Fermenting Cabbage: Kraut and David Chang’s Kimchi
Less than three weeks later: fermented kraut.
Shredded cabbage in pickle crock on day one.
Fermenting and pickling are my favorite of the food preservation arts. Fermenting especially, because there’s no cooking up a brine, stuffing jars, water-boiling them. I love raw fermentation, where all you do is salt and submerge the chopped vegetables in their own juices, and then the naturally-present lactobacillus bacteria transform the vegetable sugars into lactic acid, the vinegar-like natural brine that preserves your kraut.
I started fermenting my kraut about Nov. 7, so I could connect with the great Baltimore Thanksgiving tradition. Of course, I never made sauerkraut in Baltimore nor did I ever have Thanksgiving there, but I love Gertrude’s (site of our rehearsal dinner) and meant to attend their kraut festival. So I was thrilled to find Gertie’s recipe for Sauerkraut and Apples (tips on fermenting your own kraut here). The uptown version, with dry champagne and fresh ginger, graced our Thanksgiving table. The clean tang of the kraut helped undercut the grease and heaviness of the rest of the meal. Plus, those tangy probiotic bacteria (like the ones present in yogurt) really aid in digestion. Another secret to the kraut: we sauteed it with the maple-cured, applewood-smoked pork belly I just cured with Intaba at the restaurant.
Curing the pork belly with salt, brown sugar and maple syrup.
After a week of curing, plus an hour of smoking: bacon!
The same day I made kraut, I also made garlicky, gingerly, salty-sweet Napa cabbage kimchi, with the recipe from hip chef David Chang of Momofuku fame. I still need to make his Fuji Apple Salad with Kimchi, Smoke Jowl & Maple Labne before we eat all the kimchi in the fridge. If only we’d smoked some pork jowl with our bacon.
My Napa cabbage Kimchi, based on Momofuku's recipe. It does a number on your breath!
Luscious Lamb Ragu
Lamb Ragu
Already defrosting-ground lamb, bought on a whim from Afton Field Farm at rainy closing time at the Saturday market, inspired this simple, stick-to-your-ribs meal. Beef, pork, or even rabbit, yes, but you might not think to put lamb in your meat sauce. But it’s delicious, albeit with that slightly gamey, lanloiny, earthy lamb flavor. We had Mark Bittman’s vote of confidence in this endeavor. We used leek instead of onion, added garlic and fresh oregano to the mix and used milk because we didn’t have cream on hand. Pecorino Romano would have been nice–keep the lamb in the sheep’s milk of its mother, or something–but our Parmigiano-Reggiano had to do. Dan loved it. Meat and tomatoes, over pasta. Nothing makes that boy happier. And after a rain-soaked day, it was just what I needed.
Paints and raincoat soaked through.
Will it ever be dry and sunny again?
Figs and Quince
Foraged figs.
Thankfully, I recovered from that unfortunate foraging experience. I’m certainly not ready to swear all scavenging off. Maybe I should stick to fruit, like these beautiful figs that drop on the sidewalk and into the street just around the corner from us. They must be a neglected student house, because the inhabitants don’t seem so interested in picking the fruit. They aren’t the sweetest, ruby red-inside black Mission figs, but in a paper bag, these ripened nicely enough.
Broiled figs with fennel.
I broiled some of them with fennel seeds for a hearty arugula salad recipe I found in The Spice Bible, which I reviewed a while back for The Sun. The recipe called for first slathering quince paste on a pork tenderloin and then broiling it. (If you don’t have membrillo, you could substitute another paste, chutney or jam.) Then you broil the fennel-crusted figs and toss both with arugula, in a light balsamic-olive oil vinaigrette. I had plenty of quince paste on hand from cooking for my Kitchen Window piece which runs Nov. 11. Speaking of quince, much of our October KBOO Food Show focused on the beguiling fruit.
And speaking of quince, we stewed some in to tarten up the applesauce I canned with a neighborhood group yesterday.
And speaking of quinces and figs, it appears there is even a new cookbook devoted to these sensuous, perfume-laden Persian fruits.
Apple-quince sauce.
Quince, Pork Tenderloin, Fennel-crusted Broiled Fig Salad on Arugula.
