Eating

More than a decade ago, I was given a cookbook that taught me how to use ingredients in my own kitchen that I had previously enjoyed only in restaurants found deep in ethnic neighborhoods. Fish sauce. Kaffir lime leaves. Sticky rice. This was “Hot Sour Salty Sweet: A Culinary Journey Through Southeast Asia,” for which authors Naomi Duguid and Jeffrey Alford—with their two young sons in tow—followed the Mekong River south through southern China, Burma, Laos, Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam. Along the way, they ate from stalls in village streets and learned to cook in the humblest of private homes, absorbing traditional techniques and discovering the kind of authentic food that is a true reflection of people, places and cultures. And they shot roll upon roll of film—intimate portraits, sweeping vistas, the quiet poetry of everyday life.

The result was a gorgeous and enthralling book that served as inspiration for my own travels to Thailand, Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam, and taught me always to begin with a visit to the local outdoor food market. Naomi and Jeffrey wrote five more books while pursuing the road less traveled—“Seductions of Rice” (2003); “Home Baking: The Artful Mix of Flour and Tradition Around the World” (2003); “Mangoes & Curry Leaves: Culinary Travels Through the Great Subcontinent” (2005); “Beyond the Great Wall: Recipes and Travels in the Other China” (2008); and “Flatbreads & Flavors: A Baker’s Atlas” (2008)—each one showered with well-deserved praise and awards. The couple divorced in 2009, and Naomi’s first solo endeavor, “Burma: Rivers of Flavor,” is being released by Artisan this week. It’s proof that two heads are not always better than one. I was lucky enough to interview the author by phone late last year when she was finishing work on the book, and have read it in an online galley form thanks to the kind people at Artisan. 

