For some time now, I’ve been craving salsa verde. I don’t really know why, or even what I wanted to do when I find it, but there was a clear deficit of the stuff in my life. Store-bought salsas are pretty much invariably disappointing, and the green varieties double so. They usually at double the cost too.
Traditionally, salsa verde is made with jalapenos, tomatillos, cilantro, and lime juice. I don’t like jalapenos (or, at least, I prefer other sources of heat), the cilantro at the store wasn’t so great, and I forgot to buy lime juice. As usual, I was not about to let this deter me.
I used:

• 3 tomatillos
• 1 cup (or so) fresh basil
• 3/4 cup Vidalia onion
• 2 Serrano peppers
• 2 cloves garlic
• 1 tbs olive oil
• 3/4 tsp celery salt
• 3/4 tsp turbinado sugar

First, preheat your broiler, with the top rack as far up as it goes. Now remove the papery husks from the tomatillos, and wash the sticky stuff from them. Now, slice them in half, and place on a cookie sheet with your peppers and unpeeled garlic. Put in the broiler, about 1-2 inches from heat. They should stay in until the tomatillos are slightly charred and falling apart, which takes about 10 minutes, but you should turn everything once halfway through.
While those are cooking, chop up your onion and measure the spices.
Once everything’s cooked, take it out of the oven, peel the garlic and stem the peppers. Now, put everything into a blender or food processor and liquify. Adjust with salt, sugar, pepper, and whatever else you like, until you’re happy. Remember – the flavors will be stronger once it has cooled and congealed a bit!
Serve with chips or on enchiladas or wherever you might want a very flavorful, slightly sweet but mostly tangy, heat. It also works very well as a pesto substitute if you use more basil.

I bought one of those pre-prepped bags of broccoli and cauliflower and carrots at the grocery store the other day, because it was on sale and because I love veggies and because I am lazy. At home, I noticed that on the back of the bag there was a recipe for a vegetable curry, using the contents of the bag, and other similarly-branded ingredients. I didn’t have most of those other things handy, and also the recipe didn’t look very good. But the idea’s seeds were sewn.
Days later, at the Asian market, I came upon the aisle of canned curry mixes and powders. When an older lady speaking what sounded like Thai to her cell phone grabbed about four cans of Bright brand (Thai) Green Curry, I decided to try it. I’ve been steered horribly wrong before, but more often than not this is a good way of picking between brands you don’t know. I also picked up a few other ingredients and, for reasons not entirely clear even to me, later (at the farmers market) decided to buy buffalo instead of beef or chicken meat.
I ended up with the following:

– 2 cans green curry ( FYI: it has coconut milk and bamboo shoots and kefir leaves already in it, if you’re making your own)
– 1 large fresh Serrano pepper (about 1.5 tbs chopped)
– 1 stalk fresh lemongrass
– 1 lb. of mixed broccoli, cauliflower, and carrots
– 1 medium yellow onion
– 1.5 pounds buffalo top round
– Fish sauce
– Dry roasted peanuts

Back home, I got to work: I diced the onion and Serrano, chopped about 2 tbs of the lemongrass (slice into thin circles, then quarter), rinsed the veggies, trimmed the meat, and cut it into 3/4 – inch cubes. I got out my biggest pot, and first browned the meat a little bit. Then, I lowered the heat to medium and added olive oil, followed by about half of the chilies and lemongrass. After this was all nice and warm and fragrant, I stirred in the onions. I let them cook about 5 minutes, till a bit translucent but not all the way.
At that point, I added the veggies, and both cans of curry, about 3 tbs of fish sauce, and the remaining spices. I also added sriracha, but then again I like things hot. I upped the temperature as well, to medium-high, and let the curry simmer and reduce, stirring only once in a while, until everything was the right texture. It was, at this point, still a little watery for me, so I mixed a big teaspoon of tapioca starch in a quarter-cup of water, and stirred that into the curry to thicken it.
I am, it should be known, a bit lax in my advanced planning and very prone to forgetting to do things. Like, say, to buy rice at the store. Or to think about boiling pasta before the rest of my meal is nearly ready. Luckily, I am aware of my own, err, idiosyncrasies, and stock my shelves accordingly. It turns out that canned white hominy is easy and fast to warm, and actually makes a nice substitute for rice.
I garnished the dish with the peanuts, which I ground with mortar and pestle, which I think was a key factor in making this dish delicious. Without it, the buffalo was too much of a random flavor – the peanuts helped to integrate it all together. Plus, I love peanuts.

