Celebration cookies

Happy to report that there's been a lot of reason to celebrate around these parts lately. Halloween: the holy high day of the year. Diwali: the new year. My birthday: only 32, which means I still have a year until my Jesus year. Desmond's half birthday: I have an eighteen month old who laughs, plays games, hides everything I find useful in the house, and finally, FINALLY, calls me Mama. And a new job: a pretty great gig in higher education policy that I'm very excited to start next week.

And, delight of all delights, some of our closest friends from graduate school gathered this past weekend to celebrate the fact that two of our friends are expecting a baby in a few months. This particular mama-to-be introduced me to the evil eye a few years ago, a practically universally understood superstition--one we call dhusta in Marathi--but one that my Turkish friend informed me could be symbolized through a blue glass charm with an eye painted on it to ward off the evil eye that you could catch from someone else’s jealous compliment or envy. 

So when we were going to get together and shower our friends with love this past weekend, I thought it would be fun to make sure there were some evil eyes around. Not because any of our friends would be sending any negative energy their way, but because a superstition for superstition sake is what you do when you wish only positive, wonderful things for your friends. 

And since my glass-blowing skills are rusty, I decided to make some edible eyes. Making a sugar cookie with the right consistency that not only holds up to shape-cutting, but also stays nice and chewy for the shortbread-averse among us has been somewhat of my white whale. And don't even get me started on icing that allowed multi-colored, non-bleeding designs that a layered evil eye requires. But worry no longer! Alton Brown to the rescue. 

Obsessed with Kale

I'm generally irked by phrases such as 'black is the new pink' or '40 is the new 30,' but kale, my friends... kale is the new spinach. And my favorite way to eat it is raw.

Raw kale salads have been popping up with alarming frequency on almost every food blog I frequent. It's one of the healthiest vegetables out there, according to various nutritionists who extol its cholesterol-lowering and cancer-risk reducing effects. I've had requests for more vegetarian/vegan friendly recipes, and while my last post was beef-minded, one of the side-effects of traveling abroad for me is that I hate coming back to meat in the States. The massive hormone-fed drumsticks and flavorless flesh leave quite a bit to be desired, especially after eating far tastier versions abroad, so I take refuge in locally-grown vegetables. And so I thought I'd share one of my favorite (vegan) recipes with you.

I'm happy to say I caught on to kale's wondrousness fairly early in the game, one delightful afternoon in Ithaca, when we hosted a potluck with our neighbors on our porch. One of the neighbors brought a kale salad that had been marinated with nothing more than rice vinegar, olive oil, sea salt, freshly ground black pepper and slivers of raw garlic and then tossed with some goat cheese and vegan sausage. Now, if you know me at all, you know it would take something of colossal import to make me partake in something like vegan sausage.

And it was the kale salad that did it. I went back for seconds, thirds and then cried a bit when it was done. I got the recipe and made it so frequently that it was the only thing I had left in my fridge on our moving day; I tried repaying the kindness of a friend, I, who had shown up to help, by forcing him to eat some of this delicious salad. Turns out rice vinegar and garlic don't agree with *everyone* at 10am.

Anyway, my obsession with raw kale didn't end there. I played around with caramelized onions,  learned to love its ceasar salad preparation, and thought it was the best vehicle for mustard vinagrette. But, now, I have found the kale salad that trumps all other kale salads: The Garlicky Kale Salad.

I found this salad one desperate lunch hour at the Whole Foods near my gym. I usually hate the prepared food bars, even at WF, but once my obsessive eyes spotted kale, I had to give in. I came home, devoured the salad, and swore I wouldn't rest until I figured out the recipe. And the great thing about WF is that they list the ingredients under their dish labels, so it actually wasn't as dramatic as I was prepared for it to be. So, I give you Garlicky Kale Salad and dare you to not LOVE this. And it's gloriously healthy to boot.

Garlicky Kale Salad

Ingredients:
2 cups raw kale, torn off of the stem and chopped roughly
1 Tbsp olive oil
1 Tbsp tahini
1 Tbsp water
1-1.5 Tbsp lemon juice
1 Tbsp soy sauce (WF asks for liquid amino acids, but this works just fine as a substitute)
Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
1-2 cloves garlic, finely grated

Directions:
Drizzle the olive oil over the kale and massage into individual pieces (this helps loosen up the kale and is why you don't need to marinate this salad for the 8 hours that some other kale salads can require). Next, combine the tahini, water, lemon juice, soy sauce and garlic and douse the salad. Again, massage it in. Finally, add black pepper to taste. Refridgerate for 5 minutes and then serve. It will only get better with time, so feel free to make plenty for leftovers.

There are obviously other things on my mind of late, most importantly Japan and the unfolding tragedy over there.  Interesting tid-bit: the Japanese love Kale so much, culinarily and aesthetically, that they introduced it ornamentally to their gardens. The people of Japan are in my thoughts right now, especially the workers at the nuclear plants and the hazards they're facing. If you're looking for some aid organizations to contribute to, here's a short list. (Just a note: I've heard that the phone companies' 'text-to-donate' plans can take up to 90 days to reach folks in need).

Doctors Without Borders
Red Cross
Google's compiled list of resources

Lucking out in Lucknow

I've apologized for my blog's neglect before, by explaining that when I write here I don't write my dissertation. Well, turns out I finished, so now I have no excuses. Not much else has changed--I think it's funny to choose 'Dr.' as a prefix on online surveys and I'm looking for a job because I chose to take a break from academia (more on this later, I'm sure).

I did, however, just get back from a trip to India to celebrate my cousin's wedding. This involved roughly 64 members of our clan flying to Kanpur for a weekend and being graciously hosted by his girlfriend's family. There was excellent food, tremendous fashion and heartening time with our huge family. On the way back to Bombay, a smaller subset of us (18 people) took a detour to Lucknow for 2 days.

There, I ate a damn good meal.

It was a foodie trip for sure. Lucknow, you see, is known for two main things: chikan embroidery work and pretty phenomenal kebabs. My family agreed from the start that we were going to Lucknow to eat, first and foremost, and that we might shop on the side for some chikan gifts for others back home.

We shopped a bit the first evening, where my cousin, L, used her mobile to text pictures back to cousins in Bombay and take their orders if they liked something. It was all very technologically saavy and, in the midst of these Arab revolutions, pretty consistently demonstrated that we've entered an age completely pervaded by social media. In the end, I got a kurta, watched some men blockprint fabric by hand, and played with my nephew.

