an open cupboard

Úlfr Grímsson lumbers into the dark, noisy tavern. He is famished from a long day of seafaring and battle, and thirsty for a good jug of mead. Úlfr wearily lugs his Viking gear and sack into the tavern’s back room, carefully wipes the blood off the end of his spear, and hangs it on the wall along with his hatchet. (His wife has nagged him a thousand times about bringing dirty implements of battle into the house. He knows better than to raise the ire of the tavern keeper’s watchful wife.) He leans his shield against the wall. Úlfr heaves a sigh of relief as he lays down his load and takes a seat on the bench at his favorite table.

The tavern keeper quickly appears with a menu. He inquires about the welfare of Úlfr’s wife Tórfa, and about his travels at sea. Úlfr exchanges pleasantries and is soon perusing the menu.

Úlfr chooses the boar stew, a warm, satisfying meal at the end of a long day. The tavern keeper quickly brings him a mug of mead and a bowl of cabbage soup to start with. (The tavern keeper has learned from experience that Hungry Vikings tend to get peevish.) The soup is sweetened with honey and fortified with meat stock. The cabbage is buttery and warm.

Next comes the boar stew, along with warm, coarse bread and creamy farmer’s cheese. Úlfr hungrily digs into the stew with a spoon. The stew is a mess of flavors that mingle in his mouth. The boar is gamey and fresh, the prunes are soft and sweet, the mushrooms are earthy. The chunks of parsnip surprise him, their tuberous, grassy flavor deepening with each bite. Strong, dependable parsnips, rich, grounded, mushrooms, and sweet, plump prunes. “Like Tórfa,” says Úlfr, laughing to himself. He eats a big spoonful of stew with tangy sour cream and lingonberries, and thinks of home.

The tavern keeper appears and takes away the empty plates. He soon returns with dessert, prepared by the tavern keeper’s wife. A long board with three earthenware bowls is placed before Úlfr: forest berry compote, curd cake with nuts, and whipped cream. Úlfr wipes dribbled stew off his beard with the tablecloth and finishes his mead. The sight of the red berries and sweet whipped cream have piqued his hunger again. He scoops up a spoonful of soft, sweet berries, then crumbly, nutty cake, and airy whipped cream, and devours it. He closes his eyes as the textures and flavors blend in his mouth. Úlfr repeats the ritual while a minstrel plays a lute and sings.

Belching loudly, Úlfr stretches his arms and heaves himself off the bench, tossing his payment to the tavern keeper. He yawns and gathers his pack, then takes his hatchet and spear off their hanging place on the wall. He picks up his shield and makes his way towards the door. Stepping out into the cold night, Úlfr heads home to Tórfa.

Sjätte Tunnan
Stora Nygatan 43
111 27 Stockholm
Tel: 08-440 09 19

The other day, I met Anne of Anne’s Food here in Stockholm. Anne and her husband very kindly invited me over to their home for a proper Swedish dinner. You can read Anne’s post detailing the delicious menu, here.

I have to say that Jansson’s Temptation was my favorite—a sort of potato casserole made of grated potatoes, cream, butter, and anchovies. The sweet cream, salty/umami anchovies, and earthy, dense potatoes make an tasty and unique dish, melding disparate flavors and textures. I’m still not sure how to describe cloudberries. There’s something vaguely familiar about their flavor, but I can’t pinpoint a specific taste memory that is even remotely similar. They were delicious as Anne prepared them, cooked briefly with a little sugar and spooned over Swedish vanilla ice cream.

I’ve been swooning over Swedish vanilla ice cream, and for good reason, it seems. According to Anne, most cows in Sweden are pastured, not fattened on soybeans and wading in cow cookies. Grass-fed-pastured-non-rbST-happy-healthy-Walt-Whitman-reading cows are the *norm* here, because there is no real agribusiness machine to rage against. The result is very fresh-tasting, full-flavored dairy products.

Thanks, Anne, for a great day and a lovely dinner!

