Category: Recipes

Last weekend, in a malaise of storm-induced depression, I totally shut myself in the house and decided to bake. I'm not a great baker. I hate recipes. And baking often requires that you follow recipes. If I could learn to do dry good proportions by feel, it might be different. But I hate following words. I also can't read music for shit. I have a vague feeling that these two things are related. The part of my brain that connects inscription to action is just a burnt bridge in the synapse web.

Anyway, I spent last Sunday watching that horrifying Jonestown doc on PBS, which fucked me up and totally set the tone for the entire week. I believe in anesthetizing my grumps with carbs. I decided on a Boston Cream Pie recipe I'd been eyeballing in an issue of Everyday Food. The cake was a bit sturdy for my taste, I forgot the vanilla, the custard not quite rich enough, but it's an easy recipe you can make with ingredients already in your pantry or easily obtained at the bodega (or the nearby gas station, in my case). I also love topping cakes with chocolate ganache instead of frosting. Next time, I'll probably try Gale Gand's recipe, which uses sifted cake flour and requires beaten egg whites.

Then Monday's shooting happened, followed by one of the deadliest days in Iraq. So my 9" cake did little to lift my spirits. The only Netflix we had at home were Why We Fight, a doc on the Iraq War and the history of the military-industrial complex post-Eisenhower, and Parallel Lines, a doc on a woman's life post-9/11, which I couldn't even touch. And, of course, there was no escaping the coverage of Virginia Tech.

Questions I've been stirring around this week: What would an interactive photo gallery of the Iraqi civilian victims look like? What words would their loved ones use to describe them? How do you teach a loner to love themselves? Will teachers be earmarking disturbing works from future Bret Easton Ellises, Ryu Murakamis, Trevor Browns? What does it take to make a mother feed her child cyanide?

I ate the whole cake all week, with the exception of two slices, by myself. I ate it cold, straight from the fridge, with wet, jarred pears. It didn't numb me, it just made me feel a little bit bad about myself. Some weeks, you can't just eat your questions away. I can accept that.

Had a dinner party last night chez David -- 11 people, many dishes, AND I cooked after work, from about 6:20-8:30. I think that's pretty impressive. Okay, I did some prep the night before, I enlisted many of the guests to help with mise-en-place, and I had to break out the reliable standards when cooking in someone else's kitchen. But still, I count it as a great success. The menu:

Golden and red beet bruschetta with parmigiano
Sauteed zucchini and organic grape tomatoes with oregano and mint
Roasted yukon gold potatoes with rosemary
Slow-baked wild Alaskan king salmon
Meyer lemon relish (thinly sliced seeded cored lemons with skin, shallots macerated in white wine vinegar, chopped chervil, chopped parsley, olive oil, salt and pepper -- from the Chez Panisse Cafe cookbook)
Windfall Farms mesclun with pea shoots and mint
Delice de Bourgogne with pear mostarda (Killer combo -- you must try)

But the first hot hors d'oeuvres were the show-stealers -- bacon-wrapped dates stuffed with goat cheese and marcona almonds. That's the recipe right there. I first had them at my friend Julie's house. You take dates, slit them lengthwise down one side to take the pit out, then stuff the cavity with a bit of goat cheese and a marcona almond. Wrap each date in half a slice of bacon, secure with toothpicks. Then put them under the broiler for a few minutes on each side til the bacon's crispy and done. Impossible to fuck up as long as you don't burn them and utterly heartbreaking. The bacon provides a smoky, salty foil for the caramel sweet, melty date. The little marcona almond in the middle of the tangy cheese sits where the pit would be, but you can bite right through the whole thing. I even broiled a few bacon-less dates for the vegetarians.

Note: I got nice fat organic California medjool dates in a clear plastic clamshell box at Whole Foods. You can find them in the produce department, not the dried goods aisle. They're amazing. I could eat a whole box by myself. I know that those dates come to Whole Foods in a big red box because I used to pack them in those clamshells. (And maybe I used to sample a few while I stuffed those boxes.) I've seen the same dates for sale, loose, at Fairway. I'll bet they've got great dates at Sahadi's and other Middle Eastern grocers.

P.S. Graham brought a lovely $6 rosé from Trader Joe's -- I think it was La Ferme Julien. It has a red rooster on the label. Fruity but dry, no bitter bite, lovely raspberry color. Great with wild salmon.

