August 23, 2012
comments 21

How to wash lentils


So much for carnivorousness, I can’t get enough of lentils lately.  I’ve written about lentils before, so you know about their late appearance in my diet.  What I haven’t written about is their first, and how I learned to cook them.

When I was 16 a couple stayed in the cottage my grandparents used to rent out on their farm.  The pair had recently returned to New Zealand after several years living and working as missionaries in India.  They continued to cook the vegetarian Indian cuisine they had grown to love, and one day the woman (her name escapes me) offered to teach me how to make dhal and chapati.  Not only was it my first taste of lentils, but also the first time that I cooked with spices like ground cumin and coriander, both now staples in my kitchen.  I recall that we used garam masala as well, which still sounds wonderfully exotic to my ears.


The tiny size of lentils means that it is easy for small stones, clumps of dirt and other foreign objects like wheat, to go unnoticed during the packaging process.  Therefore, the first step in cooking lentils is to thoroughly sort and wash them.  My teacher on that day  thoroughly drummed into my head the importance of washing lentils, telling me that in India, bits of glass and animal dung frequently lurked in addition to stones, dirt and wheat.  Her method for sorting lentils involved tipping them in thin layers onto a large flat plate, meticulously sorting them a little at a time.  The lentils I buy these days tend to be reasonably free of extranea, so I have fallen into the lazy practice of slowly sprinkling the lentils into a large bowl and relying on my eyes to notice anything unusual.  I still religiously follow her washing procedure however.

To wash lentils properly, I was taught to place them in a large bowl and fill it with plenty of cold water.  Scoop up handfuls of the lentils and scrub them by rubbing your palms together.  Split red lentils are usually quite dusty, and the water will turn milky very quickly.  After a thorough scrubbing, drain off the water and refill with clean water.  Swish the water, drain, and repeat until the water runs clear.  This usually takes six or seven rinses for red lentils, split peas and moong dhal, and as little as two for green or brown lentils.




I remember that day that the pungent onions made my eyes water terribly, and that I rubbed them in search of relief, stupidly not realising that I still had fresh onion juice on my hands. Later, the dhal we had prepared didn’t exactly win me over.  I think that the intense spices and mealy texture were just too strange for a 16-year-old reared on a conventional New Zealand diet.  Fast forward a few years…(ok, ok, maybe 15-ish, cough, cough), and I love lentils – I love how easy they are to prepare, how nourishing they are, how light and easy to digest, how they take on flavours so readily.

So, now that you have a bowl of freshly washed lentils, one of the easiest things to do with them is to make soup.  I have a whole raft of lentil soup recipes in regular rotation throughout winter; this one is only the most recent acquisition.  I found it originally in a food blog I’ve been reading lately, but the recipe actually originates from the back of the MacKenzie’s red lentil packet.  I’ve constructed my own version of the soup drawing from elements of both.  It’s humble and comforting, and best of all, comes together with minimal effort in no more than 45 minutes.

Red Lentil and Sweet Potato Soup

Adapted from Scandi Foodie and MacKenzie’s Red Lentils

1 tablespoon extra-virgin coconut oil, or olive oil
1 large onion, finely chopped
1 large garlic clove, finely chopped
1 Tbsp fresh ginger, finely grated
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon ground turmeric
1 cup red lentils, sorted and washed
1 medium sweet potato, peeled and cut into chunks (or kumara, for NZers)
2 medium carrots, peeled and diced
5-6 cups water
Tamari or sea salt to taste
Freshly ground black pepper
Chopped flat leaf parsley

Heat the coconut oil in a large heavy-based pan over a medium heat.  Add onion and sweat for a few minutes.  Add the garlic, ginger and spices, and gently fry for another few minutes.

Add the lentils, sweet potato, carrots and water and bring to the boil.  Lower the heat and simmer for 30 minutes or until the lentils are falling apart and the carrot and sweet potatoes are tender.