The rest of the trip was about the food. We were stopped by some disturbance in the streets from going to Tunday Kebabi our first night, but ended up at an excellent dhaba in the middle of a street of streetstalls. We feasted on shaami kebabs and reshmi kebabs, with some tandoori chicken, biryani, and meat "stew" on the side for good measure. The best part of the meal, we all concurred, was the "stew" gravy, which we sopped up with our freshly warm rumali rotis (named after the indian hankerchief).

The genius of our trip was that we made it to Tunday Kebabi the next day and had exactly the same meal there. That's what I love about my family and the way it eats. They love trying new things (my grandmother is particularly fond of beef burgers in the US, it turns out), but they know when something is worth reveling in. It was a comparison of sorts, and we discussed which place had the better of two dishes while reminiscing about the family memories. Both meals were made remarkably indulgent by one of my bhaoji's attentive ordering for the entire table. He stood over us, watched which dishes we loved and devoured and then ordered more immediately. An endless supply of heaven, basically.

I regrettably fell sick with a stomach bug for the second half of my trip, so Bombay was (surprisingly) unable to top Lucknow's meals. If I'd had the tum for it, however, I know Trishna would have done the job. As it is, I'll just have to make sure I get there next time. It's been too long.

In honor of Lucknow's upset victory, I'm making reshmi kebabs for dinner tonight. Here's the recipe I use:

Reshmi Kebabs

Ingredients:

• 1 lb ground beef
• 2 eggs
• 1 tsp Kashmiri chili powder
• 3 green chilies, chopped
• 2 tbsp cilantro leaves, chopped
• 1/2 cup onion, pureed
• 1 tbsp ginger, pureed
• 1 tbsp garlic, pureed
• 1 tsp all spice powder
• 1 tsp freshly ground black pepper
• 1/2 cup breadcrumbs
• Salt to taste
• Oil to pan fry

Directions:

• Mix all the spices, cilantro, green chillies, breadcrumbs and eggs in the minced beef and make elongated kebabs or patties.
• Pan fry till dark golden brown on each side.
  

North Korea, Iran and Bulgogi Leftovers

North Korea qualified for the World Cup this year? Really?

Source: BBC Sport

Does anyone detect the sweet irony of this situation? The only reason North Korea squeaked by was because Iran failed to beat South Korea, meaning that North Korea only needed a draw with Saudi Arabia. But WHY Iran failed to beat South Korea is amazing, in my book at least. Six of the Iranian players (including the Captain) chose that game to protest Iranian presidential election results. They wore green arm bands, a very visible protest and reminder to the Iranian audience that was watching it telecast at home on state television that they supported the opposition candidate, Mir Hossein Mousavi.

They came out for the second half without the armbands. Apparently they'd been told to remove them. So, let me get this straight. These men chose to defy what can only be called a rogue regime, and chose very publicly to do so on television worldwide, and then someone tells them during halftime that they really should take them off (if they know what's good for them, that is). And then they come out for the second half and go on to draw 1-1, failing to win one of the four automatic qualification spots for Asia. Are you kidding me? They must have been so damn scared, knowing that they were going to have to go home after that match, that I'm surprised it was 5-1--and not in their favor. Seriously, watch the video in this report--scroll down and please ignore the inane commentary about 'detecting protest.' Those are terrified men on that field.

South Korea got really lucky in that match. It's not like they were really preoccupied with a terrifying regime at home. After all, it's not like they're North Korea, right? Some of that luck ended up wearing off on North Korea too though, which is the irony. Players who bravely protested a terrifying regime ended up pushing through players from another terrifying regime. North Korea and Iran--now that would be a match.

And I'll bet that when you saw it was a post about North Korea, you thought I was going to talk about the Chinese individuals who were paid money to appear as North Korean fans.

In all fairness, since I like to use World Cup games as inspiration for meals, I now have double the reason, with both North and South Korea qualifying, to make bulgogi. I think I stumbled upon a very satisfying recipe the other day, and it was delicious. And because my very considerate mother knows how much I love bulgogi, she always picks up about 2 extra pounds of the thinly sliced ribeye when she shops at her local Korean grocer, since I can't seem to get anyone to cut it that thinly up here.

When you consider how much thinly sliced meat constitutes 2 pounds, you'll understand we had a lot of leftovers. After a couple of meals of bulgogi and brown rice, I decided to whip up something new, using the leftover meat. What came together was amazing--the bulgogi had soaked up juices over 2 days, and, what's more, the fresh cabbage, peppers and scallions over rice vermicelli made it taste refreshingly Vietnamese, and the peanut chili sauce reminded me of Thai noodles. All in all, a party in your mouth and definitely one I'd host again. Enjoy!

Bulgogi part 3: Peanut Chili Noodles

Ingredients:

• 3/4 pound of leftover bulgogi
• 2 red peppers (thinly sliced)
• 1/2 head of purple cabbage (thinly shredded)
• 4 scallions, white and green parts (chopped)
• 1 tbsp garlic (minced)
• 2 tbsp ginger (minced)
• 10 oz. rice vermicelli
• 1/2 cup natural peanut butter (if using regular peanut butter, just omit 1tbsp sugar)
• 1 tbsp sugar
• 1/2 cup-1 cup low sodium chicken broth
• 1 tbsp red chili flakes
• 1 tsp salt
• 2 tbsp low sodium soy sauce
• 2 tbsp vegetable oil
• 1 tbsp sesame oil

Directions:
Submerge vermicelli in boiling water for 6-7 minutes. Then flush the noodles with cold water for one minute. Drain and keep aside. Add vegetable oil to a pan and saute the garlic until fagrant. Saute the red peppers and cabbage in this oil for 3-4 minutes and then add green onions and saute for another 3-4 minutes. Remove from heat.

Combine peanut butter, soy sauce, sesame oil, ginger and red chili flakes in a saucepan. Slowly add chicken brother, making sure to continue stirring so it doesn't congeal. Stir for 10 minutes, allowing it to simmer, but continuing to add broth so it doesn't become too thick. Toss the vermicelli with the sauce.

Serve topped with peppers and cabbage mixture, and top that with some heated leftover bulgogi. Serves 6.

