Archive for November, 2011

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November 24, 2011

Miso kabocha soup

In my yard the other day I was reminded, as I looked at lichen and wet leaves through the lens, how much I like grays and browns and bright yellows.

But walking into my front yard forces an admission: we don’t keep up with the amount of work it requires. Leaves are still on the lawn and the sidewalks around our house. The vegetable beds are uncovered, with giant bamboo stalks from a neighbor lying across them. A pile of faded marigolds is still on the ground, waiting to be tossed in the compost bin. The hosta leaves are turning translucent, wrung out from a season of growing and the mess of heavy, damp leaves around them.

Ah, well. The leaves will eventually be raked and the suckers clipped from the crabapple tree. Even if the yard is decomposing, inside there is cooking and eating and togetherness to be had today.

For us, it’s a low-key day here in town with family. When this post goes up, I’ll be shopping for a few items and pulling together our side dishes just before we leave the house.

I love to celebrate Thanksgiving with a houseful of people, the counters messy with nonstandard ingredients. But sometimes I feel content to gather around a table of warm staples and top it all off with a piece of pie. It’s the kind of quiet celebration I feel like I need. While the rest of the world watches football, I’ll be napping or snuggled in the corner of a couch with a book.

On the blog today, we’re having a celebration that isn’t so quiet: Chie is back! Hooray! I’m thankful to once again be connecting with her over food, sampling her cozy cooking and gleaning wisdom from a mindful, lighthearted and discerning friend.

For this, our second week on winter squashes, we bring you the kabocha. The skin of this hard winter squash becomes soft during cooking, as I learned when I watched Chie chop it up. Knowing I can leave the peeler in the drawer, this will be my go-to squash for future curries and soups. And here’s another fun discovery. My daughter, who was helping prepare this recipe, asked if she could try a little raw squash. Chie cut a few thin slices and – wow. It’s sweet and nutty, a perfect vegetable to eat raw. I rustled up a citrus zester and soon we had bright orange strings for a garnish. (There was talk of adding the raw kabocha meat to a slaw or salad…the wheels are turning.)

The kabocha, so I read, came to Japan from Cambodia by way of Portuguese sailors. There’s also talk of  a savvy California grower who introduced the crop to Japan and the U.S. (or perhaps popularized it) when he started growing the unusual squash in the 1990s.

The squash has caught on because it’s a beauty – the classic kabocha has a deep green, striped skin and bright orange flesh (this orange-skinned one made its way to my house because it was grown locally, by Newaukum Valley Farm).  It’s sweeter than a butternut – one writer describes the flavor of a kabocha as a cross between pumpkin and sweet potato. That’s a pretty apt comparison and a pretty great way to get a bunch of beta carotene, vitamin C, iron and potassium, among other nutrients.

Have a beautiful day, whether you’re having a traditional feast, a table full of new-to-you foods or a walk in the woods. Celebrate and contemplate well, friends. We’ll see you next week.

Miso Kabocha Soup
by Chie

Recently, I lost someone who is very dear to me. She was known, among many other
talents, to be a wonderful and creative cook. I remember her making a brothy miso soup to share
with family.  It had some bold sardine flavors – bold like she was. My son tells stories about how
he would go on adventures when I wasn’t around. When I asked, did you go with anyone? I would
usually hear “Grandma Fran” as the answer.

I think about her every day, more than I ever have. Through our grieving process, my family realized
some basic but essential things – to make priorities straight, spend time with those who are important.

Once a year Fran threw a huge party for her birthday, a fish fry that would gather many friendly faces.
With family, we are planning to throw a grand celebration of her life in the summer in that same spirit.
Food will be a central part of it.

I am happy to be back to The Plum after going on hiatus for a few weeks. A huge thanks to Jenni who took
it on single handedly so graciously and beautifully.

This is a soup I make regularly in my household. It was inspired by a friend who lived in Miyazaki
Prefecture, Japan where they make a broth out of kabocha squash, a Japanese orange-fleshed meaty
winter squash with green skin. Another common kabocha squash variety has an orange skin called
Kuri (chestnut) kabocha which I used in this one. The ginger makes it extra warming, daikon aids in
digestion and phelm, the burdock makes it nourishing as a liver aid and to help cleanse the blood.

I hope this gives you as much comfort as it does me.

