Spam and Eggs with Fried Okra [GF]

Succinctly put, Hawai'i loves Spam, and after an initial phase of incredulity, so do I.  While some may scoff at this potted meat product, life without it is incomplete, and with it, an abode of bliss.  Furthermore, as a Minnesotan dwelling on O'ahu, I'm pleased to see such appreciation for what is my home state's best answer to the quandary of what to do with miscellaneous processed pig parts.  However, Spam must be prepared correctly in order to bring out its finest attributes; to wit, it must be fried, then paired with complementary ingredients which bring out its best attributes.  Pineapple is a good choice.  Rice and seaweed are equally respectable (and for those who have yet to experience the majesty of musubi, this random video tutorial set to soothing reggae will help to invest significance your currently meaningless existence).  Eggs and okra, however, are the subject of today's recipe post, and rival the divinity of either of the above combinations.

From my perspective, the recipe provided below makes two servings, but I would imagine that the average American with an average appetite would consider this a single serving — especially if no other dishes appeared alongside it on the breakfast table, save for, say, perhaps a piece of toast.  I'll also say that substituting dried, shredded nori for the kale (a variation I have tried... and repeated) yields an equally fine repast. 

• 1 cm thick slab of Hormel's finest (yes, that would be the Spam), diced
• 2 eggs
• 1 tsp. plain soy milk
• ⅛ tsp. salt (or to taste)
• 2 large okra pods cut into thin, cross-sectional slices
• ¼ cup fresh baby kale, cut into small pieces with stems removed
• 2 medium-sized "baby bella" mushrooms, diced
• 3 pinches coarsely ground black pepper
• 2 pinches dry basil
• half of a small thai chili pepper, diced
• 6 drops Cholulu brand hot sauce

 Fry the Spam, mushrooms, and okra in a small frying pan in a small amount of canola oil (or other vegetable oil) on medium heat.  Break the eggs into a small bowl, add the soy milk, and beat for a few seconds with a fork or wire whisk until the yolks have broken and are thoroughly mixed with the whites and the soy milk.  After five minutes, or when the Spam and okra have browned, add the chili pepper.  After another minute or two, pour the egg mixture in and scramble the eggs into the Spam, mushrooms, and okra.  Add the pepper, salt, and hot sauce and continue to scramble until the eggs are cooked.  At the last minute, add the kale and the basil and stir until the kale begins to soften, then remove from heat while continuing to stir for a minute or so more.  Serve immediately.

Chard Salad with Moroccan Spices

I'll confess I've never really seen much chard in Morocco, even after a year's residence there, and I'm not even sure it's something the climate could support if people felt the urge to grow it there.  That notwithstanding, certain spice combinations can bring out the best from the most unexpected of foods, and while it might just be that I happened to be in possession of some truly exceptional cumin (courtesy of Penzey's, of course), which did a great deal for this simple recipe, I surmise that whatever your cumin quality, you'lll be pretty pleased with the results.  Full disclosure: this recipe was adapted from the one provided here, which I discovered while trolling the internet for good uses for the excess chard I picked up at the Kapiolani Community College Farmers Market yesterday morning on a whim.

• 1 large bunch fresh chard
• ¼ tsp. extra-virgin olive oil
• 1 tsp. ground sweet paprika
• ½ tsp. ground cumin
• ¼ tsp. salt (or to taste)
• ⅛ tsp. finely ground black pepper

Set a small, half-full pot of water on to boil.  Coarsely chop the chard. Once the water boils, add ½ tsp. or so of salt to the water, followed by the chopped chard, and boil for 15 min. or until the stalks are soft. Dump the chard into a colander and run cold water over it until it cools down enough to handle without discomfort. Wrap the chard in a paper towel and wring out as much water from it as possible. Return the wrung-out chard to the chopping board and chop even more finely. In a bowl, mix the chard, oil, salt, and spices thoroughly. Serve immediately at room temperature.

Mussel Mayonnaise Poke [GF]

 One of the first things I'd resolved to do upon my recent return to Hawaii, after more than a month abroad roaming the arid steppes of northern China, the maize-laden plains of central Minnesota, and the escalator-rich human hive of Hong Kong was to fix myself a good, down-home poke.  Moreover, in honor of my homecoming, I thought I'd experiment a little bit with some unusual variations on my usual sesame-oil-and-soy-sauce recipe.  Here's what I came up with: a poke which complements the creamy taste and soft texture of mussels with a piquant mayonnaise sauce, while at the same time doing justice to the mollusks' understated seafood flavor by combining them with a substantial amount of limu and just a hint of fish sauce.  I think this one will become a permanent addition to my poke repertoire.  Enjoy!   

• 1 cup limu (ogo seaweed), chopped
• ¼ lb. small mussels
• 2 Tbsp. mayonnaise
• 2 tsp. Tabasco-brand hot pepper sauce
• 1 tsp. Cholulu-brand hot sauce
• ¼ tsp. coarsely ground sea salt (or to taste)
• ¼ tsp. coarsely ground black pepper
• 2 tsp. fresh cilantro, diced
• 6 raw macadamia nuts, minced
• 1 tsp. rice vinegar
• ½ tsp. sesame oil
• ½ tsp. Vietnamese fish sauce

Combine all ingredients in a small bowl and toss together.  Serve either immediately or after chilling for 15 min. in the refrigerator. 

Wild Rice, Turkey, and Split-Pea Soup [GF]

One of the most unfortunate aspects of impromptu cooking is that one often creates a magnificent dish which one longs to replicate — or to assist others in replicating — but to which one either added the ingredients too hurriedly, or else in too incremental a fashion to allow for the reconstruction of a recipe with accurate proportions for all ingredients added.  This pea-based potage was such a dish, but one sufficiently tasty that I'm going to attempt a rough reconstruction of the recipe anyhow, in the hope that someone out there will be able to hone a Winged Victory of Samothrace, so to speak, from this proverbial rough, unhewn marble.  I prepared it in a pinch, after the ham for the ham-and-split-pea soup I'd been planning to make didn't materialize, but I think it probably trumps whatever the original concoction would have been.

Again, before I list the ingredients, let me reiterate that the proportions given are at best conjectural.  The only things I know for a certainty are the net weight of the dry split peas and wild rice used.  I made the stock by boiling turkey bones a few hours prior to beginning preparations on the soup, and just transferred the broth in that pot over to the soup pot when needed.  I kept adding water, salt, and spices in increments throughout the cooking process.

• 8 oz. dry split peas
• 8 oz. wild rice
• 5-7 cups unseasoned, unsalted turkey stock
• 2 cups diced roast turkey (light and dark meat)
• 3-4 Tbsp. salt (or to taste)
• 1-2 Tbsp. black pepper
• 2 tsp. sweet paprika
• 1 tsp. dry parsley flakes
• 2-3; tsp. Thai basil
• 4-6 medium carrots, coarsely chopped
• 3-5 cups water
• 1-2 Tbsp. poultry seasoning
• 1-2 tsp. dry rosemary needles, crushed
• 1 tsp. white pepper
• ½-1 cup red wine vinegar
• ¼ cup lemon juice
• 1-2 tsp. turmeric
• 1-3 tsp. ground dry ginger
• 2-3 tsp. dry oregano
• ½ tsp. ground cloves

Soak the split peas overnight prior to preparing the soup.  In a large soup crock, boil the soaked peas in the broth and two additional cups of water for 10-15 min. on high heat.  Reduce to medium-high heat and begin adding the cloves, ginger, salt, (white and black) pepper, turmeric, poultry seasoning, and paprika, lemon juice, and vinegar (doing so incrementally and adjusting the amounts to taste).  After 30-45 min. more, or when the split peas have softened and the broth is beginning to turn mildly green, add the wild rice, rosemary, oregano, Thai basil, and parsley (again, doing so incrementally and adjusting the amounts to taste).  After the wild rice becomes soft (which should take another 30-40 minutes), add the turkey and carrots, turn the heat down to medium, and continue to simmer until the carrots are tender but not overly soft.  While the carrots are cooking, once again adjust the seasonings to taste.  Once they are tender, remove the soup from the burner and serve.

