Sunny, sweet, and tart. Best when the outside of the passionfruit is wrinkly and it feels heavy in the hand.
What do you do when the sun is out, but it’s frigid, with temperatures dropping and snow on the way? And you just need a little tart sweetness in your life?
You make passionfruit and lemon curd.
Floral. Sharp. Delicious.
Put it on a biscuit. Swirl it into yogurt. Eat it from the jar. Your choice.
Passionfruit and Lemon Curd 2 passionfruits 2 lemons (juice and zest) 3/4 cup sugar 2 eggs, beaten 5 tablespoons salted butter
Method In a medium-sized bowl, combine the guts of the passionfruit, lemon juice and zest, and sugar. Strain your beaten eggs through a mesh strainer to remove any stringy bits and add to the bowl. You could also strain the passion fruit guts if you like to remove the seeds, but the little crunch is nice so I leave them in. Whisk these ingredients together and set the bowl aside.
Melt the butter in a large sauce pan over low heat. Whisking constantly, add the egg and juice mixture to the saucepan.
Now is the fun part. Stand over the stove, whisking vigorously, for approximately 10 minutes until the mixture thickens enough to coat the back of a spoon. If you do not keep the mixture moving, you will end up with lemon-scented scrambled eggs. So put on a podcast, and settle in.
If your mixture does scramble slightly, you can always press it through a strainer after it’s thick. This will remove those passionfruit seeds, but that’s OK.
Refrigerate curd. It will thicken as it cools and become absolutely perfect. Best to eat this within a week, but you can also freeze it in ice cube trays and for use in smoothies or even as a swirl in homemade ice cream.
NOTE: You can make this curd with any citrus fruit. You may need to adjust the sugar depending on how tart the citrus is, but you’ll need between 3/4 and 1 cup of liquid for this recipe if using another citrus fruit.
Okay, so I am no food prognosticator; I don’t claim to be able to predict what’s going to be The Next Big Kale. I am okay with this. I don’t want to be an influencer or any of that. Mostly I want to cook for people, eat good food, and develop recipes that make sense in the grand scheme of my life.
So it’s quite a lovely happenstance when ingredients I have started to work with suddenly become The Next Big Thing.
For 2017, here are five of those ingredients.
Harissa
Harissa is having a moment. And for good reason – this shizz is delicious, subtly spicy and versatile for preparations both savory and sweet.
Found most often as a paste, harissa is a pantry staple in North Africa and Middle Eastern cuisines. It is made by combining some form of chile pepper, olive oil, spices like coriander, cumin, and caraway. Tomatoes round out this complex flavor profile which can be quite spicy and sometimes a little sweet.
I had a hell of a time finding harissa and ended up finding one jar tucked away in the mustard section of the local Whole Foods. I expect this will change as the year progresses, especially since The Splendid Table just did a story on harissa this weekend on NPR (just FTR, I started this blog post on Thursday. So there). You can also make your own harissa if you are so inclined. I am, and will make it after I finish the jar I have on hand.
I love harissa for an absurd number of applications, from roasting sweet potatoes to spicy salad dressings to harissa cauliflower, baked in the oven and served with a yogurt and garlic dip that features, unsurprisingly, one of the other food trends to watch in 2017.
Za’atar
Contrary to what is sold on shelves, za’atar is less a spice blend and more a family of spices that are frequently used together, with many regions in the Middle East having a region-specific combination.
Think of za’atar as the bouquet garni of Middle Eastern spices in that once you have your particular combination it is as ubiquitous in Middle Eastern cooking as the famous French bundle of herbs.
Spices that make up za’atar can included oregano, cumin, savory, thyme, and sumac. Sold as a blend, za’atar also often includes sesame seeds, fennel, and salt.
Families guard their particular blends with their lives, passing them down orally and only to those who might deserve it.
My experience with za’atar is rather limited at this juncture, but I have added it to roasted cauliflower (Vegetable of the Year, 2017) and soups. Khristian says he has had it spread with olive oil as a paste on naan, something that I might actually eat my weight in, were I able to consume gluten. Plans in 2017 include making either gluten-free naan or gluten-free focaccia so that I can, in fact, test this theory.
I would also like to make my own za’atar, but sumac is a pain in the ass to find locally. I am sure that Amazon can help me out with that. I also think it would be great to come up with my own blend – a food project that only requires excellent record-keeping.
Honey – Specifically, Hot Honey
No matter where you live, it seems you can no longer swing a dead cat without hitting a hot chicken joint.
Full disclosure: I did contribute to Carla Hall’s hot chicken joint in Brooklyn and was honored with not only my name on a plaque in the restaurant but also recipe cards for the chicken itself and a treat card that is good for life. As I don’t live in Brooklyn, I will not be redeeming that last item, and that makes me a little sad.
