Hallab Sweet Palace

On my first night in Tripoli, my father-in-law took me to the famous Abdulrahman Hallab sweet palace which occupies most of a city block. The Hallab family is famous throughout Lebanon for its sweets. We visited the original Hallab, and at some point I'll probably visit the brother's Hallab. The Hallab family underwent a family upset that is the sweet equivalent to the savory split in the Kreusz barbecue dynasty of Lockhart, TX sometime back, but most of the people I have spoken to prefer the original Hallab, although they agree the brother has his moments of transcendence. Hallab ships internationally and I have had their sweets on many occasions, but I have been taking the opportunity since I have arrived in Tripoli to eat the desserts that feature Ashta or Lebanese cream. I should be getting a tour of the facilities in the next few days and I'll report back on how they make Ashta, but for now, I'll share a few pictures of some of the fine Ashta delicacies.

My first night here we had Kunafeh. It is made with a semolina cake with the texture of cornbread that is stuffed with Ashta. Kenafeh is then served with orange blossom jam, crushed pistachios, and orange blossom and rose blossom syrup. This afternoon, my lovely partner and I returned to Hallab for a spot of gluttony. We tried Mafrukeh and Znud el Sitt.

Mafrukeh begins with a thin layer of semolina pudding flavored with ghee, orange blossom and rose blossom water and sugar. It is then covered with Ashta and the usual accompaniment of orange blossom jam and crushed pistachios, as well as blanched and fried almonds and fried pine nuts. The texture was a lovely mixture of unctious and crunchy.

Znud el sitt is also known as Ladies Arms. You stuff filo pastry with Ashta, deep fry it, and add the usual accompaniment.

Katayef

Thanks are due to world renowned fruit expert Helmet over at Phronesisiacal for identifying what is known colloquially in Lebanon as the Ashta fruit. The Custard Apple, otherwise known as a Netimoya was no stranger to Helmut's vast knowledge of fruit in all its diversity.

Ashta is the Arabic word for cream, and the Lebanese variety is entirely decadent. It is reminiscent of clotted cream, but fluffier. It is really kind of a mystery to me and I plan to explore it in great detail over the next few weeks, regardless of any gastrointestinal distress it might cause my somewhat lactose intolerant self.

I first encountered Ashta in a fairly dismal rendition of a dessert known as Ladies Arms at a not especially good bakery in Houston. These are puffy pastries injected with Ashta and then soaked in a simple syrup flavored with Mai Zaher and Mai Wared - infusions of orange blossom and rose water. The heart of Ashta country is Tripoli, Lebanon where I will be traveling later today with my mother-in-law and my lovely partner who are long time residents of the city.

Tripolitans are notoriously fussy about their sweets, and largely intolerant of their specialties when they are reproduced elsewhere. With this in mind, I have been informed that until my arrival in Tripoli, the only Ashta of any worth that I will be able to find is at one specialized bakery in Beirut.

My mother-in-law and I visited this bakery yesterday and departed with several Katayef, their specialty. Katayef is a pancake which you smear with Ashta, adorn with a small dollop of jam made of the blossoms of bitter oranges, and slather with the ubiquitous simple syrup, this one made with an infusion of rose petals. They were a scrumptiously sticky pleasure.

Ashta Mystery Fruit

Hi, Bianca here. I know that I promised beet cake, and it is forthcoming, but I have far more urgent matters to discuss. I am visiting my lovely partner's family in Lebanon where I have encountered a new mystery fruit. Ashta fruit is new to me, and to Lebanon where they have named it for the Arabic word for a local and especially decadent sweet cream. I'm pretty sure I have seen this fruit before, but I cannot recall it's name in English. Do you have any ideas? It is, by the way, entirely reminiscent of its namesake. You peel the lumpy bits off the outside and suck up the delicate and creamy innards.

Paul Bocuse and French Culinary Pleasures.

