Category Archives: Home Cookin’

When Life Gives You Oranges, Make Marmalade

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Ever heard of a trifoliate orange? Me neither until a few weeks ago when my friends at Prospect Heights Community Farm were generously offering them, and since I never refuse anything even remotely edible, I accepted.

They’re about 1½ inches in diameter, slightly fuzzy, at once both sour and bitter, and contain more seeds than pulp – the very definition of a culinary challenge. I decided to try my hand at improvising marmalade. Since that’s a task I had never attempted, I reasoned that no one could criticize me if the result was less than stellar.

I sliced the peels, added the purported pulp, orange juice and sugar, and repeated the procedure using some sweet Valencia oranges (actual pulp!) to offset the aggressive components, and tossed in a handful of dried cranberries because I had some in the pantry (the reason I incorporate many left-field ingredients into my experiments) then cooked the mixture until it reached a marmalady consistency.

The outcome was surprisingly tasty for a first effort and complemented toasted English muffins and wedges of brie with equal appeal (no pun intended).

BUT: given the frequency of repeated tests involving a touch more of this and a lot more of that, I have quite a bit left over!

So what’s your favorite way to use orange marmalade?
 
 

Creamed Bacalhau

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To follow up on my last post, no trip to any Seabra’s is complete without a visit to the bacalhau department. Bacalhau (pronounced ba-kal-Yow) is dried, salted cod that’s used in purportedly thousands of recipes in Brazilian/Portuguese cuisine and I recommend that you try it even if you’re not a fan of fish (an afishionado, as it were). As a rule, the larger the Seabra’s, the bigger the seafood department, hence the wider the assortment of bacalhau varieties, provenance, and sizes from small chunks to whole fish. It goes without saying that it has a seriously long shelf life.

I generally purchase enough to make a few dishes like brandade and the creamed bacalhau shown here. It’s simple to execute, doesn’t require much time in the kitchen (i.e., not including a 2–3 day soak in the fridge to rehydrate and desalinate the fish), and is deliciously rewarding.

Here’s an oversimplification of what I did after soaking, rinsing, and draining the fish: Simmer the cod in water until it’s tender (it will break up). While that’s going, sauté chopped onions, garlic, and bell pepper in butter and set aside. Cook the softened cod a bit in more butter – it doesn’t take long. Add some half and half and continue to cook as the fish absorbs the liquid; you may need a few additions until it’s nearly saturated. The idea is to completely soften the fish and have no liquid remaining.

Add the aromatics back to the cod along with some thawed frozen peas and enough heavy cream to reach the consistency you desire. Add freshly ground black pepper, a bit of salt and any other seasonings you like as the spirit moves you. Cook to heat through.

I garnished it with chopped scallions and petits poivrons and plated it with glazed carrots on the side.

Sometimes I think that I could do an ethnojunket to the Ironbound just for Seabra’s, Nasto’s Ice Cream, and Teixeira’s Bakery (all posted on my website if you’re curious). Just a thought. 😉
 
 

Goblin’ Futomaki on Halloween

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Halloween is just around the corner and I wanted to indulge in something that didn’t involve Reese’s Cups, M&M’s, or Kit Kats, so I’ll be goblin’ futomaki that’s decked out in an All Hallows’ Eve costume – I guess that makes it both a trick and a treat. (But, not gonna lie, I’m waiting for the post-holiday sales: just as leftover Thanksgiving dinner tastes better the next day, so does leftover half-price Halloween candy.)

In obeisance to the official black and orange Halloween rubric, the black monstermaki (futomaki means thick or fat roll) is wrapped in nori, its conventional costume, and its orange sidekicks are swathed in soy wrappers that come in five flavors/colors: original soy, sesame, spinach green, turmeric yellow, and paprika orange.

I filled them with kani (krab sticks), avocado, cucumber, strips of sweet kanpyō (dried gourd) and most important, eel because – in keeping with the holiday spirit 👻 – it’s only one letter away from EEK!

And in case you’re wondering – no, I’m not handing out these spookomaki on October 31; the kids are supposed to scare me, not the other way around!
 
 

Qurutob

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Qurutob (you might see kurutob) is often said to be the national dish of Tajikistan. Essentially a bread salad (Tajikistan’s answer to Italy’s panzanella, perhaps?), qurutob ascends beyond the level of granting second life to shards from a stale loaf in that it features fresh fatir, a flaky, layered bread that provides the recipe’s foundation.

The distinguishing ingredient is a sauce made from qurut (you might see kurt), balls of dried, salty yogurt about ¾ of an inch in diameter that are crushed and rehydrated in hot water; shreds of bread are torn and soaked in the resulting liquid to form the base of the salad.