Bunny Chow

In honor of World Cup 2010's host country, I decided to make some popular South African street food for a group of friends who gathered at our place yesterday to watch USA vs. England. I was lucky enough to get to SA in our summer/their winter of 2005, and Bunny Chow was far and away my favorite meal there--perhaps with the exception of PeriPeri shrimp, which I'll post before the Cup ends. Here's the recipe for one of the easiest and most satisfying dishes I've made in ages.

Bunny Chow

• 2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken thighs (bite size pieces)
• 2 tbsp garlic (minced)
• 2 tbsp ginger (minced)
• 1.5 red onions (chopped)
• 4 large potatoes (bite size pieces)
• 1 tbsp turmeric
• 2 tbsp red chili powder
• 2 tbsp ground coriander
• 2 tbsp salt
• 2 tbsp garam masala
• 1 inch piece of cinnamon
• 3-4 cardamon pods
• 3-4 cloves
• 1 cup low sodium chicken broth
• 1 tbsp cornstarch and a little bit of water
• 12 whole bread rolls (not the sliced kind)

Here's the amazing part--just combine* all of the ingredients (with the exception of the chicken broth, cornstarch, water and rolls) in a slow cooker. Make sure you rub the spices into the chicken, onion and potatoes. Next, add the chicken broth. Cook on high for 3.5-4 hours, or on low for 7.5-8 hours. About 30 minutes before serving, mix the cornstarch with enough water to make a thick paste and add this mixture to the chicken curry. Stir well, and don't be afraid to have the chicken and potatoes break apart. *I ignored a bunch of slow-cooker first principles by not searing the meat, not layering meat on top of potatoes, etc. It turned out moist, tender and delicious anyway. And if we had the time to do all of those preparatory steps in the morning before work, would the slow cooker really have revolutionized the amount of time we spend on meals?

How to serve: Pour the chicken curry into a serving dish and garnish with chopped cilantro (optional). Take the bread rolls and hollow out a large hole in each one, making sure that you retain the 'lid' and 'insides' as one piece. [note: the kaiser rolls pictured above are a decent, if not slightly disappointing, substitute for South African 'government sandwich loaves' which are tall and square, like Indian pav. If you can get loaves like those, bless you.] Allow guests to assemble their own Bunny Chow by removing the lid, scooping some curry inside and using the lid to eat the meal with their hands. That's the real way to do it. Serves 12.


The astute among you may be asking why chicken curry inside of a bread bowl is called Bunny Chow. Since 12 servings of rabbit do not usually appear on a graduate student's grocery budget, I'm grateful that the name developed completely independent of the cottonball-tailed burrowers.

While the actual origin of the dish is disputed, I find the most believable account to involve the Bania (pronounced: buh-nee-yah) caste of Indian migrants, brought over to South Africa as indentured laborers to work on sugar cane fields. One version explains that Indians were excluded from restaurants and given curry scooped into a loaf of bread to take away; another claims that Indian workers found the loaf easy to transport to the fields. Both reports describe the affordability and convenience of a meal that workers have discovered in various countries throughout history--pasties in England, for example, were also cheap and convenient options for Cornish tin miners who could not come up for lunch and wanted a self-contained meal to eat without utensils below ground.

The term Bunny Chow is said to have arisen around 1933, when Indians and non-Indians alike suffered from the Great Depression and discovered that this meal was one of the cheapest they could manage. Bunny became the colloquial adaptation of the Banian curry, and 'chow' was the term used to describe Chinese food--another community who turned to the meal for sustenance. Interestingly enough, now the phrase is sometimes used to describe multiculturalism in South Africa, even becoming the namesake for a 2006 film about the humanity in interpersonal/intercultural/interracial, really inter-difference, relationships.

Sixteen years after the end of apartheid, South Africa has made serious advancements in this direction, and I hope that this fact isn't lost on World Cup audiences as they watch matches hosted in this country. Its post-apartheid Constitution was the first in the world to outlaw discrimination based on sexual orientation, for example, and even legalized same-sex marriage in 2006.

But race relations seem to be another matter. The legalized system of racial segregation under apartheid (in addition to a history of colonialism), and the measures that have since been taken to compensate for such injustice, have fostered distrust and resentment that seems to live strong today. I remember walking back to my hostel in Durban, with some Bunny Chow in hand, and encountering its white owner on a bench outside. He looked at the food in my hands and offered the following, unsolicited, wisdom: "We have a saying here in South Africa. During apartheid, whites were the head of the cow, blacks were the ass, and Indians were milking it in the middle. Now that apartheid's over, blacks are the head, whites are the ass and the damn Indians are still milking it in the middle." Charming, really.

Porkin' up a CSA

I freakin' love CSAs. Seriously. CSA stands for Community Supported Agriculture and these local ventures provide exactly what I want to make my meals: fresh, inspiring, sustainable, and delicious treats. They're pretty simple--the farmer offers shares of that year's crop up front and it's a win-win for the seller and buyer. The farmer gets resources at the beginning of the year to help with costs for the upcoming harvest and the customer gets all of the wonderful qualities I listed above, and the added benefit of cheaper prices than it would often cost to buy the same quantities at the farmer's market. I know some people might think that these are absurdly expensive (because, come on, how can something organic in a box NOT be?) but they're really affordable... I'd dare say they're even cheap.

I'll give you an example: a local CSA offers 5 months of produce for a single person household at $375 per share. That's (usually more than) a week's worth of fresh vegetables for less than $19. If you're not already spending that much on vegetables, you're not eating enough vegetables. And this particular organization offers work exchanges for low income shares, as well as nutritional cooking classes based on that week's produce. But the best part of CSAs? You never know what will be in your box. You open it up and there are usually the staples (onions, potatoes, etc.), but then there could be tomatillos, turnips, chillies--whatever's in season. A friend in Brooklyn just got kohlrabi and collard greens this week and asked me this morning what in the world she could possibly do with them. Needless to say, the dissertation took a hit for the rest of day, but I found some really interesting south Indian recipes ideas for the cabbage-like veggie.

The heavens parted the day I found out we had a local pork CSA called The Piggery. We'd been lucky enough to have The Piggery's charcuterie at our weekly Farmer's Market, but the CSA introduced the idea of buying a 'whole hog,' 'half hog' or 'quarter hog' share. You read that right. So, every week (or every other week, based on your share), you open your box with the same anticipation as you would your box of produce--sometimes it's pate and chops, sometimes it's sausages, bacon and lard.

