Sat - April 29, 2006Pickled eggsI've never had a pickled egg, but the idea has
always appealed to me. So when a friend gave me a copy of Linda Ziedrich's
The Joy of
Pickling, the first thing I tried was
eggs.
In truth, the recipe I tried is an amalgam of two
recipes from
TJoP,
combined along with some other ideas I found in various other cookbooks
(including Madhur Jaffrey's Indian
Cooking) and online. Because really, when
you're trying something for the first time, why go with what works?
The basic idea is traditional Indian pickled eggs. Apparently Indians eat a lot of eggs, because Hindus are (mostly) vegetarian, and because even though eggs come from an animal, they're not considered meat. Eggs are weird that way, like fruit from a chicken. Here goes: eggs, hard-boiled — 12 cider vinegar — 3/4 cup distilled white vinegar — 3/4 cup water — 1/2 cup kosher salt — 2 T sugar — 1.5 t black pepper, cracked — 1 T black mustard seed — 1 T turmeric — 1/2 t cinnamon stick — 1 inch ginger — walnut-sized knob, peeled and sliced garlic — 4 cloves, sliced in half While boiling and cooling the eggs, I combined all of the remaining ingredients in a small pot, brought to a boil, and then simmered for 15 minutes. After peeling the eggs (which isn't easy if you want to avoid breaking them) and allowing the pickling liquid to cool, I put 6 eggs in each of two old 20-oz. spaghetti sauce jars and poured the pickling liquid over them. The source recipes suggest that I should wait a week before sampling the eggs... I'll keep you posted. Here are the source books used for this recipe: Posted at 05:06 PM Wed - April 27, 2005A paean to nuoc mamMy favorite cooking partner and I generally refer
to rice vinegar as "the secret ingredient"...but that's diversionary.
We just don't want anyone to find out about the real secret ingredient: fish sauce. Looks like the secret is
out.
Secret Ingredient Fish sauce adds distinction to cuisines far beyond Southeast Asia (San Francisco Chronicle) Chefs call it their "go-to" ingredient, the one they reach for when a dish is blah or bland or just isn't coming together. Fish sauce, the pungent, tea-colored liquid that perfumes the cooking of Southeast Asia, has infiltrated Western kitchens. Posted at 10:57 AM Thu - April 14, 2005Kimchi — Day 12 — TastingThe moment of truth.
After spending this much time around a dish, you
can imagine how excited I was to try it. A little frightened, too, since a lot
of the work was done by bacteria, and you never know what happens when you leave
something outside to "ripen" for days on
end.
So I pulled some wooden chopsticks out of a drawer, picked up a crunchy-looking morsel, and put it in my mouth... ...only to basically have to spit it out. This batch is way too salty. The flavors are all delightful — sour, spicy, acidic — but the salt is so intense that it burned my mouth and made the kimchi unpalatable. So: next time (and there will be a next time): 1) Less salt in the initial salting of the cabbage. Half a cup did seem like a lot, and there was lots of unincorporated salt in the bowl on Day 2. Next time, I'll go with a quarter cup. 2) Less time under the salt: The cabbage wilted within an hour. To the extent that the salting is intended to draw out moisture, it clearly achieved its effect much more rapidly than overnight. What probably happened in the supernumerary 23 hours was that after the moisture came out of the cabbage, a nearly saturated brine migrated back into the leaves. I'm betting I can achieve crunchiness without oversaltiness by salting for only an hour. 3) More rinses. I remember being dimly afraid of over-rinsing, so I did just two changes of water with very little soaking time. Next time I'll do at least three long soak-rinses. All is not lost with this batch: I'm sure it will make an excellent seasoning for soup. Just as long as I don't use salted broth... Ah well. Good thing that in addition to being an amateur food scientist, I'm also a biomedical scientist -- I'm used to being patient. Posted at 11:20 AM Kimchi — Day 12 — canningToday I transferred the kimchi to jars, and
tasted my wares.
The final fermentation time ended up being 3 days
at room temperature (outdoors) and five days in the refrigerator (I left town
and decided it would be safer). The kimchi looks about the same as it did on the first day of fermentation:
The leaves are slightly more wrinkled, but otherwise there's no visual change besides an accumulation of a rich red liquid in the bottom of the bowl:
The smell, on the other hand, is much stronger: Garlicky and fermented, definitely more than the sum of its parts. It smells very appetizing. I strained the solids into a colander and reserved the liquid. I then transferred the solids to two (dishwasher-clean) jars, and added half the liquid to each:
These I shall store in the refrigerator. Posted at 11:10 AM Tue - April 5, 2005Kimchi — Day 3No pictures today. It looks the
same.