These photos are of Östermalms Saluhall, a gourmet food hall in the upscale region of Östermalm. The hall includes a variety of stalls, including a bakery, confectionary, greengrocers, fishmongers, butchers, and cheese shops. There are stalls that sell homemade goods like Swedish meatballs, quiches, potato puffs, pâtés, and fish spreads. Östermalms Saluhall also has restaurants, including both Japanese smørrebrød eateries. A coffee and tea shop offers an extensive variety of both purveyors of caffeine.

Fresh cloudberries in their own juice.

Cakes at a confectioner’s stall.

A fishmonger’s stall.

Crayfish

Havskräftor, of course. I’m guessing they’re langoustines.

American and Nordic lobsters, from the Atlantic and Northern Atlantic, respectively.

Fresh hazelnuts. Who knew?

Nuts (not sure what kind… anyone?). A few almonds thrown in for good measure.

A box of famously delicious new potatoes. The grocer said they need to be refrigerated for optimal freshness and flavor.

Cabbage plants for sale at an outdoor nursery right outside of Östermalms Saluhall. According to the Vasa Museum, growing cabbage is an old Swedish tradition.

Here’s a recipe for a light summer supper.

spinach, ricotta, and gorgonzola not pesto with pasta
1 lb pasta, cooked and drained, 1-2 cups reserved cooking water
butter
1 bunch fresh spinach, washed, trimmed, and coarsely chopped
1/3 lb fresh ricotta cheese
3-4 TBS crumbled blue cheese (I used Point Reyes)
1 ripe tomato, roughly chopped
salt and pepper to taste
dash of nutmeg

• Melt a little butter in the pot you used to cook the pasta, and add in the spinach.
• Cover, and cook on medium heat. If the spinach gets too dry, add a little splash of pasta water.
• When the spinach has just wilted, turn off the flame. If there is visible liquid in the pot, you can drain it, save it for soup, or use it to moisten the pasta.
• Crumble in the ricotta cheese.
• Blitz the spinach and ricotta with a stick blender until it turns into a sauce. Don’t make it too liquidy, stop as soon as the spinach and cheese begin to meld. You might want to experiment a bit with the texture, leaving some spinach leaves unblitzed.
• Crumble in the blue cheese and stir. Taste. If you like a stronger blue cheese flavor, add more.
• Toss in the tomatoes and season to taste with salt and pepper. Sprinkle in a dash of nutmeg, stir, and taste to correct seasoning.
• Plate pasta and moisten with a splash of cooking water. Toss pasta with the not pesto and grate parmegiano reggiano cheese on top.

Serves 2-3

When there’s no bread in the cupboard, and you don’t feel like making popcorn, a good cracker is just the thing for a crisp, mid-morning snack. Along with a slice or two of sharp cheddar cheese, crackers are wonderfully crunchy and filling, perhaps moreso because of their crunchiness. Alas, not all crackers are created equal. I’ve often been disappointed by crackers that go stale only a few days after opening the package, their once satisfying crunch dwindling down to a sad crumble. And don’t even get me started on those mass-produced boxes of hydrogenated soybean oil, with a cardboard texture and a gauzy mouthfeel. The best crackers are crunchy and fresh, without unappealing ingredients that serve as cheap shelf-life extenders.

Here are my current favorites.

dr. kracker

An organic, whole grain brand, these crackers look a little too good to be true. Their trendy packaging and enthusiastic granola marketing initially raised my suspicions. I was wrong. Dr. Kracker’s flatbreads are really, really crunchy, and they stay that way. They’re also quite flavorful, whether made of wheat or spelt, or speckled with grated cheese and sunflower seeds. These crackers are great by themselves, or with a little butter and cheese. They’d probably be great for dunking or breaking into a bowl of soup in the winter.

