What a Little Minneola Can Do: Grace Notes

Part Four:  In Which Zingerman's Makes Its Long-Awaited Appearance

Note:  Once upon a time, there was a post called "What a Little Minneola Can Do."  It was more than one or two sentences in length, and rumor had it* that some people don't like to read.  Thus became "What a Little Minneola Can Do:  A Hymn in Three Parts."  This worked out fine, except for the fact that the section with Zingerman's was left on the cutting-room floor (by accident; nobody ever leaves anything from Zingerman's on purpose).

To find the earlier parts, just look on the right side of the blog, and select, yes, "minneolas."  Enjoy!

We now bring you the rest of the story.

Years ago I was lucky enough to live in Ann Arbor, home of the beloved Fleetwood Diner and Zingerman's.

Don't get me started on Zingerman's. I will just say two things:

1. They used to have a policy where, if you tasted a cheese anywhere in the world, they would get it for you.

2. Ari, the genius who created the place, put on vinegar tastings. Vinegar tastings. So I learned about all kinds of vinegar, and I learned the two-to-one rule (two parts oil, one part acid) I still use [though now people say three parts oil because they are sissies], and a bit of good mustard to bind it. (Dijon is great, but so is stone-ground. Fallot makes a great basil mustard. Creole is wonderful.)

Wait. Did you say 'acid' just now?

Acid. That's the function of the other parent ingredient in a vinaigrette. Once you think of it that way, you realize how many possibilities there are: Lemon juice, lime juice, Meyer lemon juice, orange juice. Just remember if you use Meyer lemon or orange you'll have to find a way to amp up the tartness.

Back to vinegar: Don't cut corners here. Get really good ones--a good cabernet vinegar, like Kimberley, a real balsamic, a good apple cider vinegar, a sherry vinegar. They last a long time.

Ditto with oils. True, their shelf life is shorter than vinegars, but if you buy the ones you love you use them up before they turn. Walnut oil is heaven. So is sesame oil. Peanut oil is good for some things. There are many, many oils on the market. Here's what's in my kitchen: Olive oil, canola oil, safflower oil (when either the canola or safflower runs out, I won't replace it since I use them interchangeably), walnut oil, raw sesame oil, toasted sesame oil, and peanut oil.

What's that you say? You just need olive oil. And it's really good for you.

Yes, olive oil is wonderful. I use it all the time. But do you eat olives with everything? You do? Wow. Well, for those who don't, keep a canola or safflower oil on hand when you want something more unobtrusive.

Which is why those bottled dressings are so odd. What relation do they have to what's going into the salad? That's how you choose the dressing! So make your own. Save money, and really taste your food.

*Good news, writers and readers!  This rumor has since been disproven.  People actually love to read.  Always have and, God willing, always will.

©2017 Laynie Tzena.  All Rights Reserved.

What a Little Minneola Can Do, Part Three

Part Three: Bringing It All Back Home, or
There's Got to Be A Recipe Here Somewhere

Thought for the day: Why not approach preparing food as you would getting dressed? Choose the combination you like best this time around.

Remember that orange you were about to toss? (See “Hello, Gorgeous!") Say you've also got some spinach and leftover roast chicken on hand.

Here's what I'd do:

Ze oil: A teaspoon canola or safflower oil, a teaspoon sesame oil (sesame oil has a strong flavor, so the canola or safflower mellows it out a bit).

Ze acid: A teaspoon of Minneola juice.

Ze supporting actors: A smidgen of stoneground mustard, a pinch of salt, a pinch of freshly-ground mixed peppercorns, a bit of minced onion (shallot, scallion, purple onion--just make it very little pieces so it doesn't dominate your salad). And a splash of sherry vinegar. Whisk together.

Slice the orange and add to the bowl with the dressing. Toss, and refrigerate.

Warm the chicken a bit. Leave the skin on and decide to eat one less cookie tonight.

Now carve slices of the roast chicken, or just cut it into chunks. Rinse and dry the spinach. Take the marinated orange out of the refrigerator and let it sit for a minute so it's not ice cold. Add the chicken and spinach and toss. (Idea for next time: Toss it with asparagus and pasta or basmati rice and fresh peas, instead of making a salad.) Arrange on a nice plate, especially if you're eating solo. What is this leaning over the sink? Please sit down. Put on some music.

 

©2010, 2014, 2015 Laynie Tzena.  All Rights Reserved.

What a Little Minneola Can Do, Part Two

Complete This Sentence: _______ is the Spice of Life.

A few years ago I was introduced to the Santa Rosa plum. We hit it off immediately.

What I love about the Santa Rosa plum is that it's not just sweet. It has sweetness, to be sure, but its flavor is also deep, full-bodied.

And the kumquat! I'd only seen kumquats on the edges of plates, looking pretty, but one day I was curious and bit into one. Yowza! The outside is sweet, the inside, tart. It's a vacation for your mouth.

Food surprises you. The best artists do that. Like some of my favorite musicians--Bela Fleck, for example--who don't just play one kind of music. Check out what Mark O'Connor is doing for music education: teaching kids to play violin in all different genres, from Day One of their studies. Hats off! That's what'll save us in the end: the people who can see there's more than one way to do things, more than one way to see things.

And what's the best laboratory for this experiment, this question of, "What else tastes good to me? And what do I mean by 'tasting good'? What else could I try?"

Where did I taste my first Santa Rosa plum?

The farmers' market.

No, I don't get a commission. As I may have mentioned, life is unfair.

But come to think of it, my commission is the opportunity to taste, week after week, all over town, flavors I've never tasted before (along with some old favorites).

Tasting blackberries last year, the tartness of some didn't seem odd or wrong, something to be rejected, but just a different flavor--a different note on the scale, you could say.

Fast forward to the other night. I wanted a nosh. Had a minneola in the fruit bin. Cut it open, and boy, was that tart! (It was probably following a cookie. And I later remembered minneolas come from a mixed marriage and looked it up: half grapefruit.) But my first thought, after "What?" was "That's a really bright flavor." And I started thinking of ways to use it.

So back to your orange. Taste it. Is this really a bad orange, or just an orange that's heavier on texture than juice?

Let's assume this orange is a fleshy orange. Use it. Work it. We all know how to highlight the best qualities in something and camouflage the less-than-fabulous. Women do it with makeup. Men do it with facial hair.

Next time: Where Does Salad Dressing Come From?

©2010, 2014, 2015 Laynie Tzena.

What a Little Minneola Can Do: A Hymn in Three Parts

Hello, Gorgeous!

Tragedy has struck. The orange you've just sliced open is a bit dry. I see someone reaching for it and heading to the garbage.

But what's this? At the last minute, the orange is rescued. Because the cook (that's you, standing at the sink or in front of your refrigerator, making decisions) realized that that is the absolute perfect orange--for a different dish.

I came to understand this last year when I had some romano beans that were a bit down on their luck. End of the season. Kind of dry.

Suddenly I saw my tall, good-looking blender, and realized that romano beans + some of the water from steaming them (excuse me, "vegetable broth") + sauteed onions and garlic . . .

The same texture that made the beans less than thrilling on their own gave the soup a wonderful body. The new soup was like split pea on steroids. I can't wait to make it again.

But the credit really goes to the Santa Rosa plum. And the kumquat.

Stay tuned.

Next Time: A Vacation for Your Mouth, or What Is This, Anyway?

©2010, 2014, 2015 Laynie Tzena.