Cook 'Em Before They Leap

There is quiet teeming life close to the ground which almost remained a lost secret. I had been otherwise engaged, bounding towards the sky eating bales of arugula and kale, filling a sudden burgeoning appetite for tender spicy greens. Summer is here in a hustle and every day, all of life pops, springs and bounds. My vision, my experience is located about two feet and up, and is expansive and soft- the result of hot slow sun penetrating fractals of leaves.

So I can be excused for momentarily forgetting fiddleheads, those odd froggy curls of emerald. I neglected those majestic Paleozoic ammonites, living breathing fossils crowning their unearthly heads through dense stream side moss mat. My eyes were busy surveying the trees and bushes aflame with swaying movement. I have been lost in the damp pink furl of azalea blossoms, drunk on lilacs, out of my mind.

Just as simple, the arrival of plucked and bagged fern fronds brought me down and in. In my hand these handsome unicursal whorls are alphabet from another world. To decode these glyphs, I start with a sniff that brings scent and sense from earth under. Crawling on all fours, shimmying over root and rot brings small understanding to this ancient plant. Muck, decaying leaves, the sweet acrid smell of dampness, and the cush of moss draw intimate tucked-in environment for the emerging tender scrolls of the venerable stately Ostrich fern.

For short moment in time, just a sigh in Matteuccia struthiopteris’s life cycle and somewhere ‘tween April and May, tight coils of green poke through the fecund soil as gift from another realm. These one inch spirals are potent symbolic and nutritive DNA. They are coveted jewels to foragers, cooks and curious eaters alike. Similar to the charged moment when an archer draws back his arrow with increasing measured purpose, fiddleheads contain pure potentiality- the entire spectrum of spiral’s curl, unfurl and release. And you can imagine it. Early in the season these croziers are wound up tight, shiny and verdant green. As the days move on the captured curls loosen and laze out, even get a bit flabby upon an elongated woody stem. However, free in their natural habitat, the ferns become leggy adolescents before striking a dramatic pose in full formed glory.

The consumption of these beautiful gems is a greatly anticipated late spring time ritual and treat in New England. Beyond being visually stunning, the fiddlehead’s labyrinthine form is deeply embedded in nature’s playground and reminder of secrets which may always remain so. Potent, playful and wild they encourage me to wrangle around in the mud and express exuberant behavior. Delicate and asparagus-like, crisp and “of wood and stream”, unique yet archetypal; there is no good excuse not to fiddle around with Fiddleheads.

Weekend Fiddle Part I approx. 3 servings: I was looking for a simple way to showcase these sprouts. Asparagus made an obvious partner. I happen to keep slices of bacon on hand in my freezer which makes it easy to saw off chunks as needed. The fat from the bacon seemed like perfect seasoning to compliment fiddle’s wildness. Butter, salt and pepper? Of course.

Ingredients:
1 ½ C fiddleheads, ends trimmed and papery chaff removed
1 bunch of asparagus, ends trimmed and cut into 1 ½” pieces
1 clove of garlic, minced
A few chunks of bacon
A pat of butter
Egg
Coarse Sea Salt and Black Pepper
Chopped chives with or without blossoms

Directions: Get a heavy pan, medium hot and ready. Throw the bacon in and when it gets browned and crisp, introduce the garlic. Add the fiddleheads and asparagus and sauté until medium crisp. I covered mine with a lid, and gave things a good stir every now and then. Add a bit of water to steam sauté if things are getting too dry. When the vegetables are done to your liking, stir in some butter and add a few grinds of salt and pepper. Cook an egg over easy separately. Place veggies in a shallow bowl and slide egg on top, garnish with chives.

Leftovers were thrown into a simple frittata to make Weekend Fiddle Part II. This frittata/omelet looked like a fossil with the fiddlehead spirals captured in egg, but it tasted simply delightful and fresh, as well as being pleasing to look at.

Salad Sundae or Medusa on a Plate

This week I casually glanced down at my dinner plate in flavor sensation rapture turned amusement. Part of me cleaved off from my pleasure to stand neutral at the feast set before me. I spied an ugly unapologetic pile of stuff, indiscernible muddy bits which when stared at too long became vaguely off putting. I’ve seen the effect of this sort of meal before on those around me, the confounded distraction, the unsubtle glances upon my plate, all while attempting to maintain level eye contact. I try to put an end to the mounting curiosity and unconscious suffering by brightly announcing, “I am eating salad.”