Again, I invite any interested readers who choose to undertake this recipe to weigh in on the issue of what the optimal proportions of the ingredients are.  Otherwise, bon appetit!   

October Fool [V] [GF]

I had remarked in my previous post, a moderately-sized pie pumpkin tends to provide a tad more gourd-flesh than needed for making one or two pies.  Perhaps this remark left certain readers in suspense as to what I would do with the remainder of the cooked pumpkin I had on hand after pie-making was complete.  Then again, perhaps I'm being narcissistic, and the hard truth is that nobody pays terribly close attention to half-implied narrative arcs in an only sporadically updated recipe blog.  Well, that may be, but at any rate, I'm going to satisfy your non-existent curiosity anyhow: I made October fool (to be contrasted with April fool, which is something else entirely).

So, for those unfamiliar with the dessert known as "fool" (the etymology of whose name is somewhat hazy), it's generally a light, summery mixture of sugar, whipped cream, and pureed fruit.  This creation certainly fits the description, though the squash certainly gives it a weight and a more autumnal essence that its berry-based cousins lack.  The nice thing is that it requires little in the way of preparation (other than the initial cooking of the pumpkin, as discussed in the pumpkin-pie post) and equally little in the way of sugar.  In fact, eliminating the sugar from this dish entirely wouldn't drastically alter its character.  The recipe given below serves five.

• 1¾ cups cooked pumpkin
• 2½ bananas
• ½ cup soy milk
• 2 tsp. brown sugar
• ½ tsp. cinnamon
• ⅛ tsp. nutmeg
• ⅛ tsp. salt
• 1 Tbsp. finely chopped pecan pieces

Place the pumpkin, soy milk, spices, salt, and bananas in a food processor and puree until the resulting mixture is smooth.  Spoon directly into small bowls or wine glasses and garnish with the chopped pecans.

Old-Fashioned Pumpkin Pie [GF]

The climate in which we dwell, and in particular that in which we spend our infancy and youth, yields the bulk of the timber from which the metaphorical architecture of our weltanschauung is constructed.  For those dubious of this assertion's veracity, I heartily recommend residing in some far-flung location whose climate is as close to diametrically opposite that of one's provenance as possible, and then returning to one's native land during a particularly captivating season, such as Autumn in the Upper Midwest.  Indeed, the word "autumn" is all but superfluous on the Hawaiian Islands, where the standard deviation in temperature appears to be in the single digits Fahrenheit and the difference between summer and winter has more to do with precipitation than temperature.  In the greater Minneapolis area, however, autumn is nothing less than the symbolic requital of spring's myriad promises: it is a harvest celebration in which nature herself supplies the banners the confetti, and the music (from the throats of Canada geese volant to the crepitation of workboots upon leaf-strewn pathways), coupled with an annual acknowledgment (that you can bet pervades the Minneapolitan psyche) that human lives themselves have their seasons and cycles, that those seasons have a dramatic arc to them, and that none of them lacks its industry and purpose.   

These sentiments (bear with me here: the anthropology's nearly done and the recipe's coming...) are embodied in the region's traditional harvest foods: baked squashes, ears of gold-tasseled corn, roasted fowls packed with myriad forcemeats replete with nuts and dessicated cherries, and raw, tart apples to be broken vociferously between the teeth.  These are foods which heat the kitchen, foods far too cumbersome to prepare when only one lone diner is to sit at table and which therefore urge companionship and communion, foods rich in starches and sugars to sustain the eater through the coming dearth.  As trite as these symbols have become to most of us as a result of our collective elementary-school experience with Thanksgiving decorations and woefully historically inaccurate fables about pilgrims and helpful natives breaking bread, their symbolic power tends to get reinvigorated quickly after one is thrust into a Minnesotan autumn after many moons roaming abroad in lands without similar seasonality or seasonings.  In that spirit, one of my first culinary endeavors after arriving in Minnesota this fall was to produce from scratch perhaps the most hackneyed of the season's symbolic foodstuffs: pumpkin pie.

Making a pumpkin pie from scratch is not particularly difficult, but a few tidbits of wisdom (gleaned from cookbooks of various sorts over the years) should be passed on to the reader who has never attempted to do so before.  As far a pumpkins go, seek out pie pumpkins rather than carving pumpkins — provided you can find them.  If you're physically located in Hawaii, or some other location in which pie pumpkins aren't east to come by, I've read (though have not personally verified) that kombucha do quite well in their stead.  The only thing keeping this recipe from being vegan is the eggs, for which many apt substitutes also exist.  The recipe I've provided below makes two smallish pies.  Pie pumpkins, unfortunately, are quantized in units which tend to yield far more pumpkin flesh than require for even a pair of pies, so feel free to do what you will with what remains.  As a final comment, if you're not particularly keen on steaming as a method for cooking your pumpkin (do to time constraints or any other reason), several alternative methods (including one involving a microwave oven) can be found here.

Pie filling:

• 1 small pie pumpkin
• 2 cups vanilla soy milk
• 3 eggs
• 1 tsp. Torani hazelnut syrup
• ½ cup white sugar
• ½ tsp. cinnamon
• ¼ tsp. nutmeg
• ¼ tsp. dry ginger
• ¼ tsp. nutmeg 

Slice the pumpkin in half and remove the seeds and strands of pumpkin innards.  (If you don't want to waste the seeds, I suggest cleaning and roasting them, but this is a subject for a subsequent post.)  Wash the halves off and further slice each into five or six large slices or chunks so that all can be fit together into one large pot.  Place the chunks into such a pot with a cup or more of water at the bottom and steam the slices in this manner on medium heat for 30 min. or so, or until the pumpkin flesh is soft and can be removed from the rinds with a spoon.  Separate around three cups of the pumpkin flesh from those rinds, place it in a food processor with the soy milk, and process the two together until the puree is of a uniform consistency and all chunks of pumpkin have been broken up.  Pour into a mixing bowl and combine with the other ingredients.  Stir the mixture vigorously, taking particular care to mix the eggs into it thoroughly.   

Prepare the (rice-flour based) pie crusts by following the recipe given in the my pineapple-pie post from back last December.  Once the pie crusts are satisfactorily pre-baked, remove them from the oven to cool and turn the oven temperature down to 375°.  When the pie crusts have cooled sufficiently, pour the filling into them, cover each pie with aluminum foil, and return them to the oven for 25-30 min.  Remove the foil cover from each pie and continue to bake for another 25-30 min. or until a knife stabbed through the center of each pie remains clean when withdrawn.

