Eric Ripert has fans in my household. Two. And there are (only) two of us in the household (unless you count the new dog). He just seems. . . nice. And wow can he cook and talk about food and . . . all those things.
I don't really know why - we just like him.
And so, when his newest cookbook came out on vegetables, my partner immediately ordered it. And, I am glad she did.Its simple, true. And it is beautiful. True. And, she has cooked from it - which is high praise for the very reason that I order the darn things sometimes and spend more time reading them than I do cooking from them. In this case, I have indeed spent most of my time with it perusing it - and seeing somewhat better versions of things I either cook - or used to cook - including braised belgian endives. We used to love them - carries of butter and beef broth from, I think, The Joy of Cooking. And now another version. One day I will have a veggies attack and . . . out will come this beautiful book.
I have not cooked from the book, but my partner has who has always made great clafoutis but now is making even better clafoutis based on Ripert's recipe for Cherry Clafooutis in the book!
The book title is Vegetable Simple: A Cookbook published by Random House. With a cover which simply pictures some asparagus twined together for steaming . . . the book too, is beautiful and simple.
Memory and food. We all know they are entangled - both in our own experiences and in the "literature" which has burgeoned over the years. Memoirs and cookbooks, novels and nonfiction - all have both reinscribed and rediscovered the ways past, present and future, memory and history connect. And, how together they keep us both metaphorically alive and connected - and more than metaphorically.
A major contribution to this which is both a historic document and a legacy of its own is In Memory's Kitchen. Edited by Cara De Silva, translated by Bianca Steiner Brown, with a foreword by Michael Berenbaum, this book's subtitle says everything: A Legacy from the Women of Terezin. This is, indeed, a cookbook like no other.
First: what is Terezin? It was a town, a fortress and, in this reference, a concentration camp. Yes, wikipedia can illuminate the referent if you do not know. (Click here.) There is an extensive literature on this horrific history during the Shoah and this book is one aspect of that literature. It documents the survival tactic of some of the women imprisoned (and in many cases murdered) - through the use of memory and a focus on food even while starving. What survived was a copy of recipes - witness to both a demolished culture and, as or more importantly, to specific demolished lives. The survival of the manuscript itself is a testament to stubbornness - and the ways memory and food can do more than we might imagine in unimaginable - though very real and we must look directly at them - circumstances.
This is a painful read. And, it is a worthwhile read.
I am often spoiled by gifts and recently my partner awarded me a cookbook entitled Levant by Rawia BIshara. (For a NY Times article on Rawia B click here.) I have been drifting a lot, choosing recipes on line, and I was delighted to stop, peruse, and have some time with the book -- a BOOK -- and think about a new kind of cooking that I know little about. The subtitle of the book is New Middle Eastern Cooking from Tanoreen and yes, I have cooked Middle Eastern (and related genres) over the years. And yet, this is a surprising book, bringing together foods from elsewhere with Rawia Bishara's own heritage. In fact, it is so wonderful, I am tempted to look for her earlier book -- and to try to make my way to her restaurant!
Yes, it is visually beautiful. And yes, there are recipes which attract me (a kind of pumpkin kibbeh may be the next thing I make). And the recipes seem fairly straightforward -- in some ways.
So, I decided that I would try one of the recipes -- partly because the story the chef/author told about it made me smile - for a staff party. I had never made it before, but I had most of the ingredients so, why not? And it somehow struck me as calling me to make it. The recipe: Cauliflower Tahini Tajine. I think the call was a bit ambivalent, as I am not often a huge fan of tahini -- but we had enough in the house. And, we had a cauliflower. And, I admit it: I like tajines.
Basically, the recipe calls for chopping or tearing your cauliflower into florets and then either frying them or roasting them in the oven with olive oil (at 400 degrees for around 20 minutes). I chose the latter. The recipe calls for crisp, fried shallot rings. Having none, I went with an onion made into half circles and fried til brown in canola oil.
