It’s August. If you have your own garden and you like baby zucchini as much as I, you know that while some food columns are handwringing about what to do with bumper crops of squash, you’re hoping there will be enough. You plant your seeds in spring, and check the emerging zucchini carefully on your daily morning rounds. They grow so fast, you can nearly hear them stretching, and you know that you have to be ready to snatch the babies — every one of them — from their vines when they are a tender three inches long, four at the most. (I will never understand why few, if any, farmers pick them that small, even if they are so prolific as to force them to be plowed them under.)
If you don’t, before you know it, the squash are the size of baseball bats. One day, you see the blossoms unfurling on slender stems, barely bulging on their umbilical buds and on the next, they’ve given birth to hulking squash when, as my friend and master gardener Joan Gussow says, “there’s nothing to be done but cut the monster from the vine and sneak it into someone’s unlocked car.”
If those Goliath zucchini are lurking in the back of your mind, take my advice: Ensure both quantity and quality by picking the pubescent offspring as I say, before they go on a drinking spree and get watery on an adolescent growth spurt. Not only is this petite size ideal for everything from fritters to poaching to sautéing to grilling, it is perfect for pickling.
Pining for pickles
I mention “pickling” somewhat wistfully because it wasn’t until well past August last year that Laurel Robertson, another serious gardener-friend of mine, mentioned her southern Italian mother-in-law’s baby zucchini pickle recipe, and I’ve had to wait a full year to make them.
Robertson had plenty of practice putting up zucchini when she married into an immigrant family from Calabria. She was a tender 18, as she tells it, when she met her first husband Dominick while working at a horse stable and moved with him from a cozy New York suburb into a milking parlor on 135 acres in rural Montgomery County. It was the late 1960s and early ’70s when Joni Mitchell’s “Woodstock” was in every hippie’s heart . . .
We are stardust
We are golden
And we’ve got to get ourselves
Back to the garden
Dominick planted plenty of “cucuzze,” vernacular for the squashes the Calabrians love. His resourceful mother, born and bred on the rugged soil of Cosenza, was Robertson’s domestic muse. “She cooked all the time, and there were always sausages hanging in the attic, pasta being rolled out in the kitchen, homemade wine, and all kinds of pickles,” my friend said. “So I pickled and jammed, jammed and pickled, and put up food for the entire year.” Her strategy for the zucchini onslaught was to pick and pickle the squash when they were tiny. That solved the problem of bumper-crop burnout and assured prime preserves at the same time. “They were delicious and so different from other pickles,” she said.
Of course, I asked for the recipe on the spot, and I’ve been longing for those zucchini pickles for a year. I have finally put up my first batch, and now I know that next year I’ll have to plant twice as many zucchini as I usually do to keep my larder stocked throughout the year with these meaty conservi, as the Italians call them. I could eat a jar of them in one afternoon.
If you can’t get the tiny zucchini I’m raving about from your garden or the markets, you can slice any type of larger summer squash into typical cucumber-pickle size spears (but don’t bother with the spongy monsters — they do belong in the compost bin). If you know how to pickle, process them for the long haul using the proper screw-top jars, as you would any other vegetable. If you don’t, you can make a “quick-pickle” that will last a week in a refrigerator with no pickling expertise at all. They are so easy to make, anyone who can boil water can do it. Besides having the few simple ingredients, all you need is a jar that is tall enough to accommodate the height of the picklings (or you can cut the zucchini into coins). Whichever pickle you choose, here is Robertson’s recipe, inspired by Rosa Gualano’s fiery Calabrian-style pickles.
Select small tender squash about 3 to 5 inches long, preferably all the same size. You will get 6 to 8 of them in each quart jar, packing them tightly. Distilled vinegar is best because it is colorless and doesn’t muddy the clearness of the brine. Use Kosher salt, not table salt, which contain anti-caking agents that can cloud the brine. Sea salt, with its natural minerals, is an asset in cooking, but those elements can interfere with the pickling process. This recipe fills a 1-quart jar with zucchini or summer squash pickles. For larger quantities, increase the ingredients proportionately based on the number of quart jars you plan to fill.
- 6 to 8 baby zucchini or summer squash, or larger zucchini, sliced lengthwise or crosswise to fit into the quart-jar
- ½ teaspoon Kosher salt
- ¼ teaspoon cayenne pepper
- 3 fresh basil leaves
- Fresh hot red pepper such as Fresno or Thai chilies, optional
- ½ cup white vinegar
- ½ cup water
- 2 teaspoons extra virgin olive oil
- 2 cloves garlic, sliced lengthwise
- Equipment for quick-pickling: any boil-proof glass jar with a lid.
- Wash the zucchini very well in cold running water, using a soft brush or cloth to remove any grit without damaging the skin. If the squash are 3 to 5 inches, use them whole. Slice off any brown coloring at the bulbous end. Trim the stem end slightly to make each the same length but leave it intact. If using larger zucchini, cut them in half lengthwise to fit into the jar or slice them into coins. Pack them snugly into quart jars to about 1 ¼ inch from the rim. Add the salt and cayenne pepper. Slip in the garlic slices, basil leaves, and hot red pepper, if using.
- Combine the vinegar and water in a stainless steel or other non-reactive pot and heat to a boil.
- Pour the boiling hot vinegar-water mixture over the zucchini to 1 inch from the rim. Seal the jar with its lid or cap. When the jar has cooled completely, store the jar in the refrigerator. The pickles are ready to eat in about 3 days. They can be kept, chilled, for up to a week.
