A Little Bit of Thanks

I celebrated an early Thanksgiving with my mom this year. We won't be together on the actual day, and Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday so skipping it just wasn't an option.

This year there's a lot to be thankful for, my time in school in Italy ranks high on that list. And so we gave thanks by paying homage to my favorite dish from Emilia-Romagna: tortelli di zucca (pumpkin ravioli). Saveur is my trusted guide for authentic recipes, and so I turned there first. Though I had never made tortelli before I have certainly eaten them enough to be suspicious of the Saveur recipe. Chock full of ingredients it was a far cry from the simple sumptuousness of the tortelli di zucca I've eaten.

I did some more searching and found recipes that sounded more like I expected. These recipes, not surprisingly, were mostly in Italian. I also did some substituting (gingerbread for amaretti, mustard spiked apple butter for mostarda). These are tortelli di zucca meets Pennsylvania. In any case they were absolutely delicious, tasting closer to the real thing than I expected.

Thank you Parma, if you taught me nothing else, the tortelli di zucca was for sure worth it.

Italian Food and...French Wines?

Last night I braved the cold winter winds (they're always worst when they first appear) for the "Great Wines from France" Slow Food Philadelphia dinner at Penne, close to Penn's campus. I was slightly skeptical of the decidedly Italian menu accompanied by-duh!-French wines. Having just returned to the States from Italy less than one week ago it is especially painful to eat some of the "Italian" food available.

This was certainly no the case. The classics were executed brilliantly, mushroom risotto and porcini sauce for instance. And the twists had just enough innovation, while retaining their age-old wisdom. The Orange Olive Oil Gnocchi were perhaps the best example of this. The gnocchi had that perfect pillowy texture indicative of quality (I should know considering both of my attempts at gnocchi were so gummy they were perhaps closer to Jell-O) with the intrigue of orange. The orange flavor was decidedly distinctive, so much so that I spent many of my bites trying to figure out exactly how it was accomplished. Orange flower water? not assertive enough. Orange zest? but there were no specks, though towards the end I found one. Potatos boiled with orange peel? possibly...

After all that guessing, after re-examining the menu today, I think that it was literally orange olive oil that did the trick. Not orange and olive oil as I had originally read it. In any case it was delicious. The rest of the meal was equally successful the wines perfectly complementary much to my skepticism. The wine highlights were a Chateauneuf du Pape from Chateau La Nerthe, 2002. It was spicy with the richness of stewed plums, cloves and caramel. Eqully delightful was a Vendanges Tardives Gewurztraminer from Trimbach, 2002. The aroma was unlike any other I've had, and the taste was unparalleled. Because it was preceded by four wines my memory of its precise organoleptic qualities is blurred. All I remember is it was delicious.

Preparations for a Pauper's Christmas

Back from Italy for good now, and enjoying a simpler life: that of the unemployed. While I spend much of my day looking for jobs I have also assigned myself some fun. That is being unemployed, and having just graduated I have no money. For those very same reasons there are many to whom I owe much thanks. Since I cannot thank them in a monetary (therefore gift) way, I have decided to use what I already have. That being an insatiable desire to create foods.

So this year I'm making everyone on my list a Christmas basket of homemade goodies. I won't reveal all of them because many people reading this will also probably be getting one. But to whet everyone's appetites are my homemade marshmallows. Normally I'm not one for sugary junk food, but homemade marshmallows just seem the ultimate in luxury. They are also so far from their raw ingredients in shape and form their creation seemed impossible. And that is what peaked my interest.

So I went through some recipes on the internet and decided on Martha Stewart's. What Martha doesn't tell you (and I should've figured out for myself) is how sticky and difficult marshmallow is to work with. It formed a sticky white mass that overtook my mixer's beaters and oozed out onto the bowl and stand. It stuck to anything that touched it, even if it was just for a second. After the fact I read another recipe which recommends placing the marshmallow in oil coated plastic. Next time I'll try that.

This time with it's sticky gooey mess, I did outsmart Martha on one account. And that is the cutting. After the marshmallow is poured into the pan and dusted with confectioner's, Martha left you hanging. When I went to cut them after they sat out the requisite night, the mix was still soft and gooey enough to trip up the knife, make it sticky, and render the squares misshapen blobs. Dipping the knife in warm water after each cut, like they do with spoons in ice cream shops, worked miracles. If only I had thought of it sooner.

Enjoying Autumn's Bounty

My favorite kind of cooking happens when I notice something on the counter that's on the verge. And there's too much to finish before it goes bad, and so you transform it into something that will keep. Something delicious, with ingredients already in the kitchen.

