and saute for 5 to 8 minutes until the vegetables are lightly browned. Add the garlic, cumin, and smoked paprika, and saute for another couple of minutes until the cumin seeds are fragrant.

Add the soaked and drained beans, mulato chile, and kombu. Pour in 5 cups of water, add a big pinch of sea salt, and stir well. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat, cover, and simmer the soup until the beans are tender, about 1-1/2 hours. As it cooks, break up the dried chile into smaller pieces with a spoon (and remove the stem once it detaches from the pepper). When the beans are tender, add the potatoes and simmer for another 20 to 30 minutes.

Season the soup to taste with freshly squeezed lime juice and salt. Garnish each bowl with cilantro and accoutrements of your choice: diced avocado, crisped bacon, hard-boiled egg, and baked tofu are all fine additions.

The soup is even better the next day.

Updated 2/1/2011 to include green bell pepper, which was omitted in the original version of the recipe.

friday foodie round-up

2011-01-28T12:10:00.003-05:00

With a new editor-in-chief and publisher at the helm, many changes are afoot at Bon Appetit, including a campaign refresh (an example of which is above) aimed at recruiting 'the forgotten foodie.' Conde Nast switched my subscription over to BA for a few months after giving Gourmet the axe in 2009. I didn't renew - just couldn't get past the congealed-looking food on the cover - but there's a chance I'll check out a future issue to see what the new BA has to offer. (Photo from The New York Times)

This week Mark Bittman hung up his apron at The Minimalist, his weekly column in The New York Times' Dining section. And, he's sharing 25 of his all-time favorite recipes from the column (now on my grocery list: garbanzo flour to make socca). Not to worry, Bittman will still be writing for the Times in various capacities.

Images from a beautiful new food-as-art cookbook by chef Rene Redzepi of the Copenhagen restaurant Noma. (Photos from the Kitchn)

I've fallen down the rabbit hole of coffee snobbery. Now that I've converted from a French press to a Chemex for my morning brew (and have a burr grinder on order, too. Oh, my), I'm eyeing the elegant, beehive-shaped Hario Buono drip kettle and imagining myself achieving perfectly even grounds saturation without increasing my risk of carpal-tunnel syndrome. And speaking of coffee snobbery, you might enjoy this very funny article by Frank Bruni (eek, nearly blinded by a Chemex - all in the name of research!) (Photo from Remodelista)

And what better way to sip my fancypants burr-ground, Chemex-brewed coffee than from a ((($90!))) silver-washed porcelain mug crafted by German ceramacist Bernhard Kuehn. Well, I can dream, can't I? (Photo from Apartment Therapy's Marketplace)

My favorite farmer had chicken feet at the greenmarket this morning, so I'll be simmering up a batch of gelatin-rich stock in the next couple of days. What do you have cooking this weekend?

always prepared

2011-01-27T19:23:00.003-05:00

What's that classic scout motto? Oh, right: Be Prepared. Even though I was only in the Girl Scouts for a couple of years in elementary school (just long enough, though, to experience a harrowing white-water rafting trip on the Delaware River and get splashed with cow dung on a rainy day outing to an Amish farm in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania), I take that motto very seriously. When it comes to food, at least. When I was working in the hospital as a med student and intern, my senior residents often remarked that thanks to me our team never missed a meal. I was the 'Let's Do the Admission After We Eat' Intern. With good reason, though - as far back as I can remember, when my blood sugar takes a dip I become not merely cranky but stark raving mad. So I've learned to respect mealtime. And keep snacks around. I've gotten somewhat off track from my original intention for this post, so let's get to the point: almond butter and banana.

I have a major blog crush on Simply Breakfast, a photographic journal in which Jen documents her morning meals with style and simplicity. So I wanted to share with you my favorite breakfast these days, which I've been eating right at my desk when I get to work: rye crispbreads (usually Ryvita, sometimes Kavli), generously schmeared with unsalted almond butter (it's gotta be Justin's Classic variety), sprinkled with a pinch of sea salt, and topped with slices of ripe banana.

I am not exaggerating in the least when I say: utter perfection. Crunchy, creamy, a wee bit salty, pleasantly sweet and fruity without being sugary. Almond butter and banana might be one of the most wonderful flavor combinations ever (in my book, almond beats peanut butter any day). Plus, with its nice balance of complex carbs, proteins, healthy fats, and natural fruit sugars, I'm satisfied and free of stark-raving-madness all the way through till lunchtime. And, I conveniently keep all of the ingredients, except the banana, in my office. How's that for being prepared?

brown bagging

2011-01-26T21:12:00.008-05:00

Manhattan's midtown east, where I spend my weekdays, offers myriad lunch options; unfortunately, most of them manage to be both pricey and underwhelming in the flavor department. To avoid battling it out with the swarms of hungry office workers at dubious salad bars and souperies, I bring a homemade lunch as often as possible. I tend to carry my goodies in whatever small, reusable shopping bag I have around, which usually ends up being a whole foods or lululemon bag. Yawn. Plus, the bags I use have open tops, so there's nothing to keep out the rain (or snow, like this morning). A few days ago I saw this article on stylin' lunch totes in The New York Times, and it inspired me to update my lunch bag. Turns out that fun, colorful, and functional lunch-toting options abound; though I haven't committed to one just yet, here are some great totes I've found around the webosphere.

This cheerful oilcloth bag might elicit smiles on the morning commute, as much as such a thing is possible among an undercaffeinated crowd on a crammed subway car. (Photo from Etsy)

I love the irreverent prints on these simple linen canvas bags. Plus, they're lined with waterproof nylon in case of a spill. (Now, if they only had a closable top, too.) (Photo from Etsy)

A lunch bag doesn't get more classic than this paper bag-inspired tote from Artifact Bag Co. (Though for my purposes I wish it also had a handle). (Photo from Artifact Bag Co.)

And, winning the most likely to be indestructible award, a neoprene lunch purse from Built. I'm leaning toward this tote for its shoulder-length handles, great for the mass-transit-riding among us, and secure top zipper. (Photo from Built)

tuscan kale salad

2011-01-25T22:16:00.002-05:00

Romaine-based salads used to be part of my daily meals year-round, even in the dead of winter; as I've embraced a more seasonal way of eating, though, I find myself drawn towards the heartier dark, leafy greens instead - collards, kale, chard, rabe. I'll usually saute them with onion, garlic, red pepper flakes, and other spices (and in one of my new favorite combinations, with apple). These days when I'm craving the juicy crunch of a raw salad during the winter months I'll often make a slaw with thinly sliced red or green cabbage, or a salad with Tuscan kale. Tuscan kale (also called dinosaur, lacinato, or black kale), with its long, slender leaves that are more delicate and tender than curly kale, lends itself readily to raw preparations.