Another piece of negative data: There's no
"puffing" of the Saran wrap.
The reason why I mention this: Most bacterial fermentations (or indeed, fermentations of any kind) produce a gas. So I half-expected to see the Saran wrap straining against the rubber band. But no dice. I wonder whether this is because the plastic is so loose than the gas is all escaping, or rather that the fermentation hasn't started in earnest yet. Tune in later tonight for an update (today is technically Day 4). Posted at 12:10 PM Sun - April 3, 2005Kimchi — Day 2I could hardly wait to open the refrigerator this
morning and check on the cabbage I salted yesterday.
One dramatic change had occurred: The cabbage had
reduced to about a third of its original volume...
The leaves (in particular the ribs) still had a lot of crispiness to them, perhaps even more than they'd had yesterday. I rinsed the salted leaves with two changes of water, spinning them dry each time. Afterward, the cabbage was still well-seasoned but not briny the way it had been when I first lifted the lid of the bowl. Now to add the other ingredients...
I'm going to stick mostly to the simple recipe that I chose yesterday, with a couple of small modifications (I heard somewhere that every Korean family has their own idiosyncratic way of making kimchi, so I am convinced that by modifying a traditional recipe I am in fact increasing the authenticity of my approach). To make the spice paste, I first combined 2 T sugar with 2 T "rooster sauce" (Sri Racha chili-garlic sauce), 1 t rice vinegar, and 1 t soy sauce, stirring until the sugar was dissolved. To the liquids, I added 4 minced cloves of garlic and a "walnut-sized" piece of ginger, grated with a broad microplane grater (Cuisipro, which makes a nice grater with a dumb shield that actually hurts to remove), and mixed again. Finally, I added a bunch of scallions (coarsely chopped), two jalapeños (seeded, stemmed and julienned) and half a teaspoon of crushed red pepper. I tossed this fiery mixture with the cabbage...
...and then transferred the lot to a glass bowl. Reasoning that Koreans have been making kimchi for hundreds of years, and that for most of that time they (indeed, we) didn't know anything about microbiology or refrigeration technology, I decided to ferment my kimchi outside, instead of in a refrigerator. I predict that this will give the bacteria a little more elbow room, biochemically speaking, than they would have in the fridge, and hope that the more violent outdoor fermentation will give my kimchi a potent sour kick. So I covered the bowl with Saran wrap, rubber-banded it just in case, and put it inside a decommissioned gas grill that is sitting on my deck. It's about 70°F outside today: not too hot, not too cold. Stay tuned... Posted at 03:46 PM Sat - April 2, 2005Kimchi — Day 1I eat lunch twice or even three times a week on
Telegraph in Oakland, in "Little Seoul" or "Kimchi Alley" or Korea-town or
whatever you want to call it.
I like jap jae and bul go gi and bi bim bap, but the real reason I go is the kimchi. Kimchi is the food of the gods. It clears the sinuses and fires the blood and mends little fermented-cabbage-shaped thin spots in my soul. (And it's naturally low in cholesterol.) I can't get enough of it. I clear out the panchan dish and ask for more. And then still more. The restaurateurs are invariably respectful but I think they're all laughing, suspecting that I'm doomed to painfully revisit the matter later in the day. While I grant that occasionally red pepper will have its revenge, I say: Let them laugh. So I'm going to make my own, and tell you about every step of the process. In part because it will be fun, and in part because it's not like I'm doing anything else with this blog; ever since I started Marching Orders, The Perishable Lifestyle has definitely been languishing. Because I'm a scientist, I'm going to work from
this fairly basic recipe from the Exploratorium. I found other recipes, ranging
from authentic to encyclopedic to spiritual/psychotic, but they all seemed too
elaborate for a first-timer. The Exploratorium recipe is hardly original to them, so I'll reproduce it here in full. Still, you should visit their site because it has all kinds of cool factoids about the ingredients and their roles. What do I need? Today I'm just doing the first step: Salting the cabbage. 2.5 pounds of Napa cabbage (also called "Chinese cabbage" in regressive supermarkets) ended up being two heads:
I didn't wash the leaves because I'll be rinsing them thoroughly anyway tomorrow. Besides, last time I checked, salt kills bacteria. I decided to chop it by first cutting it lengthwise, either in halves (the first head)...
