Enter the Dragon
Funny how certain holiday traditions and foods crop up in different cultures, no matter how diverse. Witness the bowl of tangerines, symbolizing health and long life (especially with the leaves intact), that’s ubiquitous for the Chinese New Year, which starts today. My Eastern European family always kept the same bowl of tangerines on the table throughout the Christmas holiday, accompanied by a bowl of walnuts to crack, or maybe some sweets. And then’s there’s dumplings. Boiled or pan-fried as potstickers, they’re a mainstay of Chinese New Year menus, eaten for good luck. They’re not so far away from the pierogi of my Polish heritage, boiled or pan sautéed, as you prefer.
Preparation of a New Year’s Eve menu to welcome the Year of the Dragon got us to talking about how much today’s cooks are coming to rely on the Internet and food blogs like this one to research traditions and recipes that have begun to fade from memory; younger generations don’t have the time or skills to prepare traditional meals, like the many, many courses good friend Amy remembers from her early childhood in Taiwan. Wanting to learn how to prepare those recipes and hand them down to her daughter, she’s tracked down a few authentic Chinese-language blogs with step-by-step advice that have made her realize some dishes she’s long put off trying, like Soy Sauce Chicken, aren’t necessarily as complicated as imagined.
She shared a few of her finds as we filled fresh dumpling wrappers with a mixture of ground pork, shredded cabbage, scallions, minced ginger and shallots, with a few splashes of sesame oil and soy sauce. The first of mine were deemed “too Polish looking,” by which Amy meant they didn’t have quite the right folded top and slightly rounded shape that makes these dumplings reminiscent of traditional ancient Chinese coins (hence eating them for good fortune); they looked more like pierogi. And with a husband of Polish-Czech background, Amy knows from pierogi. Eventually I got the hang of it, and half the batch were pan-fried and served with a streamlined Chinese New Year dinner, while the other half were popped in the freezer for later.
On the table:
- Potstickers, served with soy sauce-sesame oil dipping sauce. (See slideshow below for tips.)
- Baked whole branzini. A whole fish is traditionally brought to the table to signify prosperity in the new year. The branzini was simply stuffed with slices of fresh ginger and scallions, then sprinkled with salt and a touch of rice wine before going into the oven.
- Soy Sauce Chicken, skillet braised in a sauce of soy, rock sugar and water that reduces down to a sweet-salty glaze.
- “Oily” greens, steamed and tossed with oyster sauce. This unfamiliar Asian green, which looks a bit like a cross between Swiss chard and bok choy, takes its colloquial name from the natural sheen of its stalk.
- Steamed rice
- Tangerines
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Any Grieven Day
This post marks the first of many by our newest Point, Robyn Braverman. Robyn–a longtime humanitarian globetrotter–has found herself back in Iowa City, helping to run her brother’s organic farm. Welcome, Robyn! We look forward to your food chronicles!
Rituals and tradition should never be something one is obligated to do–rather it should be something we relish and actually look forward to doing.
Abject poverty and forced isolation forced my great-grandparents to eke out something edible from every part of a food item. Chicken, a scarcity, was one such item. My grandparents remembered their parents cutting up a whole chicken, using the gizzards as a bit of a delicacy, the carcass for soup, the meat for various other meals, and the skin and fat for something that my family has fond memories of: grieven, the Jewish version of chicharron, and schmaltz, that golden, rendered chicken fat.
What would a family gathering be without something sweet, chewy and mysterious that brings us back to the smells and sounds of kitchens forever etched in memories? Who knew that the mere sound of making grieven could harken us back to such precise and detailed memories of Bubbi Foreman’s kitchen? Oy. My mother remembers my grandfather never eating butter because he was accustomed to the flavor of schmaltz on rye bread.
Grieven. Upon hearing the word, I am transported back into my great-grandmother’s and grandmother’s kitchen. This really is the Jewish version of bacon.
Making it is fairly easy, unless, of course you are making it for 40 of your closest family members. Finding chicken skin is next to impossible. A trip to our local Mennonite chicken producer allowed us to buy six fat chickens at a time. Interviews with many a Jewish mother led me to the best grieven recipe. De-skin the chickens and chop it up. According to some Jewish mothers, cooking the chicken skin is about all you have to do, but the majority of those polled suggested adding chopped onion to the pan, once the chicken skin has taken on a grayish color. At that point, heating up the burner will give the onions and the skin time to get crispy. Once that is done, drain the schmaltz and serve.