The first time I made a kale salad it was this recipe from Melissa Clark, and I liked it so much that I've been following its basic elements ever since. Thin ribbons of kale marinate in a garlicky vinaigrette until they wilt ever so slightly, then get great texture and flavor from sweet, chewy currants and rich pine nuts, plus shavings of nutty parmesan on top; the robust combination perfectly balances the vibrant greenness and slightly bitter bite of the kale.

Tuscan kale salad with currants and pine nuts

1/4 tsp grated lemon zest

juice of 1 lemon

1 clove of garlic, minced

1/8 tsp red chile flakes

3 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil

2 Tbsp currants

1 small bunch Tuscan kale, large stems discarded and leaves thinly sliced crosswise into ribbons (about 3 cups)

2 Tbsp pine nuts

freshly shaved parmesan cheese, for garnish (optional)

sea salt and black pepper

In a large bowl whisk together the lemon zest and juice, garlic, red chile flakes, olive oil, currants, a pinch of salt, and a couple of grinds of pepper. Let sit for a few minutes so the currants absorb some of the liquid.

Add the kale and toss to coat with the vinaigrette. Marinate at room temperature for 20 to 30 minutes until the kale has wilted slightly. Taste and add more salt and black pepper if needed. Add pine nuts just before serving, and shave some parsesan over each portion.

beets vinaigrette

2011-01-24T20:21:00.013-05:00

Beets are my favorite dirt candy. Roasting them whole, skin-on, is the way to go; it concentrates their sweet and earthy flavor and brings out the best in their texture. I roast a pound or two at a time in a 400-degree oven, drizzled lightly in olive oil and wrapped in aluminum foil (helps them cook evenly without drying out), for about an hour and a quarter. Once they've cooled, trim the stem and root ends; the skin slips right off, revealing garnet-colored interiors of silky, tender beet flesh. Beet roasting is a good activity for a lazy Sunday morning; they keep beautifully in the fridge, ready to be peeled as needed for meals throughout the week.

I like to treat beets very simply. A bright, mustardy vinaigrette with shallot and apple cider vinegar is a perfect counterpoint to their deep, earthy sweetness (a crumble of gorgonzola works, too). I've been crumbling walnuts over everything lately, and they were a good match here as well; their rich flavor, with its astringent edge, and of course their crunch, made the ideal finishing touch. I think even Dwight Schrute would approve.

roasted beets with mustard vinaigrette

1 lb beets
1 tsp extra virgin olive oil
1 heaping teaspoon whole grain mustard (such as Maille)
1 small shallot, minced (about 1 Tbsp)
1 Tbsp apple cider vinegar
3 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil
sea salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
walnuts, coarsely crumbled

Preheat oven to 400F.

Drizzle 1 tsp of olive oil over the beets and mix to coat evenly. Wrap the beets in aluminum foil, place in a baking dish (to catch any juices that might escape as they cook), and roast for about 1 hour and 15 minutes until tender when pierced with a knife. I often leave them in the oven as it cools, for 20 to 30 minutes more, to help ensure they're all evenly cooked through.

To make the vinaigrette, in a small bowl whisk together the mustard, shallot, apple cider vinegar, a pinch of salt, and a grind or two of black pepper. Then slowly stream in the olive oil, whisking constantly to emulsify. Season to taste with more salt and pepper if needed.

When the beets are cool enough to handle, remove the stem and root ends and peel off their skins. Cut the beets into bite-size pieces, drizzle with vinaigrette, and top with walnuts.

calabaza

2011-01-23T19:39:00.001-05:00

This is the fat wedge of calabaza squash I bought at the greenmarket on Friday. Doing some research on epicurious, a Gourmet recipe caught my eye for a calabaza, corn and coconut soup, the squash simmered in coconut milk with cilantro and cayenne, pureed until smooth, and topped with a corn relish that's brightened with lime juice, more cilantro, and shallot. The soup was great with calabaza, and I think kabocha or butternut squash would work equally well if that's what you have on hand. It's vegan, too.

green chile, to go

2011-01-22T08:37:00.002-05:00

Hey all you green chile addicts out there - you never need to be far from your next fix, because green chile is now available in convenient to-go packets.

Given my general aversion to processed and packaged foods, I was a little bit wary when I first encountered these single-serves. But check it out, just three ingredients in there: flame-roasted green chiles, lime juice, garlic salt (okay, 4 ingredients since garlic salt = garlic + salt), and no preservatives or other artificial ingredients. Although they don't brag about it on the package, 505 Southwestern states on their website that they use only Hatch green chiles in their products (during my chile education from the yogi, I learned that Hatch, New Mexico, is the mecca of green chiles). So this is the real deal.

One morning, wanting something different for breakfast, I slathered some green chile on top of a mashed avocado and ate it on crispbreads. Delicious. The sauce is impeccably fresh-tasting and brings the clear, clean heat of green chile (I tried the medium variety so it wasn't too spicy but still delivered a nice kick of heat), balanced by acidity from the lime and rounded out with a hint of garlic.

Simply tuck a packet of green chile into the back pocket of your stonewashed jeans, and you're set. I can see bringing a packet or two to brunch to top scrambled eggs, in place of my usual Tabasco.

Thanks to Adena, who received the green chile packets as a gift and shared them with me!

local lunch

2011-01-21T14:00:00.002-05:00

It was a good greenmarket week. I managed to get to three of my favorite markets, and now the fridge and pantry are bursting with wintry produce - squash, cabbage, potatoes, apples, sweet potatoes, rutabagas, onions, and beets.

For my work lunch today I made a hearty salad with thinly sliced purple cabbage, shoyu-roasted carnival squash, walnuts, sunflower seeds, and currants, dressed with extra-virgin olive oil, apple cider vinegar, sea salt, and black pepper. Crunchy, savory, and sweet, with added protein from the nuts and seeds, it was a simple combination that really worked. Alongside the salad was a rutabaga mash with Ronnybrook butter and mellow white miso. I love rutabaga - its flavor is similar to a turnip but sweeter and more buttery; its flesh, which is pale yellow when raw, turns a lovely gold after it's cooked.