I've been crazy excited about this recipe for Japanese style curry for a while, and I'm happy to report that it's awesome and pretty hard to fuck up. The recipe originally appeared in this year's issue of the Saveur 100. I cooked it again from memory today (with a few alterations to suit my taste) and it's spectacular.

My friend Miho says Japanese curry came about after a Japanese woman married to an Indian man tried to recreate the food her husband missed eating. I'm a huge fan of Golden Curry, the kind of Japanese curry you make from a greasy brick, but this recipe is tastier and a lot less guilt-inducing because it doesn't have all of the shelf-stable animal fats, hydrogenated oils and MSG of the packaged kind. You must try it.

There are so many possible variations -- totally vegetarian with vegetable broth, maybe leeks and mushrooms, plain curry with tonkatsu (panko-breaded fried pork cutlets), curry with udon noodles and a simple soy broth, etc. You could probably mix up your own curry powder, or use whatever curry powder you have on hand, but the S&B gives it the right mild heat. If you have Asian-style chicken stock on hand (made with ginger, garlic, cilantro, celery aromatics), this is the perfect recipe to use it in.

My changes: I added way more garlic and ginger, and my proportions suited the amount of ingredients I had on hand. I added wine to pick up the fond -- Japanese beer might be better, or maybe cooking sake, or you could forgo it and just use stock. The original recipe calls for a bay leaf, I think -- I forgot to use it when I made it tonight and I didn't miss it. If you don't have an apple, try adding half a mashed banana instead. I also substitute double strength tomato paste for the crushed tomatoes -- who wants to open a whole can for such a small amount of umami booster? Serve with fresh Japanese rice and the red pickled ginger, maybe with a side of sesame spinach. Great for leftovers or next day lunch. Make sure you invite people over -- this is definitely the kind of dish where, if left to your own devices, you'll wind up eating the whole pot and then hating yourself for it. It is for me, anyway.

Wafuu (Japanese-style) Curry

1 1/2 lbs. boneless skinless chicken thighs or legs
salt
pepper
2 tbsp. vegetable oil
1 onion, half chopped fine, half cut into 1-inch pieces
6 cloves garlic, minced (about 1 1/2 tbsp.)
1 1/2 inch piece of ginger, minced (about 1 tbsp.)
2 tbsp. butter
4 tbsp. flour
3 tbsp. S&B Oriental Curry Powder*
1 tbsp. double strength tomato paste
1/2 cup white wine
4 cups chicken stock
3 carrots, cut into coins
2 russet potatoes, cut into small chunks
1 small sweetish apple (Fuji, Pink Lady, Gala, Golden Delicious etc.)
2 tsp. honey
1 tsp. soy sauce

1. Put the chicken stock on low heat in a covered medium sized pot. On a separate burner, heat up your large Dutch oven over high heat. Add vegetable oil. Add chicken to the oil and season liberally with salt and pepper. Brown the chicken til there are lots of crispy brown bits on the bottom of the pot. Remove the chicken.
2. In the same pot, melt the butter. Add the finely chopped half-onion, garlic, and ginger. Saute til the onion is translucent, about 2 mins. Sprinkle the flour over the onion mixture and stir constantly, cooking the roux mash for a few minutes until everything gets a little golden brown. Add the curry powder and tomato paste, stirring well and cooking down for another thirty seconds or so.
3. At this point, you'll have lots of delicious fond on the bottom of your pot. Throw in the wine and stir really well, scraping up all the brown bits from the bottom of the pot. The mixture will bubble and thicken.
4. Put the chicken back in the pot and stir in all of your hot stock, the remaining onion pieces, carrots, and potatoes. Reduce to low heat. Put the lid on it and simmer for about an hour, until the potatoes and carrots are super tender.
5. Once everything's fork tender, coarsely grate your small apple. Stir the apple, honey and soy sauce into the curry. Cook for five more minutes. Serve now or serve later, it's delicious either way.

*S&B Curry Powder is not that hard to find. You can definitely find it at Sunrise, JAS Mart or any of the other Japanese grocery stores. If you're not near any of those places, check the Korean owned delis -- I got mine at a Korean green grocer on Bleecker St. I think you can find it in Chinatown too.

