Food Bridge

Across the border

2022-04-02T05:52:00.000-07:00

Eating catfish in Kentucky was never on my bucket list. It has never been on any list at all. In fact, it was as far from my mind as Kentucky, 10 thousands kilometers away

But then I found myself in Tennessee. It's not a particular exotic place and I am not a big fan of country music (well, that's not completely true, I do love Johnny Cash). There's also an entire continent, the Atlantic Ocean and a bunch of other states before I even can set foot there. With the Covid19 lockdowns, quarantines and travel restrictions, Tennessee might as well been on the moon. But it just so happens that one of my favorite uncles decided to move thirty minutes from downtown Nashville and invited me to visit.

After months of Covid19 closures and then the added stress of the war, it became all too evident that Tennessee was precisely where I needed to go. That's how I found myself, shortly after doing vaccinations, sitting on the back porch of his house drinking coffee and watching the bunny rabbits and deer frolic in the yard wondering if Snow White and the seven dwarfs lived in the surrounding woods.

Unlike most trips I take, I had no plans but could not help notice that Kentucky was only a short drive away. For anyone who has ever collected states as one might bag peaks, I knew that the first thing I would do in Tennessee is go straight to Kentucky. Those on the compulsive side will understand. But I was also nostalgic for the long family road trips we used to take as kids, from New York to Florida, to Maine and once across Ontario, Manitoba, Saskatchewan and into British Columbia in the Westphalia Volkswagen camper (in retrospect, I don't know how my parents did not go nuts with five kids in the car and just leave us by the side of the road). Passing the border was a major event after the drone of endless miles. Our faces were glued to the windows to be sure we did not miss the welcome sign and I always wondered if I was supposed to feel different when we got to the other side. We'd often stop at the rest area and then right back into the car until our next destination.

So how could I not convince my uncle and cousin to drive me over the border to relive the full childhood experience, including stopping at the rest area to pick up brochures of places I would unlikely visit (creation museum?). Unfortunately in the day and age of franchise establishments, the highways and commercial centers across the country could be Anywhere USA. It all looks the same with gaudy oversized signs of fast food and hotel chains with their gimmicky promises. Even John Steinbeck back in the 1960's complained of the stripped down nature of the road trip experience when driving cross country with his dog Charlie.

"The food is oven-fresh, spotless and tasteless; untouched by human hands. I remembered with an ache certain dishes in France and Italy touched by innumerable human hands."

Convenience strips away the soul and individuality of the highway-scape leaving it devoid of personality.

I did not want to drive all the way (ok, it was only 40 minutes) to Kentucky to eat at a generic fast food joint but I found what might be the last family restaurant in the nation, Rylan's. So that's exactly where we went. Through the drive-thru we ordered catfish, hush puppies, turnip greens and a weird Jell-O concoction (only in America) made with strawberries and pretzels that my cousin refused taste. We took it out back and ate it in the parking lot next to the pickup trucks and motorcycles. I'd go there again but perhaps skip the strawberry pretzel salad. You know what? Perhaps a double portion of that crazy salad since, I am embarrassed to admit, I rather liked it :-). And I surely want to go back to Kentucky to taste the bourbon and explore the Mammoth Caves!

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On an aside, I've let my blog go fallow for 8 years and I'm not sure what direction the blog will take now. If you are curious to know, stick around.

Why I moved my food blog back to Blogger

2014-12-12T05:00:00.000-08:00

Uploaded from computer directly to Blogger

After a hiatus of almost 6 years, I moved my blog back to Blogger. While Blogger triggered the blogging revolution, bloggers began to jump ship to Wordpress for its perceived advantages. For a time, it seemed that every serious blogger and website developer used Wordpress as their preferred platform.

I did too until recently.

However, I decided to return to Blogger and I’ll tell you why.

It’s free. I blog as a hobby and I wanted it to be self contained. Instead, I was spending more than I was making from my partnership with Blogher Publishing Network. At the beginning the cost was negligible- just a few dollars a year for the url and monthly hosting fees at Bluehost. Then I decided to switch from Feedburner to Feedblitz, another feed management provider because the web was in hysterics over the imminent demise of Feedburner (that was several years ago and Feedburner still exists). This also cost money. On top of that, I invested in a premium theme which worked well the first few years but eventually became outdated and caused conflicts with the blog platform.

Working with Blogger is efficient and user friendly since it is integrated with Google Accounts and all things Google. Blogger works seamlessly with Google’s image hosting system and photographs can be easily uploaded to the blog. Not so with Wordpress. There I had to either host the pictures on Bluehost (which can be costly if storage surpasses memory allowance) or upload them to Picasa and only then add the correct url link of the photograph to the blog. This was a tedious and annoying process. Since Blogger is part of Google Accounts, there is only one sign up for everything.

Google’s integrated blogging platform reduces the chance of conflicts between theme, hosting platform and plugins. There have been numerous times when a seemingly innocent plugin caused elements on my blog to stop working correctly. This can be fixed by removing the problem plugin. However, when my entire blog disappeared off the web because the theme was in conflict with the blogging platform there was very little I could do but hire professional help. Again, more money. More time.

Blogger is versatile. In the past, Blogger lacked many features that Wordpress offered. Now I can choose from a variety of layouts as well as add pages, sidebars, header, footer and even a favicon. The column width of the body and sidebars can be adjusted. Background and header images can be uploaded. Text color and font can be adjusted. Those who know HTML are able to open a much wider array of customization options. In addition the web is filled with sites that offer a huge variety of blogger templates to download, many of them for free or for a minimal cost.

Setting up a new blog is ridiculously easy. Self-hosting a blog is time consuming and confusing for those who are not trained web developers and who don’t know code. Sure it’s possible to figure it out, but most people just don’t have the time nor the patience to do it.

Photo edited in Google+ Photos and uploaded to Blogger

Adsense can easily be added to Blogger to capitalize on website traffic. In reality, Google kicked me out of Adsense without giving me a reason and rejected my appeal (and took off with my $50 which I didn’t appreciate, but that’s a different story).

Wordpress must be updated often to avoid security risks and to keep the platform compatible with all its features. Plugins need to be frequently updated as well for the same reason. Google takes care of this for you.

Cons:

You are at the mercy of Google. This might be true, but I’m not too worried about it as long as I backup my blog.

Hopefully with the blogging administration relegated to Google I’ll have more time to blog. I still have a few things I like to change and add on the Blogger platform but overall, I would recommend it for those who want to reduce costs or have minimal time to deal with the technical aspects of blogging.

What platform do you recommend?

The simplest and most sophisticated tomato sauce

2014-12-07T01:21:00.001-08:00

I’ve always taken nutrition advice with a grain of salt. In the past the mantra was “low sodium” until research put that theory on its head. Too many recommendations given by the FDA has been refuted or at least, modified.

In the 1950’s the egg was considered the perfect food, providing a complete protein and nutrients vital to human health. By the 1980’s eggs became the culprit, single-handedly causing the epidemic of cardiovascular diseases. It was high in the fatal cholesterol that caused atherosclerosis and ultimately heart attacks, the number one cause of death for both women and men in the United States. Companies capitalizing on the new health scare began marketing products the public never needed before – boxed eggs with no yolk, mayonnaise with no cholesterol and globs of trans-fat margarine.

Then suddenly fat was purged from the diet and sugar made its ominous and stealthy appearance. It was no longer relegated to dessert but now hidden in everything from yogurts to pasta sauces- often to improve palatability of fat-free foods.

Sugar was the logical replacement. It is cheap and universally loved- a combination that evolved into a public health disaster. The government subsidized corn industry ensured that corn syrup became an inexpensive and readily available commodity. Humans have an evolutionary craving for sweet foods but not the ability to curb the addiction. Once the intake of sweet foods was limited to what nature could provide- mainly in the form of fruits or honey- but with the development of the sugar refinement industry it became ubiquitous.

In large amounts, sugar is poisonous. Sure, it’s not good for the waistline but more insidiously it causes high blood sugar- an invisible symptom- which eventually can lead to diabetes. More than 8% of the world adult population has diabetes and the numbers are expected to increase as developing countries adapt the Western style diet.

From all the confusing information on healthful diets, Michael Pollan does a good job as summing up what to eat:

“Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.”

Tomato Sauce

I was first introduced to a version of the recipe from Marcella Hazan’s Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking. This simplistic recipe belies the luxuriously rich and summery aroma which this sauce produces. Replace the onion with a couple of cloves of chopped garlic and the butter with olive oil and you'll have great base for shakshuka.

10 tomatoes

50 grams butter

1 onion

3/4^th teaspoon salt or to taste

Bunch basil leaves, torn into small pieces

500 grams dry pasta

Peel the tomatoes. Make a small X at the top and bottom of the tomato, just enough to pierce the peel, not cut the flesh. Place them in a large bowl and pour boiling water over them. As soon as the peel begins to curl up at the Xs- a few minutes- remove them from the water. The peel should be easily pulled off. Some recipes also call for removing the seeds but I seldom do.

Cut the tomatoes into quarters and place them in a medium sized pot. Add the butter and onion and cook over medium heat without a cover. Reduce heat and simmer until the water from the tomatoes evaporates and the sauce thickens. Stir occasionally.

Remove the onion and add the basil leaves. Prepare the pasta according to manufacturing instruction and pour the sauce over it.

Visiting the Judean Desert

2014-10-16T16:32:00.000-07:00

According to Friedrich Nietzsche “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”. I think that’s nonsense. Even so, life should be lived optimistically, even when it’s not. That’s how I decided to start the Jewish New Year- with rose colored glasses perched on top of my nose. Reality may bring other surprises, but as they say, at least I’ll be enjoying the ride.

This New Year found us driving past the Bedouin shantytowns of the Northern Negev and into a remote area of the Judean Desert, bordering the Dead Sea. It’s inhospitable in summer- searing temperatures, relentless sun keep people away. Yet despite the heat, we ventured there anyway in hope of solitude. This is a tad unrealistic during the holiday season when the entire nation is on a quest to find the perfect BBQ spot, the human version of the great wildebeest migration. According to news reports, most of them consolidated around the Sea of Galilee so we decided to travel in the opposite direction- south- in the hope that nobody else had thought of this.

And they hadn’t. For good reason too. The desert environment is not conductive to BBQing. The wind and the sand battled it out while we attempted to cook dinner over an open fire. Whatever I poured into the pan would fly off happily and land a meter off its target and on to anyone standing downwind. “Why did you pour olive oil on me?” Sparks ignited and melted the pepper grinder.

While I experimented with baking bread in a cast iron skillet, our neighbor‘s tent sailed off into the desert, zipping by at astounding speed. There were a gurgle of meek objections but the tent was already swallowed whole by darkness. It was gone and never coming back-probably perched on a mountain top in Jordan, hopefully without the original occupants.

All our food was coated in grit. The omelet was crunchy. The bread was half burnt. But it was all good anyway. We dipped the uncharred portion of the skillet bread in olive oil and clambered into the tent for the night. A few minutes later we clambered out when we noticed gigantic embers from someone else’s fire tumbling towards us.

By morning the Milky Way was flickering across another sky and the air had no memory of its hard partying the night before. All was still and we got what we came for- space. It was all ours.

{Views of Nahal Ashelim}

Once we left the campsite, we were completely alone in the wadi. It’s inaccessible without a good rappelling rope or a strong enough back to carry a day’s worth of water. Those who do venture in the heart of the desert are rewarded with silence and magnificent views. That’s hard to come by in this modern world.

Fish tagine with preserved lemons and olives

Fish is deeply rooted in Rosh Hashanah tradition and is often served at the holiday meal. The head of the fish symbolizes- as one might guess- coming out ahead in all life’s endeavors.

This dish is the antithesis of the subtly sweet and pale gefilte fish that Ashkenazi Jews prepare for festive meals. Chraime, as it is called in Israel, is fish simmered in a richly hued piquant tomato sauce. It was introduced to the local cuisine by the Moroccan and Libyan Jews who typically serve it on Friday night dinners or holidays. This version was inspired by Paula Wolfert’s recipe from her book Claypot Cooking.