Simultaneously, one makes the sauce by combining (in a blender if you are obedient, in a food processor if like me you can never get your blender to do anything other than leak) and pouring over the roasted cauliflower, mixing the crisp onions (or shallots) in to the mix. Then, into the oven for 40 minutes at 4-0 degrees, covered with tin foil, and then 5 more minutes without the cover.
The result was try, tasty and I am going to make it again very soon. I felt victorious and I really enjoyed what little of the cauliflower I managed to swipe form the other guests at the party.
Here's the sauce:
2 cups tahini
1 cup fresh lemon juice
2 Tablespoons hot pepper sauce (there is a recipe in the book or use store bought; I used store bought)
1/4 cup pomegranate molasses
1/2 cup finely chopped cilanrtro
6 cloves crushed garlic
1 Tablespoon of sea salt
1 teaspoon ground cumin (I admit it, I could not find mine as my spice cabinet is out of control. I used whole cumin seeds)
1 teaspoon ground black pepper
1 teaspoon ground coriander
1/2 teaspoon ground allspice
Theoretically one served this with Arabic bread or rice/vermicelli pilaf. I did not.
The recipe is on page 111. Go out and buy the book.
I am thrilled that the blog is back in a significant enough way that I am starting, once again, to receive free books. And, I am even more thrilled that I have received a cookbook right when I am starting to read cookbooks again -- I had kind of stalled on that while living in Chicago -- and between that and the decline in my cooking itself, well. . . suffice it to say it is good to be back. And I love getting free stuff! As you likely know, one way publishers get attention to their books is offering them to bloggers with the hope of a mention. And, as my disclaimers say, I am always up front about how I obtain a book!
The Pioneer Woman Cooks: Come and Get It! is not a cookbook I would be likely to buy in a bookstore. Ree Drummond has produced a book that is filled with colorful pictures, and takes an approach which is very evident on the cover itself where it also reads: simple, scrumptious recipes for crazy busy lives. What she provides focuses on exactly that: what to have in the pantry and fridge, freezer and more that will enable you to put together a dandy meal quickly. The recipes range from flatbreads and chili to more formal meal offerings, across breakfast, lunch, dinner and smacks, and includes -- have I said it -- as well as appetizers and desserts. Interspersed with the recipes: tales of Drummond's life and family in their country life. Given the short reading attention span of many, the interspersing is done well -- kind of overly enthusiastic from my point of view but then, Drummond has multiple cookbooks out and started her blog, The Pioneer Woman in the same year I started this. (Yes, that makes me feel just a it jealous.) Her approach is well branded and for those for whom her zest is appealing -- successful
I would -- as I have said -- not be likely to buy this. But it did give me more than a chuckle and a rueful moment of reflection on how she has monetized her blog into. . . a well branded industry! And, I suspect that what she serves, both in store and at home, is tasty, fun and upbeat. Certainly her website is both!
To check out the book, click on the picture on the side bar!
Winter seems to be a time for stew. And, I do not just mean that I am stewing in my juices, noodling on the same thing, perseverating. I mean braising, and more. So, today, I thought I would share with you a few notions about stews -- and a few books from my bookshelves holding cookbooks that focus on stews and their equivalents from various cultures.
All this began with Saveur. One of the emails I received had a link to a soup -- or stew -- called Guatamalen Turkey Soup. On a whim, I made it -- and wow was it good. So good that I intend to make it again.It is, apparently, called Kak-ik. Here's the recipe at the Saver site. Did I do anything differently? Well, I only used 2 turkey legs. And, I left out the achiote as I could not find it in the (very messy) spice cabinet. The picture at the top of this reflection comes from the Saver picture accompanying the article. Mine was a tad greener due to the absence of the achiote.
Did I like it? Yes. There was a tartness to it that was delightful and the turkey was well braised. Yes, indeed -- I not only liked this but I intend to make it again. You should try it!
