SpiceLines

What We Ate in Miami: Cuban Sandwiches in Little Havana, Tandoor-Cooked Sea Bass with Tamarind, and Wood Oven Roasted Double Yolk Farm Egg for Two

2012-05-16T17:24:55Z

At La Carreta in Little Havana: crazy colorful murals, an austere Cuban sandwich and the best yuca fries and platanos maduros, both lavishly cooked in lard. Addictive cafe con leche. When I went to Miami, I had a secret yen. Palm trees and frangi-panis were definitely part of it. So were mojitos, stuffed with mint and stirred with sticks of sugar cane. Walking down a white sand beach just after dawn: check. And finding chunks of pale coral in the sea foam. But my deepest yen was to eat a real Cubano in Little Havana. ]]> happy-happy joy-joy in the kitchen when Cubanos were on the dinner menu. A Cubano is a simple Cuban sandwich, nothing more than slices of ham and roast pork, layered with Swiss cheese and sour pickles, pressed in a soft roll smeared with a little butter and yellow mustard. I usually placed the sandwiches in a cast iron frying pan over a low flame, topped them with another frying pan weighted down with a sack of rice, and warmed them until the cheese melted and the crust of the bread was slightly crispy. May I say that apart from being the answer to a harried mother’s dinner prayer, the Cubano is the most delicious sandwich I’ve ever eaten? Even so, the sandwiches I made lacked certain ingredients, most especially the soft Cuban bread which you can only get in Miami (Tampa-ites will deny this but their bread is crustier) and slow-roasted pork, possibly in mojo sauce. Last week my yen carried us to La Carreta, a restaurant just down Calle Ocho from the famous Café Versailles where I’m quite sure I ate my first Cubano many years ago. “A chain restaurant,” sniffed our driver who wanted to take us to Key Biscayne instead. “Only for tourists.” Well, yes, La Carreta does look like a reprised Denny’s, with can’t miss ‘em illuminated wagon wheels on top of its big red and white sign. Inside, however, there was not a tourist in sight, only Latinos in comfy booths perusing menus in Spanish and tables piled with plates of delicious-looking food. Here’s what we ate: Yuquita Frita con Aioli de Cilantro. Thick wedges of starchy yuca, fried in lard, served with a luscious if inauthentic cilantro aioli sauce pungent with garlic. Possibly the best fries I have ever tasted. (According to Wikipedia this edible cassava root is the “third-largest source of food carbohydrates in the tropics.”) Platanos Maduros. Ripe plantains quickly cooked in what must have been a vat of boiling lard. The natural sugar in the plantains causes them to caramelize and turn a rich, dark brown. The flavor of burnt sugar and banana combined with the gooey texture is unbelievable. The dish appeared on the table as an appetizer but it could have been dessert. And the Cubanos? We ordered the “regular,” as opposed to the gussied up “special” that came with chorizo and plantain chips. The Cubanos were good, maybe very good, but I would hasten to add that they were also austere. There were just enough ingredients: Two slices of roast pork, three of sweet ham and three of melting Swiss cheese. I’m sure there was a pickle, but I could scarcely taste it. Ditto for the mustard. The bread was the real thing, soft on the inside, slightly crisp on the outside where it had been pressed, perhaps on a plancha. It was a simple Cubano, likely very close to the poor man’s sandwich invented in Havana as a quick, cheap meal. But was it the best? There are dozens of places in Miami that serve Cubanos and, oh wouldn’t I love to try them all? But in the end I imagine that “best “ is a matter of taste. To begin I’d add more pickles and mustard, but then I have a craving for the sour and spicy. Others might disagree… Out back there’s a take-away window for fantastic Cuban coffee. Our driver manned up and bolted a stiff Café Cubano (super strong espresso), while the daughter and I had relatively demure cafés con leche. (Good thing we don’t live in Miami—I’d be there every morning.) Here are three more Miami restaurants and what we ate: Most Spectacular Restaurant Dish: In the lovely Asian-inspired dining room at the Setai, Macchi Tikka, the pristine Chilean sea bass cooked in an Indian tandoor oven—as much for the presentation as the flavor. Two thick chunks of emerald-colored fish arrived at the table on their own tiny rectangular grill, live coals smoldering beneath them. The lightly charred but tender sea bass had been marinated in yogurt with mint, cilantro and serrano peppers overnight, then cooked in the high heat of the kitchen’s tandoor by the Indian sous-chef. Served with a light red sweet and tart tamarind sauce. (So good that I have to ask: Do I really want a La Cornue, or should I just move to India and get with the tandoor?) Restaurant I Most Wanted to Take Home: Michael’s Genuine Food & Drink in the Design District. Eat on the front terrace among the orchids, or inside where low lights and a wood-fired oven cast a reddish glow over the bamboo bar. Mostly organic food, inventive but down-home enough that I bought the cookbook on my way out. The Wood Oven Roasted Double Yolk Farm Egg with Cave-aged Gruyere and Sourdough Crostini was rich enough for two of us to split. Serendipity’s brined Pork Loin was fabulous, smoky and slightly charred from a turn in the wood-fired oven, with dried cherry chutney on top. My Wood Oven Roasted Cobia was delicate, served with a charred onion and tomato salsa and a side of addictive lemony escarole. A welcome no-glitz evening in a very glitzy town. Most Amazing Restaurant Décor: Going to Michy’s is like falling down Alice’s rabbit hole. You land on a velvety orange banquette in an all-purple room populated by white Louis chairs upholstered in floral patent leather and dangling capiz shell chandeliers. Sadly the food doesn’t live up to the zany décor. The famous Jamon Serrano and Blue Cheese Croquetas were ho-hum, mostly fried cheese sticks with a dip of sugary fig marmalade, while the White Gazpacho with grapes and Marcona almonds was too sweet for me, though the pea-sized cucumber nuggets added an appealing crunch. A better, if exceedingly rich, choice was the Squash Blossoms Stuffed with Shrimp Mousseline served over Cheesy Stone-Ground Anson Mills Grits.

For Mother’s Day, a Little Deco Dazzle from South Beach

2012-05-13T20:36:35Z

The glass tower at the Setai Hotel is modern, but its geometric facade and angled balconies echo South Beach's historic Art Deco look. Part of the Setai is built around the original 1930's Dempsey Vanderbilt Hotel on Collins Avenue. On a tropical playground, what's more glam than a grand Art Deco hotel? All that geometry, all that streamlined symmetry, all those sunbursts and ziggurats, evoke a more orderly yet lavish moment in history. Big bands, sequined dresses with mermaid fishtails and coupes of the bubbliest champagne. Palm trees, ocean liners and white sand beaches... An alluring fantasy, like dropping into the midst of a Busby Berkeley number (music by Artie Shaw), and not being one of the chorus girls... ]]> There are hundreds of Art Deco hotel and apartment buildings there, built between 1923 and 1943, the largest collection of Deco resort structures in the world. Many have been restored and repainted in their original tropical hues. And Serendipity and I were right in the middle of it all, having a jazzy girls' getaway. Let’s a take a walk down Ocean Drive, the epicenter of beachfront Deco. Palm trees and rolling surf on your left, and on your right, a few of my favorite hotels. The Breakwater Hotel, built in 1936 by Yugoslav architect Anton Skislewicz, is the chicest of the chic. I love the bright cobalt and lemon color scheme and the oh-so symmetrical, rectilinear design of the facade. After decades of decline, the Breakwater surged back to life with a Bruce Weber ad for Calvin Klein’s Obsession. Here’s the historic Colony Hotel, a 1935 classic designed by Henry Hohauser, one of Miami’s most prolific Deco architects. The original neon sign shines blue at night, as does the watery neon band that runs across the inverted triangles at the top. The simple blue and green trim makes for a cosier, less ostentatious stucco facade than some others in South Beach. The Waldorf Towers, I have to say, is not exactly like the Waldorf in New York. Designed by Albert Anis in 1937, its rounded corners exemplify the more aerodynamic lines of the International Style. Is the tower a room for rent or just a lookout? The Park Central Hotel once was known as the “Blue Jewel” of Miami Beach. Built in 1937, it, like the Colony, was designed by Henry Hohauser. Lots of symmetry here, with Deco arrows drawing the eye upwards. The Congress Hotel is actually five properties in one. Here’s the 1930's original with its modest Deco façade. "Eyebrows" jutting over the windows provide shade from the blistering sun, while the sign looks almost like a movie marquee. And yes, that's a bikini-clad mannequin posed alluringly in the door... A few steps on there's another property that looks like an an ocean liner with nautical railings and “portholes” in the floor, a theme often seen in Deco-style resorts. The man above is cleaning the rooftop pool. The Cavalier Hotel, designed by Roy France and built in 1936, pops with brightly painted friezes on the facade. One source attributes the geometric patterns to American Indian designs, while others say they're based on the Mayan temples at Chichen-Itza in Mexico. We're walking, of course, but almost everyone else is cruising down Ocean Avenue in in gleaming Dodge Ram pickups and BMW convertibles with the sound turned up all the way. I'd love to get the behind the steering wheel of this creamsicle Bel Air, but it’s permanently parked outside one of the rowdy sidewalk restaurants. And therein lies a tale. As glamorous as these hotels look, Ocean Avenue has a raffish underside.Giant day-glo lollipop cocktails are 2 for 1 at Happy Hour… ...and leering psychedelic flamingos hide in the tropical shrubbery. Psychics hand out cards on street corners, coconuts from the palms across the street are sold from grocery carts, and at the Hotel Boulevard, there are always vacant rooms. Does anyone have the keys to the Thunderbird?

