The Anti-Borscht

Borscht, that often cold, Eastern European, potato-laden, crimson soup-- it's not one of my favorites. I love soup, and I love potatoes, and beets are my BFF (best friends forever), but all simmered together, eehhh... However, looking through the SF paper last week, the food section of course, I saw a recipe for an altogether new beet soup that I knew that I had to try.

Nowhere in the article did it mention that this was a bourgie soup, but made with bright golden beets, and embellished with creme fraiche, how could it not be? I quickly deemed it the Anti-Borscht and the Bourgie Beet Soup. Simple in its composition, using golden rather when ruby beets, and made with just a handful of ingredients, the soup was beautiful to behold and delicious to taste. So rarely do you obtain a soup that is so clear, so honestly golden in color, I was shocked by its loveliness. It almost seemed a shame to slurp it up. But I was happy I did.

Light, creamy, buttery, the soup tasted earthy, but not overpowering. Perhaps if you closed your eyes and tasted, the soup was even reminiscent of a light corn soup eaten in August-- that is how sweet it was. Although golden beets have little difference in flavor than the traditional red fleshed sort, due to its sunny color and the addition of some luscious creme fraiche, this soup was both smooth and delicate.

There is something so lovely about a bowl of soup for lunch. Healthy and hearty, with a crust of bread, and in this case some peppery radishes, it just felt like spring. And beets are insanely good for you, high in potassium and folic acid; they are wonderful steamed or roasted as well. If you would like the recipe for this Bourgie Borscht the recipe is here, along with several other delicious sounding springtime soups.

Expanding My Palate with Pomelo

I love Thai food. The interplay of unique flavors, the balance between salty and sweet, the clean palate, all make up entirely new taste combinations. I recently picked up Jeffrey Alford and Naomi Duguid's brilliant book, Hot Sour Salty Sweet: A Culinary Trip Through Southeast Asia. This enormous book is filled with both tales of the authors' travels throughout this region of the world, as well as easy-to-follow recipes of the delicious sorts of food eaten on their excursions. While flipping through the pages, dog-earring the recipes I had to try, I came to a recipe for Pomelo Salad that looked intriguing.

The pomelo, a typical Southeast Asian citrus fruit, now sold in the U.S., looks like a giant grapefruit. Usually less juicy than a common grapefruit, with a thick spongy skin, they can range in flavor, from quite sour to pleasantly sweet. You never know what kind of pomelo you will end up with until you try it. I scored an enormous pomelo for my salad. Cutting off the pithy outer skin to behold the gorgeous segments of fruit, I tasted, expecting a sour melange of citrus. The pomelo that I obtained was actually very similar to a Ruby Red grapefruit-- rosy exterior, and sweet-sour taste. In fact, my pomelo was so similar to a grapefruit, and the salad was still so delicious, I think I would use grapefruits in the future.

I made the typical lime juice dressing complete with the salty, marine kick of Thai fish sauce. I dry roasted peanuts and coconut, diced shallots, chopped mint, and deseeded chiles, careful to avoid any contact with my eyes. The salad is meant to be assembled at the last minute, so all of the flavors stay crisp and clean. My kitchen counter looked like an apothecary shop, with all of the little bowls carrying dishes of chopped or sliced ingredients, strange on their own but beautiful tasting when married together.

Finally I was ready to toss and serve. Each dish was emptied into my bowl of pomelo supremes; I tasted, and the combination was ideal. Salty and sweet, with a kick from the chiles, and washed with a freshness from the addition of chopped fresh mint. Crunching on the dry-roasted peanuts, and savoring the bits of grated coconut, I imagine this salad to be the perfect balm for a hot summer night, when just the idea of turning on the stove makes you break out in a sweat.

If you would like the recipe for Pomelo Salad, to make right away, or to save for a hot, summer night, the recipe is on the Daily Specials page.

Limp, Wilted, Yet Delicious

Never did I think that words like limp and wilted would describe something so utterly delightful. These adjectives call to mind a soggy salad, vegetables left too long in the refrigerator, or even overcooked spaghetti noodles. But they also describe, quite aptly I might say, a simple, unadorned celebration of a new way to prepare a rather standard green vegetable. And with that glowing introduction, I give you, Grilled Escarole.

March is the most difficult month for me. Yes it is the beginning of spring, the start of a season filled with juicy berries, fuzzy stone fruit, and multitudes of light lettuces. But spring is just spring by the calendar year. Even in California, a place that is teeming with produce, the bounty doesn't really start to get going until mid-April. And so I struggle with March. Cabbage, potatoes, broccoli, oranges, and mandarins just aren't doing it for me anymore, I need something more from the green grocer's, so I begin to scavenge.