Poisoning Myself with (Horse) Chestnuts
Those foreboding spiky shells should have been a sign.
An edible chestnut in the shell (By pizzodisevo /Flickr Creative Commons)
The horse chestnuts I found scattered around the tree.
My Willamette Week Restaurant Reviews
Trout salad at Kir.
Kir's pickle plate.
(My three reviews that made it into the Willamette Week’s excellent Portland restaurant guide. Sorry, Giorgio’s, the editor and I decided you didn’t make the cut.)
Kir
This shabby-chic space feels like an old friend’s living room. In a flyspeck kitchen, chef-owner Amalie Roberts, the former wine director at Clyde Common, works her Mediterranean magic, assembling generous plates (a cornucopia of Manchego and cured meats, fragrant bowls of steamed mussels) for $10 or less. Sit at the Art Deco slab of bar and let bartender Russell Smith guide you. The chalkboard emphasizes affordable Old World vintages, particularly rosés. Or sip a cava-elderflower liqueur kir royale. Stunning late-summer surprises included a new pickle plate and large slabs of smoked trout beside a sunny salad of cherry tomatoes and haricots verts. Save room for the homey desserts, like the delicate plum hazelnut cake. Then find yourself becoming a regular here.
Kir flexes its muscles.
Order this: Mussels steamed with corona beans and chorizo.
Best deal: Charcuterie and cheese plate.
I’ll pass: Mixed olives, toasted pistachios (the least alluring of the snacks).
LAURA MCCANDLISH. 22 NE 7th Ave. 232-3063. kirwinebar.com Map
Happy hour pizettes pretty good deal during Fratelli's happy hours.
Fratelli
This cucina has staying power. After an 11-year, inconspicuous run in the Pearl, chef Paul Klitsie’s still at the helm. Fratelli’s Bar Dué boasts a happy hour offered not once but twice daily: first until 6 pm and again after 9 pm. Deals from the mesquite wood-fired oven include pizzas (though the green grape, olive and rosemary one lacked verve) and mix-and-match antipasti (pick the chicken-liver mousse and the better-than-hummus chickpea purée with arugula pesto). Among small plates, try the tangy, tender boar ribs; skip the porchetta sliders (all bun with little pork). The dinner menu trumpets local sources: grilled baby romaine with albacore tuna Caesar dressing, a Mountain Shadow Farms strip steak. How solid is Fratelli’s locavore street cred? Co-owner Tim Cuscaden even grows some of the produce himself, such as the beets braised with the black cod.
Order this: Braised boar ribs with balsamic glaze.
Best deal: $5 happy-hour pizzas and antipasti.
I’ll pass: Mixology (e.g., the Cello Drop) isn’t stellar. Consult the polished wine list instead.
LAURA MCCANDLISH. 1230 NW Hoyt St. 241-8800. www.fratellicucina.com Map
Clarklewis
Lunch and happy hour—that’s when to frequent the former capital of the fallen Ripe food empire. Sure, you’ll miss seafood starters (scallops with sweet corn and chanterelles), toothsome antipastos (arugula, burrata, yellow beans and grilled peaches) and heartier entrees (roasted pork shoulder with figs), but you can still sample a decent menu for a lot less cash. Try these sandwiches: peppery lamb bacon with grilled eggplant or in a BLT on the blue-plate special; roast chicken salad with Gruyère; an Italian grinder with olive dressing. Salads (watermelon with feta) seem less bold these days; most desserts don’t wow.
Order this: Any housemade pasta, like tagliatelle with lamb ragu. The smaller plate is ample.
Best deal: $6 happy-hour hamburger.
I’ll pass: Insipid soup and plain sorbet don’t beef up the lunch special. Get the sandwich alone instead.
LAURA MCCANDLISH. 1001 SE Water Ave. 235-2294. www.clarklewispdx.com Map
Cider and Ruth Reichl’s Pumpkin Tureen
In-the-pumpkin soup.
Here’s a simple, filling fall dinner recipe Ruth Reichl recently described on NPR’s Fresh Air. It was one of her staples during her Lower East Side bohemian days. We used a cute, white lumina pumpkin from our new favorite Matt-Cyn Farms in Corvallis, a whole wheat sourdough baguette, Irish swiss and cut down the creaminess down with chicken broth. And added sage. It’s a cheesy soup fortified with the soft pumpkin you scrape down the sides.