Gone to La La Land. Oh, I Mean South Beach

2012-05-09T01:52:36Z

Photo: Setai South Beach, Miami Time to view the world through rainbow-colored glasses. This time it's a girls' getaway. There'll be mojitos and manicures, for sure, but also a trip to Little Havana for a medianoche and cafe cubano. A dip into Miami's art scene, a search for exotic rums, and topsy turvy small plates at Michys. And since I'm still longing for that cocktail-yoga pavilion, a peek at Gandia Blasco's Cristal Box. Mostly there'll be time, time on the sandy beach and at the hedge-enclosed pool where I can already hear a dulcet voice inquiring, "Is everything to your absolute perfection?" See you next week...

Grace Young's Stir-Frying to the Sky's Edge, and a Recipe for Stir-Fried Sugar Snaps, Shiitakes and Carrots with Green Garlic and Bacon

2012-05-06T21:17:52Z

I've adapted Grace Young's original recipe for Stir-Fried Sugar Snap Peas and Shiitake Mushrooms by adding thinly sliced green garlic and heirloom carrots. But the real improvisation came with the thick-cut smoky bacon B brought home one day... “There is an age-old Chinese expression: “One wok runs to the sky’s edge,” which means one who uses the wok becomes master of the cooking world. As the wok user becomes master of the cooking world, so does the user of Stir Frying to the Sky’s Edge become master of the stir fry.” From graceyoung.com If you’ve been reading SpiceLines lately you might think I’ve been subsisting on sugar and alcohol. Alas, no. As much as I love meringues and rum cocktails, there are times when a girl must eat her vegetables. And one of the most delicious ways to get your broccoli and carrots is in a savory Chinese stir-fry. I have been a devoted fan of Grace Young ever since I discovered her cookbook, Breath of a Wok, a few years ago. The title refers to the Cantonese phrase wok hay, which Young defines as “the prized, elusive, seared taste that comes only from stir-frying in a wok.” She learned about wok hay during her early years in San Francisco, eating with her family in Chinatown restaurants. “My father taught me early in life that there is nothing quite as delicious as the rich, concentrated flavors of a Cantonese stir-fry, in which morsels of meat are cooked just quickly enough to ensure their juicy succulence and vegetables are rendered crisp and refreshing.” But you don’t get wok hay by stir-frying in just any old wok. ]]> not in a heavy 17-inch round-bottomed cast iron wok carted home at great pains from Singapore. (My prized but unwieldy wok is, I’ve discovered, better-suited to the volcanic heat of a restaurant stove.) Carbon steel woks with the patina of long use. Photo: graceyoung.com No, the best wok to use on a residential stove is a 14-inch flat-bottomed carbon steel wok with a wooden handle. “I like a carbon steel wok not only for the special fragrance and wok taste it gives food, but also because once the pan is seasoned, its natural non-stick-like surface allows meat, poultry, seafood, vegetables and rice to stir-fry with minimal oil,” writes Young, aka “the Wok Evangelist,” in her award-winning cookbook, Stir Frying to the Sky’s Edge. Also known as "the Wok Doc," Young recommends buying your carbon steel wok at The Wok Shop in San Francisco where “owner Tane Ong Chan will take the time to figure out what wok is best for you.” Other possibilities include KK Discount at 78 Mulberry in New York (“Make sure you get the flat-bottomed carbon steel wok with the long wooden handle,” she advises) or Hung Chong, a restaurant supply store at 14 Bowery, full of “cool stuff at inexpensive prices,”—but be sure to avoid the non-stick woks since you’re going to create that patina by seasoning and using your wok properly. I actually met Grace when she came to Chapel Hill in late March for a special dinner at the Lantern Restaurant. True to form, she arrived lugging her own wok in a carry-on bag. It had caused so much consternation at JFK security that she was pulled aside and almost missed her flight. It’s hard to imagine this small, slender woman wielding a wok as a weapon, but who knows what dark suspicions Homeland Security harbors. In fact Grace always travels with a wok, sometimes a newish one that that needs to develop a “better patina” or natural non-stick surface. “When I’m on the road the wok gets a vigorous workout which helps to accelerate the patina,” she explained in an email. When teaching classes, she uses the wok to demonstrate a stir-fry within the first 10 minutes. "All it takes is one taste of the intense flavor a stir-fry made in an iron wok imparts and the seduction begins," she says. "The aroma of the food, impeccably seared on the natural nonstick surface, seals the deal." All the dishes we ate at the Lantern dinner came from Stir Frying to the Sky’s Edge, and every one, with the exception of dessert (a citrus sherbet with black sesame sprinkled fortune cookies), had that mouthwatering wok hay. Standouts included the Dry Fried Pepper and Salt Shrimp with Stir Fried Garlic Lettuces and Vinegar Glazed Chicken Wings with Hong Kong-Style Chinese Broccoli. Stir Frying to the Sky’s Edge is a true technique book, one which explains everything you could possibly need to know for successful stir-frying. There are easy-to-follow instructions for seasoning a new wok—try popping popcorn to fortify the surface patina—as well as essential methods for controlling the temperature such as preheating the wok until “a bead of water vaporizes within 1 to 2 seconds of contact,” and then swirling in oil and liquids so as not to lower the heat. Here’s are more do’s and don’ts from a video at chow.com. The book has detailed sections on the stir-fry pantry, with specific brand recommendations—she prefers Koon Chun hoisin sauce and Kikkoman organic soy sauce—and the proper cutting of seasonings like scallions, garlic and ginger. The simplest way to peel ginger, incidentally, is by scraping it with the edge of a teaspoon which “easily removes the skin from the nooks and crannies around the knobs.” In short, by the time you get to the recipes—over 100 from stellar Chinese cooks around the world—you’ll have a pretty good handle on what you need to do to make dishes like the classic Stir-Fried Ginger Beef. I like the improvements that Grace offers to the original recipe, adding Shao Hsing rice wine or dry sherry to the usual oyster and soy sauces and using both fresh and pickled ginger for a more assertive tangy flavor. If, like me, your stir-fry experience is spotty, you might want to join a cooking group called Wok Wednesdays. Every other week you’ll make a recipe from Stir-Frying to the Sky’s Edge and the results will be posted. (On May 16, the recipe is Stir-Fried Garlic Spinach, on the 30th, Cashew Chicken). Or, on your own, you could start with an easy but delicious recipe like Stir-Fried Sugar Snap Peas with Shiitake Mushrooms. This deceptively simple dish offers contrasting textures (soft shiitakes, crunchy peas) and delicious flavors (meaty mushrooms, sweet sugar snaps, spicy ginger)and it takes all of 10 or 15 minutes to prep and maybe 5 or 6 minutes to cook. With steamed rice, that could be supper, at least in our house. Eventually you could go on to more complex recipes like Hong Kong-Style Mango Ginger Chicken and Taiwanese-Style Stir-Fried Scallops and Shrimp with Yellow Chives. Or you could improvise. The morning after I made the stir-fried sugar snaps and shiitake mushrooms, I found the most gorgeous stalks of green garlic at our farmer’s market. Then our CSA box arrived, brimming with small heirloom carrots in the most delectable shades of magenta, orange and cream. I couldn’t help but think how tasty they would be with the sugar snaps and the shiitakes. That night I made the dish again, adding a few small colorful carrots and thinly sliced bulbs of green garlic. The garlic slices were almost translucent and as they sizzled in the wok, I could see the outline of the baby cloves. The dish was different but quite good, sweeter with the addition of the tender carrots, mildly pungent with the flavor of the green garlic. Then I did a bad thing. B brought home a pound of his favorite thick-cut smoky bacon. All I could think of was how luscious that bacon would be in "my" new stir-fry. In the pantry section of her book, Grace clearly mentions Chinese bacon. Known as lop yuk, it is actually dry-cured pork belly “with an earthy smoky flavor.” “It comes in a 1-inch thick slab,” she writes, “never in thin slices.” Did I go out to find lop yuk? Nope. It was already 7 PM, so I stacked four slices of B’s bacon, cut it on the diagonal and cooked the pieces very slowly (not in the wok), until most of the fat was rendered and the bacon was still slightly soft, but almost caramelized and salty-sweet. I made the stir-fry once again, adding the bacon at the end. Even though it was “wrong,” I have to say the bacon added a magnificent porky twist to the dish. So, with apologies to Grace, here’s my adaptation of her lovely recipe. Interestingly even though the quantity of vegetables increases, I found that you don’t need any more peanut oil or liquid than Grace specifies in the original recipe. However, I did have to cook the vegetables a minute or two longer. As for the bacon, well, next time I will try to find lop yuk. But for now, our local thick cut smoky bacon will have to do. The nice thing about mistakes is that eventually you can correct them. Stir Fried Sugar Snap Peas, Shiitake Mushrooms and Tender Carrots with Green Garlic and Smoky Bacon This recipe is adapted from Grace Young’s recipe for Stir-Fried Sugar Snap Peas and Shiitake Mushrooms on page 209 of Stir-Frying to the Sky’s Edge. Serves 4 as a side dish or 2 to 3 people as a main dish with rice Ingredients for the bacon: 4 thick-cut slices smoked bacon Method for the bacon: 1. Stack the slices of bacon on top of each other and using a sharp knife, cut them into ½ inch diagonal slices. 2. In a cast iron frying pan over medium low heat, gently cook the bacon until much of the fat has rendered and the bacon itself is golden brown and very lightly caramelized. Do not let the edges burn. 3. Remove from the pan and let drain on a stack of paper towels. Set aside. Ingredients for the stir-fry: ¼ cup plus 1 tablespoon chicken broth 1 tablespoon Shao Hsing rice wine or dry sherry 2 teaspoons soy sauce 3 tablespoons peanut oil 2 tablespoons finely shredded ginger (see note) 12 medium fresh shiitake mushrooms, stems removed, caps quartered 2-1/2 cups sugar snap peas, strings removed 1 or 2 bulbs of green garlic, white part only, sliced very thin (see note) 4 to 6 small heirloom carrots, scrubbed and sliced very thin on the diagonal ¾ teaspoon salt Method for the stir-fry: 1. In a small bowl, combine ¼ cup chicken broth, rice wine and soy sauce. 2. Heat a 14-inch flat-bottomed wok or 12-inch skillet until a bead of water vaporizes in 1 to 2 seconds. 3. Swirl in 2 tablespoons peanut oil 4. Add the shredded ginger and stir-fry 10 seconds or until the ginger is fragrant. 5. Add the shiitakes and stir-fry 30 seconds or until they absorb all the oil. 6. Swirl in the broth mixture and cover. Cook the mushrooms for 30 seconds to 1 minute or until they have absorbed all but one tablespoon of the broth. (For me this seems to take another minute or two—possibly a defect of the round- bottomed wok which I am still using.) 7. Swirl in the remaining tablespoon of peanut oil. 8. Add the sugar snaps, thinly sliced green garlic and carrots. Sprinkle on the salt. Stir-fry for 1 to 3 minutes or until the sugar snaps are bright green, the carrots are heated through and the green garlic has begun to wilt. 9. Swirl in the last tablespoon of broth. Add the cooked bacon. Stir-fry for an additional 30 seconds to 1 minute or until the sugar snaps are just crisp-tender. 10. Serve at once with white rice. Note: To shred fresh ginger, first peel a 2-inch piece by scraping the skin off with the edge of a teaspoon. Then slice the ginger lengthwise into paper-thin slices. Stack them on top of each other and slice them, again lengthwise, into very fine shreds. To prepare the green garlic in this recipe, cut off the green stalks and reserve for another use. (They are very tasty stir-fried.) Peel away the tough outer skin covering the white bulb. Then cut the bulb into very thin rounds. If the bulbs are large, one will suffice for this recipe. If small, use two of them.

