If you are a federal employee household, like we are, the potential government shutdown is probably also on your mind. Thanks to a number of children (and not the good kind, but those cavechildren you see in public, climbing furniture, eating paste, and pulling hair out of baby dolls' heads) that some people in this country saw fit to elect as their distinguished representatives, our debt ceiling and the world economy are being held hostage by House Republicans. I can't go on about it because I get all rage-y when I think about their callousness for 1.2 million federal employees' families who, wonder of all wonders, might need something as silly as a paycheck to help them subsist.

Well, stressful times call for relaxing recipes. I'm thinking easy marination, one-pot-dishes, and unattended oven time that also happens to heat your home as the fall chill approaches in the evening. Bonus points for ones that happen to use ingredients you already have in your fridge, since we're talking about saving money after all, and are easily amenable to your fridge's quirky constitution instead of mine. Enter my Asian interpretation of roasted chicken and root vegetables.

Spicy Miso Chicken Thighs

• 2 pounds boneless skinless chicken thighs
• 2 tablespoon garlic, minced
• 2 tablespoon ginger, minced
• 3 tablespoons miso paste
• 1 lemon, zested
• 2 tablespoons vegetable oil
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• 1 tablespoon sesame chili oil
• 1 tablespoon rice vinegar
• 1 tablespoon soy sauce
• 1 tablespoon sugar
• 1 tablespoon sambal oelek
• 1 pound carrots
• sea salt

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees. Combine the garlic, ginger, miso, lemon zest, vegetable oil, sesame chili oil, rice vinegar, soy sauce, sugar, and sambal oelek and marinate the chicken thighs in the mixture for at least an hour, but preferably overnight.

Peel the carrots, slice them on the bias, and toss them with 1 tablespoon of olive oil and some sea salt. Spread them out on the bottom of a baking dish and top with the chicken.

Bake for 30 minutes, flipping chicken once halfway through the cooking time. Broiling for 3-4 minutes is optional to brown the thighs. Let the chicken rest for 5 minutes and then serve it up.

If you look really closely, you can see 1.2 million workers giving the bird to the House GOP.

A few years ago, while menu-tasting for our wedding in the DC metro area, I tasted what continues to be my favorite appetizer, hands down: crispy palak (spinach) chaat. I won't mention the name of the Indian restaurant in the Virginia suburbs, despite the wondrousness they caused in my mouth, because they were completely unethical and I want no part in driving business towards their establishment. But once every few months my mind wanders back to that tasting and I find myself involuntarily smacking my lips in memory of the light, crispy, almost airy quality of the starter. It doesn't hurt that the following conversation occurred at the table when the dish was introduced, causing my sister to almost lose her shit on a complete stranger, when it's hard enough to convince her to accompany us to Indian restaurants for exactly this reason:

Manager: And this is our palak chaat.

Me: Does this have any gram flour in it? My sister (sitting across from me) is deathly allergic to it, if so.

Manager: Absolutely no gram flour.

Me: Really? Because it looks like it's been slightly battered in it.

Manager: Nope. No gram flour whatsoever.

Me: (making the rest of the table uncomfortable at this point) Are you absolutely sure? Because my sister will have an awful allergic reaction to this dish if it even has as much as a dusting of besan (gram flour). 

Manager: Oh, there is a LOT of besan in it.

In any case, the dish was delicious but we decided we couldn't reliably serve it at the wedding because we needed practical starters that could withstand delays and crowds. One of the reasons this dish was truly spectacular was because its light crunch necessitated the intimacy of making it "to order"--something that would be difficult at our three hundred person affair.

Once again, my favorite restaurant in the district doesn't disappoint, as it is also famous for the same dish (albeit made differently by flash frying entire leaves of baby spinach instead of the thin ribbons of the leafy green I tasted at The Restaurant That Shall Not Be Named). I haven't actually tasted it at Rasika, however, since I've only been with my sister and I usually try to avoid choosing dishes that will send her into severe anaphylactic shock (see above). But the interwebs are rife with diners who have tasted the starter at Rasika and are haunted months, if not years, later, desperately trying to copycat the recipe in their own kitchens.