Now, after some additional research, I discovered that grieven can actually replace bacon on a BLT, or it can be used as an alternative to bacon bits on a salad. The thing is, grieven never lasts long enough to try. Served at a recent buffet, in fact, it lasted less than 15 minutes.
Welcome Home
“Bread, that this house may never know hunger.
Salt, that life may always have flavor.
And wine, that joy and prosperity may reign forever.
Enter the Martini Conradt castle.”
We interrupt this movie scene to offer congratulations to Kate on the move to her first home. We look forward to many new kitchen adventures, for wherever she has roamed, there’s been no place where the hand-made baked goods have been quite as fresh, the wine quite as fine, the dinner guests quite as enchanting, or the freezer quite as full of butter.
One Last Word
Holiday visitors who come bearing gifts of food and drink are always appreciated, especially when those same gifts include recipes we haven’t tried. Brother Dave arrives with a bottle of Chartreuse and his new, favorite old-time cocktail recipe, The Last Word. The Prohibition-era classic features green Chartreuse (yes Virginia, chartreuse is not just a color on the hipster paint palette), gin, Maraschino liqueur and lime juice, mixed in equal amounts. The combination is bracing, clean, refreshing and a touch creamy all at the same time, reminiscent in some ways of a Margarita, but with the difficult-to-describe flavor of Chartreuse, which our alchemist friends tell us includes Angelica root. And yes, it is strong. Although with a simple 1-1 ratio, the recipe can easily be mixed in different amounts. We were able to split a drink into three small cocktail glasses using 1 ounce measures. (OK, we did have seconds.)
It’s a great addition to the holiday cocktail menu, and to 2011 retrospectives. MSNBC host and cocktail aficionado Rachel Maddow even mixed one on her show in May, the day before the (first) predicted End of the World.
The Last Word
In cocktail shaker filled with ice, mix equal parts
- Gin
- Maraschino liqueur (Luxardo brand recommended)
- Green Chartreuse
- Lime juice, freshly squeezed
Pour into chilled cocktail glass. Toast the New Year.
Don’t Butter Me Up
When I announced to my guests that the dessert would be butter-free, they thought I was kidding. Then they tasted the almond cake and were certain I was lying.
I was not. The little Spanish gem that capped Sunday dinner was moist and decadent from olive oil and a splash of whole milk. (My adaptation, sans rum syrup, is here.) One simple layer, rich with ground almonds, perked up with cinnamon and glossed in a veneer of ganache (no butter there, either, just cream and bittersweet chocolate) elicited happy sounds from the skeptical crowd.
I have an appreciation for olive oil and nut cakes, but this one (from The New Spanish Table) is my new favorite. In fact, it is right near the top of the list for my favorite cake of any kind. Thankfully, there are leftovers.
Carb Loading
I don’t give much thought to pasta or bread in the summer but, come the first cold days of winter, I turn into a carbohydrate-seeking fiend. My head begins spinning with thoughts of homemade bread, saucy pasta, pastries (especially of the Eastern European bent) and buttery cookies. Once the mercury hits 40 degrees, I prepare to hunker down (and, sadly, fatten up) for the cold months that lie ahead.
In the pasta department, I am as much a fan of red sauce and spaghetti as the next person. But over the years I have discovered hearty and unexpected pasta dishes that lure me when I have a little time to cook. Carbonara is king and sometimes stars at Christmas. But it is not the only game in town. And given its heart-attack inducing ingredient list, it really is not something I can have every night.
Instead I look to two satisfying entrées that I discovered while traveling in Italy. Hailing from the south, the dishes (one quick, the other a bit more time consuming) renounce tomatoes for ingredients more typical to the arid region: pistachios and garbanzo beans. Nutty, salty and cheesey, the end results hit all of my comfort buttons and are a perfect countermeasure to a blustery night.
