1/ 3 cup dried unsweetened coconut flakes

1 1/ 2 tablespoons peanut or canola oil

1 teaspoon coriander seeds

1 large clove garlic, finely chopped

1 tablespoon peeled and grated fresh ginger (I use my cheese-grating microplane)

1 tablespoon chopped jalapeno chili pepper, preferably red for color, with or without seeds

1/ 4 cup coarsely chopped cilantro leaves

Fermented fish sauce is a key seasoning throughout Southeast Asia and into China and Japan. Like its vegetarian cousin, soy sauce, a mere teaspoon or so provides flavor depth (umami) that can transport a dish from humdrum to yum! I keep a bottle ready-to-hand in the cupboard; like soy sauce, it will last for years.

1 1/ 2 cups canned, organic unsweetened coconut milk (one 14-ounce can)

2 teaspoons nam pla (Thai fish sauce)

1  1/4 pounds medium shrimp, shelled, tails intact

2 tablespoons fresh lime juice

4 thin scallions, white bottoms and thick green tops trimmed off, scallions cut lengthwise into slivers, for garnish

1. Toast the coconut flakes in an ungreased skillet over medium-high heat, or in a 350 degree F oven, or in a microwave oven until crisp and beginning to turn golden, about 4 minutes for any method. Set aside.

2. Place the oil and coriander seeds in a large saute pan over medium-high heat until the seeds begin to sizzle. Add the garlic and cook until beginning to wilt, 1 minute. Stir in the ginger, jalapeno, and cilantro. Add the coconut milk and fish sauce, stir again, and bring to a boil still over medium-high heat. Add the shrimp, decrease the heat to maintain a simmer, and cook just until the shrimp are pink and firm, 3 minutes.

3. Stir in the lime juice, garnish with the scallion slivers and toasted coconut, and serve.

A note to my readers: I’m still here, but have been laid up with a back injury for the last 7 weeks. One of those setbacks that will get get better, but is taking a while to heal, hence, the long interval since my last and this post. More to come in the New Year!

Serves 4

Eight 3/4-inch thick diagonal baguette slices, slicked with olive oil on both sides, and toasted until lightly golden

Four 6-0unce white fish fillets each 3/4-inch thick, such as cod, halibut, sea bass

4 cups filtered water

1/2 cup Chardonnay wine

2 tablespoons white balsamic or champagne vinegar

1 small bay leaf, preferably fresh

1/4 teaspoon dried tarragon

1 teaspoon kosher salt

1/2 teaspoon cracked black, preferably freshly cracked

1 large carrot, peeled and julienned

1 medium leek, including light green part, trimmed, slivered lengthwise, and rinsed to remove dirt debris

2 tablespoons celery leaves, for garnish

1. Make the bread toasts and set them aside.

2. Combine the water, wine, carrots, leek, tarragon, bay leaf, salt, and pepper in a large saute pan and bring to a boil over high heat. Decrease the heat to medium-low, cover, and cook until the vegetables are al dente, 6 to 8 minutes.

3. Add the fish, bring to a simmer, cover, and cook until the fish flakes easily when prodded with a fork, about 6 minutes.

4. Transfer each fillet to an individual wide bowl or deep plate . Ladle the broth and vegetables over the top. Garnish with the celery leaves and croutons and serve.

Mussel beds at minus low tide off the northern California coast. It's stock footage, but just as my eye saw it whenever I was there.

When I first came to live in northern California in 1962 as a freshman at UC Berkeley, I never expected to find myself foraging for mussels in the rocky tide pools along the northern California coast. Then one day, a new found friend suggested we go mussel “hunting.” There would be a minus 2 tide at 8:30 a.m., revealing the mussel-populated rocks above water. We set off at 6:30 a.m. for the 2 hour  journey there, a convenient time for foragers who often have to suffer hardship and sleep deprivation to get where they’re going. The exposed beds of mussels seemed to stretch almost to the horizon, with huge, lumbering sea lions lounging around, sun bathing, so to speak. It was an unforgettably beautiful, morning-sun lit nature panorama. We walked over the sharp landscape with sturdy shoes and plucked up mussels, plopping them into buckets half-filled with sea water to keep them alive until we were ready to cook them. The ocean was gently slapping against the rocks far enough away so that we knew we could forage safely. We kept an ear out for its change in tempo and tone to clue us when the tide turned back and began flowing in, soon to turn the rocky landscape briny again. As the waves started breaking against the rocks more quickly and sounded louder, it was time to skedaddle.

