mushroom matcha balsam yuzu

There's something about the austerity of conifers that captures the Japanese aesthetic.

Or maybe that's just me.

The connection might be rooted in my fascination with bonsai and how an artfully sculpted tree can freeze time in a miniature landscape. (And I think that I might have told you about miniatures and me)

Or it could be that they remind me that I once wished that I could travel the world on a ferry. Such was the pleasure of gliding through the Strait of Georgia in the Pacific Northwest on a drizzly day, watching the mist rise up around the Gulf Islands, shrouding the jagged black silhouettes of ancient pines with the Zen atmosphere of a sumi-e landscape.

Or maybe it's that I recently read "Snow Falling on Cedars" and it evoked the poetry of that place.

I contemplated all these thoughts as I sat by the window this morning, drinking tea and watching the snow swirl over the pines in my backyard. They all loomed and murmured, but the salient voice was the matcha that spoke softly but urgently of balsam.

matcha balsam flan

480g soy milk

50g balsam needles

12g matcha

5g agave nectar

pinch salt

4 egg yolks

Heat soy milk until it just comes to a simmer. Add balsam, cover and infuse for 1 hour (or use a chamber vacuum for instant infusion). Whisk in matcha, agave nectar, and salt.

In a separate bowl, whisk the egg yolks while drizzling in the infused soy milk. Pour into ramekins. Bake in a loosely covered bain marie in a preheated 325 F. oven for 15-20 minutes or until set.

And, because I know you'll ask…

The raviolo is made from thin slices of Portobello caps that are lightly sauteed and softened in olive oil. The filling is a concentrated mushroom jus seasoned with shoyu and kecap manis, molded in demi spheres and frozen. The frozen filling is encased between two slices of Portobello (using a smaller one for the bottom) and the margins glued together with tapioca maltodextrin, which bonds the oil in the mushroom, forming a sort of gasket around the filling. It can then be tempered at room temperature or gently heated to melt the filling.

matcha balsam flan

mushroom raviolo

maitake

mushroom floss

yuzu cube

black sesame powder

candied white pine

Balsam fir (Abies balsamea) grows widely throughout the northeastern United States and Canada. Other trees that exhibit balsam aroma are Balsam poplar (Populus sect. Tacamahaca), Balsam of Mecca (Commiphora opobalsamum)- native to Southern Arabia, and Peru Balsam (Myroxylon)- native to South America, though only the Abies is a conifer.

Balsam is a derivative of the word balm and refers to the soothing aroma that makes it an effective scent in aromatherapy and a popular filling for sachets. In ancient times, as well as modern, balsam oil is mixed with olive oil as a chrism and used in the administration of sacraments in the Catholic church.

Incidentally, balsamic vinegar does not refer to the plant source or the aroma, but to the use of vinegar as a healing substance, or balm.

lamb beans cypress

lamb tenderloin

5-bean pave: cannellini, flageolet, borlotto, cranberry, garbanzo

cypriot spice

peppadew gel

golden and mexican oregano

"Beans, beans, the magical fruit…"

You know the rest.

While there is nothing magical about flatulence, there are some that believe beans possess supernatural powers…

Jack certainly did when he traded in his cow.

So too did the Egyptians, who dedicated temples to beans and buried them in tombs.
Pythagoras believed beans contained souls in transit and banned their consumption.
Many cultures eat beans on New Years Day to bring good fortune in the coming year.

Magic, folklore, and superstition aside, beans do have an undeniable power. Nutritionists have long hailed legumes as a complete "superfood". High-fiber, low-fat, cholesterol-free, and the only food that fits into two food groups: vegetable and protein.

Besides, when well cooked and seasoned, they're just plain tasty.

Cypress (Thuja) is a member of Cupressaceae and is commonly known as arbor vitae (tree of life) and Whitecedar or Redcedar, although they are not true cedars. They have been immortalized in European landscape paintings.

