Qu'est-ce Que C'est Dans Ma Boite Du CSA? Cherries, Greens, Lettuces, Garlics, Beets, & Spring Red Onions

This past week has been one particularly full of upsets and surprises in the world of sports. In the World Cup, England didn't make it past the Round of 16, having been asked by zie Germans on Sunday to pack up their three-piece suits and go home. Over at Wimbledon, two little-known men stretched their first round match to over 11 hours and almost 180 games; one of those leggy blonde Russian model-slash-tennis-players vanquished Venus Williams in the quarterfinals; and just a few hours ago, a person I have never even heard of dissed and dismissed Roger Federer in four sets.

Likewise, this past week I astounded myself (and maybe The Viking a little bit too) by using everything that the CSA man delivered to me last Tuesday night -- despite many dinners out, despite too much work, despite utter weariness of Swiss chard, which has begun to haunt me in my dreams. Would I call this an athletic feat? Probably not. But getting all those fruits and vegetables into food form in a seven day period took intense concentration, discipline, and training. The results weren't always pretty, but I got the job done.

[Ed Note: If you think that this sports analogy was an awkward and terrible way to begin a blog post mostly about beets and leafy greens, you are correct. I just really wanted to mention that FEDERER LOST to some rando! In 4 sets! What's up with the world?!]

I don't have a lot of time to elaborate today, but I did want to give a brief recap of where this week's produce went (with promises to be more entertaining tomorrow):

We got exactly five beets in this week's CSA delivery, none of which were larger than a lime. I turned them into an appetizer for Monday night's dinner (a two course dinner on a weeknight = a rarity, by the way). I wrapped the beets in tin foil and roasted them at 375 for half an hour, then let them cool, peeled the skins off, and sliced them thin. I topped that with shards of cold Crottin goat cheese, a drizzle of balsamic vinegar and walnut oil, and a sprinkling of chopped basil, kosher salt, and pepper. The outcome was terrific, and I plan on making this again when we have company (and a more sizeable delivery of beets).



Of the cherries that look so gorgeous up above, most went directly into The Viking's mouth, who spat their pits into a bowl like machine gun fire. The cherries that I could rescue from his gaping maw became that sad clafouti that I told you about.

Some of the Swiss chard went into my lunches this week. But I find that no matter how much Swiss chard you use, the next time you open your fridge the same amount seems to be waiting for you. Luckily all of this pressure to use leafy greens has taught me a thing or two about disposing of large quantities of them (and spring onions and garlic, too). Just chop them all up and saute them! Really, I cooked Swiss chard, kale, and beet greens according to the method described here, adding a splash of white wine vinegar at the end to give them a little tang. They wilt down to almost nothing, and I served them with roast pork and new potatoes.




And finally the lettuces. Lettuces tend to speak for themselves. I ripped them up and dressed them with a vinaigrette of garlic scapes, Dijon mustard, white wine vinegar, and olive oil, and served them with roasted new potatoes and broiled sockeye salmon.

The Return Of BYOL

The unfortunate thing about this world is that good habits are so much easier to give up than bad ones.
-Somerset Maugham

Bad habits: we all have them, privately hate them, ritualistically try to break them, almost always fail, and then doggedly try, try again. It's what makes us human. That, and opposable thumbs.

Since I'm in the habit (whether good or bad, only time will tell) of sharing things with you, here are some of my nasty practices:

-I do not make my bed
-I do not hang up wet towels after using them
-I pick my nails
-I leave doors/cabinets/drawers open
-I do not drink enough water
-I consume too much caffeine
-I floss irregularly
-I sometimes conform to the technical definition of a binge drinker ("consuming four or more drinks on a single occasion")
-I eat less than 2 hours before bedtime
-I do not bring my own lunch to work.

This last one is of particular concern. I like to think of myself as the kind of person who packs an economical, healthy lunch each day, but a Saturday morning audit of my most recent credit card statement revealed that things have really been slipping. Most days, I spend $10.02 at Le Pain Quotidien for some extremely mediocre vegan soup and a mint lemonade. That's over $50 per week, which is appalling. Something must be done.

Habit-breaking seems to happen in waves (see: New Years, Lent, Intervention), so this was all-around a weekend of resolutions and good intentions. I made the bed each morning, hung up my towels post-shower, flossed every night, and plunged head-first into the routine of making my own lunch again.

