Sunday, July 13, 2014

A Heady Time


      I'm chagrined to entertain the idea that this nook of my world has gone on the back burner over the past few months. It's been a heady (but lovely) time full of a big, big move to a wonderful new apartment, an accelerated anatomy and physiology class that has left me stunned, and perfect weekends away with dear friends celebrating love (read: weddings).

     In my not-very-often-still moments, I find myself propped on my right elbow, staring out the window at the way the breeze blows the leaves on the trees in a million directions. My mind is full (and I mean to the brim) of physiological principals that are loosely connecting themselves to the Eastern theories that I love. A lot of the time I feel like those leaves -- spinning and snagged in so many directions. It's a heady time, figuring out the next steps to take, which is probably just my excuse to eat more frozen yogurt to slow down my brain cells and to encourage you, in whatever corner of the world you're in, to do the same.

Wild Blackberry Frozen Yogurt
inspired by Amy Pennington

     Amy saw wild blackberries (also known as blackcaps) growing next to our house. It was her idea to make frozen yogurt and add them to it, so she deserves all the credit. Summer is the season of the Heart and Small Intestine in Chinese Medicine, so blood-building berries of all kinds are good to emphasize.

Ingredients

24 oz container of whole milk Greek yogurt
3/4 to 1 c cane sugar

1 c blackberries, smashed ("Git your hands in there and squeeze 'em good", she says.)

Process

      In a bowl, mix the yogurt with the sugar and let sit for about 10 minutes until the sugar dissolves. Taste and add more sugar if you want a sweeter experience. Combine the blackberries with the yogurt. Churn in your ice cream for about 30 minutes or until desired consistency is reached. Eat immediately and freeze any that remains.

      Because there's no corn syrup or alcohol involved (anti-freezing helpers), let the yogurt sit on the counter or in the fridge for a while before you eat it again.

Yields: frozen yogurt for 6
Prep time: 15 minutes
Cook/churn time: 30 minutes

Writing by Adria Lee | Styling and Photography by Amy Pennington

Thursday, June 12, 2014

Like a Great Love

    
     
      Like a great love, there are certain recipes that will measure everything that comes next.

Buttermilk Ice Cream
from Claudia Fleming's The Last Course

Ingredients

2 c buttermilk
pinch of salt
1 t vanilla extract or ½ scrapped vanilla bean

2 c heavy cream
1 c sugar

6 to 12 egg yolks

Process

    Combine the buttermilk, salt and vanilla in a large bowl and set it in your sink with a fine mesh strainer resting on top. Rest it in an ice bath if you’re thinking of churning it soon (I let mine rest overnight in the fridge before churning it).

    Over medium heat, bring the heavy cream and sugar to a boil. Remove from heat and slowly add ½ c of the hot mixture to the egg yolks, whisking constantly; this is to introduce them to heat so that they won’t curdle.

    Add the warmed yolks to the hot cream, place over low heat and stir often, if not constantly, until the mixture turns to a custard that will coat the back of a spoon – 10 minutes.

    Remove from heat and pour the custard into the buttermilk, discarding anything solid that is caught in the strainer. Let the mixture cool in the fridge until cold and then churn in your ice cream maker, according to the instructions.

    This is especially good with fresh peaches or plums.

Yields: ice cream for 8
Prep time: 30 minutes
Cool time: an hour
Churn time: 30 minutes

Tuesday, May 20, 2014

Secret Sorrows


       Henry Wadsworth Longfellow once said, "Every man has secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad."

      Hooboy.

      I could go into the paralyzing effects of small town or office conclusions (read: gossip). Or I could talk about the simple-seeming man who comes into the food co-op that I cashier at who buys dozens of apples at a time and always frets about being able to fit on the city bus for his trip home who I just learned owns the coolest artist warehouse in the city. Or I could talk about the wonderful lady from Ghana in my biology class who I seriously doubted would do very well considering the language hesitation who has ended up with the highest score in the class.

