All posts by Marlena Spieler

If you’ve wondered where I’ve disappeared to, for the past three weeks I’ve been undergoing radiation treatment for breast cancer. My cancer was diagnosed in December 2014, and since then its been surgery and surgery, then radiation and now hormonal therapy. I’m not going to complain because: I have had the best and most compassionate medical care and treatments available–amazing doctors and staff. My prognosis is good, and all told: I am very very lucky. Its gonna be OKAY!

But the thing about radiation is that it can make a person tired. Some sail through it, but for me its been a choppier ride. For whatever unpredictable reason I’ve been very very tired: like jetlag+being pregnant+staying up all night endlessly+being hit by a speeding SUV, then multiply it a couple of times. In other words, I do a little gardening, have a nap. I walk the dogs and sleep the rest of the day, sometimes into the next.

Despite the fact that no matter how tired I am, I always crawl out of my stupor to make a delicious meal, I haven’t been blogging. More than ever each meal has felt important, each ingredient has spoken to me, and the act of cooking, choosing foods, transforming foods, ie cooking, has mattered more than ever, giving GREAT JOY.

I’ve gotten lazy, however, about the snapping of pictures. And though i have been whipping up a string of simple, inventive, bright, and appealing dishes, when the cooking is done, I want to sit, appreciate each mouthful before I am too tired to raise a fork or even–at times–chew, not try to find a light good enough to snap a foto, or plate the dish appealinging.

But today I made this dish: sag paneer–spinach and fresh cheese–nspired by a recipe in Mridula Baljekar’s award winning cookbook Regional Cooking of India- it was sooo good, comfortingly and invigoratingly good–I gathered up enough energy to snap the photo. Having tweaked and twiddled the recipe until it fit the ingredients I had on hand, I knew I had to share it with you.

Saag Paneer
Serves 4
Saag refers to spinach: if you are ever in an Indian restaurant with me you will be that whatever saag dish: whether its ghosht (lamb), murgh (chicken), aloo (potatoes) is on the menu, thats what I will be ordering. The tender green leaves are just so wonderful combined with Indian spices from any of the regions, as well as nearly anything else. Here I’ve used paneer: the fresh Indian cheese made from coagulating milk to form curds then pressing them. You can even make them yourself though I find the ones at the shops to be fresh-tasting and lovely. Paneer is funny: it has little taste as it is: but brown it in a pan, then simmer it in sauce, it blossoms into chewy, buttery nuggets of….protein.

Also: my husband had been foraging by the sea and came home with a big bunch of sea kale: I used that for about half the spinach. You can use regular kale, though you should par-cook it before hand to make up for the difference in cooking times.

8-12 oz/225-300 g paneer, depending on the size of the packet it comes in
About 3 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 large onion, roughtly chopped
1 1/2-2 tablespoons coarsely chopped fresh ginger
4 large garlic cloves, coarsely chopped
1-2 fresh not too hot chillies, either green or red
1 teaspoon cumin, or to taste
1 teaspoon ground coriander seed, or to taste
1/2 tsp turmeric, or more if desired
Several pinches chilli powder, if needed/desired/to taste
1 tin (12-14 oz/ 350-400 g) diced/chopped tomatoes including the juice
1 heapted tablespoon tamarind paste
12 oz/ 350 g/ about 3 cups volume, young spinach leaves
1/2 teaspoon salt or to taste, as needed
3-4 heaped tablespoons creme fraiche or greek yogurt
1/2 tsp garam masala

Cut the paneer into lengths, about 3/4 inch side/thick, we’re not being too precise her, then cut them crosswise so that you have bite sied pieces. I’m going to say to pat the pieces dry as they may be quite wet, but in fact I didn’t do this so I think they will dry on their own accord in the pan. But in theory you should pat them dry.

Heat the oil in a heavy wok/nonstick wok/nonstick frying pan and brown the paneer on both sides; you want them to be golden and light brown, unevenly. Remove from pan and remove pan from heat (keeping the oil in it).

