Locally Grown Girl

the planet is just so hungry

There is a super cool exhibit at UW's Burke Museum right, called Hungry Planet. The guts of this mobile exhibit are made of Peter Menzel's cool photos of what families and their week's food look like around the world. No surprise--the US has a lot of fast food, a billion gallons of soda and beer and just four people. Japan's has a ton of plastic packaging. Ecuador's grocery shopping involves the family mom strapping 100 pounds of potatoes to her back and walking it home across a mountaintop. The photos combine voyeurism with liberal guilt in a compelling way. 

I got rather spazzily excited about it all, and started a project for work about it, called Hungry City: Seattle. I took a photo of my week's food (with a TON of caveats). You might dig it. Find it here. 

I don't mean for this post to seem all self-promotional bullshitty; it's just that I don't really want to rewrite the whole work-blog entry here, and the Burke really did get me all spazzily excited. You should go see the exhibit; it's around 'til the first week in June or thereabouts. I'm really glad I don't have to buy drinking water or schlep 100 pounds of potatoes on my back while my husband leads a donkey home from the store, which is many roadless miles away. Three cheers for first world problems, like my frustration regarding the cheese selection in my immediate neighborhood. 

what can't you do in a shipping container?

First I learned about Stockbox. Which is brilliant. Even the New York Times thinks they're worth paying attention to. 

Today brings bliss: pop-up restaurants and a beer garden in a stalled-out construction project. I know of a few stretches where this would be really cool--frequently in areas that aren't really in neighborhoods so much as in between neighborhoods--not necessarily walkable, but missing out on annoying NIMBYs who'd freak out at the idea of people drinking a beer outside. 

packaging

Getting cabin fever with my cold, so I ventured out this afternoon for pho deep in the Rainier Valley. Afterwards, I popped into my favorite Vietnamese bakery--Q Bakery at Graham & MLK (which is not remotely Columbia City, as Yelp claims). I picked up a rather random selection of treats--custard puffs, something like housemade corn nuts, sesame caramel patties, housemade yogurt (which is half sweetened condensed milk and SO GOOD), a couple giant/delicious/preposterously cheap sesame bread sticks (seriously--the size of my arm, for 60 cents). After I was rung up, Cap'n pointed out a case tucked in the corner that had various canned goods--mostly pates of various kinds, and some fancy tins of mushrooms. The weird one was butter. 

The diameter was similar to a CD, and about as tall as a large can of tuna--either 11 or 12 ounce total. It was a sad greyish-lilac color, like a dingy 80s bridesmaid dress, with darker cursive writing on it. The name brand wasn't obvious, but I remember it starting with a B. Basically all I can find online for canned butter is this Red Feather brand, which is from New Zealand or possibly Australia, depending on which web source I trust. There's one Austalian company that seems to make five different brands of canned butter, primarily for the Asian market, but with at least a small clientele of survivalist weirdos from around the world. I hesitated at the $11 price--my fancy farmers market butter is about 65 cents per ounce and this stuff is about a buck an ounce. I'll pick some up on my next trip just to try it--a few bloggers mention that they tried other brands on a whim after a trip to an Asian grocery store, and were surprised at the high quality. 

Finding it feels a bit like finding milk in a vacu-bag. It's perfectly reasonable for that food to be in that packaging, and it could be totally common in other regions--but it's not at all what I'm used to seeing.  

devil in the details

Writing a cookbook and editing another one put an end to this blog for a long time. Attempting to revive; we shall see.

I just got a press release from a restaurant I like, doing a new thing I am excited about: every Monday night, they're going to do a special menu from the countries of northern Africa, popping over to the eastern edge of the Mediterranean Sea in some cases. I love this food, and there's not enough of it in Seattle, and so I am excited. The press release, in attempting to describe the region, calls it "the Muslim world". (my god! would they ever call Italy and France "the Catholic world? Or describe a German restaurant as featuring food from "the Lutheran world?") I rolled my eyes and kept scrolling down, where I see the list of countries that will be the focus of each of the coming months. One of the countries is Israel. The final set of countries are Berber; typically (but not entirely) Muslim but not Arab. The name of the series is the unfortunate Arabesque.

