Clementines: Nature's Tangerine-Flavored Candy

I forgot to tell everyone on Wednesday, but on Wednesday, Hungry Sam turned one. Which in blog years, means that Hungry Sam is a cranky and stressed out teenager. Or something!

To reward you all, I'm going to talk about clementine oranges. Which I LOVE.

Not true size. Or maybe, depending on the size of your computer screen.

Clementines are little oranges about the size of a large donut hole (or if you're from Canada, a large "Timbit"). They are easy to peel, generally seedless (although clementine FAILS occur; see below), extremely sweet, sold by the 5-lb. box, and are at their best in December, January, and February. I like them so much I may have eaten a whole box in 24 hours a week ago (although to be fair, I was doing the 13-hour drive from Maine to D.C. at the time).

I WIN

The best part about eating a clementine is peeling them (which I promise I wasn't doing while driving, mostly). It's like a challenge each time to see if you can remove the rind intact. I mean, it's not hard, so you mostly just feel like a failure when you can't, but there it is.

The second best thing about clementines is that they're wicked healthy, so I don't feel bad about about bringing six of them to work with me as snacks. Also, now my office smells GREAT.

The third best thing about clementines is that they essentially taste like candy.

The worst thing about clementines is clementine FAILS. These occur when the clementine isn't sweet enough, is too firm (and thus IMPOSSIBLE to peel in one piece), or when there are seeds. I mean, really -- I eat these little babies instead of giant citrus because they're so easy. But when each of the eight segments or whatever has like three seeds, that's the opposite of easy. It's hard.

OK, that's all I have to say about that. Go buy yourself a box of clementines -- you won't be disappointed, unless you are!

Frying Potatoes, Sustainably

Latke's sizzling away...

Latkes. Delicious, greasy, fried potatoes smothered in sour cream and/or (definitely and) apple sauce. Runs contrary to the Hungry Sam healthy mentality, no? Well, yes, insofar as that mentality is absolute. It's not; treats are an important part of living a healthy lifestyle -- as long as they're infrequent indulgences and not an everyday thing.

But this post isn't about treats, it's about diving, spoons and graters first, into latke making with my ninth grade religious school class last night.

But wait, you ask. What sort of awesome curriculum has room for latke cooking?

The sustainability sort! See, my fellow teachers and I have been teaching our students all about sustainability this semester, how choices can be made to promote a future and a world that can sustain our children and children's children. 

The idea in doing a sustainable cooking program was this: Making the sustainable choice for all of our meals all of the time is hard. But making it SOMETIMES is easy, and doesn't necessarily impact flavor or price of the dish you're making.

Furthermore, cooking is a basic skill that facilitates making sustainable choices. When you're doing the cooking (as opposed to eating out or buying pre-made), you can control the ingredients, you know where they come from, how they've been prepared, what sort of carbon footprint they have, or at least you're more able to determine that information. (There are other good reasons to cook, outlined in Hungry Sam's new "Why Cook? A Guide" page.)

When you don't have a Cuisinart...

So, in order to inject some competition into all of this (of course), I picked up three sets of ingredients: a regular, non-organic set, an organic set, and a farm stand set. My challenge was to buy approximately the same quantities of each set of ingredients for about the same price. I did so -- at least in this case, buying ingredients from a variety of sources didn't need to impact the budget. For their part, three teams of students were to cook the best latkes possible, and our judges (the rabbis and high school program director) were to both select the best-tasting latke and try to guess the ingredients' source.

I have to hand it to them, my guys threw themselves into this, grating, peeling, and frying their way to crispy goodness. Some of our students had solid cooking experience, others had little or none, but the energy was absolutely there -- which of course, as a food enthusiast, I appreciated. These young adults wanted those latkes, and the victory.

In the judging process, our three judges each tried the latkes with their toppings of choice. Only one judge correctly determined the source of the winning batch, the organic latkes, but the judge's decision underscored our very unscientific conclusion: if organic is at all a more sustainable choice, it doesn't need to mean a more expensive or less tasty latke.

