I saw a dream

I am turning into a monstrous customer, Dear Reader. I don’t leave a selling spot, be it a food store or a farmer’s stall at the market, until I get what I desire for my recipes. Even when I am told that a required item is not in stock on a given day, I don’t leave. Instead, I put my hands on my hips, business-like, call forth my gritty determination, which is usually manifested through a teeth-clenched grin, reach over the counter, somewhat menacingly, and say slowly to the seller, ‘Are you sure you don’t have it?’. I also feel tempted to add, post factum: ‘Think twice before you answer’, but has not yet mastered the right throaty tone for it.

To prove, a sunny and peaceful Saturday morning found me performing the act of uncanny hostility. Namely, I did my downright irritating, a fact that’s probably better be kept secret or even forgotten, rather than spoken about so freely and not remotely uncocky: I thoroughly annoyed the vegetable man’s teenage assistant. It so happened that the boy refused to sell me a bunch of bok choy, or more accurately, he told me they did not have it. But I’ll tell you what, I knew for a fact that bok choy was there. Ok, I felt (intuition) it could be there, because last week I bought it on the same spot from the same farmer. Plus, I despondently needed the vegetable in question; I dreamt it, literally!

Given the diversity of vegetable stalls at the market, I could have easily retreated to another one with the plump, leafy beauty right on display, but I decided it would be nicer to push the boy for looking more carefully at his own goods. He did not emanate the air of a chap properly acquainted with the farmer’s produce, anyway. So I considered it a public service of sorts to encourage him to look further.

Just imagine how many hungry customers that would come after me asking for bok choy could be left feeling unsatisfied, their dinner plans ruined and faces long, if I were not so demanding, making the boy look for bok choy. I, virtually, served the community.

‘I don’t have it’, he said for the third time.

‘Could you please ask somebody else’ – there were a few other helpers to the farmer – ‘just to confirm that you really don’t have it?’ I had on sun glasses which gave me more mysterious authority of someone to listen to. I clearly felt the boy was approaching the condition of a certifiable anger and fear too.

(What does she want from me?)

(Bok choy!)

And so it went on until the farmer himself – and I thank the nature’s forces for it -- overheard the ongoing exchange of pretentiously polite phrases between one miffed customer and as much peeved seller, and thunderously said that bok choy ‘is there’, pointing with his index finger, covered with dirt from the carrots he was picking over for another customer, towards the back of the tent where one could see a mountain of wooden crates and rough sacks.

Having snatched the much sought-after vegetable, I can now tell you, Dear Reader, about a dish I saw in my dream, like I said, literally. I hope you understand now why I so needed this damn bok choy. And in case you are wondering, it was not a nightmare in which leafy Asian vegetables dominate the earth, demanding everybody lives on bok choy, drinks rice beverages and speaks fluent Chinese; nor was I drunk. Quite simply, I just saw a dream. And this I may attribute to my recent walk through the Amsterdam China Town where the street air is soaked with the mélange of sour-sweet-tangy odours one can dream about in the end of the day, which I did.

Notably, despite the dreamt-up nature of the dish – Sautéed Bok Choy with Garlic, Ginger and Raisins, there is nothing far-fetched about the interplay of the ingredients. Each praises the other in a delicate and polite manner: browned fragrant garlic and ginger willingly give their deep flavours to peanut-y bok choy, reinforcing a handsome Asian character of the vegetable; and black raisins, together with soy sauce, create an intricate, tantalizing sweet-savoury combination. All these render the combined result as a gracefully simple and harmonious meal. What I also value about it is that the dish, I believe, will take well to substitutions. Don’t like the idea of raisins in an otherwise savoury dish? Go for toasted peanuts; these will taste superb with bok choy, I am sure. Or use peanut or sesame oil for cooking instead of olive oil. Feel free to dream things up.

Sautéed Bok Choy with Garlic, Ginger, and Raisins
(Serves 2 as a main course or 4 as a light meal)

2 pounds bok choy, thoroughly washed and sliced from tip to base in ¼-1/2 inch ribbons
2 cloves of garlic, minced
a knob (about 1 inch) of fresh ginger, pressed
2 Tsb olive oil
2 ½ tsp soy sauce, or less
1 Tbs black raisins
Freshly ground black pepper/lemon juice to taste
Roasted sesame oil for a final touch (optional)

1. In a large skillet, combine the olive oil, garlic and ginger and warm over medium (-low) heat. When the garlic and ginger start to sizzle (don’t wait until they brown!), add the white tough stem parts of the bok choy and stir well to coat with the oil. Cook until they are almost tender, about 3-4 minutes. They will look sweaty.

