Carol Goodman Kaufman

a.k.a. Carolinda Goodman

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Back in the Saddle

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To prepare the seder plate for the recent Passover festival, I opened the fridge to retrieve the bottle of horseradish — red, as J prefers. Unfortunately, it had spoiled. There was no time to run to the supermarket and, frankly, I was too nervous to have done so in the current climate.

Of course I vented on Facebook. A couple of days after posting, our doorbell rang. Upon opening the front door, we found the dearest, sweetest Sara Jacobson standing ten feet away, having dropped a baggie of horseradish roots onto our front porch. We used one of them on the seder plate.

After Passover, I planted the root that we had used during the seder in the hope that we would have an annual supply of the root veggie. A previous attempt had rotted in the ground after too much rainfall.

But I had forgotten that the really big root was still in its bag in the back hall. Not wanting to waste it, I thought why not prepare our own horseradish? So, wearing my trusty swim goggles and gloves, I peeled and grated until I had a nice pile of white shreds. With a little salt and white vinegar, we were good to go.

The result? I should probably get a grater with smaller holes, as it was a bit too coarse. But, the flavor was exactly what one would expect — and want — to spread on a sandwich or over your gefilte fish or as an ingredient in cocktail sauce.

If you plan to do this, be forewarned: When you remove said goggles, the fumes will assault you in ways that make you think “riot squad.”

Ghee Whiz!

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I love Indian food, and when given the choice as to what kind of restaurant I’d like to visit, it is more often than not an Indian one — except with certain friends who shall remain nameless. They won’t go near the stuff.

I love the fact that there are so many vegetarian options. I love the music in the background. And most of all, I love the amazing flavors of the various dishes. Before the quarantine, J and I had even been making plans to travel to India next winter.

Needless to say, that probably won’t happen. Nor will visiting an Indian restaurant any time soon.

So, to Plan B. While trying to keep things interesting (in the kitchen) during this plague year and test as many recipes as possible for my cookbook-in-process, I decided to make carrot halwa. But even though my cabinets have many of the herbs and spices frequently used in Indian cuisine (e.g., ginger, garlic, turmeric, cardamom, even garam masala), I didn’t have ghee.

Frankly,  I’ve always been a little nervous about trying to make it, under the impression that it would be difficult to do. And the little jars of the stuff can fetch as much as $35 each. That was not going to be an option for this home cook.

But since we are at home and can’t get to our favorite restaurants, why not try making it myself? And guess what! It’s not hard at all. You just need patience. If for no other reason than the heavenly, buttery aroma that wafts through the house, I would recommend giving it a go. I used a bit on tuna steaks, and they were absolutely delicious.

Then, last night  (and the reason I actually started this little experiment, if you can remember that far back) I made the first of a series of recipes for carrot halwa. It was a fabulously flavorful pudding, and super easy to whip together with only a handful of ingredients.

Ghee whiz!

The Key to Happiness

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I’ve never been to the Florida Keys, but my family and I have loved key lime pie since the first time we tasted it, and we can certainly understand why it is the official pie of the state of Florida. So, one day I decided that it would be fun to try to make one. But, in what can only be described as a temporary break from reality, I decided to grow my own key limes. What began as two little saplings have grown tall in my sunroom, and every year they produce a crop of about a dozen limes each. And every year I harvest the fruits, squeeze them, and freeze the resulting juice.

For those readers who aren’t aware, key limes are tiny. Each one produces about a half teaspoon of juice. So it will come as no surprise that it has taken four years to get enough juice to make a pie. Two pies, actually, because by this time my family has grown to include our three kids, their spouses, and six grandchildren. And my rule was that all would have to be present in order to partake of this legendary dessert.

This past Sunday was the big day, as all fourteen of us were together at son Seth’s house (although little Tali isn’t on solid food yet, so I gave her a pass).

The pie recipe itself was actually quite easy, with only four ingredients, plus the three for the graham cracker crust.

But I was nervous. After all, I’d never prepared any recipe for key lime pie before. What if the one I’d chosen wasn’t good? Would I have to wait another four years before making it again?

