Mostarda di Rogue Valley

The signs that spring has sprung are everywhere out here in Southern Oregon. The warm sun melts the frosting-like snow glazing the Syskiyous. Knock kneed calves suckle from their momma’s teets and wobble around the pastures as though they’re on stilts, baby lambs and kids graze on the fresh green grass, pregnant buds are ready to burst forth from the trees. But it’s March, a typically fickle month almost anywhere in the Northern Hemisphere and tomorrow it might just snow. But I know spring is just about here and before long the farmers markets will be bursting with the Rogue Valley’s bounty. And I can’t wait…

I’ve decided to stick around for a while. Jessie, my Caribbean cheese making friend, and I have moved into a great little house right in the heart of downtown Ashland. Our humble little abode is just a few blocks from the Ashland Food Co-op, farmers market and the food mecca that is downtown. And, since I’m not working 100-hours a week, I feel like I’m practically on vacation – and Jessie and I are getting into plenty of trouble in the kitchen.

As I write this, Jessie is patiently stirring a pot of whole milk, bringing it up to temperature for a batch of lemon-blood orange farmers cheese to pair with the homemade mostarda jam and blood orange marmalade that I just made today, and the loaf of rye bread that’ll be ready to bake off tomorrow. Jessie’s being a little mopey though, I think she’s disappointed that she didn’t get to milk the cows herself, but desperate times call for desperate measures and we were having a cheese making attack so we settled for an $8.00 per 1/2 gallon bottle of Straus Family Creamery Organic Whole Milk. If you have to buy pasteurized milk from the grocery store for home cheese making, Straus is definitely the way to go (but ouch, what a price tag!). She did find a source for raw cows milk, but it’s a ways from here – so we may go pick some up after hitting the Grants Pass farmers market this weekend. Jess has promised that we would make fresh mozzerella together. Life back on land has its adjustments…

Blood Orange Marmalade

Mostarda is a traditional condiment served with bollito misto (boiled meats) in Northern Italy. It’s made from several types of fresh or dried fruit that’s been almost candied in a combination of wine, mustard essence (sold at pharmacies in Italy, it’s so pungent it will literally burn your sinuses out if you smell it) and sugar. Sweet, pungent and spicy? sounds like chutney to me! What’s not to love? I’m not even sure when it was that I first tried mostarda, but I’ve been thinking about it for years now – and, oh, where would I be without Google?

I read several recipes for mostarda and decided to use Mario Battali's recipe for Mostarda di Cremona as my jumping off point. It is full of wonderful dried fruit; figs, apples, cherries, and apricots as well as prepared mustard and mustard seeds and lots of red wine. The recipe called for “prepared mustard”. Ever walk into a store and see a jar that just says “prepared mustard”? There are about 300 different mustards at my local Shop&Kart! So, I went for the Dijon, and a bottle of Nero D’avola wine. But the mostarda turned out too runny (which could have to do with the fact that I'm eagerly awaiting the moving truck from NYC with all of my cookbooks, cooking gadgets, etc. and don't even have a measuring cup at the moment) and I couldn’t imagine the dried fruit would really absorb all of the liquid it was sitting in. So I decided to cook the concoction down a bit, which made the sauce velvety and rich and softened the dried fruit, and then I added just a small amount of pectin.

Now that it’s jelled, it’s turned into a deep purple, deliciously winey jam with a nice, pungent bite from the mustard, lush and sweet from the chunks of dried fruit and a fresh bite here and there from the addition of a very under-ripe pear (as the original recipe specified). Ok, it's a break from tradition - but wow, is it ever good! The mostarda would be heaven with Jessie’s camembert or even one of the great blue’s she’s whipped up – except that I think I’ve eaten it all. Oops. I guess I’ll have to settle for the Finocchiona sausage from Salumi Salami in Seattle, and the fresh farmers curds we're making right now. I can’t wait to attempt a fresh fruit mostarda when the stone fruits start hitting the farm stands in the summer but I’ll have to find someone who can smuggle me the mustard essential oils from Italy. Mmmm, so many good things await…

Mostarda Jam di Rogue Valley
Adapted from Mostarda di Cremona by Mario Batali

Ingredients (this makes a big batch!)

8 dried mission figs, cut into 1/2 inch cubes
2 unripe pear, peeled and cut into 1/2 inch cubes
1 cup dried Turkish apricots, cut into 1/2 inch cubes
1 cup sundried cherries
1 cup dried apples, cut into 1/4 inch julienne
3 cups sugar
3 cups dry red wine
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
1 cup dijon mustard
1/2 cup mustard seeds
1/2 packet of Pomona’s Universal Pectin combined with monocalcium phosphate (included in the pectin box) and water (per directions)

Directions

In a saucepan, heat sugar and wine together until boiling. Lower heat and stir in mustard and seeds and add figs, pear, apricots, cherries, apples and pectin. Simmer gently until dried fruit just begins to soften and is beginning to plump,10 to 15 minutes. Add vinegar. Test jell by chilling a spoon in the freezer then drip a small amount of jam onto the cold spoon – it should jell, and will continue to thicken as it cools. Carefully ladle into sterilized 8 oz. jars and close. Allow to sit out overnight, refrigerate the next day (or eat!).

Curry: An Essay

"This curry was like a performance of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony that I'd once heard - especially the last movement, with everything screaming and banging 'Joy.' It stunned, it made one fear great art. My father could say nothing after the meal." ~Anthony Burgess


Curry, it’s a simple word, yet varied and complex in meaning and richly seeded in history, with roots in India but widely eaten throughout Southeast Asia, Africa and the Caribbean, curry’s influence can be seen all around the world! The word “curry” is an Anglicized word from the Tamil* word “kari,” meaning ‘sauce’ (Tamil is an ancient Indian language that’s existed for almost 2 millennia!). In its most generic form, ‘curry’ usually refers to any Indian spiced, stewed dish made of meat, fish or vegetables. The spice blends that make up curry are known as ‘masala’, the most commonly known being the bright yellow Indian-inspired curry powder found in the supermarket, containing heavy amounts of turmeric and cumin. Another more commonly known masala is ‘Garam Masala’, a spice blend commonly used in Northern India, consisting of a mix of sweet spices including cinnamon, cardamom and coriander among other things; and ‘Masala Chai’, a blend of sweet spices usually combined with black tea to make Chai tea. The range of spice blends that make up true masala are as diverse and wide ranging as the Asian subcontinent itself, as masala recipes vary from family to family and are often passed down through generations! Pretty neat, huh?

Indian cooking is really regional and there are so many different styles. Northern Indian cuisine uses yogurt, cream, ghee*, and other dairy products in their cooking. The dishes include meat and poultry, are mildly spiced, and accompanied by pilafs and a variety of breads such as paratha*, naan* and chapatti*. Southern Indian cooking includes vegetarian and fish dishes, uses pungent spices and coconut milk and are most commonly served with rice or rice combined with lentils to make pancakes, fritters or breads such as dosas*, uttapams* and vadas*. Southern Indian cuisine also tends to have a soupier consistency compared to the thicker, creamier dishes of the North.

Religion also plays an integral part in the regional food of India, as the country is the birthplace of two of the worlds great religions, Hinduism and Buddhism. Around 80 percent of the population is Hindu, while Muslims are the largest religious minority. Other religious groups include Sikhs, Christians, Buddhist, Jains, Parsees and Jews. Many Hindus, Buddhists and Jainists are strict vegetarians, in accordance with the ideal that they should avoid harm, violence and suffering. Which, in turn, has led to a rich and abundant array of vegan and vegetarian dishes that play an integral part of Indian culture. The Mughal Empire introduced goat and lamb and brought the influences of Persian and Mediterranean cuisine to the Indian table.

Since ancient times and the very beginnings of commerce, the spice trade has been an important commercial activity and played an integral role in the spread of Indian spices and flavors throughout the Orient and the West. Spices were considered rare and precious products, treasured for the medicinal uses as well as for use in perfumes, dyes and cooking. The spice trade, originally, was made up of a series of interconnected trade routes across the Asian continent, connecting East, South and Western Asia with the Mediterranean world, Europe and Africa. But, as marine transportation and navigational tools advanced, starting in the 15th Century, European explorers traveled the world by ocean in search of new trading partners and goods; spices being among one of the most prized trading goods, next to silver and gold!

With the development of maritime transportation and expansion of trade routes, also came the proliferation of religion - further expanding the influences of the Indian kitchen; not just into the cuisines of West brought home by early Christian missionaries, but in the cuisines of South East Asia as Buddhism made its journey southward.

At the crossroads of the East-West sea routes, Thailand and Indonesia were easily influenced by the cuisine of many other countries. And with an abundant supply of fish and seafood, as well as fruits and vegetables, the people took what was best from India, China and the Middle East and infused it with their indigenous ingredients to create a cooking style totally their own. Curry spices were combined with kefir, galangal and lemongrass and beaten to a paste. Ghee and diary products were replaced with coconut oil and coconut milk.

