Week #20 Islamic Chinese

Did the name of this blog entry make you do a double-take? We did one the first time we found mention of Islamic Chinese food. Himself and I were amazed when we discovered this cuisine a few years ago, but I'm not sure why. There's a good size contingent of Muslim Uyghurs and other Hui in western China, so it makes sense that they'd have their own Halal cuisine. As you can imagine, there's no pork on the menu, and no alcohol.

Our friend Pat joined us at China Islamic Restaurant in San Gabriel to re-explore this cuisine. As a chef, a vegetarian and a kosher Jew, she was keen to know what they'd serve.

The main thing we remembered from our first experience was being bowled over by the bread. I'd never had anything like it before. And once again, it was my favorite thing on the table. Nang is a huge round of bread topped with lots of sesame seeds, which are there for flavor, not just for decoration. The seeds toast during the baking, which brings out their rich, nutty flavor. (Some nang I've seen looks just like the noni we had in the Uzbek meal, right down to the identifying imprints made on it with a chekich. Since Xinjiang is just a few exits east of Uzbekistan on the Transasia Silk Road Expressway, this should come as no surprise.)

Nang with scallions

The bread has a thick, crackly crust and is delicate and moist on the inside. This size nang fed the three of us with plenty to carry home.

A serving of nang: you can see in this cross-section the layers of bread with scallions and that super-crusty top.

The standard nang has sesame seeds, but we ordered one with green onions lacing throughout. They were especially good with the toasted seeds.

Lamb Stew

Himself was enticed by the lamb stew, which showed up still simmering in a huge, rippin'-hot clay vessel. Between the ladle and chopsticks, our server manipulated cellophane noodles and succulent hunks of lamb into three soup bowls for us. Those fresh cilantro leaves lightened the richness of the stew and gave it a nice depth of flavor. The stew was a hearty meal all by itself. We left with several days' worth of leftovers. (I certainly don't have a problem with this--every extra meal I get from leftovers cuts the bill in half.)

Cellophane noodles

 The cellophane noodles in the lamb stew were lovely and iridescent--I didn't know whether to eat them or wear them!

Beef with Dough-Slice Noodles

I ordered the beef with dough-slice noodles. Called "dao xiao mian" in Chinese, they're carved (or peeled) from a ball of dough by hand with a knife. They're broad and irregular, almost shaggy in appearance, and really satisfying to eat. The noodles are broader than fettuccine, so you get a nice mouthful, but not as broad as lasagna, so that your mouth is blanketed in a single noodle. This dish gave us just the right proportion of velvety, lush noodles with spicy beef slices.

 

Tofu in Brown Sauce

Pat ordered tofu and eggplant dishes, both served in a brown sauce. This is probably the best tofu I've ever had, meaty and dense, as were the accompanying mushrooms. In fact, I think those thick beefy mushrooms probably could have been chopped with the tofu and made into a loaf, and most people would never have been the wiser. Pat has written a couple of books on tofu cookery, and she was impressed with this dish, and that in turn impressed me. Just as a good wine never tastes like grapes, to me, tofu should never taste like soybeans. Tofu badly done is a flavor vacuum. This tofu was imbued with the umami of the sauce and the full, meaty flavor of the mushrooms.

 

 Eggplant in Brown Sauce

While both the eggplant and the tofu were in the same brown sauce, I didn't have the feeling that we'd been given the same dish with only the main ingredient switched. The attendant sauce seemed to sing a different tune in each case, working in tandem with the tofu while providing a secondary flavor to the eggplant.

When you have a well-rounded, varied, flavorful meal in a place that observes dietary restrictions, you feel no sense of deprivation. I think that any diet that says no meat or no this-or-that or only this type of this-or-that would do well do be sure that it does a crack job of providing a really tasty meal of what it does permit. I've had vegetarian meals in a particular Indian restaurant that were so varied and tasty that I didn't miss the meat. That's a smart way to do it.

Week #19 Cuban

I think Cuban food is destined to become another of my favorite cuisines (How many times have you heard me say that about a food in the course of this 52 Cuisines project?!). Himself and I visited Mambos, a little Cuban restaurant in that part of Glendale where you think you're still in Burbank. Or maybe it's in that part of Burbank where you think you're still Glendale. Anyway, it's an easy walk from Griffith Park, in case you forget your picnic. Lest you think we completely blew it out, this blog entry features food from three trips we've made to Mambo in the last few months. It's getting to be quite a habit...