2. Fold in the green parts. When they start to wilt, add the soy sauce by a teaspoon -- taste as you go to make sure the dish is not over-salted, along with the black raisins, and stir well. Cook until the greens are completely wilted, but don’t overdo. Season with black pepper and lemon juice to taste. Serve warm or at room temperature with a few drizzles of roasted sesame oil (if you happen to have one; if not, don’t worry, the dish doesn’t lose its Asian allure without it).

Hither and thither

I am in the village of Baghmara, India.

The magnificent sun is rising slowly casting its light on meadows and fields seasoned with fresh dew; birds chirp; the Ganges – caring and undisturbed - flows through the village. A new day has arrived.

In fields, I take my morning walk. At this early hour there are no secrets, no questions, no quests. The scenery around reveals its beauty - the blinding beauty, if at that.

I tred barefoot on the grass, soft and wet with morning dew. As I walk, and breathe, and see, and feel, I loosen up my grasp on my worries and unease; really, those are so unimportant, so self-imposed.

Time in this place seems to be a distant rustle of the wind. Fleeting minutes is now the soothing flow of the Ganges.

In the sky, the sun slowly takes over from the moon and awakens the village: men and women, old and young, all take up on their daily routine - and what a heartbreaking labour it is, that routine – with a gratifying and grateful smiles that seem to be residual on their faces, regardless of hardships and losses.

The air is enriched with fragrances of spices; women in the village are busy cooking breakfasts for their families. As my indian friend Vijay tells me, in India, each meal of day’s usual three is warm, right from the stove. So it is no surprise to me at all that I hear the pans’ clang as I pass one home after the other.

Cardamom, ginger, cinnamon and cloves…those suggest a subtle longing on my childhood.

Turmeric, coriander, garam masala, cumin. The latter snaps me to attention: heady, earthy, mighty cumin. I hear oil sizzle playfully, people’s voices engaged in a joyous conversation.

I hear my name being called…

I am back in my small shared kitchen (that would be in Amsterdam), and - as it might have already transpired to you - imaginary, that was my trip. If, My Dear Readers, it has also transpired to you that I might, by seldom chance, have gone disproportionately insane, I beg to differ. All what it took me to drift away was to invite Vijay (that would be my new friend) to cook dinner together. He was cooking and telling me of his home town back in India (at my rather authoritative request); I – at first - fussed around in futile attempts to assist, what with stirring, seasoning, trying yet uncooked dishes, then I just sat down and listened. And, as it has certainly transpired to you by now (I simply like this expression, ok?), imagined.

Now, you might want to excuse my rural edges, but when I happened to be in the vicinity of those potatoes (yes, those ones in a picture from the left above), I announced to Vijay that I was going to eat them up. All by myself. That was not polite, of course. But they were gorgeous. And I was hungry, I trust you understand. (On a side note: there were other dishes too, so I did not have to feel guilty for starving my guest, after all).

Cumin fried potatoes (after Vijay, 2008)

Makes 1-2-3 servings (that depends on your hunger level, really; mine, of course, was high.)

3-4 medium potatoes, cooked al dente (try different sorts to discover different flavours interplay)
1 ½ tsp cumin seeds
3 Tsp olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste

Turmeric (see an update note below)
fresh herbs for garnishing (dill, coriander, parsley, what have you)

Method.

1. Wash, peel and boil potatoes. Make sure they retain a bite (cooked al dente); you don’t want them to turn mushy.

2. Once cooked, drain potatoes. Let cool for 5-10 mins. After this, cut them in small chunks.

3. In a skillet, heat olive oil. Add cumin seeds. When the oil turns slightly smoky and you hear the cumin seeds slightly cracking, turn out potato chunks onto the skillet and stir them thorougly (for even cumin seeds distribution). Fry potatoes over medium heat for 5-7 mins. At this point, you might sd well want to season potatoes with salt and freshly ground pepper.

4. Turn off the heat. Garnish potatoes with herbs and eat/or serve immediately. :)

This is an extremely simple dish. And yet, it possesses an extremely strong character; such character that supports you in autumn and strengthens your belief in warm sunny times that will be coming back - of course they will!

