Carol

A Sun-Drenched Memory

December 24, 2015 by Carol 2 Comments

Son-in-law Adam recently completed his annual olive-brining ritual. He buys the raw fruits from an online source, and then in his kitchen prepares them in a variety of ways, from traditional to spicy-hot.

A few weeks ago he presented me with a jar containing his latest production. These olives were unlike any I had ever before eaten. While the flavor was somewhat similar to the store-bought greens, the texture was al dente, almost crispy. And, they were bigger than the largest olives I have seen.

Olive branch

As I tasted one, then two, memories surfaced of the sun-drenched Tuscan countryside, where groves of olive trees in straight rows gambol up and down the hills, their gray-green leaves shimmering in the light. And then more memories bubbled up from even further back, to my time living in Israel, where olive trees grow even on the main streets of the cities.

While living in Jerusalem, I came into possession of the novel The Last Temptation of Christ, by Nikos Kazantzakis. It was a great book altogether, but one scene in the story stands out in my mind for its vivid description. Jesus stops during his travels to rest under a tree. He extends his hand and plucks an olive the size of an apple from its branches – enough to serve as lunch.

What an image! Upon reading it, I made my way directly to King George Street and picked a couple of tiny green olives. I then made a big mistake: I bit into one. Bit, as in bitter. Yuck. Olives need to be treated, either through brining or curing. Lesson learned.

And then more recently, while on a saunter through Jerusalem, we came upon two women picking olives in the Mishkenot Sha’ananim neighborhood. They had come from outside the city specifically for this purpose, but had forgotten to bring a ladder, or even a tarp to collect the harvest, so 6’4″ hubby offered to pick from the higher branches. I helped work the lower ones.

If only there were a better way, I thought. And, then just last week I saw a video on the Internet with the most amazing invention for harvesting olives. See for yourself if this isn’t just the dandiest garden implement to have. Of course, it’s probably not a practical purchase for the casual olive briner, but hey, it’s so neat I just had to share it. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GKF_axA9zog

Until Adam made olives, I had never considered doing it at home. Now I think I may try next year. With every bite, I can be transported from the winter gloom to a warm and beautiful place.

In the meantime, since we live in New England, buying online is probably the best strategy for me.

Say Cheese!

December 9, 2015 by Carol 4 Comments

cheese_highdefinition_picture_4_167320 It’s Hanukkah this week, and with it comes the temptation of foods fried in oil. The traditional story behind the practice is that the little cruse of oil sufficient for lighting the Temple menorah (candelabra) for only one day miraculously lasted for eight.

We all know about the latkes (pancakes) and sufganiyot (jelly donuts) that are the oil-heavy stars of the Hanukkah menu. They are delicious and, hey, we only eat them once a year, so enjoy yourself.

But there is also a custom of eating cheese on the holiday and it has a feminist, if somewhat grisly, backstory that comes from the biblical Book of Judith.

About 2200 years ago the Syrian-Greek army laid siege to the town of Bethulia, a mountaintop town overlooking the Jezreel Valley. As the siege continued, the townspeople suffered from increasing hunger and, feeling desperate, declared their intention to surrender when the food ran out. But Judith, the beautiful daughter of the High Priest Yochanan, came up with a plan. Using her knowledge that Holofernes desired her, she approached him with a basket of her homemade cheese, bread, and wine. Eating the salty cheese made the general thirsty, so she plied him with the wine. The more wine he drank, the drowsier he became, until he fell asleep. Judith then took his sword and beheaded him. She brought the head back to the town elders in a bag and urged them to attack the enemy, who were sure to panic once they realized that their leader was dead. She was right. The troops fled and the town was liberated.

So, in Judith’s honor, perhaps we should throw a wine and cheese party. (No swords allowed.) Or, combining the two culinary traditions, maybe we should eat fried mozzarella sticks.

