All posts by Marlena Spieler

We left off, a few posting back, with my first meal upon reaching the Daxing region of China’s capital, Bejing. If you remember the plate, it will filled with dumplings, delicious noodles wrapped around chopped leafy greens. In case you wondered who was making the dumplings, chef allowed me into the kitchen to help, and though he looks a bit hesitant in this foto, and I look a bit over-eager, in fact, he said: “Very Good!”. And he ate my dumpling right up! There were dumplings everywhere, steamed dumplings and fried dumplings, sweet fat boiled dough filled with bean paste and paper thin noodles wrapped around seafood or meat, there were dumplings in soup and dumplings that were filled WITH soup, dumplings with sauce and dumplings awash in red chile oil. there were bao and jiaozi, tang yuan, xiao longao, wuntun, siu mai and dumplings I had no idea what their names were. 

The  dumplings in this picture to the left are not, as they appear to be, small hamburgers, but a tender version of a small english muffin-like dumpling,  split into two and filled with a savoury meat mixture, salty, spicy, with a hit of cumin. Its said that the dish was dreamt up by the Empress Cixi, literally: a dish that came to her in a dream and the next day she had her chefs whip up her vision. To be honest, they are available in many places, some better than others, some mediocre, and some fantastic. There were dumplings and also bread doughs steamed so that they were somewhere between a bread and dumpling: steamed cornbread was one of my favourites.

there were noodles rolled around a mixture of meats and greens, then pan browned, to the left–these were delectable– and to the right: puffy bread dough filled with meats or vegetables then steamed; these steamed/baked dumplings, bao, were filled with a much wider array of mixtures than I’ve found abroad: kung pao chicken filled bao were wonderful!

Another was a strange chewy dough, tang yuan, made of ground rice; to be honest, chewy doesn’t even come close to describing it: the dumpling slithers around your mouth, you think that maybe you will be chewing it forever, that maybe you will chew it for the rest of your life and onto the next one, too, but suddenly you’ve managed to swallow it and in that compelling way that many unusual foods have, you feel like: yes, i’m ready for another one! The tang yuan I was fond of were stuffed with black sesame seed and served with a sweet syrup; i was told that it could be eaten as a savoury dumpling, too, with either a bean paste and/or pork filling instead of sweet sesame.

And, because I don’t want you thinking I ate a very unbalanced meal of dumplings dumplings and more dumplings, there were greens! seafood! tofu salad! and my favourite, cucumber salad: garlicky, spicy, halfway on the road to being a pickle. Cucumber salad is a very good reason to go to Beijing, I say flippantly,  in case the Great Wall, Forbidden City and amazing ancient/modern culture isn’t enough. Cucumber salad: always a good reason to travel the world if you love cucumbers as much as I do.

chrysanthemum leaf salad

Besides the chryanthemum leaf salad and the garlicky cucumbers, I was also very fond of shoestrings of tofu, tossed in sesame oil dressing.

bamboo shoots, shredded cabbage, cloud ears, chopped greens......

my beloved garlicky cucumber salad

My first culinary “business” , a zillion years ago, was making herbal vinegars: steeping a myriad of herbs in various vinegars: white and red wine, as well as rice. I made a rather sweet handcrafted label with one of my line drawings, slapped them onto the old wine bottles I gathered, then filled up the bottles with mostly vinegar, as well as a hit of wine and a few BIG sprigs of herbs, either a single herb or a mixture. I arranged them on shelves built across a window so that they could infuse more quickly as the light shone down on them: that was my idea anyhow, based on no science whatsoever that I knew of. It was just that they looked so beautiful, like stained glass, as the light filtered through.

And they were delicious. Looks wise my favourite was the rosemary, because the sprig/branch held up so nicely, and the little peppercorns I added as well as the thyme branches, it was like an herb garden in the bottle. But the one whose flavour has haunted me throughout these years is that of tarragon. Every so often I”ll be doing something and think of that luscious, tangy, sour+fragrant+herbal scent of tarragon leaves pickled in vinegar, of vinegar infused with tarragon.

