Death Of Light: Green Tomatoes, Two Ways

Chow-chow, nearly done.

Things fall apart in the fall. It is the season of death and decay and the gradual fading of the light (fall back on Saturday, November 3rd. Take the country back Tuesday, November 6th).

It is also a time of powerful transformation and intention setting and a season of acceptance that comes after grief in the face of extraordinary change.

This is clearly reflected in nature. Leaves litter the sidewalks and the grass wears a morning tiara of sparkling frost that melts away with the rising sun.

In the garden, overgrown green turns spindly and the last vestiges of fruit struggle to hang on the vine. This is the last call for the summer garden – last call to bring in any kind of harvest before the sun barely crests the horizon and night falls before dinnertime.

Green tomatoes are a unique by-product of the scraggly fall garden. Tart and bright, they are everything you need when the light dims.

Here, two recipes: Green Tomato Chow-Chow and Roasted Green Tomato Soup. The former a staple in the south, the latter a bright ray of sunshine in a darkening fall kitchen. If these don’t do it for you, give last year’s ode to fall a whirl. You can’t go wrong with any of these.

Green Tomato Chow-Chow

Use this uniquely southern condiment on greens, black-eyed peas, pork chops, chicken, BBQ sandwiches, and in salad dressing (or stir it into the soup that follows). Add finely chopped white cabbage if you like. This recipe scales up easily and can be canned for winter time. This particular recipe makes one pint.

Ingredients

1 1/2 cups chopped green tomatoes

1 or 2 Thai chilis, diced

1/4 cup diced onion (about 1/4 a large-ish onion)

1/4 cup diced celery (1 stalk, give or take)

1/4 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon mustard seed

1/8 teaspoon turmeric

1/8 teaspoon nutmeg

5 or 6 black peppercorns

1/2 cup sugar

1/4 cup apple cider vinegar

1/2 cup drained tomato juice

Optional: 1/4 teaspoon fennel and/or coriander seed

Method

Dice the green tomatoes, Thai chili, onion, and celery. Place in a glass bowl and add salt. Stir, then cover with plastic wrap and let sit, at least four hours but preferably overnight.

Place a mesh sieve over a bowl and strain the vegetables, reserving the liquid. Pack vegetables in a pint jar. Measure spices and place on top of the vegetables.

Heat sugar, vinegar, and a 1/4 cup of the reserved tomato liquid in a heavy saucepan until sugar dissolves. Let cool slightly, then pour over vegetables. Let cool to room temperature on the counter, then refrigerate. Only gets better as it sits, but unless you preserve it, eat in a month or less.

Roasted Green Tomato Soup

This soup is quite accidental and made from the bits and bobs of my CSA, herbs grown on my porch, and stock made from vegetable peelings from the summer. This particular batch of stock featured corn cobs and fresh fennel, both delicate, subtle flavors that actually manage to lift the soup to a whole other level. Roasting the tomatoes and caramelizing the onions coax the last bit of summer’s sweetness from both. As with its red brethren, this soup goes well with a buttery, gooey grilled cheese.

Ingredients

2 pounds green tomatoes, cut into quarters for roasting

Olive oil

3 cloves garlic

1 medium onion, diced

1 tablespoon fresh thyme

3 cups vegetable stock

Salt and pepper to taste

2 cups arugula (ish)

Optional garnish: thinly sliced scallions

Method

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Toss green tomatoes and whole garlic cloves in olive oil and season with salt and pepper. Roast for 40 minutes.

In a large stockpot, heat another two tablespoons of olive oil. Add onion and cook on medium-low until caramelized (around 30 minutes, so start these when you put the tomatoes in the oven).

Add roasted tomatoes and garlic and stir to combine. Add fresh thyme, salt, and pepper and cook for two minutes. Add stock and arugula. Bring to a simmer and cook for 10 to 15 minutes.

Use an immersion blender (or regular blender) to puree the soup until smooth.

 

Deconstructed Nutella Biscotti

 

Hello, lover.

As is my regular custom, I am examining the contents of my brain and the manner of my creative practice.

Perhaps it’s seasonal or cyclical; whichever the case may be, I seem to routinely look around for something – anything – to explain why a creative brain works the way it works. I am reading Creativity: How the Brain Works by Jonah Lehrer right now, mixing it up between trashy novels and books on NaNoWriMo (No Plot? No Problem! is a mainstay these days).