Back home, we scrubbed off the barnacles and seaweed debris from the mussel shells, tugged off their beards, steamed them open, and served them forth with no further ado except for a well-chilled California Sauvignon Blanc and warm, crusty French bread.

Today, I rely on my seafood vendor to provide the mussels, no traveling or scrubbing required. But the romance of that outdoor adventure remains, and in season I serve them often, steamed in a dazzling onion and saffron broth Rick created. The recipe is adapted from my forthcoming book, Bold Food, co-authored with Susanna Hoffman (Workman, 2012).

Serves 3 to 4

3 pounds mussels

1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil

1 small yellow or white onion thinly sliced

1/4 cup diced fresh or canned tomatoes

1 1/2 cups white wine

1 teaspoon saffron threads

1. Rinse and debeard the mussels, if necessary. Plunge them into a large bowl of cold water,  lift out the mussels that have closed, and set them aside in a colander. Discard those that are still open.

2. Heat the oil in a large heavy pot over medium-high heat. Add the onions and cook, stirring frequently, until wilted and soft, about 5 minutes. Add the wine and tomatoes and cook until the liquid is reduced to about 1 cup, about 5 minutes.

3. Stir in the saffron, add the mussels, cover the pot, and cook until the mussels open, 5 to 7 minutes.

4. Serve right away, with the baguette on the side.

Makes 6 to 7 cups slaw

1 cup thinly sliced celery leaves and rib tops

2 1/2 cups thinly shredded green cabbage3 medium Fuji or other crisp sweet/tart apples, quartered, cored, and thinly sliced (about 3 cups)

1 1/2 tablespoons white balsamic vinegar

2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

1 teaspoon kosher salt

1/ 2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Combine all the ingredients in a large bowl, toss to mix, and set aside at room temperature to wilt a bit, an hour or so. Or, refrigerate up to overnight and serve chilled.

Young quinoa stalks with seeds spilling out.

Seduced by a tiny potted quinoa plant at my local nursery, its two slim stalks bursting with  edible seeds, I was smitten enough to purchase it, ignoring the fact that quinoa is native to the high Peruvian Andes Mountains, 10,000 feet above sea level.   I brought it home and planted it in my not-very-high above sea level garden, just to see what would happen. Not much did. It withered and drooped and clearly wasn’t happy here. Yet both limp stalks were releasing seeds of sustenance. I asked Rick to capture their nascent wholesomeness in a photo. Alas, the plant didn’t survive. But, in a leap of imagination, the recipe that follows was born. I think it tells how beauty can inform art, this time in a quinoa and fried egg burrito.

Ancho chilies with flowering coriander sprig. Anchos are the dried version of pasilla, sometimes mistakenly called poblano, chili peppers. They are mild yet spunky, sometimes with a tinge of heat, but not always. To make an appealing, deep brown/red sauce paste of them to slather on a tortilla, stir into chicken soup, or crown vanilla ice cream (!): Tear open and shake out the seeds of 6 ancho chili peppers. Pull off the stems and place the chilies in a small saucepan. Add 1 to 2 cloves smashed garlic and filtered water to cover. Cover, bring to a boil over high heat, then simmer for 20 minutes, until soft. With a slotted spoon transfer the chilies and garlic to a food processor or blender. Add 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt and 1 cup of the cooking liquid. Blend until you have a smooth, spreadable paste. If too thick, add more of the cooking liquid.

Makes 4 burritos

1/2  cup organic quinoa

1 cup filtered water

Ancho Chili Sauce (see the sidebar)

Four large ranch eggs

3 tablespoons butter, for frying the eggs

1/2 cup cilantro leaves tossed with 1/4 teaspoon apple cider vinegar

1/4 cup finely chopped light green scallions (the middle part)

4 large flour tortillas

1. Combine the quinoa and water in a medium-size saucepan. Bring to a boil over high heat, cover, and decrease the heat to low. Cook for 15 minutes, until most of the water is absorbed but the quinoa is still moist. Remove from the heat and let rest, still covered, until dried out and fluffy, 10 to 15 minutes.

2. Make the ancho chili sauce (see the sidebar)

3. Melt the butter in a large saute pan over medium-high heat. Crack in the eggs and cook gently until the whites are set and the yolks still runny, 5 to 7  minutes. Remove the pan from the heat and set aside.