What's not to love about these local schemes? They tell you more about where your food comes from, they build sustainable communities, they cut down on economic risk, and, frankly, they stand to make cooking fun for people who just can't be bothered to see the delight involved in making your own food.

I'll admit that I've had a tenuous relationship with pork since an ill-fated incident in Trumansburg a few months back. See, I lovelovelove pork belly (the kind euphemism for what is nothing more than pork fat). Bacon is the most commonly known derivative, but pork belly has been commonly used in Chinese dishes and, more recently, has started appearing in 4oz. portions, slow roasted in some sort of delicious glaze, on some of the most high-end menus around the country. My favorite was served up in Gramercy Tavern, with a close second at Blue Hill Farm.

But one night it went very wrong in Trumansburg [note: I'm not going to name the restaurant, because I think it was prepared impeccably and I refuse to spread bad press about such a consummate delight]. Because I broke the one and only rule about eating pork fat: a little goes a long way. I gorged and then suffered nausea for roughly two weeks.

Since then, I've tried to rekindle my love of the fat by making dishes that organize themselves specifically around that one rule:

Mushroom and Spinach (Porky) Pasta

Ingredients:
5-6 strips of bacon
4 cloves of garlic
1 red onion
1 tbsp crushed red pepper flakes
splash of dry white wine
8 medium sized mushrooms, chopped in large pieces
pasta (bow-tie works nicely)
8 oz of spinach1/2 cup low-sodium chicken broth
1/2 cup milk
fresh grated parmesan (to taste)
salt and pepper (to taste)

Start off by frying the strips of bacon in large skillet. While it's cooking, start the pasta in a pot of salted, boiling water. Once the bacon is done, set the strips aside. In the remaining bacon fat (yes!), saute the onions, garlic and red pepper flakes until the onions are translucent. Add mushrooms and white wine and saute until the wine reduces. Next, add the broth, milk, salt and pepper, and some parmesan. Continue stirring so that the cheese doesn't congeal. Add handfuls of spinach, making sure to patiently stir it into the mixture slowly. Toss the pasta in this mixture and serve warm. Serves 4.

Mangoes and Curry

I moved into my new flat on Sunday--a big open-plan studio with a full kitchen, high ceilings, lounge area and fireplace. I know that makes it sounds less like a studio and more like some sort of figment of my imagination, but I'm the one who started to memorize the listings on gumtree.com, recognize 11 digit numbers on my phone from agents returning calls, dream about missed viewings, and get bamboozled by 'wire-me-money' schemes, not unlike the Nigerian e-mail correspondence we all know and love. So I know it's very much real and very much appreciated at this point.


It's in the conservation area of a great neighborhood called Angel, a mere 4 blocks from a popular strip of restaurants, bars, theatres, boutiques and galleries. It's only a couple of blocks from a popular bus hub, a convenient tube stop, and it's walkable to the British Library. You might have heard it snowed here (blah, blah, blah), so the slushiness and slick streets threatened my ability to fully appreciate my neighborhood for the past few days. But today I said no more.

After finishing up in the BL today (I *finally* got a reader's pass, granting me access to the Social Sciences reading room for the next year), I went to a show called The Political Animal. It was part of a BL series called "Taking Liberties"--an exhibition meant to explore the history of freedoms and rights in the U.K. This show, however, was meant to be a comedy show, spotlighting 4 prominent comedic talents and their politically satirical material. I found out about it last minute, so I went alone and got chatted up by a slightly strange woman who claimed to be in love with New York. Now I've been to London more times than I can count, but I've *never* met as many people as I have already this time around who are absolutely thrilled by the idea of America, let alone my roots there. And when this lady asked me where I lived, and I said New York, and she asked me where, I--inexplicably--couldn't bring myself to say "Ithaca" and explain where that was. I mumbled "Brooklyn" and then numbly sat there, hating my dishonesty, while she hemorrhaged about buying a suit there once.

The show was pretty disappointing. Luckily, the two comedians I really wanted to see (Paul Sinha--an Indian ex-doctor who complained about terrorism and racial profiling, yet still made juvenile jokes about "Gah-nish, the el'phant god;" and Rory Bremmer, a truly amazing impressionist who saved his flops with particularly fantastic impersonations of Obama, Clinton and Gordon Brown) were the two acts before intermission, so I ducked out after they finished and the rest of the crowd hit the bar in the lobby.

I was starving so I took a bus home from Kings Cross and hit the Tesco Metro on the walk back to pick up some groceries to make Pork and Aubergine Green Curry Noodles. It was quick, delightfully easy, and will definitely be a go-to meal this term. I'd suggest adding a tbsp or two of fish sauce and brown sugar, each, but I didn't have any around. I used the noodles illustrated below, and they go straight into the wok from the bag, fully cooked. Pretty amazing, that Tesco.

Pork and Aubergine Green Curry Noodles

1tbsp olive oil
1 lb ground pork
3 cloves garlic, finely minced
1 tbsp black pepper
1 tsp salt
2 tsp soy sauce
1 medium aubergine (eggplant), sliced into half moons
3 tbsp thai green curry paste
noodles of your choice (4 servings worth)

Saute the pork in the oil and garlic until it loses its pinkness. Add curry paste, pepper, salt, and soy sauce and stir well. Cook for 5 minutes and then add the aubergine. Cook for another 10 minutes, or until the aubergine is tender. Meanwhile prepare the noodles of your choice separately; when they are done, add them to the curry, toss thoroughly, and stir-fry for another minute.
Serve warm.


And now I'm sitting at my coffee table, listening to the rain outside and starting a painting of mangoes. God help me, I love London, but I need something tropical in my place, right about NOW.

London, baby.

So... I live in London now. The past month was a whirlwind of family visits, holiday festivities and work-crunchtime on an academic editing project that tested the very limits of my sanity. In the midst of all of this, my poor blog and its faithful followers fell by the curb. But now I've finally crossed the Atlantic and no longer by the 'kerb' shall they lie.

