Household Blog

My dad loves spicy, funky food, so I wasn’t terribly surprised when he recently asked me to teach him to make kimchi—this traditional Korean dish of fermented cabbage doesn’t skimp on intense flavors.

Having taken Suzanna Stone’s fermentation class last fall, I’ve relished any and all opportunities to expand my repertoire of fermented foods and beverages, and teaching other people is a joy, especially my delightfully enthusiastic Popsicle—let’s just say I came by my fervent love of food honestly. Both my parents are proficient in the kitchen, and the belly-laughing French declarative “Honh honh honh!!” is frequently heard emanating from the kitchen as concoctions are sniffed and tasted.

So here’s what we used:

Kimchi

4 pounds napa cabbage
1 pound carrot
1 large bunch of scallions
1 large hunk of ginger, peeled and grated
2 heads garlic, cloves smashed and peeled
Dry red chilies—however many you dare to use (we used a couple dozen Arbol chilies *grin*)
3 T. Sea salt

1. First, prep your ingredients—use organic, and do not wash them. Peel away the outside leave of cabbage and chop into 1 to 2 inch chunks. Chop or grate carrot in food processor—do not grate by hand as this will be too fine a grate for the carrot. Remove outer part of scallions and trim off ends, then slice on diagonal into 1 inch pieces. Smash garlic cloves and remove skin. Peel and then grate ginger—I find this easiest to do using a food processor.
2. Next, begin layering your veggies into a large, sturdy stoneware bowl in thirds: spread a third of the cabbage in a layer, then a third each of the carrot, scallions, garlic, ginger, and peppers (I leave my peppers whole); then sprinkle 1 Tablespoon sea salt evenly over it all. Layer in the next to thirds in the same manner until all the veggies and salt are layered into the bowl.
3. Allow contents to sit for a bit, maybe ten minutes—the salt will start to pull water out of the vegetables, and this will become your brine.
4. Then take a pounding implement (you’ll be glad for the sturdy bowl at this point) and start to pound the mixture, and don’t be shy! The goal is to bruise the mixture, break down the cells walls, and draw out more and more liquid from the vegetables. Alternate mixing the contents and pounding, as my lovely paternal assistant demonstrates in the accompanying pictures.
5. Once you have some brine puddling in the bottom of the bowl, it’s probably time to start filling your fermentation jar (I find that this recipe—about five pounds of veggies—almost exactly fills a wide-mouth 2-quart Ball jar). Add some of the veggie mix to the jar, then use your fist to smoosh it down, drawing the brine up over the vegetable matter and flushing out any renegade air pockets (which could cause spoilage during fermentation). Continue adding vegetable matter and smooshing it down till you’ve almost filled the jar and/or you run out of veggies. You’ll be amazed at how much juice is in there.
6. Almost done. Wipe the inside exposed lip of the jar. Now we need to add something to the top of the jar to hold the cabbage mixture submerged in the brine. Some people use a stone, but Suzanna taught us to use a ziploc bag filled with brine**. Fit the baggie down on top of the kimchi, pushing it down to flush out any air bubbles. Seal up your jar and pat yourself on the back—good job!
7. Ferment at room temperature for 1 - 4 weeks. Burp the jar once or twice a day to let any vapors out. Every few days, remove the ziploc, rinse and dry it, wipe out the exposed inside lip of the jar, and replace the baggie. Take a nibble occasionally to see if your kimchi is ready.
8. When your kimchi tastes like it’s ready, refrigerate it. You’ll continue to store it with the baggie on top and wiping the inner lip with each use to prevent the molding that can come with air exposure, but if it does get a little mold at some point, just scoop out that part, wipe out the jar, and you should be fine. The kimchi will keep in the fridge indefinitely.

**On brine: First, the water for the brine must be chlorine-free. This can be accomplished by either letting the water boil and return to room temperature before using, or by letting the water sit out open overnight—either will allow the chlorine to evaporate. Mix at a ratio of 1 Tablespoon sea salt dissolved in 1 cup water. Second, the brine is used in this manner to preserve the batch: any vegetable matter that is exposed to air could potentially mold, hence the ensuring it is completely submerged in brine, and if the baggie breaks, you aren’t going to hurt your fermentation, you’ve only added a little more brine. No harm, no foul. We like that.

What are your fermentation experiments and experiences?