To add to my angst, it turns out that the recipe I had was not the traditional one calling for raw egg yolks. In that original recipe, the protein of the egg yolks and condensed milk react chemically with the acid of the lime juice. This reaction causes the filling to thicken on its own without requiring baking. Today, because consuming raw eggs can be dangerous, the pie is usually baked, even if only for a short time.

Would my recipe, made with sweetened condensed milk, sour cream, key lime juice, and zest — but no eggs — make for a runny pie?

As if all that wasn’t enough to worry about: I can’t make a pie crust to save my life, so I no longer have pie pans in the house. Luckily, a quiche pan that must have been a wedding gift was tucked away in a cabinet. That, and a round cake pan of the same diameter, did the trick.

It turns out that graham cracker crusts are super easy to make.  (I may make more pie!)

The verdict: the pie was delicious and not at all runny. And, although my friend Sue insists that the whipped cream garnish is mandatory, I inadvertently left the cream in the fridge at home. Just as well. The pie was so rich that nothing else was needed.

 

There’s Always Room: Reclaiming the Gelatin Mold

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Jello, and its jiggly cousin Royal, have long been derided by people who consider themselves epicures. Perhaps their bad rep is due to the association with school cafeterias and hospital stays. Or colonoscopy prep. So, I feel it’s time to come out and admit that I like the stuff, particularly when it’s combined with other ingredients, and even more when it is fashioned into a beautiful shape by virtue of a mold.

After all, let’s be honest. If we called it aspic, we’d get oohs and aahs. In another time, aspic represented the height of a gourmet dining experience. But aspic is simply gelatin in which meat and/or vegetables are suspended.

A couple of weeks ago, I was on the phone with a friend, venting my frustration in trying to find canned cherries. My usual grocery had discontinued stocking them. My friend suggested I try frozen cherries, and then asked why I needed them. When I told her that they were an essential ingredient in my late mother-in-law’s cranberry-cherry gelatin mold, her immediate reaction was, “Ugh.” I responded that the ruby red side dish is actually delicious. And, besides, it’s a tradition on our Thanksgiving table. Everybody in my family not only expects it; they demand it.

Fast forward to the actual Thanksgiving dinner: In recounting the conversation, my daughter-in-law’s mother said that she, too, prepares a beloved recipe that was her mother’s. Then my other daughter-in-law reminisced about her grandmother’s gelatin mold. In fact, although she herself doesn’t cook or bake, she announced that she would, indeed, make gelatin molds for her family. (I hope I will be invited to partake.)

I loved E’s excitement, so immediately began scouring my bookshelves for my copy of The New Joys of Jello, a book I had received as a gift decades ago. And the memories came charging back. I must have tried a dozen different recipes from that book and from the various magazines that came through our mail slot, and almost all were successful. “Under-the-Sea Pear Salad,” made with cream cheese, pear halves, and ginger? Excellent. “Glazed Peach Cream,” prepared with vanilla ice cream and sliced peaches? Delicious. “Carrot , Celery and Olive Salad?” Loved it.

But it was the Crown Jewel Cake that captured my heart, and then broke it. The photograph of that magnificent construction motivated me to try my hand at making it. Consisting of cubes of stained-glass-colored gelatin cubes suspended in creamy white whipped topping fortified by lemon gelatin, it was gorgeous. Unfortunately, my attempt sagged, the topping not sturdy enough to hold it all together.

Then there was the magazine ad featuring a fishbowl in which fish-shaped fruit pieces swam in a sea of blueberry gelatin. In the ad, it looked fabulous and I thought my kids would love it. Unfortunately, when I tried it, the fishes all went belly-up just like real goldfish. And then, somebody (name withheld to protect the guilty) said upon setting her sights on it, “Blue food? How disgusting.” But it did taste okay.

Despite my failures,
the gelatin mold holds a dear place in my heart.

It’s time to reclaim the gelatin mold. Call it retro. Call it hip. Just call it.