P.S. I have just calculated it’s been a second time within the last 30 days or so that I am featuring potatoes here, among other significant -in the author’s imagination - things. What shall I say in my defence? It’s like with clothes: let's say, you have one dress (God forbid!); try different scarfs or brooches with it, and your dress will look anew. Every single time. Huh!

Update: A little while ago I got an editorial message from V. which goes like this: 'I think you forgot to write turmeric in the Cumin fried potatoes'. Goodness me!

A very Good Monday!

This is by no means a complaint, but for accurately the whole last week rain and me are going hand in hand. And - as mysterious as it may seem - apart from sunny and dry weather, my wanderlus also reaches its peak when it’s virtually an 'Unwalkable' weather outdoors. So today is not an exception. I woke up to an unsettling feeling that there is a certain place in Moscow I’m still unaware of and yet it is, unquestionably, the place I need to be in. I had no choice but to grab a map, put on my rain boots and set out for a quest. And my Dear Readers, if I didn’t follow the voice of my inner wisdom (*wink*) I would end up the unluckiest girl ever. Why? Listen...

I didn’t know in which direction I had to go. I simply let my feet carry me there. I got on the metro, closed my eyes and got focused on my intuition. After a few metro stations I still didn’t get any coherent answer to my questions. I tried to ease my budding doubts with a thought that a ‘destinationless’ gentle stroll about moscovian narrow alleys and side-streets – which I adore - would also be spectacular; never mind that i’ll have to negotiate a wall of rain and allow wind to to embrace me tightly in between. And here where my napping inner wisdom kindled at me and said: there is a magazine in your bag, so leaf through it and thee will find thy answer.

And my answer I found. In the Perlov’s Tea House* which is, indubitantly, one of the most outstanding and beautiful places in the central part of Moscow.

At the moment I spotted it, I knew it was my place. In glee and at a heartbreaking speed, I propelled my way through to it and presented myself happily in its frontdoor. This is where I learnt how the heavens smell. Interested? *wink, wink, wink* MY heavens smell of CHOCOLATE, RAW and GROUND COFFEE BEANS, TEA LEAVES and LIQUORS. The view of said goodnesses residing on the shelves gently stroke my eyesight while I was standing in the middle of the venue greedily inhaling the exgilirating aromas and odours. And the house’s interior is all but dull. Initially planned as the merchant’s residential house with a teashop on the first floor in mid-18th century, in a run of following years its owner (merchant Perlov) commissioned contemporate architects to decorate the house in the Chinese style (I take it that the intended purpose was to pay reverance to and thus establish closer connections with his chinese partners at that time – smart, huh? *smiles*). Eventually it appeared to look like a Chinese pagoda. Right in the middle of Moscow. I’m telling you, this is THE perfect place to be in on a Good Monday – no, every single day!

The warm and tender aroma of vanilla; from leathery to smoky to woody to fruity aromas of chocolate; the odour of freshly brewed coffee of all imaginable sorts with a possibility to taste a cup before buying beans of your choice; muted voices of customers (mostly french today); bottles of creamy liquors oozing their seducing flammable fumes, the ancient chinese design with dragons painted on the ceiling and mirrows everywhere – I was soaring high, I was speechless, I was under the magic spell, I was in love.

After a numerous efforts I pulled myself up together and invested my money in chocolate (honestly, I sooo needed to refill my stash of chocolate – probably, this is why I felt unsettled in the morning *smile*) and a thumb-nail bottle of old Riga herbal balsam (for coffee rather than plain consumption, though it feels sooo warm when alone in your belly!) *wink, wink, wink*

I came back home absolutely contented (you would guess so, wouldn’t you? *smiles*)! One mission was accomplished. But there was something else...something unnerving, which I, again, didn’t compute right away. The evident explanation to this unease came to me only when I'd stuck my head into a fridge (ha!) wearing a thoughtful what’s-for-dinner expression. I, somehow, completely forgot that a few days back I’d purchased one (1) kilo (please, don’t ask! *wink*) of fresh spring onion at a local farmer’s. Believe me when I say that 1 kilo of spring onion is fairly much. Too much! The time when my lovely onions would start getting rotten was unmercifully approaching ( I virtually heard its footsteps and could even smell). So, I had to take immediate measures. And I did.

