Archive for March, 2008

Bean Dip with Hidatsa Red Beans

Saturday, March 8th, 2008

 

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Last weekend, I had the honor of attending a baby shower for Parker Matthews-Klingebiel. She’s not here with us yet, but the bets are starting to get steep. My money says Parker will come before Easter. Mother-to-be, Marta (the only person that I was friends with as a child who I am still friends with now), certainly hopes so, even though the due date is still a bit off. Marta is looking, well, like one of those exercise balance balls. (Sorry Marta).

Marta was somewhat apologetic when she asked me to prepare food for the baby shower. She should know by now that feeding things makes me happy. There’s not much reason to cook unless I have appreciative eaters to cook for. When I do, it’s bliss.

One of the dishes I made for the shower is this pretty red bean dip. It’s a variation of hummus, with a Southwestern flavor profile. To go with it, I also seasoned and toasted pita chips. It looked like a success – what little bit was left got claimed by the parents-to-be.

The Recipe
I always hate to puree heirloom beans. They’re so singular that it seems a shame to mash them up. Even the monotone ones seem to stand out among beans. Nevertheless, it’s hard to make a bean spread without the food processor.

The beans I sacrificed for this occasion are the Hidatsa red beans, obtained from Seed Savers Exchange. Hidatsa refers to a Native American people who lived in the Dakotas, until the smallpox epidemic reduced their numbers to 500. They were the first to cultivate these beans, which taste quite like kidney beans, and are about the same size. These small pinkish legumes, also eaten as a shell bean, were introduced to gardeners by the Oscar Will Seed Company in 1915.

This recipe seems to fit no food genre. It contains Southwest seasonings like chipotles in adobo sauce, cumin and smoked paprika, but it also has fresh Italian parsley, capers, and a touch of cilantro, which fits several cuisine types. The lemon juice adds brightness, and the recipe produces a fresh, tangy dip with a soft smoky flavor and almost no heat.

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Hidatsa Red Bean Dip

3 cups cooked Hidatsa Red Beans
¾ cup fresh lemon juice
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons capers
6 cloves of garlic, roasted (see below)
2 chipotle peppers in adobo sauce
1 ½ teaspoons smoked paprika
1 teaspoon ancho pepper
2 teaspoons cumin
Salt and fresh ground pepper, to taste
¾ cup fresh cilantro, stems removed, chopped
½ cup fresh parsley, stems removed, chopped

To roast garlic, place the cloves in a piece of aluminum foil. Drizzle with olive oil, wrap foil, and roast in an oven preheated to 400 degrees for about 40 minutes, or until cloves are soft and have a mild fragrance.

To prepare dip, place beans in food processor with lemon juice, 2 tablespoons of the olive oil (reserve the third), the capers, garlic, chipotles, paprika, ancho, cumin. Add 2/3 of the fresh cilantro and parsley, and a pinch of salt and a couple of grinds of pepper. Puree in processor, adding the remaining tablespoon of olive oil if needed to achieve a smooth, consistency. This bean is dry and kind of gritty, so it won’t get creamy like hummus, but it will become soft and spreadable. Add salt and pepper to taste. Spoon into a serving dish and garnish with remaining cilantro and parsley.

Toasted Pita Chips

4 whole-wheat pita breads
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
2 cloves fresh garlic
2 teaspoons cumin
1 teaspoon chili powder
A pinch of chili pepper flakes
Salt

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Place oil in a bowl and add minced garlic and the dry seasonings, and mix well. Brush oil mixture over the pita breads, then cut the pitas into wedges. Place on a baking sheet, and sprinkle with salt and, if desired, black pepper. Bake for about 8 minutes, turning wedges once, or until breads are beginning to brown slightly. They will crisp as they cool, so be careful not to overcook them.

A Mind of Winter Leads to Spicy Ketchup

Wednesday, March 5th, 2008

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It’s kind of boring, being vegan. I realize that in making this statement, I’m sort of betraying the vegan cause. I don’t mean to though. Veganism is a lifestyle and a cause that I whole-heartedly support. I’m just saying it’s hard. I wish I had the commitment and determination to be vegan year round instead of only during Lent.

What I miss most of all is eating out. It’s nearly impossible to find a meal that’s totally free of animal byproducts.

Plus, I’ve been eating a lot of hummus these 40 days and 40 nights. Way, way too much hummus. I’ve also been having meals that don’t necessarily count as meals. Like last night’s dinner, which was utterly inspired by hunger, fatigue, and the wish to be warm.