Indonesian Squid Broil [GF]

Last month, while attending a conference in the greater Chicago area, I had the opportunity to drop in on what is fast becoming one of my favorite restaurants.  This would be JoyYee, an establishment which does better than any other to dispel the "jack of all cuisines, master of none" stigma that plagues (and admittedly, in most cases, deservedly so) pan-Asian eateries.  Having dined there (if partaking in boba smoothies and appetizers counts as dining) there three times in the span of a week, I had the opportunity to explore vast tracts of their extensive menu and came away with a burning desire to replicate one particular dish, which consisted of a whole grilled cuttlefish adorned with a thick black sauce.  Soon after I returned to O'ahu, a friend's visit afforded me the opportunity to try my hand at what I am guessing was probably inspired primarily by an Indonesian dish called cumi kecap.

The results... well, suffice it to say that I rank this as one of the ten best dishes I have ever created.  Two other parties offered similar, glowing reviews.  While the dish did not precisely replicate JoyYee's cuttlefish, all unanimously agreed that it surpassed the dish which inspired it in nearly every way — which given the already high quality of the original, is high praise indeed.  But enough vaunting: let's get to the recipe.

The Squid:

• 1 whole medium squid
• ½ tsp. soy sauce
• ⅛ tsp. salt
  

The Sauce:

• 3 Tbsp. gluten-free soy sauce
• ¼ tsp. fish sauce
• 2 Tbsp. water 
• 1 Tbsp. cooking sherry
• ½ tsp. sesame oil
• 2 tsp. raw cane sugar
• ⅛ tsp. salt
• 1 pinch cinnamon
• 1 pinch cardamom
• 1 small pinch cumin

Set the oven to broil and preheat it to 375° Fahrenheit. Rinse the squid under cold water and remove the eyes, beak, and digestive organs with a knife.  Grease a suitably-sized cookie sheet with sesame oil.  Place the entire squid on it, sprinkle half of the salt and soy sauce over it, and broil for 15-20 min.  While the squid is cooking, combine the soy sauce, fish sauce, oil, cardamom, cumin, and cinnamon in a small saucepan and simmer on medium heat, stirring frequently, until the mixture attains the consistency of molasses.  Remove the squid from the oven, flip it over with a spatula, and sprinkle the remaining soy sauce and salt on the newly exposed side.  Return the squid to the oven for another 15-20 minutes or until the exterior is browned but the flesh is still tender.  Add the remaining ingredients to the sauce and continue to reduce the mixture, while stirring frequently, until the squid is done.

Place the squid in a shallow bowl or serving dish and pour approximately half of the sauce over it.  Transfer the remaining sauce to a small bowl for dipping the rings and tentacles in.  Serve with rice (which can also benefit from the use of the remaining sauce as condiment).               

Dates Wrapped in Hickory-Smoked Chicken Skin [GF]

This monstrosity is easily the unhealthiest culinary creation I have ever described on this blog, and will likely remain so for a long time.  Like its close cousin and primary inspiration dates wrapped in bacon (a dish which appeared among the hors d'ouvres offered at a reception during a conference I recently attended and has been lingering in my thoughts ever since), it is essentially an excuse to clothe a cloyingly sweet dried fruit morsel in a raiment of "meat candy" — one of those segments of animal flesh into which the Creator has, in his infinite wisdom, elected to concentrate both flavor and fat.  (And yea, the Lord saw that it was good; at least until he who consumeth it dieth of a massive coronary.)

One quick disclaimer before I narrate the recipe: my primary motivation for preparing this dish was that I happened to have recently engaged in smoking a chicken, and therefore had a substantial quantity of chicken skin lying around that I didn't really know how else to put to good use.  To be honest, I still deem that the bacon-based version of this hors d'ouvre to be the superior specimen: while the hickory-smoke flavor of the chicken skin provides a sublime compliment to the flavor of the dates, the texture leaves a bit to be desired.  The skin of smoked poultry tends to be a tad tough, and as a result these morsels tend to be a bit on the chewy side.  Nevertheless, I believe the principle of wrapping dried fruit in the skins of fowls has merit, and am looking forward to an experiment in dressing figs in turkey skin this Thanksgiving.    

• Skin from a hickory-smoked chicken, cut in 1" × 1" strips
• 15 - 20 large, pitted medjool dates
• 1 Tbsp. orange-blossom honey
• 1 Tbsp. pecan pieces
• 1 Tbsp. potato starch
• ½ tsp. salt
• ½ tsp. ground cinnamon

Preheat an oven to 300°. Take each date and make a small hollow in the center by inserting the tip of a wood or bamboo skewer into the hole from which the pit was removed.  Pack a few pecan pieces into this hollow.  Wrap the chicken skin around each date and secure it by tanspiercing the date and the chicken skin with a bamboo skewer.  After assembling skewers of 5-8 dates each, place them on a cookie sheet or baking pan for five minutes or until warm.  Remove the skewers from the oven, coat the warm dates evenly with the honey, and then sprinkle them with the cinnamon, salt, and potato starch (in that order).  Return the skewers to the oven and bake for 15-20 min. until brown.

As a final note, if you intend to serve this item as an hors d'ouvre at some soiree you're putting on, I might suggest using a toothpick to secure the covering to each date individually rather than attempting to bake them  on skewers en masse and serve them from those skewers churrascaria-style at your gathering.  They tend to be a bit sticky and frequently fall apart when removed from the skewer.      

Breakfast on Ice: a Survey of Fruits (Part 2)

Here's yet another update on some rather unusual fruits that one can find in Honolulu farmers' markets (and specifically, the Kapiolani Community College Farmers' Market just north of Diamond Head, where I encountered a phenomenal fruit stand specializing in unusual specimens from Asia, Central America, and God knows where else).  Anyhow, the question remains: how do these specimens fare in fruit smoothies?  Well, I'm glad you asked...

Canistel

The canistel is one of the oddest culinary specimens I've run across in local markets to date.  Yet another Mesoamerican specimen, the canistel has a flavor (and a texture) eerily similar to that of pumpkin, only sweeter.  However, its flesh is creamier than a baked pumpkin's, and perhaps the overall experience of eating a canistel is roughly a midpoint between eating pumpkin and eating pumpkin pie.  So yes... they're a bit starchy, and a canistel smoothie can be pretty filling, but it can also be practically ambrosial if done correctly (with a little brown sugar added).  So starnge, yes, but the canistel was one of the most pleasurable produce discoveries for me in many months.  Two enthusiastic thumbs up!  

Mamey Sapote

Similar to the chiku in texture (creamy), flavor (custard-like with chocolate overtones), and provenance (Mexico and Central America) but larger, the mamey sapote is a fruit I learned to love during repeated sojourns in Mexico city, but have seldom if ever encountered since.  However, upon seeing them for sale at this last weekend's KCC farmers' market, I knew I couldn't pass up the chance to conver them into liquid breakfast — and the result surpassed even my high expectations.

Mamey Apple 

The mamey apple takes a while to ripen, but when it finally does, it provides a bright flavor halfway between that of an apricot and that of a nectarine, but with a little bit of extra ascorbic acid flavor.  Not bad in a fruit smoothie (especially when lehua honey is added), but not quite strong enough that I'd recommend this method of consumption over simply cutting pieces off with a knife and eating them. 

So once again, that's it for this week's roundup.  Stay tuned for further updates as a new set of autumnal fruits begin appearing at a stand near you (or at least near me).

Soy-Custard Flan Tarts [GF]

With a plethora of eggs in my possession and an invitation to a garden party imminent, I finally had a perfect opportunity to attempt the soy-milk-based custard imitation I had long been hoping to turn into a flan-like reality.  As the guests at said garden party would certainly attest, the tiny pies which resulted from this experiment are yet another testament to the ability of soy milk to serve as a magnificent substitute for actual cow's milk in situations in which it really has no right to do so.  Indeed, while the consistency of the filling is admittedly more flan-like than creamy, this is actually an asset in terms of longevity: these tarts retain their consistency and flavor after refrigeration for a few days (or perhaps longer, but it's difficult to refrain from consume them for any longer duration).   