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Shakshuka with feta and smoky eggplant

2014-09-20T05:51:00.000-07:00

Shakshuka. It’s not fussy. The details don’t matter, nor the total focus of the cook. A glug or two of olive oil, a couple of tomatoes simmered into softness- canned will do in a cinch- and eggs. That’s really all you need.

Or, if the pantry or mood allows, embellishments are added. Cumin, onions, garlic, cilantro, parsley, bell peppers, sliced chili peppers… some versions even omit the tomatoes completely and use spinach instead. In Arabic, this catchy sounding dish roughly translates to “all mixed up” so by definition there are no rules to obey. Anything goes.

Believed to be Tunisian in origin, its popularity has spread to the Middle East and has become a favorite anytime- anywhere meal in Israel. It’s a common item in restaurants, from mom & pop eateries to the bustling Tel Aviv dining scene- the bacon and eggs backbone of the breakfast menu, with a bit more color & piquancy.

That’s what I ordered at Manta Ray, a seaside restaurant bordering Jaffa where the food is good, the atmosphere informal and the views spill into the Mediterranean. Presented in an individual pan, their shakshuka was topped with grilled halloumi cheese, a nod to our Greek neighbors, alongside a country salad and a basket of soft breads.

Hummus aficionados have perfected the hummus swipe technique. For shakshuka it’s all in the dunk. Bread is torn into pieces and submerged into the bubbling sauce while a fork is used to dig out the eggs. At Manta Ray it was brioche but other establishments serve it with Yemenite lachuch, pita, challah or government subsidized standard bread.

It’s not a difficult dish to master but there are a few pitfalls to avoid. First, if tomatoes are subpar - plastic, no aroma- they can still be used but good quality tomato paste and a bit of brown sugar should be added to keep the sauce from tasting flat. Preferably the sauce should be slightly loose, but not watery. You don’t want a diluted puddle nor one which has evaporated into the consistency of thick paste. According to Ynet, Tzila, owner of Tzila’s Schnitzel from Netanya says if the shakshuka is too thick, chances are it’s made only with tomato paste. She doesn’t mince her words and declares that anyone who prepares shakshuka in this manner is a miser who doesn’t know how to cook. Ouch.

The shakshuka takes time to prepare since all the components- onions, peppers, garlic- should be cooked until tender. This is not a stir fry and crunchy vegetables are not the texture you’re aiming for. The only fresh ingredients I like are a scattering of roughly chopped coriander or parsley leaves right before serving.

As for flavorings, I normally go for North African – cumin, Moroccan paprika, sometimes turmeric but inspiration knows no borders. Here’s my weekend shakshuka combination with roasted eggplant and briny goat feta cheese.

Shakshuka with feta and smoky eggplant

Tomatoes in the bargain bin, too soft for salads, are perfect for making shakshuka.

Olive oil

1 small onion, chopped into small pieces, about 1/2-3/4 cup

2 garlic cloves, minced

6 tomatoes, peeled and chopped or simply zipped in a food processor peel and all (high quality canned chopped tomatoes can also be used)

3 tablespoons tomato paste

6 eggs

1 teaspoon cumin

½ teaspoon paprika

1/2 teaspoon salt, or to taste

1/2 teaspoon black pepper

1 medium sized eggplant

100 grams crumbled feta cheese

Handful of chopped parsley leaves

In a cast iron pan, add a good glug of olive oil so it covers the surface of the pan. Add the chopped onions and cook until translucent, about 10 minutes while stirring occasionally. Add the garlic and cook for a few seconds before adding the tomato paste and chopped tomatoes. Reduce heat and cover the pan to allow the tomatoes to melt into a sauce, about 15 minutes. Check occasionally to see if more water should be added.

Meanwhile, wash the eggplant and place on top of a grill rack positioned above the flame of the range. Keep the eggplant close but not directly in the flame. It is necessary to turn the eggplant around every few minutes to cook all sides evenly. When fully cooked, the eggplant’s peel will be blistered and charred in some parts and the fruit soft when pressed. Slit the eggplant once from top to bottom and let drain in a colander. Scrape the inside with a tablespoon, avoiding the peel. Chop the eggplant pulp so it is no longer stringy and place in a small bowl (a food processor is overkill for this job). Add a pinch of salt and mix. Discard the peel.

Continue preparing the shakshuka. Add spices- cumin, paprika, salt and freshly ground black pepper. Create a hollow part with the back of a tablespoon and add an egg into it. Continue with the rest of the eggs. Cover and cook until the whites are set.

Remove from heat and garnish with the eggplant mash and feta cheese. Scatter a few parsley leaves on top. Since cumin tends to lose potency when heated, I sometimes sprinkle more before serving.

Serve with challah bread.

Stress eating

2014-08-30T03:19:00.000-07:00

{Echinops in the Golan Heights, Israel}

Air raid sirens send me in a panic. This summer we had many of them. Aside from that life goes on as usual- work, home and the daily routine- with a few changes to avoid being bombed. Until I acclimatized to the new danger level- like being perpetually at the start line of a 200 dash, waiting for the gun to go off- I was hyper-alert and depleted of energy. Every wail of motorcycle and every cry of a child would trigger false starts- jolts of wasted adrenaline, pulse racing to nowhere. I had to wait an interminable second before I could discern if I should run to the bomb shelter, or if it was just background noise mimicking disaster. It’s like going rappelling for the first time, leaning back into the void with only a thin rope between me and oblivion. I had to trust that I’d make it to the safe room on time, trust that the Iron Dome would deflect the rockets, trust that shrapnel would land in empty areas.

{Wild figs from the Golan Heights}

The situation has me craving an American diet that saw it’s heyday in the 1970’s- sugar, carbohydrates, butter and potato chips. In my stressed, adrenaline zapped state, chocolate and pasta are my salvation. Corn dogs and even deep fried candy bars seem like perfectly sensible food. There are times I wish they were available in the Middle East. I know what I should eat but I’m not remotely interested in a garden salad flecked with sunflower seeds. Just give me ice cream and I’ll be happy, if only until the next run to the shelter.

I’ve also been reading too much news. It’s not good. None of it. And it gets worse. It’s hard to disconnect myself from my reality-a reality which consists of friends and family across most of Israel under rocket attack. Even when my area is “calm” I worry about those who are not out of danger. And so it goes for the last two months. My addiction to minute by minute updates and political commentary is a habit broken only by forced distraction- cooking and baking are my remedies for the chaotic world.

[caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="640"] {Ayit Stream, Golan Heights}[/caption]

Yet even rockets have become the norm, just another annoyance, like bomb scares and security checks at the mall that Israelis have become accustomed to. I try to get on with it, try to take it in stride and enjoy what summer has to offer- wild figs picked on excursions to the north. Lychee, mangoes, plums and peaches, all locally grown, fill up the stalls at the green grocer. And most recently, pomegranates have made their appearance, a sign that the New Year is approaching, and with it perhaps the hope for a more peaceful future.

My limoncello tree

2014-06-21T22:19:00.000-07:00

It took a decade to make my first limoncello. I started from scratch. First we planted a lemon tree. Then we waited.

After ten years I looked out the window at the fruit laden tree and thought to myself “I think I’ll make limoncello” I’d never really considered this before. Up until this year I bought my stock from the village of Ani-Am in the Golan Heights or sometimes from the Weizmann Institute of Science farmer’s market.

My lemons were used for lemonade, squeezed over tomato and cucumber salad or sliced finely for Moroccan olive and lemon tagine. The zest flavored cake and cookies, savory carrot salads or lively gremolata to sprinkle over stews. Often I’d call out to one of my boys in the middle of cooking “Can you pick a lemon for me?” and a few minutes later they’d place one on the counter and run off to fly paper airplanes or whatever else they were doing.

Looking at the diminishing bottle in my freezer and a bowl overflowing with our harvest, I’d decided to try this ancient craft myself. I had no experience and not much time, so I searched for a recipe and started to quiz a few of my connoisseur friends. “Sure you can use vodka but I use 96% alcohol instead”, “Don’t bother buying expensive vodka, the cheapest is enough”, “Add a bit of lemon juice along with the zest or even a cinnamon stick or two”, “Steep the zest until the alcohol turns highlighter yellow” or less useful, “I stocked up on 96% alcohol before the country started taxing it. “ Indeed, spirits are an expensive enterprise here in Israel.

At the end I decided to make two batches, one with vodka and the 2^nd with 96% alcohol. I opted for the the classic recipe, without embellishments. Flavorings could be added later if I pleased. However, I didn’t have the traditional Sorrento lemons used in Sicily, the birthplace of limoncello. The hardy Eureka cultivars were the only kind I had and they worked fine.

Limoncello

Limoncello is typically served as a digestif.

1 750ml bottle of 40% alcohol vodka (80 proof)

Zest of ten lemons, preferably organic

Needed: A jar large enough to contain the lemon zest and alcohol.

Sugar syrup

2 cups sugar

2 cups water

Zest the lemons. I used a potato grater with blades adjusted so that it removed only the yellow part of the peel and left the bitter pith behind. It is a faster, more efficient method than using a zester.

Place the zest and the alcohol in a clean jar. Seal the lid and leave in a cool place until the liquid turns bright yellow and the zest is devoid of color. Some recommend stirring the contents of the jar every few days but I neglected this step with no ill effect to the finished product. Infuse for about 1 month. I’ve read a recipe that called for waiting only 4 days. It seems to me that this is not enough time to produce an optimally flavored limoncello.

Pour the alcohol through a sieve layered with a cheese cloth or coffee filter into a large bottle or jar. Leave enough space for the sugar syrup.

Make the sugar syrup.

In a small pot add the sugar and water. For each cup of sugar add one cup of water. Bring to a boil and reduce heat. Stir until the mixture is completely dissolved. Cool before using.

Add sugar syrup to the alcohol according to your preference. I added 1 ½ cups (375 ml) of sugar syrup to each 750ml of the alcohol (this gives a final alcohol content of 27%). Add more syrup for a more mellow and less alcoholic liqueur. Store in the freezer until ready to serve.

If using 96% alcohol, double the number of lemons. To produce limoncello that is 40% alcohol, add 1050ml of sugar syrup and/or water to the 750ml alcohol (for a total volume of 1800ml). I added more sugar syrup to balance the alcohol content.

Calculate the alcohol content of the final product using this equation:

(Total volume of alcohol X ABV / total volume of ingredients) X 100= Alcohol content of limoncello

ABV=alcohol by volume. % alcohol/100= ABV. For example, if the alcohol is 40% the ABV would be 0.4.

Remember this calculation is approximate since mixing ethanol and water is not additive. Read more here.

A stop at a Druze village

2014-06-07T21:59:00.000-07:00

Man plans and God laughs

If there’s one thing I’ve learnt-you never know what will happen tomorrow. Last Passover we were supposed to have hiked the first six days of the Israel trail, the only part I didn’t do. Instead I became a full time caregiver. In fact, between my husband’s startup (there’s a depressingly accurate term that Israelis use- startup widow) and my brother’s needs, we have rarely been out since late March. We know this is only a temporary yet it’s very hard not to dream of jumping into a car…or train, or plane or even a ricksaw with no schedule or plan and leaving the obligations and unforgiving routine behind.

So when we finally had a free weekend, we escaped to the Galilee for a brief respite. Located in northern Israel, this area is one of the most culturally diverse regions of the country and home to Christians, Muslim, Bedouin, Jews and Druze. Living in close proximity, their cuisine reflects their geography more than religion with similar recipes shared between them. The food served by Jews of Sephardic descent (of Middle Eastern and North African heritage) is also part of the same culinary heritage.

However, we didn’t come to the Galilee on a food tour but to hike the upper part of the Amud River which winds its way from Mt. Meron in the West and into the Sea of Galilee. The trail is shaded by wiry oak trees, pomegranates, jujubes, citrus, bay laurel, grape vines and bursts of bright yellow Spanish broom- their roots tracing the path of history.

