This is the eighth post in a series on the French-themed trip I took this summer.  In this post, I’m bringing you back to Réunion, the French island colony in the Indian Ocean, where I tried French-influenced Indian cuisine and suggested an AOC for Chouchou de Cirque de Salazie. In case you missed them, read my earlier posts on how I became such a Francophile, come along on a Parisian food tour inspired by David Lebovitz, see me try out his recipe for pain d’épices au chocolat, read my homage to lovely Montmartre, and see the Space Invaders in Paris and the street art of Belleville.   

Réunion’s Southern coast is just an hour away in distance but continents away in climate and culture from the wet, mysterious, and rural cirques.  St. Pierre, the “capital of the South,” has a sunny Mediterranean vibe that feels more Riviera than rainforest.  In the lively city center, the Marché Couvert (Covered Market) is a good source for local produce including the island’s famed Bourbon vanilla (Réunion was formerly named Ile Bourbon) and jars of local condiments including chutneys, chillies, and tropical jams.  It is also a showcase for local handicrafts including woven baskets and bags from neighboring Madagascar and the traditionally used covered casseroles known as marmites.  Be prepared to bargain (en Français) and pay in Euros.

*     *     *

Caramelized Banana Vanilla Jam

As with their compatriots on the French mainland, the Réunionnais love their confitures (jams) to enjoy along with their pains et croissants pour le petit déjeuner.  In Réunion, jams are made with an interesting twist– sugar is caramelized before the fruit is added, which adds body and extra flavor.  Here is a recipe for a typical jam you might find at a typical French tropical breakfast: caramelized banana jam, which I have finessed here with a hint of vanilla, in honor of Réunion’s place in the history of vanilla.

Ingredients

5 overripe bananas

1/2 cup demerara or brown sugar

1 tsp vanilla extract

1 pinch salt

Technique

1.  Peel and mash bananas as smoothly as possible.  Set aside.

2.  Place sugar into a saucepan and melt over low heat until caramelized, about 10 minutes.

3.  Add mashed bananas to caramel.  The caramel will harden when the (cooler) bananas are added, so stir well to re-melt.

4.  Simmer over very low heat for 45 minutes, stirring often to avoid burning.

5.  Once thickened to desired consistency, add salt and vanilla.

6.  Allow to cool.

7.  Enjoy with buttered bread or on a croissant.

geokaren geokaren

I warn you – I went to the HI state finals w/my chili!#letslunch :D

12 Dec 

cowgirlchef Ellise Pierce

Throwdown!

12 Dec 

There was no way I could beat them, so the path of least resistance would have been to join them.  But me? I take the path of most resistance.  So when I spied a gorgeous bag of Rancho Gordo Vaquero beans, my recipe was revealed: a meatless chili suitable for cowboys and cowgirls, and safe for cows, too.  For those of you unfamiliar with the brilliant products offered by Rancho Gordo, it is a Napa, California company owned by Steve Sando, who is dedicated to preserving heirloom beans from the New World/Latin America.

Vaquero beans, also known as Orca beans, are a playful black and white, looking to me like a cow.  Rancho Gordo describes them as a cousin to the Anasazi bean.  They’re fun to cook with, because even after cooking and giving off an inky pot liquor, they maintain their dappled markings.  If you have trouble obtaining these lovely beans, pinto beans make a fine, though less exciting, substitute.

I serve this cow-friendly chili with cornbread, natch, and in keeping with my vegan, plant-based theme (sure to be unrecognizable by Texans), I am using an excellent recipe from Isa Chandra of the PostPunkKitchen.

