Well, Tenafly, I've got news for you: We're going to have to start substituting chicken for fish. (See "Betty Crocker's Unwritten Rules," http://cookwithlaynie.blogspot.com/2009/09/betty-crockers-unwritten-rules.html.)
This, according to a "Fresh Air" program I heard the other day.
In case you missed it, here's the short version: If you love "Charlie"*,
let him swim.
No fish?
"But I really, really like fish," you say.
Me, too. And according to "Aquacalypse Now," Daniel Pauly's article in The New Republic, fish are in deep trouble.
Here's the story:
http://www.tnr.com/article/environment-energy/aquacalypse-now
In the meantime, please keep in mind that science is always discovering things. A few years ago (and again this past week), someone discovered what women have known for years: Chocolate** is good for you. Now we learn that if we want to save the oceans, one of the best things we can do is . . .
. . . Eat herring.
Herring! So let's experiment with herring. I love cream sauce and wine sauce as much as you do (you being the people who have not left the room, muttering, "Herring. Noooooooo."). But we can do better than that. Look for herring recipes on the horizon.
Sardines are also fine. Add them to your pasta sauce.
Last, but not least, is the humble anchovy. Which takes us back to the Garrone family.
Ian Garrone is the man you see most often at the Far West Fungi store on Saturdays. He may seem quite serious, but spend two minutes with him and you will discover that he has the same warmth and warped sense of humor as the rest of the family. With his folks, he has expanded the definition of fungi to include marsh dwellers, such as the fabulous sea bean (which doesn't start in the marsh, but that's another story). The sea bean is a skinny, salty, crunchy item that is not a true bean and not originally from the sea but is positively addictive. It makes an appearance (and an equally quick disappearance, especially at potlucks) with its friend, the anchovy, here:
C-Carrot, Sea Bean Salad:
For the dressing:
3 parts mayonnaise
1 part dijon mustard
Smidgen anchovy paste
Pinch fresh or dried dill
Freshly-ground black pepper
For the salad:
Carrots
Sea beans
Blanch sea beans, or rinse well (lots of sodium here and in the anchovies). Chop into 1/4-1/2 inch pieces. Scrub carrots, rinse, and slice into half-coins. While the carrots are steaming, combine the dressing ingredients.
Add cooked carrots and sea beans to dressing and toss. Serve immediately.
*"Charlie" (not his real name) is a tuna to whom many of us were introduced by his relatives at StarKist (which doesn't sound like a real name, either, now that you mention it).
**Dark chocolate, to be specific. Milk, a bit less so. White chocolate did not enter the discussion, for obvious reasons.
©2009 Laynie Tzena.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Friday, November 6, 2009
Fungus Among Us
I suppose you could buy mushrooms from other people than the Garrone family. I just don't know why you would, unless you live in New York, or Chicago. And even then, I'm pretty sure they ship.
I first met John Garrone of Far West Fungi over 20 years ago, when I moved to San Francisco and happened on the Civic Center market. John told me recently that it was somewhere else at the time, around the corner or something. But I remember him at pretty much the same location he is now, not far from the escalator to the underground I was probably taking to work. Maybe I was on lunch hour.
It's not just the mushrooms, although Far West Fungi probably has everything you could ever want in that department. It's the absolute friendliness--not the kind of "Fly Me!" friendliness we see a lot of these days, but the kind that comes from an obvious love of people--with which John greets everyone.
I can't remember ever not loving mushrooms. Even the canned ones. I know: They have that weird texture, they smell funny, and if you put an open can and a fork in front of me I would probably finish the can before you came back.
When I was in high school the local wing of the French National Honor Society flew to the place where people really speak the language. We did the French equivalent of what Europeans come to see in these parts. Here, it's Las Vegas, Yosemite, the Grand Canyon, San Francisco, and maybe Monterey. There, it's the Eiffel Tower, the Loire Valley, Mont St. Michel, and Montmartre, where everyone visits a church called Le Sacré Coeur.
I remember two things from that trip: the castles in the Loire Valley, and lunch after we went to church: Coq au Vin aux Champignons.
To the other kids champignon was just a long way of saying mushroom. And mushrooms, they agreed, were gross. Did I really want them?
I thought I had died and gone to heaven.
John Garrone has very good manners, so you have to look closely to see him rolling his eyes as he hears me tell yet another customer about the Miso-Soba Soup from The Book of Miso. John's interest in miso soup ia on a par with his interest in Brussels sprouts.
Someone once asked him, "What do you like to do with Brussels sprouts?"
"Personally, I throw them out," he said.
I first met John Garrone of Far West Fungi over 20 years ago, when I moved to San Francisco and happened on the Civic Center market. John told me recently that it was somewhere else at the time, around the corner or something. But I remember him at pretty much the same location he is now, not far from the escalator to the underground I was probably taking to work. Maybe I was on lunch hour.
It's not just the mushrooms, although Far West Fungi probably has everything you could ever want in that department. It's the absolute friendliness--not the kind of "Fly Me!" friendliness we see a lot of these days, but the kind that comes from an obvious love of people--with which John greets everyone.
I can't remember ever not loving mushrooms. Even the canned ones. I know: They have that weird texture, they smell funny, and if you put an open can and a fork in front of me I would probably finish the can before you came back.
When I was in high school the local wing of the French National Honor Society flew to the place where people really speak the language. We did the French equivalent of what Europeans come to see in these parts. Here, it's Las Vegas, Yosemite, the Grand Canyon, San Francisco, and maybe Monterey. There, it's the Eiffel Tower, the Loire Valley, Mont St. Michel, and Montmartre, where everyone visits a church called Le Sacré Coeur.
I remember two things from that trip: the castles in the Loire Valley, and lunch after we went to church: Coq au Vin aux Champignons.
To the other kids champignon was just a long way of saying mushroom. And mushrooms, they agreed, were gross. Did I really want them?
I thought I had died and gone to heaven.
John Garrone has very good manners, so you have to look closely to see him rolling his eyes as he hears me tell yet another customer about the Miso-Soba Soup from The Book of Miso. John's interest in miso soup ia on a par with his interest in Brussels sprouts.
Someone once asked him, "What do you like to do with Brussels sprouts?"
"Personally, I throw them out," he said.
Miso Soup with Buckwheat Noodles and Eggs
(adapted from The Book of Miso by Aikiko Aoyagi and William Shurtleff)
2 teaspoons sesame oil
1 small onion, thinly sliced or 1/2 bunch scallions, cut in long strips
1 zucchini, sliced into half coins
3-4 large or 6-8 small shiitaké mushrooms, sliced
1/2 cup water, stock, or dashi
2 oz. soba (buckwheat) noodles, broken into 4-inch lengths and cooked*
1 tablespoon red, barley, or hatcho miso (the original says 3T but that's overkill, to me)
2 eggs
1 tablespoon minced parsley (optional)
Heat your favorite soup pan and coat with oil. Add the onion and sauté until transparent, then add mushrooms and cook until just shy of being done. Follow with the zucchini, also cooked till almost done. Next, add water and bring to a boil, then the cooked noodles and return to the boil. Place the miso in a bowl and add some of the hot liquid, whisk to combine, and return to the soup. Now increase the heat to medium-high and carefully break in the eggs, keeping the yolks whole. Cook for 1 minute more, or until the whites are just firm. Serve immediately, garnished with parsley.
This is like French onion soup meets poached eggs meets mushrooms and noodles. It should be illegal.
This is like French onion soup meets poached eggs meets mushrooms and noodles. It should be illegal.
*There are rituals for cooking soba noodles. You cook them partway, put them into very cold water, drain them, cook them some more, back in the cold water, drain again, cook them some more--and then go out and shoot yourself because they are still not perfect.
If you have all that time on your hands, let me just say that Honey, do I have filing for you. If not, I say just cook them, deliver them to their winter vacation, drain them, and then add them to the soup at the proper time.
If anyone complains, my cooking instructions are as follows:
Don't invite them again.
But what if they live with you?
Then you already know what to do.