A Tried and True Thanksgiving

November 24, 2015 by Carol 4 Comments

Here we are on the eve of Thanksgiving and the house is filled with fabulous aromas from a wide range of dishes. And while I spend most of the year trying new recipes and experimenting with new foods, both for my newspaper column and in researching my book, when the holidays come I rarely deviate from the tried and true.

Thanksgiving is one of those holidays that demand the tried and true. Comfort food is what the family wants, and of all the traditions that surround the holiday, turkey is almost universally the centerpiece. Everybody (except the vegetarians) demands turkey. (I did go on strike one year and serve chicken, but was almost disowned for that faux pas.) For me, the only reason the bird exists is as a vehicle for stuffing. I love stuffing. And since tiny changes are sometimes allowed, a couple of times I’ve tried to stuff kasha into my turkey, but frankly, the tried and true bread stuffing is really my fave.

This year’s tiny change is that I am bumping the green beans for Brussels sprouts. It turns out that hubby never liked green beans (we’ve only been married 38 years and now he tells me). But, the kids demand both pumpkin pie and Grandma Cele’s Jello cranberry cherry mold. (These kids probably think Jello mold was served at Plymouth.)

As for mashed potatoes, this is not a dish anybody in my tribe has ever served on Thanksgiving – on any branch of either hubby’s or my family. But, when my hairdresser Shannon cried, “What?” You can’t have Thanksgiving without mashed potatoes!” I felt this might be the year to try them, perhaps because she was so passionate about the potatoes – or perhaps because she was holding a pair of sharp scissors at the time. I can’t be sure.

However, considering that the preparation of said dish is a major pain in the tuchus, I delegated the task to my first-born child, who accepted the assignment with great aplomb.

Luckily, he is as good a cook as he is a sport.

So this year, mashed potatoes will be on our family Thanksgiving table, squeezed in among the turkey, stuffing, Brussels sprouts, cranberry sauce, Jello mold, squash soufflé, apple crisp, and pumpkin pie.

Time to let out the waistband. That’s tradition.

A Tough Nut to Crack

October 13, 2015 by Carol Leave a Comment

My obsession with stalking the wild asparagus continues. Dressed like Miss Marple with my hat and Wellies, I love to gather apples, pears, chicory and, of course, my beloved grape leaves. Last week, while searching (alas, failing) to find a new source of grape leaves in a nearby park, I did discover dozens and dozens of pale green orbs hanging from trees like so many Christmas ornaments. I plucked one low-hanging one as well as a small branch of leaves, and posted photos on Facebook, hoping that at least one friend could help me with identification. Within minutes I had my answer: Black walnut. Unfortunately, I had no idea that cutting into the hull of that nut to make the photos would render my fingernails dark brown for two long weeks. Note to self: wear gloves.

Despite the risk of permanent dye, I was on a mission. I just had to gather what so many people claim is a sublimely flavored nut. So, on a sunny and warm Columbus Day, four-year old Max and I headed out to harvest. It turns out that finding the trees was the easiest part of the exercise, and retrieving the ripe globes that had fallen to the ground required little effort on our part. (Having a little kid close to the ground was a big help in the search.)

Finding nuts not infested with slimy little worms was another matter. The longer they remain on the ground, the more likely it is that they will attract the critters. Yuck. So, why not just pick them straight from the tree? Well, if you happen to be 20 feet tall or own a cherry picker, that would be a fine solution. I happen to be 5’7″, and can barely reach the lowest branches.

After one tree’s worth of nuts, we headed home to begin the next phase our project. That turned out to be the hard part, involving water, an exacto knife, and a drying tray, none of which steps yielded anything we could actually eat.

The phrase “tough nut to crack” must have been invented for the black walnut. No simple nutcracker is sufficient here. To get at the meat inside a black walnut, a sledgehammer is the only way to go. Another note to self: Sledgehammers can pulverize the nutmeats.