Combine the onion, ginger, garlic and chillies in a blender (I used a hand-held blender on a stick) then when it forms a paste return the hot pan with the oil back onto the stove, on a medium-ish heat and cook, stir frying or just stirring as you fry, until the liquid evaporates and a thick paste forms. Halfway through add the cumin, coriander, turmeric, and chilli powder if using.

When the thick paste forms add the tomatoes and their juices, cook together a few minutes until they meld together, then stir in tamarind, mixing well to combine.

Now add the spinach and salt, stir and cook until the spinach wilts/cooks through, then add the creme fraiche or Greek yogurt, mix well over the heat to combine into a sauce, and sprinkle with garam masala. Serve!

Because you’ve pickled your mustard seeds like I’ve been nagging you to do, and because you’ve pickled your lemons like I showed you how to do way back when, tonight: when you looked at what was going to go into your salad, you were halfway there.

This salad is a mixture of “inspired by Ceasar” that is, very very savoury, oomphed up with mustard and worchestershire sauce, garlic, and olive oil….unlike a Ceasar, though, here I’ve swapped the Parmesan to preserved lemon: it gives an equally rich and salty umami quality to the salad, you’ll be puckering and drooling to be honest though you can always cut back on the amount of lemon, and I’ve not added croutons: you can if you want. But while the salad is inspired by Ceasar, it is also inspired by a salad I ate in Spain in which the little gem lettuce and roasted red peppers were bathed in a hot sauteed garlic ddressing. I’ve cooled it off, used raw garlic for an invigorating smack, and……

Oh yeah. The pickled mustard seeds are so good: plain dried mustard seeds will not work, though you can simmer some seeds in a mixture of vinegar and generously salted water. An instant pickle, almost. Or you can use whole grain mustard instead of the mustard seeds + prepared mustard. And I use roasted red pepper from a jar, the kind that comes from Greece, California or Spain. If you have homemade roasted red peppers, these are good too, no doubt even better. But beause they are a small part of the recipe I wouldn’t make them specially for it.

Little Gem Lettuce, Pickled Mustard Seeds, Roasted Red Peppers
Serves 4, divide in half for two, quarter it for a dinner on your own
4 heads little gem lettuce, sliced crosswise, in about 1/2 inch slices
2-3 roasted red peppers, cut into strips
2-3 cloves garlic, chopped
3-4 tablespoons pickled mustard seeds plus a little of the marinade you have them in
2 tablespoons wine vinegar
1 tablespoon or more a mild French mustard such as maille or other (I used a Polish mustard which had a slight edge of sweetness)
About 1-2 teaspoons Worchestershire sauce, to taste
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1/2-1 depending on the size, preserved lemon, diced or coarsely chopped, plus a little bit–a teaspoon or two–of its brine
Additional young leaves of greens, a small handful, mesclum type; i plucked mine from the garden. you could use a few leaves of Romaine instead

Place the sliced lettuce and roasted red peppers in a bowl and toss together.
In a separate bowl mix together the garlic, mustard seeds and brine, wine vinegar, mustard, Worchestershire sauce, and olive oil; mix together really well.
When you are ready to eat, toss the lettuce and peppers with the dressing, then add the preserved lemons and mix well, then at the last minute add a bit of the fresh lettuce. you want a combination of lettuce that has been well tossed, almost become one with the dressing, and a few leaves of freshness added at the last minute.

Eat now. Eat with a roast chicken, with venison sausages, with a potato gratin, with roast fish and artichokes. Eat with spaghetti aglio olio, or a chunk of crusty bread. Or just eat, from a bowl, and enjoy.

Some time in March I begin to look for the signs that my patch of bear garlic aka ramps/ramsons is back. As far as I can tell there is only one patch within miles–the locals don’t eat it at all, no one else picks it–and if it hadn’t been for my Jack Russells–Jake, Oscar and Lambchop–and our daily walks, I never would have discovered these wild garlicky leaves growing “right in my own back yard” so to speak; at least in the nearby woodlands. And ever since I found my patch I watch the forest eagerly when winter shows signs of turning the corner into spring. At first the deadness of winter and its brown landscape, no leaves at all, transform into a flurry of spring greens and wild flowers, carpeting the woods with colour and greenery. After a bird-less winter you can hear their songs, and the buzzing of bees. Then, in exactly the same spots as last year, are tiny tender green shoots, with their distinctive wide-leaf shape. Each day I check the progress of these wild garlicky greens. And one day: Voila! a big patch of fat fragrant leaves that soon sprout tiny buds and white flowers.