This endeavor -- combined with a certain seasonal lassitude inclining me to hide under the covers and peruse cookbooks leads me to point to the following cookbooks focused on stews:
Stews, Bogs & Burgoos: Recipes from the Great American Stewpot is authored by James Villas and has been sitting on my cookbook shelf since the 1980s. I have been unable to dispose of it -- for some reason I have an odd affection for it, even though I have rarely -- if ever -- cooked from it. It might be the title with the synonyms for stew that point to great regional variety and thus to possibilities. It might be the back cover which points to various additional synonyms: mull, ragout, coolant, fricassee gumbo, kettle and expends the effort to define bog and burgoo. It is not because of any fondness for James Villas, though I just spent some time investigating him and his work - despite the difficulty that his last name gets regularly confused with villas as in vacation homes of various sorts.
Browsing the book reminds me of the warm smells of something cooking for a long time in the house -- beef stews or. . . well, you get my drift.
And then I found a second stew book on my shelf. Remember when buying Williams Sonoma cookbooks from their "reference library" seemed like a good idea? I bought Stews. A few things to say on this? Well, first I do not think I would buy from this series again (I have a few) -- not because they are not worthwhile but because they are just no longer my style. I prefer things messier and more. . . substantive? Less bland?
Which takes me to Latin Ladles, subtitled fabulous soups & stews from the king of Nuevo Latino cuisine, and authored by that self-same king: Douglas Rodriguez. I own another cookbook by Rodriguez and that is what inspired this purchase some years ago. And yet, this one has not really been used. What I did discover is this: there are still ingredients I have never heard of and certainly never cooked with. And, I may, in fact, make tomatillo cauliflower soup. I am inspired by the Guatemalan soup's use of tomatillos. And, the cauliflower/tomatillo combination sounds delicious and (yes, this is a somewhat run on sentence) -- there are no ingredients I have never heard of. That adventure will have to come later!
There is an enormous literature on the advantages and disadvantages of electronic reading devices and the impact they are having on education and on reading. There is also a huge literature on reading itself and its history, including the ways we are extensive or intensive readers, and the kinds of reading we do. The situation today is, I have to admit, kind of baffling. Let me begin with clarity: I read on both the literal page and on the screen. I like it that my phone is my kindle. And, I like to carry books around and to read them -- even though I have been de-accessioning a lot of them lately.
More systematically: On the one hand, people are amazed and pleased that so much reading is occurring. And, on the other, they fear (as I sometimes do) that screen reading portends the coming apocalypse. (It certainly is the case that too much screen time leads me to a sort of mild distraction with everything, and some people around me might not even see it as mild distraction but as. . . well, enough). And, they fear that screen reading and the overwhelming internet information tsunami is the cause of the decline of critical thinking, the rise of alt facts (aka utter lies passing as truth because a) liars and b) lied to who kind of willfully refuse to look and c) bad education and. . . )
But, I digress.
When it comes to cooking, there is similar concern and euphoria about what we used to call the "new media" and the rise of electronic and internet based resources. Yes, it had the effect of "democratizing" both reading and writing (ignoring, here, the digital divide) and yes, it allowed this blog. On the other hand, it killed some wonders like Gourmet Magazine as it has many parts of print media -- including journalism (which we must bemoan given our radical and incredible need for journalists of conscience today and our intense need to encourage critical reading skills given our daily bombardment with what we sometimes call alt facts and know are lies and distortions). But I digress. Again.)
On the one hand, the screen offers incredible convenience -- with grocery shopping apps attached to recipes and more. On the other hand, those days of foodie inventiveness may be in decline and the relaxing feeling that comes with days spent reading cookbooks or perusing cooking magazines in preparation for. . . . whatever. In preparation for NOTHING! (The decline of the possibility of doing NOTHING is really getting on my nerves. Who can even consider doing nothing these days, given politics. And yet again, I digress. But we do know that growing food and cooking are both cultural and political acts. So, perhaps not!?!?)
In any case, here is the point (insofar as I have one): I use my iPhone when I cook. And, my partner has commented on this. So, I thought I would take this opportunity to reflect on the ways my use of recipes and thus my cooking has changed. And, as a side note, the impact of this upon my shopping.