I lost at our annual poker tournament again. Not that I'm complaining -- I won once, and it wouldn't be very friendly to win more than that as house resident. Still, if I may point a finger, I blame the glögg, the Swedish mulled red wine we served in lieu of cocktails. It's Doug's Swedish mom's recipe. When we made it, we had 4 cups of sugar for 2 1/2 gallons of wine, which was plenty sweet. I've reduced the sugar by half here -- you can adjust to taste. Also, we used cheap jugs of Carlo Rossi, which was recommended by the wine snobs at the wine store as good enough for glögg.

It's so delicious, but it'll make you foggy, so no operating heavy machinery or anything afterwards, okay guys?

And in case you were wondering, it rhymes with Moog synthesizers, not banana slug or food blog.

Kristina's Glögg

1 gallon red burgundy
1 cup sugar
15 whole cardamom pods
10 whole cloves
4 slices fresh ginger
peel from one orange
3-4 cinnamon sticks
1 cup golden raisins
1 cup blanched almonds, slivered or whole

Simmer above ingredients in a covered pot over low heat for at least an hour. Do NOT bring to boil.

Add vodka or other liquors, if desired. (My Danish friend Sarah added a bottle of port to her glug -- also delicious.)

Serve in small cups with blanched almonds.

Cathy has inspired me to write the latkes recipe down. Also, I've been sick with a cold for a few days, so the question of what to do while in La Puente is moot. I suppose there's no better place to be sick than in my Mae's house, though. I can make my own jook rice porridge and watch the entire season of Ugly Betty online. Then, when my Mae comes home from work, she can put the back of her cool, small hand on my forehead and arm and fuss over me. It's kind of nice. I just finished Wicked which was quite enjoyable and much more philosophical than I had expected -- I can't imagine how a musical could properly capture the story, just as it's hard to imagine how a movie could capture Running With Scissors.

So, back to the latkes -- I started with an Epicurious recipe but tweaked it according to tips I've heard. I also hate following recipes to the letter and encourage you to riff at will.

3 lbs. russet/baking/Idaho potatoes
1 1/2 yellow onions
2 tsp. salt
A few heaping tablespoons of flour
3 eggs
Black pepper
Corn oil, peanut oil, canola oil or other frying oil
More salt

1. Using the large holes of a box grater, grate a potato. Then grate a little onion. Toss together. Alternate like that until all the potatoes and onions have been grated. (This keeps the potato from oxidizing and turning rusty or black. Neat, huh?)
2. Add salt and toss around.
3. Working a handful at a time, squeeze all the moisture you can out of your potato onion mixture.
4. Beat the three eggs and pour into the potato onion mixture. Toss.
5. Add flour and pepper and toss some more.
6. Heat up your oil. It's ready when you stick a chopstick in and tiny air bubbles start fizzing up like champagne.
7. Make 3-4 inch patties about 1/4 inch thick and slide into the oil. (Resist the temptation to make your patties too thick or wide.) Flip after you can see the edges turning golden brown, about 3-4 minutes on each side.
8. Drain on paper towels, sprinkle more salt on them and serve immediately with sour cream, applesauce, or condiment of choice.

I like serving straight out of the frying pan. I suppose you can keep them warm on a rack in a hot oven if you want to serve them all at once, but that's not as good as serving fresh from the oil and eating them while standing over the pan. My cousin's husband's family has a tradition of shrimp cocktail on Christmas; so so far, we've got two appetizers down for our Christmas traditions. Another five years and maybe we'll get a whole meal together.

I enjoy the sunny, golden warmth of winter squash soup. I like it with sour cream and pear, like the one I tasted at the Kona Cafe in Cleveland, OH; I like it with roasted garlic, like the one my cousin made for her birthday; I like it with apple; I like it with fried sage leaves; I just got a recipe full of pear, pumpkin and butter that I have to try. I'll probably be tired of it by the end of the year, but for now, I'm totally digging its thick, smooth pap texture and filling warmth.

And even though it's been crazy warm here (68 degrees, wutt wutt?), I wanted to imbue the soup with even more heat, the kind of warmth that radiates from the inside out. I came up with this recipe, which I was going to make for a Thanksgiving amuse, served in shot glasses. Ginger is one of my favorite flavors for winter because of its vaporub-on-the-inside qualities. Cardamom is the spice that gives chai its distinctive peppery heat. I ground up the black seeds from green cardamom pods, but you can just as easily use pre-ground cardamom. If you don't have garam masala on hand, make your own with whatever blend of spices you have.

