Eating

Sugar brings me down. It causes inflammation which is basically the root of all evil. Too much of it (which is almost any at all) and I become tired, my face is more prone to break out and those little aches and pains creep in. It's insidious because you may not make the connection between that Snickers bar and the way you're feeling. It gets worse, though. Did you know that the consumption of refined sugar is now definitively linked to obesity, type II diabetes, hypertension and heart disease? (Learn more here.) Sweets are a limited commodity in our house and, when we do have them, I try to substitute honey, maple syrup or rapadura for the white processed stuff. And I focus on the incredible abundance of delicious fruits designed by nature to satisfy a sweet tooth. Are you turning away in disgust at the thought of a tangerine supplanting an Oreo in your heart? Stick with me. Because eating for health does not require a Dranconian regimen, merely the desire to become interested in tastes and treats that are both delicious and good for you. Cookies, muffins, cupcakes, tarts, donuts and pies are something of a national obsession, and they play no small role in the alarming increase of the aforementioned ailments. I'm actually kind of shocked by how many popular blogs and cookbooks are devoted to recipes for greasy, gooey treats. But I'd be lying if I said I never indulged. I just prefer to do it my way.
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Last week, G and I celebrated our fifth wedding anniversary over dinner at Blue Hill at Stone Barns, a fascinating restaurant previously written about here, here and here. We were joined by G's sister and her husband who were celebrating their twelfth. We'd all eaten at the restaurant before—multiple times, in fact—and while we were excited for the 8-course tasting menu, we also faced it with a bit of trepidation. We worried about stuffing ourselves sick, and were slightly aghast to be worried, given the amount of money we were poised to fork over. High class problems, right? No doubt about it. Despite having a beautifully prepared meal that delighted us to no small degree, we all came away questioning whether we ever wanted to eat that way again. It has begun to seem too rich, too precious, too prolonged. So I felt a sharp pang of recognition when I came across this recent article in the New York Times. (Don't miss the equally illuminating and entertaining reader comments!) It explores the current state of the tasting menu in elite restaurants across the country, and from it I can conclude that we are not the only ones disenchanted with the onslaught of dishes and the equally overwhelming prices. That said, I found much of what I ate at Stone Barns to be extremely inspiring, including these divine onions slow-cooked in whey.
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My father was the sole bastion of masculinity in our family. Despite a powerhouse wife and three headstrong daughters, he managed to hold his own witthout being the least bit tyrannical. A relentless tease, he could often convert an estrogen meltdown into a laughing fit. (Though occasionally, I'll admit, it did backfire.) He never expected to be waited on but, with all those women around, he didn't spend much time in the kitchen. In fact, I don't think he ever made anything more complicated than toast. He wasn't picky, though. Pretty much anything you served him, he ate with gratitude. There was just one thing he couldn't stomach: lumps. He balked at cream of wheat. Especially if you forgot to stir and it formed those mealy lumps. He would take a tentative bite and then, quite literally, gag. We all found this hysterical. I only saw it happen a few times, but the memory is vivid. Forty years later, it came to mind as I made a big batch of tapioca pudding. Perhaps not quite my dad's idea of a celebratory dish but I'll eat it for him today, on what would have been his 88th birthday.
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Did you know that October has been rechristened Goatober? As part of Heritage Foods' "No Goat Left Behind" program, the month is now officially dedicated to learning about, loving and, yes, eating these wonderful animals. If you love goat cheese but are appalled by the idea of eating goat meat, I highly recommend you watch this excellent video and get educated about how the world of dairy works. Then get out and eat some delicious, nutritious goat! If you live in New York City, there are 53 participating restaurants that will be putting this undervalued meat on their tables this month (and hopefully on an ongoing basis), including Minetta Tavern, Colicchio and Sons, Momofuku Noodle Bar, Fette Sau, Gran Electrica and Parish Hall. And now, without further ado, some links for you to peruse. I'm having a couple of wisdom teeth yanked today and plan to use that as an excuse to put my feet up in front of the fire and read, snooze and surf the web to my heart's content. I hope you'll do the same (minus the sore jaw, of course).
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The seemingly endless zucchini jokes reached their zenith about a month ago. (When do country folks lock their car doors? In August, for fear someone might slip a bag of zucchini in there.) Gardens were overrun with the stuff and guests wielded big lumpy specimens the size of baseball bats as "hostess gifts." Talk abounded of zucchini bread, zucchini carpaccio, zucchini gazpacho, zucchini pickles, fried zucchini sticks...you get the idea. This chatter has died down, and yet I have only just pulled the last few summer squash from my garden. If you, too, are still searching for quick and delicious ways to dispense with a surfeit of this green goodness, look no further than these crispy, gooey, mint-spiked fritters. Bonus: they can even be frozen for future enjoyment, when summer is just a twinkle in your eye.
