Once again, I broke up with New York. It’s an on – off relationship: my love affair with the City tends to grind to a halt by the beginning of July. Now that I am away from it all, I do get occasional intense longings for the rumble of the elevated tracks, for sleepy afternoons spent in Sunset Park (the Chapultepec of New York) lounging on grass, for the quiet calm of Hasidic shabbos, for feasts on baklava and meze in Bay Ridge, for drinks at the corner of Havemayer & Grand followed by crossing the Williamsburg Bridge on foot in the velvety darkness. Nevertheless, despite all the potential delights of summer in the City, swapping the cloying humidity, the annoying drone of A/Cs, and sidewalks festering with garbage for the cool endless pastel-hued Nordic nights is a no-brainer.

Everyone who ever ventures to Finland in July will encounter strawberries. Mounds of them: hulking layer cakes of heavy cream and strawberries. Strawberries for breakfast, strawberries in salads, strawberries with the afternoon coffee, strawberries as a midnight snack. Friends who drop in for a surprise visit will bring you a punnet of strawberries. And you will surprise them with dessert of strawberries – for years and years, my most low-effort version has been a cup of hulled and halved strawberries marinated in the fridge with half a tablespoon of high-quality aceto balsamico and one tablespoon of sugar.

My co-worker’s father has a strawberry farm near Lohja. Today marks the end of their strawberry picking season. Although strawberries from Suonenjoki will still be abundantly available for a few weeks, I really should get started with my strawberry recipes before it’s too late.

I’ll travel to Australia for a brief work-related thing next month. The logistics have been unusually complex – there are five people involved and each person has different schedule requirements. This probably explains why I have baked a pavlova (probably the most famous culinary invention from down under) for three separate sets of guests this week.

The recipe for pavlova has been with me for at least a decade – it’s always an enormous hit and the perfect party dish. In frenzy of a few minutes, your guests will devour every last crumb, and you will get thank-you notes, e-mails, and text messages that wax poetic about your choice for dessert. It is imperative that you prepare the meringue yourself the morning or night before. You can bake several meringues at once, although I have never been able have them around for longer than a few days. In theory, you could go to a store and buy some readymade meringues. Unfortunately, they will have the texture and taste of drywall. This is because a pavlova is not a dish that travels well: your homemade meringue will be so fragile, yet so deliciously chewy inside that it barely survives from the oven to the table.

Pavlova is a tremendously simple affair: once you have amazed yourself by performing true kitchen magic by producing a perfect meringue, you will just pile a lot of whipped cream and fresh fruit on top of it. My favorites are simple and perennial – either pomegranate seeds or a few passion fruits: both will produce a miraculously pretty dish. Fresh raspberries would also work beautifully, but right now, strawberries are the one and only correct answer.

Pavlova with fresh strawberries

The Strawberry Pavlova

Serves 6-8 with generous second helpings

Meringue:
4 egg whites
230 g (2.7 dl or 1 heaped cup) sugar
1 tsp corn starch
1 tsp white wine vinegar
½ tsp vanilla sugar

Topping:
2 dl (3/4 cups) heavy cream
4 or 5 passion fruits, 1-2 pomegranates, or fresh strawberries

If at all possible, bake the pavlova directly on the serving plate (you can line it with a circle of oiled parchment). You can also use an oven tray, but remember that moving the meringue around will crack it very easily.

Beat the whites of eggs with the sugar until hard peaks form (a Kitchen Aid mixer is ideal for this task). Add vinegar and vanilla, and continue beating for 4 more minutes, or until of thick and glossy in consistency. Lightly fold in cornflour.

Pile mixture into one large or two smaller circular shapes on the oven tray, making a hollow in centre for filling. Note that the mixture will swell during cooking.

I have a gas oven: I bake the meringue at 150 C (300 F) for ten minutes. Then I turn the oven to 140 C (180 F) for a further hour if there is just one enormous meringue; if I make two smaller ones, 30 more minutes is sufficient. Then I turn the oven off, and leave the pavlova in the oven until cool. Undercook rather than overcook – the meringue should remain brilliantly white (if it starts to gain color, the oven is too warm), hard on the outside and meltingly soft inside.

Top with whipped cream and decorate with fresh fruit. Serve immediately.

Jaloviina or Jallu is a legendary Finnish cut brandy, which is made by blending cognac with grain liquor. Its production began in 1932 as a cheaper alternative for cognac, and originally this three star grade Jallu had 3/4 of cognac. The Second World War cut luxury item supplies, and in 1940 Jallu had to be replaced by a one star grade, which had a mere 1/4 of cognac in it. During the difficult years the popularity of the drink grew, and has remained relatively high in demand ever since.

Ville Valo, the lead singer of a Finnish rock band HIM, has made meatballs served with Jallu sauce popular by announcing them his favorites. The recipe was developed a few years ago in his local hangout, Restaurant Tori in Helsinki.

I first tried the recipe a year ago, and both S and I instantly fell in love with the smooth, hearty taste of the sauce. The meatballs are also fine, but its the Jallu sauce that makes this dish so special. It was only a few weeks ago when we went to Tori to try out the original. Their portion is huge: five enormous meatballs with a mountain of mashed potatoes and plenty of sauce. Surely a trucker’s meal, but not surprisingly S didn’t seem to have any trouble finishing the plate. However, Tori’s meatballs were tough and plain, albeit the sauce and the mash were perfectly fine. After our second and third visit to Tori we had to conclude that tastewise there isn’t really a reason to leave home. The following recipe is really that good.

Finnish Meatballs in Cognac Sauce, i.e., Jallupullat

Serves four

For the meatballs:
450 g (1 lbs) ground pork and beef
1 dl (0.4 cups) crème fraîche
½ dl (0.2 cups) onion soup mix
½ dl (0.2 cups) dried fried onion
a pinch of allspice

For the sauce:
50 g (1/2 stick) butter
1 dl (0.4 cups) all purpose flour
2 dl (0.4 cups) demi-glace
3 dl (1.25 cups) water
2 tbsp beef fond or two beef stock cubes
1 dl (0.4 cups) cooking cream
0,5 dl (0.2 cups) cut brandy (1/4 VSOP cognac, 3/4 plain vodka)
a pinch of crushed black peppercorns

Preheat the oven to 175°C (350°F).

Mix the meatball ingredients, and roll into 12-16 balls. Bake for about 30 minutes or until just done.

Heat the butter and add the flour stirring constantly until nicely browned. Don’t let the flour burn. Add the demi-glace and water stirring vigorously, trying to avoid lumps. Add the beef fond, and let simmer for 30 minutes stirring occasionally.

After the 30 minutes add liquor and cream, and let settle for a couple of minutes. You can either add the meatballs directly in the sauce (tastier), or if appearances are more important (boring), serve the meatballs and the sauce separately.

Serve with hot mashed potatoes and crushed and sugared lingonberries. Garnish with fresh parsley.

I bought a can of Libby’s pumpkin puré more or less a year ago, but never quite remembered to use it. Finnish Father’s Day was a little while ago, and I wanted to bring something easy yet tasty for the Sunday meal’s dessert. I remembered the pumpkin can, and read the back label which had a pie recipe on it. Since I happened to have all the ingredients at hand, and didn’t have the energy to google for the ultimate pumpkin pie recipe that takes forever to make and requires three trips to specialty stores for exotic spices, I decided to give the can’s recipe a go.

“This is the traditional holiday pumpkin pie. This classic recipe has been on LIBBY’S® Pumpkin labels since 1950. This pie is easy to prepare and even easier to enjoy. Just mix, pour, bake for a delicious homemade tradition.”

And sure enough, the outcome was delicious. For all non-Americans, the taste is really close to gingerbread, yet the consistency is soft and luscious, just like when you soak a handful of gingerbread to a glass of milk and spoon them as a soggy mess – one of my favorite childhood memories…

So here you go, LIBBY’S® Famous Pumpkin Pie, straight from the can’s label.

LIBBY’S® Famous Pumpkin Pie

1.75 dl (3/4 cup) granulated sugar
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp ground ginger
1/4 tsp ground cloves
2 large eggs
1 can (425 g / 15 oz.) LIBBY’S® 100% Pure Pumpkin
1 can (3.5 dl / 12 fl. oz.) condensed milk
1 unbaked 23 cm / 9-inch (0.9 l / 4-cup volume) deep-dish pie shell
Whipped cream (optional)

MIX sugar, cinnamon, salt, ginger and cloves in small bowl. Beat eggs in large bowl. Stir in pumpkin and sugar-spice mixture. Gradually stir in evaporated milk.

POUR into pie shell.

BAKE in preheated 220°C (425°F) oven for 15 minutes. Reduce temperature to 175°C (350°F); bake for 40 to 50 minutes or until knife inserted near center comes out clean. Cool on wire rack for 2 hours. Serve immediately or refrigerate. Top with whipped cream before serving.

Some months ago I was looking for an easy and light dinner, and ended up buying a box of premium brand ready-to-eat Jerusalem artichoke soup. Before heating the soup I googled its manufacturer, and found their recipe site, which suggested a bacon-tomato topping for the soup. Both S and I were positively surprised by the smooth texture and exquisite taste, but being the foodie I am, the thought of eating canned soup felt wrong.

Our first encounter with Jerusalem artichokes happened in the middle of the summer, and I assumed it would be trivial to buy them from any market. I did immediately find a few plastic bags full of semi-rotten tubers in the nearby supermarket, but I wasn’t ready to settle for anything but perfect. Soon my trusty greengrocer explained that Jerusalem artichokes are a fall species, and that fresh tubers start to appear in stores in late October.

A couple of weeks ago I found a small bag of tiny fresh tubers, and made my first batch of Jerusalem artichoke soup. Peeling the tubers was a pain, as they are quite similar in appearance to fresh ginger. Peeled tubers also brown quickly if exposed to air, so they need to be put in water as soon as possible. The small, gnarly and uneven tubers took a lot of time to peel, and I actually made a mental note not to make the soup from scratch ever again. Because the soup ended up being really good, I decided to give the Jerusalem artichokes an another go when I saw a batch of big tubers at the greengrocer’s. This time I only washed them carefully, and scrubbed the worst parts off, leaving the skin. This saved a lot of time and effort, and unless a glutton for punishment, I suggest doing the same.

I haven’t bought sun dried tomatoes since I first made oven dried tomatoes some two years ago. They’re cheaper, have less oil and taste every bit as good as store bought ones – if not much better. The recipe is in Finnish, but basically you halve the tomatoes, brush them lightly with olive oil, sprinkle with salt, coriander and balsamico, and bake in an oven for 4-9 hours using the lowest temperature setting, and the door slightly cracked open allowing the steam to escape.

Jerusalem artichoke soup with sun dried tomatoes and bacon topping

Serves 4-6

1 kg (2.2 lbs) Jerusalem artichokes
1 medium-to-big parsnip
2 potatoes
2 dl (a scant cup) cream
chicken broth
salt, pepper to taste
egg yolks for thickening (optional)
parsley

150 g (5 oz) bacon
2 dl (a scan cup) of sun dried tomatoes, or a couple of fresh tomatoes
5 cloves of garlic
croutons

Scrub the Jerusalem artichokes carefully, or peel them. Peel the parsnip and potatoes, and cut in large cubes to speed up cooking. Cover the vegetables with chicken broth and cook until soft, about 10-20 minutes. Keep the cooking liquid.

Puré the vegetables with the cream, and add cooking liquid until the soup runs smoothly. Season with salt and pepper. Use egg yolks if you need to thicken the soup. Add finely cut parsley.

Cut the bacon into strips, and fry with crushed garlic until nicely browned. Add the tomatoes. Spoon the bacon-tomato mixture on top of the soup and add croutons. Decorate with parsley leaves.

Some time ago I promised to cook a Sunday lunch at my parents’ for the family and S. I was completely out of ideas and had no vision whatsoever. Such times call for a visit to my favourite butcher, Reinin Liha, at the Hakaniemi Market Hall in Helsinki. The market hall was opened in1916, and has been an excellent source of meat, fish and produce ever since. Reinin Liha is considered one of the best, if not the best, butcher in Finland. They have been in business for 56 years, and their experience really shows in the service.

I was supposed to serve the meal at 3 pm, so I decided to buy the meat the day before. I know few better ways to look for an inspiration than browse the meat-filled counters at a butcher store. It didn’t take for long when I went to Reinin Liha to find beautiful lambkin shanks. When I saw them I immediately knew they’d make the perfect dish to be prepared in my brand-spanking-new Emile Henry earthenware round casserole.

I prepared the lamb shanks with the recipe I got with the shanks. They were marinated in garlic, thyme and rosemary spiced olive oil over the night.

On Sunday morning I did the unthinkable and woke up before nine so that the shanks would have plenty of time to simmer in low temperature. The longer you cook them, the more tender the shanks will be, and ultimately will fall of the bone. Yummy! I cooked mine for 5 hours.

Braised Lamb Shanks

Serves 6

6 organically grown lamb shanks (about 2 kg / 4.5 lbs)
salt, pepper
virgin olive oil
plenty of coarsly crushed garlic
4 tbsp chopped fresh rosemary
1 tsp dried thyme
1/2 bottle of red wine, for example Señorío de los Llanos Reserva

Prepare the marinade by mixing the oil and spices. Let the shanks marinade in a fridge overnight.

Heat the oven to 150 C / 300 F.

Put the shanks close to each others in a deep pot, the bone facing up. Pour the marinade over the shanks. Pour the wine, about half a bottle, until the shanks are covered up to half their height.

Cover the pot with a lid and lower the temperature to 100 C / 225 F after 30 minutes. Let cook for about 5 hours until tender enough to be eaten without a knife.

Sieve the jus, cook together, and serve as a sauce. Mashed potatoes go well with the shanks. Try mixing a few tablespoons of pesto with the mash.

Not long ago I spent a few days in Barcelona. Although my work schedule was pretty hectic, we managed to squeeze in a memorable dinner at Cata 1.81 in Eixample. Great wine, countless miniature courses of delicious morsels, and effortlessly stylish surroundings that put to shame New York’s wannabe Barcelonas [insert your favorite recently opened Lower East Side eatery here].

A great fast food solution in Barcelona was lunch at a humble Equadoran joint (c/ Calabria, near Gran Via, also in Eixample). They served wonderfully fresh avocado salads and ceviches. In fact, I’m totally obsessed with ceviches. The perfect summer food, they are a staple at Ecuadoran and Peruvian restaurants. My last week in New York was devoted to eating food I’ll miss the most, so one of my last meals there naturally involved a Peruvian salmon ceviche.

Peruvian food belongs among my all-time favorite cuisines, but I’m not counting on finding too many Peruvian restaurants in Northern Europe. Hence, I’m seriously contemplating buying this cookbook. When leaving New York a month ago, my bags were bursting with pisco, ají amarillo, mote blanco, and maiz de tostar from the Trade Fair supermarkets in Queens. Luckily, a lovely check-in guy at JFK waived the excess weight charges (30kg/ 66lbs – a fortune) when he realized how terribly I will miss all the great food I used to be able to get so easily in Astoria and Jackson Heights. (Now that I read about the week-long ConEd power failure that affected one of my favorite haunts in NYC, I’m of course totally horrified, but also smugly happy that I barely managed to escape).

