an open cupboard

A slice of cake for you, dear reader, in honor of an open cupboard‘s second birthday.

Two years ago today I posted an ironic ode to the high cost of organic food in the form of a silly riff on a famous poem by Robert Frost. Nothing much has changed since then. The price of rice has spawned riots and my relatives tease me for spending seven dollars on an occasional bottle of organic milk (but it’s from grassfed cows who listen to classical music and read poems by Robert Frost!). I’m still fascinated by the San Francisco local, organic food scene with its bounty of decently produced high quality food—the freshest, most beautiful, delicious vegetables and fruit it has been my pleasure to consume.

I owe the farmers’ markets my gratitude for opening up my taste buds to the earthy sweetness of heirloom tomatoes. Having eaten store-bought hothouse tomatoes back when I lived in Israel, I never much liked the fruit, except the exceptionally fresh ones I used to buy at the shuk (open market) . Similarly, bell peppers were a sort of tasteless filler in stir fries until I tried the peppers grown by Happy Quail Farms. I’ve also discovered foods that have quickly become my favorites: pimientos de padrón, stinging nettles, chocolate mint, mountain spinach. Thank the gods for all the dedicated farmers who produce such excellent food that is so much fun to eat.

I only wish that more people could enjoy the beautiful bounty of the farmers’ markets. Most of the consumers I see at the various farmers’ markets near my home tend to be middle class and upper middle class Americans. On occasion, I’ll see a poor student buy a few dollars’ worth of vegetables.

True, programs such as the Chez Panisse Foundation’s Edible Schoolyard and the People’s Grocery do a lot to bring people closer to good, sustainably raised food. But there are still so many others who simply cannot afford to eat well. In an area where average families drive two SUVs and live in half-million dollar homes, this boggles the mind.

In the coming months the gulf between those who eat well and those who cannot will swell, affecting many middle income as well as lower income people. The question is, what are we going to do about it? As “we” is usually an elected official (insert quip about political ineptitude here), let us instead ask ourselves “what am I going to do about it?” If every one of us asked ourselves that question, maybe we could get closer to an answer. Wouldn’t that be great? And what will our collective cupboard look like in another two years?

Thank you for your curiosity, and your stick-to-itiveness for coming back here even when I was slow to post. Thank you for putting up with my sometimes bumbling photos and the occasional silly lark. Thank you for spurring me on (even if you didn’t know you did). An extra special thank you to my friend Sylvia, for urging me to write about food in the first place (and to Jerry, for having such an insatiable appetite for dining out). And to my husband A for reading and eating and, when prompted, providing honest constructive criticism.

L’chaim! To another two years!

- shelly -

I have fond memories of eating matzah brei for breakfast of a Sunday morning during Passover. I’d wake up to the smell of browned butter and cinnamon, and wander into the kitchen.

My dad preferred the scrambled style of the traditional dish. He’d break several sheets of matzah into large pieces and soak them in water or milk, then mixing them with beaten eggs and stir-frying them in a large skillet. He’d sprinkle the crisp, golden matzah pieces with a little sugar and cinnamon, and serve them up to my brother and me. We would raid the refrigerator for all manner of toppings—cottage cheese, butter, cheddar cheese, American cheese, jam, chocolate syrup—and carry them, teetering, back to the table.

The adventure began when we sat down to eat. Cottage cheese and jam? Jam and butter? Cheddar and jam? Cottage cheese and chocolate syrup? The possibilities were endless and no combination was too weird. The matzah brei itself was a delight, a more rugged version of French toast we only ate once a year. I can still taste it, eggy, warm, buttery and bread-like, the sandy sweetness of cinnamon and sugar in my mouth.

savory matzah brei

1 1/2 cups matzah farfel
4 eggs
butter
1-2 handfuls fresh parsley
1 stalk green garlic or spring onion
1 poblano pepper or other pepper
smoked paprika
salt and pepper
cheddar cheese or any other cheese

• Pour the matzah farfel into a large bowl. Break the eggs into the bowl and mix with a fork, beating the eggs slightly and tossing to coat the matzah farfel.
• Melt some butter in a large skillet over medium heat.
• Coarsely chop the parsley and toss into the bowl.
• Finely chop the green garlic or spring onion and toss into the skillet.
• Chop the pepper into 1 inch (3 cm) pieces, adding it to the skillet. Toss to coat with butter and let the mixture sweat.
• Scoop the pepper mixture out of the skillet and into the bowl of farfel.
• Season the farfel egg mixture with salt, pepper, and smoked paprika. Mix to incorporate the peppers and seasoning with the farfel and eggs.
• If necessary, melt more butter in the skillet. Spoon the batter into the skillet and smooth it into a large pancake.
• Crumble some cheese onto the matzah mixture. Turn on the broiler as the matzah brei cooks.
• Once the matzah brei has cooked for a few minutes, turn off the flame and place under the broiler. Remove when the top is golden and the cheese has melted.

Serves 2-4

Make matzotto. Matzotto? Let me explain.

Last Saturday evening was the first night of Passover, that eight day festival of freedom during which observant Jews abstain from eating leavened baked goods. The prohibition extends to grains of all kinds, and for many Jews, certain legumes and seeds as well. This means no bread, pasta, oatmeal, and even popcorn, hummus, tofu, mustard. Homes are cleaned from top to bottom and kitchens turned inside out so that any stray crumbs are disposed of. Pots, pans, and dishes must be kashered or replaced with kitchenware specially reserved for the holiday. Household cooks must then prepare meals based on such varied carbohydrate sources as potatoes, potatoes, potatoes, and potatoes. (World Jewry heaved a collective sigh of relief a few years ago when quinoa was designated kosher for Passover. Quinoa is a new world seed rather than a grain, so rabbis have permitted its consumption on Passover.)