4. To serve, heat the tortillas in a toaster or standard oven. Paint each tortilla with ancho chili sauce, then spread about 1/2 cup of quinoa along the center. Top with a fried egg. Sprinkle the cilantro/vinegar over the egg, then strew on some scallions. Fold up the bottom of the tortilla an inch and a half or so, fold over the sides to overlap in the middle, and enjoy.

Butternut squash, one of the most delicious of the winter squashes, is available much of the year. With some determination, it can be peeled with a vegetable peeler, then cut into chunks to cook and puree. The seeds can be roasted as you would pumpkin seeds.

Last week we were to take lunch to our 100-going-on-101 year old, dear friend, Kay Bradway. She’s an amazing person, a Jungian analyst who brought the practice of sand play therapy to American psychiatry after a trip to Europe in 1932. If you can imagine, that was when Hitler was mounting his forces, intent on taking over the universe. It was also a time when bon vivance imbued the streets and cafes in Europe.  We know Kay because she was a lifelong friend of Rick’s beloved late Aunt Joy. Since high school together in Minnesota, Kay and Joy kept up a strong bond, even from opposite sides of the continent (Joy in Boston, Kay in Sausalito, California) when they were adults. Rick and I regularly get together with Kay over lunch in her Sausalito home. This recent August week, we were bringing the lunch and she was in the mood for some soup, but she’s not keen on spicy foods these days. So I made a simple pureed butternut squash soup and garnished it with fennel fronds from the yard for color and added aroma.

As I was making the soup, I thought about Kay and her contribution to psychoanalysis, and how doing as I was doing was in fact the therapy. As she explains, sand play therapy is based on a sand box which is basically a three dimensional, open “canvas” within which to draw in the sand and arrange figurines, chosen from the therapist’s collection, according to whim. It is that doing that is the calming, the healing, not anything the person has to say about what she/he is doing and not anything the therapist either has to say. It’s in the quiet, concentrated doing.  She loved the soup!

Makes 6 cups

4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) butter

1 medium onion, finely chopped

2 fresh sage leaves, finely chopped

2 teaspoons peeled and chopped fresh ginger

1 teaspoon kosher salt

2 to 2 1/2-pounds butternut squash, peeled, seeded, and cut into 1 1/2-inch chunks

2 cups light chicken broth, preferably homemade

2 cups filtered water

1 tablespoon chopped fresh fennel fronds or fresh dill, for garnish

1 lime, cut into wedges, for garnish

1. Melt the butter large saucepan over medium-low heat. Stir in the onions and cook slowly until well-wilted, about 10 minutes.

2. Stir in the ginger, sage, and salt. Add the squash, broth, and water, increase the heat to high, and bring to a boil. Adjust the heat to maintain a brisk simmer and cook until the squash is soft enough to mash, about 20 minutes. Remove from the heat and set aside to cool completely.

3. Puree the soup in a food processor or blender (the blender will give a more silken texture).

4. To serve, reheat the soup on the stove top or in the microwave. Ladle into individual bowls, sprinkle the chopped fennel fronds over the top,  and garnish with a lime wedge.

Colorado Rocky Mountain rhubarb straight from the source

After the rhubarb chutney (see my previous post, July 25, 2011), I was looking for the best, most perfect, and fun way to use what was left of my gift of wild Colorado mountain rhubarb. As chance would have it, my cousin Karen Jenanyan and I, along with others at an al fresco lunch in our backyard, were discussing how much we love making yogurt from our generations-old starter and how we take pride in carrying and passing along the baton of  Armenian yogurt making. Karen had been experimenting with making yogurt with fruit on the bottom, like the small containers you find in grocery stores. We got to, how’s about some fruity frozen yogurt, which you don’t much find in grocery stores? With that simple play of imagination, the centuries-old, healthful milk product born in the warmth of desert nomads’ saddlebags was transported to the modern freezer as a healthful cold dessert. In my kitchen, the idea took form as a blazing pink (from the strawberries) frozen yogurt mold dressed with a vivid  red strawberry puree and topped with lustrous yellow-orange crystallized orange peels scented with rosewater.Serves 8 to 10

1 pound trimmed rhubarb, cut into 1/2-inch pieces (about 4 cups)

1/2 cup sugar

1/2 cup filtered water

3 cups thick plain whole milk yogurt

1 basket sweet fresh strawberries,  half very coarsely chopped and half pureed

For the crystallized orange peel:

2 thick-skinned organic oranges, quartered lengthwise, peeled, and peels sliced lengthwise into thin slivers

Crystallized orange peel and rose petals

1 cup sugar

2/3  cup filtered water

1 teaspoon rosewater

1. To make the frozen yogurt, combine the rhubarb, sugar, and water in a medium saucepan over medium-high heat. Cook, stirring occasionally, until very soft, about 7 minutes. Remove from the heat and cool.

