Summer Samba

A friend of mine used to regale me with her stories of Brazil: the beaches, the parties, the people. One memorable evening she hosted a Brazilian dinner, and in her apartment we feasted on the complex Brazilian signature dish, feijoada. I don't remember if she served this cocktail, the caiparinha, made with sugar cane alcohol, called cachaca. But it, too, embodies Brazil.

First, put on the Carlos Jobim.

Then, for each drink, quarter a lime, drop into a tumbler. Sprinkle with two teaspoons of sugar. Muddle. Add two ounces cachaca. Mix. Fill half the glass with ice. Stir. Sip.

I don't think I'll have to admonish you to drink responsibly. Unless you're Brazilian, more than two of these and you'll be on the floor.

You say Popsicle, I say Paleta

This LA Times story from a few years back is worth revisiting. And although I don't plan on driving to downtown LA or Lynwood, or whipping up a batch of cucumber-chile popsicles, I do plan on buying plenty of La Michoacana paletas, or Mexican-style popsicles.

What makes them so good? Besides the fresh fruit, creamy style, or flavors? (Strawberry, lime, guava, among others, and my daughter's favorite, bubble gum).
My guess: they use sugar. Not corn syrup, not fructose, but sugar.

I just devoured a strawberry paleta. Delish. And, for those who count, 61 calories.
See you in the freezer aisle

Aubergine, berenjena, melanzane

An eggplant by any other name can be just as intimidating.

The first time I cooked one was for a sublime dish named moussaka. I had a craving for it, unshelved all the cookbooks, found a recipe that looked great, and dove in. By the time I had finished frying one eggplant it had completely absorbed two cups of olive oil. I didn't attempt eggplant for years after that. (The secret is raising the heat, of course, but I didn't know that then.)

Now I know just a bit more, even a couple of recipes that don't require frying (but ah, how delicious fried eggplant is!) and here are a few.

1) The most obvious: grilled eggplant. Slice a large, deep purple eggplant lengthwise 1/4 to 1/2 inch slices. You may find recipes that require you to sprinkle salt on the slices, set in a colander for an hour, then wipe off the moisture and salt. All I can say to that it, what a pain in the behind!!! I've done it and not done it and I honestly can not tell the difference. Grill. 4-8 minutes per side depending on your heat and your patience. I like to sprinkle garlic salt and drizzle olive oil. Serve with roasted peppers.

2) Doesn't "melenzane a la vaporetta" sound better than "steamed eggplant"? The first name is exotic, the second conjures steam tables in a dark, unventilated cafeteria.
Cube one large eggplant. (Don't like the peel? Peel it before you cube it. I give you permission.) Saute half an onion in a skillet until soft. Add minced garlic. Add the eggplant, and stir until covered with oil, add a third of a cup of white wine, one cup or more diced or canned tomatoes, cover and simmer until soft. Salt to taste, a sprinkling of parsley for color. I like this aside a serving of brown rice. It makes you feel virtuous.


3) Baba ganoush: Steam two large eggplants until tender. I put them in my pasta pot, set them on the insert, and cook over bubbling water. Takes 30-40 minutes to cook through, check by prodding with a fork. Slit the cooked eggplants open, scoop out the flesh, chop coarsely. In a skillet slick with olive oil, saute garlic. Add the chopped eggplant, cook out a bit of the moisture. Add half a cup of tahini, the juice of half a lemon, salt to taste, and a dribble or two of sesame oil to deepen the flavor. Delicious as a side dish or dip.

Got your own favorite eggplant dish?

On the Grill

Just as the Italians surprised me with their approach to the grill, so did the French. One of their secrets? A dry marinade. Use it to tenderize pork or lamb chops or cubes for a kebob.

This marinade is from Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Per pound of meat: one teaspoon salt, 1/8 teaspoon pepper, a tiny crumbled bay leaf, and that wonderfully pungent aromatic: dried sage. I like half a teaspoon of the stuff.

Sprinkle it on both sides of thin pork chops, and let it sit for at least an hour in the fridge. Let the chops come to room temperature, and grill on high for 2-3 minutes a side. Terrifically flavorful.

Goes with anything: potato salad, hummus, pasta salad, etc, etc. Oh yeah, and a nice crisp bottle of cold rose. Of course if you start with the rose it won't really matter how much you charred those chops.

Bountiful Produce

The goddess of bounty smiled on me the other day. I went shopping for a gumbo blowout, dragging a market flyer, skeptical of the prices advertised within and I discovered this place. Super King! I over did it, but who can resist peaches, cherries, strawberries and plums, melons for under $1 a pound? I threw in cucumbers, tomatoes, eggplants, red peppers, string beans, lychees, fennel and then stopped with a realization: I didn't have to buy it all today. The store would be here tomorrow, and the next day.

But I still had to figure out what to do with all those vegetables.

Here are a two ideas that don't involve heat:

Cucumbers:
Peel, slice and cover with plain yogurt. Add minced garlic, dried mint, and salt to taste. Let the flavors marry, or at least co-exist peaceably. (Sorry. How many times has that joke been made?) You now have a fuss-free version of Tzatziki.

