Saturday, April 30, 2011

Damir's Broccoli.

All vegetables should be this lucky. © Ryan Schierling 
A neighbor who lives seven steps away and will knock on your door on any given weeknight, offering you samples of their best dinner creations, quickly becomes more than just a neighbor. They are family.

Living next door to Damir, there were many spontaneous evenings enjoyed over a shared grill and shared food. On other occasions it would just be someone making a quick trip across the courtyard to deliver a plate of something special – a little extra of a known favorite, or something new we thought the other would appreciate.

On one such night, Ryan was out on a photo assignment when I heard a knock on the door. The first thing out of Damir's mouth was "Is Ryan home? I have something I want him to try..." Damir handed me a small plate with some kind of meat tented in foil – that was definitely a Ryan thing – and with the other hand offered me a small bowl of broccoli which appeared to be enveloped in a white sauce of some kind. Ryan would be home shortly.

Excited that this gift included broccoli, one of my favorite vegetables, I decided to go ahead and try some of this new thing while it was still warm. It was amazing! The salty strength of feta, the tang of sour cream and fresh garlic turning broccoli into the most satiating of comfort foods. Seriously, it was about all I could do to not lick that little bowl clean... It was "just one more little bite" after "one more little bite" until the portion I had intended to leave for Ryan was whittled down to a mere forkful or two by the time he returned home. Considering the restraint that was required to leave that tiny portion in the bowl, it is little wonder that as soon as Ryan arrived I was begging him to try this – if only, at last, to save me from the temptation.

The next time we saw Damir we had to ask for details. No, turns out this isn't a traditional Bosnian recipe or an old family favorite. It's all Damir and simply divine.

I wasn't kidding when I referred to this as comfort food. I would put this right up there with a great baked macaroni and cheese most any day. Once, when I was really sick with some kind of flu thing, Ryan made this for me and served it with some fluffy mashed potatoes he'd whipped up. I still remember sitting in bed, holding that bowl and enjoying every bite of warm and tangy comfort.

The recipe below is a loose approximation of how it was described, and how we make it. Damir has tested this a few ways and is adamant that the fresh chopped garlic be added at the end, not sauteed with the vegetables. We heartily concur!

Damir's Broccoli

16 ounces broccoli (steamed fresh or frozen)
1 good knob of butter
1/2 cup sour cream
4 ounces feta cheese (fresh in brine), drained and roughly crumbled
4 large cloves garlic, crushed and minced
salt to taste
a crack of black pepper

In a saucepan, melt the butter and add the broccoli. If you're using fresh broccoli, be sure to cut it into smaller pieces and steam it only until you can just pierce it with a fork before adding it to the saucepan. When the broccoli is both hot and tossed in the butter, add the sour cream, feta and garlic. Stir together and bring back up to heat with a little bubbling. Season to taste and serve at once.

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Thanks Easter bunny! Bawk, bawk!

Rabbit sugo with pappardelle. © Ryan Schierling
When my dad was a child, he and a friend decided to go hunting. His buddy had a bb gun, and so off they tromped through field and stream, forest and glen, in search of wild and wily critters. They returned with a rabbit, and I can only imagine my father holding the expired beast aloft by the ears as he proudly presented it to his mother (my grandmother) to clean and cook for them. "No way! Get that thing out of here!" was apparently her response, quashing my father's dreams of ever becoming a big game hunter.

Anyone can have a grandma, I guess, but not everyone has a nonna.

Julie and I have been preparing rabbit and eggs on Easter Sunday for a number of years now. The last incarnation was breakfast – rabbit sausage, over-easy eggs and little bunny-shaped toasts. This year, we decided on rabbit sugo with hand-made pappardelle, a little fancier Easter bunny and Easter eggs.

But where to get bunny here in Austin? We checked Central Market first, but were left feeling a bit sad for the Pel-Freez rabbits and the uncertainty of where they came from and how they got there. Were they factory rabbits stuck in cramped, stacked-up cages their whole life? Were they chock full of antibiotics and who-knows-what-else? Back home, a little bit of internet and a little bit of phone calling directed us to Sebastien Bonneau and his Countryside Family Farm in Bastrop. Bonneau raises rabbits, ducks, geese, chickens and pigeons for meat, and he had the happy bunnies that we were looking for. He was also willing to make room in his busy Sunday schedule for us to pick up the rabbit directly from him.

This is one of those recipes, like ragu, where I imagine there are a core set of ingredients that are necessary (mirepoix, wine, some type of meat). But beyond that, I figure all's fair in love and sugo.

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Passage to India.

Keema matar, with ground goat. © Ryan Schierling
When it comes to the things we cook at home, sometimes a tangent strikes and we indulge ourselves with reckless abandon. Other times a commitment is made and we have to nudge each other a little into that delicious new territory. Last fall, when we discovered a wonderful family-owned Indian grocery close to where we live, we decided that this was the year to give it a go. Why not?! It's close and convenient, we love supporting a local specialty business and it's about darn time we get it on with a new cuisine. We love Indian food, but it is relatively unfamiliar to our kitchen and we fully expected that this would be a process of conscious baby steps in a new direction. Little did we know that a pound of ground goat meat would be our sudden formal entry point.

One day – for whatever reason – Ryan decided we needed to buy some goat. He found a source at the local Sunday farmer's market and we were going to go get some. I still don't know what he thought he was going to do with it, because before he even got that far I told him I knew of the perfect recipe! Yes, in fact, I had actually tried goat meat. It was over a decade ago, but I remembered clearly the texture, savory flavor of the glistening richly-spiced sauce, and the hummus and flatbread that accompanied it. I just didn't know what it was called.

