The last time I talked about crepes, they came with a jazz playlist. Today, they come with a how-to video shot with a Flip camera. There is a time and place for low-tech noise and distortion and this is it. I particularly like the way this camera shows the pedestrian side of crepes.

Crepes, after all are thin pancakes, dressed up or down according to taste. When I made my first one, it was quite by accident. I must have been 9 or 10 years old. No doubt it was a Saturday morning when I mixed together flour, sugar, milk, eggs, and butter in a metal bowl.

I rarely measured ingredients back then and probably put way too much flour in the mix. I thinned the batter with milk and poured it into a hot shallow skillet with low sloping sides and made a crepe-like pancake to rival the moon, large and crater-pocked.

A thick pat of butter melted onto the crepe. I sprinkled a few pinches of powdered sugar on top. Then I played Centipede on our Atari before everyone else woke up.

Those were formative cooking years and while my technique has changed, my love for pancakes, thin or thick hasn’t.

Now for the video.

Crepes

Makes about one dozen crepes

2 flax eggs (whisk 2 tablespoons ground flax seeds with 6 tablespoons boiling water in small bowl) or 2 large eggs
1 cup white spelt flour
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon sea salt
1 tablespoon pure maple syrup or natural cane sugar
3 tablespoons olive oil or unsalted butter
1 1/2 cups plain soy milk or dairy milk
3/4 cup water

Place all the ingredients in a blender or food processor and blend until smooth, stopping to scrape down the sides if necessary, then blending again. Cover and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes, although it’s better if it rests 2 hours or overnight. The batter should be thin enough to coat the pan quickly and evenly. If it’s too thick, stir in a little water or milk until it reaches the right consistency.

Heat a crepe pan (a 7 to 10-inch skillet with sloping sides) over medium-high heat. Use a pastry brush to coat it with a little oil or butter as soon as the oil sizzles in the pan, it’s ready. Turn the heat down to medium, pour in 1/4 cup of batter and slowly swirl it around until the batter coats the bottom of the pan. Cook until golden on the bottom, about 1 minute. Slide a spatula or a knife under an edge to loosen the crepe, grab it with your fingers or with a spatula and flip it over. The second side needs to cook just until it’s set, about 30 seconds.

Put the finished crepe on a dinner plate, then continue making the rest until the batter is gone (no need to add more oil to the pan as long as it stays hot). Stack the finished crepes on top of each other until you’re ready to serve them. They’ll stay warm without sticking together.

To fill, place a small amount of a savory or sweet filling, such as skillet asparagus or maple strawberries with sweet almond and coconut creams, at one end of the crepe and fold over sides and end to make a small crepe pillow.

To store leftover crepes, tightly cover the stack of crepes with plastic wrap and refrigerate up to several days. To reheat filled crepes, saute them in a bit of oil or butter in a crepe pan or cover them in foil or parchment paper in a 325F oven until warm.

The argument began Friday night. We stood in line at the food table, the Connecticut River and industrial building covered in gold light from the setting sun. A new wave of diners walked over to the fenced in dining area from the galleries on the other side of Race Street.

Naturally, the stranger approached me, with a line of questions up about my position there. I arrived on the scene, unknown, spinach salad in one hand camera in the other. He eyed the Pentax slung around my shoulder and the Hasselblad cradled in my hand with suspicion. He wasn’t the only one and I don’t blame them really. Who are you, they said in silent nervous glances.

I placed the salad on the food table and managed to squeak out a reply to his interrogation about why I was shooting film there.

Sorry, can we talk later? I have to shoot while there is still light…

True, I should have introduced myself to the party right away. Five minutes in, folding tables and chairs were set up. Lasagna, garlic bread, spring rolls, asparagus spears, enchiladas, raita, rice and other mismatched dishes filled the buffet table as if it were an edible crazy-quilt.

I read about BYOR (Bring Your Own Restaurant) on Facebook. A friend of a friend posted, There’s this cool new thing called bring your own restaurant happening in Holyoke that I think you would love. Held outdoors in whatever park or patch of cement could hold fifty-some people, the idea was as much political as it was artistic and social since setting up pop-up restaurants in a city with a sullied reputation for being dangerous and run down wasn’t the norm.