I'll admit that I don't yet have much in order over here. I still need a flat, some interview contacts, and a working questionnaire, for example. And so it seems silly to be updating my blog while all of these big items hang in the balance, but you can only search that awfully tedious gumtree.com so often and wait for only so many people to call you back before you go stark mad. On top of it, I miss B. unbearably and think its bittersweet irony to finally be in a fantastic city--my favorite and his homeland, in fact--without him. Ah, well... so is the tired story of graduate student nomadism.

I'm going to be much better about posting here from now on, if only to keep those interested updated on my latest exploits. There will be stories about food, because that's how I travel and experience cities; and there will be politics, because that's what I'm supposed to be following over here. As a tribute to my new locale, here's a recipe that I tried out last week before leaving Obama-land. For some inexplicable reason, the Brits love this dish more than most Indians, pairing it with some lager and (most likely) a tall glass of cold water.

Vindaloo!

2 dried red chilies
1 1/2 tsp cumin seeds
1 tsp black peppercorns
1 teaspoon cardamom seeds
1 (3-inch) stick of cinnamon
1 teaspoon black mustard seed
1 teaspoon fenugreek seed
1/4 cup white vinegar
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
2 teaspoons brown sugar
2/3 cup vegetable oil
2 medium onions, sliced
2 to 3 tablespoons water
1-inch cube fresh ginger, peeled and finely minced
1 small whole head of garlic, peeled and separated
2 to 3 tablespoons water
2 1/2 pounds pork, trimmed and cut into 1-inch cubes
1 tablespoon ground coriander
1 teaspoon turmeric

1) Using a spice or coffee mill to grind red chilies, cumin seeds, peppercorns, cardamom seeds, cinnamon stick, black mustard seeds and fenugreek seeds. In a small bowl combine the ground spices with the vinegar, salt, and brown sugar; then set aside.
2) In a large, deep frying pan (with lid for use later), heat the oil over medium heat; add onions and cook, stirring occasionally, until onions turn golden brown and crisp. Remove and drain on paper towels. Set aside the frying pan with the remaining oil.
3) Using an electric blender or food processor, puree the fried onions with 2 to 3 tablespoons water.
4) Combine the onion puree with reserved spice mixture. This mixture is the Vindaloo paste.
5) Again, using the blender or processor, blend the ginger and garlic with 2 to 3 tablespoons water into a smooth paste.
6) Heat the oil in reserved frying pan over medium-high heat. Cook the cubed pork in small batches to ensure they brown nicely, placing cooked pork to a bowl until all pork is browned nicely.
7) Next, add the ginger-garlic paste to the frying pan and reduce the heat to medium. Cook and stir paste for a few seconds, then stir in the ground coriander and turmeric, again cooking for just few seconds. Quickly stir in the browned pork cubes and accumulated juices, the vindaloo paste and the 1 cup water. Bring mixture to a boil, reduce heat to low, cover and simmer for 1 hour or until pork is fork-tender, stirring occasionally.

Makes 10 servings.

Top Chef: Catching Up

Last week's Top Chef made some pretty serious gaffs, the most egregious of them Fabio's knowledge of the color wheel. Listen to me, and listen to me closely: Fabio. is. not. charming. A few years ago, B and T discovered that my impersonation of an Italian accent insinuates that I think Italians are borderline pedophiles, and, of course, I've stubbornly stood my ground. Unbeknownst to them (until now, I assume), I really did think it's a ridiculous impersonation, but NOW (!) I feel absolutely vindicated by Sir Fabio.

In all seriousness, last week Fabio's team was assigned 'blue' in the Gail-Simmons-Bridal-Shower challenge and, instead of stretching his imagination to sea-inspired foodstuffs, he chose to pervert the idea of a color wheel. Apparently, green swiss chard plus yellow corn puree equals blue. Here's a picture of a color wheel, in case we don't remember our primary school lessons. Blue is a primary color. Green plus yellow make yellow-green. Discuss.

It's no secret that I hate Fabio, but what I hate more is how women act around him on the show. First of all, a woman's bridal shower is not the 'most important meal' of her life--a little more perspective, please? Usually, women are eating this meal with absurd ribbons and bows plastered embarrassingly to her head, so clearly any matter of taste has already been discarded with yesterday's rubbish. Second, the giggling at Fabio's accent and (again!) 'charm' makes me want to punch every one of them in their ovaries. Swooning at an Italian accent?--talk about cliches.

But he's fading, and, apparently, so is the charm. I guess women only like successful Italians.
Ariane's the new star because she knows how to cook a piece of meat damn well. The Thanksgiving turkey, last week's lamb, and last night's quickfire beef. I'm not going to slam her for the simplicity of cooking a piece of meat well, but shouldn't cooking meat well be considered a given at their stage? I think that the accompaniments have been more interesting in each case, and have been thinking about cauliflower puree ever since last night's episode. I decided to whip some up for dinner tonight and it was really delish, so here's the recipe:

Cauliflower Puree

• 1 head of cauliflower, roughly chopped into florets
• 3 shallots, chopped finely
• 4 garlic cloves, minced
• 1 large green chili, minced
• 2 tbsp butter
• 2 potatoes
• 1 cup low-sodium chicken stock
• 3 tbsp sour cream
• 2-3 scallions

Saute the shallots, garlic, and chili in the butter until shallots appear clear. In the meantime, boil the chopped potatoes in some water. Add the cauliflower and chicken stock to the shallots' mixture, bring to a boil over high heat and then lower to a simmer until cauliflower is very tender (about 10-15 minutes). After potatoes are nice and tender as well, drain them from their water and add to the tender cauliflower. At this point, take it off of the heat, add salt and pepper to taste, as well as the sour cream. Mash with a potato masher, or add the ingredients to a food processor and blend until smooth. Sprinkle with diced scallions for garnish.

Top Chef (Season 5; Episode 3): this post is brought to you by... soup

After a busy holiday weekend--75% of which was spent driving up and down the east coast--and emotional check-ins with family back home, I finally have a chance to sit down and post an update. Because so much time has lapsed, and thoughts have accumulated, this post is in 3 parts: Top Chef, Thanksgiving, and a freakin'-fantastic-recipe I tried a few days ago. In one of those seemingly predetermined moments of coincidence, I realized that all three topics I wanted to talk about have one very simple food in common: soup.