 

It's tempting to fill up on the Cuban bread that hits the table first thing. This bread comes in long, squarish loaves and is soft and lush on the inside (mmmm, made with lard) and crackly on the outside. It's advisable to eat your Cuban bread the day it is baked, so as not to break your teeth on it. (I visited Key West a few months ago, which has a strong Cuban presence, and found that the weapon of choice in this self-declared "Conch Republic" is a stale loaf of Cuban bread!) It's great dipped in this house-made sauce. Our server either didn't know what was in the peppery red sauce or didn't want to reveal the secret (I suspect the later). It has a decent amount of heat that neither overpowers the food it accompanies nor fades into the background. We dunked our pork and beef into it, too. Next time I'm asking for extra.

I ordered a mamey milkshake (pronounced mah-MAY), in spite of my concern that it might be too heavy for the meal. I was surprised to find that it was not terribly sweet, certainly not cloying like milkshakes made in the States usually are. It had a delicate tropical fruit flavor but one I couldn't quite put my finger on. I want to see if I can find the fruit itself in one of the ethnic groceries around town and try it fresh. From what I hear, it's divine eaten out of hand.

The deep-fried yuca was oddly both light and dense, with a pleasant starchiness--not as heavy as I expected. It came with an aggressive but wonderful garlic dipping sauce that I'm sure will protect us both from vampires for at least a week.

 

As if it weren't tempting enough to fill up on bread and yuca, a platter showed up on our table loaded with empanadillas, croquetas, pappa rellena, chorizo and tostones, that is, twice-cooked plantains. The plantains are cut into rounds and fried. After they cool, they're smashed and fried again, which makes them firm and chewy.

 

Here are the appetizers with a bite taken out of each, so you can see what's inside. The empanadilla contains ground beef; the pappa rellena in the foreground is a potato ball filled with more ground beef (are you detecting a theme here?); the croqueta is a mixture of mashed potatoes, onions and still more ground beef, coated with breadcrumbs and deep fried. Stop looking for the veggies--there aren't any in there!

 

This petite tamale was filled with pork and green onions. It was delicately flavored and quite seductive. I like my tamales to have those telltale signs that someone has lovingly folded the corn husks around them by hand. Those indentations down the center I'd call furrows of love.

 

 The Cuban sandwich is made with two types of swine, both roast pork and ham (can you really have too many? Maybe they should have included bacon as well!) and Swiss cheese, all tucked into one of those Cuban-style baguettes, pressed and cut on a bias, for easy handling.

 While I enjoyed the roast pork, being a Southern gal, I always expect it to be smoky, and this was not. Still it was moist and flavorful. On the far right side are maduros, sliced and fried plantains. Unlike the tostones, maduros are cooked only once and are soft. Tostones are much more toothsome.

Taking a steak and pounding it thin, breading it and frying it is not my favorite way to handle a piece of beef, but the flavor was good, and I'm sure it didn't take long to cook, which might be why it's prepared in this fashion. Using less time and cooking fuel is much more economical.

 

 I enjoyed the black beans and thought they were quite good. From what my Cuban hair stylist tells me, though, the most authentically Cuban black beans have a balance of flavors, of sweet, sour and garlic. These didn't really have that balance. I'd still order them again, but it won't keep me from seeking out black beans at another Cuban restaurant around town.

Aguacate Fernando is a cool, fresh salad of avocado, tomatoes, onions, garlic and cilantro, a nice foil for the richness of the fried foods and meats. It was as much a necessity as it was a nicety.

We have yet to save room for dessert. I just dug out the Old Havana Cookbook I bought in Key West and started perusing the dessert recipes. I'm tempted to go in search of some fresh mamey so I can make a pudding. Each recipe in this book is printed in both English and Spanish--it might be fun to see how successfully I can make a dish following the directions in a language that's not my native tongue. Of course, the results might be inedible. I probably should think that idea through a little more carefully...

