A Few Dates Later

Dear Love at First Bite:

Well, Excuse Me, Ms. Oh-So-Nouveau at Passover Time, but I thought charoses was supposed to remind us of, you know, slavery, building pyramids with bricks (that's what the apples are for--and yes, I know some people use dates.  [Sigh.]) and mortar (that would be the walnuts) and the blood, sweat, and tears that went into doing that work (that's what the wine is for), but what do I know?  I guess out on the West Coast anything goes--but strawberries and blueberry jam?  Really?  Sounds like fruit compote or pie filling to me.

Fan of Tradition

Dear FOT:

Thank you for sharing.  The great thing about charoset, which is how it's often spelled these days, is that you can put in pretty much whatever you want, especially in my kitchen. You do need something to symbolize the bricks (that's what the strawberries were doing) and mortar (that's why the banana was involved) and something to bind them together (that's where the blueberry jam came in), preferably with a little juice to symbolize the blood, sweat and tears you mentioned.  (Saw them years ago at the Fillmore East.  Awesome.)

Should I tell you about the amazing charoset at Rosa Mexicano the other night with coconut?  (Also starring almonds, dates, tangerines, pomegranate seeds, and rose apples.)   Maybe not.

Anyhoo, below is another newbie you might appreciate. 

Citrus, Walnut, and Oh, Those Dates! Charoset:

A couple of soft dates (like Medjool), pits removed
A few firmer dates (like Deglet Noor and dried Yellowtail Medjool), pits removed
3 organic kumquats (sweet rind, tart center)
1 large and three small organic sweet kumquats
A healthy handful of walnuts, chopped
1/4 organic lemon
Ground ginger
Cinnamon

Chop dates and, if you can, mash the Medjool.  Slice the kumquats, rind and all, and remove the seeds, chop into small pieces, reserving the liquid.  Combine everything (yes, that includes the kumquat juice) in a bowl and squeeze the lemon over the mixture.  Grate the lemon zest into the bowl.  Toast the walnuts and add them, then sprinkle the ground ginger and cinnamon over all and mix.  

Enjoy!

Oh, and FOT:  Just between you, me, and the NSA:  Anytime you combine fruit with nuts and some kind of liquid, you are dancing in the neighborhood of fruit compote.  And would this be yummy inside the right pie?  Sure.  But not this week.  So here's a piece of matzo.  Try it.
©2014, 2015 Laynie Tzena. 

Old and New Friends

Make new friends, but keep the old.

One is silver, and the other, gold.

--Author unknown

The lure of the distant and difficult

is deceptive.  The great opportunity

is where you are.

--John Burroughs

Hello, brown bowl.  Brown, shimmery bowl.  You might as well wear a tag saying, "Stoneware."  You've been sitting patiently under the beige bowl with the blue rim and above the blue-and-white one that rarely sees the light of day, even though it, too, is very pretty.

It's true.  I reach for the Pyrex most of the time.  Like to see what I'm doing.  But today, making a brand-new charoset with strawberries in it, I reached for you.

* * *

Isn't it always the way?  We reach for the familiar or try to get that person we think is swell to see, finally see that we are alive.

"Hi!" we say.  "It's me!", all but jumping up and down like puppies.

But one day, for some unknown reason, we wake up and say, "Hey!  What about the brown bowl?  Let's try that."

And it's perfect, and claims its place in our life.

We do, nonetheless, keep our friends.  We just expand the circle a bit.  It's a big world, you know.

Have some charoset.  Put it in a bowl you wouldn't ordinarily use.  It's Passover, after all.  Escape from the narrow places.  Try some new things.

Strawberry-Blueberry-Banana-Pecan Charoset:

Half a dozen organic strawberries
Half a banana, or more, to taste
Handful of organic pecans*
1-2 teaspoons of that Reddington Ridge Farm wild blueberry jam 
your friend brought back from Maine** (Thanks, Helen!)
A couple shakes of cinnamon
Pinch of salt
Squeeze of lemon (optional)

Toast the pecans and chop them.  Slice the fruit or, if you want to make cleanup super-easy, use scissors.  Combine everything but the blueberry jam in that beautiful and so rarely used bowl, then add jam to taste.  Sprinkle with cinnamon.  If you want to make it it a bit less sweet (or just like how lemon brings flavors together), squeeze a quarter of a lemon over the charoset and stir it again.

Enjoy!

*If you use the little pieces of pecan lounging towards the bottom of the bag, you'll be right in line with today's program, as they're not as snazzy-looking as the whole ones.  Plus, you'll have a lot less chopping to do.

**"Do you have any extra jam?"

Yes.  How soon can you get here?

"Is the blueberry jam Kosher for Passover?"

No, it is not.  If you want to leave out the jam, just add some more banana, a couple of dates, or some honey.

©2014, 2015 Laynie Tzena.

Tuxedo Under Raincoat, or Listen to Jim: Anthropology for Foodies

I was at the Farmers' Market the other day, eyeing some especially good-looking Lisbon lemons Twin Girls Farms had on offer.

"Do you have any Meyer lemons?" somebody asked.

"Sorry, no," came the reply.

And she passed right over those Lisbons.

Now, I think Meyer lemons are out of this world. Some people have Meyer lemon trees in their very own backyards. Lucky ducks. I have a fruit tree, too, with figs so beautiful they could make you cry, so full you know they will burst any minute. But those figs, like the tree that is their very own display rack, belong to my landlord, and I wouldn't dream of touching them.

Because once upon a time I had a (fill in adjective here) neighbor who was growing something I have blocked out of memory. (I was growing black peppermint and perpendicular carrots* at the time, since you asked, and rosemary that is now approximately the size of those items so popular during the month of December.)