Fast forward a few years from the first time I tasted this dish to this past week when I brought a new member of the family into our home. I bought a two pound bag of kale at the store, thinking--hey, I love kale, I haven't really cooked with it much in the past few months, and I always feel like greens cook down into oblivion, so why not go big with the large bag? HAVE YOU EVER SEEN TWO POUNDS OF TIGHTLY PACKED KALE? I seriously think Desmond would take up less room in our fridge. This bag is endless and it does not cook down. I have already made five dishes with it and it looks like I haven't even made a dent. 

Not that I'm complaining--kale is a sought-after superfood and has really been pretty trendy in the U.S. (if not France, as a NYT piece sure to enrage fellow freelancers explained this weekend). I had it at Craft a few months ago, seemingly sauted with onions in nothing but a bit of rice wine and butter. It's hearty and healthy--what's not to love?

As I was staring in wonder at this bag this past weekend, I saw some "tips" (essentially on how to get rid of this ridiculous amount of greens, as though they knew) for helpful ways to use kale. One of them suggested replacing it for any recipe that calls for spinach. [note: this is not true when it comes to raw spinach salads, since raw kale really needs acidity to soften it up--rice wine vinegar or soy works nicely.] 

Spinach! Palak Chaat! As anyone who's made kale chips knows, that delicate, light crunch is pretty easy to obtain with this green. So I set about making my own "palak" chaat for some friends who were coming over for dinner. Owing to the deep fryer incident of 2009, I chose to avoid this horrendous appliance in favor of baking the crispy chaat--just as I would for kale chips.

Crispy "Palak" Chaat

• five cups of kale, ripped off the stem and ribboned
• quarter cup gram flour (besan)
• three tablespoons rice flour
• 1 tablespoon garlic powder
• sea salt, to taste
• olive oil 

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Massage or spray the kale with olive oil. Spread it out in an even layer on a wire rack over baking sheets, trying to avoid as much overlap as possible. Combine the rest of the ingredients in a sifter and sift over the kale.

Place the sheets in the oven on the lowest rack possible for about 10-12 minutes, stirring a bit once in the middle to ensure that all of the kale crisps evenly. The kale is ready when it is crispy to touch and the light appearance of the flour has mostly disappeared. 

Plate immediately and top with a mixture (to taste) of yoghurt, tamarind paste and pureed roasted garlic. Additional chopped tomatoes, onions and cilantro are optional. 

Don't hold your breath for ramen burgers to hit the district

Today I'm sharing a recipe that my sister mastered: the coveted ramen burger, the hipster dish still noticeably absent on the district's food scene, despite having already traveled from its hometown Brooklyn all the way out west to California, and even back again. My sister just moved from the district up to the center of foodie fads, New York City, and since she a) is a broke medical student, b) is a recently self-trained excellent cook, and c) has the eating habits of a six year old you would imagine living in a fraternity house, she immediately decided to make the ramen burger in her own kitchen.

DC gets a bad rap when it comes to food, and while I'll be the first to defend its growing culinary options, it does seem like fads hit us late and stay long enough to die a slow, painful death. Why, for example, are cupcakes still so damn popular? I like them just fine, but perhaps I overdosed because they were ALWAYS around my old office--the end of staff meetings, birthdays, anniversaries... by the end I swear it felt like Mondays and Wednesdays just for the hell of it. And, call me old fashioned, but I'd actually like my mini-cakes to cost less than, well, cakes. 

I digress. Point is, the ramen burger isn't even served up at the district's ramen Mecca, Toki Underground yet. And this is doing nothing to ameliorate the severe foodie insecurity Washingtonians feel towards their northern counterparts. If you don't believe me, just google "Where can I get NY-style pizza in DC?" and get back to me after you spend the next three days wading through the results. [Incidentally, as someone who has scoured through all of the hits more than once, and spent a good deal of time traveling around the city testing the advice out, a gift from me to you: Italian Pizza Kitchen (either their Van Ness or Woodley Park location). Get their thin crust, with extra sauce. It's smaller than a New York slice, but otherwise the basics are there. You're welcome.] 