If anyone complains, my cooking instructions are as follows:
Don't invite them again.
But what if they live with you?
Then you already know what to do.
©2009-2014 Laynie Tzena.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Betty Crocker's Unwritten Rules
You may laugh, but Tenafly looked serious.
That's David, to you. People from New Jersey (don't call it Joisey, and please stop saying "What exit?") often call each other by the name of their home town. I understand that one of my temple friends is Myrna to some people, but her real name is Springfield.
Call me Plainfield.
Anyway: Way back when my sister was still speaking to the rest of the family, we were in the kitchen after a recipe had proved false. Now, you can trust my recipes. I have eaten all of them, and here I am still writing to you. (Also, as Jim Brooks well knows, when I first started eating this way I was 4 foot 10 and weighed 98 pounds. And now I am 5'9" and tower over everyone [Okay: very young children and my shorter relatives]).
But this recipe was apparently tested on the author's children who, it is said, immediately ran away from home, and possibly some species that promptly became extinct. It was called "Wonderful Old-Fashioned Gingerbread." It was not wonderful. It did not taste like any other gingerbread I have ever had, before or since--possibly because of the yogurt. Maybe it was old-fashioned. It was not allowed to grow old.
Well, wait a minute. The "fashion" in "old-fashioned"--that's not a lie. The recipe actually came from a then-popular cookbook. So it was fashionable. Just not edible.
So I thought, let's just crumble it and add some other things to it and make cookies. At which point my sister, who had only moments ago been reminding me that I must always sit in the middle when we rode in the car with Mommy because if I sat on the end I would fall out, invoked Betty Crocker's Unwritten Rule #1: "Thou shalt not make cookies from baked cake."
I obeyed. (You try arguing with her. Besides, she might have been right. But that's classified.)
But when I told Tenafly about the Salmon with Pistachio Sauce and he said he didn't like salmon and I said "So substitute chicken," he tried to invoke Betty Crocker's Unwritten Rule #2 (though he didn't call it that; that was my sister's idea), and proclaimed, "You can't substitute chicken for fish."
And the very French friend of an American friend, after a dinner party for which a chicken had given its life, provided Betty Crocker's Unwritten Rule #3, letting pass that she "would never serve chicken to my guests." (Rumor has it she somehow managed to eat a fair amount of it, though.)
Fortunately, I have just located my magic wand. I am now waving it, and pronouncing some words in a language very few people speak. But I am a trained professional. And as they say, in a language many people do speak: No charge.
And what do you know? You are now free to substitute chicken for fish, fish for chicken (though you probably won't catch any), serve chicken to your guests, and whatever else comes to mind.
And since we're mostly grown now, I hope it's okay to say that Betty Crocker, lovely as she might have been in that Ozzie and Harriet kind of way, Never Existed.
©2009, 2012, 2014, 2015 Laynie Tzena.
Anyway: Way back when my sister was still speaking to the rest of the family, we were in the kitchen after a recipe had proved false. Now, you can trust my recipes. I have eaten all of them, and here I am still writing to you. (Also, as Jim Brooks well knows, when I first started eating this way I was 4 foot 10 and weighed 98 pounds. And now I am 5'9" and tower over everyone [Okay: very young children and my shorter relatives]).
But this recipe was apparently tested on the author's children who, it is said, immediately ran away from home, and possibly some species that promptly became extinct. It was called "Wonderful Old-Fashioned Gingerbread." It was not wonderful. It did not taste like any other gingerbread I have ever had, before or since--possibly because of the yogurt. Maybe it was old-fashioned. It was not allowed to grow old.
Well, wait a minute. The "fashion" in "old-fashioned"--that's not a lie. The recipe actually came from a then-popular cookbook. So it was fashionable. Just not edible.
So I thought, let's just crumble it and add some other things to it and make cookies. At which point my sister, who had only moments ago been reminding me that I must always sit in the middle when we rode in the car with Mommy because if I sat on the end I would fall out, invoked Betty Crocker's Unwritten Rule #1: "Thou shalt not make cookies from baked cake."
I obeyed. (You try arguing with her. Besides, she might have been right. But that's classified.)
But when I told Tenafly about the Salmon with Pistachio Sauce and he said he didn't like salmon and I said "So substitute chicken," he tried to invoke Betty Crocker's Unwritten Rule #2 (though he didn't call it that; that was my sister's idea), and proclaimed, "You can't substitute chicken for fish."
And the very French friend of an American friend, after a dinner party for which a chicken had given its life, provided Betty Crocker's Unwritten Rule #3, letting pass that she "would never serve chicken to my guests." (Rumor has it she somehow managed to eat a fair amount of it, though.)
Fortunately, I have just located my magic wand. I am now waving it, and pronouncing some words in a language very few people speak. But I am a trained professional. And as they say, in a language many people do speak: No charge.
And what do you know? You are now free to substitute chicken for fish, fish for chicken (though you probably won't catch any), serve chicken to your guests, and whatever else comes to mind.
And since we're mostly grown now, I hope it's okay to say that Betty Crocker, lovely as she might have been in that Ozzie and Harriet kind of way, Never Existed.
©2009, 2012, 2014, 2015 Laynie Tzena.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
In the Pink
Confession: I once lived in a pink room with a pink and orange shag carpet. True, I was a teenager at the time. And true, it was 19-never mind. Nonetheless, as one of our sages, Dave Barry, has said, "I am not proud of this."
But these days pink--and we're talking a beautiful, deep, rich pink; call it pale red or reddish-orange, if you wish--means just one thing: Salmon!
And there has been some beautiful wild salmon around lately--for $7.99-8.99 a pound. Here's what I've been doing with it:
"Grilled Salmon with Pistachios, Lemon, and Olive Oil"
(from Joyce Goldstein's Back to Square One; adapted to three servings from the original six).
1/4 cup shelled pistachios
1T fresh lemon juice
2-1/2T olive oil
Salt and freshly ground pepper
Grated zest of 1/2 orange covered
with 2T orange juice (optional)
2 salmon fillets, about 6 oz. each
Olive oil for brushing the fish
Lemon wedges for garnish
Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Spread the pistachios on a baking sheet and toast until fragrant, 8-10 min. Let stand until cool enough to handle. Then rub off the skins in a discloth and chop the nuts medium fine in a food processor. Process in the lemon juice, oil, salt and pepper to taste, and orange juice and zest, if using. Set aside. If not using orange juice, you may need a little water to thin the mixture.
Heat the grill or broiler. Brush the salmon fillets with olive oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Grill or broil until the fish is just cooked through, 3 to 4 minutes each side. (Or bake the fish at 450 degrees for about 8 minutes.) Spoon the pistachio sauce over the fish and serve hot, with lemon wedges.
The book suggests serving this with rice pilaf and asparagus, broccoli, or spinach. I like it with haricots vert (aka French green beans).
Extra salmon? Try this:
"Slammin' Salmon Sammich":
Cold cooked salmon
Carrots, sliced on the diagonal
Mesclun lettuce
Purple onion, thinly sliced (optional**)
Homemade or good quality mayonnaise
Dijon mustard (This is especially good with basil or Creole mustard)
But these days pink--and we're talking a beautiful, deep, rich pink; call it pale red or reddish-orange, if you wish--means just one thing: Salmon!
And there has been some beautiful wild salmon around lately--for $7.99-8.99 a pound. Here's what I've been doing with it:
"Grilled Salmon with Pistachios, Lemon, and Olive Oil"
(from Joyce Goldstein's Back to Square One; adapted to three servings from the original six).
1/4 cup shelled pistachios
1T fresh lemon juice
2-1/2T olive oil
Salt and freshly ground pepper
Grated zest of 1/2 orange covered
with 2T orange juice (optional)
2 salmon fillets, about 6 oz. each
Olive oil for brushing the fish
Lemon wedges for garnish
Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Spread the pistachios on a baking sheet and toast until fragrant, 8-10 min. Let stand until cool enough to handle. Then rub off the skins in a discloth and chop the nuts medium fine in a food processor. Process in the lemon juice, oil, salt and pepper to taste, and orange juice and zest, if using. Set aside. If not using orange juice, you may need a little water to thin the mixture.