Driven by increased trade routes, Arab traders slowly converted Indonesia from Hindu to Muslim, adding new flavors and aromas to an already rich culinary landscape. Kebabs, a Middle-Eastern dish of marinated meats threaded onto a stick, becoming satay, goat and lamb became their staple meats. Chinese merchants made their own contribution to the South East Asian melting pot bringing with them the wok, and stir-frying, noodles and soybeans. And as the Dutch waged war over the Spice Islands, they too brought flavors from home importing carrots, cauliflower, cabbage and string beans, potatoes and corn, adding to an already diverse and plentiful array of vegetables.

The advent of slavery into Africa further expanded the influences of the Indian kitchen as Dutch traders brought slaves from India and South East Asia to do domestic work as well as work the fields. The slaves brought with them the flavors of their homeland, which quickly infused with the indigenous ingredients of African cuisine and eventually developed into a cuisine all its own.
In the quest for closer and cheaper places to find and grow spices, Europeans brought African slaves to the Caribbean. The warm climate mimicked that of India and became an ideal place to grow spices such as cinnamon, turmeric, nutmeg, cloves and ginger originally imported from Asia. With the abolishment of slavery, Europeans imported indentured workers from India, more cooking styles were introduced and a new cuisine was born, bred of the influences of the Anglo, African and Indian kitchens.

From curry-spiced chocolates to chai crème brulee, today, the far-reaching influences of India can hardly be missed. In the culinary capitals of London, Paris, New York and San Francisco, the world’s hottest chefs are quick to reach to the Indian pantry to add a taste of the exotic to even the most refined dishes. Though we may look at these embellishments as haute, modern and new, the pervasiveness of Indian spices in global cuisine is almost as old as cooking itself.

~ ~ ~

I’m really not sure at what point it was in my life that I became completely enthralled by curry. Was it as a child when my mom would make a thick, sweet and spicey yellow chicken curry served with bowls of chopped pineapple, shredded coconut, raisins and nuts to top it with? I’ve never seen curry served like that since, but it is one of my earliest happy food memories. Or was it when I first moved to New York City and my friend, Diane, took me for a gander down Curry Row on East 6th Street in the East Village where one could gorge themselves on curries, na’an and lassi’s at countless Christmas light adorned, tabla playing Indian restaurants for around $10? The going tale at the time was that all of the restaurants were actually serviced by one kitchen… Or was it the aromas of heaven that I smelled while interning at the upscale Indian restaurant, Devi? I’m not sure, but some of the best things in life are happy accidents and however it came about, I can now say that I am a loyal devotee of the Indian kitchen and its influences. I love the aroma of dozens of spices simmering together in a rich sauce; I savor the play of sweet, spicy and sour on my tongue, and the adore the fluffly, warm breads and crunchy papadams and chutneys.

In honor of my devotion to Annapurna, the Hindu goddess of food and cooking, I am holding a 3-day curry workshop at Alysson’s of Ashland in Ashland, Oregon! We’ll be exploring curries and how they’ve evolved from the Indian kitchen and spread all around the world.

February 28 – India
o Shrimp Vindaloo
o South Indian Lamb Curry
o Lemon Rice
o Lentil Dal with Fresh Ginger, Green Chiles and Cilantro
o Raita, Cilantro Chutney
o Mango Lassi

March 7 – Indonesia, Malaysia, Thailand
o Kao Soi – Chiang Mai Style Curry Noodles with Vegetables
o Indonisian Chicken Rendang
o Malaysian Hot and Sour Fish Curry
o Sambal Asam – Malaysian Chile Sauce
o Coconut Sticky Rice with Mango

March 14 – South Africa and the Caribbean
o Cape Malay Fish Biryani
o South African Butter Chicken
o “Doubles” – Trinidad Street Food, Flat Breads filled with Curried Chickpeas and Topped with a variety of Chutneys and Pepper Sauce
o Fresh Mango Chutney
o Tamarind Chutney

Quick Curry Powder:

3 Tablespoons Coriander Seeds
1 1/2 Tablespoon Cumin Seeds
1 Teaspoon Chili Flakes
1 teaspoon Fenugreek
1 Tablepoon Ground Turmeric

In a small sauté pan toast coriander, cumin, fenugreek and chili flakes until aromatic and just beginning to toast – about 4 minutes. Pour contents of pan into a spice grinder and add tumeric. Grind into a fine powder. Store in a tightly seeled jar for up to 6 weeks (it will last longer, but it will begin to lose it’s flavor).

All roads lead to the kitchen...

“WRU?” (where are you)

The text popped up on my cell phone just as I de-boarded the plane at Medford airport in Southern Oregon, my dad and step-mom waiting for me inside with my winter coat and gloves. The text was from my friend, Jessie. We’d met at a bar in Turks and Caicos two years earlier and spent a week, with another friend, Tress, singing karaoke and soaking up the sun.

Ok, correction (Jessie is forcing me to write this): I sang karaoke – Tress and Jessie said it was the worst they’d ever heard and were afraid I’d get us all kicked off the island. Apparently my rendition of “Killing Me Softly” wasn’t quite Lauren Hill-y enough.

But I digress.

Jessie had been living in Colorado when we first met, then she worked in St. Thomas for a while before heading up to a farm in British Columbia to learn about organic farming. Ah yes, someone as wayward and with as much wanderlust as me. We’ve kept in touch by emailing each other every few months or so to get the stats on where each other might be.

“Just landed in S O, U?”, I replied. “NW, M2! Where?”

It’s funny how life is sometimes, giving you just what you need, when you need it. As luck would have it, Jessie is now living near Medford and only about 5 minutes from my parents’ house, of all places, working as an amateur cheesemaker, vegan baker and babycaretaker. It was a totally unexpected, but much appreciated surprise…

Through Jessie, I was invited for beer and pizza at the home of some newly made friends.
I drove out through the winding back roads of Ashland, twisting and turning through the frozen, silvery fields and cow pastures, past barns and horses, cows and sheep and down a bumpy, unpaved road. In a converted yellow barn, a welcoming group gathered around the stove. The house smelled grainy and yeasty and warm. Pots brewed away – one with the beginning of a Heffeweisen, another containing what would soon become Pale Ale.

I knew that I’d found the coolest people in town when “beer and pizza” night meant brewing our own beer and making the pizzas from scratch!

Grains were "sparged"

and "malted"

and "mashed"

and "hopped"

Everyone had a task. Along with the Weissen and the Pale Ale would also be a Double Bock and a Blonde.

We drank sparkling dandelion wine made last summer, hard cider and plumb wine made last fall and beer made just a few weeks ago.

Jessie brought a wheel of goat Camembert she had whipped up in her kitchen, which we ate with bread made from the grain used to make beer, homemade hummus and homemade pita bread. I made a chicken liver pate and a smoked salmon pate – which I, naively, served with some store bought bread – blasphemy!




Jeff and Michelle, our totally awesome hosts, had made pizza dough and there were bowls full of toppings.

And, eventually, there was beer.

Cooking with friends, making everything from scratch, being close to the source - I'd say it was healing, if it weren’t so gluttonous!

Smoked Salmon Pate

8 oz. Smoked Salmon (preferably “hot” smoked), skin removed and meat flaked
8 oz. Cream Cheese, room temperature
1 shallot, minced
1 clove garlic, minced
1 Tablespoon Extra Virgin Olive Oil
1 Tablespoons prepared horseradish
1 Teaspoon fresh Rosemary, finely minced
1 teaspoon fresh Thyme, finely minced
1/2 teaspoon fresh ground pepper
Juice of half a lemon


Place salmon, shallot and garlic in food processor and process until finely minced. Add remaining ingredients and process into a smooth paste. It's best refrigerated overnight so the flavors make merry together. I serve it with rye crisps and slices of dark Danish rye bread…

They don't call me Cookie for nothing!

The sidewalk is a mosaic of pink and white cherry blossoms, bright colored tulips reach for the sky and the sun warms the earth after a long, long winter. Four weeks in anything below 85 degrees Fahrenheit constitutes a long, long winter, right? The sun is finally shining here in Seattle, and it couldn't come any sooner as I’ve been sticking my head under the food warmer at Taco Bell to meet my daily requirements of UV’s, and that is getting kind of messy.

Like an ant colony, the workers scurry around the yacht as the rush is on to get it in the water – and the rest of us pray for no further delays. With the installation date quickly approaching, it feels as if we are almost in the homestretch and the yacht is looking less like the inside of a factory and more like a mega-yacht as cabinetry is put in place, paneled walls are installed and floors are laid.