On a cold winter’s day, there’s nothing like a little sweetness and spice to warm one from the inside out. On my most recent trip to Penzey’s, a paradise of spice, I encountered a seasoning blend from Northern India called Rogan Josh, and it was love at first scent. I brought it home with me, and below is the resulting recipe. Admittedly, I have no clue how this spice is normally used, but if this isn’t traditional, it should be.

Right now, mangoes are the perfect source of sweetness and are ripe and ready for the kitchen. If you want to try this recipe in the warmer half of the year, though, I’d suggest using ripe and juicy-sweet local peaches or nectarines…

Steak Rogan Josh

1 lb. good quality cubed beef steak
2-3 T. Rogan Josh seasoning
1 ripe mango, chopped
1 1/2 T. coconut oil
sea salt, to taste
2 T. cilantro, divided
1 scallion, sliced on the diagonal, for garnish

Steak should be cut to pieces about 1 to 1 1/2 inches thick. Dry meat with a paper towel. Heat coconut oil in skillet over medium heat. Add steak and sprinkle with a little bit of sea salt and the Rogan Josh, turning until meat is just starting to brown, but still visibly pink, about 3 to 5 minutes. Add chopped mango and 1 T. cilantro. Mix well and cover.

Cook covered for 7 to 8 minutes, until mango is softened and the mixture has a stew-like consistency. I like my steak medium-rare, so adjust your cook time as necessary to your preference. Add the white portion of the chopped scallion and the remaining 1 T. cilantro, stirring uncovered for an additional minute or two. Remove from heat and serve over rice - here, I used a wild rice blend cooked with bay leaves - and garnish with cilantro and/or the green part of the chopped scallion.

Serves 2 - 4 people, depending on serving size.

I’ve been a self-described pacifist for a while now. I think of being a pacifist as sort of like being a member of Alcoholics Anonymous:  being a pacifist means that you admit that there is a problem—a  prevalence of physical and emotional violence in our relationships with people, with animals, with the earth—that you are no longer going to be a part of that problem, and that practicing nonviolence is a never-ending struggle.

My, my, the lessons we learn from our critters. I’m eating my humble pie, and here’s why.

A couple weeks ago, a friend of mine asked me to go check in on his dogs—for the purposes of this story, we’ll call his dogs Audrey and Piggy. He had recently started a new job and it was keeping him late, and naturally he was concerned that the change in schedule might be hard on them. Our dogs had met a couple times previously, and despite his statement that Audrey had aggression issues in the past, Audrey had seemed to do fine with my girl Rowan. So when my friend asked me to check in, neither of us thought there would be any problem with my going over there with Rowan, in fact we both thought it would be nice—they could get in a little play, romp a bit while I checked their food and water.

So Ro and I show up at my pal’s house, let ourselves in, puppies sniff each other like puppies do, and I let all three of them out back to relieve themselves. After a few minutes, I let them back in, and just as I turn around to fill up the water bowl, it starts. I have no clue what set it off, but both Audrey and Piggy were on top of my girl, one on either side of her, and within moments she was on her back, struggling to defend herself. Without thinking I jumped right in and was able to get Piggy back out the back door. But Audrey wouldn’t let go.

Time slowed down like it does in a crisis, and I found myself split somehow. Part of me was shrieking and pleading for Audrey to let go of Rowan. The other part of me was methodically searching through options, trying different strategies:

First, dominance—big voice, strong posture, command. No beans.

Second, trying to pry Audrey’s jaws off of Rowan. No good, plus a few cuts, and I’m lucky I didn’t get worse.

Third, a cutting board to try to stun the big dog, which did nothing but make it worse. At this point I’m pretty clear that I may actually be watching my dog die.

Lastly, my rational part saw a large chopping knife on the kitchen counter. While trying to keep my hands on Rowan to keep her body from being broken, I contemplated how best to kill her attacker. And then it happened. Ro had been screaming the whole time, but now she locked eyes with me, and she howled. At me. In one moment, all of my love and desperation just choked me. I love my girl. There aren’t even words. And she loves me. And I’ve never had children, but I imagine it’s a bit like that. To have someone that depends on you for care and protection, crying out to you for help, and to feel completely incapable, impotent, helpless. And at the same time, they remind you so thoroughly of who you are, who they need you to be.

And I could not kill that dog.

