October 2004 Archives

October 27, 2004

The Basics: I am a lover of winter squashes, and lucky for me, they start cropping up all over the place around this time of year. Squashes are picked throughout the fall and then put into storage, where they keep quite well. Still, I don't condone buying 80 lbs. of squash from that farm stand in Pennsylvania and trying to hide it under your sink. The farmers at the farmer's market will be bringing squash in all through the fall and winter.

What should you look for in squash? Well, regardless of what kind of squash you have, it should be pretty heavy. The stem should be dry and corky. Some squashes (like kabocha and buttercup) have rough barnacles all over them. Some of the darker green squashes have single orange patches on them. Those are both fine, nothing to worry about. Try to keep away from squashes that are bruised, or have cuts in them. The squash rind is a remarkable preserver of the flesh inside, but once there's a way for bacteria to get in, you have to keep an eye on the mold situation. After the frost comes in, keep an eye out for dark frostbite patches, especially on the butternut and spaghetti squashes. Frostbite seems to affect the texture of the squash, as well as its shelflife.

Squash at the farmer's market is usually 75 cents to $1.50 per pound. Buy the market squashes and support local agriculture. At Whole Foods Market, it's $1.50 per pound.

Varieties: There are so many varieties of squash and so many different ways to prepare them. I'm going to list the ones I am familiar with (i.e. the ones sold at Paffenroth Gardens' stand). Squash doesn't have to only mean butternut squash apple soup. All squash can be cooked very simply by cutting the squash in half and baking in a 400 degree oven til soft and yummy.

Butternut The squash workhorse. Slightly fibrous, sweet orange flesh inside a beige rind with a distinctive bell shape. High flesh to seed ratio. My favorite way to peel is to cut it into concentric circles, then slice around the edges of the circles to remove the peel. Butternut squash is delicious cubed and thrown into risotto, cubed and roasted with a little olive oil and fresh sage, or, possibly my favorite treatment, steamed, then sauteed with lots of butter with small, halved brussels sprouts. Delish! Any of the delicious orange fleshed squashes can probably be substituted for butternut in any given recipe, so read on, and try a squash you've never tried before.

Kabocha Sometimes called chestnut squash or green hokkaido squash, kabocha has a barnacled, dark green rind and orange-red flesh with a round boule shape. Comes in a golden color skin and a dark green skin. It is a favorite in Asian cooking, and can be purchased in Japanese markets and often Chinatown throughout the year. The flesh is very sweet and quite starchy for a squash, and the skin is edible (though some people prefer to eat it peeled). The flavor is like a cross between the best sweet potato you've ever had and a chestnut, hence the name. In Japanese cooking, it is often cooked simply in a soy-sugar-kelp broth elixir. Thai people eat it for dessert (if you see it at a store, you can order "fuck-tong," titter all you want and not get slapped in the face). The squash's stem is cut out, the seeds scooped away, and the cavity filled with a coconut egg custard. The cap is then put back on the squash and the whole thing is steamed until the custard is cooked. The squash can then be sliced into wedges that so it looks like an acid-trip watermelon. Because of its drier, sweet fiberless flesh, it makes great pies. Try adding it to to the next Thai curry you make. My favorite treatment, though, is another recipe I got from Yuka, who got it from her cooking friend. Peel, deseed and cube the kabocha. Steam it til it's tender, but not until it's falling apart. In the meantime, toast sliced or chopped almonds until fragrant and golden. Whip a little cream and fold in a little mayonnaise. Add the nuts and toss the squash with the mixture. Totally decadent and delicious! Orange Hokkaido has the same flavor (maybe bred a tad less sweet) with an orange rind before storage.

Buttercup Looks very much like a kabocha except that it has more of a cylindrical shape with a little round button on the bottom. The flesh is also a deep orange but it's a little more moist. Alex Paffenroth thinks it's the sweetest of the squash he grows, but I like the kabocha better. Buttercup can be used in the same way kabocha is.

Acorn I hate acorn squash. I think it's the least flavorful, most personality-less squash available. It comes in white, golden, and green but it still sucks. When there are so many delicious squashes available, why choose the one that can't be peeled, the one that has no versatility, the one that is fibrous and pale and BLAH? I saw one cool thing where scooped out acorn squash had their little tails lopped off and were used as bowls for squash soup. But please note that, as a total slap in the face, the soup itself didn't use acorn squash, it used another kind of squash. Vegetarian recipes call for acorn squash a lot. Hello, if you don't even have the flavor powerhouses of meat and fish in your diet, do yourself a favor and at least eat a more flavorful squash.