I hope that this will be the first in a series of posts celebrating cooking in the South of France. I don't intend to claim authenticity or the wisdom of Elizabeth David and Alain Pomiane but this was the first holiday I had where we did not stray from the farmhouse for dinner, and cooked copiously and sumptiously in an environment that I wish I could preserve forever. Dinner meals were sublime celebrations of food and wine, thanks to being simply located in the Vaucluse region not too far from the wineries of Vaqueyras, Gigondas, and of course, Chateuneuf du Pape. We were surrounded by acres of Olive trees, Almond Trees, wild thyme, wild savory and wild rocket. It was also the time of grape picking and one can only marvel at the endless grape trucks making their way back and forth from vineyards to wineries.

I am honoured to have begun my holidays in September with a birthday meal at Paul Bocuse's celebrated 3 Michelin starred (for 42 years) L'Auberge du Pont de Collonges in Lyon (http://www.bocuse.fr/accueil.aspx). I have never liked fine dining too much preferring the mucky puppy world of finger food and all -- my belief being that you can't eat well if you're dress too well. Too much fuss and attention also overwhelms taste. I get tired of pretentious dining. Collonges changed my mind but it wasn't pretentious. It was at once elegant and homely dining.

Collonges has been the home, hearth and heart of Paul Bocuse, resting magnificently by the River Saône and so one will forgive the folksy murals of the family and staff cooking and plucking poultry on the walls outside. The exterior of the house is lit up, painted brightly (almost purposefully garish) in Provencal colours, while the inside befits the aristocratic manor with gilded mirrors and Roccoco furnishings. There are no female servers and the reason is simply that you are served by muscular well-dressed men having to carry large, heavy silver platters of food raised high -- and whizzing back and forth expertly between kitchen and table.

We were whisked to our expansive table, and seated immediately, an attentive server expertly adjusting my chair so I will receive the maximum comfort for eating. Different persons appeared for different reasons, to take your wine order (we chose a bottle of a Nuits st Georges), to take your order, and so on. We chose the Menu Classique -- I was never a fan of too much fois gras and truffles -- and opted for a simpler, less heavy meal. So I thought. We began with a lovely gazpacho with bread that more than whetted the appetite, followed by the crayfish jellified in Poully Fuisse as starters. I thought I died a little there. My greatest curiosity was the Poulet de Bresse, a chicken so famous and so renowned for its taste that you can only curse your lot in life for not being born anywhere in or near the town of Bresse, France.

And it was chicken! Perhaps we've forgotten what chickens taste like and ought to taste like, what their meat should feel like rather than the floury, chalky taste of battery chickens raised on steroids, in conditions so cramped that they've never seen the light of day or know what it's like to be a chicken, and to wander in sunlight and fresh air. The Bresse chicken in Collonges is cooked in a pig's bladder with slices of truffles and the server expertly carves it for you, asking the lady first which parts she preferred. It's the little touches, the attentiveness which makes your heart melt, and prompts the longing to be sinfully rich so you can always be treated like this every time you dine. You are special!

But it was Paul Bocuse, all 83 years of his grand old self with his medals, who came to the table, and who visited each and every table, to wish diners bon appetit and bon amie. His graceful presence, his generosity of spirit, his love for food washed over us when he came to the table. There was an aura felt after, a giddy satisfying happiness in which the great man had blessed us with his gentle smile as he chats or takes pictures with his guests who come from near and far, kings, queens, ministers and ordinary folks alike, as if to say 'we're all connected through food'. He reminded us of what food was all about, good company, the good life and most of all respect. What celebrity chef in North America or the UK would do this every night for his guests? Thomas Keller? Gordon Ramsay? Paul Bocuse has held his three michelin stars for 42 years!!! And this was followed by Mdm Bocuse, in her minimalist finery, who did the same. This was grace and good manners.