So I reached into my metaphorical toolkit and I asked for a tool. If I were a dog, I thought, what would I do to get Audrey to stop? And even as I reached for it, the tool was placed in my hand, without any doubt. I released both animals, got down on my belly, made soft sounds saying Audrey’s name—I made myself submissive. I don’t know if it was out of sheer shock or if Audrey really recognized my gesture, but regardless, he released my girl. Within seconds I had him out the back door.

Rowan and I were at the animal hospital till just past 2 a.m.

Ro is doing fine now. Stitches and staples are out now and she is mending well, in body and spirit. She’s still a little jumpy, understandably, but it’s getting better every day.

Me, I’m still digesting. I’ve been scared in my life, but I’ve never been as scared as I was that night. I’m still having dreams about it—there are many lessons here. But here’s what I’ve got so far.

1. Complacency is a bitch. Rowan has been a constant source of love and companionship for eight years, and she depends on me. I got sloppy, reckless, and I put her in a situation that could have gotten her killed—the warning signs were there. It won’t happen again, that’s for damn sure.
2. When the shit hits the fan, it’s a real test of what you believe. Being nonviolent is a lot easier when violence isn’t pounding on your door. I never thought it would be so hard to stay my own hand.
3. You can only find and use the tools that you’re willing to ask for. Now, I’m not recommending that if anyone gets into a dog fight they should go submissive. In my case, it worked, miraculously, but if I was looking objectively at the scenario I’d have to say it’s probably a really bad idea, harebrained, and reckless. But in the moment I was certain it would work. I asked for the tool, and I got it. Our rational, cynical minds can often forget the strength of intuition, instinct, clarity. Faith.
4. And lastly, Rowan is unequivocally the bestest pup ever. Period. No contest.

I’m a very grateful girl.

As part of my herbalism class, this past week we had a guest teacher, the lovely Suzanna Stone, to teach us about fermented foods, fermented beverages, and above all, the importance of joy and courage in the kitchen. We all left the class thoroughly blissed, with happy tummies and tons of inspiration to digest.

Over the course of the day, we sampled and/or made sauerkraut, kimchi, ginger carrots, beets, brined garlic cloves, herbal soft drinks, kombucha, and t’ej – an exquisite no-heat Ethiopian honey wine. Needless to say, I can’t wait to try out these wonderful ideas in my kitchen at home. Currently percolating, I’m planning to make a fermented green tomato salsa with the last of the tomatoes left on the vine. I’ll keep you posted as I progress.

Suzanna introduced us to a wealth of wonderful information about the health benefits of fermented foods. My favorite quote of the day: “’Rotten’ is a culturally-determined concept.” That made me chuckle. In addition to adding a couple fabulous new books to my wishlist (especially Steven Buhner’s book on sacred and herbal beers) and nifty way of peeling ginger with a spoon (again, how have I missed this!)  we were introduced to Lehman’s Non-Electric, a catalog wonderland of do-it-yourself whizgiggery, sturdy tools, enough non-electric (and some electric, to be fair) items for the home, kitchen, and farm to put a tear in any luddite’s eye.

I placed my first order on the Web site (funny that – non-electric and available on the Web) this morning and am eagerly anticipating my first shipment, along with a free copy of the paper catalog, which will be my evening harlequin romance reading for many an evening, tucked under the covers with a warm dog at my side. I feel almost a little cheated that I’ve missed out on this for almost thirty years, but I’m happy to make up for lost time.

It’s fall, full-fledged and fiery on the trees, and as all the leaves turn golden, orange, and crimson, I’ve got greens on the brain.

When we picture our fall cornucopia, we often think of pumpkins, sturdy winter squash, onions, garlic, potatoes, appples, and looming over all of these is the ominous T-Day turkey. But most of all, I am thrilled by the bevy of greens - swiss chard, spinach, watercress, kale, collards - the southern girl in me is salivating at the thought. The theatre geek in me can’t help but thinking of Bernadette Peters’ vegetable rap from Sondheim’s Into the Woods. Oh Bernadette, how I love you.

I’ve begun studying herbalism this year, and more and more I return to the thought that we aren’t meant to receive our nourishment from pills and vitamins, but from whole foods. As Hippocrates said, “Let food be thy medicine.” And you can’t beat dark, leafy greens for a healthful meal. I gather them up by the basketful and fling them with abandon into soups, stews, salads, and sautes. The morning after could very well find the remnants in a quiche or omelette. I just can’t get enough.