The recipe given here yields enough crust and custard for four tarts.  These can be flavored in the same manner if you prefer, or you can easily flavor the portion of custard that is to become into each tart independently.  Some suggestions for combinations of flavorings and icings/toppings for the tarts are provided below, although I'm sure you can imagine plenty of other possibilities which would be just as tasty of better.   

For the pie crust:

• 1½ cups white rice flour
• ½ tsp. salt
• ½ cup vegan butter substitute
• 4 Tbsp. water

For the custard:

• 3 eggs
• ½ cup white sugar
• ½ tsp. salt
• 2 cups vanilla soy milk
• 1½ Tbsp. flavored liquer or ½ tsp. flavor extract

To make the crust, preheat the oven to 425°.   Mix the dry ingredients, cut the butter substitute into the mixture, and form the resulting mixture into crusts in four tart pans.  Bake the crusts for 10 minutes at 425°, remove from the oven, and allow them to cool to nearly room temperature.  Immediately upon removing the crusts from the oven, reduce the temperature to 350°.

To make the custard, place the eggs, sugar, salt, and soy milk into a medium-sized mixing bowl and beat well with a wire whisk.  If your goal is to flavor the whole quartet of tarts in an identical manner, stir in the liqueur or flavor extract and partition the mixture into the crusts.  However, if your goal is to flavor each tart differently, you can also divide the custard mixture into four equal parts (each of which turns out to contain almost precisely 1 cup) and flavor each with a different extract or liqueur.  Once the temperature of the oven has decreased to around 350°, place the tarts on a rack in the center of the oven and bake for 35-45 min. until the custard has set into a flan-like consistency.

Remove the tarts from the oven and place them on a rack or trivet on a countertop to cool.  Once they've cooled to slightly above room temperature, cover them with icing, jam, fruit, or whatever else you choose.  Ideally, these tarts should be served within about 30 minutes of preparation, if the goal is to serve them warm (they don't stand up terribly well to reheating).  However, if the goal is to serve them cold (which, given the similarity to flan, is actually a very good idea), they retain their initial consistency quite well even after refrigeration.

Some of the topping and flavor-infusion combinations which I've either tried and deemed successful, or else which am sure would work brilliantly if I had had the ingredients on hand when I'd had the inclination to make a batch of these tarts, are listed below.

Chocolate-peanut-butter icing:

• ½ cup roasted peanuts
• 3 Tbsp. unsweetened cocoa powder
• 1 Tbsp. sugar
• ¼ tsp. almond, hazelnut, or vanilla extract
• ½ tsp. salt
• ¼ cup water

Place the peanuts in a food processor in process until the mass clumps and has the consistency of peanut butter (this may take several minutes).  Add all additional ingredients excepts for the water and process again.  Add the water incrementally while processing until the icing has a creamy consistency.  After spreading the icing on top of the tart, garnish with chopped medjool dates.  This icing is complemented well by infusing the flan with hazelnut liqueur, almond extract, or coffee liqueur.

Blackberry icing:

• ¼ cup fresh blackberries
• 1 Tbsp. water
• 1 Tbsp. sugar
• ⅛ tsp. salt
• ½ tsp. corn starch
• 1 pinch nutmeg

In a small saucepan, heat the blackberries on low heat with the water and mash them into bits with a fork.  Add the salt, sugar, and nutmeg and stir the mixture.  While stirring, sprinkle the corn starch into the mixture and continue to stir until its viscosity perceptibly increases.  Remove from heat and allow to cool before spreading over the custard.  This icing is complemented well by infusing the flan with blackberry liqueur.  Variants of this recipe are easy to imagine in which blackberries are replaced by raspberries, peaches, strawberries, mangoes, etc.

Gnocchi Florentine with Tomato-Basil Sauce [GF]

Rice flour may be a fit substitute for what flour in many foodstuffs, but as much as one might want to convince oneself otherwise, Italian pasta is not one of them.  Indeed, those familiar with the foibles of commercial rice pasta know that to achieve that sought-after al dente texture requires monitoring the noodles like one would a nuclear reactor, awaiting that sixty-second window within which, if promptly rescued, it will best approximate the desired texture.  Withdrawn from the pot a moment too soon, they're wooden dowels; withdrawn a moment too late, a limp mush whose most appealing attribute is that it imparts to the water enough flavor that it can be converted, without too much ado, into a batch of consolation horchata.  However, fortunately for the gluten-free gourmet, rice flour suffices far better as a wheat-flour substitute in many other Italian dishes.  Pizza is one such delicacy, and, thanks to the high potato content, gnocchi are another.

The gnocchi recipe which appears below is extremely adaptable, and while this specific version is far from vegan, it can be easily be made so by a substitution of pine nuts for chicken bits and the use of some sort of egg substitute to hold the dumplings together.  Others who favor consuming the flesh of beasts may find ground beef or minced bacon pieces to their liking.  In any incarnation (and so seldom do I get such mileage out of that Latin root), it's a fine repast: pleasing to the eye, nutrient-rich (thanks primarily to the spinach), and quite filling.   

Sauce:

• 1½ cups fresh basil leaves
• 4 small vine-ripened or roma tomatoes, quartered
• 1 Tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil
• ⅛ cup balsamic vinegar
• 1 Tbsp. dried oregano
• 1 Tbsp. ground black pepper
• ¼ tsp. ground cayenne pepper
• 2 tsp. salt (or to taste)
• 1 large bunch fresh spinach
• 2-3 Tbsp. finely minced roast chicken meat, finely minced

Gnocchi:

•  1¾ cups white rice flour
• 5 medium-sized russet potatoes
• 1 egg
• 1 tsp. salt
• 1 Tbsp. dry basil
• 2 tsp. dry oregano

To prepare the gnocchi, set a pot of water on to boil.  Prepare another pot as an ice bath by filling it a third of the way full with ice and then filling the rest of it with cold water.  Peel the potatoes, chop each in half, and boil them for 30 min. or so, until they're soft.  Once they are, immediately remove them from heat and while they're still warm, dump thim into a food processor, add 1 cup of rice flour, the salt, and the egg, and process until a smooth dough forms.  Transfer the dough from the food processor to a mixing bowl, add the spices, and stir in the remaining rice flour incrementally until the dough forms a ball solid enough to stick together in reasonably solid clumps.  Using a metal soup spoon or similar utensil, scoop up a dumpling-sized wad of dough and scrape it off the spoon into the pot of boiling water with a butter knife.  Continue to do this with the remaining dough, in batches about 8-10 dumplings at a time.  As soon as each dumpling floats to the surface of the water (a minue or two after immersion), remove it with a small strainer and transfer it to the ice bath.  After 2-3 minutes in the cold water, transfer it to a plate to dry off.           

To prepare the sauce, begin by  placing the tomatoes, basil, spices, vinegar, and oil in a blender and puree until smooth.  Set the spinach simmering in a small amount of water on low to medium heat.  When it has softened, add the chicken pieces and continue to cook for 5 minutes or so.  Add the tomato-basil puree to the pot and cook for five more minutes or until the mixture is reasonably hot.

To serve, place the gnocchi in bowls and ladle a generous portion of the sauce over each set of dumplings.

