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.

Hidden Treasure

Remember that guy you met, who didn’t make your heart go pitter-patter until you spent some time together, and then suddenly you saw all kinds of qualities in him?

That same experience can happen when you’re cooking.  As we observed with a less-than-glamorous orange way back when (http://cookwithlaynie.blogspot.com/2010/05/what-little-minneola-can-do-hymn-in.html), all is not lost when our fruited friend isn’t what we were expecting. 

To wit:  What do you do when that pear that looked so pretty at the market proves to be a little mealy? 

Pop it in a ramekin (you can slice it first, if you want), pour a little orange flower water over it--

“Orange what?”

Orange flower water.   https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orange_flower_water

--then add some cinnamon, a bit of vanilla, cover the ramekin with foil and heat at 350 degrees for 15-20 minutes.

 Try it with end-of-season peaches, too.  Simply wonderful.  Just like some people we could mention.

©2016 Laynie Tzena.

 

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.

It's Not Me, Cupcake, It's You

When I moved to San Francisco my friend Heather said, “Muffins on every corner. God forbid they should put in a hardware store.”

In recent years, as you may have noticed, it has been all about cupcakes. Now, I'm in favor of just about every combination of flour and sugar. But I got tired of cupcakes quite a while ago.

And now for some very good news: A little birdie says America has finally had enough cupcakes, and we're about to see really good bagels on every corner.

Sorry, no. But almost as good—and on a day like today, maybe even better: we are apparently about to get a whole lot more ice cream sandwiches. Pinch me. http://www.entrepreneur.com/slideshow/229839?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+entrepreneur%2Flatest+%28Entrepreneur%29#7

©2013 Laynie Tzena.

It's the Little Things In Life

You love sardines? Great. Me, too. 

What’s that? Can’t abide ’em?  No problem. There is never a shortage of other things to read. Come back in time for dessert.

You say the coast is clear? It’s just us sardine-lovers now? Okay, great. You have to try this.   

Yesterday I was walking down the street, or maybe up the street, and realized that sardines + kalamata olive oil + borage (no, not borax, silly, borage, the herb) = pate from heaven. I looked online today. Found a couple of interesting entries. Here’s my version:

Pate A la Sunday

1 can water-packed sardines
Pinch fresh borage (or use oregano)
Pinch Italian (flat-leaf) parsley
1 tablespoon walnuts
1 green onion
1 lemon or 2 Meyer lemons
2 tablespoons Amoretti kalamata olive oil (or use your favorite olive oil and chop a couple of kalamata olives and add them)
1 tablespoon butter
Pinch smoked paprika (or use cracked red pepper and regular paprika)
Pinch salt
Pinch freshly-ground black pepper

Toast walnuts and chop them. Mince onion. Juice and zest lemon or Meyer lemons. Place all ingredients in food processor. Taste and correct seasonings as necessary.

Spread on some whole-grain bread, on a cracker, on some leftover matzo, on your sweetheart’s arm--it is straight heaven. (No, not your sweetheart’s arm, the pate. Yes, I know your sweetheart is wonderful.  Well, I don’t know for sure, but I’ll take your word for it.)

©2013 Laynie Tzena.

In Other News, Toothpaste Is Applied With A Brush

My new dental floss comes with an instruction manual. Okay, it’s just one page. Okay, it’s a little piece of paper that sits behind the floss in the container. It says, “Tips for use.” Maybe they hide it behind the floss in the package so it doesn’t scare you.  “Uh-oh. This could be difficult.”

But I thought I’d better read it. I usually take that approach. I read people’s t-shirts while we’re waiting in line. 

The one-page, “We’re too cheap to pay to print something impressive” manual—which is the way my mother pronounces the name of the guy they just hired—

“No, Mom, you don’t say, ‘Man-u-el.’ It’s ‘Mon-well,’” I explain.

 “Uh-huh."

Anyway, there’s a little picture of someone playing  “Cat’s Cradle,” then a closeup of somebody’s teeth, which someone else is giving a thumbs-up—

What? That’s how you floss? You thread the ribbon between your teeth? And all this time I’ve been winding it around the doorknob and hoping for the best. (On the plus side, we now have a cat. He took a look and said, “Hey, my kind of people!”)

The piece of paper is not done talking. The next thing it says is, “Why Should I Floss?” 

Now, here’s where I got stuck. No, not stuck on what those words mean in English. My reading skills are right up there with yours (or else you’re not reading this, so who needs you?). But the question stopped me.

Because last I checked, no one makes you buy dental floss. No one comes up to you while you’re reading about how embarrassed Gwyneth Paltrow was that when she went au naturel under that dress there was just a little too much nature showing and says, “You don’t _have_ to buy the floss, of course, but Freddie here thinks it would be a really good idea.”

No. It’s just there, in its various forms, including the ones without mint that people buy for some reason. If you’re going to have to floss, you might as well have some flavor, is my view. 

It says, “You want me? Fine. You don’t want me.  Fine.” If the floss were human, while you looked it over it would be doing its nails.

So wouldn’t you think that by the time you're—you should excuse the expression—forking over your seventeen dollars for the small package, you would have made the commitment? You would be among those who didn’t need to be told why flossing might be a good idea?

Unless it’s like those other products they assume one person is buying for another?

Life is so confusing these days.

©2013 Laynie Tzena.