I walk through the galley with Hobbit. The cabinetry and appliances are all installed, it is finally looking like a real galley! We walk-in to the walk-in and with the compressors and fans in, it just doesn’t seem quite as large as it did – but who am I to complain? I have a walk-in! We discuss the plans for the shelving and take measurements and notes. A shelving builder from a restaurant supply company will be coming next week to help me hash-out and design the final details for the inside of the walk-in. As I stand with the Captain in the galley, the audio-video guy appears. I press him on whether there will be an iPod hook-up in the galley, to which he replies no. No time like the present to earn my nickname, so I bribe him with a batch of thick and chewy butterscotch-chocolate-chip cookies and macadamia-white-chocolate-chip cookies, and he dutifully promises that I’ll have an iPod dock in the galley.

Cookie’s Macadamia-White-Chocolate Chip Cookies

2 1/8 cups bleached all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
12 tablespoons unsalted butter (1 1/2 sticks), melted and cooled
1 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 large egg
1 large egg yolk
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 cup white chocolate chips
1 cup roasted & salted macadamia nuts, roughly chopped


Heat oven to 325 degrees. Mix flour, salt, and baking soda together in medium bowl; set aside. Whisk butter and sugars until thoroughly blended. Mix in egg, yolk, and vanilla. Add dry ingredients; mix until just combined. Stir in chips and nuts. Scoop out dough onto lined cookie sheets. I like to use the OXO Good Grips medium size cookie scoop (1 1/2 tablespoons) for scooping out a decent, medium size cookie (the little “scoop-ejector” wheel mechanism on the OXO doesn’t seem to break as easily as other brands do). The OXO small cookie dough scoop also works well for bite size cookies. I fit 12 cookies per baking sheet, using the medium scoop – and I get about 2 dozens cookies per batch. Bake cookies 12 – 14 minutes, turning once after 6 minutes. I tend to under-bake rather than over-bake, because I like a soft, chewy cookie.

Variations: Replace White Chocolate and Macadamias with 1 cup chocolate chips and 1 cup butterscotch chips for butter scotch cookies. For chocolate-white-chocolate chip cookies replace 1/2 cup flour with 1/2 cup dutch process cocoa powder and 2 cups white chocolate chips.

La Petite Mort

La Petite Mort – The exact French translation means “the small death”. According to Wikipedea, the French term is a reference to sexual orgasm and has generally been interpreted to describe the post-orgasmic fainting spells or unconsciousness some lovers experience. The entry concludes that studies using Positron Emission Tomography (PET) give some support to the experience of a small death: “to some degree, the present results seem to be in accordance with this notion, because female orgasm is associated with decreased blood flow in the orbitofrontal cortex, a part of the brain that is crucial for behavioral control.”

This is what happens to me every time another box of kitchen equipment arrives for the galley (about 3 times a day!). This isn’t to say that I have an orgasm every time I see a box labeled Cuisinart or Kitchen-Aid. But rather, my “small death” is more akin to cardiac arrest due to decreased blood flow to the heart associated with the fact that I have NO CLUE where I am going to put everything!

Nothing is in the yacht just yet, of course. Our “install” date is July 7. That’s when the installation of the furniture, artwork, etc. begins – and when I’ll be able to bring my equipment aboard and actually start organizing the galley. In the meantime, I need to test all my new equipment back at the crew house. But even the shelves I’ve set up there are beginning to sag from their load!

With Mrs. X so passionate about food, and Mr. X really wanting to make the crew happy (“whatever keeps Cookie sweet” is, apparently, the going motto for me), I’ve pretty much been met with zero resistance when it comes to purchasing lots of really cool, fun and spendy kitchen gadgets and appliances.

So, I’m probably one of the few people in the world that considers appliances “fun” but the VitaMix Vita-Prep, the Ferrari of kitchen blenders, is just that. Its high-octane, 357 horsepower engine makes silky-smooth, creamy purees out of almost any fruit or vegetable. The variable speed dial, with 10 different speeds, makes whipping up large batches vinaigrettes, smoothies and even hot soups a breeze because you don’t have to worry about things splattering or burning out the engine. The Breville Indoor BBQ/Grill/Panini Press, with 1500 watts of power and massive grill space, allows me to make 6 grilled cheese sandwiches at one time - a definite necessity! And, the 20-cup Cuisinart food processor and the Kitchen-Aid mixer with the pasta roller/cutter and food grinder attachments should keep me entertained for a little while. While the professional meat slicer will make quick work of the leg of proscutto that I’ll be hanging in the walk-in when we head down to the Cook Islands in the South Pacific, because Heaven knows I won’t be able to find a good proscutto down there! However, the real crowning jewel is the PacoJet ice-cream maker. At $3,500.00 it is on the pricey side – but compared to $35,000,000.00 price tag (I’m estimating here) of, say a GulfStream or LearJet – the PacoJet is a relative bargain. And, you can create an infinite array of “spun-to-order”, creamy, light sorbets and ice cream. Can a LearJet do that? I don’t think so.

Now this is what I call "manual" stimulation:

Hey, there's nothing to be ashamed of for using mechanical aids, sometimes a girl needs a little extra help!

Our captain LOVES making Belgian Waffles for the crew on our new All-Clad Belgain Waffle Maker!

After sampling several recipes, we decided the Yeasted Waffles recipe from CooksIllustrated is the very best. So, that's where this recipe is stolen from (thanks CooksIllustrated!).

Yeasted Waffles
Prep time: Make batter 12 to 24 hours in advance.

*Best served with maple syrup or Lyle's golden syrup, fresh whipped cream, berries and canned peaches!

Yield:
Seven 7-inch round or four 9-inch square waffles

1 3/4 cups whole milk , or low-fat milk, or skim milk
8 tablespoons unsalted butter , cut into 8 pieces
2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour (10 ounces)
1 tablespoon granulated sugar
1 teaspoon table salt
1 1/2 teaspoons instant yeast
2 large eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1. Heat milk and butter in small saucepan over medium-low heat until butter is melted, 3 to 5 minutes. Cool milk/butter mixture until warm to touch. Meanwhile, whisk flour, sugar, salt, and yeast in large bowl to combine. Gradually whisk warm milk/butter mixture into flour mixture; continue to whisk until batter is smooth. In small bowl, whisk eggs and vanilla until combined, then add egg mixture to batter and whisk until incorporated. Scrape down sides of bowl with rubber spatula, cover bowl with plastic wrap, and refrigerate at least 12 and up to 24 hours.

2. Following manufacturer’s instructions, heat waffle iron; remove waffle batter from refrigerator when waffle iron is hot (batter will be foamy and doubled in size). Whisk batter to recombine (batter will deflate). Bake waffles according to manufacturer’s instructions (use about 1⁄2 cup for 7-inch round iron and about 1 cup for 9-inch square iron). Serve waffles immediately or hold in low temperature oven (see above note).

The way to their hearts...

Indian Lemon Rice
Ginger Steamed Winter Greens (Mustard, Tuscan Kale and Swiss Chard)
Garam Masala Rubbed Sockeye Salmon with Tomato Chutney
Double Dark Chocolate Brownies

If ever there is a way to win over the hearts, minds and stomachs of new crewmembers, no matter what their nationality - it is through the cooking of Indian food. For some reason, the mere mention of the words “curry” or "masala" or "buryani" sends crew into ardent little fits. And, as for smell, it’s as if their noses are acutely attuned to detect curry from all the way down the dock! Perhaps it is the common thread of British ancestry that runs through the majority of yacht crew – South Africans, Aussies, Kiwis, et al – that has created this parity. To the early explorers and settlers that were reared on British food, the discovery of Indian spices must’ve been like a venerable panorama of color and flavor on a canvas of mushy peas and brown gravy. Reason enough to leave friends and family and loved ones, risk life and limb, sail uncharted territory and fight off beastly savages (and I should know)! Those crazy Brits weren’t just trying to make some kind of big land-grab, they were raping and pillaging the larders of the countries they conquered because they were bored with their cuisine and their spice racks were bare; hence, the heavy Indian influence in post-colonial cuisine extending from shores of North America all the way to the cape of South Africa to this very day!

Fortunately, I too have some trace ancestry tied to jolly old England. And, consequently, an affinity towards Indian food – both in preparing and consuming. Thus, I am quite excited that my Amazon box has arrived with my copy of Suvir Saran’s “American Masala” Cookbook. Having spent some time in the kitchen at DEVI in New York City, and considering the great reviews I have read about the book, my hopes are high. The book starts out well; some nice recipes for chutneys, Indian pickles and spice blends. However, as I finger my way through the pages, it becomes a bit incongruous and lacking and can’t quite hold my already limited attention span. With a name like “American Masala”, I expect fusion recipes. Indian, Lebanese, American – it is all in there. And I’m all for it, but there are some really lackluster recipes for things like creamy potato salad and mac’n’cheese - with nothing particularly special about either recipe to make them stand out. With every cookbook on the shelves these days having the requisite gourmet mac’n’cheese recipe, why bother with one that’s so run-of-the-mill? That said, I’m bent on finding an Indian recipe worth trying while I ponder whether to return the book to Amazon or not.

