Sourtooth

Three-quarters of a head of Savoy cabbage going to waste in the fridge.
It's still good enough to eat, but we can't think of what to do with it.
Oh!
Right!
Kimchi.
To the rescue, Sandor Katz's fabulous guide, Wild Fermentation.
I confess two things. I have been stymied by some of the kimchi recipes I've read, so I haven't tried it before now, except for that one very salty time that didn't come out right at all. And I've never concocted a single thing from one of Sandor's recipes. Just apprehensive, I guess, though I love to claim to be a pickle fanatic.
But there was that puckered cabbage, crying for redemption. I checked the book, and found that, no, I would not be fermenting vast vats of the stuff. (I don't know why, but I'd been afraid the recipe would have me brewing up giant crockfuls of kimchi.)
It only makes a one-quart jarful! Right in the jar. Oh, so neat. Easy. Doable.
In fact, the recipe is VERY doable. And in a Cookiecrumb sort of way, it's very flexible. You know, like "put in some daikon... or radishes, if that's what you have... or not."
It's supposed to ferment for a week, but even on day one, it smelled perfect. It's not stinking up the kitchen, either. I tasted it today (day three), and it tastes exactly like kimchi. Not as silky-tender as I want it to be (maybe Savoy is too crisp), but I have hopes.
Of course, you know I won't provide a recipe. I will tell you that it includes ginger, garlic, scallions, mandolined daikon and carrots, and sundried red pepper from the Big Island. And salt, always salt. In this case, the salting is done with a brine — so clever.
But I ORDER you to check out Sandor Katz's books. He is very clear and reassuring. You can do this.
I've already cleaned out another jar for the next batch. Can't hardly wait.

Supreme Course

It's citrus-trading time of year.
I recently swapped a sack of my oranges for a bag of grapefruit from Zoomie's clever foraging.
It is very good to unload fruit that burdens you, but it invariably results in a net zero. Give some, get some.
Speaking of being burdened by food, we are currently in a moratorium on food buying. We have so much summer in the freezer to work our way through. And all those dried beans. Pasta. Pickled peppers. I haven't even gotten to the dried cayenne peppers. Prunes!
Still, little bits of buying occur. A couple of avocados happened. Some iceberg lettuce. Of course, that jar of kimchi.
Well, it all added up perfectly, especially since I am now a pro at supreming citrus. I was doing it cloddishly the first time, but now it's whack and whack.
Hence, a delightful salad of grapefruit segments alternated with avocado slices, atop a bed of lettuce, and dressed with a mix of kimchi juice and other makin's.

Putting the Genie Back in the Bottle

This is molecular gastronomy at its most useful.
A couple of weeks ago, I read about a trick for repairing corked wine. It was in a Harold McGee column for the New York Times. One of McGee's sources was Andrew Waterhouse, a professor of wine chemistry at UC Davis.
McGee had been experimenting with pennies and knife tips and magnets and who knows what-all in his attempts to improve wine. Kick start it into drinkable. Speed aeration. Even speed aging. (Hint: Warm closet.)
But corked wine? That hideous gym shoe flavor that renders the entire bottle undrinkable; $30 down the drain; dammit. That's fixable?
I know I should just take bad bottles back to the store for a refund, but we shop in the sort of un-pricey category, and it would look chintzy of us to traipse into the market with an open bottle of smelly wine. "I want my cheap money back."
The ugly corked odor and taste come from infected corks. The infection is 2,4,6-trichloroanisole, says Mr. Waterhouse, which is chemically similar to polyethylene. Kitchen wrap. Plastic film. Yeeks.
The trick is to pour the cruddy wine into a bowl with a sheet of Glad Wrap for only a few minutes. The naughty molecules stick to the film. Right away. OMG. Science.
Just a few days after I read about this trick, Cranky opened a corked bottle of sherry. Would it work?
I warn you, I am a very sensitive taster.
Verdict: It worked. We resurrected a whole bottle of cruddy sherry with a lab experiment.
It worked!
P.S.: Rinse the bottle out before you refill it. And throw away the rotten cork.