A delicious, seasonal, plant-based meal, much of it sourced from farms located within about a hundred miles of where I live.* That makes me happy.

shoyu-roasted winter squash
I used a carnival squash, which is similar in size and shape to an acorn squash but with a buttery yellow skin that has orange and/or pale green stripes. I left the skin on, but you can peel the squash if you prefer; older or larger squashes may have tougher skin so in that case it's a good idea. Shoyu, traditionally fermented soy sauce, provides salt and depth of flavor, with an umami savoriness that plays nicely off the sweetness of the roasted squash.

1 winter squash, stem and seeds removed, and diced into 3/4-inch pieces (about 4 cups)
2 Tbsp shoyu
3 Tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
Black pepper

Preheat oven to 400 F.

In a large bowl stir together the squash and shoyu. Then add the oil and a few grinds of black pepper and toss again (I add the shoyu first so it has a chance to coat the squash - the oil would interfere with that to some extent).

Spread the squash mixture out on a baking sheet or pan, and roast for 30 to 40 minutes, stirring occasionally, until tender and caramelized.

*Not counting the condiments, nuts/seeds, and currants.

roasted cauliflower with cumin + tahini

2011-01-20T08:56:00.001-05:00

I've been wracking my brain over what to say that might convince even the cauliflower-haters out there to try this recipe. I'm aware that cauliflower isn't the most popular of vegetables, but in my opinion the fault here in no way lies with the cauliflower. It has been wronged again and again: overboiled, oversteamed, served limp and watery in one of those generic 'mixed vegetable' side dishes. (And don't even get me started on frozen vegetables. I'd rather eat the cardboard.) You can probably tell by now that I've experienced less-than-well-prepared cauliflower myself, so if you're not a fan of the crucifer, I understand where you're coming from. But have you tried it roasted? If not, please promise you will try this recipe before condemning cauliflower to unloved vegetable purgatory for all eternity.

Roasting transforms cauliflower into an entirely different vegetable than the one you might have encountered before. The intense, dry heat of the oven turns the edges of the florets crisp and brown and their interiors tender and juicy; its flavor mellows, turning towards nutty and sweet. I can never resist munching a few pieces directly from the baking sheet, kissed merely with olive oil, salt, and black pepper.

Now, if you happen to drizzle a luscious tahini dressing over this already wondrous roasted cauliflower, one rich with the round, nutty, smoky flavor of cumin and a punch of heat from red chile, then you truly have something worthy of celebration. I draped some of the roasted cauliflower spears over steamed kale and collards, drizzled everything with the tahini mixture, and showered raisins and chopped almonds on top to add texture and sweetness. The combination hit all the right notes -- savory, sweet, and smoky, tender, chewy, crunchy, and creamy.

: : : If your issues with cauliflower run particularly deep, maybe try starting with this buttery cauliflower puree. It's like mashed potatoes, only better. I dare you not to have seconds. : : :

roasted cauliflower with cumin and tahini dressing
Delectable over dark leafy greens, this would also be a good match for a whole grain such as brown rice, millet, or quinoa, or on its own as a side dish. Toast the cumin seeds in a heavy-bottomed skillet (I use cast-iron) for a few minutes until fragrant and lightly browned, stirring occasionally so they don't burn.

1 head of cauliflower, leaves and base removed, and cut into florets
Extra virgin olive oil
sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
1/4 cup tahini
3 Tbsp apple cider vinegar
1/2 tsp cumin seeds, toasted
1/4 tsp red chile flakes
raisins and roughly chopped almonds, to garnish

Preheat oven too 425 F.

Place the cauliflower florets in a large bowl and add a glug of olive oil (2 to 3 Tbsp), a big pinch of salt, and a few grinds of black pepper. Toss well to coat the florets evenly. Spread the cauliflower in a single layer on a baking sheet. Roast, stirring occasionally, until the florets are caramelized and tender when pierced with a knife, 25 to 30 minutes.

While the cauliflower is in the oven, combine the tahini, apple cider vinegar, cumin seeds, red chile flakes, a pinch of salt, and a few grinds of black pepper in a blender. Add 2 Tbsp of water, cover, and blend for a minute or two. If the dressing is too thick, gradually add more water (about a tablespoon at a time) until it reaches a pourable consistency. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Drizzle the dressing over the cauliflower and serve sprinkled with raisins and chopped almonds.

around stockholm

2011-01-19T07:04:00.003-05:00

Looking through my photo archives last night, these pics from a trip to Stockholm last summer caught my eye. (I also posted about this trip here.)

I'll be back tomorrow with something edible. In the meantime, have a lovely Wednesday!

maple cinnamon apples

2011-01-18T07:00:00.001-05:00

My favorite winter dessert takes all of 15 minutes to prepare: thinly sliced apples, sauteed in butter with warming spices and a touch of maple syrup. Sometimes, if I'm feeling fancy, I'll use the sauteed apples as the foundation for a crisp or crumble, or fold dough around them for a galette. Mostly, though, I simply heap some into a bowl, still steaming, and top them with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Apple pie a la mode, minus the crust.

For this rendition I went with cinnamon and fresh ginger for spice, added extra depth by browning the butter slightly before sauteing the apples, and folded in walnuts and currants at the end for additional texture and flavor. The result was warming and satisfying, but not overly filling, the perfect ending to a winter meal.

maple cinnamon apples
serves 4

Jonagold apples were practically made for the saute pan; they hold their shape and retain a bit of bite when cooked. I had only one Jonagold this time so included a Pink Lady and a Cortland, too; the latter two varieties tend to fall apart during cooking, so I had a blend of intact slices and sauciness, which I liked. Leftovers are delicious for breakfast, warmed and topped with plain whole milk yogurt.

juice of 1 lemon
3 large apples
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp grated fresh ginger
1/4 cup dark maple syrup, divided
2 Tbsp unsalted butter
1/4 cup walnuts, roughly broken into smaller pieces
2 Tbsp currants

Add lemon juice to a large bowl. Peel and core the apples, and slice them thinly. Add them to the bowl as you go along, tossing with the lemon juice to prevent them from browning. Add the cinnamon, ginger, and 2 Tbsp of the maple syrup, and gently toss to evenly coat the apples.