But to be honest, I tend to add fresh herbs to dressings, vinaigrettes, and the like, at the last minute instead of flavouring the vinegars. This summer, I changed my mind, due in large part to my hugely energetic tarragon patch. I started sticking bunches of tarragon leaves, in sprigs, or chopped, or a combination, into jars of white wine vinegar. Within a few days it is infused, I use it and use it and use it, then use up the tarragon as well. Somewhere along the way, when I see it dwindling and the vinegar level getting lower, I start another jar.

This summer has been my summer of tarragon vinegar. And, like Sebastian, the young French student who came to dinner the other evening, we’ve been loving the elusive yet compelling taste and aroma. Here are a few of our salads.

Asparagus and Small Delicious Tomatoes with Tarragon

If you’ve got homegrown, or farmers market shopped, oh now is the time to make this salad!

Serves 4, or half it to serve two

1 small bunch thin asparagus, tough ends snapped off

1 teaspoon French mustard, not to hot/strong, such as Maille

2 tablespoons tarragon vinegar (see description above) or white wine vinegar

1 pint box small delicious tomatoes, such as sweet grape or cherry ones, yellow and/or red, cut into halves

salt and pepper to taste

2-3 teaspoons fresh tarragon leaves, cut up

Drizzle of evoo

Cut the asparagus into spears several inches long; cook in rapidly boiling salted water for a minute or two or until bright green, still crunchy but getting tender; drain and arrange on a platter and leave to cool to room temperature.

Combine the mustard with the vinegar and stir well until smooth.

When asparagus is cool, scatter the top with the tomatoes, drizzle the mustard vinegar over the top, sprinkle with salt and pepper, tarragon leaves, then drizzle with the evoo. As to exactly HOW much of the mustard vinegar to use, you need to go with your tastes: some like a less sharp salad, some like me, love it tart tart tart!

Iceberg, Walnuts, St Agur or another lovely flavourful blue cheese, (Optional) Diced Beets, Green Beans, Chives and Tarragon

Serves 4

1 head iceberg lettuce, washed and broken up into chunks; chill in the refrigerator wrapped in a clean towel in a bowl, until you’re ready to serve

Handful thin green beans, topped and tailed

3 oz/ 175g St Agur or other creamy flavourful blue cheese, cut into small bite sized pieces

Optional: 1 cooked beetroot, diced (vacuum-packed if fine)

3-4 tablespoons coarsely chopped or quartered walnuts

Several tablespoons chopped chives

Several tablespoons chopped tarragon

About 2 teaspoons tarragon steaped vinegar (see description above), or to taste

About 1-2 tablespoons evoo, or as desired

Salt and pepper to taste

Cook the green beans in boiling salted water or steam them in a steamer, until they are crisp-tender. Drain and rinse in cold water. Set aside.

When you are ready to put together the salad, remove chilled lettuce and bowl from fridge, unwrap the lettuce from its towel and return to the chilled bowl.

Scatter with the green beans, the cheese, beetroot if using, the walnuts, then the chives and tarragon, sprinkling with salt and pepper to taste. Dress with the vinegar and evoo, and serve.

Pappa al Pomodoro!

The delicious Tuscan “mush” of stale bread soaked into luscious tomato-ish soup, served with a splash of evoo and leaves of aromatic sweet basil. Of course, in the summer–and I’m writing this at the beginning of August–pappa al pomodoro is all about sweet ripe fresh from the vine summer tomatoes; but in the winter, pappa is also delicious eating with canned tomatoes–I once went on a vineyard visiting tour which ended up feeling more like a pappa al pomodoro tour, as each of my hosts brought out a bowlful of the thick uber-savoury mixture, saying: this wine, its perfect with pappa al pomodoro! I remember one host saying: “yes, even in the winter I love it: use good quality Italian canned tomatoes!”.