Yesterday, we got another of those snowfalls that are almost commonplace here this winter. I say that with awe and gratitude -I know that I must enjoy every moment of this while it lasts, because it’s an anomaly. I’ve read though that this year, while remaining one of the hottest on record, is going to be cooler than the last five years because of the effects of La Nina. Regardless of the cause, the snow came, 8 inches in all, and when my office shut down at 11, I headed straight for the hills.

It’s amazing to me that we have a park right in the center of our city that is large enough to get lost in, which I did. I went to Forest Park and hiked for about an hour and a half, though honestly that last 20 minutes was just me trying to figure out where I’d put the car.

It should be said, before I go on, that I mean no blasphemy to Wallace Stevens with the title of my post here. The Snow Man is one of my favorite-ever poems, and its lovely lines twisted through my head as I walked.

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow…

I’m always taken aback by how serene a city can become under snow, as if we’re holding our collective breath in wonder. Because it was relatively early, no one was out, not yet even the sledders. I had the entire 1,293 acres to myself, and not a soul knew where to find me.

I’m always reluctant to be the first to put my tracks into a just-fallen snow. It seems blasphemous, somehow. But Forest Park is full of life not-human, so my imprints were not the first to mar the landscape. I tracked animals — squirrel and rabbit mostly, and something resembling Bigfoot. And the wind, which left scalloped etchings across the surface of the snow. I love how snow embodies the wind, gives it shape, both in its falling and again once it has landed. You could read a story in those markings.

…Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place …

But all that hiking in the sound of the land and the sound of the wind – and in the mighty cold — left me ravenous. When I finally kicked off my boots, all I wanted in the world was a hot plate of French fries with spicy ketchup.

So this recipe is a) not a bean recipe (come back Saturday) and b) sort of a cheat. The fries are out of a bag. From the freezer. Sue me, then.

I am not going to detail the hows and whys of baking store-bought fries. It’s on the bag.

Anyway, it’s all in the ketchup (or, if you want to get upscale, the dipping sauce). This recipe for spicy ketchup is an approximation of the one they serve at one of my favorite pubs, the Schlafly Tap Room. I don’t feel like I’m spilling industry secrets since this is only my best guess, and over time I’ve tinkered with the recipe to get it where I like it. It has a nice, glowing heat to bring sensation back to your mouth once it thaws.

The Recipe:

Spicy Ketchup

1/2 cup organic ketchup
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon cumin
1/4 teaspoon sweet paprika
1 teaspoon smoked paprika (or some other mild smoked ground pepper)
1/4 teaspoon Northwoods Fire (or a hot smoked ground pepper)
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1 pinch of allepo pepper (or hot pepper flakes)
1 smidge of freshly ground black pepper
1 sprinkle of sea salt

Place ketchup in a small serving dish, add all spices, stir and serve. This will serve several people.

And the poem:

The Snow Man

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

– Wallace Stevens

That Stuff, with Heirloom Red Lentils

Saturday, March 1st, 2008

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(Vegetarian, Vegan, Gluten-free)

Simon takes my breath away.

On one of our earliest dates (so very long ago), he made what we now fondly refer to as That Stuff. A nice dinner-at-home date, he’d brought a delicious array of fresh vegetables, Indian spices, fragrant rice, lovely red lentils and a nicely chilled, not-too-sweet Riesling. I was impressed. I watched in awe and admiration as he navigated his way around my efficiency kitchen, chopping, dicing, tossing and stirring, and dramatically wiping his hands on a crisp white apron. This guy knows kitchens, I thought.

The most intriguing element to me was a jar of bright green chili-curry paste. I was relatively inexperienced in Indian food, but I liked the looks and smells of everything that was going in. I sipped my aperitif and watched.

When at last he brought a sizzling plate of sweet rice topped with a beautiful vegetable-curry sauce to the bar table that served as my dining spot, I almost forgot how cute he was. The food had my rapt attention, and he was loving every minute of it.

We toasted, then herded some of the curry onto our forks, lifted them toward each other, inhaled, then tasted. Like a rolling ocean tide, I was hit by a succession of flavors -sharp curry, tempered by sweet basil and rice, the meaty lentils, the pungent ginger, and then, oh my god, I suddenly went blind. And breathless. And numb from shock. The heat spreading along the insides of my cheeks, across my tongue and down my throat was … wow! I was choking and tears dripped from my eyes. Through the haze I could see that across the table from me, Simon was having the same reaction. Thank goodness for the Riesling!

