Archive for the ‘Ingredients’ Category

Grapefruit Cardamom Dressing with Hazelnut Oil

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We eat a lot of salads in this house. Raw, cut veggies, too. Hence, we tend to go through a lot of dressing. We have our go-to favorites, and though I’m always buying new bottles to sample, they never quite become a regular in our household. So, we rotate through our three dressings, and then start over again. It can get tiring quick. Also, store bought salad dressing can contain a lot of junk—salt, hydrogenated oil, and, if they’re creamy especially, fat. I prefer oil and vinegar, or citrus based dressings. And I like them subtle. I don’t like to pucker when I take a bite!

When I can, or when a recipe calls for it, I’ll make my own dressing. Many of the recipes I find, however, use a half and half ratio–half vinegar, half oil. I prefer less oil in mine, and usually cut that portion down to one-third, or even one-quarter. You can easily adjust the ratio in your homemade dressings, too. Try playing with the following recipe and see what you prefer.

Note: I found this hazelnut oil at Safeway, with the rest of their oils. Though on the pricey side, it has great, nutty flavor, and a little goes a long way. For a different flavor, try pairing the hazelnut oil with different vinegars and citrus juice, as well. I’m also anxious to try this oil in stir-fry, as a variation of sesame oil. I have a recipe that contains chicken, hazelnuts, dried cherries, and spinach that it’d go well with. Actually, those ingredients sound good in a salad, too!

Ingredients:

juice from two large grapefruits, sans seeds
1-2 tbsp. sugar (adjust depending on sweetness of grapefruits)
1 tsp. cardamom
6 tbsp. hazelnut oil

Method:

In a small saucepan heat the grapefruit juice and sugar over low until the sugar is melted. Let cool. Whisk in cardamom powder and hazelnut oil. If not using immediately, pour into a jar. It should keep for about one week. Shake well before use, as the juice and oil will separate.

The Champagne Mango

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It took me a long time to like mangoes. They were something I had to warm up to through cooking. I tried eating one plain, and truth be told, it disgusted me for reasons I can’t articulate. Then, because I’m not one to easily give up on things, I made a mango cheesecake. Divine! Shortly afterwards, I prepared a mango salsa, which is part of a recipe my dad makes—Chicken Wraps with Asian Slaw and Mango Salsa. This was even better than the cheesecake. And like that, I became a mango fan. I’ve since learned to eat them plain, but that’s still not my preferred method. At least it wasn’t until I met the Champagne.

The Champagne mango, also known as an Ataulfo mango, is smaller, sweeter, and less fibrous than the more common varieties. It’s like the ice cream of mangoes, with a rich, creamy, buttery texture. Delectable. I could eat them by the dozen. The one downfall? As far as I know, all Champagne’s are imported from Mexico. Though, apparently, the seed originated in Hawaii. Either way, they have a very long way to go, and consume a lot of oil to get there. Try one though, because not every part of life can be ideal and practical, and everyone must have at least one guilty pleasure.

The mango season runs March through July, so hurry up and get to the fruit stand!

One more thing: I’ve never decided whether the skin of a mango is meant to be peeled or eaten. I’ve done both, but generally prefer to have the skin removed. What’s the official “rule”?

THE CHERIMOYA

by Mike Young

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I’m sure you’ve all heard of the cherimoya, one of the most popular fruits among American motorcycle stunt people, jewelers, and designers of new frisking techniques. Commonly called the “custard apple,” this lovely fruit originated in South America, where the Incas cultivated it on the slopes of the Andes. Now grown in select spots of Southern California, the cherimoya is a fickle fruit that needs hillside soil, ocean moisture, and plenty of time away from the sun.

Cherimoya, actually, means “cold seeds.” The Incas say that the cherimoya doesn’t like snow, but it does like to see the snow off in the distance. Isn’t that cool? Many cherimoya propaganda sites claim that Mark Twain called this custard apple “deliciousness itself.” I am having trouble coming up with synonyms, because both cherimoya and custard apple are very fun to say.

Pick cherimoyas that are hardish, light and without spots. I’ve heard it’s best to let them ripen a few days, but who wants to do that? If you’re fussy, they turn brown when ripe. If you’re really fussy, a drop of lime juice brings out the sweetness.

Really, cherimoyas are best chilled. Cut your cherimoya with a knife. Dig out what seeds you see. Be sure not to eat the seeds: they’re poisonous. Use a spoon to eat the fruit meat. The texture, yes, is like custard, but more melty. I tasted bubblegum on my first try, a less obnoxious bubblegum, with maybe some banana or melon. For “the world’s most exquisite fruit,” the cherimoya has a very fun and unpretentious taste. Like if I cut up pieces and took them out to the monkeybars, no one would throw gravel at me.