Turns out, I am writing a novel in November.

National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo mentioned above) challenges people with no prior experience and no good sense to crank out 50,000 words of fiction in 30 short days (1,667 words a day for those keeping track). You may not know this about me, but my fiction writing is crap. However, I see this as a writing exercise, a way to stretch my creative writing muscles and perhaps come up with something different from what I have been doing –  a new approach, genre, or entree into something expansive and good.

To kick off this process, I am deconstructing my creative practice and the manner in which I express myself through this blog and in other ways (e.g., cooking, photography, the occasional painting). I am intensely curious about why people do what they do, most specifically in this case creative people. In Imagine, there is a lot of research about how one of the mechanisms of our brain, the dorsolateral prefrontal cortex (DLPC), is responsible for impulse control (as well as cognitive function and flexibility). These mechanisms are not quite formed in children and teenagers, which is why we want to push their faces in so much of the time.

In adults, impulse control is perhaps too well-established. We have forgotten how to “dance as if no one is watching.” While everyday people have no real issues with this, for creatives types, this is highly problematic. It is impossible to let go and write paint draw dance sing play if you continually run up against the wall of your own self every time you pick up the instrument of your art.

The good news is that when we take ourselves out of everyday life, not only does our impulse control loosen a wee bit (think the excessive amount of drinking and cavorting that occurs on your average vacation versus everyday life), but we also become more innovative and creative. But you don’t need to fly across the globe to responsibly (and affordably) shut off your impulse control. Novel experiences (get it? NOVEL experiences?) can inspire your brain to lighten up a bit. This could be as simple as walking down a different street or looking at a piece of art. Additionally, boring and mundane tasks allow us to relax a bit in the prefrontal cortex. It is true that some of the best ideas occur in the shower – your brain is not so busy monitoring and dissecting every little piece of sensory input and can relax into new thoughts and ideas.

Side note: The majority of this blog was dictated into my phone on the way down to Virginia from Baltimore to take my mom out to lunch for her 75th birthday. Turns out, long road trips are also a good tool to relax the brain’s firm grip on reality. Just ask Jack Kerouac.

The goal of NaNoWriMo is, of course, a novel at the end, but that’s it. Quantity over quality in this case. Imagine also points out that in terms of quality, the most creative people are also the most prolific, producing vast quantities of insufferable crap for each polished gem. So that is encouraging for two reasons:

  1. It does not have to be good, which releases me from any kind of judgment as far as ability goes, which is nice because I have that creativity-stifling characteristic in spades.
  2. Also, Imagine notes that when you think too much about what you are doing the ideas stop flowing and creativity suffers. This is also positive because in addition to the 50,000 words of the crap novel I am about to write, I also have to write my standard 35,000-50,000 words of non-crap that I actually get paid for. So the goal of 1,667 words every day just has to come, loose and easy.

One of the suggestions the NaNoWriMo people make (presumably for people with full-time jobs and multiple young children running around) is to stock up on snacks and treats with which to fortify yourself. This is not, they say, the month to get fancy or complicated with your nourishment. So in honor of the month, and the deconstruction, again, of my creative practice, I present these amazing morsels that just get better as they sit.

It’s fashionable to badmouth Nutella, I think. It reminds me about how people talk shit about Obamacare but when each part of it is broken down they love it. So if I call these toasted hazelnut and chocolate biscotti, I bet haters would convert because they are far more delicious than they perhaps have any right to be. They taste like a big spoonful of Nutella, minus the rainforest-killing palm oil and questionable texture.

See you in December!

Deconstructed Nutella Biscotti

(makes between 12 and 17)

Ingredients

1/2 cup toasted hazelnuts, coarsely chopped

1 1/2 cups gluten-free all-purpose flour

1 cup almond flour

1 teaspoon baking powder

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 cup olive oil

2 eggs

1/2 cup white sugar

1/4 cup lightly packed brown sugar

1/2 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips, chopped (get fancier if you like; this is what I had in the house)

Method

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

Toast whole hazelnuts in a dry skillet over medium heat until they begin to smell nutty (and maybe brown slightly). Remove from heat and let cool. Rub as much of the papery skin off as you can, then coarsely chop and set aside.

In a medium bowl, combine flours, salt, and baking powder and set aside.

