Category: Eats

All matters gastronomical.

Instant Souk

THERE IS SOMETHING about cardamom-spiced coffee that’s intoxicatingly irresistible – floral, sweet, bitter, whispering sensuously caffeinated secrets previously known only to the ancient folk of the Middle East. And if it takes just a few easy minutes? Even better. Here is a simple recipe, perfected over a brief period of trial and error:

1- Fill a standard 12-ounce coffee cup with water, then pour the water into whatever piece of cookware you use to boil water for hot beverages (a teakettle, say, or small saucepan).
2- While it comes to the boil, spoon into the now-empty cup a good and proper amount of your favorite instant coffee (I favor a rounded tablespoon of Cafe Bustelo Instant Espresso for its bold flavor and electric effect).
3- Add – and this is MOST important – a level 1/8 teaspoon of ground cardamom. Add also your desired amount of sugar.
4- Pour in boiling water, leaving enough room for cream if you like that sort of thing. Stir thoroughly.
5- Enjoy. With feeling.

Instant Equilibrium

A BIT PRICEY, BUT O! so worth it.

Occasionally, and despite my usual decent breakfast (homebaked bran-ginger-date-pecan muffin, high-protein yogurt, and coffee), I am apt to suffer hypoglycemia while perambulating about Sonoma. (There was even the time a few months ago when I approached some firefighter trainees to ask for a therapeutic granola bar and wound up riding an ambulance back to my house. Great story, too little time/space to tell it further.)

As proof against these attacks, I used to carry pitted dates in my EDC for gobbling to raise my blood-sugar. However, I recently hit on the following mixture which, in addition to being tasty, serves its purpose more admirably because of added protein:

Blend equal parts (say, at least a half-cup each) whole candied pecans, chopped candied pecans, chopped dates, roasted and salted pistachio kernels, dried cranberries, and goji berries. Portion out into a plastic sandwich or snack-size bag, seal, and tuck into EDC. (Try hard not to nibble on it unless needed.)

False Economy

SO THERE I WAS, PEEPING through the window of the Eureka, California post office, waiting for my elusive boss to enter her across-the-street cafe.

The year was 1988 – a time of great personal upheaval, both good and bad. Through a combination of circumstances, my then-new girlfriend and I were trying to make a go of it in that sleepy, downbeat North Coast city. Jobs were hard to come by, at least for a journeyman printer like me, and when I saw a newspaper ad promising to train someone as a coffeehouse clerk I sprang into delighted and determined action.

At first, things were pleasant. The cafe’s owner, who I’ll call Simone, was friendly and easygoing, as were the customers, and once I had figured out the espresso machine and sandwich-making regimens I felt reasonably financially secure (and competently useful) for the first time in weeks.

Then “Dave” walked in, an itinerant handyman who lived in a big blue van well-stocked with tools of every description.

“You’re new here, huh?” he said as I handed him a double espresso and a roast beef on rye. “Simone paid you yet?”

“I’ve only been here a couple days,” I replied. “Payday’s Friday.”

“Yeah? Right. Good luck.”

Friday arrived, and at closing time, I asked Simone for my wages.

“I’m a little short right now,” she said wistfully, “and I have to move some things around at the bank. Can you wait until tomorrow?”

“Well …. I suppose so.”

Tomorrow became today, and Simone appeared late that afternoon as I was building a turkey croissant.

“I’m SO sorry,” “she said wistfully. “I just missed the bank’s hours. Can I pay you Monday?”

“I don’t know, Simone…”

“I promise. Monday morning, as soon as the bank opens.”

Monday’s dawn broke, typically foggy and grey, with me outside the cafe waiting for Simone to arrive.

She didn’t.

Neither did she on Tuesday.

Nor Wednesday.

Meanwhile, my daily phone messages went unanswered, both at the cafe and at the number purporting to be Simone’s home.

Hence, my Thursday-morning stakeout.

I can’t believe I’m doing this, I thought with one of many impatient sighs. Who am I, James Bond? But I also can’t believe I’m not going to make rent or buy groceries this week.

Suddenly, Simone’s red Gremlin pulled up across the street. As she exited her car, I exited the post office.

“Simone!” I called, breaking into a fast trot. “Hey! Simone!”

Her beseeching eyes reflected helpless and apologetic dread, but before she could say anything, I spoke with uncharacteristic bluntness.

“Look here, Simone,” I said. “I like you, and I like working here, but I need to get paid – like right now!”

Tears came to her eyes. “You don’t understand!” she sobbed. “I can’t afford to pay you. All I have is this cafe and what’s in it. I owe so many people so much money; my life is in shambles, and I’m just as much a victim as you are…”

“I don’t mean to sound harsh, Simone, but frankly, that’s not my concern. I’m not going to leave this place without your paying me.”

And that was how, and why, my girlfriend and I feasted that week on thick sandwiches of roast beef and turkey breast. Victory is indeed sweet – and sometimes, savory.

Where Are You Most You?

IN CARLOS CASTANEDA’S EPIC FANTASY, The Teachings of Don Juan: A Yaqui Way of Knowledge, his titular shaman Don Juan Matus describes “places of power” — those locations where we can experience deep wisdom and indomitable purpose. No two are the same for everyone, and when you find yours, it’s best to stake it out and pay attention.

In my case, it’s the kitchen.