The ramen burger was originally created by New York's noodle master, Keizo Shimamoto, at Brooklyn's Smorgasburg. This self-described "food flea market" hits two locations on the weekends, DUMBO and Williamsburg, to serve up some great hipster flare. And the burger is no exception. It is made exactly as it sounds--a burger pattie sandwiched between buns made out of ramen. The ramen crisps up to give a nice crunch to the bun on the outside, but allows noodles to stay soft, warm and crumbly on the inside. You can get creative with the seasoning of the buns, burger and sauce, but my sister tried to stay true to Shimamoto's "special sauce." Here's her take on the authentic RB:

The Ramen Burger

makes 6-8 servings

Buns 

• 2 packets ramen noodles
• 1 packet of ramen noodle seasoning packet
• 1 large egg
• butter, for searing

Cook two packets worth of ramen noodles in boiling water and then drain all the water. Add only one packet of the chicken flavoring for two packages of noodles, or the buns will be too salty.  Let cool, then add one large egg to noodles and stir to make sure all noodles are coated evenly.  Divide the noodles into 6-8 piles. Add one pile to a ramekin or a bowl, and cover with saran wrap. Use another bowl to flatten into a flat disc, then pop out the ramen disc, cover it fully in saran wrap, and put it in freezer for 20 minutes. Repeat for all 6-8 buns. After 20 minutes, sear ramen buns on a greased pan until golden brown on each side.

Burgers

• 2 pounds of ground beef (80/20 fat composition works well to retain moisture in patties, but it's really up to you)
• 1 small onion, diced
• 2 tablespoons fresh garlic
• 2 tablespoons fresh ginger
• 1 cup grated cheddar cheese
• 1 packet of ramen noodle seasoning packet
• 2 chilies, diced

While the buns are in the freezer, prepare your patties. Combine the ground beef, onion, ginger, garlic, cheese, ramen noodle seasoning packet and chilies. Shape into patties and sear on a stovetop or grill, reserving some drippings if possible. 

Sauce

• 1 teaspoon sri racha
• 1 teaspoon spicy brown mustard
• 1 teaspoon oyster sauce
• 1 teaspoon teriyaki sauce
• 1 teaspoon soy sauce
• some leftover drippings from searing the burgers

Combine sauce ingredients with some of the drippings from searing the burgers and mix well. Adjust sauce ingredients to taste. Layer fresh arugula on the bottom ramen bun, place the burger on top, lather with the sauce, and top with the second bun. 

kebabs!

A few notable things happened this past week. I got sick, I got better, and now I'm sick again. The chef at my favorite restaurant in the district asked to take home some of my burfi from our Ganapati celebrations this weekend (yeah, I'm not even going to pretend that's a humblebrag). And my son stopped calling me Purple. In the midst of all this excitement, I also happened to refine a recipe for kebabs that pleased both full sized and mini members of our family all at once. 

Kebabs

• 1 pound ground meat of your choice (I used beef)
• 1 tablespoon minced garlic
• 1 tablespoon minced ginger
• 3 cups spinach, packed
• 1 cup cooked rice
• 1 teaspoon turmeric
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1 tablespoon garam masala
• 2 large shallots
• 1 tablespoon olive oil

Preheat the oven at 375 degrees. Saute the spinach and shallots in the oil until the shallots are soft. Add the mixture to the rest of the ingredients and knead well. 

Place a mounded spoonful in a nifty mini-muffin pan, because square kebabs are just so darn cute. 

Pop them in the oven for 30 minutes and enjoy.

Kebabs are a great menu item to have on hand. They're versatile, they can mask all sorts of healthy additions (from vegetables to flax seed), they freeze well, and you can even pop them in some curry if you prefer sauce to the grill. Use them to experiment and experiment often-- you won't be sorry.

Ganapati removing obstacles for women?