2. Puree the rhubarb mixture in a food processor. Add the yogurt and the chopped strawberries and process until blended. Transfer to a one quart mold or tube pan and freeze.

3. To make the crystallized orange peel, combine the orange slivers, sugar, rosewater, and water in a medium saucepan, stir to mix, and bring to a boil over high heat. Adjust the heat to maintain a brisk boil and cook until the slivers are soft and almost transparent and the syrup is bubbling all across the surface and beginning to crystallize, about 15 minutes.

4. Place a length of parchment on a counter next to the saucepan. With tongs, lift out the orange slivers and transfer them to the parchment paper. Still using the tongs, spread them out a bit so they’re not all in a big clump but some still stick together in lacy formations. Set aside at room temperature to air dry and crystallize, several hours, preferably overnight.

5. When ready to serve, remove the frozen yogurt from the freezer and set it aside at room temperature until it’s warm enough to loosen away from its container but still quite frozen, about 30 minutes.

6. Place a serving plate atop the frozen yogurt and invert the plate and container together so the frozen yogurt drops onto the plate.  Remove the container and spoon the strawberry puree around the top of the frozen yogurt, letting some drip down the sides. Arrange the crystallized orange peel pieces here and there and serve right away.

Wild Colorado Rocky Mountain rhubarb, direct from the source

amaranth, spinach, epazote, and quinoa. Each May and June, like a gardener facing too many zucchini to cook or share in midsummer, she has to decide: what to do?  So, I received some–a lot–via priority mail. Not having any rhubarb patches of my own, I was delighted to set about thinking up ways to cook the treasure.

Looking around, in almost every corner of world, I found suitable companions and myriad ways to cook rhubarb: pie, chutney, sauce, with additions such as rosewater, clove, thyme, onion, strawberries, vinegar, mustard seed, ginger, currants, and that’s the short list. Whether the dish is sweet or savory, sugar is a wanted ingredient because rhubarb’s stalks are undeniably sour.

As it happened, when the box arrived, I had been planning to grill a sumptuous pork shoulder roast for a food-loving group of friends and family and needed a fruity, vivacious condiment to go alongside it. Serendipity. The rhubarb was perfect! I concocted a somewhat Indian, somewhat Italian, and certainly American compote. As well as pork, it can complement poultry, game, lamb, or sausages. See the next post for a sweet, frozen treatment of rhubarb.

Rosewater is a favored flavoring in dishes from the Caspian Sea, through the Middle East, along the Mediterranean Sea, to France and beyond. Its soft, musky aroma perfumes all manner of sweets from paklava to madeleines to a certain kind of American cookie favored by President James Monroe (or so it is said).Though rosewater's savory uses are few, in this recipe's compote, it sveltly tangos with balsamic vinegar and shows its possibilities beyond the sweets table. Bottled rosewater is readily available in Middle Eastern grocers' and online.

Makes about 1 ½ cups

½ pound trimmed rhubarb, in ½-inch pieces (2 cups)

1 cup thinly sliced yellow or white onion

1 tablespoon currants

1 tablespoon coarsely grated fresh ginger

1/3 cup sugar

1 teaspoon rosewater

3 tablespoons balsamic vinegar

½ cup water

1. Combine all the ingredients in a medium saucepan and stir to mix. Partially cover and bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Decrease the heat to medium-low and cook until thick and syrupy, about 20 minutes. Let cool and serve right away. Can be  refrigerated for up to 1 week.

Beware the pickle poltergeist! The jar of cucumber pickles on the right was full to start with, but next thing I knew, it was only half full when it was time to shoot.

for lengthy resting in the frig while they cure. They are ready to serve within the next day or two. To that end, I have developed the following “magic brine” based on the Armenian toursi pickles of my childhood, always on hand to bring out when there was occasion to serve a preprandial gnosh, but with my twist, lots of dill weed and a touch of dried red chili pepper.