There is an absolutely gorgeous gourmet market here in West Seattle called Metropolitan. It is exquisite; mountains of giant artichokes, bright, juicy lemons, organic apples, hills of tomatoes, dells of leafy greens and beans, fine wines and gourmet edibles. It is, by far, one of the best grocery stores I’ve seen in a long time, and I’m all about finding the best grocery stores. However, the work that goes into the beautifully displayed produce and isles of gourmet ingredients is reflected in the price and I have a budget to work within. So, I make my rounds between the Safeway, the PCC (a local health food store) and the Metropolitan - sussing out the prices on milk and veggies and fish and meat and seeing where I can splurge and where I can skimp and save – while still providing the crew with the goodies they so love. And on this day, salmon is on sale at Safeway. And, Metropolitan has Valhrona cocoa powder and bittersweet chocolate pieces. I decide on a tomato chutney to go with Garam Masala rubbed Sockeye salmon, mixed winter greens steamed with ginger, Indian lemon rice and double dark chocolate brownies.

The crew arrives home from the boat yard, hungry and tired. Everyone’s been putting in long days preparing for the arrival of the interior designer and the owners – so, I really want to take care of them. They practically start to dance as they walk into the kitchen and smell the tomato chutney bubbling away on the stove. “Is that curry I smell?”, everyone asks. The strong aroma of curry spices drown out the smell of the chocolate brownies I just pulled from the oven – so dessert will be a real surprise! Hurriedly, they set the table and are practically waiting fork in hand as I set down platters of salmon, greens and rice and bowls of chutney. The chutney is delicious – spicy, tangy and thick – and is soon devoured. I notice the looks on their faces as they eat. The discrete smiles of the engineer and the boson are mere vails for the pleasure I can see in their eyes as they go for seconds. The stewardess and the first mate fight over the last piece of salmon and they thoroughly clean the bowls of greens and lemon rice. Everyone ooohhh’s and awww’s over the brownies. “We love you, Cookie!”, they cry as they pick up their dishes and begin cleaning up; 9 happy crewmembers (myself included) – a successful day. I’m still not sure American Masala is worth the $20-something I paid for it, but I can’t give up on Suvir Saran quite so quickly. I love DEVI too much and assisted him with a cooking demo in New York at which the food he made was amazing. So, I jump onto Amazon and order his book, “Indian Home Cooking”. Practically speaking, "Indian Home Cooking" could be a manuscript for keeping crew happily fed.

Tomato Chutney (Adapted from Suvir Saran’s American Masala):

1/4 cup canola oil
20 curry leaves, roughly torn - optional
4 teaspoons mustard seeds
4 teaspoons cumin seeds
1 teaspoon chili flakes
1 teaspoon turmeric
1 28 oz. can diced tomatoes (I prefer Miur Glenn Organics)
1 16 oz. can tomato sauce
1 8 oz can tomato paste
2 tablespoons sugar
1 1/2 tablespoons kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 teaspoon curry powder

Heat the oil with the curry leaves (if using), mustard seeds, cumin seeds, and chilies in a large pot or skillet over medium-high heat until the cumin is browned, about 2 minutes. Add the turmeric and cook until the chilies darken, 1 to 2 minutes longer. Add remaining ingredients and cook until chutney is thick and jammy, stirring often (about 30 minutes).

As well, here is a simple and yummy recipe for South Indian Lemon Rice which I first had on a yoga retreat in Thailand – and which I think if I had to choose one food to take with me on a deserted island, it would be this.

South Indian Lemon Rice

Ingredients
2 cups cooked rice
Juice of 2 small lemons
2 tablespoons ghee
A pinch of asafetida
1 teaspoon chili pepper flakes
1 teaspoon mustard seeds
12 curry leaves
1 teaspoon turmeric powder
1/2 cup cashews or peanuts
1/2 cup chopped coriander

Heat ghee in a nonstick pan and throw in the asafetida. Add the chili pepper flakes into the pan and fry for about thirty seconds.

Toss in the peanuts and mustard seeds. When you hear the mustard seeds crackle, throw in the curry leaves and stir in the turmeric powder. Stir-fry for another thirty seconds. Add the cooked rice. Toss the rice in the pan so that the spices mix evenly in the rice. Ensure that the rice is evenly yellow. Season to taste with salt and lemon juice and toss the rice again. As a finishing touch, garnish with chopped coriander

Six Days Under the Mast

Traveling so much over the past few months, I haven’t been in one place long enough to begin any interesting, long term cooking projects. But, anticipating the move to Seattle, my mind has been abuzz with cooking ideas. And so, here I am, finally, in Seattle. My kitchen is slowly being stocked with equipment and ingredients. I’m getting comfortable in my surroundings and finding my groove. I have my sourdough starter from the summertime with me – still bubbly and alive, probably the most well traveled sourdough starter on the planet by now. But, I’ve been really itching to begin something new, to do some pickling, fermenting, canning – projects to fill my larder on the yacht.

Admittedly, I am one of the most impatient cooks on the planet but after making my sourdough starter this summer (and the subsequent loaves since), I’ve found there’s something deeply gratifying when time and patience are a main ingredient in a recipe. On most days, the fruits of my labor are devoured and forgotten within a moment of putting that days achievement on the plate; 3-hours of work, gone in one swallow. Preserving, pickling, fermenting, canning - these are not only ways of savoring an ingredient, but also the reward for the labor involved is stretched out over time and can be savored over days, weeks, months and sometimes years.

It’s been on my mind to make Kimchi (Korean pickled cabbage) for about a year now. I love Kimchi; the tongue tingling spice and that nearly addictive acidity makes me crave it fortnightly. I used to buy large jars of Kimchi at the Chinese grocery and just eat it as a snack (it’s meant to be a used as a condiment). But I am a timid cook, I have to start simple when I’m learning something new – and so I’ve had to do lots of reading before taking on this project. And Kimchi is to Korea, what Curry is to India – so there are as many recipes for Kimchi as there are Korean households in the world. Some recipes call for vinegar while others do not, some use salted anchovies or shrimp or Korean fish sauce. Some call for the cabbage to soak in salt-water brine, others say to layer the cabbage with salt for hours at a time. But, after reading through recipe upon recipe, I decided to create a hybrid of several – the final process being fairly straightforward, with a few embellishments – but resulting in something that I can honestly admit, is far superior to anything you’ll find in the store. Perhaps I can’t claim authenticity, as I didn’t pack my Kimchi in a clay pot and bury it in the backyard, but for the most part, I attempted to adhere to the basic principles – salting, chili powder and spices, and fermentation.

I started by brining my cabbage in a mixture of kosher salt and water, for 24 hours. I didn’t have Korean chili powder, but after some research I learned that Korean chili powder is fairly mild so I made a mixture of Mexican chili powder, “regular” chili powder and red chili flakes. After my cabbage was brined and drained, I tossed it with diakon radish, spring onions, fresh ginger and my chili blend. As I began to layer it in a lexan container, I thought that it might be nice to add some thin slices of lemon. I love cured lemons, so if anything, they might be good to cook with after they’ve cured. Slicing the lemons as thin as possible, I layered them between the cabbage, scallions and ginger; poured in some brine to cover, put a lid on the container, wrapped it up in tinfoil and found a cold corner of the basement to let it ferment for a week. After adding the brine to the spice mixture, I thought that it might not be salty enough, or spicy enough, or that it would lack that sour, acidic flavor that I so crave. I was nervous about the fermentation. Would it mold? Or worse, would I kill someone with some food borne illness?

After 6 days of fermentation, I was happily surprised by the result. It was spicy and salty – but not overly, and it had a bit of that nice sour quality as well. I think as it ferments longer, it will and probably can use to become sourer. But it’s quite good. The flavor of the oils from the lemon show through and spike the Kimchi with freshness and the lemons are really good to eat too. I’ll look forward to using the Kimchi with something – although as of yet, I am undecided as to what that something will be. The best way of eating Kimchi I have ever had was on top of raw oysters at Momfuko Noodle Bar in the East Village – and we do get nice oysters up here in Washington…

This week is looking to be pretty hectic. All of the crew has finally arrived to Seattle. Mr. Precious and his assistant will be here for three days as we pour through the final details of the interior of the yacht. All of the china, glassware, uniforms, furniture, etc. will be arriving on Thursday and the stewardesses will have their hands full inventorying, documenting, sorting, organizing and storing everything into the storage lockers to be held until the install in July. All my kitchen equipment has been arriving too - box, after box, after box, after box... Mrs. & Mr. X will be arriving at the end of the week and will be in town for four days. It will be their first time meeting the entire crew! I’ve arranged for a wine & truffle tasting for the bosses and crew here in Seattle one night, a chance for everyone to get to know one another, and then another night I’ll be doing a big dinner for everyone at the crew house. I'm sure I'll be making use of the kimchi then!