And the truth was we were not exactly well-dressed either. The drive into Lyon was harrowing and in rush-hour, so much so that I wasn't exactly perky or cared to be perky by the time the taxi came for us at the Sofitel Hotel. It was a more informal Issey Miyake I had put on with Armani peacock sandals while my partner did not even bother with a jacket or a tie. Around us in the restaurant, children wandered, to the approval of Paul Bocuse's twinkling eye ('start them young on truffle soup'), each time my partner muttering, 'Now there's a well brought up young lady'. Indeed. Collonges is a happy family place, not a stuffy restaurant. You can, honestly and forgive the cliche, feel the love and the passion.

All around the interior of Collonges are portraits of Bocuse, the best ones located near the luxurious restrooms. There is a painting there of Bocuse in the last Supper pose, surrounded by his disciples. By the time we finished our mains, we were already stuffed and could not consider more. With superb efficiency, the plates were removed, the table emptied. We looked with relief, at the emptied table (saved the glasses of wine and water) and thought there woud be a respite. Two large boards and a trolley of cheeses arrived. My jaws dropped, as the whiff of cheese more than started up the old gut again. I went for the Fromage Blanc, my favourite soft runny yogurty cheese. My partner, endeavored to pick three different kinds (Ewe's cheeses and a classic brie). He is a heroic man.

And so one assumes then, we wait a little more before the desserts arrive. Should we or shouldn't we? But you should never be left too long without food at Collonges: first the Petit Fours, then the cup of chocolate -- and then, the three trolleys of desserts to pick from. This is the point where your eyes are much, much bigger than your stomach as you scan the endless confections ahead of you, from chocolate mousse to fruit tarts. Now, you can have as many desserts as possible but I had already picked my grande finale for the night, and it was going to be the Ille Flottante as Grand-mere Bocuse made once. Oh my, the meringue melts in your mouth and the custard's richness is unforgettable. My heroic other however, opts for the humble brulee, his index for every fine dining experience. It, naturally, passed.

Coffees and a Marc followed but by then, we had passed the edge of fullness. We were very happy when we paid the bill which we will not divulge because these are vulgar things in the big picture of culinary pleasures and experiences. The maitre'd gave us a menu card as a souvenir rightly sensing our non-localness, called us our taxi which arrived almost immediately (with Bach's cello concertos playing on the CD player), and we were soon back at the hotel.

Collonges might not be the most perfect meal I have ever experienced but it is the only restaurant where I have ever felt an odd nostalgic longing for, like I left a part of me behind, perhaps among the nooks and corners of the gilded interiors, perhaps among the crayfish, the truffles, the poulet, the desserts, who knows? Perhaps, in the magical twinkling eye of Paul Bocuse's gracious hospitality, and his home and family. He is after all, despite the accolades lavished on him, still 'Paulo from the Saone'.

Just Say Yes to Beets!

This weekend, the New York Times had a bit of a beet love-fest, including a recipe for beet and beet green risotto, and a lovely Mediterranean beet salad with yogurt. I could not resist the beet salad recipe so I tossed it together this evening. Messing about with beets is a really wonderful thing, largely because of their color. They bleed that rich purple all over the place. I'm always a little nervous that it will stain the countertop, or even more importantly, the white vintage Saarinen dining room table which I adore with all my heart. In spite of my fears, I can't resist them. The rich juice coming off these beets reminded me of another use for beets which I haven't explored in some time. That would be their use in sweet dishes like cakes. I'll tackle that after the salad...

From the NYTimes:
Begin with 4 medium size roasted beets.
Slice the beets any which way you like, and marinate for a few hours to overnight in a couple of tablespoons of your favorite vinegar (I used rice vinegar, and Persimmon will track you down and kill you if you use balsamic), a tsp of sugar, and two tbsp of olive oil, with a bit of salt and black pepper.

Make a half cup of lebne. This is basically drained yogurt, preferably Bulgarian or Greek style. I put it in a coffee filter over a strainer and let it drip away into a pot for a few hours, or overnight. Mix the lebne with some salt, some very finely minced garlic to taste, and a minced tablespoon of dill or mint (I used mint).