In a large bowl, combine sugars, olive oil, and eggs and mix thoroughly. Use a spatula to add flour, completely incorporating both mixtures.

Add hazelnuts and chopped chocolate and mix completely.

Divide dough into two and place on parchment paper. Shape into six-inch logs that are about three inches wide.

Bake at 350 for about 30 minutes until firm and golden brown.

Remove from oven and cool on a wire rack for 15 minutes. Reduce oven temperature to 200 degrees.

Using a serrated knife, slice each log into one-inch slices. Place sliced side down on the parchment paper and bake again until fully crisped, turning over once, for a total of about 30 minutes – maybe more. Some days I slice the biscotti too thick and it takes longer, or I don’t cook them enough the first time and it takes longer. You are looking for a dry texture. They will continue to dry out as they cool. You can even bake for 30 minutes and then turn the oven off, leaving the biscotti in there to continue to dry out.

Let cool thoroughly. Store in airtight container, or give away. You can’t really go wrong.

We Are(n’t) Family: African* Peanut Stew

Formation.

My brother and I have not spoken more than a handful of times since November 8, 2016.

While the final catalyst was his part in the current president’s election, I realized a long time ago that there was a disconnect between us, formed since we could walk. We spent our childhood together, me mostly afraid of him as the object of his ire, scorn, amusement, and anger. Both of our parents worked, and we spent a lot of time alone together. When my brother needed a punching bag I was handy; he routinely delivered punches, smacks, and pinches, along with various projectiles aimed at my head. He broke two windows in our house, one with a walnut and one with a deflated volleyball, as a result of those errant projectiles that veered from me at the last minute and met instead the fragile single panes of our house in the woods.

In terms of missiles, I remember most the Osage oranges, the softball-sized round seed pods that looked like I imagined brains looked. They were all over the base of the hill where our bus turned around. Florida Ropp, our bus driver for my entire elementary career, would pull up to the bottom of the steep hill and let us off before backing into a wide driveway and turning around. I sat in the front so I could fly down the stairs and immediately start running up the hill.

My brother emerged slowly, casually, a few seconds after me, to begin leisurely scanning the ground for the best orange. He would heft several in his hands before finding the perfect missile. My short legs never carried me far enough, fast enough, and the first one nearly always hit me square in the back between my shoulder blades. He had good aim and didn’t often miss.

We don’t agree on politics. We don’t have the same friends, taste in music, or ideas of what is important. Although I think he is a great dad and has a strong work ethic, I am not sure he believes either of those things to be true about me. When I started my own school, I think he envisioned me in a prairie skirt huddled around a kitchen table with a few raggedy unfortunates, not the fully accredited, non-profit private school I actually built.

When my husband died, though, he showed up. He cleaned out the demolished car and returned, silent and somber. He handled Dane’s bill collectors so I did not have to. His whole family piled into their car and drove down to Georgia from Northern Virginia to sit with us, and on that first fatherless Father’s Day in 2013 we spent it at Camden Yards in Baltimore with them.

It is hard for me to rectify what he did in that one time that was so important and vital with the rest of our lives. Even as we don’t speak, I would do the same for his family.

Perhaps we can just come to some peace with each other, where it’s ok that we are related and all, but there is really no obligation. We are guests in each others’ house; our children are strangers to each other. We cannot choose our family, but we can choose who we continue to invite into our lives. It’s hard when the chasm between us is vast and filled with fundamental differences in the way we believe the world should work.

Soup is an odd transition but perhaps just as polarizing. I have never lived with anyone who has liked soup. I do not understand how a person could not like soup. Various reasons have been that it’s sort of a half-meal and not particularly satisfying, or that it’s too, well, soup-y. For this reason, even though I am incredibly good at it (if I do say so myself), I don’t often make soup of any kind.

This recipe was an accident of sorts. Back when I was a public school teacher working with unruly adolescents, I was planning to teach a history unit on Africa and came home one evening – late and hungry – from a team planning meeting. My team decided that I was to design a dish that was quick and easy to share with my class when we started the unit; on that cold and rainy evening, I threw together some traditional flavors from all over Africa and hoped for the best.

After tasting the first batch, I ended up keeping the first to myself and making another for the class. Even the anti-soup faction in the house begrudgingly admitted it was delicious.

