Perhaps it is a little too late for this. If you celebrated Christmas, you have probably already had your roast bird. And you regretfully marvelled at the frightening inedibility of Turkey. Why, you wonder, does anyone still eat that horrid creature? Surely it is best suited to being a Bourbon trademark?
Well, yes.
Turkey is a dry and not very exciting fowl.
Goose, on the other hand........
A fine Cantonese-style roast goose, succulent and crispy skinned. And if you've seen Hong Kong movies, you may remember scenes where working men purchased their lunches from dai pai dong and hunkered down to a scrumptious feast.
Roast goose and some veggies over a bowl of rice.
Siu ngoh fan: 燒鵝飯.
[If you don't know what I'm talking about, head over to Yee's Restaurant (文仔記燒臘茶餐廳) at 1131 Grant Avenue, between Pacific and Broadway. Don't worry, a serving of siu ngoh fan won't break the bank. Very affordable at $7.95. Ho peng, ho sik. Yee's is also a cha chanteng (茶餐廳), a "tea restaurant" - so also have a cup of Hong Kong milk-tea (yit nai cha: 热奶茶).]
Obviously, you cannot shlep the gonze mishpoche over to a Chinese restaurant for Christmas dinner. It just isn't done.
Something very wrong with that.
But you can make Cantonese roast goose at home. And serve it with an array of other scrumptious dishes, not even leaving your kitchen a mess.
It is not difficult.
燒鵝 SIU NGOH - ROAST GOOSE
Trim -- wash -- dry -- roast.
Chop, and eat.
Simple.
Purchase your fresh goose a few days in advance of dinner. When you've got him home, trim off the excess flaps of fat at the neck and reserve, and tip the wings, as the extreme ends of these are virtually useless and will char in the oven.
Save all this for broth and extracting the delicious fat.
Remove the neck and pack of giblets from the cavity.
These can be used as you see fit (goose stock).
Place the goose in a deep pan with a rack.
Now heat a cauldron with water, soy sauce, and sugar or honey.
Proportions: for every cup of water, one to two TBS each soy sauce and sugar or honey. In HK cooks would use Maltose, but that is a bit hard to find over here.
Add whole star anise and a jigger of black vinegar if you feel like it.
Bring to a roiling boil.
Ladle this over the bird, making sure to pour it over the skin entire.
Decant the liquid from the deep pan back into the cauldron, and bring it back to boil. Repeat the procedure. This tightens the skin, which will help it become crisp. The soy sauce adds a little flavour, the sugar or honey will let it brown evenly and deeply, when one or two days hence it is being roasted.
[When doing this to fowl, I usually add a few thick slices of ginger. You may also add a handful of fresh-roasted coffee beans - the ghostly remaining hint on the bird will add a haunting and mysterious fragrance, without dominating the taste.]
There is no set number of washings with the hot liquid, but do it at least once.
You will see the skin tightening up, and three times is probably best.
When this has been done, shove the largest size funnel you have into the rear of the bird, then set it upright so that no part of the skin need touch anything, and place it in your refrigerator for a day or two to dry.
If you do not have an extra large kitchen funnel, make do -- an empty whiskey or brandy bottle will also work, as long as the outer surface of the bird is clear.
On the day when you wish to eat the beast, take it out of the refrigerator and heat the oven up to four hundred and twenty five degrees Fahrenheit (220 grades of Celsius, more or less).
Bung the bird in the oven, and roast for about an hour and three quarters.
Which is about twelve minutes per pound.
You will use a rack, of course, and rotate the bird a couple of times. For the first hour of roasting, it might be best to cover with aluminium foil to prevent excessive darkening.
If, at the end of cooking, there are parts which still look pale, it is perfectly all right to "retouch" those areas with the kitchen torch.
Assuming that you have such a thing.
Remove the bird from the oven, and let it stand for about thirty minutes.
To serve, either waste a lot of time carving it, for an American - British - European presentation, or place it on the block and chop it Chinese style, which is much more efficient, and a hell of a lot easier.
Remember, chopstickable pieces!
ROAST GOOSE IN HONG KONG
If you are visiting the Special Administrative Region, you will probably want to have Cantonese roast goose while you are there. It is a famous Hong Kong specialty.
Hong Kong people, like their kin across the border in Guangzhou (廣州), are keenly knowledgeable and passionate about eating, especially roast meats (siu-mei: 燒味) and superlatively fresh sea food.
A whole steamed grouper (jing sek-paan yü: 蒸石斑魚) and a lovely roast bird at your banquet are essential.
There are three great goose restaurants that come to mind.
裕記大飯店 Yue Kee Taai Fan-Diem
9 Sham Hong Road, Sham Tseng
New Territories, Hong Kong.
新界, 深井, 深康路 9號
深井陳記燒鵝酒家 Sham-Tseng Chan Kee Siu Ngoh Jau-Ka
Ground floor, 63 Sham Tseng Village, Castle Peak Road, Sham Tseng
New Territories, Hong Kong.
新界, 深井, 青山公路, 深井村 63號, 地下
鏞記酒家 Yung Kee Jau-Ka
32-40 Wellington Street, Central
Hong Kong Island
中環, 威靈頓街 32-40 號
All three are excellent choices. The first two are in Sham-Tseng out in the New Territories (san-kai 新界), which is reachable by public transit. Both of these are considerably more reasonably priced than the last restaurant mentioned, but Yung Kee is by far the most famous, having served princes, presidents, and potentates.
SIU-MEI IN THE BAY AREA
Here in San Francisco, we aren't famous for goose. Somewhat cynically, I would add that any culinary fame we have is a vast over-statement, as most restaurants have more style pretensions and higher prices than is really warranted.
Excepting, of course, our very best restaurants.
Many of which are actually Chinese.
With only a few others.
As an alternative to goose, you can also eat roast duck. Cantonese roast duck in Chinatown is a LOT cheaper than expensive canard in a snooty place that aspires to European standards.
新凱豐燒臘店 San Hoi Fung Siu-Lahp Diem
Gourmet Delight Barbecue
1045 Stockton Street, San Francisco, CA 94108.
415-392-3288.
Note: strictly take-out.
港新寶燒腊小食 Gong San Po Siu-Lahp Siu-Sik
Kam Po (H.K.) - Kam Po Kitchen
801 Broadway, San Francisco, CA 94133.
415-982-3516.
Mostly take-out, eat-in also possible.
文仔記燒臘茶餐廳 Man Chai Kee Siu-Lahp Cha Chan-Teng
Yee's Restaurant
1131 Grant Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94133
415-576-1818.
Extensive menu, excellent roast meats.
Table seating suitable for large groups, couples, and single people. They have what your heart desires. Sit down and eat.
Final note, for anyone cooking goose or duck at home: avoid overmuch use of garlic; it makes fatty birds taste salami-like. A fine thing in its own way, but it really ruins the goose or duck.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Showing posts with label Recipes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Recipes. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
Tuesday, February 01, 2011
HO SI FAT CHOI 好事發財 DRIED OYSTERS WITH BLACK MOSS
Probably the most Cantonese of good luck New Year dishes is the combination of dried oysters and black moss - neither of which are used by many Caucasians for some weird reason.
Both ingredients add their own unique characteristics to a dish, and they are delicious in combination.
BLACK MOSS
Nostoc flagelliforme, called hair vegetable in Chinese (髮菜 fat choi), is a cyanobacterium which grows low to the ground in arid regions. Because harvesting it is labour intensive, and the supply is naturally limited to begin with and getting more so due to high demand, it tends to be expensive. Prices vary between four and ten dollars per tael.
[TAEL: 兩 or 两 (leung): 37¾ grammes ~ 1.3 oz.]
The hair-like strands of black moss resemble steel wool in appearance and general dimensions, and are a dark green that verges on black when dry, dull greenish when wet. Lower grades are often adulterated with a dyed starch-strand imitation that appears jet-black and darkens the soaking water, and bargain black moss may in fact be mostly or entirely ersatz.
Black moss needs to be soaked for a few hours, and well-rinsed to get rid of sand, before use. If blanched in boiling water after rehydrating, the cooking time is shortened.
It is available in packets of one or two taels. Sealed against moisture it will keep for well over a year.
As a food it has no nutritional value whatsoever, is not really digestible, and is in fact mildly toxic, containing an amino acid which could adversely affect the normal function of nerve cells, possibly leading to dementia.
That does not appear to have significantly impacted anyone I know, and one would probably have to consume quite a bit for that ill-effect to be a problem for anyone other than the very rich and self-indulgent.
One minor benefit is that it helps the stomach cope with food impurities.
Black moss is used primarily for texture and appearance, and soaks up the flavours of sauces very nicely.
What makes it exceptionally desirable, especially for dishes served at New Year or at celebratory events, is that the name in Cantonese is homophonous with the term for getting rich.
Combined with dried oysters (蠔豉), the term for which sounds precisely like 'good affairs' (好事), you get the phrase 'ho si fat choi' - 好事發財 - expressing the wish that business should flourish.
HO SI FAT CHOI 好事發財
Family style dried oysters, pork, dried mushrooms, and black moss.
One pound streaky pork belly (五花腩 ng fa nam), left whole.
A small handful (about a quarter of a 兩) of black moss (髮菜 fat choi).
A dozen dried oysters (蠔豉 ho si).
3 - 5 dried shiitake mushrooms (冬菇 dong gu).
2 or 3 cloves garlic.
A small thumblength ginger.
A little bit of ground pepper and a pinch of five spice powder.
Half cup soy sauce.
Half cup sherry or rice wine.
Half cup stock or water.
Soak the black moss, dried oysters, and shiitake separately for an hour or so. Rinse the black moss and the oysters to remove sand or grit.
Drain the mushrooms, reserving the liquid.
Whack the garlic and ginger with the flat side of a cleaver, but do not smash them.
Heat a little oil in a wok. Gild the garlic and ginger briefly, remove from pan and set aside.
Fry the piece of pork on all sides until the colour has changed and it is fragrant - drain off any excess grease that melted out.
Add the mushrooms, as well as the garlic and ginger, quick-fry briefly. Then add the oysters, liquids, and spices. Simmer for forty five minutes or so. Add the black moss, and cook for about twenty minutes more. Add water if necessary to keep the dish moist.
Arrange on a platter, garnish with cilantro or spring onion.
The pork should be soft enough that it can be broken with chopsticks or cut with a spoon, but you may wish to slice it for better presentation. This is enough for four people, but keeps well if there are any leftovers.
HO SI FAT CHOI 好事發財
Restaurant style dried oysters with black moss.
A dozen dried oysters (蠔豉 ho si).
8 black mushrooms (冬菇 dong gu).
A small handful (about a quarter of a 兩) of black moss (髮菜 fat choi).
Half cup superior stock.
Two TBS oyster sauce.
One Tsp. sugar.
One Tsp. sesame oil.
One Tsp. cornstarch mixed in a tablespoon water.
Soak the black moss, dried oysters, and shiitake separately for an hour or so. Rinse the black moss and the oysters to remove sand or grit.
Drain the mushrooms, reserving the liquid.
Briefly stirfry the soaked oysters, add the mushrooms, chicken stock, oyster sauce, sugar, mushroom soaking water, and fatchoi. Simmer until the mushrooms are soft. Add in the cornstarch water and sesame oil, stir till slick, and plate it.
Garnish with cilantro or spring onion.
FAT CHOI JAU SAU 發財就手
Wealth right into the hand: pig's trotter with black moss and dried oyster.
One pig's trotter, rinsed scalded and scrubbed.
A dozen dried oysters (蠔豉 ho si).
A small handful (about a quarter of a 兩) of black moss (髮菜 fat choi).
Six to ten baby bokchoy.
A few slices of ginger.
Quarter cup sherry or rice wine.
Quarter cup superior stock.
Two TBS oyster sauce.
One TBS soy sauce.
One Tsp. sugar.
Soak the black moss and dried oysters separately for an hour or so. Rinse the black moss and the oysters to remove sand or grit.
Place the trotter with some salt and a little oil in a wok, and tumble-fry it till it is well coloured and aromatic. Remove from pan and set aside. Wipe pan, add a little oil, and gild the ginger. Add the oysters, stir-fry briefly, seethe with the sherry. Add the trotter, stock, sugar, and water to keep it fairly soupy. Decant to a clay pot or casserole and simmer for an hour and a half to two hours.
Add the black moss, oyster sauce, soy sauce, and cook for another fifteen or twenty minutes.
Rinse and blanch the baby bokchoy, use them to rim a serving plate. Scoop the stew into the centre of the plate. Garnish with cilantro or spring onion.
The knuckle should be soft enough that it can be taken apart with chopsticks.
If you really want to play on the symbolism, you could serve a stirfried dish with carrot disks alongside.
NOTES:
日本蠔豉 (yat bun ho si): The best kinds of dried oysters come from Japan (日本), are nicely plump, show no damage, and are even and regular in appearance. As usual, you get what you pay for - it's worth spending a bit more.
髮菜 (fat choi): Nostoc flagelliforme.
Wikipedia:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fat_choy
and
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nostoc
好事發財 (ho si fat choi): 好 ho: good; to love. 事 si: matter, affair. 發 fat: issue, send out, bring forth, occur, happen. 財 choi: money, wealth. 發財 fat choi: get rich.
For more on symbolic edibles, see this post:
Chinese New Year - Lucky wishes, lucky foods
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2011/01/chinese-new-year-lucky-wishes-lucky.html
Concerning unfamiliar Chinese culinary substances:
Bird's nest - Shark fin - Sea cucumber
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2010/11/chinese-slimy-things.html
Common flavouring ingredients
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2010/10/dried-shrimp-chinese-cooking-fat-girls.html
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Both ingredients add their own unique characteristics to a dish, and they are delicious in combination.
BLACK MOSS
Nostoc flagelliforme, called hair vegetable in Chinese (髮菜 fat choi), is a cyanobacterium which grows low to the ground in arid regions. Because harvesting it is labour intensive, and the supply is naturally limited to begin with and getting more so due to high demand, it tends to be expensive. Prices vary between four and ten dollars per tael.
[TAEL: 兩 or 两 (leung): 37¾ grammes ~ 1.3 oz.]
The hair-like strands of black moss resemble steel wool in appearance and general dimensions, and are a dark green that verges on black when dry, dull greenish when wet. Lower grades are often adulterated with a dyed starch-strand imitation that appears jet-black and darkens the soaking water, and bargain black moss may in fact be mostly or entirely ersatz.
Black moss needs to be soaked for a few hours, and well-rinsed to get rid of sand, before use. If blanched in boiling water after rehydrating, the cooking time is shortened.
It is available in packets of one or two taels. Sealed against moisture it will keep for well over a year.
As a food it has no nutritional value whatsoever, is not really digestible, and is in fact mildly toxic, containing an amino acid which could adversely affect the normal function of nerve cells, possibly leading to dementia.
That does not appear to have significantly impacted anyone I know, and one would probably have to consume quite a bit for that ill-effect to be a problem for anyone other than the very rich and self-indulgent.
One minor benefit is that it helps the stomach cope with food impurities.
Black moss is used primarily for texture and appearance, and soaks up the flavours of sauces very nicely.
What makes it exceptionally desirable, especially for dishes served at New Year or at celebratory events, is that the name in Cantonese is homophonous with the term for getting rich.
Combined with dried oysters (蠔豉), the term for which sounds precisely like 'good affairs' (好事), you get the phrase 'ho si fat choi' - 好事發財 - expressing the wish that business should flourish.
HO SI FAT CHOI 好事發財
Family style dried oysters, pork, dried mushrooms, and black moss.
One pound streaky pork belly (五花腩 ng fa nam), left whole.
A small handful (about a quarter of a 兩) of black moss (髮菜 fat choi).
A dozen dried oysters (蠔豉 ho si).
3 - 5 dried shiitake mushrooms (冬菇 dong gu).
2 or 3 cloves garlic.
A small thumblength ginger.
A little bit of ground pepper and a pinch of five spice powder.
Half cup soy sauce.
Half cup sherry or rice wine.
Half cup stock or water.
Soak the black moss, dried oysters, and shiitake separately for an hour or so. Rinse the black moss and the oysters to remove sand or grit.
Drain the mushrooms, reserving the liquid.
Whack the garlic and ginger with the flat side of a cleaver, but do not smash them.
Heat a little oil in a wok. Gild the garlic and ginger briefly, remove from pan and set aside.
Fry the piece of pork on all sides until the colour has changed and it is fragrant - drain off any excess grease that melted out.
Add the mushrooms, as well as the garlic and ginger, quick-fry briefly. Then add the oysters, liquids, and spices. Simmer for forty five minutes or so. Add the black moss, and cook for about twenty minutes more. Add water if necessary to keep the dish moist.
Arrange on a platter, garnish with cilantro or spring onion.
The pork should be soft enough that it can be broken with chopsticks or cut with a spoon, but you may wish to slice it for better presentation. This is enough for four people, but keeps well if there are any leftovers.
HO SI FAT CHOI 好事發財
Restaurant style dried oysters with black moss.
A dozen dried oysters (蠔豉 ho si).
8 black mushrooms (冬菇 dong gu).
A small handful (about a quarter of a 兩) of black moss (髮菜 fat choi).
Half cup superior stock.
Two TBS oyster sauce.
One Tsp. sugar.
One Tsp. sesame oil.
One Tsp. cornstarch mixed in a tablespoon water.
Soak the black moss, dried oysters, and shiitake separately for an hour or so. Rinse the black moss and the oysters to remove sand or grit.
Drain the mushrooms, reserving the liquid.
Briefly stirfry the soaked oysters, add the mushrooms, chicken stock, oyster sauce, sugar, mushroom soaking water, and fatchoi. Simmer until the mushrooms are soft. Add in the cornstarch water and sesame oil, stir till slick, and plate it.
