Vacationing and I'm Airborne

I will be out of town for a little over a week. Brian and I will be visiting his parents, and mucking about in LA. But have no fear dear reader, there are new and exciting things for you to listen to while I'm away. You might have noticed that my Menu page has grown. It now includes two new links, Listen to the Noshcast, as well as The Love Theme from Nosheteria.



I have recently starting podcasting, hence the Noshcast. Those of you with an iPod can download my weekly podcasts from the iTunes directory. Look under the food category for the Nosheteria Podcast. For those people without an iPod, or iTunes, you can click on the Listen to the Noshcast on this site, or my feed can be added to other podcasts you may already subscribe to by grabbing the xml file at the bottom of this page. Whew, allow me a moment to collect myself after geeking out.

When you listen to the podcast you might hear a little snippet of music, this is the abridged version of The Love Theme from Nosheteria. Arranged by my equally geeky, but always delightful, husband Brian, it an adaptation of the 70's disco classic, Everbody Wants to be Bourgie Bourgie, a la Les Paul. So there you have it. Eat like a bourgie, and I will write when I get back.

Don't be Crabby

Soft-shell crabs are bursting with flavor, so unless you are a voluptuary you might want to stay away. But I assume that if you are reading Nosheteria, you must be a true gastronomic libertine, so read on dear reader. Fresh soft-shell crabs are available right now in fish markets, so I recommend picking up a few of these crinkly shelled beauties and bringing them right home, right away.

A soft-shell crab is simply an ordinary blue crab, caught mid-molt, and then enjoyed naked (the crab mind you, not the eater). Once captured, the crab will not form a new shell as long as it is kept out of its natural, salty sea environment. I admit, it can be a bit strange to eat soft-shells, consuming the entire crab almost doesn't seem right, but one taste of the crisp exterior has me saying, "Bring on the crabs, shell and all!"

For preparing the crabs an old rule truly does apply: the simpler the better. If purchased fresh, from a reputable purveyor, the crabs will be delicately meaty, and literally dripping with the flavor of the sea. Although they can be grilled, I prepared these crabs in a simple dredging mixture, and then fried. I find that dredging and frying, maintains much of the natural juices. Flour, egg, and then a mixture of corn flour and panko bread crumbs, makes up the three-part dredging mixture. Fried for about eight minutes, in a bit of butter, in conjunction with some olive oil, in a scorching hot skillet, makes for a perfect combination of decadence and down-home goodness. Served with a salad to mediate the richness of the crab, makes a truly delectable, mid-summer meal.

Love Me Mark

I love Mark Bittman, and I love him even more now that I have seen his new PBS show Bittman Takes on America's Chefs. I have read Bittman for quite some time; and I use his book How to Cook Everything often, both as reference guide and a recipe book. But now that I have seen him in action, paired off against some of this countries finest chefs, I can honestly say that I adore him.

Bittman just gets how the American home chef cooks, or at least how they intend to cook. In his show (in case you have yet to see it), each week he takes on a different chef, either in their restaurant, or another place of their choosing, but always in rather neutral territories. The program is not so much a competition, as in Iron Chef, but rather a show-and-tell. Understanding the intricacies and delicacies of "restaurant" food, Bittman then takes on the chef's recipes, and pares them down for the home chef. At times Bittman's recipes are just stripped down restaurant versions, other times they are simply inspired by, and use similar ingredients. But always, Bittman's food is appetizing and wholly do-able.

Bittman is not a beautiful, arresting man a la Ludo Lefebvre (at least I think this how we are supposed to see him), nor is his technique so impressive that it is intimidating, a la Jacque Pepin (who incidentally I also adore), but with his charm and self-deprecation (always an attractive trait), Bittman proves to be not only a wonderful narrator, but also a stupendous teacher. And he never panders. Unlike some 30-minute queens who shall remain nameless, Bittman speaks to his viewers and readers like they have half a brain in their heads; he is chatty but never condescending. Did I mention that he never panders?

Whether you are a bourgie or a socialite, a novice or an experienced chef, Mark Bittman offers a little bit for everyone. For those that are truly minimalists, to those seeking a tad more from their recipes, to those people like my sister, who loves watching his show but would never think of actually making anything from his program, or any other for that matter, Mark Bittman has the answers for today's home chefs...And did I mention he never panders.