...or in quarters (the second)...
...removing the toughest part of the core, and then making perpendicular cuts about 1" (2.5 cm) apart. Then I tossed it with the salt in a large plastic bowl (actually my Oxo salad spinner with the basket taken out)...
...covered it with the fitted lid, and put it in the fridge overnight. All I really did to mix the cabbage and salt was to add leaves and salt in "layers" (i.e., alternating a fraction of each at a time), and then roll the bowl a bit after putting the lid on. I may be making a huge mistake here, as some of the more nutso recipes out there ask for a very careful mixing at this step... Use your hands like you're hugging the cabbage. Move them gently around the sides, and then gather them into the center. Then push the cabbage to the sides (gently) and pull your hands around the edges like you're swimming with a breaststroke. The hugging motion is gentle. Generate love while you're doing it.Whenever we make Kimchi, it comes out good, but nearly as good as Grandmaster's. We're pretty sure that the missing ingredient is love. ...but I'm going to court disaster and the disapprobation of Grandmaster and try doing it the lazy way first. Tune in tomorrow to see what happened. Posted at 06:41 PM Thu - March 3, 2005About the authorChris Patil has never received any training in the
culinary arts, but he compensates for his lack of education by being
enthusiastic and bossy in the
kitchen.
His main place on the web is Ouroboros: Research in the biology of aging. Posted at 11:16 AM Wed - February 23, 2005The Donner Party CookbookI just saw a review of this book today. Sound
familiar?
From the review in the East Bay Express :
The title of Terry Del Bene's Donner Party Cookbook begs for belly laughs, but Wild West scholar Del Bene has a commendable goal: to put real names and faces on those unlucky travelers -- Truckee Lake was no place to be in the blizzardy winter of 1846 -- and reprieve them from their status as perennial joke fodder. I think I might get one for myself. Posted at 02:56 PM Thu - February 17, 2005Tragedy strikes: Lobster shortage loomsA strange lobster disease is decimating the New
England crop.
If the phenomenon spreads to the Atlantic blue crab as well, watch for Dungeness to get a lot more popular...and expensive Ripped from the headlines:
A disease that rots lobsters' shells and can kill the crustaceans now affects 30 percent of lobsters along the New England coast, decimating the industry in many areas, scientists said Wednesday. Next week: Piedmont swept by truffle leprosy. Posted at 09:53 AM Thu - February 10, 2005Tandoori-esque grilled chickenMy dad was from India and my mom hails from
Kentucky. We ate Indian food occasionally but it was usually a sort of
compromise between Bombay bazaar and Better Homes &
Gardens.
This is a version of what my mom called "tandoori chicken" -- it never saw the inside of a clay oven, but the ingredients are true to the authentic item. No red food coloring here, but you can add a few drops if you want it to be restaurant red. Two things are obnoxious about making this at a barbecue: 1. It takes a while (20 minutes for each batch). 2. Your hostess will get angry at you for stealing the show (but she'll keep emailing you for the recipe). This recipe makes 12 pieces of chicken, and serves 6-10 people depending on what else is coming off the grill. MEAT:
chicken leg quarters (drumstick+thigh) — 6 (skinned if desired; trimmed) kosher salt — 1t lemon juice — 1T MARINADE: yogurt — 2 cups lemon juice — 1T ground cumin — 1T ground coriander — 1t paprika — 2t cardamom seeds (hulled) — 1/4 t cloves (whole) — 1/4t ground black pepper — 1/2t kosher salt — 1t turmeric — 1t garam masala — 1t (can substitute 1/4 t each allspice, nutmeg and cinnamon) onion powder — 1T garlic powder — 1t cayenne pepper — to taste (I usually use 1/2t) FOR GRILLING: garlic butter — 1/4 cup oil — 1/4 cup 1. Make 2-3 shallow cuts (1/4” deep) on the fleshy side of each chicken leg. Dress both sides of each leg with lemon juice and salt and set aside (at least 20 minutes). 2. In a large bowl — whisk together the yogurt and lemon juice. 3. Grind together all the spices; add the spice mixture to the yogurt. 4. Pat the chicken legs dry and add to the marinade (big freezer bags work great for this). 5. Marinate in the refrigerator overnight, turning at least once. 6. Shake excess marinade off of the chicken. 7. Brush the chicken with a 1:1 mixture of garlic butter and oil. 8. On a generously oiled grill, cook the legs over medium-high flame for 20 minutes (4x5 minutes). Use a thin spatula to turn them, especially if they've been skinned, as they will stick. Posted at 01:00 PM Mon - February 7, 2005Pie HeresyApparently there's more than one way to skin a
cat. Or a pie.