Garnish with cilantro or spring onion.
FAT CHOI JAU SAU 發財就手
Wealth right into the hand: pig's trotter with black moss and dried oyster.
One pig's trotter, rinsed scalded and scrubbed.
A dozen dried oysters (蠔豉 ho si).
A small handful (about a quarter of a 兩) of black moss (髮菜 fat choi).
Six to ten baby bokchoy.
A few slices of ginger.
Quarter cup sherry or rice wine.
Quarter cup superior stock.
Two TBS oyster sauce.
One TBS soy sauce.
One Tsp. sugar.
Soak the black moss and dried oysters separately for an hour or so. Rinse the black moss and the oysters to remove sand or grit.
Place the trotter with some salt and a little oil in a wok, and tumble-fry it till it is well coloured and aromatic. Remove from pan and set aside. Wipe pan, add a little oil, and gild the ginger. Add the oysters, stir-fry briefly, seethe with the sherry. Add the trotter, stock, sugar, and water to keep it fairly soupy. Decant to a clay pot or casserole and simmer for an hour and a half to two hours.
Add the black moss, oyster sauce, soy sauce, and cook for another fifteen or twenty minutes.
Rinse and blanch the baby bokchoy, use them to rim a serving plate. Scoop the stew into the centre of the plate. Garnish with cilantro or spring onion.
The knuckle should be soft enough that it can be taken apart with chopsticks.
If you really want to play on the symbolism, you could serve a stirfried dish with carrot disks alongside.
NOTES:
日本蠔豉 (yat bun ho si): The best kinds of dried oysters come from Japan (日本), are nicely plump, show no damage, and are even and regular in appearance. As usual, you get what you pay for - it's worth spending a bit more.
髮菜 (fat choi): Nostoc flagelliforme.
Wikipedia:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fat_choy
and
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nostoc
好事發財 (ho si fat choi): 好 ho: good; to love. 事 si: matter, affair. 發 fat: issue, send out, bring forth, occur, happen. 財 choi: money, wealth. 發財 fat choi: get rich.
For more on symbolic edibles, see this post:
Chinese New Year - Lucky wishes, lucky foods
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2011/01/chinese-new-year-lucky-wishes-lucky.html
Concerning unfamiliar Chinese culinary substances:
Bird's nest - Shark fin - Sea cucumber
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2010/11/chinese-slimy-things.html
Common flavouring ingredients
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2010/10/dried-shrimp-chinese-cooking-fat-girls.html
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
PAPRIKA: RED CHICKEN AND PURKULT
Treppenwitz mentions that he and his eyshes chayil had dinner at a shakshuka place in Tel Aviv. Now, for those who don't know, shakshuka is an Israeli dish that involves eggs, peppers, and tomatoes.
http://www.treppenwitz.com/2009/06/i-cant-believe-i-ate-almost-the-whole-thing.html
One of the key passages in his post is this:
"Don't people wear clothes in Tel Aviv! I mean seriously, who needs 'pron' when you can simply stroll through the mall and be literally assaulted by thongs, bikini lines and boob jobs for free? And irony of irony, I forgot to wear my concealed holster for my gun (which I try to do when in Tel Aviv), so as we walked through the mall, people were glaring at me like I'd just opened my raincoat to flash a bunch of girl scouts! "
See, that's an attention grabber right there. Go on over and read the entire thing.
And if you feel that in order to truly understand the Treppenwitzian gestalt you must flash a bunch of girl scouts, so be it.
[Note: Little Chinese-American Girl Scouts would probably be best. Their screams are high-pitched and piercing, they can produce more volume than an equivalent number of little blondes, their outrage is both more fierce, and more deliciously indignant. Let me know what you think.]
I've just got to visit Tel Aviv one of these days.
SEGUE SIDEWAYS
Of course, Treppenwitz's post immediately reminded me of a posting on Dovbear's blog from two years ago, right after Tisha B'Av.
http://dovbear.blogspot.com/2007/07/howd-it-go-chevra.html
The key that connects these two posts consists of peppers and tomatoes. Not girl scouts.
Dov has, to my knowledge, never mentioned girls scouts (probably an oversight).
Dovbear has, however, spoken of Holishkes, Delkelech, Shlishkes, Nokrln (nokerly), Kokkos, and Rockett-Crumbly.
Also referenced at some point were Makkos and Diyusz, Gulyasz and Lekvar.
Plus Letsho.
This was in another Dovbearian post (which also made no mention of girl scouts).
[Stuffed cabbage (gevikkelde krote/holupches/golubzhi) filled with meat, rice, poppy seeds; Type of filled turnover; Potato dumplings twixt gnocchi and tater tots (fried); Little boiled dumplings; Rolled yeast-dough chocolate cake; Casserole of potato layers, sliced onion, and hardboiled eggs baked in butter and smetana.
A kokkos made with poppy seed filling and a kokkos made with ground up walnuts.
Meat stewed with peppers, paprika, onion, and garlic; and a dense plum or apricot goop to fill pastries, which are also valled lekvar.
Sautéed and seethed onions, peppers, and tomatoes, often with eggs or sausage.]
http://dovbear.blogspot.com/2008/02/pop-food-quiz.html
Some people would argue that letsho HAS to be flavoured with paprika.
As does nearly all other food.
My mother added paprika to almost everything. Rice? Add paprika! Eggs? Add paprika! Chicken? Add paprika! Hamburger patties? Brown bean soup? Add paprika! Add paprika! Tomato salad? Add .......
She even made spaghetti sauce with paprika.
The other spice she loved was caraway seed.
Which brings us to today's recipe.
CHICKEN PAPRIKASZ
1 whole chicken (about 3 pounds), cut into 8 pieces.
2 garlic cloves, minced.
2 onions, thinly sliced.
2 - 4 Tbsp sweet Hungarian paprika.
1/2 cup chicken stock.
4 Tbsp sour cream (*).
A very generous pinch of ground caraway seed.
Olive oil, or butter, or bacon grease (*).
Salt and pepper.
Gild the onions and garlic. Rub the chicken bits with oil, plus salt, pepper, and some of the paprika. Add to the pan and brown slightly. Now add the remaining paprika and the ground caraway, stir to mix, and add the chicken stock and enough water to barely cover. Simmer for about half an hour, then stir in the sour cream.
Garnish with plenty of chopped parsley.
(*) If you keep kosher, only use olive oil, and omit the sour cream. In which case, use less paprika.
You would probably also like purkult: diced meat simmered with onions, peppers, paprika, and wine. Tomato may be included, but it is better without. Just rely on the onions, peppers, paprika, and wine to make the sauce zesty. A pinch of caraway may also be added. Simmer till the sauce has been reduced considerably and the tough gamey meat softened.
===================================================
AFTERTHOUGHT
The Little Chinese-American Girl Scouts mentioned above can probably be pacified by a good meal. They'll still justifiably consider you a horrid pervert and an ugly hairy monster, but they'll be in a much better mood after eating at a nice Hungarian restaurant.
Far less murderous in any case; you want them less murderous.
http://www.treppenwitz.com/2009/06/i-cant-believe-i-ate-almost-the-whole-thing.html
One of the key passages in his post is this:
"Don't people wear clothes in Tel Aviv! I mean seriously, who needs 'pron' when you can simply stroll through the mall and be literally assaulted by thongs, bikini lines and boob jobs for free? And irony of irony, I forgot to wear my concealed holster for my gun (which I try to do when in Tel Aviv), so as we walked through the mall, people were glaring at me like I'd just opened my raincoat to flash a bunch of girl scouts! "
See, that's an attention grabber right there. Go on over and read the entire thing.
And if you feel that in order to truly understand the Treppenwitzian gestalt you must flash a bunch of girl scouts, so be it.
[Note: Little Chinese-American Girl Scouts would probably be best. Their screams are high-pitched and piercing, they can produce more volume than an equivalent number of little blondes, their outrage is both more fierce, and more deliciously indignant. Let me know what you think.]
I've just got to visit Tel Aviv one of these days.
SEGUE SIDEWAYS
Of course, Treppenwitz's post immediately reminded me of a posting on Dovbear's blog from two years ago, right after Tisha B'Av.
http://dovbear.blogspot.com/2007/07/howd-it-go-chevra.html
The key that connects these two posts consists of peppers and tomatoes. Not girl scouts.
Dov has, to my knowledge, never mentioned girls scouts (probably an oversight).
Dovbear has, however, spoken of Holishkes, Delkelech, Shlishkes, Nokrln (nokerly), Kokkos, and Rockett-Crumbly.
Also referenced at some point were Makkos and Diyusz, Gulyasz and Lekvar.
Plus Letsho.
This was in another Dovbearian post (which also made no mention of girl scouts).
[Stuffed cabbage (gevikkelde krote/holupches/golubzhi) filled with meat, rice, poppy seeds; Type of filled turnover; Potato dumplings twixt gnocchi and tater tots (fried); Little boiled dumplings; Rolled yeast-dough chocolate cake; Casserole of potato layers, sliced onion, and hardboiled eggs baked in butter and smetana.
A kokkos made with poppy seed filling and a kokkos made with ground up walnuts.
Meat stewed with peppers, paprika, onion, and garlic; and a dense plum or apricot goop to fill pastries, which are also valled lekvar.
Sautéed and seethed onions, peppers, and tomatoes, often with eggs or sausage.]
http://dovbear.blogspot.com/2008/02/pop-food-quiz.html
Some people would argue that letsho HAS to be flavoured with paprika.
As does nearly all other food.
My mother added paprika to almost everything. Rice? Add paprika! Eggs? Add paprika! Chicken? Add paprika! Hamburger patties? Brown bean soup? Add paprika! Add paprika! Tomato salad? Add .......
She even made spaghetti sauce with paprika.
The other spice she loved was caraway seed.
Which brings us to today's recipe.
CHICKEN PAPRIKASZ
1 whole chicken (about 3 pounds), cut into 8 pieces.
2 garlic cloves, minced.
2 onions, thinly sliced.
2 - 4 Tbsp sweet Hungarian paprika.
1/2 cup chicken stock.
4 Tbsp sour cream (*).
A very generous pinch of ground caraway seed.
Olive oil, or butter, or bacon grease (*).
Salt and pepper.
Gild the onions and garlic. Rub the chicken bits with oil, plus salt, pepper, and some of the paprika. Add to the pan and brown slightly. Now add the remaining paprika and the ground caraway, stir to mix, and add the chicken stock and enough water to barely cover. Simmer for about half an hour, then stir in the sour cream.
Garnish with plenty of chopped parsley.
(*) If you keep kosher, only use olive oil, and omit the sour cream. In which case, use less paprika.
You would probably also like purkult: diced meat simmered with onions, peppers, paprika, and wine. Tomato may be included, but it is better without. Just rely on the onions, peppers, paprika, and wine to make the sauce zesty. A pinch of caraway may also be added. Simmer till the sauce has been reduced considerably and the tough gamey meat softened.
===================================================
AFTERTHOUGHT
The Little Chinese-American Girl Scouts mentioned above can probably be pacified by a good meal. They'll still justifiably consider you a horrid pervert and an ugly hairy monster, but they'll be in a much better mood after eating at a nice Hungarian restaurant.
Far less murderous in any case; you want them less murderous.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
MESSAGE FOR THE DEPARTED
A very large part of my job is collecting unpaid invoices - I make collection calls. This is strictly business to business, it's not like I call up the widow Jones and tell her 'pay up bitch or we're repossessing your couch', nor do I threaten to break people's kneecaps. Threats have not been part of the legitimate collection world for quite a while, except in Texas (don't ask about Texan collection agencies - they are the scum of the universe). And the whole field is rather well regulated - except in Texas (Texan collection agencies are the scum of the universe - but you already knew that).
Most commercial collection involves one company trying to get another company to pay a past-due amount. Reminders that "hey, that invoice isn't getting any younger you know, and if you really want to keep buying our marvelous wonderful world-saving products that come with buckets of good karma and puppies! - Huggable puppies! - you probably should pay us now".
Please move that scrap of paper to the top of your to-do pile. Give me a call, tell me the payment is being processed, and listen to me squeal with excitement and gratitude.
Occasionally I leave anxious queries in their voicemail along the lines of: "why haven't you called back? I left ten messages for you over the last week, and I was starting to think something awful had happened! You scared me! I was so concerned!!!"
Whatever your crappy reason for not paying quite just yet, fercrapsakes call me! Let me know what's going on, so I don't forward your file to a collection agency in Texas.
Sometimes the miserable miserly hosers have a good reason for not calling back.
While trying to track down a severely delinquent non-payer, I ran across a lovely obituary. Of my customer. She passed away three months ago. She was only thirty four years old, and she left behind grieving parents, grandparents, siblings, cousins, and nephews and nieces. She also had many friends, who keenly miss her.
Her store was closed for a few weeks, but is open again - her loving kinfolk are running it in memory of her (she had opened the business only half a year before her untimely death).
I am very glad I ran across that obituary.
Not because she is dead, but because I now know why she didn't return my phone calls to her cell phone number. And when I call her store, I will not ask to speak with her, but will just gently bring up the subject of an invoice that unfortunately got overlooked.
Sometimes the nice people I deal with have good reasons for not calling back.
===============================
The deceased left behind a recipe for pumpkin bars. I am not fond of pumpkin (nor of the other main ingredient (oats).
Pumpkin Bars
6 cups whole oats
2 cups all-purpose flour
4 eggs
1/3 cup honey
1/4 cup molasses
1 1/2 cups canned pumpkin
2 1/2 cups yogurt
1 - 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon (she left cinnamon out of the recipe, but it really should be included).
Mix all ingredients. Decant into an oiled 9 x 13 baking dish. Bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes. Let cool for 10 minutes and cut into squares. Keep refrigerated in a closed container. They will keep for about 6 weeks.
Despite my misgivings (oats? That's what horses eat!) and opposition to the evil imperialist pumpkin hegemony, I will probably make these at some point in the future.
It seems like a good way to remember.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Most commercial collection involves one company trying to get another company to pay a past-due amount. Reminders that "hey, that invoice isn't getting any younger you know, and if you really want to keep buying our marvelous wonderful world-saving products that come with buckets of good karma and puppies! - Huggable puppies! - you probably should pay us now".
Please move that scrap of paper to the top of your to-do pile. Give me a call, tell me the payment is being processed, and listen to me squeal with excitement and gratitude.
Occasionally I leave anxious queries in their voicemail along the lines of: "why haven't you called back? I left ten messages for you over the last week, and I was starting to think something awful had happened! You scared me! I was so concerned!!!"
Whatever your crappy reason for not paying quite just yet, fercrapsakes call me! Let me know what's going on, so I don't forward your file to a collection agency in Texas.
Sometimes the miserable miserly hosers have a good reason for not calling back.
While trying to track down a severely delinquent non-payer, I ran across a lovely obituary. Of my customer. She passed away three months ago. She was only thirty four years old, and she left behind grieving parents, grandparents, siblings, cousins, and nephews and nieces. She also had many friends, who keenly miss her.
Her store was closed for a few weeks, but is open again - her loving kinfolk are running it in memory of her (she had opened the business only half a year before her untimely death).
I am very glad I ran across that obituary.
Not because she is dead, but because I now know why she didn't return my phone calls to her cell phone number. And when I call her store, I will not ask to speak with her, but will just gently bring up the subject of an invoice that unfortunately got overlooked.
Sometimes the nice people I deal with have good reasons for not calling back.
===============================
The deceased left behind a recipe for pumpkin bars. I am not fond of pumpkin (nor of the other main ingredient (oats).
Pumpkin Bars
6 cups whole oats
2 cups all-purpose flour
4 eggs
1/3 cup honey
1/4 cup molasses
1 1/2 cups canned pumpkin
2 1/2 cups yogurt
1 - 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon (she left cinnamon out of the recipe, but it really should be included).
Mix all ingredients. Decant into an oiled 9 x 13 baking dish. Bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes. Let cool for 10 minutes and cut into squares. Keep refrigerated in a closed container. They will keep for about 6 weeks.
Despite my misgivings (oats? That's what horses eat!) and opposition to the evil imperialist pumpkin hegemony, I will probably make these at some point in the future.
It seems like a good way to remember.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
RAHAT LUKUM
According to popular belief in the eastern Meditarranean, Loukoumiya is good for your testicles or your sex-drive. I'm not sure which, and I'm not going to ask.
The natives of Greece, Cyprus, and Turkey all claim it as their own. Possibly they do so because of sex. That is something about which people are often possessive.
Lukum was introduced to the west in the 19th century under the name Turkish Delight. The actual name for the sweet is rahat lukum. Lukum means morsel, rahat means peace or contentment, so the translation is a 'morsel of contentment'.
The Turkish name may actually derive from Arabic: راحة الحلقم rahat al-hulkum: contentment of the gullet.
Please note that the name does not refer to sex in either language.
[Applets & Cotlets, by Liberty Orchards, is an offshoot of this type of sweet.]
RAHAT LUKUM
2 cups sugar.
4 tablespoons cornstarch.
1 cup water.
1/2 teaspoon cream of tartar.
2 tablespoon rosewater (available at Middle Eastern stores).
1/2 cup chopped pistachios, walnuts, or almonds.
Confectioner's sugar for dusting.
Mix sugar, cornstarch and cream of tartar with the water and boil for five minutes, stirring the while. Remove from heat and add rosewater and chopped nuts. Apply a little cooking oil to a rectangular pyrex dish (or use non-stick cooking spray) and pour in mixture to a depth of an inch. When cool, cut into rectangles and roll each piece in powdered sugar.
Store at room temperature in airtight container.