The next layer typically consists of tomatoes, cucumbers, onion slices (I sautéed them a bit to soften and sweeten), cilantro and other herbs. Sometimes bits of roasted lamb shank are added, but it’s optional. My garnish of choice was chopped scallion, toasted walnuts, and a few fresh chili peppers.


Mix well and try to get a bit of everything in each bite.


It’s a breeze to make and economical to boot. If you’re curious and you’d like to give it a go, both the bread and qurut are readily available either in Tashkent Market, Brooklyn or in Tashkent, Uzbekistan.

(Of course, traveling to Uzbekistan will render the proposition considerably less economical, but you do you. 😉)
 
 

Bicol Express

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One of my first posts on this website, “Dem Are Good!”, exposed my fondness for (read: addiction to) Nagaraya Butter Flavor Cracker Nuts. (IYKYK. And if you don’t, take my Ethnic Eats in Elmhurst food tour and I’ll hook you up – they’re called CRACKer Nuts for a reason.) Like all good things, it seems they have become harder to track down as the years have gone by, but my source, Phil-Am Food Mart at 70-02 Roosevelt Ave in Woodside, often has them in stock.

In addition to providing the elusive Cracker Nuts I had been stalking, Phil-Am also offers a considerable selection of top notch locally made prepared food. Since Filipino cuisine is one of my all-time favorites, I can never visit without picking up at least one main dish, in this case a pint of Bicol Express.

Bicol Express is made with pork stewed in spicy coconut milk infused with shrimp paste and laden with green chilies. Named for the Bicol Express, a passenger train that ran from Manila to the Bicol region in the Philippines, I guess you could think of this dish that’s both creamy and spicy as running from one terminus on the flavor route to another.

It should be served with rice, so I made my version of Bagoong Fried Rice. (Oversimplification: Start with onions, garlic and the all-important Ginisang Bagoong sautéed shrimp paste; fry together; add pre-cooked refrigerated white rice; continue to fry; add scallions and sometimes mangoes to finish.)

Masarap!
 
 

Greenpoint – Part 2 (Farsz)

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There are a couple of Polish/Eastern European food markets along Manhattan Avenue in Greenpoint that probably present as 99-cent stores to an unacquainted customer. You’ll find several aisles showcasing jars of pickled vegetables (expect cabbage, beets, cucumbers and the like), canned fish, jams and preserves, cookies, and beverages plus a refrigerator case containing fish fillets packed in a variety of sauces (yes, please) and an assortment of processed cheeses (no, thank you). You won’t find fresh kielbasi: those are left to a (dwindling) number of specialists in the neighborhood that I’ll cover in an upcoming post.


If you read me, you know I’m drawn to the less familiar, like this jar of Farsz. Google Translate, my best friend, suggested “stuffing” or “forcemeat” as a translation followed by “mushroom” (pieczarkowy) and “for casseroles” (do zapiekanek). The product consists primarily of minced mushrooms and just enough bread to hold it together in addition to a gentle touch of seasoning. The company’s website recommends using it for dumplings (pierogi, obviously) as well as in soups and sauces.


Since I’m so suggestible, I decided to make pierogi; served them up with bits of bacon, fried onion, snipped chives, and sour cream on the side. They turned out pretty well for a first attempt; next time (if there is one because making pierogi from scratch is labor intensive) I’d combine the mushrooms with some mashed potato. Unfortunately there’s a good deal left in the jar and I don’t know if it will freeze well until another rigorous kitchen session seems like a good idea. (Yeah, right.) I bet it would make a yummy pasta sauce with a bit of cream though. (Easy, peasy.) Hmmm…maybe with a toss of peas? (Who, me? Suggestible?)

And just a reminder that I’m doing this series of posts to see if you are interested in my putting together a Greenpoint ethnojunket. When we’ve reached the last one, let me know what you think! Stay tuned….
 
 

Marrak-ish

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Whenever I purge the freezer it seems like I always unearth an inconsequential and hence forgotten bit of meat, in this case a sausage link that had no business being labeled “merguez”. So I decided to throw together something that might help it live up to its name while still not involving much work or any shopping: all ingredients guaranteed to have come from my fridge or pantry.

The veggie component included onions, garlic, long green hot pepper, sweet red bell pepper, carrots, scallions and a little tomato; the pantry provided dried apricots and prunes. The seasoning was primarily ras el hanout, a blend of Moroccan spices that includes cinnamon, cumin, coriander, turmeric, ground ginger, paprika, and about 20 more plus salt and black pepper, and the garnish was cilantro and a sprinkle of sesame seeds.