A funny thing about my West-Indian tinged upbringing is that I’ve been exposed to so many amazing foods and cuisines, but not often directly enough to learn to execute them properly. So many of the dishes I grew up loving and still think of as supreme comfort food, I have no idea how to deal with preparing. Breadfruit is a prime example: the sweet, starchy fruit’s luscious perfume transports me instantly to warmer climes and friendlier faces, but once home with one, I’ve always been a bit perplexed. A wonderful substitute for potatoes or yams, the stuff is a royal pain to cook.
Despite this knowledge, the gorgeous aroma as I walked by the breadfruit bin at the farmers market overpowered my better judgment: if at first you don’t succeed, et cetera. Picking a medium-sized, about 1/3 green one (meaning that it was close to ripe, but not all the way), I headed home. First things first, I preheated my oven to 300, washed the fruit and skewered some holes in it, and wrapped it in foil. I roasted it for an hour total, quarter-turning every 15 minutes.
During the last 15 minutes, I diced a small white onion. Out of the oven, I let the fruit cool enough to cut it, remove the center bits, peel it, and dice it, while warming my skillet to medium-high. To the pan I added some butter and the breadfruit, and tossed it with some Vegeta. After 5 minutes or so, I added the onions. When the onions were a bit caramelized, but not charred, I removed everything to a bowl, and deglazed the pan with a cup of dark rum (Gosling, in this case), letting that reduce about 75%. I tossed the sauce into the bowl with everything else, and had a lovely accompaniment to the grilled chicken and spinach salad I’d also made.
Be aware: breadfruit has a very strange texture, if you’re not expecting it. It is a bit spongy, and can be chewy, but don’t let that deter you from this wonderful, and healthy ingredient!

Sometimes, when you cook something haphazardly, and the results are … haphazard. On rare, wonderful occasions, they are delicious and satisfying and worth repeating in a more orderly fashion. It’s October – properly fall now – and my first proper dish of the season was one of these delightful surprises; I’ll make it again without a doubt, and a bit of advance planning will make it even more amazing.
I love fall: the weather cools and the season’s earthy flavors make a nice letting down from summer’s exuberance before winter’s deeper and richer ones. My favorite fall ingredient of all is probably the most iconic, at least in the States: pumpkin. At the farmers market this week, I spied the first batch, rich orange with spiky grayish-brown stems, and bought two. It’s not yet cold enough here for my pumpkin curry, so I looked for another idea. Drawing from vague memories and, as I am in fact still a grad student, what was really cheap, I also purchased some really beautiful beets, and fresh sage.
Come dinner-prepping time, I was in the mood for pasta. How could I make my pumpkin-y schemes fit this new craving? Another memory flickered through my mind, this time of a creamy squash pasta, somewhere in DC, many years ago. Funny how I can remember things like this, but not the names and dates needed for my communications exam…
I messed about for a while, but ultimately this is what I used:

1 medium pumpkin, cut into 1-ish inch chunks (about 3 cups worth);
2 large beets, cleaned and similarly cubed;
1 pound whole wheat penne;
7 cloves garlic, chopped;
12 fresh sage leaves, torn into bits;
½ cup light cream;
½ cup milk (2%);
Sriracha;
Fresh-grated Parmesan;
Olive Oil;
Salt and pepper.