*****Onion burgers*****

Yields about 10

Ingredients:

For burgers
500 g white onion, finely chopped
1 medium carrot, finely chopped
5-6 sprigs spring onion, finely chopped
1 egg
4-5 Tsp plain flour
salt and pepper to taste

vegetable oil for frying

For a sauce
2 Tsp tomato paste
1 tsp harrissa
½ cinnamon stick
2-3 cloves of garlic, crashed (or finely chopped)

1 1/2 cup plain water


Method:

1. In a medium bowl, combine onions (both white and spring) and a carrot.

2. To the mixture, add an egg, seasonings and flour and mix very thoroughly.

3. With a tablespoon, scoop a mixture and form small balls. Flour and flatten them slightly.

4. Preheat a non-stick frying pan, and fry your burgers over a high heat (5 mins on each side).

5. Once done, put the burgers on a kitchen paper towel to move away excess oil.

6. Into the same frying pan but over a low heat now (after you are finished with burgers), pour tomato paste mixed with 1 1/2 cup plain water, add garlic, cinnamon stick and harrissa. Stir well. Simmer the mixture until thickened.

7. Put the burgers in a small saucepan, pour the sauce over them and simmer at a low heat for about 10 mins. This will incorporate all the flavours.

8. Serve with steaming rice, or green salad leave, or as you wish.

If I didn’t know that it was onion burgers, I would think it was a fish dish. Seriously!! I absolutely love it. Fiery harrissa adds spiciness to the dish; plus cinnamon and fried onions is a FANTASTIC combination!!!

Such has been my Good Monday!!


*Perlov’s Tea House
Myasnitskaya str.19
Moscow

I've got a cabbage head! Anybody interested?

I want to be smart. And I still believe (hopefully not in vain! *wink*) that a quality of being smart is something you can acquire rather than get it inherited from your smart parents. *smiles* So I want to be smart, thus I eat lots of cabbage. Why? Well…I simply follow Alexander Makedonsky’s advice (not to me, but to his soldiers) to eat cabbage to get a good stamina (why the way this word sounds always frightens me? *an interrogative question on my face*) and be very smart consequently. Ta da!

So I’m obsessed with cabbage. I really am. *L, do you remember how I left a cabbage head in your fridge when I was staying at your lovely home and then we left for a few days? What did you find when you came back home - a rotten cabbage head? You were so noble not to comment on it, thanks! And sorry for the cabbage invasion! *wink, wink, wink*

Within the last few years I learnt there are thousands of recipes that feature different sorts of cabbage cooked in various ways (I’m telling you I am not always in the loop, so what might be novel to yours truly isn’t necessarily a discovery to you *a sheepish expression and a smile from ear to ear*). On a daily basis my personal preference goes to raw cabbage (sliced into thin stripes) for use in salads. But there are absolutely no limits in my relations to this glorious vegetable, so lately I’m hooked on this dish…

****PEPPERY HOT CABBAGE SALAD****
(the original recipe you can find on Anjum Anand’s site)

Ingredients I used:

Half a white cabbage head (finely shredded)
A handful of (chopped) peanuts
1 Tbsp vegetable oil
1 tsp brown mustard seeds
a pinch of fenugreek
1 tsp turmeric
10-15 dried curry leaves (crashed)
1 can boiled chickpeas
2-3 small dried red chillies (crashed)
salt to taste

Method:

1. Heat the oil in a large non-stick frying pan.


2. Add mustard seeds and fenugreek and fry for about 30 secs (or until they start popping)


3. Add the crashed chillies, chickpeas (make sure you rinse them well before cooking) and peanuts. Turn the heat down and fry just until the peanuts start to colour.


4. Add the curry leaves, cabbage, turmeric and salt to taste.


5. Fry for about 5 mins until the cabbage has wilted but still crunchy.


6. At the end I added a pinch of ground cinnamon and juice of ½ lemon (to my mind, or to be more precise to my taste, cinnamon matches well with the soft flesh of chickpeas and lemon pairs nicely with the peppery taste of the cabbage).