Ceviche de Tres Mariscos [GF]

There comes a time when every soul must face the inevitable question: what recourse is left one when one has a hankering to whip up a homemade poke, only to discover that the supermarket is completely out of ogo?  Well, what happened to this dream deferred was a channeling of that desire for minimally processed seafood into another cultural milieu.  All the mollusks and crustaceans I had stowed in my shopping basket (mussels, octopus, and shrimp, to be specific) were now destined to become part of a ceviche with a tomato and avocado base.  A disappointment this was not: in fact, I'd say this might have hit the spot better than the poke ever could have, given my erstwhile hankering for citrus.  Anyhow, here's the recipe, which is one of the simplest I've posted to date:  

• ⅓ lb. pre-cooked mussels
• ⅓ lb. pre-cooked cocktail shrimp
• ½ lb. pre-cooked octopus
• 1 large avocado, diced
• 1 large beefsteak tomato, diced
• 2 limes
• 1 tsp. sesame seeds
• 3 dried red chilis (medium to hot)
• 1 Tbsp Tabasco sauce
• ½ Tbsp. coarse sea salt (or to taste)
• 2 tsp. coarse ground black pepper
• 2 tsp. whole cumin seeds
• 1 Tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil

Dice the mussels and octopus, and remove the tails from the cocktail shrip (should any chitin be present).  Toss the avocado, tomato, spices, sesame seeds, and seafood together in a large serving bowl.  Add the Tabasco sauce and olive oil and squeeze the juice from the limes into the mixture and mix thoroughly.  Set in the refrigerator to chill, preferably for an hour or two.  Serve cold with tortilla chips or warmed corn tortillas, along with perhaps a side salad and a piquant tempranillo.

Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwichfruit [V] [GF]

Since it's been a while since my last post, I thought I might as get back into blogging by baby steps — and what could be more culinarily rudimentary than that perennial denizen of elementary-schoolers' lunch boxes, the peanut butter and jelly sandwich?  Well, things get a little bit more complicated, sandwich-wise, when one has a gluten allergy, and furthermore, it's not as if anybody needs instructions as to how to make this American staple.  Therefore, since 'ulu is in season here on O'ahu, I have decided to alter the traditional PB&J by analogy: since peanut butter, jelly, and bread combine to yield a peanut butter and jelly sandwich; peanut butter, jelly, and breadfruit clearly combine to yield a peanut butter and jelly sandwichfruit.  Thus, the Sandwich Islands truly are the sandwichfruit islands when 'ulu is in season!

This recipe makes 4-6 servings, depending on what one considers a "serving" to be.  I recommend leaving the 'ulu ripen for several days after acquiring it before attempting it.  The fruit should be soft to the touch.  If the 'ulu is underripe, the resulting mixture will be extremely starchy and not nearly as flavorful.  Penzey's cake spice is a commercially available blend of cinnamon, star anise, nutmeg, allspice, ginger, and cloves.  Normally, I don't shill for packaged products, but for this one I'll make an exception on the dual grounds that it's a small, Minnesotan business and that this particular spice blend tastes like pure triturated ambrosia.  However, if this glowing endorsement doesn't constitute sufficient grounds for plunking down $3.29 (plus shipping and handling) for a 4 oz. jar, an 2:2:1 mixture of cinnamon, star anise, and nutmeg  will suffice.

Fried breadfruit base: 

• One medium 'ulu (i.e. breadfruit), ripe
• 1½ Tbsp. vegetable oil
• 2-3 cups water
• 2 tsp. ground cinnamon
• 1½ Tbsp. brown sugar
• 1 tsp. Penzey's cake spice
• Salt to taste

Accoutrements (per portion):

• 2 tsp. peanut butter
• 2 tsp. jam or jelly

Begin by heating the oil in a large teflon-lined frying pan on low to medium heat.  Chop the 'ulu in half, remove the stem, and cut away the meat of the fruit from the peel.  Cut that meat into half-inch chunks and sauteé for five minutes or so, until it is slightly (but not thoroughly) browned.  Add the spices, sugar, and some of the water, and over the next 45-60 min., continue periodically to stir the 'ulu chunks and incrementally add more of the water (every 5-10 min. or so) until all of the chunks are tender and the mixture could aptly be described as a thick, starchy paste.

To serve, dish the mixture into small serving bowls and mix in the peanut butter and jam (for the latter, I've tried strawberry, pineapple-guava, and fig, and the fig wins hands down) and serve, adding additional water as necessary to give the mixture a creamy texture.  Additional water (and salt) almost certainly need to be added when the mixture is stored in a refrigerator and reconstituted.

Borscht [V] [GF]

I have no idea why, but I'd been developing a hankering for borscht — a soup I had never even so much as sampled before in my life — that had, by mid-March, trebled to a level which could no longer be endured.  Perhaps it had been a fascination with things traditionally Russian I'd developed since viewing the Met's production of Boris Godunov last autumn (featuring the formidable René Pape in the title role), perhaps it had been the fabulous photographs in the Russian Cooking volume in the old Time Life Books "Foods of the World" series, and perhaps it had been that one of my housemates had been on a beet-eating kick of late, and had been saturating the kitchen with the wonderful, rich aroma of boiling roots on practically a daily basis.  Still, whatever the impetus, it was time.

Of course several allergen-avoidance adaptations in the typical recipes I'd perused (onions, for example, are typically present) had to be made, and after comparing several ingredient lists, I was able to distill the essence of what makes a good borscht.  Basically, the primary rule of thumb is this: if it grows near to or beneath the surface of the ground, throw it in the pot.  Beets, potatoes, carrots, cabbage, and whatever else of this ilk you might happen to have on hand do wonders for the soup (and if you don't react to allium vegetables like I do, I'd recommend chucking a few of those in the broth as well).  The secondary rule of thumb is not to skimp on the balsamic vinegar: it's the interplay of its sourness and the sweetness of the beets that lays the foundation for the soup's flavor.  The tertiary rule of thumb is that the traditional complement of smetana (or a reasonable facsimile) is de rigeur.  Interestingly enough, however, I've been able to manufacture a dairy-free substitute that, more or less, does replicate the flavor of sour cream passably well.  (Fulll disclosure: having never sampled echt smetana, which I've been told repeatedly by cognoscenti is in many ways unlike typical American sour cream, I'm not sure how well it stands up to authentic Russian product.)  The recipe for this has been included below as well.

The borscht itself:

• 4 small beets
• 3 small red potatoes
• 1 1/2 cups diced green cabbage
• 1 medium carrot
• 1 medium tomato
• 1 Tbsp olive oil
• 4 tsp salt (or to taste)
• pepper to taste
• 2 Tbsp fresh dill
• 1/4 cup red wine vinegar (or to taste)

The imitation smetana:

• 1 tsp lemon juice
• 1/2 cup silken tofu (firm tofu is preferable)
• Salt to taste

Peel the potatoes, then boil them together with the beets in a modicum of water until they're tender.  Remove the beets and potatoes and retain the water in which they were boiled as stock for the soup.  Dice the cooked beets and potatoes, the cabbage, the tomatoes, and the carrots and add them to the broth.  Add the vinegar, salt, pepper, and olive oil and simmer on medium heat for 30 - 45 min., or until the cabbage is soft and has grown slightly translucent.  Chop the dill and add it to the broth, then continue to simmer for 10 - 15 min. further.

During these last 10 - 15 min., place the tofu, salt, and lemon juice in a food processor and process for 20 - 30 seconds until reasonably smooth.  Serve the borscht hot with a generous dollop of the smetana atop each portion.    