Let’s hope the power stays on as I make this batch! A ceviche involves raw fish or shellfish chemically “cooked” by citric acid. I keep it in the fridge overnight or for at least 8 hours. Ceviche is usually served on a leaf on lettuce, with a cold sweet potato and an ear of corn (or a few tasty, oversize kernels). A few weeks ago I prepared a shortcut version of all this to my husband and a friend – tasty, light, wonderful, highly recommended. Yesterday, I had another ceviche for lunch at work. Somehow I managed to spill ceviche juices all over the place during my bike ride to work, so I smelled strongly of fish for the rest of the day.

Equadoran Ceviche

1 lb white-fleshed fish (eg, sea bass fillets)
juice of 2-3 limes

juice of 2-3 lemons
2 tsp salt
½ tsp black pepper
1/4 dl white wine vinegar
1-2 onions, sliced very thin
1 red or yellow hot pepper, deveined, deseeded, and slivered
fresh cilantro by the handful

Cut the fish into bite size pieces and place in a bowl. Pile onions on top of it, and pour citrus juice all over it. Season with salt, pepper, and vinegar. Let rest about 6 hours in refrigerator.

Roasted Sweet Potato Wedges

1 medium-large sweet potato
1-2 tbsp olive oil
1 tsp salt
freshly ground pepper

Heat oven to 200 C (425 F). Halve the potato lengthwise, then cut each half into 7 slices. Place them on a baking dish, toss with oil, salt, and pepper. Bake for 10-15 minutes. Flip the potatoes over and bake for another 10 minutes, or until tender.

Everyday Corn on the Cob

Wrap one ear of corn in parchment paper (the husks can stay on), microwave high for 3 minutes (5 minutes if you make two at the same time). Peel, serve hot with a knob of butter.

In Finland this delicacy is know as “lasimestarin silli”, direct translation being “glass master’s herring”. It is herring preserved in sugar and vinegar based liquid, and spiced with onions, carrots, horseradish and peppers. Pickled herring is enjoyed throughout the year, but especially during Christmas time.

I’ve always loved pickled herring, especially ABBA kesäsilli (summer herring) with new season potatoes. Many restaurants offer various, self made spiced and pickled herrings in their lunch buffets, but way too often I’ve found them to be slimy rather than delicious.

A week ago my mum gave me a small jar of self made lasimestarin silli for a pre-xmas present. I was really surprised, since as long as I can remember, she has bought all herring products from stores. When I opened the jar and carefully tasted the herring, I was astonished as it was super delicious. Today I called her and asked for the recipe. She had found it in Pirkka magazine, and told me that my grandmother used to make this herring each Christmas, but because mom didn’t like it when she was young, she didn’t carry on the tradition.

“Better late than never” I thought earlier today and headed to a grocery store to buy some herring fillets. Luckily I have been saving some used glass jars which made this ex tempore preserving session that much easier. You can use either whole fresh or salted herrings, but those have a ton of bones to be removed, or be a wimp like me and buy boneless, skinned fillets. Many herrings are very heavily salted and must be soaked before use.

The following recipe is based on the substitutions used by my mom, the biggest differences to the original recipe being the use of pre-spiced herring fillets and substituting white peppers for black peppers. I made a big batch – 1.5 kg of herring (almost 4 lbs) as I’m planning to give them away as little xmas presents. I’m going to Tallinn tomorrow with S where I’ll also meet Nami-Nami’s lovely Pille, and she was going to get one jar also until I remembered her hatred towards herrings :)

Glass Master’s Herring

Yields one big jar or two smaller ones

500 grams (1 lbs) herring fillets
3 red onions, thinly sliced
2 carrots, peeled and thinly sliced
laurel leaves
2.5 cm (1″) horseradish, peeled and thinly sliced
a few dozen black peppers
1 dl (0.5 cups) sugar
1 dl (0.5 cups) white vinegar
2 dl (1 cup) water
optionally sodium benzoate and benzoic acid (E210 & E211) as preservatives

Mix sugar, vinegar and water and bring to boil. Let cool.

Boil the jars and lids to clean them thoroughly, or bake in 125°C (260°F) oven for 15+ minutes.

Peel onions, carrots and horseradish and slice them very thin. Rinse the herring fillets with running water and pat dry with tissue. Cut them in 2 cm slices (slightly less than 1″).

Fill the jars with the ingredients in layers, adding a few laurel leaves and a small handful of black peppers per jar. Top up with chilled sugar-vinegar solution. Mix the preservative (such as Atamon) in the liquid if you opt to use preservatives.

Shake the jars to remove any air bubbles. Store in a fridge.

If you are one of those tens of thousands of Finnish hunters who don’t know what to do with all that elk meat they’ve shot this season, read ahead. If you are like me and didn’t have the time to go hunting for the fifth year in a row, read ahead. If you just love venison, read ahead. Everybody else is also invited to enjoy the delicious texture and taste of elk!

A couple of days ago when I went to my butcher-de-facto Reinin Liha to buy some beef, I saw these über-beautiful elk shanks. Osso Buco made from beef, calf or goat is one of my all-time favorite dishes. The rich, hearty and meaty taste of the broth from hours of slow simmering of the marrow bones is difficult to beat. So when I saw the elk shanks I immediately knew I had to buy them and cook some elk buco!

In addition to being an excellent source of fresh meat, Reinin Liha is becoming one of my favorite sources of tasty recipes. This time the shanks were accompanied by an Elk Osso Buco recipe, courtesy of Chef Nicola Tanda. Unlike traditional osso buco recipes this uses very few spices but relies on the rich game taste of the elk meat. Juniper berries give the broth an elegant, faint trace of the resinous forests where the elk spent his time before ending up on my plate =)

Elk Osso Buco

Serves 2-4

For the Osso Buco:
6 slices of elk shanks, 3 cm (1”) thick
1 dl all purpose flour
2 tbsp butter
3 tbsp virgin olive oil
1 onion, chopped
8 juniper berries, crushed
salt, pepper to taste
2.5 dl (1 cup) dry white wine
5 dl (2 cups) beef broth
(Optional: brown Maizena)
(Optional: 2 cans of Heinz beans in tomato sauce)

For the Gremolata:
2 cloves of garlic
1 tsp lemon zest
half bunch of fresh flat leave parsley

Mix salt and pepper to the flour on a flat plate and cover the shanks evenly with flour. Heat butter and oil in a heavy casserole and brown the shanks from both sides. It’s easier to do this in several batches.

Chop the onions and add in the pot with the shanks. Cook for a while and add more salt and pepper to taste. Crush the juniper berries and add to the pot. Add the wine and beef broth and bring to boil. Set temperature to low and simmer for 3-4 hours until the meat is tender and falls of the bone.

When the meat is done, remove from the pot and boil the broth until thick, and/or add brown Maizena until the broth is nice and thick. Add the meat back to the broth.

For the gremolata, zest the lemon, chop the garlic and parsley until very fine and mix carefully. Sprinkle on top of the osso buco.

Optional: Remove the bones but leave the marrow. Add two cans of beans in the broth and mix well. This way you don’t necessarily need additional rice or potatoes but have a nice standalone dish.

The November issue of Saveur had a tasty and interesting looking recipe titled “Coffee-Crusted Beef Tenderloin”. Because I’m dieting again and need to cook daily in order to know what I eat, a lean tenderloin recipe suited my needs perfectly. The ingredients called for coffee which I love, but also three kinds of chillies – guajillo, ancho and chipotle. In Finland it’s quite difficult to find anything else but Dutch/Israeli grown “green chillies” or “red chillies”. The packages never mention the exact type of the chilli(es) in question. For most people this is ok, as they only want to spice up their dishes a little bit, but a foodie like me could use the species name.

Anyhow, the quest for correct chillies gave me an excuse to spend my lunch hour wandering around the specialty food stores in Helsinki. After a frustrating search I had to settle for those dang “Dutch red chillies” which were the closest thing to mirasol (fresh version of guajillo). Anchos are made by drying poblanos, which are round, green chillies about the size of a golf ball. They are not very hot, but used to add mild heat. The closest thing to poblanos I was able to find was a basket full of habaneros. As many of you know, they are really, really hot. Since I was also lacking chipotles (I only have Chipotle Tabasco), I decided to go for the habaneros as well. This ended up being a good decision for the dish, but not so much for S :D

Because of the lack of proper chillies I had to modify the recipe to use the ingredients I was able to find. I used four stemmed seeded red chillies, half a habanero and a lot of chipotle tabasco for the sauce. During the whole preparation I used disposable gloves, and when the sauce was boiling on the stove the fumes actually made my lungs feel weird. This is why I found it really odd when S came home and tasted the sauce. She didn’t find it hot at all, and ended up eating it by the spoonful. By then I felt stupid for wearing the gloves while handling those “hot” habaneros, and decided to cook the other 1.5 habaneros with the tenderloin in the oven. We even took a tiny bite of the habaneros before cooking, and they didn’t taste that hot. When everything was ready, I kindly offered S one of the cooked habaneros, and she happily accepted – you know, baked bell peppers are super good too… Well, 30 seconds later she came back to the kitchen, desperately looking for milk. And then the uncontrollable drooling started. I was too afraid to take pictures, but you can get a pretty good idea by taking a look at this guy :D

Without further ado, the original recipe from Saveur (the beef itself wasn’t hot at all!):

Coffee-Crusted Beef Tenderloin

Serves 6

1 beef tenderloin, about 1.5 kg (3 lbs)
4 guajillo chillies, stemmed and seeded
2 ancho chillies, stemmed and seeded
4 cloves of garlic, chopped
2.5 dl (1 cup) water
2 chipotle chillies in adobo
1/2 small white onion
2 tbsp light brown sugar
2 tbsp red wine vinegar
3/4 tsp pepper
2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
2 1/2 tsp coarse sea salt
3 tbsp finely ground coffee
1 tbsp cocoa powder
1/8 tsp ground cinnamon

Toast 4 the guajillo and ancho chillies over medium heat for 4-5 minutes. Soak in 2.5 dl (1 cup) of warm water until soft, about 30 minutes.

Purée chillies, the soaking water, garlic, chipotles in adobo and the onion until smooth. Heat the olive oil in a small sauce pan and simmer until thickened, about 30 minutes. Add sugar, vinegar, 1 tsp salt and 1/4 tsp pepper. Simmer for another 15 minutes or until thickened. Let cool.

Preheat the oven to 200°C (400°F).

Rub the tenderloin with olive oil, salt and pepper. Brush all over with the sauce saving the remainder for another use. Mix the coffee, cocoa powder and ground cinnamon together, and roll the tenderloin in the mixture until completely covered. Let the tenderloin sit for 30 minutes in room temperature.

Roast the tenderloin for 10 minutes, then lover the temperature to 105°C (225°F), and continue roasting until the internal temperature from the thickest part reaches 58°C (135°F).

Let rest for 15 minutes. Slice and serve.

Anna invited S and I for a coffee today and asked me to bring something. Initially I was planning to go there empty handed as Anna always has plenty of super good food prepared, but a couple of hours before the coffee time I started feel bad and began looking for a quick and simple recipe.

I started dieting again a few days ago, but at the same time have been craving to bake something chocolaty and preferably gooey – with these simple preconditions chocolate brownies were an easy choice. Unfortunately the recipe I chose has so many calories I didn’t even dare to calculate the calories per serving. Probably pretty close to a Big Mac :D
Stephanie Jaworski’s Joyofbaking.com has been a good source of baking recipes, and after a quick comparison between her and Nigella’s brownie recipes (picture below) I decided to go with Stephanie’s – only because her recipe called for double the amount of chocolate :)

This recipe calls for A LOT of chocolate – each ready brownie square contains about 45 grams (1 2/3 oz) of it plus tons of butter and sugar. Perfect comfort food, but super bad for the belly. I highly discourage you to try this recipe ;)

I made a grand mistake with my batch: I forgot to fold the hazelnuts and white chocolate chips into the batter. I realized it the minute I put the cake into the oven, but was too bummed to take it out and try to mix them in. The good thing is that now I have a bona fide reason to bake another cake!

Chocolate Brownies

serves 16

650 g (23 oz) 70% chocolate, e.g. Fazer Premium Block 70%
225 g (8 oz) unsalted butter
6 free range eggs, room temperature
500 g (18 oz) granulated sugar
1 tbsp vanilla extract
210 g (1.5 cups) all-purpose flour
1 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
100 g (3.5 oz) hazelnuts, coarsely crushed
100 g (3.5 oz) white chocolate chips

Preheat the oven to 175°C (347°F). Cover a lasagna pan with parchment paper.

Melt the chocolate and butter in a pot which is sitting in a bigger pot with boiling water. You can expedite this by pre-melting the butter in a microwave. Mix the butter and chocolate to a smooth paste and set aside.

Mix the flour, baking powder and salt together.

Crush the hazelnuts coarsely and fry them on a pan for a couple of minutes until fragrant.

Cream the eggs and sugar until very light, 5-10 minutes. Add the vanilla extract and fold in the butter-chocolate mixture. Fold in the flour mixture, and then the hazelnuts and white chocolate chips.

Pour the batter into the pan and bake for 45 minutes or until a toothpick comes out clean from the center of the cake.

St. Martin’s day is celebrated in the evening of November 11 in Flanders, parts of the Netherlands and the Catholic areas of Germany and Austria. Children go by the doors with paper lanterns and candles, and sing songs about St. Martin and about their lantern in return for a treat, very similar to the American tradition of Halloween.

When I started school at the age of six, our family lived in Germany. Until I read the previous chapter in Wikipedia, I thought the evening lantern parade I participated with my schoolmates in 1982 was indeed Halloween celebration. Live and learn :)

Some time ago my aunt told me about goose roast which is the food traditionally eaten on the St. Martin’s day. According to legend, Martin (316 – 397 AD) was reluctant to become bishop, which is why he hid in a stable filled with geese. The noise made by the geese betrayed his location to the people who were looking for him. Unforgiving to the poor geese he ordered them to be slaughtered every year on that day.

I wanted to cook something nice for the Father’s Day, and then remembered the goose roast, which sounded really yummy to me. I found a fresh one from my favorite butcher shop, Reinin Liha, albeit at €14.99 / kg ($8.70 / lbs) it definitely isn’t something I’m planning to cook regularly.

The bird looks like a longish, small turkey, but its meat is dark like duck. There is also a really thick layer of fat under the skin which fortunately melts in the oven. Just like with whole turkeys, the giblets were left inside the body cavity in a small plastic bag. I roasted the neck, heart and gizzards, but reserver the big liver for further use. Mmm, fried goose liver!

The tips of the wings and the extra, fatty flaps of the skin are cut away before stuffing and roasting.

It’s said there are as many recipes for the St. Martin’s day goose as there are cooks. I checked a few trusty books for reference – Joy of Cooking, and Nigella’s How to Eat: The Pleasures and Principles of Good Food – but after some googling found a tasty-looking recipe by Jeffrey Steingarten, originally from his book It Must’ve Been Something I Ate: The Return of the Man Who Ate Everything.

The recipe is super long, so instead of rewriting it I decided to simply copy it here.

My family really enjoyed the bird, and especially the pears and apples also described in the recipe. My roasting pan wasn’t big enough to hold the pears and the goose, so I baked the pears separately in their own baking dish. I simply divided the chicken broth and wine in two equal parts, and used the other half to baste the bird.

In addition to the pears, apples and the veggies, I served the roast with mashed potatoes and gravy made from the drippings.