*****

The dish is now one of my favourites. It’s healthy, flavourful and filling (Are you not convinced yet? *wink, wink, wink*). In fact I’m already having it for three days* in a row. *wink, wink, wink* It’s just so good that I can’t help but cooking it over and over. And people don’t you forget that I’m gonna be smart? *a happy smile*



*On day 2 I even suffered a chilli attack. It was pretty hurtful, believe me! I decided to play it coolI and add more chillies to the dish than featured in the recipe. And what do you think? Errr...I knew I could cry much after deseeding fresh chillies (an observation from my life experience), but I did not know I could COUGH that much because of the chilli fumes when evaporating. Well, now I know. *a proud smile*

Almond blossom

Food is the art - and you don’t doubt it, do you? But have you ever come to love some things edible because of the arts? Well, probably you have and what I’m going to narrate about just in a few seconds will not surprise you at all. On the other hand, you might as well rush to the nearest fine arts museum in a quest for a gastronomic discovery and inspiration. *wink, wink, wink, wink*

Vincent van Gogh introduced me to almonds! I’m not delirious at all! On the contrary, I’m so much proud and grateful for the days I spent in Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam getting acquainted with his masterpieces. Among which was gorgeous Almond Blossom. Now you see that I’m no way nuts? *wink, wink, wink, wink* So, I’ll repeat once again:
- People, Vincent van Gogh introduced me to almonds through his adored by me painting Almond Blossom!

You wouldn’t believe that by the age of 21 I hadn’t had a single almond in my life (I myself find it rather difficult to believe it now). No matter how bitter it might be, it is true though – no almonds before 21. Of course, it is quite possible to live without these nutty nuts; but what a life is it then? Well…you’ve got the picture. *wink, wink, wink*

So, there I was: a girl standing in the middle of a museum hall marvelling at the Almond Blossom. With the thoughts like these: ‘oh gosh, how divine and delicate the almond tree is painted. The aura of the painting is just overwhelming. It feels as though I’m in a spring garden with the air full of subtle, exhilarating aromas. Why have I never tasted almonds yet? Why, why, why?’ Oh, this guy next to me is so damn good-looking. Oh, and he is looking at me! Oh, and he is saying something to me! Fantastic!’ *wink, wink, wink, wink*

Without any further ado I want to say I am a dedicated almond-eater now! I must tell you that to me personally these nuts are something else! No less than aristocrats in a nutty world! Not so eager to reveal their true taste right away they demand all your attention to their sweetish nature. After kilos of different sorts of nuts eaten in the course of previous years (years, not days!!) I’ve definitely got a thing about almonds and developed a distinct taste for them. Meaning: I can enjoy them both straight from a jar and am able already to distinguish them in more or less elaborate dishes*. And this is what I had for my dinner tonight…

*****Quinoa with Orange and Honey Glazed Almonds*****

(source of the recipe: my own imagination)

Ingredients:

150g organic quinoa
1 large orange
25g sliced almonds
1 rounded tsp honey
3 Tbsp fresh chopped parsley
a pinch of turmeric
salt and pepper to taste
extra virgin olive oil

Steps to take:
1. Cook quinoa: bring two cups of water to a boil with one cup of grain, cover at a low simmer and cook for about 12-14 mins or until the germ separates from the seed. The cooked germ should look like a tiny curl and have a slight bite to it. I love my quinoa cooked al dente! Tip: to add up more flavour to the quinoa, put an orange rind into boiling water.

2. In the meantime, finely chop the parsley and cut an orange into segments.

3. Set a small non-stick saucepan over a medium heat and melt the honey (make sure you don’t burn it instead *wink, wink*). Once the honey is fluid, stir in the almond flakes, and mix well so that the nuts are evenly covered with honey and cook for about one minute. I also sprinkled freshly ground pepper over the nuts to extract their flavours more. Tip: prepare the nuts at a final stage of the process when the remainder of the ingredients are ready, otherwise you’ll end up with the nuts stuck too hard to your saucepan’s bottom. Errr..

4. Combine all the ingredients in a moderate bowl (including a pinch of turmeric and salt to taste). Mix well.

5. Before serving sprinkle your quinoa with a few drops of olive oil and fresh orange juice. I felt like adding a tiny bit of raspberry vinegar to maintain an acidulous part of the dish for a balance (I seem to be obsessed with raspberry vinegar lately, but it’s really so good! *wink, wink, wink*) .
**********

My overall impression of the dish is very much positive, even more than that. The earthiness of the quinoa, citrus freshness of orange, the sweetness of almonds and honey and a spiciness of turmeric mix up naturally to create a flavourful dish that will leave you and your taste buds well fed and content. At least it worked out perfectly for me!

Oh Almonds! I love thee!!

* In my vocabulary ‘elaborate dish’ means a dish that contains more than one ingredient. *a smile from ear to ear*