Heat the butter in a heavy-bottomed saute pan over medium heat until it stops foaming and begins to brown slightly. Add the apple mixture and juices and saute, stirring occasionally, until the apples are tender and the juices thicken, about 8 minutes. Gently incorporate the remaining maple syrup, walnuts, and currants, and cook for another minute or so.

Serve warm, with a scoop of vanilla ice cream if you like.

ski queen

2011-01-17T12:21:00.002-05:00

Like many things deeply rooted in nostalgia, my affection for Norwegian gjetost (pronounced yay-toast; literally 'goat cheese,' and also known as brunost or 'brown cheese') leans slightly toward the irrational. My mom was into gjetost when I was a kid; I remember her thinly slicing the cute little brown cube of cheese and draping ribbons of it on top of warm buttered toast or whole grain flatbread. My memory of gjetost's flavor is fuzzy but comforting - sweet, caramelly, rich, like a cheese candy of sorts. At some point my family lost the taste for gjetost, and it disappeared from our cheese drawer not to be seen again. I forgot about my love for this brown cheese entirely, until I saw a little red brick of Ski Queen in the cheese case at the market one day and was compelled to buy it.

Gjetost is an amalgamation of cow's and goat's milk, cream, and whey. The mixture is boiled for several hours until much of its water content has evaporated and the milk sugar (lactose) has caramelized, similar to the way dulce de leche is made. Once solidified, the cheese is cut into little cubes and packaged; when you unwrap one of these cubes, it looks uncannily like an oversized caramel. In Norway and other areas of Scandinavia, gjetost is a a breakfast standby, thinly sliced with a cheeseplane, the curls eaten on buttered toast or flatbread, with fresh fruit or preserves.

This is definitely not a cheese to eat by the chunk. Gjetost is an intense sensory experience, sort of a cross between fudge and cheese; beginning with the richness, sweetness, and slight bitterness of caramel, it finishes with a wave of tangy goat. It's a flavor that's difficult to put into words. It just has to be experienced. (And it is something of an acquired taste - people seem to either love it or hate it.)

The richness of gjetost calls for something substantial that can stand up to it -- a hearty, whole grain rye flatbread (such as Kavli) is a good pairing. A thin layer of unsalted butter on the flatbread creates a mellow foundation for the curls of gjetost (I don't have a cheeseplane so didn't quite achieve curls; just sliced the cheese as thinly as I could with a sharp knife) and balances the intensity of the cheese. An interesting combination. Try it if you dare.

kukicha chai

2011-01-16T21:15:00.002-05:00

I first tried chai made with kukicha (roasted twig tea) when I was interning at Three Stone Hearth. For one of our mid-morning tea breaks, the kitchen manager made a big pot of kukicha chai for us to share. I particularly liked how she pronounced the name, as if it were all one word: ku-kee-CHA-chai. Try it, it's fun to say.

Loose kukicha tea

This is a creamy and warmly spiced brew that won't keep you up all night, thanks to low-caffeine kukicha (it has only one-tenth the caffeine content of green tea). Kukicha is made from the twigs, stems, and coarse summer leaves of the tea bush, which are steamed, dried, aged for 2 to 3 years, and then cut and roasted. George Ohsawa, the grand poobah of macrobiotics, considered kukicha to be the most balanced beverage, due to its alkalinizing effects and low caffeine content. It is also high in antioxidants.

With a nutty, earthy, slightly smoky flavor and a less tannic character than green or black tea, kukicha makes a mellow brew -- nice on its own and a versatile accompaniment to many foods. It also makes a delicious chai, simmered with a blend of warming spices including cinnamon, ginger, and cloves.

Spices for chai (clockwise from upper left): cinnamon, fresh ginger, fennel seed, black peppercorns, green cardamom pods, and cloves (in the center)

kukicha chai

makes about 3-1/2 cups of tea

5 pieces cinnamon (or 2 cinnamon sticks)

2-inch piece of fresh ginger, sliced (no need to peel it)

1/2 tsp fennel seeds

1/2 tsp black peppercorns

10 green cardamom pods

3 cloves

3 Tbsp loose kukicha tea (or 3 tea bags)

3 cups water

1/2 cup organic whole milk

honey, to taste

Combine all the spices and the water in a medium saucepan. Cover, bring to a boil, and then reduce heat and simmer for about 15 minutes. Add the kukicha tea and simmer for 5 minutes more. Then add the milk and simmer for another 5 minutes.

Taste the tea; if the spice level is to your liking it's time to strain - if not, simmer for another 5 minutes or so. Strain into mugs and add honey to taste.

peas and corn

2011-01-15T22:42:00.002-05:00

Provisions for a hearty football-watching dinner of split pea soup and this fantastically delicious cornmeal crunch. Similar to baked polenta but thinner and crispier, and flecked throughout with caramelized onions and nutty parmesan cheese. I also added a generous pinch of hot pepper flakes for a touch of heat. Next time you're simmering up some soup, make a batch to go alongside. You won't be disappointed.

comb

2011-01-14T17:15:00.002-05:00

Flipping through Edible Manhattan's booze-centric issue on the subway this morning, the phrase gin from honey caught my eye. I'm not much of a spirits drinker, but when I do order a cocktail it's often something that features the refreshing, herbal, junipery flavor of gin. And now someone is making gin from honey? Interesting.

The story goes like this. Several years ago, hedge-fund refugee Ed Tiedge was bitten by a spirits-making bug (or, I suppose, he was stung by a bee. Gosh, I get silly on the Friday before a 3-day weekend.). Selling his Porsche to support his burgeoning venture, Ed studied with distillers in California and cognac makers in France, then returned home to New York where he set up a basic pot still and began distilling his own honey-based brews.

At Ed's distillery, StilltheOne, the gin-making process begins with orange-blossom honey. The honey is diluted with water, yeast is added, and the solution is left to ferment in steel tanks for a couple of weeks, creating mead (honey wine). The mead, which is crisp and dry, with only a touch of the honey's sweetness remaining, is then transferred to stills where it is distilled first into brandy, then re-distilled to make an 80-proof vodka. The vodka undergoes another distillation with a mixture of 9 herbs, including juniper, licorice, coriander, rose petals, and galangal (what a combination!) to make gin.