I mentioned to my neighbor, in passing, that I had tasted a strawberry or whatever it was and he should feel free to have some mint and rosemary and perhaps a perpendicular carrot, too, and next thing you know Mr. Wonderful had written in red, on a piece of wood that he had thoughtfully nailed to the garden wall, a note informing me that he had taken something of mine from the garden in restitution, and then I believe he shared with me and whomever else happened to be reading the garden wall at the time some actions he was considering.

Fortunately, our paths never crossed after that because a) he was on another floor; and b) I avoided him like the plague. And then one day he moved to another state and I could go into the backyard again.**

Praise the Lord.

At any rate: I was tempted to ask the nice lady shopping at the Farmers' Market if she had ever heard of oranges or mandarins (which we in New Jersey always called "tangerines," but I digress). Because I wanted to tell her what I realized sometime last year: a lemon--say, one of those fine Lisbon lemons that was languishing right in front of her very eyes) + an orange or an orange relative = (pretty much) 1 Meyer lemon.

I kept my mouth shut.

Reminded me of the times I've been at Whole Foods and they've had one of their fabulous half- or whole salmon sales. We're talking beautiful fish here. And someone comes up to the counter and asks for the $49/lb. salmon filet. And I ask what they're planning to do with the fish.

They are putting a sauce on it.

This is a bit like putting a raincoat on a tuxedo and not removing it for the entire evening. (The raincoat. If you are in the habit of taking off your tuxedo in the middle of the festivities, I cannot help you.)

But as my mother likes to say, "As long as they're happy."

While I am at the fish counter I do (gently) lobby for people to split the half- or whole salmon with me, though. That's a lotta salmon.

And now, back to Pesach.

Maroo-Cashew Charoset:

¼ cup Maroo raisins (or pour boiling water over Thompson raisins and plump for about 10 minutes)
2-3 dates (at least one Medjool and one Deglet, which is a bit dryer)
3 kumquats
2 tablespoons raw cashews
1 blood orange
1 lemon
1 slice ginger root, peeled and minced; or a pinch of ground ginger
Sesame seeds (unless you’re off kitniyot*** this week)

Preheat oven to 250 degrees. Plump raisins, if not Maroo. Place cashews on cookie sheet and toast (or dry roast them in a cast iron skillet), then chop. Chop dates into small pieces. Slice kumquats in half and remove seeds, chop without removing rind, and add to dates and raisins. Cut blood orange and lemon in half. (Reserve the unused half of each.) Juice the half-blood orange and half-lemon, then remove the zest from them. Add the toasted cashews and zest to the fruit mixture, along with the fresh or ground ginger. Now add the blood orange and lemon juice, toss, and taste. If needed, juice the remaining blood orange and lemon and add to the charoset. Toast sesame seeds, place atop charoset, and serve.

*There is nothing like growing your own carrots to give you enormous respect for the well-formed versions found at the Farmers' Markets and the store.

**I've had lots of neighbors in the 20-plus years I've lived here. Many have become friends. Some have been memorable: a couple that seemed to be practicing modern dance--until the police came; the woman who audibly enjoyed her boyfriend. But Mr. Wonderful does stand out. Rumor has it he is now in the South. I imagine him living in Flannery O'Connor's old neighborhood.

***What’s “kitniyot”? Among other things, sesame seeds. Honey, you could always look it up, you know.

Wait. What do you mean "Listen to Jim"?

I asked my friend Jim at the Farmers' Market if he thought it was funny when people would tell him their orders each time, week after week, given that they usually ordered the same exact thing.

He said, "You really want to know what I think?"

"Yeah," I said.

Somebody else might have looked around to see if anybody else could hear him. Not Jim. He just smiled and said, "People are weird about food."

©2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015 Laynie Tzena.

Do Your Own Dance

So it's Pesach ("Passover," in English), and that means letting go of the usual food. For those of us who start our days with hot cereal, half the time (steel cut oats, for me; look for my favorite version at "It's All About Ed and Mollie" on this very blog), it's quite a ride. It really is something to see how you feel when your favorite foods are suddenly gone. It can throw you a bit, but it's also very freeing.

More good news. There is something called charoset that was apparently invented not just to symbolize the bricks and mortar from way back when we were in the construction business, but also to help people today get through this particular week.

Here's a version of charoset I came up with in my kitchen. Try this once, and then do your own dance. Maybe you'll use apricots instead of the persimmons, almonds or pistachios instead of the hazelnuts. Whatever you do, make it delicious, and make it yours.

Cinnamon Orange Persimmon Charoset:

2 dried whole persimmons
2 Medjool or 4 Derrie dates
1 navel orange*
¼ cup walnuts
¼ cup hazelnuts
1 lime
½ teaspoon Vietnamese cinnamon**
Cocoa powder

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Place walnuts and hazelnuts on cookie sheet and toast (or dry roast them in a cast iron skillet), then chop them. Chop persimmons and dates. Slice orange in half; remove white pith and membrane, so you have sections.

Now cut those orange sections into little, tiny pieces, squeezing them a little as you go, so they dissolve a bit. Place oranges in bowl with persimmons and dates. Using a microplane or a zester (or you could always use a grater; just keep those Band-Aids handy), remove outer peel (called zest) from orange and lime, and add to the oranges, persimmons, and dates. Add the chopped nuts, Vietnamese cinnamon, and a pinch of cocoa powder. Juice the lime, add to the charoset, toss and serve.

*If the navel orange is dry, just add a bit of fresh orange juice or red wine to the charoset at the end. You could also use a Murcott or even a Minneola.

**If you don't have Vietnamese cinnamon, use either really fresh cinnamon or heat the one that's been sitting in the cupboard in a dry skillet for a few minutes to add more flavor.

©2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015 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.