       But I think it's best to talk about tofu.

       It looks like a cube of soap, it doesn't taste like anything and only hippies eat it. Sound familiar? I can't change your mind but I can offer you the opportunity to change it yourself. In the spirit of Longfellow, suspend your judgement and try this recipe; I believe you'll tap into a precious kernel of truth in addition to realizing that Chinese haute-takeout is available atop your tiny stove.

Caramelized Black Pepper Tofu with Edamame, Broccoli and Pickled Radish
inspired by Yotam Ottolenghi

      A little known but wildly effective macrobiotic home remedy for kitchen (or other) burns is to put a slice of cold tofu directly on the burn until the pain subsides. It's incredible and so is this recipe, especially paired with hot, fresh rice.

Ingredients

1 block of firm tofu cut into 1" cubes
4 T cornstarch

1/4 c olive oil
3/4 t sea salt

another 1/4 c olive oil (or butter/ghee -- not vegan but very recommended)

1 purple onion, diced
5 cloves of garlic, minced
1 T ginger, finely grated or chopped
1 jalapeno, seeded and diced

1/3 c tamari (or other soy sauce)
 1 T cane sugar (or maple syrup, but it'll change the taste quite a bit)
2 T freshly ground black pepper (do not use pre-ground)

1 cup lightly steamed edamame (frozen is fine)
2 c lightly steamed and salted broccoli

2 scallions, slivered

4 radishes, thinly sliced and pickled *
freshly cooked rice ** (curry powder optional)

Process

       * Pickle the radishes in 2 T rice vinegar, 1 t sugar/maple syrup and 1/4 t sea salt. Let rest until serving.

      ** Rinse 1 1/2 cup white basmati rice and add it to a sauce pan with 3 cups of water, 1 t curry powder, and 3/4 t sea salt. Bring to a boil, cover, reduce to lowest heat possible and let cook for 20 minutes, undisturbed. Remove from heat, keep covered, and let rest until serving.

      Cut the tofu into 1" cubes and gently toss to coat with cornstarch, tossing any that doesn't cling to the tofu. Line a plate with a paper or paper bag to drain the fried tofu upon.

      In a saute pan, heat 1/4 cup olive oil over medium high heat. When the oil is hot (when a test cube is added and begins to sizzle vigorously), add all of the tofu and sprinkle with 3/4 t sea salt.

      Flip the tofu with a fork (be brave with the spattering oil!) when the tofu begins to brown and give the other sides a chance to do the same. When the tofu is sufficiently crispy, transfer it the prepared plate to let drain.

      Meanwhile, wipe the saute pan clean of any extra oil or residue. Add the remaining 1/4 c olive oil and heat the oil over the medium-high flame. Add the onion, garlic and jalapeno and saute until softened -- about 10 minutes.

      Reduce the heat to medium and add the tamari, sugar and black pepper and stir to combine. Add the tofu and stir gently to coat. Add the edamame and broccoli, stirring gently and at the very end, add the scallions before removing from heat.

      Serve atop the hot rice and garnish with pickled radishes.

Yields: dinner with leftovers for 2
Prep time: 15 minutes
Cook time: 30 minutes (includes rice cooking time)

Writing and Styling by Adria Lee | Photography (on the iPhone -- sorry!) by Amy Pennington

Sunday, May 11, 2014

A Holy Spirit, Like a Siren



      Melissa, my sister, wrote me a while ago to gasp about a passage that struck her from a John Irving novel about an older man recalling his life: "And then fifteen unremarkable years passed...".

      "Adria", she said, "I never want to go through even a year that I feel ambivalent about."