Fruit juice may be used in lieu of plain water - strained orange juice or clear apple juice is excellent, and a lemon may be squeezed in for tanginess. Food colouring as deemed appropriate can be added, and some people roll it in coconut shreds or crushed nuts.
Note that it can also be made with orange essence, or even orange blossom water (moit ez zaher), in lieu of the rosewater (moit el ward). Rosewater is traditional, but not essential.
I doubt that the rosewater is the secret ingredient that makes it tonifying to the masculine gelatinous parts, but feel free to examine the issue if you wish and brief the rest of us on what you conclude - we are fascinated by your gelatinous parts.
The natives of Greece, Cyprus, and Turkey all claim it as their own. Possibly they do so because of sex. That is something about which people are often possessive.
Lukum was introduced to the west in the 19th century under the name Turkish Delight. The actual name for the sweet is rahat lukum. Lukum means morsel, rahat means peace or contentment, so the translation is a 'morsel of contentment'.
The Turkish name may actually derive from Arabic: راحة الحلقم rahat al-hulkum: contentment of the gullet.
Please note that the name does not refer to sex in either language.
[Applets & Cotlets, by Liberty Orchards, is an offshoot of this type of sweet.]
RAHAT LUKUM
2 cups sugar.
4 tablespoons cornstarch.
1 cup water.
1/2 teaspoon cream of tartar.
2 tablespoon rosewater (available at Middle Eastern stores).
1/2 cup chopped pistachios, walnuts, or almonds.
Confectioner's sugar for dusting.
Mix sugar, cornstarch and cream of tartar with the water and boil for five minutes, stirring the while. Remove from heat and add rosewater and chopped nuts. Apply a little cooking oil to a rectangular pyrex dish (or use non-stick cooking spray) and pour in mixture to a depth of an inch. When cool, cut into rectangles and roll each piece in powdered sugar.
Store at room temperature in airtight container.
Fruit juice may be used in lieu of plain water - strained orange juice or clear apple juice is excellent, and a lemon may be squeezed in for tanginess. Food colouring as deemed appropriate can be added, and some people roll it in coconut shreds or crushed nuts.
Note that it can also be made with orange essence, or even orange blossom water (moit ez zaher), in lieu of the rosewater (moit el ward). Rosewater is traditional, but not essential.
I doubt that the rosewater is the secret ingredient that makes it tonifying to the masculine gelatinous parts, but feel free to examine the issue if you wish and brief the rest of us on what you conclude - we are fascinated by your gelatinous parts.
Thursday, July 03, 2008
UPDATED LIZARD - NOW BETTER THAN EVER
Please note that there are now even more recipes on the cooking page.
See here:
http://cookingwithalizard.blogspot.com/
Comments and suggestions welcome.
List of recipes as of July 3rd, 2008:
APPLE SAUCE NOODLE KUGEL, BOTERKOEK, SAMOR LIDA, ZWARTZUUR, ADOBO, PAKSIW, DINUGUAN, SOP DUONG, ATJAR TIMON, BEBEK ASEM - SOUR COOKED DUCK, KETJAP MANIS, SARUNDENG KADJO, SAMOSA, BHEJA FRY - FRIED BRAINS, MIRCHI KA SALAN, HYDERABADI MIRCHI KA SALAN, ANANAS KA MUZAFFAR, MUTANJAN, KABILI PILAW, SAKASAKA, ZEBRA MYEMBWE, ZEBRA STAMPOT, MABOKAY, BRAISED ZEBRA, ALU MAKHNI - HEART ATTACK ON A PLATE, DHANSAK MASALA - 2007 VERSION, PAYA NAHARI - SHEEP TROTTER STEW, KHEER - INDIAN RICE PUDDING, CHOLENT, AMBAKALIO - MANGO RELISH, HALEEM, DHANSAK MASALA - BAWI'S MOM'S VERSION, DHANSAK - BAWI'S MOM'S VERSION, SHIR BERINJ - AFGHANI RICE PUDDING, DHANSAK MASALA - MY RECIPE, KOLMI NO PATIO.
See here:
http://cookingwithalizard.blogspot.com/
Comments and suggestions welcome.
List of recipes as of July 3rd, 2008:
APPLE SAUCE NOODLE KUGEL, BOTERKOEK, SAMOR LIDA, ZWARTZUUR, ADOBO, PAKSIW, DINUGUAN, SOP DUONG, ATJAR TIMON, BEBEK ASEM - SOUR COOKED DUCK, KETJAP MANIS, SARUNDENG KADJO, SAMOSA, BHEJA FRY - FRIED BRAINS, MIRCHI KA SALAN, HYDERABADI MIRCHI KA SALAN, ANANAS KA MUZAFFAR, MUTANJAN, KABILI PILAW, SAKASAKA, ZEBRA MYEMBWE, ZEBRA STAMPOT, MABOKAY, BRAISED ZEBRA, ALU MAKHNI - HEART ATTACK ON A PLATE, DHANSAK MASALA - 2007 VERSION, PAYA NAHARI - SHEEP TROTTER STEW, KHEER - INDIAN RICE PUDDING, CHOLENT, AMBAKALIO - MANGO RELISH, HALEEM, DHANSAK MASALA - BAWI'S MOM'S VERSION, DHANSAK - BAWI'S MOM'S VERSION, SHIR BERINJ - AFGHANI RICE PUDDING, DHANSAK MASALA - MY RECIPE, KOLMI NO PATIO.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
YOU COOK LIKE A WHITE MAN!
Apparently I cook dhansak like it was cholent, or sumpin'!
A person whom I shall identify by the nickname Bawi wrote about dhansak recipes in general: "Just so you all understand - every single one of these recipes stinks. The method is wrong, and there is no ginger=garlic paste in a truly authentic Parsi Dhansak. All the recipes in Indian cookery books are written by pretenders."
[True enough - a lovely cookbook by a female author whom I shall not name has a dhansak recipe listing the weirdest substitution for dhansak masala. And some cookbooks written for Englishmen add pineapple chunks, apples, or potato. ]
This was in follow-up to the recipe here: http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2008/06/dhansak-or-this-is-why-you-should-never.html and the comments appended thereto, plus an e-mail discussion among several of us.
Bawi is a Parsi. I am not. Her words must outweigh mine on this issue.
So, for comparison's sake, I present the recipe that she uses.
BAWI'S MOM'S DHANSAK
Masala - grind to a fine paste:
One teaspoon Methi (Fenugreek) seeds
Half teaspoon Cumin seeds
4 Cloves
2 Cardamoms (green)
Half inch stick cinnamon
Six to seven dry red chilies (more like chile d'arbol than other)
One clove garlic
One and a half to two teaspoons dhana-jeera masala (add when frying paste)
Dal:
One and a half cups toovar dal
One onion, halved or quartered
Two and a half cups cubed red pumpkin
One eggplant (med - small) - no seeds if possible
One tomato
Half cup cilantro (not chopped)
Three to four sprigs mint (must!)
Four to five green chilies
Salt
Boil all vegetables and dal together until dal is done. Put dal and vegetables through sieve. Heat oil and fry ground masala paste. Add dhana-jeera masala and fry on low heat till done (clarification: the fragrance has changed and the oil has come out). Add dal and bring to boil. Simmer a while longer - about 15 to 20 minutes.
Serve with brown rice (she means Parsi style rice - gilded with some onion and sugar).
Note that there is no meat in this recipe - it is just the lentil gravy. Many cook it with meat (NOT chased through the sieve), and some prefer chicken over mutton, for reasons that are entirely their own. I would add about a pound of mutton, goat, or lamb, in chunks, to this quantity of dal. Browned in onion and spices first.
[Refer back to my recipe for the meat.]
The main difference is that whereas I, cholent-like, leave the vegetables in distinct chunks and the dal slightly textural, she insists that vegetables and dal should be chased through a sieve to yield a smooth puree.
[Hence leaving the cilantro as whole sprigs - it will stay behind in the sieve and not make the finished puree spotty.]
To her, dhansak is meat in thick dal gravy (with the pumpkin and brinjal smoothly incorporated in the gravy). No problem. That works for me too.
Another major difference between her recipe and mine is the absence in her recipe of any souring agent. Nor is there any gol-mirch or tej patta, and here I must somewhat differ of opinion with her, as I consider tej patta an essential (though minor) component, along with a spot of imli.
Where we absolutely come together, with no reservations, is her insistence that there should be ambakalio on the side (she insisted, I looked it up, and it sounds delish).
AMBAKALIO
One pound small green mangoes (or in any case, NOT squishy ripe mangoes)
Half a pound jaggery (palm sugar in big chunks)
A fragment of stick cinnamon
Chopped onion (about a quarter to a half) optional (some recipes leave it out, as would I also).
A green cardamom or two, a whole clove or two.
Water - two to four tablespoons.
Break jaggery apart, put in an enamel saucepan with water, the cardamom, and the cloves. Plus the onion, if despite my better judgment you decided to use it. Cook till the jaggery is dissolved.
Peel, cut, and de-seed the mangoes. Note that very nicely green mangoes will have a tender seed and the flesh will not have become all fibrous around it. Nor will juice and pulp cascade over your hands at this stage of unripeness, and the flesh is firm and fragrant, albeit pleasingly tart.
Add the sliced mango to the jaggery water, and simmer till the mango has softened and the liquid has become stroppy. Serve with the dhansak.
Note re dhana-jeera masala mentioned in the dhansak recipe: I believe this would be roasted and ground coriander and cumin, in the proportions that are fairly standard in almost all cuisines that use these spices in combination: two parts coriander, one part cumin.
Jaggery is palm sugar, rarely coarse molasses (cane) sugar. Somewhat over a cup should do it.
============================================
I posted about cholent (tsholnt) sometime last year. For your convenience, here's the recipe again:
CHOLENT
[Genig tshernt for sechs oder acht mentshen.]
Three quarters of a cup white beans (navy).
Three quarters of a cup red beans (kidney).
Half a cup pearl barley.
One and half pounds brisket or beef shortribs, attacked with a cleaver.
One and a half pounds potatoes, cut into large chunks.
One large onion, or two small - large chunks.
One large tomato, or two small, chopped.
Three to five cloves garlic, chopped.
One and a half TBS paprika.
Two or three bayleaves.
Salt, pepper, sugar, splash of sherry, jigger of Louisiana hotsauce.
Pinches ground cumin, turmeric, and dry ginger.
Olive oil.
Vinegar, to dash if wished.
Six or eight hardboiled eggs, rolled to crack the shells.
[Bonenkruid (Satureiea Hortensis, or Summer Savoury), if you have it in your larder, is an excellent addition - a sprig or goodly pinch added to the pot of beans has a salutary effect. Add it to all bean dishes.]
Soak beans overnight. Cast out the soaking water, and remove any grit or stones. Place in a large enamel stewpot with enough water to cover by an inch. Heat up the oil in a skillet, gild the onion and garlic, remove to the bean pot. Set the skillet aside for use in another hour or so for the meat. Bring the beans and onion to a boil, turn low, simmer for about three hours.
Salt and pepper the meat, and sprinkle just a pinch of sugar over, to facilitate browning. Put the meat in the skillet, brown a bit, stir in paprika and seethe with sherry before it burns, then transfer this also into the bean pot and scrape in the pan-crunchies after the beans have already simmered for about three hours. Add the pearl barley and everything else, burying the eggs and potatoes in the beans. Add a dash of vinegar also, and simmer on a backburner for an hour longer. Judge the liquid level and adjust (probably not necessary), then cover the pot and place it on the blech till Saturday afternoon, when you will serve it.
According to Resh Lakish, you have an extra degree of soul on the sabbath. For that extra soul's sake, please swallow some beano before eating.
============================================
Final rather silly note: If you combine the dhansak and cholent recipes, are you cooking for Parshews?
A person whom I shall identify by the nickname Bawi wrote about dhansak recipes in general: "Just so you all understand - every single one of these recipes stinks. The method is wrong, and there is no ginger=garlic paste in a truly authentic Parsi Dhansak. All the recipes in Indian cookery books are written by pretenders."
[True enough - a lovely cookbook by a female author whom I shall not name has a dhansak recipe listing the weirdest substitution for dhansak masala. And some cookbooks written for Englishmen add pineapple chunks, apples, or potato. ]
This was in follow-up to the recipe here: http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2008/06/dhansak-or-this-is-why-you-should-never.html and the comments appended thereto, plus an e-mail discussion among several of us.
Bawi is a Parsi. I am not. Her words must outweigh mine on this issue.
So, for comparison's sake, I present the recipe that she uses.
BAWI'S MOM'S DHANSAK
Masala - grind to a fine paste:
One teaspoon Methi (Fenugreek) seeds
Half teaspoon Cumin seeds
4 Cloves
2 Cardamoms (green)
Half inch stick cinnamon
Six to seven dry red chilies (more like chile d'arbol than other)
One clove garlic
One and a half to two teaspoons dhana-jeera masala (add when frying paste)
Dal:
One and a half cups toovar dal
One onion, halved or quartered
Two and a half cups cubed red pumpkin
One eggplant (med - small) - no seeds if possible
One tomato
Half cup cilantro (not chopped)
Three to four sprigs mint (must!)
Four to five green chilies
Salt
Boil all vegetables and dal together until dal is done. Put dal and vegetables through sieve. Heat oil and fry ground masala paste. Add dhana-jeera masala and fry on low heat till done (clarification: the fragrance has changed and the oil has come out). Add dal and bring to boil. Simmer a while longer - about 15 to 20 minutes.
Serve with brown rice (she means Parsi style rice - gilded with some onion and sugar).
Note that there is no meat in this recipe - it is just the lentil gravy. Many cook it with meat (NOT chased through the sieve), and some prefer chicken over mutton, for reasons that are entirely their own. I would add about a pound of mutton, goat, or lamb, in chunks, to this quantity of dal. Browned in onion and spices first.
[Refer back to my recipe for the meat.]
The main difference is that whereas I, cholent-like, leave the vegetables in distinct chunks and the dal slightly textural, she insists that vegetables and dal should be chased through a sieve to yield a smooth puree.
[Hence leaving the cilantro as whole sprigs - it will stay behind in the sieve and not make the finished puree spotty.]
To her, dhansak is meat in thick dal gravy (with the pumpkin and brinjal smoothly incorporated in the gravy). No problem. That works for me too.
Another major difference between her recipe and mine is the absence in her recipe of any souring agent. Nor is there any gol-mirch or tej patta, and here I must somewhat differ of opinion with her, as I consider tej patta an essential (though minor) component, along with a spot of imli.
Where we absolutely come together, with no reservations, is her insistence that there should be ambakalio on the side (she insisted, I looked it up, and it sounds delish).
AMBAKALIO
One pound small green mangoes (or in any case, NOT squishy ripe mangoes)
Half a pound jaggery (palm sugar in big chunks)
A fragment of stick cinnamon
Chopped onion (about a quarter to a half) optional (some recipes leave it out, as would I also).
A green cardamom or two, a whole clove or two.
Water - two to four tablespoons.
Break jaggery apart, put in an enamel saucepan with water, the cardamom, and the cloves. Plus the onion, if despite my better judgment you decided to use it. Cook till the jaggery is dissolved.
Peel, cut, and de-seed the mangoes. Note that very nicely green mangoes will have a tender seed and the flesh will not have become all fibrous around it. Nor will juice and pulp cascade over your hands at this stage of unripeness, and the flesh is firm and fragrant, albeit pleasingly tart.
Add the sliced mango to the jaggery water, and simmer till the mango has softened and the liquid has become stroppy. Serve with the dhansak.
Note re dhana-jeera masala mentioned in the dhansak recipe: I believe this would be roasted and ground coriander and cumin, in the proportions that are fairly standard in almost all cuisines that use these spices in combination: two parts coriander, one part cumin.
Jaggery is palm sugar, rarely coarse molasses (cane) sugar. Somewhat over a cup should do it.
============================================
I posted about cholent (tsholnt) sometime last year. For your convenience, here's the recipe again:
CHOLENT
[Genig tshernt for sechs oder acht mentshen.]
Three quarters of a cup white beans (navy).
Three quarters of a cup red beans (kidney).
Half a cup pearl barley.
One and half pounds brisket or beef shortribs, attacked with a cleaver.
One and a half pounds potatoes, cut into large chunks.
One large onion, or two small - large chunks.
One large tomato, or two small, chopped.
Three to five cloves garlic, chopped.
One and a half TBS paprika.
Two or three bayleaves.
Salt, pepper, sugar, splash of sherry, jigger of Louisiana hotsauce.
Pinches ground cumin, turmeric, and dry ginger.
Olive oil.
Vinegar, to dash if wished.
Six or eight hardboiled eggs, rolled to crack the shells.
[Bonenkruid (Satureiea Hortensis, or Summer Savoury), if you have it in your larder, is an excellent addition - a sprig or goodly pinch added to the pot of beans has a salutary effect. Add it to all bean dishes.]
Soak beans overnight. Cast out the soaking water, and remove any grit or stones. Place in a large enamel stewpot with enough water to cover by an inch. Heat up the oil in a skillet, gild the onion and garlic, remove to the bean pot. Set the skillet aside for use in another hour or so for the meat. Bring the beans and onion to a boil, turn low, simmer for about three hours.
Salt and pepper the meat, and sprinkle just a pinch of sugar over, to facilitate browning. Put the meat in the skillet, brown a bit, stir in paprika and seethe with sherry before it burns, then transfer this also into the bean pot and scrape in the pan-crunchies after the beans have already simmered for about three hours. Add the pearl barley and everything else, burying the eggs and potatoes in the beans. Add a dash of vinegar also, and simmer on a backburner for an hour longer. Judge the liquid level and adjust (probably not necessary), then cover the pot and place it on the blech till Saturday afternoon, when you will serve it.