From what I've read about Cuban cuisine, the food from the west side is more Criollo, or Creole, strongly influenced by European cuisines. On the eastern side of the island, though, the influence is decidedly African. I suppose that's from the slave trade throughout the islands that lie to the east of Cuba. A country doesn't have to be an enormous land mass to host an array of culinary styles. I'm eager to learn more about Cuban food. It's a party on a plate.

Week #18 Israeli

Another Mediterranean cuisine? Well, yes and no. One blog entry could never do justice to what is considered Israeli cuisine. While Israel is seated on the eastern edge of the Mediterranean, generations of Jews scattered across the globe and returning home again have brought back layer upon layer of culinary influence.

Itzik Hagadol in Encino is a sister restaurant to one by the same name located in Tel Aviv, so we didn't question its authenticity (the only difference in the two menus is that the restaurant in Israel offers more selections of offal). The menu is decidedly Mediterranean and strongly Sephardic (lots of ground meat), with the occasional Ashkenazi touch (they serve potatoes instead of rice). Himself and I strolled in, ordered an appetizer and a couple of entrées and ended up with a table full of dishes. (It reminded us a bit of our first visit to a Korean restaurant, when we ordered two entrées and ended up with 21 tiny dishes on our table!). The spread was generous and flavorful.

 laffa

 Laffa is a flatbread baked in a taboon, a tandoor-like oven in use since Biblical times. The larger piece was topped with sesame seeds. The smaller one looked more like a pita with a round cut out and seasoned with copious amounts of za'atar, an Arabic spice blend that includes thyme, oregano and savory--a seasoning combo that is as essential to the Israeli kitchen as it is to the Arabic. Laffa is great all on its own, but it is a multi-purpose bread: you can wrap it around meats and veggies for impromptu sandwiches, tear off a piece for dipping into the various puréed dishes and mop up the juices with it after you've polished off the grilled meats and vegetables.

portobellos with tomatoes and onions: mmmm, lovely, tasty char....

These portobello mushrooms were marinated before hitting the grill alongside the tomatoes and pearl onions. They're the most luscious mushrooms I've ever savored. They looked just like slices of fatty meat and were smoky yet creamy smooth.

Along with the grilled veggie appetizer, our server trotted out this array of "salads."

The red purée at the top left is matbucha, a.k.a. Turkish salad, a tomato and roasted red pepper dip that is similar to muhammara but without the walnuts. We tore off pieces of our laffa and dredged them in this one and in the one at the top right, a grilled eggplant salad called salat ḥatzilim. Both dips were incredibly rich and loaded with smoky, spicy flavors. In the middle is a roasted potato; the other dishes contain pickled cabbage (zingy), red cabbage mixed with mayonnaise (mild), and a house-made salsa, a concession to our Southern California locale, I suppose. This assortment of salads ran the gamut of flavors and was a great accompaniments to our kababs.

House kabab

I ordered the house kabab, a combination of ground veal and lamb. The meat was creamy smooth and delicately flavored. It was served with hummus and Israeli salad or salat aravi, a mixture of just about every vegetable you can name, tossed with olive oil and lemon juice. That pool in the middle of the hummus is tahini mixed with olive oil and finely chopped parsley. Yes, we did a lot of laffa dredging.

Romanian kabab 

Himself settled on the Romanian kabab, ground beef mixed with lots of chopped garlic. It had some serious personality going--really flavorful but not garlicky-hot. As you can see, there's no filler in this meal--no heaps of fries and baskets of heavy breads. It's all grilled lean meats, vegetables and protein-rich dips and spreads. Our wine was a cabernet sauvignon made of grapes grown in the Golan Heights. It was full bodied and ready-made for those grilled meats.

Malabi

Rosewater is one of the best things to ever happen to food, and malabi showcases it beautifully. For dessert we shared this vanilla custard topped with rosewater, ground pistachios, coconut and cardamom, a combination that was curiously both rich and light. I must figure out how to make this. It's a dessert I could definitely cozy up to.

I know that the next Israeli meal we run across could look absolutely nothing like the one we just had. But that's part of the fun of exploring the world's cuisines. Nothing is as cut-and-dried, as easily definable as we'd like to make it. There's always something new to sample and learn, and I get a kick out of seeing history in action as people carry their foods and cooking methods with them--and how they adopt new foods and cooking methods and bring them back home.

To resolve or not to resolve?