According to the Edible article, the resulting spirits - Comb Vodka and Comb 9 Gin - are dry, clean, and sharp, with floral notes from the honey. And they are gluten-free, too, since they contain no wheat or other gluten-containing grains. One day soon I've got to get over to The Stag's Head, a gastropub on East 51st, to order the Bee's Knees: muddled lemon, honey, mint, and Comb 9 Gin. I wonder if they'll warm it up for you - wouldn't that make a lovely hot toddy?

In late fall, Dan Barber's Blue Hill at Stone Barns supplied the distillery with sassafras, basil, green coriander seeds, honeysuckle, cardamom leaves, and honey from their very own hives. The signature spirit will be served in the near future at Stone Barns and Blue Hill New York.

For more details, read the full article here, and check out StilltheOne's website.

steamed kabocha with shoyu & ginger

2011-01-13T20:40:00.122-05:00

Well, I've said it before and I'll say it again: I love the kabocha! My first kabocha experience was in cooking school, when a side dish of the squash, baked and mashed, was featured in a Friday Night Dinner created by our class. The mash was creamy, sweet, denser in texture and more flavorful than the usual squash puree. I was surprised to see flecks of green here and there, too -- turns out that the kabocha, with its tender and edible skin, does not even require peeling. Three helpings later, I had been converted into a kabocha aficionado; ever since then I've been unable to resist picking up one or two when I spot them at the greenmarket.

The kabocha's dense flesh holds up well in a variety of preparations. In addition to baking and mashing, it is delicious cubed and roasted, simmered in soup, or steamed. Sweet and nutty, with a flavor often likened to chestnut, the kabocha is a promising candidate for dessert, too. A kabocha pie would be tasty, I'm sure, but I'm referring to something far simpler: a few chunks of cooked kabocha after a meal can nicely satisfy the sweet tooth. There are a few different varieties of kabocha - some have deep green exteriors, others are pale grayish-green, and there is also a richly orange-hued variety. The paler pumkins tend to be the driest and least sweet, while the orange-skinned seem to be the sweetest with the most tender skin (the dark green pumpkins fall somewhere in between).

Ozu, a macrobiotic-focused Japanese restaurant on the Upper West Side, offers an appetizer of steamed root vegetables and squash that includes kabocha. Steaming preserves the firm texture of the squash and is a lighter method of cooking than roasting or baking -- more expansive, according to macrobiotic principles -- making it a good method to balance its grounding energy. Ozu serves their steamed root veg and squash dish without any adornment, but I decided to dress mine up a bit with an Asian-inspired mixture of shoyu, ginger, garlic, mirin, and toasted sesame oil. The combination was a perfect contrast to the kabocha's natural sweetness.

steamed kabocha squash with shoyu-ginger sauce

1 kabocha squash, halved, stem and seeds removed, cut into 3/4-inch chunks (about 4 cups)

1/4 cup shoyu (traditionally fermented Japanese soy sauce)

2 Tbsp mirin (Japanese rice wine)

1 tsp toasted sesame oil

1 tsp brown rice vinegar

1 Tbsp grated or minced ginger

1 garlic clove, minced

pinch of red pepper flakes

Steam the squash, covered, until tender when pierced with a knife, about 15 to 20 minutes (I used a steamer basked set inside a medium size pot).

Whisk together the remaining ingredients in a small sauce pan over medium heat. Bring to a simmer and cook for about 5 minutes, uncovered, until the sauce thickens slightly.

Drizzle the sauce over the squash just before serving, or serve on the side for dipping.

underground

2011-01-12T19:35:00.001-05:00

Who would guess that beyond this nondescript midtown lobby, past the elevators and building directory and down an unmarked flight of stairs, thrives a cozy sake bar serving authentic Japanese pub food?

It's Sakagura. A self-proclaimed 'hidden jewel,' a little bit of New York magic, and an ideal spot to settle in on a cold January evening.

This intimidating character presides over the back dining room - perhaps a warning of the ugliness that might ensue after too many glasses of sake? Just a guess.

From our table's vantage point, though, he appeared less threatening.

And so, ignoring his grimace, we selected two sakes from Sakagura's list of more than 200 varieties - one served cold, the other hot. Much sake-induced giggling and silliness followed, but luckily none of us ended up looking like the hovering ghoul.

A succession of small plates followed, starting with a salad of paper-thin daikon ribbons topped with a spicy cod fish roe mayonnaise, pea shoots, chiffonade of shiso and nori, and radish matchsticks. The mayonnaise reminded me of taramasalata, the Greek fish roe meze, and struck a perfect balance of salty, spicy, smoky, and sweet.

Yuba Shumai: succulent dumplings filled with minced pork, shrimp, and lotus root, wrapped in paper-thin bean curd sheets and served with a lively ponzu sauce.

A special of seared duck breast and scallions with smoked sea salt.

Tori Tsukune: juicy chicken meat balls glazed with teriyaki sauce.

A favorite at the table: Gyu Miso Nikomi, braised beef ribs in a rich, sweet miso broth, topped with refreshing grated daikon and sliced scallion.

Sake Manju: a bun made with sake lees and stuffed with red beans, accompanied by green tea sorbet and a black sesame tuile. (Sake lees, aka sake kasu, is a thick rice paste that remains at the end of the sake-making process. It has a deep umami flavor, similar to miso, but sweeter.)

Refreshing green tea ice cream - herbaceous with a hint of bitterness, and not too sweet.

Vanilla ice cream served with a tiny pitcher of sweet-salty shoyu sauce.

When we finally emerged from our cozy underground cocoon, full-bellied and content, we were greeted by softly falling snowflakes, dusted sidewalks, and the hush that accompanies them.

kale with apple and coriander

2011-01-11T07:25:00.001-05:00

It was a Sunday night, and the yogi and I were vaguely hungry. After a filling late brunch, we weren't in the mood for a real dinner, just in need of something light to stave off the awake-with-a-growling-stomach-at-2-am sort of thing. "I have kale," I suggested. The yogi laughed. "I could start a blog called S@*$ My Girlfriend Says, and 'I have kale' would be at the top of the list."

It's true. I love kale. Few are the days when there is not a bunch of it in the fridge (along with collards and broccoli rabe and as many other dark green leafies as will fit in the produce drawer of a little apartment fridge). I love it sauteed or briefly braised with beans or atop a pile of quinoa, sliced into dark ribbons and tossed into a soup, or julienned for a lightly marinated salad (always tender Tuscan kale for salads - I find curly kale too tough to eat raw. And yes, I learned that the hard way).