Brine waiting for its time

The best part is that this one simple brine can serve for several vegetables. My favorites for fresh pickling this way are cauliflower, okra (the best, though no one will believe you until they have a taste, then, wow!), green bell peppers, and cucumbers (a surprise because we usually think of them as needing to cure for up to three weeks before they’re ready; not so), and green tomatoes. Another best part is that you can make a big batch of the brine, double or triple the recipe, and keep it in the pantry to use in small amounts as needed–being a vinegar and salt solution with no particulates, it won’t spoil, ever.

Makes 2 quarts pickles

2 quarts cauliflower florets; or whole okra pods; or pickling cucumbers, halved lengthwise; or green bell pepper quarters, seeded; or green tomato halves or quarters

A plate of fresh pickles

2 small dried red chilies

2 cloves garlic, halved

1 bunch fresh dill

For the Brine:

2 quarts distilled white vinegar

4 cups filtered water

3/4 cup kosher salt

1. Tightly pack whatever vegetable you are using in a 2 quart jar (smaller jars work as well, but I like the visual drama and generosity of a large one), tucking in the garlic, dried chilies, and dill as you go. Set aside.

2. To make the brine, combine the vinegar, water, and salt in medium size pot and bring to a boil over high heat. Stir and right away, pour into the jar with the vegetables, filling it all the way to top. Set the jar aside, uncovered, at room temperature for several hours until completely cool all the way through, overnight is okay.

3. Cover the jar and refrigerate overnight.  Serve as wanted. The pickles will keep “fresh” for up to several weeks.

Generally, I use ground cumin for soups, stews, and curries, but for ice cream I opt for whole seeds, toasting them as in Indian and Mexican cooking. I then include them whole in the custard. That way, they lend the full benefit of their spice to the cold mix and also make a pleasing small crunch as you eat the ice cream.

“cheap” way to travel at the time (1967). Of all the beautiful and fragrant offerings, cumin wafted most aromatic, rising above the others and filling the street with its perfume, one I had not known until then. I continued delighting in its scent, literally, as I traveled around with a stash of cumin in my suitcase. To this day, cumin scents my kitchen as I prepare dishes for casual family meals and develop recipes for my cookbooks.

Recently, passing by an enticing  display of multi-hued mangoes, another taste/smell memory in my life, I was inspired to put together the  somewhat outre combination of cumin, olive oil, and fruit below.  For the ice cream you don’t need an ice cream maker; the freezer does the job. The ice cream recipe is adapted from my latest cookbook, Bold Food: American Cuisine and How it Came to Be, co-authored with Susanna Hoffman, Workman Publishing, Spring 2012.

Makes 3 1/2 cups

2 teaspoons cumin seeds

2 large eggs

I first met mangos in Hawaii when my father was stationed at Pearl Harbor. Our backyard had a glorious mango tree which put out fruit seemingly endlessly. I liked their fruit best when they were still green and hard, the way they are used in Southeast Asian cooking. I would bite into one, pull off the skin, and gnaw away. Later on, I grew to also love mangos ripe and moist (but still firm). I chop them into a fragrant mango jalapeno salsa, cook them into an Indian chutney, sprinkle them with lime juice and a dust of chopped peanuts for a refreshing side dish. Or, I simply slice them to garnish an exotic ice cream.

1 1/2 cups whole milk

1/2 cup sugar

1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil

1 1/2 cups heavy cream

2 mangos

1.  Heat a heavy skillet (preferably cast iron) over medium-high until warm to the touch. Add the cumin seeds and stir until lightly toasted and exuding their aroma, about 1 minute. Set aside.

2. Lightly beat the eggs in a medium bowl. Set aside.

3. Whisk the milk and sugar together in a medium saucepan. Set over medium heat until beginning to simmer.

4. Slowly whisk the hot milk mixture into the eggs. Pour the combined mixture back into the saucepan and cook over medium-low heat, stirring frequently, until thick enough to coat a spoon, about 15 minutes.  Remove  from the heat and let cool until no longer hot to the touch, about 10 minutes.

5.  Strain the milk/egg mixture through a fine mesh sieve into a 2 quart bowl.  Add the cream, then the olive oil, whisking vigorously each time until thoroughly blended.  Stir in the cumin seeds and place in the freezer.

6. Leave until frozen, whisking every 15 minutes or so to keep the cumin seeds evenly distributed. When frozen, cover, and use as needed.

7. To serve, take the ice cream out of the freezer and let soften for about 30 minutes. Scoop into individual bowls and garnish with mango slices, skin left on for ease of picking up and eating with fingers.