Again, I like the food and I like the restaurant. But I also like to think that one of the points of eating food from regions around the world is so you learn something about the people--true and interesting things, rather than "oh them, they're all Muslim, plus Arab!" And, silly me, I know, but I'd like to think that even if whoever wrote the press release is a dope, that some non-dope at the restaurant might have read this and approved it. I'm sure I'll stop in a time or two in the next few months to see what the food's like, but more than that: I'll be poking around more down in the Rainier Valley, where I'll be offered bananas with Somali meals and delicious tea with Eretrian dinners, and can find halal Vietnamese (is Viet Nam in the "Muslim world?") and both Iraqi and Armenian falafel.

Let Me Rock You

I really should stop calling my favorite new dish Chaka Khan. It's probably too late, and will forever be remembered as Chaka Khan, but if you want to call it by its correct name, call it shakshuka. Or shakshouka. Or, in the words of my great-uncle Eldridge, call it anything but late for dinner.

The background: Cap'n's cousin is teaching at an American school in Israel. He's quite the little (ok, he's like 6' 7") foodie, and has worked at a few places in town with some of my favorite chefs. He's the one who told me about it, and when he was in town for xmas, we hosted the big family meal and asked him what Israeli dish we could make to go along with the turkey-n-whatnot. Chaka Khan was his suggestion, and I started off with a recipe I found online, right over here.

I can't believe it's greatness. First: easy, and not reliant on impossible-to-find ingredients. Second: unusual, in that I don't normally think of paprika as a primary seasoning. Third: remarkable, in that it's just another onion-pepper-tomato sauce, but it's so different than any of the other standard onion-pepper-tomato sauces I've eaten. On xmas, we served it as above in the link, with poached eggs. This week, we skipped the poached eggs and just offered feta, for those who wanted it. I've also eaten it with neither eggs nor feta, and it's awesome.

Here's my version:
2 Tablespoons olive oil
1 yellow onion, diced
3 garlic cloves, minced
1 jalepeno, diced (with seeds and core)
2 red bell peppers, seeded and diced
48 ounces canned, diced tomatoes, strained, reserving the juice
3/4 teaspoon cayenne
2 teaspoons sweet paprika
1 teaspoon turmeric
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
fresh ground black pepper to taste
1/2 cup chicken or turkey stock
In a large saucepan, heat the olive oil over medium high heat, and add the onions. Saute until the onions are pale gold. Add garlic, jalepeno and red bell peppers, and saute a few more minutes. Add strained tomatoes. Add the rest of the spices and salt, and stir until evenly blended. Add reserved tomato juice and broth, stir, and bring to a full boil.
Reduce heat to low and simmer until most of the liquid is gone and the sauce is very thick--plan on around an hour, stirring every 5-10 minutes and adjusting the heat as necessary to maintain a consistent simmer.

To finish the dish, you can top with eggs and poach them in the sauce, or add grilled sausages, extra vegetables or scrambled eggs. My preferred way--so far--of eating is with good pita bread, feta cheese, and a sprinkle of zaatar.

A note on the spices:
Get good sweet paprika. "Sweet" doesn't mean "sweet like sugar", it means "sweet like a bell pepper". I've been quite pleased with my regular purchases of it from Chef's Shop.
I bought my zaatar at Penzey's. It's fantastic--sumac, thyme, salt, sesame, and rosemary. Lara Ferroni gives a recipe for a homemade version over here. 

Fear of Rice, Redux

If anything in the world could ever get me to buy a rice cooker, it would be this bit of craziness from Roger Ebert (which my brother sent about a week ago).

I like food writing that includes references to typhoid. I also like the somewhat frantic inclusion of so many references--steak sauce, oatmeal, robots, strict diets, the previously-mentioned typhoid, a future cookbook, his techie ignorance, and a pile of recipes. And I like the idea of one magical device that feeds you for the rest of your life--he makes it sound more like a D&D magic item than an appliance. [In my best Simpson's nerd voice: I believe that would be a +4 Pot of Everlasting Deliciousness.]

Other than being surprised that I enjoyed reading Roger Ebert, I mostly reinforced something I already believed to be true: Nothing in the world actually will get me to purchase a rice cooker. I have one microwave in the four-butt kitchen already (did you not know that kitchen size is determined by the number of butts it can hold?), and I don't have to travel places where the only good place to eat is my hotel room. Having a friendly robot in the kitchen is nice to think about, but I'd rather hold out for a genuine C3PO etiquette droid. A rice cooker feels like aSegway: This is not the future I was promised.

