Category Archives: Food

A fabulous Duchess recently asked me for a soup recipe, and while I didn’t have the exact one she wanted, I’m putting up this version of Tom Yum soup I found online and tested out a few days ago. While my traditional go-to meal for staving off the cold of winter is pho, this one is a worthy winter-beater as well, with the heat from all the chili peppers giving some red-hot goodness to the spicy broth. (If you’re having trouble finding some of the more exotic ingredients and you don’t have access to a decent Asian market, try going online. I’ve found some wonderful suppliers of Kaffir lime leaves just a few clicks away, and once you get a batch they freeze quite well for a while.)

This somewhat-sour soup is said to have medicinal properties as well, with its classic Thai triumvirate of the aforementioned Kaffir lime leaves, lemon grass, and fresh galangal root. It is indeed hot and spicy, so if you’re unsure, add the chili peppers at the last possible moment (the longer they’re in, the hotter the soup will be).

 Tom Yum Soup

Ingredients

• 4 cups of water
• 2 stalks fresh lemongrass, trim off the very end of the root and smash; cut into 1 inch pieces
• 3 slices fresh galangal root (smashed)
• 3 fresh kaffir lime leaves
• 1 tbsp. tamarind paste, with or without seeds
• 1 tbsp. fish sauce
• 3/4 lb shrimp, medium to large size, shelled and de-veined
• 12 fresh Thai chili peppers, whole
• 1/2 small white onion, cut 1/4 inch slices
• 2 tbsp. roasted chili paste (nam prik pao)
• 1 (16 oz.) can straw mushrooms, drained and rinsed
• 1 small ripe tomato, cut into wedges 1/4 inch thick
• 1 small lime, squeezed
• 2 sprigs fresh cilantro (more if desired)

Preparation

Bring water to boil over high heat in a medium-sized saucepan. Add the lemon grass, galangal, kaffir lime leaf, fish sauce and tamarind paste. Add the shrimp, bring to a boil and cook 3 minutes. Add the onion, nam prik pao and mushrooms. Boil for another 7 minutes until the shrimp is cooked through. Add the chile peppers and tomatoes. Turn off the heat. Add the lime juice. Taste to adjust the seasoning, adding fish sauce to taste. Garnish with cilantro, roasted whole chili peppers and a splash of coconut milk if desired and serve hot.

Like many recipes, this approximation of guacamole came about as a happy accident. A few months ago, I wanted a couple of slices of avocado to go with an egg sandwich I was planning on assembling. A neophyte to the world of cooking, and the supermarket in general, I did a giddy dance when I saw ripe avocados on a super sale – four for five dollars or something. I scooped up four and let my mind run free with visions of perfectly sliced avocado slivers in shades of lime and chartreuse.

When I got them home and sliced them open, my dismay was instant. Far from fresh and bright green, they were mottled with bits of brown, streaked with veins of gray. Even worse, they were so soft that they fell apart before I could even get them out of their skin, much less separated from their hard pit. Completely unacceptable for a breakfast that I wanted to photograph and post to my obnoxious Instagram feed. I’m all about occasional #foodporn and the oft-sought-but-seldom-achieved #foodgasm. Each of the avocados were in this over-ripe state, but rather than toss them into the trash, I took the lemons that life gave me and made lemonade. Or guacamole, as the case was.

I found a few stray limes, a small chopped onion, a lot of leftover cilantro from a Mexican dip the night before, then added some salt and pepper, and a diced tomato at the end. Served with some pita chips, it was a happy alternative to the sliced avocado I’d originally craved.

This past weekend, I saw avocados on sale again, but this time I went in with the intent to craft a batch of guacamole, using a trick that a friend taught me: save the pits and keep them in the final product in order to keep the guacamole from turning grey and brown. Previously, that’s always been the problem – any time that green flush gets in contact with air, it’s only a matter of moments before it starts to turn. Keeping the pit as part of the mix prevents it from turning. I don’t know the scientific explanation for it, and I don’t care, I’m just thrilled it works. (The same tip can be used if you want to save half of an avocado that you’ve cut – save the part with the pit still attached and it will remain fresher for longer.)