The first—pistachio pesto—is from Sicily, home to a host of ingenious foods based on the green nut. I cannot begin to describe how wonderful pistachio gelato is for breakfast, served with a small brioche straight from the oven. But I digress… Anyway, the Sicilians are not about to be bothered with extraneous ingredients and needless steps between them and perfection. For this, they just shell and grind the nuts, then stir in some quality olive oil. The resulting paste defies its simplicity. It is a complex, slightly crunchy foil for hot pasta and Parmesan cheese. (And, when I get lazy, I take the idea to an even simpler level: I just toss pasta with butter or olive oil, ground pistachios and cheese. No mess, no leftovers.)
The second dish is (I was told) from Puglia and definitely shows off its southern roots. After first having it in Rome ages ago, I have spent many an evening attempting to recreate it. This pasta features garbanzos, some whole, the others mashed. The legumes are complimented by fried bacon, arugula, onions and garlic, slow-cooked to a thickened sauce, into which chunks of mozzarella and hot pasta are stirred. Showered with grated Parmesan, it is steamy, triple-nutty (from the arugula, Parmesan and garbanzos) and rich. As a bonus, it also is mostly healthy.
The garbanzo pasta is on the menu tonight, in vegetarian as well as the original carnivore version. Humble yet celebratory, like so many Italian dishes, we will share it as we celebrate the arrival home of old friends for the holidays.
Three Cubed: Rum Diary
The Book: Cooking with Wine and High Spirits (Gramercy Publishing, 1963)
My friend Eric is in the processing of downsizing, and I am the grateful beneficiary. Among the latest cooking-related presents he has dropped off—in addition to the awesome aluminum cake carrier, copper cookie cutters and smoked highball glasses—were about a dozen ‘60s and ‘70s cookbooks from a collection he inherited from his parents.
One in the pile of books, Cooking with Wine and High Spirits, has turned out to be a gem. I have several cooking-with-liquor cookbooks, most of which contain very similar recipes: meats stewed in red wine or beer, sherry- and Madeira-laced sauces, potted cheeses and lots of food doused in alcohol and set on fire to finish.
This book has some of that, but so much more. The sensibility is Italian and the author, Rebecca Caruba, brings an inventive touch to recipes both familiar and unusual. While I had to laugh at the number of dishes with chartreuse as the star—including pancakes made with the yellow liqueur and beer… more than a whopping cup of alcohol!—I found multiple recipes that I cannot wait to try.
But as the Three Cubed project often goes, the most tantalizing treats are often not to be found on the appointed page. In this case, page 127 of the slim, 150-page volume (which is even more slender when one discounts the OCD, 40-page introduction) has two recipes: poncino bars à la Caruba and porcupine cake. I opted for the former, a cake/bar inspired by poncino, a boozy Italian coffee finished with a twist of lemon.
A coffee bar with coffee-rum glaze appealed, but the end result turns out to be little more than a thin banana bread goosed with coffee and lemon zest. It’s not bad and it’s quick to make. But it lacks the wow factor. The bananas add little, and the walnuts distract.
So I am not going to hurry to bake poncino bars again. I am, however, a fan of the coffee-lemon-rum combination and can see its application in other desserts. So I write this one off not as a total loss but rather an inspiration for future baking.
Savory, My Sweet
A couple of years ago, looking up my grandparents Croatian villages on Google Maps (amazingly, yes, there were there!), I discovered that they were located so far north and west in that country as to be practically in Slovenia. Grandpa’s town was a literal stone’s throw across the river separating the two countries.
Which probably goes to explain my affinity for Kate’s former upstairs neighbors, the charming Bojan and Mateja Kavaš, Slovenian nationals who have been stationed in in D.C. at their embassy; we’re practically kissin’ cousins. And Mateja has shared her family’s own wonderful recipes, like potica, that are virtual twins of those handed down in my family (where it’s known as povitica).
But Mateja’s city sophistication always shows in her culinary daring and unusual variations. Like the Prekmurska Gibanica she brought to last year’s Thanksgiving dinner, a marvel of layers alternating strudel pastry with nuts, apples, poppy seeds and cheese.
This year, her contribution of a potica filled with mascarpone and tarragon graced the Thanksgiving table and it was a revelation. I’ve had lots of cheese potica/povitica made with a sweetened cream cheese filling, but employing mascarpone takes it to another level altogether, while fresh tarragon is a clean, light touch that never would have occurred. It lightens up the sometimes heavy bread, and takes it away from being strictly a dessert item.