So much work for so little result. As the woman in the youtube video said, “That’s why they’re so stinkin’ expensive.” (Yes, twice that of standard “English” walnuts.)

Oh, but what a splash they’ll make as a Thanksgiving dessert.

Sorry, Dr. Freud, sometimes a cigar is not just a cigar

September 29, 2015 by Carol 2 Comments

I love cigars! No, not the brown cylindrical things that stink up the house and that grown men smuggle from Havana. (In this new age of detente, do they still need to smuggle them?)

No, I love edible cigars, the kind you find throughout the Mediterranean and Middle East.

On a recent visit in Turkey, we enjoyed lunch in a lush garden under a heavy canopy of trees that provided a welcome cooling shade — just the ticket after a full, and baking hot, morning at Ephesus.

Lunch was a series of small dishes called mezze, the Middle Eastern version of Spanish tapas or Italian antipasto.

What I love most about mezze, aside from the variety of flavors and textures, is that partaking of the small dishes forces us to pace ourselves. As one who is often guilty of eating too fast, mezze is a reminder of the importance of slowing down and enjoying life. And, surrounding ourselves with congenial folks creates an atmosphere conducive to conversation. Social support networks are usually made of friends and family, but while the eight other folks at our table were strangers when we first sat down, they became friends over our shared dining experience. Food served as the WD-40 to smooth the mechanics of getting to know one another.

Although our menu that day was determined before our arrival, dining on mezze at a restaurant is also about enjoying the process of selecting the dishes. Mezze dishes use local products that highlight the wonderful natural resources of the area, and given the virtually infinite number of ways in which a few key ingredients combine to form the dishes, it could be very easy to over-order.

At our lunch we sampled hummus, several different eggplant salads, three varieties of olives, pita, and those wonderful sigara bouregi – cheese cigars. A refreshing dessert of watermelon and grapes capped off the meal.

Would that every meal were as slow and measured as that lunch in the garden.

Food Fight!

August 6, 2015 by Carol 2 Comments

images The annual bonanza/surfeit/ridiculous overproduction (your choice) of the typical home gardener’s zucchini patch has begun. Zucchini bread, zucchini pudding, zucchini fritters: green squash is coming out of our ears.

I have laughed at the many silly ways proposed for getting rid of the cylindrical veggie, such as the one in which a gardener leaves a basket of zukes on a neighbor’s porch, rings the doorbell, and runs like hell.

On the other hand, I always got a sick feeling at the former local Zucchini Festival where, at one booth, fair-goers catapulted hundreds of the green squashes at a target — for fun.

Now, in a few weeks, thousands of people will make their way from the four corners of the globe to Spain to fight in this year’s “World’s Biggest Food Fight.” At the annual Tomatina tomato festival held in Bunel, participants hurl one hundred metric tons of tomatoes at one another. For fun.

And, modeled after La Tomatina — in seven cities in our own country, from Boston to Seattle, Dallas to Miami — is the Tomato Battle. At this also-annual event, “soldiers” don bathing suits, safety goggles, and shoes to immerse themselves in piles of overripe tomatoes and “set about pelting people with fruits like sentient apple trees avenging the initial-carving of amorous teenagers.”

According to Feeding America’s most recently published report, over 49 million Americans live in food insecure households, almost 16 million children. The organization’s network of 58,000 — 58,000! — food banks, parties, and meal service programs provides service to 46.5 million people in every community across the U.S.

Yet, people throw food at each other for fun.

Many of the people served by Feeding America live in what are known as “food deserts,” defined as a part of the country lacking access to “fresh fruit, vegetables, and other healthful whole foods.” In other words, no grocery stores, farmers’ markets, or other healthy food providers.

And — surprise, surprise — food deserts are usually found in impoverished areas.

Battle organizers claim that the Tomato Battle is “an efficient and entertaining use of non-edible waste.”

Efficient? Non-edible? Has nobody figured out a way to process these fruits into soup, juice, or sauce to feed the hungry?