Eating

More rain. Lots more. Enough that thoughts begin to turn away from corn salsas and tomato salads and toward cozier soups and stews. So the tomatoes and eggplant that have finally started trickling in from our late-producing garden inspired me to make a dish I'd never before eaten, much less cooked: moussaka. This Mediterranean eggplant-based casserole, eaten as far afield as the Balkans and the Middle East, comes in a few different versions, usually with ground lamb and tomato sauce, and sometimes with a topping of béchamel or custard (á la Elizabeth David, the seminal British cook). I've never been the hugest fan of shepherd's pie, but I thought this might be a slightly lighter and tastier variation on that general idea. I found a recipe online at Saveur, but it called for a layer of potatoes, which seemed a bit excessive (plus I didn't have any on hand), so I simply left them out. I also didn't have currants (I used raisins) or bell peppers (ick, in general), but the dish didn't suffer from the lack of either. Although the recipe does look like a lot of steps, it's actually a pretty simple process of making three distinct layers: fried eggplant; a garlicky lamb-&-tomato sauce with piquant spicing; and a rich, creamy topping. With a green salad, it makes a relatively easy and quite delicious weeknight dinner.
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I've caught the bug. My latest obsession is foraging for wild mushrooms. At this point, it's really not about eating them. I need to know much more about these fascinating fungi before I bring them to the dinner table. For starters, there are thousands upon thousands of different varieties! And you have to learn all the finer points of identification to be truly certain before popping one in your mouth. As the saying goes, "When in doubt, throw it out!" But with all the rain we've been having, the woods are fairly teeming with shrooms of all shapes and sizes and, after a recent gift of wild black trumpet mushrooms foraged by my friend Tomo in the woods near her house, I am hell-bent on finding my own mother lode of something, somewhere, sometime. In the meantime, let me just share with you a few of the gorgeous specimens I collected after (and during) the recent downpours.
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Welcome back, dear readers! How I have missed you! True to form, the month of August flew past in a frenzy of gardening, entertaining, hurricanes and, sadly, poison ivy. I never sat in the hammock, did not put even one dent into the promised coding of recipes and went on precious few hikes, but I did make some delicious frozen yogurt and popsicles, perfected my gazpacho recipe and reorganized both my freezers. One highlight was definitely the Outstanding in the Field dinner we attended in Chester, New York. You may remember we went to one in Roscoe last year. It was held at Blooming Hill Farm, where more than 200 varieties of organic produce are grown on this unbelievable black soil. This area of Orange Country is actually known as the "Black Dirt Region" because of the dark, extremely fertile soil left over from an ancient glacial lake bottom and augmented by decades of past flooding of the Wallkill River. (They found wooly mammoth remains when they were planting the farm!) It was long considered wasteland, but when Eastern European immigrants arrived in the mid-19th century, they recognized this type of land and knew how to dig trenches to drain it so it could be farmed. I've never seen anything so rich and black and loamy; it looks like devil's food cake.
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I can scarcely believe that August has arrived already! The dog days are nipping at my heels, urging me towards the hammock. (I will put my feet up, I will put my feet up.) I miss you already. It will be all I can do not to tell you about every delightful morsel that passes my lips, every bear that climbs over the fence behind the bedroom window (yes, this happened last week!), every adorable gherkin that goes straight from the vine to the jar of pickling brine in the fridge. But rest and recharge I must, and focus on my novel, where progress is slow but steady. Much like G's rehab. He is slouching toward wellness, and his second coming will be glorious to behold.If you haven't been following the blog since its inception, I urge you to check out posts from summers past during my month off. There are plenty of seasonal recipes (like panna cotta scented with lemon balm and korean barbecue and blackberry-geranium sorbet) and images of other Augusts to keep you inspired and engaged. Or maybe you need a little time off, too. Perhaps you'll visit the new Aesop kiosk in Grand Central, made entirely out of more than 1,000 copies of The New York Times. Or catch the Alexander McQueen exhibit at the Met before it closes next week. Or finally get to Brooklyn to eat at Fatty 'Cue. (See you there!) Or read a great book. Live in LA? Maybe you'll track down that Korean taco truck to see what all the fuss is about. Live in Chicago? Maybe you'll score a reservation at Grant Achatz's new "Next" restaurant. Maybe you'll buy a new juicer, or a fabulous pair of fall boots, or the quintessential Gray Kunz spoons like the ones I got from my thoughtful friend Louise. Whatever you're doing, I hope it makes your toes curl and your tongue tingle and your mind race and your heart swell with passion, like a true glutton for life.See you after Labor Day!