 

Lemon Poppy Seed Quickbread [V] [GF]

I've been somewhat obsessed with quickbreads lately, and after some fairly successful results with the carob-carrot-coffee-cake recipe I included in my last post, I figured it was time for some variations on the theme.  This specimen was also pretty tasty, so I figured I'd provide a recipe for this one as well.  Much of the ingredient roster will no doubt look familiar to anybody who has actually tried to put the last post's recipe into practice, but the texture is much lighter (due primarily to presence of the lemon juice), and the flavor is quite a bit lighter as well.

• 2 cups rice flour
• 2 apple bananas
• 1 cup soy milk
• 2 Tbsp. almond meal
• 1 Tbsp poppy seeds
• ½ Tbsp. baking soda
• 1½ lemons
• ½ tsp salt 
• 1 Tbsp. raw turbinado sugar

Preheat an oven to 350°.  Puree the apple bananas and soy milk in a blender.  Combine the remainder of the ingredients, excepting the lemons, in a mixing bowl.  With a grater, grate as much of the fresh lemon zest into the bowl as the lemon peels will yield, being careful not to include any of the bitter, white interior of the rind, then squeeze the juice from the lemons into the bowl as well.  Pour in the puree, and mix the batter together thoroughly with a spoon.  Take a large piece of aluminum foil and line the interior of a small baking pan with it, so that it conforms to the contours of the pan.  Grease the aluminum foil with vegetable oil.  Pour the mixture into the foil-coated pan and bake at 350° for 60-75 min.  Remove from the oven and allow the quickbread to cool for 15 min. or so, then peel off the aluminum foil, slice, and serve. 

 

Carob Carrot Coffee Cake [V] [GF]

There's a scene in Boris Godunov in which Boris, near the end of his reign and rope, passes through a crowd of peasants who implore him, in one of the opera's most visceral, haunting moments, for bread.  While I can't claim that this quickbread is capable of inspiring such reactions, some of those I've personally witnessed in response to its aroma alone, let alone its flavor, come pretty close.

Well, perhaps that's a bit of an exaggeration, but at any rate, the recipe below yields a thick, hearty, brown loaf, a couple of slices of which would be capable of sustaining one through numerous hours of agrarian labor.  It packs a decent amount of protein (in tree nut form), and it also packs cinnamon and carob, which really seem to complement each other quite well... but enough empty praise and nutritional information!  Here's the recipe: 

• 2 cups rice flour
• 2 apple bananas
• 1 cup soy milk
• 2 Tbsp. almond meal
• ¼ cup carrots, finely grated
• ½ Tbsp. baking soda
• ¼ tsp. cinnamon
• ½ tsp salt 
• 1 Tbsp. carob powder
• 1 Tbsp. raw turbinado sugar
• ¼ cup chopped walnuts
• ½ cup raisins

Preheat an oven to 350°.  Puree the apple bananas and soy milk in a blender.  Combine the rest of the ingredients in a mixing bowl, pour in the puree, and mix the batter together thoroughly with a spoon.  Take a large piece of aluminum foil and line the interior of a small baking pan with it, so that it conforms to the contours of the pan.  Grease the aluminum foil with vegetable oil.  Pour the mixture into the foil-coated pan and bake at 350° for 45 min. to an hour.  Remove from the oven and allow the quickbread to cool for 15 min. or so, then peel off the aluminum foil, slice, and serve.

Breakfast on Ice: a Survey of Fruits (Part 1)

The selection of esoteric fruits readily available from your corner grocery in Honolulu is indeed staggering (as is, in the case of certain examples, such as the durian, the poor soul who has to transport those fruits home from said grocery), and I would feel remiss if I did not at least attempt to provide some sort of survey of this cornucopia.  Furthermore, I believe I have found the perfect excuse to do so, since he fruit smoothie is, really, the ideal breakfast food for hot climates, and has been the mainstay of my personal breakfast for two consecutive months now.  Therefore, today's post shall be the first installment of a vast survey of the fruits available in Honolulu markets (and especially in Chinatown, which has become my go-to place for inexpensive produce these days).  So, let the smoothie survey commence!

Each day, or at least every couple of days, I generally try to vary the fruit which becomes the centerpiece of breakfast.  (However, that fruit is always pureed together with an apple banana, which provides some sweetness and substance without being too overpowering.)  Regardless of what the fruit of the day happens to be, my breakfast smoothies generally seem to end up with the "base" ingredients listed below, plus that fruit.  As a rule of thumb, the amount of the featured fruit to be used is whatever portion equals the size of the apple banana. 

• 1 apple banana
• 17 ice cubes (about 2 cups)
• 1 tsp. raw cane sugar
• 1 tsp. peanut butter
• ½ cup water (plus extra, if needed to achieve the right consistency)
• salt to taste

So, on to this week's featured fruits!

Longan

That "long" in the first syllable is a translation of the Chinese word for dragon, and is the same morpheme that shows up, for example, in the name of the ubiquitous variety of green tea oft transliterated into Roman characters as "long ching" ("dragon well").  I confess I have not the sophistication of palate to distinguish the flavor of the longa from that of the lychee, though I take comfort in the fact that few whom I have polled do.  I take even greater comfort in the fact that that flavor is pretty damn tasty.  Longans seem to take quite well to dehydration, and result in pallid yet sweet and robustly-flavored "raisins" which outstrip the grape-based variety in nearly every aspect.  They're also fantastic iced, or chilled in simple syrup, and while they don't quite pack the same punch in a fruit smoothie that, say, a soursop or chiku does, they don't fail utterly in that department either.

Cherimoya

The cherimoya is, like the soursop, yet another one of those miraculous, delicately-custard-flavored New World fruits which seems to have found a worldwide audience in recent decades.  They're fantastic in smoothies, and pretty good on their own, too.

Star Apple 

The star apple, a.k.a. milk fruit, aguay, or caimito, is particularly striking in its appearance when halved perpendicular to its major axis (you'll immediately understand the origin of the name).  Nevertheless, despite the asterism and porphyrial hue, I confess that upon sampling my first specimen, I was not terribly impressed.  On the other hand, the subtle flavor seemed to complement well the apple banana in the smoothie to which I devoted the rest of the fruit I sampled, so it may be an item best taken in tandem with other fruits to bring out their flavoras — sort of the fructal equivalent of an aromatic spice.

Chiku

I have saved the best for last, for the chiku (a.k.a. sapodilla or chiko), is perhaps the emperor of fruits.  It originally hails from Central America, but has become a favorite in South Asia (whence the name "chiku").  Roughly the size an complexion of a kiwi (but without the cilia), its flesh, which ranges in color from ecru to deep orange, is sweet, yet not overpowering, and possesses a fascinatingly rich flavor whose nuances harmonize the best aspects of cantaloupe, egg custard, and chocolate.  The rind can be eaten as well, and it yields a distinctive, rich brown countenance to the smoothies one creates from it.  They're also just about the perfect serving size.  I heartily recommend that anyone seek out this fruit, which I believe, at present, unparalleled among nature's offerings.

So that's it for this week's roundup, folks.  Stay tuned for further adventures involving soursop, papaya, pineapple (practically the state's unofficial mascot), and more in the coming weeks.         