Our kitchen is a small one, measuring roughly 7’x9′ – a mere 63 square feet. (It’s also and actually the model for the inside of Prosatio Silban’s galleywagon.) That cozy space contains a refrigerator/freezer, double sink, drain rack, electric stove/oven, toaster, four drawers, and a trio of small counters with seven cabinets above and three below (not counting the one under the sink). In it are all things necessary for providing and consuming tasty fare: knives, pots, pans, dishes, tableware, pantry goods, raw ingredients, assorted seasonings, and a handful of small appliances and wall-hung utensils. In it I have prepared breakfasts, lunches, dinners, snacks, holiday feasts, and endless cups of tea. After a quarter-century of daily use, I know where everything is and should be, and I daresay I could find it all in the dark The size doesn’t bother me – it’s where I learned to cook, and I don’t know any other. (Besides – tight-space discipline is good for the soul.)

Perhaps most important of all is the boombox, either tuned to our hidden gem of a local radio station or filling the savory-scented air with background music from the CDs and cassettes stored atop the refrigerator. (I have occasionally been known to spend more time and energy selecting appropriate music than making the meal or washing the dishes that the music is supposed to accompany.) Few things can better motivate good cookery than listening to or singing along with the right tunes. Often, I will prop a book on the counter beside the stove while whatever’s cooking is cooking, standing a studious watch until the timer goes off.

Our kitchen is one of the two or three places I feel most like myself. What are yours?

I’m In (Finally)

IT HAPPENED AS AN ALL-AT-ONCE thunderbolt moment that I wasn’t expecting, but it’s here and I can’t go back: I am now an enthusiastic and sincere convert.

Yes, it’s true. Despite my longtime denials and aspersions, the undeniable fact has overtaken me – and now, I fully, unreservedly, and happily love mayonnaise.

For years, I had a bad attitude when it came to the white stuff. “Slimy,” I called it. “Blandly WASPish,” I pooh-poohed. “That disgusting goo which defiles all that it touches,” I complained to anyone who would listen. It was in the house, yes, but used only by my copilot. I even avoided even touching the hefty glass jar with the familiar blue label, lest it somehow give me cooties.

But last month, curiosity (largely from watching Julia Child prepare her own from scratch) overcame aversion and I reached for That Condiment. I unscrewed the lid, scooped the tiniest bit on the tip of a teaspoon, brought it to my open lips, and licked experimentally.

WOW, I thought. Tangy. Salty. Rich. Flavorful. DELICIOUS! How could I have been so wrong for so long?

They say that if you try something and hate it, it’s because it wasn’t prepared properly. Mayonnaise preparation is simple: beat the dickens out of some eggs, then s-l-o-w-l-y add oil in a thin stream while you continue beating. Sprinkle a tot of mustard powder and a drizzle of vinegar (for stabilization, it’s said) and you’re prepared for feasting.

Since my conversion, I have been using it for a pre-breadcrumbing slather on Petrale sole, and as a binder in the best tuna salad I’ve ever eaten (along with anchovy paste, ground Dijon mustard, sweet relish, capers, black pepper, and a dash of thyme; an adapted recipe also courtesy of Julia Child) – and am eager for more.

So now, the question is: What are your favorite uses for this heavenly substance? Drop a comment in the space below!

Blades Runner

THIS IS THE TALE OF a third-degree separation from two of the most prestigious knifemakers in Europe.

In addition to regular sharpening and honing, home cooks are supposed to have their knives professionally sharpened once yearly. Thus, one recent Friday, I dutifully handed over two 8″ chef’s knives (a thick one for meats, a thin one for plants) to our beloved local kitchen-supply store. Having received and paid for the knives the following Sunday, I brought them home, washed them off, gave them the thumbnail test, and set about chopping an onion for chicken soup. Continue reading “Blades Runner”

Bonite a la Maison A.

ALBACORE GETS ALL THE PRESS when it comes to canned tuna, but skipjack is the preference ’round here due to its richer flavor. (Think of it as a “white meat / dark meat” thing.) And the preference for preparing an economical and delicious sandwich of same is as follows:

Drain two cans of pole-caught, no-salt-added skipjack ($2.29 a can at our local Whole Foods). Flake into desired container. Add a few squirts of Tabasco and some fresh-ground black pepper to taste, enough dill relish to provide a nice crunch, and a modest squeeze of anchovy paste. Moisten with sufficient ranch dressing to hold everything together and mix thoroughly.

To serve: Toast some good bread as dark as you like it. Spread one piece thickly with skipjack mixture, top with a leaf or two of romaine lettuce, and top that with the other toast-slice. Cut diagonally and place both halves at an angle on a suitable plate, fill the intervening space with kettle-cooked potato chips, and have at!

Why I Love: My Dad

The man, the legend (click to enlarge).
IT’S HIS CONTAGIOUS JOIE DE vivre. It’s his insistence that I watched Sgt. Bilko, Jack Benny and Ernie Kovacs reruns with him when I was a kid. It’s the skiing memories. (It’s also the memories of the Plymouth, New Hampshire diner he used to own.) It’s his contagious menschlichkeit. It’s his liberal use of Yiddish. It’s his generosity. It’s the way that, though I am 58 and he turns 84 today, he insists on always looking after me. It’s his delight in food, both cooking and eating it. It’s that he taught me right from wrong. It’s his didactic-without-being-didacticness. It’s his instilled-in-me restaurant practice of ordering whatever’s unfamiliar on the menu. Continue reading “Why I Love: My Dad”

5 Thoughts: Lessons Learned by an Autodidactic Home Cook

1. THE SMALLER THE KITCHEN, THE greater the discipline. And the organization.

2. Thrift rules. In other words, there are no such things as “leftovers” — only the beginnings of future meals. (Thank you, Tamar Adler, for this bit of back-pocket wisdom.)

3. Keep your most-used recipes hanging over your main prep-counter/stove. Keep also a folder for (annotated!) recipes already cooked, in addition to filing future-use recipes by preparation media (“skillet,” “sheet pan,” “slow cooker,” etc). Organization, remember? Continue reading “5 Thoughts: Lessons Learned by an Autodidactic Home Cook”

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