Growing up in California ramps didn’t figure prominently in the things we ate. I don’t remember any foragers gathering them, yet I’m sure they must be there somewhere. It was at an artisanal food fair a number of years ago in Strasbourg that I tasted a fragrant, garlicky pesto. “Ours d’ail” was the name on the label; “bear garlic?” I asked? “Yes” came the reply, “It is the wild garlic of the countryside and we say that its bear garlic because the bears love it as much as we do”. I bought a handful of jars, so happily excitedly feeling–with that air of discovery–that i had found something truly new.
And as I do with all edible treasures, I brought a jar to my daughter. My daughter lives in Brooklyn. Her friends had never heard of bear garlic but one look elicited this: “Its ramps” they said. “We pickle them and grille them, but didn’t know you could make them into pesto”. My great discovery of this amazing wild garlic that the bears love, turned out not to be an unknown edible gem from the Olde World, but rather, the oh-so-trendy ramps, badge of distinction for any self-respecting hipster food enthusiastic, and which, in the farmers markets coast to coast go for an exhorbitant amount of money. I’m not the only one to make this mistake though: a fellow ex-pat, living in Asia was visiting Turkey: “I’ve discovered a wonderful garlicky leaf!” she posted on facebook. Yes, you guessed it.

While I loved them when I thought they were my own personal treat,I love them equally now that I know they are a springtime emblem of springtime-trendiness. It doesn’t matter to me though I am secretly pleased that no one around me likes them: I pick to my hearts content. And while I always know there will be plenty for dinner, I’m also saddened knowing there are so many who won’t have a chance to taste them. I do issue bagfuls to whoever I think might enjoy.

During ramp season I feel like I could write an entire cookbook on the subject: nearly every day finds me in the woods, returning home with a fistful of the greens.

In fact, there are few things I don’t add ramps to: I make tiny ramp meatballs of chicken, turkey or pork with Asian flavours.

I make ramp scones/biscuits, kneading chopped ramps into the buttery dough, or I simply mash pureed/chopped ramps into softened butter and slather them onto plain hot biscuits of scones. And as long as you’re mashing butter and ramps, THIS is probably my FAVE dish of all during ramp season: steamed white rice with a spoonful or two of ramp-butter melted in.

Ramps are good in thin shreds added to ramen, and they are great for a snack rolled around a piece of cold chicken or cured meat, and a dab of mustard, or chopped up into an egg salad using your leftover tea eggs, if like me you get the urge to simmer these fragrant things every so often. Stuff a bunch into your roast chicken of the moment before you commit it to the oven, or wrap whole leaves around fish fillets before you pan brown or steam. Of course they are good as a base for steaming dumplings, and quickly chucked onto the grill and eaten with a spicy romescu sauce they are your very own wild calcot feast. And omelets! Oh I adore ramps added to almost any and every omelet, especially one with feta cheese such as a previous posting. The garlicky fresh leaves and the salty melty feta, all bound up in delicate egg; kind of makes me swoon. All year long no matter how many other wonderful vegetables and herbs there are, I can’t get that lovely combination of ramps, soft salty cheese, and egg. Sigh, I wait all year, especially the long winter, for this.

Chopped up ramps and adding them to chicken salad is a given; and if you’re packing a lunch, say: a cheese sandwich on whole grain bread or in a roll? tuck in a few slices of cucumber and several ramp leaves; they will moisten your sandwich so deliciously until you get around to eating it.

Ramps practically beg to be added to grilled cheese sandwiches–see too Ramp Rarebit a few postings previously….

