Cherries with feta

Home.  

There are many ways to interpret where 'home' is.  For some people, it is where they live now, for others it is where they were born, where they grew up, or where their parent's live.  As for me, I am still not sure where 'home' is.  You see, I was born in Oklahoma, grew up in Oklahoma, and still live in Oklahoma.  But I have never felt that I belonged here.  As a kid, once a year my parents would take me with them to California, Florida, or Mexico once a year in the summertime for a little vacation.  I think at the time I was too young to appreciate being in those other places.  Of course, even by the time I was 8 years old I knew a good filet mignon from a bad one, but I was not yet able to appreciate any of the local foods and cultures.   

There were a few years in between our family vacations and my going to Europe for the first time.  Fortunately, I was much older (17 years old) and already completely food obsessed.  I remember almost everything I ate and how it all tasted.  I can remember just experiencing so much while I was there that I didn't want to leave.  I kept a journal to make sure that I never lost any of those memories and took photos as well.  Since then, I have enjoyed vacations in Montreal and Bulgaria, the latter being my most recent.  Bulgaria in the summertime is spectacular.  Their produce rivals even that of the freshest you could find at any farmers' markets in America.  The cities are so large and yet so compact that it only makes sense to walk the one or two miles to the restaurant that you will be having dinner at.  Everyday, our hotel rooms were stocked with cherries, apricots, and strawberries that were so sweet, juicy, and ripe.  Walking around the city, you will find the fruit stands just overflowing with fruit, the tables groaning under the weight, just begging you to come and buy some.  

I felt what they call 'culture shock' not when I entered Bulgaria, but when I came back to America.  They are such different lifestyles, and I feel even the same when returning from France, Italy, and Montreal. Those, to me, are where home is.  Those are the places that I have been happiest, and thankfully, I am able to visit them and pretend to live there, at least for a few days.

I know that you might think me crazy for finding inspiration from a hotel's breakfast buffet, but this hotel did things right.  Sure they had toast, bacon, and scrambled eggs, but they also had ruby red tomatoes, cucumbers, feta cheese, yogurt, and tons of fruit out every morning as well.  The second day that I had arrived at my house from the airport, I walked to the grocery store, for the first time, and bought a bag of cherries, among other things.  After a day or two of eating them as they were, I thought back to the breakfast buffet, and after a second of ice box rummaging, obtained a bit of feta. I took the pits out of the cherries and set the feta ontop of them and savored every bite.

Please, taste cherries before you buy them, as their ripeness and sweetness can vary vastly, especially when your only supplier is the super market.  When you have a bag of perfectly sweet and juicy cherries, I urge you to get ahold of some good feta (not the pre-crumbled kind, please) and marry the two in a bowl or on a plate of straight off of the kitchen counter.  It is sweet and salty, but in a very fresh and summery way.  

Dolmades

When in Rome.......or at least, that is how the saying begins.  

Like many other people, I love to travel- live, to travel, even.  Whether revisiting an old city or venturing to a new city, the excitement, planning, and memories mean more to me than I can express.  I have been very fortunate in my (near) 22 years of life to have been to several states and a few countries and traveled by car, bus, train, and plane.  I have enjoyed all of my trips immensely and for a multitude of reasons.  Take, for example, fresh fruit on hot summer mornings in Mexico, buying bread and wine in France, eating absurd amounts of velvety gelato in Italy, and even warming up with a big bowl of poutine in Montreal (google poutine, I dare you.  Rest assured that is isn't the most beautiful thing in the world, and, for some, even the description is off-putting, but after one bite you will be a slave to it.  You will seek it out.  You will go to a place called 'Frites Alors' and marvel at the menu that is comprised entirely of different versions of the stuff....I digress....)