Top Chef...
The Quickfire Challenge asked our contestants to beget soup, inspired by other chefs' notable recipes in previous seasons compiled in the Top Chef cookbook. They certainly contrived some wonderful recipes, the white asparagus topping them off. Soups aren't easy to make (I should know, I have a damn 2 quarts of a disasterous attempt to soup-up canned pumpkin in my fridge right now--which is not, incidentally, the recipe I'll post below. That was pure delight.), and these chefs really did demonstrate inspiration, instead of pureeing the entrees they'd already begun to prepare before the soup-twist was thrown at them. What debased this creativity, however, was the latest of Bravo's shameless sponsorship exploits. Each chef was asked to use Swanson's Vegetable, Chicken or Beef Stock in what can only be documented as the most embarrassing product plug in the history of television. To top it all off, each chef replugged the stock while describing what he/she had made--obediently repeating the Swanson brand, in sing-song for the producers' ears. Add this to the cookbook plug, Kenmore appliances, Mac products, Saturn vehicles, and so much more. I wouldn't be surprised if we started seeing Padma in some BlueFly.com accessories from the Project Runway design room.

Thanksgiving...
When I was younger, I attended a small, private, primary school because my immigrant parents thought that it was the ticket to a better life in this country and worked numerous jobs each to afford the ridiculous tuition it charged. I was miserable there, to put it mildly--I was the only non-white, non-WASP child (except for one Jew and one Cuban) in the entire school, I lied about being Christian so I could fit in until I was caught not knowing any of the songs at a classmate's communion, and I threw up every day on the ride to school for months (not in the eating disorder kind of way, but more of the 'I can't show up to school covered in vomit' variety--didn't work, my parents were too clever and packed extra clothing). I digress. Point is, I hated that place--mostly because the other students were racist, spoiled, and, honestly, dumb as bricks. But there's one memory that I still recall fondly from those years and it was the school's tradition of Stone Soup.

Stone Soup is an old Grimm Brothers' tale that tells the story of two soldiers making a pilgrimage home after serving in a war. On the way, they stop in a village and ask its villagers for handouts, as they've run out of provisions. Each house snubs the soldiers, ignoring their service and selfishly claiming they have no food to share. The soldiers then take up a cauldron in the middle of the village square, and try to look their busiest as they stir warm water with nothing but a single stone mixed in. As villagers pass by, their curiosity gets the best of them and they ask what the soldiers are making. Stone soup! they exclaim, lamenting that their specialty just needs a bit of onion, or a single potato, or a pinch of herbs (you get the point) to reach its potential. To the soldiers' delight, each villager agrees to pitch in the 'missing' ingredient, in return for a helping of the promised perfection. And, in this way, a hearty, delicious soup is made (and enjoyed) by the entire village and its two cunning visitors.

On the last day of school before Thanksgiving break, our entire grade school (K-6, 140 kids) would gather in a clearing in the forest behind our campus. We'd all sit on logs arranged in a circle, around a single cauldron in the middle. The youngest student in the school would ceremonially place a single stone in the pot to kick off the tradition, and each student would then walk up to the pot and place some ingredient that he/she had been assigned inside. While the pot simmered, we'd listen to my favorite kindegarten teacher, Mrs. Hays, read us the story of Stone Soup and then we'd feast. And for that single day each year, for 5 years, I could momentarily sit in that forest and forget that the little shits sitting next me on our log made fun of my last name, my parents' accents, or the lunches I brought to school. For one day, we all ate each other's meal and I realized more and more over the years that spice was something to be celebrated--it's just that none of them knew any better.

Gingered Carrot Soup...
I must still associate soup with that sort of temporary comfort, because when things got particularly bad one cold night a few days ago and I was dreading the reality of what completing my dissertation will entail and feeling remiss that my partner is no longer in the same graduate program to commiserate with and regretting making all sorts of decisions that led me to this career path and shut the doors on others, I decided to dump my sorrows in a pot and make huge vat of gingered carrot soup. There were many ingredients, numerous steps, and much detail, but I'm telling you--when you feel like you've completely lost control over your own life and desperately think you're dependent on whims of fate, there's nothing like successfully making a really tasty, hearty soup that will last you for at least 9 meals. Every sip I took of this soup for the rest of the week reminded me that I can, in fact, complete things I set out to do on my own.

2 lbs carrots, peeled and chopped into 1 inch pieces
4 cups chicken broth, low sodium and fat free
1 tbsp butter
1.5 cups chopped onion
4 medium cloves garlic, minced
2 tbsp freshly grated ginger
1.5 tsp salt
1/4 tsp each: cumin
ground fennel
cinnamon
allspice
dried mint
4 tbsp fresh lemon juice
1 cup lightly toasted cashews

1) Place the chopped carrots in a saucepan with the chicken broth and bring to a boil. Lower the heat and simmer until very tender (takes about 10-15 minutes).
2) In the meantime, heat the butter in a skillet. Add the onions and saute for a few minutes, until they start to soften. Then add the garlic, ginger, salt, and spices. Saute the mixture for another 10 minutes and then stir in the lemon juice.
3) Puree the onion mixture, boiled carrots (including the chicken broth) and toasted cashews together in a food processor or blender (you might have to do this in batches). Add water or milk to achieve the consistency you desire, because the recipe as is makes a very thick, creamy puree.
4) Enjoy--it's good for the soul.

A Kitchen Operative

Join me for a moment in imagining the day and age when an extremely tall, striking female who once played basketball for her college team, and made her living by parading her femininity on the national stage, pledged to do whatever she could to serve her country in a time of war. Julia Child was, indeed, a formidable woman. Were you thinking of someone else?

After graduating from Smith College, Child took different writing jobs and moved home to California to take care of her ailing mother before deciding to offer her services to the U.S. government in its time of need during World War II. Originally assigned secretarial duties with the Office of Strategic Services (OSS, the predecessor to the CIA) headquarters in D.C., she was subsequently assigned to the agency's Emergency Sea Rescue Equipment Section. While working with this subsection, Child developed shark repellent to coat explosives that were targeting German U-boats, because the bombs were falling victim to curious sharks who would bump into them underwater and unintentionally set them off.