If you’ve ever spooned up pappa al pomodoro, you know it is soooooo soothing, comforting, and ever-so-filling. My friend Judy, in Tuscany, likes it so thick “I can eat it with a knife and fork”. For that, though, you need really fabulous bread: bread with substance and flavour that doesn’t turn gummy. The best bread to use is bread that is very very dry; Judy uses unseasoned croutons, I simply save bread as it stales and let it go very hard. What I don’t use for the pappa will another time become bread pudding.

In keeping with the spirit of this dish, my measurements are not so exact that you need adhere to them. For one thing, your bread will have different thickening qualities as it will be a different bread and a different degree of dryness. Ditto for your tomatoes; in fact, I recommend that you use half fresh and half canned tomatoes for this as the canned tomatoes have a more intense flavour from the cooking involved in canning. I don’t mind tomato skins, however; if you do, you’ll need to skin the tomatoes before using them.

And though tomatoes are already little umami-bursts, I’m letting you into a little secret:  I like to add a mysterious umami-boost in the form of  a porcini bouillion/stock cube, in fact, for 6 cups/1 litre of water, I use two cubes. You can’t really taste it, but the pappa tastes elusively and indefinably more savoury. Chicken or vegetable broth, or plain water, are equally though slightly differently, delicious. If you can’t find porcini boullion cubes, take a few dried porcini mushroom slices and crush in a mortar and pestle, or just break up, and add to the simmering soup. If its crushed you don’t know its there, if its in small pieces, okay, you know its there, but is that a bad thing? when its porcini, i think its always a good thing. but there IS something to be said for mystery.

6-8 cloves garlic; lightly crushed (I leave the skins on as they fall apart during cooking and its so much easier)

About 1/4 cup evoo

3-4 cups ripe tomatoes, coarsely chopped

1 can/tin (about 350g/14 oz) chopped or plum tomatoes, broken up

6 cups/1 litre broth, water, or combination broth+water

1 loaf country bread (1 lb loaf), cut or broken up, and left to grow stale; if it is not stale enough to the point of dryness, place it in a low oven for half an hour to an hour, then check for dryness). The dryer it is, the more it will absorb the liquid and become thick rather than gummy.

Tiny pinch hot pepper, or add a whole pod of a smallish dried chile at the beginning with the garlic, then fish it out at the end.

In a heavy soup pot heat the olive oil until hot but not smoking, then add the garlic and stir around, letting it just gild and smell gorgeous; you do not want to brown it. I”m talking seconds here.

Add the ripe tomatoes, and cook it together, until it becomes somewhat saucey, say 10 minutes, then add the canned tomatoes, broth and water.

Bring to the boil, cook together about 10 minutes, then add the bread. Cover and remove from the heat; let it sit together as the bread absorbs the liquid, stirring it and breaking it up as it does. In case you have big pieces of bread that refuse to break up, use a big wooden spoon.

Pappa is best at room temperature although you can reheat it and eat it warm. To serve: ladle into bowls and scatter lots of fresh basil over the top, drizzle with evoo, and sprinkle with a little coarse salt if liked/needed.

P.S. I ate the leftover pappa al pomodoro for breakfast and then went to the pool for an hour of garlic-breath powered laps; kinda the best morning ever.

Oh, its not a clear well-lit photograph, the braised/roasted carrots and brisket to the right, so I may need to rely on words to describe it: tender (yes, to use that cliche but effective description: fork-tender) strands of beef, the characteric way that brisket is at its best. The top of the meat is crusty, sprinkled with a few grains of coarse sea salt before  being served; the surrounding carrots–this dish’s raison d’etre–are tender, intensified by their long cooking, browned and caramelized by the heat of the oven.

First I simmered the brisket with carrots, parsnips, leeks and whole garlic cloves in a mixture of beef broth with a few dried porcini mushrooms.  The meat was not tender yet, but halfway there.