As for 2008, I was to make my biggest trek across the globe yet.  Farther east than even Italy, to a place I had heard of many times from good friends, a country called Bulgaria.  On a lovely evening in Montreal, between my birthday (18) and my Mother's (50) we were sitting on the balcany of our hotel enjoying a beer and watching the sun set.  I went inside of the room, no doubt for another beer seeing as back in America, I was underage, and found that I had a message from my dear friend, Diana.  She had invited me to fly home with her to Bulgaria for the winter holidays to visit her family.  Now, by this time I had done most of the aforementioned traveling, so I was more than happy to add this to my list.  Naturally, I accepted and set off to plan my trip for Bulgaria while vacationing in Montreal.  Hurried phone calls were made, there was much  giggling, and my savings account was quickly diminishing, but how could I care?  I was going to spend not one, but two weeks in Bulgaria with some of the kindest people that I have ever met.  Diana had moved to another state, so the first hurdle was to fly to her from Oklahoma.  I had never flown before, but I was not afraid, infact, I was very excited.  I felt so grown-up.  

We stayed at her apartment for a day or so, packing and repacking, shopping, and more packing, but eventually making it to the airport and then to Bulgaria.  Our final destination was to be the capitol city, Sofia and what a city it is.  I honestly wish that I had remembered more about my trip, but it was such a whirl wind trip that most of what I remember was the food we ate, the people we met, and the many, many clubs that we went to.  One of my most fond memories was after a night of club hopping and chapped cheeks, arriving back to their parents' apartment early in the morning with Diana's younger sister.  After the rickety ride in the elevator, and unlocking the many locks to the front door, managing to somehow get off our snow encrusted boots, we would shuffle into the kitchen like school girls foraging for the makings of a midnight feast.  We did this on several occasions, and indeed, Diana's mother being the fantastic cook that she is, the ice box was always stuffed with that night's leftovers just for us.  One night, before Christmas, I believe it was, there was a massive pan on stuffed grape vine leaves.  We knew we shouldn't have, but we couldn't help our selves.  I went to the ice box for some yogurt, and Boriana for a plate and some vine leaves and together we feasted.  I had had vine leaves before, but never fresh and homemade.  These were such a joy to eat, and now, as I can say from experience, a joy to make as well.  Qutie simple to make, really, requiring little more than some cooked rice, sauteed onion, and then its fill, roll, and simmer.

112 grams grape leaves, packed in brine

1/3c. arborio (or other) rice

1/2c. finely chopped white onion

1 clove garlic, finely minced (or grated)

1/2c. minced tomatoes

2T. chopped pine nuts

zest & juice of half a lemon

1T. fresh* dill, chopped

2T. fresh* parsley, chopped

1T. fresh* mint, chopped

1T. olive oil, and more for cooking

-To begin, place the grape leaves into a bowl and pour over freshly boiled water.  Let this set for 20 minutes, then drain and repeat with tepid water. 

-Meanwhile, cook the rice in a small pan using a ratio of one part rice to two parts water. Bring the water to a boil, and then cover and simmer for 15-20 minutes.

-In a saute pan, saute the onion, tomatoes, and garlic until they begin to color and soften.  

-Combine the vegetables with the rice in a bowl and add the pine nuts, lemon components, and herbs.  Stir to combine.

-Now is time for the rolling:  take a grape leaf and place it on a surface (I am quite fond of a wooden cutting board) with the 'shiny' side facing down.  Cut out any stems, if neccessarry.  Place a reasonable amount(1-2 teaspoons) of the rice mixture on the widest part of the leaf and then roll as if you were making spring rolls or a burrito, rolling part of the way, tucking in the sides, and finish rolling.  When you have finished a roll, place it into a flame resistant pot.  (The only thing about this pot that you need to make sure of is that you have a place that will fit into the pot to hold down the rolls while they cook.)  Continue rolling and 'potting' the dolmades until you have run out of leaves, rice, or both.  Place the aforementioned plate directly over the dolmades, and cover with water and the olive oil.  Bring this to a boil and simmer for 40-45 minutes.  Let them cool in the broth (store in this broth as well).  

Rose Scented Yogurt with Pistachios

As with every season, summer brings a bevy of different flavours, textures, and cravings.  Everything seems to be cool, crisp, and fresh. Think crisp baby greens, luscious tomatoes, juicy melons, sweet strawberries, and tart cherries. 