It’s not authentic, of course, hence the characterization “Marrak-ish”.

Served it over couscous with msemen (Moroccan flatbread) and assorted pickles left over from my last Little Levant Bay Ridge food tour.

Of course, a normal person would have just fried up the sausage and made a sammich out of it with a side of fries.

I definitely have too much time on my hands. <sigh>
 
 

When Life DOESN’T Give You Lemons….

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🍋 🍋 🍋 🍋 🍋 🍋 🍋 🍋

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Sometimes I get lucky. My friends at Prospect Heights Community Farm in Brooklyn generously gave me some of their delicious freshly harvested fruits: red raspberries, blackberries, gooseberries, pink champagne currants and rhubarb (yes, I know rhubarb isn’t a fruit but it works and plays well with others). Another good friend had recently gifted me some premium whole roasted almonds. Someone else gave me an unwanted bag of rolled oats, and a neighbor was moving out and liquidating her pantry so I scored some light brown sugar. Truly an embarrassment of Rich’s.

So I did what any beneficiary of such coincidental serendipity would do: I made a fruit crumble.

I already had butter – Danish Lurpak, the best of the best IMHO; it’s usually pretty expensive, but it was a bargain at an unlikely location I visit on my Little Odessa ethnojunket – join me and I’ll show you where it is. (Hint.)

I had almost everything else on hand that I needed for the recipe. Except lemon juice.

So I had to actually buy a lemon.

🍋


 
 

There’s the Beef!

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(The answer to Clara Peller’s question. IYKYK)

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I recently attended an outdoor family gathering where grilling was the order of the happy day. An abundance of spectacular homemade dishes (“appetizers” falls far short of reality) was available well before the meat was ready and I wasn’t shy about sampling all of them. More than once. (No photos, but it gave new meaning to the term groaning board.)

Needless to say, by the time the steaks came off the grill, my capacity had been pretty much maxed out and after a couple of bites, I knew my appetite had met its Waterloo. Now, when you have a chunk of perfectly grilled ribeye posing fetchingly on your plate, you don’t cast a longing glance over your shoulder as you walk off; you ask the host if you can bring it home in service of prolonging the ecstasy.

How to do it justice the next day? Start with a warm baguette, layer with arugula, bacon, and ripe tomato, then thin slices of ribeye bathed in melted truffle garlic butter, and top with Cabot white cheddar cheese. Cavatappi macaroni salad on the side.

Definitely not your mama’s steak sammich.
 
 

MozzLab

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There are few things about which I am a purist. (One is not ending a sentence with a preposition. See first sentence.)

Another is the pronunciation of the versatile and much beloved fresh pasta filata cheese, mozzarella.

Now, I’m not advocating that we all embrace the charming Sicilian-American argot, “mootzadell” like the neighborhood paisans I remember affectionately from my yout – er, youth.

That’s a long ō in there. Mozzarella rhymes with “Totes umbrella”.

“Matzarella” just cheeses me off. To my ears that sounds like a diminutive female Jewish cracker.

Now that that’s out of the way, let’s get down to the real subject of this post.

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MozzLab at 502 Henry St, Brooklyn, is a contemporary cheese shop specializing in hand stretched mozzarella made fresh daily (along with its cousins, buffalo burrata, treccia and stracciatella) plus a few other cheeses as well as an array of Italian sandwiches incorporating them, a tempting selection of antipasti, and a mini Italian market.

I had heard about their “Mozzarella Bagels”, a sandwich that includes prosciutto, speck (a type of cured, smoky ham), and mortadella in which bagel-shaped mozz stands in for the bread. I planned to get just the dairy part as a surprise for a vegetarian friend who loves mozzarella but the hitch was that they don’t sell the cheesy toroid by itself. I’m unsure why fulfilling the request was so daunting; I tried explaining what I wanted in English, then to the staff in my defective Spanish (hablaban español pero no inglés) and finally in fractured Italian to the owner (the Big Cheese?) who was adroitly stretching fresh mozz with great panache before my eyes. But when I referred to him as “Il Maestro”, he smiled and made a couple for me as a special order while I watched.


The first photo shows what I did to mine when I got it home (those sandwiches looked too good); the second shows the plain unadorned version I gave to my friend.

Everything I tasted from MozzLab was top quality and the atmosphere projected the warmth and camaraderie you’d hope for from a local business and its regulars. Kind of reminded me of the handful of Italian specialty shops from my neighborhood as a kid.