4 inches kombu seaweed
1 c packed Bonito flakes (Katsuobushi)
about 8 c filtered water
⅓- ½ medium kabocha squash, skin on and chopped
1 medium yellow onion, sliced
1-inch nub ginger, sliced (add more if you like it spicy)
1 small burdock root, cut into small rounds
1 small daikon radish, root and greens*, root cut into quartered rounds; greens chopped
⅓ c wakame, rehydrated; chopped if needed
4 Tbsp white brown rice miso
3 Tbsp red miso **
½ bunch green onions, chopped

* if daikon greens are not attached to the root, chose a mild flavored green such as baby bok choy to add at the end.
For this batch, I used spinach.
** You may choose just one type of miso, but I like to combine the milder white with the saltier red for more dimension.

Place the kombu in medium pot with the water over medium heat. When it comes to a boil, add a cup
of bonito flakes and simmer for a minute to release the full flavor of the bonito but not to get it too fishy.
Strain through a fine mesh sieve and return back to the pot. This is your dashi – Japanese base broth.

Simmer the kabocha and onions (we also used a shallot) in the dashi for about 10 minutes.

Add the burdock and daikon roots. Cook until tender.

Place the miso in a glass or ceramic bowl. Add some of the hot broth from the pot to dilute it and prevent
it  from clumping. Whisk vigorously and return to pot.

Add the rehydrated wakame, daikon greens, and green onions. Adjust to taste with more miso if you like.
It’s important not to bring the miso to a boil after adding it to preserve its flavor and nutrients.

Occasionally, I add kale and leftover salmon from the night before for a hearty breakfast.
It can be a nourishing addition to any meal with broiled fish, salad and a whole grain. Enjoy!

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November 17, 2011

Rain and pumpkin ice cream

Yesterday was the kind of day that made even Northwesterners put their heads down and dart for the nearest building. Rainy, rainy. In our dining room, I heard the steady dribble and keyboard-tapping of rain on the skylights all day long.

So the weather is saying to us, fall is finally here.

Viruses are saying the same: it’s fall. We’re not typically a family that gets sideswiped by one virus after another. But this year we can’t seem to kick them. Altogether we’ve had one fever, one Saturday lost to a dizzy and sleeping spouse, two nagging coughs, aching muscles…I wonder if we could make up enough verses for an illness-themed version of the Twelve Days of Christmas?

That makes it sound much worse than it is, though. The illness has been low-grade. And the rain? I love the rain and the overcast skies. I love hunkering down and cleaning clutter and drinking hot tea in the middle of the afternoon.

Plus, it’s still the harvest. The farm where we got our CSA box this year has extended the season to those of us who want to pay by the week. Today’s box was as full as I’ve seen all season: broccoli raab, red cabbage, onion, baby salad greens, parsnips, chard, carrots, potatoes, cauliflower and delicatas (yes, more).

Which brings me to winter squash, the hard-skinned varieties of the Cucurbita genus and one of the great, cheerful things about this time of year. Squash are fruits, botanically speaking, and calling them so makes me feel a bit better about the cold months ahead (we’ll have fruit all winter!). Often when I research a food, I find that its origins are in China or the Mediterranean – they seem to be close to the cradle of civilization when it comes to food. But squash are thought to have first been cultivated in Mesoamerica and traveled north where they were grown extensively by Native Americans. Which means when you eat a squash, you’re close to a crop that has grown here for a very, very long time. That squash is older than you are, and has a longer memory.

So today we have pumpkins because the ones that have been curing on my counter since Halloween are ready. They’re from a community-minded neighbor who grows a patch of pie pumpkins and designates some of them for the kids in the neighborhood. Once they were cut from the vines, she dropped me a message, inviting the kids to come pick out their favorites and take them home. We have a sweet neighborhood that way.

Pumpkins are the obvious choice for this time of year. But beyond the post-Jack-O’-Lantern/pre-pumpkin pie space we’re in now, pumpkins are versatile and really good for you. They contain lutein, alpha and beta carotenes, and potassium. They taste good in everything from quick breads to curry. And they’re convenient: after curing, pumpkins can be stored for months. But not in a warm kitchen, which is why ours either need to be cooked this week or nestled in a chillier place for the winter.

It’s not fair for me to pick a big vegetable like a pumpkin and then share something like this recipe. Calling for a measly three tablespoons, it will hardly help you in your quest to use up the half of your roasted pumpkin that didn’t fit into the pie. I’m sorry.

