I Figure It Out

A new friend, upon learning that I like to cook, asked me if I know how to cook Indian food. It's a natural question. The brownish tint of my skin and the heart disease that runs in my family would lead one to believe I have Indian roots. But I found it hard to answer her question. Have I learned the right way to knead the chapati dough, or memorized the proportions of salt, cumin, red pepper, and turmeric to shake into a curry? Did I know how to make ghee or have my own proprietary blend of masala spices? Because the answer to all those questions is no.

But do I know how to cook any specific cuisine? I don't know how to roll out pasta for raviolis. I'd be a mess filling a pan with layers of phyllo for baklava. I was afraid to buy lemongrass for a Thai curry because it looks like a houseplant. I don't really know how to cook anything when it comes down it. But I figure it out.

Hell, I don't even know how to do my job but I do it every day and get paid for it.

The cooking process starts hours, days, weeks before any particular dinner. It starts when I'm sitting at the table eating another delicious meal and flipping through a cookbook. With every recipe I read, I picture myself not only eating but actually going through the effort of cooking it. And if, in my head, I get more pleasure from eating than pain from cooking, I write it down, mark it with a post-it, add the ingredients to a grocery list, and away we go!

Maybe the book I'm perusing is my Complete Book of Indian Cooking, which has so many different ways to cook chicken in it that I read the titles out loud for a good five minutes before my dad made me stop. Maybe I'll come across a hot dry meat curry or some lamb kebabs, and decide I'm making them whether I know how to mold ground lamb to a skewer or not. Sometimes "not" is okay, because my oblong lamb meatballs were pretty tasty sans skewer. And the seemingly dull cherry tomatoes and baby onions sprang to life when salted and pan fried.


I don't need to know how to cook Indian food for this to work, and neither do you.

Mini Lamb Kebabs with Baby Onions and Tomatoes (The Complete Book of Indian Cooking)

Ingredients:
1 lb ground lamb
1 medium onion, chopped
1 teaspoon garam masala
1 teaspoon garlic pulp
2 medium fresh green chilies, chopped, and 4 fresh green chilies sliced
2 teaspoons chopped cilantro
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
4 tablespoons corn oil
12 baby onions, peeled and trimmed (fresh pearl onions should be in onion section - do not use frozen!)
12 cherry tomatoes

Blend together the ground lamb, chopped onion, garam masala, garlic, 2 green chilies, cilantro, salt, and flour in a food processor. Process for about one minute, until mixture has a fine, blended texture. Break off small pieces and roll into balls or oblong kebabs. Place on broiler rack, with pan underneath to catch drippings. I like to line that pan with aluminum foil to making cleaning easier, otherwise burnt drippings can be a pain to scrape off. Baste the kebab meatballs with 1 tablespoon of the oil and place under broiler for 12 to 15 minutes, turning halfway through, or until evenly browned. Heat the remaining 3 tablespoons of the oil in a deep round-bottomed frying pan. Lower the heat slightly and add the whole baby onions. As soon as they start to darken, add the fresh chillies and tomatoes. Cook until tomatoes begin to brown. Remove the kebabs from the broiler and add them to the onion and tomato mixture. Stir gently for about 3 minutes. Transfer to serving dish and sprinkle with additional salt to taste. Serve with basmati rice and non-fat plain yogurt.

Easily Seduced

I am easily seduced by food. Even as I flip through a cooking magazine to choose, say, the short ribs with sun-dried tomato gravy, I'm watching a cooking show where Barefoot Contessa is making a roast beef sandwich with truffle butter and I'm torn. Two delectable lovers stand before me and I cannot choose. I want them both, and if I choose either one I will surely end up craving the other.

What's a girl to do?

A friend was telling me today about how wonderful her boyfriend is and how much she loves him, but doesn't feel about him the way she felt about her ex - who would take her back if she'd have him. And such is her dilemma, whether to go back to her passionate first love, who comes with a roller coaster of emotions, or settle in with a stable man who she has grown to love.