Aside from potatoes, many Jews traditionally prepare a variety of starchy side dishes using matzah, such as the famous matzah balls or kneidlach. These are light and fluffy soup dumplings that melt in your mouth when you eat them, in stark contrast to the matzah from which they are made.

As matzah is scarce this year, I bought a huge container of matzah farfel. Matzah farfel is bits of crumbled matzah, which is the cracker bread we Jews eat during the 8 days of the Passover holiday. To be precise, matzah as it is known in the Western world represents the Ashkenazi (European) Jewish tradition of baking flat, hard unseasoned cracker-like breads for Passover. The traditional matzah of Mizrahi Jews (Jews of the Levant or Middle East) on the other hand, is often a soft flatbread much like naan, which is much more fun to eat. It’s hard to make a matzah sandwich that doesn’t turn into a plateful of crispy, shard-like crumbs. If you’ve ever tried spreading cold butter on a slice of matzah, you know what I’m talking about. You may as well eat it with a spoon. I guess that’s where matzah farfel comes from. Matzah factories must have giant buckets full of inadvertently broken matzah which they process and sell as farfel. And there you have it. European Jewry’s answer to pasta for Passover.

In this recipe, I cooked matzah farfel risotto style, more or less. You can also use matzah farfel to make kugel, a traditional savory or sweet pudding served on Jewish holidays.

matzotto

butter and olive oil
1 cup matzah farfel or bits of broken matzah
1-2 handfuls dried mushrooms, soaked in hot water
handful of chopped parsley or other herbs
salt and pepper

• Melt some butter with olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat.
• Add the matzah farfel and stir to cover in butter and lightly toast until slightly golden. Add more butter or olive oil if the pan gets dry.
• Remove mushrooms from from water and squeeze out any remaining moisture. Reserve the soaking water.
• Coarsely chop mushrooms and add to farfel. Stir to cover in butter.
• Add some of the mushroom water to farfel mixture and stir. As the farfel absorbs the mushroom water, add more and stir.
• Taste as you go to get the consistency you prefer. Then season to taste with salt, pepper, and herbs.

Serves 2

Variations: Use smoked salt and/or smoked paprika. Add bits of smoked duck or goose. Use hot chicken stock to soak the mushrooms. Use whole wheat matzah farfel or spelt matzah farfel. Grate in some parmiggiano or pecorino.

Note: To keep the matzotto kosher, use either dairy or meat ingredients, but not both.

I never realized how easy it is to make your own chocolate. All you need is some cacao nibs, coffee grinder, and a mortar and pestle. People in Latin America have been making it since, well, forever, with a metate y mano. In case you don’t feel like clicking the link, here’s what one looks like:

Don’t you want one? I do. It’s got a mid-century modern art look to it—probably because modern art itself is often inspired by ancient abstract art. What’s new is old, and there’s nothing new under the sun, etc. etc.. But I digress. This is a gorgeous piece of kitchen machinery. Imagine making your own corn masa, then making the freshest, most tender tortillas you’ve ever tasted. Or grinding your own fresh spices for a heady, redolent vindaloo. Or, uh, grinding your own wheat flour? What would you do with one of these beauties?

Anyway, I digress again. You can read about the chocolate 101 demonstration with John Scharffenberger and get the recipe for homemade chocolate here. I made an uncomplicated chocolate sweetened with white cane sugar, brown sugar, and honey, respectively. You could also try using agave nectar or yacon syrup, sweeteners that are native to the same regions as cacao (more or less). Or try no sweetener at all, as the ancient Maya and Aztec did.

Photo by gourmetsleuth.com

On the BART:

“I got six girlfriends and I’m faithful to all of them.”

- Smirking boy to girl

A recently threw together a potato dish with cabbage and whiskey (Jack Daniels). It was actually on Saint Patrick’s Day, but only coincidentally. I thoroughly enjoyed it. The cabbage sweetened as it mingled with the booze, the potatoes were both slightly creamy yet still somewhat al dente.

The next day I had lunch at an English tea house where they served something quite similar called Rumbledethumps. They were good. But A’s version was better. Here it is.

potatoes and whiskey

I love these little baby cabbages. I think they might be a little sweeter than their big brothers, but who knows? Good old regular cabbage will do just fine for this dish. You could serve this with hot corned beef or lamb chops, or with some strong Cheddar, perhaps an Irish cheese if you want to keep to the Saint Patty’s theme. I think some sautéed greens would go well, maybe mustard greens or kale.

1-2 pounds small potatoes, halved
1 mini cabbage, chopped, or 1/4 of a small cabbage, chopped
seasonings, to taste:
salt & pepper
hawayij spice mix or your favorite curry powder
sumac
palm oil
butter
2 capfuls of your favorite whiskey

• In a pot on a medium flame, melt the butter with the palm oil.
• Add the potatoes, and stir.
• Season to taste with spices.
• Sprinkle in whiskey and let the mixture cook for 5 minutes.
  Then add the chopped cabbage.
• Cover and let simmer for 20 minutes.
• Sprinkle in water if potatoes look dry.

Serves 2-3