These are all books I began reading last year--the ones I haven't finished yet. They perch perilously next to my pillow. I live in danger of a wee-hours earthquake bringing them down on my head. The stacks of books on Himself's side of the bed are even bigger, but this is about my resolution, not his. I'm just glad I married a fellow reader. It makes for stimulating company.

Here's my New Year's resolution for 2010: To finish the books I begin reading (and that includes re-reading). No fair saying to myself, "I've read Moby-Dick before. It's no big deal if I don't finish it." Because the me who rereads Moby-Dick now is an entirely different person from the me who read it for the first time as a 20-year old English major in college. I'll get more out of it this time around, now that I'm not simply reading it with an eye toward being tested on it.

Good luck to all with their New Year's resolutions. May 2010 treat you well.

A Peaty Epiphany

Remember the scene in Ratatouille when curmudgeonly food critic Anton Ego takes a bite of the title dish and is instantly transported back to his youth? A similar thing happened to me recently with a peat-laden scotch. Well, it didn't take me back to my childhood, thankfully, but it carried me to a warm, comfy cottage perched on the edge of Galway Bay in western Ireland.

I've never been one for amber spirits. Whiskey, rye, bourbon, rum....gah! Something about them triggers my gag reflex. They always have. Even the smell is enough to roil my cookies. I'm sure that growing up in sour mash country didn't help. Irish whiskey, because it's triple distilled, is a bit easier, and I've even managed to enjoy a splash of calvados on occasion. But still, I much prefer the clean crispness and bright herbal qualities of a good gin.

Then a few days ago Himself came in with a bottle of Laphroaig, a 10-year-old single malt scotch. He poured a wee dram of the stuff, set it on the arm of the sofa and went off in search of a book, safe in the knowledge that I'd never pinch his drink. I leaned over and took a sniff. The rich peaty aroma reminded me of the fires in all those cozy living rooms and bedrooms and sitting rooms I've enjoyed on trips to Ireland and Scotland. So I ventured a sip--and my senses and memory merged to catapult me from my living room in Los Angeles and plant me next to a peat fire in the Connemara. I could see that kitchy living room in front of me, and I actually teared up from the remembering. It was as if I were breathing in the essence of the fire our dear hostess Mamie had laid for us before she headed out to a wedding, singing a sweet, "Don't wait up for me, dearies!" as she closed the door behind her.

I've never had an experience like that. Himself knows how I am about ambers, so he long ago quit offering me a sip. He walked back into the room and found me holding his glass.

"Wow! I love this!" I said, and I thought he was going to keel over. A look came across his face that said, "Who are you and what have you done with my wife?!"

So what do I call this? Molecular memory? Whatever it is, I'm glad to have discovered the peaty stuff. It's like enjoying a cigar without the smoke.

I'm eager to try some of the other peaty Scotches. Himself has his favorites, of which this is one, his others being Caol Ila and Ardbeg. I look forward to trying them after we polish off this bottle. But it's not a whisky to knock back. It's to be sipped, savored and enjoyed. I can wait for the pleasure of trying the others.

Week #17 Southern Italian: The Feast of the Seven Fishes

La Vigilia, The Feast of the Seven Fishes, is a Christmas Eve meal featuring, you guessed it, fish. While communities throughout Italy celebrate La Vigilia, this meal is more a feature of southern Italian and Sicilian tradition, one carried to the United States by immigrants and popularized here. Even if they've forgotten why, even if they're not Catholic, many people still observe the custom of eating fish on Christmas Eve--at least one type, and in some households, as many as a dozen or more.

I snapped this photo in a Tuscan fish market. Most of Tuscany is landlocked, but that doesn't prevent its citizenry from adoring a good piece of frutti di mare fresh from the Mediterranean or Adriatic.

Traditionally, Catholics ate no meat on sacred days, of which Christmas Eve is one--in this case, in honor of the birth of the baby Jesus. Since we're Christian but not Catholic, it was still a learning experience for us. We enjoyed this feast with our friends Patricia and Aaron. They included us in their family Seder during Passover earlier this year, so it was a fine symmetry sharing this Christian feast with them. We convened at Angeli Caffe in West Hollywood, where they served The Feast of the Seven Fishes on Christmas Eve-Eve-Eve. Two days early is close enough for me.