Alsatian Goose Roast With Cardamom & Orange Pears

Serves 6-8

4.5 kg (10 lbs) young fresh goose
1 kg (2 lbs) sweet apples, peeled & cubed
2.5 dl (1 cup) carrots, chopped
2.5 dl (1 cup) celery, chopped
2.5 dl (1 cup) celery root, chopped
6-8 pears (one per person), peeled but with stems left intact
zest of 2 organic oranges
0.5 tsp ground cardamom
7 dl (3 cups) chicken stock
1 bottle white Alsatian wine, e.g. Gewürztraminer
all purpose flour to thicken the gravy
salt, pepper

At least one day in advance, wash the goose inside and out. With a cleaver, chop off the first joint of both wings and reserve them along with the neck, the heart, and the gizzards.

Save the liver for another use. Pull all the excess white fat from the goose’s cavity and reserve. Cut off the neck skin flap, leaving only a few inches of it.

Brine and pierce the goose.

Preheat the oven to 220°C (425°F).

Choose a heavy roasting pan just large enough to hold the goose comfortably on the diagonal. Cut half the reserved fat into small pieces and melt it in the roasting pan over medium high heat on the stove top.

Rub a little fresh black pepper and salt into the cavity and the skin of the goose. Add the cubed apples but do not crowd them. Pull together the 2 skin flaps at the opening, push short skewers or even toothpicks through them, and secure the skin by lacing with string. Wrap and tie 2 separate lengths of string around the goose’s body, 1 around the breast to keep the wing joints close to the body, the other around the fattest part of the drumsticks.

Remove the solids from the melted fat and brown the goose on all sides, regulating the heat to avoid burning the fat. This will take between 20 minutes and 1/2 hour. Balance the goose on the sides of the roasting pan or hold it by the drumsticks to get at irregular surfaces. Meanwhile, chop the reserved neck, wingtips, and innards into 1-inch pieces.

When the goose is nicely browned, remove from the heat, set the goose on its back, and scatter the pieces of neck and wing around it. Slide the roasting pan into the preheated oven and roast for 1/2 hour, basting after 10 and 20 minutes. Pour and spoon off the fat into a bowl. Scatter the vegetables and pears around the goose. Moisten them with a little of the goose fat you have just removed and roast for 15 minutes. Using a bulb baster or a spoon, remove as much of the fat from the pan as you can.

Sprinkle the orange zest and ground cardamom over the pears, pour half the stock and half the wine over them, and return to the oven for 15 minutes. Lower the heat to 175°C (300°F), pour the rest of the wine and stock over the goose, and roast for about an hour longer (removing the pears to a baking dish after a half hour), until the thighs reach 75°C (170°F) on an instant-read thermometer thrust into the thickest part of the meat.

Remove the roasting pan from the oven. Turn the heat up to 200°C (400°F) again. Lift the goose to a plate and immediately remove the apple stuffing to the baking dish holding the pears. Strain the roasting liquid into a saucepan, skim off most of the fat, and reduce to about 1 cup on the stovetop. Wipe out the roasting pan and put the goose back into the oven for 15 minutes to crisp its skin. Spoon a little goose fat and some of the half-reduced roasting liquid over the pears and the apple stuffing and put them in the oven with the goose to rewarm and brown slightly.

Let the goose rest for 20 minutes and serve on a large platter, surrounded by the little roast pears and the apple stuffing.

S and I returned from our US road trip last Monday, and somewhere in Indiana S ordered chili with her pulled chicken sandwich. I had completely forgotten that chili even existed. Yesterday I wanted to have something hearty and warming waiting for us when we’d return from our walk by the waterfront. I basically had three options in my mind – a potato, pasta or beans based casserole…

When we crossed the border from Georgia to South Carolina on our way from Savannah to Charleston, we saw a small roadside shack selling Carolina Cider Company’s products. One of the food souvenirs I bought there was a jar of Sweet Fire Bread & Butter Pickles And Peppers. These – albeit by my guess rebadged and manufactured for CCC in TX – are to die for. From the second I opened the jar, I’ve had a huge craving for anything jalapeños.

After this going for a beans based recipe was a no-brainer. The tricky part was to find a recipe – there are literally thousands of them in the net. The following one is based on one I found from the rezipezaar, but modified to my taste. I actually misread the instructions and used coconut instead of cocoa, but I found this chili to be lovely, and S can’t keep her hands off the left overs, so I guess I did pretty good :)

Antti’s Mean Jalapeño Chili

Serves 6-8

3.5 dl (1.5 cups) diluted veal fond
1 can crushed tomatoes
200 g (0.5 lbs) sliced jalapenos
2 tsp coconut powder
2 tsp crushed cumin seeds
1.5 tsp dried oregano
1 tsp crushed fennel seeds
1 tsp ground black pepper
1 tsp salt
2 tbsp granulated sugar
4 cans kidney beans in chili tomato sauce
1 whole single-clove garlic, sliced
2-3 onions
500 g (1 lbs) ground beef
1 dl (6 tbsp) Maizena

Chop the onions and garlic, and fry together with the ground beef until golden brown. Stir in the Maizena and mix well.

Meanwhile combine all other ingredients in a 4 liter (1 quarts / 1 gal) pot. Cook until the chili starts to boil, add the meat and let simmer in low setting for 1-2 hours. If the chili is not hot enough, add some chili / cayenne powder.

Serve as is with ground cheese, with tortillas, or sneak cold straight from the fridge :)

Long time, no post. I’ve been busy with work, and had a broken arm for some time, plus my apartment was under renovation, so apologies for long posting intervals :) I’m on a short business trip to Mariehamn, Åland, and having some extra time before my flight departs back home, so I figured this is as good time to blog as I’ll ever get :)

I’ve been using my trusty chinese bamboo steamer on weekly basis to cook salmon, as with steam the texture and taste gets close to perfection. My new salmon staple has become a soy sauce – wasabi marinated butterflied fillet, and I really, really love the sharpness of wasabi with warm, fatty fish. After months of raving I managed to get Anna try this dish, and albeit she liked it, apparently her steamed teriyaki salmon was even better ;) Sucker to new recipes, I tried hers, and surely it was super yummylicious!

This posting is not about steaming or fish. Enough of those already :) Since teriyaki salmon was so good, and the teriyaki sauce sooo easy to make from scratch, I decided to play around and make someting else. First I thought making chicken teriyaki, but I didn’t have chicken, but instead a pound of fat free super high grade ground beef left over from a steak tartar I made the day before.

S loves meatballs, so making them instead of some potentially fancier dish was an easy decision. Since teriyaki sauce can be done in a flash, the whole dish will be ready in 45 minutes, from fridge to the table. Basically teriyaki sauce is just mirin (japanese cooking wine), soy sauce and sugar mixed together. Simply dilute one table spoon of granulated sugar to 1/2 dl of mirin and soy sauce each and you’re done. 30 seconds in a microwave oven does the trick. I strongly suggest using low sodium soy sauce unless you have a serious death wish :D In this recipe I used 1 dl of regular soy sauce, and after all that salt I still feel the bloat :P

Teriyaki Meatballs

2-4 Servings (950 cal total)

Teriyaki Sauce

1 dl low sodium soy sauce
1 dl mirin
2 tbsp granulated sugar
2 tbsp Brown Maizena or similar corn starch
Meatballs

400 g (1 lb) fat free ground beef
2-3 shallots
3 small potatoes
2 cloves of garlic
black pepper to taste
Mix soy sauce, mirin and sugar, and quickly warm in the microwave oven. Stir until sugar has dissolved.

Mix shallots, raw potatoes, garlic and black pepper in a food processor until fine. Knead the mix together with the ground beef and 1/4 or slightly more of the teriyaki sauce. Make small meatballs, and place them onto a pan.

Cook the rest of the teriyaki sauce with corn starch until quite thick, and pour over the meatballs. Bake for 30 minutes in 200 degrees celcius until nice and brown.

Just back from a weeklong drive around Finland. Maitohorsma is in full bloom all over Finland, and the scenery is incredibly pretty, although a bit repetitive. Trees, trees and a whole lot more trees, dotted with lakes and more lakes.

One of the biggest challenges to traveling in Nordic countries is that in most smaller places, food options are really limited, ranging from dreary to dismal. On many previous car trips, a cheap portable grill in the trunk has been the perfect solution and the provider of some really memorable meals. This time, however, my husband was pretty fussy about his new car: ashes and bits of coal floating anywhere near it was a definite no-no. So before we started out, I had pretty low expectations foodwise – I wondered whether it is possible to travel in Finland for a week without resorting to either one of our recently adopted national dishes, pizza or kebab.

Considering that we didn’t really plan our trip in advance, we managed to eat surprisingly well throughout the trip. We relied on a few Google searches, local newspapers, and asking around. Although my main impression is that the most decent options in smaller places involves seeking out the skillful women who provide mass catering for schools and workplaces, we managed to have a few decent (if not stellar) meals in more gourmet oriented restaurants in larger cities like Kuopio. In general, the average price of a meal in a Finnish restaurant is slightly higher than what I got used to in New York: the quality of food is often a bit lower, as most Finnish customers are not particularly demanding. High quality produce and fresh fish were surprisingly hard to find (nigiri in Oulu – buyer beware). And too many places with chichi aspirations still resort to bizarre finishing touches – what’s with the pea shoots?

Anyhow, it’s good to be back home. The strawberry season is almost over, and I should make a few pretty jars of jam before it is too late. Before that, however, a recipe I have repeated countless times this summer -

The Ultimate Strawberry Daiquiri

serves 2 to 4, depending on the size of the glasses

5 dl ice
125-200 g frozen strawberries (softened for about 15-30 minutes before starting)
0.5 dl sugar
the juice of 1/2 lime
the juice of 1/2 lemon
1 dl dark rum

In a sturdy blender, combine ice, sugar and strawberries. Pour in lime juice, lemon juice and rum. Blend until smooth, the consistency of slush.

Rub the rim of a glass with the peel of the squeezed lime, dip in salt or sugar to create a frosty rim. Pour the daiquiri into glasses and serve.

As you prepare daiquiris a few times, you become more confident with the proportions and can start pouring without measuring. Adaptations are also fun: my current favorite involves equal amounts of ice and frozen strawberries, 2 tbsp of sugar and the juice of 1/2 lime and 1/2 to 1 dl of Bacardi Coco. (I know coconut liqueur sounds incredibly tacky, but I ran out of dark rum and the tequila I bought in Tijuana tastes of pizza herbs. The combination of strawberry and coconut works nicely as a dessert drink).

If you are pregnant or still waiting for the liver transplant, virgin daiquiris will work, too: you can substitute lemon-lime soda (Sprite or 7Up) for the rum. And yes, this is one of the really few recipes where frozen strawberries will work much better than fresh ones.

For many people asparagus season is the culinary high point of spring, but I couldn’t care less. But come the new season potatoes, and you got my undivided attention!

The spring is very late in Finland, so we have to wait still for domestic new season potatoes, which naturally are the best in the world (that means second to none, Pille) ;) Luckily countries such as Israel, Morocco and Cyprus provide us with very early potatoes. However, those are much larger and not nearly as sweet as their tiny, almost skinless Finnish cousins. To cook a domestic new season potato, it’s enough to rinse them under a running water, and the skin will fall of with a slightest rub of a hand.

Yesterday I got a big craving for new season potatoes with marinated herring, so I had to settle for Moroccoan imports. I could have bought Finnish, but at €35/kg ($20/lb) didn’t think so…

New season potatoes taste absolutely fantastic with nothing but some butter with them, but add some marinated herring and onions, and you’ve got a meal fit for kings. I especially like herrings made by a Swedish company Abba – The band ABBA actually asked their permission to use the same name. Abba Seafood was founded in 1838, ABBA the band in 1972 :) Abba has a large selection of herring in different marinades, by favorite being a French Onion marinade. IKEA sells some Abba herring products and other Swedish delicasies in all of their stores worldwide.

New Season Potatoes With Marinated Herring

serves two

1 jar of Abba marinated herrings
1/2 kg (1 lb) new season potatoes
2 shallot onions
pickles (cucumber)
butter
fresh dill

Boil the potatoes. Slice the onions and the pickles. Serve the potatoes with fresh butter on top and herrings straight from the jar. Garnish with some fresh dill.

In the picture above I also had some wild mushroom salad.

I’ve always loved grilling, smoking, and barbequing – generally spekaing anything which involves playing with fire :) In Boston I was devastated as I didn’t have a place for a grill. Every time I went to a Home Depot and walked by the long lines of gas and charcoal grills my heart was bleeding. One of the very last things I did in the States before moving back to Finland was buying a couple of Weber grills. They’re horrendously expensive here in Finland, but very reasonably priced in the US. The movers had already packed all my belongings into an ocean container when I drove to the moving company’s warehouse with two huge cardboard boxes and asked them to ship them too. Interestingly I’m not apparently the only crazy European hauling grills from one continent to another. The sales assistant at The Backyard Barbeque in Framingham (where I bought my Weber Q gas grill) told that quite a few people tell them they’re taking the grills to Europe – even as a flight luggage!

But long story short – I have now two nice grills at my disposal, and since the weather was nice, my tummy grumbling and my inner vegetarian squelch by my inner carnivore, I called my brother and asked if he fancied some BBQ. Not surprisingly the answer was affirmative, so I headed to a trusty butcher shop in a nearby mall. I was supposed to buy half a kilo or so of tenderloin (fillet mignon), but then saw Argentinian Beef Angus prime rib roast (entrecôte) on sale. In the States prime rib had been my ultimate pleasure, so I basically impulse bought a 2.5 kg (5.5 lbs) slab of the prime rib roast. This decision would inevitably affect our lunch schedule, effectively turining it to a dinner instead.

While my brother was preparing the fire, I made a dry rub for the roast. I ground the dry spices in a mortar to a coarse powder, which I patted and rubbed all over the roast. The spices stick better if you moisten the meat with water first. The first picture shows the roast with the dry rub applied.

The roast may look small in this picture, but that’s only because the grill is huge – its diameter is 22.5″ (57 cm). I wanted to smoke the roast, which calls for an indirect cooking method. The coals are on the other side of the grill, and the roast on the other on top of a water-filled drip pan. When cooking with a Weber kettle, it’s important to keep the lid on at all times, as it reflects the heat back like a convection oven.

When grilling steaks, quick and hot is ok. When smoking, the temperature is kept low and the meat is cooked for a long period of time. My 2.5 kg roast took 2 hours 45 minutes in the grill, plus an additional 15 minutes in an oven, after which I kept it wrapped in a foil for another 30 minutes to post-cook and keep the jus.

A rough 120 C (250 F) is a desired lid temperature when smoking, albeit some prefer higher, some lower temperatures. I’ve found this to be an ok temp. In a Weber kettle, keep the top vents open, and control the temperature with the lower vents. And don’t let the coals burn out! Keep adding them every now and then during the cooking, but don’t keep the lid open for too long.

When the internal temperature of the roast has reached 46 C (115 F), remove it from the grill, and put in a preheated 200 C (400 F) oven for 15 minutes. After that, wrap in a foil for 30 minutes before carving.

If you have tended the fire properly, and not overcooked the meat, you should find someting like this under the dark, spicy crust:

Stockyard, my favorite steak house in Boston often served horseradish sauce on the side of the prime rib, so that’s what I use at home too. Heat the sauce in a microwave for a little while before serving. Don’t throw the jus away, but bring also to the table with the horseradish sauce. Mashed or baked potatoes or sweet potatoes make a perfect side dish for the roast.

