Eating

What a week. I'm not one of those people who's constantly posting on Facebook about how much they hate Monday or how excited they are that it's Friday. I don't live for the weekend. But I kind of want this Friday the 13th to be over so I can leave the week behind. Let's just say the highlight was emphatically not spilling tea on my laptop and melting down into what can officially be called an adult tantrum. In the end, thanks to the quick thinking and soothing ministrations of my husband, it all turned out OK. What did I learn? That my laptop IS MY LIFE. (Also, not to have teetering cups of liquid near it...but I've "learned" that before.)What, then, was the week's highlight? I'd have to say it was another great day in the city. Truly, New York City at its best. I've been finding it rather energizing these days. From Howard, above, who sells his collection of foraged driftwood from a tarp near Union Square; to the lovely people at Marni in SoHo, who helped me find the perfect shearling jacket on sale; to the über-talented Lior Lev Sercarz, mixing up radical spice blends in his gallery/atelier on the West Side, the whole place seems to be pulsing with good creative energy.
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Hoary old chestnuts. Those are well-worn aphorisms and anecdotes, close kin to the cliché. Curious as to the origin of this phrase, I searched online and found a long-winded reference tracing it back to an English play of the mid-19th century. I had thought it would refer to the fact that chestnuts, encased in their hard shells, last a rather long time. Did you know the chestnut is also called chinkapin or chinquapin? By any other name, it's still the nut of a tree that belongs to the same family as the beech and the oak. I'd never prepared chestnuts, nor particularly enjoyed eating them on the rare occasion they appeared on my plate. They're always so dry and chalky. People do seem to love them, though—Americans in their Thanksgiving stuffing, the French obsessed with their marrons glacés. Vendors with carts full of roasting chestnuts—a romantic throwback to sweeter times—are still a common sight in many cities (London, New York, Rome), but I have to confess that acrid and sooty smell has never been my favorite. So it's no wonder that the jar I convinced myself to buy last year sat forlornly at the back of my cupboard these long months, getting hoary. Then I came across a recipe for chestnut and parsnip bisque. A vegan recipe, no less.
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I'm sure it will come as no surprise to you that the firm white head of the cauliflower is referred to as "the white curd," for it looks like nothing so much as a big virginal cheese. Of course it comes in other colors—orange, green, even purple—but it is the white that is the most common, the most classic and perhaps the most invitingly pristine. It's lovely baked with cheese sauce, pureed into a creamy soup or steamed whole and dressed with a caper vinaigrette and toasted breadcrumbs, but it's also a rather surprisingly capable foil to far more assertive flavors. This Indian "dum," a type of steaming done in a tightly sealed pot, traditionally over a wood or charcoal fire, transforms the cauliflower into a velvety heap cloaked in a fragrant and highly-spiced sauce. You can make a simple meal of it along with a pile of nutty basmati rice, or serve it as part of a larger repast with braised lamb or grilled chicken. Either way, it's certainly no wallflower.
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I am officially obsessed with black walnuts. It may be some sort of genetic thing. As far back as I can remember, my mother was always craving black walnut ice cream. It used to make an occasional appearance at our local ice cream parlor in Santa Cruz, but since that heyday it seems to have completely fallen off their still impressive roster of flavors. Were she still alive, I could now proudly present my mom with a bowl of the stuff, made by me from walnuts gathered on a friend's land. This particular wild-crafted version may have been a one-time thing, though. Why? you ask. Well, that would be because of the incredibly labor-intensive ordeal it is to process black walnuts. After we'd endured it, we discovered that these nuts can actually be purchased at nutsonline for a mere $13 a pound. Shelled. By hand. (They must have some illegal Guatemalan children doing the work.) Anyway, G doesn't agree, but I think it was worth the effort. Full disclosure: He did most of it. But the ice cream was incredible. Divine. The best yet. Made with a recipe from Jeni's Splendid Ice Creams, of course.
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A while back, I believe I mentioned a desire to explore some lesser-known ingredients with you. I've been keeping a running list—including pickled tapioca, sorghum molasses and dried Persian limes—so do let me know if there's anything you're curious about. This is kohlrabi—from the German "kohl," meaning cabbage and "rabi," meaning turnip. It's a brassica, like cauliflower, kale and collards, and has all the same nutritional benefits: low in carbs and calories, high in fiber and antioxidants. It also comes in a deep purple color. Slightly sweet and fresh, with the faintest peppery bite, kohlrabi can be eaten raw or cooked. If raw, it needs to be peeled, but after cooking the tougher outer skin softens up plenty. With all the cozy soups and hearty braises we're eating at this wintry time of year, it's nice to have some cool, crunchy salads as a counterpoint, (here's one with celery root, and another with radicchio and grapefruit), so I used my kohlrabi in a crisp, sprightly slaw.