Although cypress is used in herbal medicine to stimulate the immune system, it contains the terpene thujone, a potentially harmful substance in large doses that is regulated in food and drink. The levels of thujone in absinthe–provided by Artemisia–was once believed to cause psychotic behavior and led to its ban in the early twentieth century. The levels of thujone in Thuja is similar or less than those found in Artemesia, sage, juniper, and tansy.

tangerine gingerbread coconut black sesame

Gingerbread– a western invention inspired by eastern spices– makes perfect sense when paired with other asian flavors: coconut, tangerine, and black sesame. Although lemon verbena is not widely used in the east, its exotic flavor fits in with the aromatic cuisines of Southeast Asia and provides this dish with a lilting high note.

An interesting synergy developed with the tangerine component. It had started out as a whipped gelatin where sweetened juice was blended with 3% gelatin. Upon whipping, it felt thin. In an attempt to raise the viscosity, I decided against xanthan and opted for methocel. In the initial test, 0.5% of methocel F50 showed a marked improvement in texture. In a subsequent test, increasing the amount to 1% resulted in a dense foam with a rich mouthfeel reminiscent of a fruit curd…definitely something to play with.

And so, with ginger bread returned to its home (and in high spirits), this journey ends.

I think I hear the forest calling…

ginger beer

The oldest recipe in existence is a collection of ancient tablets in the Sumerian language describing the making of barley into bread which was used to make a drink. Its quite possible that this drink was a form of beer as it is said to have made the consumer feel blissful and exhilarated.

Another early form of beer was mead, a simple fermentation of honey and water, enjoyed by the Vikings, Saxons, Celts, and even the Egyptians, Greeks, and Romans. In those days, mead was celebrated as a nectar of the gods, a mind-expanding potion that brought on euphoria and wove together the primitive worlds of science and magic. In Scandinavia, it became a symbol of romance and fertility. It is commonly believed that the origin of the word "honeymoon" refers to the Nordic belief that if mead were consumed for one month (one moon) after a wedding, the first child would be born a male–a prized addition to a clan of warriors. Ironically, this primitive superstition falls in line with modern science that has revealed that the PH of a women's body at the time of conception can help to determine the sex of a child.

The introduction of exotic spice to Medieval Europe made an immeasurable contribution to their enjoyment of food and beverages. Not only did spice enhance and mask off-flavors, it was valued for its medicinal properties. Water was often contaminated from widespread diseases which led doctors to prescribe beverages of fruit juices and spices. Ginger, cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg were used to flavor metheglin, a spiced mead. Another variation, ginger beer, was made from fresh ginger root, honey, water, and a mysterious "plant".

Ginger root plant, the source of fermentation of early ginger beer, is a misnomer. Its not of the green, leafy variety, but a naturally occurring, self-propagating organism similar to gelatinous lichen. This anaerobic starter culture resembles various sized knobby grains that must be activated in sugary water and can be recycled, or used over and over. It consists of many microorganisms living together, two of which are vital to producing ginger beer; a fungus Saccharomyces pyriformis and a bacterium Brevibacterium vermiforme. Together, these form carbon dioxide and alcohol. The origin of the ginger root plant is unknown and was not identified until the late nineteenth century– yet another testament to the interminable will of man to explore the wild and strange world of nature.

Ginger beer was brought to North America by the British colonists where it was brewed locally in homes and taverns. After the civil war, it was commercially produced and transported to new markets, mostly in western New York State, where breweries cropped up along the Erie Canal. In the US, production was abruptly halted by Prohibition.

Today, industrially-produced ginger beer is but a shadow of its predecessor. Only occasionally can it be found as an alcoholic beverage. Most often, it comes in the form of a soft drink that is not fermented, but carbonated with pressurized carbon dioxide. It is enjoying a resurgence in the cocktail arena as a component of the cocktails Dark 'N Stormy (a blend of dark rum and ginger beer), Shandy (beer or ale and ginger beer), and the Moscow Mule (vodka, ginger beer, and lime).

An authentic and worthy ginger beer can effortlessly be brewed at home with a few basic ingredients. The hard part is waiting two days for it to ferment. The finished product is delightfully fizzy, brightly flavored, minimally sweet, pleasantly dry, and only slightly alcoholic (about 0.4%). Unlike pressure carbonized ginger beer or soda, this product remains carbonated for extended periods, even after multiple openings.