Variation for long-term pickling:
Use proper quart-size glass canning jars with screw tops with vacuum lids appropriate for safe pickling. Discard any jars that are chipped. Fill them as for quick-pickling and bring the vinegar and water mixture to a boil. Pour the boiling hot mixture over the zucchini to 1 inch from the rim. In a tall pot, preferably a canning kettle, boil enough water to cover the jar. Cap the jars and do not over-tighten. You want the hot air to escape but you do not want water to enter the jar. Place the jar in the pot and bring to a boil and simmer for 10 minutes. Remove jars to a rack, cover with a towel to protect it from drafts. In about an hour when the jars cool you will hear the lids click as they seal. Tighten the rings and store. If the lids do not seal, keep the pickles in the fridge for up to a week.
Main photo: Baby Zucchini Quick-Pickles, “The Vegetable Chronicles,” by Julia della Croce. Credit: Nathan Hoyt
La Vie en Rose: Bitter brews, perfunctory pâtés, questionable quiches, insipid salads and tepid tarts? Has the Parisian cafe lost its culinary luster? Well, yes and no, but from my hard-core cafe-lover’s point of view, it really doesn’t matter!
Yes, Paris’ fall as the world capital of fine dinning and its efforts to revive are well-documented. The most recent, and fairly gloomy, report is by Mark Bittman in his July 22 New York Times piece, “French Food Goes Down.” Bittman is a bit late to the funeral. The media discourse on French gastronomy has brightened of late, and Nicholas Lander’s April 25 column in London’s Financial Times has even hinted at a renaissance of fine dining in Paris.
In any case, fine French food — dead, alive or somewhere in between — has never been the draw of the Parisian cafe.
Joie de Starbucks
It’s true that traditional cafes in Paris, and France generally, are closing in growing numbers. Young cafe-going Parisians and tourists, if not older, die-hard loyalists, are opting for food-trendy, Internet-friendly (Wi-Fi gratuit or free Wi-Fi) alternatives. These include, incredulously, American fast food and coffee chains like MacDonald’s and Starbucks.
Most traditional Parisian cafe owners would rather close up shop than give out their Wi-Fi (pronounced whiff-ee) passwords. Or so it seems. Last summer, I had to swallow my pride (and their “handcrafted’ lattes) and head to Starbucks to access a signal. I was conducting an online interview with Leonard Pitt, the Berkeley-based author of “Walks Through Lost Paris” (Shoemaker and Hoard, 2006), a fascinating visual guide to Baron Haussmann’s architectural transformation of 19th-century Paris.
Pitt responded from his computer at the cafe in Berkeley, California’s French Hotel, across the street from Cali/Frenchie Chez Panisse. Working from my computer at Starbucks Odéon, the irony seemed absurd and a little painful. Pitt is a passionate proponent of a cafe-centric lifestyle over the work-ethic culture of Puritan-influenced America. “Nothing better symbolizes,” writes Pitt, “the congeniality, the rhythm and sheer joie de vivre we ache to recapture in life than the cafe.”
Well put, Pitt! But one man’s joie de vivre is another man’s (or woman’s) morning coffee ritual, writing studio, business office, evening gathering spot or flâneurian observation post. And often, all the above and more. The Parisian cafe is more than the sum of its parts.
Our Café French™ lesson today is based on my cafe-centric stay this June in the heart of Paris’ cafe-rich 6th Arrondissement — a perfect location for reflections on the traditional cafe’s basic functions. (See “Parisian Café Index” illustration.)
Wake up (se réveiller) and smell the coffee
When I go to a cafe to wake up with a café crème, the least important criteria for me is the coffee’s origin, quality or, I confess, taste. My critical connoisseur’s brain is still asleep even if my legs can get me there. So, I began each day at cafes within a few minutes walk of my apartment on rue Madame, mostly at my café du coin (corner cafe), Café Madame. There is nothing exceptional about Café Madame — they serve a typical petit déjeuner (decent coffee, acceptable croissant or buttered tartine, reasonably fresh orange juice) — except its convenient location.
After my morning coffee and a short stroll through the nearby Luxembourg gardens, I would arrive back at my apartment awake and ready for work — reading, writing and sketching — before heading out again to another cafe for lunch and more work.
Working (travailler): reading (lire), writing (écrire), sketching (faire des croquis)
Any cafe can be a working cafe, depending on one’s personal requirements. Kaaren Kitchell, an ex-pat novelist, poet and “Paris Play” blogger combines her daily one-hour walk with her writing and editing projects, so her cafe must be at least a 30-minute walk from home. Her other criteria include a quiet ambiance and, ergo, few tourists. “The French know how to modulate their voices,” says Kitchell, “Americans and Italians don’t.”
Chacun à son café! Ex-pat Paris author, tour guide and bon vivant, Terrance Gelenter, prefers to work in crowded and noisy icons, like Café de Flore. Every Sunday from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m., Gelenter holds “office hours” on the ever-popular terrace for his tour clients and visiting Anglophone writers, artists and musicians. His newsletter, “Paris Through Expatriate Eyes,” offers restaurant and hotel reviews, travel tips and a calendar of arts events.
La Vie en Rose
One in a series of graphic explorations of French language, food and culture
Where better than at a cafe to talk? The cafe inhabits a middle world between public and private space, unlike bistros and brasseries, where spirited talking inter-table is welcome, if not required. For the 19th-century Impressionists who broke from the stifling restraints of the Academy, the cafe became a salon where they could engage in debates over aesthetic issues (with the help of addictive amounts of absinthe).