Why seven types of fish? Stories explaining this number are as plentiful as, well, fish in the sea. Most of them are numerological in origin: seven is thought to be the number of perfection, since God rested on the seventh day. Then there are the seven sacraments, the Seven Hills of Rome, the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit and the seven utterances of Christ on the cross. Seven shows up a lot in the book of Revelations, too. Practically speaking, though, the number of fish people eat on Christmas Eve seems to have more to do with availability and wealth than any other factor.

Traditionally the seven fish include baccalà, dried, salted cod. It is so prevalent in Italy that I think it must be the national fish. But we didn't have baccalà, and frankly, I'm not sorry, because it is stout and aggressively fishy, without the delicate texture and flavor of most fresh fish. I once knew a man who broke up with a beautiful Italian woman because she served him meal after meal of baccalà, until he'd finally had enough. We all have our limits, I guess.

Antipasti

Our antipasti plate got us off to a good start: a piece of seared tuna dressed with a saffron and red wine vinaigrette--I could have stopped right there and just ordered another six or eight pieces; seared sardines--my favorite part of that was the fried Meyer lemon slice with which it was topped--sweetly zingy!; and an Insalata di Mare alla Griglia, that is, grilled seafood salad that included shrimp, mussels and calamari. It was like having a high-quality sampler platter.

Next was a slice of pizza alla puttanesca with anchovies, which were cooked into the sauce, not just slapped on top and left to scorch in the oven. Notice that nice hunk of garlic in there? That made me happy, as did the capers and kalamata olives. And Angeli's pizza crust (and their bread in general) is a sublime thing. Take a good look at this slice, just in case you've never seen a real pizza crust before. This is not of the mass-produced, thick-n-chewy chain restaurant/delivery outlet/cardboard box/meat-lover's/cheese-lover's/manly-man ilk. It is crispy on the outside with a bit of chew inside. It's perfectly balanced and every bit as flavorful as what's on top of it--not just merely a carrier for the toppings. When eating lesser pizzas, I toss out or give away the "bones" (a.k.a. "the pizza handles"), but a well made pizza crust is good all by itself. I didn't leave a crumb on that plate. (It's time to stand up for your right for decent pizza, but that blog is for another day.)

For our paste we had trofie, a homemade pasta cooked perfectly al dente and served with shrimp and fennel. Alongside it were cannelloni al mare (in this case stuffed with salmon), an eggplant parmesan roll and a large mushroom stuffed with veggies. Since Pat and Aaron keep kosher, they passed on the shellfish and got extra helpings of the cannelloni and mushrooms.

We had homemade cannoli for dessert. No fish in this one, thankfully, but really good freshly made cannoli that balanced lightness and heft. If you can fry a pastry in such a way that it is neither greasy nor heavy, and fill it with a mixture of lightly sweetened ricotta and chocolate so that it doesn't weigh a ton, give up your day job and do this for a living. A well-crafted cannoli is a delight. Clemenza must have had this in mind when he told Rocco in The Godfather, "Leave the gun. Take the cannoli." Even if it does mean you do have to leave the scene of the crime a couple of seconds late!

So we got our seven fish in there--I counted eight. Well, fish and seafood, if we must split hairs. And I won't. I'll just say...

Belated Happy Hanukkah!

Buon Natale! Merry Christmas!
Happy Holidays!

Week #16 South African

South Africa. Now here's a place with some amazing culinary influences: various African tribes, numerous waves of European settlers including the English, Portuguese, French, German and Dutch contingents, and a healthy representation of Indian, Malaysian, Filipino and others from around Southeast Asia. As for the terrain, this country is capable of producing most anything you'd care to eat or drink. The land sustains a veritable smorgasbord.

Himself and I trekked to Springbok, a combo restaurant and sports bar in the Sepulveda Basin area. We were a little concerned about making one of our culinary expeditions into what we feared would be just another sports bar with generic pub grub. Not to worry, though--this place is owned and run by four Afrikaners who miss the vibe, the sports and the food of their home turf.