Oh sure there was a time when I ate reasonable polite salads, a moment when I crunched upon watery iceberg chunks and pale wedges of cellophane tasting tomato in a fogged Wishbone slumber. But everything changed when unrefined twelve year old me outfitted in white ruffled peasant dress, Dorothy Hamill-Farrah haircut hybrid, and cork wedges hopped onto a plane headed for the bright lights and electricity of Los Angeles. Amidst 14K jewelry, the importance of a good sun tan, newly pierced ears and incessant talk about weight loss, I learned about Californian cuisine. A special midnight feast of salad which boasted among other things, black tinned olives and slivers of carrot, sweet corn and cheese thrilled me with obvious sophistication. My world widened upon noticing this subtle siren call and turning point- salads became alluring and positively chic.

And garden greens took over the American diet with an enthusiastic roar of Ranch dressing and halleluiah of pink-pork bacon bits, the buttery richness of avocado seduced while the convenience of chunked up rotisserie chicken practically created a new eating phenomenon. I followed along with each trend, all too happy to endorse healthy, fresh and more. But somewhere along the way I took a serious detour. I became unrestrained, unbridled and over-the-top, giving new interpretation to this meal on a plate. Initially it was due to giving my vegetal ventures romantic names like: The Rites of Spring salad or Midsummer Night’s Fool. Partly it was a demand to make my meals “nutritiously dense”. No simple cuke-n-shoot toss up was going to make the grade in my house. Maybe it was because I was too crude to deal with the delicacy of lamb’s quarters or that I liked the complex, rag tag freedom of crazy quilts. I also felt deprived and peevish at the thought of small portions and rallied against unloved and discarded foodstuff. For these reasons and more my salads began to spread and grow from side plate to center stage, at times even demanding to be placed into giant bowl. My salad morphed into a shaggy unkempt topiary of leftovers- a sundae of Monday’s, Tuesday’s, and Thursday’s.

It started innocently enough. Chop up that funny side of ham, throw in the stir-fry and noodle! I justified that scrambled eggs on top of lettuce made sense, wasn’t it just protein after all? All previous unwritten rules about good taste, appearance and decency were cast out in favor of emptying out a cache of barely filled Tupperware to create something fresh, improvisational and new. Indian chickpeas parked next to cubes of Italian frittata, mouthfuls of lasagna lazed by a sop of sauerkraut, roasted sweet potatoes bantered with feisty pickle chips. Intoxicating and thrilling, the layers of flavor, ethnicity, attitude and disposition mark and make themselves known.

And while the results are never pretty, they also never fail to charm me. This world set before me is singing adventure. What I think I know about meatloaf changes when set against the still life of another day’s composition and a mad flurry of other ingredients. Overlaps and intersections are the name of the game and without jest I assert that my salad sundaes are generous exercise in being with and ultimately seeing-- not to mention great excuse to eat more greens.


Carrie’s Kumari Curry Dressing makes about 1-1/2 C: Adapted from The Ancient Cookfire by Carrie L’Esperance

This is a potent salad dressing which announces its presence. I find it quite unusual and not easy to pin down. Because of this, it is perfect libation to pour over a medley of related or unrelated things. While years of eating these strange concoctions have built up my stomach, I encourage you to explore the possibilities. This week’s sundae looked like this: arugula, sour chickpeas, chopped garden burger, tiny mozzarella balls, cubed frittata with sundried tomatoes, olives and broccoli rabe, pickles, avocado, cucumber, tomatoes and this dressing. Pure Heaven! Another time I swapped out the legumes and burger and put in cubed lasagna, smoked tofu and turkey loaf. Strange and delectable.

Ingredients:
1/3 C olive oil
1/3 C flaxseed/ hempseed oil
1 large garlic clove peeled
1 ½ tsp curry powder
1 tsp dried dill
7 chopped fresh mint leaves
3 Tblsp chopped fresh parsley
1 Tblsp capers
¼ C aloe vera juice/gel (lemon juice, apple cider vinegar)
3 Tblsp plain yogurt
1 Tblsp Braggs Liquid Aminos or Tamari
1 tsp maple syrup

Directions: Blitz in a blender, adjust for any seasonings, and set aside an hour to allow the flavors to improve. Refrigerate after spooning onto your salad sundae.

