I feel like for the last few months I’ve been beginning nearly every post with an apology for not writing very often: “So busy with school,” “other writing projects,” “traveling,” etc. I probably need to reorganize this space in a better way, too. Point is, so sorry for not writing here for over a month, I’ve been very busy finishing school (I’m a master of studying food now), with writing projects (stories on food & the environment for The Allegheny Front, a weekly column in Pittsburgh City Paper), and traveling (mostly around Pittsburgh; it’s been beautiful here). I’ve also been spending a lot of time in my garden, and now I have some delicious treats to eat.

Ramps might be the first edible sign of spring, but spinach is one of the first garden crops to really pop from the ground. I’ve been eating from my spinach patch for three weeks now, and that’s forced me to be awfully creative; one can only eat so many spinach salads or lightly wilted spinach. Luckily for me, my garlic started to scape (see my post on harvesting garlic for more information on garlic scapes), and the snow pea plants are producing (a bucket-load) of pods. That sounded like a promising start to a new recipe, so I rode my bike down to a wonderful little market called the Lotus Food Company; they sell house-made tofu, and it’s ridiculously inexpensive. I also purchased a bottle of black vinegar enhanced with “fruit and vegetable juice.” That’s about all that was written in English on the label! It’s a wonderfully complex vinegar with apricot and spice flavors. All in all, I had the makings of a terrific stir-fry.

Add 1 Tsp. Vegetable Oil to a medium-hot pan.
Pan fry Half-Pound of Firm Tofu, cut into 2-inch squares until brown.
Set aside.

While the tofu is cooking, mix:
1/4 Cup Chicken or Veggie Stock
1 Chopped Garlic Scape
2 Tsp. Soy Sauce
2 Tsp. Mirin
2 Tsp. Black Vinegar
1 Tsp. Minced Ginger
1 Tsp. Corn Starch
1/2 Tsp. Toasted Sesame Oil
Set aside.

Wash and pat dry:
4 Cups Spinach
(Spinach should be loosely packed. Also, I didn’t measure this precisely.)

Wash, and halve:
Two Cups Snow Peas

Chop:
Two Garlic Scapes

Saute the spinach, snow peas, and scapes for 2-3 minutes over medium-high heat.
Return tofu to pan.
Add sauce mixture.
Cook for 1.5 minutes, remove from heat, and allow dish to rest for 1 minute before serving.
Top with Toasted Sesame Seeds

My story about foraging for ramps aired Saturday on The Allegheny Front. They’re a marvelous little plant, and the experience of waking up (VERY) early to wander through the woods and harvest my own food was pretty incredible. I’d never foraged for anything before, and memories of that morning keep popping up. Now, when I pass a forested hillside, I wonder if ramps are growing on its slope. (I’ve cursed at several “No Trespassing” signs preventing me from scrambling up the hill and checking it out for myself!) I’ve considered foraging in my urban environment–but, I don’t know enough about urban foraging to decide what to harvest (though I did enjoy a nice snack of dandelion greens from my backyard the other day). This exercise was much easier to accomplish when I lived in Los Angeles; street-side rosemary grows everywhere and fruit trees overhang many sidewalks (protip: they are fair game if they are on the public side of a fence).

Back to the ramps. I touch on this in the story, but it’s worth repeating: if you forage for ramps, don’t over-harvest; experts say you should only take 5% to 10% of what you see (if you leave the bulbs in the ground you can harvest a bit more, however). If you see ramps at a restaurant, farmers’ market, or festival, don’t be afraid to ask about where they came from. This is especially pertinent if you see ramps on the West Coast–ramps don’t grow in California, so you might want to inquire about how they got there. I’m not discouraging the popularity of ramps (they truly are terrific), but we all need to be sure to consume them in a sustainable way, or we’ll be out of luck in a few years. Ramp population recuperation time is tremendously slow, and if they’re over-harvested the land where they grow can easily be overrun with invasive species.

If you do get your hands on ramps, what should you do with them? Here are a few ideas:

Quick and Easy Grilled Ramps:

Wash and dry ramps.
Rub with olive oil and salt.
Grill until ramps are just slightly charred.
Season with pinch of salt and a dash of balsamic vinegar.

Pickled Ramps:

The basic ratio is 1-1-1 rice wine vinegar, water, and sugar–plus a pinch of salt.
Boil those ingredients and pour over (washed) ramp stems.
I also added a few black peppercorns, whole coriander seeds, and pinch of dried ginger.

It’s been quite some time since I’ve conducted a Frozen Food Test. I suppose that sometimes a bright idea falls by the wayside in the midst of trying to complete graduate school. Well, as Thesis Madness comes to a head, I figured it would be an opportune time to test a convenience food–hopefully the result would be a palatable and nutritious meal. Trader Joe’s has had a pretty solid track record in my previous tests, so off I went to try their baked ziti.