The last of the spring flowers were already drying back, tiny seeds scattered until next year’s rains. Queen Anne’s Lace still held on tenaciously, their multitude of cream white petals Seurat-esque against the landscape.

The voices of day trippers merged with the melodic murmur of the stream and swaying foliage. We passed channels flowing with water, remnants of the textile industry that flourished here during medieval times. Jews fleeing persecution in Spain bought this technology with them to Safed and built fulling mills to harness the river’s energy. These structures- used to shrink and clean woolen fivers, eventually turned into flour mills and can still be seen along the trail. Processing wool became the commercial backbone of the Jewish community until their expulsion by the Ottomans.

Although we have a reputation for extreme trekking, especially after completing the Israel Trail, an accumulated fatigue dampened our enthusiasm. Instead we rested by the Sechvi Pools with other families until hunger reminded us to start our journey south.

Nearing the turnoff to the Druze village of Ein al-Asad (Lion Spring) we spotted a large yellow sign that said “Restaurant”. We didn’t need farther prompting. A few minutes later we were sitting in a large dining room with tranquil views of hills and fields fading into the Sea of Galilee and the late afternoon sky.

Located near the eponymous spring, Ein al-Asad is the smallest of the Druze villages in Israel and home to several hundred families. While their religion has always been a closely guarded secret, even among nonreligious members, the village has opened up to tourism. Druze settlements in the Carmel Mountains, the Galilee and the Golan Heights offer traditional food, home-style lodging and cultural events that have given a boost to their economy.

The owner of the restaurant told us that he didn’t have a menu but a fixed meal. “Is this ok?” he asked hesitantly. There is something especially welcoming in eateries where nothing needs to be decided. It feels homey, like stopping at a friend’s. As soon as we sat down a pitcher of minty lemonade and a multitude of colorful salads were brought to the table to be dipped with pieces of torn pita bread - cracked wheat, smoky eggplant, lemony tabouleh, slow-cooked tomatoes, creamy hummus. The simplest of foods, yet when served together, evoke the richness and complexity of the land.

A platter of grilled meats followed- lamb, kebab specked with herbs and shishlik- resting above a mound of steaming vermicelli rice. When the last was eaten we lingered over tiny cups of black coffee and baklava. The sun was low in the sky and we had a long drive home. But for now life was peaceful. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

I don't remember the name of the restaurant. I do know there are at least two restaurants in Ein al-Asad and both are very good. For those who would like to learn more about traditional Druze cuisine Galileats Tours organizes cooking workshops in their homes. Abbie Rosner also offers culinary tours of the Galilee.

Bauhinia and urban foraging in Israel

2014-05-10T05:08:00.000-07:00

{Above: Bauhinia variegata}

It’s a waste of money to go to the botanical gardens in Israel. Indeed, most municipalities, including the one I live in, decorate their city with plants from around the world. Israel’s strong research interest in agriculture combined with its mild climate has facilitated the adaptation and development of many exotic species. Jacaranda mimosifolia and Schinus terebinthifolius are indigenous to South America, Delonix regia grows wild in Madagascar , Eugenia uniflora is from Suriname, guavas from Mexico, macadamias from Australia (my neighbor has a tree) are just a few examples. They make the colorful backdrop of urban Israel, together with the native species that flourish in the Mediterranean.

Local nurseries also offer a wide variety of plants for horticultural use, the majority of them of foreign origin. It is there I bought Plumeria rubra for the front yard, its prodigious blossoms scenting the path to my house. We also purchased several tiny bougainvillea saplings which are now threatening to take over my garden, an impossible tangle of vegetation and color. It is hard to imagine that before the discovery of the new world, they didn’t exist in the region.

Although I enjoy collecting and identifying wild edible plants, somehow I’ve always reached for the weeds and ignored the more glamorous vegetation. But why? Within walking distance from my house I had more foraging possibilities than I ever thought possible. These are not part of the local food culture and the locals do not have a history of eating them. Although there is a burgeoning interest in wild foods, introduced species have been largely ignored. Perhaps it’s the “It’s not from here” attitude that people take when confronted with something they don’t recognize.

Then recently I stumbled upon a foraging blog called Eat the Weeds and was surprised to discover (as was the author) that the tree down the block was edible. I walked by Bauhinia countless times without ever “seeing” it. In retrospect, I should have noticed that Bauhinia has many similarities with an Israeli species called Cercis siliquastrum, also edible. Both are from the legume family with round camel foot leaves and long pod fruits. Bauhinia, however, have large flamboyant blossoms, hence its common name, orchid tree.

Most Israelis have never eaten bauhinia despite its dominance in municipal gardens. In some parts of Asia, however, it is a common part of the diet, not just for shade or show. According to Jyoti Pathak who writes the Taste of Nepal blog, the buds and flowers can be eaten either pickled or after they are boiled. In fact, they are harvested and sold at the outdoor markets, piled high on mats. Known in Nepalese as koiralo ko phool, they grow in the higher altitudes of the Himalayas and are used both for human consumption and animal fodder.

Although it does well in the mountainous regions of Nepal, its distribution is pantropical and is common in parts of Africa, the Americas and Asia. It was first described by Sir Henry Blake in Hong Kong, where it has become the floral emblem on the city’s flag.

Next season, between March and April, I’d like to try a couple Bauhinia recipes such as this and this, and if I don't get to it I’ll decorate my house with them. After all, they do look too pretty to eat.

Take note, if you do forage for Bauhinia, make sure it is not sprayed with pesticides or other chemicals. There are 200 Bauhinia species around the world and according to the Eat the Weeds blog, at least nine have edible parts. It is best to verify the species before eating. Although not traditional, some add the petals raw in salads.

{above: Bauhinia variegate "candida"}

Why I haven't been blogging lately

I’ve disappeared from this blog because I have been caring for my brother who has schizophrenia and is now living with us from March. Although I wrote an entire article describing my first few weeks since his arrival I decided not to publish it. It seemed to me that “trumanizing” his life would not do him justice. I still want to be open about his condition and connect with others who have similar experiences. I believe that the first step in improving the quality of life for those with mental health issues and their caregivers is being able to talk about it without stigma.

Indeed, mental illness is still in the Medieval Ages in terms of acceptance from society. They are often treated as modern day lepers-an embarrassment for those afflicted and anyone close to them.

I knew that in order to survive I’d need to be open about my brother’s mental health issues. The burden would be too hard, the reality too solitary. It was, and still is difficult to introduce my brother to the community and explain that, yes, he does have a problem. And it seems I am not the only one. Suddenly I hear a breath of sympathy from those who know someone, whether a friend or family member, who suffers from one debilitating mental health issue or another. These are the same people who never mentioned this topic before. I can’t blame them. I was exactly the same way.

Though out this difficult period, the hardest few weeks of my life, there have been moments of introspection and inspiration. My brother sees the world differently and it isn’t always a bad thing. He notices people that many others consciously ignore. He gives them acknowledgment and respect. I once pointed out Yankale who limps across town alone, often in the middle of the road, staring blankly ahead. When he shows up at the local grocery stores he is given a small snack- a pickle, a piece of cheese, a popsicle- and sent on his way. As we approached, my brother walked directly to him and said with a clear and friendly voice “Shalom Yankale, how are you? How do you feel?” And Yankele’s face lit up and I saw him smile for the first time.

A tale of two markets

2014-04-05T04:03:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago I went on a spontaneous mini holiday to Switzerland. Like most leisure trips I go on- especially the last minute kind- I had almost nothing planned. I knew only two things- I would land in Zurich on Thursday night and on Friday morning at 9:00 sharp I’d meet Kerrin at the fountain near Market Bürkliplatz.

It was serendipitous meet-up that like-minded bloggers sometimes do.

Although I’d never met Kerrin before, I was acquainted with her blog, My Kugelhopf, where she shares her passion for food, travel and everything sweet. It wasn’t long before the confectioneries, bakeries and chocolatiers she often wrote about became a basis for the Sweet Zurich walking tour. Indeed, for many a virtual taste of the city was not enough. This evolved into an even bigger and sweeter business- as a professional chocolate taster and an organizer of Zurich’s Salon du Chocolat, one of the most prestigious chocolate conventions of the world. It’s a profession, like an ice cream flavor developer or whale watcher, that seems too good to be true. It’s not all about sweets. When she’s not testing a new brand of chocolate, she’s stocking her pantry with fresh, seasonal and locally produced foods at the outdoor market. That’s what we did Friday morning after I emailed “I’ll be in town, will you be around?”

Above left, radicchio, right, white asparagus

The first thing I noticed when I walked through the market was the quiet. Vendors were not trying to attract customers with boom box voices with calls of “parsley, coriander, basil…3 shekels a bundle”. Tomato price wars between competing sellers do not exist here, or at least not so obviously LOUD. The cheese seller didn’t whip out a megaphone to announce a special sale in Gruyère cheese, a technique occasionally used in outdoor markets in Israel. I imagine he would be arrested for disrupting the peace and quickly escorted out of the premises. Customers somehow find their own food without the prompting from the fellows behind the counters. It’s a bit like an al fresco supermarket, more subdued and relaxed, yet operated by a group of dedicated and knowledgeable professionals.

The market in Zurich felt so contained and tidy compared to the mayhem and buzz of Middle Eastern souks- a pleasant place for a promenade. In Israel, especially on Friday and before holidays when the shopping can be extreme the debris quickly accumulates. Vendors stack empty cartons by the side of their stalls. Often unsellable produce, either damaged or old, isn’t whisked away until the end of the day. It’s lively, messy and occasionally robustly aromatic as well, where being pushed and nudged is taken in stride. A visit to Zurich green market was the antithesis of what I was used to- pristine and attractively arranged- more a Disney World emulation than the real thing.

Perhaps I committed a cultural faux pas. Was I the only one eating as I strolled? I certainly didn’t see anyone lugging their market basket in one hand and munching on lye bread with the other. Well, except for me and Kerrin’s cute toddler, Chloé. Street food is a big part of the Israel outdoor market experience. At every corner there is another pita sandwich delight- falafel, shawarma, kebab, eggplant- or ice cream stores, bourekas stands and more. Eating just about anywhere is the norm in this region and it is perfectly acceptable to tackle even the messiest of sandwiches while on the run.

With the exception of a few European style markets such as Shuk Hanamal (The Port Market) in Tel Aviv, most produce is simply labeled. There’s eggplant or eggplant baladi, tomatoes or cherry tomatoes, pomegranates, the sour or sweet variety…and the list goes on, each item with a handwritten sign and price which the more savvy buyers can reduce with a bit of haggling. In Zurich the produce have names of aristocrats. Israel’s fruit and veggie nomenclature is rather more plebian- we have apples named after grannies not Musketeers. Kerrin told me that there are more than 20 apples varieties she can choose from, some locally grown and others from farther off.

Above: Wild and local honey

Yet in many ways, both markets are essentially the same. It is a colorful backdrop for business and a place to socialize, where the more formal customer-vendor relations can eventually meld into friendship. It is an outdoor museum, where new exhibitions happen continually with the seasons with the excitement and expectations that come with it.

And it is also a place where the most reserved sellers will offer gifts from their stands when met with a smile of a small child.

Above, left: Multicolored carrots, right rhubarb, bottom left, wild garlic, bottom right lye bread (Laugenbrötli)

A Galilean feast

2014-03-21T06:55:00.000-07:00

There’s an exuberant potager’s garden surrounding Erez’s Komarovsky’s Galilean cooking school, the lush vegetation tumbling over the rocky borders. As I make my way down the stone path I recognize za’atar, rosemary, white savory, thyme, lavender….herbs used in folk medicine and to flavor regional cuisine. These are the same plants Erez uses in the food he prepares- food that harbors the essence of the land.