We chased it down with cider from a neighbor who generously pressed it for us again this year. I’d love to learn how. Apparently, folks spike their sweet apple cider here with quince.
Speaking of Reichl, I just received my first–and now last–issue of Gourmet. Will it become a collector’s item? I agree with their picks for best restaurants in Portland–Pok Pok and Le Pigeon–although the latter is a little too over-hyped and fois gras/bone marrow-loving for my taste.
Pork Pork
Restaurant-style pork chops with rosemary polenta and grilled quince.
We really live, or at least eat, like kings here in Oregon. Grant us our one indulgence in these hard times, please. Thick cuts of pork twice in one weekend, oh my! We had milk-braised pork loin at a special quince-themed dinner at Big River Friday. Hard work researching an article. Perhaps that succulent meat prodded us to spring for bone-in loin chops from the Sweet Briar Farms stand at the Saturday market. Their smokey slab bacon was also to die for with pickled quince in Big River’s silky pumpkin soup.
Sam Sifton’s maple-glazed pork chops and rosemary polenta recipe also inspired the purchase. The man loves his meat. When will we be treated to his regular restaurant reviews? Here he recreates a popular Brooklyn bistro staple that was surprisingly easy to make at home. I didn’t go all out with the polenta, just boiled up the scant grains I had with some butter and rosemary. Didn’t have green apples but I’m swimming in quince and grilled in the maple pork juices, it was a tangy substitute. The chops were sweet and steak-like, with enough meat to feed us again tonight. The carmelized pecans and crystallized ginger made for an unfussy yet elegant garnish. There’s just nothing like open-range, acorn or hazelnut-foraging pork. Amy, we cooked it well (and that study was funded by industrial pork lobbyists).
So cute when they're young (at My Pharm in Monroe).
Yet so nasty months later.
I’m looking forward to a Slow Food Corvallis event later this fall, where we’ll taste-test a heritage breed alongside your supermarket Smithfield variety. The later will be hard to eat. The tasting will be at Gathering Together Farm, but the November date has apparently been pushed back because the Hampshire or Berkshire isn’t ready for slaughter yet. I’d love one as a pet!
The Death of Gourmet
The end is near. They couldn't even find a ripe quince for the "recipes for everything in season" September issue.
I’ve meant to blog about Gourmet magazine’s fate but can’t seem to manage posting more than once a week these days. Folks have a special fondness for it here in this food-loving state. And Gourmet loved Oregon back: see this recent feature on Portland Food Carts.
But I came late to the Gourmet table. I didn’t have the same heart attack/heartbreak other foodies did when the news of its demise broke. Yet it’s trumped-up website, rolled out by the magnetic (and tireless-that woman is always on the road) editor Ruth Reichl, drew me in this past year. Particularly Politics of the Plate columns. And their cookbook club reviews of new ones like Corey Schreiber’s Rustic Fruit Desserts. That’s where I got the apple-blackberry pie recipe. The website even encouraged me to subscribe for $12 a year. Wonder if I’ll ever get that first issue? But I can barely keep up with Bon Appetit. Two increasingly identical food pubs under one house is redundant, especially in these times. Why not keep the website though?
The September cover does now seem a harbinger of Gourmet’s imminent demise. Why would they put an unripe (green, still fuzz-covered) quince on the cover of an issue devoted to cooking with produce at its peak. Quinces don’t really come on ’til October. At least they got the favored quince preparation method right: poaching, in cardamom syrup, which really brings out the Caucus region fruit’s rosy fragrance and flavor.
These Oregon quinces are ripe. You can see-and especially smell-the difference.
Take the Tabbouleh, Corn Pudding-Stuffed Acorn Squash, and still Pesto a Plenty
Tabbouleh.
I haven’t blogged much lately or made much headway on the canning or cooking front. But at least I have an excuse. This week, I returned to the classroom, in a paid position, for the first time in six years. Not that that will stop me. Cooking is my release.