Dry Rub

1/4 cup black pepper
2 tbsp cinnamon
2 tbsp salt
2 tbsp white pepper
1.5 tsp ground thyme
1.5 tsp garlic powder
1 tsp onion powder

Ground everything into a coarse – semi fine powder, and rub all over the roast. Wet the meat beforehand slightly with water to help the rub to stick.

After the calorie-laden Easter festivities, this piece of advertising from the wall of one of the huge warehouses along the Riverside Viaduct seems particularly appropriate. I want lighter fare – I want salad. I also want something that is really tasty.

Proust was transported back to his youth when he dipped a madeleine into a cup of linden tea. Raspberry vinaigrette has a similar effect on me. This yuppie nectar brings back the early 1990s like nothing else. At the time, I was skimping by on a tight budget, having just moved to my first apartment and trying to learn to cook traditional Finnish delicacies. It was a rocky start. Antti never tires of reminding me on my nontraditional take on silakkalaatikko – herrings, backbones intact, no salt added, swimming among semi-raw slices of potato in skim milk.

Pretty quickly I learned that the posher-than-thou back issues of the British House & Garden magazine were much less daunting learning material: soon I was eating quail eggs in birds nests of tagliatelle verde for lunch, Moroccan saffron-scented briouats with wild rice biriyani and carrot and orange flower water coulis for dinner, profiteroles with mango and praline cream for dessert, and mussels wrapped in balsamic vinegar infused lardons for snacks ;) No, I’m not making up those dishes: while in Helsinki, I recovered a full binder of food-stained H&G clippings straight from the era of power suits, shoulder pads, and opaque black tights. In fact, some of the less outrageous entrees still remain in my repertoire, although generally my taste in food has evolved toward considerably simpler fare.

Anyway, here is the dish that triggered all those memories.

Spinach Salad with Bacon, Asparagus and Raspberry Vinaigrette

Crisp fried bacon
Sliced red onion or chopped spring onions
Black olives
A few spears of blanched asparagus
(Sliced champignons)

For the vinaigrette

100-150g frozen raspberries, thawed and drained of most of the liquid
1-1.5 tbsp of white balsamic vinegar, sherry vinegar, cider vinegar or raspberry vinegar
3 tbsp olive oil
(1-2 tbsp heavy cream)
1 teaspoon chopped chives or fresh basil
salt and freshly ground black pepper

Combine raspberries, vinegar, and oil in a blender. (I don’t have one so I puree the raspberries in a coffee grinder – if you are fastidious, press the puree through a sieve to get rid of the raspberry seeds). Arrange the salad on a plate and drizzle with the vinaigrette.

Raspberry vinaigrette is good on many different salads. In this salad, you can easily skip the bacon and the cream. Another wonderful version of the spinach salad includes walnuts, a sliced Granny Smith apple, a sliced pear, and perhaps a few slivers of blue cheese.

In any case, this meal is obviously accompanied a glass of chardonnay, Tom Wolfe’s first novel and this retro NY Times restaurant review.

This year we spent the week around Reyes (Epiphany) in Central Mexico. Of all the marvellous sights, tastes, and smells, those of Puebla are lodged deepest in my limbic system. The city is terribly pretty, full of Spanish colonial buildings, but somehow more ornate and painted even brighter than others in similar colonial cities you can find across Latin America.

I’m not sure why Puebla felt so captivating. Perhaps it was that after a very hectic and stressful end of the year, we were at complete leisure: free to spend hours taking in the mild winter sunshine sitting on the Zócalo, lazily leafing through books in the dappled shadow, watching lovers meet, argue, cuddle, and part. The central square is a maze of trees, hedges and benches, filled with the friendly murmur of conversation. Children chased a baby pigeon who finally took refuge in a bronze miniature model of the city, and a bum alternated between a nap and contented slugs from his bottle. We were completely mesmerized by a city-employed shoeshiner who restored a pair of badly scuffed shoes to their former glory. Ancient indigenous women carried ziplocs full of freshly hewn willow whistles: their twitter formed the soundtrack of the city, along with the drizzle of fountains and the blare of car horns.

We slept in a pleasantly situated former monastery where the staff celebrated Reyes by smashing piñatas. Our room was huge but so cold during the high-altitude midwinter that we had to wear extra layers of clothes to bed – it never gets this cold indoors in Finland ;) Even this feels somewhat satisfying in retrospect: one of the many surprising contrasts Mexico had in store for us.

The biggest surprise of the trip was Mexican food. Somehow, the stuff that goes by that name in US restaurants is frequently bland, Anglicized, and of inferior quality: limp nachos, rock-hard taco shells, and dubious dishes smothered with sour cream and shredded lettuce. (I ate much more of this than I really care to remember while travelling in Texas.) What I encontered during my brief stay in Mexico bore little resemblance to my preconceived idea of Mexican food. I encountered an ancient, complex, and original cuisine, completely on a par with France or Italy, but much harder to fathom. Do I understand beurre manié, soufflés, and risotti? Yes, to some degree. But can I confidently balance three different types of chiles in a dish? Or can I soak, grind, knead, and shape corn into a perfect tortilla?

Right now I’m taking my first baby steps into understanding Mexican kitchen a bit better, to recreate some of my favorite antojitos, but also to re-experience the smoky, deep stews and hearty, flavor-packed soups that so surprised me. A decent basic cookbook should be in the mail: while waiting for it to be delivered, I’m toying with chipotles (in this I’ve unexpectedly been inspired by a Swedish fellow food blogger).

Paraphrasing an article on chowbaby.com that gives every novice the basics about chipotles:

Dried or canned, chipotles — ripened, smoke-dried jalapeno peppers — have the magical capacity to turn an ordinary cook into a talented chef. Chipotles pack a sharp burn, but their subtle, complex flavor becomes apparent once you’ve adapted to the heat.

Most supermarkets and corner groceries now stock canned chipotles — usually in a rich, dark, spicy garlic-tomato sauce called adobo. Canned chipotles are dark reddish-brown and high in sodium. The peppers slice very nicely with a knife, or you can dump the entire contents of a can into your blender or food processor and puree for a delicious sauce.

Specialty stores sell dried chipotles, which are lighter in color and give an aroma faintly reminiscent of cigarettes. Before using them, remove the seeds and de-vein them. Then toast them gently in a hot dry skillet to release their volatile oils. Cover them with hot water for a few minutes until the soften and plump up. Throw away the steeping liquid which can become bitter. Either way, you’ll usually want to balance chipotle’s diabolical heat with a hint of something sweet — honey, sugar, fruit juice or the like.”

My Spanish skills are very rudimentary, based on a long-forgotten intensive period of learning during high school. New York is a highly bilingual city, however: at work, the secretarial staff is completely Spanish-speaking, so I can hone my verbal comprehension skills by listening into the local gossip. The Spanish TV channels are still almost too challenging for me. However, the game show “100 Mexicanos Dijeron” where families compete to capture the most widely used words, expressions, and colloquialisms of their local dialect, taught me a while back the world “albóndiga”, a concept that’s very near to the heart of all Finns and Swedes – a meatball. So, tonight it’s going to be

Albóndigas en Salsa de Chipotle

makes about 20 small meatballs

For the meatballs

1 tomato, pan-roasted until blistered, deeply browned, and soft, then chopped

1 onion, finely chopped
2 cloves of garlic, minced
0.5 tsp ground cinnamon
0.5 tsp dried oregano
0.25 tsp freshly ground black pepper
0.25 tsp ground allspice
2 tbsp chopped green olives
2 tbsp golden raisins
1 tbsp drained capers, chopped
1 tbsp olive or canola oil
250g ground beef
250g ground pork
1-3 slices of white bread, crumbled
1 egg
0.75 tsp salt

For the salsa

2 tomatillos or tomatoes, pan-roasted until blistered, deeply browned, and soft, then chopped very finely
2 chipotles in adobe, de-seeded, or dry chipotles, de-seeded, de-veined, toasted, and soaked in hot water
2 roasted cloves of garlic (either oven-roasted or roasted on a skilled turning frequently for about 15 mins)
0.5 tsp salt

Roast the tomatoes, turning them over and over for about 10 minutes until they are softened and blistered all over. Set the tomatoes for the salsa aside; chop the one for the meatballs. Mix with chopped onion, all the spices, olives, raisins, and capers, and saute for about eight minutes or until softened. Let cool, combine with the ground meat (do not use sirloin ground beef for meatballs, higher-fat types of ground beef and pork make much better meatballs, a 75-25 or 50-50 beef-pork ratio is ideal), crumbled pieces of white bread, salt, and egg. If the meatball dough is too soft for rolling, add a bit of crumbled white bread, mix thoroughly. Cover a cutting board with finely ground breadcrumbs (even coarsely ground cornmeal or ordinary all-purpose flour work), roll small 2.5 cm (1″) meatballs. Fry them in two batches on a very llghtly oiled non-stick pan for about 10 minutes, shaking or turning frequently.

In the meantime, either put all the ingredients for the salsa in a blender or use an immersion blender. I don’t have either one here in New York, but I found that just chopping the tomatoes or tomatillos, chipotles and garlic very finely with a sharp knife makes a pleasantly chunky salsa. Remove the seeds from the chipotles first: for me, it makes all the difference between pleasurably fiery and intolerably painful. You can always add the seeds back if you wish to pack some extra heat. Depending on what type of chipotles you use, you may end up using more or less salt than I did.

The meatballs turned out light and crispy; but the real star was the chipotle salsa, which I used as a dipping sauce. I’ve never cooked before with tomatillos, the sour, green, sticky, tomato-like fruits that have husks around them. The fieriness and tartness of the salsa was just right.

I could find tomatillos in the first supermarket I checked out here in Northern Manhattan – any area that has any Mexican presence is a pretty sure bet. However, the bored-looking Puerto Rican checkout girl at Met Foods acted like she’d never seen the fruit before either – “Wha’s that” she intoned and drew a blank on my reply.

In Puebla, this salsa is commonly prepared with ordinary tomatoes, so don’t hesitate to make the substitution if you can’t find tomatillos. The meatballs would work well as party food. If served as a main course, I’d prepare either a green salad or grill a few slices of polenta on the side (fusion-y, but serving anything corn-based is hardly wrong with Mexican food).

I’ve been drooling over the pictures of the Hungarian food blog Chili & Vanilia for months, so when I discovered the story about what Hungarian goulash is and what it is not there (in English, no less), I re-remembered pörkölt and naturally had to try the recipe over the weekend. I’m all about edible souvenirs, so I was eager to use up the Hungarian paprika I had hoarded on a visit to Budapest. Fearing that my paprika might be a bit stale, I threw in a tiny dried chili which gave the sauce subtle fire.

I also sourced the Internet for instructions for Hungarian noodles (galuska). Lacking the appropriate tool, a galuskaszaggató (very similar to a spätzle maker, a kitchen tool I’ve always wanted), I had to resort to making a firmer regular pasta dough that I cut by hand.

Pörkölt – Hungarian Beef Stew

(quoting, with slight modifications, Chili&Vanilia)

4 servings

1 kg beef for stews, cubed
2 big onions, finely chopped
4-5 tbsp canola oil
3-4 tbsp Hungarian paprika powder
1 green pepper
1 tsp salt
1 tsp freshly ground black pepper
(1 peperoncino)

Heat oil in a saucepan. Add the finely chopped onions and cook until translucent. Now comes an important secret step: remove the saucepan from the heat and now add the paprika – this is very important as if you would do this step still on the heat, the paprika could burn from the sudden heat and get bitter. Put it back, add beef cubes and stir so that the spicy onion mix covers the meat evenly. Cover with about 100-150 ml of water so that the liquid doesn’t completely cover the meat. Add the sliced green pepper, salt, black pepper (and peperoncino, if using). Simmer covered on very low heat for about 1-1.5 hours. After 1 hour, check, add a litle more water if necessary, so the stew doesn’t burn. Depending on the thickness of the sauce, cook for 10-15 minutes uncovered so that all the liquid reduces and all what you get is a spicy, thick sauce which covers the meat. It tastes even better reheated.

The resulting slow-cooked stew had a soothing transgenerational vibe, my mother and grandmother would feel very comfortable making and eating it (minus the chili) and I will definitely make it again. The secret step really circumvented burned paprika – I definitely remember the bitter taste from previous not-so-successful experiments. BTW, in the off-beat horror movie Kontroll, filmed entirely in the timelessly elegant metro system of Budapest (this film has some coolest architectural shots of any movie in recent memory), one of the main characters recites a related recipe for pig feet that quotes the same secret step. So perhaps it’s not so secret after all ;)

My everyday life is totally entrenched on the West Side of Manhattan, mainly in Morningside Heights, West Harlem, and Washington Heights – areas pretty firmly off the tourist map. Inspired by the sunny weather, I decided to break the mold and walk across Harlem and El Barrio to Upper East Side, in search of an appropriate dessert in the former Central European enclave of Yorkville. Unfortunately, I found that 86th Street was completely taken over by chain stores from Middle America. The likes of GAP, Banana Republic, and Barnes & Noble almost completely obscured what apparently used to be Little Germany. Some vestiges remained: I crossed over to Second Avenue and stopped by at the Schaller & Weber delicatessen (established in 1937) where German-speaking Hausfraus shopped for Pumpernickel and goose liverwurst; I did, too, and also noticed that the deli had a fairly impressive selection of Nordic products, including half a dozen varieties of pickled herring and Swedish Läkerol pastilles. In the next block, I finally spotted a Hungarian bakery. It looked brand new, definitely not a relic from the pre-War era. Inside, the cakes looked delicious and rich, but I couldn’t spot Dobostorta, my favorite. Some of the pastries were shrinkwrapped, too – never a good sign.

I gave up on Hungary and settled for the next best thing, one of the well-hidden gems in the neighborhood, a tiny German bookstore at Neue Galerie on 86th St and Fifth Avenue that has exquisite books I’d never notice anywhere else. The museum itself is very small, yet it features superb Austrian and German art from the early 20th century (Klimt, Schiele, Grosz, and Dix among others). It also the home of the lovely Café Sabarsky, very Viennese in atmosphere and appropriate for browsing the bookstore finds, although I doubt I’ll ever venture there again because I got a violent food poisoning from their Weisswurst last winter.

On the way back home, on a bus slowly inching forward along the northern edge of Central Park, I realized I would not have needed to leave my neighborhood after all. From the M4 bus window, I registered The Hungarian Pastry Shop on 110th and Amsterdam: the ever-popular hangout of procrastinating students, the backdrop to a scene in Woody Allen’s Husbands and Wives, and certainly the home of Dobostorta.