The beauty of this method is that the only essential ingredients are water, yeast, and sugar (to feed the yeast), the rest is flavoring. What that represents to me is a blank liquid canvas on which to paint with flavor. And that is where the parade begins….passion fruit beer, watermelon beer, coffee beer, popcorn beer, pumpkin beer, celery beer, parmesan beer, jalapeno beer…and can we make milk beer…or brown butter beer (please, oh, please)? And what could these fermented products be used for? Can they be added to breads or baked goods to add or reinforce flavor and make them lighter? What would a fermented soup taste like? The parade marches on…

ginger beer

Be sure to use a plastic bottle when making ginger beer for two reasons: 1) You can easily tell when the beer is ready by pressing on the bottle. It will be rock hard like an unopened bottle of soda. 2) You don't want to be anywhere in the vicinity of an exploding glass bottle. Trust me.

114g (4 oz) fresh ginger juice

114g (4 oz)fresh lemon juice, strained

171g (6 oz) granulated sugar

.8g (1/4 teaspoon) granular bakers yeast

Place all ingredients in a clean 2 liter plastic bottle. Fill with cold, fresh water to within 1" of top of bottle. Cap tightly and shake gently to distribute contents. Set aside in a warm (70F) spot for up to 48 hours. Begin testing after 24 hours. When the bottle no longer yields when pressed, place bottle in the refrigerator to retard fermentation for at least 4 hours before opening. Slowly release cap. When fizzing stops, re-cap and shake gently. Store remainder in the refrigerator, carefully releasing cap each time that you open bottle. Enjoy!

ginger bread

I'll be the first to admit that I am easily distracted. This trait sometimes frustrates those around me when they require my attention. Oh, I recognize when it's necessary to focus on a task at hand–lest the cookies burn and the cakes turn out dry, but there are times when doing menial things (like separating eggs or sifting flour) that I allow my attention to wander and ask questions.

For instance: Why do we call it gingerbread, when it's actually cake?

The answer can be found in the rhizome ginger root, and its introduction to Europe.

Medieval Europeans quickly developed a passion for ginger and other spices when they proved to mask the odor and flavor of meat that was preserved without the benefit of refrigeration. Fortunes were made and lost as spice merchants, spurred by the frenzy for spice, charged exorbitant prices. Ginger was highly prized and commanded the highest price, second only to black pepper. But, as with all financial markets, what goes up, must come down.

When spices became accessible to the lower classes, cooks became more creative. The early forms of gingerbread were unbaked confections consisting of ground almonds, honey, ginger root and spices that were pressed and molded. These were called gingerbread by the English, after the Latin zingebar, meaning preserved ginger. Eventually, stale breadcrumbs were added to bind the mixture. Later, the additions of flour, eggs, and butter transformed the dense paste into the lighter and refined versions that we now know and love as lebkuchen (from Germany), pain d'epices (from France), and panforte (from Italy).

Today, in North America, gingerbread is commonly known in two forms: cookies and cake. Though both honor their origins with a blend of spices: ginger, cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves, neither contain yeast or can be classified as bread.

Which leads me to ask: Why do we not flavor bread with this evocative blend of spices?

This question never crossed my mind until it first crossed my nostrils. This is what happens when you bake brioche alongside of gingerbread cookies and you allow yourself to be distracted.

ginger bread

(spice brioche)

makes 1 loaf

starter

30g (2 T) lukewarm water

39g (3 T) molasses

70g (2.5 oz) unbleached AP flour

.8g (1/4 t) dry yeast

1 egg

Blend all ingredients together in the bowl of a stand mixer until the consistency of a thick batter. In a separate bowl, mix together:

180g (6.4 oz) unbleached AP flour

4g (1 1/4 t) dry yeast

3.5g (1/2 t) salt

38g (3 T) microplaned fresh ginger root

7g (2 t) ground cinnamon

5g (1 1/2 t) freshly ground nutmeg

2g (1/2 t) ground cloves

Sprinkle this mixture on top of the sponge. Cover tightly with plastic wrap and let stand at warm room temperature for 2 hours.