Impeccable Potatoes

Biting into a hot crusty chunk of potato tattooed with cumin seeds, I had a clear moment of seeing. There was something tight, precise about the relationship between the two that heightened the understanding of each other. The seared heat and baiting earthy fragrance in tandem, allowed the potato to reveal itself: modestly alluring, moist yet remotely dusty, sweet humble sister of the earth. By the time the remaining ingredients were added and intermittent samples taken, a single thought became clear. These potatoes made me want to be a better person.

Now I am not the sort of person who tucks shirts into pants, nor do I embrace the perfection of white which in any gradation displays tell tale tumbles and misadventures with food. Persnickety details and lofty goals which dogged me in my youth have almost all slid off of me, now ignoring me completely. This odd thought, this declaration which I sounded out first in my head in astonishment and then aloud as if to break the vacuum of a dream, held me under loose spell all week. In truth, the idea of my food counseling me towards higher levels of enlightenment had me a bit unsettled. Was this simply a dramatic flourish, an example of culinary hyperbole?

Inextricable from this dish, heart and center is dear friend J_ who lovingly and laboriously prepared Bhutta aur aloo ki mazedar tarkari alongside lamb with onions, sweet and sour okra, spicy green beans, fried aubergine slices, coriander chutney, Gujerati carrot salad and raita for my first authentic Indian feast. This extraordinary potato side dish was so eye-batting, jaw dropping good it sent me running to the store anxious to buy Madhur Jaffrey’s Indian Cooking so that I could relive the ecstasy ad infinitum in the privacy of my lair. But these decorated spuds were really just the crowning star of a whole unseen universe which her friendship richly opened to me. A world traveler, dancer and seeker, Hawaiian born and raised, and lover of inordinately small purses, J_ moved about in poised grace yet relaxed naturalness. Her broad accessible humor, gentle probing intelligence and insight, as well as curiosity always seemed to bring her to new shores whether traversing chocolate drenched fruitcake, conjuring Mexican mole or sharing Cuban black beans. Unwittingly at the table I became travel mate beside her exploring unknown and colorful territories. This week a bubble of time opened up to me revealing a buffet of moments and meals woven together in the delicious span of our friendship. Deeper beyond the contentment of a belly long sated, is the value of opening to new worlds and wearing a rainbow of different perspectives. J_ showed me how to love the world more, through first loving its food.

Further out from this bubble, I consider this extended moment of time, this blink of at least eight years- as a gift, enduring in thought and memory yet ultimately not materially permanent. And this realization which I’ve examined before, only takes on more weight with each revisit. There is something beautiful and poignant, terrifying and potent about the transience of life and its moving inner workings. And it is easy to be struck with this simple truth in the slow amorphous end of a friendship. Long ago as a student this awareness nudged my sleepy corners and pierced me with insight. I needed to open up to the moment: to newness, strangeness, bigness, badness and weirdness. I needed to dissolve my periphery, any vestige of shell holding me back from experience and become one giant eye, thumping heart, hungry tongue, and reciprocal touch; simply whatever is needed. I remember and I forget all over again. And those lustrous pearls of events, people and place glide silently past the strand of time. That is what those potatoes make me think of.

And undeniably, those potatoes stop me dead in my tracks while I hold my breath in feeble attempt to hold onto live ecstatic sensation. They rattle my small world; shake up everything I think I know about starchy stubby tubers. In their own quiet way, they electrify me. It may be the double layered pow of heat achieved by up front, top-note, fruity cayenne pepper blended with the grassy tones of jalapeno. Or perhaps it is the swing of lemon or the curvaceous sway of coconut. Maybe it is the way that mustard seeds and cumin mingle, deepen and ground those potato bits low before the medley of corn, mint and cilantro brighten and take this dish to flight. These potatoes are simply- impeccable. And for these few reasons and probably half a dozen more, make me want to show up completely, for this meal and for thousands more.