And while my absolute, garlicky, love for ramps/ramsons/ours de l’ail, bear garlic, started with pesto, tossed through al dente spaghetti, moist, oily, deliciously herbal, fervently green. I haven’t got a recipe for you, here, exactly. Oh, I might do the pasta and ramp pesto thing before this years season is over, but meanwhile, I DO have a pesto-ish ramp paste recipe for you to spread on bread, toast it until crisp. It may end up looking very much like a browned stick of green-thinged driftwood, but beneath that crunchy exterior is a tender, oily, deliciously reeking softness. Its like the best garlic bread you’ve ever had. But somehow, I may be waxing poetic here, somehow each bite also evokes the forest.

Garlicky Ramp Toast
Serves 4
1 baguette, cut in half lengthwise then the cut side deeply scored on the diagonal
2 cloves garlic, coarsely chopped
Very large handful, as in: maybe FOUR very large handfuls, cleaned and coarsely cut up ramps
1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil or as needed/desired
2-3 ounces/75-125g Parmesan or pecorino cheese, cut up or grated
Salt to taste–several pinches, you want it to be a bit salty at this stage though it won’t taste so when it roasts onto the bread

In a blender or food processor, whirl the garlic with the ramps and olive oil and when it is a smooth paste add the cheese and continue to puree until its smoothish. If you need more olive oil as you go along, add it.

Place the baguette pieces, face up, on a bookie sheet. Spread this green garlicky mixture onto the cut side of the baguette, getting it into the cut crevices if you can.

Heat the oven to 225C/450F gas mark 8. Place the baking sheet with the baguette on the top rack of the oven (the hottest part) and roast for about 10 -15 minutes or until the bread is crisp and browned in spots; if it needs to go longer, leave it longer though check on it in five minutes or so. If it isn’t crisp enough plop it under the broiler/grill and get the top all melty crisp and browned.

Eat right away. A nice glass of red wouldn’t go amiss.

And yes, get prepared to stink. But its oh so worth it.

In my everyday scheme of things, unless there is something special I want to try or someone special I want to prepare something for, meals have no strict planning: I keep the stuff of big flavour on my pantry/larder shelf and wait for the seasons to change. If I don’t have it growing in my garden or on my windowbox, I haunt the end of the day discounts at the local shops (bless em)–when it comes to fruit and vegetables, I do not bother with a grocery list.

Sometimes dinner will be a result of a scrounge around the fridge, the pantry, the root vegetable bin, to combine with the great sauces and spices I keep on hand, such as this one: tofu which was begging to be cooked soon, some dinosaur kale/cavala nero leftover from last week’s ribollita, and–while I’d lie to say there were baby peas from from the garden, the truth is they were in my freezer taking up room and I wanted to make room for a pint of ice cream.

Also, I love peas. When I posted this on Facebook, a Taiwanese “friend” suggested instead of the peas to use lengths of green onions/scallions/spring onions. I knew immediately that it would be wonderful, but alas, we had already eaten it. So I tell you for next time: lengths of green onions!

Tofu with Szechuan Taste and Vegetables
Serves 4, or halve it and serve two.
The amounts? Not carved in stone: you have more kale, use it; you want spring onions/green onions instead of peas, definately! savoy cabbage instead of Napa cabbage? Great. Ditto on the sauces and flavourings: you’re going to have to dance your way through it, adjusting amounts and tasting until it feel delicious perfect.

3-4 cloves garlic, smashed or chopped
About 1 teaspoon chopped ginger
Large pinch cumin seeds
2 tablespoons cooking oil, or as needed
3 tablespoons chile bean sauce or hot chile paste
4-5 cavalo nero/dinosaur kale leaves, sliced medium thinly
About one tub of firmish tofu, drained, then cut into bite sized pieces
1/2 Napa cabbage, cut into bite sized pieces
Peas: really, as much as you’d like: I added a big handful or perhaps a teacup full. should be say: 4 oz/125 g?)
Szechuan peppercorns, toasted preferably, again to taste: maybe a big pinch, maybe a teaspoon? probably somewhere in between
1 teaspoon or more, to taste, toasted sesame oil
1 teaspoon or more to taste good soy sauce
To taste; chile oil, preferably homemade (with spices and black beans); see blog archives for wonderful recipe
Sprinkling of coriander/cilantro leaves as desired

Heat a wok or big nonstick heavy frying pan and when hot stir fry the garlic, ginger, and cumin seeds in the oil for a few moments; do not let garlic brown. Stir in the chile bean sauce, then add the kale and tofu; cook, turning over mixture, every so often. It will probably get dry and threaten to scorch: add a little water or stock.