I love when science meets culinary craft to prolong the life of something like guacamole.

A few additional tips that made this batch superior to that first raw attempt: add some cumin to the mix. It’s that missing element that gives it a more authentic taste. I used a couple of green onions (scallions) in place of their larger cousin – I like the sweeter, less sharp flavor. Also, a finely chopped jalapeño pepper can be used for those who like things with a bit of heat.

While it may be tempting to eat the whole batch at once, after you’ve tasted for flavoring, let it sit (covered) at room temperature for an hour stirring once or twice, to allow all the flavors to  meld. (This is when the pit-trick really comes in handy.)

Andy is a magician in the kitchen, as evidenced by this recent beet and goat cheese pizza. A somewhat unorthodox pizza combination, it was supplemented by peppers and red onions, resulting in the riot of warm colors you see here. Food is about more than taste – it’s about texture and temperature and, yes, presentation. While pretty dishes don’t necessarily translate to yummy eats, when the two combine it makes for a merry moment, and a merry meal.

Has a more sensual pairing ever been found? From its fig leaf connotations to its sticky-and-sweet honey goodness, this is a couple for the ages. It’s sexy, sweet, and just a little bit sinful. Forget the apple, Adam and Eve should have gone straight for the figs and honey.

Nothing great is created suddenly, any more than a bunch of grapes or a fig. If you tell me that you desire a fig. I answer you that there must be time. Let it first blossom, then bear fruit, then ripen. ~ Epictetus

A great fig should look like it’s just about to burst its skin. When squeezed lightly it should give a little and not spring back. It must be almost unctuously sweet, soft and wet. ~ Yotam Ottolenghi

Life is the flower for which love is the honey. ~ Victor Hugo

Who writes poetry imbibes honey from the poisoned lips of life. ~ William Rose Benet

It took me a while, but once I got a taste of beets I fell in love. It’s Andy’s fault, really, as he snuck them onto a pizza one night and I was so ravenous I ate it all before questioning what was on it. That risky experiment paid off and I’ve been a beet lover ever since. We found a few fine specimens at a farmer’s market last week and he pulled another culinary rabbit out of the hat with this strawberry, beet, and goat cheese salad.

He boils them in vinegar and sugar, and it’s a heavenly combination that brings out the tanginess in their garishly-colored flesh.

I especially like the way the magenta dye bleeds onto the goat cheese. It seems too vibrant to be natural, but there it is – the beauty of Mother Nature on a plate. Sprinkled with a strawberry vinaigrette, it made for a lovely summer salad.

This simple and refreshing dish uses a delicious mash-up of crab, tomato, fresh parsley, fresh basil, capers, lemon juice and olive oil to jazz up the delicate structure of angel hair pasta. The key component, however, is the lemon zest garnish – which in this instance is far more than a garnish, it’s an integral part of the meal. It makes all of the difference.

That’s the beauty of a proper garnish. It’s much more than just a pretty addition. It can make or break a dish, much as it makes or breaks a cocktail. Sometimes, yes, it’s for more subtle and decorative purposes, like the ubiquitous sprig of parsley, more often than not dismissed and shuffled off to the side. But in cases, like the lemon zest-inflected dish seen here, it’s the vital element that turns a simple dinner into a gastrorgasmic event.

Pineapple. Grilled pineapple. A few years ago it would have been unthinkable, but having finally come around to the beauty and deliciousness of properly grilled foods, I’m a convert, and a grilling fiend. If it can be eaten, it can be grilled. (We’ve even done an excellent grilled cabbage – a whole head cut into wedges and coated in butter, salt and pepper – that fell apart in the mouth and tantalized in a way that no other method of preparation could have produced.)

In this instance, we have a few rings of pineapple, seared for the sweet finale following a grilled dinner of chicken, until the caramelization has begun, and the fruit has slightly broken down, leaving a soft and juicy body with only the merest accents of smokiness. It was heavenly, and the perfect ending to a grilled meal, when I’m often puzzled as to a seamless conclusion (grilled ice cream has proven impossible.)