I quickly shot the scene and tried to summon up any invisible powers I may have carried over from childhood, needless to say, I was noticed. One and a half rolls of film and a short two minute video later, I put my cameras away and headed over to the food table to blend in with the new arrivals.

The stranger approached just as I dropped a spoonful of carrot salad on my plate. Tension was zipped up like a pair of tight jeans in those few minutes of space.

Film, huh? What are you shooting?

Black & White.

Um, is that what you do? Are you with the press or something?

No, I’m just shooting for myself. I’m a photographer.

Is this what you do for a living?

This and a thousand other things…what do you do?

I used to shoot film and had a dark room, but I’ve gone digital.

Oh, I see…I use both.

Why, what’s the point?

I should have stopped there, but I didn’t. Digital is great, but so is film, which can never be replaced. The experience of shooting with film is so different. You are forced to slow down and be more deliberate about composing images. While digital has made significant technical strides, it’s almost too perfect. You can’t get the same unexpected surprises like double exposure or true film grain with a digital camera as you can with film.

So do you develop your own film?

No, I use a lab. Scan the film. Then make digital prints.

I don’t get it. Why would you do that?

Because I like film and I like shooting with it and I like working in a dry digital darkroom. It’s not the same as being in a darkroom developing film and prints, but it’s slightly less toxic and more cost effective in the end.

The stranger asked if I had a card. I handed one over before I placing a spring roll on my plate. I sat down to eat with two women at a table close to his. Our conversation circled around art and other happenings and was altogether lovely, but I couldn’t get the stranger’s parting words out of my head.

After a week spent thinking over our brief interaction, my answer to the stranger’s question remains the same. I shoot film because it etches the past into the present.

Isn’t that reason enough?

For those of us in New England, now is the time for asparagus! Known in these parts as Hadley Grass (since it shoots up from the ground just like the lawn stuff), asparagus has a brief but fleeting growing season that typically lasts from May to late June (although the warm weather brought it to the stands two months ago) when every farm stand, market, and store boasts a local supply of this perennial vegetable.

Who knows how long the growing season will last this year since asparagus showed up so early. We’re getting our daily dose of Vitamin A plus a fair amount of Vitamins B, C, and iron in each bundle of fresh asparagus that’s boiled, grilled, sauteed, and steamed served for dinner. My favorite cooking method is simmering the stalks in a skillet of salted water, the method is quick and reliable. Add a few dots of lemon-thyme butter and the skillet asparagus becomes something of a sensation erupting like pop rocks in your mouth.

Once harvested, asparagus quickly loses its sweet edge so keep an eye out for the freshest looking bundles usually marked by smooth skin, compact tops, and bright green in color. If the tops look at all spread apart and the leaves and branches open and splay out, it means the asparagus was probably harvested too late and can be bitter, grassy, and tough and may even discolor when cooked.

If you can’t get to asparagus soon after its cut, not to worry, there is a little wiggle room when the vegetable is properly refrigerated. To store, tightly wrap the stalks in a plastic bag; or store the bunches upright in a glass canning jar filled with about an inch of water and cover the container and tops with a plastic bag or with plastic wrap; place in the refrigerator for 3 to 4 days.

To prep asparagus for cooking, pick up individual spears with both hands and snap it. The stalk will naturally break where at the tender point, eliminating an extra step of cutting them with a knife. Save the ends for soup or compost. You can also snap one stalk from the bunch with your hands and using that stalk as a guide, cut the rest with a knife (some say there is less waste this way, but do whatever works best for you). For spears that are thicker than my pinkie finger, I like to peel the ends with a vegetable peeler to ensure the asparagus won’t be tough or woody at the bottom.

p.s. Click here to watch my t.v. cooking debut (just be kind people!) I did earlier this morning on WWLP’s local show, Mass Appeal along with Mary Nelen of Valley Locavore and Lisa Cain of Snack-Girl. We talked about three ways to cook asparagus and I have to say, I walked out of the studio with an adrenaline rush akin to running a short race. Despite my later concerns about having put my makeup together while driving to the studios (oh, dear), this t.v. thing could become a habit.

