November 2010

Vegetables are in the zeitgeist. Pro-vegetable articles are popping up all over, like this one and this one. It seems like some people—a vocal minority?—are really starting to embrace Michael Pollan's edict to "Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants." Actually, I'm not so sure about the "not too much" part. We Americans are all about plenty; a surfeit, even. But look, a ton o' vegetables is still a whole lot healthier than a ton o' beef. And I think I'll just take this opportunity to say once more, and probably not for the last time, I loathe the non-word "veggies." As if somehow you're going to make them what, more palatable? more cute? more friendly? Please. Just do me the great favor of honoring them with their lovely and true name: vegetable. Anyhoo. Eating lots of vegetables is always pretty easy during the warm months, when fresh tomatoes and corn and summer squash and lettuces and herbs are so plentiful, but what about now, as the farmers markets begin to dwindle down to a more paltry selection of onions, squash and the like? I feel a teensy bit smug knowing that my freezer is stocked with bags of local blackberries, freshly shucked corn and homemade tomato sauce. We can easily pop into the grocery store for hydroponic greens and grapes from Chile, but I urge you not to abandon seasonal eating quite so readily. Look again: local cabbage, celeriac, sweet potatoes, leeks, carrots, rutabagas, garlic, kale, collards, beets, turnips. And of course, there are always dried grains and legumes like lentils, chickpeas, barley, wild rice, buckwheat groats (kasha, to you Jews out there), farro, quinoa, brown rice, polenta and all manner of pasta. As well as a slew of nuts, seeds and dried fruits and spices to zhush it all up. The reality is, once you stop thinking of animal protein as the center of every meal, a whole gorgeous world of possibility crops (no pun intended) up.
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Ever since I ate the carrot-and-avocado salad at ABC Kitchen, Jean-Georges Vongerichten's new Manhattan bastion of "farm-to-table" cuisine, I've rekindled my passion for this most common root vegetable. Fear not, I will soon be posting my interpretation of this salad, which involves coating the carrots in a light film of cumin, chile and lemon juice before roasting them to tender perfection. It's truly extraordinary how they become almost meaty. But this is about another carrot salad. It's not wholly unlike the one you'll be presented with at virtually every meal in Morocco, though that tends to be sweeter, more cumin-intensive and full of raisins. This carrot salad is bright with mint and cilantro and spiked with harissa, a wonderfully complex North African spice paste you can find in specialty grocers or online. Or you can whip up a batch yourself; it keeps for ages in the fridge. Either way, the point it to make this salad soon as it will become a new favorite.
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On a blustery day in the city, I used to love to pop into the tiny bakery at Balthazar where fresh breads and piles of scones and canelés fogged up the windows. Passing up all the baked goods, I would come out with my frozen hands wrapped around a steaming cup of their housemade ginger-citrus tea. Often, it would be so acidic that my teeth would squeak against each other, but I loved the way its spicy sweetness warmed my blood. Now that I don't live near Balthazar—or anything resembling a bakery, or even a café for that matter—I have devised my own recipe and, being rather better balanced, I actually prefer it. That said, I was able to procure Balthazar's recipe and so also offer that to you here. Frankly, I've never tasted either cinnamon or mint in their version, and so did not include that in mine. Suffice it to say, either way this delectable brew is sure to help you ward off a chill and possibly even the flu as we head into winter's cold embrace.
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Although nori was originally a more generic word in Japanese, referring to a variety of seaweed types, it now refers only to the red alga Porphyra, sometimes known as laver. Nori is produced through a highly advanced form of agriculture, grown attached to nets suspended at the sea surface. It is processed in a method very similar to what was used for making paper in Japan, and the final product is a translucent, greenish-black dried sheet that's about 7"x8". As with most things Japanese, nori is available in several grades. At the high end is delicate shin-nori from the first of the year's several harvests, which can cost up to $50 per sheet. I buy the roasted yakishushi nori, which would be familiar to you from its use as a sushi wrap. It can also be toasted and flavored for use in other dishes or finely shredded and scattered on rice or stir fries. It is faintly saline with a distinctive marine flavor that is rich in umami. It toasts up quickly in the oven and, when brushed with a little sesame oil and sprinkled with sea salt and sesame seeds, it's crunchy and positively addictive. Oh, and virtually calorie-free.
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I woke up yesterday with an enormous zit on my chin. One of those under-the-skin whoppers that can really mess with your head—literally. Mine is practically tilted to one side. TMI? It was all because of a sudden influx of cheese into my life—starting with that truffled gratin at Eataly, followed by an aged gouda with cumin, then some extra sharp Sicilian pecorino and culminating with an unhealthy dose of cream cheese frosting while creating a birthday cake for the lovely Stephanie. Too much cheese—or dairy in general—inevitably leads to the dreaded blemish. It's my body's (humiliating and uncomfortable) way of letting me know it's had enough. I'm hoping that cutting out flour, sugar and dairy, while amping up the green juice and vegetables, will right my ship. Now, back to that cake. Stephanie has been losing weight by eating low-fat for the better part of a year, and weeks ago she put in her request for an appropriate carrot cake to be served at her birthday dinner. (The rest of the dinner featured this tasty bouillabaisse.) I was determined to bake something that lived up to my gold standard from the original Silver Palate cookbook, a divine confection made with corn oil, whole eggs, walnuts and coconut, and frosted with dreamy swirls of cream cheese-&-butter icing. Delicious, yes, but hardly low-fat. How then to replicate the rich texture and flavor without derailing my friend's diet?
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I’ve heard it said that truffles taste like dirt and I can’t really disagree, though to me they also have a distinctive musky perfume that is vaguely erotic. These hotly coveted fungi develop underground, generally in close association with certain types of trees. There are hundreds of kinds, though the most prized are those of the genus Tuber, the ones referred to by my hero the 18th-century French gastronaut Brillat-Savarin as “the diamonds of the kitchen.” The white truffle, Alba Madonna, comes from the Piedmont region in northern Italy. It grows symbiotically with oak, hazel, poplar and beech trees, and fruits in autumn—as in right now. Their flesh is pale and creamy or brown with white marbling. Prices vary from year to year according to the harvest, which is rooted out by the famed truffle-hunting pigs (and dogs, and men). This year, I've seen them at Eataly in Manhattan listed at upwards of $3,000 a pound. A counter woman was passing a white truffle the size of a small potato to a man who held it up to his nose, inhaled deeply and nodded. "Somebody's going to have a good dinner," I said. "My-a wife-a," he answered in a thick Italian accent. Better than diamonds.
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Woody Harrelson once traveled to the west coast on a hemp-oil-fueled biodiesel bus. It was the subject of a documentary, Go Further, that explores the idea of the individual as the key to large-scale transformational change. Also on the bus were a yoga teacher, a raw food chef and a hemp activist, among others. In case you didn’t know, these are Woody’s peeps. He has long been a vocal proponent of hemp, the soft, durable fiber that is cultivated from plants of a slightly different variety of cannabis than the one that gets you high. (He is also a proponent of that kind.) One of the earliest domesticated plants known, hemp is currently used for a great many commercial purposes, including paper, textiles, biodegradable plastics, food, fuel and medicine. I even use a hemp-based deodorant that is totally natural and quite effective.