Cinnamon Harvest in Sri Lanka: How the Peelers "Magically" Remove the Bark in One Piece

2012-05-02T02:17:57Z

All photos in this post were taken in Sri Lanka by Mystica V. Here, her husband and several workers relax at a family farm in Nuala. Cinnamon is grown at another property in Elpitiya. Have you ever wondered why cinnamon quills are curled like rolls of ancient paper? Ceylon cinnamon, that is, the warm, woody spice that, when whole, resembles a single rolled layer of soft brown crumbly bark: This is the "true" cinnamon whose subtle aroma is faintly perfumed with citrus and clove, and whose flavor is both sweet and mildly astringent. It’s a beautiful spice, one which too few Americans have tasted, given the fact that its more pungent and assertive cousin cassia has stolen its identity, at least in the supermarkets where it’s fobbed off as “cinnamon.” Mystica V, who lives in Sri Lanka, knows all about true cinnamon. She and her family own a property at Elpitiya in the southern part of the island where the spice is grown and harvested. Elsewhere the family has fields in which “tea, pineapple, mandarin oranges, chillies, vegetables, rubber and a bit of cloves” are cultivated. Does it sound like a tropical paradise? Maybe—until you hear about the monkeys that raid the corn, the porcupines that tear up young coconut palms and the wild elephant who pays daily visits. “He just stands at a distance of 300 metres and looks at everything,” Mystica writes. “He comes again in the night and does not deviate from his route, so there’s no point putting up fences…he just breaks the wall and goes through!!!” Farming is the same everywhere: Hard work and lots of it. Although cinnamon trees can grow 50 feet tall, they are kept small to allow for easy harvesting. But let Mystica explain in her own words and pictures… ]]> The shrub grows to a height of around seven feet. It can grow very much taller, but for practical reasons it is kept to this height. When growing, tips are broken to get branches to sprout as many new ones as possible… “It is the branches that produce your cinnamon. They are cut when the branch is about one and a half inches thick. All the leaves are stripped and you are just left with a wooden stick, as it were. “This is where the magic begins. The peelers just rub the surface of the bark to smooth it for a few minutes. Then, using a very sharp knife, an incision is made right along its length from one end to the other. Next the point of the knife is inserted to go around the circumference of the stick. Just imagine shedding the skin of the bark from the stick without breaking it…. “The entire point of the story is that it must emerge whole, as a sort of “Swiss roll” of bark and then you slide out the stick. It sounds easy but believe me it is unimaginably difficult to do without breaking it into bits. “These cylinders are then put to dry, normally on a string mesh ceiling. The heat of the country is enough to dry them. We do not dry in the sun because it is too harsh. If there is even the slightest bit of damp/stickiness in the bark, the price comes down. The idea is to have dry cinnamon in quills. “Hundreds of quills are put together and tied in bundles. This is a very picturesque thing. You either see fellows on small motorbikes having a huge bundle of sticks neatly packed like a bale behind them taking them for sale, or the dealer comes to your home to buy which is invariably what we do ourselves. “The cinnamon peeler’s wages are worked out in a strange way. The owner takes half, the cinnamon peeler takes half. From the price paid to the peeler a sum of Rs 25 is deducted and this is added to the owner’s price and then you work out who gets what. “Cinnamon peeling is a family job and we right now have four brothers and one brother-in-law working for us. They come and stay with you for the entire duration of the peeling time and go home only after the job is done. We also tend to stay with the same set of peelers for their generation and it is only with a change of owners that sometimes a change of peelers will occur…” And what of the branches that have been peeled? “The wood left behind is very slow burning. It is also very aromatic. It coats your pans with a sticky heavy black resin!!!!but it is a popular wood for cooking. Never ever use it myself.” Besides helping run her family’s agricultural properties—last week she had to haul 50-kilogram sacks of fertilizer to the pineapple fields—Mystica is "happily married" with three children and is an enthusiastic quilter. She may also be the most prolific reader I know: Be sure to take a look at the many book reviews on her blog. And don’t forget to try her delicious fish curry if you haven’t already done so. Do you have a spice story to share? Please send details and photos, if you have them, to me at spicelinesatgmaildotcom. I would love to tell your story as well!