 It is funny what heat does to the mind, and I am so amused to think of the other things that we begin to crave that aren't necessarily 'cooling' or 'crisp', like honey.  And pistachios.  And greek-style yogurt.   These three things, along with a drop of rose water and the merest pinch of cardamom make for the perfect breakfast for a hot summer morning. 

It is both light but pleasantly filling.  It is a little sweet and a little salty and there is nothing that the crunch of a pistachio enrobed in creamy yogurt can't fix. 

5 oz. greek yogurt (fat content of your choice, but I prefer 0%)

1t. honey (raw is lovely here)

1 drop of rose water

1 pinch of dried cardamom

12 salted pistachios, crushed

Just combine the first four ingredients and stir to combine in a bowl.  Sprinkle on the crushed pistachios and enjoy.

Please take head with the rosewater; if you are unfamiliar with it, it is lovely when used in small quantities, but much like that violet eye-liner you had in highschool, more is not more.  This is some pretty potent stuff and it can go from pleasantly floral to your grandmothers potpourri in a matter of drops. 

Rhubarb and Chevre Toasts

It isn't often that I have left overs in my house.  When I do, I am usually unsure of how to use them, other than how they were originally intended.  While there is certainly nothing wrong with that, it does seem like bit of a waste. 

There are entire cook books, blogs, and who knows what else that are dedicated in their entirety to the wondrous 'left over'.  When I cook, I adapt most recipes to suite the amount needed for my boyfriend and I or just myself.  Truth be told, I do that mostly to avoid having left overs.  You see, there are so many recipes out there, new ones each day, every hour, every minute, that I feel as though I will never be able to whittle down my ever growing stack of clippings, jotted down recipes, and dog-eared cook books. 

When it is my turn to cook, I make something different, almost every time.  I rarely make the same thing twice so when I do, you know it was good.  Luckily, rhubarb is one of those things that I don't have many recipes for, so when I had some broiled rhubarb left over from a salad I made, it was a rather momentous occasion.  It took me a couple of days to sort out what I wanted to do with it, after all, I had only one chance and I did not want to mess it up. 

Also, left over from the salad, some chevre and while there were some greens in the ice box as well, I wanted to take at least a some what different approach.  A couple of days later, after arriving home utterly famished from a yoga class, it was time to go into action.  Poking around the cupboards and ice box, I knew I didn't want it over yogurt or cottage cheese, but after seeing a slice of bread I knew what I wanted. 

After a few brief intervals of toasting: first bread, then bread and a layer of chevre, and then with the final crowning of rhubarb, this perfect little snack is just how left overs should be. 

If it seems a little silly to broil only a small portion of rhubarb, by all means, broil a few stalks and stash them in a jar in the ice box.  As you will see, they are broiled with a bit of honey, so any that you would have left over would be lovely spooned over some custard, ice cream, cottage cheese, yogurt, or any other way that you can think.  Rhubarb is so tart that even with the honey, it is lovely with savory dished as well.  If you don't have any chevre around, ricotta or cream cheese would be just as lovely.

4 inches of rhubarb (or 3-4 stalks), cut into 1/2 inch slices
1/2-1 t. honey (or 1 tablespoon)

1-2T. chevre (fresh goat's cheese)

1 slice of bread

-In an oven safe dish, broil the rhubarb and honey until soft, 3-5 minutes.
-Then comes the toasting: first the naked bread, then cheese smeared bread, and then, with the rhubarb, if using from ice box. 

Of course, if you are using the rhubarb that you just made, there is no reason for the third toasting.  Be sure to have some coarse salt near by when you eat this, either kosher or french grey sea salt for sprinkling.

Crisp Rice Squares

For some one with an almost insatiable sweet tooth, I surprise even myself with how little I bake.  It isn't that I don't have the time or energy or don't like to, it is just that it isn't possible for me to bake a pan of brownies and have any left- after ten minutes.  I cannot be left alone with mass quantities of sweet things.  I cannot be trusted.  If you wanted some of those cookies, sorry Charlie.  They are probably gone.  History. 