Pörkölti – liharuoka jota me ei-unkarilaiset kutsumme gulassiksi

(resepti lainattu Chili&Vanilialta)

4:lle

1 kg pitkään haudutukseen sopivaa kuutioitua naudanlihaa, esim naudan lapaa
2 isoa sipulia hienona silppuna
4-5 rkl ruokaöljyä
3-4 rkl unkarilaista paprikajauhetta
1 vihreä paprika
1 tl suolaa
1 tl vastajauhettua mustapippuria
(1 pikkuinen kuivattu chilipippuri)

Kuumenna öljy isossa paistinkasarissa. Kuullota hienoksi hakattu sipuli. Ota kasari pois tulelta, hämmennä paprikajauhe sipuliin (tämä vaihe on oleellinen, se estää paprikaa palamasta kitkeräksi karstaksi). Laita takaisin lämmölle, sekoita joukkoon lihapalat siten että ne peittyvät kauttaaltaan sipuli-paprikaseokseen. Lisää 1-1,5 dl vettä – veden ei tarvitse peittää lihaa kokonaan. Lisää myös vihreä paprika, suola ja pippuri (ja chilipippuri). Hauduta matalalla lämmöllä 1-1,5 tuntia, lisää vettä tarvittaessa jos näyttää siltä että muhennos on kuivumassa kattilan pohjaan. Mikäli lihan ollessa pehmeää muhennos on kovin vetistä, kiehuta 10-15 min kovemmalla tulella siten että liika neste haihtuu pois. Tarjoa tuorepastan kanssa – unkarilaisten perinteenä on tehdä tämän kanssa pehmeästä pastataikinasta galuska-nuudeleita. Muhennos paranee vielä maultaan seisottuaan yön yli.

The region of Modena in Emilia Romagna is home to the alchemists who make gold out of musty grapes. I have been to Modena exactly once, spitted out from a slow commuter train, missing a vital connection back to the unlovely student summer apartment I shared with two Czech biznes student girls in a mildly seedy suburb of posh Verona. My Veronese neighborhood was rife with petty heroin dealers and Nigerian prostitutes. As a bonus, on my first day, I learned extremely useful concepts of the Italian language (never featured at the university language course) from a rude but neatly labeled and anatomically correct piece of graffiti in a sottopassagio.

Indeed, tourists who just make a mad dash for Juliet’s Balcony in the centro storico of Verona have no idea what they miss… In a modern interpretation of the classic balcony scene, the Czech girls and I spent a lot of time escaping the oppressive humidity hanging out on our balcony, dressed in nighties, gossiping, and sipping rotgut Soave from a carton. Let’s just say that we received a plethora of unsolicited love notes and I wasn’t the least surprised when the Czech supermodel explosion took place a few years down the line.

That summer I crisscrossed Northern Italy on slow trains. Just able to afford fantastically cheap student FS tickets (regionale, not IC) but too cash-poor to spend the night in even the most humble hostels and equally unable to afford food at restaurants, I subsisted mainly on tunafish sandwiches and the kindness of strangers. Even in the apartment there was only one kettle, and as I was terrified by our gas stove, I ended up eating so much pesto that it sickened me for years afterwards.

Although my Italian friends were shocked by my diet and soon introduced me to a wealth of their mothers’ home cooking, ultraexpensive vinegar distilleries never figured on my agenda. Thus I chiefly remember Modena as a mecca for sports car aficionados: Ferrari, Maserati, and Lamborghini all hail from there. I came in just in time to catch an evening passeggiata dominated by nattily dressed young men.

* * *

Fiordizucca has repeatedly electrified me with her innovative and delicious recipes. After reading her post on Aceto Balsamico Tradizionale di Modena, I perused the balsamic vinegar section of three nearby Manhattan gourmet supermarkets, wishing to upgrade the pretty astringent stuff I had at home. There were way too many brands – I almost gave up. Then I had a change of heart and settled for a mid-level option, a bottle of 22-year-old Manicardi Argento, which, $30 a pop for a tiny bottle commanded a per liter price higher than standard-issue Dom Pérignon. Nevertheless, it is still a humble brew by balsamic vinegar standards.

At home, I tasted my new purchase. I was sceptical that anything could taste ten times better than bulk brands you can buy anywhere for $3, but this time the differences were very clear. My old balsamic was nondescript organic stuff from Whole Foods: mostly just very sharp. The 22-year-old vinegar, on the other hand, had an incredibly rich and full bouquet of fruity and berry-like overtones, and nice rounded mellowness and a very balanced acidity. The manufacturer’s notes boasted about una straordinaria sinfonia dei sapori – and for once there was no hype in this. L’Argento was so delicious I downed it on its own by the teaspoonful – it tasted like really delicious candy. I poured myself a glass of tawny port. The vinegar put the wine to shame. Skip aperitifs and just have a spoonful of balsamic vinegar instead… I’m afraid this bottle of balsamic won’t last very long.

Two weeks ago when I was still in Finland, a co-worker who had recently moved back to Helsinki from the US said that one of the things she missed most about Boston was the plentiful and relatively cheap seafood, scallops in particular. I realized I had completely underutilized the scallop resources of Manhattan supermarkets. Following another of Fiordizucca’s recipes, I bought a few scallops, gently dusted them with flour, fried them for two minutes per each side, finally anointing them with L’Argento and a few crystals of pink Himalayan salt. On the side, I served a salad of fresh spinach, green apples, red onions, crushed black pepper, and balsamic vinaigrette. The scallops were dreamy, and the salad balanced them out nicely. You could add a dollop of buttery mashed potatoes, but I was saving space for dessert.

I thought that something lemony would end the meal on a right note. I had a few organic mini Meyer lemons in the fridge (Meyers were the übertrendy ingredient of yesteryear in NYC restaurants: their taste is a hybrid of lemon and orange, less sharp than that of regular lemons). I had just found a lovely-sounding recipe from Dagmar’s blog that combined lemon zest and ricotta (quark is an easy substitute). Ricotta may very well be my favorite dairy product, and nothing involving it can be all bad. Best of all, fluffy and airy with egg whites, this recipe is closer to lemon meringue than regular pancakes. I sprinkled them with fresh raspberries and L’Argento (with a noble vinegar like this, no added sugar is needed). Their taste and texture was just incredible.

* * *

OK, this very long post has been inspired by Stephanie from Mana Makan who tagged us with a meme. Doughboy’s first, in fact.

1- Please list three recipes you have recently bookmarked from food blogs to try!

Anna: Sloshing about with balsamic vinegar is entirely Fiordizucca’s fault ;) Her ABTM post and scallops were inspiring enough to get me to the store for supplies, and the millisecond I saw Dagmar’s pancake recipe I knew it was a keeper. If this is not enough, I have something coming up from Chili&Vanilia… please bear with me though because I’m too stuffed right now to either write down or test any more recipes tonight. Most importantly, all these recipes were even more delicious than I expected, and will become longstanding favorites.

Antti: OK, I know the meme asked for three bookmarked recipes, but the previous chapter was written by Anna, and I couldn’t go to bed with a good conscience if I didn’t list at least one of my favorites. Kuidaore’s J from Singapore always has the most delicious recipes with brilliant pictures (J and MM alone consume a huge chunk of my food-blog reading time-allotment), and a little while ago she wrote about duck confit. I’ve always wondered those canned duck tins at the supermarket, and after having read her posting I can’t wait to get my kitchen back and start cooking me some duck. I luuurv duck, if you didn’t already know that :o)

2 – A food blog in your vicinity

Anna: Hm, define vicinity? This blog is based in Helsinki and New York, so it’s kind of difficult to tell. At the moment, there are eight time zones between Antti and me: the US and the European Union are woefully out of synch with each other this week, doing the switch to daylight saving time on consecutive weekends. This means that I’m still jetlagged and confused. Brother, I did all the cooking tonight; it’s been a long day and I want to go to sleep now. You are going to wake up soon, so could you please finish this up? (Just tag Polkkis and Mustis for me in the end – that is if these Finnish gentlemen are into memes at all.)

Antti: Sure sis, will do. Anna may have a point with the confusion of our location – especially as we don’t tend to stay too long in one continent at a time. Now that Anna is finally planning on relocating back to Finland, I’m seriously considering to changing my ex-expat status back to expat – or immigrant – and hauling my belongings cross the Ocean once again. But back to the point. A food blog I really enjoy and is only a hundred blocks or so down the street from Anna is Robyn’s The Girl Who Ate Everything. She mostly writes about restaurants and cafés in Manhattan, but has mastered the skill of narrative writing style. Highly recommended! And albeit Nami-Nami’s Pille currently lives in Scotland, she is originally Estonian and as a Finn I’ll definitely consider her local to me – if she lived in Tallinn, the Estonian capital, we’d only be some 40 km (25 mi) apart.

3 – A food blog located far from you

Antti: Singapore is definitely far away from both of us, so I’m going to be boring and once again mention both Mana Makan and Kuidaore. But what can I say – I love both of them so much – and South-East Asia in general – that they totally deserve these multiple references :)

4 – A foodblog (or several) you have discovered recently

Antti: La tartine gourmande – food pr0n and narrative writing at its best. Go take a look – a blog visit is better than a thousand words…

5 – Any people other bloggers you want to tag with this meme?

Antti:

Mustekala and I seem to share a favorite lunch restaurant here in Helsinki. Albeit in Finnish, Mustekala cooks really interesting and inspiring food with his gf and then shares the creations in his blog.

Polkkapossu is another Finnish blogger, a 30ish guy currently studying in a restaurant school to become a chef.

Anna: Actually, I’d love to also include two Swedish bloggers, Dagmar (thank you for the pancakes!) and Anne (whose blog I read religiously). And Pille, since you know more food blogs than anyone else I have come across so far, you are invited too whenever you are done with noshing in London…

The meme ends here, but Anna has included the full recipe for Dagmar’s lemon pancakes under the following link (it’s not in Finnish).

Lemon and Ricotta pancakes

quoting Dagmar from A Cat in the Kitchen, adapted by her from “Frukost och Brunch” by Jonas Borssén

175 ml quark or Ricotta
50 g melted butter
3 large eggs, separated into whites and yolks
1 tsp vanilla scented sugar
50 ml plain flour
2 tbsp caster sugar
1 tbsp lemon or orange zest

Combine the quark, melted butter, egg yolks and vanilla sugar and put aside. Combine flour, caster sugar and zest in a separate bowl. Combine the two previous mixtures. Whip the egg whites until they become stiff. Carefully combine one third of the egg whites with the pancake batter and blend carefully without loosing the volume from the egg whites. Then add the rest of the egg whites. The batter should be homogeneous and airy.

Fry small pancakes (about 8-12 ones) in butter.

Harlem is gentrifying like crazy. Crime is down, so brownstones are going, going, gone and craggy old warehouses are being converted to condos for yuppies as we speak. All this is so inevitable that of late even the crunchy socially conscious granola-eating, Subaru-driving community activist types on my block seem to have given up organizing anti-gentrification street rallies.

For about a year, there has been a Citarella on W 125th street. In theory, Citarella sells food, but it is the Vogue of supermarkets: the selection is relatively narrow and strictly based on looks: only the beautiful need to apply. Each and every item is visually perfect, a supermodel of sorts. Citarella seems to be geared toward people who like to have food on display in their house but care little about the disgusting necessity of eating. The Harlem Citarella is surrounded by storefront churches, botanicas, fast food chains, and a sea of public housing projects, but somehow I doubt that an important local form of currency, food stamps and WIC checks, are accepted inside.

Normally, I do my weekly shopping at the boisterous, chaotic, mazelike Uptown Fairway a few blocks west. This weekend, however, I was briefly seduced by the pruned-down Sohoesque industrial chic and lack of throngs at Citarella. Of course, I could find barely any of the mundanities I had jotted down on my shopping list, so I gave free reign to impulse purchases. The Berkeley-based Scharffen Berger cocoa powder was too fetchingly packaged to stay on the shelf. (Antti, do you still ruin your kitchen decor with an O’boy container?)

Pretty incredibly, I never had any hot chocolate during my trip to Mexico in January (how stupid am I? I drank lots of lousy tea instead). Although I can’t vouch for authenticity, the addition of a bit of chili gives this infantile drink a nice, adult edge, and the combination dates back to Aztecs. If you’d rather prepare your drink conquistador style, here is a more historic and involved recipe.

Hot Chocolate with Chiles

1 serving

1.5 dl milk
1 halved dried chili, split with seeds removed
(optional: 1 tsp or stick of cinnamon and half of a vanilla pod)
3 tbsp sweetened cocoa powder or about 30g of dark chocolate squares

Simmer the chili pod (and the vanilla and cinnamon) in milk in a saucepan. Better yet, use the microwave. Whatever you do, not let the milk boil. Whisk in the instant cocoa powder or the roughly chopped chocolate pieces. If using chocolate from a bar, continue to simmer / zap until the chocolate is melted. Take away from the heat and let steep for a bit.

Pretty incredibly, both Antti and I have a wooden tool for the very purpose of frothing hot chocolate: a molinillo, purchased from a gigantic Mexican supermarket in East LA last summer. If you own one, now it is the time to use it to give your drink a frothy crown. Apparently, Mexicans are at least as obsessed by the froth in chocolate as Italians are about the crema in espresso.

Two weeks ago when I was still in Finland, somebody at work brought in Fazer’s chili chocolate. The chili flavor was not jarring and overpowering at all, just a subtle, barely perceptible accent, so I was immediately hooked. Alas, I couldn’t find it anywhere, not even at the airport duty-free :( If anybody knows where to get it, please let me know so I can ruin my diet ;)

The first time I tasted this dish I was in paradise on earth. After exploring the Douro valley of Northern Portugal where grapes for port wines are grown in one of the most dramatically beautiful landscapes in all Europe, we crossed the rolling mountains of the Beira Alta by car. After being too late for the midday meal we were served repulsive Spam-like luncheon meat on overcooked pasta in a surreally dodgy lunch cafe further north. During the early evening, we traversed dense forests and misty weeping-willow lined rivers, ending up in a somnolent townlet so tiny it only had one restaurant. There were no menus and only one or two dinner options. A bit apprehensive, we let the lady who was in charge of the establishment serve us whatever she had prepared for the night. So started the meal that belongs among my top 5 restaurant experiences during this new millennium…

Later on we learned that the dish we enjoyed there is not uncommon in Portugal and among Portuguese immigrants elsewhere. Famous enough to earn its own wikipedia entry, it is called bacalhau à brás. The Swedish classic Jansson’s frestelse (known in Finland as Janssonin kiusaus) is clearly of shared lineage, although I’m a bit ambivalent about anchovies and feel the Portuguese dried-cod version is better amalgamated and far more delicious.

Near New York City, you can get a sampling of authentic bacalhau à brás in the Ironbound section of Newark. This neat working-class neighborhood has a setting considerably less idyllic than Beira Alta, just off the New Jersey turnpike airport exit, a very short distance from the scarred industrial moonscape that houses one of the most blighted urban slums in Northeastern US.

Recreating legendary restaurant meals at home is usually a pretty futile task. Supposedly, I’m watching my weight right now and trying to eat as healthfully as possible. Too bad my cupboards are full of temptations – for example a pound of bacalhau. Well, dried fish is not exactly unhealthy, just the company it keeps… eggs and oil by the bucketful. This was my first attempt at a bacalhau dish, but the results were so delicious that I almost couldn’t believe it. Also, this is definitely the first time I find myself cooking from a wikipedia entry. I decreased the bacalhau-potato ratio because the cods of the North Atlantic have been overfished to near extinction.

Bacalhau à Brás

3-4 servings

250-300g of bacalhau (dried codfish)
500g of potatoes, julienned into matchstick-like pieces
2 onions, finely chopped
large quantities of canola or corn oil for frying

2-3 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
6 eggs, slightly beaten
1 tsp freshly ground black pepper
0.5dl chopped parsley
black olives

Soak the codfish for 24 h, changing the water 3-5 times to get rid of excess salt. When the fish has softened, check for bones and cut into pieces with kitchen scissors.