I got back in the swing of things with a simple, satisfying dish that was one of my old standbys: roast chicken + brown rice + vegetable of choice, tossed in olive oil, salt, pepper, and herbs. This time, the guest stars were sauteed Swiss chard, basil, and parsley. The ingredients for 5 lunches cost around $20, and it took two hours to make (including cleanup).

It's important to start with a good chicken, not one of the deformed, big-breasted monsters sold by Butterball or Purdue. I don't want to go into all the details here, but suffice it to say that these are the chicken equivalent of Heidi Montag. An all-natural, free-range chicken (like the ones I get from Epicurian Farms) should be only 3-4 lbs in size and all of its body parts should be proportional.



For all of you in the 'set it and forget it' camp, I have some bad news regarding the roasting of a chicken: doing it well requires a fair bit of fussing and tending (I use Julia Child's method; I'm by no means saying it's definitive, but it's the best I've found so far).

First you must truss the bird (getting the chicken in a tight football shape helps it cook evenly and keeps the juices in; leaving the legs and wings to jangle around on their own in a hot oven really has a bad effect on the meat) and slather the whole thing with butter, salt, and pepper. Once it's in the oven, there's a lot of chicken calisthenics to tend to during the cooking process -- basting, turning, adjusting, etc. etc.

Here's a breakdown of how Miss J suggests doing things:

0:00 - 0:05 - Oven at 425, birdie breast side down.
0:05 - 0:10 - Move the bird onto its right side; baste.
0:10 - 0:15 - Move the bird onto its left side; baste.
0:15 - 0:35 - Turn oven down to 350; baste bird every 8 minutes.
0:35 - 0:55 - Move bird back onto right side; baste every 8 minutes.
0:55 - 1:10 - Turn the bird breast side up and cook until juices run clear, basting frequently.

I don't know that the timing of the turning and basting has to be all that precise, but the important thing is to only put the carcass breast side up for the last 15 minutes. This is because the breast meat tends to be the driest, and cooking breast side down lets the juices pool in and around that area of the bird.

While you're babysitting your roasting chicken you can prepare the rest of the dish. Start the brown rice according to the instructions on the bag (liquid, rice, simmer, you get the picture). Use a knob of butter, a pinch of salt, and stock instead of water if you have it on hand. Make about 6 servings.



Then it's time for the vegetables. Chop up a few cloves of garlic (I used spring garlic), and a couple of small shallots or red spring onions, and then saute them in a large skillet over medium heat in olive oil. Separate the stems from the leaves of the Swiss chard, chopping each separately. Add the chopped stems, salt, pepper, and a splash of water to the skillet; cook covered for 2-3 minutes. Add the leaves and a splash of water and cook covered until wilted, around 10 minutes. Set aside.

You should let the chicken rest until it cools and then take as much meat off the carcass as possible, cutting it into bite-sized pieces. Mix this in with the chard and brown rice, and add a tablespoon of olive oil and a a couple of tablespoons each of chopped basil and parsley to finish it off.

There you have it: two hours and $20 later, you've got five days worth of lunch tucked neatly in your fridge. Now that's a habit worth keeping.

Cherry Clafouti, Take One

I don't remember loving cherry clafouti as a little kid, but I'll take my mom's word for it that I did. Apparently, she used to make it for me so often that the particular page in her copy of Mastering The Art of French Cooking is dog-eared and stained. She even showed it to me last weekend, and didn't seem at all irritated that countless hours in front of the oven had been squandered on her forgetful daughter. I think I would have been.

Lest I con you into believing that I was an exceptionally sophisticated toddler, it's important to point out that a clafouti is little more than a really big fruit pancake, sprinkled with sugar. Not exactly challenging to the palette. We're not talking foie gras and sweetbreads here. Clafouti is also incredibly quick and easy to make and almost impossible to mess up.

Or, so I thought. This week I had a couple of pints of local cherries on hand and the burning desire to make a clafouti with them. What I did not have was the three eggs or the appropriate baking dish called for in Ms. Child's recipe; I had two eggs and a 12' cast iron skillet. So, I thought: what's the harm in using a different recipe? How bad could it be?



Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. My clafouti was kind of an embarrassment, all lumpy and unevenly baked and not having risen like it should. Sure, it was edible, but it's a buttery, sugary carbohydrate. So that's not saying a lot.

A word to the wise: when Julia Child has a recipe for something, don't ask questions. Just make a habit of using it.