On this particular evening, when the kale-washing was through, I started looking around for some interesting additions and realized I'd never tried kale with apple before. Thus was born my new favorite way to cook kale: with apple, onion, red chile flakes, and coriander seeds. Try making it for someone who thinks they don't like kale; they'll be converted. Apple and onion go into the pot first, melting together and releasing their sweet juices. The kale braises in this fruity apple-onion liquid, which coats the leaves, taming any bitterness and coaxing everything together. Along with a pinch of red chile flakes for heat and coriander seed for herbal complexity and brightness, this is a perfect example of the simplest ingredients coming together to create something greater than the sum of their parts.

The yogi swooned. Over kale. I never thought I would see the day.

kale with apple and coriander
I used curly kale, but Tuscan or purple kale, collard greens, or escarole would also be lovely.

1 Tbsp butter
1 Tbsp extra-virgin olive oil (plus more for drizzling)
1 onion, thinly sliced
1 apple, peeled, cored, and thinly sliced (I used a Cortland)
1/4 tsp red chile flakes
1/2 tsp coriander seeds, crushed
sea salt
black pepper
1 bunch kale, washed and sliced into 1/2-inch ribbons (remove any thick, fibrous stems before slicing)

Heat the butter and olive oil in a pot over medium heat. When the butter stops foaming, add the onion and apple, along with a pinch each of salt and pepper. Saute for about a minute, then reduce heat to low, cover, and cook until the apple and onion have released their juices and are beginning to soften (about 8 minutes).
Stir in the red chile flakes and coriander, and cook for a minute more. Add the kale, another pinch of salt and pepper, and stir to combine. If it looks too dry, add a tablespoon or two of water. Cover and cook until the kale is tender, about 10 minutes more.
Season to taste with salt and pepper, if needed. Serve with a drizzle of olive oil.

views from the weekend

2011-01-10T07:10:00.005-05:00

Stock

My little window garden

Pumpkin Bread

Taza - found! (at Whole Foods)

Brunch

My friend Adena says I resemble 'an insane flower' with the hood up.

4:30 pm and still light!

no coffee, no prana*

2011-01-09T06:33:00.004-05:00

According to Sharath Rangaswamy, Ashtanga yogi and grandson of K. Pattabhi Jois.

*Life force energy

goodbye holidays, I'm ready for spring

2011-01-08T18:32:00.001-05:00

own your slippers. then make some soup.

2011-01-07T17:45:00.002-05:00

"The key to your happiness is to own your slippers, own who you are, own how you look, own your family, own the talents you have, and own the ones you don't. If you keep saying your slippers aren't yours, then you'll die searching, you'll die bitter, always feeling you were promised more. Not only our actions, but also. . . our omissions, become our destiny."

— Abraham Verghese

I saw this quote on NPR Books this morning and wanted to share it with you. It's from Cutting for Stone, the first novel of physician and author Abraham Verghese. I love that - yes, I will own my slippers, thank you! So, if you were in need of a reminder, there you go.

And, because it's been cold, gray, and snowy in these parts, I need to make some soup.

Despite the mounds of old snow on the ground and flurries in the air, a good number of intrepid greenmarket folks were manning their booths this morning at the market down the street. With soup on my mind, I stopped at Raghoo Farm and picked up some feet and backs from chickens raised on pasture in upstate New York. I had originally wanted an old stewing bird, but these will do just fine, maybe even better. The feet add a ton of gelatin to the stock, giving it body and making it extra nutrient-rich and satisfying (learned this first-hand during my Three Stone Hearth internship). I'm going to use some of the stock for soup, adding carrots, potatoes, collards, and brown rice, and will freeze the rest. Aside from money in the bank, what's better than good chicken stock in the freezer?

If you're in a soup-simmering mood this weekend, here are a few recipes you might enjoy.

Creamy Parsnip and Carrot Soup: a pureed soup with parsnip, carrot, and apple, topped with a swirl of tangy yogurt and crispy toasted pumpkin seeds (vegetarian)
Leek and Greens Soup: a light, brothy soup spiced with ginger, coriander, and fennel seed (perfect for post-holiday detox!) (vegetarian)
Lentil Soup with Herbes de Provence: a satisfying lentil soup made extra flavorful with French herbs and a pinch of hot pepper flakes (vegetarian)
Curried Coconut Red Lentil Soup: red lentils melt into a creamy coconut milk base studded with chunks of sweet potato and ribbons of kale (vegetarian)
Coconut Chicken Soup with Thai Chile: a warming chicken soup with coconut milk, Thai green curry paste, fresh green chiles, and ginger
Chicken and Rice Soup with Escarole: a classic, with a homemade stock you can make using a whole chicken or assorted parts (backs, necks, feet)
Gingered Beef Soup with Shiitakes: a rich broth made from beef shanks and marrow bones, and Asian notes from ginger and shiitakes. Ideal for a slow, snowy weekend day when you can leave the bones to simmer for a good long time.
Lentil Soup with Bacon and Thyme: lentils and smoky pork were made for each other, 'nuf said

Whatever the weather in your neck of the woods, I hope you have a cozy and relaxing weekend.

the taste of place

2011-01-06T21:05:00.001-05:00

Would it be silly of me to say that my favorite part about reading Rowan Jacobsen's book American Terroir is that I am now able say the word terroir, aloud, without fear? Embarrassing, yes, but terroir was always a word I stumbled over, never sure exactly how to pronounce it. Is it TER-wah? Teh-WHAH? According to Jacobsen, tare-wahr is the way to go (he doesn’t believe one needs to sound like Inspector Clouseau here). Phew.

Silliness aside, this book is amazing -- a fascinating exploration of how regional nuances in land, water, and climate combine to create some of North America’s iconic foods: from apples and avocados to wild salmon and oysters to chocolate and coffee. The book was a gift from my mom, who read it herself after hearing rave reviews from a friend (Thanks, Mom!). And is it goofy to say that I devoured it? But it’s true. Couldn’t put it down.

Terroir is a French term traditionally associated with wine; translated as "taste of place," it’s long been used to describe the ways in which local soil, climate, and other conditions influence the flavor of a wine. More recently the term has become something of a buzzword in the foodie community, particularly the locavore contingent, as we begin to pay more attention to the effects of these geographical variables on foods from different regions.