Heat the grill or broiler. Brush the salmon fillets with olive oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Grill or broil until the fish is just cooked through, 3 to 4 minutes each side. (Or bake the fish at 450 degrees for about 8 minutes.) Spoon the pistachio sauce over the fish and serve hot, with lemon wedges.
The book suggests serving this with rice pilaf and asparagus, broccoli, or spinach. I like it with haricots vert (aka French green beans).
Extra salmon? Try this:
"Slammin' Salmon Sammich":
Cold cooked salmon
Carrots, sliced on the diagonal
Mesclun lettuce
Purple onion, thinly sliced (optional**)
Homemade or good quality mayonnaise
Dijon mustard (This is especially good with basil or Creole mustard)
Pinch of freshly-ground mixed peppercorns*
Capers
Acme "Herb Slab" foccacia
Steam the carrots. Slice the foccacia into two pieces and cut each in half through the center. Toast or grill foccacia. Combine three parts mayonnaise with one part mustard, add a pinch of pepper, and spread on the bread. Place the lettuce and onion on the toasted foccacia. Flake the salmon and add to the sandwich, followed by the carrots. Top with capers. Slice in half and serve immediately.
*Yes, I have seen the light as to the merits of different kinds of peppercorns. I still say freshly-ground black pepper is hard to beat. And I still don't love white pepper. I do like the flavor of the mixed peppercorns. And so I will give white pepper another try, in the interest of science and a certain cauliflower recipe.
**Don't you love when recipes say "optional"? As though you have no choice about the other ingredients, but here, well, okay, you can leave out the onion. But as far as changing anything else, you go right ahead but then don't be surprised by that knock at the door.
Having said all that, what do you plan to do about the onion?
©2009-2014 Laynie Tzena.
Acme "Herb Slab" foccacia
Steam the carrots. Slice the foccacia into two pieces and cut each in half through the center. Toast or grill foccacia. Combine three parts mayonnaise with one part mustard, add a pinch of pepper, and spread on the bread. Place the lettuce and onion on the toasted foccacia. Flake the salmon and add to the sandwich, followed by the carrots. Top with capers. Slice in half and serve immediately.
*Yes, I have seen the light as to the merits of different kinds of peppercorns. I still say freshly-ground black pepper is hard to beat. And I still don't love white pepper. I do like the flavor of the mixed peppercorns. And so I will give white pepper another try, in the interest of science and a certain cauliflower recipe.
**Don't you love when recipes say "optional"? As though you have no choice about the other ingredients, but here, well, okay, you can leave out the onion. But as far as changing anything else, you go right ahead but then don't be surprised by that knock at the door.
Having said all that, what do you plan to do about the onion?
©2009-2014 Laynie Tzena.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
A la Carte, A la Mission?
Let's all nosh at the San Francisco Street Food Festival today, 11-7
on Folsom Street between 25th and 26th. Sounds a bit like the late, lamented "A la Carte, A la Park" festival that used to happen over
Labor Day weekend in Golden Gate Park. Ah, well. We still have
"Hardly Strictly Bluegrass" (http://www.strictlybluegrass.com/) in October (on tap this year: Lyle Lovett. Marianne Faithfull. And Nick Lowe, whose insight on intimacy and aging rivals that of François Truffaut and Amos Oz on childhood and the world of family.).
In other news: It's apple season, children. Yee-hah. Get thee to the Farmers' Market, on the double. I used to look forward to Black Twig
and Arkansas Black until Stan Devoto informed me that those vareties signal the end of the season. So for now, it's all about Gravenstein, Pink Pearl, Hubbardston Nonesuch and, soon, Mutsu, Ashmead's Kernel, and I hesitate to mention Wickson lest you get there first.
Pistachios on the horizon.
©2009 Laynie Tzena.
on Folsom Street between 25th and 26th. Sounds a bit like the late, lamented "A la Carte, A la Park" festival that used to happen over
Labor Day weekend in Golden Gate Park. Ah, well. We still have
"Hardly Strictly Bluegrass" (http://www.strictlybluegrass.com/) in October (on tap this year: Lyle Lovett. Marianne Faithfull. And Nick Lowe, whose insight on intimacy and aging rivals that of François Truffaut and Amos Oz on childhood and the world of family.).
In other news: It's apple season, children. Yee-hah. Get thee to the Farmers' Market, on the double. I used to look forward to Black Twig
and Arkansas Black until Stan Devoto informed me that those vareties signal the end of the season. So for now, it's all about Gravenstein, Pink Pearl, Hubbardston Nonesuch and, soon, Mutsu, Ashmead's Kernel, and I hesitate to mention Wickson lest you get there first.
Pistachios on the horizon.
©2009 Laynie Tzena.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Cluck, Cluck
Dear Love at First Bite:
Excuse me, Ms. Rockefeller, but I happened to notice you had a recipe that included radicchio, and I was just wondering if you'd gotten the memo that radicchio is Eight Dollars A Pound. Hello? Sure, it's delicious, but if you spend that on salad, where's the money for the rest of the meal?
Frugal Frieda
Dear Frieda:
Thank you for sharing. Now put down that latte and listen. Sure, there's radicchio for eight dollars a pound. But didn't your mama tell you that you'd better shop around?
The savvy shopper could have found gorgeous radicchio, escarole, and other delights at the Ferry Plaza Farmers' Market for $6/lb. or a lovely endive mix for $5/lb. last week. For that matter, while some folks have been selling radicchio at $7.99/lb., their lettuce mix, at $4.99 a pound, is often loaded with radicchio and other chicories. And who said you need pounds and pounds of it, anyway?
You could also plant some greens in the backyard or in a pot on your windowsill. They take no time to grow and you can just pick the amount you need for the salad.
Since my motto is: "I will only stop keeping track of money when"Perfect Poached Chicken Breasts"
I start printing it," I also shop the sales. Mollie Stone's wonderful bone-in chicken breasts are $2.99/lb. this week.
BREAKING NEWS, 5/18/11: Those bone-in chicken breasts we were just talking about are once again on sale for $2.99/lb. at Mollie Stone's, through next Tuesday (which happens to be the 24th). In other news, the Ferry Plaza Farmers' Market has radicchio for $3/lb. Which farmer? I should deprive you of the joy of discovery? And Real Food on Polk has it for $3.99/lb.
No, no, don't thank me. For you, anything. And no, I don't get a commission. Life is so unfair.
Which means it's time for Sopa di Lima, chicken salad, and simple, delicious cold poached chicken which, along with Chinese food*, is the cure for just about everything.
(from Lorraine Bodger's Chicken Dinners):
3 whole chicken breasts (with bone), halved
1T butter
1/2 cup chicken broth
Put the butter and broth in a large skillet and bring to a simmer. Place the chicken, flesh side up, in the skillet. Cover the skillet, tilting the lid slightly so a little steam can escape during cooking.
Cook the chicken for 15 minutes, keeping the broth at a simmer (not a boil) over low heat. Then turn off the heat and leave the chicken in the skillet for 15 more minutes.
Cut into one piece of chicken to see if the meat is cooked through. If the meat is pink, turn the heat back on and simmer for 5 more minutes.
Lift the chicken from the hot broth and rinse in cold water; refrigerate until cool. Separate the chicken meat from the bones, discarding the bones as well as any bits of fat and gristle. Refrigerate the chicken until needed; strain the broth into a container and refrigerate or freeze for future use.
Makes 2-1/2-3 cups cooked chicken.