Stir-frying add the Napa cabbage and peas, toss a few times, then the Szechuan peppercorns, sesame oil, soy sauce and chile oil. Remove from heat and serve sprinkled with cilantro/coriander if you like, over steamed rice.

In order to have waffles, you really do need a waffle iron. I know, because years ago when I moved to the UK from the USA I left my waffle iron behind and in the ensuing years I tried everything I could to make a waffle when the desire hit which it tended to do without enough of a warning to go out shopping for a waffle iron. Not that it would matter because waffles are not a part of British food culture (you won’t find one in a Full English Breakfast).

And yet, each time I came close to having a waffle I told myself: never mind; you’ll have a waffle next time we return stateside. But i always hit the ground running, and never managed that American waffle–even in the era of chicken and waffles–because there were always too many other things that I don’t have a chance to nosh in my UK home, too many meals to create with local ingredients for too many people to cook for–and then……too many (new and old) restaurants to try! Fine dining, taqueries, perfect burgers, and Chinese noodle joints, bread from Tartine bakery and pretzel croissants; how was I supposed to find time for a waffle?

Then, so predictably no matter how how I vowed this time was different, I was never able to fit the darned thing in. Sometimes I gave up before I even started packing: so many other things to bring back: dried chillies, Chinese mushrooms, New York bagels, pickle relish, Creole mustard, Tartine bread, oh the list goes on, a chocolate babka or two…..Sometimes I had even purchased a waffle iron at a rummage sale or a thrift shop, but actually wedging it into my suitcase without veering into overweight luggage fees, bested me each time. There was NEVER room in my suitcase for a big old waffle iron.

And a good (read: old fashioned, heavy, unwieldy) is not the most practical thing to shlep back when you might only get the craving a couple of times a year.

For American waffles, the heavy irons really are the best; no lightweight teflon–they just don’t give the crunch that hot metal on batter does.

I don’t know why waffles aren’t more popular in the UK; legend has it that they were the result of a Knight returning home from battle and, finding his wife gone from the house (out doing errands), he sat down to wait for her. Okay: he sat on a bench and didn’t look at where he was sitting, because he plopped right down on top of the flat breads/cakes his wife had cooling on the bench. AND because he was wearing the chainmail that Knights are famous for, they left big fat indentations when he sat down; when he got up they were still there, and voila! A waffle was created!

So, you know, with their history of Knights–the Realm, the Round Table, and so forth–you might think it would be a sort of traditional food, in the same way that steamed puddings are, either sweet or savoury. Or any of a zillion pies. (Or even fish and chips, whose history leads us back to the Jews of London’s East End, then Europe for its (Belgian/French) fried potatoes and the Netherlands where Portuguese Jews had brought their fried fish traditions which leads us to the Portuguese sailors who likely found and brought back the battered frying of fish (Japan? Tempura?) from their world explorations.) Anyhow, you’d think that a Knight sitting on a hot cake would make a wonderful traditional dish. But no.

In all my years of living in the UK I’ve not eaten a waffle though I know that London now has a very chic and trendy 24/7 restaurant named Duck and Waffle that at any given time offers waffles with both confit and fried duck, and at breakfast/brunch also offers Belgian waffle treats. Waffles might pop up at a street fair, or as a dessert. Maybe. But even if it does, they are not part of the culinary vernacular though interestingly it IS part of the actual vernacular of the people: to waffle means going up and down on a subject, ie back and forth, ie the ups and downs of a crenelated waffle surface!

So anyhow, since the good people of this island are not making waffles at home, its not easy to buy a waffle iron: and if you manage to find one, it is usually the deeply indented waffles known as Belgian waffles. And, I have found, hideously expensive.