I have been invited to a culinary workshop and wine tasting courtesy of Kinetis, an organization hosting four leading wine connoisseurs. We meet on the balcony overlooking the Mediterranean scrub brush, oak, olive and terebinth trees dotting the horizon. There is wine, a pleasant breeze and trays of food harvested from the garden that day.

{Above: Yarden Wine on the balcony}

{Above: Left: view from the garden, right: wood stone oven}

This is just an aperitif. The real eating hasn’t even started. First, Erez leads the group to the yard where the core of his cooking begins. He breaks off leaves and stems from aromatics and passes them around “This is white savory”, he explains “it doesn’t lose its taste when heated”. Many of the herbs are indigenous and have been foraged for centuries as part of the local food culture. Others such as rosemary and lavender have been introduced and adopted well to Israel’s semi-arid climate.
The fig tree is still bare, but green leafy vegetables are at their peak. Celery, kohlrabi, sweet peas, Turkish spinach and broad beans threaten to take over the garden. Erez tears off a dark green leaf of the “wasabi” plant, with its jolting taste of horseradish. I notice a cabbage as big as those grown in Alaska, where daylight hours of up to 24 hours cause them to swell to enormous proportions.

{above: Right: Bread baked around a grape vine branch}

When we reach the dining room, we are greeted by Michael Every, a winemaker at the Golan Height Winery. He introduces us to the Yarden wine series, discussing the varieties grown and the terroir associated with them- the climate, topography, altitude and other characteristics affecting the growth of the vines and the flavor of the final product. At the head of the table, Erez combines several ingredients on a platter to create a beautiful palette, the equivalent of a Japanese garden in its sophisticated simplicity. Between sips of wine, the feast begins.

{Above: Michael Every of Golan Height's Winery, behind Erica Duecy and David Honig capture the splash}

And as we dine, our cups are frequently replenished. I am out of my league. Miquel Hudin, Erica Duecy, Richard Jennings and David Honig lace their conversation with wine jargon which I am not familiar with. They have the ability to differentiate between single polyphenol molecules, teasing out aromas and flavors normal man cannot not perceive. At least that is what I tell myself, because honestly, I can’t taste the molasses or brown sugar even when I close my eyes tightly. I was told Robert Parker zapped his tasting abilities with an over indulgence of expensive cigars, perhaps I did the same thing with my love of spicy food.

{Above: raw ground meat being pounded in a mortar and pestle to make kibbeh nayyeh}

Erez meanwhile continues to surprise us with compelling variations of traditional dishes. Tabouleh made with crunchy lentils and broad beans, kibbeh nayyeh (raw meat kibbeh) made with lamb and roasted almonds, grandma’s chicken soup elevated with freshly picked spinach and sweet peas, spicy chicken shashlik on oak tree branch skewers….
Dessert is served outside- a homey apple roll doused generously with orgeat syrup, heady with the scent of almonds. Hot drinks are sipped and soon it is time to depart.

We drive back through the painted landscape of Israel, the bright pink and purple stone fruit trees in full bloom and yellow mustard growing luxuriously along the highway. Spring has arrived.

Websites and twitter of the wine writers:

Erica Duecy: Erica Duecy , Twitter
Richard Jennings: RJonWINE.come , Twitter
David Honig: Palate Press , Twitter
Miquel Hudin: Vinologue , Twitter

Kinetis is a nonprofit organization promoting Israel's creative energy. Follow them on Facebook and Twitter

Tbilisi outdoor market

2014-03-11T01:21:00.000-07:00

The upside of not knowing the local language is that you never know where the taxi man is going to drop you off. We wanted to go to the Tbilisi outdoor market. Instead we ended up at the biggest, newest and shiniest supermarket in town. How else would I have discovered smoky cheese flavored potato chips, caviar croutons and barberry soft drink? And the beer and vodka aisle was like nothing I had ever seen before- a stockpile in the event of an apocalypse. After buying a couple of weird ingredients (“Do we really need to buy tarragon lemonade”??), we hailed another taxi. Fortunately, the second driver was an expert at real life charades, correctly interpreting our comical gesticulations to perfect GPS accuracy.

This time we knew we had arrived just by sound, one that is unlike any other.

Outdoor market acoustics is a hash between a train station, a fair and a family get-to-together. It’s a lively hullabaloo of familiar greetings and the cacophony of a city in motion.

If you ever find yourself in this little part of the world, here is my advice-put the guide book away. The proper way to explore the market is to wander. This is not a time for itineraries or deep explanations of history, politics or culture. Just walk and see where your senses lead you. You may be surprised at what you discover. That’s what we did.

[caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="640"] Cornus berries can be seen on the top row, 2nd from left[/caption]

[caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="640"] Plum sauce in soft drink bottles[/caption]

Plums. If Dr. Seuss had written a book about Georgian plums, it would have gone something like this: “One plum, two plums, red plum, blue plum. From there to here, from here to there, amazing plums are everywhere!” The plethora of plum varieties are used in both savory and sweet dishes. Instead of ketchup, tart tkemali plum sauce is used over grilled meats and potatoes. Cornus berries may look like tiny plums but they are actually a fruit from a species of dogwood.

Herbs. The copious use of herbs is one of the hallmarks of the Georgian table with parsley and coriander being the most abundant. Green and purple basil, usually associated with Italian cuisine, also have a strong presence in regional cooking along with tarragon, dill and mint. They are added to dumplings, stews, soups, sauces, marinades and spreads. Outside the urban centers, edible wild greens are still foraged for cooking and represent the epitome of local eating. Warning: Those who are afflicted with the coriander hating gene will have a hard time avoiding this ubiquitous herb.

Marigold flowers. Marigolds are used to make a spice mix called khmeli suneli which adds a rich color and distinct musky flavor to traditional Georgian dishes. Vendors hang golden necklaces of marigold to dry from the top of their stall, given it an air of festivity. At home, the cook grinds the petals and uses in them sauces such as bazhe, made with garlic, marigolds, vinegar and walnuts. Paula Wolfert describes a recipe for marigold spice mix in her book, The Cooking of the Eastern Mediterranean, which includes coriander seeds, cloves, dried mint, dried basil and dried fenugreek leaves and seeds.

Cheese. Sulguni is a pickled Georgian cheese from the Samegrelo region often used make khachapuri, a cheese filled bread as well as many other delicacies. In rural areas, such as the Svaneti region of north-western Georgia, it is still homemade by farmers using milk from their own herd as was done for generations. Imeruli cheese, shaped into flat round discs, is milder flavored and also used in khachapuri type pastries. Russian cheeses such as deeply smoked yellow cheese, either in braids or rounds are common in urban areas such as Tbilisi.

Churchkhela’s organic shape resembles curious cocoons but are actually confections made by dipping a string of nuts or raisons in thickened grape must called phelamushi – a method similar to candle making. Traditionally made without sugar, these are high in calories and used to be taken on extended trips-perfect backpacking food. Even today road side stands sell churchkhela’s to passing drivers, which I imagine they did even before the advent of automobiles.

Barberry. Barberries grow wild in many areas of Georgia and can be purchased dried at the market. These crimson, slightly sour berries are reminiscent of cranberries and are incorporated into sweet-savory meat dishes, similar to the tradition of Persian cooking.

Spices. Spice vendors sell whole seeds, ground spices and spice mixes. Coriander seeds, hot pepper flakes, caraway seeds and paprika are a few of the most common spices found in Georgia. Svanetian salt from the eponymous region is made by blending together several different spices such as coriander, marigold, blue fenugreek, garlic with coarse salt. khmeli suneli, the marigold petal blend, is also prepared and sold at spice shops.

Other views from the Tbilisi outdoor market:

[caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="640"] Mystery pickle, center. Does anyone know what it is?[/caption]

{above: Green and stuffed pickled tomatoes}

{above: Walnut vendor}

[caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="532"] Chili pepper vendors[/caption]

Tea time

2014-02-28T20:18:00.000-08:00

We are renovating our house with all the mayhem that comes with it. It’s indulgent to whine about it since being able to fix the house in the first place is a rather good position to be in. So I remind myself that it’s temporary- the thick layer silt over everything, the noise, even the burst sewage pipe in the kitchen. Curious neighbor’s stop over to ask “what are you doing to the house” and lifetime members of the fairly empty Babylonian synagogue see the construction workers as fair game to call for minyan. “I was in the middle of hammering the wall out but they forced me to come!” the contractor explained after his sudden disappearance. “They told me it was urgent- the memorial for Shlomo’s mother.” And although he never met Shlomo or his mother who died 60 years ago of old age, he spent 30 minutes praying for her. A week later they tried the same trick.

And so it goes in my little part of town.

And when this is all over, hopefully, I’ll have a new window overlooking what was the biggest mulberry in town but was cut down to make way for a new Moroccan Synagogue. Until then, I’m preparing enormous amounts of tea- not only from the flimsy tea bags filled with perfumed sawdust- though those are convenient sometimes- but also from whole invigorating spices. This is my version of sweet Druze spice tea which we sipped at an outdoor stand in the Carmel Mountains a few weeks ago.

Spiced Tea

In a pot of water I simmered cinnamon, cloves, ginger, bay leaves, allspice, cardamom and a few other ingredients the Druze woman mentioned. It tasted medicinal, more like potent cough syrup, than a smoothing beverage. Obviously I got my proportions all wrong. So instead I simplified it- just cinnamon and orange, but you can experiment to see what you like best.

I like to think of this as the Middle Eastern version of vin chaud.

1 cinnamon stick

Orange zest, 1 teaspoon for each cup of water

Water

In a small pot of water- about 1 ¼ cup for each person- add a teaspoon of orange zest for each serving and one stick of cinnamon. Bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer for about 10 minutes. Sweeten if you like with honey, sugar or date syrup. It’s a cup of aroma therapy.

Update: Do you remember a few summers ago when my house was being used as a startup venue? Well, they eventually moved out and now they even have their own website. That is part of the reason I've sort of disappeared for awhile- anyone living with a startup person knows that there isn't a work-home balance, the startup is all encompassing.

Vin chaud on a cold cold day

2013-12-13T06:59:00.000-08:00

It’s vin chaud weather for sure, even in Israel. Two weeks ago I strolled barefoot on the beach and today angry fists full of hail are pounding Tel Aviv while snow covers Jerusalem. I’m freezing.

Although Israel usually doesn’t get as cold as it does in Europe, the houses here are as cozy as tin cans. Some parts of my house are 10°C which is about the same as outside without the wind chill. The only comfort zone is about a 20 cm halo around the radiator, any closer and I’d get my face fried off. So perhaps we don’t have a tradition of vin chaud-otherwise known as glühwein in Germany or mulled wine by English speakers- but there should be, if only to ward off hyperthermia.

Vin chaud is a seasonal drink, savored during the time of year when daylight begins its quick recession. Indeed, vin chaud vendors are a fixture of Christmas Markets in Alsace Lorraine and surroundings, steeping the cold air with cinnamon and cloves and warming the hands. After all, ‘tis the season to be merry and a cup of simmering sweet alcohol goes a long way to cheer the soul.

It is easy to make- cheap wine, sugar and spices….each recipe reflecting local and personal taste. Quebec has a version called caribou made with hard liquor, wine and- as the world’s main exporter-maple syrup. In Bulgaria they prepare greyano vino with honey and peppercorns. Denmark’s glogg has a dash of bitter orange for flavor while Italians enjoy burnt wine or vin brulé, a beverage first attributed to the ancient Romans.

In Israel mulled wine has become a popular drink during Hanukkah parties, Hebrew recipes shared via food blogs and websites. It is a relatively new beverage, probably introduced by Israelis who tasted it during their travels to Europe or Russia and decided to replicate the recipe at home. And today, with the snow, sleet and torrential rains, a pot of heart warming mulled wine seems like the most natural and logical thing to make.