What I did:
I prepped everything as above. Ideally, I’d have pre-roast the beets halfway, but I am lazy so I just microwaved them for about 9 minutes; this softens them up so they can be sautéed with the pumpkin, saving some time. Once that was done, I added both beets and pumpkins to a pan over medium-high heat, with a bunch of olive oil and some salt. I sautéed them until everything was tender, but not quite fully done, and removed to a bowl, where I stirred in about half of the chopped garlic and sage.
While that was cooking, I boiled my pasta, adding a small piece of beet to that pot to make the pasta pink, because I was feeling that cheeky. When the pasta was slightly under-done (just before proper al dente), I drained and put it, along with the sautéed pumpkin and beets, into a large pot over low-medium heat. Then I mixed in milk, cream, and the rest of the spices. As it heated, I slowly added Parmesan until it was a bit gooey, but not super-cheesy (I didn’t want mac+cheese). Finally, I added sriracha, salt and pepper.
I served it with a bit more Parmesan on top, and it was fantastic. The pumpkin and beet really sing together, especially with all that dairy to mellow the beets’ sharpness. I’ve been enjoying the leftovers ever since, and found that adding some chicken chorizo really kicked things up, both in terms of flavor and fillingness.

Continuing my adventures with strange vegetables from the farmers market, this week I noticed an older Indian woman being very excited to her shopping companions over a pile of small, gherkin-shaped vegetables labeled “Tindora.” My curiosity piqued, I asked her what they were and how to cook them. Her reply was that she called them “Vargoli” – the Hindi to Gujarati’s “Tindora” and the English “Ivy Gourd” – and that she sliced them and stir-fried them with mustard seed, cumin and turmeric; her companion added that ground peanuts were a good garnish. They also suggested that I pick only long skinny ones, and if any turned out to be orange inside, I shouldn’t use them.
With all this in mind, I picked myself a bag of little gourds to take home with a fresh turmeric root and a brick of firm tofu. At home, I added my own ideas to the mix, and this is what I used:

About 20 ivy gourds/tindoras/vargolis;
1 block of firm tofu, well drained and cut to cubes;
1 root of fresh turmeric;
About 1/2 tsp each cumin seeds and mustard seeds;
Peanut oil;
Organic/all-natural creamy peanut butter;
Mirin;
Sriracha;

While the tofu drained, I cut the ends off of and quartered each gourd and heated up my cast iron pan with a drizzle of peanut oil.
Reducing the heat to medium, I added the cumin and mustard seeds, letting them bounce around under my splatter screen until they were brown. I then added more oil, grated in about an inch of turmeric, and added the gourds and some sriracha. I stir-fried all this for a few minutes, not letting the gourd get totally soft. I removed it to a bowl.
Adding more oil to the pan, as well as another sprinkle of seeds and turmeric, I fried the tofu until it was nice and crispy on the outside, but still smushy on the inside. Then I removed that to another bowl.
While the tofu cooked, I put about a tablespoon of peanut butter, 2 tablespoons mirin, and 1 tsp sriracha into a small glass, which I microwaved for 20 seconds and mixed into a paste. I added more oil and a bit of water to make it more liquidy.
I then added all three pieces together in a large bowl, tossing the peanut sauce all over. The gourd itself has a mild flavor, not unlike a cucumber bur more sour and less … green tasting. It was really delicious with the peanut sauce. The tofu was, of course, tofu, and absorbed all the flavors like the good little sponge it is. Overall, this was a very tasty dinner which, at least partially due to my laziness and consequent lack of rice, was really quite healthy too!