Spaghetti Spaghetti squash is a little different from the others. Its tender, yellow-white flesh is watery with long spaghetti-like fiber strands. The bigger the squash, the longer and larger the strand. The best way to cook it is to poke it full of holes with a fork and put the whole thing into a 400 degree oven, cook for about an hour or until you can squeeze the squash and it feels soft. Don't bother cutting it in half and baking it with water in the pan -- all you get is wet squash. Some people call it the dieter's pasta, but don't shy away from it just because anorexics are into it. The squash strands make a delicious gratin. My guilty pleasure is mixing the cooked squash with Barilla Green & Black olive -- the squash is the only thing that balances out the super saltiness of the jarred sauce.

Blue Hubbard Fun fact: Blue hubbard squash is the squash used in those cans of "pumpkin" for pie. It has less fiber than regular pumpkins. Apparently sometimes vegetarians bake them instead of turkeys for Thanksgiving because of their vaguely turkey-like size and shape. (Being a vegetarian doesn't seem like much fun. I wonder what kind of treats vegetarian kids get in their Christmas stockings. Tea tree oil flavored toothpicks if they've been good?) Truth be told, I've never actually cooked one of these. But they look cool, with their pretty pale blue rinds.

Delicata Delicata squash have mildly sweet, slightly fibrous golden flesh with a distinctive salami shape with lengthwise ridges and stripes. At City Bakery, the squashes are cut in half lengthwise, the seeds scooped out, the halves sliced into half-rings and roasted skin-on until they're sweet and caramelized. They're pretty good, not my favorite, but they are very interesting looking. Go for the savory roast.

Carnival Tastes like a delicata, shape of an acorn with delicata coloring. That's because it's a cross between delicata and acorn. But don't hold that against it. They're still pretty good, much better than those acorn buggers.

Banana These are huge monster squash, long and phallic with a pale orange rind. Chef Ilene Rosen of City Bakery used to buy them -- she said they were fiberless. Because it's so big, it's good for feeding a lot of people and you can generally get a better price per pound because of the size. I've never cooked with them. When you're in Latino neighborhoods, it's usually banana squash that has been cut into large hunks and shrink wrapped with a "calabaza" sticker on it (calabaza being the word for squash).

Sweet Dumpling Hm. I had one of these the other day, just cut in half and roasted in the oven. It wasn't that sweet. It was kind of like an acorn squash. a little fibrous, not sweet, yellow-orange flesh, mild and medium dry. Because of the awkward acorn-like ridges, it's not a good squash for peeling and cooking with. Not so interesting.

Pumpkins Lumina pumpkins are the white pumpkins which are supposed to be good. Sugar pumpkins are the small orange guys which are supposed to be good for pie. Cheese pumpkins are the other pumpkins generally used for cooking with the beige rind and the flattened disc shape. The large pumpkins are good for jack o lanterns. Don't bother cooking them or you'll be pushing puree through a strainer for hours.

***

I love that the kids at Hogwarts drink pumpkin juice at dinner. Doesn't that sound yummy? I remember one year Colin Alevras of the Tasting Room took Cheese and Lumina pumpkins, juiced them, and added Wondra flour for a sauce to accompany his Buddhist-raised Chinatown rabbits. (Am I revealing your secrets, Colin? Sorry!)

Also, does anyone know how to roast those pumpkin seeds? It always seems like such a waste to throw the seeds out. My earliest memory is of being in nursery school where we were being taught to roast pumpkin seeds and eat them. I swear, all of my memories are related to food.

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October 7, 2004

I grew up in a Thai family in suburban southern California, circumventing endless idiotic jokes about my long-ass last name, fending off the jealous haters in kindergarten who made fun of (but secretly wanted) my shrimp and winter melon soup lunchbox, and going to Sunday school and summer day camp to learn all about the culture, religion, and language of a little axe shaped country on the other side of the planet.