The trouble with written recipes is that they have a way of looking very official, whether they were written by Pierre Gagniere or some model/actress that the Food Network taught knife skills and put on TV. You must resist the urge to trust every recipe that crosses your path, because many are flat out bad: lazy, hastily done, misleading, inexpert. I know this sounds a bit like a Buddhist parable -- "believe nothing, not even what I tell you" -- but there it is. If at all possible, figure out a few culinary authorities whose judgment you trust and seek out their recipes. Julia Child wasn't perfect, but she had the good sense to learn time-tested preparations and write them down accurately.

I know Julie Powell has cornered the Julia Child market so I'm not going to elaborate any further on this point. I'm not going to give you the recipe for this either, because I wouldn't be doing you any favors. But I will remake it the Julia way one of these days and show you the difference.

Qu'est Que C'est Dans Ma Boite Du CSA? Kale, Swiss Chard, Lettuces, Radishes, Carrots, Spring Garlic, & Garlic Scapes

Another Wednesday, another batch of sad vegetables languishing in my crisper drawer. I didn't get a chance to do much cooking these past days (too much World Cup, too many Real Housewives reruns, too little culinary ambition), and as a result was again unable to make the most of my CSA delivery. Whimper.

I'm becoming slightly worried that this CSA produce is going to function much in the same way as my New Yorker subscription, which exists to sit around the house and make me feel bad about myself, reminding me of the person that I could be: someone who reads contemporary short fiction and doesn't let good food go to waste.

But, let's start with the high points.

Kale and carrots went into this gorgeous white bean & kale soup. It's Dan Barber's recipe (courtesy of Bon Appetit, available here), and I have to say that it seemed suspiciously healthy when I first encountered it. I worried that it might turn out to be one of those things that personal trainers and trophy wives eat and rave about but that really tastes like sawdust mixed with dishwater.



It does not. It's tangy and light and delicious. The key here is the Sherry vinegar added in at the end -- if you don't have Sherry vinegar on hand, do not skip this step. You can use white wine vinegar instead. Also, make sure to give the stock and white wine plenty of time to reduce down to make a concentrated broth, even if you exceed the timing marked in the recipe.

The Viking and I ate the soup with some disappointing store bought bread. The whole meal happened to be vegan, for those of you who go in for that sort of thing. For those that don't: I'd suggest frying bacon or pancetta in with the shallots at the beginning for a heartier soup.

The next night, I made a pasta dish from the Swiss chard, garlic scapes, and spring garlic, and served it with with pork cutlets in a cider-mustard sauce.



For the pasta dish, I separated the leaves and stems of the Swiss chard, chopping them separately. Then I sliced and sauteed garlic scapes and spring garlic (white parts only) in olive oil. I added in the sliced stems and a little water, letting them soften and then adding the leaves and little bit more water. Then I added almost 2 cups of chopped San Marzano tomatoes. That all got mixed together with a pound of penne and 1/2 cup Parmesan. As a side note, do yourself a favor and buy high quality pasta -- something other than Ronzoni, De Cecco, and Barilla if you can find it. It has more texture and flavor, and really makes all the difference.

I digress. I suppose I shouldn't spend any more effort trying to distract you from the issue at hand, which is of course the big bag of lettuces and radishes left in my fridge. I briefly considered eating a side salad with my double espresso this morning, but ultimately decided against it. They're still sitting in the fridge wilting right now, probably wishing that they were delivered to someone who really appreciated them.

A Case Of The Mondays: Or, Food Trends That I Hate

Good morning, friends, and Happy Monday.

I write that with sarcasm, because Monday mornings are horrific. Monday mornings in general, and this one in particular. I think of them as a small reenactment of what birth must have been like: there you were just minding your own business and dozing off in your cozy, quiet womb when all of a sudden you're grabbed by the ears and yanked into bright lights, noise, and chaos. Hello there, world! Now please put me back where I came from.

I'm in a mood today, people, which means that I'll be using this space to complain about something.

(Ed. Note: Yes, I am aware that today is the first day of summer and could instead be an opportunity for a gushing, optimistic post about the joys of summer produce. Unfortunately, simply too grouchy to write such a post.)