ines rosales olive oil tortas

“Las legitimas y acreditadas,” legitimate and accredited, claims the packaging. Ines Rosales’ Andalusian tortas are sweet and anise flavored, a fine accompaniment to a cup of tea. I found them at Market Hall, the local gourmet shop, and was immediately intrigued by the idea of sweet olive oil-based crackers. Each torta is wrapped in wax paper, which keeps it fresh and crisp. These tortas are definitely not organic or whole-grain, but that’s not really what they’re about. Originally handmade by Rosales herself, tortas de aceite are a simple treat, made mostly of flour, olive oil, sugar, anise and sesame seeds. The tortas aren’t handmade anymore, but their homey packaging and simple flavor make them seem like they are.

eriksson’s korntunnbröd

I spotted a box of Eriksson’s handmade barley “thin bread” at Ikea. I’ve never eaten barley bread before, so naturally, I had to buy a box. These organic flatbreads look like matza, but they’re unlike any bread of affliction you’ve ever eaten. The barley crackers are paper thin and crisp, with a mildly sweet flavor—probably a result of the barley and condensed milk included in the ingredients. I’ve enjoyed this flatbread on its own, and as a vehicle for an egg and cheese open-face sandwich. The Erikssons recommend the traditional accompaniments: “goat or cow cheese, jam or just butter.” Alternatively, you can “break the bread into milk or yogurt, for breakfast or supper.” Mmm… barley flatbread and filmjölk.

Remember that weird looking vegetable I bought at Berkeley Bowl? It’s up there on the right, looking potato-like in an anemic sort of way, and somewhat hairy. Nagaimo is its Japanese name, and the Japanese turn it into a pancake called okonomiyaki, or “pancake made of weird slimey root vegetable.” If you thought tapioca was slimey, bubble drink pearls ain’t got nothin’ on nagaimo. Aliens exploding from Sigourney Weaver’s belly are less slimey than this. Seriously.

Still, slime can be an asset when you’re trying to get pancake batter to stick together. Hence okonomiyaki: a thick pancake filled with thinly sliced cabbage, scallions, pork belly, and shrimp. Okonomiyaki is crisp on the outside and soft on the inside, and—unlike Sigourney Weaver—exploding with contrasting flavors. The pancake is topped with sweet and sour sauce and sprinkled with seaweed flakes. It is then decorated with thin lines of Japanese mayonnaise, sliced like a pizza, and served. Nagaimo is both a binder and a starchy filler for the batter, which is rounded out with some flour and eggs.

My attempt at okonomiyaki was tasty, if not entirely authentic. I didn’t have any pork belly, shrimp, or scallions on hand, nor did I have any Japanese maonnaise (or any mayonnaise at all, for that matter). But I’m the type of person who insists on baking chocolate cake when I’m fresh out of chocolate and eggs. Once I’ve got an idea in my head, well, that’s it. Equipped with the basics—nagaimo, flour, eggs, and cabbage—I came up with a pretty tasty dinner pancake in the okonomiyaki style.

Here’s what I did. Using this traditional okonomiyaki recipe as a guide, I:

• Quadrupled the recipe, producing 2 large pancakes and one small pancake, enough for about 4 servings
• Substituted natural, full fat yogurt for half the water
• Omitted one egg
• Substituted grated cheddar cheese for the meat and shrimp
• Substituted minced miniature leeks for the scallions (white part only)
• Substituted ripped, toasted nori squares for the seaweed flakes
• Cooked the pancakes in coconut oil
• Topped the pancakes with my own sweet and sour sauce made by cooking fresh, whole tomatoes with soy sauce, vinegar, and mustard, salt and pepper

The result was an interesting mix of flavors and textures, the somewhat crunchy cabbage playing against the softness of the pancake, the gooeyness of the cheese and the crispness of the pancake on the outside. The aged cheddar added tang and depth, while the leeks lent an onion flavor with a slight bite. The sweet and sour sauce and the seaweed provided a counterpoint to the strong flavors on the inside of the pancake. The beauty of okonomiyaki, it seems, is its encapsulation of (almost) all flavors—sour, sweet, salty, umami—and contradiction of textures—crisp and soft, gooey and crunchy.