One artist, however, presents an amusingly downbeat view of the cafe’s talking function. That would be the legendary Marcel Duchamp, as quoted in “Marcel Duchamp: The Afternoon Interviews” by Calvin Tomkins:
“In the case of the Impressionists it could be a very useful thing — one artist would say a word that caught the imagination of the others, that’s true. But it’s a very, very artificial thing … full of new words and flourishing language and so forth, but no actual exchange and no understanding of the other one’s ideas.”
The inscrutable, tight-lipped Duchamp famously abandoned art and art talk when, in mid-career, he withdrew into the silence of chess competition. Which brings us to our final, nonverbal, cafe functions.
Watching (observer) and resting/napping (se reposer/sommeiller)
Much has been written about the cafe’s observational function. It’s as if the cafe, invented in 16th-century Istanbul, was destined for “… the eminently Parisian compromise between laziness and activity known as flânerie!” as 19th-century playwright Victorien Sardou was quoted in Edmund White’s book “The Flâneur.”
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As for resting in cafes, it’s a touristic necessity after days filled with shopping and sightseeing. But napping? Well, I admit it’s a conceptual stretch. Nevertheless, while sketching one afternoon at Les Deux Magots toward the end of my summer cafe immersion, I drew three tables pushed together with a man sleeping on top. A visual punchline for my illustration of the cafe’s functions. Come to think of it, for us older, diehard cafe loyalists in search of that elusive joie de vivre — or, at least, an occasional afternoon nap — it’s not a bad idea.
Main illustration: The basic functional modes of the Parisian café. Credit: L. John Harris
The next time you bite into a peach and experience a burst of juicy flavor that threatens to dribble down your chin, you might owe Dr. Stanley Johnston a note of thanks. Chances are you are eating a Redhaven, the most widely planted peach variety in the world. It was developed by Johnston during his long career at Michigan State University’s South Haven Experiment Station, beginning in the early 1920s.
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Even though Michigan’s production pales in comparison to leading peach-producing states like California, South Carolina and Georgia, the Mitten State gets to claim Johnston as its hometown hero. He dedicated his life to creating fruit varieties that would thrive in Michigan’s perfect conditions, including the Redhaven peach and his namesake, the Stanley blueberry, and his legacy can be found all around the world.
While there are hundreds of varieties of peaches, Johnston’s best-known creation was a series of eight different Haven peaches, and the Redhaven variety is the most famous of all. So it is fair to say he’s responsible for years of wonderful pies, cobblers, sundaes and sauces, all served up during peak peach and blueberry season.
Professional chefs and home cooks alike have long known that the brilliantly colored Redhaven is ideal for baking, canning or freezing. But what exactly makes the Redhaven an all-time favorite? It is that perfect combination of intensely pure peach flavor all wrapped up in a nearly fuzzless globe of juicy smooth texture. It is the quintessential peach.
When I’m within reach of a farmer’s stand, I almost always opt for white peach heritage varieties that smell, taste and look the part of a season-ripe and ready delicate fruit. But I’m also willing to admit that it’s hard to beat Johnston’s classic Redhaven if you’re after really “peachy” punch.
This summer, I decided to celebrate Johnston’s contributions to summer fare by grilling a slab of pork ribs and slathering them in a spicy peach and blueberry grilling sauce. I can also attest that the sauce’s deep rich, sweet and spicy flavor is just as good over grilled chicken. If you want to join me, pick a peck of peaches and a couple pints of blueberries and let’s get the party started – just don’t forget to thank Dr. Johnston.
- ½ pound fresh blueberries
- ½ pound fresh peaches, skins removed
- ½ large onion, roughly chopped
- Juice of 1 lemon
- 2 cloves garlic
- 2 tablespoons olive oil
- ½ cup dark brown sugar
- ½ cup cider vinegar
- ½ cup Worcestershire sauce
- 2 tablespoons tomato paste
- 2 chipotle chiles in adobo (canned variety)
- ½ teaspoon salt
- Place all ingredients in food processor or high-powered blender and process until sauce is a smooth consistency, about 3-5 minutes.
- Transfer to a small saucepan and heat over a medium flame until the sauce reaches a boiling point, reduce and simmer for 30 minutes.
- The sauce can be prepared up to one week in advance but must be refrigerated until needed.
Main photo: Pork ribs with Spicy Blueberry and Peach Grilling Sauce. Credit: Caroline J. Beck
Say the word Malibu, and visions of bikini-clad women, surfer dudes and movie stars’ homes typically come to mind.
Now you can add vineyards with a view to the list of Malibu, Calif., attractions.
This month, the tony area will receive its Malibu Coast American Viticultural Area (AVA) classification, a process that took three years.
Malibu’s wine history begins in 1800s
“Now that we have a Malibu AVA, it gives us a sense of place and validates that we have a specific geographic area and we can reunite our group with a wine-growing history that goes back to 200 years,” said Elliott Dolin, proprietor of Dolin Malibu Estate Vineyards.
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Vineyards in the Malibu area were first planted by the Tapia family in the 1820s. “Between Prohibition and fires, the vineyards disappeared,” Dolin said.
Malibu’s viticultural history was revived in the mid-1980s by Santa Monica restaurateur Michael McCarty, who launched The Malibu Vineyards, and Los Angeles businessman George Rosenthal, who produced the eponymous label at his Malibu Newton Canyon vineyard. They were later joined by Ronnie Semler with his Malibu Family Wines at Saddle Rock Ranch.