*     *     *

For other wonderful takes on chili, please see the other #LetsLunch Chili Posts, and check back later for more:

Cathy‘s Chunky-Style Cowboy Chili at Showfood Chef

Charissa‘s Clean Out Refrigerator Night Cassoulet, A “Frenchified” Chili at Zest Bakery

Ellise‘s Chicken Tinga Chili at Cowgirl Chef

Emma‘s Dave’s Chili at Dreaming of Pots and Pans

Felicia‘s Low-Concept Vegetarian Chili at Burnt-Out Baker

Grace‘s Chinese New Year Chili at HapaMama

Karen‘s Hawaiian Chili at GeoFooding

Lucy‘s “Full of Beans” Chili at A Cook And Her Books

Cheryl’s Keema Chili at A Tiger in the Kitchen

Joe’s Texas Bowl o’ Red 

Pat’s Miso Chili Con Carne at The Asian Grandmother’s Cookbook

*     *     *

Smokin’ Hot Vegan Vaquero Chili 

Serves: 4-6

Ingredients

8 oz dried Vaquero beans, soaked overnight

1 14.5 oz can diced fire roasted tomatoes

1-2 chipotles in adobo, finely diced

1/2 onion, finely diced

1/2 bell pepper, finely diced

1 carrot, finely diced

1 tsp ground cumin

1 tsp oregano

1/2 tsp cayenne

5 cups water

salt to taste

optional garnishes: chopped cilantro, shredded cheese

Technique

1.  After beans have been soaked, drain from soaking liquid and set aside.

2.  Prepare all vegetables and fry in a heavy pot with a tablespoon of canola oil.  Stir and fry for about 5 minutes until vegetables have softened.

3.  Add cumin and cayenne and fry for another minute.

4.  Add beans, tomatoes, water and oregano, and bring to a boil.  Then lower heat and simmer for 1 hour, or until beans are soft.

5.  Add salt to taste.

6.  Ladle into bowls and top with garnishes, if desired.  Serve with cornbread (recipe follows).

*    *     *

Vegan Cornbread

from The Post Punk Kitchen, by Isa Chandra

Makes 12 to 16 squares

Ingredients

2 cups cornmeal

1 cup unbleached all-purpose flour

2 teaspoon baking powder

1/3 cup canola oil

2 tablespoons maple syrup

2 cups soymilk

2 teaspoons apple cider vinegar

1/2 teaspoon salt

Technique

1.  Preheat oven to 350, line a 9×13 baking pan with parchment paper or spray the bottom lightly with non-stick cooking spray.

2. In a medium bowl, whisk together the soymilk and the vinegar and set aside.

3. In a large bowl, sift together the dry ingredients (cornmeal, flour, baking powder and salt).

4. Add the oil and maple syrup to the soymilk mixture. Whisk with a wire whisk  until it is foamy and bubbly, about 2 minutes.

5.  Pour the wet ingredients into the dry and mix together using a large wooden spoon or a firm spatula. Pour batter into the prepared baking pan and bake 30-35 minutes, until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Slice into squares and serve warm or store in an airtight container.

*     *     *

For this month’s Inviting Writing, we asked for stories about foods that make your holidays complete. We’ve read about pizzelles, mystery cookies and mashed potatoes, and today’s essay is about roti, a specialty that comes from Trinidad by way of India, China and Queens. Linda Shiue is a San Francisco-based doctor and food writer who “believes in the healing power of chicken soup.” She blogs about food and travel at spiceboxtravels.com and you can follow her on Twitter at @spiceboxtravels.

Ravenous for Roti

By Linda Shiue

Ask any Trinidadians what they’re hungry for, and the answer will be “roti.” This refers not only to the Indian flatbread itself, but the curried fillings which make Trinidadian roti the best hand-held meal you’ll find. Curries in Trinidad are served with either dhalpouri roti, which is filled with dried, ground chick peas, or paratha, a multilayered, buttery flatbread. You wrap the roti around some of your curry filling and eat it like a burrito. It’s sold as a common “fast” food in Trinidad (the cooking of the curry is not fast but the serving of it into freshly prepared rotis is) but also prized enough to be served at family gatherings and celebrations. For members of the Trinidadian diaspora, like my husband, the hunger for roti is profound. If you live in New York, it is not too far of a trip to find yourself a decent roti—Richmond Hill in Queens is home to a large Trinidadian and Guyanese community. Trinidad itself is only about a five-hour flight away. But if you are on the West Coast, you’re out of luck. Visiting Trinidad requires almost a full day of air travel. Last time we checked, there was only one Trinidadian roti shop in our area, over in Oakland. It was a musty, dim (as in unlit until customers rang the buzzer) shop, and the owner was equally dour. Even as I paid for our lunch, I felt the need to apologize for intruding. The rotis were pallid, dry and lifeless. They were nothing like the roti I had devoured in Trinidad.