The 5 O'Clock Garden, and the May Wonder Cocktail with Strawberries, Rose and Basil

2012-04-29T20:35:51Z

Your reward for a day of planting: the May Wonder cocktail, made of strawberries muddled with fresh basil, white rum, a squeeze of lime, simple syrup and a dash of rose water. Awake at 6:37 AM. Out of the house at 7:07. Loading a cardboard tray with lemon basil, chocolate mint and other plants at 7:26. Not the way I normally like to spend Saturday morning. It’s fine to wake up early as long I can go downstairs, greet the Buddha, make some green tea and return to bed where I’ll lounge with the newspapers, watching the sun rise over the woods. But yesterday I was obsessed with getting everything I needed for the 5 O’Clock Garden. This, as you might guess, is the sliver of the garden that shines at the cocktail hour. In high summer it’s bursting with ingredients that can be used to create drinks with flavors so vibrant that store-bought substitutes simply wilt with shame: fiery Thai chiles for infused vodka, fragrant black-stemmed mint for super-refreshing mojitos , dill flowers for homemade Bloody Marys, spears of home-grown cucumbers for Pimms Cups, garlic-pickled green cherry tomatoes for vodka martinis, shaken or stirred. ]]> Of course 5 o’clock is also about the time I begin thinking of supper. A garden full of herbs and a few vegetables is a fount of inspiration. Think of roasted baby carrots with lemon thyme, bowls of green, gold and red cherry tomatoes, squash and sweet corn stirred with butter and a handful of basil leaves. Most of the vegetables come from the CSA box, but the herbs and tomatoes, those are our very own and they are the best. In truth it’s a small garden, just four geometric squares separated by brick walkways emanating from a brick circle in the center. Years ago I got the idea to train four heirloom apple trees over a four-legged arch, each leg planted at the inner corner of one square. Now of course it’s so shady that there’s never enough sun for a real vegetable garden. We keep limbing up the other trees though, so somehow we usually have enough light to grow as many cherry tomatoes, herbs and chile peppers as we can eat. If we’re really lucky, a few cucumbers or a crop of interesting beans might make it to maturity. There were so many fragrant plants in the car that I felt as if I were gliding home on a perfumed cloud. Here’s what I carried into the garden: -Lemon, lime, purple, Valentino, Thai and sweet basil (10 plants) -Lemon, lime, silver, English and French thymes (5 plants) -Kentucky Colonel spearmint (perfect for juleps and Moroccan mint tea), plus chocolate and black-stemmed peppermint (for other teas and Vietnamese spring rolls) (6 plants) -Dill, coriander and flat leaf Italian parsley (1 each) -Pineapple sage, because I love the tropical aroma of the leaves and the red blossoms (2 plants) -Jalapeno, serrano and red cayenne chiles (8 plants) -Sun gold cherry tomatoes (4 plants), Supersweet 100 cherry tomatoes (4 plants), and Juliet, Green Grape and one unnamed black skinned cherry tomato (1 each) I didn’t find Thai chiles or the cucumber I wanted—longing for the striped curly ones--or heirloom beans to train up the bamboo teepee waiting in one quadrant that’s already filled with the oregano, lemon verbena and French tarragon that came back this spring There’s also marjoram, so much that there’s no way I’ll ever be able to think of ways to use it up. Just so you know the depth of my obsession, be aware that in other beds, mixed with flowers, there are rosemary bushes, tons of chives and lemon balm that has spread like a weed and is constantly having to be ripped out and used for tea. (Pretty good, iced.) Decisions, decisions: In the end I made the usual bamboo teepees for the cherry tomatoes, putting one plant at the base of each pole so they can be tied up as they start to sprawl. In the same sunny quadrant I planted all the chiles, half the basils, and the lone cilantro plant. I guess you could also call it the salsa corner. The mints went into the shadier quadrant where they do quite well (just witness all the sprigs that have come back from last year), while the thymes were tucked next to the apple trees, replacing the ones that died during the winter. In the messy bed with the sprawling marjoram, I found spots for the dill, the Italian parsley and the rest of the basils. It’s a real mash up, sort of like that room with all the mismatched furniture you love but don’t have a place for. Yes, the garden looks a little puny at the moment, but let’s wait a few weeks and see what happens. Of course you must celebrate the planting of the 5’O Clock Garden with a cocktail. Since we’re almost there, I’m calling this one May Wonder. Start with fragile local strawberries, muddled in a shaker with fresh basil leaves of your choice. Sweet basil is lovely, but consider how the licorice flavor of Thai basil or the pungent citrus taste of lime or lemon basil might add an interesting twist to the cocktail. Then add a squeeze of fresh lime juice, a little simple syrup, a dash of rosewater and, oh yes, a slug of white rum. Go easy on the simple syrup. It doesn’t take much to make fresh strawberry juice taste like candied Kool-Aid. Lime juice can help balance the sweetness if you go overboard, but why use it as a corrective when the strawberries and lime are so delicious on their own? And do use white rum, both for color (there is none) and flavor. Without knowing much about it, I bought a bottle of Brazilian Oronoco “Reserva,” a sultry white rum that turns out to be good enough to be sipped on its own. It has the slightest taste of coconut which certainly does no harm. About the rosewater: Botanically speaking, strawberries are one of the many fruits in the rose family so there is a natural affinity between the flavors, but rosewaters vary in quality. Whenever I’m in Paris I buy it from Goumanyat et Son Royaume, a favorite spice shop that, sadly, seems to be in decline. This intoxicatingly fragrant elixir is made from sumptuous Persian roses for pilgrims going to Mecca; it comes in a spray bottle so you can either spritz the inside of your glass before pouring in the cocktail or spray the top of your drink before serving. Unfortunately many commercially available rose waters taste like cheap perfume. (One good brand is the Lebanese Cortas, available at Amazon.) The best way to proceed is by adding a few drops, about 1/8 teaspoon, to the mixture in the cocktail shaker. The idea is to temper the sweetness of the fruit with a touch, but just a touch, of floral aroma. You can always add another drop or two, if needed, after the cocktail is mixed. Sip a May Wonder late in the afternoon while admiring your garden handiwork. Who knows? You might like it so much that you’ll have to bring out the torches while you're on your third. May Wonder with Strawberries, Rose and Basil To make one cocktail: Ingredients: 4 or 5 fresh strawberries, stemmed and chopped 3 medium leaves fresh basil Juice of ½ lime 2 teaspoons simple syrup, or to taste 1-1/2 ounces white rum 1/8 teaspoon rosewater, or to taste Basil sprigs for garnish Method: 1. In a cocktail shaker, muddle the strawberries and basil together. Add the lime juice, simple syrup, white rum and a few drops of rosewater to taste. (Go easy—you can add more later.) 2. Fill the shaker with as much ice as it will hold, screw on the top and shake vigorously for one minute. 3. Remove the top of the shaker and strain every last drop of the liquid into a cocktail or martini glass. Garnish with a sprig of fresh basil and serve at once.