Skillet Asparagus with Lemon-Thyme Butter
Serves 4 to 6

Prepare the Lemon-Thyme Butter
makes ½ cup

1 stick (1/4 pound) butter (room temperature)
2 tablespoons chopped thyme leaves
1/2 large shallot (about 3 tablespoons), finely diced
zest from ½ lemon
pinch sea salt

Place all the ingredients in a medium sized bowl and mix them together with a wooden spoon. Measure 3 tablespoons of the butter and set aside for the skillet asparagus.

For the remaining butter, transfer to a butter crock or set on a sheet of wax paper, roll into a cylinder, and freeze until firm. Once frozen, the butter can be sliced into thin disks and floated on soups, served with crepes, or tossed with vegetables, grains, pasta, or cooked dried beans.

Prepare the Skillet Asparagus

2 pounds asparagus, trimmed and ends peeled if stalks are thick and woody
sea salt
freshly ground black pepper
3 tablespoons lemon-thyme butter
2 tablespoons finely chopped chives
½ lemon cut into thin wheels for a squeeze of juice and garnish
freshly grated Parmesan cheese

Put the asparagus in a large skillet of cold water with the tips going in the same direction. Add a pinch or two of salt to the water and bring to a boil. Add the asparagus then lower heat to a simmer and cook uncovered just until the asparagus is bright green and just tender when pierced with a knife, begin checking for doneness after 3 (it can take anywhere between 3 to 7 minutes depending on the width of asparagus and whether or not the asparagus is peeled, since thinner peeled stalks require less cooking time). Take care not to overcook the asparagus, since it will continue to cook after you remove it from the water and can easily turn to mush. Set the asparagus on a kitchen towel to drain for a minute, then transfer to a large platter.

Serve the Skillet Asparagus with Lemon-Thyme Butter

Dot with the lemon-thyme butter, add a sprinkle of salt, and season with pepper; scatter the chives over the asparagus; lightly squeeze the lemon wheels over the plate. Gently roll the stalk around to coat them, sprinkle the Parmesan cheese over the plate, then wipe the edges of the platter and serve.

(This recipe is inspired by Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone by Deborah Madison)

On a Sunday afternoon in April, three of us went for a hike near the apple orchard and market where we buy cider doughnuts every fall. I carried a pack of essential supplies including two cameras, snacks (homemade granola bars and oranges), and water on my back. David and I walked on the Robert Frost trail and circled uphill about a mile until Luke, napless, looked as if he was about to lose his cool.

Still thinking about surface textures, less abstractions this time, I photographed bark curls and moss patches in black and white as David carried Luke on his shoulders back down the trail. Sun burst through clouds in intermittent flashes. One minute the sky was clouded in a backdrop of gray and the next it was bright angled light, a challenge to shoot in given that an impending meltdown was ahead.

Or so I misjudged. Luke was a trooper. He made it back to the picnic area, walking part of the way, riding the other part. We had our snack without much fanfare and I as I peeled one orange after another, the trail head emptied and filled with a similar color as the fruit. There is a sort of forgetting and acceptance that happens in the woods. We lose the collection of daily must dos and haves that persist in our brains as we simultaneously find the reserve of truth looming around us. It’s as if our brains key into the wireless past, a slow quiet that lets creative impulses through, not unlike the light bursts.

I’ve written about this elsewhere, but I’m reminded on a regular basis of the need to step away from my desk at least once a day with a notebook and camera. While I can’t fit a daily hike into my schedule, I can step away from the computer and still practice writing and photography craft, often with a new perspective.

Plus inspired reads and creative journals of late:

Get creative with the Open Day Book (an interactive calendar with daily references to artists that is part datebook, sketchbook and daily art journal).

Return to The Creative Habit by Twyla Tharp again and again.

An inspired post by Kasey of Turntable Kitchen about supporting each others work and successes along with a recipe for cardamom and nutmeg waffles with minted strawberries, bonus!

Show up as you are (plus vanilla bean rhubarb oatmeal), a terrific reminder from Kelsey at Happyolks).

Love this encouraging post by Sarah, To Be of Use over at her blog, The Yellow House.

What’s inspiring you today?

Birthdays used to be simple. Cake, ice cream, roller skates, disco. They were celebrations of youth, of hope, of dreams. We gaze through starry-eyes at someday. Then it arrives. THE FUTURE.

Another year passes and we grow more introspective about our short blip of time on this earth. You should know, I love birthdays and I get the fact that time moves no matter what. It etches lines into our bodies and characters and whether we try to freeze it in pictures or words or movies, it’s unbeatable.