According to Resh Lakish, you have an extra degree of soul on the sabbath. For that extra soul's sake, please swallow some beano before eating.
============================================
Final rather silly note: If you combine the dhansak and cholent recipes, are you cooking for Parshews?
Thursday, June 19, 2008
DHANSAK ! OR, THIS IS WHY YOU SHOULD NEVER TRUST A DABBAWALLA TO DO A PERSONJI'S JOB
This past Sunday I had the worst excuse for dhansak ever. It was miserable. Horrid. Nasty in the extreme. A vile and debased concoction. A thoroughly repulsive squogg-dreck mess, off-putting and up-setting. Blah. And gxtvxrdxmmx-nxndxjx!
[06/20/08 FOUL CURSING OBSCURED BY REQUEST OF A READER] I should have known better - what Indian restaurant in the United States actually serves Indian food? More specifically, what Indian restaurant in the United States does anything other than dabba cuisine?
Much as I love Punjabi truck drivers and their rich greasy eats, it was probably too much to expect them to understand dhansak.
What I wanted was mutton chunks in a mixture of various lentils and vegetables, thick and nicely spiced, with chicken croquettes and a chunky cucumber salad. And Parsi brown rice.
What I got was standard steam table curried lamb and uninspired yellow lentils hotchpotted together.
Dudes, that's not dhansak. That's muck. You guys must think I'm white.
Oh wait, I am.
Eliding over the minor matter of my hereditary skin-hue, let me explain how to make dhansak.
DHANSAK
Enough for eight people.
[Made with lamb. As it should be. Chicken dhansak (dhansak ni margi) is for wussies.]
Two pounds of chunked lamb on the bone.
One cup of oiled toovar dal (telwalla toor dal).
Half a cup of masoor dal.
Half a cup of moong dal (or urad dal).
A pound of red pumpkin, large chunks (substitute regular pumpkin, or a batata, if no red pumpkin is to be had).
Two or three Chinese eggplants
Three or four tomatoes - peeled, seed, chopped.
Two or three large onions, chopped.
Several cloves of garlic, minced.
A large thumb of ginger, also minced.
A small bunch of methi leaves, plus a handful of cilantro, nicely minced.
A few tablespoons of tamarind water (equal parts hot water and mashed tamarind pulp).
Godrej Ghee or Olive Oil.
Mint leaves - enough to make their presence known, but not an excess.
[06/20/08 - Mistri-bhen alerted me to the omission this morning. And note: actual quantity depends on pungency.]
One batch of Dhansak masala (see below).
Soak the dals for the requisite length of time - overnight, or according to the instructions on the package. Drain, rinse, drain again. Then put in a pan with a teaspoon of turmeric and plenty water to cover, and cook till quite done - about an hour or so. Use a wooden spoon to break up and mash the lentils.
[06/20/08 - oh go ahead; add a goodly pinch of fried ground cumin to the dals - I know you want to.]
Brown the onions in an enameled stew-pan. Add the ground spices plus the garlic and ginger, sauté till fragrant, add the meat and tomato, plus a brisk jigger tamarind water (or substitute a squeeze of lemon and a dash of vinegar), and cook, stirring, till the meat is well coloured and the oil separates. Add water to cover, pinch of salt, cook for about an hour.
Now combine the meat and lentils, add the remaining vegetables, and cook till the eggplant and pumpkin chunks are soft and falling apart - the finished dish will be a medium ruddy brown, with lumps. Adjust the flavours - pinches salt or sugar, dash more hot stuff, another squeeze of lime. Plus a pinch of garam masala for aroma, and a small amount freshly chopped cilantro or parsley for visual appeal.
Serve with kachumber and Parsi brown rice, plus quartered lime for squeezing. And croquettes or pattice.
DHANSAK MASALA
[Parsi spice mixture used primarily for dhansak]
Ten Dry chilies - Guajillo or New Mexico chiles secos.
Three TBS coriander seed.
One and a half TBS cumin seed.
One TBS whole peppercorns.
Half a TBS fennel seed.
Half a TBS black mustard seed.
Half a TBS fenugreek seed.
Four Tej Patta (cassia leaves - bay leaf may be substituted, but it isn't really the same).
Four green cardamom pods, seeds only.
One black cardamom pod, seeds only.
One three-inch stick of cinnamon.
One star-anise pod.
Eight whole cloves.
One Tsp. mace.
Toast all spices except the mace. Cool and grind. Add the mace and regrind, sift. If you double the recipe to have some for future use, store the excess in a brown or blue glass jar in a cool place. Use within a month.
-------------------------------------
GLOSSARY
Guajillo chile: A nice winey dry chile that yields a lovely simmered salsa for New Mexicans, but which also makes a superior chile powder. One Guajillo is roughly equivalent to between two teaspoons and one tablespoon of powder.
[I like to up the ante by also adding a spoonful or two of sambal oelek (simple hot red pepper mash available from Vietnamese, Chinese, or Dutch manufacturers - the Vietnamese brands from Southern California are best), plus a jigger of Louisiana hot sauce to the cooking dhansak.]
Tuvar dal, Toor dal: Pigeon pea, Cajanus Cajan,
Masoor dal: Regular salmon coloured lentil, commonly available. Lens culinaris. Takes less than an hour to cook.
Moong dal: mung beans, (lok dau in Cantonese, 綠豆). Vigna Radiata.
Urad dal: Black gram, vigna mungo.
Red pumpkin: Same as the regular types of pumpkin, different cultivar, different flavour. Cucurbit.
Kachumber: The typical Indian restaurant salad composed of chopped cucumber, tomato, onion, salt, pepper, fried mustard seeds, and cilantro, dressed with a little vinegar, salt, and sugar. Think chunky salsa with cucumber, not wet.
Parsi brown rice: Combine a few tablespoons of sugar with a little water. Heat in a cheap enamel pan till the sugar has melted and started to redden, remove from heat immediately. Carefully add water (beware of savage splattering), and reheat. Add this dark red syrup with a pinch or two of cinnamon to three or four fried onions, add parboiled rice sufficient for the eight people, mix and stir-fry a bit to imbue the rice with the flavours, then add water to cover, place a lid on the pan, and cook on low heat for about twenty minutes. Parsi brown rice is not an exact science. More or less sugar as you wish - it should be slightly sweet, taste of fried onions, the cinnamon should aromatize but not dominate, and it should still be mostly just cooked rice.
Pattice: This is the accepted spelling of 'patties' in descriptions of Parsi food - do not quibble with the spelling. Pattice are similar to Indonesian perkedel - minced chicken held together with a little mashed potato plus flour and spices, kneaded and formed into "patties", and fried brown. The key thing is that they are crispy-flaky, savoury-spicy. You don't need a recipe, just experiment. Serve with a glob of hot (!) green chutney.
-------------------------------------
Now, what better to delay your after-lunch nap than dessert?
[Errrm, if you keep kosher, postpone the dessert till after your nap. At least three hours.]
SHIR BERINJ
[Rice in sweetened cream.]
Two cups heavy cream, and a dash extra.
One cup rice.
One cup cane sugar.
One cup plump golden raisins.
Four Tablespoons rosewater (Arabic: ma'-ward, moit el warda).
Four Tablespoons crumbled pistachios.
A pinch of saffron.
Wash the rice well, spread it out to dry on a tray for a day. Then pound with a brass mortar and pestle until the grains are about one quarter their original size.
Add the saffron to the cream and bring to a boil, add the rice and bring back to boiling, turn low, stir, and add the sugar and raisins. Keep stirring till it has become thick and custardy (meh, takes about ten minutes or so). Remove from heat, and when it has cooled add the rose water and pistachio. Serve semi-chilled.
Shortcuts are possible: one is to dry the rice in the oven on a very low heat (which, if you live in a boggy climate, is better than relying on the weather), another is to use a coffee grinder and pulse the dried rice. The reason why you wash the rice and re-dry it is obvious - you do not want all the powdery crap that normally coats even the best rice, and washing the rice dissolves some of the starches. Redrying it afterwards makes it easier to pound, too.
Of course, instead of pudding, you could simply retire to that long chair on the veranda and doze till sunset. Make sure that the net is down to keep out the flying things and the slats are lowered to keep out the sun.
-------------------------------------
AFTERWORD
It is customary to have dhansak for the Sunday noon meal among the Parsees of Bombay. And because lunch is heavy, the household turns quiet afterwards, as the various diners sleep, for their digestion's sake - naught but the occasional borborigmus breaks the silence and disturbs their slumber........... entirely aside from the antiquated air-conditioning system, which sounds like heavy machinery.
I like dhansak. Perhaps you could tell. I was consequently overjoyed to see it on the menu, and bitterly disappointed with the actual dish when it came out of the kitchen. I shall avoid lashon hara by not naming the restaurant that produced that ghastly mess.
Savage Kitten, on the other hand, was happy as a clam. She had Tandoori Murghi. Did you know that a petite Cantonese female can devour an entire Tandoori chicken all by herself? Along with poori, rice, and raita.
Savage Kitten went to sleep promptly upon our return home. I did not.
[06/20/08 FOUL CURSING OBSCURED BY REQUEST OF A READER] I should have known better - what Indian restaurant in the United States actually serves Indian food? More specifically, what Indian restaurant in the United States does anything other than dabba cuisine?
Much as I love Punjabi truck drivers and their rich greasy eats, it was probably too much to expect them to understand dhansak.
What I wanted was mutton chunks in a mixture of various lentils and vegetables, thick and nicely spiced, with chicken croquettes and a chunky cucumber salad. And Parsi brown rice.
What I got was standard steam table curried lamb and uninspired yellow lentils hotchpotted together.
Dudes, that's not dhansak. That's muck. You guys must think I'm white.
Oh wait, I am.
Eliding over the minor matter of my hereditary skin-hue, let me explain how to make dhansak.
DHANSAK
Enough for eight people.
[Made with lamb. As it should be. Chicken dhansak (dhansak ni margi) is for wussies.]
Two pounds of chunked lamb on the bone.
One cup of oiled toovar dal (telwalla toor dal).
Half a cup of masoor dal.
Half a cup of moong dal (or urad dal).
A pound of red pumpkin, large chunks (substitute regular pumpkin, or a batata, if no red pumpkin is to be had).
Two or three Chinese eggplants
Three or four tomatoes - peeled, seed, chopped.
Two or three large onions, chopped.
Several cloves of garlic, minced.
A large thumb of ginger, also minced.
A small bunch of methi leaves, plus a handful of cilantro, nicely minced.
A few tablespoons of tamarind water (equal parts hot water and mashed tamarind pulp).
Godrej Ghee or Olive Oil.
Mint leaves - enough to make their presence known, but not an excess.
[06/20/08 - Mistri-bhen alerted me to the omission this morning. And note: actual quantity depends on pungency.]
One batch of Dhansak masala (see below).
Soak the dals for the requisite length of time - overnight, or according to the instructions on the package. Drain, rinse, drain again. Then put in a pan with a teaspoon of turmeric and plenty water to cover, and cook till quite done - about an hour or so. Use a wooden spoon to break up and mash the lentils.
[06/20/08 - oh go ahead; add a goodly pinch of fried ground cumin to the dals - I know you want to.]
Brown the onions in an enameled stew-pan. Add the ground spices plus the garlic and ginger, sauté till fragrant, add the meat and tomato, plus a brisk jigger tamarind water (or substitute a squeeze of lemon and a dash of vinegar), and cook, stirring, till the meat is well coloured and the oil separates. Add water to cover, pinch of salt, cook for about an hour.
Now combine the meat and lentils, add the remaining vegetables, and cook till the eggplant and pumpkin chunks are soft and falling apart - the finished dish will be a medium ruddy brown, with lumps. Adjust the flavours - pinches salt or sugar, dash more hot stuff, another squeeze of lime. Plus a pinch of garam masala for aroma, and a small amount freshly chopped cilantro or parsley for visual appeal.
Serve with kachumber and Parsi brown rice, plus quartered lime for squeezing. And croquettes or pattice.
DHANSAK MASALA
[Parsi spice mixture used primarily for dhansak]
Ten Dry chilies - Guajillo or New Mexico chiles secos.
Three TBS coriander seed.
One and a half TBS cumin seed.
One TBS whole peppercorns.
Half a TBS fennel seed.
Half a TBS black mustard seed.
Half a TBS fenugreek seed.
Four Tej Patta (cassia leaves - bay leaf may be substituted, but it isn't really the same).
Four green cardamom pods, seeds only.
One black cardamom pod, seeds only.
One three-inch stick of cinnamon.
One star-anise pod.
Eight whole cloves.
One Tsp. mace.
Toast all spices except the mace. Cool and grind. Add the mace and regrind, sift. If you double the recipe to have some for future use, store the excess in a brown or blue glass jar in a cool place. Use within a month.
-------------------------------------
GLOSSARY
Guajillo chile: A nice winey dry chile that yields a lovely simmered salsa for New Mexicans, but which also makes a superior chile powder. One Guajillo is roughly equivalent to between two teaspoons and one tablespoon of powder.
[I like to up the ante by also adding a spoonful or two of sambal oelek (simple hot red pepper mash available from Vietnamese, Chinese, or Dutch manufacturers - the Vietnamese brands from Southern California are best), plus a jigger of Louisiana hot sauce to the cooking dhansak.]
Tuvar dal, Toor dal: Pigeon pea, Cajanus Cajan,
Masoor dal: Regular salmon coloured lentil, commonly available. Lens culinaris. Takes less than an hour to cook.
Moong dal: mung beans, (lok dau in Cantonese, 綠豆). Vigna Radiata.
Urad dal: Black gram, vigna mungo.
Red pumpkin: Same as the regular types of pumpkin, different cultivar, different flavour. Cucurbit.
Kachumber: The typical Indian restaurant salad composed of chopped cucumber, tomato, onion, salt, pepper, fried mustard seeds, and cilantro, dressed with a little vinegar, salt, and sugar. Think chunky salsa with cucumber, not wet.
Parsi brown rice: Combine a few tablespoons of sugar with a little water. Heat in a cheap enamel pan till the sugar has melted and started to redden, remove from heat immediately. Carefully add water (beware of savage splattering), and reheat. Add this dark red syrup with a pinch or two of cinnamon to three or four fried onions, add parboiled rice sufficient for the eight people, mix and stir-fry a bit to imbue the rice with the flavours, then add water to cover, place a lid on the pan, and cook on low heat for about twenty minutes. Parsi brown rice is not an exact science. More or less sugar as you wish - it should be slightly sweet, taste of fried onions, the cinnamon should aromatize but not dominate, and it should still be mostly just cooked rice.
Pattice: This is the accepted spelling of 'patties' in descriptions of Parsi food - do not quibble with the spelling. Pattice are similar to Indonesian perkedel - minced chicken held together with a little mashed potato plus flour and spices, kneaded and formed into "patties", and fried brown. The key thing is that they are crispy-flaky, savoury-spicy. You don't need a recipe, just experiment. Serve with a glob of hot (!) green chutney.
-------------------------------------
Now, what better to delay your after-lunch nap than dessert?
[Errrm, if you keep kosher, postpone the dessert till after your nap. At least three hours.]
SHIR BERINJ
[Rice in sweetened cream.]
Two cups heavy cream, and a dash extra.
One cup rice.
One cup cane sugar.
One cup plump golden raisins.
Four Tablespoons rosewater (Arabic: ma'-ward, moit el warda).
Four Tablespoons crumbled pistachios.
A pinch of saffron.
Wash the rice well, spread it out to dry on a tray for a day. Then pound with a brass mortar and pestle until the grains are about one quarter their original size.
Add the saffron to the cream and bring to a boil, add the rice and bring back to boiling, turn low, stir, and add the sugar and raisins. Keep stirring till it has become thick and custardy (meh, takes about ten minutes or so). Remove from heat, and when it has cooled add the rose water and pistachio. Serve semi-chilled.
Shortcuts are possible: one is to dry the rice in the oven on a very low heat (which, if you live in a boggy climate, is better than relying on the weather), another is to use a coffee grinder and pulse the dried rice. The reason why you wash the rice and re-dry it is obvious - you do not want all the powdery crap that normally coats even the best rice, and washing the rice dissolves some of the starches. Redrying it afterwards makes it easier to pound, too.
Of course, instead of pudding, you could simply retire to that long chair on the veranda and doze till sunset. Make sure that the net is down to keep out the flying things and the slats are lowered to keep out the sun.
-------------------------------------
AFTERWORD
It is customary to have dhansak for the Sunday noon meal among the Parsees of Bombay. And because lunch is heavy, the household turns quiet afterwards, as the various diners sleep, for their digestion's sake - naught but the occasional borborigmus breaks the silence and disturbs their slumber........... entirely aside from the antiquated air-conditioning system, which sounds like heavy machinery.
I like dhansak. Perhaps you could tell. I was consequently overjoyed to see it on the menu, and bitterly disappointed with the actual dish when it came out of the kitchen. I shall avoid lashon hara by not naming the restaurant that produced that ghastly mess.
Savage Kitten, on the other hand, was happy as a clam. She had Tandoori Murghi. Did you know that a petite Cantonese female can devour an entire Tandoori chicken all by herself? Along with poori, rice, and raita.
Savage Kitten went to sleep promptly upon our return home. I did not.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
THE BREAKFAST OF CHAMPIONS
Yesterday ended as one of the most miserable days in San Francisco that we've had since winter. A cold biting wind came off the ocean, tourists huddled inside the cablecar too blue to speak (instead of hanging on the outside hooting and hollering), and the few street people still out in the frigid dusk muttered their spare-a-dimes through clenched teeth.
It would've been the perfect time for a Muslim breakfast, such as sheep's trotters in broth (nahari / nihari). Warm and comforting, splendid just before either heading out into the chill predawn, or settling in for a long nap ere heading to the masjid around noon (if you live in Delhi or Lahore).