A photograph of the winning latkes, one which CERTAINLY fails to do them justice:

The "recipe" we used:
-Some amount of potatoes, like 2 lbs.-ish
-Half an onion
-An eggs worth of egg whites
-Two pinches of flour

Mix, make little latke patties, squish 'em flat and dry, then fry.

Delicious.

Falafel: Wicked Good

Allow me to talk to you about falafel.

Photo: Flickr CC/yummyporky

No, I’m not just doing it so Liz adds me to a list of Israeli resources she is compiling. Though that would be sweet as well.

I’m doing it because falafel is wicked good. I will elaborate.

As a lover of food, I form, at times, vivid, powerful memories of standout meals –whether exceptionally good or superbly bad. What’s interesting about falafel is that I think I’ve experienced falafel meals that have fallen into both categories. Truly excellent falafel is a thing of beauty, a fast-food delicacy the likes of which lifts my soul to soaring heights – and bad falafel is worse than ovoid bricks.

Before I dive into my feelings for falafel, I should note that this is one dish I’ve never before prepared myself. Maybe it’s fear, a gripping fear of disillusionment that I could never create falafel that brings tears to mine own eyes. Maybe I feel part of the magic is building a sandwich in a shop or at a stand. Maybe it’s laziness. Could go any which way. Regardless, I am drawing upon my several and varied experiences with the dish in this discussion.

First: What is Falafel?

Falafel is a fried ball of chickpeas or fava beans with spices. It is frequently served in a pita pocket and topped with various salads, relishes, pickles, and sauces, including (but CERTAINLY not limited to) hummus and tahini (sesame seed paste). These toppings are frequently presented buffet style such that you receive your falafel and pita at the counter and it is up to you to stuff as much as possible in alongside. Many consider the toppings so essential to the experience that falafel as a term may also refer to the falafel balls, pita, and toppings in totality.

Falafel is a traditional and well-loved Middle-Eastern dish. It is so well-loved, such an emotional trigger for so many that Lebanon recently sued Israel over it. Yes. Really.

(At least they're just suing...)

What Hungry Sam likes in Falafel:

• A crisp exterior;
• A moist – but fully cooked – interior;
• A proper balance of spices such that the toppings are a complement but not completely necessary to the enjoyment of the falafel balls;
• Fresh Pita;
• Basic toppings – cucumber-and-tomato salad, tahini, hummus, red peppers, baba gannouj, dill pickles;
• Exotic toppings – pickled beets, spicy sesame sauce, leeks.

What Hungry Sam really, really dislikes in falafel (or, all the stuff that can go wrong with a Falafel Sandwich);

• Non-coherent falafel balls;
• Over-spiced falafel balls;
• Under-spiced, bland falafel balls;
• Poorly shaped falafel balls – I feel the closer to perfectly spheroid the harder they are to bite into;
• Dry falafel balls (actually the worst thing that can happen to a falafel sandwich. Ugh.);
• Dry/crumbling Pita – without the ability to truly stuff the pocket, how can you enjoy the whole experience?
• Insufficient variety or quality of toppings.

As you can see from these lists, a lot can go wrong and much must go right for me to be truly enjoying my falafel. I will now briefly tell of the three best falafel experiences of my life. In descending order:

3. Silly's Restaurant, Portland, ME

Silly's, a bizarre, "crunchy," avante-garde sort of restaurant back home breaks my mold a little by serving their falafels in a (truly enormous) wrap, pre-dressed and replete with a number of my key toppings. This rebellious attitude toward falafel (an attitude, I should note, which carries over to the rest of their menu items, like "hobo pie," which is a taco mountain made entirely from scratch) is validated with the excellence of the falafel balls themselves. In a town known better for crustaceans, Silly's is shining star of suberb falafel -- and pretty much everything else. Worth a visit. Worth a lfietime. (Maine joke.)

2. One night at Amsterdam Falafel in Adams Morgan, DC with Kate and Rachel

It's not that the falafel is perfect, but it is the best approximation of the Platonic Ideal of falafel shops that I've found in America (Maoz comes close) -- the falafel balls are well formed and spiced and the options for toppings are quite broad. Also, eating them outside on some folding chairs , talking to the drunken bongo player behind us and looking at the ridiculous people wandering Adams Morgan at 11 PM on a Sat night with my friends greatly enhanced the evening.