 

Looking for Mr. Peanut: My Quest for the Perfect Peanut Butter

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In an effort to become healthier, I, like so many other consumers, have been reading labels. Hydrogenated oils, high fructose corn syrup, and saturated fats are all ingredients that I try to avoid. One of the biggest challenges as been with one of my favorite foods: peanut butter. I have it on toast every morning, so I want it to be the best it can be, and we have gone through many brands and styles, from creamy to chunky. My mother always bought Skippy, but when I grew up and became a mom myself, I experimented with Jif (because I’m a choosy mother), then Peter Pan (because I’m one of the picky people). But soon, I realized that added sugars, hydrogenated oils, and salt, although tasty, were not landmarks on the road to healthy.

So, I began to experiment with the “natural” peanut butters, going so far as to make my own, first in a peanut butter maker that a neighbor gave us, then in the food processor (both very noisy endeavors).

For a long time we’ve been using Smucker’s because it is available at a decent price at BJ’s and, because with a name like Smucker’s … (Do I come across as vulnerable to jingles?). I love the taste and the texture. However, I hate having to stir it as the bottom of the jar is very dense. At one point I went so far as to buy a tzatchke from the internet that screws onto the jar like a regular lid but has a stirrer attached. It worked okay, but the rubber lining disintegrated in less than a year.

Desperate, I then devised a hack to homogenize the Smucker’s: I turn the jar over for 24 hours, then stir and place in the fridge to keep its consistency.

But isn’t that a lot of work? So, back to the drawing board with Trader Joe’s peanut butter (runny and not good flavor). At a son’s house we sampled the Whole Foods variety — delicious — but , alas, we don’t have a Whole Foods nearby.

Then we went to visit our daughter and her family in Vermont. They had Teddie, a brand I had bought years ago and liked but had totally forgotten about (after all, BJ’s doesn’t carry it). Elana claimed that, although the label says to stir, it really didn’t need to be either stirred.

So, Teddie is the all-round winner, although I do put it into the refrigerator to keep it at the right consistency.

All this thinking about peanut butter has made me hungry. Excuse me while I go make myself a sandwich.

Mahlab Powder and Ma’amoul Cookies: A Mystery Solved

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So, it’s time to pull on the elastic waistband slacks again because I’m reviewing another cookbook. This one is called Fress, a collection of Middle Eastern and Eastern European recipes gathered from author Emily Spitzer’s extended family members.

The woman loves her exotic flavorings, and I’ve been buying so many little jars and bags that my cabinets are overflowing. Baharat, nigella seeds, pomegranate molasses …

One of the spices Spitzer calls for is mahlab powder. I had never before heard of the spice, so I went straight to my friend Google, where I learned that mahlab powder is processed from the seed inside the pit of a St. Lucie cherry, and provides a flavor that is a cross between bitter almond and cherry. The spice has been used in Middle Eastern and Mediterranean sweets for eons. (How did anybody ever think to look inside the cherry pit? Were people in ancient Mesopotamia just sitting around the campfire one night spitting out cherry pits when one bored Sumerian decided to crack one open with a rock?)

Anyway, in the dessert section of the book was a recipe for ma’amoul cookies that called for mahlab powder. Again, I was off to Google, where I learned something that brought me back in time and solved a mystery. Back in 2004, our daughter Elana spent a semester at the University of Haifa, studying Hebrew and Arabic. Naturally, we went over to visit and followed her around to places she loved to frequent. One of these places was the Druze village Daliat el-Carmel, where she had heard that a particular type of tea she favored was sold.

Elana approached the proprietor of one particular shop and asked, in Arabic, if he in fact stocked the sought-for item. He did indeed, and the young man and his father were so taken with her that they refused to accept payment for said tea. (The father also tried to marry her off to the son, but that’s beside the point of this tale.)

This generous gesture meant, of course, that I felt obligated to purchase something. Which I did. Unfortunately, I had no idea what it was I had bought until this week. It looked like a mold of some sort, but for what purpose I hadn’t a clue.

It turns out that the little mold I had bought was a ma’amoul mold, used for making ma’amoul cookies! Mine has four separate deep indentations with four distinct designs in four different sizes (see photos). It is used for making a very buttery sandwich cookie, this particular recipe calling for a spicy date and nut filling.

The cookies are delicious. It’s only too bad that the confectioner’s sugar used to dust their tops completely covers the beautiful designs.

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