A Mind of Winter Leads to Spicy Ketchup

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

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That Stuff, with Heirloom Red Lentils

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.

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Spicy Couscous Cups with Black Turtle Beans

February 23rd, 2008

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(Vegetarian, vegan option)

My friend, Amy Sciaroni, is Swiss. Not as in “someone on my mother’s side snuck in and diluted the Italian blood.” The entire Sciaroni clan is descended from the Alps. It’s more like some Italian snuck in and mingled with the Swiss blood, and somehow managed to get the whole tribe from then on out named after him.

Don’t be fooled by the fact that she can make gorgeous pasta from scratch without a recipe, curse with elegance and gesticulation, believes that every good meal should include wine and be shared with friends, and has been known to utter the words “che bello!”. She’s Swiss.

The answer to Juliet’s question, apparently, is “everything”

At a recent gathering, Amy whipped up these lovely and surprisingly spicy couscous cups. She used canned black beans and they were delicious, but since I’m on a quest to use a different heirloom bean each week, when I tried the recipe out myself I went with an heirloom black turtle bean.

The beans have been sitting in a glass jar on a kitchen shelf, shiny and pretty, for two years now. I bought them at the Maplewood Farmer’s Market several seasons ago from my friend and longtime farmer, Paul Krautman of Bellews Creek Farm (I once tumbled off a tall stack of hay bales out at Paul’s farm. I was helping to plant garlic. Don’t ask me why I was standing atop a tower of straw. No injuries though – I landed on more hay. Nevertheless, you should have seen Paul’s face when I fell).

Before I get to the recipe, I must throw in a PSA. Amy needs a roommate. Right away. Those of you in the St. Louis area, please pass this link (http://stl-home-to-share.blogspot.com/) along to anyone who might make a good housemate. Amy’s got a beautiful and spacious home (with a great kitchen — see photos) in St. Louis Hills, and, as mentioned above, she can cook and believes that food is made for sharing.


The Recipe:
Paul hand-harvested these heirloom turtle beans. I know that doesn’t change their flavor in any way, but it gives them an added dimension somehow, knowing that they went through human hands.

This heirloom variety was first introduced in the late 1700′s, and the seeds are jet black. When cooked, the hue fades to dark brown. The bean is common in South and Central American as well as in China , where it is often fermented.

For the couscous, I cheated (and so did Amy). I used a box mix. Traditional couscous requires considerable work to prepare, but these store-bought semolina granules are nearly instant, and the sun-dried tomato flavoring suits the mixture. Plus, the lentil, semolina and bean combo makes a complete protein source. ( I’m telling myself that it’s okay to do some things the easy way; I’m sure all of you are thinking “It’s about time!”)

And then, I make up for the corner cutting with the tortilla cups. They’re really easy to make, but they do require another step. The first time I made them I used whole wheat tortillas, and let me just say, don’t try that. They’re much too thick and tore when I tried to fit them into the muffin tins.

The amount of spicy oil, and its degree of spiciness, will of course determine the heat of your couscous cups. I used a homemade chili oil, which had quite a lot of heat. Trader Joe’s sells a milder version. To cut the cups, you can use a biscuit cutter. I like Amy’s method better. She keeps an old tomato sauce can just for things like this, and it also comes in handy when she’s cutting ravioli from pasta dough.

Amy used goat cheese in her couscous cups; since I’m vegan right now, I omitted that. The flavor is big enough that you don’t miss it that much.

Other than that, there’s not much to say about this. It’s my most straightforward recipe yet.

Spicy Cous Cous Cups

4 large flour tortillas
3/4 cup of sesame chili oil
1 box tomato and lentil cous cous
2 cups cooked black turtle beans
¼ cup fresh parsley
1/2 cup olive oil
1 red bell pepper, finely chopped
3/4 cup crumbled feta or goat cheese (optional)

Using a 2 1/2″ to 3″ biscuit cutter (or tin can), cut circles out of the flour tortillas, about 3 dozen. Brush both sides with sesame chili oil and press into a mini-muffin pan. Bake at 400 for 10 minutes. Remove and cool.