Some days I simply stick a few ingredients I have on hand into the google search and. . then kind of fool around til I find ways to use ingredients I have. I feel like I am a contestant on Chopped but cheating. The strategy works in two ways: 1) it helps when I am at a loss on how I can possibly use the combination of things in my fridge and pantry and/or 2) when I know I am missing an ingredient for whatever vague idea I had in mind. This strategy saves me from that rush to the grocery store to get . . . a lemon or coriander seeds or whatever I ran out of or just do not have. I rarely just make the recipe I find, but it gives me ideas and then onward I go.
A few down sides: I don't google very far down past page 1 or page 2 of the search results, so I am probably making things that are . . . risking being boring? I know about how far down you truly find interesting stuff in other arenas -- including googling myself when I once found bitnet conversations from 1987 (but I digress) and from professional work trying to ensure that search results appear far enough up in search results to cause people to actually click on the result. Anyway: I am afraid the google recipe habit is bad and I am not even sure why I am worried.
I know there are apps to save recipes and all sorts of things that might be useful. I don't really use them. I cannot even imagine at the farthest reach of my imagination a kindle cookbook. And, though I once had a vague desire for an iPad in the kitchen so I could actually SEE what I was trying to do when I use my iPhone, I now no longer want such a thing. Hmmm.
So, I also read cookbooks and I am trying to get off the few pages I turn to regularly in each one. And, I have to admit, I do mourn the loss of some magazines, even though I am not as in love with them when they come as I used to be. . . . Hmmm.
Enough. Back to the kitchen. Hmmm.
And, as a side note, given how many times phrases involving hands appear above: Kali?
A few options to continue thinking about this theme: try this piece that favors reading on your iPhone (or, I suppose, Android); or this more balanced (and scientific) bit. Yes, both appeared fairly high up when I googled.
I have wanted to make sauerkraut for a long time. My father loved sauerkraut. That love was, when I was younger and he was alive, incomprehensible to me. My partner comes from a world where sauerkraut is, well, a delicacy. She loves it too. And, her mother made it in huge quantities I now know.
I have lived in upstate NY for decades where one of the major crops is cabbage. (You thought it was apples and grapes/wine, right? Yes, but cabbages too.) On occasion, I drive behind a truck -- a huge 18 wheeler -- filled with cabbages. I have come to love that sight -- smallish greenish ballet filling a huge truck and I also love the sight of them growing in huge fields. I have even come to love sauerkraut myself. And, I have even come to understand that not all sauerkraut is alike.
Along the way, succumbed (some years ago) to the notion of making sauerkraut. I began with the easy step: I bought a sauerkraut crock from Williams Sonoma. It arrived and sat around. Then I bought weights for the crock (which I have subsequently lost). They sat around and then (as I said) I lost them. Then, my partner bought me the following books:
The Art of Fermentation by Sandor Katz and Michael Pollan -- a lovely hard back book with loads of wonderful (somewhat impractical for the novice) information
Fermented Vegetables by Kirsten K. Shockey and Christopher Shockey - a great balance of information and practical step by step guidelines, with varieties of sauerkraut and other picked items ranging from fruits (few) to all sorts of vegetable. This is where I learned the word fermenistas. Here's their website entitled FermentWorks.
Well-Preserved by Eugenia Bone - a somewhat straightforward because blunt how to guide, which is much less complex than either of the other two which means that it has a sort of take it or leave it approach -- do it this way and no options offered. Eugenia Bone has had several websites and this is one on mushrooms called Mycophilia. I think there is a connected book which might end up being something I look into . . . meanwhile, this is an ok book but I prefer the Shockeys' book to be honest. Ask me again once I get further into this experiment.
I read them. I perused them. I considered them,
Getting from the books and the crock and the idea to this month's efforts in kraut making took a few years. What happened this month? I got cabbage at our Fellenz Family Farm CSA (see this blog link) and after a week or so worked up my nerve to thinly slice it and place it in the crock with pickling salt. I did so based on a basic recipe in Well Preserved because I could not find the other recipes I knew were around the house. Then I found the other book, Fermented Vegetables. I was disappointed as I think I would have done better with this book as my start up, but hey. I am disappointed, but in progress. I did not massage the cabbage, and I used a zip lock bag as the weight. I made one mistake I think (but we are still in progress -- due to a loss of confidence I added a quart of brine after a day. Given I am only using one cabbage for this attempt, I think there is now too much brine in the crock.