Last month, you indulged me in an extended rant against "small plates" format restaurant menus. This morning, I got to thinking about what other trends in food (from restaurant to store-bought to recipes in popular magazines) really get me going. Here's what I've come up with:

Pork/Bacon Mania: Among a certain type of food-obsessed New Yorker, a cult has sprung up around an infatuation with all things pig. These are the people who noisily and frequently proclaim just how much they love pork, as if that's something really sassy and contrarian. "Anything's better with bacon!" As if they just discovered it. Chefs passive-aggressively compete with each other to see who can create a menu with the most disproportionate and borderline disgusting use of pork (this was tied between David Chang and Ryan Skeen, at last tally). I'm not in disagreement that pork is delicious, but that's just it, no one is in disagreement that pork is delicious. Not even people who are Kosher. Or probably vegetarians.

One Ingredient, Multiple Ways: For instance, an appetizer consisting of "Leeks Three Ways," in which you get something like a leek soup, a plain grilled leek, and a leek panna cotta. I can't tell whether this practice was created by Top Chef or if the show just spread it, like a pathogen, to people who had no business cooking this way. Whatever the case may be, it represents the trend towards focus on pure, single ingredients entering its Mannerist phase. It is to 2010 what deconstruction was to 2005. I look forward to the time when I can get leeks just ONE way -- GOOD.

Extreme Locavorism: I'm all in favor of supporting area farmers (coughCSAcough), but this whole thing has gotten out of hand. Forget about buying your ingredients from farms in Connecticut, New Jersey, and the Hudson Valley, if you really cared about reforming our food system you would actually be able to see your food source from the kitchen. There are now entire commercial growing operations in Brooklyn; I've heard rumors of people setting up rooftop farms in Manhattan. One of these days I fully expect to walk up to a restaurant and see a sous chef outside milking a goat tied to a bicycle rack.

Artisanal Cocktails: Everybody and their mom now employs a "mixologist" charged with whipping up a list of "signature cocktails," each containing eleven different ingredients and priced at around $14 a pop. That's actually a bargain because these drinks involve, variously, strange Asian citrus fruits, a small-batch whiskey that The Mixologist made in his Williamsburg basement, some rare flower that The Mixologist harvests annually from the Peruvian Altiplano, and ice hand-carved by specially trained seals from a glacier in Antarctica. The ingredients must be gently mixed, filtered, lit on fire, and blessed with an incantation, the dying words of a Cherokee medicine man spoken only to The Mixologist. But I ask you, in all seriousness: is anything really better than a cold, bone-dry martini?

Anything That Involves Quotation Marks: It's become fashionable to produce food that's a "take" on other food. For instance, a "BLT," which is probably nothing like a BLT. It's probably sous-vide pork belly with freeze dried lettuce and tomato jam. Likewise, "Chicken and Dumplings" isn't Chicken and Dumplings at all, it's dumpling dough in the shape of a chicken breast alongside chicken liver pate in the shape of dumplings. Apparently all the good dishes have already been taken, so chefs have decided to get cheeky on us. I do not approve.

Gluten-Free Foods: It's positively amazing how celiac disease (not to be confused with celeriac, which is a root vegetable) has spread throughout the population of America like wildfire in the past two years. Gluten-free foods are EVERYWHERE, with those naturally containing no gluten proclaiming so proudly on the label and those that do, like bread, or donuts, doing their best to get rid of it. The line of thinking here is that it must be a rare allergic reaction to gluten that is making you fat and bloated, not the 3,000 calories of pasta that you eat every night. I know a good gluten-free food: vegetables. Eat them, and then go for a run.

Well, that's about it for now. These are the things in the world of food that I wish would go back where they came from. Please feel free to join me in my Monday morning grouchiness, and add your own food trend annoyances below.

Qu'est-ce Que C'est Dans Ma Boite De CSA? Greens, Garlic Scapes, Spring Garlic, Radishes, Spearmint, and Bok Choy

My first week of CSA membership did not go as smoothly as hoped. Like so many overblown culinary ambitions -- the croquembouche I thought I'd "throw together" for a holiday party, my first naive tries at salt-roasted salmon, the ridiculous notion of making agnolotti at 2 AM after way, way too many mojitos -- 100% utilization of my CSA delivery was not meant to be this time around.

The vegetable delivery came in a container about the size of a file box, and included a big fistful of mixed greens (mizuna, swiss chard, and green chard, by my account), an armful of lettuces, and modest quantitites of spearmint, bok choy, spring garlic, garlic scapes, and radishes.

The lettuces were a quick win -- I washed them, tore them up, and tossed them with a vinaigrette of tarragon, white wine vinegar, mustard, and olive oil.



Sliced radishes added peppery bite to a salad of white beans, dill, cherry tomatoes, and red onion, all mixed together with olive oil and lemon juice. This salad is highly recommended, as it's delicious and accomplishes the cheap/quick/healthy trifecta.