Chicken Livers in Peri-Peri Sauce

We started with an appetizer of chicken livers in peri-peri sauce. This sauce is made of tiny birdseye chile peppers. It's hot enough to get your attention but not so hot that it detracts from the flavor of the dish. Aside from tasting great, the sauce lightened the density of the livers--no mean feat. While liver isn't my favorite thing to eat, I do find myself craving chicken livers (no other type!) about once a year. This was a good opportunity to satisfy the annual craving while having livers that hadn't been breaded and deep fried. I like this combination a lot, and I'd certainly order it again.

 
Boerewors Roll with "Train Smash"

 I had the Boerewors roll for my entrée. It's a traditional South African sausage ("boerewors" means "farmer sausage" in Afrikaans) served on a homemade bun. With its dry texture and rather un-tame flavor (although I wouldn't exactly call it "gamey"), I assumed this sausage was made of some sort of wild game. It was a tremendous surprise to discover that Boerewors is actually made of beef in a beef casing. I guess so much sausage is made of swine that I'm accustomed to the fattiness and more luxurious mouth feel. (Boer, of course, has nothing in common with pork, but rather is a person of Dutch descent in South Africa, also known as an Afrikaner. I knew this, but when I heard of a sausage with what sounded like "boar" in the name...).

The Boerewors was served with what they amusingly call "train smash," a stew of sautéed onions in a tomato sauce with some peppers added in. Perhaps more peri-peri? I think I was supposed to pour it onto the Boerewors, but I dipped in a few of the fries and ate the rest with my fork. Instead I poured peach chutney onto the sausage.

Durban Lamb Curry: I love the way they rolled the pappadum and used it for garnish.

Himself had the Durban lamb curry over rice with sambals and pappadum whirled into a nice little garnish. The curry was pretty mild, but good, and the lamb, delicate. The sambals, shredded coconut, chopped tomato and grated carrot with cilantro added sweetness, freshness and variety to the curry. Durban is in southeastern South Africa, along the Indian Ocean coastline. Indian curries are prevalent here, hence the name.

While Springbok (named for the South African rugby team, which named itself for the antelope) typically carries beers and ales they import from home, the taps were dry when we were there, an aberration, we were assured. I hope so. We both want to return, and it will be good to try the local brew with the local food. As they say, if it grows together, it goes together.

When Aid Africa held its fundraiser a few weeks ago, I won the raffle for the basket of goodies assembled from all over the continent. Three of the items are from South Africa and were perfect for my breakfast the morning after our South African dinner.

 Rooibos tea with oatmeal & fig jam

 Himself watched in a combination of amusement and disbelief as I ripped open the packet of instant oatmeal, poured it into a bowl, added hot water, stirred it and then took a picture.

"It's instant oatmeal. What are you going to say about it?"

"Not much, I don't imagine," I replied. The most interesting feature is that the oatmeal is "Jungle" brand and has a tiger on the package. That amuses me. To sweeten it I stirred in a generous spoonful of South African fig jam, and it turned out to be the best fig jam I've ever had. The occasional length of citrus peel added a nice texture and contrasting flavor. It turns out that figs grown in the Cape area are some of the world's most delicate and flavorful. I hope to find that out someday by actually traveling there, but for now, I'd have to say they make a pretty fine jam.

Speaking of amusing brands, the name of the jam was "Something." As in, "I brought you Something from my trip to South Africa." Something turns out to be a company that scopes out those foods it thinks most adequately represent the flavors of South Africa and imports them into the U.S., things like spice rubs, marinades, teas and the like. Turns out the peach chutney I had on the Boerewors roll came from these guys.

As for the Rooibos tea, dang, it's red! And mildly flavored, more floral than herbal. Delicately sweet, so I didn't feel the need to add sugar or honey. Rooibos (Afrikaans for "red bush") is a tea grown in the Cedarberg Mountains in the central part of South Africa, just north of the Cape of Good Hope. It produces a tea that is a deep mahogany color. Rooibos has no caffeine, since it is an herb and not a tea, so I enjoyed a cup of it before putting on a pot of coffee. A little quick Internet research tells me that rooibos has a rather iconic place in the South African heart and is something that Afrikaners often carry with them when they leave home. That's certainly easier--and more legal--than developing an attachment to the ham or cheese you miss from home.

We enjoyed our foray to Springbok enough to return (just not on karaoke night). There were several other menu items I'd like to try, like the braai, the South African take on barbecue. Coming from barbecue country myself, I'm interested in seeing what they do with it.