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If I lived near the sea, I'd be tempted to cure salmon the way Scandinavian fishermen did in the Middle Ages, by salting it lightly and burying it in the sand above the high-tide line until it was pleasantly fermented. Thus gravlax—from grav, which means "grave," and lax, which means "salmon." The fermented kind is undoubtedly staging its comeback (along with kombucha and kimchi and every other funky thing), but if you're lacking a piece of beachfront property, you can always bury your salmon in a dry marinade of salt, sugar, spices and fresh dill for a few days. The salmon cures by osmosis, and the moisture turns the dry cure into a highly concentrated brine. This method works for most fatty fish, but salmon is the traditional favorite. It has a mild, sweet flavor and a velvety, unctuous mouthfeel that goes nicely with icy cold vodka and heated conversation.

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The trickle-down effect—that notion that high culture eventually makes its way to the masses—is news to none of us, and we've also seen the innovations of the street appropriated by the upper echelons. (The high-low mix is basically something of a cliché at this point.) So it will come as no suprise to you that I've recently been experimenting at home with a phenomenon that originated in the most rarefied kitchens. I've witnessed how even highly creative chefs shamelessly borrow from each other, so I'm not worried that you'll find me pathetically derivative. Take, for instance, that frozen foie gras that David Chang shaves over lychees and pine nuts at Momofuku Ko. Before that, René Redzepi at Noma in Copenhagen was shaving frozen sea urchin over a dish of tiny shrimp and foraged beach mustard. I believe Redzepi was the one who started this whole phenomenon of powders and dusts, serving up reindeer lichen dusted with mushroom powder, and a terrine of baby vegetables covered with a powdered malt "dirt." It's part of Noma's whole ethos of preserving, preserving, preserving—storing up an arsenal of flavors to get through those long Nordic winters. Once you wrap your mind around the idea that you can dehydrate almost anything, then grind or crumble it into a very versatile medium, I think you may jump on this culinary bandwagon (along with the rest of the world).
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It's October. How did that happen? If I close my eyes, I can see the pages of the calendar being ripped off and whisked away by the violent winds of time. And yet I can still taste the cream-cheese-&-jelly sandwich I ate with my daddy when he took me to lunch at the deli after nursery school. Time is so mysterious and elastic. Most of us are traveling back with as much frequecy as we move forward. Nothing evokes memory quite as viscerally as taste. Sometimes you can reclaim the past with just one bite. And now and then you can improve upon it, rendering the present moment that much sweeter. Here's a little variation on a theme: the schoolyard lunch, all grown up.
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Few things make me happier than cooking for the people I love. I had a great time making the most of summer's last days when I co-hosted a dinner party right smack in the middle of a friend's lovely and prolific garden. We featured the late-season produce that was overflowing on all sides and the weather cooperated, offering balmy breezes late into the night. The menu was organized around a main course of paella, which we cooked outside on a big burner that belongs to the deep fryer we use for our Thanksgiving turkey. You can use your grill instead, or cook it inside on the stove if you prefer. Paella is actually pretty forgiving, and the recipe can be scaled up or down as you will.
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Kale, once the darling of dreadlocked health nuts, has gone so mainstream that there must be a backlash brewing. I'm a longtime fan, having been raised in Santa Cruz, California aka hippie mecca. This leafy green is always in heavy rotation in our kitchen because we grow so much of it. My favorite is the dark, bumpy lacinato variety—also known as Tuscan, black (cavolo nero) or dinosaur—but I also appreciate the curlier types, and the sweetness of Russia kale cannot be denied. I adore the now-ubiquitous kale Caesar salad, which I first swooned over years ago at Il Buco in New York City and is undoubtedly coming to a McDonald's near you any moment now. I also gave you a very basic recipe for kale chips some time ago and it appears to have passed from one mommy blogger to another until every kid in the universe has green flecks stuck between its teeth. I'm still a fan, though I've moved on from plain to fancier stuff. You may remember me mentioning a certain obsession with Bombay Ranch-flavored kale chips, the ones referred to by New York magazine as "Doritos for health nuts." Their vegan cheesiness is nothing short of addictive. Rather than paying eight bucks for a box (easily consumed by two during a short car ride), I set out to make my own, and I was not disappointed.
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