"Sopa di Lima: Yucatecan Soup with Chicken, Tortillas, and Lime"
(from Joyce Goldstein's Back to Square One):
Serves 4
2T mild olive oil
1/2 cup diced onion
1T minced garlic
1t finely minced jalapeño peppers
3 cups reduced chicken stock, plus stock for poaching the chicken
1/2 cup diced, peeled, fresh or canned tomatoes
2T chopped fresh cilantro
2T fresh lime juice
1t (or to taste) salt
1/4t freshly ground pepper
1 whole boneless, skinless chicken breast, split,
and cut into 1-inch chunks
8 paper-thin slices of lime, cut into quarters
2 corn tortillas, cut into strips, 2 inches long by 1/2 inch wide, and then deep-fried (or bake in a 400° oven until crisp)
Heat the oil in a large saucepan over medium heat. Add the onion and cook until translucent, about 10 minutes. Add the garlic and jalapeño and cook for 1 to 2 minutes. Add the stock and bring to a boil. Then add the tomatoes, cilantro, lime juice, and salt and pepper. Taste and adjust seasonings. Poach the chicken separately in a saucepan with chicken stock to cover until just cooked through. (The chicken is not cooked directly in the soup because this would cloud the soup.) Divide the chunks among 4 bowls and pour the hot soup over. Top with little pieces of lime and the deep-fried/baked tortilla strips.
Time-saving tip: Poach the chicken and reduce the chicken stock a day or two ahead. Reducing the broth takes about an hour at a low heat, and combines beautifully with doing laundry. If you're using already-poached chicken in the recipe, just cut it into cubes and reheat it in some chicken stock.
Chicken Salad with Carrots and Roasted Walnuts:
For the salad:
Carrots, sliced on the diagonal
Walnuts, dry roasted in a skillet or in a 400° oven
Poached or leftover roast chicken (or turkey), chopped
Capers
For the dressing:
2 parts extra virgin olive oil
1 part good red wine vinegar
Pinch basil mustard (or use Dijon and add more basil)
Pinch orange zest
Handful fresh or dried basil (use less of the dried)
Salt and pepper
Steam the carrots. Whisk together the vinaigrette ingredients, add
the carrots, and toss. Add the chicken and toasted walnuts, toss again, top with capers, and serve.
*I nearly dated a man not long ago who suddenly turned out not to eat Chinese food. That's not the official reason we decided to ix-nay our inner-day, of course, but I wondered why he didn't eat it and looked online and holey-moley, turns out there's an awful lot of sodium in some of my favorite dishes.
There was a moment of despair. Would I have to give up Chinese food? No more Hunan Wor Wonton Soup? (Don't tell my rabbi.) No more hot and sour?
Just then, an angel whispered in my ear. (They're so handy when
you're dating.)
"Relax, Toots," she said.
Then she told me the simple solution. You might want to sit down.
Drink water with it. That's right. Extra salt means you need extra water. Drink some more when you get home. And if it makes you really happy, eat nothing but apples and lettuce for the next three days while continuing to drink lots of water. That ought to balance out the sodium until next time.
©2009, 2011 Laynie Tzena.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
The Great Apricot, or We Like Them Again
When I was growing up I hated apricots. They were mealy and disgusting. Each year (and I never did this with other foods) I would taste an apricot, it would be mealy and disgusting, and we would go into another year.
Then I learned that dried apricots were good for you. I tried one. It was very good. So I tried a fresh apricot. It was mealy and disgusting.
One fine day I tasted an apricot in season. It was sweet, juicy, luscious. Wonderful.
Soon I tasted another one. It was mealy and disgusting.
But the memory of the great apricot stayed with me, and I've loved apricots ever since.
I was on the phone with a client, catching up, when someone said something to him and he asked if I could hang on a minute.
"Oh, no," he said, "We like them again."
Seems a vendor had fallen out of favor and was now back in the fold.
As we know, this also has been known to happen with food.
I was never a big Swiss chard fan. A little grainy. Didn't interest me. But when I started seeing it at the market, red and gold and drop-dead gorgeous, who could resist? Coming up, a recipe or two that would make a place for that vegetable in anyone's heart. But since we were just talking about soup, here's a recipe (from James Beard's How To Eat Better For Less Money [co-written with Sam Aaron]) I couldn't resist even in my not-that-into-chard days.
"Lentil-Chard Soup":
1-1/2 cups lentils
2-1/2 lbs. Swiss chard (spinach may be substituted)
1/2 cup olive oil
3/4 cup chopped onion
3 to 4 cloves garlic, crushed with salt
1 rib celery, chopped
3/4 cup lemon juice
1 teaspoon flour
Wash and pick over the lentils. Cover them with cold water and cook, covered, until tender. Wash the leaves of the Swiss chard or spinach and chop. And to the lentils with 1 cup water and cook until the chard is done, adding more water if necessary.
Heat the oil in a skillet and sauté the chopped onion, garlic crushed with salt, and celery until vegetables are tender and flavors blended. Add to lentil mixture. Mix the lemon juice and flour and stir into the soup. Cook gently, stirring occasionally, until the soup is rather thick. Taste for seasoning. Cool slightly before serving in soup bowls. Pass crusty French or Italian bread to mop up the juices. Serves 6. This thick and hearty soup tastes delicous served cold the next day.
©2009, 2014 Laynie Tzena.
Then I learned that dried apricots were good for you. I tried one. It was very good. So I tried a fresh apricot. It was mealy and disgusting.
One fine day I tasted an apricot in season. It was sweet, juicy, luscious. Wonderful.
Soon I tasted another one. It was mealy and disgusting.
But the memory of the great apricot stayed with me, and I've loved apricots ever since.
* * *
I was on the phone with a client, catching up, when someone said something to him and he asked if I could hang on a minute.
"Oh, no," he said, "We like them again."
Seems a vendor had fallen out of favor and was now back in the fold.
As we know, this also has been known to happen with food.
I was never a big Swiss chard fan. A little grainy. Didn't interest me. But when I started seeing it at the market, red and gold and drop-dead gorgeous, who could resist? Coming up, a recipe or two that would make a place for that vegetable in anyone's heart. But since we were just talking about soup, here's a recipe (from James Beard's How To Eat Better For Less Money [co-written with Sam Aaron]) I couldn't resist even in my not-that-into-chard days.
"Lentil-Chard Soup":
1-1/2 cups lentils
2-1/2 lbs. Swiss chard (spinach may be substituted)
1/2 cup olive oil
3/4 cup chopped onion
3 to 4 cloves garlic, crushed with salt
1 rib celery, chopped
3/4 cup lemon juice
1 teaspoon flour
Wash and pick over the lentils. Cover them with cold water and cook, covered, until tender. Wash the leaves of the Swiss chard or spinach and chop. And to the lentils with 1 cup water and cook until the chard is done, adding more water if necessary.
Heat the oil in a skillet and sauté the chopped onion, garlic crushed with salt, and celery until vegetables are tender and flavors blended. Add to lentil mixture. Mix the lemon juice and flour and stir into the soup. Cook gently, stirring occasionally, until the soup is rather thick. Taste for seasoning. Cool slightly before serving in soup bowls. Pass crusty French or Italian bread to mop up the juices. Serves 6. This thick and hearty soup tastes delicous served cold the next day.
©2009, 2014 Laynie Tzena.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Time for Soup
Well, after a couple of days of Florida weather (84? In San Francisco?), we're back to normal: cold and clammy. And that can mean only one thing: Soup!
My friend said gently, "Laynie, I think you need to start earlier."
And so it is with cooking. Most recipes have a few ingredients in them, and those ingredients need to be measured, chopped, diced, minced. And it's later than you expected, and you need to eat something, and the heck with it. Peanut butter or take-out.
So eat the peanut butter or take-out. And then reach for one of the recipes you want to try and pull out the cutting board. Chop. Dice. Mince. And measure. And take some small jars or plastic containers (you can get tiny containers with lids at Costco [just be sure to re-use them] or those little porcelain saucers in Chinatown), measure the amount of each ingredient you need for that recipe, put a date on the containers, and sit them in the refrigerator.
The next day: Presto! All you need to do is assemble and cook the dish, then pat yourself on the back or graciously accept the compliments for your creation.
Which might be this very soup.