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Forgive me, readers, for I have sinned. Somehow I neglected to tell you about one of my favorite treats. I do like having secret sources, but this one is too good not to share. Askinosie is a bean-to-bar chocolate operation based in, of all places, Springfield, Missouri. (No, not all groovy handcrafted chocolate is from the new Brooklyn.) The owner, Shawn Askinosie, had a sort of chocolate epiphany in 2005 and got really distracted from his career as a criminal defense attorney. He studied cocoa post-harvest techniques in the Amazon rain forest and worked in a chocolate factory in Guayaquil, Ecuador, and the result is a very interesting company that is not at all pretentious despite its sophistication. They seek out farmers in Latin America, really understand the beans and process them into award-winning bars at their factory located in a historic building from 1894. Not only is their single-origin dark chocolate some of the best I've ever sampled, but they also do a Soconusco White Chocolate bar made from non-deodorized cocoa butter and goat's milk powder that is studded with pistachios; a Dark Milk Chocolate with Fleur de Sel; and their new Malted Moo Moo Dark Milk Chocolate Bar, with the robust, funky flavor of malt that I find totally irresistible. (Full disclosure: Shawn just mailed me one of these to try after I sent the family chocoholic an Askinosie gift certificate for his recent birthday.)
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I met the impossibly dashing Albano through my friend Lisa when I visited her in Singapore several years ago. He's a dapper Australian designer of Italian extraction with impeccable taste in all things. Our friendship has been sustained mostly through Facebook, one of the very few reasons I can't be totally cynical about "social networking." He has been kind enough to share with me a couple of flawless recipes for what can best be described as tea cakes, those simple homey loaves you slice up and serve alongside a cup of something hot. Both of them allude ever-so-slightly to his Asian environs; one is made with kabocha squash, the other with Japanese sweet potato and seaweed. Toasted and buttered, with jam or just plain, a slice of these bread-like cakes hits the spot at breakfast, too.

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