Sweetcorn and Potatoes with Mustard Seeds and Mint/ Bhutta aur aloo ki mazedar tarkari serves 4- adapted from Madhur Jaffrey’s Indian Cooking

Ingredients:
3 Tblsp vegetable oil
½ tsp mustard seeds
¼ tsp cumin seeds
1 clove garlic, chopped
1 large potato approx 5 oz. parboiled and cut into 1/3” dice
3 plum tomatoes diced and seeded
4 Tblsp finely chopped cilantro
3 Tblsp finely chopped mint
½ jalapeno, seeded and chopped
1 ½ C fresh/frozen corn
1/3 C coconut milk
½ tsp salt
¼ tsp cayenne pepper
1 Tblsp lemon juice
Fresh ground black pepper
2 tsp ground roasted cumin seeds

Directions: Put the oil into a non stick frying pan over medium high heat. When hot, put mustard and cumin seeds in and then the garlic and potato at the point the seeds pop. Fry until the potatoes turn golden and crisp. Put tomatoes, cilantro, mint, and jalapeno in next and fry for about 2 additional minutes. Next put in the corn, coconut milk, salt, cayenne pepper, and lemon juice. Stir and bring to a simmer, covered for about 3 minutes. Uncover and add black pepper and the ground cumin seeds. Taste and tweak until desired balance is achieved.

Rebel and Revel

The rhubarb has been quietly imploring me to pick it up for the past two weeks, but I haven’t been ready. I shrug my shoulders in mock indifference, but really I am still climbing out of winter. While it is true that we have left the vernal equinox shore a month plus out, in this northern most part of the country the weather has been strange and stodgy and I still prefer to keep my toes toasty, buffered from the imagined elements under a blanket of down. Outside the harbingers of warm weather have been steadily flaunting their arrival: the first red breasted robin is now heavily ensconced within throngs of song, brave tulip heads have surfaced, blossomed and beaming, and the night time peepers chirp their raucous tunes—it may be high time to finally let go of the braises, the gruels and stomach warming stews.

Slow to start and unused to the light I’ve veered towards muted tastes and tones. I’ve nibbled on baby lettuce, groped cauliflower and fumbled towards fennel all the while staying clear away from anything signaling assertion and verve. Unassuming they lay in oblong wicker baskets, strangers in a foreign land uneasy between the endive and the lemongrass: the striated strumpet, be wary- the alone and self possessed rhubarb.

Even the pronunciation of its very name suggests drama and a hint of irony. An ever-so-slight pucker, a full mouthed enthusiastic and canine, “Rooo!” followed by immediate slam and reprimand, a pinch and jab- “barb”. Stabs of scarlet color invade my vision, tear through my quieted world and demand to be reckoned with. One might think of gingham checkered dresses, blue ribbon pies and fields of golden sunflowers but think again, the tart vegetable “pie plant” with the monstrously huge poisonous leaves started out as both laxative and liver purge and originally hailed from Asia. The conversion from medicine to dessert, revulsion to revel has been relatively recent and probably hinged one small part upon our human need for instigation and a little contradiction.

Saliva inducing and sour, rhubarb reminds me of what it is like to be a kid and dip my tongue into unflavored strawberry Kool-aid. The allure is similar to the addictive sweet and sour draw of sour patch candies. This vegetable that poses as fruit whets our appetites and cleanses the palate for something new. And like all good things, is a little contrary. Firm stringy stalks are relatively substantial yet cook down into a saucy puddle. And its vibrant racy color whimpers down into a hush. Rhubarb is purgative all the while whispering sweet seduction in the language of pies, compotes, and crumbles.

Finally I’m ready to shake up and move out of my uncomfortable quarters, open and explore. This week I’m taking the lead from this saucy gal in honor of May Day, the first days of summer. May you rebel and revel in rhubarb and Roo the Day.


“I’ve-Seen-the-Light” Breakfast of Champions, serves 4: The concept started with the cooked stalks. I couldn’t decide what dessert to put it into and before long was staring at a rather runny sauce. The sauce demanded to be put upon a cloud of cream complete with lofty throne. I was thinking of clafoutis, cream puffs, popovers, waffles and then settled upon a puffy pancake á la Betty Crocker. The golden pedestal was easy and beautiful. In truth I have tasted better Dutch babies but was too delighted to really care.