Then I put meat and vegetables into a glass roasting pan just large enough to hold it, and ladled in enough liquid to almost but not entirely cover it all. I drizzled olive oil on top as the meat was very very lean. If yours isn’t, omit the evoo.

Then I popped it into the oven, and roasted for about an hour and a half, until the meat was sooo  tender and the carrots as caramelized (at least on top) so sweetly that they could nearly be candy. Every half hour or so, as the liquid cooked down, i ladled a little more in; the last half hour I let it all just cook down until it was intensely delicous. And really, I did nothing more except sprinkle with sea salt. And it was superb.

With the leftover broth and vegetables, mostly a lot of carrots, I added a little chard, and some chopped up broccoli rabe. When it was heated through and tender, I ladled it over al dente small macaroni as an Italian style primo piatto, a light vegetable and pasta soup.

While the beef and carrots were braising, I pickled some carrots with onions and jalapenos. It filled up a jar and a half of refrigerator pickles; the next several weeks will be accompanied by this lovely Mexican/Central American escabeche.

Meanwhile, I decided to make Indian Cardomom-Scented Sweet Carrot Dumplings: I had eaten sweet potato/yam dumplings made by Mridula Baljekar at her book launch for The Food and Cooking of India; those delicious dumplings made an impression on me.

I adore Indian sweets but they are usually just so rich and sweet I shiver and shake all over inbetween bites. Not that I stop eating or am less greedy, oh no, but in any event, the idea of something that would have Indian flavours but not be so heavy as to leave me near-comatose, THAT I would like. And THAT was what Mridula’s gorgeous dumplings were. Because I had a mountain of carrots, I decided to make them using carrots instead of sweet potatoes/yams.

The carrots are first cooked, then mashed, then mixed with a few grains of salt, tiny bit of sugar and a hit of cardomom, as well as a spoonful of cream to help it make a batter consistency, and enough flour to bind it all together. I also added a spoonful or two of coconut flour, for a chewy rather than cakey consistency. Then I formed quenelle-shaped dumplings and browned them over a medium low heat, in a non stick frying pan with a few drops of evoo……turning them once or twice, as they firmed up. I tried to keep them from browning too much, which would take them more into pancake and less into dumpling, territory.

As they sat on their cooling tray two things happened: one: i began to think about the syrup, which by all rights would be brown sugar, water, cardomom and a little rose water. Two: my three Jack Russells, Jake, Oscar and Lambchop, gathered around me and begged for dumplings. Of course I gave in: there is nothing too unhealthy for dogs, though there is a little sugar, and I only let them have a small amount of dumpling in any event.

Here is a picture of the dumplings, plain.

And here is a picture of the dumplings in a brown sugar, cardamom and rose water syrup (sadly, a darkly lit foto, the sun was going down).  As the dumplings sit in the syrup they somewhat absorb the syrup–not completely as a crisp dry or spongey pastry would do–these are already dense and moist, as they are mostly carrots; they do , however, absorb some of the syrup. They also get softer, and sodden. But lets put it this way: deliciously sodden with syrup.

The dumplings are delicious whichever way you make them. And if you’re making a batch just for the doggies, leave out the sugar altogether–and if you’d like the dumplings to be sweet but without sugar, you could put a few spoonfuls of honey. Also for the dogs: forget the syrup. The sweetness isn’t good for them, but in any event: mine actually preferred without.

Note: I think that these could go deliciously into the savoury direction as well. Stay tuned.

Sweet Indian-Cardamom Inspired Carrot Dumplings

Serves 4-6

2 cups coarsely mashed carrots–I started with a fairly large pile; I boiled them until just tender enough to be mashed, then drained and mashed them with a potato masher. After i measured 2 cups I used the rest for the North African carrot dip, Zalook.