The Buddha Who Came to Stay

2012-04-24T17:03:59Z

Finding a Buddha is like finding a husband. "You have to look him in the eye and decide if he's the right one for you," said Yvonne. Photo credit: Jacques Carcanagues Gallery I was ambling along Greene Street in Soho a few weeks ago. Walking aimlessly, no real plan in mind. It was March but felt like May. Sunny, deliciously warm, one of those days when anything is possible. I almost missed Jacques Carcanagues—but a flash in the window, I don’t know what, caught my eye. Years ago I had walked in another door and had fallen head over heels for a gilded Mandalay Buddha. He was slim, elegant, even handsome, with a distant gaze and a mysterious smile. Bare feet on the floor, he stood taller than I did. I caught my breath. It was like encountering an old almost forgotten friend in an unexpected place and feeling little bubbles of happiness trickle up from the heart. The price was impossible. It was the Buddha or a year’s tuition for Angus and Serendipity. I left with a Polaroid photo (remember those?) in hand. But I’ve never forgotten him. And now, here I was again… ]]> treasure house of Asian antiquities, searching but not finding what I was looking for. There were Buddhas from half a dozen Asian countries. But my Buddha wasn’t there. Yvonne eyed me curiously. “Looking for a Buddha,” she said. “It’s like choosing a husband. You have to look him in the eye and decide if he’s the right one for you.” I sighed. “You’re right, of course…and I’m afraid I don’t see the one for me.” I turned to leave. She called after me, ”What about that one?” Photo credit: Jacques Carcanagues Gallery I turned my head the other way. Hidden in the shadows, standing on a painted Tibetan chest, was a gilded Mandalay Buddha. He wasn’t my Buddha, but he might have been a younger cousin. Like his older, wiser relative, this Buddha's face was serene. His eyes gazed downward, but there was a flicker of mirth dancing in them. A gentle smile hovered around his lips. His ear lobes were so long they grazed his shoulders. He was slim and elegant, not quite as tall as I am. His robe, gracefully cascading in folds over his chest, was bordered with “jewels” twinkling silver and green. The draperies rippled just above his ankles. His fingers were long and tapered. In one hand he seemed to hold the edge of his robe, or was he making the varada mudra which represents generosity and the granting of wishes? In the other he held something small and oval. “It’s a myrobalan,” said Yvonne. “A medicinal fruit. He’s a healing Buddha.” Well, you know what happened. The Buddha arrived a week later. I intended to place him on the hall table so we could see him whenever we walked downstairs or passed by on the way to the garden, the kitchen, the library or the front door. It’s a sort of crossroads in our house. But the old Chinese table, its feet eaten away by floods in the Yangstse River Valley, wasn’t steady enough to hold him. So he’s been standing next to the table, bare feet on a carved lotus throne. And though it’s not exactly the right spot for him, he is, as B remarked, settling in nicely. The best part is that instead of looking up at him, we're almost at eye level. I’ve noticed that when friends stop by, they touch him on the arm or the hand or even on his unisha, the large protuberance on top of his head which shows superior wisdom. I’m not sure this is proper behaviour with a Buddha, but his heart is generous and he smiles at our frailties. And when I come downstairs early in the morning, as the sky is just beginning to glow, I pause for a moment and find myself putting my arm around his narrow shoulders. “Good morning,” I whisper. “And welcome home.”

April Pause: Irises in Bloom, Strawberry Meringues with Vanilla Whipped Cream

2012-04-20T23:57:29Z

When the irises are in fleeting bloom, there's no better way to enjoy la pause gourmande than with a soft meringue topped with whipped cream and the first fragile strawberries of the season. I blame Elise’s strawberries. It’s not that they weren’t absolutely delicious—but they made me break my rule about not cooking—or baking—for la pause gourmande. These beautiful berries came in the first CSA box of the season. Not quite ripe, a little tart, but dripping with juice tasting of sun-warmed afternoons to come. There were only a handful, so fragile that they begged to be eaten right away. Strawberries and cream popped into my mind, quickly followed by visions of strawberries oozing luscious red juices onto soft meringues with vanilla whipped cream. Perfect for taking an afternoon pause in the spring garden… You see how easy it is to slide down the slippery slope. ]]> Right now the pale purple irises are in florid bloom. It’s a fleeting moment—in a week or so their showy Van Gogh petals will shrivel and curl. But the crimson rose buds espaliered on the porch railing are about to unfold. So as Nancy Goodwin once told me, I'll "look elsewhere in the garden." But back to those strawberries... In my defense let me say that it takes only 12 or 13 minutes to set the oven at 225 degrees, separate two eggs and beat the whites with a pinch of cream of tartar and ½ cup superfine caster sugar until their peaks are glossy and stiff. (If the peaks flop over a little, don’t worry about it. Just beat them a minute longer and call it a day.) Plop a big spoonful or two for each meringue on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper—2 egg whites will make 3 meringues—and bake undisturbed for an hour. At the end of the hour turn off the heat, crack the oven slightly and let the meringues cool for 10 to 15 minutes. Then remove the baking sheet from the oven and let the meringues cool down to room temperature. If you’re keeping them overnight, carefully peel off the parchment paper and store in a tightly closed tin to keep the moisture out. When it’s time for la pause, put one meringue (or three) on your favorite china plate. Uh, oh. Do I see cracks around the base of the meringue? Well, we just don’t care. This is our private pause—and perfection is not the object. It’s about dropping out of the day-to day routine, escaping the humdrum, telling the to-do list it will just have to wait, even if only for an hour. Brew a cup of your favorite tea—Ceylon or Earl Grey would be lovely, or green tea steeped with dried lemon peel. While the tea is making, smack the top of the meringue with the back of a spoon to crack it and fill the "nest" with a generous dollop of whipped cream sweetened with a little sugar and vanilla. Cut up 7 or 8 luscious strawberries, scatter them over the whipped cream, then put a little more cream on top. Carry the tea and strawberry meringue into the garden. Pull the old café table up to the irises, or anything else that’s in bloom, and cover it, if you like, with your favorite tablecloth, preferably un-ironed. Sit down. Sip your tea. Gaze at the flowers. Take a bite. The meringue, almost as fragile as the berries, is melting into the cream. Oh my…. I'm afraid it’s the perfect pause.

Good Reads: Elephants and Chili Peppers; Russia's Forgotten Recipes; Istanbul's Creative Meze