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Simon had been living in London, where some of the best Indian food can be found (Indian food saved the Brits from culinary shame). While there, he frequented fish-and-chips-and-curry stands, where he gained his appreciation for the intense flavors. At a certain point he began making it himself, and all was good. Except that he wasn’t using green chili paste. He’d been using a much milder red Garam Masala curry sauce, made by Patak’s. How then, did the green stuff end up on my plate?

Inspired by the prospect of impressing me, and also inspired by his dad, who he’d gone shopping with, Simon decided to try something new. His dad, who happens to be a wonderful cook, had encouraged him to go with the green curry. What he hadn’t told Simon was to use a mere teaspoon of the paste, rather than the heaping two tablespoons that Simon shoveled into our dinner that night. (For the record, Simon’s dad was aghast when he later heard the story, and the fact that I’d eat in Simon’s kitchen after that event earned me his early admiration).

Worry not. This recipe posted here is toned down. Way down. And we don’t use the green chili paste anymore anyway (but Jill, you’ll want to go green for sure. And add an extra tablespoon!). So read on and cook up without fear.

Before I move onto the recipe, though, I want to make you all aware of Noah’s new ark. Seed geekiness notwithstanding, this really is big news in the world of biodiversity

Last week, the Systems-Restore disk for the planet (or so I like to call it) opened for business. More technically, it’s a high-security seed bank drilled into a mountain on the snow-bound Norwegian island of Svalbard. The Arctic repository will preserve 3 million seeds at (barely) sub-zero temperatures, eventually representing all known varieties of the world’s crops. Operated by remote from Sweden and guarded by a Norwegian Ministry assisted by the hungry polar bear brigade, the Arctic “conflict seeds” reserve will be tapped only when human or natural disaster has obliterated all other sources. I’ve posted Seed News page to the site, for those of you who want to know more about this project. And thanks to a reader, Morph03, for emailing me a news story on the seed bank. Though I’ve been following this project for years, I hadn’t read that piece in the news, and it covered all the important points. On the Seed News page, I’ve posted a link to it.

And now back to our regularly scheduled program. Here’s our top secret recipe for That Stuff.

The Recipe:
The version you’re getting here calls for Garam Marala sauce instead of the green chili curry, so I promise it won’t taste like burning. If you like having a forest fire in your mouth, you can give it as much (or as little) heat as you want by adding dried peppers. For Asian dishes I sparingly use Tien Tsin Chinese chili peppers. I get them from Penzey‘s but they can probably be found other places.

We aren’t sure why we call it That Stuff. I guess because it wasn’t really concocted from any recipe, nor made to approximate any dish in particular. There are no rules. When Simon first started making this, he was merely going for the flavors. He’d use whatever vegetables he had available, and that’s how we make it now.

The red lentils came from my friend, farmer Paul Krautman (I mentioned him last week, since he grew the heirloom black beans used in the couscous cups). He didn’t actually grow these lentils, but he gave them to me because he “had about a bushel of ‘em” and he knew that I’m into heirlooms. I wish I could tell you more about these. Like his black beans, these pretty things have been sitting in my cupboard for about two years.

Lastly, a note on technique. When I’m stir-frying, I use a regular skillet. My experience with woks is that the sides are way too high and therefore the food doesn’t get or stay hot enough to cook well.

That Stuff

3 Tablespoons olive oil
Soy Sauce (have on hand for sprinkling into skillet)
4 garlic cloves, minced
Fresh grated ginger, about 1 ½ “thumbs” worth. (This probably translates to a heaping tablespoon).
1 small white onion
1 red bell pepper
2 cups broccoli florets
2 cups portabella mushrooms, sliced
1 ½ cups cooked red lentils
2 TBSP Patak’s Garam Masala Curry Paste
½ dried Tien Tsin chili pepper (or any other kind of dried hot pepper), if you want heat
Brown basmati rice for serving

Heat 2 tablespoons of the olive oil in a skillet. When it’s hot, turn heat to medium and add the garlic, ginger and onion and stir fry for about 2 minutes. Add bell pepper, shake some soy sauce into the skillet to taste and stir fry for another minute or two. Add broccoli, add the remaining olive oil if need be, douse the broccoli with soy sauce, turn the heat up to medium high and stir fry for 2 minutes longer. Add mushrooms and a shake of soy sauce, the Garam Masala, and the dried pepper if using. Stir well to coat all vegetables with the seasonings, then cook for 1 minutes. Stir in the lentils, gently (they will be soft and fall apart easily, but that’s okay because it adds texture to the curry, and stir fry until the lentils are heated through. Remove from heat and add another dash of soy sauce. Mound basmati rice on plates and scoop the curry vegetables on top, and serve.