PROS:

• The pasta has a surprisingly enjoyable texture; good mouthfeel, and cooked al dente. I was surprised a frozen pasta could reheat so nicely.
• Chemical free–all of the ingredients listed were actual food!
• Only 320 calories. 12g protein.

CONS:

• Almost no cheese. What’s the point of baked ziti if there is no cheese? Also, if you microwave it, the cheese doesn’t get toasty. Fail.
• Small serving size. This is more of a snack or side dish than a meal.
• High in sodium.
• Not an immense time saver if you cook it in the oven.

OVERALL:

This was OK. It wasn’t terrible for a microwaved side dish, but serving it as a side means I     have to either cook or reheat something else, so I doubt it would save a ton of time (I had mine with leftover grilled chicken). The flavor is decent, but it pales in comparison to my own baked ziti (that’s a link to me cooking the ziti–check it out!). Would I have it again? Doubtful, only because it’s a sin to call something “baked ziti” and not have a layer of golden, melty cheese on top. It’s a good thing cooking is my favorite form of procrastinating.

My father pointed out that I came home with a bag of leftovers every day on my trip home to Northern California. “You seem a little bit obsessed with Mexican food, Hal B,” he said.

Big Art was correct. My Mexican binge was totally by design. I made a point to have a meal at a local Cal-Mex restaurant each day I was home, and I also made it a point to order more food than I needed; pozole, two tacos, a burrito all ended up wrapped and saved for a late-night snack. I stopped at a (pre-trendy) taco truck ON MY WAY to lunch–I could see the restaurant from the street where my hands were dripping with chile verde. My belly bulged on the flight home.

I think it’s terrific that, in this period of globalization, regional specialty food still plays prominently on the palate. Although there is a remarkable pizza maker just outside of Pittsburgh (and another delightful one just down the block from me), New York still haunts my dreams. Good BBQ is simply smoke, spice, and meat, and a exceptionally enjoyable one has just opened in Pittsburgh. Yet, the truly transcendent joints are the ones that perfume the air south of the Mason-Dixon line. And, for me, Mexican food is best from a strip mall/truck/hole-in-the-wall in California.

Why? People argue it’s the water that makes a New York pizza special. However, “imported” water, though not commonplace, feeds dough outside of New York. The pizza isn’t any better because of it.

A lot of this has to do with the food you “grew up” on. I have a deep preference for East Coast Angle-Chinese food; the greasy kind with iconic dishes. I judge by wonton soup and chicken & broccoli. My brother, who was 3 years younger when we left New York, has the opposite reaction. He prefers the authentic* Chinese food of the Pacific Coast. Less grease, thinner wontons, more seafood. This isn’t limited to childhood memory, either–though childhood influence in generally the strongest.

Specific geography can play a part in flavoring food. The first oysters I had were grown in the cold-water of Tamales Bay. Small, briny, deep mineral flavor. They FLOORED me. I figured I’d love all oysters after that, but that wasn’t at all true. The large, warm-water Gulf oyster didn’t make me dance inside. I learned that the size and flavor of an oyster are directly affected by the ecology of the local waters and the breeds that can grow in it.

I also think a lot of this has to do with the food-culture of the place. There was a recent New York Times article written by a vegetarian complaining about the lack of vegetarian food in Kansas City. He made some valid points, but he missed the big one–it’s a beef town. He went on to complain about the lack of “ethnic” restaurants in the city, ignoring the fact that Kansas City hasn’t been a historic center of multi-ethnic immigration. Does he think that “ethnic” should be ubiquitous? What a dink.

I’m fascinated between the connection between food and place. It’s an issue that I’m going to continue to explore. I hope you will, too. Share your stories.

*Authenticity is a complex concept, so I won’t spent too much time on it here. For the sake of this piece, let’s just say that it’s generally agreed that the Chinese food in San Francisco is characterized as “more authentic” than the food on the East Coast because it’s more directly connected to the foodways of China. There are holes to be poked in this argument–not to mention the fact that I’m totally lumping a heterogenous culture into one cuisine called “Chinese food”–but that’s the basic idea. 

Things have been busy lately: I’m working on a few stories, traveling, and creating new recipes…and there’s that whole master’s degree in Food Studies thesis to finish. Look for a new post early next week. For now, check out what I’ve been doing elsewhere:

I’ve had a few stories on The Allegheny Front:
A chat with “The High Priest of Permaculture,” David Jacke.
Exploring the connection between food and nature with Michael Pollan. Yup…that Michael Pollan.
(If you haven’t had a listen to my feature on Parma Sausage Company, you should do that too!)

I’m still writing “On the Rocks” for Pittsburgh City Paper. Hooray for local libations!