2 tablespoons confectioners sugar

2 tablespoons coconut flour or finely ground coconut

2 tablespoons double cream, so thick it needs to be spooned, not poured; mascarpone or cream cheese can be used instead

5 rounded tablespoons plain flour

Pinch of salt

Seeds from 3 cardamom pods

A small amount of evoo, for frying

Mix the sugar, coconut flour and double cream or mascarpone into the carrots then stir in the flour, salt and cardamom. You want a thick mixture somewhere between a batter and a dough.

Heat a small amount, say a teaspoon, evoo, in a nonstick frying pan and over medium low heat, make quenelle shapes using two soup spoons, and ease each into the pan. Let cook on first side, until it is golden and a little browned and feeling firmish, then gently turn over onto its second side. You can let them brown a little bit but they look nicer more pale.

Eat as is, or…….drench and then soak in syrup.

Syrup:

2 tablespoons light brown sugar

2 tablespoons white sugar

1/3 cup water

Seeds from 3 cardamom pods

A dash of rosewater: the exact amount depends upon the type and strength of the brand you are using

Combine the sugars and water in a small saucepan with the cardamom, and bring to a boil. Let boil until the sugars are dissolved and the syrup is a little bit thickened, say 5 minutes or so.

Let cool somewhat, then gently pour over the dumplings, or place the dumplings into the syrup. Leave to soak up the liquid, taking care when you move them around that as they absorb the liquid they are more prone to fall apart.I would let them soak at least 2 hours.

Cover until ready to serve.

Note: I chilled the leftovers, about half the batch, and kept them in syrup in the fridge; half of them were in the syrup, half were on top (it was a jar), and they were all even better, two days later, chilled. I think the reason is because the chilling firms them up; both the soaked and sodden with syrup and the ones resting on top, were great. I recommend making them ahead of time!

Cooking and eating our way through the mountain of carrots i mentioned a few days ago–the day of the two cool carrot soups–is actually a lot of fun. True, its a race against time and rot; but having the carrots there, in a pile that seemingly does not go down no matter how many carrots we eat, is kinda crazy-creative  in which my whole culinary world is carrot coloured. I look at whatever I feel like cooking and think: how can I make it more carrotty, can I put a carrot in that, or would this dish be better or worse if I made it with carrots instead of _________.

Once upon a time I wasn’t that fond of carrots, and thought them boring. I mean, a pot of chicken soup is nothing without a carrot, and roasted carrots around a pot roast is fabulous. Carrots are great–raw OR cooked–in a list so long its impossible to even begin. But I still wasn’t thrilled by them. Their sweetness was a little weird, and the texture, I mean: so ordinary. Truly, I was in the take-em-or-leave-em camp.

Yet one day a little more than a year ago,  I started to cross the bridge from once-okay carrot to freaking fantastic carrot. It might have started with Chef Nick Balla’s carrot smorebrod at San Francisco’s Bar Tartine. The carrots were roasted down to intensify their flavour, and infused with something so delicious I just had to close my eyes while I munched. The carrots were on a bed of tangy fromage frais spread on top of a dense rye bread from San Francisco’s Tartine Bakery.

Indian Chef London-based Mridula Baljekar got me kind of addicted to the combination of carrot and cardomom in a sweet carrot fritter-dumpling. And then, at the SF Chronicle Test Kitchen (the late, lamented) someone cooked chef Daniel Patterson’s coffee bean-smoked/infused carrots; I wasn’t completely sold on the combination until the vinaigrette was splashed on; THEN i was onboard with carrot creativity, big time. Bring it on!

Which brings us to here and to now. My mountain of carrots. my fabulous pilaff of roasted carrots cooked with rice, layered with turmeric and fresh dill, and cooked until the bottom crisps, making Persian tah-dig.

We ate it with chard pulled up from the garden five minutes before dinner, a cucumber salad, and uber-savoury Azerbaijan chicken kebabs: yogurt, onions, garlic, mint, saffron, and….paprika……marinated with the chicken for two days. Its wonderful. In fact, even though I hate the sort of well-balanced boring quality of a filled plate, below is my husband’s plate, about 2 minutes before he ate it.