It would also be perfect for shabbes morning, but you might be replete and far too sluggish for shacharis afterwards. Still, I heartily recommend it. You can even prepare it ahead, keeping it warm overnight.
PAYA NAHARI ( نہاری )
Eight sheep's trotters, well-scrubbed.
Eight marrow bones.
Two large or three medium onions, chopped.
Three or four cloves garlic, minced.
A generous thumb of ginger, minced.
One Tablespoon ground coriander.
Half a Tablespoon cayenne.
One teaspoon ground cumin.
Half a teaspoon turmeric.
One teaspoon garam masala (Sindhi style - it is more fragrant).
Half a teaspoon salt.
Three or four whole black cardamom pods (bari elaichi).
Three or four whole star anise.
Three or four Jalapeňos, left whole.
A generous handful or two of chopped cilantro, or cilantro and parsley mixed.
Brown the onions in ghee or oil. Add the garlic and ginger, gild, then add the ground coriander, cumin, and turmeric. Stir till fragrant. Stir in the remaining spices and salt, put the trotters and marrow bones in the pan along with the whole green chilies, cover with plenty of water or meat broth, and simmer for several hours. Put in the chopped herbs to wilt with a little extra garam masala for fragrance. Serve with wedges of lime on the side for squeezing over, plus chopped green chili for heat.
It should be soupy. Feel free to slurp the soft meat off the bones.
Freshly baked sourdough baguette is a splendid accompaniment, as well as hot cardamom coffee.
Note I: Like tsholnt, it benefits from a long period on low heat. You could place it in the oven or on the blech overnight and have it for breakfast.
Note II: The Jalapeňos are left whole, so that they may impart their fragrance. You could eat them alongside the nahari - they will have mellowed considerably after cooking.
Note III: For broth or stock, added in lieu of water, I like to take shank bones, rub 'em with a little olive oil, and roast them dark in the oven, then simmer them with scrap mutton for a few hours. It yields a flavourful browned-bone broth which combines nicely with spices.
I should mention that while it would've been a perfect evening for a Muslim breakfast, I didn't have any; I didn't feel like going over to the Queen of Sheba Market (near Masjid At-Tawhid, Polk and Bush) and negotiating with the Yemeni woman for odd sheep bits. Instead I climbed under the comforter with Savage Kitten, and a cup of strong tea, and read for several hours. It was just as good.
It would've been the perfect time for a Muslim breakfast, such as sheep's trotters in broth (nahari / nihari). Warm and comforting, splendid just before either heading out into the chill predawn, or settling in for a long nap ere heading to the masjid around noon (if you live in Delhi or Lahore).
It would also be perfect for shabbes morning, but you might be replete and far too sluggish for shacharis afterwards. Still, I heartily recommend it. You can even prepare it ahead, keeping it warm overnight.
PAYA NAHARI ( نہاری )
Eight sheep's trotters, well-scrubbed.
Eight marrow bones.
Two large or three medium onions, chopped.
Three or four cloves garlic, minced.
A generous thumb of ginger, minced.
One Tablespoon ground coriander.
Half a Tablespoon cayenne.
One teaspoon ground cumin.
Half a teaspoon turmeric.
One teaspoon garam masala (Sindhi style - it is more fragrant).
Half a teaspoon salt.
Three or four whole black cardamom pods (bari elaichi).
Three or four whole star anise.
Three or four Jalapeňos, left whole.
A generous handful or two of chopped cilantro, or cilantro and parsley mixed.
Brown the onions in ghee or oil. Add the garlic and ginger, gild, then add the ground coriander, cumin, and turmeric. Stir till fragrant. Stir in the remaining spices and salt, put the trotters and marrow bones in the pan along with the whole green chilies, cover with plenty of water or meat broth, and simmer for several hours. Put in the chopped herbs to wilt with a little extra garam masala for fragrance. Serve with wedges of lime on the side for squeezing over, plus chopped green chili for heat.
It should be soupy. Feel free to slurp the soft meat off the bones.
Freshly baked sourdough baguette is a splendid accompaniment, as well as hot cardamom coffee.
Note I: Like tsholnt, it benefits from a long period on low heat. You could place it in the oven or on the blech overnight and have it for breakfast.
Note II: The Jalapeňos are left whole, so that they may impart their fragrance. You could eat them alongside the nahari - they will have mellowed considerably after cooking.
Note III: For broth or stock, added in lieu of water, I like to take shank bones, rub 'em with a little olive oil, and roast them dark in the oven, then simmer them with scrap mutton for a few hours. It yields a flavourful browned-bone broth which combines nicely with spices.
I should mention that while it would've been a perfect evening for a Muslim breakfast, I didn't have any; I didn't feel like going over to the Queen of Sheba Market (near Masjid At-Tawhid, Polk and Bush) and negotiating with the Yemeni woman for odd sheep bits. Instead I climbed under the comforter with Savage Kitten, and a cup of strong tea, and read for several hours. It was just as good.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
THE SWEETNESS OF THE LAMB
Several years ago I stopped purchasing Ahmed's pickles, which came from Pakistan, and switched to Patak's, which are made in England. The reason has nothing to do with taste (Ahmed's Pickles are truly excellent), price, or politics. It is not because I despise Pakis, or object to the average Pakistani's reprehensible political views. By no means.
[I do not boycott, by and large. Even if Pakistan despises Americans, Jews, and Israel, that is immaterial. Malaysia does the same, and Malays are fairly unpleasant arrogant little turds to boot, but I still purchase blatjan (blachan: stinky prawn paste) made in that abysmal dreck of a place. A pox on Mahathir Muhammad and all his kin. But their blatjan is fine.]
It is a quality control issue. I simply do not trust foods made in places like Pakistan, Spain, Eastern Europe, or Texas.
I could put up such pickles myself, but manufactured Indian-style pickles are better than most of us have the time or talent to make, and it's just so much easier to rely on someone else's mom - especially as regards nimboo ka achar or am ka achar.
[Achar (pronounced 'ah-tjar' - the 'ch' is English rather than Yiddish or Ivrit): meaning 'pickle' in most Indian languages and in much of the Indonesian archipelago. An essential part of a well-stocked larder, a benefit to the dinner table.]
Not all Indian and Pakistani preparations are mom-work, however.
Haleem (حليم) needs a man's input. A strong vigorous male hand, to beat it into shape. Fiercely.
GENTLE, FORBEARING, KIND
The word 'haleem' means gentle, forbearing, kind. It is one of the names of the divine (Al-Halim: G-d), as well as a descriptive of patient and understanding persons, and a popular name for men.
As applied to food, it becomes a comforting and nutritious meat-grain-lentil porridge. Spiced, of course, in the Indian manner (in this case meaning Muslim style, as it is not associated with Hindus, and is a traditional dish for breaking the Ramadan fast).
[Haleem is also an excellent breakfast dish, especially if one has grown tired of sheep's trotters in broth.]
HALEEM
Two cups wheat (whole grains).
Two cups masoor dal.
One cup dry chickpeas.
One and half pounds of lamb, cut into small chunks.
Three large onions, chopped fine.
Three to six cloves garlic, slivered.
A thumb of ginger, minced.
One Tablespoon cayenne.
Half a Tablespoon sweet paprika.
Half a Tablespoon cumin seeds (toast and grind).
Half a Tablespoon garam masala (Sindhi style - very fragrant).
One teaspoon turmeric.
One teaspoon salt.
Pinches of sugar (accentuates browning of ingredients).
Olive oil, samin, or ghee - your choice.
Juice of two or three lemons.
Generous handfuls of cilantro and parsley, plus a pluck of mint leaves. Finely minced.
Soak the grain, lentils, and chickpeas separately overnight. Drain, and cook separately with water to cover for an hour or so. Turn off heat and let cool.
Fry the onions golden (add a pinch sugar if needed), remove to a plate. Fry the garlic and ginger in the same pan, remove to a plate. Now decant most of the onion plus all of the fried garlic and ginger to the blender and pulp them (this is where the vigorously thrashing man came into play, in the days before blenders). Do the same with the lentils. And the chickpeas.
Put the spices in the pan with the onion puree and fry fragrant. Add the meat and turn to coat and brown well (again, pinch of sugar if needed). Add the grain, lentils, chickpeas, plus water to cover if necessary. Simmer for an hour or more on low, stirring occasionally to prevent scorching. At this point the grains should be mushy enough that a wooden spoon held by a strong hand will break them apart; do so (this also is the work of male muscles). If some of the meat also breaks apart, excellent. The result should be a meaty porridge. Simmer a bit longer, then add the herbs to wilt, salt to taste, some fresh garam masala for aroma, and the lemon juice for tang. Garnish with the remaining fried onion and serve.
[UPDATE 06/13/08: I usually add a few tablespoons of minced green chili on top for my own pleasure. You may think twice about doing so.]
Note I:
In order to smoothen the mouth-feel or thicken the porridge, some corn-flour paste may be used. Add a few minutes before turning off the heat, at the same time as the herbs, and stir.
Note II:
If the grain is omitted, it will be a type of kichri. That isn't what you wanted.
Note: III:
This is also a great dish to come home to after a night of carousing. That may be at odds with the personal habits of most of the traditional consumers of this dish. Savour the frisson.
Note IV:
Our neighbors in Valkenswaard were a large yeti-woman and her shrimp of a husband. In their case, the man would've been useless as far as making haleem is concerned. But he knew his fish, and trimmed seafood with a master's hand. In retrospect it is a pity that she did not make haleem.
Note V:
The amount of cayenne given above is mostly hypothetical, seeing as Savage Kitten has not even half the taste for chilies as a normal person (meaning: me). So I do not cook much with cayenne, and add the heat later to what I myself will eat. She will hardly touch a chili, and only if it is a Jalapeňo - never a Serrano, D'Arbol, or Thai. Savage Kitten does not touch nimboo ka achar or am ka achar either - too hot, too bitter, too salty. What is wrong with that woman?
[I do not boycott, by and large. Even if Pakistan despises Americans, Jews, and Israel, that is immaterial. Malaysia does the same, and Malays are fairly unpleasant arrogant little turds to boot, but I still purchase blatjan (blachan: stinky prawn paste) made in that abysmal dreck of a place. A pox on Mahathir Muhammad and all his kin. But their blatjan is fine.]
It is a quality control issue. I simply do not trust foods made in places like Pakistan, Spain, Eastern Europe, or Texas.
I could put up such pickles myself, but manufactured Indian-style pickles are better than most of us have the time or talent to make, and it's just so much easier to rely on someone else's mom - especially as regards nimboo ka achar or am ka achar.
[Achar (pronounced 'ah-tjar' - the 'ch' is English rather than Yiddish or Ivrit): meaning 'pickle' in most Indian languages and in much of the Indonesian archipelago. An essential part of a well-stocked larder, a benefit to the dinner table.]
Not all Indian and Pakistani preparations are mom-work, however.
Haleem (حليم) needs a man's input. A strong vigorous male hand, to beat it into shape. Fiercely.
GENTLE, FORBEARING, KIND
The word 'haleem' means gentle, forbearing, kind. It is one of the names of the divine (Al-Halim: G-d), as well as a descriptive of patient and understanding persons, and a popular name for men.
As applied to food, it becomes a comforting and nutritious meat-grain-lentil porridge. Spiced, of course, in the Indian manner (in this case meaning Muslim style, as it is not associated with Hindus, and is a traditional dish for breaking the Ramadan fast).
[Haleem is also an excellent breakfast dish, especially if one has grown tired of sheep's trotters in broth.]
HALEEM
Two cups wheat (whole grains).
Two cups masoor dal.
One cup dry chickpeas.
One and half pounds of lamb, cut into small chunks.
Three large onions, chopped fine.
Three to six cloves garlic, slivered.
A thumb of ginger, minced.
One Tablespoon cayenne.
Half a Tablespoon sweet paprika.
Half a Tablespoon cumin seeds (toast and grind).
Half a Tablespoon garam masala (Sindhi style - very fragrant).
One teaspoon turmeric.
One teaspoon salt.
Pinches of sugar (accentuates browning of ingredients).
Olive oil, samin, or ghee - your choice.
Juice of two or three lemons.
Generous handfuls of cilantro and parsley, plus a pluck of mint leaves. Finely minced.
Soak the grain, lentils, and chickpeas separately overnight. Drain, and cook separately with water to cover for an hour or so. Turn off heat and let cool.
Fry the onions golden (add a pinch sugar if needed), remove to a plate. Fry the garlic and ginger in the same pan, remove to a plate. Now decant most of the onion plus all of the fried garlic and ginger to the blender and pulp them (this is where the vigorously thrashing man came into play, in the days before blenders). Do the same with the lentils. And the chickpeas.
Put the spices in the pan with the onion puree and fry fragrant. Add the meat and turn to coat and brown well (again, pinch of sugar if needed). Add the grain, lentils, chickpeas, plus water to cover if necessary. Simmer for an hour or more on low, stirring occasionally to prevent scorching. At this point the grains should be mushy enough that a wooden spoon held by a strong hand will break them apart; do so (this also is the work of male muscles). If some of the meat also breaks apart, excellent. The result should be a meaty porridge. Simmer a bit longer, then add the herbs to wilt, salt to taste, some fresh garam masala for aroma, and the lemon juice for tang. Garnish with the remaining fried onion and serve.
[UPDATE 06/13/08: I usually add a few tablespoons of minced green chili on top for my own pleasure. You may think twice about doing so.]
Note I:
In order to smoothen the mouth-feel or thicken the porridge, some corn-flour paste may be used. Add a few minutes before turning off the heat, at the same time as the herbs, and stir.
Note II:
If the grain is omitted, it will be a type of kichri. That isn't what you wanted.
Note: III:
This is also a great dish to come home to after a night of carousing. That may be at odds with the personal habits of most of the traditional consumers of this dish. Savour the frisson.
Note IV:
Our neighbors in Valkenswaard were a large yeti-woman and her shrimp of a husband. In their case, the man would've been useless as far as making haleem is concerned. But he knew his fish, and trimmed seafood with a master's hand. In retrospect it is a pity that she did not make haleem.
Note V:
The amount of cayenne given above is mostly hypothetical, seeing as Savage Kitten has not even half the taste for chilies as a normal person (meaning: me). So I do not cook much with cayenne, and add the heat later to what I myself will eat. She will hardly touch a chili, and only if it is a Jalapeňo - never a Serrano, D'Arbol, or Thai. Savage Kitten does not touch nimboo ka achar or am ka achar either - too hot, too bitter, too salty. What is wrong with that woman?
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
PEPPER-CRUSTED LAMB CHOPS
Treppenwitz writes lovingly of steak in his most recent post, and illustrates it with a beautiful photograph of meat on the grill.
[Here: http://bogieworks.blogs.com/treppenwitz/2008/06/the-israeli-lov.html ]
I like a nice piece of animal flesh. But since the American beef industry got caught lying repeatedly about spongiform bovine encephalitis ('Texan Brain', for short), I have generally avoided beef. Ate some nice grilled moo over at Spiros' parents house last month, and a lovely little cut of Niman ranch at a new restaurant in my neighborhood this past weekend. That's the only beef in about four years.
While I like beef, I love lamb.
I really really really love lamb.
So, because of that deep-seated lust for luscious little lambkins, their fatty cutlets glistening and steaming on a platter, sensuously reclining in juicy baby-baa 'come-hither you big carnivore' sexiness, invitingly smoking, tempting me by looking adorable and sending forth rich meaty aromas, AND to snark the self-righteous veggie chowderhead who invaded Treppenwitz's blog with blinkered missionary waffling about avocados, here's a recipe.
PEPPER-CRUSTED LAMB CHOPS
Ingredients:
1 Tablespoon coarsely cracked black pepper.
1/2 teaspoon ground coriander.
1/2 teaspoon salt.
Generous pinch of cayenne, medium pinch of ground cumin, smaller pinch of cinnamon powder.
4 small lamb chops, about a pound of meat in total.
Olive oil.
Rub the chops with the spices and a little oil, making sure that they are well coated.
Add a splash of oil to the cast-iron fry-pan, and heat till smoking. Put the chops in the pan and cook on high heat until the outside is nicely browned - the inside should be at the stage of reddish rosiness at this point - use a knife to find out.
Remove to a plate.
Deglaze the smoking pan with a generous splash (half cup, more or less) of red wine (see below). Add a small jigger soy-sauce, and simmer till syrupy. Pour through a tea-strainer to filter out the pepper-bits that stayed behind. Drizzle and nap the chops, and strew some finely chopped scallion and cilantro over.
Serve with warm crusty bread, and a little bit of apricot preserve jazzed up with cayenne on the side. Or serve over rice, with sliced tomato, and some chard.
Drink the rest of the bottle of red wine (see above) while preparing and eating the chops. One's cooking skills are more fluid and inspired when tiddly.
[Here: http://bogieworks.blogs.com/treppenwitz/2008/06/the-israeli-lov.html ]
I like a nice piece of animal flesh. But since the American beef industry got caught lying repeatedly about spongiform bovine encephalitis ('Texan Brain', for short), I have generally avoided beef. Ate some nice grilled moo over at Spiros' parents house last month, and a lovely little cut of Niman ranch at a new restaurant in my neighborhood this past weekend. That's the only beef in about four years.
While I like beef, I love lamb.
I really really really love lamb.
So, because of that deep-seated lust for luscious little lambkins, their fatty cutlets glistening and steaming on a platter, sensuously reclining in juicy baby-baa 'come-hither you big carnivore' sexiness, invitingly smoking, tempting me by looking adorable and sending forth rich meaty aromas, AND to snark the self-righteous veggie chowderhead who invaded Treppenwitz's blog with blinkered missionary waffling about avocados, here's a recipe.