Above and below: hail storm in Israel and our 1st homemade snowman

Vin chaud recipes on the web:

David Lebovitz 's vin chaud

Charred orange vin chaud

Mulled wine from the Framed Table

Quark fritters

2013-12-01T04:43:00.000-08:00

I once had an insane amount of free time. I didn’t realize it back then. I was too busy to notice. What was I doing? The usual amalgam of activities one does when there are three children in the house. In Hebrew there is an idiom for that- “Washing and hanging” the wash of course, in cyclic replay, ad infinitum. But there was always that ephemeral lapse between when the house was guest worthy and before entropy came barging in. In that shadow of time I would do things like core zucchinis, make kibbeh, shop leisurely at outdoor markets and do a much better job at visiting relatives.

Now? Well, I’m doing more cooking than ever before. It’s no longer gingerly rolled sambusak but cafeteria sized trays of roasted chicken, pots of rice, gallons of soup and any other sustenance which can be cooked quickly and feed ravenous judo and ninjutsu warriors.

And I’m also running. It’s a hobby I’ve done since my university days in Beer Sheva. Back then, I was a bit (more) oblivious and would run right into the beleaguered areas of town without considering the dangers. Cars would slow down next to me, hovering expectantly before realizing I wasn’t a working girl- I was just crazy. I’ve taken up running again to keep in shape but also to keep sane. The elusive runner’s high has finally appeared and it’s addicting enough I’ll suffer through any number of grudging km to get there. (power song recommendations appreciated)

Other updates. After a long hiatus, I flew to Florida to visit family. My 96 year old grandfather just renewed his driver’s license to age 100 and I thought it was a great reason to celebrate. And celebrate we did. My parents drove down from New York with their trusty Volkswagon Camper and we had a family reunion with my uncles and cousins whom I haven’t seen in ages.

In the upcoming week, hopefully I’ll be able to bake a descent loaf of bread. I’m replacing my awful Sauter oven with another French brand- Rosiere (France, do not disappoint!). The dizzying number of options available is partly a farce. Bosch, Siemens and Constructa are essentially the same company and make the same products. AEG and Electralux are the same company as well. “That way the customer has more choices”, was the salesman’s response. Huh?

Lastly it's holiday season! I hope everyone celebrating had a Happy Thanksgiving, Thanksgivukkah and Hanukah!

Quark Fritters

These fritters were adopted by a recipe from Collecting Memories who makes a beautiful rendition. The quark cheese in Israel is not as firm as other varieties (more like Greek yogurt) and the reason why I had to use much more flour to create a workable batter. I also opted to reduce the amount of sugar.

500g white cheese, 5 % fat (gvina levana, Israeli style quark cheese)

3 eggs

2 tablespoons (20 grams) vanilla sugar

1 ¾- 2 cups self-rising flour

Zest of one lemon

Vegetable oil for frying such as corn or sunflower

Powdered sugar for dusting

Jam

In a bowl combine the quark, eggs, vanilla sugar and lemon zest. Add 1 3/4 cups self-rising flour. The batter should be soft but not runny. Lift a spoonful of the batter and flip it upside down. If it sticks to the spoon without falling off, it’s the right consistency. If the batter is too wet, add more flour, a tablespoon at a time.

Heat a pot of oil deep enough to contain the fritters- a few cm thick. When the oil is hot take a heaping teaspoon of the batter and with another spoon, slip it into the oil. The fritters will be a bit lopsided, but that’s ok. Fry one side and flip over until the fritters are golden brown. Poke a fritter with a thin wooden skewer to be sure they are fully cooked. If a film of batter sticks to the skewer, reduce the heat and continue frying. Don’t be tempted to make bigger fritters since the outsides will burn before the interiors are cooked through.

With a sieve transfer the fritters to a paper towel lined plate to absorb the extra oil. Dust with powdered sugar and enjoy with tea and jam.

Other interesting cheese pancakes:

Ukrainian Syrniki Recipe (Cheese Pancakes)

Fresh cheese pancakes

Melt-in-your-mouth curd cheese doughnuts aka kohupiimapontšikud

Saj bread stuffed with nettle and feta cheese

2013-11-01T15:33:00.000-07:00

The first rain has fallen. When it arrives, it’s remarkable enough that I stop whatever I’m doing and gaze outside in awe while my boys run past me to stand beneath the sky. It’s an Israeli version of Ray Bradbury’s story, All Summer in a Day, when the sun appears briefly across the Venus sky once every seven years. Except here it’s not the sun we miss but the rain. From late spring we are “blessed” with endless bright blue skies, the sun relentlessly there every single second of the day. The weatherman has nothing new to broadcast but “…today it will be hotter than usual, tomorrow will be very hot, on Wednesday a heat wave is predicted” and so on for months.

So when the rain falls it’s special and needed, not only to wash away the accumulated grit or to fill the national reservoir but to clear the slate. It’s a time for renewal of mind and land. The earth responds almost instantaneously, tiny seedlings freckling the still naked ground. Soon the landscape will be unrecognizable, more Ireland than a corner of the Middle East.

It is during this brief period I gather edible wild plants. They are available all year long but most abundant from early winter or even in autumn if the rains come early.

Saj bread stuffed with nettle and feta cheese

The bread taste the best when it is made outdoors but I also perch the saj over the gas range for convenience. I’ll be truthful- I didn’t take measurements when I made this. I just went outside a picked as much nettle as I could- it will lose most of its volume during cooking. Saj bread, popular in Turkey, Azerbaijan, northern Iraq and the Levantine region is eaten plain or filled with either sweet or savory fillings.

1 cup packed nettle leaves – about 7 liters loosely packed

½ onion, chopped

100 grams feta cheese (2/3 cup)

1 teaspoon sumac

For the bread

4 cups white flour (since it is a flat bread, it’s possible to substitute whole wheat flour)

1 teaspoon yeast

1 teaspoon salt

1 1/2 cups

A few tablespoon of olive oil

In a mixer add the flour, salt and dry yeast and mix until combined. Add about 1 1/4 cups of water. Using a dough hook, mix on low until the dough is raggedy looking, for 1-2 minutes. Wait for 10 minutes and continue to mix for another 10 minutes on low. If the dough is “tight” or crumbly add the rest of the water (different flours absorb different amounts of water). Pour the dough on a clean surface and knead by hand until the dough is the consistency of play dough- soft and malleable. Cover with plastic wrap and place in a warm place to rise.

Filling:

Collect stinging nettle. It’s best to do this with long pants and a pair of thick gardener’s gloves (if you have a beekeepers suit use that). Miriam from Israeli Kitchen taught me to use scissors to harvest the plants, stems and all. Place the collecting bowl under the plant and snip the stem so it falls into the bowl. Do this until your bowl is full (I used a 10 liter bowl) but not packed.

Cover the nettles with water to clean them. Using a long spoon, lift the plants off the bottom of the bowl and tilt the bowl over the sink to rinse out the water. Cover with more water. Mix the plants around to make sure the sediments fall to the bottom. Do this several times until the water runs clear of sand and grit. After rinsing for the last time, dump the nettles on a clean kitchen towel and pat them dry.

In a wide rimmed pan or shallow pot, pour 2-3 tablespoons of olive oil- enough to cover the bottom of the pot. Add the onions and cook over a medium flame until the onions are translucent, about 10 minutes. Reduce flame of the onions are beginning to burn before they soften.

Add the nettles, including the stems. They will lose their volume and turn a darker green. Mix well. When most of the water has evaporated from the pot remove from heat and set aside.

Mix in the sumac, black pepper and a pinch of salt.

Assembly

When the dough has doubled, take walnut sized pieces from it and roll the dough out into a circle on a piece of parchment paper, dusting with flour if necessary. It should be about 1 mm thick or less. Add a tablespoon of the filling on the lower half the circle and sprinkle a teaspoon of feta cheese over it. Fold over and pinch the sides closed. It doesn’t really matter what size is made, just adjust the filling appropriately.

Heat the saj, either over an open flame outside or indoors. If doing this indoors, open all the burners under the saj to heat it evenly. If it is not steady, prop it in place using a small heat proof bowl such as a ramekin.

If the saj is not hot enough the dough will stick to it. Test the saj with a small piece of dough. If it comes off easily it is ready. Place the filled dough parcels on the saj and flatten down slightly. Cook on one side until the dough turns golden. Flip and bake the opposite side.

Note: The saj does not need to be oiled. This will cause the saj to smoke like crazy and trigger the fire alarms.

Other interesting stuffed saj recipes and videos on the web:

Meat Stuffed Flatbread (Et Gutabi) - also called kutabi

Güzleme - Turkish version of stuffed saj bread- Amazing craftsmanship!

After the nettles come the anemones!

Yemenite hot sauce

2013-10-23T22:43:00.000-07:00

Schoog (schug), the fiery hot sauce of the Yemeni Jews is no longer a culinary curiosity of a small ethnic group but part of Israel’s communal table. This happened gradually, as Yemenite Jews began immigrating to the area in 1881, with the largest wave arriving during Operation Magic Carpet which brought nearly 500,000 Yemeni Jews to the country between 1949 and 1950. Despite its fairy tale name hundreds died during the exodus, which some blame on the botched planning of the mission and subsequent settling in Israel. Nonetheless, because of violence and repression against the Jewish community, they risked death en route rather than the precarious future in their home country.

Sadly, even after their arrival in Israel, the Yemenite suffered from discrimination by coreligionists who viewed them as a backward and uneducated mass. That was over 65 years ago. In time, as with all immigrant groups, the Yemenite eventually assimilated into Israeli society, their culture adding rich hues to the national fabric.

The Yemeni imprint on Israeli cuisine can be seen by a simple walk in a supermarket. Jachnoon- a rolled dough which is baked slowly overnight and malawach-a multilayered pancake are now sold in the freezer section near the borek and phyllo pastry. Worker’s diners which once catered mainly to the Yemenite community now attract a much wider patronage. Hawaij spice mixes both for coffee and stews are commonly found in spice stores across the country. And if you go to almost any falafel or shawarma stand, you’ll be asked “schoog?” before the rest of the ingredients are added.

For many, schoog or Yemenite hot sauce is often used interchangeably with harif- Hebrew for hot- and a seamless part of the language. There are still a few, mainly of Yemenite heritage, who refer to this condiment as schook or bisbas. While there countless recipes, the sauce can be divided into two main sub-types. The red and often hotter version is made with shata peppers, a small and very hot Capisicum annuum cultivar sold dried and whole, often straight out of burlap sacks. This is mixed with spices such as ground coriander seeds, black pepper, cardamom, cloves, cilantro and a copious amount of crushed garlic. The green version, as expected, is made with green fresh chili peppers and similar spices and herbs.

Ready-made Yemenite hot sauces are sold by several companies, including big names such as Strauss and are usually found in the refrigerated section near the prepared salads. However, as all mass produced food products, they tend to be generic and lack the umph of freshly ground spices. The food processor or coffee grinder has taken over the mortar and pestle so it really is only a 5 minute job to prepare at home.

Here I present two recipes, including one from the cookbook The Yemenite Kitchen by Professor Avshalom Mizrachi, who specializes in folk medicine, nutrition and foodways of the Jews of Yemen.

Schook

200 grams green chili peppers such as Anaheim

100 grams cilantro leaves (coriander leaves), washed and patted dry

1 head of garlic, peeled and crushed

1 teaspoon cumin, ground

1 teaspoon black pepper, ground

¼ teaspoon cloves, ground

3-4 cardamom pods

Salt

Preparation:

Chop the cilantro into large pieces, discarding fibrous stems and blemished stems and leaves. Blend all the ingredients in a food processor. Add water to dilute the mixture if necessary. Store in a closed jar in the refrigerator.

Notes: For those who prefer a milder sauce grated tomato (without the peel) can be added. To extend the shelf life, add the ground cilantro right before serving.

Yemenite Hot Sauce

Olive oil is not a traditional Yemenite ingredient. However, it is often used in Israel to cover the sauce to extend its shelf life.

This recipe is similar to the one above but changed slightly to what I had available.

4 cloves garlic, peeled and crushed

1 bunch cilantro, washed and patted dry (~1 packed cup).