And when I scavenge, there are times when great things happen. I trudge home from the market, pulling out the lonely head of escarole from my shopping bag, because at the grocer's it was something new, something hearty. I still am unsure exactly how I will prepare it. I taste it raw, ever so slightly bitter, I chew and chew the toothsome leaf. Deciding it must be cooked, I quickly peruse my mental log: saute, simmer, stir-fry...too drab. How about grilling?

I take out my grill pan, setting it on the stovetop to preheat while I prepare the escarole. The preparation couldn't be simpler. Simply wash the entire head, then slice the escarole into quarters through the root. Brush the quarters with olive oil, season with salt and pepper, then set in piping hot grill pan. Grilling for 2-3 minutes a side, the escarole gets pleasantly charred, and ravishingly wilted (ravishing? yes, ravishing).

Squeezed with lemon, and served with grilled sausage, and roasted new potatoes, this grilled escarole made me even enjoy the same-old potatoes once again.

The Horror!

For any of my long time readers, perhaps you remember my late summer trip to LA. Bagels were eaten, stars were spotted, and I even took a trip through the greater LA area, in search of programmatic architecture. Fun was had by all (well, maybe just me).

This morning while doing a bit of research on-line, I found out a most disturbing turn of events has occurred. Tail o' the Pup, that long-standing, ever-loved restaurant, serving up greasy hot dogs to multitudes of adoring, hungry diners, is no longer. The owner has sold the land to builders planning a retirement community. The Tail o'the Pup closed in early 2006.

There has been some talk of reopening the Pup in a parking lot in Westwood. But no plans have been made as of yet. Might I make a suggestion? Load the Pup on to a giant, flat-bed truck, strap it down, good and tight, and bring that baby up to the Bay Area. We could use a bit of true Americana right in the heart of the Gourmet Ghetto!

But until then, goodbye sweet Pup! You will be sorely missed! But hopefully this will not be the end...

It's Alive!

There is just something about homemade yeast bread. The earthy, slightly sweet smell eminating from a lump of dough, as it gradually warms and rises on your kitchen counter, there is nothing homier. For all of my waxing poetic about the miraculous discoveries of yeast products, let me put out the disclaimer that I am not a baker. Far from it in fact.

Baking was always too fussy for me. It was all about timing, chemistry, and temperature; I favored the freedom of cooking. And I still do-- I just realized that at a certain point, I would no longer be fulfilled being either one or the other-- a cook, or a baker. A good bourgie would have to be, at the very least, proficient at both. Slowly I have begun to bake more, and I actually love the sweet treats bounding from my kitchen. But yeast, with all of its temperants, is the final frontier.

So I bought a book, and I'm schoolin' myself. Bernard Clayton's New Complete Book of Breads is a massive compendium of bread products, from the regional, to the hearty, to the rich and sublime, even the non-yeast varieties, this book has a recipe for whatever type of bread you desire to make. For my inaugural baking, I selected a yeasted, Portuguese corn bread called Broa. With pulverized corn meal, as well as wheat flour, this bread sounded unusually delightful. And it was!

I would definitely classify this bread as a corn bread, not a traditional wheat flour one. Hearty and substantial, with a coarse crumb, this bread was lovely eaten still-warm, fresh from the oven, slathered with more than a bit, of sweet cream butter. Flavored with little else than salt and corn meal, the bread had ample opportunity to let the true corn flavor shine through.

There were so many other recipes that looked tempting in this book, and the directions were so clear and concise-- very user friendly, I am sure to use this book over and over again. Atkins dieters beware, bread is making a comeback in the bourgie kitchen.

Beans: Part II

Beans can be perfectly bourgie! I was so entranced by my earlier bean discovery, I decided that beans were it for me, and that more of this perfect legume should be incorporated into my diet. So, flipping through Bittman's How to Cook Everything, I stumbled upon a recipe for Mashed Fava Beans and Greens, that sounded like just the thing to pile on slices of grilled country bread to be eaten as an open-faced sandwich.

Crostini, or as we like to call it in America, The Open-Faced Sandwich, are a thing of beauty. Ideal in their composition, with just the right ratio of filling to bread, eaten perfectly civilized with a knife and a fork, or gobbled up by hand, I think it is true to say that I enjoy them more than I do the traditional sandwich...and this crostini was no different.

Garlicky and flavorful, these beans when doused with some good, green olive oil, and layered with shards of crumbly Italian cheese make for a wonderful lunchtime treat. This was the first time I had worked with dried fava beans. I love the fresh variety, despite the dreaded double shuck, but found the dried heartier and earthier. The delightful green color of fresh beans was missed, but I would cast aside my bias in color, in the name of a lip-smacking, midday meal.

If you are up for smashing beans to oblivion, the recipe for Mashed Fava Beans and Greens, is on the Daily Specials page. Eat up!