Here are a couple of my favorite ways of preparing greens, very simple, oh so good:

Greens—Mediterranean Style

1 bunch greens, any kind, clean and dry
1/2 c. raisins (adjust according to taste)
olive oil
champagne vinegar (or your favorite vinager)
salt & pepper to taste

Bring a teakettle of water to a boil on the stove. Place raisins in a heat-safe bowl and pour boiling water over them till they are covered. Set aside.

Heat a glug of olive oil in a skillet or crock over medium heat. Add the greens, toss briskly, sprinkle on a bit of seasalt, and cover. Allow to steam just until softened but still brilliant green - do not overcook. Remove from heat and stir in a tablespoon or two of vinager, salt and pepper to taste. Drain the raisins well and toss these with the greens. Serve.

Greens—Asian Style

1 bunch greens, any kind, clean and dry
olive oil
1 T. fresh minced ginger
1 - 2 T. tamari (soy sauce)
1 T. honey

Whisk together ginger, tamari, and honey, adjusting amount to your particular tastes. Set aside.

Heat a glug of olive oil in a skillet or crock over medium heat. Add the greens, toss briskly, sprinkle on a bit of seasalt, and cover. Allow to steam just until softened but still brilliant green - do not overcook. Remove from heat and toss with the tamari dressing. Serve.

What are your favorite ways to prepare greens?

Over the next few weeks, I’ll be posting my favorites of the recipes I put together for Agriberry over the warmer months. This was one of my absolute favorites - a taste of sunshine.

Joyful Peach & Blueberry Pie

• 3 c. peaches, peeled, pitted and chopped (about 3 peaches)
• 1 to 1 1/2 c. blueberries
• 1/2 c. brown sugar
• 1 T. lime juice
• 3 T. cornstarch
• 1 gluten-free piecrust (thawed if frozen; I use WholeFoods - best I’ve found yet)

Topping:

• 1/2 c. GF flour (I prefer Pamela’s)
• 1/2 c. GF oats (Bob’s Red Mill or other)
• 1/8 c. sunflower seeds
• 1/8 c. sesame seeds
• 1/2 c. brown sugar
• 1/4 t. salt
• 6 T. butter, cut into small pieces

Set oven to 375. In a large, bowl, mix, the peaches, blueberries, sugar, lime juice, and cornstarch. Pour into your pie crust and bake for 30 minutes. While that bakes, use a fork or cutting tool to cut the butter into the remaining ingredients for the topping - you will have loose crumbs. After pie has baked its 30 minutes, remove from oven and lightly spread the crumb topping over the top of the pie, from the center out to the crust. Return the pie to the oven to cook another 30 - 45 minutes, until the juice starts to bubble up around the edges of the crumb topping. You may want to put a cookie sheet a rack below the pie to protect from dripping, and if the topping starts to get too brown, cover it loosely with fool for the last few minutes of baking. Cool 1 to 2 hours before serving - goes great with vanilla ice cream or yogurt!

My second year participating in the pumpkin carving tradition. This year, we opted for a theme—the weirdly amorous duo, Gomez and Tish. I did Morticia. MrPikes did Gomez. Apt, methinks.

Even super pup Rowan thought they were pretty keen. Any ideas for next year?

Off the radar for a while, I know. I spent the warm season writing a weekly featured recipe for Agriberry CSA, a fabulous local all-fruit CSA organized by the irrepressible Ms. Anne Geyer. I’ll be posting the “best of” those recipes in the near future, but for today, a welcome to Fall—my favorite time of year. Let us eat well, digest what’s past, and prepare ourselves for the next.

Chunky Pumpkin & Kale Soup

• 1 pie pumpkin
• 1 large bunch kale
• 1 large onion, chopped
• 3 large shallots, chopped
• 4-6 cloves garlic, chopped
• Whole dried hot pepper (# depends on hotness of peppers – I used one medium-hot pepper b/c the curry paste will also add some spice)
• 2-4 T. finely chopped fresh ginger
• 2 yellow peppers, chopped
• 1 c. dried white beans (cranberry, cannellini, etc.) soaked for a day ahead OR 1 can of same
• Fresh thyme – a lot
• 6 c. chicken broth (about 3 cans)
• 1 can coconut milk
• 4-5 t. Thai red curry paste
• Juice of 1 lemon
• Butter
• Scallions for garnish
• Zatar for garnish

If using dry beans, soak your beans for 12 – 24 hours ahead of time (I loved the big white cranberry beans in this, but I might try it with red lentils next time). Bring to a boil and reduce to simmer to soften right before preparing the soup. Drain before adding.