Drain the beets, cover with the lebne, sprinkle another tablespoon of the minced herbs on top, and serve.

I'm a little tired now so I won't go much further with this post until tomorrow when I will describe the mysterious role of beets in the origins of that fine Southern delicacy, the Red Velvet Cake...

The Unruly Vegetable Plot

I am an unruly and undisciplined gardener. By this I do not mean that I leave my tools all around, and cannot be bothered with picking them up. I am just not a very systematic gardener. Straight rows bore me, and I like the occasional vagrant rainbow Swiss Chard plant asserting its presence among lettuces or potatoes. I have beans curling their way up my olive tree, and sweet peas attaching themselves to my rosemary bush. I like surprises. I chuck flower seeds all around my vegetable plots, and let my radicchios grow to seed because radicchio flowers are just the prettiest blue coloured flora I’ve ever seen. I know there are rules to companion planting, and I am aware of crop rotation and the three sisters method but I have this preference for just planting against the grain. I tend to leave nature to do her work. If it grows, it grows. I like my vegetable plots to be impressionist tapestries, with color drifts -- being inspired by the writing of Gertrude Jekyll (her, on flowers).

I am a non-pesticide gardener. I just believe my vegetables taste a lot better and the plants which survive the onslaught of weather, pests, and fungi are just a little more hardy and delicious. Flowers attract insects, and this year, I’ve been simply amazed by the insect life around me. I have had little problems with blackfly simply because ladybirds are like juggernaut eaters of blackfly. Flowers attract ladybirds. I have also noticed the corresponding reduction of aphids and leafhoppers, to increased bee and hoverfly activity. The best protection against slugs is occasional slug-hunts at night with a torchlight. My neighbours think I’m nuts. In England, if you do have a little garden, keep a hedgehog or two, as they eat slugs. At the same time, you are giving hedgehogs protection (http://www.britishhedgehogs.org.uk/). Slugs do not care for territory or personal possession or your efforts in nurturing your lettuces, they just help themselves. Don’t feel too sorry for slugs. They have no consideration for you.

While my kitchen garden is being constructed, I have had to make do with very limited space this year. So this is helpful for those with limited spaces. I grew Broadbeans in a pot this year and despite my initial skepticism, the six plants (all in the same pot) yielded sweeter than ever beans. This was advised by my seed provider Robinsons, a champion show vegetable grower. I tried this method for the first time, and the plants grew more vigorously than those I had grown in the soil. This year we attempted the potato barrel for similar reasons of limited space. We grew our favourite salad potatoes, fir pinks (one of the oldest heritage varieties in the UK) in the barrel and had our first taste yesterday. They were stunning. The point is, you can grow potatoes in garbage bags or barrels. New potatoes are simply worth it.

There is nothing more pleasurable than the taste of new potatoes and freshly picked beans -- straight from the garden to your pot. Salad potatoes are lovely with a drenching of very good olive oil, and covered in young chives, chervil, parsley or/and mint, all chopped very fine. Add coarse salt (fleur de sel would be perfect), ground pepper to taste. Serve slightly warm. Broad beans are a classic dish when done in a parsley sauce (a friend, Simon swears by beans and parsley sauce) but we love the beans cooked with summer savory (very good for companion planting). Just boil the beans, cooked in butter with a little chopped garlic and sprigs of summer savory. The savory gives the dish a little bitter flavouring. Add salt and pepper to taste.

Note. Fir Pinks are wondrous potatoes, not easily obtained in supermarkets. As potato crops go, they would not be 'economical' because their yield is too small for commercial purposes, and they require a longer growing season. They do not look like your standard potato and are knobby, thus not easily peeled. They are best eaten with their skin on. They have a nutty taste, and are absolutely delicious. Your first taste of fir pinks will leave you feeling somewhat frustrated, from the lack of availability of these potatoes to the bitter knowledge of how agribusiness has bred out taste to service mass supermarket demand.