My Fear of Rice is smaller than it used to be--now that I've learned that my far-and-away favorite way to eat rice is basmati, I've learned how to cook it. (This Kitchen Has Had 73 Days Without A Rice Accident!) I heat up a preposterous amount of butter, use it fry some cumin seed and onion, toast the rice, add the water, stir in a few pinches of salt, and try to ignore it for 18 minutes, give or take. The only change I make is to leave out the cumin on occasion. It's equally good with curry or with stirfry, and I even like it plain, unlike any other rice I've experienced.

If  you've actually cooked anything other than rice in a rice cooker, I would love to know how it went. Especially if you've made minotaur stew, as Ebert suggests.

Turkish Lavash Company

The last day of my neighborhood market is always sad: winter really is here now, I guess. Of course, we'll see The Stew Man in a few weeks when we pick up our quarter of beef, and we'll see a few other folks at the bigger year-round markets, but our friendly little one we can walk to is no more. Cap'n and I delivered quarts of pickles to our most commonly visited stalls (except Les; he doesn't like dills, he said).

This evening, my snack is some cider from Enumclaw and some bread called khoul, from the Turkish Lavash Company. TLC is a small bakery that I have become obsessed with. I find no references online to khoul as a bread, or a recipe. Lavash, while there are many recipes for that, are altogether different--it's a sour-ish tangy bread with benne seeds that is lovely with grilled meat or alongside a curry...but this khoul...its flaky blond crust haunts my dreams. I must learn the secret; I have big ideas for additions to this crusty flaky perfection. It's a pure puff of crisp and tender layers, awaiting whatever I wish. Right now, I wish for an apricot jam turnover.

The man who runs the stall (when his wife and two young children aren't around) is an extraordinary salesman. Lots of generous free samples every week, and he offers them even as he asks "same as last week?"Today he told me the breads would be available at the QFC on Broadway. Whether this is just his breads (not turned into premade sandwiches), or just one QFC location, who can say.

I will now be haunting the damned Planet QFC for the next week or two until I figure out what's actually being sold and where it hides. This khoul should be stacked up with the breakfast breads--it's perfect with any jam or soft farmer's cheese, or just crisp and hot with some fresh or dried fruit on the side. Mr. Turisk Lavash Company, I salute thee.

Ode to Mirch Masala

There is a profound relief I feel when a favorite restaurant that seems like it could use more business gets a rave review; I hope Mirch Masala gets busy enough so I don't have to worry, but not so busy I can't get a table. The opening of Mirch gave life on the Hill a new bonus: Now I don't have to drive to the U District for good Indian food. I won't bother duplicating the descriptions of its buttery goodness that are in that first link.

While I know what he means about the early overly-attentive service, of late I've found it just right. One much-appreciated tidbit is how lovely they've been in dealing with a toddler. When the toddler was a baby, the host would swoop in and carry him around the restaurant, showing off the delights of the buffet and generally giving the adults a chance to finish their meals. Now, it's mango lassis and extra plates and extra napkins and no grumpy looks when the kid throws a heap of peas onto the floor. It's never packed with kids, either, which is nice when you like kids you know but kids belonging to strangers are totally annoying. I can't be alone in having that bias.

It works well for a group of freelancers + toddler for the lunch buffet, but Cap'n and I have been for a few quiet dinners, too. The mushroom mater is one of my favorites; the lassis are tangy and thick like milkshakes, the chai isn't very sweet (a good thing for me) and there's now a happy hour for those who want one.

Last Thanksgiving and Christmas, they had a buffet that included a tandoori turkey, which I only include here because I think it's cute. Capitol Hill tends to empty out on those two holidays, but Seattle doesn't have much in the way of inexpensive restaurants for the holidays.