Peel and cut the potatoes into long, thick matchsticks. Rinse several times until the water remains clear; drain in a colander. Heat the oil in a large skillet, fry the potatoes till golden. (I use oils more suitable for heavy-duty frying and less expensive than high-grade olive oil for this purpose and enhance the taste of the dish by using good oil later in the process). Transfer the potatoes on a plate lined with kitchen towels to absorb excess fat. Next, fry the chopped onions in the oil until lightly browned. Put aside, and stir-fry the cod in the remaining oil.

Heat a little olive oil in a thick-bottomed kettle. Infuse the quartered garlic clove until golden, then remove. Add half of the potatoes and all of onions and bacalhau. Lightly beat 6 eggs in a bowl, season with freshly ground black pepper, then add this mixture into the kettle. Stir gently over a low heat, not unlike scrambling eggs: when the eggs are firm, take away from heat; add the chopped parsley. Just before serving, add the remaining fried potatoes to maintain their fried crispness. Decorate with black olives if desired and serve immediately with good crusty Portuguese bread and wine.

The meal is pretty substantial – don’t plan on doing anything more important than taking a nap or viewing one of Manuel de Oliveira’s slowmoving films a few hours after this meal.

The ribbon of park along Riverside where strangers smile and greet each other every morning. Bodegas where air fresheners are so strong they almost knock you out. Sidewalks where vendors sell sculpted pineapples and crushed oranges from shopping carts, rats scurry among abandoned mattresses, and a gaggle of men with millimeter-thin sideburns have consacrated a few square feet of pavement as Zona D Yankees.

The city where I won’t ever feel alone, because I’m gently rocked to sleep by jackhammers, car alarms, wailing sirens, reversing trucks, the thunder of the elevated subway track. The city I love.

No time for cooking right now. Instead, I’ll soothe my jet lag with a tub of green tea ice cream. In Finland I couldn’t get the storebought stuff, so I reclaimed my ice cream maker and made a batch from scratch. Just like New York, people either love it or hate maccha ice cream. And it’s the color of Lady Liberty, more or less.

Green Tea Ice Cream

2 dl milk
2 egg yolks
3 tbsp sugar
2 dl double cream
3 tbsp maccha green tea powder
1 dl hot water

Lightly whisk egg yolks in a pan that has a thick bottom. Add milk and sugar to the pan and mix well. Heat over low heat, stirring constantly, until the mixture thickens (and coats the back of a wooden spoon – about 7 to 8 minutes). Remove immediately from the heat and soak the bottom of the pan in ice water to prevent splitting and curdling. Cool the mixture. Mix hot water and green tea powder together. Add the green tea to the egg mixture and mix well, cooling in ice water. At this stage, it’s a good idea to refrigerate the mixture for a few hours or overnight, particularly if the ice cream maker uses a bowl or plate that is frozen separately.

Add whipped cream to the green tea ice cream mixture and mix well. Freeze the mixture in an ice cream maker. This recipe makes less than one liter of ice cream, so if you are serious about it, double all ingredients.

The lingonberry and carrot pie is just one of the many flavors my mom bakes, other staples being apple (fresh apples or apple sauce depending on the season), blueberry, plain carrot, carrot and apple and rhubarb. The linognberry & carrot pie combines the tartness of the lingonberries with the sweetness of the carrots in an exquisite way making it very refreshing. It is also very moist and visually appealing with its super intense shades of red.

The underlying pulla crust is thick and soft in a pan pizza kind of way. It is also sweet rather than plain or salty, and has a nice cardamommy flavor to it. If you double the crust recipe, you can also make a batch of buns – I recommend rolling the dough, spreading with margarine / butter, and sprinkling with lots of sugar and cinnamon, and then rolling and cutting the dough in bun-sized pieces. As a kid I loved to eat those buttered-and-spiced buns raw, before baking. I always tried to steal at least one when mom wasn’t looking ;) Not that I wouldn’t like them anymore…

Pulla crust

For one full baking sheet

2,5 dl (1 cup) 2% milk
25 g (1 oz) fresh yeast or 1 pkg dry yeast (12 g / 1/2 oz)
1/2 tsp salt
1 egg
1 dl (0.4 cups) sugar
7 dl (3 cups) all-purpose flour
1/2 dl (0.2 cups) canola oil
1 tsp ground cardamom

Mix the yeast in lukewarm milk until completely dissolved, then add salt, egg, sugar, oil and cardamom and mix well. Add flours gradually while kneading. Continue kneading until the dough feels firm. Add more flour if the dough is too moist and sticks in your hands or in the table. Let rise until the volume is roughly doubled.

Lingonberry and Carrot Pie

1 portion of pulla crust (above)

5 dl (2 cups) lingonberries
5 dl (2 cups) finely shredded carrots
3 dl (1.3 cups) sugar
2 tbsp potato flour (corn starch)

Preheat the oven to 200 C (400 F). Mix the berries, shredded carrots and sugar. Check the sweetness by tasting – different batches of berries vary in sourness, so you may want to adjust the amount of sugar. The filling should be sweeter than sour/tart. Finally mix in the starch.

Roll the dough when it has risen to fill a baking sheet. With your finger, press around the edges to create a “rim” to keep the fillings inside the crust. Spread the lingonberry-carrot filling over the crust. Optionally brush some egg over the crust edges to give it a beautiful glaze. Bake for 17-20 minutes until the edges have nicely browned.

Hearty stews are a great antidote and survival strategy. My favorite oxtail stew recipe is from Claudia Roden’s “The Good Food of Italy” (its Swedish translation, “Det Italienska Köket från Piemonte till Sicilien”, has been a favorite since I found it on sale in a department store in Stockholm years ago). My nearly hundred cookbooks have been in storage in Finland for almost three years, so finally being able to unpack them feels very special.

Even the bored-looking butcher at my local supermarket waxed poetic when I requested two kilos (4.5 lb) of oxtails – it seems that few of his customers bother to prepare meals that require four hours of slow stewing. Actually, I have been pretty busy working and socializing, so I did the initial stewing two days ago and finished up tonight. Two kilos of meat and bones sounds like a lot, but there are very few leftovers after Antti stopped for dinner ;)

Oxtail Stew

4-6 servings

2 kg oxtails cut at joints
1 carrot
1 leek
500 g sliced celery stalks
1 tbsp thyme
2 bay leaves
125 g bacon
1 medium onion
2 cloves of garlic
1 tsp marjoram
2-3 tbsp yellow raisins
2 tbsp pine nuts
salt and freshly ground black pepper

Rinse the oxtails, put them in a big kettle (a 5 litre kettle is ideal), cover with water, bring to boil and stew for 10 minutes. Rinse the oxtails, refill the kettle with fresh water, bring to boil again, add the carrot, leek, celery, thyme and bay leaves, and stew for 3 hours.

In a large saucepan, fry the bacon, onion and garlic; add marjoram and the stewed oxtails. Stew for another hour, until meat starts to fall away from the bones. Sprinkle with golden raisins, stew for another 10 minutes, and serve hot, topped with pine nuts.

Antti continues: While Anna’s stew was super delicious, I want to share my different approach with oxtails. I skip the veggies and bacon, but add heaps of onions. My broth is also always tomato-based, i.e. I add a can or two of crushed tomatoes, and then top it up with water until the tails are covered. A splash of wine, and the juices and the zest of a lemon to give zing. The acidity from the tomatoes help balance the otherwise heavy and meaty taste of the beef.

Either way, you won’t be disappointed =) If allowed by your company, add some decadence by grabbing the bones with your bare hands and suck the fall-of-the-bone tender meat straight off. Finger-licking-goodness guaranteed!

Black pepper crab (and chili crab) on the other hand are something I’ve learned to enjoy in South East Asia, particularly in Singapore and in Hong Kong. There are other variations too, but I don’t really know their names. My hosts simply referred them as “spicy crab”. One of these spicy crab dishes I had in Hong Kong, and it had huge crabs cut into pieces on a bed of small whole chillies, which were mild enough to be eaten in heaps. I think the chillies were coated with a batter of some sort – if you think you might have a clue what this dish was, please leave a comment! I’d love to try to make it myself :)

Even though I’ve always enjoyed these Asian crab dishes a lot, I’ve also found it a bit onerous to separate the crab meat from the crushed shells and claws while dining. I had had my first spicy crabs way before Anna introduced me to the world of soft shells. The soft shell crabs I ate with her in Mississippi were deep fried in batter, and didn’t have much resemblance left to normal crabs taste or texturewise. I definitely didn’t hate them tough, but rather fancied the idea of chomping down whole crabs with shells, legs, claws and all.

I wouldn’t be surprised if some of you haven’t ever had soft shell crabs or perhaps even heard of them before – I hadn’t for sure before I saw two sitting on a plate in front of me in a restaurant :) If they are a new acquaintance for you, let me give a quick introduction: Soft shell crabs are blue (USA) or mangrove (Asia) crabs that have just molten their hard shells. As these crabs grow larger, their shells cannot expand so they molt the exteriors and have a soft covering for a matter of hours when they are vulnerable and considered usable. Usually crabs must be caught and killed within four hours of molting to be useful as soft shell crab. The resulting soft shell crab is a delicacy, which can literally be eaten whole, even though they look exacly like their hard shelled fellow creatures. I can promise you the first time you put a whole claw in you mouth feels really weird :)

Anyhow, since soft shell crabs can be eaten whole without any leftovers, I thought they’d make perfect spicy crabs. A couple of months ago I was strolling though the isles of an Asian grocery store in Sydney, and saw a rack of Singaporean chili and black pepper crab spice mixes. I bought one pack of Seah’s Black Pepper Crab Spices and brought it back to Finland with me.

Unfortunately soft shell crabs are really difficult to come by in Finland, so I had to wait almost three months until I found a new batch of them in one of the Asian stores I frequent in Helsinki. I finally had everything I needed for my Black Pepper Soft Shell Crabs experiment, and even Anna happened to be visiting from New York, so I knew my time had come.

Black Pepper Soft Shell Crabs

Serves 2

4 soft shell crabs
1-2 tbsp olive oil
black pepper crab spice mix (or make the spice mix from scratch)
fresh parsley for garnish
rice

Clean the soft shell crabs by removing the mouth and eyes with scissors, lift the shell from both sides and remove the gills, and cut away the apron (tail).

Steam the crabs in a bamboo steamer for 5-10 minutes until cooked and the shells have turned red(dish). Discard extra juices.

Heat the oil in a wok and add the spice mix. Stir for a minute or two until fragrant, but be  careful not to burn the spices. Lower the temperature and add the crabs and mix and turn carefully for a little while until evenly coated with pepper and the crabs are warm again.

Serve immediately on a bed of rice.

I used to associate all tentacly seafood with rubber, mostly because of the deep fried “octopus rings” widely available in many restaurants. That is until I spent a few weeks in Milan on business, and tried their insalata di pulpo i.e. octopus salad. The dish had bite-sized tentacle pieces in olive oil and lemon juice, and the meat was more tender than the best chicked I’ve ever had. From that day on I’ve always looked for different octopus/calamari/sepia dishes whereever I go. Unfortunately I haven’t spent much time in Mediterranean countries famous for their seafood, but in addition to Italy, I’ve had great octopus dishes in Puerto Rico and Macau.

By the way, the rubbery, breaded and fried “octopus” rings are actually made from calamari. There are three different species that often are simply called octopus – calamari, sepia and octopus. Except for their eight tentacles, the three species don’t have that much in common. Albeit calamari and sepia can apparently be cooked to be tender (MM: tell me how!), I prefer octopus and its thick, juicy tentacles. Unfortunately Finland is the worst place in the world to buy them: the only selection seems to be frozen small ones (max 0,5 kg / 1 lbs). Many Mediterranean recipes call for octopi 2+ kg each – something I’m yet to find here :(

But since I am living amongst havoc, and haven’t really had the energy to replenish my food supplies, I only had frozen baby octopi in hand. A quick googling gave many tomato-based recipes, so that’s what I tried myself. The end result was rather plain to be honest, but then I tried to spice it up with some sweet chili sauce. Totally yummy! My original recipe was something like “Baby octopi in tomato and white wine sauce with pine nuts”, but scrap that! Just boil the octopi quickly and enjoy with sweet chili sauce! Here goes the “recipe”:

Baby Octopi With Sweet Chili Sauce

Serves 2-4 as a starter

900 g frozen or fresh baby octopi
1 can crushed tomatoes
fresh basil
1 big onion
lots of garlic
sweet chili sauce
salt, pepper
olive oil

Thaw the octopi in cold water if frozen. Set aside. Cut the onion in small cubes, crush the garlic, and saute in olice oil until soft and golden brown. Add the tomatoes and boil a few minutes. Add the baby octopi, and simmer for 5-10 minutes, until cooked. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Run through a sieve to discard extra juices.
Serve with sweet chili sauce and fresh basil. I liked the leftovers straight from the fridge too :)

Instead of celebrating Mardi Gras in a skimpy costume to the beat of steel drums in Trinidad, I’m stuck in freezing cold New York stuffing two gigantic suitcases, preparing to take off for Finland. On days like this when food is just an afterthought, I often stop by the wonderful Japanese-Korean convenience store in my neighborhood, m2m, to pick up a tray of sushi and a few contrasting kimchi. (Boringly enough, I always choose the standard-issue white radish pickled in hot red pepper sauce, although they also carry a dozen more exotic varieties, such as lotus root, squid, or dried shrimp). Best of all, the store is cheap, cheap, cheap, at least by Manhattan standards.

I’ve never really noticed before that they have a tiny fresh produce section tucked away in the dark back corner. Among the vegetables, I was drawn to the alluringly thick fresh jumbo udon noodles, essentially soups in a box. (See this site for more udon ideas – Engrish alert! If you are stuck with the more common instant ramen, check out this quirky Seattle-based website.) Because of the bone-chilling breeze blowing down the river, a bowl of hearty soup sounded a lot more appealing than cold pieces of nigiri and maki.

At home, I quickly boiled some water and, in futile efforts to get rid off stuff that will spoil while I’m gone, threw in some mushrooms and vegetables from the fridge. Normally I’m not a huge fan of the MSG-laden flavor sachets that come with many instant noodles, but the one accompanying the jumbo noodles tasted just fine. Best of all, I was slurping piping hot soup within ten minutes of arriving home.

Quick Udon Noodle Soup

1 serving

5 dl (2 cups) boiling water
1 pkg fresh udon noodles or dried noodles
the flavor sachet of the noodles (this contained soy sauce, fish stock, sugar, salt, powdered kelp, and MSG)
4-5 fresh mushrooms
a handful of baby bok choy
1 sliced spring onion
2 hot thai chilli peppers

Add the noodles to the boiling water, boil for 2 min. Slice the mushrooms, chillies, spring onion and gently pull apart the bok choy. Add the contents of the flavor sachet and all fresh ingredients to the soup, boil for 2 minutes, and serve.

I accompanied the soup with white radish kimchi and warm sake, and had hot steamed Chinese custard buns for dessert. Yum!

I’m sure many of you fellow foodies get occassional nagging cravings that can’t be cured by any other means than a proper cooking session with the right ingredients. In my case the problem often is that I don’t exactly know what I want. A few days ago I was once again unsatisfied with my planned meal – can’t even remember what I was supposed to cook that day – until I realized I had to have meatballs. Preferably simmered in a thick, hearty, Italian tomato sauce. Trivial, you may think, but not exactly for me. I’ve never been that big on pasta, and thus rarely have it ex the omnipresent bolognese (can you spell cafeteria food…)

I started a fierce googling session with search terms such as “best italian pasta”, “marinara sauce”, “italian meatballs” etc. I read through heaps of recipes, many of them very tempting. Unfortunately all of them called for some ingredient or two I didn’t have, and I definitely wasn’t on a mood for a shopping trip. Luckily one of the joys of cooking is improvising. I decided to use whatever I happened to have in hand… The result?