It turns out that the delicious meal I had been served those many years ago featured Keema Matar. Although "keema" commonly refers to beef, the original meaning of the word is "minced meat" and the dish is decidedly amenable to alternates. My first taste of it just happened to include goat.

Steve and Brandy lived and worked in the Arabian Gulf for the better part of the 1990s and due to their schedules ended up adopting this dish as a morning food of choice. Though not necessarily regarded as a first dish of the day, they have continued to make this a regular breakfast item in the years since they moved back to the States, and they were more than pleased to share their recipe when I asked. Sure, there are many reputable sources we could have used for reference, but this version, like any good family recipe, is a gift – tried and true, faithful and loved – and it's how we ended up cooking our goat.

Repast of champions. © Ryan Schierling
At Steve and Brandy's suggestion, some warm fresh flour tortillas fill the role of roti or a paratha. Along with a batch of chana masala and a smooth hummus whipped up in the food processor, we enjoyed a satisfying feast for days.

Keema Matar
(Beef with Peas)

1 large onion, finely chopped
3 Tbs peanut oil or vegetable oil
3 cloves garlic, crushed
1 tsp garam masala
1 tsp chili powder
1 Tbs grated fresh ginger
2 tsp ground turmeric
1 tsp crushed cardamom seeds
1 pound of ground meat
1 14-½ oz can tomatoes with liquid
½ cup frozen peas
1 cup water
Salt to taste

Brown ground meat in pan, drain and set aside. In pan fry onions in oil until lightly browned. Mix the garlic and the spices, add to the onion and fry gently for one minute. Add the meat, tomatoes and peas. Add water and simmer covered until the meat is tender and most of the liquid is absorbed and flavors merge. One to two hours. 

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Tam, tum, tom.

Som tam. © Ryan Schierling
There are at least 43 different Thai recipes for green papaya salad. There are a couple different spelling variations (som tam, som tum, som tom). There are at least five very questionable heat indices ranging from extremely mild to solar flare/coronal mass ejection, depending on what restaurant you're at or where you get your bird chiles. 

We used to live a half block from a wonderful, family-owned Thai restaurant. While I am still a little hum-dingered that we didn't ask them for their Zion Chicken recipe before we moved to Texas, I will always give credit to them for introducing me to one of my all-time favorite salads, Thai or otherwise – green papaya salad. It was a wonderfully fresh blast of color and texture, exciting flavors, and I would order it every time we got take-out.

The only thing was, they didn't always have it on the menu – green papaya absenteeism, green papaya vacancy, green papaya truancy, straight-up green papaya hooky. When green papaya was out of season or otherwise unavailable, their stand-in julienne was carrot with more carrot and – while still delicious – that's just not my som tam, sir. 



Monday, April 4, 2011

The Maximilian Affair.

The Tricolore - blue, white and red tacos. © Ryan Schierling

When I asked a friend – one who happens to be an awesomely talented creative-type currently living in Paris, France – to write me a story about her fair city in exchange for a story from Austin about tacos, I suppose I shouldn't have been so floored to receive a tale so lovely 

----- 

Ok, you wanted a Paris story in exchange for a scintillating tale of tacos. Ahem… 

Emerging from the Metro, bright orange lipstick matching my new napalm red/orange heels, I hold the hand of my lover – his cap askew at a roguish angle. Within steps from the gaping Metro's mouth, we feel on our light t-shirts a few drop of rain. Our mission will not be thwarted by a few small pips of precipitation! Ha! We laugh at the Parisians unfurling their umbrellas; no self-respecting Seattleite would bother with such a hindrance! 

Now we start for our destination, down a cobblestone road in the direction of our hearts desire. With rare rapidity the drops gain size and number. Soon a true deluge is upon us, and by upon us I mean down the backs of our shirts, dampening our pants till each leg weighs ten pounds. My hair, which started off in luminous bouncing curls has flashed back in time and is actually wetter than when I stepped forth from the shower earlier that same day. 

We will not be stopped. 

Jay, with a heroic gait, whisks me into an alcove while he runs hither and yon to find the correct boulevard we must traverse. In moments he comes back, soaked from hat to high-tops but with a grin that says, "I am a MAN! I will rescue this situation!" 

Now he leads me, in a slippery stride – no, more a puddle-leaping gallop down streets hell-bent on finding what it is we set out for. We know that once we locate this Paris gem, rain, cold, and wrecked heels will no longer matter. 

Finally we come to the street, the block. It should be there...where is it? And then, like a brave beacon, a signal flare of rescue, a glimmer of good fortune we see her. Ah yes. The Taqueria. 

No sign, save the small writing on the door, tells us despite all the worst the weather had to throw at us, true taco lovers will always prevail. As we stand dripping on the welcome mat, the sparse few patrons turn and gaze at what must look like the two most miserable souls on this earth. 

Except for our hope-filled gaze. 

Is that a Dos Equis we see someone drinking? Truly can that be Valentina sauce on the small wooden table? And does that chalkboard daily menu really say they are serving al pastor and rajas con queso? 

Paris - the city of light, romance and mystery. A city where if you can sweep your ruined curls up in a braid and reapply your lipstick, just to wink and smile at the man who brought you here, will reward you with one of Paris's most treasured landmarks only 10 days after it has opened... the Candelaria Taqueria. 

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