1. That Little Shop in Tsfat, Israel at the Top of the Stone Steps

Woah. What a flashbulb memory. This was now two years ago, and the perfection of the first full, complex bite of crispy, moist, and flavorful falafel with french fries, cucumber-and-tomato salad, hummus and tahini remains powerful. I cannot give this memory full justice. The ancient, hewn stone steps and walls, the crisp smell of fresh, Middle Eastern breeze, and Tsfat's fusion of old rabbinic life and new artist colony vibe only drew me further into this amazing snack.

Incredible.

Cilantro: A Chef's Gateway Herb

I love Cilantro. Cilantro, the popular name for the leaves and stem of the plant that also gives us the coriander spice, is an herb I can nearly never over-buy. However ridiculously large the bunches in which Cilantro is sold, I can always find a use for epic quantities thereof.

It is, in many ways, a wonderful gateway herb (of the legal variety); it's easy for beginning chefs to understand how to use cilantro when so many other spices require a more developed skill. Cilantro imbues whatever it touches with a strong flavor that manages to not be overpowering; it's difficult to overuse insofar as few dishes become completely unpalatable if you dump the whole cutting board's worth in on accident. It strengthens mild, mayo-based dressings (as for chicken, potato and noodle salads), adds complexity to spicy stews and chilis, and complements perfectly tangy sauces and marinades.

Some people love Cilantro as much as (or awkwardly more than) I do: see here.

Others really can’t stand it. I always sort of figured there was something wrong with these people who could not enjoy the wonder of the leaves of coriandrum sativum. I’m right, as it were – some individuals are genetically predisposed to dislike cilantro.

Though this genetic (I’m going to call it a) disorder is not fully understood understood, an article in today’s New York Times describes one theory behind “cilantrophobia.” Apparently the substances “flavor chemists” have identified as those that lend cilantro its aroma are chemically similar to lipid (fat) molecules called aldeyhdes, also found in many soaps and lotions. Taste and smell, evolutionarily speaking, developed as an additional way to find food and mates as well as avoid poisonous substances. So, when an individual with a certain genetic predisposition connects an aroma or flavor more powerfully with, say, industrial cleaning agents, those sensations evoke a powerful and negative emotional response. Hence: www.IHateCilantro.blogspot.com.

There is, however, hope. Neuroscientist Dr. Jay Gottfried, points out that this is all flavor pattern recognition – if you can make new associations and patterns for cilantro, you have a chance of redemption. He himself once disliked cilantro, but, in his own words, “’I love food, and I ate all kinds of things, and I kept encountering it. My brain must have developed new patterns for cilantro flavor from those experiences, which included pleasure from the other flavors and the sharing with friends and family.’”

So I basically have two conclusions at the end of the day:

1. I should have been a flavor chemist

2. I need to do serious vetting before I marry anyone who might prevent my children from loving cilantro as much as I do. Does that count as eugenics? Awwww…

Of Lentils, Leftovers, and My Loathing for Celery

They say never to go grocery shopping hungry. This is doubly important when you're me. I'm a little...impulsive.

I went with a list and everything! I was going to make a Moroccan lentil stew, for which I needed just about all the constituent elements (celery, carrots, lentils, chicken stock, wine, mushrooms). The problem is, being hungry (even for Hungry Sam) I decided to multiply the recipe a few times without REALLY paying attention to, you know, the volume of the finished product.

Which means in addition to making too much (frozen for future meals of course) I also have SO MANY LENTILS left. I tried to find a photograph that would communicate the sheer quantity of lentils I have remaining, but all I could find was this tasteful picture of an Italian Lentil farm. Enjoy:

I also have so much celery. What the hell am I going to do with celery? I hate celery. Any food that cannot sustain you AND gets stuck in your teeth should just go extinct already. I suppose ants-on-a-log are an option, but still. GOD.