Spring garlic, which is a lot like a scallion but with a garlicky aftertaste, was chopped, sauteed with pancetta, and used to fill an omelette.



No sooner had I made my little dig about bok choy than it showed up on my doorstep, demanding to be transformed into something fabulous. The obvious choice here is an Asian stir fry, but I had hoped to think outside the box. I ended up making a Provencal stir fry...which was not really so imaginative at all, but tasted great all the same. I minced and sauteed garlic scapes (little green hoses with a pungent onion and garlic flavor - very cool) with a bay leaf, fresh thyme leaves, and strips of orange zest, adding in chopped bok choy, tomatoes, olives, and parsley.



And what of the mixed greens and spearmint? They met their end in a garbage bin, for no good reason other than that I wasn't sure off the top of my head how to prepare them and lacked the time and energy to figure it out.

So there you have it. That's what became of my first CSA delivery. I aspire to do better next time; I will endeavor to eat all my vegetables.

Thank You All For Coming, My Friends. I Hope You're Enjoying The Clams Casino.

This was a weekend of birthday parties. Well, "parties" might be too strong a word, since there were no martinis involved. Celebrations. We had my mother over for a birthday dinner on Friday night and on Sunday hosted a very belated one for my friend the Tiger.

The big thrill in my little world these days is the large (by New York standards) outdoor space attached to our new apartment. It was the main selling point to the place as far as I was concerned, and set visions of sunbathing, barbecues, and dinner parties under the stars dancing in my head. It's finally warm enough to start executing on plans; we have a Weber grill, a table and benches, a chaise long, and several plants. It's all terribly exciting.

There's only one hitch: the actual grilling part. My culinary interests have developed over a period of years completely devoid of any outdoor cooking facilities whatsoever, meaning that I'm still a total grill novice. The Viking has equally little experience with an open flame and yet wordlessly, instinctively, the Weber has become his domain. I'm not sure that I like the implicit gender politics -- and I do want to learn to be a grillmaster in my own right -- but for now, it's a nice change from our typical mealtime roles. It feels good to be a team.

Over the past few weeks it's been the blind leading the blind, The Viking neurotically cutting into meat and prodding things with tongs while I hover and speculate about proper grill surface placement. But we persevere.

For the Tiger's birthday, we attempted the hamburger.

One of these days I'm going to make a research project of tasting my way around New York hamburgers and learning all the nuances of really a good one, but one thing I do already know is that the key to a successful burger is achieving a balance of textures and tastes: the unctuous beef patty, the soft, sweet roll, the pickly tang of a relish or ketchup, the crisp lettuce, and the sharp creaminess of melting cheese.



For Sunday's BBQ I bought Pat LaFrieda patties (somewhat of a fad here in NYC, due to the decadent meat blends that he creates for restaurants), Martin's potato rolls, and cheddar and pecorino cheeses. I made caramelized onions and a tomato relish, too. It wasn't the best burger we'll ever make, but it wasn't bad for a couple of rookies.

I threw together a green salad (...of CSA lettuces, thankyouverymuch), and realizing that my planter full of basil was poised to make a land grab from the strawberries, I made pesto and used it to dress a cold pasta salad of rotini, plum tomatoes, pine nuts, and peas.



I was pleasantly surprised by the tomato relish, which was essentially just my attempt to dress up ketchup in a hurry; it lent a bright, fresh note that turned out to be crucial to the whole burger experience. In truth this relish hardly needs a recipe - it's not rocket science - but here it is.




Tomato Relish

Serves 10

3 medium tomatoes
1 small onion
1 jalapeno pepper (optional)
1 tsp kosher salt
1/2 tsp freshly ground pepper
1/2 c. ketchup

1. Chop tomatoes and mince (i.e. finely chop) onion and pepper; combine with salt and pepper in small bowl, cover, and chill for 1 hour.
2. Strain tomato mixture through fine sieve and discard juices.
3. Stir ketchup into tomato mixture and serve.

Dinner For 1: Cheddar, Spring Garlic & Pancetta Omelette Bliss

I just want to take a moment to draw your attention to how unbeatable an omelette is when you're cooking for one: it's super cheap, nutritious, quick, and easy, and magically transforms things like sad little nubs of cheese and random, wilty produce into a warm, gooey pocket of awesome.