On the other hand, this recipe only calls for three tablespoons, which is an amount you can spare if you’re in need of a gluten- or dairy-free dessert for some of your guests next week. This is the perfect alternative after-dinner offering. It has enough spice to taste festive. It’s simple (simple!) to make and must be made a day or two before the big meal, which means it won’t hog a big footprint on the countertop or take up time in the kitchen when you and your whisk will be needed elsewhere.

A few notes. When I was mixing the ingredients together I regretted putting in the whole teaspoon of cinnamon – it looked and smelled like too much – but my regret was misplaced. It tastes perfect. I went light on the allspice which turned out to be a good idea. I grated only half an allspice berry, really just a dusting, and it supported the cinnamon without overpowering. But one big change for next time: this recipe could use more pumpkin. I’d double it, keeping in mind that canned pumpkin purée may have a more intense flavor. Six tablespoons of purée still may not knock your pumpkin pie plans off the rails, so go ahead and make both. Though you may want to plan for extra pumpkin so you can double this recipe – the pie eaters will want a bite of this, too.

Pumpkin Coconut Milk Ice Cream
from I {heart} kale

1 14-ounce can coconut milk (not low fat)
3 Tbsp cooked pumpkin purée
¼ – ½ cup sweetener such as honey or maple syrup
1-inch piece of ginger
1 tsp cinnamon
1/8 tsp vanilla extract
pinch of allspice

Grate the ginger and squeeze it between your fingers or in a cheesecloth to extract the juice. Discard the squeezed ginger pulp.

Combine the ginger juice with all the ingredients except the sweetener and whisk well.

Heat the mixture over a low flame and add the sweetener slowly, tasting as you go. (It won’t need to be very hot, just enough to dissolve the sugar and meld the flavors.) I added only 2 1/2 tablespoons of honey.

Transfer to the fridge until it’s cool, then follow the directions for your ice cream maker.

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November 10, 2011

Brussels sprout hash

Back in the spring, Chie and I planned our blogging menu for the next five months. As the weeks ticked by we patted ourselves on the back – we had estimated the arrival of seasonal produce pretty dang well. Even strawberries: they were so late this year, there’s no reason a July fourth post should have hit the nail on the head. Lucky.

Until we got to Brussels sprouts. They were still being trucked in from California in late September when we thought we’d be roasting them up. Whoops. So, a note to my Northwest self: Brussels sprouts are grown locally, but they don’t show up until that last surprise warm spell has long passed and everyone has finally put away the camping gear and dug up the green tomatoes. Not until then.

This is a lucky thing because the Brussels sprout happily mingles with the harvest festival kinds of foods that also benefit from a solid frost, such as squash and root veggies. It’s nice to have something to throw in the mix that falls between summer’s tender, wilty greens and fall’s onslaught of hardheaded cabbages. Indeed, the Brussels sprout is a semi-storage vegetable, lasting close to two weeks in the refrigerator (mine did) and up to five weeks at colder temperatures. And they’re easy to prepare. After a quick rinse, remove any yellowing leaves, slice off the end, halve them and, presto! Searable mini cabbages.

The Brussels sprout is a bit of an outsider, and not only because historians aren’t sure of its place of origin. Most domestically grown Brussels sprouts, over 80%, end up frozen and those that don’t are cooked until they’re mushy, gray and filling your house with a bitter stench.

At least, that used to be the story. Now most of us know to steam or sauté our vegetables until “tender-crisp.” That’s just how you want to cook up your Brussels sprouts: until their leaves brighten to the green of a shamrock on a St. Patty’s Day card and the edges are a tempting caramel color. Add some good salt. Don’t leave them in the pan. Eat while they’re still steaming.

 Brussels Sprouts and Roasted Winter Squash Hash
from Martha Rose Shulman in The New York Times

1½ pounds winter squash, halved, seeds and membranes scraped away
1 pound Brussels sprouts
2 T extra virgin olive oil
1 bunch scallions, sliced thin
2 garlic cloves, minced
salt and freshly ground pepper
2 T tomato paste, dissolved in ¼ cup water
1 cup cooked black rice
Poached eggs for serving (optional)

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees. Cover a baking sheet with parchment. Brush the cut sides of the squash with olive oil, and set on the baking sheet with the cut sides down. Bake 30 to 40 minutes until easily pierced with a paring knife. Remove from the heat, allow to cool until they can be handled, and peel and dice.

While the squash is in the oven, trim away the bottoms of the Brussels sprouts and cut into quarters.