Season the mixture with tamari or salt and freshly ground black pepper, then puree using a stick blender.  I usually start with about 1 Tbsp tamari or 1 tsp salt, and then add more as required.  Serve topped with plenty of chopped parsley.

Filed under: Eat
August 17, 2012
comments 6

Light and Shadow


Slightly obsessed with shadows lately, not exactly sure why.

The best shadows can be found in the early morning when the winter sun streams into our apartment.  We leave the blinds in the lounge open overnight purely for the pleasure of being bathed in golden light as soon as we open the bedroom door.  The same light creates intricate patterns on the walls, thanks to the security frames on the windows.  By late afternoon the sun appears again on the back balcony, this time making shadows from the giant palms in the garden.

But still, why shadows?  I think these images actually say more about the way that taking photos has wended its way into my being.  I’ve had a half decent camera for a few years now, but I’m taking ten times the amount of photos I did in previous years.  To get up in the morning, stumble bleary-eyed into the kitchen, and pause to take a few photos of nothing but a shadow on the wall before I’ve even dressed properly, well that’s just not something I did before.  I’m definitely not uninfluenced, and must acknowledge the likes of Brian Ferry and Michael Muller, and their ability to elevate the ordinary.  I admire first, their consideration of floors, patches of sunlight, and window ledges as serious subject matter; and second, their skill in creating simple, modest and restful images.  I’m not technically experienced at all (barely doing more than pointing and eschewing the flash), but I like to think that their style takes an eye for detail and a sensitivity in composition that is half the effort of a pleasing image.  Most of all, I like thinking that it takes a willingness to pause amidst the transience and bustle of life. This, maybe,is what my shadow photos are about: baby-attempts to stop, notice, and record.

For some serious shadow eye-candy (eye-shadow?), check out these video clips of a mesmerising Chinese dancer, a haunting shadow animation (worth checking out for the background music alone), and Peter Brings the Shadow to Life.

August 5, 2012
comments 7

On Betrayal: A darker side of taste

The food blogosphere is a unique space, one which I hugely enjoy.  I currently have 38 food blogs bookmarked, and I check in on all of them every week or two.  They are a fantastic source of inspiration and information.  I am frequently bowled over by people’s creativity, their expressive writing, achingly beautiful photos, and the sheer energy they put into crafting the identity and look of their blog.

Despite this, at times I get a bit bored with all the perfect food captured in perfect photos, and the perfectly quirky stories of lives so much more exciting than my own.  We’re all supposed to have such creative and educated palates these days that no-one would dream of posting a recipe that is less than perfect. No one says, this soup is ok; it’s not what I was hoping to achieve, but you know, it’s perfectly edible if there’s nothing else in the house and you only have yourself to feed, and here’s a crappy photo that I took on my crappy camera and can’t be bothered to photoshop because I’d rather wash my hair.  Obviously you wouldn’t bother to have a food blog that you didn’t put effort into, but all this perfection can be tiring.  I love the food blogosphere, but sometimes it appears as one endless stream of Proustian moments; one great porridge of recycled, blissful salivation.  We all know that food can often be disappointing; occasionally downright disgusting.  Why don’t we blog about this dark-side of food?

In this vein, I offer here a story about the taste of apples.  Despite the appearance of cake, the story centres on failure, and a lingering disappointment in your mouth.

On Betrayal: A Darker Side of Taste

Scene 1
[Curtains open, revealing a bustling farmers market.  A large stand at centre stage displays a wide variety of apples.  The dusky skins, withered stems and rustic leaves still attached are a world away from waxy, plastic-stickered supermarket apples.  A spotlight illuminates a crate of yellow apples, and a sign reads “The Champagne of Apples”. A couple enters from stage left; orchestra plays soft, lilting music]

