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.
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