Korean Kimchi
(Adapted from the Joy of Pickling)

5 tablespoons kosher salt
8 cups water
I Head napa cabbage, cut into 2-inch squares
1 Lemon, sliced thin
1 bunch spring onions, cut into 2-inch lengths
1 1/2 tablespoons minced fresh ginger
3 tablespoons mild chili powder
1 tablespoon chili flakes
1 teaspoon sugar

Makes about 1 Quart

Pad Thai

Pat's Pad Thai
(reprinted with her permission)

10 oz. narrow rice noodles
5 shelled prawns
3 eggs
2 tablespoons **white radish pickle, minced
3 bunches chinese leeks or scallions, cut into 1 inch sprigs
1 teaspoon ground, dried chillies
1 tablespoon chopped shallots
1 tablespoon chopped garlic
2 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons **fish sauce
1/2 tablespoon tamarind Juice (tamarind paste, thinned with water)

*White radish pickle is available in most Asian stores. It is commonly a Japanese or Chinese brand that is available. There are two types; sweet and salty. Use the sweet variety for Pad Thai, although if salt is all that is available, soak and rinse them first.

**Fish sauce should be purchased in small bottles so that it is used before it spoils. Good quality fish sauce should be the color of brandy and have a pleasant salty taste, not fishy or bitter. If fish sauce is too dark or black it will be bitter and should not be used.

Pat shows me how to make an excellent Pad Thai, without it being soupy or too sweet. She uses pickled white radish (available at most Asian stores), tamarind juice, fish sauce and sugar to create the contrasting flavors. Also, she says most people are cheap and use too much noodle.

We started out with a hot wok, adding a bit of oil and some garlic and shallots and sweating them just until they began to color. Then, we added thin rice noodles and just enough water to soften them, then fry them, turning constantly to prevent sticking. We removed the noodles from the pan and set them aside. Next, into the hot wok we added diced tofu and allowed it to cook until a crust began to form on it (otherwise it will fall apart). Moving the tofu to the side of the wok, we added the prawns to the center of the wok and allowed them to cook. When barely cooked, we added the pickled white radish, ground, dried chilies, sugar, fish sauce and tamarind juice and allowed that to simmer until the prawns were cooked through, then we added the noodles back in and pushed them to the side. Next, we added the eggs (lightly scrambled) spreading them into a thin layer on the bottom of the pan. When set, we mixed everything together with a scraping motion using the corner of the spatula. At this point you can taste it and add either more fish sauce (for salt) or sugar to your liking. At the very end, we added chopped Chinese leek greens (scallions will do) and garnished the dish with fresh bean sprouts.

The comforts of home...

The palms of her soft, warm hands cradling my face, our noses two inches apart, “you want some nana eggs?” she says in that soothing, caring voice as she pushes my tangled, matted hair out of my face. The faint, yet familiar scent of make-up and soap brings comfort to my soul. I shake my head, gingerly, up and down, “thanks mom”.

As she exits, I start the process of sitting up - this is going to take a while. Pains shoot through my abdomen. Sharp, stabbing pain, raw pain, pains that, unless you have had major abdominal surgery, you, oh fortunate reader, will never quite comprehend. I pull myself up with the help of the bedpost behind me. Exhausting. I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths, the doctor says I should begin feeling better in a few days.

Like a saint, she re-enters the room, awash in a heavenly glow of morning sunlight. Behold. There are times in life when even a grown woman really just needs her mommy and her mommy’s cooking – and this is definitely one of those times. She places the tray on a pillow on my lap. The tray, a tropical motif of bamboo and palm leaves reminds me of travel - incentive to get well. On the tray sits square, saffron colored plate adorned with a bright Mexican motif around the rim in turquoise and red. A single egg, steamed in lemon juice and dried mint glistens at the center, toasted whole-wheat pita bread off to the side, butter melting between its crusty layers. The toast, a perfect accoutrement for sopping up the last remaining drips of yolk, lemon juice and olive oil.

Perhaps the hospital serves such crappy food as incentive to get people to leave. The previous four days while I was in the hospital, I dreamed of Nana Eggs while I suffered through institutional white trays with institutional white and institutionally boring food. The Styrofoam bowls of steaming, sodium-laden “mystery soup” and Cream of Wheat sagged in misery. The usually quivering, dancing Jell-O, the only hope for color and happiness lay motionless in defeat. Nothing had any flavor - unless overly salty and corn syrupy sweet could be considered 'flavor'. But now, my taste buds would be redeemed. Using a sharp corner of toast, I break the top of my Nana Egg and its golden yolk oozes out. Mom says, “is that ok, honey?”. Uh-huh, I shake my head. “Mom?”, she pauses at the door, “would you make tabouleh and stuffed grape leaves one day?”. “Would that make you feel better, honey?”, she replies, her eyes filled with motherly love. Uh-huh, I look up at her with puppy dog eyes. “I’ll make them tomorrow”. Maybe my recovery could take just a little bit longer...

Nana Eggs:
*Nana is the Lebanese word for mint!

2 fresh eggs
1/4 cup fresh squeezed lemon juice
1 Tablespoon Olive Oil
1 Teaspoon Dried Mint
(This recipe is best with dried mint, rather than fresh. It also works especially well with Za’atar. If using Za’atar, use 2 teaspoons)
Sea Salt
Pepper

Optional:
Pita Toast and Butter

Crush dried mint between fingers and add to bowl containing fresh lemon juice. Add a small pinch of sea salt.

In a small, non-stick pan on medium heat, add olive oil. When pan is warm, crack both eggs gently into pan. Just as whites begin to turn opaque and sputter, add lemon juice and mint mixture and quickly cover pan with lid. Turn heat to a simmer. Allow eggs to cook until they reach desired firmness. About 2 to 3 minutes for soft, runny yolks.

Remove lid, yolks should be white, but quiver at the touch. Turn onto a plate and serve with toasted pita bread. Salt and pepper to taste.

UPDATE: Without going into too much detail, but for those that know me - I had a cancer scare. But I got the update from the Doc and all is clean. I can breathe easy and focus on getting well...

C.S.P. - Culinary Sensory Perception

Beef Tenderloin Hamburgers with Blue D’Avergne Cheese
Onion Marmalade and Homemade Ketchup

Local Corn on the Cob, Slathered in Butter

Potato Salad with Celery, Scallions, Parsley and Balsamic-Dijon Dressing

C.S.P – Culinary Sensory Perception. That is when my boss is craving something and it just happens to be what I am cooking… My cell phone rang as I was driving down the road to the cottage on the lake, “Hi Cookie!” my boss hollered, her vibrant personality and positive energy spilling forth through the phone line. “Can we have hamburgers tonight?”, she pleaded, as if I had a choice in the matter. But as luck would have it, that was exactly what I was planning on making. “This is getting kind of freaky boss, we’re reading each others minds again”… Cookie, that is what my bosses have nicknamed me. Mr. X used to be in the rodeo and apparently rodeo cooks are nicknamed ‘cookies’. So, Mr. and Mrs. X both started calling me that one day, and it just sort of stuck.

It happened yesterday as well, this CSP thing. I was standing at the counter in the kitchen peeling 10 lbs. of blanched tomatoes and adding them to the ever-expanding bag of tomatoes I’d been picking from the garden over the course of the week. I figured that when I had about 20 lbs. I would make a giant pot of tomato sauce and portion and freeze it in Ziploc bags. I was also toying with the idea of making ketchup. “Hey Cookie, do you know how to make ketchup?”, my boss said just as I was thinking it. “Well, as a matter-of-fact boss, I do and I was just thinking…”, “Great, can you make us some?”. But of course… And, since hamburgers are really only a vehicle for ketchup, then what better food to go with America’s favorite condiment?

I pulled down the largest pot that I had in the kitchen, knowing the tomatoes would sputter and splatter as they fought the good fight. I filled the pot with the tomatoes and added the vinegar, spices and sugar, brought it to a hard boil and let it boil away for hours and hours. The house was filled with the pungent scent of vinegar and when I left the house to make a market run and returned again and hour later – the spicy, piquant aroma had reached out the front door and consumed the neighborhood. I stood on the sidewalk and took a deep breath, “I hope the neighbors are breathing this in and wondering what smells so good at the X’s house”, I thought to myself.