I had such an opportunity this weekend while visiting my dad. He had a bucket of pears from a church friend's tree. The pears were perfectly shaped with a greenish brown skin yielding only occasionally to brown spots. To the touch however they were squishy and far past crisp. Pears just so happen to be my favorite food. And I wasn't about to let these pears go to waste. So I made pear butter.

When tasted fresh the mealy brown parts of pears lack texture, are overly sweet, and hint at rotten. In butter, these are perfect, their highly developed sugars adding flavor and complexity. Fortunately Dad's pears were full of these types of spots. After careful peeling and coring so as not to lose these mushy nuggets of flavor, the pears went on the stove. I added cinnamon, nutmeg, and some maple syrup then reduced it. After an hour or so, reduced to about and eighth of what it had been the pear butter was ready. Sweet, flavorful, with a subtle richness. What better for a fall breakfast?

Inspiration at the Table

Slow Food Nation's Eat-In was the perfect culmination to the weekend. Bringing together youth from all over the country to listen to movement leaders speak and then break bread together. The symbolism is both obvious yet meaningful.

In order to participate you either had to bring something or sign up for a cooking team. I signed up for a team. Our team had boxes and boxes of beautiful produce donated from the Ferry Building Farmer's Market. A whole box of beautiful black mission figs, a palette of heirloom cherry tomatoes, and a big box of beets and cauliflower. Our prized creation was a tomato soup made with the heirloom cherry tomatoes, onions, and garlic and slowly cooked. We then pressed it through a strainer. The flavor was wonderful, though the consistency slightly thin. Actually I preferred the pulpy left-overs which had all the flavor and texture times twenty. I then spearheaded the campaign to get that out of the compost and into jars for us to take home.

Cooking with strangers equally excited and caring about the food they eat was moving enough. Then to arrive at a public park, set with a white linen table for 300, and tables of food artfully prepared...well, I think it speaks for itself.

Noodles, do they get any better than this?

Thanks to Auntie Tan Li, I know the answer to the above question; no. These noodles are made by hand upon order by Auntie Tan Li's friend's husband. The restaurant is Mandarin Garden in Concord, California. The noodles are a secret recipe, no one but the husband knows. He wanted to pass the recipe on to his son, who is disinterested, and so the recipe will go with him to his grave. A tragedy for food lovers. These are the noodles I wish I could eat every time I'm sad or upset. With just the right amount of bite, and yards of length one cannot help but feel satisfied. And the sauce is rich, savory, thoroughly satiating, and unique. This sauce is Chinese-Korean fusion thanks to the Korean origins of the noodle-maker's wife, making the Mandarin Garden a truly uniqe experience not to be missed.

The noodles are served separate from the sauce, and the two must be combined at the table, as the pictures show.



For those wishing to partake let me fill you in on some insider information. A lot of Chinese superstition surrounds noodles. Every birthday, noodles are eaten as a symbol of long life. The noodles therefore cannot be cut, it is bad luck. Similarly I made the mistake of standing my chop sticks up in the noodles. This also is a no-no and means bad luck. Noodles must be treated with the uptmost respect according to Chinese tradition. And if you taste these noodles you'll understand why.

Social Justice and...Pie!

Ever since taking Child Development and Public Policy as an undergraduate I've been preoccupied with an idea that I had; a non-profit which combines my love of pastries with my desire for social justice. Mission Pie is just the sort of place I had in mind.

I have been admiring it via internet for months, and made it a priority for my visit to San Francisco. Located in the Mission district of San Francisco, Mission Pie is a clever double entendre, referring both to its location and its intention; working with youth from a local high school to teach them about sustainability, food quality, and business. Mission Pie's web site along with that of its sister organization, Pie Ranch, will better describe what it is they're doing. Needless to say the mission is successful. Each pie I tasted was wonderful, the crusts thick and flaky with a warm buttery note. Just like my aunt's crust that I never seem to get quite right.

Mission Pie, however, gets it right time and time again. The mixed berry was fresh and slightly jammy, sun lingering in the berries. My honey fig gallette was all figs, allowing the world's most perfect fruit to speak for itself. I left the banana cream for last because it is truly transcendental. I'm usually not one for cream pies. But this one--with its creamy pudding layer, whole banana chunks, and vanilla beans--was WONDERFULl. On top was a cloud of simple, perfectly whipped cream. If you're ever in San Francisco, Mission Pie is not to be missed. And if you make it to Mission Pie, the Banana Cream is a must.

And don't forget it's all in support of local students; the sweet just got sweeter.