It’s my birthday and instead of baking a lemon cake (obviously, a favorite), making homemade ice cream, or mixing both in a lemon cake ice cream tour de force, I came up with this birthday mix. I can’t help but want to make this and every other day count. To get in and celebrate, with or without cake or cake flavored ice cream. It’s hard to always remember this, but I want to try. So, I’m going to listen to this mix David and I collaborated on and jump in mud puddles and get in the car and drive.

Somewhere.

birthday mix from artandlemons on 8tracks.

birthday mix (may 2012) track list

1. Don’t Change by INXS
2. Skankin’ to the Beat by Fishbone
3. Prove My Love by Violent Femmes
4. Get Lost by Tom Waits
5. I Love You Mary Jane by Cypress Hill & Sonic Youth
6. Television Man by Man Or Astro-man?
7. Sure Shot by The Beastie Boys
8. Too Alive by The Breeders
9. Art Star by Yeah Yeah Yeahs
10. Crush by Sleigh Bells
11. Revolution by Dr. John
12. Sixteen Saltines by Jack White
13. Do It! (featuring Yoko Ono/Plastic Ono Band) by The Flaming Lips
14. Pull A U by The Kills
15. The Pier by Dirty Three
16. This Time Tomorrow by The Kinks
17. The Sky Lit Up by PJ Harvey
18. I Don’t Wanna Hear Another Sound (Bonus Track) by Norah Jones
19. Hotel California by Gipsy Kings

If you get the idea in your head to make a stop motion video short about what you’re about to make for breakfast early on a dreary Thursday morning, then you must do it. Forget the to-do list. Those thirty-odd things tasks can wait, this breakfast video on the other hand, cannot.

Wait. Before you start filming, you need to sketch out a shot list, which might look something like this.

Breakfast—Stop Motion Video Shot List:

Set-up
Digital Camera, 35 mm lens
ISO 400, f/4.5, 1.3 seconds
Tripod
Window Light

Scene 1: make coffee
1. pick up french press
2. pour into mug
3. add sugar
4. add milk
5. stir

Scene 2: butter toast
1. remove 1 slice bread from bag
2. plug in toaster
3. put toast in toaster
4. cut butter square
5. add to plate
6. butter toast

Scene 3: fry eggs
1. turn on burner
2. add butter to skillet
3. crack 1, then 2 eggs in pan
4. add coarse sea salt
5. add freshly ground black pepper
6. cook
7. slide egg onto prepared plate
8. shoot finished plate

Edit Video
Upload photos to Lightroom.
Develop photos.
Export to iMovie and edit.
Add music: “Softly As In A Morning Sunshine” by Sonny Rollins.
Finalize movie.

Share

So, yeah. That was breakfast.

What did you eat?

Shall we talk about pie today? It’s May Day after all and while I won’t be dancing around a maypole with scarves in hand, I will think about the plate that once held this blueberry pie.

In this house, we have a weakness for blueberries, as you may have read about here and here oh here too which means every year, usually in the hottest parts of July or August, David, Luke, and I make our annual pilgrimage to a local fruit orchard to stock up on a 10 month supply of blueberries. Around here, we take this matter seriously.

So in the middle of last week, when I baked the last 10 cups of wild low bush berries from The Benson Place farm into a blueberry streusel pie, my efforts were met with both joy and remorse. It’s only May after all and our freezer is already berry-less. Sure we have 4 pints of blueberry butter along with 2 half-pints of jam left in the pantry, but what about the pancakes, cornbread, coffee cake, muffins, and pies?

For someone like David, who grew up in New England with a moderate collection of blueberry bushes right in his front yard, the matter of running not just low but completely out of stock two months ahead of schedule is not a casual matter. Of course, there will be plenty of worthy fruits to distract us all in the months ahead, rhubarb, strawberries, then later on peaches, gooseberries, apples, pears, and cranberries that also find their way into similar baked goods.

For someone like me, who grew up traveling across state lines from Indiana to Michigan to search out the best berries at the height of the season, I celebrate their arrival and passing. Growing up, we picked about three months worth of berries, no more, no less. Summer remains a bittersweet celebration of the temporal nature of the season, fresh blueberries, beach picnics, and a car ride or two in the back of the tiny MG to the blueberry farm. All too often, we forget to truly savor the moment.