Chicken in a Valencian Style

I cannot wait to visit Valencia, Spain again -- it remains one of my most favourite eating places in the world. And what a Mercado Centro -- stall after stall of fish and cured meats and cheeses and olives and, and, and....paella dishes of various shapes and sizes being sold in hardware stores around the market. If you're ever there, don't pass up the opportunity to have paella at the outdoor stalls even if you have to line up for it. Valencia is the home of the paella!!!

The last time in Valencia, our evening walks ended up in a surreal medieval festival held in the bullring where I tasted my best hogroast ever drenched in a fabulous herb and olive oil dressing. I still remember going through the airport security and the x-ray machines, and having to open my bagfuls of chorizos, cheeses, and saffron tubes for inspection to the approving smiles of the spanish officers.

My dog Lucinda's first taste of cheese just happened to be basque cheeses because shortly after our Valencian trip, we picked her up from the breeder. To comfort the poor new puppy, we gave her the cheeses from Valencia. Sadly, now her cheese palate is so fussy (discerning, as my partner claims) that she will turn her nose up at most other cheeses.

I digress. I want to talk about chicken here in a Valencian Style but I call it that because I think there really is no proper name for it. I stumbled upon the dish by accident and this is the best adaptation I can offer because it requires some atmospheric elements. It was hot, it was the siesta and we were hungry, having emerged from yet another art museum. Most restaurants were already shut and only kebab places were opened. We found this cafe (I don't even know where it is anymore) promising air-conditioning and a fixed price menu of salad, chicken, and custard. We didn't care by then, we wanted to sit and have liquids and food. The cafe was small, with the usual plastic lining on tables (seating no more than 16 people), plastic cups and plastic flowers. The cafe was not serving anything else.

The salad arrived -- the usual testament to mediterranean vegetables, drizzled with olive oil. Then the chicken came, and oh lordy, what a wonder. It was so good that we used our bread to sweep up whatever drips of gravy and garlic we could find. Here is my version of the dish.

Fresh bay leaves and garlic (whole cloves, unpeeled) are essential here, lots and lots and lots of both (you decide what 'lots' mean to you). Along with some roughly cut shallots, throw the mass of them into the saucepan with the heated olive oil and stir until golden brown. A little saffron helps too but is not necessary (though I prefer it). When hot and fragrant enough, fry the chopped up chicken pieces (rubbed with seasalt) in it, along with the gizzards and liver until the concoction is crackling, sputtering, and the chicken pieces are browned. Once browned, throw some dry sherry and a little marsala into the mixture, add coarse pepper, followed by some white wine. Cover the sauce pan, turn the fire down, and let the liquid cook down until you see the gravy separating from the oil. Add salt to taste. Serve. Ensure there is plenty of bread around. Down with red wine.

I do not demand that there are special types of chickens for this dish but whenever possible, it would be preferable if the chicken is free range, free-range corn-fed or organic free range. Even the free run chicken would be acceptable as I know some poultry farmers try to simulate outdoor conditions within indoor environments due to adverse weather. My problem with battery chickens is not only the horrible treatment of the birds but the taste and texture of the chicken itself. I do not want to be overly preachy about this but if there are options, and you can afford them, please think of free range and organic.

Tip. The gizzard and liver are intrinsic to this dish, don't throw them away. However, if as usual, the chicken is purchased without them, look to chicken liver pate as a substitute -- adding to the mixture before pouring the wine in during the cooking process. The liver gives the dish a rich and earthy flavor. The confection of bay leaves, garlic and the liver is what makes this dish absolutely delightful.

Chocolate Espresso Cookies

I discovered this recipe years ago, and it has become a regular in my baking rotation. I have found that it helps to let the batter thicken before baking the cookies, usually between 10 and 20 minutes.