I am not the world's most patient person. I think fermentation might require a combination of vigilance and patience. Not sure I have it in me, but I may learn something important for myself in the making of this kraut.
In any case, I am a week in now. The recipe I am using says one more week. (The other books say to keep an eye on it and to decide based on . . . well, more knowledge than I have right now. I am (as I always do) following the directions the first time.
My partner says it smells like paint or paint thinner. I think it smells like suffer and/or kraut. She likely knows better than I. But we will see. And, I have lined up a crock belonging to a friend to try again. Who knows -- I might move beyond the sort of naked kraut attempt ( just cabbage and salt -- and then some water with salt in it) to using spices and . . .
Who knows.
My dad is likely smiling. My partner's mom might be rolling in her grave at what I eventually pretend is sauerkraut. But hey, cabbage by any other . . . .name . . . is sauerkraut?
I was wandering through the Seminary Coop Bookstore some time ago and saw something that I often have spied on the shelf near the information desk: a beautiful book about food. This time, it was Scents and Flavors: A Syrian Cookbook. The book cover is an incredibly beautiful dark dark blue with much of the typography in a lighter more turquoise blue. And, th typography is both roman alphabet (is that what we call the alphabet used in American English?) and beautiful (and incomprehensible to me) arabic. I have no idea if the latter is arabic for sure but assume so based on remarks in the introduction. In any case, this is a particularly beautiful book qua object. Here is a visual of the book for all to see:
Yes,beautiful -- and equally beautiful inside the covers. Published by New York University Press, in their Library of Arabic Literature collection, edited and translated by Charles Perry and Reviewed by David Waines, the book includes both an opening section of historical and contextualizing information (including commentary on the processes used to transliterate Arabic terms following various accepted protocols) and page upon page of recipes. In the latter regard, the left page has the original and the right side english translations.
On the historical and contextualizing introduction, a few comments. The book is mid-13th century Syrian in origins and written in middle Arabic. The introductory discussion opens with a very short precise of the history of cookbooks, noting the importance of Arabic examples to that history, including the book presented here, which was an early (medieval) version with 635-700 recipes (depending on the manuscript version form which one translates). The cuisine is notable for a variety of reasons, including (memorably for me) an explanation for why the "cookbook" focuses on scents as well as flavors. (Turns out there is a whole protocol involving scented washing prior to dining, and the religious washing protocols are thee in part to ensure that one's own scents do not interfere with one's enjoyment of the meal and its scents and flavors. The book is presented in the rough order of a banquet of the era, with its pages long table of contents moving from perfume to beverages to tail fat to chicken dishes and then sautes and related dishes (much of this long chapter devoted to lamb), to sweets and baked goods, to pickles of various sorts and then to hand washing powders and soaps and "distilling waters and perfuming the breath." In describing the characteristics of the cuisine, the author reminds us that in "those days" and in that culture or set of cultures, folks ate with their hands, meats were not terrible well preserved, and more than we might imagine was made from processes of fermentation. He also comments on various ingredients with which his reader might not be familiar -- and also absences given the region for which the cookbook was intended (most clearly the absence of fresh fish). The final section of the introduction focuses not the history of the book -- including the various editions (with varied lists of recipes and interpolations of various sorts), the unknown author, and conventions used in recipe books of the era. After the introduction, there are notes on the translation and related matters.
I should note: I found this all fascinating.
On the recipes: At some point in history (and yes, I once knew it, but have forgotten) the format people in the US assume for recipes was created -- a list of ingredients and directions for how to cook, laid out in step by step precision. This was long after this cookbook was created -- and so the many many recipes here are neither presented in that format nor, I have to admit, entirely clear to me. Neither the length of cooking nor the heat to be used nor quantities are always specified. The recipes kind of read like "get some meat, boil, add parsley and mixed spices, continue to cook til done." (YEs, I made that one up and, hence, it is a little shorter than some. Add a few completely unknown=to=me ingredients and voila!).