Boy: “Our bus will be here soon, let’s hurry, I want to get to the gym this morning”
Girl: “Yeah these bags are getting heavy, oh wait, I’ll just have a quick look at the apples.  You go, I’ll catch up”
She quickly scans the offerings, then stands stock still as she spies the yellow apples.  Another marketer almost walks into her and grumbles, walking around her.  She is oblivious, and walks over and picks up an apple, examining the lemony-yellow skin freckled with delicate red spots.
Stall Owner: Who looks suspiciously like Heston Blumenthal, “Good morning!”
Girl: “Hi!  I’ve never seen these apples before, they’re beautiful”
Stall Owner: “They’re Granny Smith apples”
Girl: “But they look nothing like Granny Smith’s”
Stall Owner: “That’s because they’ve been left on the tree through the winter and have been through a few frosts. They’re actually my favourite apple.  Would you like to try a slice?”
Girl: “Yes please”
Takes slice and bites into it as [Stall Owner] moves away to another customer.  As she chews we see her eyes widen and her breathing become shallow as she gazes with wonder at the apple.  [Lights fade, except for a spotlight on the girl.  The music becomes expansive and energised]
Girl: Singing:

“It’s soooooo juicy, oh so juicy!
So tender, so tender, yet crunchy!
The flavour is so complex and lively,
It is singing, singing on my tounge!
Oh apple, I have never known an apple like you before, not like you before,
I had no idea, that it could be like this,
That apples, could have such depth of character.
I feel like I have discovered a forgotten and ancient apple tree,
At the very back of an over-grown orchard.
Oh apple, apple you are timeless,
You are [dramatic pause…] as apples should be.”

She starts filling a bag, sorting through the pile to find the most delicately spotted specimens.  Suddenly, her face lights up even more.  [A faint halo of light appears behind her head, and the music rises in a dramatic crescendo]
Girl: “I’m going to blog about these apples!  Yes!  What an inspired post this is going to be!  I have such clarity, such vision!  I can already envision the photographs I am going to take, with the light just so.  I am already forming the words in my head!  This post will achieve an exquisite distallation of experience that has never been blogged before!  I will capture this apple, communicate its essence, and inspire thousands!”
Pauses to look at the apples in her bag, and then back at the pile.
Girl: “How much money have I got left?  Can I afford to buy one more without having to run after [Boy] like a little woman?  Oh, I’ll just risk it”
Lights rise again to reveal [Stall Owner] looking at [Girl] quizzically as she fumbles with her purse, pops the last piece of apple in her mouth, chews ecstatically, then sighs.
Girl: “I’ll take these thanks”  They exchange money and she walks on to [Boy] waiting impatiently ahead.
Girl: “You won’t believe these apples, they are incredible…”
Boy: Cuts in, “Hurry up, I can see the bus coming…”
[Lights fade and curtains close]

Scene 2
[Curtains open to reveal a small inner city apartment.  [Girl] is unpacking bags of fruit and vegetables]