PEPPER-CRUSTED LAMB CHOPS
Ingredients:
1 Tablespoon coarsely cracked black pepper.
1/2 teaspoon ground coriander.
1/2 teaspoon salt.
Generous pinch of cayenne, medium pinch of ground cumin, smaller pinch of cinnamon powder.
4 small lamb chops, about a pound of meat in total.
Olive oil.
Rub the chops with the spices and a little oil, making sure that they are well coated.
Add a splash of oil to the cast-iron fry-pan, and heat till smoking. Put the chops in the pan and cook on high heat until the outside is nicely browned - the inside should be at the stage of reddish rosiness at this point - use a knife to find out.
Remove to a plate.
Deglaze the smoking pan with a generous splash (half cup, more or less) of red wine (see below). Add a small jigger soy-sauce, and simmer till syrupy. Pour through a tea-strainer to filter out the pepper-bits that stayed behind. Drizzle and nap the chops, and strew some finely chopped scallion and cilantro over.
Serve with warm crusty bread, and a little bit of apricot preserve jazzed up with cayenne on the side. Or serve over rice, with sliced tomato, and some chard.
Drink the rest of the bottle of red wine (see above) while preparing and eating the chops. One's cooking skills are more fluid and inspired when tiddly.
Thursday, May 08, 2008
WHAT TO DO WITH THOSE HORRIBLE THINGS
Every year around Easter (a holiday of unknown origin) a confection known as 'peeps' is distributed in huge quantities in the United States. It's a weird subcultural phenomenon - one which is not common in my subculture, but is nevertheless de rigueur among the well-bred treiler-treif, bless them.
Peeps are little spongy sugar-poof birds (marshmallows), usually coloured yellow, but also available in shocking pink and blue. They are edible, and they are not addicting - which begs the question why enough of them are produced every year to give a medium-size third-world country diabetes.
You probably have a large jute bag of them behind the kitchen door right now, don't you? Entirely aside from the inexplicable circumstances of your acquiring them, which is baffling in the extreme, you're probably still wondering what to do with all of them.
Especially before Mother's Day - you don't want to explain that frat-boy party to your mom when she visits. She already wonders what went wrong and why aren't you married to that sweet girl from Touro College.
She does not need to know about your.... Perversions.
BLUE PEEP PIE
1 cookie crumb pie crust.
1 large box (four servings) blue Jell-O.
1 cup hot water.
1 cup half-and-half.
3 cups chilled Coolwhip.
2 tablespoons Curacao.
16 blue Peeps.
1 cup canned blueberries.
Chill crust while preparing the filling. Pour hot water over Jell-O in a Pyrex bowl, and stir to dissolve. Add the half-and-half and Curacao. Blend well and refrigerate until mixture has thickened to a stiff cream consistency.
Fold Coolwhip into Jell-O. Mix well till no longer streaky, but no further than that. Spoon filling into chilled crust. Separate the peeps (they come attached) and arrange around the edge of the pie. Mound the canned blueberries in the center and smoosh flat. Chill for a few hours before serving.
------------------------------------
PS.I: Thanks are due my research assistant, the super boffo engineering dude, without whom I never would have discovered this epicurean treat.
PS.II: You could also perform scientific experiments on the peeps, like burning, dissolving in acid, launching with bottle-rockets, Tisha B'Av bondfiring, microwaving, melting onto hot concrete, rubber-band bondaging, flattening with various implements, or using them for target practice with an air-gun or a Glock semi-automatic. According to the super boffo engineering dude, this is traditional too.
NOTE I: Birds and raccoons will not touch peeps. That should tell you something.
NOTE II: This seemed like a good idea at the time. I have no idea why I thought so now.
Peeps are little spongy sugar-poof birds (marshmallows), usually coloured yellow, but also available in shocking pink and blue. They are edible, and they are not addicting - which begs the question why enough of them are produced every year to give a medium-size third-world country diabetes.
You probably have a large jute bag of them behind the kitchen door right now, don't you? Entirely aside from the inexplicable circumstances of your acquiring them, which is baffling in the extreme, you're probably still wondering what to do with all of them.
Especially before Mother's Day - you don't want to explain that frat-boy party to your mom when she visits. She already wonders what went wrong and why aren't you married to that sweet girl from Touro College.
She does not need to know about your.... Perversions.
BLUE PEEP PIE
1 cookie crumb pie crust.
1 large box (four servings) blue Jell-O.
1 cup hot water.
1 cup half-and-half.
3 cups chilled Coolwhip.
2 tablespoons Curacao.
16 blue Peeps.
1 cup canned blueberries.
Chill crust while preparing the filling. Pour hot water over Jell-O in a Pyrex bowl, and stir to dissolve. Add the half-and-half and Curacao. Blend well and refrigerate until mixture has thickened to a stiff cream consistency.
Fold Coolwhip into Jell-O. Mix well till no longer streaky, but no further than that. Spoon filling into chilled crust. Separate the peeps (they come attached) and arrange around the edge of the pie. Mound the canned blueberries in the center and smoosh flat. Chill for a few hours before serving.
------------------------------------
PS.I: Thanks are due my research assistant, the super boffo engineering dude, without whom I never would have discovered this epicurean treat.
PS.II: You could also perform scientific experiments on the peeps, like burning, dissolving in acid, launching with bottle-rockets, Tisha B'Av bondfiring, microwaving, melting onto hot concrete, rubber-band bondaging, flattening with various implements, or using them for target practice with an air-gun or a Glock semi-automatic. According to the super boffo engineering dude, this is traditional too.
NOTE I: Birds and raccoons will not touch peeps. That should tell you something.
NOTE II: This seemed like a good idea at the time. I have no idea why I thought so now.
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
BEBEK ASEM - SOUR SIMMERED DUCK
One of the things we ate at yesterday's farewell luncheon was an appetizer consisting of roast-duck chunks rolled in a lumpia wrapper with some crunchy veggies.
It was very tasty. But one person said that "it seemed rather fatty".
Well duh. It's a duck. Insulation is what keeps Donald warm and buoyant; that's why he's the life of the party.
[Like Bambi and Thumper, Donald and his nephews are very nice eating. Scrooge McDuck not so much - stringy. But he'll do in a pinch.]
There are tons of Indonesian recipes for duck. Which is not surprising for a rice-growing culture. Rice paddies and complex irrigation systems mean ducks.
You've probably had salted duck-egg in a mooncake without wondering why the Chinese prefer duck eggs to chicken eggs. The rice-paddies are the reason. That, plus you can herd ducks, whereas chickens take no direction. Duck are orderly, chickens are stupid and chaotic.
Here's an Indonesian duck dish that will also keep the Chinese people in your family happy.
BEBEK ASEM
[Soured duck.]
One duck of four to five pounds.
One dozen shallots, sliced fine.
Several cloves of garlic, minced.
Equivalent amount ginger, ditto.
Four cups dark rice wine.
Four cups stock reduced to one cup.
Four TBS each: soy sauce, vinegar, sugar.
Hefty pinches mace, cinnamon powder, dry ginger.
Whole peppercorns, cloves, bay leaves.
A jigger aged vinegar.
Chop the duck into chunks through the bone. Brown the duck in its own fat, set aside.
Gild the shallots, garlic, and ginger. Add all other ingredients including the duck chunks, raise to barely boiling, then simmer on low for about twenty minutes.
Serve with a lime juice sambal and dressed cucumber. Rice is of course part of the meal, and some yau choi or greens in pot-liquor also go very well with this.
--- --- --- --- ---
ATJAR TIMON
[Dressed cucumber]
Two cucumbers, peeled, seeded, coarse chunked.
Two TBS each vinegar, water, sugar.
One Tsp salt.
Dump everything in a pan and heat, stirring, till the sugar has dissolved. Decant and let it sit in a cool place for a few hours.
--- --- --- --- ---
Another fine addition to the table if you're serving duck is a dish that contains papaya. Papaya assists in digesting meat and is loaded with antioxidants - you probably have a relative who has a bee in his bonnet(*) about those things, don't you?
SOP DUONG
[Green Papaya (duong) Soup]
One green papaya (approx 1½ pounds); peeled, seeded, and sliced.
A dozen black mushrooms; soaked, stemmed, halved.
Two stalks of lemon grass, bruised to release flavours.
Two or three shallots, chopped.
Two or three Roma tomatoes; peeled, seeded, chopped.
Some chopped celery - the quantity is up to you.
One Tsp ground coriander.
Half Tsp each: sugar, cayenne, turmeric, ground pepper.
Pinches cinnamon powder and dry ginger.
Two TBS each: lime juice, soy sauce, rice wine (or sherry), olive oil.
Six cups of clear broth.
One or two cups water.
Minced scallion, parsley and cilantro.
Sauté shallots, garlic and ginger till colour turns. Add spices, stir fragrant, and seethe with the rice wine. Add everything else except the scallion, parsley and cilantro. Simmer till the papaya is tender. Add the scallion, parsley and cilantro just before serving.
Sanak Mantep - Eet Smakelijk - Bon Appetit.
=== === === === ===
Note: the phrase 'bee in the bonnet' has a lovely, if somewhat unprintable equivalent in Tamarao: PUNYIP RI MATA - a punyip ('poon-yip') in the eye.
Mata means eye. Ri means in, at, on.
And punyip means...... well, errrrmm, eh...... you know that demanding thingy that feels like a small nose, which, um, the gentler gender has located at one end of the crevasse muliebre? Precisely! That is the punyip.
The phrase also means that you can't see the forest for the trees. It's all a question of perspective.
It was very tasty. But one person said that "it seemed rather fatty".
Well duh. It's a duck. Insulation is what keeps Donald warm and buoyant; that's why he's the life of the party.
[Like Bambi and Thumper, Donald and his nephews are very nice eating. Scrooge McDuck not so much - stringy. But he'll do in a pinch.]
There are tons of Indonesian recipes for duck. Which is not surprising for a rice-growing culture. Rice paddies and complex irrigation systems mean ducks.
You've probably had salted duck-egg in a mooncake without wondering why the Chinese prefer duck eggs to chicken eggs. The rice-paddies are the reason. That, plus you can herd ducks, whereas chickens take no direction. Duck are orderly, chickens are stupid and chaotic.
Here's an Indonesian duck dish that will also keep the Chinese people in your family happy.
BEBEK ASEM
[Soured duck.]
One duck of four to five pounds.
One dozen shallots, sliced fine.
Several cloves of garlic, minced.
Equivalent amount ginger, ditto.
Four cups dark rice wine.
Four cups stock reduced to one cup.
Four TBS each: soy sauce, vinegar, sugar.
Hefty pinches mace, cinnamon powder, dry ginger.
Whole peppercorns, cloves, bay leaves.
A jigger aged vinegar.
Chop the duck into chunks through the bone. Brown the duck in its own fat, set aside.
Gild the shallots, garlic, and ginger. Add all other ingredients including the duck chunks, raise to barely boiling, then simmer on low for about twenty minutes.
Serve with a lime juice sambal and dressed cucumber. Rice is of course part of the meal, and some yau choi or greens in pot-liquor also go very well with this.
--- --- --- --- ---
ATJAR TIMON
[Dressed cucumber]
Two cucumbers, peeled, seeded, coarse chunked.
Two TBS each vinegar, water, sugar.
One Tsp salt.
Dump everything in a pan and heat, stirring, till the sugar has dissolved. Decant and let it sit in a cool place for a few hours.
--- --- --- --- ---
Another fine addition to the table if you're serving duck is a dish that contains papaya. Papaya assists in digesting meat and is loaded with antioxidants - you probably have a relative who has a bee in his bonnet(*) about those things, don't you?
SOP DUONG
[Green Papaya (duong) Soup]
One green papaya (approx 1½ pounds); peeled, seeded, and sliced.
A dozen black mushrooms; soaked, stemmed, halved.
Two stalks of lemon grass, bruised to release flavours.
Two or three shallots, chopped.
Two or three Roma tomatoes; peeled, seeded, chopped.
Some chopped celery - the quantity is up to you.
One Tsp ground coriander.
Half Tsp each: sugar, cayenne, turmeric, ground pepper.
Pinches cinnamon powder and dry ginger.
Two TBS each: lime juice, soy sauce, rice wine (or sherry), olive oil.
Six cups of clear broth.
One or two cups water.
Minced scallion, parsley and cilantro.
Sauté shallots, garlic and ginger till colour turns. Add spices, stir fragrant, and seethe with the rice wine. Add everything else except the scallion, parsley and cilantro. Simmer till the papaya is tender. Add the scallion, parsley and cilantro just before serving.
Sanak Mantep - Eet Smakelijk - Bon Appetit.
=== === === === ===
Note: the phrase 'bee in the bonnet' has a lovely, if somewhat unprintable equivalent in Tamarao: PUNYIP RI MATA - a punyip ('poon-yip') in the eye.
Mata means eye. Ri means in, at, on.
And punyip means...... well, errrrmm, eh...... you know that demanding thingy that feels like a small nose, which, um, the gentler gender has located at one end of the crevasse muliebre? Precisely! That is the punyip.
The phrase also means that you can't see the forest for the trees. It's all a question of perspective.
RANDANGAN
I thought of naming this post 'bowel cleanser and artery clogger'.
Then I realized that might put you off, and I decided against it.
Just thought you should know.
An hour ago my boss and I were discussing the lunch plans of one of our coworkers. This lead inevitably to the farewell luncheon for another coworker, which all of us attended yesterday. I remarked that I was surprised that XXX had ordered yellow curry - he's very health conscious and does not eat fattening foods. Yellow curry, as you probably know, is made with lots of coconut milk. Perhaps XXX did not realize that coconut milk is choc-full of fat.
Coconut milk, along with bacon, gehakte leber, and roast duck is proof that someone out there does not want us to enjoy what we eat. Either that or suffer consequences.
[For roast duck, see here: http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2005/11/siu-ngaap-roast-duck-cantonese-style.html ]
On the other hand, what if certain foods came with a built-in control on over-indulgence? Something that kept you from eating more than you should?
RANDANGAN
[Seethed meat]
Twenty pounds of cubed water buffalo.
An amount of chopped Thai chili of slightly greater volume than the meat.
Twenty stalks lemon grass, whacked with a rock to bruise 'em.
Twenty teaspoons of turmeric.
Twice as much ground coriander seed as turmeric.
Garlic and ginger - use your own judgment.
A few pinches salt.
Put everything in a deep pan. Add coconut milk to cover very very generously. Plus some. Simmer till the coconut milk is entirely taken-up by the meat and the oil comes out. Remove the lemon grass at this point. Turn the heat up a bit, and frazzle the meat chunks in the oily paste to seal them. Serve at a feast when the harvest is in or your daughter gets married to the hadji in the next village over.
Now, the alert reader will have already started wondering about the amount of chili. The chili is the control mechanism - more than one or two chunks of this dish may prove dangerous to your equilibrium. Seeing as the meat will be suffused with a rich greasy coconuttiness, you can well imagine what an excessive amount would do to your arteries. The chili prevents you reaching that point.
If you do not regularly eat spicy food, decrease the amount of chili as you see fit, but keep it spicy.
Note: Diners who keep shtreng kosher should grate their own coconuts and make their own coconut milk with the gratings - the nut is sealed, ergo there is no chance of dubious inclusions. You might want to avoid lemon grass also because of the shrotzim issue. Throwing in some dried tangerine peel (large pieces, bought in Chinatown) works just as well, and is beneficial to the internal organs, though the taste will be different. Or omit, as some cooks do. The turmeric is essential, both for flavour as well as colour. The proportion of coriander to turmeric is standard in many dishes.
Further note: No feast is complete without a bittermelon dish. Cut the bitter-melon in half, scoop out pith and seeds, slice thinly and strew salt over. Set to drain. Two hours later squeeze, rinse, and repeat. Drain, pat dry, and add some chopped tomato and scallion, plus a drizzle of olive oil. Or you could cut the bittermelon into chunks after de-seeding and de-pithing, and cook it like any other vegetable. Be aware that white people at your banquet may be dismayed by the bitter taste.
Just give them lots of beer and they'll shut up.
Then I realized that might put you off, and I decided against it.
Just thought you should know.
An hour ago my boss and I were discussing the lunch plans of one of our coworkers. This lead inevitably to the farewell luncheon for another coworker, which all of us attended yesterday. I remarked that I was surprised that XXX had ordered yellow curry - he's very health conscious and does not eat fattening foods. Yellow curry, as you probably know, is made with lots of coconut milk. Perhaps XXX did not realize that coconut milk is choc-full of fat.
Coconut milk, along with bacon, gehakte leber, and roast duck is proof that someone out there does not want us to enjoy what we eat. Either that or suffer consequences.
[For roast duck, see here: http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2005/11/siu-ngaap-roast-duck-cantonese-style.html ]
On the other hand, what if certain foods came with a built-in control on over-indulgence? Something that kept you from eating more than you should?
RANDANGAN
[Seethed meat]
Twenty pounds of cubed water buffalo.
An amount of chopped Thai chili of slightly greater volume than the meat.
Twenty stalks lemon grass, whacked with a rock to bruise 'em.
Twenty teaspoons of turmeric.
Twice as much ground coriander seed as turmeric.
Garlic and ginger - use your own judgment.
A few pinches salt.
Put everything in a deep pan. Add coconut milk to cover very very generously. Plus some. Simmer till the coconut milk is entirely taken-up by the meat and the oil comes out. Remove the lemon grass at this point. Turn the heat up a bit, and frazzle the meat chunks in the oily paste to seal them. Serve at a feast when the harvest is in or your daughter gets married to the hadji in the next village over.
