THE "SPICE ROUTE"

In the 16th century, Ferdinand Magellan found the clove. One story I read that kind of stayed with me was his discovery of the "Great Sea" (the Pacific), which, according to his
circumnavigational log, "unmoored a vast wind." He wrote it was almost birdlike sailing.. as the earth's rotational velocity had taken charge east. Guam rose on the horizon... the Philippine trees glared on its shores ... then Indonesia - the cinnamon's vanilla habitat - at long last.
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Portland, Ore. is always a wearing-a-Patagonia-down-vest-chai-tea weather, a high altitude alpine biome with bike lanes and terrific food. Here in New York, well, it's not Portland - but the urban graphics are a Manga, and making chai tea in monologue bubbles is cool, too. Black-and-white ginger and juniper berries. The comic kitchen. Drawing milk to the cup... Magellan never made it back to Europe.

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FRENCH LECHES

The post title is a play of words/homage to a Cuban bakery in Los Angeles that specializes in a "destination food" called tres leches, a milk-soaked cake. My version is a layered french toast (using walnut bread), and before frying in butter was, of course, dunked in whole milk - with tons of lemon zest - brown sugar and grated nutmeg, then soaked in beaten egg slightly salted - transferring to the pan, heat on medium low, to gently brown the bread, seal in the butter and save the milk in its sponge. When plating, cut at mid-diagonal splitting into eight triangles with an open mouth - then drizzle agave syrup like rain, then pollen your cake with powdered sugar dust. Eat now. Forking will not dislodge the milk but will wait to be savored in your palate - bringing to it an "orchard" taste, borrowing from a poem by Li Young Li titled, Blossom, evoking a summer day that will never end. But luckily, the metaphor is just a poem. It's already fall in the New York - and I love the fall season. My french leches is a "warm pudding" the color of wet autumn leaves on the forest floor. According to another poet, nature doesn't fulfill desire (and goodness) - it creates it.            

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Breakfast Fabergé

I'm reminiscing my time in Eidfjord last month. The B&B served this, and I want to do it again. Temperature and timing are key to achieve the yogurt texture of the yolk - perfect to stick through and capture it on a toasted buttered country bread. More or less five and a half minutes in boiling water, trusting your instincts. You need a demitasse spoon to scrape up the whites on the sides and at the bottom. Before you eat, ready some salt and pepper, raisins and olives, cheese, fruits as chasers. It's not a heavy meal. What you'll feel, instead, is you're on travel and in another part of the world ... like Norway. Across where I had stayed was a lake that seemed to had run aground, carrying the weight of a mountain. I had a conversation with a guy from Denmark (a musician; he drove all the way) staying at the nearby campsite, adjacent to the running stream. Foreignness of place becomes familiar. Nature has universal elements. So as people. So as travel. So as food.  

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FALL FOOD

 Toasted Fennel Seeds Cherry Tomato Soup

My partner, away at a conference in Houston, called me last night and asked what I was having for dinner. "Not much. Just soup I made really quick. But it's good because it's rainy and it's now fall, and I'm alone."

Mood is a food characteristic, especially if it is perfectly attributable to comfort the heart. I don't like eating solo, but the city's weather cozied me up with my soup. I like fall when it rains, and, no, New York isn't green, but it's shimmering this time.

I have "compost" stock in the fridge - of kale stems, corn cobs, yam skins, tofu water - and a few tomatoes and fresh basil leaves. I toasted fennel and cumin seeds and a pinch of sumac in pure olive oil (to be differentiated from extra virgin; this oil achieves neutrality like canola), and covered the pot on medium-high until I heard popping. I slowly added 3 cups of stock, salt and pepper, and reduced the heat to very low. When simmering, I added about a tbsp. or two of cornmeal parmesan, and more salt and pepper to taste, and a swirl of, this time, extra virgin olive oil for texture. Surprisingly, the cheese blended as opposed to reacted, made the soup somewhat milky, and its taste - very original and fresh. I added the basil leaves right after turning off the heat, spooned them around, and let them swim.

I don't know what happened to all the spices I had put in - but it turned out a soup of its own doing, and must be having a time of his life.
     
 

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