Having said this, I find this book really interesting to read slowly, paging here and there, trying to figure things out. I imagine dishes that . . . I cannot imagine.
In some ways this is a totally frivolous and useless luxury purchase for me with no utilitarian value. And yet, I am increasingly fond of the book. Yes, I bought it for its beauty. I admit I also bought it as a tiny nod in the direction of the horrifying politics surrounding Syria and, in particular, Aleppo. It is not enough, not even faintly enough. but learning a bit is always one way I try to resist the political nightmares of our time.
You can always borrow my copy. But do return it!
For some other views of the book, try here for pre-publication comments and for the cook in you, click here. Most crucially, if you, like me, want to figure out how today's foodies can help us make sense of this amazing book, try this site where Food and Wine "looks inside the best selling cookbook of 13th century Syria."
So, at the start of June, when I was trying to treat myself well, I purchased a copy of their cookbook entitled (you will not guess): The Adventures of Fat Rice: recipes from the Chicago Restaurant Inspired by Macau (by Abraham Conlon, Adrienne Lo, and Hugh Amano).
Let me begin with my memories of the restaurant. The first time we went, it was to meet a gathering of people from (as noted) the University of Chicago Divinity School when my partner was a fellow at the Marty Center. My memory includes sitting with Anthony Yu, who I barely knew in my youth (and this did lead to having lunch with him some time later) who helped me understand where Macau is and what the fusion of its colonial and world historical importance meant that led to the cuisine we were sampling. We ate, I know, the food for which the restaurant is (aptly) named: fat rice. Or, arroz gordo. It was memorable --for the meal I am speaking of was years ago. What we discovered was, as far as I have an analogy, a paella gone wild. It involved prawns and sausage (close to Portuguese linguica for reasons that turn out to be obvious) and more. I cannot even describe how happy that meal made me. I have no idea what else we ate -- or what we drank. But I can kind of see/feel the ambience, which was warm and welcoming (and I think it was a particularly cold Chicago winter).
Huzzah.
We went back once I think.
And then, I saw Fat Rice (the restaurant) featured in a food magazine that had been haunting the house in Geneva for what is probably years.
And then, some time ago, I started leering at the cover of the cookbook. It was actually some time around Christmas 2016. The cover was kind of reminiscent of a cartoon, with a kind of godzilla-esque clam monster spewing fire at a chicken like bird. Who knows. A colorful cover -- red. blue. orange, and green. In any case, I eventually succumbed to temptation and bought the $35 book. I bought it in June -- which I think means I had a lot of backbone in resisting temptation. It sat around for a few weeks. And then. . .
For the first time in a while, I read the opening rather than leaping to the recipes -- and I am very glad I did. It is well written in a very kind and open way, and I learned something both about the creation of Fat Rice the restaurant and about the quest to figure out the cuisines of Macau. In fact, I am likely inspired (one day_ to look into the history of Portuguese exploration and colonization. I suspect it has its down sides, but hey -- the culinary sides are fascinating.) I knew about Goa (and I do know how to make a hell of a vindaloo) and I knew about Provincetown and parts of MA that include loads of Portuguese -- and, as a side effect of the aforementioned dinner, I knew a tiny tiny tiny amount about Macau. And, now I know a bit more.
As it says right inside the opening of the book, "an hour's ferry ride from Hong Kong, on the banks of the Pearl River in China, lies Macau - a modern, cosmopolitan city with an unexpected history. For centuries, Macau was one of the world's great trading ports. . . "
And, those sentences appear on a page that reminds me of those blue and white tiles -- and is meant to do so. Indeed, all of the visuals (all of which are incredibly beautiful) are meant to carry you along to a further understanding of the many Macaus -- the ways Europe, Southeast Asia, South Asia and China meet in Macau. And, they are all embedded in the tale of how 2 chicagoans learned about Macau and then created (or, simultaneously created) Fat Rice. I am not sure I will be able to make any of the dishes in this book, but I know that I will want to for the rest of my life. The intermingling of Aisa, Portuguese, India, and Africa -- is quite astonishing. And, it will mean Chicago to me for a long long time.