Rice, Rice, Baby

Rice was never one of those things that I knew how to make. Sure I ate it all the time, and even attempted to make it; but the kernels were not the light, fluffy, individual grains I longed for. I even went so far as to buy Uncle Ben's converted rice, but it always seemed soupy to me, and each time I pulled out that box, with the friendly-looking, elderly man smiling beatifically at me, I felt ashamed. How could I not adequately make such a staple of diets around the world?

That is when I sought help from my best friend's mother. She is Sri Lankan, and whenever she would come to visit her daughter at college, she would make some amazing Sri Lankan meal of curries, biryanis, green beans simmered in coconut milk, potatoes pan-fried with black mustard seed-- the list was endless. She explained the nuances of rice to me, the ratios, the rinsing, the boiling then simmering, the fluffing, and the waiting. The first time I made rice on my own, I was naturally scared. My hands trembled as I rinsed the rice, I carefully measured out the rice and the water (one cup of rice to one and one half cups of water), mindfully I set the pot to boil, and once reached, I salted the water, turned the heat down to barely a simmer, covered the pan, and waited. It was a heart-wrenchingly difficult 15 minutes, but when I lifted the lid in order to fluff with a fork, what I saw was a thing of beauty-- perfect, smooth kernels of rice co-mingling together. So I fluffed, turned the heat off the pan, and let the rice sit covered for an additional 5 minutes, and then ate the fruits of my not-so-hard labor.



And now I am a rice making fool. Since I have lost my trepidation, I try them all. In my kitchen there are always at least 3 different kinds of rice. There is the standard California long grain, slightly plump, and mild in aroma; basmati rice, loose, slender, and always fragrant; and my new favorite-- baby basmati rice, or kalijira. Kalijira has all of the aromatic qualities of the basic basmati rice, but has a diminutive, pearl-like quality. Originating from Bangladesh, this rice is more expensive than basmati, and traditionally used in special occasion, and holiday dishes. I love the mouth feel of this rice, it is as if each mouthful is filled with a million tiny beads just waiting to be consumed.

It is true that the most simple of foods, are difficult to execute well. At least this was the case the case for my rice travails. But once mastered, you can truly revel in the technique.

The Bourgie Cheesesteak

What to do with the leftover steak from the previous night's dinner? Make The Bourgie Cheesesteak that's what. Now I admit, I have never indulged in the true Philly Cheesesteak; well I have never actually been to Philadelphia, but taking a trip to one of this nation's founding cities is definitely on my to-do list. But to tell the truth, a Philly Cheesesteak has always sounded a bit overwhelming to me. Layers of sinewy roast beef, coated in gobs of Cheese-Wiz, and smushed into a chewy roll, makes my stomach hurt just thinking of it. But thinly sliced pieces of beef, pan fried with smoky grilled onions, slices of creamy havarti cheese, all wrapped up in a crusty baguette-- now that I can do.

I am a carnivore, steak in itself is a thing of gluttonous beauty. But sometimes, it is too much of a good thing. Usually I can only eat about one-half of a filet before calling it quits. In to the fridge it goes, and then what? It is sliced, and fried into its new incarnation, filling for a cheesesteak. With just a stop off at the market for a crispy baguette, I have meal number two. It is so rare that I actually look forward to leftovers, much less do much of anything of import with them. But now there is the Bourgie Cheesesteak.

Panang with Panache

I live my life in search of a good Panang beef curry. Actually, I am in pursuit of a magnificent Mussamun Curry, but Panang is a close second. After a disappointing trial with a prepared Mussamun curry paste (too cardamom-y, not enough peanuts), and one too many mediocre Thai meals eaten out, I've decided to make the paste myself.


With an assemblage of ingredients typically Thai: galanga, lemon grass, chilies, shrimp paste, to name a few, and help from the mortar and pestle to grind the spices, and a Cuisanart (because I'm a weakling) to bring the ingredients into a potent, spicy paste, in less than an hour I have homemade curry paste.

So what is this obsession all about? There is a little Thai restaurant, near where I grew up, that has the most delicious Mussamun Beef Curry. It's a little hole in the wall, that has been there forever, with a forgettable name, and an even more forgettable decor. However, what this place lacks in ambiance, it more than makes up for in down-home, authentic Thai cuisine. But since my parents have moved from the Peninsula, and San Mateo is no longer my sister's stomping ground, I really have no reason to frequent Nippa-Pon-- except for that damn Mussamun Curry. Sometimes the craving gets too great, and I convince Brian to take me for my fix. We hop in the car, brave the traffic on the bridge, and in about one hour's time, we arrive with our bellies gurgling.