      I can't help but take a few proud and enchanted moments today to remember that a year ago Amy and I finally reached Santiago de Compostela in Western Spain after walking for six weeks from the south of France.  It is called el Camino de Santiago, a pilgrimage established by Christians (specifically St. James, whose remains rest in the cathedral in Santiago) in their relentlessness to spread Christianity to the Moors. Each year the trail is walked by thousands of pilgrims, some for religious reasons but many, including us, for personal reasons -- from pushing the restart or recharge button to letting go of grief. Whatever the objective that one begins with, by the end of the pilgrimage, no one is able to say that a holy spirit is far from them.

      To exert one's physical strength the way that the Camino necessitates (the day after day factor of averaging fifteen miles with a pack, in addition to the loud snoring in the albergues each night preventing restorative sleep) requires a tremendous amount of determination and faith. To learn to share space with Europeans who are accustomed to sharing space with each other takes inordinate patience. And to walk alongside your significant other is an act of will. Amy and I joke that the only way we were able to complete it together was by me carrying the water and her carrying the peanuts and raisins.

      "They say that it calls you back, the Camino". We rolled our eyes and gagged when we heard this from a fellow pilgrim on his second Camino; my left knee was screaming and Amy had too many blisters and a collapsed arch to be able to imagine being able to even stand at the end of it. But sure enough, by the time we reached Finisterre on the Atlantic Coast after 1,000km, with nowhere else to walk, we felt ourselves bloom with immediate nostalgia for the tiny Spanish towns in which we had spent our nights and for the encounters along the path -- the tavern owner and his grumpy sunflower seed eating wife in Castro de Jerez with his generous pour, the Irish couple with whom we gulped down pulpo in Melide, and even the Korean umpire who took a fancy to us and could be heard shouting our names from two kilometers away through most of Galicia.

      Indeed, the Camino calls to us like a siren and we travel back all the time in our minds. Though it'll be a while before our feet touch Spanish soil again, what we'll do in the meantime is what you should do: put down your phone, take a few deep breaths, and start walking with your eyes open. Your body wants to carry you to beautiful places and your eyes want to widen with happy amazement. And eat some garlic rubbed tomato toast while you're at it.

Pan con Tomate 
     
      I've written about this recipe before. This is a traditional breakfast in Spain and will surprise you with how beautifully it works. This is equally as good if you throw the bread on a hot grill if there's one around.

Ingredients

2 slices of good bread, toasted
1 clove of garlic, sliced lengthwise
1 large ripe tomato, sliced lengthwise
olive oil (Zoe is delicious)
nice quality sea salt (Mitica or Maldon is great)

Process

       Once the bread is done toasting, rub each side of the toast with the juicy part of the garlic clove.

      Place the toast on a plate and vigorously rub the cut side of the tomato onto it so that all of the seeds, pulp and juices go onto the bread. You'll be left with messy hands and some tomato skin (discard it and wash your hands).

      Drizzle at least 1 tablespoons of olive oil onto the bread and finish with a bold sprinkle of salt per slice of toast.

Serves 2, very modestly.

Prep time: 3 minutes.
Cook time: 2 minutes.

Writing by Adria Lee | Styling and Photography by Amy Pennington

Sunday, May 4, 2014

To Recall With Astonishment and a Kind of Admiration


   
       I perpetually lost dares when I was younger upon which I was forced to eat raw rhubarb from the garden (I almost wrote acquiesced but back then high volume was next to godliness and there wasn't much I did without loud exuberance). As a coping mechanism, I developed a fondness for the almost unbearable tartness that still makes my scalp pucker when I come across the tender green and ruby stalks each Spring.

      This morning,  in her chapter "How To Comfort Sorrow", MFK Fisher recalls the humble War Cake, saying, "I am sure I could happily live forever without tasting it again. There are many things like that: you recall with astonishment and a kind of admiration some of the things eaten with sensual delight at eight or eighteen, that would be a gastronomical auto-de-fé [the public condemnation of heretics during the Spanish Inquisition] for you at twenty-eight or fifty. But that does not mean that you were wrong so long ago. War Cake says nothing to me now, but I know that it is an honest cake, and one loved by hungry children. And I'm not ashamed of having loved it...merely a little puzzled, and thankful that I am no longer eight."