INGREDIENTS:
Puffy Oven Pancake “Base”
2 Tblsp butter
2 large eggs
½ C all-purpose flour
½ C milk
¼ tsp salt
½ tsp vanilla

Rhubarb and Rose Compote
1 ½ C rhubarb diced
½ C sugar, might do a scant less next time
5 crushed cardamom pods
Water
Rose water to taste

Vanilla Ice cream/ whipped cream

Directions: Throw the rhubarb, sugar, cardamom pods together into a medium container. Fill just enough water to cover the stalks a bit less than half and cook at a gentle rumble. When the sauce reaches your desired consistency, take off the heat and fish out the spent pods. I left a few cardamom seeds in. Stir in rose water to taste and reserve. Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Melt butter in a pie plate, making sure to thoroughly coat the sides. Beat eggs slightly in a medium bowl and then incorporate remaining pancake ingredients until just mixed. Do not over beat! Bake approximately 30 minutes until puffy and golden brown. Serve immediately with a decadent amount of vanilla ice cream/whipped cream and just warmed rhubarb and rose compote over top.

Sempre ubi sub ubi

I couldn’t be more surprised and touched to read that Lis of La Mia Cucina nominated me for a Thinking Blogger Award. Coming from her this is a huge compliment. Lis is a generous food blogger who opened up her arms to me when I was fairly new on the block. She embodies unabashed celebration and enthusiasm for life and dishes it all up with a sly dose of humor. This honor happens to fall a little after my one year anniversary and is cause for reflection. Like a lot of food bloggers, I jumped in without much forethought. I accidentally stumbled upon my first blog in the desperate search for a lost peanut butter cookie recipe published in Saveur Magazine (99-01?) years before. I knew that I had to participate in spite of the fact that I had stopped literally cooking at least two years prior. For me, the blogosphere was “the new frontier”, a way to meet friends close and afar. Having recently left the west coast and being newly non-ambulatory, traditional meet and greet was an obstacle for me but the internet required neither passport nor particularly strong legs to cross borders.

My second intention for blogging was a bit more abstract. Simply put it was to be able to feed my own life and paint a poem of beauty. Callipygia is the pen name I chose to embody that spirit. It roughly translates to she-who-possesses-beautifully-shaped-buttocks. I do not-- but aspire to daily both literally and figuratively. Cooking has always been a metaphor about nourishment and desire and the appetite that leads the way to both. And the loss of mobility? What I have learned most from this ongoing lesson is that -Life is alive down to the smallest particle. That unassuming bit is always finding a way to express itself and magnify. This is what I hope the blog to be, a way to discover and join these various expressions together: a myriad of waving parts, micro-movement and joy into one digestible delight, we all need to eat!

Without further ado I express thanks and nominate a few fellow bloggers who add shimmering dimension to my world:

Gattina of Kitchen Unplugged- Imagination: She thinks and tastes with color and completely blows me away with her creations that pair unlikely ingredients. The world is her palette and I’ve always wondered if she has a legion of hungry eaters hiding within her apron pockets. Open minded with a hungry eye for detail, Gattina is a true artist.

Lydia of The Perfect Pantry- Catalyst: Her ingenious pantry item showcasings are like culinary flashcards. These building blocks become etched upon my mind serving as inspiration and reminder. Unwittingly she shows me that we each have our own “perfect pantry” and vast ability to share it with others. She makes learning natural and fun...and have you seen her kitchen?

Sher of What did you Eat?- Grace: Sher exudes an ease that comes from relaxation, balance and enjoyment (not to mention good ole’ Californian living). Her food seems to be an extension of that unspoken philosophy. While reading her blog I truly feel I am sitting within her garden/kitchen. Her blog is unspoken invitation to find the grace within my own life.

D-man of Sourdough Monkey Wrangler- Resourcefulness and creativity: I am a fan of whimsy and free spiritedness and D-man’s blog is loaded with it. Making salt…muffin money? Quick make a monkey line to SMW!

Freya and Paul of Writing at the Kitchen Table- Discovery: These two write a lively dialogue of their cooking adventures. They capture the joy and challenge of eating well all while maintaining humor, interest and a relationship. Process is the keystone to living and they remind me to keep on looking and learning.

Now that you've been nominated, get thinking...what five blogs make you think? Write about them with links and proudly display your award front center on your blog shelf.