Butternut squash soup with ginger and cardamom

Olive oil or butter
1 large leek, chopped
1 small onion, chopped
5 cloves garlic, minced
1 3 inch hunk of ginger, peeled and minced
2 medium carrots, peeled and chopped
1 stalk celery, chopped
1 small apple, peeled and chopped
1 pear, peeled and chopped
1 medium butternut squash (about the size of a 1L water bottle), peeled and cubed
Chicken/Vegetable broth (about 4 cups?)
Salt
1/4 tsp. ground cardamom
1/2 tsp. garam masala
1-2 tsp. lemon juice to taste
1/2 c. heavy cream

Possible garnishes:
Tiny pear brunoise
Créme fraiche or sour cream
Minced cilantro
toasted spiced pumpkin seeds or pecans

Sweat the leeks and onions in the olive oil over medium heat for a few minutes til translucent. Add garlic and ginger, saute for a minute. Add carrots, celery, apple and pear and sweat for a few more minutes. Add butternut squash and cover with chicken broth (you may need more or less chicken broth depending on how big your squash is. Also, don't add salt until after you've cooked everything down.)

Cook it down over medium low heat til the vegs are very tender, about 30 minutes. Add cardamom, garam masala, with lemon juice and salt to taste. Remove from heat. Puree with a hand blender or in an upright blender til smooth. The flavor should be bright and warm with cardamom. Add your cream and blend a little more. Serve piping hot with your choice of garnishes.

I'm hosting Thanksgiving in Sunset Park for the first time. The number of attendees keeps expanding, and being the kind of hostess that would be mortified to not have enough food, I'm trying to come up with extra side dishes for each additional guest.

I went to visit my friends the Paffenroths this morning to load up on their gorgeous Jerusalem artichokes. Not sure if I've discussed them here, but Jerusalem artichokes aren't actually from Jerusalem. They get their name from the Italian word for sunflowers, girasole, and they're the tuber of a kind of sunflower (hence their alternative name, sunchokes). Most of the time, they come in the shape of knobby, ginger-like playing jacks, but Alex Paffenroth grows a variety that's slim and cylindrical, easy to clean and handle. His sunchokes are favored by restaurants like Craft and City Bakery.

Raw, they're crisp, sweet and nutty, like jicama or water chestnuts. They're excellent roasted City Bakery style, with a little olive oil, salt and pepper, but this year I'm going to reprise a dish I made for my first New York Thanksgiving -- Jerusalem artichoke gratin. It's chic, rich, and couldn't be simpler -- and it's a great way to take advantage of some unique, seasonal, local produce. Make it the day before or the morning of, before the turkey goes in; reheat on a free rack in the oven while the turkey rests.

Jerusalem artichoke gratin

1 clove garlic
Butter
Jerusalem artichokes (1/3 to 1/2 lb. per person, depending on how many sides you already have)
Heavy cream
Nutmeg
Salt & pepper

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees. Smash the clove of garlic with the flat side of your knife. Rub the dry gratin dish with the garlic clove. (I have an oval Emile Henry enameled ceramic that's perfect for gratins -- you can also use a pyrex baking dish, Le Creuset, individual ramekins or even a cake pan, but preferably something heavy that conducts heat evenly.) Grease the garlicked dish with butter.

Peel the Jerusalem artichokes if desired. (I'm sure I won't, but I'm not fussy about skin.) Slice the Jerusalem artichokes on the bias into 1/3 inch slices. Toss with salt, pepper, and freshly grated nutmeg (not too much nutmeg -- think 7 gratings of nutmeg for each pound of Jerusalem artichokes). Arrange the slices in the dish so there are as few air pockets as possible.

Pour cream over the Jerusalem artichokes til just covered. (I know it's a lot of cream, but it's Thanksgiving!) Bake in the oven, undisturbed, for 45 minutes? an hour? or so, til Jerusalem artichokes are potato tender but not mushy. Set aside. Just before you're ready to serve, reheat for 15 minutes in a hot oven.