From Behind the Sneeze Guard and into the Oven

In my youth, I always avoided garbanzo beans. Clammy and peaked, resting in some avocado colored, melmac bowl, next to the pickled beets, and the rosy kidney beans at salad bar, they were always so slippery and unappealing. But I have grown, and my tastes have changed. While I can't say that I now love those garbanzo beans of yesteryear, I can say that I rather like them in various other forms-- like roasted.

Something so simple takes on an altogether different feel with the addition of a bit of heat from the oven. Crisp outside, tender inside these chickpeas are both a wonderful snack eaten out of hand, or they are a scrumptious, hearty side dish with whatever entree you choose. And they are simple to boot.

It seems that lately I have a bit of a fascination with roasting. Maybe it is the blustery weather, or perhaps it is knowing that whatever item I slip into the oven will come out intense tasting, and golden brown in color, but I just can't get enough of this robust food preparation. Sure we all have roasted potatoes, carrots, maybe the occasional cruciferous vegetable, but how about the legume?

Tossed in olive oil, a bit of minced garlic, a measure of salt and pepper, and popped in a 400 degree oven, the garbanzo bean is elevated from the boring, pale, bean-in-a-can, to the sumptuous, legume-from-the-oven. Once out of the oven I seasoned my beans with a bit of cumin, and some firey hot cayenne pepper. In just 25 minutes you have a nutty, delicate dish that is eons away from that salad bar topping from your childhood.

Fried Rice

Jasmine, basmati, brown, California long grain-- I love them all. The staple of so many diets around the world, rice is a wonderful side dish alternative. But if you are anything like me, you always make a bit to much of the grain to suffice one meal, so into the refrigerator it goes. Sure the intention is always there, I tell myself, "I will eat my leftovers this time around," but inevitably they sit, getting chilly in the Fridgidaire. That is until I discovered a new way to use up my old rice.

Wild Rice Pancakes with Cranberry Compote, a delicious, flavorsome dish, complete with just a bit of sweet-tart fruit to round out the menu. These flapjacks use pre-cooked (read: leftover) rice as the main ingredient. Any type of rice should do, but this time around I had made a wild brown rice pilaf with onion, and simmered in chicken broth the night before for dinner, so wild rice pancakes were mixed up for lunch the following day. The result was a deeply savory dish, both nutty and chewy. An altogether fresh use for a staunch stand-by.

Making these pancakes requires just a handful of ingredients. A couple of beaten eggs, a 1/4 cup flour, and 1/4 cup of milk are mixed together with 1 to 1 1/2 cups of cooked rice. Then fry as you normally would breakfast flapjacks. I had some sweetened, dried cranberries on hand, so I made a quick compote. Even though these were savory pancakes, I still needed a bit of something sweet to balance out the hearty flavor of the pancakes.

Into a saucepan went a tablespoon of butter, and few tablespoons of sliced shallots. As the shallots became translucent, in went the cranberries, the zest from one small orange, some water, and a bit of red wine. Simmering the cranberries until they were practically reconstituted, plump, and moist, I knew that this would be the ideal companion for my rice pancakes. Deep crimson and subtly sweet, I served the compote warmed along side the pancakes, fresh from the griddle.

I love rice, and I also love pancakes. Buttermilk, potato, banana, or slim little Swedish style, they are all just fine with me. Now I have another type of pancake to adore too; and I can stand a little taller knowing that all of my leftover rice can be put to good use.

It Was All Green

With spring quickly approaching (at least I hope that it is), and those lovely, knobby spears of asparagus making their first appearance at the market, I quickly bought a bunch and hurried home to create a perfectly pleasing mid-week meal. And sometimes there is nothing that pleases a bourgie more than to sit down to an almost monochromatic meal.

Now this might appear to be the standard pasta pesto, slippery and smooth. But in actuality, it was Pea Pesto, making it all the more green, and all the more vernal. I started this pesto out with a bag of frozen peas, because really, who can bear to shuck all of those fresh ones. I simmered the peas in a 1/2 cup of chicken broth for flavor, and after they were cooked, put the entire contents, peas and broth, into the bowl of a food processor. In went just a few leaves of basil leaves (I didn't want the peas to be overpowered by the basil), a touch of cream, about one tablespoon of olive oil, and a healthy dose of salt and pepper; then I processed until smooth.

With the addition of both the chicken broth and the cream, the sauce was velvety and smooth, the perfect consistency to gently coat a ribbon of pasta. To round out my green meal, I pan-fried the asparagus spears until they where just crisp-tender, and added the pea pesto, the cooked spaghetti noodles, some grated parmesan cheese, and a bit of the pasta cooking water, to lubricate and coat the noodles in sauce.

Adorned with slices of prosciutto, for an added saltiness, this pasta was otherwise, perfectly green. Sweet with the flavor of peas, slightly spiced with the addition of perfumey basil, maybe this pesto sauce was non-traditional, but it was a delightful addition to my repertoire of mid-week meals.