*drum roll*

Antti’s Fusion Meatballs With Sepia Colored Spaghetti

Serves 5 (540 kcal / serving)

For the meatballs:

750 g lean ground lamb
200 g Greek Feta, crumbled
a bunch of fresh parsley, chopped
2 cm fresh ginger, shredded
1/2 pkg Shan Tikka Seekh Kabab BBQ Mix

For the sauce:

1 big yellow onion
4+ cloves of garlic
4 fresh caffir lime leaves, chopped (double if dried)
1 can (any) pasta sauce with olives
1 kg crushed tomatoes
some oregano
some basil
a pinch of sugar
a bunch of fresh cilantro, chopped
a chunk of dried tamarind
some olive oil
salt and pepper to taste

Preheat the oven to 175 C (350 F). Mix all the meatball ingredients well; make sure the spice mix is evenly distributed in the ground meat. Thanks again, Meena, for introducing me to the wonderful world of Shan spice mixes! Roll the meat into small balls with your hands, and set aside. Makes 30-40 meat balls.

Heat a little bit of olive oil in a pan, and sauté the onions and garlic until golden brown, about 3 minutes. Add the rest of the listed ingredients, and simmer over medium heat for 20-30 minutes.

When the sauce is ready, pour a little bit in a 10-15 cm deep baking dish. Add the meatballs and the sauce in layers until everything is in the pot covered in sauce. Cook for 45-60 minutes.

Serve on top of pasta with grated parmesan reggiano. I really liked the contrast of the black sepia colored pasta, definitely worth trying! I love everything lamb (and goat), so the meat balls were good, IMO. The pasta sauce was nice too; I especially liked the aroma of the kaffir lime leaves and the tamarind paste.

This recipe was influenced by various recipes I saw while looking for the ultimate meat ball & sauce combo. I’d be foolish to compare my resulting dish with those tried and true Italian recipes many of you know, but I enjoyed eating mine with its many tastes from around the world.

Institutional food can scar you for life. At my previous job in Helsinki, the hospital chefs disguised cheap sources of animal protein as culinary innovations, coming up with dubious creations such as Rainbow Trout Topped With Grilled Edam Cheese or Salmon Sprinkled With Pizza Herbs. Suffice it to say, I have been turned off novel ways of cooking fish for the past five years.

But my steaming basket has changed everything. As the gales from the Hudson are particularly forbidding these days, this mouthwatering recipe at the website of a New York personal chef brings a welcome respite of sunny Sicily. I simply had to try it. You should, too. Steaming was my method of choice once again, because it requires very little up-front effort and even less cleaning up afterwards.

Swordfish seems to be native to the shores of Hudson, ie, the Uptown Fairway’s fishmonger section ;). Salmon is an easy substitute, and tastes just as good, if not better – if you can stomach yet more salmon.

Swordfish with Blood Oranges

2 servings

2 swordfish or salmon medaillons
1/2 dl red wine vinegar
1 dl orange juice
2 tbsp brown sugar

1-2 blood oranges, supremed* and diced
1 tomato, seeded and diced
1/2 finely diced red onion
salt and pepper, to taste

Prepare the sauce: combine the vinegar, orange juice, and brown sugar in a small saucepan and bring to a boil, then lower the heat and reduce until you have a syrupy sauce. Line the steamer basked with parchment paper. Put the fish on a plate, pour off a little of this sauce to coat the fish, and put the plate in the steamer. Steam for 10 minutes or until done, then let rest for a few minutes in room temperature.

Add the diced blood oranges, tomatoes and red onion to the remaining syrup. Let cool in the fridge while the fish is steamed. Top the fish with the sauce and serve with sticky rice, couscous, or polenta.

*To supreme means to remove the bitter, stringy, unattractive white membrane that surrounds the juice sacs of citrus fruits.

The perfect movie to follow this meal: A Perfect Murder. You can envy Gwyneth Paltrow’s Upper East Side kitchen and pretend that you have a personal chef, too.

Suomessa asuessani sain mittani täyteen laitosruokaa. Työskentelin jonkin aikaa Lapinlahden sairaalassa ja työtehtäviini kuului osallistuminen potilasruokailuun kerran viikossa. Muistikuvissani potilasateriat poikkesivat aina kehnompaan suuntaan sairaalan maksullisen ruokalan tarjonnasta – joukkoruokailu tietysti tähtää hinta-ruokamääräsuhteen optimointiin aterioitsijaa kohden, ja sairaalassa tilannetta komplisoivat vielä terveellisyys- ja erityisruokavaliovaatimukset. Tiukan budjetin keittiössä potilaitten ruokalistalla kirjolohta tuntui siten olevan koko ajan. Sairaalakokit yrittivät naamioida kirjolohen parhaansa mukaan, tuloksena pizzamaustekirjolohi ja edamkirjolohi. Vältin kaikkia lohikaloja ja innovatiivisia kalanvalmistustapoja parhaani mukaan seuraavat viisi vuotta ;)

Nyt kun tuuli puhaltaa kylmästi Hudson-joelta mielitekona on aurinkoisen Sisilian ruoka. Aivan kylmän joen äärellä sijaitseva Fairway-supermarket myy onneksi luomuveriappelsiineja, ja newyorkilaisen yksityiskokin kotisivuilta löysin tämän reseptin jota kannattaa ehdottomasti kokeilla. Kastike on helppo kuin mikä ja superraikas. Pääsin loistavasti tämän avulla eroon myös jääkaapin pohjalla lojuneesta punaviinietikkajämästä – en ole löytänyt sille juurikaan käyttöä vaikka muuntyyppisiä etikoita meillä kuluu litratolkulla. Molempia kokeiltuani olen sitä mieltä että lohikalat toimivat tässä reseptissä vähintään yhtä hyvin tai ehkä paremminkin kuin miekkakala.

Veriappelsiineja ja miekkakalaa

2:lle

2 miekkakalapihviä tai lohimedaljonkia

1/2 dl punaviinietikkaa
1 dl appelsiinimehua
2 rkl fariinisokeria
1-2 kuutioitua veriappelsiinia; poista ensin kitkerä valkoinen osa mahdollisimman tarkoin
1 tomaatti (poista siemenet ja kuutioi)
1/2 punasipuli hienoksi hakattuna
suolaa ja pippuria maun mukaan

Mittaa kastikekasariin etikka, appelsiinimehu ja sokeri, kiehauta liedellä ja keitä jonkun verran kasaan 5-10 minuutin ajan (varo kuiviin kiehumista ja karamellisoitumista). Kieuhata kattilallinen vettä, pane sen päälle höyrytyskori: Laita kala leivinpaperin päälle lautasella höyrytyskoriin ja lirauta päälle hieman vastakeitettyä kastiketta; sulje kansi ja höyrytä 5-10 minuuttia, varo ylikeittämistä.

Pilko veriappelsiinit, tomaatti ja sipuli, ja lisää ne kastikkeen joukkoon, mutta älä enää kypsennä; siirrä kastikekattila jäähtymään jääkaappiin siksi aikaa kun kala höyryttyy.

Nosta kala tarjoilulautaselle, suolaa ja kaada päälle viileä kastike. Tarjoa kalan kanssa esimerkiksi kuskusia, tahmeaa riisiä tai polentaa.

Aterian todellisuuspakoiseen meininkiin sopii Gwyneth Paltrow -elokuva A Perfect Murder. Sitä katsellessa voi kuvitella omistavansa palatsiasunnon ja hehtaarikeittiön Park Avenuella – ja keittiössä häärii tietenkin henkilökohtainen yksityiskokki.

When visiting New York before Christmas, my cousin Thomas brought us authentic Nürnberger Lebkuchen. Lots and lots of them, in fact ;) Today, I realized that although the holidays are long gone, the last three of those German Christmas cookies were still lingering in the cupboard.

I am by no means a sports fan, but quite inexplicably I have been following the Olympics several nights a week this year. Bobsledding looks so crazy it’s a must-watch, and right now I’m keeping an eye on the women’s figure skating finale. (Also, NBC’s coverage is pretty hilarious, featuring heartwarming sob stories of adversity and redemption in the athletes’ mini-profiles, usually filmed against grimy Russian cityscapes). I’ve also heard that Finns are all of a sudden totally crazy about curling, although I’d swear last year 90% of the population would have drawn a blank on it – apparently Finland is playing for gold in the Torino games.

All this snow, ice, and strenuous exercise on TV makes me famished. Suddenly it came to me that the leftover Lebkuchen would be perfect for an ice cream sandwich. I took a really sharp knife, halved the Lebkuchen (they are quite fragile), scooped on some vanilla ice cream, and topped the whole thing with some fresh strawberries and kumquats.

I love the concept “Eskimo Pie”. This brand name (just “eskimo” in Finnish) refers a chocolate covered ice cream bar, invented in the US in the 1920s by a Danish immigrant. But an Eskimo Pie does not look like a pie at all, so I’d like to borrow the name for my creation – which was the messiest and most scrumptious thing I’ve eaten in quite a while ;)

Kun siirryin yläasteelle, uuden koulun keskeisiä vetonauloja oli Puffetteja eli keksien väliin puristettua jäätelömassaa myyvä automaatti. Eräänä vuonna viimeinen kesälomalle lähtenyt koulun siivoaja nykäisi epähuomiossa jäätelöautomaatin töpselin seinästä, ja elokuussa vastassa oli haju joka on jäänyt aikakirjoihin.

Olympialaisia katsellessa lumi ja jää pysyvät jatkuvasti mielessä, vaikka Manhattanilla talvesta ei ole enää jälkeäkään. Huomasin aamulla että kaapissa oli edelleen pari nürnbergiläistä pikkuleipää serkkuni Thomaksen vierailusta joulun alla. Päätin väsätä niistä gourmet-eskimopiirakan halkomalla keksit varovasti kahtia hyvin terävällä veitsellä ja täyttämällä ne vaniljajäätelöllä (piparit tai muut keksit olisivat toimineet myös). Päälle vielä kumkvatteja ja mansikoita – a vot. Taidan käydä tekemässä vielä toisen ;)
Aila ja Thomas, jos satutte lukemaan tätä, lämpimät kiitokset vielä pikkuleivistä: olivat mainioita sekä sellaisenaan että tässä uusiokäytössä!

The credits of this recipe go to Molly at Orangette, albeit she has adopted her recipe from Fresh from the Farmers’ Market. I further changed the recipe by adding the three cheeses. Mmm, cheesy :P

Leeks Braised in Three Cheese Cream And Tarragon

(Serves 1-2 as a side, 140-280 kcal / serving)

1 big leek (about 500 g / 1 lbs)
1,2 dl (1/2 cups) cream
some emmental, gouda and cheddar
(in Finland, simply buy Valio three cheese cream ;)
1,2 dl chicken broth
1/2 tsp dried tarragon
salt, pepper to taste

Preheat the oven to 190 C (375 F). Cut off the dark green tops of the leek and trim off the roots, halve the leek lenghtwise and rinse thoroughly. Place in a long baking dish.

Mix the cream, chicken broth and tarragon. Grate a little bit of each cheese and mix with the sauce. Season with salt and freshly ground black pepper. Pour the cream mixture over the leeks and bake uncovered for 30 minutes. Remove the dish from the oven, turn the leeks over and bake another 45 minutes, until the leeks are golden brown.

Serve hot.

We have cooked *a lot* of fish lately. More will follow, but tonight I have serious red meat cravings and will just make a sirloin steak.

Last year when we travelled in Argentina, I came across the best bife de lomo I have ever eaten. Argentine beef is tasty and tender beyond belief. It was almost always accompanied by chimichurri, a spicy and herby condiment that packs an extra punch. Chimichurri is really easy to prepare at home, preferably a few days in advance to fully develop the flavor.

My dinner will be accompanied by a glass of Malbec, the perfect complement to red meat. This grape cultivated in the Mendoza area of Argentina produces red wines that range from rotgut to thoroughbred collector’s items. Thanks to globalization, Malbecs are available pretty much everywhere these days – even in the dusty Spanish-speaking neighborhood liquor store on Broadway that is just steps from our front door. (Oddly enough, they carry 25 different varieties of port and more a dozen different Puerto-Rican rums, but their wine selection is nothing to write home about).

Chimichurri

(enough for 2-4 steaks)

1/2 dl olive oil
1 tbsp white wine vinegar
1 tbsp balsamic vinegar
the juice of one lime or 1/2 lemon
1 dl finely chopped parsley
2-3 crushed cloves of garlic
1 leaf of basil or a pinch of oregano
3/4 tsp crushed dried chile de árbol (or 3-4 tiny peperoncini)
1/4 tsp black pepper
salt to taste
Chop all of the ingredients very finely. It seems to be a point of pride in Argentina not to use a food processor, but decide for yourself. Mix with olive oil and vinegar. Let draw in the fridge for a couple of days until the flavors meld. Serve with steaks. You can marinate the steak in chimichurri, but I prefer to ladle copious amounts of it on top of my steak at the table.

Ruokailijan Argentiina for Dummies pitää sisällään kolme avainkäsitettä: Malbecin, pihvit ja chimichurrin. Malbec-punaviiniä saa kaikkialta, jopa pölyisestä nurkkaviinakaupastamme, kiitos globalisaation. Oikein juotavia halpoja merkkejä ovat esimerkiksi San Telmo, Rincón famoso ja Trapiche, mutta jos omaa investointipankkiirin kukkaron, hinta- ja laatuskaala on laaja.

Argentiinalainen pihvikarja on uskomatonta ja maistuu parhaiten paikan päällä. Pihvin päälle syömävaiheessa levitettävää chimichurri -yrttikastiketta kannattaa silti kokeilla seuraavan kerran kun intoutuu kotioloissa paistamaan kunnon pihvin – se tarjoaa eksotiikkapläjäyksen huomattavasti mukavammin kuin sardiiniahtautuminen turistiluokkapaikoilla maapallon toiselle puolelle. Kuten kaikki hyvät asiat, tämäkin kastike vaatii aikaa (Doughboy on slow food -blogi!). Chimichurri kannattaa siis panna vireille pari päivää ennen kuin lihanhimo iskee.

Chimichurri

1/2 dl oliiviöljyä
1 rkl valkoviinietikkaa
1 rkl balsamiviinietikkaa
1 limetin tai 1/2 sitruunan mehu
1 dl hienoksi hakattua persiljaa
2-3 murskattua valkosipulin kynttä
1 basilikan lehti pieneksi hakattuna tai hiukan kuivattua oreganoa
3/4 tl kuivattua chiliä (3-4 peperoncinoa)
1/4 tl mustapippuria
suolaa
Hakkaa kaikki kiinteät ainekset ja yrtit hyvin hienoksi veitsellä tai morttelilla. Sekoita nesteisiin ja kaada lasipulloon. Anna maustua viileässä pari päivää. Tarjoa pihvin seuralaisena, kastiketta lusikoidaan kypsän pihvin mausteeksi. Jotkut marinoivat raa’an pihvinkin tässä kastikkeessa, mutta mielestäni se ei ole tarpeen.