Here’s the step by step, courtesy of Mateja. Photos by Bojan.
- The secret ingredient
- Fresh tarragon tops the cheese filling.
- Wrapped and rolled, using a tablecloth to shape.
- Airy oval givees the bread room to rise.
- Bake until golden, with a gloss of beaten egg.
Beyond Pumpkin Pie
This year’s Thanksgiving feast chez Kate focused on new combinations of traditional ingredients. Case in point: to liven up the pumpkin portion of the meal, Kate served up fresh-baked Slow-Rising Pumpkin-Thyme Dinner Rolls. Warm from the oven, they were a lovely way to start the dinner, spread with some Cheddar-Cava Spread and a glass of sparkling Chevalier Cremant de Bourgogne.
Alongside the Roasted Turkey.
- Mashed potatoes with Celery Root. Aromatic celery root (celeriac), diced and boiled with the potatoes, adds a subtly different note. (Can’t mess too much with the mashed potatoes.)
- Wild rice and chestnut dressing.
- Roasted Beets with Garlic and Cream. Golden beets refresh this favorite dish. Roasted beets are sliced and warmed in a saucepan with minced garlic and heavy cream.
- Twice baked butternut squash. Guest Kathryn’s take on the twice-baked potato, swapping out with halved butternut squash.
- Little Balls of Happiness, aka Julia Child’s recipe for Oignons Glacés a Blanc
- Mateja’s Green Beans with Potatoes and Parsley
- Cranberry Salsa with Chilies and Cilantro
- Lemon Posset (A Thanksgiving Miracle) served as a palate cleanser, before slices of Potica filled with Mascarpone and Tarragon.
Pumpkin made a final appearance in the form of Ginger-Pumpkin Cheese Tart, spiced up with a cheesecake-style filling, fresh ginger and gingersnap crust, along with the can’t-do-without Mocha Pecan Pie. Simplify the latter recipe a bit by using the pie crust recipe of your choice and basic whipped cream; the filling itself shines by cutting the usual toothache-inducing sweetness of pecan pie through addition of espresso and cocoa.
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Black Friday
A neighborhood store takes a stand
“You know what’s the best gift you can give for someone for Christmas?” the old man next to me commented out of the blue. By pure happenstance, we shared a bench in the middle of the shopping mall, watching shoppers trundling by laden with bags and boxes and casting an occasional eye toward the line of kiddies at the Santaland set up nearby. He spoke without prompting. I’d hardly noticed him, in fact, caught up in thoughts of my own Christmas wish list, and hoping that my mother was off picking up some of the clothing items on it even as I waited for her in our designated meeting spot by the movie theater. “The best gift you can give someone,” he continued, “is to bake them a loaf of bread. They will remember that long after any of this other stuff you can spend your money on. Yes,” he said. “That’s the best thing you can do.”
This purely unsolicited, homespun advice seemed so out of place, and to my fifteen-year-old mind so exceedingly hilarious, that I could only nod in agreement. I couldn’t wait to share the story with my friends. It carried me throughout that holiday season and beyond, could always be counted on for a good laugh.
I have no idea who the old man was waiting for, if he was waiting for anyone at all that day. He didn’t say. And I didn’t give him the chance. Perhaps he was voicing his own frustration with the wife who was out spending too much money on the grandkids. Or maybe he was just one of the seniors who came to the mall for a bit of exercise and to be a part of the holiday bustle, even without a shopping list to complete. But his words stuck in my head. And in their “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus” way, I slowly came to not only realize their essential truth, but to fully appreciate the sentiment. The memories of time spent baking Christmas cookies and making chocolate truffles with and for friends and family far outweigh even the holidays with the richest haul of gifts. (OK, with the exception of the year when I woke to find that there really was a Cinderella watch and Barbie under the tree, ’cause I would have just died without them.) So too, do the memories of those Fridays after Thanksgiving when my mother and I had a tradition of going shopping, not for the Black Friday sales or 3 a.m. doorbuster specials, but just to browse and have lunch, because we so rarely had the chance to eat out. We’d return home to a late afternoon movie and a piece of pumpkin pie.
To the prophet of the shopping mall I say, Thank you. And I’ve perfected the bread.