"Fish Soup from Tunaco":
(From Barbara Karoff's South American Cooking, I adapted it to three servings from the original six.):
1 lb. bass, cod, snapper, or other firm white fish
Juice of 1/2 lemon
Salt to taste
1 onion, coarsely chopped
1 tablespoon olive oil
1-1/2-2 jalapeño or serrano chiles, seeded and chopped
3 tomatoes, peeled, seeded, and chopped
2 cups water or stock
1 cup coconut milk
Chopped cilantro
Cut the fish into bite-sized pieces. Sprinkle them with lemon juice and salt and set aside. In a soup pot, sauté the onions in olive oil until they are soft. Add the chilies and tomatoes and cook over low heat for 2 to 3 minutes. Add the water or stock and the fish and simmer gently until the fish is almost done. Take care not to overcook. Add the coconut milk and let the soup come just to the boil. Serve immediately, topped with chopped cilantro.
Time-saving tip: While you're squeezing the lemon for the juice in this recipe, make extra and put the lemon juice in a glass jar with a date on it. It'll be ready for the broccoli-asparagus stem salad or the lentil-chard soup coming up shortly. Same thing for the onion and when you have a recipe that calls for minced garlic. If a restaurant prepared every ingredient from scratch for each dish, the patrons would starve and the joint would go out of business in a New York minute.
©2009, 2013, 2014 Laynie Tzena.
Dear Love at First Bite:It's easy to think there's not enough time these days. I remember talking to a friend about how it was always a struggle to get everything done Friday afternoon to get to temple on time. (Later, I stopped worrying about it and considered it instead a public service: If I ever arrived at temple on time, the rabbi would fall off the bima.)
I hope I didn't hear you say "soup." Who on Earth has time to make soup? Where do you find time to do all this cooking? I can barely keep up.
Take-Out Tammy
Dear Tammy:
First things first: No one keeps up. It's a myth.
Second, here is my secret (Close the door.): Extra time is delivered to my house one night a week and also on the weekend.
Don't tell anyone.
My friend said gently, "Laynie, I think you need to start earlier."
And so it is with cooking. Most recipes have a few ingredients in them, and those ingredients need to be measured, chopped, diced, minced. And it's later than you expected, and you need to eat something, and the heck with it. Peanut butter or take-out.
So eat the peanut butter or take-out. And then reach for one of the recipes you want to try and pull out the cutting board. Chop. Dice. Mince. And measure. And take some small jars or plastic containers (you can get tiny containers with lids at Costco [just be sure to re-use them] or those little porcelain saucers in Chinatown), measure the amount of each ingredient you need for that recipe, put a date on the containers, and sit them in the refrigerator.
The next day: Presto! All you need to do is assemble and cook the dish, then pat yourself on the back or graciously accept the compliments for your creation.
Which might be this very soup.
"Fish Soup from Tunaco":
(From Barbara Karoff's South American Cooking, I adapted it to three servings from the original six.):
1 lb. bass, cod, snapper, or other firm white fish
Juice of 1/2 lemon
Salt to taste
1 onion, coarsely chopped
1 tablespoon olive oil
1-1/2-2 jalapeño or serrano chiles, seeded and chopped
3 tomatoes, peeled, seeded, and chopped
2 cups water or stock
1 cup coconut milk
Chopped cilantro
Cut the fish into bite-sized pieces. Sprinkle them with lemon juice and salt and set aside. In a soup pot, sauté the onions in olive oil until they are soft. Add the chilies and tomatoes and cook over low heat for 2 to 3 minutes. Add the water or stock and the fish and simmer gently until the fish is almost done. Take care not to overcook. Add the coconut milk and let the soup come just to the boil. Serve immediately, topped with chopped cilantro.
Time-saving tip: While you're squeezing the lemon for the juice in this recipe, make extra and put the lemon juice in a glass jar with a date on it. It'll be ready for the broccoli-asparagus stem salad or the lentil-chard soup coming up shortly. Same thing for the onion and when you have a recipe that calls for minced garlic. If a restaurant prepared every ingredient from scratch for each dish, the patrons would starve and the joint would go out of business in a New York minute.
©2009, 2013, 2014 Laynie Tzena.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Doughnuts and Berries
Well, Bob's Donuts has done it again.
True, I had a piece of walnut bread not long after sundown--two pieces actually: one by itself, just to taste B-R-E-A-D after seven days, and the other, smothered with peanut butter because peanut butter on matzo doesn't work for me. (Almond butter, yes; peanut butter, no. Go figure.) But the real, official ending to Passover came when I moseyed over to Bob's and took the first bite of a glazed buttermilk doughnut that had come out minutes earlier, followed by an old-fashioned doughnut I literally watched the guy pull out of the fryer. If you listen closely, you just might be able to hear the sound of my arteries hardening.
My father, rest in peace, was a radiologist, and from him I inherited two things: medical handwriting and an affection for sweets. I loved helping him file X-ray films at the office. They were huge and wobbly then, and I soon learned it might be better to avoid having your name start with "M" or "S" because there were so many people in the same condition.
Dad would say he was going out for a minute and you knew he was back when the most heavenly smell wafted through the office as he strode into the kitchen, probably whistling, carrying a box of doughnuts fresh from Canelli's and still warm.
Among my favorites was one we called the "Persian." From the descriptions I've read recently it sounds more like a "Pershing." Out here they're called cinnamon rolls, and Bob's are the closest to Canelli's I have found. Unfortunately, cinnamon rolls are made at 1:30 in the morning and since I'm usually chatting with the Sandman at that time I buy them out of the case and heat them up in the oven.
Albion strawberries from Yerena Farms were a big hit at my French group today, especially when I told them the farmer's name was Apollinaire (Poli, for short). Try not to eat the whole basket at one sitting or, if you can't resist, buy an extra basket for this salad:
Strawberry-Chicory Salad with Red Wine Vinaigrette:
For the salad:
1 basket of strawberries
Mixture of chicories: radicchio, endive, etc.
2-3 leaves of mustard greens
For the dressing:
5T extra virgin olive oil or walnut oil or half of each
2T good red wine vinegar*
Smidgen of dijon mustard
Pinch kosher salt or sea salt
Pinch coarsely-ground black pepper
Rinse and drain the greens; tear into pieces. Rinse and slice the strawberries. Whisk the oil(s), vinegar and mustard together with salt and pepper, add the salad and toss. Now add the strawberries, toss again, and serve.
*Most of the red wine vinegar you find at the store is best left there. Kimberley Cabernet Sauvignon vinegar is delicious. I recommend this vinegar so often I should have stock in the company. Yes, it's $5 or 6 a bottle instead of $2 or 3, but a) one taste of it and you'll never go back; b) that's just one less mocha wah-wah latte a month. And the vinegar will last you more than a month--unless you take to drinking it by the glass, in which case just drink twice as much oil, eat some lettuce, and call yourself a salad.
©2009, 2011, 2013, 2014 Laynie Tzena.
True, I had a piece of walnut bread not long after sundown--two pieces actually: one by itself, just to taste B-R-E-A-D after seven days, and the other, smothered with peanut butter because peanut butter on matzo doesn't work for me. (Almond butter, yes; peanut butter, no. Go figure.) But the real, official ending to Passover came when I moseyed over to Bob's and took the first bite of a glazed buttermilk doughnut that had come out minutes earlier, followed by an old-fashioned doughnut I literally watched the guy pull out of the fryer. If you listen closely, you just might be able to hear the sound of my arteries hardening.
My father, rest in peace, was a radiologist, and from him I inherited two things: medical handwriting and an affection for sweets. I loved helping him file X-ray films at the office. They were huge and wobbly then, and I soon learned it might be better to avoid having your name start with "M" or "S" because there were so many people in the same condition.
Dad would say he was going out for a minute and you knew he was back when the most heavenly smell wafted through the office as he strode into the kitchen, probably whistling, carrying a box of doughnuts fresh from Canelli's and still warm.
Among my favorites was one we called the "Persian." From the descriptions I've read recently it sounds more like a "Pershing." Out here they're called cinnamon rolls, and Bob's are the closest to Canelli's I have found. Unfortunately, cinnamon rolls are made at 1:30 in the morning and since I'm usually chatting with the Sandman at that time I buy them out of the case and heat them up in the oven.