In any event, that was not the kind of waffle I wanted: I wanted an American waffle, the kind my mother made when I was growing up or that we ate when we went out to any number of breakfast joints. And to get that result I needed a waffle iron was deep but not as deep as a Belgian waffler, whose surface had never met teflon but was pure metal and needed to be brushed generously with oil to keep the batter from sticking, the waffle iron I left behind when I crossed The Atlantic, the kind sold in every thrift shop, garage sale and discount store from east to west coast USA. I could get an adaptor plug I vowed, and if that didn’t work, maybe I would find a non-electric waffle iron, one you place over a hot flame and do your waffling over the open fire.

But you know, how long could it go on? My life was frittering itself away (note: not waffling, frittering) and if I didn’t pay attention I’d never have another waffle ever. At least another homemade waffle just the way I like it (which, as it turns out, is so many different ways: but that is the subject for another posting).

Then I saw that our local Lidl (German, discount) supermarket which is all over Europe was selling waffle irons at a very reasonable verging on cheap, price. Even cheap i hemmed and hawed. Then i bought one.

This one is lightweight, easily toted off the shelf, heated, waffled, then put away again not long afterwards. Its easy to clean as well. The waffles come out of their hot grid like a dream, even if the surface is so nonstick as to be as slippery as an ice rink. And its wonderful to be reunited with my waffling ability, and to know I can whip up a waffle for those I love, or for myself, within minutes. Its not the big deal mess all previous waffle irons have been.

But here is the deal: the waffles that come out are, while delicious, quite thin. I’ve tried everything to make them thicker but the batter just runs out the side. I thought the waffle iron might just be cheap, it being Lidl and all. But you know, the little machine works like a dream, never breaks down, and turns out delicious waffles reliably. Also, the waffles are delightfully shaped like five heart shaped wedges, so you can eat a whole one or cut/tear them into lovely little heart shapes.

Filed in my mind under curiosities, I was bemoaning my flat waffle situation on Facebook when a friend, Sonoma caterer and consultant Kristi Loype Hallamore, chimed in: Marlena, Norwegian waffles are thinner than any other waffles, and they form five heart shaped wedges–your waffle iron must be Norwegian! Which, for some inexplicable reason, makes me feel very happy: my waffles are neither too thin nor too thick, they are exactly the way they are meant to be!

Green Tea (Matcha) Waffles (Norwegian or otherwise) with Candied Ginger
This makes 3-4 small flattish waffles using my waffle iron; it will probably make about 2 waffles in a normal bigger waffle iron. Enough for two abstemious waffle-eaters
1/4 cup (four heaped tablespoons) plain yogurt
1 egg
1/4 cup (four tablespoons) milk or water
3 tablespoons vegetable oil
Pinch of salt
3-4 heaped tablespoons sugar
1/2 cup self-rising flour (about 4 oz/125 g)
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 tablespoon (heaped if you like matcha a lot–I do!)

Whisk together the yogurt, egg, milk or water, vegetable oil, salt and sugar.
Stir in the flour, baking soda and matcha and mix well. You want the consistency of a pancake batter, so if its too thick add a little extra water.
Brush the waffle iron surface with oil, then close up and heat the waffle iron. Many have a little red button to show that its one, and a green light to show that its ready, or something similar. Anyhow, YOU know when its ready:
Open up the lid when its ready and ladle in about a quarter of the mixture, right into the center of the waffle iron; it will spread out as it cooks.
Close the lid gently, and let it puff away; you can lift the lid a minute or two into it to see how far along the waffle has gotten to: you want a light brown colouring of the surface, not too dark but not too light. Remove from the waffle iron using a fork to loosen it before you lift it out.

Top with either thin slivers of butter to melt in and a sprinkling of chopped/diced candied ginger, or spoon lightly sweetened whipped cream over the top, again with the chopped candied ginger. Alternatively, you can sprinkle the chopped candied ginger on top of the batter before you close the top of the iron so that the ginger bakes into the waffle itself, and…..dare I say it: top the little matcha-ginger marvel with a small scoop of ginger ice cream?