A few tidbits: did you know there is a chicken curry with chorizo in it? Did you know that Jorge Alvarez was the "first European to reach China, sailing out from Burma user the Portuguese flag and landing on Nei Lingding Islan in 1513" (p. 2) which is part of why Macau becomes a "hub" of the new multinational trade of the Age of Exploration? Did you know that vindaloo has its roots in a Portuguese vinegar braised meat (p. 11)? And did you know that Macau is "an SAR (Special Administrative Region) of China, but for the five hundred years before Macau was returned to China in 1999, it was governed by Portugal" (p. 11)?
Neither did I. Nor did I think of restaurants as having a "mission," though most of the food professionals I know have a significant passion for what they do. Fat Rice, and its owners, declare themselves (in the book and I suspect in the restaurant) as having a mission. As they put it: "Fat Rice is more than a restaurant. Fat Rice is a center for he study, exploration, and sharing of global Portuguese cuisine" (p. 14)
They have found a convert. And her name is bibliochef.
For more on Macau and food, try the following links:
And yes, they have opened a bakery and lounge. More importantly, they take reservations. Hmmmm. BY the time you read this, I will have left Chicago. But, if you live there -- or visit there -- you will now be better prepared -- and yes, you should try Fat Rice.
I have been a fan of Naomi Duguid's cookbooks for some time, having begun with the gift of Hot, Sour, Salty, Sweet, co-authored with her (now) ex-husband, Jeffrey Alford. I have a few others that either she wrote or they created jointly, on rice and on chinese food.(For my review of the latter, click here.) Unlike some of the cookbooks I own, I cook from them -- especially that first book focused on the various foods along the river that defines much of southeast Asia. I love that book - because my partner found it in Alberta and lugged it back in her baggage on a difficult trip to see family, because we have cooked from it for years, and because. . . . it is a terrific combination of visuals, travel and recipes.(Not to mention sticky stains that shout out about the times we have cooked from it in the past.)
This past year, during holiday season 2016, my partner got me a new Duguid cookbook: A Taste of Persia. Subtitled A Cook's Travels through Armenia, Azerbaijan, Georgia, Iran, and Kurdistan, this new book has already found a place in my heart, helping to define a new period in the making of our home together. There are bits that are familiar; the book brings together travel reflections, beautiful pictures, and recipes. The colors are dazzling. And, there are familiar components of recipes -- I do love pomegranate molasses and we do own a terrific book by Paula Wolfert entitled The Cooking of the Eastern Mediterranean that includes some Georgian foods, for example. I have even eaten at an Iranian restaurant once upon a time at a professional conference.
This book re-inspired me to get in the kitchen, something I rarely do in Chicago and that has been a challenge for me for some time. I have felt unimaginative and uninspired. And yet, this book pushed me along and I have now created several entire meals from it when in Geneva. Here are a few comments on various recipes we have tried:
Soup: There is a notion of New Year's in The Taste of Persia which does not really connect with January 1. Yep, Persian New Year is not January 1. Called Nowruz or norouz, and celebrated this year around March 21, I have a vague memory of Alice Walker at Chez Panisse celebrating Nowruz. (Click here for what I found in trying to figure out if I made this up. And yes, this reminds me to think about all this in relation to Parsi.)
In any case, I took advantage of the pseudo connection and made the New Year's soup that Duguid provides for New Year's Eve or New Year's Day (I cannot recall which). The soup involves the color green -- as in spinach, herbs and beans of various sorts. It also includes noodles -- and I used gluten free linguini. I made it twice. The first time was perfect and the second was kind of awful because I used the left overs from the first time and added that to another batch. As a result, some of the spinach was wildly over cooked and kind of slimy. Do not do that. Here is what it looks like (not my picture) -- it might be Duiguid's but I am at a loss for how it popped up on google. My apologies to the copyright holder.