Tonight, I used spring garlic (which is similar to scallions) from my weekly CSA delivery, along with leftover cheddar and pancetta. My omelette recipe can be found here. Add a cold beer, and dinner doesn't get much better than that.

Travels With The Nanny, And Tagine 2.0

The Medina: steamy, colorful, bustling, grimy, with motorbikes persistently zooming along the narrow corridors, full of strange noises and smells and feral cats slinking around dark corners, men clad in djellabas selling everything from leather slippers to metal lanterns to pickled calves heads and clay tagines.

This is Marrakech. Specifically, the walled old city, whose thousand years of history have been left virtually untouched while a new city of sprawling hotels, McDonald's outposts, nightclubs, and the like, has sprung up around it. The Viking and I quickly found that most of the beauty in the Medina was to be found on the other side of unassuming doorways that open onto nameless alleyways. Our hotel, for instance, a charming seven-room riad called L'Orangeraie (riads being the Moroccan equivalent of B&Bs); chic cafes with sweeping views of the city; ancient mosques -- though in Morocco, these are only accessible to Muslims.

In Marrakech we were joined by The Viking's nanny. The Viking is quick to point out that she's his former nanny, as if it's a meaningful distinction. She happens also to be a fluent speaker of Arabic and an expert in all things North African and Middle Eastern, so we couldn't believe our luck when our schedules coordinated to be in Morocco at the same time.

The nanny is a fearsome haggler with local merchants and a formidable navigatrix of the maze of streets that comprise the Medina. She led us expertly to the best spice shops within Marrakech's sprawling tangle of souks, where I giddily bought enough cumin and saffron and the like to last us a year. We noticed that immediately upon joining up with the nanny we were no longer harangued by merchants looking to sell us their wares (or their directions), probably because we didn't look like such boobs anymore.


The nanny also toted us along to some of her favorite restaurants (while steering us clear of the food stalls that all the locals knew were apt to make you ill), so that by the end of our three days I felt that I had seen a cross-section of what Marrakech had to offer...without bringing home a parasite as a souvenir.

Eating around Marrakech affirmed what I already suspected: that in Morocco, the tagine is king (actually, Mohammad VI is king, but the tagine is close). Whether dining cross-legged in a tent in the High Atlas mountains, under the sweltering sun at a cafe in the city square, or bathed in candlelight at a high-end restaurant, we found the same basic repertoire: spiced vegetable salads, couscous with vegetables, and tagines of lamb, goat, or chicken.



If you recall, before we left on our trip I made a tagine from a New York Times recipe as a sort of warm-up exercise. It wasn't far off the mark, but here are some observations:

1. Proper Moroccan tagines can vary from being practically all meat to almost all vegetables; we found that there was always much more meat in the city, and a great quantity and variety of vegetables in the country.
2. No matter where you are, a tagine should have very little liquid left when it's done cooking. Keep it over low heat until the liquid is reduced to almost nothing.
3. A tagine is not traditionally served with/over rice, noodles, couscous, or anything else -- it is eaten on its own, or with bread.

Now that I've done my research, I thought I'd present a tagine redux.

It's important when making a tagine not to over complicate things for yourself. What do I mean by this? Well ideally, get yourself a Berber to make it for you-- that tends to keep things simple. But failing that, remember the main principles and experiment with the details: you're slow-cooking meat and vegetables, with some yummy flavorings mixed in. It's not rocket science.

There are limitless iterations of the tagine theme, and everyone flavors theirs differently. Our Berber in the mountains uses ginger, paprika, black pepper, and cinnamon in his tagines; our housekeeper in Marrakech likes to use ginger, saffron, preserved lemon, and black pepper in hers. The great thing about the Moroccan cuisine is that it's about humble, hearty, flavorful, food, not fussy technique -- that may be why my favorite tagines were the most rustic ones, eaten in a rural setting.

Tagines can be cooked in a pot/pressure cooker or a clay tagine -- I'm banking on you not having a tagine at your disposal, so I'll write the recipe for a pot. If you're using the tagine, all the ingredients should be added at once at the beginning, and then cooked with the lid on over a very low flame for 3-4 hours.