When David and I sat down for pie the other night, I can assure you, none of the lament we now feel was in our thoughts, nope, it was simply, This is damn good pie.

Hope you feel the same.

Blueberry Streusel Pie
makes one 9-inch single crust pie

Crust
1 prepared unbaked piecrust for a 9-inch single-crust pie

Blueberry Filling
5 cups fresh or frozen blueberries (if using frozen berries, partially thaw so blueberries don’t stick together in frozen clumps)
3/4 cup natural cane sugar
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1/8 teaspoon sea salt
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

Streusel Topping
1/4 cup rolled oats
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/3 cup (packed) light brown sugar
1/8 teaspoon ground cinnamon
pinch of sea salt
4 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cut into ½-inch pieces

To make the streusel topping: Mix the oats, flour, sugar, cinnamon, and salt together in a medium-sized mixing bowl. Add the butter and pinch it into the streusel mixture until crumbly.

To make the blueberry filling: Preheat oven to 375F. Stir together sugar, flour, and salt; add the melted butter then mix in the blueberries. Turn into the prepared piecrust pan. Crumble streusel mixture evenly over filling.

Bake on the lower shelf of the oven for about 1 hour, or until the crust and topping are golden brown and the juice bubbles thickly on the outer edge against the crust. If the crust edges brown too fast, cover them with a strip of foil while the pie finishes baking.

Transfer pie to a rack and cool for an hour or two before serving at room temperature. To serve warm, place the pie in a 375F oven and warm for 10 to 15 minutes before serving, with or without a scoop of vanilla ice cream. It’s good either way.

You wander the tiled 2nd floor hallway in the School of Art building. Room 202. The handwritten sign taped to the door reads, “BLACK & WHITE PHOTOGRAPHY.” Your stomach jumps with anticipation.

The room is filled with early twenty-something’s, you included. You sit next to a girl with long dark hair who leans over to you in a near whisper “Hi, I’m Dana.” Like you, Dana waits tables a restaurant downtown. Unlike you, she’s dressed like a 60’s go-go dancer, white boots, paisley dress, sunglasses.

Jan, the instructor, introduces herself then asks each person to go around the room and do the same. “Take out your SLR cameras,” she says. You set the used Pentax K1000 outfitted with a 50 mm lens you bought for class on the desk. Fourteen other students do the same.

The lecture begins with camera basics. You learn how light is recorded on film, how your camera records an image, and how you, the photographer, can learn to control the way your camera records light, distance, speed, and subject matter.

“We’re going to do an exercise in thinking and seeing in black and white. Put your cameras away for a minute,” Jan says, “and close your eyes. So much of photography happens before you even look through the lens. I want you to imagine the room we’re sitting in: four jumbled rows of chairs with flip down desks, checkered floor tiles, a chalkboard, a wood table at the front of the room, three large windows, and all of us seated in chairs.”

“Now imagine the same room, not in pure black and white, but in shades of gray. Where does the light fall in the room? On the tiles? The person beside you? Is anyone backlit in silhouette? Where are the lightest and the darkest areas? Try to see the fine shades of gray as if they range in tonal value on a scale from 0 to 10, where 0 represents the blackest blacks and 10 represents the whitest whites, no detail on either extreme. Right in the middle is 5, middle gray.”

“Okay, open your eyes. Can you find positive and negative spaces to photograph? Or high contrast areas with sharp highlights and shadows? What about and the formal designs—of patterns and lines, and of shapes and forms.”

Jan asks if there are any questions. You look around the room, closing and opening your left then right eye, as you try to see in monochromatic vision. She hands out a page of notes with the following typed out:

5 TIPS FOR PHOTOGRAPHING IN BLACK & WHITE 

1. Practice thinking and seeing in black & white (and shades of gray) before you even pick up a camera. Use the pre-visualization exercise we did in class wherever you go in order to sharpen this skill.

2. Study the grayscale and develop an understanding of how specific colors translate into a gray tone. Try to see the fine shades of gray as if they range in tonal value on a scale from 0 to 10, where 0 represents the blackest blacks and 10 represents the whitest whites, no detail on either extreme. Right in the middle is 5, middle gray.