India has been on my mind lately. We're right in the middle of one of the biggest festivals of the year: the ten-day Ganapati festival. Millions of Indians across the world will be visiting one another in homes to pay homage to elaborate arrangements surrounding the idol of Ganesh, the god of auspiciousness, the remover of obstacles. Dictated by the lunar calendar, this festival usually hits during monsoons in India, and I remember getting soaked to the bone hopping from one home to the other as we made our way through taking darshan (literally, sight) of relatives and friends' Ganapati. The host would welcome us, give us some prasad (literally, a gracious gift), which was always in the form of a sweet, we'd stay for some pleasantries, and then we'd put our sopping sandals back on and be on our way to the next stop. Morning to evening, for ten days.

We're celebrating out at my folks' place this weekend, and I wanted to bring some sweets to share. I started out with plans to make a couple of different burfis, an Indian equivalent of fudge. I planned on coconut and pistachio, two popular and personal favorites. But the best laid plans... well, let's just say that burfi is a very forgiving dessert. And since India's flag is such a simple triad of colors, it can make for a very nationalistic one as well. 

Coconut and Pistachio Burfi

• 4-5 cups of unsweetened shredded coconut 
• 2 14 oz. cans of sweetened condensed milk
• 1/4 tsp. ground cardamom
• 1 cup shelled pistachios, plus a handful reserved to crush for garnish
• pat of butter, for greasing the pan

Blanch the shelled pistachios by immersing in boiling water for two minutes; then just rub between your fingers to remove the remaining peels. 

Grind into a paste, using some water if necessary.

 

In one pot, dry roast the coconut until it is fragrant (do not allow it to become brown). Remove one cup and add to another pot, with the pistachio paste. Add one can of the condensed milk to the coconut-only pot, and stir continuously over medium heat until the mixture begins to incorporate the milk and the coconut becomes clumpy and less sticky. Add the ground cardamom. Remove from heat. Repeat with the coconut-pistachio mixture in the other pot with the second can of condensed milk, sans cardamom. 

Layer the pistachio burfi on the bottom of the greased pan and pack it in tight. 

Next, divide the coconut-only batch into two halves. Now, if you have saffron, you're a better person than I am and you should soak a bit in some warm water and add the essence to one half of the coconut-only mixture until you reach the desired flag-orange color. If you don't, use some food coloring--I won't tell. 

Layer the white mixture on top of the green. 

And top it off with the orange mixture, remembering to pack both layers tightly. Finally, crush some pistachios for garnish and press onto the orange layer. 

Chill this pan in the fridge for at least one hour, then use a greased butter knife to slice.

 

Why else is India on my mind? The four defendants in the brutal New Delhi gang rape case have been on trial, which ended with a guilty verdict, followed by today's sentencing condemning them to death by hanging. It's difficult to read about the gleeful reactions to the verdict--not because even any small part of me thinks these monsters deserve life, but because these episodes offer relief in the form of temporary moments of vindictive vengeance. They distract from the larger problem of violence against women and the institutional and societal failures that allow women to continue to be vulnerable to such heinous behavior. And, after all, they're unlikely to even die this way. There are 477 people on death row in India, yet only three have been executed in the last nine years, due to an appeals process that can travel up several levels of bureaucracy and a severely backlogged justice system. 

I would like to think that the public outcry in response to this case will not end here, with this symbolic sentence. I would like to think that the bodies that poured into the streets after the brutal rape will continue to band together, to say such violence against women has always been and continues to be one of the fundamental flaws of human societies. I would like to see millions of Indians take to the streets again, saying that this doesn't end with this verdict and sentence.

Millions of Indians in the streets? That's actually not hard. Particularly during Ganapati because the ten days culminate in public processions through the streets that march to the water and immerse their family idols in the sea. Not the most environmentally sound tradition, I know, and I have family members who are starting to refrain from this practice (our NoVa version included), but it does bring millions of Indians out into those streets. 