Nián Gāo [V] [GF]

Happy Chinese New Year, everybody!  It is now officially the year of the rabbit, so if you're looking for a method of ensuring good luck for the coming year that doesn't involve chopping off the token animal's foot, I have the solution for you: nián gāo.  Consuming these rice-flour cakes on Chinese New Year is said to ensure good fortune for the subsequent twelve months, much like its occidental equivalent, Hoppin' John (a dish with a name particularly appropriate for the year of the rabbit), it makes for a tasty way of seeing in the new year regardless of its efficacy as a good-luck charm.

A variety of recipes for these cakes can be found online.  The version presented here is a fairly traditional one, save that the amount of sugar has been reduced (which partly accounts for the relative pallor of the confections appearing in the photo above, relative to your typical nián gāo).  Dried red dates are the traditional topping, but I happened to have dehydrated some halved longans earlier in the week, and they certainly did the trick.  Also, as far as steaming time is concerned: as you can see from the photograph, my steaming device is a somewhat inefficient piece of Rube Goldberg apparatus that allows plenty of steam to escape.  Therefore, if you have a real steamer, the steaming time given in the recipe below is probably a drastic overestimate.  Just keep an eye on the nián gāo as they steam.

Good luck, bon appetit, and happy year of the rabbit!

• 2¼ cups mochi rice flour
• ¾ cups brown sugar
• ¼ tsp. salt
• 2¼ cups mochi rice flour
• ¼ cup vegetable oil;
• 1 cup water
• 12-15 dried longans, dried red dates, or other dried fruit

Place the sugar and water in a small saucepan and bring the water to a low boil.  Continue to boil the water, stirring occasionally, until the sugar has dissolved.  Once it has, remove from heat and set aside 15-20 minutes to cool.  Combine the rice flour and salt in a mixing bowl, and once the "simple syrup" has cooled to around room temperature, pour it into the flour-salt mixture, add the oil, and knead the ingredients together thoroughly.  Flatten the dough balls slightly with your hand, and press a piece of dried fruit into the top of each one.  On top of   Form the resulting dough into 12-15 small balls of equal size and place these on a well-oiled steaming rack and steam for 3-4 hours, or until the dough has been sufficiently steamed.  Set aside to cool for a while, then enjoy!   

Seared Yellowtail with Chilled Okinawan Sweet Potatoes and Dried Asian Pear Salad [GF]

As of this weekend, I'm officially back on O'ahu.  Now, there's nothing that says homecoming like fresh fish, and since Times Supermarket had fresh-caught hammachi (otherwise known as yellowtail) on sale for a ridiculously low price, I saw no reason not to indulge.  This explains the impetus behind one of the items in the holy trinity of you see plated in the picture above, and the other two were no less serendipitous — but wow... the whole is certainly more than the sum of those three parts, and each part is individually fantastic.

The salad, you see, would not have been what it was without the dried Asian pears, which were made possible by the recent arrival of my housemate's food dehydrator, which I employed in a trial run earlier this week.  The dessication victims included an apple banana, an Asian pear, and several kiwis, all of which turned out quite palatable dried.  The Okinawan sweet potato was donated to the household by a departing guest, and while I'd expected to be reheating it this evening, after baking it last night, I decided, upon tasting a piece of it cold, that it had to be served that way.  And thus dinner was born.  When following the recipe below, note that the official SI unit of Asian pear quantity cited therein, otherwise known as the "piece," consists of half of a thin, cross-sectional slice. 

Yellowtail

• ¼ lb. yellowtail fillet, cut into ½-cm. thick slices
• 1/8 tsp. sea salt
• 1/8 tap. freshly ground black pepper
• 1 large pinch dry dill weed
• ¼ tsp. sesame oil

Sweet potatoes

• 1 medium Okinawan sweet potato

Salad

• 1 large handful shredded nori
• ½ stalk celery, thinly sliced
• ½ tsp. gluten-free tamari soy sauce
• ½ tsp. rice vinegar
• black pepper and salt to taste
• ¼ tsp. fresh ginger root, minced
• 3 pieces dried Asian pear, sliced into thin strips

Preheat an oven to 400° Fahrenheit.  Pierce the Okinawan sweet potato several times with a fork, wrap it in aluminum foil, and bake it at that temperature for roughly an hour, or until tender.  Place in the refrigerator for several hours to cool.  Note that in the plating above, I only used half of the sweet potato (and you better believe I'm looking forward to consuming the other half tomorrow).

To prepare the fish, rub the slat and pepper over the slices until they're evenly coated.  Spread the sesame oil out thinly on a frying pan and heat it for 5-10 minutes on medium heat before placing the yellowtail slices on it.  Once the fish is in the pan, immediately sprinkle the dill over it and flip it (it should cook for no more than a minute on each side), then remove from the pan. 

To prepare the salad, simply combine the ingredients in a bowl and toss lightly with a fork.  Serve all three dishes together immediately after preparation, since the temperature of each one is crucial to the diner's enjoyment.  I recommend accompanying the dish with a good nigori sake, served chilled.  This particular type of sake has a subtle aftertaste redolent of bananas, and will complement the meal perfectly.

Hoppin' John [V] [GF]

After posting the Hoppin' Cod recipe on this blog last week, I've been asked by certain interested parties (who were, I should emphasize, fans of the dish) to provide, in addition, a more traditional Hoppin' John recipe.  I'm certainly glad to oblige: here's a slightly modified version of the Sundays at Moosewood  recipe which introduced me to the dish.

A wide variety of modifications can add variety to this dish.  For example, the traditional recipe involves both garlic (two cloves) and browned onions (roughly 1 cup thereof), which I omit for allergy reasons.  However, I can only imagine that they improve the flavor of the dish, so if you can eat them, you might as well reintroduce them into the mix.  I've also experimented with adding collard greens (one large bunch) to the beans about ten minutes before the heat is turned off, and they also do a great deal to enhance the dish in terms of both taste and nutritional value.  If you're not into spicy food, substitute paprika for some or all of the cayenne pepper; if the opposite is true, adding more cayenne can't hurt either.

Incidentally, if you're wondering about the corn muffins (for that's what they are) in the photograph, that will remain a story for a later date.  In the meantime, enjoy your black-eyed peas!

The base of the dish:

• 4 cups black-eyed peas, cooked
• 2 Tbsp. vegan butter substitute
• ¼ tsp. cayenne pepper
• 2 Tbsp. gluten-free tamari soy sauce
• 2-3 pinches ground allspice
• Salt and pepper to taste

Accompaniments:

• 2 large roma tomatoes, chopped
• ¼ cup cilantro, chopped
• Steamed rice (from 2-3 cups dry rice)

If you're beginning with dry black-eyed peas, boil 2 cups of them in 5-6 cups of water for 10 minutes, then remove from heat and set aside to soak for 4-6 hours or more, covered.  Following that, bring them to a boil again and cook over medium high heat until the beans are tender (generally 40 min. or so), then strain the beans, but save some of the liquid in which they were cooked.  If the beans are already cooked (for example, if they're coming from a can), it also doesn't hurt to save a little bit of the liquid to add to the mixture later on.

Before you begin preparing the beans, it's a good idea to begin cooking the rice, as it will be done at roughly the same time the beans are.  To convert the cooked beans into Hoppin' John, begin by frying the allspice, cayenne pepper, and black pepper in the soy butter in a large frying pan.  Pour in the black-eyed peas and the soy sauce and cook over medium heat, stirring frequently, for 15-20 minutes.  Add as much salt as required.  Serve over the rice, topped by the chopped tomatoes and cilantro.