With the dough hook, mix the dough briefly, then add 2 eggs, one at a time, while beating at low speed until they are incorporated. Raise the speed to medium and beat for about 5 minutes, or until the dough is smooth and shiny, but soft and sticky.

With the mixer turned back to low speed, add 113g (4 oz) unsalted, soft butter, bit by bit, waiting until each addition is incorporated into the dough, until all of the butter is added. Cover tightly and let dough rise at warm room temperature for 2 hours.

Deflate risen dough by rapping sharply against the counter. Transfer dough, tightly wrapped in the bowl to the refrigerator. Let chill for at least 6 hours or overnight.

Prepare an 8 1/2"x4 1/2" loaf pan by lightly greasing. Scrape the chilled dough out onto a floured surface and deflate by pressing with hands, while forming a rough square. Fold the dough in thirds, like an envelope, rolling into a cylinder that is about the same length as the loaf pan. Tuck the ends under and transfer the dough into the loaf pan. Grease the underside of a sheet of plastic wrap and cover the loaf pan. Set aside at warm room temperature to rise for 1 1/2-2 hours, or until it has risen to the top of the pan. Preheat the oven to 425F. Whisk together 1 egg with 1 t milk to make an egg wash and brush it lightly over the top of loaf. Place in preheated oven and bake for 30-40 minutes or until a digital thermometer, inserted into its center, reads 190F.

puffed pasta

puffed ras el hanout pasta with yogurt

This post should come with a warning:

Caution–consuming this product could be habit forming and produces psychological and physical symptoms including euphoria, chronic smiling, compulsive readings of Arabian Nights, and uncontrollable urges to take up belly dancing.

Pregnant women are at high risk.

Consider yourself warned.

………….

To make puffed pasta: roll out dough very thinly (second to last setting on a pasta machine). Cut into desired shapes. Cook in boiling, salted water until tender. Drain well, then spread out on baking sheets or dehydrator trays. Dehydrate or bake in 150F oven until hard and dry, occasionally flipping pasta. Dried pasta can be stored for prolonged periods in airtight containers. To puff, fry in vegetable oil at 375F until golden and puffed. Serve sprinkled with dried yogurt powder and sumac, or with Greek yogurt for dipping.

If you make ras el hanout pasta, be sure to cut some into wide pappardelle ribbons and cook them al dente, then toss with yogurt and serve with braised lamb. You won't be sorry.

…………..

This concludes the ras el hanout portion of the program (that is not to say that it will not be revisited at a later time).

Stay tuned for more Adventures with Spice.

ras el hanout montenebro date

Deep in the Sahara, a dry, desert wind blows, picking up speed as it travels north. By the time that it reaches North Africa, it collides with a cool, humid air mass that blows off the Mediterranean, forming the formidable ill wind known as the sirocco.

The chergui, as it is called in Morocco, wreaks havoc at the marketplace in Marrakesh, disrupting displays and covering wares with dust and sand. The spice merchants watch helplessly as the carefully formed cones of their finest spice are sent swirling into the air, caught by the chergui and carried off like loot as it makes its way east.

In Tunisia, it blows through plantations of date palms. The tall, slender trunks bow in its wake, mercilessly shaking the fronds and dislodging the drupes. These, too, are caught in the wind and carried north.

It makes its way across Malta, where it plunders a lemon grove, then up the coast to Naples, where it leaves the maccheronaros enraged as it makes off with sheets of pasta.

From there, it travels due west, across the Mediterranean, picking up speed and humidity. When it reaches Spain, it glides over ancient landscapes and makes its way to the elevated plains of Castilla y Leon. Approaching the fortified city of Avila, it sweeps over Romanesque walls, topples herds of goats, then takes off with their prized Montenebro cheese.

Turning south, it heads back towards the Mediterranean to Jerez de la Frontera. It rushes through a vineyard, uprooting vines of Pedro Ximenez and swipes multiple bottles of Fino off a shelf at a bodega. It hightails itself out of town, but not before ruffling the skirts of a group of flamenco dancers.