One of India's greatest freedom fighters, Bal Gangadhar Tilak, actually gave the festival a distinctly political face in the late 1800s. He brought families into the streets for this procession, who until then had celebrated Ganesh in privacy of their homes, and made Ganapati a public vehicle for protest against British colonial reign. 

Wouldn't it be something if millions of Indians took the tenth day this year, next Wednesday the 18th, to march on our behalf and demand that obstacles be removed for the women of India, and, let's face it, the world. That's assuming that you, like me, don't agree that patriarchy is dead.

Packing muffins with a punch

If your house is anything like ours is right now, your cooking revolves around the very finicky tastebuds and moods of a mini-dictator. Yes, he has adorable wispy curls and his gap-toothed smile makes you find new corners in your heart for jack-o-lanterns, but, man, he is stubborn at meal time. So we have to get really creative, by which I mean crafty and manipulative.

Besides playing around with tastes and textures, I thought it could be fun to make some bite size treats. And, wonder upon wonder, I found a fantastic, heavy-duty non-stick mini-muffin pan at Sur la Table. Yes, I love SLT, but I don't love having to pay $35 for a piece of kitchen equipment that's, let's face it, completely superfluous. It doesn't help that it's almost impossible not to feel like a pretentious ass just saying the store's name. South Park gets it right: 

But that store is like crack to a cooking addict. And so imagine my delight when I found the perfect pan in the clearance section for just over $10!

Ben used it to make some banana-yogurt muffins this weekend, and they turned out predictably adorable and bite-sized. The recipe is inspired by Chobani's greek yogurt recipe, but he just used regular whole milk yogurt since we have cartons of the stuff on hand for said picky child.

**

Banana-Yogurt Muffins

• 1/2 cup whole milk yogurt
• 1 c all-purpose flour
• 1 c whole wheat flour
• 1 t baking soda
• 1 t baking powder
• ½ t ground cinnamon
• ¼ t salt
• 4 ripe bananas, mashed
• 1 c packed light brown sugar
• ½ c canola oil
• 1 large egg

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Grease your muffin tin, unless it's amazing and non-stick like the one above. Whisk the dry ingredients together. In a separate bowl, beat the rest of the ingredients with an electric mixer. Add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients, mixing on low until combined. Pour batter into the muffin cups and bake until golden brown, about 20 to 25 minutes. Cool on a wire rack.

**

These fared well with our 21 pound boss for about a day, and then he figured out what we'd been up to. This morning we chased him around with some muffin bits in hand, until we finally called them "bread" and he about-turned, snatched them up, and stuffed them in his mouth. Your guess is as good as mine.

Leftovers for life

Do you ever make a dish specifically to enjoy its leftovers for the next few days? I find myself doing this with roast chicken, which makes a wicked curried chicken salad that is perfect in this summer heat (recipe coming soon!). Curries are also better the longer they sit, allowing the spices and flavors to really seep into the meats and vegetables. But one of my favorite repurposings of leftovers has to be the frankie.

The frankie is my favorite street food from my childhood summers in Bombay. Right next to the McDonald's down the street from my grandparents' flat, there was a frankie stand. You would pay a guy a few rupees and he would give you a small coin that signaled either chicken, mutton or veggie to the man you handed it to through a small hole in the wall. A moment later a hand would emerge and give you the most delectable snack-- spicy (always mutton for me) filling wrapped up in a tawa-fried, egg-coated roti. My cousins and I would eat them on our walk back home along Linking Road, with juices running down our elbows, and quickly mop our faces before adults could figure out what we'd been up to.

I wasn't really allowed to have frankies. One, I was of a weak Western constitution, and two, well, did you hear about the hole in the wall? But it didn't really matter. I ate them so often that I figured after the first dozen or so, I'd beaten the odds.

A quick pickle

I grew up loving all kinds of pickles. The basic ones that came on our McDonalds hamburgers to the ones that were specially steeped with bulbs of garlic and sold on the Massachusetts coast to whale watching tourists. And my brother-in-law and sister-in-law in Charlotte passed on a "fresh" jar of pickled vegetables made by a chef-friend of theirs. They are dilly and delicious.