If I can’t travel up to New York for my monthly dose of hot chicken, then I can at least stay down here in Charm City and spread hot honey over errthang. Paulie Gee’s down the street from me uses hot honey on their pizza pies but are less than welcoming to the gluten-free set, so I will go ahead and just steal that idea thankyouverymuch and load up my own pizza with some. Think sausage and thin lemon slices with a drizzle of hot honey.
Or a hot honey yogurt dip.
Or hot honey on biscuits with bacon.
Hot honey popcorn.
Hot honey roasted carrots.
Hot honey stir fry with tofu and broccoli (I got you, vegetarians).
Technically not a food, amaro falls under the category “Food/Drink” and thus counts as in the running for a food trend to watch in 2017.
I won’t lie or pretend to be an expert; my first real foray into amaro (other than accidentally in a cocktail) was in writing about the Black Manhattan. Research on that and my general love of the bitter, sweetish, herby flavor profile, plus the distinct undercurrent of flavors and the complexity from amaro to amaro, makes me want to use this more in various applications.
Brad Thomas Parsons literally wrote the book on amaro, and it’s on my winter reading list.
Turmeric
Also not a food but rather a spice, turmeric is experiencing a renaissance in food culture that has been going on for at least a couple of years already, with no signs of slowing down.
At first glance, the bright yellow color of powdered turmeric is mildly alarming. Yes, it’s beautiful, but it’s also bright and intimidating. That shit gets everywhere and stains everything (#LearnedTheHardWay), so dedicate a side towel to use when you are working with this spice.
Turmeric can be found in a powder, a paste, or a ginger-looking root. I recently experimented with turmeric in golden milk and realized quickly that although powdered turmeric is easy to come by, fresh turmeric is the way to go in liquid applications.
Regardless of form, the taste of turmeric is deeply earthy and soulful; there is really no other way to describe it. I would imagine that turmeric, as a root, has a distinct terroir, just as other foods do, but I am certainly not close to being that sensitive to subtle variations in flavor.
When you eat something with turmeric you get a deep sense of doing something very good for you, and not just in the standard way of low-fat, low-calorie, no-sugar bullshit. Turmeric is a warming spice, so perfect for long, dark winters. It is also a natural anti-inflammatory and antiseptic spice. Practitioners of ayurveda believe that it balances intestinal fire and can help with digestion, joint pain, and many other ills (including lowering blood pressure and fighting cancer).
Go far beyond curry and use turmeric in tea, scrambled eggs, sprinkled on popcorn, and more.
Runners-up on my food trends to watch include cauliflower and a resurgence of snacking before dinner, what my kid calls a “French nibbler” (cheese, nuts, olives, etc). I think snacking before dinner will become the new dinner (or maybe that’s just going to happen in my house). I am looking at you, bleu cheese with a hot honey drizzle!
What food trends do you want to see gone forever? What would you like to see more of in 2017?
NOTE: I am a fan of 30-day challenges, and November is traditionally a time of two: National Novel Writing Month, and 30 Days of Thanks. As I am not a fiction writer, this year I have chosen to publish a daily blog for the entire month, expressing my gratitude. This may not be entirely food-focused, but expect recipes aplenty. Feel free to join me in the comments below. What are you thankful for today?
A ray of sunshine.
Today is the day before my daughter’s ex-boyfriend’s birthday.
I know. It’s weird.
But I really liked this kid. Smart, polite, funny, clever, and a caring human and good boyfriend.
Tomorrow is Walter’s birthday, and I still think about him.
I know. That’s weird, too.
Why they broke up is none of my business, but what is my business is the fact that just three days before things ended we all went over to Walter’s parents house (me, Sicily, and Sicily’s godparents, Mark and Kerry, and their two boys) and had dinner.
And I LOVED Walter’s family.
Funny, kind, liberal, warm, welcoming, open, honest. All of them from both kids to the parents and all the way back again.
I am not the most social of people, but Walter’s family went out of their way to make me feel comfortable, or at least that’s what it felt like, which is what good hosts do.
Walter’s mom, Susan, made me feel immediately at home as I walked in with my salted caramel cheesecake pie. I told her that I break the cardinal rule of potlucks every time, which is don’t make something for the first time for a potluck, and the cheesecake pie was no exception.
“Oh,” she said, “I did the exact same thing and always do.”
#KindredSoul
After the kids broke up, Susan and I emailed a couple times, hoping to get together, but nothing came of it, and maybe that’s as it should be (or maybe not. I am still hopeful).
I did come away with the recipe for the gremolata she served on the steak that night, and I have made it several times since that dinner.
Today I am thankful for that Walter’s mother’s gremolata.
I miss Walter and his family, but we’ll always have the gremolata.