On my first trip to my husband’s home, my future mother-in-law (herself a Chinese immigrant to Trinidad from Canton) served me some curry tattoo. What’s tattoo? Better known around here as armadillo. Despite having recently completed a vegetarian phase, and despite the still visible markings on the flesh of the armadillo’s bony plates, I tasted it. You could call it a taste test, under my mother-in-law’s watchful gaze, with the emphasis on “test.” This taste was the beginning of what was, on that visit to my husband’s home village in the South of Trinidad, an eye-opening journey to a land of culinary delights I had never imagined. On this trip, which happened over Christmas, I was led from home to home, eating a full meal at each stop. I was presented with plate after plate of curried dishes, condiments (including kuchila, tamarind sauce and fiery Scotch Bonnet pepper sauce), pastelles (similar to tamales, but with a savory-sweet filling of minced meat, olives, and raisins) and the rice dish pelau. Since then, I’ve learned to cook a pretty mean curry myself. But I have not yet mastered the art of roti making, and this is a cause for sorrow. We make do with eating curry and rice when we are without roti, but whenever we can find time and an excuse to go to New York, we have one mission: procure roti.

There is no such thing as “going too far” to sate the hunger of the expatriate. When it is for something as tasty as Trinidadian roti, a cross-country flight is not considered unreasonable. So we go to New York for a Christmastime visit to my New York-by-way-of-Trinidad in-laws. There is no Christmas goose or ham on the dining table at this Trinidadian Christmas celebration. When we announce our plans to visit, our family knows to make the obligatory run to Singh’s for curry goat and chicken, aloo pie and doubles, to bring it over to my mother-in-law’s for a welcome feast. But they have also learned over the years that they should check in with us for our “to go” order of unfilled roti. We’ll order half a dozen each of dhalpouri roti and paratha, carefully triple wrap them individually, and freeze them overnight to bring back with us to San Francisco. By the time we get back, they are starting to defrost, but they’re the first thing we unpack (and refreeze), because this is some precious loot. The handful of homesick Trinidadians we’ve collected over the years here is always thrilled when we organize a curry night, and there is never enough roti.

If, like me, you have found yourself with a formidable amount of leftovers from your holiday ham, you might be looking for creative and tasty ways to use your surplus.  I recommend a winter warmer that is one of my family’s favorite dinners: kimchi fried rice.  This is one of my workday go-to meals.  By midweek, I am sure to have some leftover rice in the refrigerator, and am equally likely to want to cook something quick.  For years I’ve been making Chinese fried rice, either vegetarian or with leftover chicken, if I have it.  But then I had the eye-opening experience of tasting kimchi fried rice for the first time, at a hole in the wall Korean pub in the foggy Outer Sunset district near San Francisco’s Ocean Beach.

It had been literally years that my friends and I wanted to try out Toyose.  It was shrouded in as much mystery as it was in fog—its entrance behind a garage door, with vague hours of operation, and a reputation for being where chefs went to eat after work.  The problem was that we all have young children, so we tend to eat dinner on the early side as opposed to in the wee hours of the morning.  Finally, the stars aligned, and we made ourselves comfortable in the dimly lit, wood-paneled one room restaurant.  We were presented with a long menu of items we weren’t too familiar with.  When in doubt, we order a bit of everything.  There were some hits and some misses, but even the 5 and 6 year olds in the group, who normally were not spicy food eaters, could not get enough of the kimchi fried rice, so much so that we ordered another platter.