The vegetarian okonomiyaki was fun to eat, but I imagine that the original is a much more adventurous exercise in flavor and texture. Removing the pork belly and shrimp is like taking the filling out of pain au chocolat. You’re left with a croissant—a treat in itself—but it isn’t pain au chocolat.

I’ve been catching up on the American culture I’ve missed while living abroad in Israel. You know, important stuff, like NASCAR, Black Pepper Jack Doritos, and The Anna Nicole Smith Show. Yes folks, this is the same country that brought you Mark Twain, Tennessee Williams, and Bob Dylan. Anyway. A and I were watching the Shaq episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm, the one where Larry David accidentally trips Shaquille O’Neal on live TV, seemingly forcing the famous LA Lakers star to sit out the entire basketball season (which has just begun). His spirits perversely buoyed by the open hostility of all of Los Angeles county, Larry walks into a Starbucks and says:

“I’ll have a vanilla… one of those vanilla bullshit things. You know, whatever you want, some vanilla bullshit latte cappa thing. Whatever you got.”

Had I been drinking a “freddo” at the time, it would have spewed out my nostrils in spasms of uncontrollable laughter. “Vanilla bullshit things.” Yeah, that just about sums it up!

[Full disclosure: I’ve never seen a NASCAR race, haven’t eaten Doritos, and *ahem*, OK, I admit that I watched the Anna Nicole Smith Show once (once!) out of pure, unadulterated schadenfreude.]

Here’s what I did with those funny little mini-cucumbers I recently bought. I fried them with spices and eggs and served them with potatoes for a Sunday breakfast. Tindoras are fun to eat, they’re crunchy like cucumbers, but with an almost okra-like flavor (without the slime). I used hawaiyij, one of my favorite middle eastern spice mixtures, instead of curry powder. I also used curry leaves, but feel free to omit them if you can’t find at your local market. Thanks to Mahanandi for the inspiration!

tindoras and eggs

1-2 TBS ghee, butter, or coconut oil, or a combination
1 tsp brown mustard seeds
1 tsp cumin seeds
2 cloves garlic, minced
4 curry leaves
~1/2 lb tindora, quartered lengthwise
1 tsp hawaiyij
salt and pepper to taste
3 eggs
splash of kefir or natural yogurt
3-4 sprigs of sea beans, minced

• Melt the fat in a large cast-iron pan on a medium flame.
• Fry the mustard seeds and cumin. When the spices are toasted and just barely fragrant, add the garlic and stir.
• Toss in the tindora and stir. Season with hawaiyij.
• Thoroughly whisk three eggs with a splash of kefir or natural, whole fat yogurt. Season with salt and pepper.
• Pour into the pan with the tindora. Allow the egg mixture to settle until the bottom begins to solidify, then scramble the eggs from the edge of the pan towards the center. Let the eggs sit for a minute, then scramble again.
• Repeat just until the eggs are no longer liquid and immediately turn off the flame.
• Sprinkle minced sea beans on top and serve with toast or potatoes.

Serves 2

Using the edible roses I bought at Berkeley Bowl, I made a sweet topping/compote that complements vanilla ice cream or yogurt. I’ve always been intrigued by the slightly floral taste of litchi, which is accentuated here by the rose petals and rounded out by the anise flavor of fennel. These were all combined in a base of light honey syrup. You can play around with the texture by adding less water for a heavier syrup. A and I ate this atop vanilla goat’s milk ice cream. Yum.

fennel, litchi, and rose petal topping

1 TBS honey
3 TBS water (plus 1 TBS if necessary)
1/4 small fennel, cored and diced
3 litchi nuts, peeled, stone removed, and diced
4 small edible roses, petals only
~1 tsp fine lemon zest

• In a small pot, bring the water and honey to the boil. Let the water evaporate somewhat so that you have a light syrup, and turn down the flame to medium.
• Add the fennel and simmer until the fennel softens. If the syrup doesn’t cover the fennel, add an additional tablespoon of water. Simmer uncovered to let some of the water evaporate if the syrup looks too watery.
• Add the diced litchi and stir. Turn off the heat.
• Toss in the rose petals and grate in the lemon zest.
• Toss, place in a cool, non-heat condusive container, and chill in the refrigerator.