Girl:Talking to herself, “I’m so glad we went to the market today, I feel so satisfied and wholesome, and those apples, oh!  Those apples!  How can I ever shop for apples at the supermarket ever again?  Life is good.  The sun is shining, I’m in love with [Boy] and now, I have these apples.  They’re basically the cherry crowning the chocolate sauce on the most amazing icecream sundae that is my life.  Where’s my camera?”
Pulls out her camera, and proceeds to arrange the apples on the table and snap away, trying different angles and composition, occasionally stopping to pick up an apple, gaze at the red freckles, and sniff the skin.
Girl: “I can’t wait any longer, I must eat one.”
Picking up an apple, she bites into it, closes her eyes, and chews expectantly.  With a puzzled expression, she looks at the apple, then takes another bite.  [Lights darken, and the music is wistful]
Girl: “What’s going on, why isn’t it as good?  It’s tasty, but just not the same”
Eats another apple, growing steadily more disconcerted.  [Lights take on an ominous green tinge, and the music grows mournful]
Girl: “I can’t get it back, that clarity, that purity of flavour.  Where is it?  I’m confused.  It’s the same apple, but not the same.  Maybe I’ll try one more” 
Eats another apple, then in a frenzy, devours three more, juice squirting and pips flying about the room.  She sits with her head in her hands, shaking, then takes a deep breath. 
Girl: “I just don’t get it.  Not one of these apples has returned me to the dizzying heights of that stall-side moment.  Why?  Did I over-think it?  Was it a mistake to name that apple as the penultimate apple experience?  In doing so, did I render that delicious taste Ideal, and from henceforth, unreachable?  God knows I’ve tried.  But I have utterly failed to retrieve the specific taste memory that had seemed so clear.  Now I can’t even seem to identify the precise nuances in the apple.  I find myself arriving only at a series of hopeful references to guava and grape, and even worse, questionable profundities such as “the essence of spring to come”!  This is hopeless.  I am totally discombobulated.” 
Rising from the table, she walks to the window.  [The music is dark and dramatic]
Girl: “That single slice of apple did something to me.  It transported me, dammit, to a higher plane; possessed me completely, then kicked the skin and bones that were left back to earth.  I’m left with only the faintest shadow of memory, slipping through my fingers like dry sand, leaving me to doubt the very existence of the experience.  How can I blog in the face of this kind of betrayal?”
She looks thoroughly dejected.  It starts to rain and a rumble of thunder can be heard in the distance.
[Curtains close]

Scene 3
[Curtains open.  [Girl] is in a kitchen, surrounded by flour, sugar and eggs.  A laptop perched on the breakfast bar displays a recipe]

Girl: Cackling quietly, “Apples, apples, apples.  You sweet and deceptively innocent apples.  Mess with me, I’m going to cook you down!  I’m going to destroy your freshness and turn you into cake.  And I have just the cake for you, an Apple Custard Cake that’s been on my mind for months, just waiting for you, sweet little apples.  I don’t even have a vanilla pod, like the recipe demands, but I’m going to make an inspired substitution with 3/4 tsp ground cinnamon and 1/8 tsp ground cardamom.  Oh apples, I’m going to regain control over you!”
Laughing, she peels and chops the apples, stirs them into the batter, then pops the tin in the oven.  [Lights fade, then rise again] as she removes the cake from the oven.
Girl: “Oh this smells great. It’s so golden, and the edges are lovely and crunchy”
Boy: “Is that cake I smell?”
Girl: “Yes, come and have some, here, I’ll just cut it”
They enthusiastically tuck into the cake.
Girl: “Oh it’s lovely!  The apples are so tender!  And gosh that blogger is so right about sprinkling a touch of sea salt over the top to serve it.  It enhances the flavour perfectly”
Boy: “I agree, I was suspicious at first, but it’s great!  This cake is so worth the 600 crunches I am going to have to do tomorrow.  I must also say, my darling, that your addition of cinnamon and cardamom was a brilliant move, you are truely talented”
Girl: “Thank you, I feel totally vindicated – take that “Champagne of Apples”!
[Boy] leans forward to kiss her as [lights fade; Spotlight Stage Right] as the Stall Owner walks on stage.  It is now clear that he is indeed Heston Blumenthal.
Stall Owner/Heston: Intones with authority, “What could be more simple than a girl and some apples?  Our heroine is perhaps a bit over-sensitive, you might say, a touch potty in the head.  Not so, I argue.  While she certainly has yet to hit on the true meaning of this tale, she is close, so close.  Give her time; eventually she’ll realise that the failure was not of the apples, and that the failure was certainly not of her.  The failure, quite simply, had nothing to do with the placing of apple in mouth; it was a failure of context.  A slice of apple, proffered by a handsome and charming Stall Owner, in a bustling market on a fresh winter’s day, well, it could never be simply a slice of apple.  It was the context of this experience that made the taste so memorable, my friends, ‘the context of this experience’ [says meaningfully].  This is the moral of this story: taste is never simply a chemical and textural mouth experience.  No, it is also filtered through other energies, like atmosphere, setting, other symbols, other information.  If you pay attention, my friends, you too will find that no apple is ever the same twice.”
[Lights fade; curtains fall; music rises, Hot Chocolate: “It Started With A Kiss”]