3 green chili peppers such as Anaheim

¼ teaspoon ground black pepper

½ teaspoon ground cumin

A pinch of ground cloves (3-4 ground cloves)

¼ teaspoon ground cardamom

½ teaspoon salt

¼ cup olive oil

Chop the cilantro into large pieces, discarding fibrous stems and blemished stems and leaves. In a food processor add all the ingredients except for the olive oil. Pour the contents into a small jar and cover with olive oil. Store in the refrigerator. Eat with everything!

For best results, it’s best to crush the garlic before adding them to the food processor for a smoother sauce.

The olive harvest

2013-10-03T16:54:00.000-07:00

After the first rains of October or November, the olive harvest begins. It has been this way from antiquity- marking the transition between summer and autumn. It is the time when the tight grip of summer finally relents and a cool breeze sweeps across the country. If left to take their natural course, the olives begin their transformation from green, purple to black- their flavor changing as they mature.

A few years ago, I harvested the olives from the single tree in my front yard, my boys knocking down fruits from higher branches with broom sticks- occasionally whacking their unsuspecting brother. The olives were then soaked for a couple of days in water to remove the bitter oleuropeins and preserved in brine or salt. Without prior experience, it took us about an hour of haphazard work to remove most of the fruit from the tree.

Last year, I was invited by Yossi Sberro, owner of an olive tree grove in Ramote Meir in central Israel to see a commercial harvest. Since his farm is small it is not economically feasible to own a press “I need to coordinate to use the olive press in Karmei Yosef “, he said. With multiple farmers using the same press, he must wait his turn. Last year a second rain drenched the olives “It’s not good for farmers” he explained “I pay by weight for the olives to be pressed. If it rains too much before harvest the olives absorb the water and it’s more expensive”. Yet, he doesn’t raise the price of his oil.

It was late afternoon when I arrived “We’ve been here since early morning”, Yossi commented as he took me on a short tour of his groves. Some of the olives were harvested by hand in the traditional way. It is the method often romanticized, symbolizing the farmer and his connection with his land. In reality, it is time consuming and a tremendous amount of work to process an entire grove. More importantly, waiting too long would be detrimental to the oil.

Instead Yossi grows most of his trees to a standardized height to keep them compatible with the olive combine- a gigantic monster of a tractor which harvests a row of trees within minutes. The time from harvest to press is critical to preserve the quality of the olive oil. Long storage times promote the growth of bacteria naturally occurring on the fruit. They begin to multiply and ferment the olives, acidifying the environment, and eventually causing them to rot. Ideally they should be harvested and pressed on the same day.

I climbed to the top of the combine with my children, high enough to see the entire grove of olives and the open field where crates full of olive were stacked, awaiting transport. As the mechanical harvester made its way above the trees, it shook and vibrated violently causing the olives to drop from the branches into the conveyer belt. From there they were transferred to the storage bins, together with slightly stunned lizards and chameleons zapped up in the process. Being perched on the rattling roof of the tractor was the way I imagined a crazy rodeo ride to be and I was afraid that I’d be flung off like the poor reptiles. It’s an extremely efficient method of collecting olives which had me dreaming of the old way.

Although the farm is small, Yossi Sberro manages to grow four different olive varieties: Picholine- originally from Gard in southern France, Arbequina, -grown extensively in Catalonia Spain, Barnea- a cultivar first created in Israel and now popular in Australia and New Zealand and Koroneiki- an olive variety indigenous to Greece. In addition to the genetic differences between the cultivars, factors such as growing conditions and timing of the harvest influence the flavor of the oil. Even within a single variety, “the oil differs each year according to the weather”, Yossi explained. Hot weather accelerates the fruit maturity, while cold weather slows it, affecting the final product.

Since my first introduction to Yossi a few two years ago I buy all my oil from him. The first year I bought 10 liters and it wasn’t enough. This year I stocked up on 16 liters and it’s just about finished. It may not be cheaper than store bought oil, as a friend noted, but it is vastly superior. The oil is not filtered which initially gives it a cloudy appearance until the sediments settle to the bottom. According to Yossi this also gives the oil a more intense olive flavor incomparable to the clear liquids found on supermarket shelves. Most olive oil producers filter to extend its shelf life, even at the cost of taste.

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Another advantage of buying directly from the farmer- I knew the providence of the oil. Recent olive oil scandals exposed companies who labeled bottles as olive oil but were discovered to be mixed with canola or subpar olive oil meant for the cosmetics industry. Several brand names were removed from the selves, including a few labeled organic. Israel’s olive oil board tries to reduce these incidences but with oil such an important economic commodity, it is not surprising that the unscrupulous will try to find cheaper alternatives.

Ever skeptical, friends asked me how I knew my olive oil wasn’t tainted. First-I saw the harvest, second I tasted the oil- all four of the varieties side by side. They are much more complex than vegetable oils. Arbequina had the fresh, slightly bitter taste of olives while Koroneiki had strong floral undertones. The oils had different levels of pungency- that spiciness that tickles the back of the throat. Like good wine, the flavor is strongly linked to terroir, intrinsically tied to geography and climate. Indeed, for many, the olive trees have always represented the land on which they grow.

Contact Information:

Shemeneto Olive Oil (In Hebrew this a portmanteau- combining the word oil and neto)

Yossi Sberro: 057-524-9479

Shemeneto olive oil is also sold at the Weizmann Institute of Science Farmer’s Market every Wednesday

Acknowledgement: A big thanks to Hila Sberro for introducing me to her father and urging me to join him for the harvest!

Other posts about olives:

The lost art of curing olives

How to crack olives the fun way

Bulgarian style stuffed peppers

2013-09-24T05:32:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago someone asked me “What’s your favorite cuisine”. Immediately I answered “Iraqi” quickly followed by “Turkish food is fantastic too and Greek food is wonderful but I really love Persian food and Lebanese I adore and….” While each of these regions boasts a unique food culture, there is a link between them.

Imagine a map color coded according the diversity and frequency of stuffed vegetables consumed -red being the most intense and orange, yellows and greens gradually less so. Turkey would be a bright crimson as would the countries bordering it- Bulgaria, Syria, Iran, Iraq and Greece. Expanding from them would be orange countries- Romania, Serbia and Ukraine to the north and Lebanon, Egypt, Libya and Algeria to the south. From there the paucity of stuffed vegetables would be reflected in the yellows and greens.

The red and orange regions would be roughly equivalent to where the Ottoman Empire once ruled. The Empire was first consolidated with the conquest of Constantinople- now Istanbul-by Mehmet II in 1453 and gradually expanded over the next 250 years into North and Eastern Africa, Eastern Europe and the Middle East. Istanbul remained its administrative and cultural center until its demise in 1922. During its heyday, the Sultan resided in the Topkapi Palace, an important venue for state functions and the hub of the culinary world. The complex included the royal kitchens where an army of cooks prepared the meals for thousands each day. Unbeknownst to them, their cooking style, which in turn reflected the lands the Ottoman Empire conquered, would influence those far beyond its walls even centuries later.

Interestingly, Georgia, a country bordering Turkey by the Black Sea has much fewer Turkish style stuffed delicacies than I expected. Aside from the stuffed peppers in the vacation town of Kobuleti, probably to cater to Turkish tourists, vegetables were usually served in stews, soups or sliced and served fresh. In Bulgaria, however, stuffed grape leaves, cabbage and peppers were popular menu items even on the western side of the country.

So if you ask me what food I love most I’d probably say “anything from the red zone”, but then again, Georgian food is my favorite too.

Bulgarian style stuffed bell peppers

Palneni Chushki

I‘ve added fresh summer savory (Satureja hortensis) in this recipe, a popular herb in Bulgaria as well as in Hungary, Romania, Germany and Newfoundland. It is usually hard to find in Israel but recently I’ve seen it sold at the Ramle Outdoor Market, which caters to the local Bulgarian population. Other herbs such as dill and mint would work well in this recipe too.

7-8 medium sized bell peppers

1 onion, finely chopped

1 ½ cups long grained rice

500 grams (1 lb) of ground beef or lamb

1/2 bunched parsley, chopped (1 packed cup)

4 tablespoon fresh oregano, chopped

4 tablespoons of fresh summer savory, chopped

50 grams tomato paste

1 carrot, grated

2 1/2 teaspoons salt or to taste

½ teaspoon black pepper

Sauce

7 tomatoes, peeled* and chopped

1 tablespoon tomato paste

1 onion, finely chopped

2 garlic cloves

1 tablespoon of paprika

Olive or sunflower oil

Salt/black pepper

Prepare the sauce:

Over a medium flame, add a few tablespoons of oil to the bottom of a shallow pot (26 cm wide). Add the onion and cook until translucent- about 4-5 minutes. With the heat on low to avoid burning, add the garlic and continue to cook while mixing for a few seconds. Add the tomato paste and let it bubble to release its aroma. Finally, add the chopped tomatoes and spices. Simmer for about 30 minutes, until the tomatoes meld into the sauce.

For the filling:

Cover the bottom of a cast iron pan with a few tablespoons of olive or sunflower seed oil and place over medium heat. Add the chopped onion and fry until translucent, stirring periodically. Add the ground meat and cook until it changes color. Continue to fry until the meat becomes dark brown, stirring frequently so it doesn’t burn. Add the tomato paste and mix well. Remove from heat.

In a medium sized bowl, add the meat mixture and the rest of the ingredients for the filling – the rice, grated carrot, herbs and spices.

Prepare the peppers.

Cut the top off the peppers and set aside ( the tops can be chopped finely and added to the tomato sauce). With a sharp knife remove the seeds and white flesh of the pepper and discard. Fill the pepper about ¾ of the way up with the rice mixture and place in the pot with the tomato sauce. Alternately, lay the peppers side by side if there isn’t room to stand them up.

Bring 2 1/2 cups of water to a boil and fill the peppers with it. Cover the pot and simmer for about 45 minutes or until the rice is cooked through and the peppers are soft but not disintegrating. If the sauce is watery, continue to cook for a few more minutes with the top off.

*Shallow slice the top and bottoms of the tomatoes with an X and put them in boiling water for a few minutes until they can be easily peeled. At this point most cookbooks recommend dunking the tomatoes in ice cold water, which I do if I remember.

{Above: Summer savory}

Svaneti – sharing food, not language

2013-09-06T14:51:00.000-07:00

{Above: Views of Ushba Mt on the 1st day of the trek}

Most of our conversations with the local Georgians went something like this:

ფორუმი სად მიდიხარ? გაქვთ ოთახი მანქანაში?

We would shake our heads and say “Don’t understand”

Русский?

Unfortunately, except for привет- hello- we didn’t understand Russian either.

So we would say, pointing to self “Israel”

No response.

“Jerusalem^*” we would try instead.

Then they would smile and put their two index fingers together and say “Georgia-Jerusalem, good”

We nodded our heads enthusiastically and responded “Georgia good, good!” and they gave us a thumbs-up.

That was the transaction we had with two Georgian police officers who stopped us- not to give us a ticket- but to ask for a ride. They squashed in the back seat with my three boys and we drove off down the gravel highway. As my husband overtook a truck uphill, on a turn with the usual sun-tanning cows blocking the way the law-enforcement officers looked on approvingly. “Good!” they said happily, used to the James Bond style driving of their countrymen.

{Above: Church in Zhabeshi Village, Svaneti}

Aside from chatting to hitchhikers, most of our limited exchanges were conducted at homestays along the trail from Mestia to Ushguli in Svaneti National Park. We were confined to smiles, gestures and a handful of words. In most cases, it was enough to get by with.

On the first night of the three and half day trek we reached Zhabeshi Village but there was no vacancy- one of the disadvantages of not planning in advance. Instead the owner of one of the guest houses walked down to his neighbor, perhaps his brother, and asked them to host us.