Walter’s Mother’s Gremolata
Ingredients
1 1/2 cups packed mint leaves (I used half mint, half parsley)
1/2 cup shelled, roasted pistachios
2 teaspoons minced garlic (about 2 cloves)
2 teaspoons lemon zest
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon black pepper
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
Method
Place all ingredients in a food processor and pulse to chop. You are looking for a pesto-like consistency, not a paste, so don’t overblend.
Serve on meat, chicken, crackers, toast, whatever. It’s fucking delicious.
My past perception of this humble little nugget was simple: a little trashy, a little low-rent, a little flavorless.
In short, I was a total douche about this particular ingredient.
Why?
Who knows?
As a quote from a long-forgotten character in a novel whose name I also forget said, “Sometimes it bees that way.”
But I digress. Point is, I was a snob about this humble little kernel of corn for no good reason.
That perception changed with a recent birthday dinner for my particular friend at Woodberry Kitchen.
My particular friend is a vegetarian who has been flirting with the idea of fish for quite some time. Although both of us believe that vegetarians can get plenty of plant-based protein, thankyouverymuch, there comes a time when it is simply easier to get animal-based protein (like, say, eating out).
Plus, fish is DELICIOUS.
So he figured that he would give fish another go at Woodberry, which, if I am being honest (as I always try to be), is potentially the best place to try anything new for the first time because Spike Gjerde and his brigade is the bees’ knees and you know whatever you order is going to be delicious.
So my particular friend ordered seared Maryland rockfish on a bed of hominy (among other things) and OH MY GOD.
Seriously.
That shit was good. Like, plate-mopping-with-homemade-bread-good. Eat-real-slow-to-make-it-last good.
Since that dinner I have become mildly obsessed with hominy. The word itself has been bumping around in my brain and, no lie, I had dreams about it once last week. I gave in and did some research then headed to the kitchen.
Hominy is basically corn that has had a good, long soak in a bath of something lime-y. In some applications, that bath is lye, which is tremendously terrible for you to actually eat and which this blog can absolutely not get behind. Lutefisk be damned – lye is not what you should be putting in your body.
In other cases, that bath is some mixture of wood ash and lime. Still sounds pretty scary. I like local, and since dried hominy was not available IMMEDIATELY (which is when I like things to be available), I picked up a can of Manning’s Hominy from the local Giant. Since nobody really knows what hominy is (except for Spike Gjerde, bless his heart), I wandered up and down the aisles until I reached that thin sliver of overlap that is “soul food” and “Hispanic food” in Giant.
It’s a thin sliver, but it exists. I should have taken a picture.
Manning’s Hominy has a Baltimore history and remains local to this day. It also happens to be the name of the road we used to live on in Georgia. #Destiny
Plus, bonus: it is steam-peeled and no additives (like lye) are included.
So I accidentally picked up this can of local hominy because truthfully it was the first one I saw in that little sliver of an aisle, and I just wanted to get my mitts on some of it to see what was what.
The contents of the can are patently unappetizing. The hominy is ghost-white and covered with slimy mush; the contents are “congealed” as the can itself says, and no one wants to hear “congealed” in conjunction for what they are about to eat.
Pressing on, I used a fork to separate the little kernels and proceeded to prepare it two ways: toasted and served with Maryland rockfish (thanks, Spike) and roasted fennel, tomatoes and oil-cured olives (pictured above); and in a roasted chicken and hominy stew.
The corn flavor is subtle in both dishes, but the texture of the hominy adds something that is difficult to describe. It’s chewy without being sticky, and when toasted (it actually pops in the oven, which is unfortunate as my oven ceiling is now somewhat covered in hominy) it gets a nutty flavor that deepens the longer it cooks.
Dried out, it’s like Corn-Nuts, which are far too crunchy for their own good (plus too loud, which for someone who has misophonia like me is a nightmare).
Slowly simmered in stew, hominy picks up all of the flavors of the stew while still retaining its innate corn-ness.
They are both delicious, and you should definitely order them if you live in Baltimore, but this blog is not about that even though it sounds like a straight-up advertisement.
I love you too much for that.
This blog is really about the stupid preconceived notions that we hold on to for no apparent reason. This one has to do with food, but if you think really hard I bet there are other things you believe that you can’t even identify why you believe them.
Food is a powerful belief system tied to its role in our lives growing up, but other things – politics, sex, relationships, for example – are no less powerful examples of how we cling stubbornly to something because “sometimes it bees that way.”
Something as simple as tasting hominy – this humble little kernel of corn – after dismissing it for so many years makes me think about what else I have dismissed for no reason. What else have I written off? Who else have I dismissed?
What have you cast aside for reasons you can’t name? What is your own personal hominy?