Rustic Tagine

Serves 4

1 lb. goat or lamb meat
1 red onion, chopped
2 tsp ginger
2 tsp paprika
1 tsp cinnamon
1 teaspoon pepper
1/3 c. vegetable oil
Handful of parsley and cilantro sprigs
1 lb. potatoes, peeled and sliced
4 carrots, peeled and chopped
2 tomatoes, peeled and chopped
6 prunes
Kosher salt
1/2 c. peas

1. Find a Berber.
2. If no Berbers are available, follow steps 3 - 8.
3. Place a large pot or pressure cooker over medium heat and add vegetable oil, meat, onion, herbs, and spices.
3. Cook meat until browned all over, 8-10 minutes.
4. Add 3 cups of water, bring to a boil, and reduce to a simmer. Simmer for 90 minutes if using a pot and 40 minutes if using a pressure cooker.
5. Add potatoes, carrots, and prunes, partially cover, and simmer until potatoes and carrots are almost tender and sauce is thick, about 15 minutes.
6. Add peas and tomatoes and cook for five more minutes, adjusting seasoning if necessary.

On Berber Gatorade, And My Questionable Decision To Climb Jbel Toubkal

Our story begins in the mountains.

The Viking and I flew into Morocco late on a Sunday night and were whisked by car up and away into the Atlas mountain range, taking the last part of the journey to our lodge by foot. We awoke on our first morning to this view.

We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto -- nor Wirral, England, where 36 hours earlier we had watched as two groomsmen in tailcoats wrestled on the floor of a ballroom, smearing each other in cupcake icing (behavior I've come to expect at an English wedding, but that’s a story for another day).

We came to the Atlas to trek. Specifically, to climb the tallest mountain in North Africa -- Jbel Toubkal -- which towered somewhere in the distance at 4,167 meters. This seemed like a great idea while I was sitting in front of the TV with a glass of wine researching vacations.

What follows is an account of our trek to the summit, reconstructed from journal entries, mad ravings/scribblings, and photos.


Day 1

8:30 AM

Standard issue Moroccan breakfast: cereal, homemade yogurt, coffee, hard-boiled eggs, warm bread with jam, honey, and butter. About to merrily stuff it in as “fuel” for day’s hike.

9 AM
We meet our guide, a local Berber named Mohammad Ali, like the boxer. Except this one weighs 130 lbs soaking wet. Armed with walking poles and packs, we begin.

10:30 AM
Oddly, terrain is not gently rolling hills and breezy meadows full of wildflowers as was the case in my imaginary Moroccan mountain dreamworld. More vertical, rocky, dusty, unpleasant. Note: Mohammad may actually be mountain goat disguised as human male. Not humanly possible to scamper up mountains so fast.

12 PM

Exhausting morning's hike made almost worthwhile by tasty Berber-cooked lunch at finish: salad of vegetables and tuna, fresh bread, spiced lamb with rice, mint tea. Snooze in shade. Things looking up.


2 PM
Viking and I ineptly zig and zag our way down craggy, shale-covered, nearly vertical face of hillside like novice skiers on black diamond. Meanwhile: Mohammad up ahead, skipping down said hillside in velcro Tiva sandals, wailing Berber mountain songs, twirling his walking stick. Show-off.


4 PM

We arrive at lodge, which is much nicer than anticipated and features hot water, electricity, cozy fire, killer view. We dine on delicious meal cooked by Berber housekeeper: chicken tagine with olives, melon, mint tea. I let Viking win at Scrabble twice.

Day 2

9 AM
Mohammad has changed from Tiva sandals to full-on hiking boots; in retrospect, I should have realized what was about to happen, sat down, refused to move from lodge.


11 AM
Mohammad would make a world-class marathoner if you could convince him to do something so boring as run 26 flat miles. It’s worth noting that he is a pack a day smoker, the final word in all future arguments re: me having the occasional cigarette.


2 PM

On switchbacks climbing last 900 meters to today’s peak, racing to get to camp before bad weather hits. 60 MPH winds not what I meant when wishing for "cooling breeze." I can't feel my legs. Thinking: If I ever get off this mountain, I'm going to start eating a lot more bacon.


2:30 PM
Two things keep happening to deflate my sense of accomplishment: 1) Mohammad’s insistence on calling this a “nice walk,” instead of what it is, a death march to the apex of Mt. Hell, and 2) occasionally rounding bend on windswept, Godforsaken mountainside and running into small boy toddling along after village goats.


3 PM

Heroic shot of me and Mohammad braving ice field at 3,900 meters. Not pictured: me sobbing in exhaustion-induced hysterics and screaming against wind, “I fucking hate this fucking mountain.”


4:30 PM
We arrive to base of final Toubkal ascent, at what looks like post-apocalyptic French refugee camp but is actually lodge for backpackers – most European. I am exhausted, teary, dirty, dehydrated, hungry. It’s 35 degrees and I’ve just learned that we’ll be sleeping in a tent.