Serves 2 over ice cream or yogurt.

This week I did my grocery shopping at Berkeley Bowl, a local supermarket specializing in high quality, local foods and produce. Parking at Berkeley Bowl is akin to scoring tickets to the Stones and travelling back in time to watch them perform before Mick Jagger had grandkids and Keith Richards started falling out of palm trees. OK, so I’m exaggerating a little, but you do need a lot of patience as Berkeley Bowl is a very popular place to shop.

Despite the maddening crowds, I like going to Berkeley Bowl every so often to peruse their enormous produce section. They tend to carry a variety of fruit and veg that you’d often find only at ethnic markets, such as Armenian cucumbers and a pretty good variety of Chinese greens. Whenever I go, I try to buy at least one vegetable or fruit that I’ve never tried before, even if I have no idea what it is or how to prepare it. Sometimes a fellow shopper or an employee will offer advice as to traditional methods of preparation.

The photo at the top of this post illustrates most of the unusual vegetables I bought this week. They include, from left to right:

• Tindora cucumbers—These are related to the ordinary cucumber, with a sort of cucumber-zucchini flavor. You’re supposed to cook them before eating. Their flesh looks like that of a tiny cucumber, sort of opaque white. If they’re red on the inside, they’re overripe and should be discarded. Tindora cucumbers are native to Indian cuisine, and are often cooked in curries.
• Edible roses—These miniature roses were just too cute not to buy. You can use them in salads, or as a garnish. I turned them into dessert. Stay tuned for the recipe later this week.
• Sea beans/sea pickle—These are thin, green plants that look like tiny cacti and taste like the sea. Good for salads.
• Yin choy—Chinese spinach. I was won over by the lovely purple-green hue of this vegetable. I’m always curious about the myriad Chinese greens I find at Berkeley Bowl and Chinese markets, but I don’t often know what to do with them. Bok choy, tatsoi, and choy sum are fairly well known items on Chinese restaurant menus, but all those other greens are rather mysterious to those who are otherwise uninitiated in the endless splendor of traditional Chinese cuisines. I often try to buy a bunch of unknown greens and figure out what to do with them later. They look so pretty and succulent on the shelf, there’s no way I couldn’t buy some.
• Nagaimo—Japanese mountain yam. A Berkeley Bowl employee told me this vegetable is eaten raw in Mexico, sliced and seasoned with a little salt and fresh lemon juice. “Like jicama,” he said. This is a peculiar looking vegetable, sort of radish-like but with rough little brown “hairs” on its skin.
• Breadfruit—In the photo below, you’ll see the breadfruit I found at the exotic fruit section. I had no idea how to choose one, so I picked one up and smelled the stem. It smelled faintly of bananas. Cutting it open at home, I realized it was underripe. A Google search informed me that this is the fruit’s ideal state. In Africa, breadfruit is roasted whole in a fire and eaten with butter and salt, like potatoes. It might also be simmered in coconut milk by itself or with pieces of smoked pork.

Here’s how I prepared the breadfruit:

I roasted the breadfruit halves in the oven at 375° F until they were lightly golden. I then separated the flesh from the skin, which I chopped into large, bite-sized pieces. The breadfruit chunks went into a small pot, were covered with coconut milk (about 3/4 of a can), and simmered until the coconut milk boiled.

Seasoned with salt and pepper, breadfruit in coconut milk is a satisfying, rich side dish. The breadfruit is starchy, like potatoes, but with a firmer flesh. Its flavor is mild and slightly sweet, and which the coconut milk complements nicely.