I still can’t fully understand how the addition of chopped kimchi, or the traditional Korean accompaniment of Napa cabbage leaves pickled and fermented in bright red cayenne and garlic, can transform humble fried rice into something truly sublime.  But now it is the only fried rice I make, and I always make room for a huge tub of kimchi in my refrigerator just for this purpose.

My “recipe” varies each time I make it.  I’ve made it vegetarian some nights, and other nights I’ve added leftover chicken, turkey, ham and sometimes even bacon.  I’ve outlined a recipe to serve 4 people below, but the general recipe is flexible.  The ratio is 1 part kimchi to 2 parts rice, with the optional addition of a small amount of meat.  This is an adaptation of Molly Wizenberg’s recipe on Orangette, which includes the brilliant addition of butter, which really rounds out the flavor (maybe that’s why the kids like it so much).  There’s also a last minute drizzle of sesame oil, and toppings of sunnyside up eggs, chopped scallions, and a sprinkle of the seaweed-sesame Japanese topping known as furikake.

Hope you enjoy this recipe.  What are some other ways that you like to use up leftover ham from the holidays?

*     *     *

Kimchi Fried Rice

recipe adapted from Orangette

Ingredients

1/2 to 1 cup diced cooked ham

2 cups Napa cabbage kimchi, diced

4 cups cooked rice, cooled

1 Tbsp. unsalted butter, plus more for frying eggs

2 tsp. sesame oil

Salt

Sesame seeds or furikake, for garnish

Sliced scallions or sweet spring onions, for garnish

Eggs, for frying, 1-2 per person

Technique

1.  Warm some oil in a large skillet or wok, then add ham.   Cook, stirring occasionally, for about a minute. Add the kimchi, and cook for several minutes, until the kimchi is hot and starting to caramelize.

2.  Raise the heat to high, and add the rice, stirring well. Cook, stirring occasionally, for several minutes, until the rice is hot.

3.  In another skillet, melt some butter and fry as many eggs as you’d like, seasoning with salt to taste.

4.  When the rice is ready, stir in the butter and sesame oil, and season with salt to taste. Divide between 2-4 bowls, and top each with a fried egg or two. Garnish with sesame seeds or furikake and scallions.

Yield: 2 -4 servings

For this month’s #LetsLunch, a virtual potluck on Twitter, the theme is a festive side dish from one’s family or culture in honor of the holidays.  This one comes from Trinidad, whose culture I married into.  The dish I have chosen comes from my husband’s Great Aunt Victoria, who is known to everyone as Auntie Doll.

Auntie Doll is a striking presence in her vibrant, flowing caftans (pretty groovy).  She is a gentle soul whose Trinidadian Indian and Creole cooking are legendary.  My husband lived weekdays with her and his great uncle Randolph for several years during elementary school, because his own parents lived too far away from the school.  Auntie Doll and Uncle Randolph were unable to have children of their own, and were therefore able to pour all of their love and attention into nurturing my lucky husband.  When we were last able to bring Auntie Doll over for the long journey to visit us, after Uncle passed away,  I was regaled with stories from my husband’s childhood.

I enjoyed hearing the dirt (which was disappointingly sparse), but I secretly hoped she would also share some of her cooking pearls with me.  I  needed to learn some basic techniques of Caribbean cooking (what is “browning” anyway? what is “green seasoning?”), plus there were a few recipes I was desperate to learn: pelau, pastelles, sorrel, and her version of curries. Lucky me, she read my mind, and shared a few secrets.  ”Browning,” when used as a term in Caribbean cooking, is an almost black caramelized sugar used to add color and flavor to meat.  It is made by heating brown sugar in a hot pan until smoking and liquefied, just a millimeter short of burned. This can be thinned with water and the resulting smoky, smoky caramel flavored-liquid stored in a bottle for the next time. “Green seasoning” is a mixture of various chopped green herbs, including culantro and cilantro, green onions, as well as garlic and lime juice.  It’s an excellent marinade for meat and fish.