Unsubstantiated rumormongering -- email from Barb
Stuckey, reprinted here with her blanket consent and a promise not to charge me
royalties if I use her name in this forum (or, presumably, turn her emails into
ready-made content).
I've always been afraid of pies. I'm not sure whether I'm more or less afraid now. Yesterday Mom and I went to private pie-making class. This was something my mom had bid on at a silent charity auction. I must confess that the pie refractory period described above strains my credulity. I'll keep everyone posted. Posted at 11:44 AM Fri - February 4, 2005The perishable lifestyle: A definitionWe still have lasting memories of things that
don't last.
Years ago now, a group of friends were
gathered...somewhere.
I can't remember where exactly but it doesn't matter. It was the same place that it always is: a comfortably appointed living room, in someone's house. Wine had been poured, glasses refilled who knows how many times. We were laughing, in the zone of effortless social give and take. We were talking but it didn't really matter about what. Someone joked, I think, about the great flux of money that seemed to pass through our hands, in a year or a month or even of an evening at some times, and how it seemed uncompensated by material gain. The things we spend our money on are largely impermanent: food, drink, experience. I commented that what we'd bought was a "perishable lifestyle". The others seemed to like the phrase, and it's been repeated often enough that I think I'm onto something. We don't get to hold onto the things we spend money on, but our lives are enriched nonetheless. From now until we have a heart attack, I suppose. So that's a beginning of what I mean, and why I chose this phrase as a title for this blog. I'll be elaborating as time goes by. Posted at 09:06 AM Thu - February 3, 2005Braised lamb shoulder with white beansThis dish is both festive and comforting:
Succulent, fork-tender (if not spoon-tender) meat and beans give it a homey
heartiness, while the complexity and intensity of the broth and the clean bright
kick from the gremolata constantly remind you that it's something special.
I served this at an informal family reunion (brothers, sister-in-law, and a couple of friends) and everyone loved it. It served six with leftovers. A side dish (kale) was superfluous. This is a full meal. MEAT:
lamb shoulder — 3 lbs. (deboned, rolled up, and tied) olive oil — 1/4 c (A note about the meat: I'd never used this cut of meat before, but rock-star butcher Anthony at Café Rouge Meat Market set me up and I for one am glad he did. Café Rouge, its thunderingly talented butchers, and its many meats will definitely get their own entry sometime soon. That having been said, I doubt that this particular preparation is going to be widely available outside really top-notch butcher shops, so allow me to encourage those who can't find it to use boneless leg instead.) BROTH: onion — 2 (sliced) leek — 2 (just the white and pale green parts, sliced) carrot — 2 (sliced) celery — 2 stalks (sliced) garlic — 3 cloves (halved) red wine — 2 c low-sodium canned beef stock — 2 c bay — 2 leaves tarragon — 1 bunch dried tomatoes — 2 T (chopped) garlic — 1 head (trimmed; oiled; wrapped in foil) canned tomatoes — 28 oz. cannelini — 3 14-oz cans (drained) GREMOLATA: lemon zest — 1 lemon's worth parsley — 1 bunch (just the top leaves, not the bottom stems) garlic — 2 cloves 1. Season the meat a day in advance. Use 3/4 scant teaspoon of kosher salt per pound. Use your judgment with the pepper. Refrigerate under plastic wrap. 2. Take the meat out and rub it down with a paper towel; let it sit at room temperature for 1 hour. 3. Heat the oil over medium heat in and brown the lamb on all sides (this will take about half an hour in total). Set aside in a large casserole or brazier (this is the cooking vessel for the braising step). 4. Spoon out some of the accumulated fat, leaving behind any crystallization from the meat. Leave about 1/4 cup of fat. 5. Add the vegetables, salt lightly, and cook for 10 min or so, until they have given off liquid and gotten the barest amount of color. 6. Add the wine, stock, bay, half of the tarragon and the dried tomatoes. Bring to a boil and cook off the alcohol (about 10 min). 