Prepare cous cous according to package instructions. In a food processor, blend the black beans, parsley and olive oil until a chunky paste forms. In mixing bowl, combine the cous cous, bean paste, cheese (if using), and red peppers and stir well. Fill the cups just before serving.

These are great to make a day ahead, just store the tortilla shells in an airtight container and warm before filling and serving.

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Winter Minestrone with (what else?) Cannellini Beans

February 15th, 2008

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(Vegetarian, vegan)

During ordinary time, I’m pescetarian. That is to say, I get my protein from fish, dairy and plant sources, but not animals with legs. During Lent, I go vegan.

It’s not that I’m of the fire-and-brimstone persuasion, of self-inflicted penance, suffering and shame. Not at all. I was, however, raised Catholic, and I now practice my own brand of it.

In its origins, I suspect that the notion of deprivation during Lent was not so much an imperative from God as it was a reality of life. During the Lenten season, which comes at the very end of winter, there must have been little left to eat and nothing growing. Much had been lost over the harsh winter, and so it was a time of natural deprivation while the people waited for the frozen earth to crack open like an Easter egg and bubble over with fertility once again. Going vegan during Lent lets me experience this, and connects me closely to that natural history. And it prepares me to celebrate and appreciate the upcoming gardening season.

It’ll be a very long 40 days and 40 nights. But you’ll get some great animal-free recipes out of the deal, like this one.

This is a dish that my mother could eat. She’s always (politely) protesting the fiery and/or bold spices in my recipes. Well here you go, Mom. This here is your basic comfort food. This version is high in fiber and extremely nutritious, so it feels like you’re getting away with something.

cannellini

The recipe
Of course the classic bean for minestrone is cannellini (or, in French, haricot blancs). And, it turns out, cannellinis are heirlooms. Arriving from Italy in the States in the early 1800s, this bean is so commonly used that its history seems to have been lost. Even, Seed Saver’s Exchange, which sells a runner version of the seed, has little to report on its origins. One thing is certain – this bean has been the staple of minestrone for a reason. With a potato-like texture and a proclivity to break apart, the nutty-flavored little bean makes for a rich and creamy soup.

I’ve tossed in some barley, for good measure and for protein. The combination of the cannellinis and grain provides a complete set of amino acids, and I’ll be looking for that anywhere I can find it during these weeks preceding Easter.

Winter Minestrone
¼ cup olive oil
1 onion, chopped
2 carrots, peeled, chopped
2 celery stalks, chopped
4 garlic cloves, minced
1 medium yellow onion
1 large potato (skin on), cubed
8 ounces (or one big bunch) Swiss chard, stems trimmed, leaves coarsely chopped
1 28-ounce can diced tomatoes, fire roasted if you can find them (no, Mom, fire roasted doesn’t mean spicy)
1 ¼ cup dry cannellini beans, cooked (or 3 cups canned cannellinis)
1/2 cup dry barley, cooked (it will yield about 1 ½ cups cooked)
6-7 cups vegetable broth (water may also be used)
2 tablespoons dried Italian basil
2 teaspoons dried oregano
2 teaspoons dried thyme, or 1 tablespoon fresh
2 shakes of liquid smoke (for the flavor often imparted by pancetta in traditional minestrone)
¼ cup fresh Italian parsley, chopped
Salt and pepper

Heat the oil in a heavy large pot over medium heat. Add the onion, carrots, celery and garlic. Sauté until the onion is translucent, about 7 minutes. Add the potato and sauté for 2 minutes. Stir in the Swiss chard and cook for two more minutes. Add canned tomatoes, heat until tomatoes begin to break apart and then add 6 cups of the broth. Stir in beans, barley, and all of the seasonings except parsley. At this point you may want to add the other cup of broth, depending on how thick or thin you like your soup – entirely up to you. Simmer for about 15 minutes, until potato cubes are soft. Give the pot a good stir so that the beans and tomatoes begin to break apart, adding a nice texture to the broth. Stir in fresh parsley, salt and pepper, then serve. (And, if you don’t want to be vegan, grate some fresh Parmesan/Reggiano to garnish).

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