I stopped by the Greenmarket on Saturday to visit the first people who ever employed me in New York, the Paffenroths of Paffenroth Gardens. They're some of my favorite folks on the planet, and Alex is one of the most adventurous farmers at the market. This week, they sent me home with a bunch of Delfino cilantro, a prize winning herb that used to be thought of as a kind of ground cover. Deanne, the Paffenroths' daughter, tells me that the restaurants have been buying it up, so don't be surprised if you find it on your next fancy plate.

Frilly Delfino cilantro tastes a bit like cilantro crossed with carrot tops -- a bit more grassy and a bit less soapy than regular cilantro. I love the assertiveness of cilantro, so Delfino doesn't qualify as a replacement for cilantro for me. But it is lovely when you want a more subtle accent. I made this easy warm side dish to go with a curried pork loin roast. I didn't put in the chopped heirloom tomatoes, but I think they'd be nice if you've got some on hand. These are the best few weeks of Greenmarketing, when new winter squash, greens and apples meet corn, peaches, tomatoes and berries. Take advantage of the bounty before the first frost sets in.

Spaghetti Squash with Delfino cilantro and heirloom tomato

1 small to medium spaghetti squash
1 small heirloom tomato, chopped
2 tbsp. butter
salt & pepper
2 tbsp. minced Delfino cilantro

1. Poke fork holes all over your spaghetti squash. Throw it on the bare rack in a 400 degree oven for an hour, flipping it once or twice (or not -- mine always winds up with a burnt bottom because I always forget to flip it, but it doesn't really make that much of a difference).
2. Squeeze the spaghetti squash to check for doneness -- it should give a little. Set it aside to cool for 15 minutes or til you can deal with it.
3. Slice the squash in half lengthwise, scooping out the seeds. Using a fork, fluff the spaghetti squash into strands. Scoop the strands out of the shell and place in a large bowl.
4. Add butter, tomato and Delfino cilantro. Salt and pepper to taste. Serve warm.

Delfino cilantro ($1/bunch), spaghetti squash (I believe 75 cents a pound), and heirloom tomatoes (an unbeatable $1/pound) are available at the Paffenroth Gardens stand at the Union Square Greenmarket, Wednesdays and Saturdays.

So yes, I've been very busy this month and I missed a You Are What You Eat for the week. I'm very sorry. I will be busy running around like a dizzy cockroach til after Sept. 9, the day my dear friends Winnie and Chris get married.

My big event for this weekend was Winnie's bachelorette bash in fanancy Wainscott, close to Bridgehampton. No, the Hamptons are not my stilo, and we don't usually roll like that -- in fact, this was my first time in the Hamptons, and I've lived in New York City for over 7 years. But our friend has a friend who has a house there, so all 22 of our X chromosomes and ovaries got to convene in a pretty little beach house there. It was heavenly. We gabbed, exfoliated, played Scrabble on the beach, discussed the merits and demerits of feminine products, and participated in all manner of pre-marital rituals which I cannot reveal here.

And of course, everyone being a friend of Winnie's, we cooked up a storm and ate like queens. I lugged four bags up to the house for the weekend, and most of it was food from the Friday Greenmarket. When cooking at a weekend rental, there are a few essentials I like to make sure I bring with me: my santoku knife, a paring knife, a cutting board, garlic, and olive oil. Butter and parmigiano reggiano came too. I also hauled up a few pounds of peaches and nectarines (from Migliorelli -- divine, especially the scarlet-skinned nectarines, exploding with juice), four ripe tomatoes from Sycamore Farms, two loaves of rustic bread, a few pieces of cheese from Bobolink Dairy Farm (the semi-soft drum cheese was especially good), a gorgeous bunch of basil, candy-striped and red beets from Yuno Farms, and ten ears of white corn from Sycamore Farms.

Seems like overkill, I know, especially considering that I am my own sherpa, but I suspected that the pickings within walking distance of the house wouldn't be as excellent as the bounty in Union Square, and I was right. There was a small fruit and vegetable stand by a corn field between the house and the beach that was done up to look all country quaint, with overpriced fruit and vegetables piled up in teal woodpulp baskets. But selection was limited and I could tell the fruit was not from 'round these parts. I correctly guessed that the huge cherries were from Washington, and I think the peaches were from California. I saw a cardboard box in the back stuck with all the peach stickers they had peeled off those peaches -- I guess PLU numbered stickers don't really fit with the wholesome roadside stand image. Seems like a crime to be selling out-of-town tennis ball peaches when the locals are so good right now, but I'm not sure the Hamptonites care.