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The corn and tomatoes are in, signaling high summer. My refrigerator is ridiculous, bursting with cucumbers and chard from the garden, and okra and padrón peppers from the farmers' market. Never refrigerate your tomatoes, it ruins the flavor and texture. Just leave them out on the counter in a cool spot. (This is a tip I learned from Martha Stewart many years ago and I have never forgotten it.) On Monday, August arrives, and with it my last post for a while. Time for a little vacation—staycation, really, as G's leg is still healing and travel is not yet a possibility. We may take some local trips, inspired by this recent article on great spots in the Catskills from the most recent issue of Travel & Leisure. Here are a few more ideas for things to make, see, do and get (oops, sounding a little like Goop) as the mercury rises...
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Just a month ago, I was waxing poetic to you about wings. If you still haven't made a batch, I want to urge you to give it a whirl. They're delightful as an hors d'oeuvre or snack, but they're also great as the centerpiece of a meal. I know my way is more involved than simply coating them in barbecue sauce and sticking them in the oven, but that doesn't begin to do them justice. To get the perfect combination of rich, silky meat and crisp, sticky skin, you really need to add in a couple more steps. You don't need to get all crazy like David Chang, who brines his wings, then poaches them in duck fat, then smokes them and then grills them. Although they're sublime. I'll let you skip the smoking step. But brining, poaching and grilling is the way to go. None of it requires much attention, but you'll snap to when you bite into your winged masterpiece.
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I've been in a canning frenzy, record heat wave be damned. Blueberry jam, gooseberry chutney, sour cherry jam, strawberry-chile preserves, raspberry fridge jam, and there are yellow plums and peaches impatiently awaiting. (I'm hoping for apricots soon!) At a certain point, when things are boiling away and the sweat is trickling down the insides of my thighs, I do feel a little deranged. But I try to channel my grandmother, making jelly with the loquats from her tree on a sweltering San Diego afternoon. If you're a cook, there are some things you just tolerate. And among the many rewards are beautiful jars of jam, destined to deliver sweet memories of summer when Christmas rolls around. In the middle of winter, I'll pop open a jar of sour cherry jam to plop onto my morning bowl of yogurt, and it will hold the vivid intensity of this July day in its sticky red soul. If you are daunted by the idea of canning, may I suggest you cook up a small batch of something and simply store it in a jar in your fridge? Now, while all this summer fruit is at its peak. No extra steps involved, just a very easy process that leads to some very blissful moments.
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I grew up eating Mexican food, in Mexico and in California. Although my mother was raised in California, her family was from New Mexico, so her version of Mexican cooking betrayed subtle influences of that, and of Sunset magazine, the bastion of California living. In a sad twist of fate, she became paralyzed for the last 14 years of her life, which put a definitive end to her reign in the kitchen. On visits, I cooked quite a bit, but we also had our local sources for good Mexican takeout. Christmas Eve meant tamales from El Paisano, and no trip home was without at least one visit to Tacos Moreno, where the choice between al pastor, carnitas or quesadillas often resulted in an order of all three. I associate fish tacos more with Southern California, where the competition for who has the crispiest batter or the best sauce is quite fierce. I do love fried fish, but when summer rolls around, grilling makes this dish even easier. The real trick with fish tacos is not to get lazy. Don't just shove a bunch of unseasoned fish into a limp tortilla with some raw cabbage and a glug of bottled hot sauce and expect it to be sublime. What really takes it to the next level are a combination of flavors—you guessed it: hot, sour, salty sweet—and textures that complement each other.
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Have you been trying to follow Michael Pollan's edict? "Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants." It's easier in the summer when amazing produce is practically falling at your feet. Even you city folk have access to farm-fresh vegetables—corn, actual ripe tomatoes, baby lettuces... Just the other day I was reading the new issue of Lucky Peach and laughing along with Wylie Dufresne as he made fun of "farm-to-table" and "ingredient-driven" cooking, but I had to eat a little crow along with last night's dinner. Because all I did was take a few farm-fresh ingredients and let them drive the bus. It was nothing fancy, really. I just used only what was straight from the garden (mine or someone else's) and let those pure flavors shine. Not a whole lot of technique was involved, and yet it was such a satisfying meal. I haven't even written out real recipes for you, because I want you to have that feeling of creating as you go, putting together dishes from your imagination according to what's in front of you. I'll walk you through what I made and maybe you'll be inspired to do the same with your freshest ingredients. Which will probably include a whole lot of sweet green peas right about now...
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I think I've already mentioned Julia Moskin's D.I.Y Cooking Handbook for the New York Times online right? It's where I got inspired to make vin d'orange. (Which turned out great, incidentally.) She's got a bunch of useful recipes there, including a few that overlap with some of mine. Like one for making your own ketchup; and preserving lemons; and this one for making your own fresh cream cheese. Hers is a slightly shorter process because she uses rennet, which causes your milk to curdle right away. I learned my technique from Nourishing Traditions, where you simply let milk sit out on the counter for a few days until it curdles on its own. Actually, some good bacteria helps it along. You separate the curds from the whey (reserving the latter for making pickles and sauerkraut, and stirring into soups and smoothies), then drain the curds so they come together in a light, creamy cheese. It's kind of magical.
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