Now there are plenty of good Thai restaurants in the East Bay, but none that I have found with even a passable Mussamun. And so I have resigned myself to Mussamun's sister Panang. But sometimes I so crave that Mussamun Curry, with its deep brown, coconut infused sauce, and gentle heat hitting me in the back of the throat, I salivate at the thought. Now I know that a craving for good Mussamun is something to be endured until I can no longer wait, and I must make my way to the peninsula. But until then, I have my Panang curry to satiate my inner Thai desires. If you would like the recipe for Panang Curry Paste, go to the Daily Specials section.

When Life Gives You Limes-- Make a Refresher

What to do with a perfect bag of Key Limes? Make a Key Lime-Strawberry Refresher. I was at the market this week and noticed individually packaged, mesh sacks of ping pong ball sized key limes. Being a sucker for both mesh sacks, and any diminutive type produce, I quickly scooped up the sack and went home.

Now I'm not wild for citrus pies; lemon meringue, or key lime for that matter, never have done much for me. But a limeade, with some beautiful strawberries thrown in for good measure I could do. So I got to work, slicing and juicing some 40-odd limes, and let me tell you dear reader, it was a pain in the arse. Not a giant pain, like being stuck in traffic on a hot summer's day with the air-conditioner on the fritz; but a moderate, waiting-15 minutes-for-a-perpetually-late-friend one. Key limes are tiny. They also have a more tender skin, and are more acidic than the run of the mill Persian lime. This makes them the ideal foil for the tender sweetness of the strawberries, and just tart enough to make the perfect refresher. But still...

So why make this? Why not just buy a limeade like most people? Well, that is a verifiable option, but then you would miss out the wonderful sweet-tart flavor, and the cooling refreshment of the homemade stuff. Once the lime juice is obtained, the refresher comes together quite easily, and the most difficult part is waiting for the sugar syrup to cool, and consumption to begin.

Key Lime-Strawberry Refresher

1 cup key lime juice, or Persian lime
1 pint strawberries, roughly chopped
1 vanilla bean, split (optional)
1 cup sugar
6 cups water

In order to get one cup of liquid, juice the key limes, set aside. In a large saucepan add strawberries, water, sugar, and vanilla bean (I find this imparts a wonderfully subtle flavor), and slowly bring to a boil, stirring occasionally. The strawberries should begin to fall apart and muddle with the liquid. Once a boil has been reached, extract vanilla bean, and blend. Be careful, blenders don't always like hot liquids, I speak from experience. Add the strawberry juice to the key lime juice, stir, and place in refrigerator to chill. Serve chilled, over ice, with a sprig of mint. Delightful!

Mmm, Corn Again

Each year it seems that I become obsessed with some ingredient or food type. One summer I fancied jam, last spring I was gaga for fava beans; I painstakingly double shucked, then prepared them any which way I could think of, sauteed, mashed into a paste for crostini, and the simple favorite, slurped up with some sort of slippery pasta. This year's latest fascination seems to be corn. (I didn't say that the ingredient had to be new and exotic mind you.) Steamed, grilled, kernels cut off the cob and served raw in a salad, or my new favorite, creamed, what can't you do with a delightful ear of corn?

Creamed corn was a mainstay of my childhood. Served warm, with cracked black pepper, I loved the milky, glutinous consistency of this down-home side dish. But like many other foods: PB&J; noodle kugel; or my mom's flank steak, marinated in teriyaki sauce and charred to a crisp; creamed corn, for whatever reason, just seemed to fall out of favor. Maybe it's just that now a days I prefer my foods to be fresh, not clumsily poured from a can and into a saucepan.

Do to my latest fascination, I have been glancing around in my cookbooks, to see what other people do with corn, and found a lovely recipe for homemade creamed corn, minus the roux and white sauce, in Jamie's Dinners. Light yet creamy, it was not my creamed corn of yore, but rather a new, polenta-like creamed corn. Taking advantage of the sweet niblets of flavor that abound at the grocer's, I bought a few ears and got to work.

The other fabulous characteristic of this recipe is its use of one of my favorite kitchen tools-- the handblender. There is something so gratifying about turning a solid to a liquid, right before your very eyes. In just a few moments, with just the push of a button, the handblender turn what looks to be an average saute of corn and shallots, into a gorgeous amalgamation of all things summer. Roughly blended, delightfully sweet, this recipe for creamed corn will definitely become a mainstay in my repertoire this season. If you too would like the recipe for Creamed Corn, check out the Daily Specials page.