Now Dolin is among 52 Malibu-based vintners farming wine grapes in California’s newly established AVA, which is comprised mainly of the Santa Monica Mountains. Some 198 acres of vineyards are planted with Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, Syrah and Chardonnay. The appellation is 46 miles long and 8 miles wide, with elevations ranging from sea level to 3,111 feet atop Sandstone Peak. The two previously established minuscule appellations of Saddle Rock-Malibu and Malibu-Newton Canyon now come under the larger Malibu Coast AVA. About 30 wine labels are produced by the 52 growers.
But for tourists looking to visit wineries and tasting rooms, you’re out of luck. Because of state and county restrictions, Malibu does not have wine-production facilities with tasting rooms in the AVA. All the vintners custom crush their grapes in various Central Coast locations, and wines are sold through mailing lists and at retail stores and restaurants.
However, I discovered two places to savor local wines — Rosenthal Wine Bar & Patio on Pacific Coast Highway and Cornell Winery Tasting Room in Agoura. (Cornell is not an actual winery, but a wine bar and retail shop).
Perched on the western boundary above the Pacific Ocean, the Dolin estate is a seagull’s flight from Zuma Beach and sits on Zuma Mesa. The volcanic soil was called Zuma, hence the name of the beach, Dolin said.
Standing on the terrace of his Mediterranean-style villa, Dolin pointed to six other small vineyards around his property. The coastal weather is ideal for wine grapes. “We have cool fog in the morning, warm days and it’s cool in the evening,” he noted.
A native New Yorker, Dolin joined the Nashville music scene (he played electric guitar) and then turned to real estate development. He was introduced to fine wines through a dedicated wine group in Los Angeles and developed a love for Bordeaux and California reds. He and his wife, Lynn, purchased their 2-acre ocean-view property in 2001 and planted the vineyard in 2006. The Dolins hired Bob Tobias as their vineyard adviser, and he suggested a Chardonnay planting with the Dijon 96 clone.
Why a Chardonnay vineyard for a red-wine aficionado, I ask?
“Our best chance for quality fruit was Chardonnay, so decision was terroir-driven, not taste-driven,” Dolin said.
The first release in 2009 was made by Dolin himself at a custom crush facility in Camarillo. In 2010, Kirby Anderson — the former head winemaker at Gainey Vineyard — came on board as the winemaker, winning the Chardonnay a double gold in the San Francisco Chronicle’s wine competition. Currently the wines are produced at a custom crush in San Luis Obispo.
It’s a gorgeous Malibu afternoon, with clear skies, a gentle breeze caressing the vines planted just below the villa’s scenic terrace and the ocean in the distance. We savor the lush, round-mouth feel of the 2011 Chardonnay, which clearly says “California Chardonnay.” Barrel-aged for 13 months, the wine shows balance of fruit and acidity with oak playing a supporting role.
With his passion for reds, Dolin is expanding his 2014 portfolio, sourcing Central Coast Pinot Noir from such prestigious vineyards as Talley’s Rincon, Solomon Hills and Bien Nacido. We had a preview of this portfolio, tasting a salmon-hued 2103 Roséproduced from Central Coast Pinot Noir.
I later met with Jim Palmer of Malibu Vineyards at Cornell Winery. This not a winery but a retail shop and tasting room that specializes in Malibu labels plus wines made by small producers from Temecula to Monterey. It’s tucked away in the Santa Monica Mountains in the hamlet of Cornell.
The tasting room is adjacent to the popular eatery The Old Place, which was once the Cornell post office. A throwback to the Old West that has served as a backdrop to several Hollywood productions, this tiny oasis is wedged between Malibu and Agoura along Mulholland Highway and was part of the old stagecoach route, Palmer said.
In the mid-1990s, Palmer purchased his 4-acre Decker Canyon property 3 miles from the coast. Perched at an elevation of 1,500 feet, the vineyard is planted with Sangiovese, Cabernet Franc, Cabernet Sauvignon, Syrah and Merlot. His first vintage, a Syrah, was launched in 2003, and currently his annual production is a mere 400 cases.
Palmer poured the 2010 Sangiovese Vortex, a Super Tuscan-style Sangiovese blended with Merlot and Cabernet Franc — a sublime wine with balanced acidity and traces of cherry fruit. The fruit-forward style 2010 Syrah showed a hint of spice.
An accountant by profession, Palmer calls his wine business a one-man show. “By doing that, I can control all aspects of winemaking,” he said. “I also sell my own wine.”
Malibu may be renowned as a beach retreat for movie stars and billionaires, but it’s also gaining recognition for vintners growing grapes on small patches of vineyards and crafting very good wines.
Main photo: A selection of Malibu wines sold at the Cornell wine shop and tasting room. Credit: Mira Honeycutt
Think of the platter as a palette, and your vegetables as swaths of paint that fill in the color of the canvas. This is what every August provides as our tomato plants and other garden vegetables are going crazy and this means we should be thinking colorful salads.
This is both an appetizing and beautiful way to present what usually becomes an accompaniment to grilled foods. Salads of heirloom tomatoes are a favorite this time of year. But remember there are lots of heirloom cultivars besides tomatoes such as purple cauliflower or yellow sweet peppers. And don’t ignore the non-heirloom tomatoes such as Big Boys or Early Girls because they have their uses too.