In the US we tend not to eat much in the way of extremely bitter foods – grapefruit and endive are about as bitter as we go. Despite this, I love bitter foods, and I’d long wondered about the things at the farmers market – the strange ones with bizarrely textured, bright green skin. So today I asked the girl at one stall how one might cook a bitter melon. Her response: “However you want…I usually stir-fry them or boil and mash them. They’re so tasty!” It turns out that they’re really good for you too – perhaps helping to regulate digestion and improving blood sugar control.
Mission in mind, I returned home with three medium-sized ones, deciding to go the mashed route, as I also had a sweet potato and I wondered if they might play well together. With some helpers along for the ride, they did:
I put my sweet potato into the oven for baking; since I’m currently without a microwave, I have to do things the slow way. I washed and cut the melons in half, scooped out the seeds (which I’ve since been told are good to eat too, but I wasn’t sure, and they seemed rather crunchy for a mash), and cut the flesh into inch-wide bits. I put them in a pot of broth to boil.
After a few minutes (maybe seven or so), the melon smelled so good, I thought it would be a waste to boil all of that flavor away, and an idea popped into my head. I got out my frying pan and added some bacon. Bacon half-cooked, I moved the melon from pot to pan and sautéed the lot till the melon was mostly soft(ish), adding hot pepper flakes and Vegeta when I felt like it.
By this time my potato was baked, so I removed the peel, added a touch of olive oil and mashed it up. Then, I mashed up my melon and mixed it into the potato, stirring the bacon (now crisp and in pretty small pieces) on top. The bacon was, I think, key – its earthiness really unified the sweet and bitter flavors.
The results were quite tasty, and though more tweaking will be necessary before I think this dish is “complete,” I wanted to share it and see what other folks have done with this funny little fruit.

It’s summer, and for natives of (and most transplants to) the Mid-Atlantic region of the US, that means one thing more than any other: crab season! Whether consumed in a violent orgy of mallets and shells or more demurely in delicious cake form, this is the season for the yummy little bastards. The thing is, I up and moved to Atlanta, where crabs are just a one-night stand’s lasting impression, and mentioning “Old Bay” will just get you asked if you don’t mean “Green.”
As is so often the case, my salvation came by pure providence. I had purchased some crab meat from the grocery – the crappy packaged kind that looks like it ought to be fake but isn’t – and was planning to do something vaguely fritter-ish. But, before dinner could be considered, I was headed to the gym, and needed a pre-workout snack. I pulled down a handful of crackers, and dipped one in a fresh tub of hummus.
Lesson one: don’t buy store-brand hummus in a Southern grocery.
Panic-stricken – for if my snack went this badly I’d never have the focus to exercise – I reached for the first thing I could see to overwhelm the sour horror of that hummus-product. My crab purchase had been inspired, of course, by coming upon a tin of Old Bay at the market. It was now sitting on the counter, just before my eyes.
That experiment worked, so I experimented more. Using good hummus this time, I mixed in about 1/2 tablespoon of Old Bay per cup, and spooned the mixture into a small bowl. I fried the crab bits in an Old Bay-flour mix as well. Then I let them cool, dried them, arranged them around the hummus mixture (with Triscuits), and an hors d’ouvres plate was born!

Tacos can’t possibly be pretentious, right? Wrong: when you find yourself at the farmers market and faced with $2 per pound ground lamb and gorgeous $3 tubs of pico de gallo, evil schemes begin to hatch. Those two ingredients in basket, I looked around for more markety goodness to add.

Ultimately I ended up heading home with a gorgeous looking poblano pepper and a bag of Vidalia onions (which I go through like crazy, as they are awesome), and started in the usual way: putting my ever-more-beautifully-seasoned pan on my seriously-underpowered stove to heat up. It takes about 6-8 minutes to get very hot, so I have time to chop.
–1 lb. ground lamb
–1 poblano pepper (diced)
–1/2 of a Vidalia onion (diced)
–Fish sauce
—Vegeta
Once the pan was hot enough, I added the meat and some salt, and reduced the heat to medium. When it was about halfway done, I drained most of the grease and added the peppers and onions, as well as a few shakes of fish sauce and a few of Vegeta. When it was almost done, I popped my soft flour tortillas in the microwave (unnecessary if you don’t keep them in the fridge/aren’t too lazy to make them fresh). I removed everything from the pan using a straining spoon, to minimize my grease consumption. It’s tasty, yeah, but I my arteries can only take so much!
I garnished the tacos with my lovely fresh pico de gallo, queso blanco, and a dash of hot sauce. They were delicious, and while pondering this it did occur to me that they were also ridiculous: Bloody Pretentious Tacos!