Albion strawberries from Yerena Farms were a big hit at my French group today, especially when I told them the farmer's name was Apollinaire (Poli, for short). Try not to eat the whole basket at one sitting or, if you can't resist, buy an extra basket for this salad:
Strawberry-Chicory Salad with Red Wine Vinaigrette:
For the salad:
1 basket of strawberries
Mixture of chicories: radicchio, endive, etc.
2-3 leaves of mustard greens
For the dressing:
5T extra virgin olive oil or walnut oil or half of each
2T good red wine vinegar*
Smidgen of dijon mustard
Pinch kosher salt or sea salt
Pinch coarsely-ground black pepper
Rinse and drain the greens; tear into pieces. Rinse and slice the strawberries. Whisk the oil(s), vinegar and mustard together with salt and pepper, add the salad and toss. Now add the strawberries, toss again, and serve.
*Most of the red wine vinegar you find at the store is best left there. Kimberley Cabernet Sauvignon vinegar is delicious. I recommend this vinegar so often I should have stock in the company. Yes, it's $5 or 6 a bottle instead of $2 or 3, but a) one taste of it and you'll never go back; b) that's just one less mocha wah-wah latte a month. And the vinegar will last you more than a month--unless you take to drinking it by the glass, in which case just drink twice as much oil, eat some lettuce, and call yourself a salad.
©2009, 2011, 2013, 2014 Laynie Tzena.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Fraternal Twins
Well, just when you thought you'd managed to avoid science projects in the refrigerator, surprise! That chicken is not going to make it. But wait! There's broccoli. And arugula.
And as you're chopping the broccoli stalks, you remember one of the asparagus vendors at the market who, when you said you always went for the skinnier asparagus because the bottoms weren't so woody, asked if you didn't peel the bottoms.
No, you said. You didn't add that you usually ate the top part of the bottom stem raw while the rest of it was steaming but still ended up tossing a lot of those stems and thinking, "What a waste."
Fast forward to the moment after the chicken has officially bitten the dust. You're chopping broccoli stalks. You're not even thinking about asparagus--skinny, fat (excuse me, "jumbo"), or otherwise.
And then it happens. You think of another object that looks a bit like this broccoli stalk. Yes! It is the asparagus stem.
Broccoli Salad with Arugula and Asparagus Stems in Lemon-Walnut Vinaigrette:
For the salad:
1 large head or three to four small heads of broccoli
Large handful arugula (or arugula rabe)
Bottom stems of one bunch of jumbo asparagus
2-3 tablespoons walnuts
For the dressing:
2T olive oil
2T walnut oil
2T balsamic vinegar*
Zest of one lemon
Pinch sea salt or kosher salt
Pinch medium-grind black pepper
Rinse arugula (or rabe) and drain; tear into small pieces. Break off broccoli florets from stalk(s). Peel stalk(s) and chop into small pieces. Remove very bottom of aparagus stems; slice stems into 1/2 inch circles. Peel them, if you wish. Steam broccoli and asparagus stems.
Dry-roast walnuts in a skillet or on a baking sheet at 400° for 5 minutes or so. (Keep an eye on the walnuts; they should be just slightly darkened.)
Combine oils and vinegar with lemon zest, salt, and pepper. Toss salad with dressing, add walnuts, toss again and serve.
*Real balsamic, not the fake kind in the store. V. G. Buck makes a great balsamic vinegar and a white balsamic vinegar as well, which is very good with fish.
©2009, 2014 Laynie Tzena.
And as you're chopping the broccoli stalks, you remember one of the asparagus vendors at the market who, when you said you always went for the skinnier asparagus because the bottoms weren't so woody, asked if you didn't peel the bottoms.
No, you said. You didn't add that you usually ate the top part of the bottom stem raw while the rest of it was steaming but still ended up tossing a lot of those stems and thinking, "What a waste."
Fast forward to the moment after the chicken has officially bitten the dust. You're chopping broccoli stalks. You're not even thinking about asparagus--skinny, fat (excuse me, "jumbo"), or otherwise.
And then it happens. You think of another object that looks a bit like this broccoli stalk. Yes! It is the asparagus stem.
Broccoli Salad with Arugula and Asparagus Stems in Lemon-Walnut Vinaigrette:
For the salad:
1 large head or three to four small heads of broccoli
Large handful arugula (or arugula rabe)
Bottom stems of one bunch of jumbo asparagus
2-3 tablespoons walnuts
For the dressing:
2T olive oil
2T walnut oil
2T balsamic vinegar*
Zest of one lemon
Pinch sea salt or kosher salt
Pinch medium-grind black pepper
Rinse arugula (or rabe) and drain; tear into small pieces. Break off broccoli florets from stalk(s). Peel stalk(s) and chop into small pieces. Remove very bottom of aparagus stems; slice stems into 1/2 inch circles. Peel them, if you wish. Steam broccoli and asparagus stems.
Dry-roast walnuts in a skillet or on a baking sheet at 400° for 5 minutes or so. (Keep an eye on the walnuts; they should be just slightly darkened.)
Combine oils and vinegar with lemon zest, salt, and pepper. Toss salad with dressing, add walnuts, toss again and serve.
*Real balsamic, not the fake kind in the store. V. G. Buck makes a great balsamic vinegar and a white balsamic vinegar as well, which is very good with fish.
©2009, 2014 Laynie Tzena.
Friday, April 10, 2009
New Food, Part Two
The first time I tasted kale was at dinner at Chris and Nancy's house. It might as well have landed on the plate from outer space: a multi-layered green object with curling leaves. In-ter-es-ting. I believe someone also told me it was good for me.*
"Thanks," I said.
Who could tell that kale would become one of my favorite vegetables? Beautiful dark green lacinato with a raised surface like the relief maps in sixth grade. Russian kale, which looks like a little tree (including one with a purple center I just saw at Happy Boy Farms the other day, so gorgeous I had to take it home with me).
The market has been full of rabe lately, too--not just broccoli rabe, but tatsoi, bok choy, arugula rabe. The broccoli rabe made its way into this salad:
Carrot-Kale-Rabe in Avocado Vinaigrette
with Cilantro, Cumin, and Lime**
For the salad:
1 bunch young kale (without large ribs)
Large handful broccoli rabe
2 carrots (white and yellow are especially pretty)
For the dressing:
2 tablespoons chopped cilantro
1 teaspoon ground cumin
2 teaspoons brown sugar
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
1/8 teaspoon medium-grind black pepper
2 tablespoons brown rice vinegar
2 tablespoons lime juice with lime zest
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
½ avocado
Place all ingredients except the oil in a blender, puree until smooth. With blender on puree slowly add oil until combined. Taste and correct seasonings.
Wash and drain greens and tear into pieces--or, if you want to be fancy about it, slice into large rectangles. Cut carrots into 1/4 inch half-moons and steam.
Combine salad with half the dressing. Add more dressing as needed.
The dressing is quite thick and also works beautifully as a dip for steamed artichokes or asparagus.
*True. Loaded with nutrients. But don't let that stop you.
**This all began with a delicious kale salad with avocado vinaigrette I tasted at Whole Foods. I found a wonderful recipe created by chef Matthew Pneuman online: http://www.gourmetsleuth.com/recipe_cilantrocumin.htm., which I then adapted since a) I wanted to use the avocados from Brokaw Farms I had on hand, rather than avocado oil; b) A lovely brown rice vinegar has been calling to me from my counter while I've reached past it for the red wine or balsamic; and c) I have yet to develop an affection for white pepper.
©2009, 2013, 2014 Laynie Tzena.
"Thanks," I said.
Who could tell that kale would become one of my favorite vegetables? Beautiful dark green lacinato with a raised surface like the relief maps in sixth grade. Russian kale, which looks like a little tree (including one with a purple center I just saw at Happy Boy Farms the other day, so gorgeous I had to take it home with me).
