baladi eggplant

I’ve been jonesing for a fire-roasted eggplant with yogurt and tahini sauce ever since I left Israel. This dish appears in myriad variations at almost every trendy Middle Eastern fusion restaurant in greater Tel Aviv. And with good reason–it’s delicious.

Ordinarily, the dish is prepared with a “baladi” eggplant, an Arabic word which roughly translates to “grown the old fashioned way,” according to a greengrocer at the Carmel market in Tel Aviv. Baladi eggplants are smaller than globe eggplants, usually about half the size. They’re squat and appear sort of cloven, with three to five grooves extending from the base towards the top of the fruit. Think of a slightly more squat looking globe eggplant, with multiple–ahem–cleavage. Baladi eggplants are wonderfully delicate and sweet. They’re great sliced and fried in a little olive oil, with a sprinkling of sea salt and freshly ground pepper.

A fire-roasted baladi eggplant is even better–still sweet, yet slightly smoky tasting with a creamy texture. Cow, sheep, or goat milk yogurt adds a cool tanginess to the eggplant, tahini sauce keeps the whole thing grounded and earthy, while pine nuts add texture and, well, a piny flavor that spices everything up. My favorite recipe for this dish is tucked away in the pages of a cooking magazine, lying in a box in storage way over on the other side of the planet. Here’s my attempt at reconstructing it.

Fire-roasted Eggplant with Yogurt and Tahini Sauce

1 medium sized eggplant
coarse sea salt
freshly ground pepper
1 TBSP tahini
1 TBSP freshly squeezed lemon juice
1 TBSP water
1/2 cup good quality cow, sheep, or goat yogurt
toasted pine nuts, lightly crushed or chopped
1 TBSP finely minced fresh herbs such as wild oregano, coriander, or parsley

– Light the smallest gas flame on your stove and rest the eggplant directly on the grate. If you don’t have a gas stove, use a barbecue or hibachi outdoors.

– As the eggplant darkens and starts to smell roasted, you’ll want to turn it over. Keep an eye (and a nostril) on it. If you notice large patches of still purple eggplant skin, turn the uncooked area to the flame.

– While the eggplant is roasting, mix the yogurt until it’s creamy. Try to whisk out the lumps, if any.

– In a small bowl, mix the tahini, lemon juice, and water until well combined. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

– Remove the eggplant from the flame. You’ll know it’s ready when its skin is no longer purple and it is fairly soft. The skin should not be charred (like used coal), just blackened.

– Let the eggplant rest for a few minutes, and drain any liquids that escape.

– Split the eggplant open (careful, it’s hot) and run a fork along the flesh like a rake. This will make the flesh easier to eat as you won’t need to work at separating it from the skin. Season each half lightly with salt and pepper to taste.

– Spoon some yogurt on each half. Drizzle tahini sauce over the yogurt. Sprinkle with pine nuts and minced herbs.

Serves 2

Variations:
– Instead of yogurt, use labaneh, a kind of tangy yogurt cheese of Middle Eastern origin.
– Instead of crushed pine nuts, use black sesame seeds, or nigella seeds.
– Sprinkle roasted cumin seeds on top.

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how to buy cake pans

Rose Levy Beranbaum has some words of wisdom on her blog regarding the purchase of cake pans. Apparently, manufacturers of cake pans have been shrinking their products, so your 9 inch loaf pan may not actually be 9 inches long. Worse, its volume may be less than that of a traditional loaf pan. If your recipes produce too much batter for your pans, this could be the reason. Berenbaum recommends shopping for kitchen products with a tape measure. Excellent advice, and something I’d never have thought of.

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mom’s recipes: recipe collections as folk art

I recently stumbled upon a flickr page displaying scanned photographs of a recipe collection. A user named phil_g painstakingly scanned and uploaded his mother’s collection of recipe cards, 242 photos in total. The recipes aren’t particularly innovative, or unique, some are downright boring to the modern eater. But that’s sort of the point, isn’t it?

Flipping through recipes for Victory Icing, Chinese Chicken Wings, Tofu loaf, the recipes seem to chronicle the times in which they were written. I’m guessing the Victory Icing, which calls for no butter or margarine, was written during World War II, when homemakers were urged to take their fat cans to the grocer to help the war effort (fats were needed to manufacture munitions). Tofu loaf sounds like a mother’s foray into the healthy cooking fad that became popular in the 70’s. And Chinese Chicken Wings, well, can’t you just see that in a copy of Sunset magazine–“Spice up your chicken dinners with exotic Chinese Chicken Wings!”?

The recipes are also a personal history. Each one is carefully written, typed, or pasted from a newspaper. When copied from a friend or neighbor, the original author is always credited (a loyal and honest recipe keeper). Many of the recipes are stained, attesting to frequent use in the kitchen. A recipe for communion bread indicates involvement in church and community. A number of recipes contain no wheat flour (was one child allergic?), and recipes for cake and cookies abound. The recipe that started the collection is also the first prepared by the cook in her youth, a recipe for Bonnie Doon Oaties. The card is marked Joyce Viele, her maiden name. This is the first of many recipes that Joyce “made by herself,” says phil_g.

The recipe collection is a picture of Joyce, meticulous collector of recipes, loyal to friends and neighbors, industrious, quietly proud of her cooking, an attentive mother. You can almost smell the cinnamon drops that may well have been a doting after-school snack. You can almost see the whimsical green grasshopper pie that may have been one child’s favorite birthday treat.

The beauty of this recipe collection is its effect on the viewer. I am nostalgic for someone else’s childhood, for another family’s food history. And I’d really like to meet Joyce.

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stopping by whole foods on a rainy evening

Stopping by Whole Foods on a Rainy Evening
with apologies to Robert Frost

Whose foods these are I think I know
They live in a distant village though;
They will not see me shopping here
To watch the registers fill up with dough.
These far off folks must think it queer,
To shop for produce priced so dear,
Between Nob Hill and windy bay
The fanciest food store over here.
I wonder if they’re on the take,
Ten bucks a pound must be a mistake.
Filling my bag, grumbling discontent,
I hope the poor farmers can pay their rent.
Whole Foods is lovely, though, not cheap,
But I have standards I must keep.
And brie to eat before I sleep,
And brie to eat before I sleep.

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