I like to think I have a decent understanding of my food and where it comes from, but Jacobsen knows things. Some mighty impressive research the man has done: out in the field, on the water, whatever it takes. He also has a remarkable set of taste buds that pick up flavors I’m not sure I could ever detect, let alone describe, though it would be fun to try. Take, for example, his description of the Totten Virginica, a variety of oyster native to the east coast that’s now also being cultivated along the shores of Totten Inlet on Puget Sound in Washington State, with spectacular results.

"Saltspray, rust, and a picklelike crunch. Then sweetness, nori, and the lingering grassy richness of raw milk."

The lingering grassy richness of raw milk! I'm not crazy about raw oysters, but after reading that I was ready to head downtown and order a dozen at Pearl.

So, Jacobsen is a persuasive food writer; and it appears that I am a suggestible eater, too. The day after reading the chapter on Vermont cheese caves, I just had to go to Murray’s to taste Jasper Hill Creamery’s highly acclaimed, tangy and bold Bailey Hazen Blue and ended up taking home a wedge of crumbly and mellow Cabot Clothbound Cheddar, a collaboration between Jasper Hill and Cabot Creamery. After reading Jacobsen’s description of the traditional cloth-wrapped aging of cheddar, which allows the cheese to breathe and mellow (and is used for the Cabot Clothbound), in contrast to most of today’s unlucky cheddars that suffocate in wax or plastic, how could I pass it up? And though I’m not quite ready for Jasper Hill’s superfunky, Vacherin-like Winnemere (washed in lambic beer and brine, it develops a rusty orange rind, nearly liquid center, and an aroma akin to dirty sneakers), perhaps I’ll eventually work up the courage in order to experience a cheese described thusly:

“Like the richest porterhouse imaginable – salty and beefy and intense. It’s a full-contact cheese,” with hints of mushroom sauce, wild mustard, and resin from the spruce cambium that’s wrapped around each disk.

Wow.

And there’s more. Yukima Valley apples, Vermont maple syrup, Mexican avocados, Mesoamerican chocolate, Panamanian coffee (he dips down into Central America for this one), California wines, Yukon River salmon, varietal honeys, Prince Edward Island mussels, and “forest gastronomy” in Quebec. Jacobsen's got ‘em covered. And throughout the stories of these foods he weaves insights from the remarkable people who nurture, coax, harvest, and forage them, while also having the generosity to share some with the rest of us.

Each chapter concludes with a pair of simple, straightforward recipes designed to highlight the essence of the theme ingredient. Chicken Circe (page 102), Fromage Fort (page 238), and Wild Mushroom Sables (page 134) are now high on my list of new recipes to try.

More than a single-read, this is a book I’m going to be referring to again and again. In fact, I’m about ready for a second round. . . once I’ve completed my hunt for stone-ground Taza Chocolate, that is.

Have you read any good food books lately? I am always looking for recommendations!

red hot

2011-01-05T19:20:00.007-05:00

My yogi is a spice sherpa. Every time he goes home to New Mexico, he returns with mouth-watering loot, including but not exclusive to members of the chile pepper family, all quite exotic to this northeastern girl.

After some blizzard-related travel drama, the sherpa returned from his latest trip bearing tiny dried pequin chiles (aka bird peppers), dried whole chiles de Arbol, and Mexican saffron, all gifts from his wonderful mom (thanks, Char!).

The pequin chiles. Teeny, no more than half an inch in length, these have a seriously potent aroma. From what I've read, they are fiery little guys (7 to 8 times hotter than a jalapeno), with a flavor described as smoky, nutty, and citrusy. One or two crushed pequins would be great in a fresh salsa, or maybe simmered into a diavolo-esque tomato sauce.

The long, slender chile de Arbol is descibed as hot (though probably not as hot as those pequins), with a smoky, tannic, and acidic flavor. My first thought is to add a few of these chiles, crushed, to a pot of three-bean chili; I'd like to make a chile-infused oil with some whole pods, too.

Mexican saffron. I'd never heard of this before - seems it is actually safflower stigma ("true" saffron is harvested from Crocus sativus), and can be used to replicate the color, though perhaps not the flavor, of true saffron. I'm planning to grind some and use it to make a pot of yellow rice - something simple so the flavor of the saffron comes through.

And, an oldie but goodie from a previous NM trip: crushed dried green chile. This was completely new to me; I'm well-acquainted with crushed red chili but had never seen crushed green. After some back-and-forth over how best to put it to use, we coated chicken breasts with a mixture of green chile flakes, cumin, salt, and pepper, baked them, and then tucked juicy slices of the spice-encrusted chicken into warm flour tortillas. Then we topped everything off with a chunky green chile sauce made from freshly roasted Anaheims and jalapenos and canned Hatch chile (I have not been able to find frozen roasted Hatch in New York yet! The yogi said the canned peppers retained the authentic Hatch flavor pretty well, though). The crushed green chile added smokiness and contrasted nicely with the fresh, clean heat of the sauce. Which reminds me, I will have to make this again soon.

creamy parsnip and carrot soup

2011-01-04T07:15:00.032-05:00

On my first morning back in New York after Christmas-ing and blizzarding in New Jersey, I dragged myself, slightly woozy with a head cold, over to the little Friday greenmarket that sets up on west 97th near Columbus.

The market is small but well-equipped, and open year-round (yay!). I like the greenmarket in winter; I don't easily tire of root vegetables, squash, or apples. And as long as I have a steady supple of kale I'm a happy girl (the yogi thinks this is endlessly hilarious). Come March I may change my tune, but for now things are looking good.

My market selections were the usual for this time of year: whole milk and plain yogurt from Ronnybrook, apples and pears, kale, baby turnips, parsnips, carrots, onions, an enormous head of Napa cabbage, and a dozen eggs. I wanted to grab a few more things, but when the bags are groaning and I can barely scuttle from one stall to the next under the weight, I've got to admit it's time to stop.

In my congested fog I unfortunately managed to lose a butternut squash - I remember giving it to the guy weighing the produce at the farmstand, and probably paid for it, but when I was unpacking my loot at home, no butternut. Bummer. I considered returning to claim my lost squash. It was a plump beauty. But by that time I had already begun sauteing onions, parsnips, and carrots to make this soup. It smelled so good. And I was quite hungry. I decided I could wait till next week for squash.