{Above: the way to the outhouse}

While other places expected and catered to tourists- mainly backpackers and the occasional cyclist- we found ourselves, a bit awkwardly, in somebody’s house. The outhouse was down the yard and over the hill, the sink was in the garden- the water supplied by the nearby spring- and the house was heated by an ancient wood stove. The inhabitants coexisted with the dwelling’s idiosyncrasies - the window that didn’t close properly, the floorboards to be stepped over, a ceiling that looked on the verge of collapse..…

They weren’t going to make a fuss about it, at least not on that warm summer evening. Instead they were outside chatting, laughing- perhaps gossiping about those strange tourists from Israel.

Meanwhile the grandmother , who we noticed did 90% of the work there, made us dinner - khachapuri (bread filled with cheese), homemade wild berry jam, fresh salad, hearty vegetable soup, lavash bread and tiny plums for dessert. The food in the remote villages is intensely flavored, how food used to taste before mass farming, breeding programs and long distance shipping. The following morning the grandmother had breakfast already waiting at the table, fresh warm milk from the cows in the back, sour cherry jam from their trees and fried potatoes. What we did not finish she packed for our hike- the bread, potatoes, hard-boiled eggs which we shared with fellow French and Spanish backpackers we met.

{Above-left- khachapuri, right- plums}

I can’t say I slept well in the house- there was a big picture of the grandmother’s late husband spooking me from above. However, their good natured hospitality will be what I remember most from my visit to Georgia.

{Above- flowers at the homestay in Zhabeshi Village, puppy sleeping in a straw hat}

{Above- Border patrol in Zhabeshi, a village near Russia. On the right, the man is holding a sickle, still commonly used in the fields}

{above- Svaneti tower in Zhabeshi Village- a family sized fortress once used for protection}

*It turns out that Shota Rustaveli, Georgia’s national poet lived for a time in a monastery in Jerusalem.

* The hike between Mestia and Ushguli can be confusing and many people get lost, including us for a few hours. If you don’t know how to read a contour map, it’s best to hire a guide.

Take another look at Svaneti Cuisine and travel in Food Perestroika- Adventures in Eastern Bloc Cooking

Roadside stands of Georgia

2013-08-30T23:10:00.000-07:00

This was our vacation plan:

Land in Tbilisi, pick up our jeep and drive to the Caucasus Mountains to trek.

The details we would figure out along the way. It’s not a good method in tourist flooded Western Europe were every minutiae of the trip must be organized months in advanced. It’s also not a good method for those who hate surprises. But for the adventurous who don’t mind the occasional setback, it’s the only way to travel.

But first we needed to figure out how to leave Tbilisi. Just when we thought we were on the highway, the road curved and swerved and burped us back into the city. I admit, I am useless as a navigator and my Georgian and Russian are practically nil (although now I am fluent in khachupuri). So my husband stopped a taxi man and paid him a few lari to lead us out of the city- our personal GPS system. “To Mestia” he said pointing to the map and after zigzagging after him we were finally on our way.

Mestia is the gateway to Svaneti National Park in north-west Georgia, close to the Russian border. According to Google Maps our destination would take six hours to reach but the Google Team did not include cows, piglets, ducks, mules, horses, tractor crossings, avalanche debris or funeral processions into their algorithm. “Driving here is like playing a video game” noted my son after we served into oncoming traffic to avoid hitting a couple of stray geese. The animal parade was not the only factor slowing our journey, at frequent intervals I would shout “Stop, stop! STOP!” when I noticed a stand at the side of the road. It didn’t matter what they were selling, I wanted to get a closer look.

Here’s a tour of the roadside stands of Georgia:

We visited Georgia in mid-August at the cornucopia of the summer harvest- peaches, hazel nuts, walnuts, tomatoes, cucumbers, beans and a myriad of colorful plum varieties were at their peak. In smaller villages, locals sell produce from their gardens, often from a single bucket or spread out modestly on a makeshift table. These are eaten fresh, pickled, canned or made into jams. With the hot Mediterranean-like temperatures the most popular seasonal fruit is probably watermelon, displayed from trucks and car trunks at almost every corner.

In the rolling valley of central Georgia between the upper Caucasus Mountains of the north and the lower Caucasus range in the south, much of the land is used for grazing or agriculture. A popular crop is corn which is either eaten fresh or ground to make simple corn breads and gruels, often mixed with the local salty cheese. Along a shady lane near the Black Sea men and women fan the flames beneath poike pots. For half a lari a piece they will remove a cob from the bubbling water with a set of tongs and then sprinkled it with crunchy salt. The corn here is paler, chewier, larger- each kernel the size of a penny- and not as sweet as the American yellow corn variety.

As we gained altitude bee hives replaced poike pots. Although the warm season is short, the mountain meadows display a prolific number of wild flowers, many of which are used in herbal medicine and have become part of the folklore of the region. Apiculture- bee keeping- is an ancient way of preserving the sweet nectar of summer, both for food and medicine. Which honey is best? There are no logos, brand names and specialty packaging here. Often the honey is sold from Coca Cola or beer bottles, the color ranging from golden to deep amber with honeycombs sometimes included. You’ll know it’s the real thing because the hives are on location and the air is thick with bees.

Countries from the Soviet Bloc were often divided into zones that were dedicated to only one economic item. Georgia is no exception and remnants of this can still be seen. In Surami, a small town along the Tblisi-Zugdidi Highway, every vendor- from almost every house it seemed- was selling lavash- a thick wheat flour flatbread. It is made by slapping rounds of dough on the sides of a clay oven until it baked through and then removed by dexterous, toughened hands. The bread is wonderful- flavorful, chewy, satisfying- not an accompaniment to a meal but the meal itself. Surami also makes specialty sweet bread which I have only seen here. It is similar to plain lavash except made with a sweet syrup on top- perhaps made from plums. For anyone passing through the town, it is easy to say “I’ll stop at the next stand” but the road winds around the mountain and Surami and their delicious flatbreads are gone forever.

“What’s that?” I am especially curious when I have no idea what the roadside stand is selling. My first impression was “what strange bumpy looking salami. In retrospect, that wasn’t a far off assessment. Known as churchkhela, these sausage shaped confections are made by dipping a string of nuts or raisons in thickened grape must called phelamushi. Originating in Georgia, variations are found in Cyprus and Turkey where they are called soutzoukos and sujuk respectively. The most common type of churchkhela is made with walnuts, but sunflower seed, hazelnut, almond and pecan varieties are also popular. Although the thick covering is made from grapes, it is not as sweet as I anticipated.

The road from Kobuleti to Vardzia starts in the subtropical region near the Black Sea, winds through the long, unpaved road of the lower Caucasus Mountains and ends in the semi-arid landscape bordering Turkey. We did this in one day. We learnt the hard way that the thickness of the road lines on our map has absolutely no correlation to its travelability. On the first leg of the journey we passed countless vendors selling bamboo souvenirs, from furniture to ashtrays. As we moved farther east to the remote mountains, the locals sold products they grew, collected or made at home such as fruit leather from plums, dried cheese (similar to the jameed cheese from Jordan and shaped like kibbeh) fresh salty cheese and a curious resin wrapped in gauze. The resin smelt like a monastery but according to the vendor, it wasn’t incense but a type of gum. It was disgusting. My guess is that this is chewed mainly for medicinal reasons (unless we were mistaken completely and it really is incense).

Traveling long distances is tiring which is why the first place to visit in Georgia should be Khasuri, the hammock capital of the world. Perhaps when Georgia was part of the Soviet Union, this small town received orders to mass produce hammocks in every size, color and shape. It seems like every denizen sells hammocks right from their door steps or in a burst of innovation, sets up a stand at the edge of town where there is less competition. In any case, if someone decides to open a stand not selling hammocks- onions, for example- they will be a millionaire.

Finally, for those who are thirsty, water bottles can be filled with natural spring water that sprouts conveniently by the way side, especially in the mountainous areas. There are also stands selling the national lemonade brand, Natakhtari, a bubbly soft drink that comes in every flavor but lemon. Pear, apple and cream are the most popular with tarragon, grape and barberry available in the larger cities. Here the locals skip the six-packs and are satisfied with only one bottle of beer, in a convenient two liter size.

Roadside stands give only a small window into the diverse food culture of Georgia. A true Georgian culinary experience can be found only in their homes.

Happy New Year to all those celebrating!

Spring in the summer- in search of the perfect waterhole

2013-08-01T19:52:00.000-07:00

Above: Left Belvoir Crusader Fortress, also known Kohav HaYarden Right thistles growing nearby

This summer I decided to embrace the heat, humidity and jellyfish. That is not as trivial as it sounds. Some mornings, I wake up to the burden of 9 km of atmosphere sitting on my chest….but I digress. I’m on a complain detox campaign and on a mission to complete it. You know what? For once in my life, I think it might work.

Instead of lounging in front of the air-con after work like sun lazed lizards I pack a few towels and head to the beach. It’s not a perfect solution since July is black flag month. The sea is in constant, churning turmoil, flinging jellyfish on the shore in its miserable bellyache. So we built sand castles, play a mean game of Frisbee and collect sea glass- remnants, I like to imagine, of all the carefree beer parties I missed.

Above: Ein Avuka, a bit south of Bet Shean in the middle of a dried out field

Above, Ein Sukkot- the perfect waterhole

On weekends we search for waterholes scattered across Israel. It’s more a scavenger hunt than anything else, often located far from the tourist track and in the most curious places. Yesterday, we found ourselves on a gravel road with mine fields to either side of us, empty except for two Bedouin men on donkeys walking into the horizon. A rather inhospitable setting for a family outing.

Above: Bedouin men make their way down a long gravel road, Below, a view into Jordan from Ein Sukkot spring, hidden in the reeds

After multiple U-turns we reached a pretty little picnic area overlooking the border with Jordan- an unexpected oasis in the desolate landscape. The week before we spent 15 minutes circulating around a patch of eucalyptus trees in search of the Avuka spring until we realized we had already found it, hidden within the reeds. And just south of Kibbutz Sde Eliyahu there’s another little spring in a date grove and almost impossible to find unless you’re standing in it. There’s a reason why this area is called Valley of the Springs.

Above, A surprise spring a bit south of Kibbutz Sde Eliyahu in the date groves.

Usually I hesitate before entering a pool of water but with soaring temperatures and wind spit balling sand in our faces, we jumped in and asked questions later. The water was murky green and oily from organic matter, the bottom the consistency of tehina. It’s creepy and I did my best to avoid standing in it but my sons dove in to see what they could find- stones, slithery, amphibious water plants and one time a bottle of rum (“no kids, you cannot taste it”). Despite how it might sound, it’s rather fun floating about on a cheap air mattress in the middle of nowhere, the smell of Turkish coffee in the air and strangers offering to share their food.

Above, Date groves near Sde Eliyahu, a Kibbutz in northern Israel close, south of Bet Shean

Above: Akub, Gundelia an edible wild plant found in Israel and surroundings. Now a tumbleweed stuck on a fence.

Above: Caper fruit which can be used do make jam or chutney. I've never tried myself by it's sold in Kibbutz Neot A emadar near Eilat

As for cooking. well, I’ve been living off banana-mango-yogurt smoothies fortified with date syrup. I admit, I hate cooking in summer and I avoid it when I can. But salads, that’s a different matter. Cutting up a few vegetables is hardly as taxing as making a pot of kibbeh and if it was up to me that would be all I’d make until September.

update: We are planning a trip to Georgia, the one bordering Azerbaijan, not Florida, so by Autumn expect loads of Georgian inspired recipes!

Summer salad with simple yogurt dressing

You can use the recipe as a base for a more elaborate version. Add finely chopped herbs or crushed garlic to the yogurt. Add a dollop of sour cream for a less tangy version. Use whatever vegetable you have at hand- sweet peppers, lettuce even fennel.