7. Pour the broth around the lamb, cover tightly with a lid or foil, and place in a 325°F oven for 2-3 hours. (I went for three hours and it was totally fine.) During the last hour, roast the head of garlic. 8. Carefully remove the lamb from the broth and place on a baking pan or other oven-safe dish. Wrap with foil and put back in the oven at "warm". Leave the roasted garlic head out to cool. 9. Strain the solids out of the broth and discard. 10. Combine the strained broth and tomatoes (with their juice). Reduce until the flavors have married and the broth has thickened somewhat (Watch the saltiness; I stop when the broth is salty enough for my taste, which means it's still quite thin.) 11. Add the beans, the skinned cloves of roasted garlic (left whole), and the rest of the tarragon. Heat through. 12. While the beans are warming up, make the gremolata: Combine the parsley, lemon zest and garlic in a food processor, and pulse until combined. 13. Place the lamb on a cutting board, untie the trussing string, and cut into six roughly equally sized pieces:
(Equality of portion size is a fantasy with the rolled shoulder; some pieces are just going to be bigger than others.) 14. Plate in restaurant-style pasta bowls: A generous slotted spoonful of beans, tomatoes and garlic; a serving of lamb, a generous ladleful of broth, and a couple of tablespoons of gremolata to top it all off:
15. Serve with plenty of crusty bread to sop up the remaining broth. Champagne not included but highly recommended to sustain one's guests through the long waiting period before dinner that resulted from one forgetting to start the meat on time. Your run-of-the-mill Huge Red™ will serve admirably during the meal itself. Posted at 09:24 AM Mon - January 31, 2005Dr. P's California Barbecue SauceThis infamous tamarind concoction was first made
in Pasadena in 2002. It's a careful blend of Asian and Central American flavors,
and was designed with an Asian flavor balance (hot, sour, salty, sweet) in mind.
Plenty of
umami,
so it's good with grilled vegetables and white meats that don't have a lot of
their own.
I think of this as a brushing sauce, to be layered on a slow-cooked item (e.g., pork ribs) so that the flavors can marry and complexify. I've never used it as a dipping sauce, but I know that would be good. By the time I'm done tuning the flavors, I can't stop tasting it. This recipe makes about four cups, and can be readily scaled up. Before we begin,
a note about
tamarind:
It's sometimes possible to find pre-pulped tamarind in a jar or a can, but it's rare enough that I find it simpler to just take the time and make my own from pods, which are available at any Mexican grocery. 1. Remove the papery outer shell from 1 pound of tamarind pods. 2. Submerge the sticky pods in 2-4 cups of water (the amount depends on how much cooking-down you want to do later). 3. Bring to a boil and then simmer for an hour or so. Stir frequently. 4. When you see a lot of white seeds and not a lot of pulp chunks, remove from the heat and strain through a wide-mesh sieve (e.g., a colander). Keep the thick brown liquid; discard the seeds. 5. Reduce the liquid down to 2 cups. Whatever you do, don't have a freshly manicured friend manually separate the pulp from the seeds. It can be done, but she will never, ever forgive you. And now for the recipe: SAUCE: peanut oil —1/4 cup shallots —6 (minced) garlic — 6 cloves (minced) ginger — 2 T (toothpicks) chili-garlic sauce (Sri Racha) — 1/4 c coriander seed — 2 t (ground) anise seed — 1 t (ground) hoisin sauce — 3 c tamarind pulp— 2 c lime zest — 2 t honey — 1/4 c soy sauce — 3/4 c rice vinegar — 1/2 c 1. Heat oil in a 4-quart saucepan over medium-high
flame.
2. Add shallot, garlic, chili paste, ground spices
and ginger; sauté 1 minute.
3. Add remaining ingredients and simmer for 30-60
minutes (keep covered after the first 10 or so).
4. Purée with an immersion
blender.
5. Adjust seasoning with salt, soy, vinegar and
honey.
6. Cool to room temperature and store in the
refrigerator.
For Christmas of 2004, I made a big batch and bottled it for my friends, complete with homemade labels: ![]() Posted at 02:51 PM |