While my 20 lbs. of tomatoes sat on the stove reducing away, I got a bug in my bonnet to use up all the onions sitting in the bin in the pantry. I had so many different varieties; red ones, white ones, yellow ones, shallots – I decided to use them all just so that I could replenish my supply. I stood at the counter peeling and chopping the onions, muddled drops of tears and mascara leaving black streaks down my cheeks like an airport runway. My eyes turned puffy and red. Now would be a good time to get my bosses sympathy and ask for a raise, I thought to myself. But no, I suppose two months on the job is a little bit too soon. I hate wasting good tears. I filled up a pot with the onions and added a healthy pour of cabernet sauvignon, brown sugar and balsamic vinegar, turned on the burner and then left them alone for a good, long time.

The nice thing about the butchers here in this Rockewellian town is that whenever I buy a beef tenderloin, they trim it up and grind the trim for hamburgers for me – without even having to ask! Find me one butcher in Manhattan that will do that for you? I’ve had a few tenderloins this summer and had a store of about 5 lbs. of ground tenderloin in the freezer and what better to make burgers with for my homemade ketchup? So, I weighed them out into half-pound balls and padded them down into patties.

Next, the grill: every client I have ever cooked for up until this summer has always had a gas grill. Ah, but one more of the many cosmic signs that my bosses and I were meant to be is that they have a charcoal grill and aren’t afraid to use it. Personally, I don’t find that much difference between a gas grill and a grill pan on the stove. When I grill, I want charcoal! And when I want charcoal, I want hardwood charcoal – not those pre-fab, e-z-lite briquettes of chemicals and who-knows-what. Charcoal briquettes are kind of like sliced bread – convenient, over-rated and flavourless. Hardwood charcoal burns really hot, much hotter than briquettes, and it imparts so much more flavor. So, I piled my charcoal into a mountainous pyramid and set it ablaze…

After spreading the embers, I dropped my patties in a circle around the grill so they could feed off of the heat emanating from the center without being directly on top of it. They sizzled away, forming a perfect redish-brown crust. Even I was impressed at my own grill job. The charcoal grill has taken some getting used to, but I’ve had all summer to practice – proper coal quantities, coal placement vs. food placement, etc. – but all that work was finally paying off. When my burgers were just about finished, I mounded them with slices of Blue D’Auvergne – one of my favorite blue cheeses; rich and creamy with a pleasant bite. I served the burgers atop fresh whole-wheat rolls from the local bread maker, scooped on my caramelized, sticky onion marmalade and a healthy dollop of homemade ketchup. Now, that is what a hamburger is all about.

My bosses asked me to join them and their family for dinner tonight, and usually I would decline because I have this “thing” about eating hamburgers I’ve prepared myself. Hamburgers are the food of kicking back and relaxing. I like to sit in a pub, drink a Hefferweisen and be waited upon while I eat my hamburger - then I know I’m relaxing and not working. But tonight I obliged and sat with the family – and boy, I wouldn’t have missed it for the whole, entire world. My bosses said that my hamburger was better than their favorite hamburger from the Peninsula Hotel in Chicago. “I think this is one of the best, Cookie”, Mr. X said to me, a half eaten burger in his hand, and a thick blob of ketchup and onion daringly close to sliding down his hand. I realize it’s a pretty bold statement to make, but I had to agree. The tenderloin, the proper grilling, the blue cheese, the onion marmalade, the homemade ketchup, the fresh buns – it was a hamburger masterpiece. And, like my new bosses and new job, a match made in heaven. The 2003 L’Aventure Syrah was a welcome change from my usual beer-n-burger pairing. I would definitely sit and enjoy my own hamburgers again, as long as they taste exactly like this.

I have to wake up early tomorrow and put together some sandwiches and snacks for our flight to Seattle to see the yacht. Apparently they don’t have a meal service on the private jet. What kind of cut-rate airline is this anyway?

I’ll be flying out with the bosses and the interior designer. Rumor has it that the walls and the walk-in fridge is in in the galley. The floors are down and lined with the location of all the shelving, cabinetry and appliances awaiting my inspection and approval…

Someone pinch me, I think I’m dreaming…

Simple Homemade Ketchup

(Make the ketchup in the largest pot possible so there is plenty of room for the tomatoes to splatter. And, be cautious when stirring while the tomatoes thicken – molten blobs of tomatoes splattering on your arms are not fun! But any burn you may earn is worth it…)

8 Quarts peeled tomatoes (about 20 lbs)
3/4 cup brown sugar
2 tablespoons dry mustard
1 tablespoon ground allspice
2 cups cider vinegar
3 tablespoons salt
1 tablespoon black pepper
1 teaspoon ground cloves
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

Put all ingredients in a large stock pot. Allow to boil until reduced by half. Lower heat and stirring often to avoid burning, reduce by 1/4 or until very, very thick. Remove from heat and allow to cool. Puree in blender. Adjust seasoning if necessary.

Just a simple dinner

Minted English Pea Soup with Herbed Crab Salad
Butternut Lasagna with Ceasar Salad
Homemade Cinnamon-Sugar Doughnuts and Frozen Hot Chocolate

It was just a simple dinner tonight.

The English Peas for the soup came from a great little farm nearby called Bluff Gardens. Everything in Bluff Gardens is miniature – the potatoes are sorted by size and color; the smallest are the size of your pinky nail and the largest the size of a golf ball. Haricot verts are the slightly wider than a toothpick and about as long, paddy pans are the size of your thumb nail along with miniature zucchini’s, carrots, beets, onions and cucumbers. Only two small tables make up the produce selection, but I suppose you don’t need so much space when everything is so tiny! In keeping with everything in Bluff Gardens being dainty and petite, so are the two cutest little old ladies that work behind the counter. With sweaters on over their aprons and warmth emanating from their eyes, they always greet the shoppers with a warm hello and are especially careful when weighing, measuring or packing up the goods.

I bought several pounds of English Peas and spent my free time over the passed two days shelling them. They were as sweet as sugar. I blanched them quickly so that they would keep their color and then sweated out onions and garlic, added white wine and chicken stock and the peas, only letting the peas cook for another minute or two so that they would keep their almost fluorescent green hue. Then, I pureed them, seasoned the soup and added finely chopped mint and chives.

I made the dough for the lasagna from scratch as I’ve been obsessed with pasta making ever since my friend, Diana, gave me a pasta machine last summer. I love kneading the dough and feeling it as it goes from a lumpy, sticky mass to soft and supple just from the work of my hands. I love rolling it out into long, smooth and fragile sheets. But mostly, I love eating the finished product because even if it isn’t perfect, it’s still 100 times better than the boxed stuff from the grocery store.

The butternut squash and ridicchio for the lasagna (and the baby romaine for the salad) all came from Bill’s Farm Stand in Petoskey. Another amazing farmers market. I’m so spoiled by ingredients – I don’t know what I’m going to do when I have to get back on the yacht and deal with provisioners and produce that has been sitting in a shipping container for two weeks, looks beautiful but tastes like crap. I had better appreciate this while it lasts!

The ricotta for the lasagna was also homemade. The milk, of course, is locally produced from the Shetler Family Dairy – and it just makes the most beautiful ricotta. Ricotta is the easiest thing in the world to make in fact and I've made it quite a few times since discovering how great the local milk tastes! I combined a 1/2 gallon of full-fat milk with 2 cups of buttermilk. Brought it to 180 degrees (farenheit), at which point it began to curdle. Turned off the heat, let it sit for about 20 minutes and strained it through cheese cloth. About an hours worth of work from start to finish and it yielded 13 oz. of fresh ricotta. But I have to warn you, the ricotta is so good, you may just want to drizzle it with some honey, maybe a few toasted almonds and some dried apricots and eat it as is… My friend, Greg, and I got talking and he said that he makes ricotta using lemon juice instead of buttermilk. So, I tried both methods and I definitely prefer using buttermilk. The lemon juice gave the ricotta a distinctly lemony flavor which is fine if you want that, but the buttermilk made for softer curds and the ricotta just tasted like the great milk that it was made from.

The tomato sauce came from our own gardens as I’m now getting about 5 lbs. a day of fresh tomatoes from the yard! I blanched and peeled them all and made a fresh sauce with just white onions, garlic, a touch of balsamic vinegar (how can I resist) and fresh basil.

The recipe for the lasagna actually came from Mrs. X! One of the biggest challenges of being a private chef is coming up with new menus and recipes on a daily basis, but one of the (many) benefits to having a boss that knows and loves food is she comes up with great ideas as well – and I’m more than happy to oblige…

Frozen hot chocolate – inspiration compliments of Serendipity in New York City and I found Mirabelle’s frozen hot chocolate at Symon’s in Petosky – a labyrinth of shelves paying homage to gourmet ingredients and a wine cellar to boot. Mirabelle’s is a chocolatier on Broome St. in NYC where I have blown many a hard-earned pay check indulging in my chocolate fantasies.