All was forgiven once I dug into a steaming bowl of this creamy, golden goodness. Parsnips and carrots mingled together to create a sweet, earthy, nutty base, with apple to brighten things up, the throat-tingling heat of fresh ginger, and hints of smoky cumin and herbaceous coriander seed. Gussied up with a swirl of tangy yogurt and crispy toasted pumpkin seeds, plus a drizzle of peppery extra-virgin olive oil (because I like to add a drizzle of olive oil to pretty much everything), the soup was warming from the inside out. Good preparation for a cozy afternoon nap.

creamy parsnip and carrot soup
Makes about 6 cups.

1 Tbsp extra-virgin olive oil, plus additional for drizzling on top
1 Tbsp unsalted butter
1 yellow onion, roughly chopped (about 1 cup)
2 parsnips, peeled and sliced into 1/2-inch rounds (about 1-1/2 cups)
4 carrots, peeled and sliced into 1/2-inch rounds (about 2 cups)
1 apple, peeled and chopped (about 1 cup)
1 Tbsp minced fresh ginger
1 garlic clove, minced
1/2 tsp coriander seeds, crushed in mortar and pestle or roughly ground in a spice grinder
1/2 tsp cumin seeds
sea salt and black pepper
1/4 cup pepitas (raw pumpkin seeds)
1/4 cup plain whole-milk yogurt

Heat the olive oil and butter over medium-high heat in a large, heavy-bottomed pot.
Saute the onion, parsnip, and carrot, seasoned with a pinch of salt, until lightly caramelized and starting to soften, 5 to 8 minutes.
Stir in the apple, ginger, garlic, coriander, and cumin, and cook for another minute. Pour in enough water to cover the vegetables (about 5 cups), and stir to release the brown bits from the bottom of the pot. Add another pinch of salt and a couple of grinds of black pepper. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat, cover and simmer until the carrots and parsnips are very tender, 30 to 40 minutes.
While the soup simmers, toast the pumpkin seeds over medium heat in a heavy-bottomed pan (I use my cast iron skillet for this), until they are golden and fragrant. Remove from pan immediately and toss with a sprinkling of salt.
Allow the soup to cool for a few minutes before pureeing in a blender in small batches (no more than one-third full, with a towel on top of the lid and firm pressure to avoid a blender volcano!). Rinse out the soup pot and add the pureed soup. Reheat for a few minutes and add more salt and pepper, to taste.
Serve the soup with a spoonful of yogurt swirled into each bowl and a sprinkle of pepitas on top. And drizzle of olive oil, too, if you like.

the coffee map

2011-01-03T06:40:00.054-05:00

It's Monday morning. We could all use some help finding a good source of caffeine, no?

Well, fellow New Yorkers, thanks to Oliver Strand at the New York Times we now officially have no excuse to be drinking a suboptimal cup of joe. Behold, The Coffee Map, an interactive, up-to-date guide to the best coffee shops in the New York Area. And yes, if you were wondering, there's an app for it, too.

Note, however, the apparent dearth of worthwhile coffee north of 14th St. Not fair! Some of us uptown dwellers like a strong brew, too. Thank goodness for Joe on Columbus near 85th. And it looks like Caffe Mocias, on Amsterdam near 94th, is worth checking out too.

I'll still be French-pressing at home most mornings, but one of these days I've got to drag the yogi down to Stumptown on West 29th St, in the Ace Hotel (a trip to their warehouse in Red Hook would also be fun - they roast the beans there and offer 35 varieties brewed by the cup). And Cafe Grumpy, on West 20th, too, where the beans are roasted in-house. Maybe some day I will venture out to Williamsburg for a cup at Blue Bottle. I had their coffee at a Berkeley, CA, farmers' market a couple of years ago; single-cup cone brewed. Delicious rocket fuel.

new year's intentions

2011-01-02T08:00:00.002-05:00

Happy 2011!

So, I'm not really into new year's resolutions (it seems I'm not alone on this one -- have you seen all the anti-resolution articles and posts lately?). The truth is, I'm not crazy about the concept of resolutions. They sound so final, so black and white; you either achieve them and check them off the list, or you don't. The few years that I've made resolutions, I've usually forgotten them by January 2nd.

This year I'd like to try setting a few intentions, rather than resolutions. Nothing to accomplish, just gentle reminders of the qualities I'd like to cultivate in my life gradually, day by day, moment by moment. I'm putting them here, "on paper," so to speak, in case I need some reminders throughout the year. Here goes.

Have more compassion for myself. I can't argue with the words of the Buddha: "If your compassion does not include yourself, it is incomplete." I am hard on myself. And it really doesn't get me anywhere. So in 2011 I'm going to practice having more patience with myself and acceptance of where I am, in any given moment. It won't be perfect, but I'll be working on it. And hopefully sending compassion inwards will help me radiate more of it outwards, too.

Listen to my gut. Accessing my intuition is not easy for me. Or, I want to listen to my gut, but my "monkey mind" yells so loud that it drowns everything else out. Apparently, belly meditation can help with this. (Geneen Roth discusses it in Women Food and God, which I'm reading now. Very interesting.)

Make more time to do the things I love. For me, this boils down to cooking and yoga. Basically anything involving either of these practices makes my ears perk up.

I also plan to write more often on this little blog of mine. When I escaped from medical residency in 2004, I had this completely irrational desire to be a food writer. Specifically, a food writer at Gourmet. (Okay, that didn't exactly come to fruition... ) At the time, I don't think I knew what a blog was. I certainly didn't know there were people out there writing blogs about food. But a couple of years ago I began reading a few, and decided to start one of my own. And when I actually get around to posting something, it's quite fun -- like running my very own food magazine, without the advertisers or Conde Nast execs to answer to.

So, to start 2011 off right, I'll be posting something every day in the month of January. Might be a recipe, a photo snapped at home or around Manhattan, who knows. It will be a surprise to me, too.

Wishing you a year filled with exciting opportunities.

feu de bois

2011-01-01T20:17:00.001-05:00

Happy New Year!

I am obsessed with the Lafco New York Feu de Bois candle that my mom tucked into my Christmas stocking this year. (Hey, Christmas in New Jersey is not complete without a stocking. And something braised.)

The scent is woodsy and warm, a little musky, reminiscent of a recently extinguished campfire. Perfect for winter, especially for those of us who live in teeny, fireplace-less city apartments.

Lafco's candles are soy-based and have 100% cotton wicks. Plus, the candle tin's lid houses a matchbook; a nice touch for travel.

Thanks, Mom!