3 oz unsweetened good chocolate, chopped
2 cups semisweet chocolate chips
1/2 cup unsalted butter, cut into pieces
3 large eggs
1 cup plus 2 Tbsp sugar
2 and 1/4 tsp finely ground dark-roast coffee beans
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/3 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
1 cup walnuts

Preheat the oven to 35o and grease 2 large, heavy baking sheets

In a double-boiler, melt unsweetened chocolate over barely simmer water, along with 1 cup of chocolate chips and butter, stirring until smooth. Remove pot from heat.
Beat eggs, sugar and ground coffee on high speed until very thick and pale, and the consistency is ribbon-like. Next beat in chocolate mixture.
Sift in flour, baking powder and salt, stir until just combined. Stir in remaining chips and walnuts.

Drop heaping tablespoons of batter about 2 inches apart on to baking sheets. Bake for 8-10 minutes in the middle of the oven, or until puffed and cracked on top. Cool for a brief minute before transferring cookies to racks.

Rice Pudding of Modena

Lynne Rossetto Kasper's The Splendid Table: Recipes from Emilia-Romagna, the Heartland of Northern Italian Food is another long time favorite. I have a special fondness for some of the more old fashioned recipes like A Fare Dieci Piatti di Maccheroni Romaneschi or Rosewater Maccheroni Romanesca which I highly recommend for a romantically inclined repast. Another favorite is her recipe for Torta Barrozi, an exceptionally moist chocolate almond torte. I will most definitely discuss the Torta Barrozi and my variations in a later post. Although I have been cooking from this book for several years, I only recently gave a hand to Torta di Riso or Modena Rice Pudding.

This is a very simple recipe and it is easily modified.

Kasper begins by cooking 1 cup of arborio rice in 3 & 1/2 cups milk. Cook as one would regular rice, albeit cautiously, for approximately 20 to 25 minutes until it is done, but maybe just a bit al-dente. Then stir in one cup of sugar and allow to cool.

Lightly whisk five large eggs, and stir into the rice mixture with a lemon's worth of zest. She suggests you also add 1/4 cup finely diced candied citron or 3/4 cup sliced blanched and toasted almonds.

Pour the mixture into a buttered spring form pan and bake for approximately one hour at 350 f until a knife inserted two inches from the edge comes out clean.

The variations on this are many. As I am partial to zest of all kinds, I like to add the zest of one lemon and the zest of an orange. I spend a lot of time in Lebanese grocery stores where I have access to all kinds of candied fruit. I am especially fond of candied Seville orange which I prefer to the candied citron. It is also a nice touch to toast slivered almonds and lay them flat on the bottom of the spring form pan rather than mixing them with the rest of the ingredients. They provide a nice 'icing' for the pudding.

The layer of lightly browned almonds is particularly dramatic when you use different kinds of rice in this pudding. For example, brown rice, once you get over it's health food associations, actually has a very nice and nutty flavor and you can, on occasion, even find an arborio variety or other short grain types. Another option, that is quite dramatic is to use the short-grain purplish black variety which you can find in some Asian grocery stores. Make sure you take the time to stand over this version as you cook the rice so you can observe the wonderful purple swirls that quickly penetrate the milk. If you place the slivered almonds on the bottom of the pan for this version the end result is an exquisite visual contrast. Next on the list of variations is to use coconut milk rather than cattle milk, but I have not tried this version yet. I'll post an addendum as soon as I give it a try.

Kale and Chorizos

I had promised a post on Portuguese food but I wish first to contribute another easy and simple favourite dish of mine: kale cooked with chorizos. The proximity to the continent can reap culinary delights. I grocery shop whenever and wherever I can, and my larder has become an odd admixture of bottles of pickled mushrooms from Warsaw, and vinegrette octopus. This dish is a variation of a recipe from the fabulous restaurant in London called Moro (never, ever give up a chance to eat there if you can!).

I grow kale in my garden. I love the look of kale as decorative vegetables but kale is hardy and also lasts throughout the winter here, and my modest crops see me through the 'vegetable gap'. While my favourite is Nero di Toscana, this year I grew the Red Russian instead, fringed by poppies and fennel in my potager. I have no regrets, they are delicious leaves.