{Thanks guys, for still inspiring me}


Filed under: Eat
July 23, 2012
comments 4

Simple


Mum did almost all the cooking in our house when I was growing up.  Dad was (is) a self-employed building contractor who generally came home from long days on site to spend evenings doing paperwork in his home office.  Dad did have a few specialties that were almost always his responsibility on weekends and in the mornings.  Besides the usual masculine culinary domains (summer barbecuing and fish-smoking), I remember that Dad always took charge of two staple dishes at home: poaching eggs and preparing porridge.  Both dishes are deceptively simple, but Dad has his techniques finely honed.  In fact I have yet to match his skill at poaching eggs, and my slap-dash approach to porridge does fail to hit the mark on occasion.  Dad’s porridge was always reliably creamy, and I ate it almost every morning as a child, sprinkled generously with brown sugar, wheat germ, and Sanitarium bran flakes. Sometimes I would stir the whole lot together; other times I would retain the layers, carefully working my spoon around the edges of the plate, chasing the diminishing ring of milk.

I’ve been craving simple and nourishing foods lately.  Although the winter is still far from chilly I’ve been under the weather a fair bit and a warm and soothing start to the day just feels right.  Porridge is synonymous with rolled oats, although it technically refers to the process of boiling any cereal grain in water or milk.  These days I tend to make porridge from brown rice and it still surprises me how many turned-up noses I get in response to this.  It seems that most people see rice as a savoury accompaniment, to which I protest “think rice pudding!”, usually to no avail.  People also find it difficult to understand why I tend to dump a heaped teaspoonful of almond butter on the top, a practice that is construed as completely weird.  Maybe it’s just that I have tampered with a classic dish and that all would be well if I referred to my brown rice breakfast by some other name – “rice-mash” perhaps?  “Sweet rice soup”?  Whatever the case, I love it because like its rolled oat counterpart, it manages to be rib-sticking yet light, comforting yet bracingly healthy.

This recipe originates from my strict dairy-free days so I make mine with rice milk (there goes another faux pas), but I imagine that cow’s milk also works fine.  I always make it with short-grain brown rice that has been well-cooked, and by this I mean that the kernels have become sticky and are just starting to lose their structural integrity (a rice cooker is best).  Don’t be tempted to make this with white rice; it’s the nuttiness and substance of brown rice that are essential here.

{Aside: For another simple pleasure, to start your day or end it, check out this post featuring classic Nina Simone and several impressive covers}

Brown Rice Porridge

1-1 1/2 cups well-cooked short-grain brown rice, depending on your hunger level
About 1/2 cup rice milk, or regular milk
Handful of frozen blueberries (optional)
To serve:
1-2 tsp maple syrup
1-2 tsp almond butter

Blend rice and milk together until incorporated but still textured.  Adjust the amount of milk as desired.  I prefer a thick-ish porridge, so 1/2 a cup is usually fine.  I find that a stick blender does the job, but ensure that you use a jug that is deep enough, as believe me when I say that spraying half your porridge up the kitchen wall is not the best start to your day.  I blend my rice in a Pyrex jug, but if multiplying the quantities to feed several people, then a bench-top blender or food processor would probably be the best option.

Heat the rice in a small saucepan for a few minutes or in the microwave for about a minute and a half, adding some frozen blueberries if desired.  Transfer the heated rice to a bowl and top with maple syrup and almond butter, or other more conventional toppings if these seem too bizarre.  I really do encourage you though, to give these suggestions a try – the almond butter provides richness and ups the protein content, while the maple syrup is just plain delicious.

Eat on your balcony if it’s a sunny morning; back in your bed if it’s grey.

Filed under: Eat