KOSHER SALTED CABBAGE

 

    Love Café in Kips Bay, on 2nd Ave. and 25th, serves primarily Russian cuisine, is an intimate, homey restaurant run by a first-generation immigrant family from Eastern Europe settling in New York. It’s one of my favorite, go-to restaurants in Manhattan, and it’s not just because I used to live a couple of blocks from Love. The excellent food there was as practical a choice as its house wine (I kept an eye on the Croatian zinfandel), and the table setting was always pretty and sweet. The stuffed cabbage in tomato sauce and potato dumplings I regularly ordered at Love, which perfectly paired well with the zin (aside: my ex’s pet peeve was that I ate the same things or return to the same place given the available diversity in the city, which was immense — although true: I can count in one hand those restaurants closest to my heart: Curry-ya in the E.Village (Japanese);  Shinobi Ramen in Bushwick (again, Japanese); Bunna (Ethiopian), again in Bushwick, a pattern of places for sure; and lastly, Café Mogador (Moroccan), well, this restaurant was both our quintessential Friday nighter, we were regulars there winding down a busy workweek in the trendy neighborhood of 1st Ave. and St. Mark’s Place; on the other hand, the food scene in the greater New York, sure we'd done it all, say, Sri Lankan on Staten Island; but when it came down to a "homecoming" those five mentioned were draws — and my reasons were very clearly domestic: traditions are grown out of these establishments offering hand-to-mouth family recipes, and you are treated no differently at the table. 

    I made salted cabbage today out of nostalgia. Remembering old conversations, in a deep pot I steamed quartered cabbage over whole tomatoes and herbs and vaporized the dish by simply water-salting them in olive oil to achieve sublimity texture just like Love’s.  Although salted cabbage is common here in Maui (as a salad condiment), I had, however, never associated the version here with the version in New York— but there’s now a convergence duly respected and hits home. I think in two worlds:

What could be stronger, what could be more organic: I perceived the entire world as an economy, a human economy and the shuttles of English domestic industry that had fallen silent a hundred years ago sounded once more in the ringing of autumn air! Yes, I heard with the sharpness of ears caught by the sound of a distant threshing machine in the field the burgeoning and increase, not of the barley in its ear, not of the northern apple, but of the world, that was ripening…           

                                                                                                                — Oslip Mandelstam, The Noise of Time 

    Love’s corner two-top is set on soft white linen and vintage plates with flowers and copper-edged. Where we had always sat was sideways to a window facing northbound traffic to the Upper East Side, and taillights blur.  The last months I would be living in the city was an unexpected change, like a compass un-mended, at the expense of love’s time. Madison Square was a few blocks from our apartment and I skateboarded on nights I started being alone that fateful summer; the Empire State Building towered like a starship and I glided around the winding paved paths of the park like water carrying a sad poem over stream... And I never looked back.  

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HAZELNUT CACAO CHOCOLATE BAR

For lack of a better food, I decided to make candy. Einstein once said: imagination is better than knowledge— so I will follow his lead. (True, I am, have always been, enamored by cooking, though I can admit a secret about pastry cheffing, making cakes, tarts, celebrations breads and candies in a dreamy sugar factory.) I was also thinking about making something special for a friend’s birthday, something a little decadent and earthy, that-will-melt-in the-mouth gift wrapped in colored foil. An ingredient I’m using here, by the way, is calamansi marmalade to coat the raw hazelnuts with melted butter and salted, a condiment my friend actually had homemade and gave me last week, and I imagine she’ll be delighted her jelly concoction has come this far to surprise. I think, readers, you’ll be pleased to know that the embodying chocolate I used in this recipe is a “fondue” of cacao truffles (from Trader Joe’s) and peanut butter (Justin’s), whisking them in a double boiler until exquisitely smooth and molten. After slightly cooling, I poured it in the ramekin with citrusy jammed hazelnuts on the bottom— and that’s now setting in the freezer for solidification.  (Again, following my imagination prior to making this candy, that when it’s ready the morning after, I would turn the ramekin upside-down on a wood chopping board and pop-release the nested hazelnuts on top of the hardened chocolate bar like honeycomb nougat.) There will be a picture you’ll see.

Dear friend, I couldn’t really think of a better present for you on your birthday than a collaboration of both our passion for cooking and giving through the creation of a chocolate treat. I hope you’ll like it. More than that, in this card is wrapped a written letter around an edible token celebrating you and how good you’ve been to me all this time, how truly grateful I am you’re part of my life, even if it’s just in the context of business-work friends kindness. Oregon is the origin of the hazelnuts, and the sweet cream butter from Tillamook. I am reminded of Harry and David, famous chocolatiers from the state. During the holidays, when I used to live in Portland, we would receive gifts from friends wonderful custom confections of white-ganache dipped fruits (strawberries, cherries), toffee-glazed popcorns, and rosy chocolate square mints for Christmas from H&D. But this one is Maui-made and an original craft food by me. And it’s just for you. Aloha nui.            

 

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LYCHEE SEASON

 

My first taste of lychees were those canned in heavy syrup (most likely imported from China) and Mom used to pour them out equally in bowls and ice them up and that’s treat for us kids after play. The intense sweetness (preserved in sugar and additives) was watered down by the ice we waited a bit to dissolve, and the yummy fruits were pitted and so when ready to eat we spooned them fast in its cold juice with great satisfaction. What I remember was the color of the lychee as oxidized light brown, as would, say, pealed apples exposed to air would turn, and definitely not the kind featured in this blog photo as white-silver and fresh as day. But I love them just the same. I love remembering my childhood food shaped by the choices and presentations of my mother; happy food memories are vivid, let me tell you, and I can even taste it. If I see canned lychee next time I go to an Asian market, I am more than certain to feel a pang of nostalgia. I miss the hand that picked up this product from the grocery shelf all those years ago and, while pushing her cart, thought along the aisle to feed me. 