Now, the alert reader will have already started wondering about the amount of chili. The chili is the control mechanism - more than one or two chunks of this dish may prove dangerous to your equilibrium. Seeing as the meat will be suffused with a rich greasy coconuttiness, you can well imagine what an excessive amount would do to your arteries. The chili prevents you reaching that point.
If you do not regularly eat spicy food, decrease the amount of chili as you see fit, but keep it spicy.
Note: Diners who keep shtreng kosher should grate their own coconuts and make their own coconut milk with the gratings - the nut is sealed, ergo there is no chance of dubious inclusions. You might want to avoid lemon grass also because of the shrotzim issue. Throwing in some dried tangerine peel (large pieces, bought in Chinatown) works just as well, and is beneficial to the internal organs, though the taste will be different. Or omit, as some cooks do. The turmeric is essential, both for flavour as well as colour. The proportion of coriander to turmeric is standard in many dishes.
Further note: No feast is complete without a bittermelon dish. Cut the bitter-melon in half, scoop out pith and seeds, slice thinly and strew salt over. Set to drain. Two hours later squeeze, rinse, and repeat. Drain, pat dry, and add some chopped tomato and scallion, plus a drizzle of olive oil. Or you could cut the bittermelon into chunks after de-seeding and de-pithing, and cook it like any other vegetable. Be aware that white people at your banquet may be dismayed by the bitter taste.
Just give them lots of beer and they'll shut up.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
KOSHER PUMPKIN PIE
Pie is a mental state. Pie is a way of life.
One of my correspondents reacted to my previous posting of a pumpkin pie recipe by sending me something entitled "Kosher Pumpkin Pie".
[Previous pumpkin pie recipe here: http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2007/11/take-that-pumpkin-and.html ]
KOSHER PUMPKIN PIE
Two cups pumpkin puree.
One and a half cups milk.
Half a cup heavy whipping cream.
3 eggs.
1 egg yolk.
Half a cup white sugar.
Half a cup packed brown sugar.
One teaspoon salt.
One teaspoon ground cinnamon.
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg.
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger.
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves.
A nine inch pie shell.
Preheat oven to 425 degrees Fahrenheit.
Combine eggs, egg yolk, white sugar, and brown sugar. Add salt and spices, stir in milk and cream. Add the pumpkin puree and mix well. Pour filling into the pie shell. Bake for ten minutes in preheated oven. Reduce the heat to 350 degrees Fahrenheit, and bake for 45 minutes more, until the filling is set.
I am at a loss to explain what makes this recipe kosher above all others. Perhaps it is the pie shell...... In which case I would suggest carefully scrutinizing the list of ingredients on the box if that is a concern.
A good Chinatown bakery would use lard in their pie crusts and pastries, because it contributes much flavour and flakiness. This practice is not uncommon, and animal shortening is traditional in pie-crusts. Vegetable shortening does not have quite the luscious effect.
Additionally, the American food industry is not particularly aware of kashrus, and consequently a ready-to-use crust may have some ingredients which are not, strictly speaking, edible.
Some commercial pie-crusts also have a cocktail of chemical additives to prevent spoilage and cracking, besides tasting like industrial packing material.
But you can make your own. It is not difficult.
PIE CRUST
[for a nine-inch pie dish.]
One cup all purpose flour.
One Tbs sugar.
Half a teaspoon salt.
Half a cup (one stick) butter.
Two Tbs oil.
Three to four TBS ice water.
Sift flour, sugar, salt together. Cut in butter, and then mix in oil. It should be crumbly and somewhat sandy between the fingers. Add the water in sprinkles and fold over, spread out, refold. Do not overwork - when the dough sticks together, roll it into a flattish ball, dust with a little extra flour, cover with plastic wrap over the top and around the sides so that no air comes between the ball and the mixing bowl, and refrigerate it for an hour.
To roll the dough out, decant the ball onto a generously flour-dusted surface and work the rolling-pin over in an even circular motion till you have a disc around eleven inches across. Press into a buttered and floured pie dish, trim or fork edges as needed. Refrigerate for another hour at this point.
To prebake the crust for a pumpkin (or other wet-filled) pie, line the chilled pastry with tin foil (or parchment paper), and weigh this down with dried beans. Bake for twenty minutes at 350 degrees. Remove from oven, slide out the foil and beans, and bake for another ten minutes more.
Let it cool completely before pouring in the filling and proceeding with the pumpkin pie. You should probably brush a little water around the exposed edge of the pastry to keep it from darkening or drying out too much while baking.
Note regarding pumpkin puree: Seed a pumpkin, pare off the rind, cut the pumpkin into large chunks, and place on an oiled baking sheet.
Cover with foil and roast at 350°F for one hour or until tender enough to mash.
When mashing, a little butter may be added for flavour - do not overdo it. Keeps for a fortnight in a sealed container in the refrigerator.
One of my correspondents reacted to my previous posting of a pumpkin pie recipe by sending me something entitled "Kosher Pumpkin Pie".
[Previous pumpkin pie recipe here: http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2007/11/take-that-pumpkin-and.html ]
KOSHER PUMPKIN PIE
Two cups pumpkin puree.
One and a half cups milk.
Half a cup heavy whipping cream.
3 eggs.
1 egg yolk.
Half a cup white sugar.
Half a cup packed brown sugar.
One teaspoon salt.
One teaspoon ground cinnamon.
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg.
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger.
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves.
A nine inch pie shell.
Preheat oven to 425 degrees Fahrenheit.
Combine eggs, egg yolk, white sugar, and brown sugar. Add salt and spices, stir in milk and cream. Add the pumpkin puree and mix well. Pour filling into the pie shell. Bake for ten minutes in preheated oven. Reduce the heat to 350 degrees Fahrenheit, and bake for 45 minutes more, until the filling is set.
I am at a loss to explain what makes this recipe kosher above all others. Perhaps it is the pie shell...... In which case I would suggest carefully scrutinizing the list of ingredients on the box if that is a concern.
A good Chinatown bakery would use lard in their pie crusts and pastries, because it contributes much flavour and flakiness. This practice is not uncommon, and animal shortening is traditional in pie-crusts. Vegetable shortening does not have quite the luscious effect.
Additionally, the American food industry is not particularly aware of kashrus, and consequently a ready-to-use crust may have some ingredients which are not, strictly speaking, edible.
Some commercial pie-crusts also have a cocktail of chemical additives to prevent spoilage and cracking, besides tasting like industrial packing material.
But you can make your own. It is not difficult.
PIE CRUST
[for a nine-inch pie dish.]
One cup all purpose flour.
One Tbs sugar.
Half a teaspoon salt.
Half a cup (one stick) butter.
Two Tbs oil.
Three to four TBS ice water.
Sift flour, sugar, salt together. Cut in butter, and then mix in oil. It should be crumbly and somewhat sandy between the fingers. Add the water in sprinkles and fold over, spread out, refold. Do not overwork - when the dough sticks together, roll it into a flattish ball, dust with a little extra flour, cover with plastic wrap over the top and around the sides so that no air comes between the ball and the mixing bowl, and refrigerate it for an hour.
To roll the dough out, decant the ball onto a generously flour-dusted surface and work the rolling-pin over in an even circular motion till you have a disc around eleven inches across. Press into a buttered and floured pie dish, trim or fork edges as needed. Refrigerate for another hour at this point.
To prebake the crust for a pumpkin (or other wet-filled) pie, line the chilled pastry with tin foil (or parchment paper), and weigh this down with dried beans. Bake for twenty minutes at 350 degrees. Remove from oven, slide out the foil and beans, and bake for another ten minutes more.
Let it cool completely before pouring in the filling and proceeding with the pumpkin pie. You should probably brush a little water around the exposed edge of the pastry to keep it from darkening or drying out too much while baking.
Note regarding pumpkin puree: Seed a pumpkin, pare off the rind, cut the pumpkin into large chunks, and place on an oiled baking sheet.
Cover with foil and roast at 350°F for one hour or until tender enough to mash.
When mashing, a little butter may be added for flavour - do not overdo it. Keeps for a fortnight in a sealed container in the refrigerator.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
TAKE THAT PUMPKIN AND....
Pie.
It's a beautiful word. Just say it several times. Doesn't it just roll off the tongue?
It's fun to say words like pie. Like Cheezwhiz. Chocklit. Laatyeung (hot-sauce). Cake. Pie. Gafiltefeesh. Chocolate frosted sugar bombs. Pie. Gehocktuhlayber. Tasty-cake. Crispiyumyums. Goo. Pie.
These words sound best if followed by an exclamation mark - it's the equivalent of a happy-face.
Pumpkin Pie
[Canned pumpkin often is butternut squash, which is sweeter than regular pumpkin. Carving pumpkins are not very good cooking pumpkins. Cooking pumpkins are usually called 'sugar pumpkins'.]
Two cups mashed cooked pumpkin.
One and a half cup half and half.
Two eggs.
Two yolks.
One cup brown sugar.
1 teaspoon cinnamon.
1/2 teaspoon ginger.
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg.
1/4 teaspoon cloves.
1/2 teaspoon salt.
9-inch pie crust (store-boughten or make your own).
Gently beat all ingredients together and pour into pie crust.
Bake at 425 for about fifty minutes. Let it cool down for at least an hour before eating.
Note: To prepare pumpkin for mashing, cut the flesh into chunks and boil in lightly salted water till soft. Or place the chunks on a cookie sheet and bake for about thirty to forty minutes at 350 to 375 degrees. Slightly dehydrated and caramelized is good, browned and crusty is bad - keep an eye on them. They can also be softened by heating in covered Pyrex in the microwave on high.
Bong appety, y'all.
It's a beautiful word. Just say it several times. Doesn't it just roll off the tongue?
It's fun to say words like pie. Like Cheezwhiz. Chocklit. Laatyeung (hot-sauce). Cake. Pie. Gafiltefeesh. Chocolate frosted sugar bombs. Pie. Gehocktuhlayber. Tasty-cake. Crispiyumyums. Goo. Pie.
These words sound best if followed by an exclamation mark - it's the equivalent of a happy-face.
Pumpkin Pie
[Canned pumpkin often is butternut squash, which is sweeter than regular pumpkin. Carving pumpkins are not very good cooking pumpkins. Cooking pumpkins are usually called 'sugar pumpkins'.]
Two cups mashed cooked pumpkin.
One and a half cup half and half.
Two eggs.
Two yolks.
One cup brown sugar.
1 teaspoon cinnamon.
1/2 teaspoon ginger.
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg.
1/4 teaspoon cloves.
1/2 teaspoon salt.
9-inch pie crust (store-boughten or make your own).
Gently beat all ingredients together and pour into pie crust.
Bake at 425 for about fifty minutes. Let it cool down for at least an hour before eating.
Note: To prepare pumpkin for mashing, cut the flesh into chunks and boil in lightly salted water till soft. Or place the chunks on a cookie sheet and bake for about thirty to forty minutes at 350 to 375 degrees. Slightly dehydrated and caramelized is good, browned and crusty is bad - keep an eye on them. They can also be softened by heating in covered Pyrex in the microwave on high.
Bong appety, y'all.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
APPLE SAUCE NOODLE KUGEL
Did you know that petite Cantonese women love men who can cook?
It's useful information, and you might want to ponder it for a while.
It explains a lot.
In the meantime, while you are pondering, here's a recipe for
The Apple Sauce Noodle Kugel Of The Chivying Of The VLKH
[Hereinafter possibly simply referred to as 'Apple Sauce Noodle Kugel, or APSNOOK for short.]
8 oz. broad noodles.
4 eggs, slightly beaten.
Half a cup sugar.
Two cups (1 pint) sour cream*.
Two cups (16 fl.oz) applesauce.
Quarter cup raisins.
Cinnamon, Salt, Butter.Cook and drain noodles. Mix all ingredients together. Dot with butter in greased 8x8-inch baking dish. Bake at 350 F for 60 minutes.
[*Or substitute Tofutti pareve sour cream.]
The recipe comes from OJ, who placed it into the comment-string on this post:
http://dovbear.blogspot.com/2007/10/eliezer-and-318-men.html
From this blog:
http://dovbear.blogspot.com/
When I made it Monday evening I added some powdered ginger and a little ground cardamom and mace - the next time I make it I will probably try adding a little grated lemon zest, and increase the raisins.
I klitsed the eggs, apple sauce, smetana, raisins, and sugar together before adding the noodles, as I did not want the residual heat to start setting the eggs.
[Can't remember why I thought that was the thing to do - meh, neurosis. A bee.]
It is simple and very good. Savage Kitten likes it for breakfast, I like it for late night snack. There is nearly none left.
--------------------------------------------
NOTES:
1. VLKH stands for 'Vaad Lmaan Kovod Hatorah', also referred to in that comment string as Vaad ha-etcetera and several other things. Mister Vaad seems to have a bee in his bonnet about the bear, and quite probably Star Trek paraphernalia up his beis. Which is appalling! Everyone knows that Star Trek is mamesh kofrus gamur and davka avodah zara.
Lord Of The Rings, on the other hand......
2. Eliezer's posse kinda lost it while chivying the vaad ha-imagination mercilessly in that comment string. Both Eliezer's posse AND the vaad ha leitzonus apologize for their loss of self control. We promise it will happen again.
3. No one should own Star Trek crap. NO ONE! But a Hellboy action-figure on the same shelf as Bredero's Spaanschen Brabander and The Embarassment of Riches by Simon Schama is okay.
Everone should have one.
It's useful information, and you might want to ponder it for a while.
It explains a lot.
In the meantime, while you are pondering, here's a recipe for
The Apple Sauce Noodle Kugel Of The Chivying Of The VLKH
[Hereinafter possibly simply referred to as 'Apple Sauce Noodle Kugel, or APSNOOK for short.]
8 oz. broad noodles.
4 eggs, slightly beaten.
Half a cup sugar.
Two cups (1 pint) sour cream*.
Two cups (16 fl.oz) applesauce.
Quarter cup raisins.
Cinnamon, Salt, Butter.Cook and drain noodles. Mix all ingredients together. Dot with butter in greased 8x8-inch baking dish. Bake at 350 F for 60 minutes.
[*Or substitute Tofutti pareve sour cream.]
The recipe comes from OJ, who placed it into the comment-string on this post:
http://dovbear.blogspot.com/2007/10/eliezer-and-318-men.html
From this blog:
http://dovbear.blogspot.com/
When I made it Monday evening I added some powdered ginger and a little ground cardamom and mace - the next time I make it I will probably try adding a little grated lemon zest, and increase the raisins.
I klitsed the eggs, apple sauce, smetana, raisins, and sugar together before adding the noodles, as I did not want the residual heat to start setting the eggs.
[Can't remember why I thought that was the thing to do - meh, neurosis. A bee.]
It is simple and very good. Savage Kitten likes it for breakfast, I like it for late night snack. There is nearly none left.
--------------------------------------------
NOTES:
1. VLKH stands for 'Vaad Lmaan Kovod Hatorah', also referred to in that comment string as Vaad ha-etcetera and several other things. Mister Vaad seems to have a bee in his bonnet about the bear, and quite probably Star Trek paraphernalia up his beis. Which is appalling! Everyone knows that Star Trek is mamesh kofrus gamur and davka avodah zara.
Lord Of The Rings, on the other hand......
2. Eliezer's posse kinda lost it while chivying the vaad ha-imagination mercilessly in that comment string. Both Eliezer's posse AND the vaad ha leitzonus apologize for their loss of self control. We promise it will happen again.
3. No one should own Star Trek crap. NO ONE! But a Hellboy action-figure on the same shelf as Bredero's Spaanschen Brabander and The Embarassment of Riches by Simon Schama is okay.
Everone should have one.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
PEPPER LEAVES
A discourse on cocaine on someone else's blog reminded me of pepper leaves.
Of which there are three.
DAON SIRI (Piper Betel; standard Indonesian: daun sirih; Tagolog: buyo, ikmo) is a beautiful heart-shaped leaf in which you wrap your sliced betelnut (Areca catechu; Indonesian: pinang; Tagalog: bunga, bu'ga), catechu (Acacia catechu extractum; katta, gambir), tobacco, sweet shredded coconut and dried plums, along with a small smear of slaked lime (calcium hydroxide; kakura - burnt snail shells; kapog - commercial lime paste; both are called ginapog in the western part of Mindanao, 'apog in Luzon). You then pop it into your mouth and chew. It will cheer you up, then keep you on a slightly zotsed plateau for a few hours, before slowly releasing you into torpor. It is refreshing, mildly narcotic, and counters fatigue.
In South-East Asia it was for centuries the social drug of choice, before being replaced by coffee, tea, cigarettes, and bad beer. Visitors would be welcomed with a chew before the reason for their visit was discussed, and important agreements would be sealed by a chew. Marriage proposals were made with a present of a stuffed leaf for chewing, and desperate women would compound love potions in the quid they offered their paramours. Kings were assassinated with poisoned chews, and daemons were expelled by spraying the possessed victim with chaw.
It should be noted that the leaf causes one's spit to become bright red and copious. Do not be alarmed at the crimson spatters on the pavement, that's just someone having a good time.
In the past, beautiful sets of jars and leaf-holders on a tray for betel chewing were prized heirlooms, often made of gold or silver clobbered ceramic.
Wiki article in English: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Betel
Wiki article in Indonesian: http://id.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sirih
DAON KADOK (Piper sarmentosum; standard Indonesian: daun kaduk) is a close relative of siri, with which it is often confused. It is used both as a minor medicine for colds, aches, joint pains, and minor stomach ailments during the rainy season, but also in its own right as a food. A very nice soup can be made by first gilding some of the usual ngeprik ingredients (garlic, ginger, chilies, etc.), adding water or stock plus plenty of kadok leaves, and then finishing the soup with a squeeze of lime juice and some broken-up egg and tofu scramble. If you add a little finely chopped daon djarok (standard Indonesian: daun jeruk - kaffir lime leaf) it is especially nice.