Saturday night's grand feast included pan-fried Spanish mackerel with fennel, sage and butter, seared scallops, and an array of vegetable sides. The most surprising dish (to me) was a fabulous herb-laden pasta dish my friend Jeeyoon made. Simple, green and robustly aromatic, it's an herbacious expression of excess in a light, summery dish. It's also an excellent side for fish. I'm fudging a recipe from memory here, changing a few steps and adding a little garlic to her recipe for bite -- though it was delicious without it.

Spaghetti with herbs and cherry tomatoes

1 1b. package of spaghetti
2 pints cherry or grape tomatoes
Olive oil
2 large cloves garlic, minced
1 large bunch parsley, stems removed
1 smaller bunch dill
1 handful of sage leaves
1 small bunch basil
1 bunch mint
Salt & pepper
Grated parmigiano

Cook spaghetti according to directions. Halve the cherry tomatoes. Mince all of your herbs. Gently heat up a good amount of olive oil, about a cup, in a saute pan. Add garlic and cook for a minute over medium heat, but don't let it brown. Add your cherry tomatoes and toss them around for another minute. Toss the minced herbs with the tomatoes and garlic and turn off the heat. Toss your cooked spaghetti in the herb tomato mixture. Add more olive oil to moisten as necessary and season with salt and pepper. Serve immediately with grated parmigiano. Serves 10 side dish servings if you've got 5 other courses as we did. Otherwise, I would say it serves 4 main or 6 side.

On a side note: I had a fabulous, fabulous weekend with the girls, but the Hamptons -- let's discuss. I get it -- clean beaches, blue blue ocean as far as the eye can see, an easy if crowded train ride away from the city. But the ostentatious houses with 20 foot privet hedges are a little gross, as are the abundance of codpiece sports cars and the lushly irrigated gardens (I'm from California -- as far as I'm concerned, the world is experiencing a perpetual drought.) Is there some dress code written into the city ordinance that requires women of a certain age to plump up their lips, blond up their hair, and wear white capris and fishing hats? Do the men receive standard issue pastel polo shirts once they've broiled on the beach to the precise shade of borscht? I know I shouldn't be surprised, but what's up with the J. Crew catalog homogeny? I definitely felt like an outsider. I guess I'm a bit too low rent for les Hamptons. Not that I would kick any of those houses out of bed.

On Saturday, eight of us were splayed on a pair of blankets on the lawn, soaking up the dappled morning sunshine, when Heej and Francis brilliantly suggested making Pimm's. After about an hour more of laying about, Heej, Blaise, Sarah & I piled into the car and drove into town in search of Pimm's and fixings.

We came back from our mission hungry and thirsty. All the boys and two newly arrived guests were lounging out by the pool. Heej mixed up a batch of Pimm's with the one bottle I had gotten at the store. The four ladies wound up gulping down two tall glasses each. Let me tell you something, there is nothing more refreshing, civilized and drinkable on a hot summer day. It's the kind of thing you can sip all day and maintain a nice, pleasant buzz for eight hours straight. And I'm not just saying that 'cause I'm an alcoholic.

I got to work on cooking up our lunch, homemade pork gyoza and boiled shrimp dumplings. Thank God we had wrapped the dumplings and frozen them the day before -- after two long glasses of Pimm's, I don't think I could have handled cooking anything more complicated. Only then did we begrudgingly bring the rest of the Pimm's pitcher, along with small glasses with too much ice and platters of dumplings, to the revelers by the pool.

That Pimm's was so pitch perfect with our poolside lunch that it was gone in about 15 minutes. We wound up going back to the wine shop in town and basically buying out the last five bottles from the amazing Hudson Wine Merchants. Next shipment doesn't come in til Tuesday. Sorry, Hudson.

There are people in the Hamptons and elsewhere spending a lot more money on the summer weekends to sit at fancier pools in fancier houses eating fancier food with fancier people. But they can't possibly be having as much as fun as we were.

Pimm's Cup

This is the perfect daytime party punch. Make some in a big sun tea pitcher and sneak it into Prospect Park for one of the Bandshell concerts. All you have to do is pre-slice the garnish and add it to large dixie cups with ice. Pimm's has an herbal, not too sweet flavor that's perfect for sipping on a hot day. We added mint from the garden.