7 PM

Mostly back in one piece thanks to hot shower, mint tea, warm clothes, and Berber-cooked dinner of vegetable soup and goat tagine. I highly recommend finding yourself a Berber, they are awfully good at making tagines. Recipe to follow in subsequent post.


9 PM
Mohammad reports that he has climbed Toubkal 459 times without losing anyone. That’s a safety record that even my mother, great Consumer Reports disciple, could get behind.

Day 3

5:45 AM

The last time I saw the sun rise I had a bottle of Veuve in one hand and an Ambien in the other.

8:30 AM

After two hours of climbing, just 150 meters from the summit. It's as cold as it looks.

9:00 AM

Victory! We reach summit; moment of pride and accomplishment overshadowed by intense desire to get out of cold and wind and down from high place.

*******

And now for the actual cooking part -- since this is, after all, a cooking blog.

It would be hard to overstate the prominence of mint tea in the Berber diet. They drink it constantly, like water (the water quality is very poor so tea serves as a safe substitute), to socialize, as a digestive, as a snack. The Berbers make mint tea from green tea and fresh mint leaves(wild mint grows all over the lower mountains – you catch whiffs of it periodically as you’re climbing along), and a load of sugar. The traditional preparation is very, very sweet, which makes it a perfect drink for hiking.

The Berbers refer to mint tea as “Berber Whisky” -- after all, they are Muslim, so do not drink alcohol -- which makes me sad because only someone who had never had whisky would call it that. No, mint tea is more like Berber Gatorade. It’s just the kind of glucose bomb that’s perfect for fueling a couple of hours on a mountain.

It’s really delicious, perfect at tea time or after dinner, and if you can't justify the major sugar high you can always alter the sugar content accordingly.

Berber Mint Tea

Serves 2

1 tbsp loose leaf green tea, or 1 tea bag
1 large stalk mint
Sugar

1. Add green tea and mint to small teapot (if green tea is loose, put in an infuser).
2. In a medium saucepan, bring 1 quart water to a boil.
3. Remove boiling water from heat and pour into teapot.
4. Steep for 3 minutes; serve.
5. Sweeten to taste (approximately 2 tablespoons per cup for authentic mint tea).

In Which We Join A CSA

Friends! I am back from vaca, well-rested, ever so slightly tanned, and demonstrably in one piece.

Soon I'll regail you with stories from North Africa: tales of the Viking's nanny, Berber whisky, our new friend Mohammad Ali, and the totalitarian cumin regime that Morocco calls a cuisine (kidding, kidding, I loved it).

But in the meantime I have an exciting announcement. We signed up for a CSA!

What's a CSA, you may ask? It's community supported agriculture, which means joining a hipster cult. You pay a local farmer a lump sum up-front, and get in return a box of assorted foodstuffs each week (we found a CSA that delivers to one's door, although most do not). Ours lasts 22 weeks and we bought a vegetable share and a fruit share. You can find CSAs for eggs, cheese, and meat as well.

CSAs have lots of community benefits: they cut out of the middle man of a grocery store, support local businesses, and paying for your share of the harvest up front means that you the eater share with the farmer the risks and rewards of that crazy thing we call agriculture. If you thought that carbonating your own water made you feel self-righteous, just you wait. Joining a CSA will practically demolish the towering pillar of your yuppie guilt.

For instance, now I am able to convince myself that I'm kind of growing my own food, because I own a part of a local farm. Sort of. My terrace agricultural scheme is providing me with loads of home-grown herbs, but it looks like this year's fruit and veg harvest is going to consist of approximately three tomatoes, ten broad beans, and seven strawberries. So while I live in New York, at least, a CSA is as good as it gets.

Plus, I'm intrigued by the Iron Chefesque challenge of having vegetables forced upon me and needing to think up ways to use them - especially the vegetables that I always avoid at the farmer's market. Like Bok Choy. There simply must be something delicious you can do with Boy Choy, and I hope I'll be forced to figure it out.

Deliveries for the season start next Wednesday, and will be the inspiration for a new weekly feature: Qu'est-ce que c'est dans ma boite de CSA? (or, "What's that in my CSA box?"), in which I will share with you what's in each week's mystery CSA delivery and how I plan to cook it. Those of you playing along at home can buy your veggies at a farmer's market or grocery store.

I see lots of ratatouille in the Viking's future.