I have a plan. I will recreate what Mom used to make then with these fresh lychees given by a coworker, peel them, ice them, add basil water for full immersion and boost its taste. Wait — what did Mom used to cook that was complementary to this dessert? A rice dish smothered in some kind of thick tomato stew, I think? I don’t have rice but I have sourdough bread and a prepared lima beans salad in spicy tomato puree from Mana, and why not toast the bread with mustard oil and sandwich the lima broken up mashed and smack butter lettuce leaves on both sides which I have too. Sounds good. Very good. Let me go to the kitchen now and prepare my lunch, which I hope you can imagine. You are welcome to join me if you find this recipe appealing/appetizing for your weekend treat. I encourage you. And don't forget the frozen lychees.

PS. I have started reading a new book about “composing a further life” with active wisdom, and one beautiful metaphor in the first chapter reflected on what middle-age could bring new to your life with resonance from when you were young filled with parental love you depended on. I think I will cook like my mother more so moving forward, shifting my consciousness from chef-y food to homey food just as the greatest homemaker and cook in the world, my late Mom, did for me and my sister to nourish us healthy and happy growing up, to nourish with ever comforting food to love us. I admit I’ll be sad thinking about her as I will cook from now on as she did, but according to the book’s author, Mary Catherine Bateson: when you see through a child’s eye the way you were once in old age, it is like your own preparation for… at some point when it’s your time… to finally return home.    

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BALSAMIC APPLE AND CUCUMBER SALAD

 

This refreshing summer salad entrée calls for mountain apples—  a variety local to Maui, Hawaii where I live, and most likely in other tropical countries with different names (in the Philippines, for example, it’s called macopa). The short-list of ingredients in this recipe is chilled in the fridge prior to making, and everything cut up uniform and tossed in the bowl is raw, which calls for easy prep when you want it. You can use regular apples available in your region, but you may want to choose the sweeter, softer and pleasanter kind to contrast or temper the white onion intensity in the mix. This is an extraordinarily simple vegan main course whipped in under ten minutes at home (including plating) and very satisfying on a warm, balmy night. Serve plenty if this is your only meal, like I did; and it will make you happy. 

Here’s how:

• slice, skin off, mountain apples, cucumbers (also seeded), carrots (the orange color kind) and white onions sizing up their shapes to fork-easy and make approachable to the mouth evenly;
• and in a large bowl toss well and incorporate all ingredients with balsamic vinegar and salt & pepper— then add cashew nuts (dry roasted and unsalted); other preferred/available nuts will do, your choice; I intended cashews for their creamier texture which enhances the vinaigrette on the chew;
• you don’t have to transfer the salad to a white bistro plate (well, it depends who’s coming to dinner); I’m otherwise solo so I left my salad in its mixing bowl and took my seat.

Eating is a pleasure for the hungry soul. Eating for temperature mitigation is even better because relief on a hot day is internal. Fruits and vegetables, twin foods in this salad, render themselves for your comfort and quench. Blackbirds on vinyl, funk jazz playing now, and the mood of my evening is final. Alone, at last, for the long weekend. 

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'FLOATING ISLAND"

 

I am writing about my food-as-lifestyle muse, the lovely British chef Rachel Khoo, reminiscing her shows at her little “home restaurant” in Paris and making a beautiful living out of cooking. Certainly, I have written about her before on these pages, perhaps a year or so back, I have followed her on BBC since my New York days, and I am revisiting/binge-watching this weekend just so to be transported to the streets and vibrant culinary markets in France, to feel inspired, and to woo the cook in me. The title of this piece is a dessert she was making in her tiny kitchen with a view for herb-growing window: Classic crème anglaise (chilled custard) topped with a dollop of puffed meringue (the “floating island”) and on the island cute pieces of sweet pralines (a brittle candy using almond slivers stiffened in simple syrup) — and all these pure confections made from scratch, of course. Trained chefs have something personally visible you don’t otherwise see in a restaurant setting, a peculiar something that’s inside-out of them, like wearing a heart on their sleeves, in their ways around the kitchen when they're home. Home-style — the warmth of this — cooking is the ethos of what a formal dining experience hopes to transcend as traditional quality and comfort in reservations-only food. When chefs are home cooking for you, well, that’s the real deal magnified yet humble, you are six degrees special to his heart, at home he pervades in the ambience of welcome, his real self you see as the true romantic to cooking (handed down by family lineage), and that is the very essence and element in the creation of supper in his hands (not from the sous chef or assembled by the rank and file cooks), but through his magic touch favored by ingredients and old recipes.       

I watch Ms. Khoo “to see myself” — a vicarious nostalgia of the old cook I was in New York, a dutiful one I must say, in the name of love: for home food as celebration, for warm gatherings, for bringing out the excitement and seasons in eating. In another episode Rachel, by train, took a half-day trip to wintry Normandy coast and visited her favorite seafood monger to check out what’s delicious in his fresh-catch of the day. Her relationship to the vendor was intimate; she even cooked something quick for his family while waiting for her scheduled train back to Paris; she made mussels braised in fried fennel and dill fronds and liquified in strong apple cider wine, a “soupable" rich-salty-woodsy-decadent glaze coating the seafood using the shell and slurping good! To come up with something perfect and mindful to draw in the beauty of the local quay and the market in rainy weather yet in the grey clouds will be beautiful memories to make; and to achieve a superbly delicious on-the-fly food, not to mention a face of beauty and the beauty of her food— is a distinct gift given by the universe to only a few handful souls. And that is why she’s my muse. She gives food their total credence. And she’s like feeding me, as I have fed my old love, at the table of her heart.         

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