2012-04-17T22:31:43Z

It's said that a single African elephant can eat 660 pounds of food in 18 hours, while herds of 15 to 20 can quickly decimate an entire season's crop. This is where chili peppers come in. Photo of Tanzanian elephants by Ikiwaner, Wikimedia Commons. Lately I’ve been finding broken tender shoots flopping out of mysterious holes in our flowerbeds. I blame the rabbits who’ve shamelessly colonized our garden ever since Angus and B released a baby cottontail tangled in a lacrosse net a few years ago. I’m sure the rabbits are snickering while getting fat on our spring planting. But I’m fighting back by spraying lily buds and other delicacies with a “natural” repellent laced with chili peppers. Apparently chili peppers are also the weapon of choice in Africa. In “Elephants Now Think Twice About Midnight Snacks in Tanzania” (The Wall Street Journal, April 16, 2012, p. 1), Angela Hensall writes that neither clattering tin cans nor fires nor homemade pipe bombs could keep ravenous elephants from staging nightly sneak attacks on fields of corn and watermelon. Farmers were in despair. But Lucas Malugu, an “expert in elephant behavior and psychology” at Tanzania’s Wildlife Research Institute, discovered that a blend of motor oil and chili peppers sprayed onto fences was enough to repel the hungry packyderms.... ]]> Next up: putting beehives around the fields. It seems that elephants really don’t like snorting bees up their noses…. In “The Borscht Belt” (The New Yorker, April 16, 2012, pp. 56-63), Julia Ioffe profiles St. Petersburg chef Maksim Syrnikov and his quixotic hunt for authentic Russian recipes. On his do-not-eat list of “traditional” Russian fare: borscht, a Ukranian import, and potatoes which came from America. Syrnikov, who writes cookbooks, teaches classes and often appears on TV, is a tireless proselytizer for Russia’s onetime agrarian cuisine. Its ingredients included “a lot of grains, fish, and dairy, as well as honey, cucumbers, turnips, cabbage, apples and the produce of Russia’s vast forests—mushrooms and berries.” Much of this produce was pickled, salted or preserved for use during Russia's frigid winters. Syrnikov has spent 24 years tracking down recipes forgotten during decades of Soviet rule and has also mined literary classics for regional dishes such as soaked and preserved cloudberries, “a peasant delicacy that Pushkin is reputed to have asked for on his deathbed.” Ioffe covered a magnificent Russian feast which Syrnikov staged, rather improbably, at the Galactica entertainment complex in the industrial city of Chelyabinsk. Dominating the kitchen was an enormous pech, “a brick oven with many winding vents designed to retain the heat from a wood fire,” built especially for the occasion. Among the many dishes that emerged from the behemoth oven were kulebakya, “a magical fluff of dough, full of the taste of salmon, mushrooms and rice,” and a “giant vatrushka, an open-faced pastry topped with farmer’s cheese mixed with eggs, sugar and raisins…” Syrnikov also made samogon, vodka from malted rye, which results in a grain-flavored liquor much different from the vodka we know in the west. Two local chefs attended the feast. One in particular sniped at Syrnikov’s efforts, saying that the goose was “undercooked” and that the pech needed a thermometer. One suspects that Syrnikov simply shrugged and soldiered on. To see two non-authentic but delicious recipes for borsch, go here and here. And here’s one for the travel files: In “Istanbul’s New Meze Masters” (Food & Wine, May, 2012, pp, 122-128, 148, 150), Anya von Bremzen takes readers on a whirlwind tour of six meyhane, or drinking spots, whose young chefs have reinvented the concept of meze, the small appetizer plates traditionally consumed with lots of anise-scented raki. “Trained in places like New York,” writes von Bremzen, “[the chefs] understand both the Slow Food ethos and the technical innovation of Spain…[they] are globally minded, yet savvy enough to keep bland culinary globalization at bay.” At Asmali Cavit diners can sample “legendary, petal-thin slices of lamb liver flash-fried…and sprinkled with chiles.” Personally I’d go straight to Karakoy Lokantasi which serves a dish of marinated baby artichokes with dill and fresh ginger, and Kantin Dukkan which sells “spectacular whole-wheat flatbreads” topped with ground lamb laced with Turkey’s fabulous red pepper paste. Even if Istanbul’s not on your hit list this year, the recipes will take you there, in the comfort of your own kitchen.

Oh Go On: Give Your Wok a Facial! Grace Young's Recipe for Rejuvenating an Aging Wok

2012-04-14T21:40:55Z

There's nothing like a day at the spa to revive aging surfaces, especially when a neglected cast iron wok is the client. To see the dreaded "before" pictures, keep reading. Is there anything nicer for your skin than a salt scrub? Maybe the dried coconut and lime leaf scrub I had a few weeks ago. It was vigorous, to say the least, but when I emerged from the shower, my rough winter carapace was as silky as the inside of a conch shell. But salt, especially sea salt, is marvelous for aging surfaces. Now if there’s anything that needs a treatment more than me, it has to be the cast iron wok I carted back from Singapore 15 years ago. It’s not really the best wok for home cooking—too unwieldy and even the hottest burner on my stove never completely heats up the sloping sides—but I’m still quite fond of it. Maybe it’s remembering the long search that ended in a tiny shop in Singapore’s Chinatown where woks of all sizes were stacked on the floor and the elderly proprietor insisted this was the right one for me. Or maybe it’s just that I hauled it 9,727 miles, only to clog up the garbage dispos-all with the grated coconut I used to season the monster. We've been through a lot together...]]> misuse and neglect have taken a toll. Look closely and you’ll see lots of rust spots, a dull finish and oh my, are those dog hairs? I have no idea about the white specks. What you may not see: Sticky patches where ancient oil has dried. When I heard that Grace Young was coming to The Lantern for a special dinner, I asked, via Twitter, how to rejuvenate an ailing wok. (Grace is the lively author of the award-winning Breath of a Wok, one of my all-time favorite cookbooks.) The Wok Doc wrote back saying, “Pamper your wok and give it a do it yourself wok spa facial.” Here Grace Young shows us how with “Give Your Wok a Facial” a video on chow.com. So how did it go? See for yourself. The more I scrubbed the heated wok with salt and canola oil, the smoother and shinier it became. The salt even turned brown as I scoured the rusty spots. No more rust, no more sticky patches: Just a smooth glowing surface. Now the question is: What should I try first? Grace’s Dry-Fried Pepper and Salt Shrimp? Stir-Fried Lettuce with Garlic Chili? Vinegar Glazed Chicken? We ate all these delicious dishes from her cookbook, Stir-Frying to the Sky's Edge (which won the James Beard Foundation Award for Best International Cookbook in 2011), and more at The Lantern dinner a few days later. The possibilities are endless after a day at the spa.