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There are heirloom varieties of all vegetables, not just tomatoes, and there are plenty of hybrid accidents too. Colored varieties of cauliflower such as the purple one here called Graffiti are not genetically engineered but rather a blend of heirloom varieties, or naturally occurring accidents or hybrids grown from them. Purple cauliflower gets its color from anthocyanins, the antioxidant also found in red wine. It has a sweeter and nuttier taste than white cauliflower. The yellow sweet pepper called for below is usually the yellow version of the cultivar known as cubanelle, but use any yellow pepper you find.
The great thing about summer salads is that they are easily prepared since you’ll be letting the natural flavors and juices of the vegetables themselves tell the story rather than relying on a heavy load of seasoning or dressing. They can also be grilled first if you like and then served at room temperature later.
These platters of vegetables don’t really require recipes, although I do provide them as you could just assemble them following the photos and your inspiration. See the photographs for an idea of how they should look on the platter.
Mussel and Tomato Salad
Cultivated mussels are sold today already cleaned. You can save further time by hard-boiling and cooking the green beans at the same time in the same pot. This salad stands alone but can also accompany simple pasta or grilled meat.
Prep Time: 10 minutes
Cook Time: 10 minutes
Total Time: 20 minutes
Yield: 4 to 6 servings
2 large eggs
16 green beans, trimmed and cut in ½-inch pieces
2 pounds mussels, debearded and rinsed
6 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
Juice of 1 lemon
1 garlic clove, finely chopped
Salt to taste
10 ripe but firm cherry tomatoes
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
4 salted anchovy fillets, rinsed (optional)
1. Bring a saucepan of water to a boil over high heat, then hard boil the eggs for exactly 10 minutes. After the water has been boiling for 3 minutes with the eggs, add the green beans, and drain both the eggs and green beans together at the 10 minute mark. Plunge the eggs into ice water and shell the eggs once they are cool and quarter lengthwise.
2. In a large pot with about ½ inch of water, steam the mussels over high heat until they open, about 5 minutes. Discard any mussels that remain firmly shut. Remove and set aside.
3. Meanwhile, in a small bowl, whisk together the olive oil, lemon juice, garlic, and salt to taste.
4. Put the tomatoes in a serving platter. Remove all but 8 of the mussels from their shells and scatter them over the tomatoes, tossing a bit. Scatter the green beans around the tomatoes. Sprinkle with the black pepper and pour on half of the dressing. Garnish the edge of the platter with the egg quarters and mussels in their shell. Place the anchovies, if desired, in the center of the platter, making two X shapes, and pour the remaining dressing on top. Serve immediately or within 2 hours, but do not refrigerate.
Tomatoes, Eggplant and Ricotta Salad
Prep Time: 5 minutes
Cook Time: 15 minutes
Total Time: 20 minutes
Yield: 6 servings
Olive oil for frying
One 1-pound eggplant, cut into ½-inch slices
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1½ teaspoons red wine vinegar
1 garlic clove, very finely chopped
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
2 large tomatoes (about 1¼ pounds), sliced into rounds
½ pound fresh ricotta cheese
12 fresh basil leaves
1. Preheat the frying oil in a deep fryer or an 8-inch saucepan fitted with a basket insert to 375 degrees F.
2. Cook, turning once, the eggplant slices until golden brown, about 7 minutes. Remove and set aside to drain on a paper towel covered platter until cool.
3. In a small bowl or glass, whisk together the olive oil, vinegar, garlic, salt, and pepper.
4. Arrange the tomatoes in a shallow serving bowl or on a platter and arrange the eggplant arrange them. Drizzle the dressing over the vegetables and then garnish with dollops if ricotta cheese and basil leaves. Serve at room temperature.
Purple Cauliflower, Yellow Sweet Pepper, Tomato Salad
Prep Time: 10 minutes
Cook Time: 20 minutes
Total Time: 30 minutes
Yield: 4 to 6 servings
1½-pound head of purple cauliflower, trimmed
2 large and fleshy yellow sweet peppers (cubanelle)
4 ripe tomatoes, cut into wedges
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1½ teaspoons white wine vinegar
1 garlic clove, very finely chopped garlic
Salt and fresh ground black pepper to taste
8 fresh basil leaves
1. Bring a large pot of water to a boil over high heat then place the whole cauliflower in so the florets are not covered with water and will only steam. If they are submerged you will lose the beautiful purple color. Cook until a skewer can be pushed through the stem with a little resistance, about 10 minutes. Remove the cauliflower carefully so it doesn’t bread and set aside to cool. Cut off the largest and hardest part of the stem and discard.
2. Meanwhile, place the peppers on a wire rack over a burner on high heat and roast until their skins blister black on all sides, turning occasionally with tongs. Remove the peppers and place in a paper or heavy plastic bag to steam for 20 minutes, which will make them easier to peel. When cool enough to handle, rub off as much blackened peel as you can and remove the seeds by rubbing with a paper towel (to avoid washing away flavorful juices) or by rinsing under running water (to remove more easily).
3. Arrange the cauliflower in the center of a platter and surround with the roasted peppers and tomatoes. Drizzle with the olive oil, vinegar and garlic. Season with salt and pepper and garnish with basil leaves and serve at room temperature.
Main photo: Purple Cauliflower, Yellow Sweet Pepper and Tomato Salad. Credit: Clifford A. Wright
In the outermost reaches of southwestern India, the soundtrack of summer has a deeper bass and a heavier beat than the rest of the year. The sun shines down with all its might and glory, and we reach for cool summer drinks.
The best thirst quencher is of, course, water; nothing hydrates like water. Growing up in southern India, we drank water stored in unglazed earthen pots, which cooled the water amazingly well. Sometimes, the water was delicately flavored with the fragrance of cleaned roots of raamacham (Chrysopogon zizanioids), a perennial grass native to India.