Preheat oven to 375. Cut your pie pumpkin (or other pumpkin variety or butternut squash) in half, scoop out the seeds, and rub all of interior with some butter. Place face down on cookie sheet and bake in oven until softened, about 30 – 45 minutes.

Meanwhile, in a large pot, heat olive oil over medium heat. Add 2 sprigs of time, chopped onion, shallots, garlic, a sprinkling of sea salt, and whole dried hot pepper. Saute until onions are softened. Add yellow pepper and ginger. Add chicken broth, coconut milk, and Thai red curry paste,  then stir in the drained & rinsed beans. Mix well and return to a boil, adjusting heat to maintain a simmer. When pumpkin is softened, remove from oven and use a spoon to scoop chunks of flesh out – add to soup mixture.

Clean kale and chop coarsely – I like longer crinkly pieces so I just chop it once laterally. Add to soup but do not mix it in – cover the pot and allow the kale to steam and soften. Then stir the soup, add lemon juice and additional salt or curry paste to taste. Garnish with a sprinkling of zatar seasoning and chopped scallions. Dee-lish!

I love this time of year. Just got whomped last weekend with an unexpected twelve inches of snow, and today, five days later, it’s set to be 80 degrees out. If you don’t like the weather in Richmond, wait five minutes.

Spring Fever, for me, means cleaning house, acting like a lunatic, getting outside as much as possible, gardening, and cleaning out the pantry while relishing the first fresh spring produce. La.

Here are a couple of my faves from this past week.

Pantry Pilaf

I love rice, not the bland white stuff, but the chewy, nutty blends of black, brown, and red rices, take a little longer to cook but the flavor is lovely. So you can cook this with any kind you like, but you know how I feel.

1 c. rice, uncooked
1/2 t. sea salt
1/2 onion, chopped (I used yellow, but I think I’ll try red next time)
1/3 c. dry sundried tomatoes, chopped
1 T. oregano (preferably fresh)
olive oil
juice of one lemon
pepper

Place your chopped sundried tomatoes (I prefer to use the dried ones, not the ones packed in oil) in a small bowl or ramekin. Add the lemon juice, pepper, oregano, and just enough oil to give it a  nice gooey mix. Stir well and set aside to soak - do this first - the longer it soaks the better. In skillet, heat a bit of oil and saute the onion just until tender. Set aside.  Cook rice with a half teaspoon of salt and two bay leaves and the requisite amount of water. One rice is fully cooked, toss in the sundried tomatoes and onion. Top with sunflower seeds if desired, and serve.

Braised Greens & Garlicky Beans

1/2 c. dried white beans (I used Rancho Gordo’s Mayacoba - their beans are marvelous)
3-4 cloves garlic, chopped
1 bunch fresh spinach, washed and de-stemmed
lemon pepper
salt

Soak the beans in a liberal amount of water for 4-6 hours. Closer to dinner time, cook beans until tender (this takes a while - I use this as good kitchen meditation time - prep other ingredients, read a book, listen to music, drink some wine, you know - warm things up). Once beans are fully tender, drain them and set aside. Heat a couple tablespoons of olive oil in a skillet over medium. Add garlic, saute about a minute, then add the beans. Mix well (try not to smoosh the beans as much as possible) and continue to saute another couple minutes. Add spinach leaves (do not mix in yet) and season with salt, lemon pepper, and drizzle with olive oil. Cover the skillet and allow the spinach to wilt. Just before the spinach is fully wilted, remove the lid and toss to mix the greens and beans together. Remove from heat - do not overcook - that beautiful spinach green with the white beans, like the last winter snow melting away. You know, if winter snow was bean shaped and tasted like garlic *grin*. Enjoy!

If you know me, you know I’m a fan of music and dance and all things FABulous. Well, there’s a lovely new short that I just had to share with you all - a funny and highly capitalist interpretation of Proposition 8. Trust me on this one: Prop 8: The Musical