Tropical Pavlova with Ginger-Lime Curd and Mango Macerated in Rum

2012-04-10T19:17:57Z

The pavlova, a brittle shell covering a soft meringue center, takes a turn in the tropics with buttery ginger-lime curd and a mix of mangoes, kiwis and raspberries splashed with rum. This was our Easter dessert. It was hardly necessary, after Greek leg of lamb marinated in yoghurt and anise seed, an enormous plate of fresh asparagus and a bowl of gigandes, large white beans served with garlicky almond skordalia. But I have to say, the pavlova was irresistible—and addictive in the way that you have to eat just one more spoonful, then another, and… I have always loved meringue, both the soft clouds of beaten egg whites that topped my Dad’s favorite orange meringue pie and the crunchy “cookies” that begin to melt the moment you bite into them. But this was the first time I’ve made a pavlova. It’s a dessert named in honor of Anna Pavlova, the legendary Russian ballerina who performed in Australia and New Zealand in the 1920’s. It’s easy to imagine grizzled down-under ranchers and culture-hungry townspeople flocking to see this exotic beauty fly across the stage. One commentator wrote: “She does not dance, she soars as though on wings.”’ Easy as well to imagine an inspired chef inventing an airy dessert which recalled the dancer’s frothy organdy tutu. As it happens, both Australia and New Zealand claim to have created the very first pavlova, but whichever came first…. ]]> The Penguin Companion to Food, British food writer Alan Davidson described the pavlova as “a type of meringue cake which has a soft marshmellowy centre, achieved by the addition of a little cornflower [cornstarch] and a teaspoonful of vinegar or lemon juice to the meringue mixture after the sugar is folded in.” After it is cooked, the meringue is traditionally filled with whipped cream and kiwi fruit (supposedly a stand-in for the green cabbage roses on Pavlova’s tutu) or passion fruit, strawberries and raspberries. Some recipes call for sliced bananas. Adding cornstarch to the egg whites is key: When cooked in a very slow oven and allowed to cool without opening the oven door, the pavlova emerges with a hard but fragile shell. Tap it lightly with the back of a spoon and the brittle crust shatters, revealing a pillow of lusciously soft meringue. The other ingredients—sugar, mildly acidic cream of tartar, and vinegar—act to stabilize the egg whites, which must be beaten to the glossy stiff-peak stage wherein the meringue holds its shape without collapsing when the mixer is removed from the bowl. The Gourmet Cookbook has a good crib sheet on successful meringue-making as well as a recipe for a classic pavlova filled with whipped cream and kiwi fruit. Here is a condensed version of the magazine’s advice: 1. Don’t try to make a meringue on a rainy or humid day. Moisture in the air will be absorbed by the sugar, causing the meringue to soften. 2. Be sure that your bowls and whisks are “squeaky clean.” Even a trace of oil or fat (or detergent) can reduce the volume of the beaten eggs and keep them from reaching the stiff-peak stage. 3. Use fresh eggs for better stability. If you let them come to room temperature, they will beat up faster than cold eggs. 4. Separate the eggs carefully. This is probably the most important bit of advice. Even a speck of yolk can keep the whites from making a proper meringue. The safest route is to separate each egg into two small bowls, one for the yolk and one for the white; if the white is clear, pour the yolk and the white into two separate larger bowls and proceed with the next egg. Don’t try to salvage a yolk that breaks or leaks during separation. Toss the whole thing and start over. 5. Add sugar gradually when the whites have reached the soft peak stage. At this stage the foamy whites, beaten on medium speed, will partly hold their shape but the peaks will flop over when the mixer is removed from the bowl. Turn the speed to high and start adding the sugar. Slowly add the sugar and continue beating until the mixture is very glossy and stiff. By the way, it’s best to use superfine caster sugar as ordinary granulated sugar may not completely dissolve. Though pavlovas are usually round, the editors at Martha Stewart Living had the very clever idea of turning the meringue into a large egg-shaped oval, perfect for Easter. The oval also happened to fit the yellow and blue-rimmed Monet platter I wanted to use—everybody needs a little Monet in their life!—so I’ve stolen their idea and slightly modified the magazine’s meringue recipe. But then I took the pavlova on a tropical cruise. Instead of ricotta filling with strawberries, I’ve used the leftover egg yolks to make a sweet, tangy lime curd laced with fresh ginger juice. The ginger adds a peppery bite which nicely tempers the richness of the curd. Then I added tropical fruit—mangos and kiwis, with a few raspberries for color—and splashed in a little rum. Very ripe pineapple, cut into small chunks, might also be tasty. It’s not nice to toot your own horn, but really, this version of the pavlova was quite delicious. So delicious that it might make another appearance or two this spring. Tropical Pavlova with Ginger-Lime Curd and Mango Macerated in Rum Serves 6 to 8 people Meringue This recipe is adapted from the meringue recipe in the April 2012 issue of Martha Stewart Living, page 122. The main difference is that I have used less sugar, 1-1/4 cup instead of the 1-1/2 cups in the magazine’s recipe. Using less sugar creates a more fragile pavlova shell that is trickier to work with, but it also produces a softer, more melting meringue inside—a perfect bed for the buttery ginger-lime curd. In my view the difference in flavor and texture is well worth the difficulties in moving the shell from baking sheet to platter. Any unexpected cracks can be concealed with fruit and mint sprigs. If a firm, picture perfect shell is what you prefer, then use the full 1-1/2 cups sugar. Ingredients for the meringue: 6 large egg whites at room temperature Pinch of cream of tartar 1-1/4 cups caster or superfine sugar (or 1-1/2 cups as specified in the original recipe; for differences in flavor and texture, see above) 1-1/2 teaspoons cornstarch 1/8 teaspoon salt 1 teaspoon white wine vinegar 1-1/2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract Method for the meringue: 1. Preheat oven to 250 degrees. On a piece of parchment paper, sketch out an oval that fits the inside dimensions of your platter. The original recipe calls for an oval measuring 10 inches long by 8 inches wide, but it’s fine if you need to make a slightly smaller meringue. Mine was an inch less all the way around with no ill effects. Turn the parchment paper over, place it on a baking sheet and set aside. 2. In a spotlessly clean bowl, beat the egg whites with cream of tartar on medium speed until they form soft peaks. Turn the speed to high and gradually add the sugar and then the cornstarch, beating until the whites form stiff, glossy peaks. This can take 2 to 5 minutes. Fold in the vinegar and vanilla; take care that they are thoroughly mixed in with the egg whites. 3. Using the sketch as a guide, gently mound the egg whites on the parchment paper. (The easiest way to do this is to lightly spread a layer of whites within the lines of the drawing and then build up from there.) Bake for 1-1/2 hours without opening the oven. (Cold air can cause the meringue to collapse.) Turn the heat off and let the meringue cool for 2 hours more, again without opening the oven door. Ginger-Lime Curd Makes about 1-1/2 cups Ingredients for the curd: Finely grated zest from 2 limes (I used a microplane) 2 tablespoons finely grated fresh ginger 6 large egg yolks at room temperature 1 scant cup white sugar 8 tablespoons chilled butter ½ cup plus 2 tablespoons lime juice Additional sugar, if desired Method for the curd: 1. For the lime zest: Bring 1 cup of water to boil in a small pot. Add the lime zest, boil for 10 seconds, then immediately pour through a strainer. Run cold water over the lime zest in the strainer. When the zest is cool, place the strainer with the zest over a bowl to drain. Set aside. 2. For the ginger juice: Wrap the grated ginger in a small square of cheese cloth and squeeze to express the juice into a small dish. There should be about 1 tablespoon. Set aside. 3. Make the curd: Either set a double boiler over merrily simmering water, or improvise by placing a large stainless or other heatproof bowl over simmering water in a medium pot. The sides of the pot should hold the bowl a couple of inches above the water level. Be sure that the simmering water does not touch the bottom of the bowl, or the contents may curdle. 4. Add the 6 egg yolks and sugar to the bowl or top of the double boiler and whisk vigorously to combine. Whisk continuously until the mixture has thickened and turned pale yellow, 6 to 7 minutes. 5. Add one tablespoon of chilled butter to the egg and sugar mixture and whisk until it has melted. Continuing adding the butter after each pat has melted, one tablespoon at a time. 6. Pour in the lime juice and whisk to combine. Continue whisking; after a minute or two taste the mixture. If it is too sour, you can add a little more sugar now while the mixture is still hot and very liquid. Don’t go overboard though—the meringue will be fairly sweet, so the curd should be slightly acidic. 7. Continue whisking until the curd has thickened enough to coat the back of a spoon. Do not be concerned if it is still somewhat runny at this point: the curd will thicken as it cools to room temperature. Once it has cooled, stir in the blanched lime zest and ginger juice, mixing well. Either set aside or if making ahead, refrigerate overnight. If making ahead, remove the lime curd from the refrigerator at least an hour before assembling the pavlova. Mango, Kiwis and Raspberries Macerated in Rum Ingredients for the fruit: 3 ripe mangos 3 ripe kiwi fruit 1 cup raspberries (reserve ¼ cup for assembly) 3 tablespoons rum, or to taste Sugar (optional) Fresh mint leaves and sprigs of mint for garnish Method for the fruit: 1. Prepare the mangos: Using a sharp knife, remove the skin from half of a mango. Score the flesh vertically and horizontally, cutting all the way to the pit, so that the flesh is divided into bite size cubes. Then stand the mango on end and cut down as close as you can to the surface of the pit to release the cut fruit. Place in a medium bowl. Proceed with the other half, then repeat with the second mango. For variety, peel the third mango and cut it into vertical slices. Stand the mango on end and cut as close as you can to the pit to release the slices. Add to the bowl of mango cubes. 2. Prepare the kiwis: Using a sharp paring knife, remove the skin. Cut each kiwi into ¼-inch thick slices. Cut each slice in half. Add to the bowl with the mangos. 3. Stir in 3/4 cup of raspberries. Add 3 tablespoons of rum to the fruit mixture, or to taste. If the fruit is very tart you may want to add a little sugar, but don’t go overboard. The rest of the dessert is fairly sweet and some tartness is desirable. Refrigerate for 1 to 2 hours. To assemble the pavlova: 1. When the meringue is ready, remove it from the oven. If still slightly warm, let it cool for a few minutes on the baking sheet. Carefully peel off the parchment paper and place the meringue on a platter. (If the meringue starts to break up, then slide the meringue and parchment paper together onto the platter. Carefully cut away the exposed parchment paper with a small pair of scissors.) 2. Lightly tap the surface of the meringue with the back of a large spoon. The center will shatter, exposing a layer of soft meringue inside. (If necessary you can enlarge the hole by gently tapping the edges.) Spoon in the ginger-lime curd, carefully spreading it over the inner meringue. 3. Spoon the fruit over the curd; if there are big cracks or unwanted holes in the shell, you can disguise them with pieces of fruit and sprigs of mint. The mint is delicious with the fruit, by the way, so you might also want to scatter a few leaves over the top of the dessert. Add some of the reserved raspberries as well. 4. Serve at once. And do try to finish the pavlova at one sitting, since it is never as good the next day.