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When it comes to summer drinks, the top five south Indian favorites are tangy sambharam with a hint of chili, sweet paanakam flavored with ginger and cardamom, homemade lemonade, freshly squeezed sugarcane juice and fresh green coconuts filled with sweet coconut water. Living in Texas, the 100 degree-plus summer temperatures often make me crave these refreshingly cool libations. Luckily, sambharam and paanakam are easy to prepare with a few readily available ingredients.
When the thermometer hits triple digits, do you automatically reach for a soda? The next time you are tempted to drink a soda, read the label. They are loaded with sugars and artificial food colors and flavors. When you are planning a summer gathering, try one of these delicious summer drinks from India.
Summertime conjures up memories of big pots of sambharam, home-churned buttermilk spiced with green chilies, fresh ginger, curry leaves, lemon leaves and coriander leaves, kept in the open veranda of my ancestral home. The sight of this big pot was a welcome sign to those who walked by to stop and get a glass of this cool refreshing summer drink.
Buttermilk is the liquid left behind after churning fermented milk to make butter. Before the widespread industrialization of the dairy industry, most butter in India was made by mixing boiled and cooled milk with yogurt culture and allowing it to sit overnight to ferment. During those unrefrigerated hours, the added yogurt culture caused the microorganisms in the milk to sour slightly, taking on a nutty tanginess. This fermented milk was then churned to separate the butter from the buttermilk. Drinking tangy buttermilk helps to lower the body temperature and keeps the body cool and revitalized. Salty, tangy and spicy, this drink is a sure energy booster.
Back home, sambharam is prepared with slightly sour buttermilk. Homemade yogurt and buttermilk always taste fresher. They do not contain any thickeners or preservatives. Plain yogurt also makes good sambharam.
Prep Time: 10 minutes
Total Time: 12 minutes
Yield: 6 servings
2 cups plain yogurt or 3 cups buttermilk
Salt to taste
4 cups ice-cold water
1 or 2 fresh green chilies (serrano or Thai) (less for a milder taste)
3 tablespoons fresh lemon or lime leaves, thinly sliced (if available)
½ cup fresh curry leaves
1 teaspoon fresh ginger, grated
2 teaspoons very finely chopped fresh coriander leaves
1. Combine the yogurt, salt and water in a blender, and mix well. If using buttermilk, reduce the quantity of water.
2. Pour into a pitcher.
3. Cut the green chilies lengthwise and then into thin strips. (If you prefer the drink mild, reduce or eliminate the green chilies.)
4. Stir in the green chilies, lime or lemon leaves, curry leaves and grated ginger.
5. Garnish with finely chopped cilantro leaves. Usually this drink is not strained; it is served with all the added ingredients. If you prefer, refrigerate it for an hour and strain before serving.
Another cool drink perfect for the scorching heat of August is paanakam. This ginger and cardamom-flavored drink is sweetened with jaggery (Indian unrefined brown sugar), known for its digestive and cooling properties. Paanakam is usually served as an offering to the gods during Hindu religious rituals and festivities. Although considered a celestial favorite, it is also a refreshing, cool drink on a hot summer day anywhere in the world. Some traditional recipes include flavorings such as sandalwood and the fragrant root raamacham. It tastes quite delicious even when these ingredients are substituted with crushed cardamom. It is also very easy to make. Use as much jaggery and spices as your prefer. For me, the perfect Paanakam is one that has a kick of ginger and a hint of cardamom.
Prep Time: 15 minutes
Total Time: 20 minutes
Yield: 6 servings
1¼ cups jaggery or brown sugar
1 pitcher cold water
1 teaspoon ground cardamom seeds
1 teaspoon ginger powder
3 tablespoons of fresh lemon juice
1. Heat the jaggery/ brown sugar and one cup of water till the sugar is dissolved.
2. After it has cooled down, pour into the cold water and stir well.
3. If using jaggery, strain the liquid through a fine-meshed strainer.
4. Sprinkle cardamom powder and ginger powder. Add lemon juice and stir well.
5. Chill in the refrigerator. Serve over crushed ice cubes for a cool, refreshing drink.
Main photo: Sambharam and paanakam make for cool summer drinks. Credit: R.V. Ramachandran
A little lavender goes a long way in the kitchen. But use too much and that floral essence you love from one of the world’s most versatile culinary herbs might turn a dish to something as welcome as a perfume-soaked Chatty Cathy on a long-haul flight.
Below are seven ways to use lavender in a manner that will enhance, not overpower.
Preparing the flowers
A member of the mint family, lavender grows in upright, evergreen shrubs that might reach as tall as 3 feet and as wide as 4 feet. The bushes are fragrant on their own, but summer is when lavender stems shoot up, blossoming in tight, brilliantly purple flowers. These flowers will produce the most pungent and aromatic additions to your experiments in the kitchen, lending a perfume that mingles well with the flavors of the season.
Now is the time to let your dreams of cottage life in Provence come to life, no matter where you live. If you have access to one of the many wonderful lavender farms popping up in the United States, such as Hill Country Lavender in Blanco, Texas, Los Poblanos Historic Inn & Organic Farm near Albuquerque, N.M., or the English Lavender Farm in Applegate, Ore., you can pick your own. Better yet, you might be growing it in your backyard. Note: If you buy lavender from a farm for culinary use, be sure to ask whether it was grown with pesticides. You don’t want to eat it if it was grown using pesticides.