As Tiki Month draws to a close, it seems appropriate to pay homage to the great Tiki cocktail culture. I’m not a mixologist, so no recipes today; instead I’ll share a bit about my two happiest Tiki memories. It beats working on my thesis, right? (Note: I actually really love working on my thesis.)

My experience with Tiki bars goes back nearly as far as I’ve been (legally) visiting bars. Shortly after graduating UCSD, I moved home to San Francisco to attend a summer-long acting (ah…drinking) intensive. My classmates and I quickly discovered the Tonga Room in the basement of the Fairmont Hotel. We learned that timeless Tiki classic had an amazing deal: a super cheap (I think it was $5) all-you-can-eat happy hour buffet. For super cheap young actors, this was a beacon of frugality in the sea of an expensive city. Plus, we were told the menu featured potent, easy to gulp tropical cocktails. And there were intermittent indoor rainstorms. If that’s not a way to draw a party-happy dude of 21 into Tiki drinking culture, I don’t know what is. For the next two years, I spent many happy happy hours at the Tonga Room. And many stupefied Muni rides home.

Years later, I moved to the heart of Tiki culture: Los Angeles. Don the Beachcomber, the first Tiki bar in the continental United States, opened there in 1933. Although there is a chain of knock-off Tiki bars with the same name, the original Don’s is long gone. Luckily for me, I lived an easy stumble from the greatest Tiki bar left in the city, Tiki Ti. The 12 seat bar is located in the nether-region between Los Feliz and Silverlake, right near the PBS studio. It’s tricked out in Tiki paraphernalia, and it’s smoke-filled; Tiki Ti is exempt from the longstanding CA indoor smoke ban because the only people who work there are the owners. Michael Buhen (and his sons) carry on the legacy of Ray Buhen, who opened the bar in 1961 after working for years as one of the original mixologists at Don the Beachcomber. (Read a bio of Ray Buhen.) The drink menu is as large as the bar is small–over 92 (mostly rum-based) tropical drinks. If you’re overwhelmed, ask someone behind the bar; if you’re especially adventurous, ask a regular. Just remember, these drinks are terrifically potent. Pace yourself. Or don’t. Arrive early and be prepared to wait in line. Unlike the silly boom-boom-pow clubs a mile down the road in Hollywood, this place is worth the wait. Really.

So there you go. My little homage to Tiki. Want to hear more thoughts on drinking? Read my column in Pittsburgh City Paper and follow me on Twitter @ThisMansKitchen.

Sick of the bacon-on-everything trend yet? It’s gotten a bit silly, hasn’t it? It can certainly be argued that this trend directly corresponds to the recent general improvement of bacon quality (so many hardwood smoked bacons…take that Oscar Meyer!) in America. However, this trend has also resulted in people thinking it’s a good idea to give bacon lovers remarkably silly bacon-related gifts, and enthusiasts producing improperly made bacon ice creams (protip: a bit of rendered bacon fat in the mix is a good idea, but don’t mix the bacon bits into the ice cream until right before serving). This has cast a shadow of the wonderful world of bacon. Well, overexposure will do that.

But there is hope, my friends. That hope lies in another trendy tidbit of food: the once hated Brussels sprout. Everyone loves a Brussels now (almost). Properly cooked, they’re quite terrific. So why not combine the two, add some complimentary root vegetables, and toss in a maple syrup vinaigrette? I’ve conducted an experiment. Result? Success. Grand success.

Render 1/2 lb. Diced Bacon.
Separate cooked bacon from rendered fat. Save both.

Add to a large bowl:
1lb. Brussels Sprouts, quartered
1/2 lb. Yukon Gold Potatoes, cubed
1/4 lb. Carrots, cubed
1/4 lb. Parsnips, cubed
1-2 Large Shallots, quartered
Add ALL (!!!!) the reserved bacon fat to the bowl, plus salt and pepper. Mix thoroughly.

Transfer to a baking sheet, and roast in a 425F oven for 35-45 minutes. Everything should be nicely browned. Sprouts should be crunchy–not soggy.

For the Maple-Bacon Vinaigrette:
2.5 Tbs. Maple Syrup
2 Tbs. Red Wine Vinegar
1.5 Tbs. Olive Oil
2 Tsp. Dijon Mustard
Pinch Salt and Two Pinches Pepper

Toss roasted vegetables with the vinaigrette and reserved bacon bits. Add salt if necessary.

More beets.

Beet obsession + cold weather + potluck = Borscht. It’s a logical conclusion. But what is this thing they (Eastern Europeans) call borscht? I remember a time in my youth when I met my Grandpa Benji and Uncle Kenny at Yonah Schimmel’s (Lower East Side, Manhattan) for knishes, and was taken aback when I saw them both slurping on a cold, thick, magenta brew topped with sour cream. Gross?

