There is more work to do than ever. There are more play dates to coordinate, more vacation days to fill, more birthday presents to buy. More house projects. More work projects. More dog hair. More spoiled leftovers.
I never had illusions that both kids going to school would answer my longings for more, more, more. But I did think I was gaining, if not a tree, then a stout stump where I could set up my laptop. A reliable piece of property.
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I emptied two bookshelves in the kitchen this weekend, wiped them down and relocated the tea mugs. The two shelves – which carried space for new cookbooks only if I situated them horizontally along the tops of the others – are now three, with books arranged by subject and room enough for the Suzanne Goin cookbook I was eyeing at Powell’s a few weeks ago. Plus a few more down the road.
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I’m picturing Julia Child’s kitchen right now. I don’t have a good idea of the structural details, if the flooring is wood or linoleum or tile, how the cabinets were configured or what her refrigerator looked like when she was living at their “Roo de Loo” apartment in Paris in the late 1940′s and early ‘50′s.
I’m just imagining a long counter lined with kitchen gadgets, copper pans, sieves and other shiny new cooking supplies bought from E. Dehillerin, her favorite Paris cookery shop.
I’m reading My Life in France as part of the Tea & Cookies Book Club. The book itself, from a local bookstore, is as unappealing as they come (I was looking for a deal). It’s romance-novel sized and the book’s length and page size are out of proportion so it’s too thick – the thing keeps springing closed, especially when I’m trying to hold it open with one hand.
But I’m so glad I didn’t judge it by its size or its Julie and Julia movie tie-in cover. It’s marvelous. It’s almost making me a convert to butter-only cooking. Her descriptions are so clear I was emboldened to make scrambled eggs according to her description of an early lesson she had during her time at Le Cordon Bleu: stirring minimally, sliding into melted butter in a skillet on very low heat and waiting a full three minutes before stirring (I tried but couldn’t stand it – I stirred after about a minute and a half). They were delicious.
I’m missing vegetables, though. She cooks them, sure. But they’re almost always a complement to the beef or pork or bacon (or all three), used as decoration or as a butter-infused bed for something like a cooked partridge. Otherwise, it’s a lot of meat and potatoes.
But I love reading about the start of her career and how she became a careful and dogged cook. Her enthusiasm is contagious – she tastes, experiments, tries again. (When she was testing her mayonnaise recipe, she ended up throwing whole batches down the toilet. Egads! They had more in the refrigerator than they could stand to eat.) I’m seeing how learning to pay attention to technique and flavor as she did will temper my haphazard habits in the kitchen. Don’t assume there’s enough salt. Focus, taste and practice, practice, practice.
Last week our CSA box started up again. I forgot how much I missed fresh greens. The box included an especially beautiful bunch of lacinato kale so I decided to make a salad. I found this one and adapted it to incorporate some orphans in my pantry, namely a half-jar of black quinoa I never seem to get around to cooking. The result is a simple salad with texture, a vinegar punch and the contrasting greens of dark kale and chopped pistachios. No nod-to-Julia butter, but perfect for summer picnics.
Kale Salad with Black Quinoa
adapted from Mountain Mama Cooks
1 large bunch lacinato kale, chopped into bite-sized pieces
3 T fresh lemon juice
1 T rice vinegar
2 T olive oil
1 – 2 teaspoons maple syrup
a pinch of sea salt
½ cup black quinoa, cooked and cooled
small handful chopped pistachios
small handful chopped dried cherries
Place chopped kale in a large bowl.
Add lemon juice, vinegar, olive oil, maple syrup and salt. Massage into the kale and let sit while you prepare the other ingredients.
Add quinoa and all but a few chopped pistachios and dried cherries. Toss to combine, arrange in a serving bowl and and sprinkle remaining pistachios and cherries on top.
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And a bonus today. The fabulous Vinny at Cook Up a Story nominated us for the Food Stories Award. Thank you, Vinny! A flower for you :)
Did you know I’m a sci-fi fan? I am. I’m not a fanatic, but as a teen I watched Star Trek and as an adult I love reading anything written by Ursula K. LeGuin. Watching Battlestar Galactica is on my to-watch list. So, there’s my random fact, something the panel for this award requested from nominees, which is kind-of fun!
As for my own shout-outs, here are five sites I find myself coming back to. We’re grateful for the ways each of them contribute to the vibrant food community online. The blogging experience is richer because of what they do. Bon appetit!
I think of mushrooms as a must-cook food. Sliced raw on salads they taste marginal, at best. And I have a slight paranoia about the ill effects of eating some of the more unusual varieties raw. Morels, for instance, must be cooked (and cooked thoroughly) to avoid “gastrointestinal distress.” Yikes. Shiitakes eaten raw can cause, in about 1 in 50 people, an itchy rash on the face and neck (more on this in a minute).
But let’s assume we’re not dealing with morels today (we’re not) and that you’re one of the 49. Or that you’re preparing plain old button mushrooms. Try a marinade. Marinating exploits the sponginess of raw mushrooms, a possibility I hadn’t considered before Chie told me about today’s recipe while we were on a walk in the sun the other day.
Speaking of which, this week we had a winter tease if I’ve ever seen one. I broke out my sunglasses and Chie and I peeled off our jackets as we were circling the lake. The spring-like weather nudged me to get outside with my camera, too. Before I get back to the issue at hand, here are a few images from a practice session with my new lens. These were taken in our front yard, where the plants seem convinced that it’s both winter and spring.
And there’s something else before we move on. I turned 40 this week. It’s strange to witness the softening of my features in the mirror, to discover which edges age is choosing to blur. But mostly I’m okay with the change, even looking forward to a decade my older friends tell me they recall with fondness. I foresee a time of taking better care of myself, risk-taking, acceptance and a richer understanding of people.
But enough about me. On to the cooking! Before we move to the recipe, I’ll note that sources I read recommend shiitakes be cooked in order to avoid the possibility of the rash I mentioned a moment ago. If you’re leery, sauté the mushrooms prior to marinating. That said, I went ahead and marinated them raw. As Chie promised when we talked about it on our sunny walk, they soak up the flavors of the tamari, vinegar and ginger and combine with the blanched kale for a warm salad that is itself somehow a perfect combination of winter and spring.
Warm Kale Salad with Marinated Shiitakes
by Chie
Eating shiitake mushrooms raw is something I started to do recently
after I met the man who owns Alpine Mushroom Company and
grows these healing fungi, Terry Bunce.
This salad was inspired by Joseph at Wobbly Cart Farming Collective.
He reminded me of blanching greens to make a simple, delicious, almost creamy dish.
½ lb shiitake mushrooms
1 bunch kale
sea salt
¼ c extra virgin olive oil
3 T tamari
2 -4 T apple cider vinegar
1 – 3 T ginger, peeled and grated
1 T raw honey
Bring a medium pot of water to a boil. Add a small handful of salt.
Meanwhile, whisk together the olive oil, tamari, vinegar, ginger and honey.
Stem and slice the mushrooms and add to the dressing. Set aside to marinate.
Wash, stem and chop the kale. Drop into the boiling salted water and blanch
for a minute or so, just to wilt the greens. Drain well.
Toss with the marinated mushrooms. Adjust for seasonings, serve warm and enjoy.
