Me and Martha, We're Like This!

And by this I mean: I don't know how I got invited to a Martha Stewart event, but I did. Way up on the the 36th floor of some giant midtown skyscraper, there I stood with about 60 other people, some of them Martha's minions, to celebrate Martha's new interview show on Sirius Satellite Radio. Oh, and Jean-Georges was there too.

How did I get invited to such a function, you ask? Well, I'm as clueless as you are. One day about a week ago, I opened my inbox and there it was, an electronic invitation (not quite an Evite) beckoning me to attend a recording of Martha and J.-G. chattin' it up on the radio. Cocktail attire was not stressed, however hors-d'oeuvres would be served from J.-G.'s restaurant, Vong. So I though to myself, washing my hair can wait for another evening. I'm game to snack on crispy spring rolls, satay shrimp in a fried coconut crust, fresh rolls with daikon sprouts, and sachets of crepe filled with salty caviar and topped with gold leaf. Not to mention hangin' with Martha.

Actually, there was little hanging to be had. Martha and Jean-Georges made a quick appearance, photos were taken (see above) and then they headed off to the soundproof glass booth, decorated with stunning floral arrangements and draped in Martha Stewart textiles (no doubt, available at KMart), to enjoy an hour of conversation on the radio. It was definitely a step up from the last radio station I set foot in, a college station badly in need of a vacuum cleaner, that smelled like sweat mixed with a peculiar heavy scent of an herb, and I don't mean tarragon.

I couldn't tell you much about the interview because, although it was piped into the reception room, the room was full of the less-than-subtle sound of schmoozing. And, dear reader, I did my part. Actually, it was strange but nice. I met some of Martha's minions, some fellow food bloggers, and some folks from the radio. It was a room full of people who really love food, love to talk about it, and even love to write about it too.

A good time was had by all. And I even got to go home with some swag, which I in turn documented Nosheteria-style! (Notice the Sirius Satellite lip-balm. That's odd, isn't it?)

Eggs and Toast

Quail eggs are sweet, some might even say darling, in the same way that a petits-four or a mini tartlette is. But they can also be quite expensive. Usually I cruise by them at the market, thinking longingly of making diminutive hard-boiled eggs, topped with dollops of cool, black caviar. But each time I pick up those tiny cartons, and see the price-- around $6 for one dozen, I quickly put these eggs back on the shelf, and scurry away. Five quail eggs equals about one chicken egg, and let's just say I am usually not feeding dainty diners.

But in Chinatown, during my splendid day out, there were stacks and stacks of quail eggs, in cartons of 24 (that's two dozen, mind you!), all to be had for $3 and some change. You have to love Chinatown. I of course bought a passel, and there they sat, in fridge for nearly one week before I decided what to do with them. I wanted to make something that exemplified their stature, so I knew that scrambling them just would not do.

It's that time of year, a time when my little apartment is overrun with guests. Since our move to NY, Brian and I have had more welcomed visitors than our entire tenure in Berkeley. Each of these guests expects a little something special to come wafting out of my tiny NY kitchen, and I am only to happy to oblige. Especially when I finally know what to do with those lovely quail eggs.

Fried quail eggs on crostini, simple yet spectacular, bright and sunny, with those shiny yolks staring right up at you. I made the crostini from slices of baguette, brushed with olive oil and baked in the oven until they reach a toasty brown. Then one egg, fried in olive oil, sunny side up, of course, adorns each toast. A sprinkling of fresh chives, a grinding of pepper, a dash of salt, and breakfast is served. Four crostini, one half a grapefruit, and a mug of good, strong coffee, and my guest were off to enjoy a day of sightseeing. I of course told them Chinatown should not be missed.

Tubes, and I Don't mean Tops

As I stumble out of the Grand Street subway station, I am immediately caught and taken away by the crowds of people, each grasping flimsy plastic bags holding ingredients, ready for cooking. This is Chinatown, a place so teeming with people I often wonder where they all come from. The shops each specialize in their own brand of goodies, from clothes to housewares, meat to fish, exotic fruits and vegetables, to more bottles of condiments than you would see bottles of potions in an old-fashioned apothecary shop.

I could spend hours here, and I do. I stroll along the streets, more quiet, with people actually sitting along the curbs once you turn off of Grand Street. I look at all of the dried roots, and mounds of dehydrated shrimp in one shop. At the butchers there are cuts of meat that I have never seen, and I buy a fresh, uncured ham. I'm not sure what to really do with it, but I just have to buy it. The fish monger is amazing. Walking onto the tiled, wet floor, there are rows upon rows of fresh, whole fish, their scales glistening under the harsh fluorescent lights. And the produce market, that is really where I go crazy: baskets of bean sprouts; oranges, individually wrapped like a little present of citrus; knobby ginger root; tangles of grapes, purple, red, and green. And then I encounter this:

Water Spinach. I had never seen this bright, leafy green vegetable before, let alone cook with it. But the kind man working at the produce market, told me to cook it as I would traditional spinach. So I bought a bundle, still unsure how I would prepare it. A little further research at home on the internet (don't you just love the internet?) and I found a bit more out about this lovely green.