The market has been full of rabe lately, too--not just broccoli rabe, but tatsoi, bok choy, arugula rabe. The broccoli rabe made its way into this salad:
Carrot-Kale-Rabe in Avocado Vinaigrette
with Cilantro, Cumin, and Lime**
For the salad:
1 bunch young kale (without large ribs)
Large handful broccoli rabe
2 carrots (white and yellow are especially pretty)
For the dressing:
2 tablespoons chopped cilantro
1 teaspoon ground cumin
2 teaspoons brown sugar
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
1/8 teaspoon medium-grind black pepper
2 tablespoons brown rice vinegar
2 tablespoons lime juice with lime zest
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
½ avocado
Place all ingredients except the oil in a blender, puree until smooth. With blender on puree slowly add oil until combined. Taste and correct seasonings.
Wash and drain greens and tear into pieces--or, if you want to be fancy about it, slice into large rectangles. Cut carrots into 1/4 inch half-moons and steam.
Combine salad with half the dressing. Add more dressing as needed.
The dressing is quite thick and also works beautifully as a dip for steamed artichokes or asparagus.
*True. Loaded with nutrients. But don't let that stop you.
**This all began with a delicious kale salad with avocado vinaigrette I tasted at Whole Foods. I found a wonderful recipe created by chef Matthew Pneuman online: http://www.gourmetsleuth.com/recipe_cilantrocumin.htm., which I then adapted since a) I wanted to use the avocados from Brokaw Farms I had on hand, rather than avocado oil; b) A lovely brown rice vinegar has been calling to me from my counter while I've reached past it for the red wine or balsamic; and c) I have yet to develop an affection for white pepper.
©2009, 2013, 2014 Laynie Tzena.
Just a Little
So let's talk about matzo.
Do I love matzo? Not especially. Although I do love egg matzo and onion matzo.
But the plain variety? Not unless it's under some charoset. I am not a huge fan of matzo brei.* I know it's traditional. So are corsets.
Still, remember the following:
a) You've eaten worse. I was once at a friend's house and she served aduki bean and miso soup. I later came to love miso soup, but at the time I said, "I am eating this because you are my friend."
b) You only have to do it for a week.
and perhaps most importantly,
c) People! Why do you think those perforations are there? Have a tiny piece. Put John Lagier's amazing almond butter on it.
After that piece, break off another and put this on it:
Apple-Almond-Miso Spread (adapted from Cookin' Healthy
with One Foot Out the Door, by Polly Pitchford and Delia Quigley):
4 parts apple butter (I like Eden, which is just apples)
2 parts roasted almond butter (Lagier, if you can get it; Massa Organics is also great)
1 part miso (During Pesach, use brown rice miso or white rice miso)
Blend and add water to taste. Keeps well in the refrigerator for about a week.
Also, nowhere in the Haggadah does it say you may not eat scrambled eggs with green garlic and basil, with asparagus and brown rice or sweet potatoes on the side. So I hope that wasn't more kvetching about breakfast I just heard.
*I had a conversion experience at the Jewish Community Center of San Francisco, assisted by Frank London and Lorin Sklamberg of the (fabulous) Klezmatics, along with their esteemed colleague (and world-class singer and storyteller) the late, lamented Adrienne Cooper, during their “Esn: A Shabbat Concert with Cooking" show on February 11, 2011. Here's what I remember of that fateful night:
They needed a matzo brei taster.
I raised my hand.
And children, that was all it took. Frank's was savory, and yummy. Lorin's was light and fluffy, like an omelette. Also divine. And Adrienne's had a wonderful fruit compote that was out-of-this-world.
So. I now love matzo brei. In fact, I'm making some new recipes and will post them if you insist.
©2009, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2015 Laynie Tzena.
Do I love matzo? Not especially. Although I do love egg matzo and onion matzo.
But the plain variety? Not unless it's under some charoset. I am not a huge fan of matzo brei.* I know it's traditional. So are corsets.
Still, remember the following:
a) You've eaten worse. I was once at a friend's house and she served aduki bean and miso soup. I later came to love miso soup, but at the time I said, "I am eating this because you are my friend."
b) You only have to do it for a week.
and perhaps most importantly,
c) People! Why do you think those perforations are there? Have a tiny piece. Put John Lagier's amazing almond butter on it.
After that piece, break off another and put this on it:
Apple-Almond-Miso Spread (adapted from Cookin' Healthy
with One Foot Out the Door, by Polly Pitchford and Delia Quigley):
4 parts apple butter (I like Eden, which is just apples)
2 parts roasted almond butter (Lagier, if you can get it; Massa Organics is also great)
1 part miso (During Pesach, use brown rice miso or white rice miso)
Blend and add water to taste. Keeps well in the refrigerator for about a week.
Also, nowhere in the Haggadah does it say you may not eat scrambled eggs with green garlic and basil, with asparagus and brown rice or sweet potatoes on the side. So I hope that wasn't more kvetching about breakfast I just heard.
*I had a conversion experience at the Jewish Community Center of San Francisco, assisted by Frank London and Lorin Sklamberg of the (fabulous) Klezmatics, along with their esteemed colleague (and world-class singer and storyteller) the late, lamented Adrienne Cooper, during their “Esn: A Shabbat Concert with Cooking" show on February 11, 2011. Here's what I remember of that fateful night:
They needed a matzo brei taster.
I raised my hand.
And children, that was all it took. Frank's was savory, and yummy. Lorin's was light and fluffy, like an omelette. Also divine. And Adrienne's had a wonderful fruit compote that was out-of-this-world.
So. I now love matzo brei. In fact, I'm making some new recipes and will post them if you insist.
©2009, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2015 Laynie Tzena.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
New Food, Part One
So it's Pesach (that's Passover) again, and that means new food for a week. Well, some of the usual contenders: fresh fruit, fresh vegetables, protein, chocolate. And the miracle that happens every year: This descendant of Lithuanian, German, and Polish Jews--Ashkenazim--suddenly becomes Sephardic.
It's a long story. The short version is: Rice and beans. Most Sephardic Jews eat legumes and rice during Pesach; most Ashkenazi Jews don't. If you want to learn more about this, look up kitniyot. See if you can stay awake during the debate. I'm cooking rice.
And not burning it, ever since some angel years ago taught me a simple method:
Fool-Proof Brown Rice:
1 cup brown rice, short- or long-grain
1-1/2 cups water or stock
Preheat the oven to 350°. Coat the inside of a pan with oil. I use olive oil. Rinse the rice in a strainer, and add the rice to the pan. Bring the water or stock to a boil, and pour the boiling liquid over the rice. Cover the pan, and place it on the middle rack of the preheated oven. Set the timer and go do something else for 25 minutes.
Which reminds me: Has anybody else been hearing in the news about how multi-tasking doesn't work and you can really only do one thing at a time, blah blah blah? Am I the only person to wonder if the researchers might be descended from, say, androids? Let's face it: Mothers have been multi-tasking since the beginning of recorded time. The clothes were in the dryer while Mom was getting dinner on the table and whipping up sandwiches for tomorrow, helping with homework, and maybe organizing the car pool. Never mind piano lessons and recitals, practices and games, haircuts, visits to the doctor and, if the family was lucky, a vacation to be organized as well. These things, or at least the planning for them, had to be done simultaneously or nobody would have gotten to school and then college and then graduate school where they could do a study and determine it couldn't be done.
Cooking is a wonderful combination of single-pointed focus (on measuring that rice, for example) and multi-tasking (the rice is in the oven while you're dicing an onion and mincing some herbs for another dish, choosing the greens for the salad and rinsing them in the colander, etc.). Text and context.
And speaking of that rice: Once the timer rings, check to see if the water or stock has disappeared and the grains are just starting to come away from the sides of the pan. If it's close, just turn off the oven and set the timer for another five minutes. Then check it again, and taste it to be sure.
So now you have rice--which, if you make it tonight and you are Jewish and celebrating Pesach, means you're Sephardic, too. Bienvenidos. Who knew?
Next time, a Pesach recipe or two. Maybe more about my mother. If she ever gets online, I'm toast--er, matzo.
©2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013 Laynie Tzena.