Most nights, either my mom or dad cooked dinner; if my mom cooked, it was usually rice and some variation on what my friend Dottie calls the "brown and green" -- meat and veg stir-fry in very few variations. But if my dad cooked, we usually had a nice little spread -- a brown and green stir-fry, maybe some fried pork spare ribs, and a little soup. At temple on Sundays, we'd eat in the food court in the temple basement. We'd trade our dollars for $2 coins and 50 cent coins, which we'd use to buy delicious Thai lunches like Thai-style shumai, som tum with sticky rice and barbecued pork, stewed fatty pork leg over rice with egg and pickled chinese cabbage, grilled meatballs, or, my favorite, duck noodle soup. In the evening, before the 45 minute ride home down the 101 to the 60 in our hydraulics-free bouncing Chevy van, we would often stop by a Hollywood Thai restaurant for a delicious dinner. I liked to order rad-nah -- noodles with chicken and chinese broccoli in a thickened gravy flavored with yellow bean sauce. I'd ladle on spoonful after spoonful of chilies pickled in white vinegar and bathe my face in the fragrant steam. My brother, who would probably rather have been eating at Sizzler, would usually order a crab fried rice and put up the walls when any renegade spoon (especially mine) tried to get in on the action. In tribute to his Chinese heritage, my dad loved to order goy see mee, which is a lot like rad-na but uses deep fried egg noodles instead of sauteed wide rice noodles. My mom often ate yen-ta-fo, something I only learned to appreciate as an adult -- a spicy noodle soup with strange tripe-shaped chewy white fungus, an artificially red sweet bean sauce, water spinach, and an assortment of seafood.

So I was a bit confounded when in high school, some friends invited me to join them for lunch at a local restaurant that they loved. I was surprised by the growing popularity of Thai food in the 80s and 90s. I didn't know there were any good Thai restaurants in our hood, so I was skeptical. They asked me, "Do you know how to make pad [rhymes with rad] thai? I LOVE pad [rhymes with bad] thai!" In my sixteen years as a Thai-American girl I had never tasted it. We never had it at any of the Thai family birthday parties I'd been to. It looked like something that the guy who made the fried mussel omelet in the temple basement peddled as an accompaniment. I must have seen it before, but I'd never tasted it myself.

When we got to Thai BBQ, everyone ordered the famed pad [rhymes with sad] thai. A steaming plate of pad thai emerged from the kitchen and everyone readied their wooden chopsticks with watering mouths. The noodles I recognized as "sen lek," the skinny rice noodles I usually associated with noodle soups. But the color was a bit strange to me. How do the noodles get so red? What was with all those peanuts? Why had I never heard of this before? And then I tasted it -- sticky, soft and overbearingly sweet with the clean crunch of raw bean sprouts and peanuts. I didn't hate it, but I didn't love it, and it really didn't have anything to do with my experience with Thai food. I was familiar with the flavors of northeast Thailand's cooking -- the bright, clean salt-tart heat of som tam, the mouth-watering savor of dried-fried beef. Pad thai was not really my cup of tea, and I was ready to leave it that.

But pad thai was not going to leave me alone. As I went off to college and started meeting new people, many of my introductions began like this:

POTENTIAL FRIEND: Hi, my name's [POTENTIAL FRIEND'S NAME].

GANDA: Hi, I'm Ganda.

PF: Ganda, what an interesting name. What kind of name is it?

G: Um, it's a Thai name.

PF: Oh, are you Thai? I LOVE Thai food. Do you know how to make pad thai?

G: [Huh?] Um, no.

I realized that pad thai was the dish people thought of first when they thought about thai food. And it had nothing to do with the Thai food I knew. Thai restaurants I went to had food that was overpowered by sugar and peanuts, sugar and peanuts, two things that were used very sparingly in my house. Why did pad thai become so popular? Why did people think Thai food was about sugar and peanuts? I think it got popular maybe because it's easier to pronounce than pad kee mao (hangover noodles) or pak boong fai dang (fiery water spinach) or moo daed diew (dried fried pork).

Of course, there's a history of imported foods becoming bastardized for palates that maybe wouldn't be ready for the real deal. Candy-apple red sweet and sour pork (disgusting by all standards as far as I'm concerned), California rolls (I like them, but they don't have much to do with the sushi tradition), ham and pineapple pizza (also something I happen to like) -- they're all American creations. Pad thai is actually a Thai dish, but for some reason, people here think that it's the national dish of Thailand. That's like saying brie is the national cheese of France. Brie is a great cheese, and brie is quite nice, but there is so much more to the world of French cheeses. It would be a crime against the many other cheeses of France to only eat brie. And it's a crime against the expansive world of Thai cuisine to only ever order the pad thai lunch special.