Propelled by a low pressure system on its tail, it makes its way across the Atlantic. Laden with mischief and loot, the wind tires and loses momentum. When it reaches the New World, it has barely enough energy to make its way through an open door, seeking a safe spot to deposit its spoils before going off to expire.

An unsuspecting resident enters the room and stares in disbelief at the scene before her. Every surface in the kitchen is covered with piles of fragrant spice, sheets of pasta, logs of cheese, lemons, dates, and bottles of sherry. She shudders as a cold breeze brushes past her and she closes the door.

ras el hanout raviolo filled with Montenebro

dried date and fino sherry puree

spruce powder

yogurt with sumac

puffed ras el hanout pasta

fresh date

preserved lemon

spruce

ras el hanout

Nothing puts me in a holiday mood faster than the warm and sweet aroma of spice. A batch of spice-scented cookies–be they gingerbread, speculas, bizcochos, lebkuchen, pepparkakor, or melomakarona–baking in the oven sets off visions of sugarplums dancing through my head.

Today, spices are so readily available that we forget the blood, sweat, and tears that have made them a common staple in our cupboards. Spices were once more valuable than gold and their procurement the most dangerous and competitive game in the world, impelling unprecedented explorations and discoveries. The scent of spice is a wormhole into history.

Around the world, spice is the common thread that weaves together culinary traditions. Each culture has their own magical blend to offer: garam masala of India, five spice of China, mole of Mexico, baharat of the Middle East, and ras el hanout of North Africa. These blends are a syntheses of flavor and aroma–warm, complex, and elusive.

Ras el hanout, in Arabic, is top (or head) of the shop, referring to the Moroccan souks, where each merchant offers a house blend of his finest spices. These nuanced blends can include at least a dozen–and up to a hundred different spices, both common (nutmeg, mace, ginger, black pepper) and exotic (chufa nuts, ash berries, orisroot, cantharides–the now banned beetle spanish fly). The best blends are those in which the individual spices are not easy to decipher and where the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.

clockwise from top left: nutmeg, saffron, anardana (ground pomegranate seeds), mace, grains of paradise, cardamom, cinnamon, black pepper, turmeric, allspice, and ginger (center)

This year, my food-centric friends will be receiving the "top of my shop". This, along with a free range chicken or leg of lamb, makes a welcome gift, one that I would be delighted to receive…especially if it came with this to cook it in. Just sayin'.

montenebro

Montenebro is a cheese that is made from pasteurized goats milk. It is also known as Queso de Tietar, as it is only made in Valle de Tietar in the province of Avila in Castilla y Leon, Spain.

It is distinct from other goat cheese made in the region and is distinguished by its flattened log shape (said to be modeled after a Castilian mule's foot) and its soft, dark rind. Within the rind is a pale, creamy paste that is gloriously dense and creamy.

Montenebro is not a cheese for the meek–it is assertive and pungent with characteristic barnyard flavor, mellowed by notes of hazelnut and pine (enebro, in Spanish, is juniper). It demands to be enjoyed with bold flavors and wines with weight and intensity.

montenebro

eggplant roasted with ras el hanout

crispy lamb pancetta

date puree

quail egg

escarole

oloroso sherry

parsley root

Parsley root (Petroselinum crispum), also known as Hamburg root parsley, is a cultivar of flat leaf parsley that forms a bulbous taproot, much like a carrot or parsnip.

It belongs to the family Apiaceae, or Umbelliferae, a large family of more than 3,000 species known for their aromatic leaves and include other edibles: anise, fennel, angelica, dill, caraway, cumin, cilantro, celery, chervil, lovage, carrots, and parsnips. Umbellifers can be recognized by their flowers that form in clusters that resemble mini umbrellas.

In the garden, Umbellifers are useful as companion plants as their essential oils attract beneficial insects. When planted near tomatoes, which are susceptible to tomato hornworms, they attract parasitic wasps that prey upon the destructive hornworms.

Parsley root is native to the Mediterranean and used extensively throughout Central Europe. In the US, it remains uncommon and hard to find.

In appearance, parsley root closely resembles parsnips, though they are lighter in color and denser in texture. Their flavor is less sweet than parsnips and references the clean, refreshing taste of the leaves.