3. Look for fundamental design elements to photograph. Patterns and textures really stand out in monochromatic images. Strong contrasts and shadows render beautifully in black-and-white so do silhouettes on overcast days.

4. Capture the light. Use the grayscale to create different moods and emotions in your images. Shoot high key (white, bright, and “overexposed”) images; shoot low key images (dark, black, and “underexposed”); and shoot shades of gray (with mostly midtone gray values). Light plays a crucial role in all photography. Know where it is at all times.

5. Shoot, shoot, shoot. Whether you’re using a SLR or DSLR, you need to shoot hundreds of frames in order to recognize what makes a good black and white image.

Over the next six weeks, you walk around the city photographing buildings and people. You sign up for another class and then another and then you’re off to graduate school to study photography. You wonder, What’s next?

I spent the better half of the morning lost in a pile of books stacked on my bedside table. I recently read Diana Abu-Jaber’s novel Birds of Paradise and was reminded once again how much I loved the book.

shot with FujiFilm Instax 200

If you haven’t read one of her books you should. Start with The Language of Baklava, then read Birds of Paradise, a spellbinding novel set in beautiful and culturally diverse Miami about a 13 year-old girl, Felice Muir who runs away from home and lives on the streets in search of food and drugs as self-punishment for something she has done.

The rest of the Muir family, including: Avis, a perfectionist mom and superb pastry chef; Brian, a quiet, hardworking dad; and Stanley, a committed brother and health food storeowner, are forced to look at their personal shortcomings after Felice leaves. On her eighteenth birthday, when Felice becomes an adult, she and her family must decide what’s truly important to them.

Birds of Paradise explores larger social and cultural issues, such as teen runaways, adolescent cruelty, parental self-absorption, histories of political violence and tragedy, and the politics of sugar and food production. Abu-Jaber’s sumptuous prose, complex characters, vivid imagery, and suspenseful plot captivate—you won’t be able to put the book down once you begin.

Maira Kalman’s And the Pursuit of Happiness is a beautifully illustrated book documenting the author’s yearlong study of democracy and how it works. Part artist’s journal, history book, and snapshot of contemporary America, Kalman’s visual and written observations made along her national tour are smart and witty.

I only made it through the first four pages of The Town That Food Saved by Ben Hewitt in this sitting, but it’s one I’m excited to read. Hewitt examines how the rural blue-collar community of Hardwick, Vermont developed a local, sustainable food system in the middle of an economic crisis threatening to sideline smalls businesses and privately owned farms.

A group of young and innovative entrepreneurs bring change to the area new food-based start-ups and agricultural models and must find a way to work with long-established farmers cautious of the region’s speedy growth. If you’re at all interested in the future of food in the U.S., you’ll want to read this book.

What are you reading now, any recommendations to add to this list?

I stopped by the Asian market to look for nigari (sold in Japan, a coagulant consisting of magnesium chloride plus other trace minerals) when I first had the idea to make soy milk and tofu from scratch. Done right, homemade soy milk and tofu can be beautiful things: subtle, sweet, and versatile—nothing like the white quivering bricks that give tofu a bad name. Don’t get me wrong, I buy my fair share of premade soy products and am perfectly okay with it, it’s just that the homemade versions taste better and cost less, despite what I heard at the market.

The shopkeeper, who often advises me on which foods are worth making from scratch and which aren’t, said, “We don’t sell it. Why make tofu anyway when you can buy it so cheap. Soy milk, yes, I understand and make it from scratch a few times a week, but tofu—NO, you don’t make this. Too much work to make at home.”

I protested and explained that I wanted to make fresh kinugoshi (silken custard-like tofu made from thick soy milk), yaki-dofu (grilled tofu), and firm farmhouse tofu bricks found in The Book of Tofu. She turned to me with a look that said, Get another hobby, Dear.

“You want to know how to make soy milk?”

“Yes.”

“Night before, you get out a big pot. Take 1 pound soybeans, wash really well, cover with water and let sit. Change water few times. Next morning, drain and rinse soybeans. Heat some water in a large pot. You have a blender?”

I nodded, yes.

“Take out blender and blend soaked soybeans in water until ground this small.”

She rubbed her thumb across her fingers as if there were a secret mashed soybean hidden between them.