It may also surprise you to know that after close to three years of being with a man who has not one, but two children who also have insatiable sweet tooths, did it occur to me to bake for them.  That way I can have my cake and they can too.  I am still so set in my ways that I don't bake and confect sweet things as much as I would like to, but even though old habits die hard, I am in for the fight.  After all, there are 'Crispy Rice Squares' at stake....

 

If you have never made these before, go now and by the three ingredients that you need and take five minutes out of your afternoon to make them.  You will not be disappointed.  They are a cinch to make by merely melting a pat of butter with a package of mini marshmallows, stirring it into a box of crisp rice cereal, and pressing into a pan.  Yes, they are terribly easy to make.  Yes, they are absurdly sweet.  Yes, they are much to easy to eat.  I say, go for it. 

These were adapted from the wonderful Nigella Lawson from Feast.

I cut the recipe in half because we were only four, but they were quite thin, so even if it is only a small amount of people, I would consider making the full batch.  There isn't anything in this to go bad anyways, so left overs are a mere gift, should there be any.

2T. butter
6c. mini marshmallows (one package)
6c. crispy rice cereal (one box)

-Melt the butter and marshmallows together over a gently flame in a pot, stirring occasionally.  It may seem tedious, but the goal is to avoid accidentally burning the sugar in the marshmallows.
-When melted, stir into the cereal, working quickly as the mixture cools surprisingly rapidly, and press into a buttered dish, 8x8 or 9x9. 

Tarator

I have always been turned off by cold soups.  The idea of sipping and slurping something from a spoon that isn't hot and soothing or cold and pudding like just seems wrong to me.  Even being a self-proclaimed lover of all things french, I cannot stand to eat vichyssoise and I have never really been one for gazpacho (however, I make a wonderful self-titled 'white-trash' version with one container of salsa and one (smaller) container of pickled vegetables from a local Mexican restaurant that I mix together that isn't half bad).  

Considering that I have a pretty broad palette when it comes to food and am even daring at times when it comes to trying new things, I cannot help but be surprised with myself for not liking something so simple.  Luckily, a couple of weeks ago, I found a recipe that caught my attention.  It was, indeed, for a cold soup.  It is a Bulgarian version of something that may have originated in Greece, or maybe the Greek make their own version of the original Bulgarian version.  Either way, tarator (таратор) is easily described as a sort of thin tatziki but with out the burn of raw onion that tatziki can sometimes have and with the richness of olive oil.  It is a dream to put together and even more so to eat.  So much so that I have made it no less than three times in two weeks!   

Begin with some yogurt, a couple of grated Persian cucumbers, a few cloves of garlic, fresh dill, some  good olive oil, and a few stirs later you have a gorgeous soup that is both refreshing and filling perfect for the scorching summer months.

400g. yogurt (~16oz or half of a large tub)
2 Persian or Kirby Cucumbers

3 cloves of garlic

2T. fresh dill

1T. extra virgin olive oil

1-3c. water 

salt, to taste

-Mix the yogurt to get out any lumps and begin grating: the cucumber (parts of the skin might not grate:  just discard (or eat!) the pieces) and the garlic.  

-Chop and stir in the dill.

-Stir in the olive oil and begin adding the water starting with one cup and continuing in half cup increments until you get the texture that you prefer.  (I prefer to use a whisk at this point.)

-Add salt to taste. 

Avoid black pepper here as I feel that it is a distraction to the fresh and natural flavours of the tangy yogurt, the spicy garlic, and the crisp cucumber.

If you have some walnuts (I use raw, but toasted would be fine) on hand, then chop up just 1/4-1/2oz. per bowl and stir in.  I wouldn't add them to the whole batch, which serves two-three, until you are ready to serve.  Certainly, this is a bowl of fresh flavours, but it is much better and mellowed after at least a day or so in the ice box.  

The rhubarb story....

One day, a few years ago, I sat down with my Meme to discuss what she wanted for dessert on Mother's day.  As we talked and talked, our conversation wandered off topic, as they so often do, and soon she began telling me the "Rhubarb Story".  It wasn't much of an epic tale, more just a happening.  An occurrence, if you will.  It was a sweet nothing that she happened to remember, all of these years later. 