It took some time to come around the idea that this could be something edible. It just looked so strange and horrible. I was wrong. It’s not just edible, it’s delicious. They were sipping on cold borscht. But it’s winter, so I was going to go in the other direction—hot borscht.

Basically, borscht is a hodgepodge soup dish that contains beets and whatever else you have leftover. It’s believed that borscht originated in the Ukraine, but the exact history is undocumented. The wonderful thing about undocumented recipes is that it leaves you a lot of room to play. Just about every cold-weather, beet-eating culture has its own version of borscht, and even those recipes vary from person to person. So embrace the spirt, and make your borscht with whatever you have in your kitchen (plus beets).

Peel and halve 1.5 Pounds Beets
Boil in 8 cups water for 20 minutes.
Remove beets, SAVE the water.

While beets are cooking, add to the beet water:
3 Carrots, cubed
2 Stalks Celery, cubed
2 Apples, cubed
3-4 Yukon Gold Potatoes, cubed
1 Parsnip, cubed
1 Onion, sliced
1 Small Head Cabbage, shredded

Add additional water* to cover.
Add salt, pepper and 1/3 cup Red Wine Vinegar

Once beets are cool enough to touch, slice them into matchsticks and add them back to the pot.

Simmer for one hour.

Finish with 1/4 Cup Chopped Dill.

Top with Sour Cream or Plain Yogurt.

*As written, this recipe is vegan. You can add chicken stock instead of water if you’d like to. You can also make a beefy version of borscht. So much variety. 

I love beets because they taste of Earth and sugar. They are also ridiculously good for you; beets are loaded with antioxidants, they’re anti-inflammatory, they’re high in fiber, and full of minerals.

Beets are easy to prepare: the roots can be roasted, boiled, or steamed. I’ve been working on a steaming/roasting method that produces a tender beet with a concentrated flavor–this is my favorite way to cook a beet. I sometimes serve them with the attached greens, but you can also use the greens separately (roots keep for a few weeks in the fridge, the greens just a few days). You were going to throw the greens away? No no no. Beet greens are versatile, and, just like the beet root, very nutritious.

So look for beets with the greens attached, because you’re getting extra food for (often) the same price per pound. If you have to buy them from a bulk bin, make sure the beet feels firm and doesn’t have any deep blemishes (they don’t have to be beautiful, but if you’re going to store them, you don’t want them to deteriorate).

* Beets are usually peeled after cooking, but with this method it’s easier to do so before. Unless you like your hands stained with beet juice you should wear latex gloves. Also don’t wear any fancy clothes while preparing beets.
* If you can find Meyer lemons, skip the extra sugar and celebrate. They are most wonderful, and I’m jealous my parents have a tree that’s full of them in their back yard. Lucky parents!
*Don’t fear the beeturia: you might experience a…colorful…urination after eating beets. It’s not uncommon. And it’s not blood. Don’t call your doctor friend in the middle of the night and try to figure out what just happened–trust me.

Winter break is a wonderful concept. After weeks of research, writing, research, writing, heavy drinking/regretful hangovers, more research, more–much more–writing, I suddenly had limited responsibilities and and a good excuse to travel. It’s one of the wonders of academia, perhaps designed to force us outdoors so that a wee ray of sunshine will touch our library-pale skin. (Maybe that’s a tad dramatic–one of the other wonders of academia is occasionally having the freedom to take the dog for a walk on an unexpectedly bright late-autumn day.)

  This break was lovely: I packed (most) of my smarty-pants books away for two weeks, spent time ten days in California, and was Best Man at my brother’s wedding. One of my favorite parts of the break was the time I spent cooking dishes I’ve been interested in preparing, but because the previous two months were so hectic, I hadn’t made.  Finally, at long last…ropa vieja.

Ropa vieja (unfortunate translation: old clothes) is made from leftovers. Since I was deliberately making it rather than using what was left in the refrigerator, I cooked a beef soup two days prior as an excuse to have the necessary leftovers. Double bonus…the soup was excellent. I also had leftover salsa from the amazing salsa dude who sells on Saturdays at the Pittsburgh Public Market, a fantastic addition to the dish.

Assembling ropa vieja is simple. Here’s how I made it:

Add, to a medium-hot pan:
1 Tbs. Olive Oil
1 Tbs. Tomato Paste
1 Clove Garlic, minced

1 Small Onion, diced*
2 Tsp. Dried Oregano  

Cook for 2 minutes, stirring frequently.
Add:
2 Cups Shredded Beef
2 Cups Salsa*
1 Cup Pureed Leftover Vegetables*

Cook for 3-5 minutes, add:
1/4 Cup Chopped Cilantro

*You’ll need to use your judgment with this recipe. TASTE the beef first, TASTE the salsa first. Do you need more salt/onion/tomato? Do you want to add any heat to the dish? What do the pureed vegetables add?