The Samosa Secret

1. On our first trip, the samosas were so delicious we made plans to kidnap the theoretical old lady who made them. And maybe the little man who told us we'd like the chutney because it's like ketchup. (There is no way that ketchup and mint chutney have anything in common.)
2. On our second trip, they were equally delicious, but we began to suspect something was up, like perhaps the lady made them and the shopman fried as needed throughout the day.
3. On our third trip, they were different. It was suggested we micro-vave them. We didn't, they were good, but it just added to our confusion.
4. On our fourth trip, Cap'n discovered that the kind little shopman was pulling cartons out of the freezer to fry samosas for us, like a...I dunno, a go-go taquito. It was a shock. They were, once again, delicious.
5. On the fifth trip, we "kidnapped the samosa queen" by simply buying a carton of samosas out of the freezer. The magic samosa is "Punjabi Style Jumbo Vegetarian Samosa" from Deep Foods. We had been paying $1.50 each, and feeling like that was a fine deal for how great they are. The carton of eight was six bucks, and came with two generous packets of the green chutney that we've started calling ketchup at some point in the last two months. We used the deep-fryer to fry four of them for dinner (with a pile of carrots for me and a salad for the Cap'n, we have not sunk that low, yet) and it was spectacularly great. They are an amazing product, and even knowing the truth--the "samosa lady" is a factory in India--they are still just pure pleasure. And the chutney is maybe the only frozen food condiment I've ever seen that contains not a single corn-based ingredient.

We have eaten samosas in New York, Vancouver and Seattle, in restaurants that range from very typical Seattle lunch buffet places to nice little Brooklyn neighborhood places that are quite different from Seattle's little neighborhood Indian places. In Vancouver, I've eaten at both Vij's and Rangoli, some of the best food I've ever eaten, period--and also at a night market, where it was halal and delicious and cheap.  But I've never had a samosa this good. My two current theories are

A: Indian food brands create frozen meals on a vastly better scale than American food brands. This won't be difficult to determine.

B: There is a vast Samosa Continuum, with US restaurant versions towards one end, and the Deep frozen ones further along. How much further along can only be determined by traveling to India and eating every samosa we're offered for about two months straight. This is more difficult to accomplish, as it should properly include home-cooked samosas from verifed non-pre-frozen sources. It should also include fancier restaurant versions, and standard lunch stall kinds. Maybe we'll learn that the Punjabi Style Jumbo Vegetarian is the best samosa on the planet. Maybe we'll find the right samosa queen to kidnap.

A Perfect Lunch

There is a restaurant in Seattle that I have been eating in for years. I get the same thing almost every time, because it's perfect, but on the rare occasions I've branched out, it's still absolutely delicious. There's an assortment of tasty little freebies that come with the meal, the service is friendly and quick, and there's never been a single mistake in an order. There's plenty of outdoor seating, and the longest wait before eating is 10 minutes.

It's the taco bus on Rainier Ave. Official name is Tacos el Asadero, but I've never actually heard anyone call it that.

My regular order is a carnitas taco, mulitplied by the moment's particular degree of hunger; usually two covers it, but today was a three-taco day. The handmade corn tortillas are a little bigger than my palm (or a little bigger than the maker's palm, which is the right size for a corn tortilla), and each taco comes with two; they're light and firm, with a few bubbles for variety in texture. The meat has been braised, shredded and fried so it's all tender and crispy at the same time. They're topped with raw onions, cilantro and a cooked red salsa; radishes, limes, peppers and pickled carrots are the freebies, all but the peppers are totally necessary. They recently raised the prices for the first time in...geez, has it been six years? So now each taco is a whopping $1.20. Former price: a buck.

It's perfectly fine if you order in Spanish, it being the first language of all the counterfolk I've seen, and everyone was nice when I used them to practice menu-spanish before traveling to Ecuador. English is perfectly fine too, although I expect it's possible to frazzle and annoy if you're a jackass who finds it necessary to place special orders at a taco bus.

Full and contented after lunch, and on the way to visit friends, I thought about other restaurants where I've eaten regularly and with pleasure over the years--the sort of place that counts as a fairly routine meal, rather than a special event. The only places similarly cheap are other taco trucks or bahn mi shops, so I thought about good sandwiches, pho, Thai noodles, and an assortment of restaurants where I tend to order the same thing because there's a particular dish I love. None of them have supplied the utterly consistent pleasure of the taco bus.

I hope that there are at least a few days each year when everyone gets a day off, but to the best of my knowlege they're open 10am-10pm every day. There are small signs in the last year that there's work being done on the garage next to where there bus lives. An old metal awning was taken out, the metal building is either being slowly repaired or they're careful to keep up with graffiti. I'm not sure if the changes are about building a non-bus to operate from, or if it's just my wishful thinking. Eating in a bus (or at the table next to the bus) is fun, but I wouldn't object to it being bigger.

In my dreams, they'll triple in size, sell beer, and open a second location in my living room. Oh taco bus, thou art more lovely and more temperate.