Winter Skies, Kitchen Aglow

I have been in a food funk for months now. Normally, I am inspired by what I read as opposed to playing around in the kitchen dreaming up dishes of my own. Sadly, I have been reading cookery books in a half-hearted manner, which is to say that I cast my eyes over the text but am not really absorbing anything. Part of the problem, though, is the produce - the same old fruit and vegetables for the most part, irrespective of their house of sale, whether a large or family-run greengrocer's or supermarket. As for the Auckland farmers' markets, well, there seems to be a lot of pre-made products for sale, presenting more of a food boutique than a celebration of farmers's bounty. I know that I should give it another chance, but I am doing the very depression-inducing thing of comparing what there is now to what was...I do miss the Long Beach and Santa Monica farmers' markets ever so much.

But I am not in Los Angeles anymore, though my heart is. Luckily my angelheart Eric and I will decide on the location of our abode some time this year, which gladdens me greatly. What also gladdens me is that my angelheart Eric knows of my great love for food but hasn't heard me talk about food a lot. This awareness of my condition (I first thought it might be a cyber-related ennui, but this does not alter the fact that I have not really been cooking for myself with any relish lately) has prompted my knight in shining armour to pick up the cause himself, immersing himself in the stack of food magazines that arrive at his door monthly and the food sections of various American newspapers (oh, how I miss the Los Angeles Times' unparalleled food section). Like all his offerings, my angelheart Eric came across something delicious and pure.

I don't typically prepare anything overly complicated, mostly because I easily stress myself out and can work myself up into a tizz over nothing, so the idea of making something simple was not necessarily lost on me. I have, however, found that I have spent much of the end of last year and most this year (almost one-quarter of the way through already!) straying from familiar flavour combinations. With my nose, tastebuds and interest in Middle Eastern, North African and Turkish cookery books, I have been quite content but have not made anything frequently so as to know it well - I understand this will come with time, but for now, when I want something of comfort, in this sea of grand cookery books cast before me there is no liferaft. Essentially, what my angelheart Eric found was a recipe that reminded me why I love food so much.

Radishes on their own are peppery in flavour and crunchy in texture. On a bed of sliced baguette, a compound butter of toasted sesame seeds, sesame oil, fleur de sel, pepper and chives, the peppery-quality of the radishes all but disappears but their crunch remains, making for a simple, tasty and comforting mouthful. If you're in New Zealand, where traditional bakeries are few and far between, get the best baguette available (note: I did not say "afford," for sometimes even the priciest sticks that pass for baguettes are made with a standard bun mixture only shaped to look like a baguette, sadly lacking its characteristic toasted exterior). It is conventional wisdom that tells us to use the best of ingredients at all times, and this is imperative when working with so few ingredients.

Radish-Chive Tea Sandwiches
(from Bon Appétit magazine, April 2008)

Recipe is found on the Bon Appétit website.

This reminds me of a glorious Spring afternoon some ten or eleven years ago, when the magnanimous Marie-France and I took off in her little Renault to the countryside just south of Paris and marched through paddocks before finding one overlooking a goat farm. There we spread out a picnic blanket and ate the freshest produce along with home made goodies, such as pâté. Before then, it had never occurred to me that food could be simple and life-affirming, rich and tasty. The inclusion of sesame seeds and oil, here, only serves to round out the flavours, adding depth that is contrasted with the chives. If only my angelheart Eric could have been here with me to enjoy these elegant and simple slices.

If you're making these, you may as well keep the sesame seeds out and take a step in another direction to make these very simple cookies, which are crumbly, light, and a breeze to make.

Biscuits au Sésame
(Almost faithfully adapted from Kitty Morse and Danielle Mamane's The Scent of Orange Blossoms)

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1/2 cup sesame seeds, toasted with 1 tablespoon of vegetable oil
1/2 cup icing/confectioners' sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon orange blossom water
2 tablespoons cold water
cinnamon, to sprinkle on top

1) Preheat oven to 180 C/375 F.
2) In one bowl, sift together the flour and baking powder.
3) In another bowl, mix together the vegetable oil, sesame seeds, icing sugar, vanilla extract and orange blossom water.
4) Add the flour mixture in thirds with the cold water in between the additions of flour. The idea is to have coarse crumbs.
5) Make rounded patties in your palms with approximately 2 tablespoons of cookie mixture. Flatten slightly on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper.
6) Sprinkle cinnamon on top.
7) Bake for 20-22 minutes, until the cookies are light gold in colour.
8) Allow to cook and harden slightly on a wire rack.