The recipe I convinced Auntie Doll to share with me was for pastelles.  These are the Caribbean equivalent of tamales, filled with a slightly sweet mince studded with raisins, and are normally wrapped in banana leaf packets.  There is a similar dish in Puerto Rico named pasteles.  Pastelles are a tasty treat served on special occasions, traditionally during Christmas celebrations.  Auntie Doll was enthusiastic about passing this recipe down to me, but as with most mother’s recipes, at least in my experience, she left something out.  In this case, the omission was intentional: Auntie Doll didn’t want me to go through the trouble of wrapping the filling in banana leaves, so she invented a casserole version, “baked pastelles,” perfect for me, her American daughter-in-law.  If true pastelles are like tamales, these baked pastelles are like tamale pie, or even Shepherd’s Pie.  The original recipe has no measurements, like many recipes of excellent home cooks.  Auntie Doll was kind enough to create a written recipe for me, including measurements, so I could approximate her version.

I think she did a great job with this recipe- -it tastes almost as good as the real thing (I think she still left something out), but easier to make for a crowd.  Connoisseurs of true pastelles might not be satisfied, but should keep an open mind and take a bite– this is pure comfort food, Caribbean-style.    Happy holidays!

*     *     *

Trinidadian Baked Pastelles

By Auntie Doll

Serves 20-25.

Ingredients

1 lb ground beef (may also substitute lamb or turkey), seasoned with salt, pepper, chili sauce (ideally habanero), worcestershire sauce or tamarind sauce, and green seasoning if you’ve got it, all to taste

1 1/2 cups evaporated milk

1 1/2 cup corn meal

2 medium onions, finely chopped

1/2 pound of margarine (not butter, if you want to be authentic.  This sounds like a lot, and it is, but it is needed to moisten and bind the cornmeal)

2 eggs, beaten into the evaporated milk

1 can of cream style corn

2 Tbs each of raisins, capers, olives, sweet bell pepper, and celery, adjust to taste

Technique

1.  Melt margarine in a pot, then add seasoned ground beef.  Stir until cooked well.

2.  Add corn meal slowly and stir constantly, so it doesn’t clump.

3.  Add in onions, raisins, capers, olives, sweet pepper and celery, and continue to stir and fry.

4.  Once onions are slightly translucent, pour in the creamed corn and combine.

5.  Remove pot from stove.

6.  Blend in the egg/milk mixture.

7.  Transfer contents of pot into a greased casserole  dish.

8.  Bake in a 350 oven for 30 to 35 minutes until golden.  Test for doneness with a knife, which should come out clean.

This is the seventh post in a series on the French-themed trip I took this summer.  In this post, I’m bringing you back to Réunion, the French island colony in the Indian Ocean, where I tried French-influenced Indian cuisine. In case you missed them, read my earlier posts on how I became such a Francophile, come along on a Parisian food tour inspired by David Lebovitz, see me try out his recipe for pain d’épices au chocolat, read my homage to lovely Montmartre, and see the Space Invaders in Paris and the street art of Belleville.   

*     *     *

What’s in a name? A lot, if you are speaking about French cuisine.  The French created the concept of terroir, that the geography, climate and soil of an area bestow products grown in that region with unique qualities.  From this, the French developed Appellation d’origine contrôlée (AOC), which trademarks eponymous products.  The origins of AOC date back to the 15th century, when the name of Roquefort cheese was regulated by a parliamentary decree.  Other familiar AOC products include Champagne, Burgundy, Cotes de Rhone, and Lentilles de Puy.

Today I’m bringing you back to Réunion, the French colony (officially a Département Français d’ Outre-Mer, or DOM) in the Indian Ocean.  In my first post on Réunion, I was impressed by the Indo-French culinary fusion found on this multicultural island.    In contrast, today’s recipe is a classic French-style gratin using local produce.  The vegetable is chouchou, which is grown in one specific area on the island, the Cirque de Salazie.