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On New Year's Eve, just before midnight, we went for a much-needed hike along a country road, four of us and a white dog that showed up like a ghostly spectre against the pitch-black night. We huffed and puffed in the bracing air, our stomachs heavy with brisket, risotto and many flavors of Jeni's ice cream, straight from the source and drizzled with various homemade sauces (salty caramel, bittersweet chocolate, raspberry). It was actually the second hike of the day for G and me. That afternoon, we'd walked deep into the woods as we had our annual chat, reflecting back on the year gone by and discussing our hopes for one ahead. 2011 got a mixed review, mostly due to a certain broken leg that took the better part of 8 months (and counting) to fully heal. We are both committed to getting into fighting shape this winter and planning some physically challenging trips in the coming years, possibly including climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro. But in general we want to simply continue on our paths, doing more of what we love and getting better at it.Here are a few highlights from the year, as I shared it with you in this space we inhabit together. The first is the multi-tasking goddess, above, a new icon for my blog commissioned from illustrator extraordinaire Liselotte Watkins.
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Fast away the old year passes. The excitement with which we welcome the new is resoundingly optimistic. What is it about stepping into the future that fills us with such hope? Meanwhile, the older I get the quicker the time goes. It's like it has a new momentum, a special determination to slip away from me. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream. I will not be daunted. I will grab each moment and ride it, bucking and swaying, into the golden sunset. I can scarcely believe that it's been two years since I launched this blog, a true labor of love. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your support. As I humbly say, without you, I'm nothing. For 2012, I am resolving to remain curious. To keep learning and evolving. To welcome new people, places and things. To eat, drink and be merry. To stay fit. To cultivate strength, resilience and endurance. To cherish what I have. To be patient and kind (with myself and others). And, to echo one of Woody Guthrie's 1942 resolutions, to "dream good."I hope this weekend brings you further opportunity to chill, space out, hang and unwind. Here are some links to help you while away a few idle hours. I wish you a celebratory New Year's Eve and a very delicious 2012.
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I saw an article recently on NPR’s food blog that pointed to the way North American cooks rely on flavors that are related, while East Asians go for sharp contrasts. The former tend toward things like milk, egg, butter, cocoa, and vanilla, while the latter combine foods like shrimp, lemon, ginger, soy sauce and hot peppers. I prefer to have one foot planted in each camp and, if I had to choose, would be the exception that proved the North American rule. Unlike so many other blogs and cooking resources out there, I don't rely so heavily on "comfort food." Sometimes I think that's just a euphemism for bland and fattening. I love bold, sharp flavors and ringing contrasts in texture and taste. Even yesterday's scourtins, buttery as they are, have the salty, bitter kick of black olives. Assertive flavors can really get under your skin (your tongue?). Ever since I ordered this crazy fish roe sandwich at The John Dory, it's spicy-salty-umami deliciousness had haunted me, and I became determined to recreate it in my own kitchen. Turns out chef April Bloomfield first tried this simple snack at the home of Italian culinary legend Marcella Hazan and she, too, was intrigued.
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Like other legendary odd couples—Harold & Maude, Oscar & Felix—sweet and salty rub up against each other and achieve a sort of sublime friction. Not exactly opposites, they speak the same language but with very different accents. It's now well-known that the trifecta of sweet-salty-fatty proves virtually irresistible to the human palate, making things like Doritos and kettle corn the equivalent of edible crack. A decidedly much more highbrow—and indeed healthier—precursor that plays with that same equation is the delectable scourtin. A close cousin of shortbread, these crisp, buttery biscuits studded with briny black olives were originally made at Les Vieux Moulins in Nyons, France, an ancient Provençal olive mill. The owner, Jean-Pierre Autrand, shared his family's recipe with Susan Herrmann Loomis, an ex-pat expert on French cuisine. And I'm sharing it with you. For very little effort, you get a truly great cookie whose pitch-perfect sweet-salty flavor goes just as well with a dry martini or a glass of prosecco as it does with a cup of chamomile tea. (Much like these inspired cookies.) Make a batch immediately.
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'Twas the night before Christmas and we were invited to spend it at Beaver Dam. You may remember it as the gorgeous house to which we fled last winter during the DBR (Dreaded Bathroom Renovation). Or perhaps you recall an impromptu potluck there about which I posted this fall. For Christmas Eve it had been splendidly decked out for the season, lit by candles and smelling of pine and woodsmoke from a blazing fire. Such hospitality! Dear friends, delicious food and wine, beautifully wrapped presents: it was an outpouring of love.I awoke this morning to learn of a terrible tragedy that befell a family on Christmas morning, and I feel it is even more crucial to appreciate the good times we have together. This time of year is an especially good opportunity to express to your loved ones how much they mean to you. Don't wait.
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