Most common in Asian countries, it is grown in the United States as well. Here however, it is called a noxious weed, due to its high growth ratio. This sucker grows. In moist soil, or even still water, this spinach grows tall and fast, at times clogging water ways. Well, there is only one thing to do with such a quickly growing plant, and that is to eat it quickly. I am doing my part to help American agriculture by making, and eating, noodle stir-frys.

I am not a skilled Asian cook, so I will just say that this stir-fry was inspired by the stellar ingredients found in Chinatown. My skillet had been piled high with mounds of cleaned water spinach. Just like traditional spinach, water spinach cooks way down. The tubes, once crisp and airy, collapsed-- becoming chewy vessels for whichever sauce you choose. In this case, I used a simple ginger-soy, gratings of sinus-cleansing ginger, mixed with simple light soy sauce, and a smidgen of sesame oil. Toss in the egg noodles, a handful or two of crunchy bean sprouts, fry quickly, and slurp away. It may not be the most traditional use for water spinach, but it was pretty darn good.

Stay tuned for more of what I purchased and cooked from one afternoon in Chinatown. And p.s. I still haven't figured out what to do with that ham, which is now resting in my freezer-- suggestions are always welcomed.

Gilding the Lily

And by the lily, I mean banana bread. And you should gild it with ganache. End of Post.

No...let's talk a little bit about this banana bread. For a girl that never really liked bananas, I always liked banana flavored things...like banana bread, and banana nut muffins, and banana cake. As a kid, when I would order a fruit salad out, I would always pick out all of the banana slices. A short tower of pale discs would teeter at the edge of my dish, waiting to either be eaten, or finally just removed by a very forgiving waitperson.

But my mother routinely made a banana bread from Sunset magazine that I loved. She sprinkled sugar on the top of of the batter, causing the loaf to split into two mounds upon baking. The crust was also studded with candied cherries, my favorite part when I was a child. I loved the chewy texture of the cherries, dying the soft, natural color of the bread bright red as they lay nestled in the loaf. I would eat the bread plain, or sometimes with a slathering of butter. Every time my mom made banana bread, I would eat banana bread-- but only my mom's.

I got a hankering for moist, flavorful banana bread recently, but something did not have me scurrying back to Sunset magazine for the recipe. I was ready to try something new. I found this recipe on-line for a sour cream banana bread, and decided to give it a shot.

And I'm so glad that I did. The bread was lovely-- the texture, delicate; the crumb, moist; with a subtle banana flavor. The addition of sour cream to the batter was a welcome one; it brought a tang to the taste and an unparalleled richness. I'm sure the bread would have been good all on its own, but I felt it could use a little something more-- a touch of chocolate to bring it from cozily ensconced in the breakfast bread realm, to calling out loudly from the dessert table. I made a bit of ganache, and spread this glorious concoction over the loaf. Yum, is all I can say.

For dessert, or if you're anything like me, even for a naughty breakfast, this banana bread is a welcome change. I guess I will have to make room in my repertoire for more than one banana bread recipe.

Lamburger Helper

Sunday evening, 1987. I come to the table for a typical Sunday night meal. At the close of a busy weekend our dinners were filled with usuals: rotisserie chicken and a salad, some soup, leftovers from a more appropriate weekday meal, or sometimes my mother would whip up her version of Hamburger Helper-- a mix of ground meat, a sauteed onion, and plenty of elbow macaroni. Now this wasn't the sort of meal my mother would usually whip up, but on Sundays, typically fend for yourself night, this sort of American ease was a welcome change.

I have never even had traditional Hamburger Helper, neatly packaged in a cardboard box, with that jolly four-fingered gentleman smiling back at me; but I loved my mom's version. It was pleasantly bland, seasoned only with salt and pepper, and I gobbled up the little crooked pasta which were far from al dente. It was starchy and simple, pleasing to my young palate. So what if I used a similar combination of foods: pasta, ground meat, onion, and perhaps a few herbs, and cooked it up to please my aging palate? Well I think I would like that too.

This is my version of Hamburger Helper-- and I call it Lamburger Helper, Greek Style. Using the same principles of the Helper from my youth, and even prepared on the same night of the week, this satisfying meal was tasty enough to be prepared any night of the week.

Set a pot of water to boil on the stove, and add one cup of orzo, that rice-shaped pasta, to cook while you prepare the lamb. In a dutch oven, or large skillet, fry up 3/4 pound of ground lamb, with one diced onion, in some olive oil. (I also crumbled in one small dried chili, but heat is a preference.) While the lamb and onion are browning, chop up some fresh mint. When the orzo is done cooking, drain and add to the lamb mixture, mixing well. A squeeze of tart lemon juice, a tablespoon or so of butter, a seasoning of salt and lots of freshly ground pepper, and a sprinkling of the chopped mint, and you're just about ready to serve.

I ate my Lamburger Helper with a cooling cucumber salad, and I must say, I didn't even miss that diminutive glove-of-a-character who claims to help me make a great meal. The meal was pretty great all on its own.