Like I said, just a simple dinner.

Butternut Squash Lasagna

1 butternut squash, about 3 lbs. peeled and sliced about 1/4 inch thick
1 lb. Ridicchio, shredded
1 large onion, diced
4 cloves garlic, minced
3 lbs. tomatoes, peeled and chopped
1/2 cup fresh basil, finely chopped
1 Tbsp. Balsamic vinegar
1 tsp. Sugar (or to taste)
1 cup ricotta cheese
2 eggs
2 cups crème fraiche
2 cups Parmigiano Reggiano, grated
1 lb. Fresh Lasagna noodles (uncooked)
Olive oil
Salt and Pepper to taste

Lay squash slices on baking sheets lined with a Silpat or parchment paper. Brush with olive oil and sprinkle with salt and bake in 375 F. oven until soft.

Heat olive oil in large sauté pan and sauté onions and garlic until soft, being cautious not to get any color on them. Add tomatoes and simmer until slightly thickened. Add basil, balsamic, sugar (if necessary) and season with salt and pepper.

In a mixing bowl, combine ricotta, crème fraiche, eggs and half of ground parmesan. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Cover bottom of large pyrex or stoneware baking dish with half of the tomato sauce. Add a layer of noodles, a layer of butternuts squash (using half the squash) and half of the ridicchio and all of the cheese mixture. Then, add another layer of lasagna noodles, the remainder of the squash, remainder of the redicchio and top it with the remainder of the tomato sauce.

Cover with aluminium foil and bake at 350 for 30 minutes. Remove the foil and add the remainder of the parmesan and bake for 15 to 20 minutes, uncovered. Allow to stand for 10 minutes before serving…

The Life of Pie

Spicy Cole Slaw with a Lime-Cilantro Vinaigrette
Roasted Sweet Potato Fries
Spice Rubbed, Mesqiuite Grilled Flank Steak with Salsa Verde
Corn Bread with Basil and Fresh Corn
Corn on the Cob
Homemade Blueberry Pie with Almond Crumble Topping and Whipped Cream
Homemade Raspberry Sorbet with U-Pick Raspberries from Pond Hill Farms

“What IS this?” she said, standing over the platter, two quivering pieces of meat hanging precariously off of one tong on the oversized serving fork. My stomach rolled into a knot, every molecule of my being wanted to duck behind the counter. I wanted to stick my thumb in my mouth for security and cry.

“What IS THIS?” her voice commanded again as she peered at me over her John Lennon glasses. I could see it, the meat wasn’t cut all the way through. The two paper thin slices bound together by a stringy piece of flesh. Like Siamese twins, they wanted to live separate lives but couldn’t escape each other. An ounce more pressure of the knife and they could’ve been free! It could’ve been perfect. But no, not this time…

Flashback to January 2002, I was cooking at Julia’s Kitchen at Copia in the Napa Valley. Alain Ducasse came in for dinner that night and when he walked into the restaurant, it was as if Jesus Christ himself had walked into your living room; everything came to a screeching halt and all eyes were expectantly on him. Food stopped sizzling in its pan out of reverence. The hoods above the stove fell silent out of humility. Even the water at the dishwasher’s station seemed to fall from the spout noiselessly. In fact, the only sound to be heard where the pearls of sweat forming upon our chef’s brow, rolling down his face and splashing on the rubber mats. Alain and his entourage were seated at the best seats in the house overlooking 150-year-old olive trees and acres of organic gardens. Before we knew it, our chef was bounding down the line, taking steps so long it was as if he was gliding on water. Barking orders, he swooped in and began pillaging the most perfect bits of the kitchen crews prep. Every single table in the restaurant would be put on hold and remain waiting for the next 45 minutes as we focused on our dishes for Alain Ducasse.

I had moved up to the hot appetizers station only a few days earlier, but was now temporarily demoted to prepare Alains salad as the new salad girl stood off to the sidelines and watched, not even permitted to touch his food. I was instructed to put together the best baby salad greens we had in house, the best baby edible flowers, the best baby vegetables and put aside the herbal vinaigrette and have everything ready and waiting for when the chef told me to plate. I stood at rapt attention. “Cristina, plate it”, the chef hollered. Hands trembling, I reached for my vinaigrette and put the poppy-seed vinaigrette on my ever-so-perfect salad greens. “Huh”, I gasped. Deeply. My heart leapt into my throat. “Sh**, shi**, wrong vinaigrette! The chef is going to kill me!” (truth be told, he probably wouldn’t have noticed). I ran to the walk-in to grab more greens, came out and ran smack into the chef. "Cristina, why aren’t you ready?” he bellowed, his eyes piercing me like daggers.

“Chef, I… I… I…”.

“For Christ sake Cristina. When Alain Ducasse comes into the restaurant everything else STOPS”.

“Yes chef. But I… I…”, my knees were quaking.

“I TOLD YOU TO BE READY, WHY AREN’T YOU READY? Give me that”, he said, as he snatched the bowl of greens out of my hands. I followed him back to the salad station, “but chef I… I…”.

“You can’t even make a F****ing salad Cristina? What’s the matter with you?”

“but chef, I… “. WHACK! He slammed the metal bowl on the counter top, “now get this salad out and it had better be perfect”

“Yes chef”

By now my nose, fingertips and toes were beginning to go numb from hyperventilating. The server came and picked up the salad. The whole line was at a standstill awaiting the chefs commands. I retreated to the prep kitchen and sat in a corner and breathing heavily until I almost passed out, a stream of hot tears cascading down my cheeks, “I’ll never be a chef, I can’t even get a salad right. Oh God, LIFE IS TERRIBLE! I’M SUCH A FAILURE!”

“WHAT IS THIS?” she said once again. I was instantly snapped back to the present. I looked her in the eye and said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t cut it all the way through”. “No Cristina, what is it?”. “Ohhhh that! It’s mesquite grilled, thinly sliced flank steak, rubbed with cumin, smoked paprika, black pepper, chilli powder and oregano. And that’s a salsa verde on the side. A little bit spicy, if you’d like to try.” “Mmmm, sounds dee-lish”, she said as she plunked the two pieces of steak on her plate and reached for two more. “Golly Cristina, what kind of mean people have you been working for that you’d think we’d be upset over one tiny piece of steak not being sliced all the way through?”. Oh thank god, because my life just passed before my eye …

That morning, I’d chased the crows off of the blueberry bushes just outside my bedroom door and was able to pick about a quarts worth. Then I spent the afternoon with two friends at Pond Hill Farm on M-119 (5 miles North of Harbor Springs, MI) picking raspberries. Pound Hill is an amazing little family owned farm offering all organic beef, lamb, pork and chicken as well as beautiful produce. They also allow you to pet and feed the baby animals (before you eat them!). Today was “pick your own” day so my frends and I wandered up and down the rows of raspberry bushes. “One for the container, two for me” was my motto as I ate my way through the patch. Even the two year old I was with had more raspberries in his container than me! What can I say though, raspberry picking is my weakness. I cherished my summers in my grandparent’s backyard in Oregon – picking raspberries and eating half before they even made it back to the kitchen…

It’s berry season here in Northern Michigan and I can’t imagine a better time of year! Mr. X had asked yesterday if I knew how to make a blueberry pie. Do I know how to make a blueberry pie? Of course! Never mind that I’d never done it before… After reading several recipes for blueberry pie, I decided on a hybrid of a few different recipes. At first I was tempted not to cook the blueberries before putting them into the pie, but every recipe called for at least some cooking of the berries. So, I went half way. With three pounds of berries, I cooked about one pound of them in a pot with a cup and a half of water. When they came to a simmer and the berries began to burst, I added a slurry of corn starch, plus some sugar and lemon juice and brought it all to a boil until it was nice and thick. I added some lemon zest and then gently folded the warm berry mixture into my remaining two pounds of fresh berries. I poured this into my prepared pie crust (unbaked – and yes, I made the crust) but rather than a lattice crust I made a topping of roasted, ground almonds, ap flour, sugar and butter (blended in the food processor until it just came together) and crumbled it on. I churned the raspberries into fresh raspberry and chocolate sorbet for a lactose intolerant guest at that nights dinner party.

After dinner, it was practical joke time again. Mr. X has been complaining that my desserts are making his waistline grow. But then, when I go out of town for a few days, I return and he says to me, “oh man, now I have to go back to eating healthy. I was really enjoying eating pizza and hotdogs while you were gone”. He and Mrs. X are both avid bikers and serious athletes (and they’ve gotten me REALLY into cycling as well). Neither of them has an inch of fat on their bodies, nor do they believe in dieting. So, I told Mr. X that he couldn’t have dessert until he got his butt onto his bike and peddled out to Legs Inn and back (about 30 miles away – a beautiful ride, I did it two days ago). So, when it was time for dessert, as generous pieces of warm pie heaped with whipped cream were served to each guest and Mr. X bounced in his chair like a hyper-active third grader awaiting his turn, I sent out a special plate just for him: a bite of pie the size of a pea, with a tiny dollop of whipped cream and one, lone blueberry.