These days I make it all for myself and eat the whole batch over several days. It is silky and simple and complicated all at once, and warming all the way down to the bones. I have made my own ras-el-hanout spice blend instead of using the simple ginger/cayenne mixture I first used in this stew (back in 1999). There are various recipes online that include between six and 30 spices in their ras-el-hanout mixes; I chose to go simple for the sake of ease and convenience. The result is a deep, complex, satisfying, and somehow familiar stew that brings everyone back to the table.

African* Peanut Stew

Ingredients

4 tablespoons olive oil
3 cups sweet potatoes or yams, chopped into ½” cubes
1 large onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic, chopped
2 cups vegetable stock (or chicken if not cooking for vegetarians)
2 15-ounce cans of diced tomatoes (or two pints if you preserve your own)
1 large apple, peeled, seeded, and chopped
1 heaping tablespoon ras-el-hanout (recipe below)
Optional but highly recommended: 2 T grated fresh ginger
1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper (more or less to taste)Salt and pepper to taste
1/4 cup unsweetened shredded coconut
1 cup crunchy peanut butter (unsweetened is best)
1 green pepper, seeded and chopped

Salt and pepper of varying amounts

Ras el Hanout Spice Blend

1 tablespoon coriander seeds
1 1/2 teaspoons cumin seeds
1 teaspoon crushed chili flakes
2 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
2 teaspoons paprika
1 teaspoon ground cardamom
1 teaspoon ground ginger
1 teaspoon ground turmeric

Method

If you are making your own ras-el-hanout, make that first. Add coriander and cumin seeds to a small frying pan over medium heat. Toast until spices begin to open up (they will smell more…toasty…), swirling frequently to avoid burning. If they burn, start over.

Place toasted seeds in a coffee grinder and allow to cool. Add red pepper flakes and grind until fine and incorporated. You can also use a mortar and pestle if you don’t have a spice grinder.

Combine all spices and mix thoroughly. This makes a little over 1/4 cup of ras-el-hanout, which will stay fresh for about a month in a dark, dry place. Realistically, it will be okay longer but just lose flavor the longer you have it.

Make the soup: In a large, heavy-bottomed stewpot (enameled cast iron is great for this), heat olive oil over medium heat. Add onion and sauté for two or three minutes, adding about a teaspoon of salt and some cracked black pepper. Add sweet potatoes and sauté until just cooked, soft on the outside with a slightly firm center (al dente).

Add chopped garlic, stock, tomatoes, apple, ras-el-hanout, fresh ginger (if using), and cayenne pepper. Season with salt and pepper. Bring to a low boil, and then lower the heat and simmer for 45 minutes.

Stir in shredded coconut, peanut butter, and green pepper and simmer for another ten minutes. Add salt and pepper to taste.

Serve with more shredded coconut and chopped unsalted peanuts.

*Yes, this is a blanket and general name for a stew that takes flavors from all over, most especially Morocco but also in the southern regions of Africa (and western as well). I do not pretend to be any kind of expert in these flavor profiles; I am simply experimenting and combining things that taste delicious, no matter how incongruous. I mean no disrespect.

Fall Feasting: Crab Gnocchi With Arugula

Comfort.

It’s fall here now.

Two weeks ago week it was raining, turning the new-fallen leaves into slick mush on the sidewalks and making everyone who had been bitching about the heat grumpy about the rain. Last week the mercury topped 90, so the rain went away and people complained again about the heat.

Just today, the leaves have begun to unveil a reddish tint, and the weeks ahead look more like the calendar says it should.

Fall means sweaters and boots and jeans and dry weather and in Maryland, most of all, the best crab of the season. Crabs in September and October are fat and packed full. While many rush to crabs as soon as the temperature rises in May, I wait and am rewarded with the fattest, sweetest, and cheapest crabs of the season.

Stretch that crab with some pasta, but not any pasta: gnocchi.

I do not know what it is about gnocchi. It’s like pasta and potatoes had a light and fluffy baby that was fat-cheeked and so adorable it barely needed anything else to make it lovable.

But true confession time: Until this recipe, I had only tried gnocchi once.

It was at a restaurant in Little Italy in Baltimore, a place that shall remain nameless but based on reputation alone should have had someone’s nonna in the back making delicate little puffs of potato.

They certainly charged cash money like they flew Nonna over first class.