The most effective deterrent for sharks is the odor of a dead shark's body. When asked in her later years how her love of cooking was ignited, she referred to her days working on shark repellent, but claimed that it was used to coat servicemen who had to spend considerable amount of time submerged under water. When the CIA recently released classified files identifying the names of 24,000 spies, the use of Child's recipe for assistance with explosives was clearly outlined. The recipe itself has never been divulged, but Child did not necessarily have to fool around with dessicated shark corpse in her Navy kitchen; apparently, certain copper compounds, such as copper sulfate or copper acetate, can also emit a similar odor that repels the bumbling fish.


Child only later moved on to discover the French culinary experience after moving to Paris in 1948. Her recipes have since been immortalized in American kitchens, while her own kitchen has literally become (part of) an American institution--currently on display at the Smithsonian. It's hard to imagine that the author of this classic recipe for French Roast Chicken began cooking by basting explosives aimed at enemy vessels.

The French Chef's obsession with smell persisted throughout her career, even if she became more interested in infusing her recipes with the odors of reduced wine and garlic than the stink of dead shark. Still, she was an odd one:

Julia Child on the nuance of smells...

VP Debate Menu- Bon Appetit!

I apologize for not keeping my promise of posting recipes every Monday and Wednesday, especially because a lot of you have told me that you not only enjoyed the goat curry recipe, but some of you actually tried it--kudos! In addition to my apologies, I offer you not one, but three recipes that you might want to try out tomorrow night in honor of the VP debate.

I can't think of many things Alaska and Delaware have in common besides crabs and lighthouses.

Cocktail: The Lighthouse
The Lighthouse is a drink that reminds me of a rowdy, very political friend of mine in college who lit his face on fire with his first flaming shot. He was fine and we laughed about it afterwards, but then we lost him in Iraq and I'm really sorry he won't be able to enjoy Obama and Biden kick ass in this election. So this recipe's for him--R.I.P., K.

• 1/3 oz. Kahlua
• 1/3 oz. Baileys
• 1/3 oz. 151 proof rum

Pour kahlua into a shot glass. With a spoon, slowly pour irish cream into the shot glass on top of the kahlua. Pour the 151 rum, again with the spoon, slowly on top of the irish cream and light on fire. Blow flame out before drinking. (seriously, don't forget!)

Starter: Masala Crab Cakes
Crab cakes are a classic, but I always think they can use a little spice (read a metaphor into this if you will). This is a slightly modified version of Anjum Anand's recipe and the closest I could find to what our wedding caterers must use in their restaurant--and, sweet jesus, they're tasty.

• 4 tbsp vegetable oil
• 1 small onion, finely chopped
• 3 scallions, chopped
• thumb-sized piece fresh ginger, peeled and finely chopped
• 4 garlic cloves, crushed
• 2 tsp ground coriander
• ¼-½ tsp red chilli powder
• salt, to taste
• 1 tsp fresh ground peppercorns
• 1 tsp garam masala
• 2 tbsp lemon juice
• a few fresh coriander leaves and stalks, chopped
• 14oz prepared crab meat
• 1 large egg
• 2½ tbsp mayonnaise
• 2 cups breadcrumbs
• 6 thai green chilies, chopped

For the tamarind mayonnaise

• 80g/3oz mayonnaise
• 50ml/2fl oz milk
• salt, to taste
• ¼ tsp freshly ground black pepper
• 1 tbsp tamarind paste, or to taste
• handful fresh coriander leaves and stalks, chopped
• lightly dressed salad leaves, to serve

1. Preheat the oven to 170C/325F/Gas 3.
2. Heat half the oil in a non-stick pan and fry the onion for about four minutes, or until soft. Add the ginger and garlic and cook for another 40 seconds. Stir in the coriander, red chilli powder, salt and garam masala and cook for another 20 seconds then take off the heat. Place into a large bowl.
3. Add the lemon juice, fresh coriander, crab, egg and mayonnaise to the onion mixture in the bowl. Stir well and add the breadcrumbs. Divide into eight equal portions and form each into a circular shape.
4. Heat one tbsp of oil in a non-stick pan and cook the crab cakes in batches over a low moderate heat for about two minutes on each side, or until golden brown adding more oil as needed.
5. Place the cooked crab cakes on a baking tray and place them into the oven to stay warm while you cook the others.
6. For the tamarind mayonnaise, place all the tamarind mayonnaise ingredients into a bowl and whisk together. Season to taste.
7. To serve, take the warm crab cakes out of the oven, put them on a plate and serve with a spoonful of the tamarind mayonnaise.

Entree: Amtrak New York Strip Steak
Did you know that Biden takes the Amtrak home to Delaware every night after session ends in D.C.? If you've missed that, you must have been out cold since he was picked as veep--and, even then, I feel like they're whispering it in coma-patients' ears or something. I thought we'd serve up an entree he must miss now that he's on the campaign trail and flying/busing everywhere. I refuse, however, to offer the recipe for either of the sauces they offer with the steak. Seriously: "please select either a green peppercorn sauce or crushed plum tomato sauce to enhance your entree" [emphasis added, but are they freakin' serious??] No way, no how.

• Steak
• Salt
• Pepper
• Olive Oil

Pat the steak dry. Season with salt and pepper, to taste, on both sides. Place on well-oiled hot grill and cook for 4 minutes on each side for medium rare. Adjust cooking times to your liking.

Dessert: Beehive Cake
And, finally, something sweet and light (hearted, at least) to help us stomach the nonsense we're going to hear. Remember when there were conspiracy theories flying around about Bush wearing an ear-piece, aiding and abetting his performance during his debates against Kerry? I'm thinking Palin's beehive could hide some stuff. Just sayin'...

Here's a fun recipe, courtesy of Williams-Sonoma:

• 2 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 1/2 tsp. baking powder
• 1/2 tsp. salt
• 16 Tbs. (2 sticks) unsalted butter
• 1 2/3 cups granulated sugar
• 3 tsp. lemon zest
• 4 eggs, lightly beaten
• 1 tsp. vanilla extract
• 2/3 cup milk
• 1/4 cup fresh lemon juice

For the glaze:

• 1/2 cup honey
• 1 1/2 Tbs. fresh lemon juice
• 1/4 tsp. salt

For the quick buttercream:

• 4 Tbs. (1/2 stick) unsalted butter
• 1 1/2 cups confectioners' sugar, sifted
• 1 Tbs. milk
• 1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
• Pinch of salt

For the royal icing:

• 1 cup confectioners' sugar, sifted
• 2 to 3 tsp. milk

Sugar honeybees for decorating (optional)

PREPARATION
Have all the ingredients at room temperature. Position a rack in the lower third of an oven and preheat to 325°F. Grease and flour a beehive cake pan; tap out excess flour.