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If you grow lavender, here’s the steps to preparing the flowers:
- Harvest the lavender. The blossoms are ready when the brilliant purple flowers have emerged and have not yet begun to wilt. If you are cutting lavender yourself, cut the stalks a few inches above the plant’s woody growth and gather the lavender into a bunch. Tie it together.
- Dry the lavender. At this point, you can use it fresh, or you can hang it up or lay it flat to dry it. Note: If you are cooking with fresh lavender, use three times the number of flowers as in a dried lavender recipe.
- De-stem the lavender. You can use the whole stalk in cooking, but many people prefer to remove the flowers from the stalk and store them separately.
- Store it well. Store lavender in an airtight container in a cool, dark place. A Mason jar is a good choice.
7 ideas for eating and drinking your lavender
Lavender works a lot like rosemary — a little can create a great perfume. But just as with all scents, too much can overpower. Use it sparingly, and adjust the amount of lavender according to your specific palate.
Take a stick (½ pound) of room-temperature butter and top it with a tablespoon of dried, ground (if desired) lavender. Mix the lavender and butter together in a bowl. Chill it for a few days to let the lavender flavor develop. Use it with honey atop your favorite biscuit, scone or other baked good.
Use about 1 tablespoon dried lavender for every 2 cups of sugar. Grind the lavender in a food processor for about 15 seconds to develop the lavender flavor. Add a cup of granulated sugar to the process and blend well, about three or four quick presses on a Cuisinart. Store the lavender sugar in an airtight container such as a Mason jar and use it in all of your favorite sweet baking recipes that call for sugar.
Using a funnel, drop about a ¼ cup lavender flowers into a bottle of your favorite vodka. Take out the funnel and close the bottle. Shake, so the flowers mix throughout. Store in the freezer for three days. Strain the vodka into a separate container, using a fine-mesh sieve, a cheesecloth or a paper towel. Squeeze the bundle with the flowers in it to extract as much lavender flavor as possible. Pour the vodka back in the bottle and store in your freezer for use in a lavender vodka tonic with a splash of lime.
Lavender balsamic vinaigrette
Lavender can add a quick, floral kick to any basic vinaigrette recipe. In vinaigrette recipes calling for a combination of balsamic vinegar, oil, honey and ground pepper, add 1 tablespoon of fresh lavender (or a third of that of dried) for every 1½ cups of vinaigrette.
Create a rub for roasted chicken using about a tablespoon lemon juice, 1 teaspoon lemon zest, 1½ tablespoons dried lavender, 1 teaspoon dried thyme, 1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil and 1 tablespoon honey.
Lavender and blueberry anything
Lavender and blueberry are fast friends, and in many parts of the country appear at the same time. Try putting lavender sugar into your favorite blueberry cobbler at the height of the season, bake some lavender directly into blueberry lavender scones, or infuse some milk with lavender and pour it atop fresh blueberries. About half a teaspoon of lavender is usually a good fit with a pint of fruit.
Salmon and lavender
Create a rub of lime zest and lime juice from two limes, ½ teaspoon thyme, ½ teaspoon dried lavender, 1 teaspoon pepper, 1 teaspoon sea salt and 1 to 2 tablespoons olive oil. Rub the seasoning mix on salmon fillets and bake as you would in your favorite salmon recipe.
Main photo: Lavender is ready for harvest when most of its brilliant purple flowers have emerged. Credit: Emily Grosvenor
In the summer of 1968, I was introduced to the secrets of Mexican cooking. At that time Mexican food was not something you knew or thought much about if, like me, you were a Jewish American princess from Connecticut. I had tasted tacos on an Acapulco beach while on vacation with friends in 1963, and had never forgotten them, but I didn’t know what it was that made them taste so good.
Five years later I was a socially active high school graduate who also happened to have a curious palate. I spent that summer working with migrant farm workers from South Texas as a camper-volunteer at an American Friends Service Committee Quaker youth work camp in Central Michigan. Our group had been assigned to help with a housing grant for migrant farm workers who wanted to relocate to Michigan and work in the auto industry. But at the last minute the money did not come through, so when we arrived the counselors had to find something for us to do. Instead of building houses we became, in essence, social workers and activity planners for the children who lived in the migrant camps. We created a little school for the younger children to attend during the day while their parents worked in the fields, and every night we’d visit the camps and organize activities like baseball games and dances.
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I became close to a few of the families. I got to know the kids well and spent time with the parents. One woman in particular, Señora Saenz, a large woman who had 10 children, took a liking to me. I visited the Saenz family every night in their little cabin, which smelled pleasantly of cumin and chili. Here, in the Saenzes’ one-room cabin, I realized that those two spices were the key to my long-ago taste memory from Acapulco.
I had developed a passion for cooking the previous summer, and at the Quaker work camp I took over in the kitchen early on, cooking feverishly for the group of 24 every night. I wrote to my stepmother, requesting that she send casserole recipes, and she hastily dispatched a sheaf of index cards. I had a huge kitchen to work in, but I had to pull off the recipes using pretty awful ingredients: USDA surplus items, standard issue for welfare recipients.
A lesson in cooking Mexican food
One day when I was visiting Señora Saenz, I asked if she and her older daughters would teach me to cook Mexican food. I offered to teach them how to make a cake in exchange, although I knew nothing about baking beyond cake mixes. The family was enthusiastic, and the next evening when I arrived at the camp they had all the ingredients ready for beef tacos and enchiladas — chili and cumin, onion and ground beef, corn tortillas and oil, tomatoes, tomato sauce, cheese and chilies.