I cook the kale down with a good meat stock, crushed garlic, a little salt, pepper and olive oil. When the stock is near thickening, I add some chopped tomatoes and a little anchovy paste. I make the anchovy paste myself with crushed bottled/canned anchovies, coarse salt, dry chilli flakes, pepper and olive oil. I bottle the paste and stick it in my fridge. It lasts!

Fry the sliced chorizos separately in a sauce pan, then add the kale, tossing the mixture together. Serve. A variation is to add raisins while cooking to give it a little sweetener. I also garnish with roasted pine nuts.

Tip. I substitute with spring greens, and sprout leaves (you just don't eat the brussel sprouts, the leaves of the vegetable are nutty, and flavorful). Of course, any variation of a chorizo (as long as it is spicy) is fine as well. I am enthusiastic about using spanish morcillas -- and roasted almonds as garnish.

Herbs and Leaves

Summer is a glorious time in England, if and when we have a summer. Last year, summer was a no-show, and I couldn’t get anything to grow. I love summers because my little garden is most productive and I enjoy the freshness of the herbs and vegetables around me. I’m sorry -- it does make a difference when you are able to gather a bunch of fresh herbs and salad leaves. I am also grateful that I live in a country-side abundant with ‘wild food’ – spring’s offering of wild garlic this year produced an amazing aromatic soup.

Tonight’s dinner was no exception. I love chervil, and it is an under-appreciated herb. I grow chervil whenever I can but it can be temperamental and when given enough early attention, will grow profusely and easily. Omelette fines herbes is a remarkable dish, though spectacular it is not. It does not cry out for over-the-top ingredients, just fresh ones. There is no fancy garnish, it is simple and honest, and best eaten immediately. I do not demand this as necessary, and purchased herbs will do. However, If you have a herb garden, all you need are French tarragon, flat leaf parsley, chives and of course, the delightful chervil. Chop them very fine and put half of the chopped herbs into the beaten eggs, stir, and add salt (preferably coarse) and pepper. The rest, place onto the omelette when nearly cooked, and fold over. The omelette should remain runny and soft in the centre.

I had my omelette tonight with a fresh leaf salad from the garden. A simple dressing of olive oil, and salt and pepper is enough. I dislike the use of balsamic vinegar as a dressing since it has become such a sad excuse for ‘sophisticated food’. Balsamic is over-used, and over-abused – deployed when we are too lazy to consider other types of vinegrettes that we can certainly concoct ourselves, and with more imagination and verve.

Tip. Never despair when your leaf salads grow to seed. The Mizuna plant is a wonderful leaf but when a little hardened by bolting, simply deep-fry the leaves (individually) as a tempura – and dip in a tempura sauce garnished with thin slices of ginger. It’s lovely.

Persimmon Wong (with thanks to Bianca for letting me blog along)

Nutella for Grown Ups & the Pistachio White Chocolate Mousse Cake

I was given Carole Bloom's The Essential Baker: the Comprehensive Guide to Chocolate, Fruit, Nuts, Spices, and Other Ingredients as a Christmas gift about two years back and it has received a lot of love in our household. Bloom's precise and carefully composed recipes not only deliver fabulous results, but provide some fine foundations for further baking experimentation. One case in point is this scrumptious hazelnut cake which I later used as the base for a pistachio and white chocolate mousse cake. I'm going to post her basic recipe here, followed by my variation.