It took me well over three decades to get my head around the idea of fish tacos. Once I did, however, there was no looking back, and if they’re on the menu, I have a hard time saying no. And when they’re on the menu of a restaurant like MC Perkins, right on the coast of Maine, they’re going to be very good indeed. Though I’ve already completed the OGT posts for our most recent trip, this particular beauty is worth another look.

The colors, the freshness of the ingredients, the collision of taste and texture – they all come together in one amazing pocket of ground-flour goodness. I don’t know why I was so resistant – being land-locked might have something to do with it. Had I been fortunate enough to live on the shore, fish tacos would have been part of my formative lexicon.

I finished the three seen here in a few ravenous bites, and while we’re on the subject of food, here are a couple of shots of Andy and me at our last dinner in Ogunquit.

Yes, I miss the seafood already.

I miss Ogunquit too, and all that it means to us.

Luckily, there’s only a summer until our next visit, and no one is rushing it.

Here’s an idea whose time has come: cornbread croutons. They form a part of a trout recipe that I tried out the other day, and they are the sole reason for this post. The tomato and parsley and red onion salad that formed the base of the fish dish was all well and good, but it was the croutons that were the star of this show. (And the point of this post, so I won’t get into recipe details just yet.)

At first I was hesitant – I’m not the biggest fan of cornbread, and it seemed just a little too sweet for a savory salad like this. That turned out to be its most pleasantly surprising feature. Countering the sting of the onion and a bit of vinegar, the cornbread mellowed the whole scene, and provided just enough carbs to render an additional side dish unnecessary.

The original recipe came with a ‘See page__ for Cornbread recipe’ which is a notation that I always dread. If I cook, I’m cooking one thing. But Andy found a decent pan of cornbread from the market, so I cheated like Sandra Lee and cut the thing into crouton-sized cubes.

In order to keep the cornbread from crumbling, and to give the croutons their customary crunch, it was necessary to toast them in the oven for a few minutes. This too worked in changing the consistency of the bread for the better.

The rainbow trout was a fine addition, but I could have eaten the cornbread and tomato salad on its own. It was that good.

This sort of pancake can’t be baked with Bisquick. It’s a Vietnamese pancake (Bánh Xèo’) and I had it at Phở Basil in Boston recently.

While I’m not usually a big fan of food that must be eaten with fingers (Ethiopian cuisine being an enjoyable exception) this one wasn’t that unmanageable. Eventually, I broke down and made use of the provided utensils, but until those lettuce leaves were done, I did my best.

As for the phở pictured below, I need to do a proper solo post, but I’m not quite up for it just yet. Some things merit more work than I can muster at the moment. It will come, however, because phở is what got me through this winter.

To go along with the curry meatballs, I wanted something light and cool to temper the spice and heat of the meat, so I came up with this rather plain side dish of rice noodles. It was simple enough – much of the work was simply slicing and dicing, lopping and chopping (which can be just as tedious as mini-meatball-making,) but there is something peaceful about the process.

As is often the case, I took a number of online recipes and pulled the best bits of each, settling on this rather rough mix of fresh veggies and herbs. While the rice noodles were cooking I started with thin matchsticks of carrots and cucumbers.

(The thin rice noodles I used were done in a fast five minutes, at which point I drained them and rinsed them with cold water to stop the cooking and chill them a bit.)

Then I chopped up some scallions and fresh mint to add a bit of flavor. I eschewed the use of salt for this dish, aiming to be a little healthier.

Once the noodles were drained, I drizzled the smallest amount of vegetable oil over them so they wouldn’t stick together, and an even smaller drop or two of sesame oil for a hint of additional flavor.

To the noodles, I added the vegetables and herbs and tossed them all together. They chilled in the refrigerator for an hour or so, then I tossed them again before serving.

Along with the meatballs, they made up a delicious lunch. (And several snacks throughout the next few days.)