Mrs. Saenz showed me how to heat the oil in a frying pan and sizzle the cumin and chili powder before adding the onions and browning the meat to make picadillo. Once the meat was cooked, she showed me how to season and soften the tortillas in cumin- and chili powder-spiked oil before making enchiladas. Then she showed me how to make a red sauce for enchiladas. We made some quick tacos with the beef picadillo and shredded cabbage, then we made enchiladas. Afterward I opened my box of cake mix, added what needed to be added and baked a cake, which we finished with white frosting from the box. In retrospect, I am sure that Mrs. Saenz and her daughters probably knew how to make cake from scratch, but nobody said anything about it.
At the end of the summer when I went home, one of the first things I did was give a Mexican dinner party for my friends. I scoured the markets in Westport, Conn., looking for corn tortillas. It was a challenge (it would be another two decades before decent Mexican food or even Tex-Mex was accessible beyond the border states). I finally found them – corn tortillas packed in a flat yellow can — in the exotic foods section of the local supermarket. I wonder how long they’d been there. Who was making Mexican food in Connecticut in 1968? I made exactly what Señora Saenz had taught me to cook — tacos and enchiladas. My friends loved the meal.
I had no idea then that, five years later, I would decide to make a career of cooking. By then I was living in Texas and had spent quite a lot of time in Mexico. I was also now a vegetarian and no longer made the beef picadillo I had learned to make in Michigan. But when I made enchiladas or refried beans I still used the techniques I had learned from Señora Saenz – sizzling the spices in oil before adding other ingredients and seasoning the oil for the tortillas with cumin and chili powder. That’s why I was able to develop my first signature dish, Black Bean Enchiladas, and that’s why they were so good.
Refried Bean Tostadas
Prep time: About 30 minutes
Cook time: 2 hours unsupervised cooking for the beans; 15 minutes for the refried beans
Total time: 3 hours (2 hours unsupervised)
Yield: 4 servings
For the beans:
½ pound (about 1⅛ cups) black beans, pinto beans, or similar heirlooms, washed and picked over for stones, soaked for at least 4 hours or overnight in 1 quart water
1 medium onion, cut in half
2 large garlic cloves, minced
¼ cup chopped cilantro
Salt to taste (I think beans need a lot, at least 1 teaspoon per quart of water used)
1. Place beans and soaking water into a large, heavy pot. Add halved onion and bring to a gentle boil. Skim off any foam that rises, then add garlic and half the cilantro, reduce heat, cover and simmer 30 minutes.
2. Add salt and continue to simmer another 1 to 1½ hours, until beans are quite soft and broth is thick and fragrant. Taste and adjust salt. Stir in remaining cilantro. Using tongs or a slotted spoon, remove and discard onion. For the best flavor, refrigerate overnight.
For the tostadas:
The simmered beans, above
2 tablespoons grape-seed, sunflower or canola oil
1 tablespoon cumin seeds, lightly toasted and ground
2 teaspoons mild chili powder
8 corn tortillas
¾ pound ripe tomatoes, finely chopped
1 to 2 serrano or jalapeño chilies (to taste), minced
2 slices red or white onion, finely chopped and soaked for 5 minutes in water to cover, then drained, rinsed, and drained on paper towels
¼ cup chopped cilantro (more to taste)
Fresh lime juice and salt to taste
2 cups shredded cabbage
2 small or 1 large, ripe avocado, diced or sliced
¼ cup chopped toasted almonds
About 3 ounces (¾ cup) queso fresco for crumbling
1. Drain off about ½ cup of liquid from the beans, retaining it in a separate bowl to use later for moistening the beans should they dry out. Heat the oil over medium-high heat in a large, heavy nonstick frying pan and add the ground cumin and chili. Cook, stirring over medium heat, for about a minute, until the spices begin to sizzle and cook. Add the beans. Fry the beans, stirring and mashing with the back of a spoon, potato masher or a wooden pestle until they thicken and begin to get crusty on the bottom. Stir up the crust each time it forms, and mix into the beans. Cook until the beans are thick but not dry, 10 to 15 minutes. They will continue to thicken and dry out when you remove them from the heat. Add liquid you saved from the beans if they seem too dry, but save some of the liquid for moistening the beans before you reheat them, if you are serving them later. Taste the refried beans and adjust the salt (they probably won’t need any as the broth reduces when you refry them).
2. Cut the tortillas in half. To toast in the microwave, place as many as will fit in a single layer and cook for 1 minute. The tortillas will be moist on the bottom. Flip them over and microwave for another minute. If they are not yet crisp, flip again and zap for 30 seconds to a minute. Alternatively, deep-fry the tortillas in sunflower oil or grape-seed oil until crisp and drain on paper towels.
3. In a medium bowl, combine the tomatoes, chilies, onion and cilantro. Season to taste with salt. Stir in the lime juice if using. Let sit for 15 to 30 minutes for the best flavor.
4. Spread a layer of refried beans (about 2 tablespoons) over each tortilla half. Top with cabbage. Spoon salsa over the cabbage and top with sliced or diced avocado, a sprinkling of chopped toasted almonds and a sprinkling of queso fresco.
Advance preparation: The refried beans will keep for 3 to 4 days in the refrigerator. Set aside in the pan if you are serving within a few hours. Otherwise, transfer the beans to a lightly oiled baking dish, cover and refrigerate. To reheat, cover with foil and bake in a 325 F oven for 20 minutes.
Main photo: Black Bean Tostadas. Credit: Martha Rose Shulman