Fennel:
Trim off all the green bushy stuff and feed that to your rabbits. You will have a bulbous root. Trim off any of exterior layer that looks battered. Bisect, vertically. Now slice as thinly as possible. The root will be layered like an onion. Separate the slices, now you have half rings or circular slices.
Add salt, pepper, and olive oil. A little off-beat salad for an off-beat day.

Need 101 more ideas? Check out Mark Bittman's right here.

Coffee Variations

We have friends from Eritrea who invited us over for a fabulous meal of Ethiopian food, which culminated in their coffee ceremony. It's quite elaborate, the hostess gathers her equipment: stool, portable gas stove, coffee beans, special coffee maker and coffee cups. We watched her roast the beans, brew the coffee, and happily sipped the strong sweet brew. Apparently in Eritrea and other parts of Africa drinking coffee is a social event, not to be done solo. I kind of envy that, in my conflicted, individualist-driven American way.

These days I find myself unable to finish that pot of espresso coffee I've brewed in the mornings. Since I don't have a coffee klatsch to foist it upon, the simplest thing is to save it for iced coffee in the afternoons. Here are a few other ideas:

1) Frappe, popular in Greek cafes along the Plaka in Athens. Take your martini shaker. Add a serving of your leftover espresso or strongly brewed coffee. If you need sugar, add it to the coffee while the coffee's still warm. If you use sweetener, add it to the martini shaker. Heap in half a cup of ice, and a splash of milk to taste. Shake it like a caffeine addict on a jag. Pour it all, now nice and frothy, into a tall glass.

2) Cafe ligeois? Strain the ice out of the above recipe, and add a scoop of ice cream: chocolate, vanilla or coffee.

3) Thai ice coffee, this version is super simple and I make absolutely no claims regarding its authenticity. Using your leftover espresso or strongly brewed coffee, again, pour a serving into a glass. Blend a tablespoon of condensed milk (can one ever have just ONE tablespoon?) with a tablespoon of milk. Blend into coffee, add ice.

And remember to invite the neighbors over.

In Praise of Wise Latinas

Apparently today you can be a sexy Latina, a pregnant Latina, a spicy Latina, but pair the adjective wise with the noun and parts of the populace froth and roar and tell formally avowed Wise Latina that she has "some 'splainin' to do."
Since I was raised by, work with and am one, I thought I would bring up a couple of examples, and a meal in their honor.

From the distant past:

Malinche: So wise she has confounded historians and been reviled by the populace she practically spawned. Her linguistic talents brought collaboration (some say betrayal) between the Spaniards and the natives.

Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz: the first writer and intellectual of the new world. Oh, gosh, she did this in Spanish. Perhaps you haven't heard of her.

From the nearer past: Linda Chavez, conservative aide to Ronald Reagan.
Dolores Huerta. Ever hear of her hubby, Cesar Chavez?

Immediate? She's not just wise, she's brilliant. Alma Guillermoprieto is an incisive
intelligent journalist.

A spackling, a sampling. And as you chew on the pervasive power of ethnic branding, Starving Reader, and identify a number of wise Latina contemporaries in your world, here's a meal:


Mole, in honor of the educated Spanish nuns and the wild mixture of flavors, brought by the ingredients the laborers harvested.
Beans, a pre-Conquest staple.
Hand made corn tortillas. Inhale the scent of freshly ground corn, turned into masa and then heated on a comal or griddle. Rustic and elemental. Like wisdom.

Accompanied by a bottomless vodka martini. So I can forget that "wise latina," for certain people, is an oxymoron.

And more peaches

Hibachis were kind of a craze when I was a kid. We cooked hot dogs, toasted marshmallows, and then forgot about this little gadget. Years later I became friends with an American who had spent her teenage and early twenties in Italy. I watched her make pasta from scratch in about twenty minutes (from mixing, to rolling out, to cutting the flour into ribbons); she made us espresso in that nifty moka maker. And she grilled us dinner on her hibachi.

You wouldn't think Italians would be the go to people for grilling, would you? If you can get past Marcella Hazan's rather condescending tone in her instructions, you will find terrific recipes for grilling fowl, vegetables, and fruit. Yes, fruit. Like all those peaches and apricots you've got hanging around.

Grilled peaches:

Hazan cooks her fruit over the dying embers of a coal fire. To get your best bang out of the stainless steel furnace in your back yard set it to low.

Bisect the peaches horizontally. (I find the pit comes out more easily). Twist, separate the halve and remove the pit.

Sprinkle a teaspoon of sugar on each half. Skin side down, grill the fruit for five minutes. Turn, cook for another two or three. Remove from heat.

You will be rewarded by a concentrated intensity of flavor.

Got bananas going brown? Don't toss 'em, grill 'em. Without slicing through to the other side, make an incision in the skin the length of the banana. Sprinkle a teaspoon of sugar, grill on low for five minutes, turn. Cook another two minutes, turn again. Into the incision add a tablespoon of rum, brandy or cointreau. (Off of the grill, if you please. The last time I tried this half the booze went up in flames). Cook another minute or two. Remove from heat.

The goal is to slightly char the skin. My efforts, however, have been overly enthusiastic, and I tend to charred by nature. (Too many roasted peppers in my past, I believe). Just remove the charred bits before diving in.