Heat the oil over medium-high in a heavy pot. Add the Brussels sprouts. Cook, stirring often or tossing in the pan, until just tender and the edges are seared, about five minutes. Add salt to taste. Stir in the scallions and garlic and toss together for a few minutes until fragrant.* Stir in the squash. Cook, stirring often, until the squash has caramelized lightly, about 10 minutes. It’s fine if the squash falls apart in the pan.

Season to taste with salt and pepper, and stir in the dissolved tomato paste. Cook another five minutes. Stir in the black rice. Heat through, taste and adjust seasonings, and serve, topped with a poached egg if desired.

*I appreciate the attempt to make this a one-pot meal. As a parent who has cleaned up on many a late night after a day of cooking, writing and ignoring the breakfast dishes, I really do. But in this case, I’d advise separate powder rooms. Cook the sprouts first, until they’re electric green, then add the scallions and garlic for another half a minute or so. Turn the heat off or move the mixture to a bowl. In a separate pan (or the same one, if you took the time to remove the sprouts) cook the diced squash until caramelized then add tomato paste and black rice. Add the sprouts back in just to heat through and adjust the seasonings. That’s much better. And prettier, too.

Note: To cook black rice, combine 1 part rice with 1¾ parts water and salt to taste in a saucepan. Bring to a boil, cover and reduce the heat. Simmer 30 minutes until the water has been absorbed. Remove the lid, place a dish towel over the pot, return the lid and let stand 10 minutes. A cup of dry rice will yield 3 cups of cooked rice.

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November 3, 2011

Napa cabbage slaw

I’m pausing now, before I begin writing this post, to take a breath and pay attention to what breathing feels like, to note that it’s still going on. There’s still an in-out rhythm; it feels good. And despite all that’s happened this week – capped off by a wipeout on the wood floor of a room the kids outfitted as the “castle,” wherein I slipped on the royal rug and landed squarely on my hip in the morning’s frenzy – I’m sitting in the quiet as I write this; typing on a clear morning.

We’ve had a double scoop of emotional kids this week: flash tantrums, disappointments, too little sleep, too many mini candy bars.

The Halloween Fairy made an appearance yesterday. That helps. So does the beanbag chair in the corner where my son can now go to “have a calm body” if he needs to head off another tantrum. His own neutral space.

I’m seeking neutral space, too. Bowing out of a few responsibilities, not turning the router back on if it goes down, carpooling more, adding a date night to the schedule – all of these have helped pull me up from deep diving, back to the swaying of the surface waters.

Float and breathe.

This makes it a good week for hakusai, the “white vegetable.” Napa cabbage is simple and elegant and tasty all on its own. You can lay the leaves whole on a plate, add a dollop of hummus and a cherry tomato or two and you have lunch. It has a sweet, watery essence that blends in with just about anything but still holds its texture in a sauté. It can give body to a salad as one ingredient among many or it can disappear, silently infusing your morning smoothie with vitamins A and C and a bit of calcium.

It can also be the centerpiece of a dish, as you may need it to be if you’re still getting a weekly box and looking for something to do with all that cabbage.

For several years I read Catherine Newman’s Dalai Mama blog. Last summer or the one before I came across this recipe for Gingery Napa Slaw and fell in love with its simplicity and crunch.

Though she’s moved her cooking and parenting insights to her personal blog, I still find myself looking back in the archives of the old one for a few favorites. This is one of them. And something extra special about it? You don’t have to remember to make it the day before a potluck so the flavors can marry. Instead, throw it together in a last-minute panic like usual and it will be just perfect. In fact if it sits overnight, or even a few hours, the flavors become more diffuse and the dish more watery than you or your fellow potluckers might like.

Gingery Napa Slaw
slightly adapted from Catherine Newman

2/3 c oil, I used a combination of grapeseed and vegetable
½ c chopped shallots or green onions
½ c chopped almonds
1 tsp finely chopped fresh ginger
¾ tsp Celtic sea salt
2 tsp honey
1 tsp sesame oil
1/3 c balsamic vinegar
1 large head of Napa cabbage, slivered

Heat one tablespoon of the oil in a small pan over medium-low heat and sauté the shallots until slightly softened and just starting to brown.

In a food processor or with an immersion blender, whir together the shallots with the remaining ingredients until the dressing is thick and emulsified. Taste for salt, sugar, acid, and overall balance, and re-season as necessary.

In the unwashed shallot pan over medium heat, fry the almonds until golden, around 2-3 minutes.
Remove to a small bowl so they don’t burn.
In a large bowl, toss the cabbage with the dressing (I used all of it). Top with almonds and enjoy.

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