1 bottle of Pimm's No. 1
1 bottle ginger ale
Ice
Thinly sliced lemon
Sliced strawberries
Thinly sliced cucumber
Fresh mint, bruised

Mix Pimm's and ginger ale in a pitcher. Fill each glass with ice, a slice of lemon, a slice of cucumber, a few slices of strawberry, and three bruised mint leaves, then pour Pimm's and ginger in. Gulp and cool down.

Boiled Shrimp and Watercress Dumplings

Making dumplings is actually part of the eightfold path to Buddhist enlightenment. Confucius say it's also a good activity for sitting around and gossiping. Fresh dumpling wrappers are easier to work with than defrosted previously frozen ones. You can get fresh wrappers at most stores in Chinatown (try the Vietnamese shop by the Grand St. D or B stop). Folding dumplings is pretty easy, but it would be easier to demo on video and I'm not that high-tech...yet. Anyway, if you can't figure out how to do it, just put the filling in the middle, fold the circle in half, seal the half-moon with water and press it together. I won't judge you.

1 lb. shrimp, shelled and deveined
1/2 bunch watercress, chopped (about 2 cups)
1/2 cup chopped garlic chives
2 scallions, sliced thinly
2 tbsp. minced ginger
1 tbsp. minced garlic
salt and pepper
1 tbsp. sesame oil
flour for plate or tupperware
1 package thin yellow dumpling wrappers

Chop the shrimp coarsely. Add the watercress, garlic chives, scallions, ginger, garlic, salt, pepper, and sesame oil and mix with your clean hand. Place about a teaspoon of filling in the center of the dumpling skin, fold dumplings and seal well; line them up in a single layer on a floured plate or tupperware. Freeze until ready to cook. Makes about 30 dumplings.

When ready to cook, boil large pot of water. Boil dumplings in batches until the dumplings float and are cooked through, about three minutes. Serve immediately with dipping sauce. You can also boil the dumplings and serve in chicken broth, the way they do at Sweet n' Tart in Chinatown.

Pork Gyoza

These can also be boiled instead -- just remember to seal them well if you're boiling them.

1/4 small head of cabbage
2 lbs. ground pork
1 cup chopped garlic chives
1 cup thinly sliced scallions
3 tbsp. minced ginger
2 tbsp. minced garlic
2 tbsp. sesame oil
3 tbsp. soy sauce
flour for plate or tupperware
2 packages of white gyoza/dumpling wrappers
Oil
Water

Boil the cabbage until just tender, maybe 5 minutes. Rinse under cold water. Squeeze as much water as you can out of the cabbage. Finely chop the cabbage. Add the pork, garlic chives, scallions, ginger, garlic, sesame oil, soy sauce. Mix with your clean hand, squishing and squeezing the meat mixture between your fingers. Place about a teaspoon of filling in the center of the gyoza skin, fold the dumplings, line them up on a floured plate or tupperware in a single layer, and freeze until ready to cook.

When you're ready to cook them, heat up a thick-bottomed frying pan with a lid on medium heat -- cast iron, All-Clad saute pan, and nonstick would all work well. Add a tbsp. of oil and swish it around to cover the bottom of the pan. Place your gyoza in single file rows of five in the pan so they sit up with the folds perpendicular to the pan bottom. Add 1/2 cup of water to the pan so there's about 1/8 of an inch of water in the bottom of the pan and cover. Steam the gyoza, covered and undisturbed, until the water has evaporated and the oil has begun to fry the bottoms. Check after about 5 minutes -- the dumpling bottoms should come off the pan easily and be a nice, crunchy golden brown. Get a nice long spatula and slip it under a row of gyoza in a single motion motion. Flip the row onto the serving plate so the crunchy bottoms are face up and repeat til done. Serve immediately with dipping sauce. Makes about 60 dumplings, which is enough for anywhere between 4-8 people, depending on whom you're serving.

Dumpling dipping sauce

Hot sesame oil is called rayu in Japanese. You can get it at Sunrise Mart or any Japanese market. I like the one that comes in a tiny red bottle with a button you press that gives you a few drops out of the spout -- I think it's House brand.

1 part soy sauce
1 part rice vinegar
A few drops (or more) of hot sesame oil

Mix and serve on small individual sauce dishes.