“Better get on your bike and start peddling, boss”…

Wayward Blueberry Pie
Makes filling for two 9-inch pies

Preheat oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit.

You will need 2 unbaked 9-inch pie crusts
(I did not supply a recipe for pie crust – do a search on the web, there are plenty out there!).

You will also need a food processor.

FILLING
3 pounds fresh blueberries (4 to 5 quarts, give or take)
1 cup sugar
1 cup water, plus 3 tablespoons (divided)
3 tablespoons cornstarch
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon lemon zest

Measure 1 pound of blueberries into a medium sauce pan. To this, add 1 cup of water. Bring to a simmer, just until blueberries begin to burst and release their juices. Stir together cornstarch and 3 tablespoons water to make a slurry. While stirring berry mixture, add slurry, sugar and lemon juice and bring to a boil. Cook until thick (about 2 minutes). When berry mixture is thick, remove from heat and gently fold into fresh berries, adding lemon zest. Allow to cool before pouring into prepared pie crust.

ALMOND CRUMB TOPPING
12 oz. Almonds, toasted
2 cups flour
1 1/2 cups sugar
3/4 cup unsalted butter, cut into 1/2 inch cubes and chilled (or frozen)
pinch of salt

Place almonds in food processor and process until finely ground, add flour, butter, sugar and salt and process until topping just comes together. Topping should be a bit clumpy and moist, not powdery and dry. If it is too dry and not coming together, add more butter.

ASSEMBLY
Divide filling between two unbaked pie crusts. Crumble almond topping over filling and bake at 375 for 50 minutes, or until filling is bubbling, topping is well browned and crusts are done. Or, as a chef I worked with said to me once when I asked how long I should bake something, “until it’s done Cristina. Until it’s done.”

A Curry A Day... Part 2

Chilled Avocado and Cucumber Soup

With a Sorrel and Cucumber Salad

Smoked Pimenton and Toasted Garlic Oil

~

Garam Masala Rubbed Swordfish with a Spicy Vindaloo Sauce

Cilantro Yogurt Chutney

Pistachio Jasmine Rice

Fresh Aniseed Nann Bread and Pappadam

~

Rum Infused Tropical Fruit Salad

Homemade Coconut Sorbet

Pistachio Praline with White and Dark Chocolate

There are two types of surprises in life. There is the “Publishers Clearinghouse, Ed McMahon Unexpectedly Standing Your Front Door, Giant Check in Hand” type of surprise, or the “Pop Quiz After You’d Been Out Too Late The Night Before Instead of Studying” type of surprise…

A group of 8 people had bid on a weeklong charter aboard our yacht as part of a fundraiser. The owner of the yacht told me, with great enthusiasm, that the guests coming aboard had a big surprise in store for me. I couldn’t imagine what the surprise could be but my imagination leaned towards the “Publishers Clearinghouse” type of surprise and Ed McMahon as a stubby, mustachioed, little Frenchman appearing on the dock in a horizontal striped sweater, neckerchief and barret bearing a basket of fresh Parigord truffles, still moist from the earth they were pulled from and smelling deeply of an oak forest, musk and soil. Or perhaps one of the guests happened to have a bottle of 1937 Chateau D’Quem in their basement and thought to bring it along to share with lil’ ol’ me over a lobe of Grade A Foie Gras, roasted whole with fresh figs and a sprinkle of Fleur de Sel… I tend towards an over-active imagination… Little did I know that this wasn’t going to be that kind of a surprise, it was more along the lines of the “Pop Quiz, hadn’t studied” type.

The yacht was sparkling and we stood on the clean teak decks, lined up like toy soldiers, barefoot and in spotless polo’s and khaki shorts. Steel drum music annoyingly reminiscent of a Carnival Cruise Lines commercial played faintly in the background. We introduced ourselves, one-by-one, shaking hands and exchanging names as the guests worked their way down the chain of crew on the aft deck. A flurry of greetings, taking peoples luggage down to their rooms, fixing drinks and getting everyone situated followed. Unsuspectingly, I shook the hand of what was to be my surprise, as he stood in front of me clad in a faded Gap t-shirt, wrap around sun glasses and a baseball cap.

As the guests settled in with drinks and unwound into vacation mode – information slowly began to leak. Who in their right mind thought I would be thrilled to find out that one of our guests was not just a chef, but a chef that had worked with Joel Roblechon for three years in Paris, and Daniel Baloud in New York City, and was a yacht chef for three years and now owns two very successful restaurants in South Florida? What sort of a nefarious plot was in the works here? My head spun, God was once again testing my fortitude. I’m deeply insecure about my cooking – doesn’t The Universe know this yet? And when is The Man In Charge going to cut me some slack, eh? I don’t know how to cook! I’m just a hack! I really think I need to start charging a surcharge to yacht owners that cause me undo duress…

The pressure was on and I felt the heat before I even touched the stove… Dinner for 12 at 8o’clock on the aft deck. In an effort to overcome my fear and hesitation cooking for this chef and his friends, I’d been combing their conversation, searching for a nugget of information about what foods they liked so as to be able to please them. I had planned on preparing swordfish, a Provencal preparation that I had in my mind. But as I chatted with the guests in the galley (because wouldn’t you know it, they all want to hang out in the galley) the topic of Indian food came up and in unison the guests all expressed how much they loved a good vindaloo. I felt a wave of relief and inspiration – Indian, I can do that! It’s one my favorite types of food in the world! I can make probably a half-dozen curries off the top of my head, but had never tried a vindaloo so I figured I would give it a shot. After a quick search through some cookbooks, I found a recipe in James Peterson’s Fish & Shellfish that would be my base recipe to work with (I never really follow a recipe completely). I chopped and prepped my ingredients for the sauce, although I used a bit of cayenne for spice, I toned it down incase some people had a low burn tolerance. The two teaspoons seemed to be plenty and I made a yogurt riata just to add a little cooling element aside the spicy sauce. My first course went out at 8pm on the button, a chilled avocado and cucumber soup with roasted cumin, pappadams and a cucumber and sorrel salad. The bowls came back empty. Next, the entrée and it smelled delicious, but I was up against a tough crowd and my stomach was in knots. I plated my food – but to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t happy with the plating – at least not for the crowd I was cooking for. The plates on this yacht are on the small side and not extraordinarily pretty and their really is only so much one can do with colorful oils and brunoise… I dream of large, white, rimless Aplico dinner plates… The knot in my stomach grew as the plates went out. But one by one during dinner, the guests appeared in the galley and raved about the food – even saying that it was the best swordfish preparation they had ever had. I told them that I felt a lot of pressure, to which they replied, “good, we hope you feel this pressure all week, everything is so good”. Dessert went out and I followed to check on the guests and was greeted with a, albeit embarrassing, boisterous round of applause. I decided that maybe I do know how to cook after all, gave myself a little pat on the back and slipped back into the galley to make a batch of doughnut dough for the morning, mop the floor, wipe down the cabinets, empty the garbage and finally after a 14 hour day, go to sleep – where I slept like a baby and dreamt that I really knew what I was doing.

Swordfish Vindaloo

Vegetable oil for sautéing

2 Medium onions, finely chopped

3 cloves garlic, finely chopped

3 tablespoons ground coriander seed

3 teaspoons turmeric

3 teaspoons ground cumin

3 teaspoons yellow or black mustard seeds

2 teaspoons ground cinnamon

½ teaspoon ground cloves

3 teaspoons paprika

2 teaspoons cayenne

2 tablespoons grated fresh ginger

8 tomatoes, peeled, seeded and chopped (or 8 canned, peeled tomatoes – juices strained and tomatoes chopped)

½ cup chicken broth (fish broth or water will work as well)

3 tablespoons sherry vinegar

¾ cup tamarind concentrate (or about 2 -3 tablespoon size chunks of tamarind paste dissolved in ¾ cup boiling water and mashed into a paste)

¼ cup cilantro

Cook onions and garlic in a vegetable oil until onions begin to brown, about 10-15 minutes. Stir in all the spices including the ginger and cook for 3 minutes, until fragrant. Add the tomatoes, broth and vinegar and simmer gently for 15 minutes. Add the tamarind and cilantro and simmer for 20 minutes.

While sauce is simmering, preheat the grill. Brush swordfish (or tuna) steaks with vegetable oil and sprinkle with garam masala and season with salt. Grill fish for about 4 minutes on each side being carefull not to overcook it. Serve withe the Vindaloo sauce and drizzled with the yogurt riata - along with Jasmine rice.