Dressing:

1 teaspoon of za’atar spice mix

1 container of yogurt, about 1 cup

100 grams, 1/3 cup of crumbled feta cheese

Salad

2 tomatoes, chopped into small cubes

2 cucumbers, chopped into small cubes

2 carrots, grated or finely chopped

¼ onion, finely choped

1 small bunch parsely, finely chopped

Juice of ½ lemon

2-3 tablespoons olive oil

Salt and pepper

In a bowl, combine all the ingredients of the salad and mix well. In another bowl combine the yogurt, feta cheese and za’atar and pour over the salad. To save on dishes, I actually poured the yogurt directly on the salad, dusted it with za’atar spice mix and crumbled the feta on top of that.

Above- And if you really don't feel like cooking and happen to be near Bet Shean, then stop by at Rutenberg Restaurant at Kibbutz Gesher for a European influenced meal. Thanks Yael for the tip.

A walk in Wadi Nisnas

2013-07-19T21:00:00.000-07:00

A year passed since we meandered through Wadi Nisnas on that hot humid day. I’ve gone on many walks since then- around the block with just enough money to buy milk at the neighborhood grocery store, treks across the country with heavy backpacks and dusty clothes. And most recently, as the temperatures rise, I stroll along the beach at dusk (not romantic as it sounds- my boys were in the background throwing beached jellyfish at each other).

I can’t remember all the places I’ve hurried to. Life’s like that- the details fading, sometimes, forever. But Wadi Nisnas I do recall. Probably because of the little bites along the way- crisp falafel paired with cold pickles and a drizzle of tahini. Baklava castles stacked on the bakery counter- sweet sticky bricks filled with pistachio, walnuts or almonds. Or the briny olives just bitter enough to act as a foil to the fatayer pastry, emphasizing its subtle sweetness.

The souk itself is small but offers the rich bounty of summer- burgundy figs, unwieldy bunches of melouchia, prickly pears with prickles removed, purslane-a wild edible, squash, tiny eggplants for pickling and piles of grape leaves to fill with aromatic rice or bulgur.

Later we gathered with our friends, the Ruders, on a hillside overlooking Haifa with the foods we purchased at the souk. It was a rather pleasant affair but the heat was “bilti nizbal”- insufferable as Israelis like to say. As we munched on kibbeh we all agreed we wouldn’t mind being back in Newfoundland like the summer before. But then again it would be a very a long walk to get perfect hummus.

The Jewelled Kitchen, a beautiful way to cook

2013-07-09T14:20:00.000-07:00

Ignore that old adage- don’t judge a book by its cover- because one look at The Jewelled Kitchen by Bethany Kehdy and you might just fall in love. You’d have good reason to. With stunning photographs by talented Šárka Babická, the cookbook is a journey into the diverse and wonderful world of Arab and Persian cooking.

First inspired by her grandmother’s Lebanese cooking, Bethany’s fascination with ethnic cuisine has expanded to include flavors as far as Iran and Morocco. Her own childhood was spent between her father’s family in Northern Lebanon and her mother’s home in Texas- between Campbell’s soup and lemony tabbouleh.-two very different worlds that has shaped her palate and her attitude towards food. It is one that respects both the old way and her own creativity.

Whimsical or sophisticated, she adds nuances to regional favorites that harmonize so well with the spirit of the dish. Malabi (muhallabieh), the quintessential Middle Eastern milk pudding, is infused with coffee in addition to rosewater, sabich, a popular street food in Israel is transformed from sandwich to salad, rhubarb brightens a traditional Palestinian freekeh (smoky wheat) and lamb dish, dulce de leche is paired with Lebanese clotted cream. This is not fusion cuisine but one that is gently modernized, without losing the past.

While some dishes are served with a dash of ingenuity others are more traditional, the season and custom dictating the flavors. I’ll have to wait until September to make the cucumber and pomegranate salad, the Moroccan tangine of broad beans, fennel and peas embodies spring, but meloukhia- Jew’s mallow- is at its best now as are the stuffed onions.

The book offers a good balance between easy everyday recipes and more laborious dishes appropriate for holidays or celebrations. Even basic recipes are elevated with the judicious use of spices, herbs and other aromatics- rose petals, parsley, ginger, allspice, orange blossom water, pomegranate seeds- fresh, vibrant and beautiful food that captures the exotic flavors of the East.

At one time recipes were handed down from parent to child, an integral part of a family’s daily culture. They were polished from years of use and fit perfectly with the daily rhythm and mood of the household. Increasingly, the link is broken. The grandchildren no longer follow the culinary traditions. The Jewelled Kitchen by Bethany Kehdy is a cookbook that rediscovers these hidden gems.

A bit more about Bethany Kehdy- Bethany Kehdy is the author of the popular Dirty Kitchen Secrets blog and is founder and organizer of Food Blogger Connect, world’s leading food blogging conference. She also runs Taste Lebanon culinary tours across Lebanon.

Stuffed Caramelized Onions with Tamarind and allspice

In this intensely flavorful dish, the sweetness of the onions harmonize beautifully with the tangy tamarind sauce. I prepared this as part of the virtual cookbook launch together with other food blogging friends- see what they have been cooking and be inspired.

250 ground lamb (I used ground beef and mixed with a tablespoon of lamb fat)

¼ cup short grain rice like risotto

½ teaspoon ground allspice

½ teaspoon ground cinnamon

2 teaspoons dried mint

1 tablespoon tomato paste

1 tablespoon pine nuts

1 teaspoon salt

4-5 large white onions (I ended up using 4)

1 tablespoon tamarind paste

Juice of one lemon

Freshly ground black pepper

1 Combine the lamb, rice, spices, mint and tomato paste in a bowl and mix well.

2. If using, toast the pine nuts on a cast iron skillet, moving them frequently so they don’t burn. Add them to the meat mixture.

3. Boil a pot of salted water deep enough to cover the onions

3 Prepare the onions: Peel the onions and remove the very top and bottom of the onions (where the roots and stems where attached). From the side, slice each onion to the center without cutting through it. In this way each onion ring should be cut only once.

4. Place the onions in the pot of the water and cook until the onions can be easily pierced with a fork. Remove the onions with a slotted spoon and place on a plate to cool. Reserve the cooking liquid.

5. When the onions are cool enough to handle unravel the onion rings. At this point the layers should be pliable enough to roll. If not continue cooking for a minute or so more. Remove the tiny inner cores that can’t be stuffed and chop them finely. Add them to the meat mixture.

6. Take one of the onion rings and place a spoonful or more of the filling at one end. Roll the onion tightly to form a small torpedo shape with tapered ends. Place seam side down in a small pot (about 24 cm in diameter) Continue with the rest of the onions, arranging them snuggly together.

7. Prepare the sauce. Mix the tamarind concentrate with the lemon juice and about 1 ¾ cup of the onion broth and mix well. Pour over the onions and cover with a heavy heat proof plate so the onions stay in place. Cover the pot and bring to a boil. Reduce to a simmer and continue to cook until the rice is cooked through, about 30 minutes. Preheat the oven to 250⁰C.

Remove top and cook for another 15 minutes or until the sauce is reduced and clings tightly to the onions. If the liquid dries out completely add more onion broth.

8. Place the onions in the oven without the cover and grill for 5-10 minutes until the tops are golden and slightly charred.

Disclosure: I received The Jewelled Kitchen for review (also called Pomegranate and Pine Nuts in some countries) from Bethany and Duncan Baird Publishers

Drinking pearls and orchids

2013-06-22T06:05:00.000-07:00

{Above: Sahlab made with cornstarch}

There’s a fellow in town that runs a little black market business from the back of his scooter. In summer he sells lemonade and in winter he offers cups of steaming velvety sahlab. When he spots the city inspector he removes the sign and speeds off to avoid fines. It’s a cat and mouse game that has been going on for years, one that my kids joined when they had their own lemonade stand.

I’ve never tasted his drinks since it’s just as easy to make it at home, not far from where he usually sets up. All that is needed is time to stir (for me the most precious ingredient) and a few drops of rosewater elixir to transform watery milk into a Middle Eastern crème anglaise - thick, soothing, aromatic.

{Above: While Orchis mascula doesn't grow in Israel many other species do Left: Orchis anatolica seen on Mt. Meron while walking the Israel Trail. Right: Rare Orchis italica also on the Israel Trail, Upper Galilee}

While the most common thickener is cornstarch, it was once made with the dried ground tuber of Orchis mascula which grows wild in large parts of the Middle East, Europe and North Africa. Indeed sahlab is Arabic for orchid (in Hebrew it’s sahlav) and a reminder of the of the drink’s exotic past. Boasting the same family name as vanilla, it is the most prestigious and glamorous of the Plant Kingdom and the status symbol of the flowering world. This particular orchid has also been considered an aphrodisiac which pushed its market value even higher. From antiquity to modern times, decorative orchids- useless except to look at- have been highly coveted, with men resorting to complicated schemes to obtain them.

{Above: Sahlab for sale in the Lod Outdoor Market in winter. Lod is a mixed Jewish Arab town in central Israel}

Interestingly, despite its wide distribution, the sahlab species is not indigenous to Israel and must be imported. The owner of my local spice shop told me she buys the powdered tubers from Turkey and, as would be expected, is most popular with her Turkish Jewish clients. “It’s the real way to make sahlab”, she explained “but expensive”. Since Turkey banned the export of the orchid a few years ago in an attempt to revive the wild population, cornstarch has become the alternative for most Israelis and elsewhere in the Levant.

{Above: Sahlab made from pearl millet flour}

Like all foods, there are regional variations, each with its own name- sahlab, sahleb,salep, saḥleb, saalab… Libyans use pearl millet flour made from the ground seeds of Pennisetum glaucum, an important crop in Africa and Asia. In Israel, however, it is used primarily for landscaping, its culinary use restricted mainly to the Tripolitan community and those who adhere to gluten free diets. The flour lends a delicate nutty flavor and colors the drink a pale gray- green.

If you follow the drink by ingredient and not by name, then Mexico would probably get credit for its invention and not the Ottoman Turks. A popular Mexican beverage, champurrado, is made with corn flour, unrefined cane sugar, water or milk, often with the addition of cinnamon, anise seed, or vanilla bean. Sound familiar? Perhaps there is a connection between the two drinks or was it simply by chance?

{Above: A few ideas for sahlab flavorings: from top: mahlab, almonds, mastic, pistachios and cinnamon}

With the temperatures rising, summer is a strange time to prepare sahlab. After all, it’s a cold weather drink- a hot version of malabi-meant to be sipped slowly, warming the hands as well as the belly. Mostly this is true but during the Muslim observance of Ramadan, which fell in the middle of the hot season for the past few years, sahlab is a welcome part of the breakfast meal.

Sahlab

Middle Eastern hot milk drink

In Israel sahlab is most often flavored with rosewater and topped with a dusting of cinnamon and coconut. Cream can be substitute for some of the milk for a richer result.

4 cups of milk

2 heaping tablespoons of cornstarch. If using pearl millet use 4 tablespoons.

½ cup of sugar or to taste

Flavorings:

A teaspoon or more of rosewater (some brands are more concentrated than others). This can be replaced with orange blossom water or vanilla. A teaspoon ground mahlab is also a lovely addition.

For the toppings:

Coconut flakes

Cinnamon

Ground peanuts, almonds or pistachios

Grated white chocolate

Raisins (but not in my sahlab, please)

In a small pot add the cornstarch, sugar and milk and heat over medium heat. Stir frequently so the corn starch doesn’t settle at the bottom and burn. When the milk reaches a gentle boil it should thicken. Continue to stir until thick and creamy, about 10 minutes. Add the flavorings- rosewater, vanilla, orange blossom water or mahlab.

If for whatever reason it is not thick enough do not add more cornstarch directly into the hot milk since it will form a clump. Instead make a slurry- for every tablespoon of cornstarch add two tablespoons of milk (2/1 ratio of liquid to starch) and mix well. Pour this into the hot milk and continue to stir until the desired consistency is reached.

Now for the fun part:

Add whatever topping you prefer- a dusting of cinnamon, a sprinkle of pistachios a flurry of coconut. If the toppings sink to the bottom, the drink needs to be thickened. Leftover sahlab can be refrigerated which will turn it into malabi- very good too.