If you are wondering, as I was, what a cirque is, let’s talk a little geology.  One of the most striking geographical features of this volcanic island are its cirques, or calderas, which are dramatic geologic formations of sheer mountain walls surrounding a deep amphitheater created after the collapse of land after a volcanic eruption.  Three cirques form the interior of Réunion, both physically and culturally.  The Cirques were first inhabited in the 18th century by runaway slaves (marrons) who escaped their French masters to establish villages deep in the interior.  Each Cirque has its own personality and, as a mark of the French culture, has a specialty product, as on the French mainland with its various AOC products.  Cirque de Cilaos is known for its hot springs and produces the island’s eponymous bottled spring water.   It is also known for growing lentils and more recently, producing white and rosé wines.  Cirque de Mafate is accessible only by foot and is a hiker’s paradise.  And the third, Cirque de Salazie, is known for growing chouchou.  Confused? Some of you may know the word “Chouchou” as a French endearment meaning “darling,” but  it also refers to the pear-shaped fruit (eaten as a vegetable) which has many names including Christophene (France and Caribbean), choko  (Australia and New Zealand), chayote (Americas) and mirliton (Louisiana).  It is native to the tropical parts of the Americas where it is beloved and commonly eaten.

The Réunionnais love their chouchou.  While there is not yet an AOC designation for Chouchou de Réunion, you’ll find it in homes and on restaurant menus all over the island.  On Rue Général de Gaulle, the Gallic in name but island in flavor main drag of the town of Hell-bourg in Cirque de Salazie, the few cafes and restaurants all serve chouchou.  It is served many ways– in gratins, salads, and even in a sweet gateau.  We stopped for lunch in a tiny cafe, Le P’tit Koin Kréol, where it was one of the few entrées being served that day, in a gratin.  Slices of chouchou are baked in Béchamel and topped with cheese (and sometimes breadcrumbs for texture).  While my husband and I loved the spicy local curries smoked meat or fish dishes that form the larger part of Réunionnais cuisine, gratins of chouchou or hearts of palm were the mild and creamy standbys our kids came to rely on.

Back home in California, I had no problem locating this fruit in either the bodega down the street or our local Safeway.  I just needed to know the name to search for: chayote.

*     *    *

Chouchou Gratin

Ingredients

2 chouchou

1/2 red onion, diced

2 cloves garlic, minced

1/4 tsp ground mustard

salt and pepper to taste

2 strips thick-cut bacon, diced and cooked til chewy-crisp (optional; omit for vegetarian version)

for Béchamel:

2 Tbsp butter

2 Tbsp flour

1 1/4 cups milk

salt, pepper, nutmeg to taste

1/4 cup grated Gruyere or Swiss cheese

1. Preheat oven to 350.

2.  Cut chouchou into 1/2 inch cubes.

3.  toss prepared vegetables with seasonings and then scatter bacon bacon pieces into a covered casserole dish.  Set aside.

3. Make the Béchamel sauce.  Melt butter in a sauce pan and then whisk in flour.  Cook over low heat until golden.

4.  Slowly whisk in heated milk and stir until smooth.  Simmer over low heat for 5-10 minutes until velvety.

5.  Pour Bécahmel sauce over vegetables in casserole.

6.  Sprinkle grated cheese over the top of the gratin.

7.  Bake at 350 for 30 minutes, covered, then remove cover and cook for another 5-10 minutes until cheese is golden.

*      *     *

From Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet:

‘Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What’s Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What’s in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d, Retain that dear perfection which he owes Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, And for that name which is no part of thee Take all myself.

Happy Thanksgiving!

I am grateful for my family, health, and friends.

Please take a look at Taiwanese American.org, where I am grateful to have the chance to retell my family’s Thanksgiving story today.

Thank you for reading.