White Wine and Vanilla Bean Roasted Rhubarb
inspired by the ladies at Canal House and Molly Wizenberg

Ingredients

1 pound of rhubarb (8 mighty stalks), chopped into 1" pieces
1/2 c sugar (simply for cleanliness of taste -- I'm much more an advocate for maple syrup)
1/2 c dry white wine or champagne
1 vanilla bean, split lengthwise and seeds scraped out into the rhubarb (optional)

Process

      Preheat the oven to 350F. Add all of the ingredients to an oven safe pan and roast uncovered until the rhubarb is very tender and splitting -- 30 minutes. Stir once or twice with a wooden spoon to ensure that the wine is permeating all of the rhubarb.

      Eat hot or cold, by itself or atop pound cake, buttered toast, yogurt, vanilla ice cream or pudding.

Yields: never enough
Prep time: 5 minutes
Cook time: 25 minutes (unattended)

Writing and Styling by Adria Lee | Photography by Amy Pennington

Monday, April 28, 2014

Keep The Dust From Settling

  

      Like sugar and salt, there are some ingredients that can be added to a kitchen equation that give immediate and dramatic results. Fresh herbs (basil, tarragon, young fennel fronds) might come to mind for many of you but there lesser known players whose addition to a dish create mind-boggling and palate-pleasing opportunities. Galangal (Thai ginger), lemongrass and kaffir lime leaves, though laborious to track down if you're accustomed to one-stop-shopping, will keep a long time in the freezer and keep the dust from settling on your Southeast Asian cookbooks.

Lemongrass Coconut Soup with Sweet Potatoes and Savoy Cabbage (Tom Kah)
inspired by Sadudee, Amy, Aaron and RB

      Though a forever-advocate of taking liberty with substitutions, there are no replacements for the aromatics of this dish: galangal (Thai ginger), lemongrass, and kaffir lime leaves. They can be found in the Asian produce of larger grocery stores or in specialty Asian markets. Slice the galangal into thin strips and break the lemongrass into 3" pieces before freezing them. Pound the lemongrass to release the oils before adding it to the soup. Kaffir lime leaves will keep in the freezer as is.

Ingredients

1 T coconut oil
1 yellow onion, halved and semi-thinly sliced
10 fresh shiitake mushrooms, sliced (or 5 dried, pre-soaked)
1 sweet potato, halved and quartered lengthwise and cut into 1" cubes 
1 clove garlic, smashed 
10 c water

1/2 t sea salt

1 12oz-ish can coconut milk (absolutely full fat, no excuses)
4 1" slices of galangal
1 3" stalk lemongrass, pounded
1-3 Thai chilis, smashed
6 kaffir lime leaves
4 T good-quality fish sauce (or vegan substitution for those of you who are strict)
2 T sugar
the juice of 1 1/2 fresh limes

2 c blanched savoy cabbage (5 minutes boiling in salted water)
cilantro, for garnish

Process

      In a soup pot, heat the coconut oil over medium heat and saute the onion with a pinch of salt until soft, about 10 minutes. Add the mushrooms, sweet potato, garlic and water and bring to a boil. Add the salt and reduce the heat to maintain a hearty simmer. You are essentially making a quick stock.

      After 20 minutes, add the remaining ingredients and let simmer for another 10 minutes. Remove the dried mushrooms and save for something else (or chop them up and add them back to the stock).

      Taste to adjust the sweet, salty and sour flavors -- you may need to sprinkle a bit more lime, sugar or fish sauce. Remove and discard the galangal, lemongrass and lime leaves. Add the blanched cabbage in the last minute, ladle into bowls and garnish with fresh cilantro. To make a meal out of it, serve with steamed jasmine rice.

Yields: soup for 6
Prep time: 10 minutes
Cook time: 30 minutes (mostly inactive)

Writing and Styling by Adria Lee | Photography by Amy Pennington