Orange Mint Chocolate Pie [GF]

In Minnesota, where I hail from, dessert is as integral to a good holiday meal as stuffed poultry; hence, I offer my readers a recipe for yet another gluten-free, dairy-free pie, the filling for which is pretty much a combination of chocolate and tofu.  The merits of combining silken tofu and dark chocolate in a food processor — primarily that the resulting substance is essentially indistinguishable in terms of flavor, color, and consistency from chocolate mousse — have been celebrated to such an extent that I need elaborate on them no further here.  However, in an effort to fuse the holy trinity of chocolate, orange, and mint together in pie form, I've elaborated a bit on the standard tofu-mousse pie.  The result is sort of a chiffon pie consisting of several, differently-flavored strata, and I consider it a success.  It's a tad involved, but it was certainly worth the effort.

A few comments are in order.  First, the amounts specified for each ingredient given in the mousse and orange filling recipes below are actually enough to yield two 12-inch pies, though the amounts specified in the crust recipe are per single pie.  Second, I used Mari-nu silken tofu in making the mousse, which I recommend to anyone attempting to re-create this dessert, and I add an extra admonition that it's crucial for it to be firm tofu in order to get the consistency correct.  The gelatin packet (which I discovered in a cupboard and whose precise size remains to me therefore a mystery) was roughly the size of a tea bag.  I should also add that this is the only non-vegan ingredient involved (and that it was added at the last minute, as I was fishing around the kitchen for gelling agents), so the recipe it should be readily adaptable to those for whom the triturated hooves of miscellaneous ungulates aren't particularly appetizing.

Finally, since this recipe was devised on the fly, so to speak, I'm not certain of the precise amounts of sugar, salt, and corn-starch that I ended up adding to the orange filling.  Anybody trying to follow this recipe should feel free to play around with the numbers given below and adjust them as he or she sees fit.  Furthermore, I'm not really sure that the powdered sugar is necessary (i.e. that it can't be replaced with more regular old refined white sugar), so feel free to experiment with that as well.   

Mousse

• Two 12 oz. packages of silken tofu
• 12 oz. dark chocolate
• ¼ tsp. salt

Orange gel

• Five medium-sized oranges
• 2 oz. fresh mint, minced, plus additional leaves for garnish
• ¾-1 cup sugar
• ¼ cup powdered sugar
• 1 packet gelatin
• 3-5 Tbsp. corn starch
• ½ tsp. salt (or to taste)

Crust (per pie)

• 1½ cup rice flour
• 6 Tbsp. vegan butter substitute, cooled
• 4 Tbsp. water
• 1 tsp. salt

Begin by preparing the crust, the instructions for which are included as part of the pineapple pie recipe I provided a little while ago.  Make sure to allow the crust to cool to room temperature after pre-baking.

To make the mousse, begin by placing the tofu blocks in a food processor.  Melt the chocolate in a small saucepan under low heat, and then set it aside for a moment to cool.  After a moment or two, add the chocolate (as well at the salt) to the food processor and blend the ingredients together therein until they reach a mousse-like consistency.  Allow the mousse to cool.

To make the orange filling, begin by peeling all five oranges and place four of them (the fifth will be used to garnish the tops of the pies), along with the salt, in a blender or juicer.  Take the peels of the oranges and grate them to produce 2 tsp. of fresh orange zest.  Strain the resulting liquid into a medium-sized saucepan, add the (standard, non-powdered) sugar, minced mint, and orange zest and cook the mixture down for 20-30 minutes over medium-high heat, stirring frequently.  Once the volume of liquid has been significantly reduced, slowly stir in the corn starch and powdered sugar.  When the mixture has thickened noticeably, stir in the gelatin and immediately remove from heat.  Allow 5-15 min. for the mixture to cool, though not much more than that, as the gelatin should not set until the filling has been added to the pies.

Pour roughly a quarter of the mousse into each pie crust and spread it into an even layer in each.  Gently spread half of the orange filling in a thin layer on top the mousse on each pie, covering it entirely, but not disturbing the mousse in the process.  Allow 15-20 min. for the filling to set, then spread half of the remaining mousse over the filling covering on each pie.  Finally, cut the remaining peeled orange into thin slices and garnish the tops of the pies with these slices and a few min leaves.  Place the pie in the refrigerator and allow it to cool for at least a couple of hours before serving.

Hoppin' Cod, Casamance-Style [GF]

It's New Year's season again, folks, and to those who happen to hail from certain areas in America's south (or happened to come across a certain New York Times article that appeared last week), that means it's time for Hoppin' John.  This dish, whose base is that venerable legume known as the black-eyed pea or cowpea, is purported to be consumed on New Year's Day to bring good luck for the incipient year.  I say "purported," as I have yet to meet an actual American Southerner (and that's not for lack of inquiry) who engages in this practice, the majority of self-proclaimed Southerners I've asked so far have never even heard of the dish, though a few New Englanders, oddly enough, had — and called it Hoppin' Jack instead.  Be that as it may, the Great Library of Wikipedia assures me that it is verily the stuff of Southern tradition.  In fact, if you really want to get into the superstitions surrounding the dish, you ought to know that you're supposed to leave three black-eyed peas on your plate at the end of the meal to assure your good fortune.  And if you plant these magic beans in the yard, you'll wake up the next morning to find a huge beanstalk growing toward the heavens...

Back on the factual side of things, the dish apparently has its roots in West African cuisine (c.f. the link to the New York Times article above), so in order to make things a bit more interesting this year, my Hoppin' John got back to its roots: it acquired, among other things, codfish and a spice base influenced by certain Senegalese stews I've prepared in the past.  Despite the plethora of additional ingredients (your basic Hoppin' John is, in terms of complexity of preparation and required supplies, only a step above calling out for pizza), it's really not that much more involved, though it was pretty damn delicious. 

One could attempt a vegan version by leaving out the cod, but the fish is somewhat integral to the flavor, so the end product might not quite measure up.  However, since the vegan Hoppin' John recipe in the Sundays at Moosewood cookbook is pretty much unsurpassed, I'd recommend following their recipe rather than mine.

Ingredients

• 1 banana, peeled and diced
• ½ bunch cilantro, chopped
• Juice of 1½ limes
• 1 can (12 oz.) black-eyed peas, drained
• 1 cup frozen green peas
• 1 lb. cod fillets, torn into pieces
• 4 Tbsp. chunky peanut butter
• ½ of a fresh serrano pepper, minced
• ½ tsp. black pepper
• 1 tsp. cinnamon
• 1 Tbsp. salt (or to taste)
• 1 Tbsp. dry ginger
• 2 Tbsp. peanut oil
• 2 Tbsp. gluten-free soy sauce
• ¼ tsp. cayenne pepper
• 3 Tbsp. rice vinegar

Begin by frying the dry spices in the peanut oil (on low heat), and after a few minutes, turn the heat up to medium and add the cod.  Stir it in the spices and oil until it's coated, and after a few more minutes, add the black-eyed peas, soy sauce, lime juice, rice vinegar, and peas.  Once the peas are warm, stir in the peanut butter and simmer for 10-15 minutes on low to medium heat, stirring regularly.  Add the cilantro and banana bits and simmer for 5-10 more minutes.

I served this stew accompanied by heaping bowls of fresh poi, which went over quite well, though I imagine that it would go over equally well served over rice rather than adjacent to taro.  Perhaps dipping pieces of bread into it and eating it Moroccan-style, as one would a tagine, would do it justice too.  Experiment as you see fit; I imagine the efficacy of its good-luck charms won't be mitigated much by an inventive choice of accompanying grain or starch.