It's a long story. The short version is: Rice and beans. Most Sephardic Jews eat legumes and rice during Pesach; most Ashkenazi Jews don't. If you want to learn more about this, look up kitniyot. See if you can stay awake during the debate. I'm cooking rice.
And not burning it, ever since some angel years ago taught me a simple method:
Fool-Proof Brown Rice:
1 cup brown rice, short- or long-grain
1-1/2 cups water or stock
Preheat the oven to 350°. Coat the inside of a pan with oil. I use olive oil. Rinse the rice in a strainer, and add the rice to the pan. Bring the water or stock to a boil, and pour the boiling liquid over the rice. Cover the pan, and place it on the middle rack of the preheated oven. Set the timer and go do something else for 25 minutes.
Which reminds me: Has anybody else been hearing in the news about how multi-tasking doesn't work and you can really only do one thing at a time, blah blah blah? Am I the only person to wonder if the researchers might be descended from, say, androids? Let's face it: Mothers have been multi-tasking since the beginning of recorded time. The clothes were in the dryer while Mom was getting dinner on the table and whipping up sandwiches for tomorrow, helping with homework, and maybe organizing the car pool. Never mind piano lessons and recitals, practices and games, haircuts, visits to the doctor and, if the family was lucky, a vacation to be organized as well. These things, or at least the planning for them, had to be done simultaneously or nobody would have gotten to school and then college and then graduate school where they could do a study and determine it couldn't be done.
Cooking is a wonderful combination of single-pointed focus (on measuring that rice, for example) and multi-tasking (the rice is in the oven while you're dicing an onion and mincing some herbs for another dish, choosing the greens for the salad and rinsing them in the colander, etc.). Text and context.
And speaking of that rice: Once the timer rings, check to see if the water or stock has disappeared and the grains are just starting to come away from the sides of the pan. If it's close, just turn off the oven and set the timer for another five minutes. Then check it again, and taste it to be sure.
So now you have rice--which, if you make it tonight and you are Jewish and celebrating Pesach, means you're Sephardic, too. Bienvenidos. Who knew?
Next time, a Pesach recipe or two. Maybe more about my mother. If she ever gets online, I'm toast--er, matzo.
©2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013 Laynie Tzena.
Friday, April 3, 2009
It's all about Ed and Mollie
So here we go! With a big "Thanks" to Ed Brown and Mollie Katzen--Ed for Tassajara Cooking, where he said, "A recipe is a framework" and a whole world opened up, right in my kitchen; and Mollie, for those wonderful drawings in the Moosewood Cookbook, the welcoming voice on every page that said, "Dive in. Have fun!" and not only got me cooking but probably also got me started in creativity development. Because one of the best places to express your creativity is your very own kitchen.
In addition to cooking for friends and other loved ones, I've been a breakfast cook for a sorority house, a prep cook for a natural foods cafe, and a private chef.
My mother's a great cook, but she never said, "Do this. Don't do that." By the time I really started cooking, I was not only out of the house; I was across the country. (And long-distance calls were something you thought about first. "No, I can't hold on," you'd say to a receptionist. "This is long distance!").
Still, Mom has taught me many valuable lessons. Once, I found something rather firm in my soft-boiled eggs.
"Ma," I said, "There's a shell in the egg."
"No charge for the shell," she said.
Enough about eggs. Let's talk about oatmeal. I grew up with Quaker Oats. Great packaging, but these days I save rolled oats for cookies and oatmeal soup. For breakfast, I'll have steel cut oats, thank you. In fact, I had some this morning--the last of yesterday's batch. I reheated them with a bit of orange flower water. (You can get it at Middle Eastern markets; in San Francisco, you can get it and most of the ingredients below at Rainbow Grocery.) Sometimes I open the bottle of orange flower water on my counter just to smell it. It is straight heaven.
"Laynie's Morning Miracle":
2 tablespoons walnuts
1-2 tablespoons raisins (I like Thompson for this)
2 pieces dried fruit, diced (I like to use Deglet Noor dates and either a Bartlett pear, a Turkish apricot, or a Frog Hollow nectarine)
2 teaspoons dried orange peel*
Pinch cinnamon (if you don't use cinnamon often, try buying small amounts in bulk or buy cinnamon stick and grind it; you'll notice a big difference in flavor)
1-1/2 cup water
Pinch salt
1/2 cup steel cut oats
1 tablespoon raw wheat germ
Dry-roast the walnuts in a skillet. Place the raisins, orange peel, dried fruit, and cinnamon in a saucepan. Pour water over these and, when the water comes to a boil, add the salt. When it returns to the boil, stir in the steel cut oats. Simmer, covered, for 10-15 minutes (check after ten minutes to see that it doesn't get stuck to the bottom of the pan, if your pan is like mine). Once cereal is cooked, add the wheat germ to the skillet with the walnuts and gently toast. Then combine the walnut-wheat germ mixture with the cereal and serve. If you want to gild the lily, add some maple syrup.
*If you can't find dried orange peel where you live, just save the peels from organic or unsprayed oranges and tangerines you buy. When you have a half-dozen or so, preheat the oven to 250°, pull out a baking sheet and line it with parchment paper. Take a scissors and cut the peel into 1/4-1/2 inch squares. In no time at all (1/2 hr.-1 hr.), you'll have plenty of homemade dried orange peel, and your house will be filled with the loveliest fragrance.
©2009, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015 Laynie Tzena.
In addition to cooking for friends and other loved ones, I've been a breakfast cook for a sorority house, a prep cook for a natural foods cafe, and a private chef.
My mother's a great cook, but she never said, "Do this. Don't do that." By the time I really started cooking, I was not only out of the house; I was across the country. (And long-distance calls were something you thought about first. "No, I can't hold on," you'd say to a receptionist. "This is long distance!").
Still, Mom has taught me many valuable lessons. Once, I found something rather firm in my soft-boiled eggs.
"Ma," I said, "There's a shell in the egg."
"No charge for the shell," she said.
Enough about eggs. Let's talk about oatmeal. I grew up with Quaker Oats. Great packaging, but these days I save rolled oats for cookies and oatmeal soup. For breakfast, I'll have steel cut oats, thank you. In fact, I had some this morning--the last of yesterday's batch. I reheated them with a bit of orange flower water. (You can get it at Middle Eastern markets; in San Francisco, you can get it and most of the ingredients below at Rainbow Grocery.) Sometimes I open the bottle of orange flower water on my counter just to smell it. It is straight heaven.
"Laynie's Morning Miracle":
2 tablespoons walnuts
1-2 tablespoons raisins (I like Thompson for this)
2 pieces dried fruit, diced (I like to use Deglet Noor dates and either a Bartlett pear, a Turkish apricot, or a Frog Hollow nectarine)
2 teaspoons dried orange peel*
Pinch cinnamon (if you don't use cinnamon often, try buying small amounts in bulk or buy cinnamon stick and grind it; you'll notice a big difference in flavor)
1-1/2 cup water
Pinch salt
1/2 cup steel cut oats
1 tablespoon raw wheat germ
Dry-roast the walnuts in a skillet. Place the raisins, orange peel, dried fruit, and cinnamon in a saucepan. Pour water over these and, when the water comes to a boil, add the salt. When it returns to the boil, stir in the steel cut oats. Simmer, covered, for 10-15 minutes (check after ten minutes to see that it doesn't get stuck to the bottom of the pan, if your pan is like mine). Once cereal is cooked, add the wheat germ to the skillet with the walnuts and gently toast. Then combine the walnut-wheat germ mixture with the cereal and serve. If you want to gild the lily, add some maple syrup.
*If you can't find dried orange peel where you live, just save the peels from organic or unsprayed oranges and tangerines you buy. When you have a half-dozen or so, preheat the oven to 250°, pull out a baking sheet and line it with parchment paper. Take a scissors and cut the peel into 1/4-1/2 inch squares. In no time at all (1/2 hr.-1 hr.), you'll have plenty of homemade dried orange peel, and your house will be filled with the loveliest fragrance.
©2009, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015 Laynie Tzena.
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