And then there were Indian pickles (achar). Mango is a popular kind, not only in Indian restaurants in the diaspora, but in Indian family kitchens as well.  While western pickles are mainly brined in an acetic acid like vinegar, Indian pickles are usually cooked with spices and packed with oil and salt (sometimes with an acetic or citric acid of some sort as well). They're then traditionally canned tightly and set in the direct sun for days.

In addition to the basic mango pickle, I love:

Carrot

photo courtesy of www.kitchengardenrecipes.wordpress.com

Garlic

photo courtesy of www.honestcooking.com

Lime

photo courtesy of www.the-dogs-breakfast.com

I also distinctly remember trips home to New Jersey from summers in India when my mother would (close your ears, customs' officials) sneak in some dried prawns (sukat). I fought and threw the teenagiest of tantrums to keep them out of my suitcase--I was convinced, due to the neurosis that comes from growing up in an era before Indian food was the trendy ethnic option it is these days, that it would transfer its pungent, borderline rotten odor onto all of my clothes.

But once we safely evaded the folks at the airport, friends would line up to get batches of what my mom made with it. There were pulaos, there were stir fries, and, yes, there were pickles.

photo courtesy of www.konkancouncil.org

But pickling takes time! It takes preparation and then fermentation, both of which require forethought. So when you want a nice Indian pickle to cut a curry, or you just want to have some with creamy yoghurt and rice (try it!), it's convenient to have some ready-made on hand. I'm lucky enough to have some ready-family-made, but there are some good options (my favorites are Mother's Recipe or Patak's) in the Indian sections of grocers now.

And then leave it to my mother, a true innovator in the kitchen, to introduce me to a quick pickle tonight. It's simple and relies on the pickle masala to provide the salty, spicy punch of an achar, but doesn't require the fermentation. The raw yellow onion adds nice texture and bite, while the ribboned spinach makes it quite an attractive slaw or relish even. In any case, it was delicious and went perfectly with a rich lamb curry.

Onion and Spinach Achar

• some ribboned spinach
• chopped yellow onion
• finely minced garlic
• achar masala, to taste
• salt, to taste

Combine all ingredients. It's that simple. Enjoy!

Homemade fingerpaints

When it's uncomfortably hot outside, I try to find indoor activities for Desmond. Preferably activities on the less-destructive end of the spectrum, for the good of our sweet little cherub, but also our apartment's security deposit.

Fingerpainting seems like it would violate this guidance, but the highchair with a washable tray is a beautiful thing. So I set about looking for homemade fingerpaint recipes-- turns out cornstarch is handy to have around for more than thickening up the perpetually runny curry. With the simple addition of both hot and cold water, it turns into a surprisingly satisfying goopy substance that kids will love messing around.

Source: www.imaginationtree.com

Given that this substance alone looks disturbingly similar to Desmond's favorite food in the entire world: (yoghurt), I wanted to add some colors and encourage his inner Picasso to shine. But most artificial food coloring creeps me out, and for good reason. Food manufacturers in the U.S. are more lax about adding artificial dyes made from synthetic chemicals to many of our foods, and some of them are beloved to our picky mini-eaters. 

Kraft macaroni and cheese, for instance, has come under fire for using Yellow Dyes 5 and 6, coloring that requires a warning label in other countries. While the studies on these yellows and some other dyes  (particularly Blue 1 and Red 40) are inconclusive, some research links these substances to heightened levels of carcinogens and potential behavioral problems such as hyperactivity. 

So the research is inconclusive, but what bothers me most is that Kraft still refuses to take these dyes out of production in the States. England's version doesn't use 5 or 6, and similar products like Annie's or Back to Nature use natural dyes like carrots or paprika. And, shocker, Annie's matches that gross fake yellow pasta look down to a tee. 

Natural dyes it was, then! I rifled through my fridge and spice cabinet and came up with some colorful additives: 

Raspberries. I always keep some frozen raspberries around for summer snacks or teething episodes, so I knew the reddish hue was one to be reckoned with. Added a bit of boiling water to help the color seep out, and voila! 