Right after her and my Grandad got married, sometime around 1943 or 1944, they moved to Lawton into an apartment that they had found.  They were in their early twenties, and my Grandad was going off to the war soon, in the same fashion as most couples then.  They didn't have much money, and it was a very hot day.  The Landlord, who also had an ice cream parlor, took pity on the tired new couple and invited them to come down and have a cup of rhubarb ice cream to cool off.  She didn't even charge them.

  My Meme loves rhubarb, which something that not really any one from the family knew.  At the time of that story, I didn't even know what rhubarb was, short of it being some type of produce.  I don't know what it was exactly that struck me so, but I have never forgotten that story.  Maybe it was the fact that my Meme had a look of pure delight when she got to the part of the rhubarb ice cream.  I had never seen her eat anything rhubarb, in all of my years and it seemed odd to me, for her to love something so much and me having never seen her enjoy it.  Or even mention it previous to that.  I assume it was because it was something only she really cared for, so why would she make everyone else eat it?

Our afternoon drifted along, not really making any progress on a dessert decision.  A few days later, with the idea of rhubarb still very prominent in my mind, I decided to search for a rhubarb ice cream recipe.  I promptly found a recipe for 'Strawberry Rhubarb Ice Cream' on Martha Stewart's website.  It seemed simple enough.  Just cook the rhubarb in a simple syrup, and combine it with pureed strawberries and heavy cream.  After a rest in the ice box, it is ready to be churned and eaten.  It took me a few phone calls, and a couple of trips to the market but I got a hold of some rhubarb and got started. 

At the time, I was working in a restaurant and wasn't able to get home in time for the get-together my family was having.  The ice cream was a hit with my Meme and mostly everyone else and there as even some left for me to have!  I thought to take it to a boy that I fancied at the time, you know, to woo him.  About a week later, we got together and much to my dismay, it was not just us two.  He had invited his friend, Michael, over.  I remember him sitting on the couch, his left leg propped up with a wrap over his ankle (he had broken it) and a crutch leaning against the wall.  Naturally, I had to share the ice cream, and they both liked it.  Michael kept flirting with me and even, boldly, asked if he could 'see my phone'.  I told him no, and when he asked why, I said because I knew that he was going to call his phone with mine so that he could have my number, the sneaky devil.

It took about six months of persistence, on his part, but one day in late October, the 26 to be precise, we had our first date.  We have been together for over two and a half years now and I owe it all to rhubarb ice cream.

Rhubarb Ice Cream, adapted from Martha Stewart's recipe

The original recipe was misprinted and should call for 1c. + 1/4c. + 2T. of sugar.  I didn't realise this and have grown quite fond of my tart version of this ice cream.  I love tart and tangy things in general, but if you prefer a sweeter ice cream, then feel free to use the extra cup called for. I also leave out the kirsch because, at the time, I was not yet 21 and couldn't buy the stuff. 

1lb. rhubarb*
1/4c. + 2T. sugar
2T. water
12oz. strawberries
1c. heavy cream
1/2c. milk

-Begin by cleaning the rhubarb, cutting it into 1/2in. or so pieces and placing it in a pan with the sugar and water.  Cook over a medium heat, until the rhubarb it tender.
-Meanwhile, puree the strawberries and out the through a sieve to remove and bits or seeds.
-Once the rhubarb is is cooked, let it cool slightly and puree.  Put this through a sieve as well.  Combine with the strawberries, cream and milk.
-Let rest in the icebox until it is thoroughly chilled and churn in an ice cream maker**, according to it's instructions.

*Rhubarb can be found in both light pink-ish green shades and vibrant pink shades.  I recommend the pinkest that you can find, and also the smallest stalks, as they will be the youngest.  The stalks I usually by are around 1.5 inches wide and 12-16 inches in length.

**If you do not have an ice cream maker, whip the cream to soft peaks before folding in the remaining ingredients and omit the milk.  Pour into a bowl or dish, cover, and freeze until frozen.