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I majored in comparative literature at Harvard in the 80s, when symbolism was in. I was immersed in deconstructionism, from Derrida to Barthes. So some long-neglected part of my lizard brain perked up when I came across Pamela Yung's tantalizing multi-faceted dessert in an Edible Selby feature in T magazine. (Scroll through until you find it.) The grand finale to a loosely-Brazilian-themed lunch cooked by a bunch of groovy food types (Ignacio Mattos, former chef at Isa and Il Buco; David Tanis, of Chez Panisse fame, etc), the dessert combined grilled pineapple, lime sherbet, coconut mousse and a nutty riff on farofa (toasted manioc flour), all casually jumbled together in a clear glass. Reader, I was smitten. These elements might have been composed into a more formal construction, yet in this supremely modern ensemble each one retained its own distinct identity while still contributing to a revelatory gestalt. It wasn't as obvious as when you get all the pieces of a classic dessert spread out on a plate—like the tired conceit that is deconstructed pie, for example. This just felt so fresh and original that I was compelled to copy it right away.
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Not much of a post today (rushing into the city), but just wanted to let you know that the blog, and my recent post on Cape Cod, are featured today on Gardenista, the new garden-centric sister to the wonderful design/lifestyle site, Remodelista. I'm really thrilled about this and hope it may lead to other collaborations. Please stop by for a visit and leave a comment there so I can feel popular. Have a lovely weekend!
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Can't you just see her, proudly leading the parade down Main Street, all rosy cheeks, healthy curves and shiny Breck-girl hair? (Sort of like Hilary Rhoda if she ate more.) Actually, "The Tomato Queen" was what they dubbed Tillie Lewis, whose canning factory in Stockton, California, in the 1940s, was the first to market Italian Roma tomatoes to mainstream consumers. But that's neither here nor there. What I'm writing about today is a way to use all those cherry tomatoes that are still flooding in from your garden (or local greenmarket). I posted my recipe for "tomaisins"—my own deeply clever marketing term for dried cherry tomatoes—a couple of years ago, and I'm running a similar one here because I still think it's a great, easy preserving method. I hope I'm preaching to the converted, but if you still haven't tried this, now's your chance. Of course you can add fresh cherry tomatoes to your salads, toss them raw with hot pasta, slice them with cucumbers or just pop them into your mouth for a snack but, if you're like me, you will still have a ton left cluttering up your kitchen counter (never refrigerate tomatoes). This simple recipe for a flavor-intensified condiment is the perfect solution.
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Did you know that nasturtium means "nose-tweaker"? This lovely massing plant produces a rather sharp oil, similar to that of watercress. Tropaleoum, as it's formally known, has showy, brightly-colored flowers and proliferates wildly all summer long in even the most neglected gardens. It's an edible plant, and the flowers are often tossed into salads where they impart a pleasantly peppery bite. The unripe seed pods—which can best be observed by picking up the massing plant and examining its underside—have a rather more intense flavor, almost like horseradish. They can be pickled in a simple brine and used as you would capers, or any spicy pickle. This means they pair well with cheese, or can successfully be tossed into anything eggy or creamy.
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This has been a good year for tomatoes. The Brandywines are bodacious. The cherry tomatoes are sweet as candy. And the Green Zebras are running wild. Every time I turn around Mr. Green Thumb has sneaked a few more into the kitchen. Green gazpacho will be on the menu this weekend. What do you call a Bloody Mary made with green tomatoes? Don't answer that. (Shades of Linda Blair, people. If you're too young to catch that reference, consider yourself lucky.) I'm thinking green tomato sorbet, spicy green tomato jam. These are not unripe tomatoes, by the way. If you don't know Green Zebras, it's time you discovered this wonderful variety. Our local farm doesn't grow them because they can't get people to buy a green tomato. Really? These have a wonderfully clean flavor with a zingy tartness. They're no bigger than a very large plum but they pack a lot of taste. And their chartreuse color with stripes a shade darker is so very chic. Their vivid hue inspired me to make a salad with all the green things I could get my hands on, many of them from my own garden. It's art. It's health food. It's life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness on a plate.
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The recipe for this torte first appeared in Marian Burros' column in the New York Times in September 1983. I've been making it for more than two decades, but I remember it as if anew every August when Italian plums appear at the greenmarket. Times readers clamor for it so often that it's run in the paper more than a dozen times. Amanda Hesser also included it in The Essential New York Times Cookbook. Why is it so popular? Hesser deems it a "nearly perfect recipe" and describes it as "crusty and light, with deep wells of slackened, sugar-glazed fruit." Naturally, I couldn't leave well enough alone, but have tweaked it to include a few flavors that I think further exalt this immensely satisfying and absurdly easy recipe. Any leftovers should be covered with foil, stored on the counter and eaten the next morning for breakfast, with or without a dollop of yogurt. Now that's living.
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Ah, August. A month whose name alludes to its impressive stature. It looms large, shimmering in the heat, revered as the last great beacon of summer. It's over now and September stretches ahead in the golden light, the first leaves smoldering red, the school bell ringing in the distance. Summer is so fleeting but I'll hold tight to my memories of Cape Cod, a place that with its salty air and sun-bleached shingles seems to encapsulate this season better than any other. A few days with dear friends in their beautiful home near the beach in Truro left us relaxed and rejuvenated, determined to go barefoot more often. We strolled, swam, cooked, lingered in the screened-in porch and slept soundly, dreaming of childhood.
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I almost forgot: Every August I take a vacation from the blog. So the time has come. I hate to leave you, but rules is rules. It's a good opportunity for me to regroup and recharge, and perhaps for you to dig into the archive and discover lots of new things (like posts from the past three summers!). I'll be back right after Labor Day with the faintest of tan lines and renewed vigor for all manner of projects, in and out of the kitchen. But before I go, here are a few ideas to inspire you to make the most of these last sun-drenched and carefree days of the season.
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If you don't like cooking, make sure you know how to shop. There are people who can pull together a wonderful dinner without ever lighting the stove. If you have access to lovely cheeses and charcuterie, fresh produce and a delectable bakery, you can simply act the part of curator, responsible only (but crucially) for the selection and arrangement of the perfect elements. A salade composée, or composed salad, is another variatiom on this theme. This French invention (if, in fact, anyone can really claim ownership)—a fitting combination of prescribed rules and laissez-faire—is a perfectly calibrated assortment of ingredients aesthetically arranged on a plate and drizzled with dressing, rather than tossed with it. (Though I'm not above tossing mine, if I feel it may be of benefit.) The most famous example is arguably the salade Niçoise, with its complementary hard-boiled eggs, anchovies, canned tuna, potatoes, olives and green beans. The most successful manage an artful balance of colors, flavors and textures and a pleasing architecture, like the ones currently featured on two of my favorite blogs—flavor in spades and hungry ghost—whose fertile creativity and gorgeous refinement continually amaze.
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