1. Bloom calls for 2 & 1/4 cups hazelnuts which you toast and then rub in a towel to remove the skins.
2. The next ingredient is 1/2 cup light cooking oil. I used canola as a tribute to my Albertan heritage. You blend the nuts with the oil until they make a very fine slurry in a food processor. This takes a couple of minutes.
3. Melt 9 oz bittersweet and 7 oz milk chocolate in the microwave, or in a double boiler if you like to fiddle with that kind of nonsense. Add this mixture to the food processor and blend again until fully mixed. I've found that Ghiardelli is perfectly suitable for this cake.
4. Beat 6 extra large eggs until they are frothy, and then slowly add 1/2 cup of sugar. Beat in total about five minutes on high until the egg mixture is very thick and pale. At this point, add the chocolate mixture. She suggests beating, but I mix it in with a spatula.
5. Whip a cup of heavy cream until quite thick. Mix this into the above mixture with a spatula.
6. Pour into a prepared baking pan and bake in a bain marie for one hour at 350 f. Turn the oven off and allow the mousse cake to stand for 15 minutes in the oven before you remove it.

The pistachio variation calls for a few simple substitutions. First, substitute pistachios for the hazelnuts. Replace the chocolates with 1# white chocolate, and then blend the whole eggs with a couple of tablespoons of sugar rather than the 1/2 cup. Otherwise, follow her instructions to the letter.

The Gianduia mousse cake is reminiscent of Nutella, but all grown up. Another variation I've tried was adding a shot of Cointreau and some orange zest, although the basic cake is so delicately perfect that it's almost a shame to spruce it up. The pistachio variation is kind of sweet, and a lovely pale green in color. I served it up as a birthday cake, and to celebrate a friend's bon voyage to the Amazonian rain forest. They seemed pleased.

Seven Spices

In Recipes and Remembrances From an Eastern Mediterranean Kitchen, a truly remarkable ethnography masquerading as a cookbook, Sonia Uvezian describes a spice mix that was once popular in the Levant called abzar harra (hot grains). This mixture is a likely predecessor for saba` beharat or seven spices.

I suppose we could always put together our own seven spice mixture, but we're fairly lazy around here and we just purchase it from the Phoenicia Market in Houston. Their seven spice powder is composed of allspice, cinammon, cloves, cumin, coriander, caraway seeds and nutmeg. It is an essential ingrediend for kefta kebabs and numerous other Levantine dishes. It's also very nice with okra and tomatoes, fritattas, and just about anything else where you might want to put some kind of mixed spice powder.

Kafka Kebabs

My Lebanese partner and I have recently made a go of making kefta kebabs, a Middle Eastern specialty recently renamed Kafka Kebabs by one of our friends. They are basically a tube of ground meat with herbs, spices and onions that are grilled over a charcoal fire.

A basic recipe calls for finely ground meat, herbs, spices, and a binding agent.

• For the meat, begin with approximately 1 # of ground meat. We've tried lamb, beef and bison, although lamb would be the most common meat of choice in the region of origin.
• Finely mince two bunches of flat leaf parsley, as if you would do anything as crazy as purchase curly leaf parsley!
• One large onion, finely minced.
• For spices, one heaping teaspoon of salt, a teaspoon of cumin and cinnamon, and two table spoons of seven-spice powder (to be explained later).
• For a binding agent you will need a tablespoon of baking soda.

The meat must be finely ground, and somewhat fatty. As store processed meat is not finely ground enough, toss the meat into a food processor and give it a few whirs with the spices and baking soda. If you purchased lean meat, you may want to toss in a couple of tablespoons of butter to increase the fat ration. This is absolutely necessary if the kebabs are to stick together properly. The baking soda has an interesting effect. It increases the stickiness of the mixture, allowing the kebabs to maintain their form on the grill.

After you have mixed together the dry ingredients in the food processor, dump the meat into a mixing bowl and mix the parsley and onions in by hand. Form the meat around a skewer into tubes about 3/4 to 1 inch thick and anywhere from 5 inches to a foot long. If you want to dispense with the skewer, keep them about five inches long.

Grill over hot coals a few minutes on each side until done, and eat in pita with humus.

Opening Post

I have convivial, if very practical reasons for establishing this journal. It is largely intended as a record, for myself and for friends, of recipes tried, recipes failed, and kitchen experimentation. When I learn a new and noteworthy recipe, I will record it and its variations in this space. Please chime in if you have any suggestions...