Spinach, a great green.

And, speaking of yellows, anyone who has ever come within 10 feet of turmeric knows its power.  After actually stirring this one up, I thought better of giving it to my little painting prodigy because I didn't want his tray permanently yellow. Yes, it's possible to remove turmeric stains (a Hindu wedding  ritual called the haldi ceremony taught me this, after only something like twenty of my relatives got to smear turmeric paste all over my face and hands the day before my wedding. Why? To, ironically, make the bride beautiful and to protect her from evil spirits, who are notoriously Type A about messes it turns out.), but I wasn't feeling up to the scrubbing challenge. Maybe I'll use it to enhance my next batch of mac 'n cheese.

So, all in all, got some nice colors out of some basic foods and spices. Desmond loved it, but a word to the wise: this activity is NOT rug or carpet friendly. 

~

Fingerpaint recipe

*adapted from www.theimaginationtree.com 

• 1 cup of corn starch
• 1/2 cup of cold water
• ~ 2- 2.5 cups of boiling water
• some food colouring

Method:

Mix the corn starch with the cold water and stir together. Pour in the boiling water and stir between each cup. Keep stirring for a bit until it turns into the desired goopy-ness. Separate into jars and add coloring.

  

A Fresh Start

It’s been a busy couple of years—I got my doctorate, I found a job, I gave up a job, I found another job, I had a son, I quit a job, and now I’m looking for a new job. But I’m back!

In the spirit of new beginnings, I’m repurposing this blog as a place where I think about how to make sense of all the different pieces of my life right now: work (politics), food (recipes), family (kids and products), home (DC), dreams (travel), interests (feminism) and obsession (pregnancy). That last one probably takes a bit more explanation.

My pregnancy with my son Desmond blew me away. I had never exactly looked forward to being pregnant and I had a suspicion as to why. As soon as I became pregnant, it was confirmed. The pregnant 'condition' was one of neurosis, restrictions and warnings. There were a lot of decisions to be made, for sure, but it seemed like women were not in charge of their own pregnancies. I became sort of obsessed with researching the roots of debates—from debates over insurance restrictions that chose obstetricians over midwives, to what sort of deli meats I wasn’t allowed to order at Potbelly’s.

So I’m putting all that work into a book project called The Political Pregnancy.  I tell the story of my nine month pregnancy, discovering a new political debate each month. I look at food and drink restrictions, parental leave entitlements, and childcare preparations, amongst other debates. And I try to explain the politics behind why we are where we are right now. When a Senate candidate can call ‘rape pregnancies’ a gift from God (yeah, what a charmer, right?), there’s no way that everyone thinks a pregnancy should be only a woman’s business—it is political and it is up for public debate. And some people are batshit insane, so I uncover some crazy episodes.

But back to the blog. I’m going to post things here that interest me right now. I’ll continue to post recipes and discuss food. But now I’ll also post some products that I think are cool, places I'd be interested to visit, fun kid-related ideas, and stories I come across while writing my book. It’s basically going to be my head for the next long while. Welcome to the umpteenth narcissistic blog! 

And, I’m not going to lie: a lot of it is going to focus on food!

So, let’s toast to a fresh start.

Fresh Start

A rosemary scented grapefruit cocktail

• 1/3 cup sugar
• 1/2 cup water
• 2-3 long sprigs rosemary
• 4 cups fresh squeezed grapefruit juice*
• 3 oz vodka
• 2 oz Triple Sec

Photo courtesy of www.whatsheshaving.com

1.     Make the rosemary syrup: In a small saucepan heat the sugar and water until the sugar has completely dissolved. Add rosemary, simmer for 5 minutes and turn off.

2.     Once cool, mix the rosemary syrup with juice, vodka and Triple Sec in a pitcher.

3.     Serve over ice with a rosemary “stirrer.”

*if using store-bought juice, which can be a little sweet, reduce sugar a bit.

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.