The leaf can also be eaten raw, coloured with a touch of hot sauce, or shredded into emerald rice with some toasted dried fish. Very good. It also goes well with beef.
DAON TJABE (standard Indonesian: daun cabai) are chili (Capsicum) leaves, which are used as vegetable in Indonesia, the Philippines, and Suriname. They are very good with chicken that has been braised with a little ginger, garlic, and shallot, rice-washing water added to cover, as well as a squeeze of lime or a bit of tamarind for sourness. Simmer till nearly tender, then add the ripped chili leaves to the dish in a quantity sufficient to give it a mixed meat and vegetable character. Serve when the leaves have wilted. Put a bottle of fish sauce on the table for diners to add as suits them.
Of which there are three.
DAON SIRI (Piper Betel; standard Indonesian: daun sirih; Tagolog: buyo, ikmo) is a beautiful heart-shaped leaf in which you wrap your sliced betelnut (Areca catechu; Indonesian: pinang; Tagalog: bunga, bu'ga), catechu (Acacia catechu extractum; katta, gambir), tobacco, sweet shredded coconut and dried plums, along with a small smear of slaked lime (calcium hydroxide; kakura - burnt snail shells; kapog - commercial lime paste; both are called ginapog in the western part of Mindanao, 'apog in Luzon). You then pop it into your mouth and chew. It will cheer you up, then keep you on a slightly zotsed plateau for a few hours, before slowly releasing you into torpor. It is refreshing, mildly narcotic, and counters fatigue.
In South-East Asia it was for centuries the social drug of choice, before being replaced by coffee, tea, cigarettes, and bad beer. Visitors would be welcomed with a chew before the reason for their visit was discussed, and important agreements would be sealed by a chew. Marriage proposals were made with a present of a stuffed leaf for chewing, and desperate women would compound love potions in the quid they offered their paramours. Kings were assassinated with poisoned chews, and daemons were expelled by spraying the possessed victim with chaw.
It should be noted that the leaf causes one's spit to become bright red and copious. Do not be alarmed at the crimson spatters on the pavement, that's just someone having a good time.
In the past, beautiful sets of jars and leaf-holders on a tray for betel chewing were prized heirlooms, often made of gold or silver clobbered ceramic.
Wiki article in English: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Betel
Wiki article in Indonesian: http://id.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sirih
DAON KADOK (Piper sarmentosum; standard Indonesian: daun kaduk) is a close relative of siri, with which it is often confused. It is used both as a minor medicine for colds, aches, joint pains, and minor stomach ailments during the rainy season, but also in its own right as a food. A very nice soup can be made by first gilding some of the usual ngeprik ingredients (garlic, ginger, chilies, etc.), adding water or stock plus plenty of kadok leaves, and then finishing the soup with a squeeze of lime juice and some broken-up egg and tofu scramble. If you add a little finely chopped daon djarok (standard Indonesian: daun jeruk - kaffir lime leaf) it is especially nice.
The leaf can also be eaten raw, coloured with a touch of hot sauce, or shredded into emerald rice with some toasted dried fish. Very good. It also goes well with beef.
DAON TJABE (standard Indonesian: daun cabai) are chili (Capsicum) leaves, which are used as vegetable in Indonesia, the Philippines, and Suriname. They are very good with chicken that has been braised with a little ginger, garlic, and shallot, rice-washing water added to cover, as well as a squeeze of lime or a bit of tamarind for sourness. Simmer till nearly tender, then add the ripped chili leaves to the dish in a quantity sufficient to give it a mixed meat and vegetable character. Serve when the leaves have wilted. Put a bottle of fish sauce on the table for diners to add as suits them.
-- -- -- -- --
Notes:
Lime juice is as good a substitute as any for kalamunting (Indonesian: jeruk sambal; Tagalog: calamansi), which is a dwarf lime about the size of a cherry tomato, used all over South-East Asia for squeezing over food. It is not as fragrant as kalamunting, but it is widely available, which is a great virtue.
Grated lime zest can also be added to food instead of daon djarok (kaffir lime leaf). It does not affect the mouth-feel as daon djarok does, which is a pity, but it does add a necessary perfumed dimension.
Fish sauce, known as petis or patis, and also widely available in Thai and Vietnamese stores by different names (and usually clearly labeled, so you will not be confused), is used as both a table condiment and as an ingredient. The best types are not strongly fishy, and have a golden-amber hue. But if you keep kosher, substitute soy sauce.
Chili peppers (Capsicum spp.; tjabe, tjawe) come in many shapes and heat-levels.
I am particularly fond of capsicum pubescens, which is remarkable for its short capsaicin molecules. Because of this peculiarity, some people barely taste its heat, others take one nibble from a lovely chile manzana which an aficionado in the accounting department may have offered them, and run screaming for the bathroom at the far end of the building, lips purple and face a brilliant red, for instance.
But there are others which are also delightful - Jalapeños are peppy, piquines (chiltepin) are spicy-hot with a metallic taste, serranos have a resinous quality, de arbols are fiery, Thai peppers are blistering but seedy, Scotch Bonnet has an affinity for cinnamon and black pepper and with its cousin the Habanero (fruity and fragrant) presents the highest heat level.
Mulatto Isleño and other types of poblanos are not hot, and marvelous roasted or stuffed with cheese, Anaheims are particularly good stuffed or rendered into a green sauce, and the chiles from New Mexico present everything from juicy fleshed mildness to blister-blaster heat.
One can make a beautiful chile verde by stewing goat in a generous mixture of chopped cooking chilies with a little onion and some stock (plus some garlic and a pinch of ground cumin) for an hour or two - the chilies will make a nice verdant and very flavourful sauce, the onion will have helped tenderize the meat as well as contributed its own flavour. It can be served over rice, but it is best savoured in a bowl by itself.
For chile verde I like to use Anaheims, Mulatto Isleños and Poblanos, plus a few bells for bulk, and several Jalapeños and serranos, all blistered over a flame, skinned (leave some of the black on for a nice smokiness), seeded, and chopped fine. More chiles than meat (big chunks of meat), of course, and absolutely no tomatillos or tomatoes. Stock and a jigger of sherry. Two hours plus. When it is done it looks like a jade sea. Sheer heaven.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
LITTLE BROWN NOTEBOOK
One of the things I always have with me is my little brown notebook. To some people, it serves as the perfect illustration of either my peculiarities (non-existent, I assure you), or my high degree of neurosis (equally non-existent - I really have to stop associating with people who recognize imaginary psychological conditions).
What is it about the notebook that excites their delusion?
I have no clue.
It is a perfectly normal thing.....
The first page has the opening invocation for shadow-plays, recited while the audience comes together and the gamelan players stroke the starting rhythms, the last page has, of course, the closing invocation (exvocation?), which returns the numinous-powers to their proper places and reseals the boundaries.
[Indonesian shadow-plays are in many ways exorcistic and ritualistic reframings of the mundane world, and it seems appropriate to begin and end the notebook in that fashion. Even though I replace the notebook when it fills up, I prepare the new notebook with the same opening and closing texts before adding aught else.]
For the rest, the notebook is fairly simple and entirely unsurprising. From front to back, vocabulary notes for Tamarao (an Indonesian regional language), entries in capitals, explanation in cursive. From back to front, phone numbers, addresses, key recipes, miscellaneous notes and inventory lists for my pipe-tobacco stockpile. I gradually add material to both the front and the back entries - After several months the blank pages in between narrow down to only a few unwritten leaves near the middle, whereupon I prepare a new notebook to take its place.
A sampling from the current notebook:
[Page 26]
TUNGKAWAN = Fortified multi-level agricultural storehouse.
TUMPAK, TUMPAROK = Stylized lightening bolt motif used in jewelry.
SAHUI = Ritual guest group or secondary ethnicity whose societal presence serves as guarantor or fair witness.
DJAMBO-DWIPA = The Rose-Apple (djambu) Island (dwipa); Sanskritic term for the Eurasian landmass. Note that djambo also means tuft or tassel (djambo-tumendjok = decorative turban tuft).
SAMPI = Volunteer. Self-sacrificiant. Not to be confused with 'sampe'.
SAMPAHI, SAMPAI, SAMPE = Until. Upon meeting. Next.
Etcetera.
As you can tell, it is not alphabetic. Entries grow as I remember words, or something reminds me of a locution. It is a record of recollected word-glitterings.
The recipes near the back are far less haphazarded.
Here are two, which by themselves neatly nearly define the Dutch East Indies taste.
SARUNDENG KADJO
[Toasted coconut shred condiment]
One cup shredded coconut.
Half cup cashews.
Half teaspoon each: ground coriander, ground cumin, turmeric, sugar, salt.
Quarter teaspoon each: cinnamon powder, dry ginger.
Pinch: mace, cayenne.
Half tablespoon each: Louisiana hot sauce, lime juice.
Dash of hot water.
Whisk all flavourings till sugar and salt dissolve. Toss everything together to coat, let stand for an hour. Toast, spread out on a tray, for one and a half to two hours at 225 degrees Fahrenheit. It will be brown and crispy at this point. Can be kept in a jar with a screw-top lid for up to four or five weeks - but you will have eaten it before then.
This is used as a textural side-dish, adding crunch to curries and stews. It can also be eaten plain, or strewn over rice. Unlike the standard version, which you are probably used to, it contains no fish-paste, and no huge amount of palm-sugar (Javanese like much more sweetness than is strictly normal).
I have substituted cashews for peanuts - some people are allergic to peanuts.
KETJAP MANIS
[Sweet soy-sauce]
Half cup each: sugar (white, or white and dark mixed), Kikkoman soy sauce.
Two tablespoons each: sherry, dark vinegar.
One teaspoon salt.
One whole star anise, one or two slices of ginger, and a clove or two.
Put everything except the vinegar and half of the soy sauce into a saucepan. Heat gently, stirring, till the sugar is fully dissolved and the liquid syrupy and starting to foam. Stir in the remaining soy sauce and in a minute or so turn off the heat. Let it cool and strain it into a bottle. Use the dark vinegar to swish the remaining syrup coating the inside of the saucepan, and add to the bottle.
This is as close to typical Dutch and Indonesian sweet soy sauce as you can get, and far better than most brands. Plus you know exactly what is in it.
We use it in any number of dishes, but it is also good drizzled over roasted meats such as saté or little grilled lamb chops. Try it on your fried eggs.
These two preparations, along with at least one jar of chili-paste, can be found in countless Dutch kitchens world-wide. Their uses are legion.
----------------------------------
LINGUISTIC NOTES:
Sarundeng (Dutch spelling: seroendeng) is based on the root 'unde', which applies to substances with a coconut meat base or a strong coconut taste. Such as undé undé - a sweet sticky shreddy compound used to fill sweet dumplings or little crepes. The praefix sa/sa(r/l/g) indicates that the substance is entirely identified with the meaning of the root word, the 'ng' ending makes it an independent noun.
Ketjap is the same word as ketchup. But not the same substance. In both Hokkien and Cantonese 'keh-tshap' (茄汁) indicates a tomato juice preparation or compound. Keh is short for 'fan keh' (蕃茄 - Barbarian eggplant, hence tomato), tshap (汁 - chup, tseap) means juice or expressed liquid. By pulping and condensing tomatoes with some vinegar (醋 - tchew) and salt (鹽 - yin) one achieved a flavour -additive that kept on sea voyages and was pretty good with fish. In Malaya, the settled Chinese eventually replaced the vinegar with soy sauce (a natural development, given that there were already so many sour flavourings commonly used locally), and ended up omitting the tomatoes altogether. Ketjap at that point simply meant a flavoured compound sauce (such as mushroom flavoured soy sauce, shellfish flavoured soy sauce, gingered soy sauce, etc.) similar to 'condensed sauce' (滷 汁 - lutjap; rice wine, spices, and soy sauce, simmered down), and eventually came to mean soy sauce itself - the basis of flavoured cooking sauces. The postfix 'manis' means sweet. Regular unsweetened soy sauce is ketjap asin - salty soy sauce.
What is it about the notebook that excites their delusion?
I have no clue.
It is a perfectly normal thing.....
The first page has the opening invocation for shadow-plays, recited while the audience comes together and the gamelan players stroke the starting rhythms, the last page has, of course, the closing invocation (exvocation?), which returns the numinous-powers to their proper places and reseals the boundaries.
[Indonesian shadow-plays are in many ways exorcistic and ritualistic reframings of the mundane world, and it seems appropriate to begin and end the notebook in that fashion. Even though I replace the notebook when it fills up, I prepare the new notebook with the same opening and closing texts before adding aught else.]
For the rest, the notebook is fairly simple and entirely unsurprising. From front to back, vocabulary notes for Tamarao (an Indonesian regional language), entries in capitals, explanation in cursive. From back to front, phone numbers, addresses, key recipes, miscellaneous notes and inventory lists for my pipe-tobacco stockpile. I gradually add material to both the front and the back entries - After several months the blank pages in between narrow down to only a few unwritten leaves near the middle, whereupon I prepare a new notebook to take its place.
A sampling from the current notebook:
[Page 26]
TUNGKAWAN = Fortified multi-level agricultural storehouse.
TUMPAK, TUMPAROK = Stylized lightening bolt motif used in jewelry.
SAHUI = Ritual guest group or secondary ethnicity whose societal presence serves as guarantor or fair witness.
DJAMBO-DWIPA = The Rose-Apple (djambu) Island (dwipa); Sanskritic term for the Eurasian landmass. Note that djambo also means tuft or tassel (djambo-tumendjok = decorative turban tuft).
SAMPI = Volunteer. Self-sacrificiant. Not to be confused with 'sampe'.
SAMPAHI, SAMPAI, SAMPE = Until. Upon meeting. Next.
Etcetera.
As you can tell, it is not alphabetic. Entries grow as I remember words, or something reminds me of a locution. It is a record of recollected word-glitterings.
The recipes near the back are far less haphazarded.
Here are two, which by themselves neatly nearly define the Dutch East Indies taste.
SARUNDENG KADJO
[Toasted coconut shred condiment]
One cup shredded coconut.
Half cup cashews.
Half teaspoon each: ground coriander, ground cumin, turmeric, sugar, salt.
Quarter teaspoon each: cinnamon powder, dry ginger.
Pinch: mace, cayenne.
Half tablespoon each: Louisiana hot sauce, lime juice.
Dash of hot water.
Whisk all flavourings till sugar and salt dissolve. Toss everything together to coat, let stand for an hour. Toast, spread out on a tray, for one and a half to two hours at 225 degrees Fahrenheit. It will be brown and crispy at this point. Can be kept in a jar with a screw-top lid for up to four or five weeks - but you will have eaten it before then.
This is used as a textural side-dish, adding crunch to curries and stews. It can also be eaten plain, or strewn over rice. Unlike the standard version, which you are probably used to, it contains no fish-paste, and no huge amount of palm-sugar (Javanese like much more sweetness than is strictly normal).
I have substituted cashews for peanuts - some people are allergic to peanuts.
KETJAP MANIS
[Sweet soy-sauce]
Half cup each: sugar (white, or white and dark mixed), Kikkoman soy sauce.
Two tablespoons each: sherry, dark vinegar.
One teaspoon salt.
One whole star anise, one or two slices of ginger, and a clove or two.
Put everything except the vinegar and half of the soy sauce into a saucepan. Heat gently, stirring, till the sugar is fully dissolved and the liquid syrupy and starting to foam. Stir in the remaining soy sauce and in a minute or so turn off the heat. Let it cool and strain it into a bottle. Use the dark vinegar to swish the remaining syrup coating the inside of the saucepan, and add to the bottle.
This is as close to typical Dutch and Indonesian sweet soy sauce as you can get, and far better than most brands. Plus you know exactly what is in it.
We use it in any number of dishes, but it is also good drizzled over roasted meats such as saté or little grilled lamb chops. Try it on your fried eggs.
These two preparations, along with at least one jar of chili-paste, can be found in countless Dutch kitchens world-wide. Their uses are legion.
----------------------------------
LINGUISTIC NOTES:
Sarundeng (Dutch spelling: seroendeng) is based on the root 'unde', which applies to substances with a coconut meat base or a strong coconut taste. Such as undé undé - a sweet sticky shreddy compound used to fill sweet dumplings or little crepes. The praefix sa/sa(r/l/g) indicates that the substance is entirely identified with the meaning of the root word, the 'ng' ending makes it an independent noun.
Ketjap is the same word as ketchup. But not the same substance. In both Hokkien and Cantonese 'keh-tshap' (茄汁) indicates a tomato juice preparation or compound. Keh is short for 'fan keh' (蕃茄 - Barbarian eggplant, hence tomato), tshap (汁 - chup, tseap) means juice or expressed liquid. By pulping and condensing tomatoes with some vinegar (醋 - tchew) and salt (鹽 - yin) one achieved a flavour -additive that kept on sea voyages and was pretty good with fish. In Malaya, the settled Chinese eventually replaced the vinegar with soy sauce (a natural development, given that there were already so many sour flavourings commonly used locally), and ended up omitting the tomatoes altogether. Ketjap at that point simply meant a flavoured compound sauce (such as mushroom flavoured soy sauce, shellfish flavoured soy sauce, gingered soy sauce, etc.) similar to 'condensed sauce' (滷 汁 - lutjap; rice wine, spices, and soy sauce, simmered down), and eventually came to mean soy sauce itself - the basis of flavoured cooking sauces. The postfix 'manis' means sweet. Regular unsweetened soy sauce is ketjap asin - salty soy sauce.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
GRITS AND TOFU
Like most Americans, I have a list of people who should be peacefully retired from public service and thereafter kept away from their desks,...