A Tale of Easter Bonfires; Blue Eggs and a Tropical Dessert

2012-04-08T03:29:53Z

Here’s a story my mother used to tell us right before Easter: On Easter Eve a hundred years ago bonfires lit up the Texas hill country around Fredericksburg. In a cabin, young children were terrified by the flames flickering outside the windows. “Oh,” said their resourceful mother. “That’s just the Easter Rabbit at work. He’s boiling water in big pots so he and his helper bunnies can dye eggs for you to find tomorrow morning.” Did this really happen? The mother’s story was based on an old pagan tradition, a spring awakening ritual that found its way into early German Christianity. In Texas the so-called Easter fires were lit by Comanche scouts during tense negotiations with the German immigrants who had settled on their land. A peace treaty was signed, and in the morning, some say, the children awoke to find colored eggs nestled among the wildflowers growing in the hills. Easter has always been magical for me. I remember running wildly through the grass, bare feet wet with dew, searching for the bright pink and yellow eggs hiding in the bluebonnets that stretched like a meadow in front of our little house—and our astonishment when we stumbled across a sugary view egg with an Easter scene inside. How did the bunny do it? Even now when our own chicks have flown and I no longer stay up past midnight dying eggs and hiding them outside in the dark, I’m still hooked on the magic. So here are this year’s Easter eggs, nestled in the tall grass at the edge of the woods. The colors, I’m happy to say, are absolutely real—the pale Tiffany blue ones come from the fabled Araucana hens—no dyes or midnight treks required. But I’m also a practical girl, so these magical eggs are destined for Easter dessert: This year it’s a tropical pavlova, an egg-shaped meringue ( made with the whites) filled with lime-ginger curd (made with the yolks), topped with mango, kiwis and a few raspberries. Oh, and maybe a splash of rum. In the meantime, may you enjoy your own eggs today: chocolate, marzipan or plastic, scrambled, over easy or souffleed, dyed, stenciled or tattooed—however you like them best. Happy Easter!

At the NYBG Conservatory, a Delirious World of Orchids in Unearthly Hues

2012-04-05T15:25:43Z

At the New York Botanical Garden, electric-hued orchids almost leap from Patrick Blanc's mur vegetal, an exotic vertical garden planted with moss and ferns, rising from a pool of water. New York, how do I love you? Let me count the ways…. But after a week off the grid in the Caribbean, I found myself craving silence. (Let’s not, please, discuss the impulse buy of a gilded Burmese Buddha, nor my obsession for Stella McCartney’s dark blue silk paisley pajamas, nor the truckload of books that just arrived…) Where was I? Oh, yes, craving silence. So early one morning we fled to the Bronx, where in the New York Botanical Garden everything from yellow magnolias to golden daffodils was in bloom. The most exotic blossoms, though, were in the Conservatory where Patrick Blanc, visionary creator of the mur vegetal or vertical garden, had erected lush tropical walls featuring the rarest orchids…. ]]> mur vegetal set the stage for a trippy display of color and form. The showy orchids almost leapt from their nest of moss and ferns. A few steps on I was swept away by the frothy yellow oncidiums or “dancing ladies,” which, if you squint your eyes, do look like belles in ruffled ball gowns. In fact the ladies were swaying to tango music, part of a mesmerizing play list someone put together for the show… We went for silence, but instead found… Electric purple Vandas, possible descendants of an orchid with large blue flowers discovered in Northern India in 1837. No one in England had seen an orchid of that color before—they named it vanda caerulea—and it became the Holy Grail of orchids, often sought but rarely found. Just as the pensive faces couldn’t get any sweeter—these orchids of the genus Miltonopsis, named after Lord Fitzwilliam Milton, a 19th century orchid expert, which grow in the cloud forests of Central and South America, are called pansy orchids because of their clear resemblance to that flower…. It began to get strange. As we drifted along Blanc’s living walls, we were stopped in our tracks by these twisted white specimens with big purple blotches. I’m not an orchid fancier but these were alluring in a psychedelic way… And as we passed under a mossy arch we could almost touch these hanging orange and yellow blossoms. Don’t they look like Jacks in the Pulpit? I wouldn’t have recognized these bright pink flowers as orchids at all, especially with the dangling berries. It was almost a relief to pause at a naked grotto, adorned only with green moss and ferns… And then to go outside where, well, everything was blooming but I could see the sky. By the way, did you know that vanilla is an orchid? You can read more about Patrick Blanc's vertical garden at Paris's Musee du Quai Branley right here on SpiceLines. At the Shop in the Botanical Garden I discovered The Vertical Garden: From Nature to the City which shows Blanc's most recent works. The photo of his leafy office which sits atop a glass floor covering an enormous aquarium must be seen to be believed.

Blues of the Caribbean

2012-04-02T01:44:50Z

The view from Provo's rocky northwest shore reveals infinite gradations of blue and green as light bounces off the white sand beneath the translucent water. White sand, blue water…. Aquamarine, turquoise, blumarine. Peacock, cobalt, sapphire. Indigo, navy, midnight. Pale bubbly green, dark grey blue. And the sky: powder blue at the horizon, cerulean in the heavens. White sand, dazzling sun, luminous water. A hundred shades of blue, changing with the water’s depth and the presence of rocks and coral reefs. Far out where the water is dark as steel, there’s a sudden drop of 8,000 feet…. ]]> remains of the continental crust that broke away when North America and Africa shuddered apart 200 million years ago. Once these islands were coral reefs that extended a thousand miles along the edge of the Atlantic, but time and tide have exposed them to the elements. Look down and you may see fossilized brain coral and tiny tidal pools, some covered with flat, shiny sheets of salt that looks like frosted glass. What did I bring home? Salt , of course. The saltiest salt I’ve ever tasted, flaky crystals redolent of the marine life of the sea… And visions of a hundred shades of blue, luminous water reflecting the sky.

Turks and Caicos: Underwater Dreams in a Turquoise Sea

2012-03-20T17:38:39Z

YouTube: Underwater dreams in British West Indies--seductively silent,save for the crunching sound of fish eating algae off the rocks. (Sorry for the wretched pop-up ad.) Leaving very soon... In the meantime,here's my packing list for Turks and Caicos: ☀Camera, battery charger & extra memory cards ☂Sunglasses (lost on plane last week; replace in NYC) ☀Glittery Mumbai sandals ☀Gauzy black Muriel Brandolini caftan ☀Sun block (assorted tubes) ☀Sencha Kyoto green tea ☀Moleskine sketchbook, pens and colored pencils ☀Last year’s black bathing suit (Thank you, Norma Kamali) ☀Madagascar straw hat ☀Handwoven Wayuu Taya bag ☀Books to read: River of Smoke, Amitav Ghosh Season to Taste, Molly Birnbaum Alibis, Andre Aciman ☀Coral nail polish ☀Black pearl and leather thong necklace ☀Cotton “giant squid” shawl for wrapping up après swim ☀Valrhona Caraibe chocolate bar(s) ☀Yoga pants and t-shirts ☀Meditation CDs Hoping to: ♡Salute the sun on the beach at sunrise ♡Sleep whenever my eyelids grow heavy ♡Drift on a cool turquoise sea ♡Get a little sun on a Caribbean white sand beach ♡Lose myself in the dreamy underwater world while snorkeling ♡Drink ridiculous rum cocktails ♡Cook a curry in hotel kitchen ♡Reassess my frenetic life See you in April.