To make the cake, over a sheet of waxed paper, sift together the flour, baking powder and salt; set aside.

In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the flat beater, beat the butter on medium speed until creamy and smooth, about 1 minute. Add the granulated sugar and lemon zest and continue beating until light and fluffy, about 5 minutes, stopping the mixer occasionally to scrape down the sides of the bowl. Add the eggs a little at a time, beating well after each addition. Beat in the vanilla just until incorporated, about 30 seconds.

Reduce the speed to low and add the flour mixture in three additions, alternating with the milk and beginning and ending with the flour. Beat each addition just until incorporated, stopping the mixer occasionally to scrape down the sides of the bowl. Add the lemon juice and beat for 30 seconds.

Spoon the batter into the prepared pan, spreading the batter so the sides are higher than the center. Bake until the cake begins to pull away from the sides of the pan and a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean, 55 to 60 minutes. Transfer the pan to a wire rack and let the cake cool in the pan for 10 minutes.

Meanwhile, make the glaze: In a small saucepan over medium heat, stir together the honey, lemon juice and salt and bring just to a simmer, about 2 minutes. Remove from the heat.

Tap the cake pan gently on a work surface to loosen the cake. Set the rack over a sheet of waxed paper, invert the pan onto the rack and lift off the pan. Using a pastry brush, brush the warm cake with the glaze. Let the cake cool completely, at least 2 hours, before assembling and decorating.

To make the buttercream, in a small bowl, using a handheld mixer, beat the butter on medium speed until smooth and creamy, about 1 minute. Add the confectioners' sugar, milk, vanilla and salt and continue beating until light and fluffy, 2 to 3 minutes more.

To make the royal icing, in a small bowl, stir together the confectioners' sugar and the 2 tsp. milk until smooth. If necessary, add more milk 1/2 tsp. at a time until the icing is thick but still pourable.

Stand one half of the cooled cake vertically on its base. Using a serrated knife, level the flat side of the cake by trimming off 1/8 to 1/4 inch from the edge. Repeat with the other cake half.

Using an offset spatula, spread a thin layer of buttercream, about 1/2 cup, on the cut side of one of the cake halves. Place the cut side of the other cake half against the frosted side and gently press to secure the two halves; using the spatula, smooth the buttercream at the seam.

Using a large spatula, carefully transfer the cake to a serving platter. Drizzle with the royal icing, making sure to cover the frosted seams of the beehive. Decorate with sugar honeybees.

Phew! Enjoy.

Don't 'Goat Curried' Away!

So in our progressive, contemporary, and unconventional living arrangement, I cook on Mondays and Wednesdays, B cooks on Thursdays and Sundays, T cooks on Tuesdays and Fridays or Saturdays and we fend for ourselves on the day leftover. Last night, I cooked goat curry and thought that folks might enjoy the recipe, age-old and a family-classic. My table-mates have also tired of my fun-facts (or "obsession" as they call it--whatever.) regarding moose, so I'll tell you all a little bit about goats below. And from now on, Mondays and Wednesdays will feature recipes for the foodies among you.

Goat Curry....mmmm
1-2 lbs. goat (shoulder chops or ribs)
3 tbsp. vegetable oil
2 medium onions, diced
1 medium tomato, diced
4-5 cloves
10 peppercorns
1 2-inch stick of cinnamon
1 tsp. turmeric
1 tbsp. salt
1 tbsp. chili powder
1.5 cups yoghurt
1 tbsp. garam masala
2 tbsp. garlic, minced
2 tbsp. ginger, minced

Marinate the goat in the yoghurt, garlic, ginger, turmeric, chili powder, and salt for at least 30 minutes. Heat the oil in some frying oil, and when the oil starts spitting, add the peppercorns, cinnamon, and cloves. Add the onions and tomatoes and fry the mixture for about 10 minutes, or until the onions are browned. Now add the goat pieces and garam masala and fry it all up for about another 10 minutes, until the goat is browned on all sides. Pour the entire mixture in a slow cooker, and add water until the chops are just slightly covered. Cook it for 6 hours on the high setting, or 8 hours on the slow setting. Serve with basmati rice and raita.

Goat is now my favorite meat, no questions asked. Low cholesterol, low fat, tender, etc. But when I was growing up, all I knew about goats was what I saw in cartoons--namely, goats were sort of slow, dopey, junkyard-scavenging creatures with appetites for everything from tin cans to rotten vegetables. As I grew older, I learned that goats are actually incredibly intelligent, clean and picky animals; the only reason they got typecast as garbage-prowlers was their rabid curiosity--they'll nibble on buttons and bottles to figure out what they are, but they'll stop there. On the other hand, they do eat their own placenta (look out for future posts on this topic), but that's survival instinct in order to evade predators attracted to the birth-smell of vulnerable prey. Still seems pretty smart to me.


The myth of a goat's ravenous appetite reared its inaccurate head once again in the children's story, The Pet Goat, in 1997. The story became infamous when President Bush continued reading it to a classroom of elementary school children in Sarasota, Florida even after he'd been told by his CoS that the second plane had crashed into the WTC on September 11, 2001. I'm not interested in getting into a discussion over whether Bush was wrong to continue the classroom-reading while the rest of the country was shutting down in fear. What's more interesting, and pretty much left undiscussed, is the irony of the plot in this particular children's story. The story is about a young girl's pet goat who eats everything in its path, to the point where her father thinks the goat is literally going to eat the family out of house and home. The father is ready to expel his young daughter's companion, breaking her blessed heart, when the goat foils a robbery by horn-butting the burglar. Thankful, the father changes his tune and welcomes the goat into their home.

The moral of the story? If the father had acted on his first, harsh impressions of the goat, the long term interest of the family would have gone to shit. Or profiling clouds our understanding of the true character of individuals and we should avoid it at all costs. Hell, maybe even that, in the family's time of need, it wasn't an overly vigilant Neighborhood Watch that foiled the burglary, but help came from where it was least expected. Maybe Bush kept on reading the story, instead of leaping to lead the country, because he was curious as a goat to see how the story ended.