Turns out, their gnocchi was less than stellar. They were lukewarm and gummy, served in a quickly-cooling butter sauce with fairly tasteless Parmesan that may have seen the inside of a green can. It was not a good showing, and for years I ignored the presence of this dish in favor of anything else.

Turns out gnocchi is a great pasta dish for those avoiding gluten, and with some practice (see Recipe Notes), it is, indeed, that adorable baby it is supposed to be. Paired here with crab and a bit of arugula that has been gussied up with a light mustard dressing. It slightly resembles a coddie, that unique-to-Baltimore staple of cod and mashed potatoes, deep fried and served with yellow mustard. Delicious summer-into-fall meal when crabs are at their fattest and fall greens are starting to come in. Or fall-into-winter meal when you need something hearty to cheer you up against the waning light. Or really, any time you feel like something warm and comforting and slightly luxurious.

Crab Gnocchi With Arugula

(generously serves four)

Ingredients 

3 large baking potatoes (big’uns. Don’t skimp.)

2 large egg yolks, beaten

Salt

½ cup gluten-free all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting (regular AP works here, too, but see Recipe Notes)

1/8 teaspoon nutmeg

3 tablespoons butter

1/2 teaspoon fresh marjoram, roughly chopped

1 teaspoon fresh thyme, roughly chopped

1/2 pound crabmeat (jumbo lump or lump if you have cash money like that, or backfin if times are tight but not that tight)

Freshly ground black pepper

Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, grated

Greens dressing

2 tablespoons sherry vinegar

1 1/2 teaspoons Dijon mustard

2 teaspoons shallots, minced

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

1/4 cup best-quality olive oil

1 pound arugula, washed

Method

Preheat oven to 400°. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper and dust with flour.

Pierce the potatoes all over with a fork. Bake potatoes for about one hour, until tender.

Cut potatoes in half. Scoop the flesh into a potato ricer and rice them directly onto a clean countertop that has been lightly dusted with flour. Drizzle beaten eggs and one teaspoon of salt over the potatoes. Using two bench scrapers, one in each hand, work the egg yolk and salt through the potatoes with a light sweeping motion. Mix flour and nutmeg and over dough and use bench scrapers until dough begins to come together. Use your hands to knead the dough gently until smooth but slightly sticky.

Cut the dough into four pieces, rolling each into a ¾” thick rope. Cut the ropes into ¾” pieces. Leave them as they are, or, more traditionally, roll each piece across the tines of a fork to make ridges. Place gnocchi on the baking sheet.

When you are ready to eat, bring a large pot of salted water to a simmer. Working with a dozen or so at a time, drop the gnocchi into the water and cook until they float to the surface. Continue to cook for one to two minutes more.

In another large sauté pan, melt the butter. Use a slotted spoon or spider to remove gnocchi from simmering water and add it to the butter. Brown slightly then add fresh crabmeat to the pan to warm. Add fresh marjoram and thyme and cook for one minute.

Season with salt and pepper and cook over medium heat for one minute. Sprinkle with grated Parmigiano-Reggiano, if desired, or maybe a little Old Bay if you’re feeling hyperlocal.

Place all dressing ingredients in a small bowl and use a whisk to combine. Pour over greens and toss or serve on the side. Do not overdress greens.

Recipe Notes

  • Gnocchi takes longer than it seems like it should; it can be challenging to roll the ropes without them coming apart. The good news is that this recipe easily doubles and freezes well. You can spend a couple of hours making gnocchi and then pull them out of the freezer when you want. Uncooked gnocchi can be frozen for up to a month (first flat on a sheet pan and then in a resealable freezer bag). Cook in plenty of water, dropping them in just a few at a time. without defrosting. FULL DISCLOSURE: when I cooked them from frozen I did not follow the directions. I dumped them all in together and they became a big mushy mass. I drained them anyway, fried them in butter, and added fresh thyme and parmesan and we feasted royally.
  • As I developed this, I worked the gnocchi more than it seemed I should. If I had used regular gluten-filled all-purpose flour, these would have been gummy and awful. If you are not GF, I highly recommend borrowing some from a friend who is.
  • Using no crab is better than using crab from Indonesia. JM Clayton is my staple crab. Worth every single penny.
  • Also, a wealth of information on marjoram and its cousin, oregano, is available from the Herb Society of America. I found marjoram to be uncommon and was curious. I enjoyed the fact that marjoram is the herb of love, protection, and healing. Seems we could all use that these days. <3