If you leave the cookies in the oven for a bit too long, as I have done a couple of times, there is no danger; they just crumble more easily when you bite into them. I enjoy their lightness in texture and depth of flavour. They are perfect with a hot drink of equal ballast, such a strong, dark cup of coffee.

Simple food is never boring, and I have obviously needed this gentle reminder to get back into the swing of things. I will try my best to enjoy what there is on offer here and go that extra mile to understand what is available in New Zealand and when. Finding patterns and rhythms, as I did in Los Angeles, will ensure that I take care of and have pride for what I eat and share with others.

Bon appétit!

Labels: Bon Appétit magazine, French, Kitty Morse and Danielle Mamane, Moroccan, Radishes, sandwiches, Sesame Oil, Sesame Seeds

Not to be confused with Hummus, Hummas is a Morrocan dish of chickpeas, turmeric and parsley (or coriander, or a mixture of both). I feel that I will be spending the next month or so informing myself of Moroccan cooking. The timing could not be better, for February is often a very warm and humid month in Auckland, and what mostly appeals to me about Moroccan food is that it is spicy but not terribly hot. This post also serves two purposes, as I not only try the combination of turmeric and parsley, but I also submit it to my good friend Susan's food event, My Legume Love Affair.

Chickpeas (also known as garbanzo beans) are grown all over the world, specifically in the Mediterranean, Western Asia and throughout India. I have made good use of them as the key protein in vegetarian curries, finding that they are ultra luxurious when coated with a thick sauce. Nutritionally, there are many benefits but most interesting is that fact that chickpeas are high in folate, which is a B vitamin necessary for creating serotonin (which makes us happy and assists in liver regeneration, amongst other things, and in this respect amongst other properties, chickpeas are also similar to spinach - no wonder I feel so good after eating both!).

In Moroccan cuisine, chickpeas are used in many a dish, most importantly Harira, a soup that is eaten to break the fasting day in the month of Ramadan. Chickpeas also feature in couscous recipes, which are probably the most familiar of Moroccan cuisine.

Turmeric is part of the ginger family, and its rhizomes are boiled and then dried in ovens before being ground into the marigold-coloured spice with which we are familiar. It is incredibly aromatic and has a mildly bitter, peppery flavour and smells like mustard. Often it is used as a colouring agent in food, but in this recipe, it not only imparts its gorgeous colouring, it also adds warmth and plays with the sweet onions and parsley, bringing out a somewhat unexpected character...

Turmeric is the only spice in this recipe, so the freshest you can find will be best. If you are going to use dried chickpeas, they first need to be soaked overnight (actually, for any recipe, you have to soak dried chickpeas in advance of preparing them). If you are using canned chickpeas, ensure that they are drained before use.

Hummas
(from Claudia Roden's The New Book of Middle Eastern Food)

2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 large onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic, crushed
1/2 teaspoon turmeric
1 1/2 cups chickpeas (to be soaked overnight) or 600g/21oz of canned chickpeas
salt
pepper
1 cup parsley, chopped

1) In a large pan, heat oil and fry the onion.
2) Add garlic and stir.
3) Stir in the turmeric.
4) Add chickpeas and turn them in the onion.
5) Cover with water and simmer for 15-20 minutes if using drained chickpeas from a can. If using dried chickpeas that have been soaked then drained, simmer for 1 1/4 hours.
6) Add salt and pepper only after the chickpeas have begun to soften.
7) Add water to keep chickpeas covered, if necessary.
8) Once the chickpeas are tender, reduce the liquid until it becomes a thick sauce, approximately 20 minutes over a medium heat.
9) Stir in the parsley and cook for five more minutes.

Hummas is really what one eats when the fridge and pantry are bare, and in Morocco, it is considered a food of the poor that it is stretched by often being served with hot bread. Ms. Roden writes that this dish can be cooked using saffron instead of turmeric (and even though the two do not taste at all similar, they impart a golden colour); it can then be served as a first course. I was most surprised by the faint gingery notes because the spice smells more like mustard than it does ginger. It plays beautifully with the caramelised onions and fresh parsley, toning down the flavours of both with its warmth.

Labels: Chickpeas, Claudia Roden, Moroccan, Turmeric