April 2011

I'm not really sure what possessed me, but I decided to try to make a savory marshmallow for Easter. That's essentially an oxymoron and, as it turns out, sort of impossible, given that sugar—or in this case, honey—is such an integral part of the structure of this spongy treat. No amount of googling turned up anything helpful, so I winged it. The result was a strangely compelling alternative to the achingly sweet peeps on offer at this time of year. Made with roasted pureed carrots, the base was initially a gorgeous brilliant orange color which, upon mixing, turned into a very subtle tint. Infused with cumin and fennel, and sprinkled with chile salt, these marshmallows are a sweet, spicy, salty and sensuous mouthful.
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In my quest for wild edibles, I dredged up a distant memory of my friend Julia telling me about a morel she had once found at her weekend place nearby. So I headed over there, still dreaming of a big score. Her house has been closed up all winter long and as I drove up a big, fat groundhog scurried across the lawn. She has a beautiful piece of land that slopes down to a brook, now swollen from all the rains. Plenty of skunk cabbage along the bank, a favorite snack for bears. No sign of morels, sadly, though I did find a nice patch of stinging nettles. They must be picked and handled with care—heavy gloves do the trick—as the stems and undersides of the lovely, heart-shaped leaves are covered with fine spines that release irritating formic acid upon contact (like the sting you get from fire ants and bees). Nettles are surprisingly high in protein and deliver lots of calcium, magnesium, iron and potassium, among other vitamins and minerals. For millennia, they have been prized for their anti-inflammatory properties. Their delightful green color and spinach-y flavor makes a wonderful spring soup. And the skull pictured above? Stay tuned for an episode of CSI: Sullivan County.
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A-foraging I went and I didn't find one thing I was hoping for. No morels, no edible fiddleheads, not a single solitary ramp. And yet, it was truly a glorious day. The mighty Delaware, full of silt stirred up by the recent rains, is flowing the color of milky coffee. Eighty degrees out, with gentle breezes, fluffy cumulus clouds like globs of marshmallow cream in a Tiffany blue sky. The kind of weather sure to rouse even the drowsiest bear and summon the rattlesnakes from their stony bowers. I confess, I devoted a fair amount of mental energy conjuring up scenarios in which I was lunch. A trio of turkey vultures circling overhead didn't help matters much. But in the end, I was sufficiently distracted by all the green living things teeming on the forest floor.
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Still no camera (I'll retrieve it when I go into the city tomorrow), but G is clamoring from Southeast Asia for evidence of incipient spring in our garden so the iphone will have to do. (I'm actually impressed with the quality.)It's been nothing but rain rain rain for the last several days, though things have cleared up somewhat now and the bugs have already begun their relentless onslaught. Lots of new life is unfurling. Today I will venture into the woods on my first foraging expedition of the season. I'm obsessed with finding ramps, morels, nettles and fiddleheads. Last year I had no luck, nor have I been able to find a mentor in the area. All I need is a little nudge in the right direction. Meanwhile, in my own backyard, many things are cropping up. In the damp, shady bed beneath our bedroom window, the lemon balm you see above (also known as melissa) is off to a good start. This wonderfully fragrant member of the mint family will be pressed into service all summer long for tea, to flavor panna cotta and in poultices for soothing bites and scratches.
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Back from a restful week in Antigua—sadly without G, who is currently climbing palm trees in the Philippines. I went solo to a wonderful Easter lunch at Stephanie's yesterday. Took lots of photos of the beautiful table and the delicious pork roulade, and then promptly forgot my camera! But I'm sharing it with you nonetheless, recipe and photos courtesy of Saveur. This was perhaps the best pork loin I've ever eaten, juicy and flavorful, perfumed with herbs and sauced with a savory onion jus. The pork came from Fleischer's, a fantastic upstate resource for organic and grass-fed meat. Also on the menu: frisée salad with preserved lemon and asparagus tips; pea soup with tarragon; mashed potatoes; roasted carrots; baked Alaska. On a lark, I made some carrot marshmallows with honey, cumin and chile salt. More about those, and photos, later this week.
