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.  

Tuna Salad Onagiri [GF]

Over the last couple of months, I've been experimenting with a number of unorthodox maki and onagiri fillings, and I think this particular one is worthy of a post.  It's a bit unorthodox as onagiri go anyhow, seeing as it's actually stuffed with sushi rice (which really does make a difference in the taste), but for something an inch and a half in diameter, one of these makes a surprisingly satisfying meal in itself — or accompanited by a couple of carrot sticks, peanuts, and fresh fruit, which is how I've been consuming them.

Rice

• 2 cups medium- or short-grain brown rice
• 4 Tbsp. rice vinegar
• 3 Tbsp. sugar
• 2 tsp. salt

Filling

• 1 can (3 oz.) tuna fish, drained
• 2 cm. piece of lemon grass, minced.
• 1 tsp black pepper
• 1 tsp. salt (or to taste)
• Juice of ¼ of a lime
• ½ tsp. cayenne pepper
• 2 tsp. sweet paprika
• ¼ cup bean sprouts
• 1 tsp. dried dill weed
• 1 tsp dry basil
• ¼ tsp. dry oregano
• 3 - 4 Tbsp. mayonnaise (depending on consistency of mixture)
• 1 tsp. black mustard seed
• 2 small stalks celery with leaves, chopped

Wrappers

• 6 sheets sushi nori

Cook the rice in a medium-sized pot or in a rice cooker (using the appropriate amount of water, given the method).  While it's cooking, combine the ingredients for the filling in a bowl and stir them together, adjusting the amount of the mayonnaise and lime juice so that the mixture isn't too runny.  Once the rice is done, stir in the sugar, salt, and vinegar.  Spread each nori sheet on a flat surface and place a goodly helping of the rice (the recipe is intended to make six of these things, so adjudicate accordingly) and spoon a dollop of the filling on top of it.  Put an additional small bit of rice on top of this so as to cover it, then wet your fingers heartily in a bowl of water and fold the corners of the nori square up over the rice after wetting the seaweed enough so it softens and won't break.  Once the onagiri is fully formed, dab the bottom and sides with a wet paper towel to dry it.

At this point, you can simply set these things in the refrigerator and eat them whenever you feel the urge.  Reheating them to room temperature in a microwave before consuming them is recommended, if you're storing them for later.  If you're transporting them to work, to a picnic, etc., I also recommend wrapping each one tightly with cling wrap and tying the cling wrap up at the top with a twist tie (or taping it with Scotch tape).  This will prevent it from leaking.