“Then you cook soybean mixture until foams a few times, 20 minutes or so. Strain it in colander with clean towel. Heat soy milk, then drink with bit of sugar, salt, and vanilla bean.”

As for the tofu, I was on my own.

When I returned home, I found a wooden tofu press and a bag of nigari online and ordered it. Pure magnesium chloride or calcium sulfate can also be used as tofu coagulants, but from what I’ve read, nigari makes a subtly sweet tofu, which was the flavor I was after. So I began my adventures in soy milk and tofu making with only partial approval from the shopkeeper. I haven’t looked back since.

Homemade Soy milk and Tofu
adapted from The Book of Tofu and Emeril’s Homemade Tofu
makes about 1 1/2-quarts soy milk

Ingredients to make soy milk:
1 pound of dried organic soybeans
filtered water

plus to make tofu:
granular or powdered nigari (or use pure magnesium chloride or calcium sulfate) to make the tofu

To make the soy milk:

Wash and drain the soybeans, discarding any small stones or off-colored beans. Cover with cold water, and soak for about 10 hours (for optimal flavor although somewhere between 8 to 24 hours will still taste good, soaking beyond 24 hours yields a bland soy milk though), rinsing and draining the beans several times during the soak. The soybeans should be tender enough to bite through without resistance.

Drain and rinse the soybeans again. In two 6-quart stockpots or in one large 12-quart pot (depending on what size pots you have in your kitchen), heat 8 cups of water if using two pots or  16 cups if using one pot. While the water is heating, combine half the soaked beans with enough water to cover in a food processor or blender. Process for about 2 to 3 minutes, until the beans are very finely ground. Scrape down sides as needed. Repeat with the remaining half of the soybeans.

Divide the mixture evenly between the two medium pots or the one large pot; the mixture should not come more than halfway up the side of each pot. Lower the heat to medium, and cook for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally with a wooden spoon or spatula. As the mixture heats, foam will occur. If the foam threatens to rise over the rim, sprinkle about a half cup of cold water over the foam and stir rapidly. This should reduce the foam.

Continue to cook until the mixture stops foaming, about 20 more minutes. At the end, the liquid should look yellowish and rather grainy. This means that the milk has separated from the fibrous part of the ground-up soy. Place a colander over a large pot covered with cheesecloth, a cotton clot, or a thin tea towel, and ladle in the cooked soy mixture.

Squeeze out the liquid into the pot. Press down on the bag with a spoon to extract as much of the liquid as possible. Save the fibrous material okara to make granola, cornbread, or meatless sausage. Heat the soy milk in the pot to around 165F.

If you’re not making tofu, serve soy milk hot or cold, stir in desired flavorings like 2 tablespoons or more of honey, 1/2 to 1 teaspoon grated ginger root, and a sprinkle of sea salt into hot soy milk.

To make the tofu:

Dissolve 4 teaspoons of nigari in a cup of lukewarm water. Stir until the powder is dissolved. Stirring the warm soy milk, add the nigari liquid in stages, waiting a bit between additions. As soon as the curd starts to separate from the liquid, stop adding.

Turn off the heat, and put a tight fitting lid on the pot. Leave for at least 15 minutes, then check, stirring very gently to see the state of the curds. The curds should be fairly large (like cottage cheese) and totally separated from the yellowish liquid. If the curds have not separated, add the remainder of the nigari liquid. Replace the lid and let stand for an additional 10 to 15 minutes.

Line the tofu mold with a damp, clean cheese cloth or towel. When the tofu is ready, the white curds will have sunk to the bottom. Ladle or pour off most of yellowish whey.

Place the tofu mold into a baking dish. Scoop the curds into the cloth lined tofu mold, waiting for the liquid to drain before adding more curds. Once all the curd has been used, fold the cloth over to cover. Place a weight on top (I like to use canned tomatoes or a quart-jar filled with water), to help to press out the liquid.

Leave the tofu to rest at least 15 minutes, or up to overnight, depending on the firmness desired. Tofu is ready when it’s  firm enough to hold together. Fill a large bowl with water, and gently invert the tofu. Carefully peel off the cloth. Rinse tofu under running water to remove excess bitterness. Store tofu in a container filled with fresh water. Change water every day until your ready to use it.