When I bought my first cherimoya, I froze a little bit and ate it later, and it really did taste like ice cream. Since I don’t eat ice cream anymore, I am happy to find a fruit that somewhat replaces it. Maybe if I mixed custard apple with caramel and brownie chunks, it would be like old times, before the empty mattress, the burned-up kitchen bulb, the cold razors and the scruff of dawn wind against my sad sad teeth—just kidding. I got a little carried away.

So yes, you should try them. If you see them, buy them quickly, before anyone else, especially before the passive-aggressive yuppies who may try to get there before you. Custard apples have a short growing season. They usually arrive around early May and stay for only a month. Yuppies, unfortunately, live forever. Little known fact.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Mike Young is not lying about the ice cream thing. What a downer, eh? He co-edits NOÖ Journal , a literary/political magazine. His fiction and poetry have appeared widely. Visit his personal site.

The Sweet Potato vs. The Yam

sweetpotatoyam2.jpg Okay, so I set out to set the record straight about the difference between a sweet potato and a yam, but the more I read, the more sources I consulted, the more confused I became.

One is orange. The other is white. Wait. Both are orange. No, no, no. The flesh of a sweet potato is yellow. And if you don’t like those colors, there’s also purple, pink and dark brown! Aaaarrgh!

Let me break it down for you.

According to The Joy of Cooking, when they say sweet potatoes, they are referring to the yellow-gray to brown skin kind, the ones with the yellowish-white, dry, mealy flesh. When they say yam, they mean those with the copper skin and sweet, orange flesh. Okay, good. That’s what I thought. But wait! They go on to say that true yams are not related to any of these sweet potatoes. “They are tropical tubers with crisp, bland, white to yellow flesh.” Huh? So why call it a yam, if it’s really a sweet potato? That’s ridiculous and erroneous, if you ask me.

Looking at The Essential Cookbook, which is loaded with information and pictures on almost every type of food and cooking equipment you can think of, confirmed that those orange things that we call yams, are indeed sweet potatoes. Their pictures show an orange-fleshed sweet potato, and a yellow-fleshed variety, though the look the same to me. According to them, the yam, on the other hand, is white or yellow, similar in texture to potatoes, and is much sweeter and moister than the sweet potato.

Yeah, that didn’t help, did it? What about that yellow-white, mealy, dry sweet potato The Joy of Cooking mentioned? And why do they say true yams are bland, when The Essential Cookbook claims they are moist and sweet?

Let’s turn to source number three: the Sunday’s at Moosewood Restaurant Cookbook. They say that, in the United States, all those orange tubers, large or small, short or long, tan-colored or brick-red, are all sweet potatoes. True yams are white fleshed and grow only in tropical countries. Well, that’s nice, but bananas grow only in tropical countries, and we can get them!!

They also say there are two varieties of the sweet potato: the dry flesh and the moist flesh. The potatoes with the brick red exterior are moist flesh, and are the type most often mislabeled yams.

This still didn’t entirely clarify the issue for me. While I can now positively assert that those orange-fleshed things are sweet potatoes, I’m still confused about the yam. Since The Joy of Cooking is the only source that, so far, mentions a yellowish-white variety of a sweet potato, I have to wonder if they are wrong. Is this actually a yam? And if the yam is only grown in tropical climates, and not often found in markets in the United States, then what were those thick tannish-yellow skinned things with the sweet white flesh I bought from Safeway last year but haven’t been able to find since? Was that a yam? Did I actually taste a true yam? The elusive, true, yam?

To try and answer that question, I did some digging online. On the Seeds of Knowledge website, I found an article by Jennifer A. Wickes the editor at “Cookbook Reviews” and “Cooking With The Seasons.” She said there are two varieties of the sweet potato, and one is, indeed, a pale version.

The botany site at UCLA sounded eerily like The Joy of Cooking, saying “sweet potato has many cultivated forms, but in the United States two forms are common: (1) the dry, mealy, yellow sweet potato, and (2) the watery, orange ‘yam,’ which is not, of course, a true yam.” But okay, I was getting somewhere. There is a white-fleshed variety in addition the more common orange-fleshed kind. And both are sweet potatoes. Well, unless they are yams…

I was still not sure if what I purchased last year was a true yam. But looking at the pictures at The Cook’s Thesaurus has me thinking not. Sweet potato number four is the culprit. And it is, indeed, a sweet potato. (The kind I like better, in fact!) So unless you’re in the tropics, or a specialty market, you’ll most certainly be purchasing sweet potatoes. No matter what they are labeled.