Too bad the end-of-harvest bounty now is staggering. I want to snatch it all up before it goes away for the long, gray winter. I didn’t know what I was missing last year. So I’ll recommend some simple recipes for what’s in season before it’s too late.
Still have tomatoes and cukes, not to mention mint and Italian parsley, still hanging on the in the garden? Make some tabbouleh. Don’t bother to skin or peel your tomatoes, especially if they are fresh from the vine. Mint and the parsley promote good breath and help you digest your meal. I used a recipe from the Cooking Jewish bible, a tome I had reviewed for The Baltimore Sun’s cookbook column.
Surprise nearly October garden-fresh (literally) cukes for the tabbouleh.
Malca’s Tabbouleh (Serves 4 to 6)
from Wendy Altman Cohen
1/2 cup fine bulgur
1/2 cup (packed) chopped flat-leaf parsley leaves
1 bunch ( 6 to 8 ) scallions, white and green parts, chopped
2 medium-size tomatoes, peeled, seeded, and cut into 1/4-inch dice
2 medium-size cucumbers, peeled, seeded, and cut into 1/4-inch dice
Juice of 1 lemon (about 3 tablespoons)
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher (coarse) salt, or to taste
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper, or to taste
1 tablespoon finely chopped mint leaves
1. Prepare the bulgur according to the package directions (see note). Fluff the grains with a fork and allow to cool completely.
2. Mix the bulgur with all the remaining ingredients in a large bowl. Toss well and allow to sit for 1 hour at room temperature before serving.
Note: If you buy your bulgur loose from a bin, here are the cooking instructions: Combine the bulgur with 1 1/2 cups water and 1/2 teaspoon salt in a medium-size saucepan and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat, cover the pan, and simmer until tender and the water is completely absorbed, 20 to 25 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat and let it stand for 10 minutes. Then fluff the grains with a fork and allow the bulgur to cool completely.
(good breath salad…burning tongue plus garlic = bad breath…didn’t peel or esed tomatoes–seeds flavor…seeds don’t bother me allow worth removing if making tomato puree for pizza sauce or juice
–From Cooking Jewish by Judy Bart Kancigor
I also recommend this “Roasted Corn Pudding in Acorn Squash” dish. Next time, I would ratchet up the pudding’s flavor by tossing in chunks of salty country aged ham. And this week’s NPR Kitchen Window sings of the carnal pleasures of corn pudding. It really is revelatory. I didn’t grate or blend the kernels I sliced off the cob. Would that bring out their sweetness? I did make a salty-sweet corn and oyster pudding two years back while reviewing the Bake Until Bubbly cookbook, also for Then Sun. It was pretty sublime.
Corn Pudding in a Squash Bowl.
Roasted tail-end of a zucchini, candy-sweet.
Luscious Liver Pate and Banh Mih
Chicken liver pate.
Scrapped the black gills of the portabellos for the banh mi.
This is the story of how the random ingredients I assembled beforehand transformed themselves into a marvelous sandwich tonight. A luscious chicken liver pate and a pickled daikon (white radish)-carrot salad were the condiments I piled onto banh mi Vietnamese-style baguette sandwiches. What serendipity to glance upon Ivy Manning’s “Mushroom Banh Mi” recipe in this week’s FOODday section of The Oregonian. It just so happens I had made up some of her daikon salad (from her Farm to Table cookbook) last week.
Then there was the pate I made up for my parents, with velvety, foie gras-like livers from Kookoolan Farms. When defrosted, they were as good as fresh. It didn’t hurt that we amped up the recipe with chanterelles and leeks from the garden instead.
So I corrupted Ivy’s vegetarian sandwich, spreading pate on the baguette under the ’shrooms. But that’s the way we like to eat: with meat as a condiment. Thomas Jefferson would be proud.
Luscious livers.
Bahn Mi with Mark Bittman's Soba Salad (go easy on the mirin in the dressing).
Herbaceous and fragrant, this syncretic sandwich is sweeping the Pacific Northwest and country-at-large. We love our little Baguette cafe here. And wild, hybrid versions of banh mi have surfaced in Washington and New York. But making your own isn’t difficult. It’s a great way to pay homage to two great culinary traditions, Vietamese and French. This is one edible positive to emerge from the scourge of colonialism.