Bean Flirting

What an exciting season. The holidays, Cranky's birthday, the inauguration, and the playoffs. Soon, Superbowl.
Since it is still birthday month, Cranky wanted a dress rehearsal of Seven Layer Dip, to see if that would be the choice for Super Sunday. He cooked a pot of homemade refried beans, and then I took over (while he watched some pigskin on TV).
Here's the funny part. We figured if he was going to the trouble of making his own refried beans, he might as well use organic boutique beans. He was chatting up a lovely young lady at the Rancho Gordo stand a few weekends ago, bragging about his version of New England baked beans. The young lovely wanted the recipe! Cranky fell apart, and when he tried to pick up a bag of pinto beans, he got flustered and grabbed some pinks by mistake.
But, no mistake. They came out just great, anyway. I'd show you a picture, but they looked exactly like refried beans. Only they tasted better, because they were homemade with real ingredients.
If you eat a lot of refried beans (we do), please try cooking them at home. It was so easy. Do it on a weekend and stash the leftovers in the freezer.
So, the Seven Layer Dip. I don't even know what the seven layers are supposed to be. Obviously, one is beans. And I assume they go on the bottom, because of their gravitas. Cheese, of course. Sour cream (we used yogurt). Salsa, probably... Hm. Avocado?
I only made it to six layers before pooping out. If you can count chopped cilantro leaves as a layer. Cranky got his portion up to seven, with the addition of some home-brined jalapeños (which pegs too high on my burp-o-meter).
A bowl of oven-baked corn tortilla wedges (better than store-bought greasy salty chips).
Yeah. It was pretty good. Really good. We couldn't wait to eat the leftovers the very next day.
You know how you only have Seven Layer Dip every seven years, just as a spoof? I think we're having it again, very soon.
Of course, we'll have to go back and flirt with the bean girl. Maybe this time, we'll come away with pintos.

REGIME CHANGE ACCOMPLISHED

Last Day, Not Much to Say

I just don't ever want to see your lying mug again.
Well, maybe in a court of law.
Worst President Ever.
(Is that drool on your chin? Probably. Can't even swallow right.)
Hey, whoa! I'm still mad!

Hope Food

Ohgod, only two days and 16 hours left in our long national nightmare.
But who's counting?
HAH! I AM.
(Oh, sorry, was I shouting?)
One needs comfort, even so.
Cranky craved a tuna melt, and as it is still birthday month, he got one.
This is decidedly lowbrow, but Cranky managed to poof it up into upperbrow.
The bread: Local bakery roll, cut in half.
The tuna: A's do Mar.
The trimmin's: Olive oil, a smidge of mayo, some lovely chopped olives.
The cheese: Gruyère. What a fop.
Broil, eat, gloat.
I had something else for lunch, myself. Something even comfortier.
But. Hope!!

Back in My Arms Again

The first orange of the season. And who invented supremes? Jeez, fruit torture.
I sat at the dining room table with a little knife and about a dozen membrane-covered segments of this stunning citrus.
No, I am not historically a huge fan of oranges. I am a huge fan of the oranges on the tree in my backyard. They taste so good. They're not at their peak of sweetness or juiciness yet. (I suspect it's a Summer Navel variety, because they mature rather late, and even hang on until July.) But in the context of a tangy salad, perfect.
It was the first time I've ever supremed oranges. I had the feeling I was going to be there a long time, getting sticky and frustrated. Imagine: You trim the membrane off both sides of the segment, and the spine too. I envisioned juice running off the table, and enormous sacrifice of edible portions.
But. No.
It went surprisingly well, and nobody taught me how to do it. I just did it. I was a complete natural.
Nice salad, too.
You can call me Diana Ross; I won't mind.

Eggs Grandmere

Many years ago I read The Apprentice: My Life in the Kitchen, by Jacques Pepin. I had thought I didn't like him personally, but the book really drew me in. I loved it.
I don't know where my copy of the book is now. Poo.
But I remember one dish he described, cooked by his mother I think. It was stuffed eggs, fried stuff-side down.
M. Pepin said he couldn't recall anyone, anywhere, doing this treatment. It was singular to his family, he believed; a humble, rustic meal.
It's really rather logical, actually, and I wouldn't be surprised if other home cooks also use this technique to elevate a simple egg dish.
But I didn't have the book, so I didn't have the recipe.
For Cranky's birthday month, he suddenly blurted that he'd like to have the fried stuffed eggs.
I stepped up to the stove.
No, Cranky stepped up first. He is a master at hard-cooked eggs.
Then I took over and made a melange of the yolks. Just on instinct, I chopped a scallion, a few olives, and some parsley leaves. A crack of pepper. A squirt of olive oil. Nope, still not unctuous enough. I added a spoonful of mayonnaise.
Stuffed this mess back into the egg whites.
In an oiled, non-stick skillet, I gently fried the eggs, stuffing side down, until they browned slightly. Doesn't take long. If your eggs are cold, or even just cool room temp, you can warm them through by putting a lid on the skillet briefly.
Wow. Charming, with a crunchy, wintry salad of lettuce and orange segments.

Lettuce is a Winter Vegetable

Not knowing any better, I tried growing lettuce a couple of summers in a row.
Pah!
They always bolted too soon and tasted bitter and frail. They would swoon under the sun, turning spotted and pale.
That's OK, I told myself. We have some great vendors of greens at the market. I don't mind supporting my local farmers.
But without telling you how stupid I am, I "found out" that lettuce is a winter vegetable. I'm not growing any myself this season, because I found out too late. (Though I might still get some into the ground.)
You think of green salads as summery, because they're raw and crunchy.
Then, in January, your body starts screaming to your brain: "Want Salad!"
Irony deficiency.
Satisfied.