If you're in New York, I encourage you to go to my favorite NYC Thai restaurant, Sripraphai in Woodside Queens. Their menu is extensive, their ingredients run the gamut, and they will still make you some pad thai if you can't let it go. If you're in L.A., go to Ruen Pair on Hollywood Blvd., my favorite Thai restaurant anywhere. Make sure you point and order anything from the specials whiteboard (which happens to be written only in Thai). It will rock your world. Without excessive peanuts and sugar.

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October 6, 2004

On Wednesdays at the Union Square Greenmarket, there's a sheep farmer who sells lamb bits, sheepskins, yarn, yogurt, cheese, and Araucana chicken eggs. She's on the north side of the square. BUY THESE EGGS. Morris of Windfall Farms sells the same kind of eggs for $5/half dozen and they are worth it. But this nice lady sells them for $2.25/half dozen and they are just as delicious!!

The Araucana chicken egg often comes in a green, brown, and sometimes pale pink shell. The yolk is a bright orange-yellow and, because the eggs are so impeccably fresh, the yolk floats high above the white. They are rich and delicate and flavorful and everything an egg dreams of being. These eggs are worthy of a nice truffle shaving, but they are incredible on their own. Most of the time I fry eggs and don't eat the yolk but I've finally found an egg I can love wholly. Don't waste these eggs in cake batter or meatloaf. Savor them over-easy, or scrambled, or soft boiled with a little toast to sop up the gold.

One of my favorite things to do is to medium-boil an egg and mash it up roughly into a bowl of hot rice with Maggi sauce, a sort of variation on soy sauce. Dreamy...

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October 3, 2004

I went over to a friend's house for the presidential debates on Thursday. She made an incredible Mexican spread of pork cooked in banana leaves, tomatillo salsa, rajas, black beans, guacamole, and sauteed purslane. Purslane is a wild green, often thought of as a pesky weed, which can be bought at Alex Paffenroth's stand for $1.00 a bunch.

She asked me to bring a salsa, so I made a very simple roasted tomato salsa. When you need a salsa, don't pick up the Pace -- there's no reason to fool around with those strangely viscous boiled jar salsas. Salsa is very easy and quick. It's a good way to use the last tomatoes of the season before the frost comes in (*sniff*sniff*). Though I will say that if you MUST get a jarred salsa, the Whole Foods brand roasted tomato salsa is excellent, as is Rick Bayless's Frontera brand. I like to cook that up with some tofu for a San Francisco style tofu scramble in the morning. It's delicious, trust me.

Roasted tomato salsa

Tomatoes, three large or 10 plum -- just choose the tastiest, ripest looking ones
1 medium white onion, chopped
1 or 2 cloves garlic
chopped cilantro to taste
jalapenos -- 2 for mild, 3 or 4 for medium, 5+ for picante!
(alternatively, use habanero peppers for that searing heat)
2 limes
Salt
Splash of red wine or cider vinegar

Put a cross hatch in each of the tomato butts. Drizzle a little olive oil over them and the jalapenos in a roomy baking dish. In the hottest temperature your oven can dish out, roast roast roast until the skins turn black. Don't be afraid of the smoke, just keep the oven door closed and open all the windows. Flip them once in a while.

In a large bowl, mix together the onion, cilantro, and maybe a minced fresh jalapeno for a little extra kick. Add the roasted tomatoes and stem-free jalapenos, skins and all. Using a hand blender, crush gently. If you have a molcajete (mortar and pestle) go ahead and use it, crushing the garlic in the molcajete and then adding the other ingredients. Don't go overboard, it's not soup. Add juice of 1 lime and about a teaspoon of salt to start. Taste. Add splash of vinegar. Taste. Tastes pretty good, right? Add lime and salt and vinegar to taste, slowly, but do not go overboard with either one. Makes two spaghetti jar-fuls. Eat with eggs, with quesadillas, black beans, bring it to a party. Yum.

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They say salsa is more popular than ketchup these days. But which of those disgusting tomato sauce and rehydrated onion stews is getting the most market share? I used the like the Herdez salsa that came in a can but the last time I bought one, it really tasted like the can. When I was in school in Berkeley, I used to go to the Cancun taqueria because they had the most mind bogglingly good salsa bar -- as much as you wanted to eat for free, with purchase of your mole and nopales burrito. They had strawberry salsa, avocado salsa, pineapple salsa, salsa borracha (drunken salsa), tomatillo salsa...yum.

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My name is Ganda. I am the admiral on this frakking tin can.

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