How do we choose what to eat every day, what we crave or what we have a taste for? What's just a momentary fling versus a recipe that stands the test of time? Who would have guessed that a simple spicy spinach pesto could woo me week after week, but the promising Ethiopian chicken would fall flat? And every once in a while I remember the summer I ate breakfast couscous every day, I couldn't get enough, and now it hardly seems worth the effort. But damn it was good at the time. I couldn't have predicted that roasted broccoli was impressive enough to introduce to my parents, or that roasted tomatoes would have my friends talking. The only thing they all might complain about in the end, is that I won't just settle down already with all the recipes I've collected rather than running around with new ones all the time. But I'll distract them with some homemade butter pecan ice cream on a slice of oatmeal cake. They can be seduced too.



I swear this pesto is better than any basil pesto. Giada's version has arugula but I prefer just spinach which is less bitter. Get a good olive oil for this, it contributes at least half the flavor.

Spinach Pesto (Adapted from Giada's Fusilli with Spicy Pesto on foodnetwork.com)

• 1 cup chopped walnuts
• 2 cloves garlic, coarsely chopped
• 1 (2-inch long) red or green jalapeno pepper, stemmed and coarsely chopped* see Cook's Note
• 2 cups grated (4 ounces) parmesan cheese
  
• 2 teaspoons kosher salt
• 1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
• 6 ounces baby spinach
• 1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
• 1 pound fusilli or penne pasta
  

For the pesto: In a food processor, combine the walnuts, garlic, jalapeno, cheese, salt and pepper. Process until the mixture is smooth. Add the spinach and process until blended. With the machine running, gradually add the olive oil.

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil over high heat. Add the pasta and cook until tender but still firm to the bite, stirring occasionally, about 8 to 10 minutes. Drain and reserve about 1 cup of the pasta water. Place the cooked pasta and pesto in a large serving bowl. Toss well and thin out the sauce with a little pasta water, if needed.

Tool Kit

I recently sent my brother a tool kit. It was a tool kit for cooking - filled with recipes, spices, pasta, tortillas, honey, and packages of Jell-O. Yes, Jell-O, the dessert of choice for single young men, elementary school children, and housewives making molds. But aside from the Jell-O, all the items I sent were key ingredients in preparing the recipes I included. I also sent money, with the caveat that it be used to purchase meat, vegetables, and other fresh ingredients difficult to mail, and not be spent on a pair of expensive headphones.

My gifts always come with apron strings attached.

I did slip an actual tool into the tool kit - a pair of kitchen shears. Kitchen shears are invaluable for cutting the skin off of chicken or cutting stew meat into smaller cubes. If you can't afford a good sharp knife, kitchen shears are a worthy investment.

Sending the recipes and the ingredients doesn't come close to capturing the joy of actually cooking for someone, especially someone like my brother who will lavish love and attention on a plate of meat. But tossing spices into the box was akin to sprinkling them into a stew and fitting tortillas and orzo into the box was like layering a lasagna. I arranged recipes and a shopping list as though preparing the mise en place. And I sealed that package like I was canning tomatoes or preserving fig jam for the long winter ahead.

I directed my brother via tool kit to make Tacos de Carnitas, a savory, slow cooked pork with highly concentrated flavor. It's great wrapped in warm corn tortillas topped with fresh tomatoes and onions, or fresh guacamole. The trick to this recipe? Follow it. Don't second guess it. For example, don't think you need to add more salt than it calls for. Just go with it.

Tacos de Carnitas
6 servings, 2 hours cooking time

2 1/2 pounds pork butt or beef stew meat
3 cups water
1 onion, diced
3 strips orange zest
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 bay leaf
1 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
1 cinnamon stick
1 teaspoon oregano leaves
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1/8 teaspoon ground cloves or 1 whole clove
12 small corn tortillas
Toppings: tomatoes, onions, cilantro, salsa, guacamole

Chop thick fat from outside of pork butt. Cut meat into 1 inch cubes. Combine pork with water, onions, orange zest, garlic, bay leaves, red pepper flakes, cinnamon, oregano, salt and cloves in a large pot. Heat to a boil, reduce heat to a simmer. Skim any scum that forms on the surface. Simmer until meat is very soft and falling apart, adding more water if necessary to keep the meat submerged, about 1 1/2 hours.

Season with additional salt to taste. Heat to a gentle boil; cook until the water has evaporated, about 30 minutes. Cook a little longer to fry the meat slightly, watching carefully to prevent burning. Remove bay leaves and cinnamon sticks. Remove any excess fat. Pull meat apart with forks if necessary. Fold a few tablespoons of carnitas inside each tortilla. Add your choice of toppings and serve.