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A month or so before we got married in October of 2007, G whisked me off to Turkey for a quick getaway. Although we had big plans to travel around and see lots of sights, after a couple of days in Istanbul we found ourselves holed up in the unbelievably charming Hotel Ada in Turkbuku, in the hills above Bodrum, with absolutely no desire to go anywhere else. This gorgeous stone hotel is built around several 150-year-old olive trees, has a lovely hammam for bathing and steams, and is beautifully furnished in a warm and eclectic style. Our room had stunning views of the Aegean and a private pool where we sunned and swam every day. We breakfasted on juicy peaches and sweet figs on our balcony; lunched on fresh salads and icy cold watermelon juice by our pool; and dined in bed on just-caught seafood. G was especially taken with a pasta dish piled high with what they called "sea delicates"—little scallops, shrimp, squid and fish in a tomatoey sauce. At the time, he did not know that gluten was a big problem for him, so this was truly an instance of ignorance being bliss. Ditto the molten chocolate cake he had for dessert every night.
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This beautiful green chameleon is the first creature I captured with my new camera, a present from G who is leaving Antigua early today to shoot a job in the Philippines, Vietnam and Indonesia. Although my new toy hardly makes up for losing my better half for a couple of weeks, it will prove a welcome distraction. The food here is not much to write home about, though we did enjoy dinner on the beach last night, including a delicious chowder made with local shrimp, lobster, clams and fish. Earlier in the day we'd seen a haul of a couple of big, square-headed, glistening yellow mahi mahi, but there was none of the simple and fresh ceviche you might hope for. Still, I can't complain, when the days consist of sunning, napping, reading, hammocking and sipping piña coladas. (Note to self: must perfect this drink at home this summer without that noxious, soapy Coco Lopez). And the nights consist of family dinners, rum-&-tonics with extra lime, moon-gazing, more reading and the beautiful music of tree frogs.
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I'm on vacation in Antigua this week. Being lulled to sleep every night by the sound of the crashing surf just outside my room. Yesterday, I saw a red-spotted starfish beneath the crystalline waters. A wonderful Balinese woman scrubbed me from head to toe with sea salt and green coffee as I looked through the massage table headpiece at a bowl of green sea glass. I've eaten callaloo soup (like a spinach puree) and a summer roll made with buttery soft lobster. Tonight is dinner on the beach with a bonfire, dancing and entertainment by the island's premier singer of soca, a music with traditional African roots. G bought me a new camera before this trip and I hope to capture some photos of this paradise for you. My vacation reading list includes: Stardust by Joseph Kannon (reading now, it's fantastic); I Think I Love You by Allison Pearson; Mudbound by Hillary Jordan; The Tiger's Wife by Tea Obreht; The Invisible Bridge by Julie Orringer; and The Imperfectionists by Tom Rachman. Ambitious? For sure. But it gives me the same feelings of security, wealth and possibility that having a full pantry does. My Kindle runneth over...
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Remember that glorious tasso ham we smoked up for the latest Charcutepalooza challenge? (Read all about it here.) Well, I found a classic way to use it that really maximizes its smoky, spicy flavor. I came across a recipe for jambalaya by Chef Paul Prudhomme, the Louisiana legend whose blackened entrees were horribly bastardized by chain restaurants in the 80s. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, “jambalaya” comes from the Provençal word "jambalaia," meaning a mish-mash or mix-up, and also a pilau (pilaf) of rice. Originally a humble combination of rice and vegetables, it has evolved into a rich expression of local New Orleans cuisine. There are two types of jambalaya: Creole, also known as “red jambalaya,” which contains tomatoes and is usually made with chicken and smoked meat; and Cajun, “brown jambalaya,” without tomatoes, which is more characteristic of southwestern Louisiana. The Creole version, which originates from New Orleans’ French quarter, was undoubtedly influenced by Spanish paella. As saffron was scarce, tomatoes were added for their vibrant color. Ultimately, Caribbean spices and the addition of tasso ham or andouille sausage make this a dish unique unto itself.
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The marshy area in the woods behind our house is bursting with the sounds (and occasional sights) of new life. The rains and melting snow have united in large vernal pools that are the breeding ground for frogs and salamanders. You can hear their trilling and chuckling, great crowds of them creating a cacophany that we once took for an enormous flock of geese. When you draw near, they all go silent of course, so a stealthy approach is essential. We did scare a couple of ducks who took off, leaving behind a lavish breakfast buffet of bugs and water creatures. Here's a quick visual tour of some of the natural wonders we came across yesterday morning.
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