For my stew, I used this recipe for inspiration, but I departed from it in three significant ways:

1. Cannellini beans are boring! Go with Garbanzo, Kidney, and Butter beans -- they absorb tons of flavor.
2. The spices, as someone mentioned in the comments, aren't very Moroccan. I went with cumin, turmeric, and cinnamon.
3. THIS IS KEY: instead of cooking the lentils in water, I used equal parts chicken broth and red wine. I don't know why I did this; it was incredible. (VEGGIES -- use vegetable broth)

The celery just sort of melted into the base; I'm never cooking with celery ever again. Forget that. I loved the richness of the mushrooms with the buttery, cinnamony lentils and the diced tomato, which added just the right level of savory tang. I'm always suprised that more people don't cook with cinnamon as a savory spice -- it always seems to lend a sharp, earthy flavor, one reminiscent of sweetness without being itself sweet.

Recipe's a keeper, though I will say it did not keep as well as I would have hoped and I ended up having to throw some out. Bah. Overall though, and despite the several hiccups in the process, a great cooking experience and one I would recommend.

BREAKING NEWS UPDATE: PB&B&J

This is a Breaking News Update from my desk at work: I am eating the most delicious Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich that has ever been or will ever be. It has banana slices. BANANA SLICES.

It's on whole wheat multigrain bread from Trader Joe's, using organic crunchy peanut butter, and jam that our family makes from family-picked strawberries every year. It is amazing and I am ecstatic about it. Here is a picture; I wish I should give you all a bite, but then there would be nothing left for me.

PB&J's are having a bit of Renaissance in my tastes, for whatever reason; I think I've just made peace with Peanut Butter. And Bananas.

A more fully-though-out posting on something that someone else might care about to follow later tonight or tomorrow.

Pan-Fried Brunch Potatoes! Wooooot

As I sit here on this lovely, too-bright Sunday morning, hydrating heavily, slowly and stupidly beginning to contemplate the point at which I will have to venture outside once more, I'm listening to the whine and crackle of sautéing onions, potatoes, peppers and broc. That's right, I'm making my pan-fried breakfast potatoes. Hells yes.

RLK's mom is in town and she invited a bunch of us to Hotel Quincy (Bagpipes: If you're reading this -- not a real hotel) for brunch. Being my parents' child I'm unable to go without bringing something so I am making these potatoes. They're time consuming, but pretty easy and low maintenance.

I think I used about 6 or 7 good-sized red potatoes -- fingerlings would be ideal but couldn't find 'em -- and threw them into boiling water for about 20 minutes while I showered and dressed. The key is to cook them only about 90% of the way; you want them to finish on the stove with the spices and accoutrement. Once they finished (you can insert a knife and remove it easily) I began to sauté onion (1 large), broccoli (1 stalk), minced garlic (generous dollop), red pepper (1/2) and cilantro stems in butter. Health conscious kid I am, I normally use olive oil for sautéing, but here the potatoes only really shine as they absorb and cook with bitter. Ok, I used half-and-half butter/smart balance or whatever.

As the onions began to sweat and turn translucent, I added my first round of spices -- salt, pepper, paprika and basil, then the potatoes. A few minutes later, another round of spices. Now this is CRITICAL -- potatoes, starchy little fellers that they are, DEVOUR salt. They need TONS of salt. You'll be continuing to add salt (and the other spices) throughout the process; you'll actually probably say aloud, "Damn. This is alot of salt." TRUST ME.

From here on out and for about 30 to 45 more minutes, I continue to cook on medium low heat, adding more spices as I see fit (lots and lots of paprika, more than anything other than salt) and butter. you've got to continue adding butter to keep the potatoes moist and prevent drying, and stir every, say, five minutes. I think all told, I use about a quarter to a third of a stick of butter, not really that much when you consider the quantities with which we're working here.

The beauty of this is it's all vamping on a theme, so if I want spicy I can add chili powder or even ground chipotle peppers; if I want a bit more decadence I throw on grated parmesan (didn't this time since RLK is very intolerant of lactose). These potatoes are a real staple of my cooking; although it takes about an hour and a half or even more I spend most of that sitting on my couch typing to you, my faithful readers (hahahaha). Plus the outcome looks and tastes like a tough dish and it just isn't. Score!

Final Effect: