March 27, 2008

Pining away

Just a little over two weeks ago, the calendar made a promise - March 21, the first day of spring, the beginning of warmth and color and yummy freshness. But that promise was broken. Instead, northern New Jersey has seen rain and tornado warnings and a chill that only a puffy black winter parka and countless variations of stew can fix, and just barely fix at that.



















And so, I suppose I've been on an unintentional strike. But it occured to me tonight that by staying away from the computer, I haven't shared that meal two weeks ago that instilled so much excitement in me. For, you see, March 21 wasn't just the first day of spring. It marked the beginning of the Persian year, Norooz.



















Norooz is probably the biggest holiday for Iranians and in my house, the occasion rivals Christmas. A few weeks before the New Year, spring cleaning begins. We shop for new clothes and new sheets. We plant seeds and buy fresh flowers. The centerpiece of the festivities is the "haft-seen" table, which literally translates to seven s-es, "seen" being the equivalent of the letter "s." The table is supposed to be set with seven dishes representing rebirth, health, happiness, prosperity, joy, patience and beauty.

The symbolic dishes include "sabzeh," or sprouts, usually wheat or lentil, representing rebirth; "samanu," a sweet, creamy pudding of wheat sprouts; "seeb," or apple, representing health and beauty; "senjed," the sweet, dry fruit of the Lotus tree, representing love; "seer," or garlic, representing good health; "somaq," or sumac berries, the color of the rising sun of spring; and "serkeh," vinegar, representing age and patience.

My family doesn't really know all this. I have to admit I looked up the meanings and realized that our yearly haft-seen includes many other elements: a watch, gold coins, goldfish (or in our case, as all our fish die the day after the New Year, a fish-shaped pendant) and colored eggs. You may also notice my contribution - marshmallow Peeps - because I'm addicted to them as well as hyacinth, called "sonbol" in Farsi, and candles. We usually include sweets like dates and homemade baklava, but I'm pretty sure those were in the process of being eaten by the time these pictures were taken.

After the cleaning, the planting, the shopping, and the decorating comes the party. And oh boy, do we like to party. Norooz 2008 started with a couple glasses of Veuve Cliquot, followed by a parade of some of my favorite foods in the whole world.


















Broiled salmon, crusty from a lemon juice marinade and rendered extra sour by virtue of baby dill pickles and a wholly Iranian pickle known as "torshi" ...


















Basmati rice, fluffy and scented with heady saffron, layered with fresh herbs like parsely, dill and all those other unidentifiable greens you find in the produce section this time of year...


















"Kookoo sabzi," a veggie patty made with those very same spring herbs and vegetables, dotted with chunks of walnut and held together by an egg...


















And, my favorite, the homemade baklava that I mentioned before. The one thing I didn't get a picture of. I apologize. But rest assured it will make another appearance on this blog, I promise.
I also promise that when it does, I will have a recipe, something I can't offer at all tonight. These are my mom's recipes, done by feel and taste and from the heart, and no amount of "Wait, let me measure!" could slow her down enough to allow me to take notes. I suppose I'll just have to feel and taste and work my way through the ingredients until I figure out the recipes for myself.

But that's a travail for another time. For now, I'll keep on pining away for spring, maybe adding a little extra vinegar to my salads. That stands for patience, remember? Lucky I get to practice my hand at that virtue in sunny California. Tomorrow I set off for San Francisco and Berkeley, where spring has apparently already sprung. I can't wait.




















March 9, 2008

Wobbly knees and a resolution

It's not everyday I eat a meal that leaves me wobbly at the knees. I try, I swear I do. And the food I do eat (almost) always makes me happy. But I can't remember the last time I ate something that was knee-wobblingly good. And then, last Wednesday, came along Del Posto's Enoteca and everything as I knew it changed. At least as far as wobbly knees go.

Despite a fear of Mario Batalli and a distrust of all that is labelled New York City's best kept secret, I took the plunge in hopes of a celebratory meal that would make me forget the world outside. I clearly had high hopes, and I wasn't let down.

The Enoteca made me realize I have no reason to fear Mr. Batalli (though I do question the Food Network producers that have done him so little justice) and that it is absolutely possible to lose yourself in a meal then realize halfway through that it will end too soon. I wondered aloud if I would be able to keep on eating forever if the food just kept on showing up at the table.

I opted for the $45 prix fixe. My meal started with a plush, fragrant roasted squash and I couldn't help but think that I had died and gone to heaven, then hoped I hadn't because I couldn't get the pillows on the banquette on which I was lounging comfortably positioned. The second course was a duo of pastas, a garganelli with meat sauce and orechiette that found its soul mates (yes, two soul mates, that lucky thing!) in pancetta and spicy peppers, strewn haphazardly across a too-big plate. By the time the beef brasato came my way, I was giggling giddily, and the perfectly chocolatey torta del nonna pushed me over the edge, leaving me making declarations of love for Mr. Batalli and the Bastianich family. And for my wine guy. Because, as you may already have guessed, my musings and passionate exclamations were fueled by four half-glasses of wine. No, not four and a half - four half glasses. Yes, that equals two. Shush.

Which leads me to my resolution: From now on, I must - MUST - ask the the darling person selecting my pairings to write down the names of everything I drink. Especially if he describes one (my favorite!) as "experimental" and serves it in a glass as big as my face and lights up when I tell him I absolutely love it, boldness and all. I've been tempted to call him up and ask, but I have yet to work up the nerve. But I will. Eventually. I think.

So go. Eat. Drink. And don't be afraid to take notes.

(Oh, in case you were wondering, I managed to clonk - somewhat chicly if I do say so myself - past the piano player, out of the restaurant and back out into the world in spite of the wine, and my still wobbly knees.)

March 6, 2008

Lucky charm

Hello? Anybody there? I know it's been a while. I could come up with excuses, but instead let me offer a gift of sorts. Ready? Come close.

This, like all good stories, starts with a stomach bug. I came down with a little something a few weeks back that left me functional but threw my appetite for a loop. Long gone was any desire for that which is cold and creamy - a near disaster for one who subsists largely on soft cheeses and ice cream. Instead, I found myself craving runny egg yolks, peppery hard salami and the honey/butter sandwiches of my childhood.

These weren't just any sandwiches - they were heaven, a sign that my sister and I were home alone with our dad who, unlike my otherwise genius mother, embraced simple carbs and fats with open arms. I can still picture him carefully allowing a stream of golden honey to swirl into a glob of room temperature butter. The out-of-control mess created by the sticky liquid was reined in and spread thickly across a simple slice of white bread. Close to 20 years later, the memory still makes me weak at the knees.

Attempts at recreating the sandwiches proved agonizing - the filling oozed out of the bread, leaving me to tussle with honey-covered baggies at the office. I needed something portable, I decided. I needed a slice of cake.

Fingers sticking to the keys, I managed to type in a search for "Honey Cake" and found something that quite seemed like it would fit the bill. A recipe for a dessert typically served at Rosh Hashannah, the Jewish New Year, the Honey Cake represented a wish for "sweet things." I like sweet things, I thought, in life and in the kitchen.





















Fresh out of the oven, the cake was off-limits. I'm not really one for following recipes to a tee, but I had a feeling I should do whatever I could to bring about sweet things (I had my fingers crossed for good weather) and took the advice to wrap it in plastic and let the flavors brew for two days. For two nights, the cake stared at me from beyond the plastic wrap and by the second morning, I gave in. Or rather, I dug in. The cake was moist but sturdy, more like a loaf and perfect for dunking in a cup of tea or coffee.

Did the Honey Cake bring with it sweet things? Almost immediately the Tri-State area got it's first taste of spring and within days I had happy, happy news: my friend Sarah won two awards and I won three for articles published here.

Did the sweet things last? Well, the Honey Cake soon became a distant, crumbly memory and it didn't take long for winter to take a look at the calendar and blast us with a blizzard befitting February.




















But the good news, I hope, will keep on coming.

***
Honey Cake
Adapted from Gourmet, September 2003


Baking the cake was kind of a spur of the moment decision, meaning I did not have all of the "necessary" ingredients at home. The original recipe called for ground ginger, buckwheat honey, whiskey and a half-cup of freshly brewed strong coffee, cooled. I dropped the ginger and whiskey, used regular honey and, not in the mood to make coffee late at night and wait for it to cool, I substituted my favorite ground espresso.


1 cup all-purpose flour
3/4 cup whole wheat flour
1 teaspoon cinnamon
3/4 teaspoon baking soda
3/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1 cup honey
2/3 cup vegetable oil

1 teaspoon ground espresso
2 large eggs
1/4 cup packed brown sugar
Special equipment: a 9- by 5- by 3-inch loaf pan

Put oven rack in middle position and preheat to 350°F. Oil loaf pan well and dust with flour, knocking out excess.

Whisk together flour, cinnamon, baking soda, salt and baking powder in a small bowl. Whisk together honey, oil, and espresso (or coffee) in another bowl until well combined.

Beat together eggs and brown sugar in a large bowl with an electric mixer at high speed 3 minutes. Reduce speed to low, then add honey mixture and mix until blended, about 1 minute.

Add flour mixture and mix until just combined. Finish mixing batter with a rubber spatula, scraping bottom of bowl.

Pour batter into loaf pan and bake 30 minutes. Cover top loosely with foil and continue to bake until cake begins to pull away from sides of pan and a wooden pick or skewer inserted in center comes out clean, about 30 minutes more. Cool on a rack 1 hour.

Run a knife around side of cake, then invert rack over pan and invert cake onto rack. Turn cake right side up and cool completely.

Note: If you can resist taking a bite, wrap cake in plastic wrap for two days before eating. Cake keeps, wrapped tightly in plastic wrap or in an airtight container, at room temperature 1 week.