Classy Olé!

It's birthday week, Chez Crankycrumb, and we might even stretch it out to birthday month.
I had an eye-opening discovery this week, much like the time Cranky and I shopped for our own Christmas presents secretly. It was amazing to learn what spouses would buy for themselves, even though we think we're so clever at shopping for each other.
This week, Cranky wanted to cook and eat some favorite foods. It was his gift to himself.
I am thrilled, astounded, and a grateful recipient of his astronomical culinary prowess. Even more stunned by his choice of gift to himself: having freedom to cook what he wants. (Am I that bossy in the kitchen? I will say no, I'm not.)
So far, his meals have all been very wintry and homely. Just what you'd expect this time of year, I guess, but still, what a surprise.
His first foray was a faux cassoulet. Faux, only because it wasn't a repository for vast haunches of animal.
This was cooked with a Toulouse sausage, a confit duck leg, and a little duck fat. Flageolet beans, of course, and nice seasonings. (Turkey broth, bean-cooking liquid also. A roasted tomato from the garden. And superb bread crumbs.)
The great thing about this cassoulet is that it wasn't a bowl of library paste. You know how sometimes you end up with tasty but pick-axeable sludge?
Cranky managed to keep it loose, and we loved it that way.
The other day I read a story in the NYTimes about food chemistry, and Harold McGee commented that a touch of sugar helps beans maintain their integrity during the cooking process. So Cranky dumped in a glass of sweet rosé wine.
He is brilliant.
Happy Birthday, Cranky. Comin' up.

Pledges, Oaths, Doubts, Resolutions, Hopes

Have you noticed the Roman numeral configuration for 2009? Perfect!
So let's mmix it up.
Here are my food predictions and pledges for the year of Obama (only two weeks to go, pant, pant).

Backyard (and frontyard) farming. I know, it's already happening. But now it will be out of necessity, not just locavore trendiness. It is economically prudent to grow what you eat. And if you raise animals, grow what they eat, too.

Animals. I am not allowed to raise goats in my neighborhood, and I don't even think chickens are allowed here. So count me out, but count so many lucky others in. Urban chickens. Eggs for breakfast. (And don't forget my whack-and-twirl advice.)

Homemade bread. This is nothing new, and even I, the bake-phobe, managed to make a few loaves last year. But, at $6 a loaf, commercially, for artisan bread, I think I'm going to knuckle down and bake even more.

Canning. So many of you already practice this noble art. I have yet to attempt it, but I resolved a few months ago to get a pressure canner. That way I can grow more food during the summer and preserve it for winter. (The chest freezer we bought helps out a lot in the preservation regard, but I must can, so I will.)

The end of granite kitchen countertops. Please?

Frontyard artichokes. (This is a wish, not a prediction.) I hope the two artichoke plants I dug into my frontyard survive and prosper. They died (apparently) last year, but they've miraculously sprung back up, bushier than before. Fingers crossed.

I would add cheesemaking, but I vowed to do it a couple of years ago, and still haven't gotten around to it. I'm quite a bit more inspired now, though.

And many more.

Hoppin' New Year, Again

Oh, come on.
It was a perfectly traditional New Year's Day meal of beans, ham, rice and greens. Just like Hoppin' John.
Beans for fortune, greens for prosperity.
But this lunch would more likely be found in Kailua than Kissimmee.
I admit I was just faking it. I have always wanted to try Spam musubi, but since I have no travel plans, it looked like I was going to have to make it myself rather than buy some in Hawaii.
The urgency got, uh, urgent when I came across a post for Spam musubi at Tastespotting. (I have tried to refind it, but it seems to be lost to cybermemory.) And suddenly I thought: This is ham and rice. Just add beans and cabbage, and we're all set for the first meal of the year!
So the beans are edamame, of course. And the cabbage is kimchi.
I will give you a brief lesson on making Spam musubi, because I can't link to the original source. Use Korean nori; it's thinner, lacier, more fragile. You can bite through it, easy. Save the can your Spam comes in, because you will use it to pack in some rice (you might season the rice with a trace of vinegar), and then whack out the rice cake onto the countertop. Fry the Spam slices; flavoring them with sugar and soy sauce seems unnecessary to me. Wrap the nori around your assembled stack sandwich (it really is take-along finger food). Done.
Verdict? Just damn yummy! Really good. Spam reeeeally needs some seaweed to bring it out of canned Spamminess, and it's perfect. I would do it again (and since I have half a can of Spam in the fridge, I will).
We called this meal Hoppin' Bruddah.