Rice Dish:
I have now made a kind of Persian herbed rice multiple times. It is absolutely wonderful and because you can use a wide array of herbs, it is not quite the same each time. This is an attempt to reproduce the recipe from memory:
Soak 3 cups of rice (I used basmati) for an hour or two in water.
Rinse rice and boil it for maybe 5-10 minutes maximum.
Drain and cool the rice.
Mix an egg with a few tablespoons of yogurt. Then mix that with a cup or so of rice.
Get out a huge dutch oven and put a few tablespoons of oil and water in the bottom.
Spread the mixture of rice, yogurt and egg on the bottom.
Some time before this chop finely a mixture of herbs -- including scallions, flat parsley (I tried curly -- it just is too dull), cilantro, dill . . . (I always used dill). (The recipe says this ought to be a kind of pyramid shape. Mine is not.)
Alternate layers of rice/herbs, til you get to the top, which should be rice. Then add about 3 Tablespoons of butter in bits into holes in the rice.
Put a towel over the top and then the top of the dutch oven. The goal is to steam the rice.
Steam for about 30 minutes. And then, put the container in about 2-3 inches of cold water in the sink. This is to release the wonderful crusty bottom created by the rice/egg/yogurt mixture as it cooks.
Put it on a plate and serve. And eat it for a few days in various variations.
Th best part of this recipe is the combination of textures, flavors and, to be honest, the crispy bottom. I was kind of unduly proud when the rice came out with such a lovely crispy brown crust on the bottom. Hurrah.
Fesenjan: I had had this once upon a time in the aforementioned Iranian restaurant which was, I think, in San Diego. It consists of a protein in a sauce made of pomegranate molasses and walnuts. And, according to Duguid it can be tart or sweet. There are various aspects of what I have cooked from A Taste of Persia that seem to fit this general description. First, I made a duck fesenjan. It was a kind of peculiar brown color and somewhat tasteless. We think that may have been the age of the pomegranate molasses. But who knows. This was a variant on a recipe for chicken contained in the cookbook.
I also made a sauce which purports to go with fish and is also pomegranate molasses and walnuts -- and it was spectacular. See below.
Fish: We looked at several fish recipes and settled on a simply recipe which involved grilled fish. And no, we did not grill the fish. The first time, we purchased some cod and baked it, setting it on top of a layer of tarragon, drizzled with olive oil, and baking for about 15 minutes or so at around 350 degrees. We served it with the pomegranate seed and cilantro condiment described here (and appearing in the book on the page opposite the grilled fish recipe). We also served it with a condiment from elsewhere in the book, which was made by combining 1/2 cup pomegranate molasses, and 1/2 cup water, and cooking it down for a bit, then adding a cup of walnuts previously pulverized in the food processor.
The second time was used (of all things) thai basil under the fish (a whole red snapper). I stuffed some of the herbs into the cavity of the fish as well. This too made a terrific meal with the condiments described.
In several of these cases there were additional condiments: mint oil and saffron water. Both are easy and wonderful, especially when added to (a) the rice (mix one cup of the parboiled rice with saffron water and sprinkle on top of the other rice for a delightful scent and taste; and (b) both saffron water and mint oil in the soup. And, the cookbook encourages an indiscriminate luxury of herbs.
A failure and some challenges: While I knew some of the mystery ingredients in Duguid's book, I did not know them all. The three main challenges: barberries, chinese celery, and (blue) fenugreek greens. (I have no idea if the latter is the same thing as metthi which is fenugreek as described in Indian cooking. That too I have trouble finding except in Indian groceries.) In any case, the one failure was my attempt to make a green ajika. I was both missing key ingredients (chinese celery) and -- to be frank, this turned out to be inedible. There are 3 jars in the kitchen in Geneva. I have no idea whenI will throw them out.
today, in 2017, perhaps the rise of this book feels a tad political, given the "travel ban" that has been instituted. It was not written for that reason, but as a kind of culinary tourist, it did remind me to think about the real people affected by this xenophobia. There are down sides to food as tourism, of course, but there are also upsides to knowing the world just a tiny bit better.