When friends from abroad visit Helsinki, we tend to stuff them to their gills with herring, salmon, trout, and arctic char. No wonder foreign visitors quickly form the impression that Finns eat nothing but fish. While this is wildly incorrect, Finland does have over 1,000 kilometers of seaside and 190,000 lakes. When I was growing up, fish was considered the poor cousin of meat. I think fish still remains the cheapest source of animal protein for Finns – these days supermarket specials regularly feature domestic farmed rainbow trout and Norwegian salmon.

So please bear with us – we are going to regularly feature salmon in our postings. Today’s entry is of course gravlax – with a twist. Although gravlax sounds intimidating, it is one of the easiest dishes I know, requiring 2 minutes or so of active preparation time. The curing process takes about two days, so you will have to plan ahead a bit.

Gin-marinated Gravlax

The tail end of a fillet of salmon
2 tbsp crushed juniper berries (dried are fine)
2 tbsp kosher salt
3 tbsp gin

Unwrap the supermarket package where the salmon came in. Crush or grind the juniper berries (I use an electric coffee grinder), sprinkle the crushed berries on the fleshy side of the fillet, sprinkle with salt, and slosh on the gin. Rewrap the package, put it in a plastic bag, and store in the fridge. I sometimes add a weight on top and try to remember to turn the package once or twice. After 48 hours, the fish should be cured. It keeps for a few days. I serve it either as an appetizer or a light meal, sliced very thin with a sharp knife, usually accompanied by a tossed green salad.

Suomalaisilla on kauhea tapa myrkyttää ulkomaalaiset vieraansa liialla kalalla. Ilmoittaudun itse ensimmäisenä syylliseksi: raahaan vieraat poikkeuksetta paikkoihin joiden ruokalistat parveilevat lohta, nieriää ja taimenta. Vapaamuotoiseempaankin ruokailuun suositan Sikalaa, Salvea ja Bottan ruokapuolta, jossa silakkaa on vaikea välttää. Illasta iltaan nämä ruoat sitten kumuloituvat elimistöön, ja poislähtiessään vieraat ovat kasvattaneet evät D-vitamiiniyliannoksesta. Ystävät maailmalla siis ilman muuta olettavat että noudatan kotioloissakin eskimon ruokavaliota.

Oikeasti laitan kalaa turhan harvoin kotona, sillä kammoan biojätteessä käyviä kalanperkeitä, tötkyisiä folioita, lohenrasvaa uuninpohjalla ja sohvakalustoon imeytyvää silakankäryä. Mukavuussyistä suosin kahta kalan valmistusmenetelmää jotka minimoivat hajun ja sotkun: höyryttämistä ja graavaamista. Heitän graavimausteet kalapakettiin välittömästi kaupasta tultuani – aikaa kuluu vain punainen minuutti, mutta muutaman päivän odottelun tulos on herkullinen. Perinteinen graavilohi on tietysti hieno herkku, mutta olen erittäin kiintynyt oheiseen hieman modernimpaan reseptiin, joka hyödyntää Matti Nykäsen lempimakua – lonkerostahan kaikki alkoi? Ginikala on niin helppo että ex-mäkikotkakin taatusti siitä selviäisi.

Katajanmarjoja löytyy paitsi laitumen perukan katajapuskasta, myös ainakin hyvistä kaupoista kuivatavarana maustehyllystä kanelin vierestä.

Ginimarinoitu graavilohi

n. 500-700 g painava lohifileen pyrstöpää
2 rkl murskattuja katajanmarjoja (kuivatut OK)
2 rkl merisuolaa
3 rkl giniä eli katajanmarjaviinaa

Avaa kalapaketti, levitä fileen lihapuolelle merisuola ja murskatut katajanmarjat (jauhan ne pienessä maustekäyttöön vihityssä sähkökäyttöisessä kahvimyllyssä, mutta mortteli tai ihan näppivoima käy myös). Loiski päälle gini. Sulje paketti, pakkaa muovipussiin ja laita jääkaapin pohjalle, mielellään painon alle. Lohi graavautuu noin 2 vrk:ssa – kääntele pari kertaa jos muistat. Tarjoan ginigraavilohen yleensä ohuiksi viipaleiksi leikattuna joko sellaisenaan tai vihreän salaatin kanssa.

Living in New York, I’m constantly homesick for good bread. In my neighborhood bodegas, the bread is suffocated in plastic; the sweet stuff comes from Entenmann’s and would survive a nuclear winter. A Dominican bakery that is just a few blocks from us makes fresh pastries every day – unfortunately the bakers there are rather heavy-handed with artificial flavors and food colorings. “Artisanal” breads are available in most gourmet markets – but that almost invariably means sourdough, which is not the flavor I look for in white bread. Besides, the entire concept of gourmet bread is just plain silly – good bread should be available everywhere. The Greek bakeries in Astoria satisfy all my cravings and Portuguese bread can’t be beat, but trips there involve subways, trains, or the snail-paced M60 bus.

I learned to bake yeast bread before I started grade school. Yeast-based breads take time: over the long and chilly President’s Day weekend, I finally decided to satisfy my cravings. Tartine Gourmand’s brioche pictures inspired me to combine French brioche and kouglof techniques with my Finnish pulla heritage. This is the result:

Brioche

(makes 5)

500 g all-purpose flour
25 g baker’s yeast or one sachet of active dry yeast
2 eggs
100 g butter (at room temperature, cut into little pieces)
1 tsp salt
65-85 g sugar
0.75 dl warm (but not too warm) milk

1 dl raisins
2 tbsp dark rum
a handful of almond slivers

one beaten egg for basting

Mix the flour and the active dry yeast. Add the warm milk,salt, sugar, and one of the eggs, mix vigorously. Add the other egg, knead for 5-10 min; then add the butter. (If you are using fresh baker’s yeast – my preference whenever available – crumble the yeast in tepid milk, then add salt, sugar, and flour.) Add a bit of flour or milk if the dough feels too dry or very runny. Knead until the dough separates from the bowl. Cover with a tea towel. If you let the dough rise overnight in the fridge, take it out to room temperature for at least 1.5 hours so that the dough reaches room temperature before you shape it. My favorite method is to fill the kitchen sink with hot tap water, put the bowl in the water (it will float): the dough will rise in 30-60 minutes. Let the raisins soak in rum in the meantime.

When the dough has doubled in size, punch it down, and sprinkle it with a little extra flour to get a ball of dough that is not sticky. Roll out the dough into a rectangle – in my minuscule Manhattan kitchen, I use a clean, lightly floured polyethylene cutting board to do this. Sprinkle the almond slivers and raisins (and possibly a bit of extra butter) on the top of the dough, and then roll up the dough in jellyroll fashion, starting from the longer side. Cut into six pieces. Butter a muffin tin (I used one that has six 9 cm / 3.5” cups). Put five pieces into the cups; if you wish to make Parisian-shaped brioche with small heads, cut the sixth piece into fifths, shape into balls, and fuse them on top of the bigger pieces. Baste with beaten egg and let rise for 30 minutes. Bake in 175 C / 350 F for about 20 minutes or until golden. Serve warm, perhaps with jam – I ate mine with Swedish raspberry-blueberry preserves from the IKEA in New Jersey.

Bloggaaminen on minulle keskeinen tapa pitää yllä muutakin kuin Instant Messenger -kirjoitustyyliä äidinkielelläni joten en vielä täysin luovu suomenkielisestä postaamisessa.

Amerikassa asumisen tylsiä puolia on hyvän leivän puute. Toki Suomessakin hukutamme loistavan leipäperinteemme aivan liian heppoisin perustein supermarkettien muovipusseihin, mutta koska kasvoin pullantuoksuisessa kodissa uuninlämpimällä Elannon häälimpulla, kunnon leipää tulee välillä tuskallisen ikävä. Hapankorppuja saa täällä joka marketista, mutta hyvä sekaleipä ja usein ihan tavallinen valkoinen leipäkin ovat kiven takana. Gourmetmarketit myyvät inhottavan hapantaikinapohjaisia patonkeja – 4-5 dollaria leivästä joka vanhenee päivässä ei innosta. Makeat leivonnaiset ovat lähikaupoissa ja parin korttelin päässä sijaitsevassa dominikaanileipomossa lähinnä ikisäilyvää lajia. Suomalaiseen makuun täydellistä vaaleaa leipää saa portugalilaisista leipomoista, mutta lähimmät tietämäni ovat Mineolassa Long Islandilla ja Newarkissa New Jerseyssä – eli vähän kuin pitäisi junailla itsensä Helsingistä Hyvinkäälle jokapäiväisen leivän perässä. Huomattavasti lähempänä – silti tukkoisen bussimatkan päässä – sijaitsevat Astorian ihanat kreikkalaiset leipomot.

Kun nyt osui kohdalle pitkä juhlapyhäviikonloppu ja sen verran kovat pakkaset että tekee mieli pitää päällä hehtaarikokoista jenkki-uunia (uunin käyttö on täällä suunnilleen 6 kk vuodesta tuskallinen ajatus kuumuuden ja kosteuden vuoksi), sekoittelin keskenään Tartine Gourmandin kuvien inspiroimana briossi- and kouglof- reseptejä. Mutta koska opin pullataikinan niksit jo aivan pienenä, luisuin väistämättä pilkuntarkoista ranskalaisresepteistä tutummille urille. Tavoittelin briosseja joita minulla oli aikoinaan tapana ostaa Stockan konditoriatiskiltä.

Briossi

(5 minibriossia)

500 g vehnäjauhoa
puolikas hiivapala
2 munaa
100 g huoneenlämpöistä voita pieninä palasina
1 tl suolaa
65-85 g (eli vajaa dl – 1 dl) sokeria
3/4 dl kädenlämpöistä maitoa

1 dl rusinoita
2 rkl rommia
kourallinen mantelilastuja

munaa briossien voitelemiseen

Tee hiivataikina aivan kuin leipoisit pullaa. Anna kohota – tuplasti jos haluat parantaa briossien makua. Liota samaan aikaan rusinoita tilkassa rommia. Kaulitse kohonnut taikina nelikulmioksi – käytän miniatyyrikeittiössäni jauhoitettua muovista 40 x 30 cm leikkuulautaa. Ripottele taikinaneliölle rommirusinat ja mantelilastut; rullaa kuten kanelipullat, leikkaa kuuteen osaan, laita viisi paloista voideltuun muffinpannuun. Paloittelin kuudennen pullan viiteen osaan ja pyörittelin siitä pikkuiset pallot isojen palojen päälle jäljitellen pariisilaisbriossien muotoa. Anna kohota vielä puoli tuntia, voitele munalla: paista 175 C:ssa 20 min tai kunnes kullanruskeita. Tarjoa lämpiminä joko sellaisenaan tai hyvän hillon kera – minun hilloni oli New Jerseyn IKEAsta ostettua ruotsalaista kuningatarhilloa ;)

I soon found out that Greenshell mussel is a true New Zealand staple, and also a major export item. I fell in love with these Kiwi mussels, and was afraid I couldn’t find them back in Finland. To my big surprise and even greater relief, I found them in my local Asian market. Even the price was wery lucrative: €6,00 / kg ($3.25 / lbs), frozen in half shells.

Blue mussels are native to Scandinavia and Northern Europe, but they don’t offer much to eat. Greenshells’ meat-to-shell ratio is 3-4 times better compared to blue mussels. As you can see in the picture below, the mussels are quite big and meaty :)

When I was looking for a recipe for my Greenshells, I discovered a young Kiwi chef Garth Hokianga, famous for his trademark combination of healthy and delicious food. Garth has worked as a personal chef for Dustin Hoffman and the Sultan of Brunei – a resume good enough for me… And now, without further ado:

Greenshell Mussels in Saffron & Coconut Bisque

Serves 2 (280 kcal / serving)

2 fresh lemongrass stalks
1 cm piece fresh ginger, unpeeled
1 teaspoons oil
2 shallots, peeled & chopped
1 chilies (birds eye or serrano), seeded & minced
10-20 New Zealand Greenshell mussels (Perna canaliculus)
2 1/2 dl coconut milk
2 1/2 dl chicken stock
1/4 teaspoon saffron threads
1 tablespoons nam pla fish sauce
1 tablespoons fresh lime juice
salt & freshly ground pepper
chives sticks for garnish

Cut off the tops of the lemongrass stalks, leaving a 10 cm bulb. Trim off the stem end and peel away the outer layers. Smash the lemongrass bulbs with the back of a cook’s knife. Now smash the ginger.

Heat the oil in a pan over a medium temperature, add the lemongrass, ginger and shallot and sauté for 3 minutes but do not brown. Add the minced chilies and cook for 30 seconds, then add the coconut milk, chicken stock, saffron, mussels and fish sauce.

Bring to a low simmer, cover and cook for 3 to 5 minutes, until the mussels open. Discard the lemongrass and ginger. Remove from the heat and discard any mussels that do not open. Remove the mussel meat from the shells and set aside on a plate.

If you are using frozen mussels in half shells as I did, cover the unthawed mussels with cold water, bring to boil and boil for three minutes, counting from the first big bubbles. Then rinse quickly with cold water, remove the meat from the shells, and continue the recipe as follows.

Stir in the limejuice, add the mussel meat back into the coconut bisque and reheat gently over a low heat for 2 minutes. Ladle into warmed bowls. Taste for seasoning and decorate with chive sticks.

When it comes to my new love – steaming – Marge’s wisdom of avoiding the unknown doesn’t quite apply: Why don’t you try to steam something you haven’t before! Besides, frying pretty much destroys any and all flavor of the ingredients :)

I bought my Chinese bamboo steamer years ago when I was strolling the kitchen supply isles of my local Target in Boston. I had recently returned from Hong Kong, and the ubiquitous bamboo steamers there caught my eye. It was less than $20, so I bought it on a whim. Back at home I realized the steamer was too big to fit in any of my pots or pans. Too lazy to return it, I showed the box on top of my kitchen cupboards where it has been ever since. Until last week.

I happened to buy heaps of bok choy and green beans from a nearby Asian market, and at the same time Anna was telling about her steaming experiments in New York. I remembered my ill-fated steamer, dug it out from a closet, re-read the instruction pamphlet, and had an epiphany: Steam is hot. Heat goes up. Ha! I finally realized that I could simply place the steamer on top of a big pot instead of trying to fit it inside one. Works like a charm! (And no worries about setting the steamer on fire, sis ;)

Chinese buns, dumplings, dim sum – whatever the name – are often steamed. When people think about Chinese food in Finland, it’s most likely that stir-frying comes first to mind. Before I started traveling in South East Asia, I also associated Chinese cooking with fat-dripping and really unhealthy-looking woks. Now I realize there are tons of literally fat free steamed dishes (i.e. no added fat).

The buns pictured above are filled with lotus paste, and many varieties of similar ready-to-be steamed buns can be bought in an Asian market near you. Frozen buns make a tasty side dish for any Asian meal. 10-15 minutes in a steamer and voilà:

The beauty of steaming is it’s speed and versatility: While heating a few buns, you can also cook the main course in the same bamboo tower. Steaming is also a very quick way to prepare food, almost comparable to a microwave oven! A hearty fillet of fish is ready in six minutes, veggies included.

Lets have a look at this big fella I bought yesterday. (I asked for a half salmon and that’s exactly what I got…)

Earlier I’ve always either pan fried fish or baked it in the oven. After filleting the poor salmon I butterflied some of it, whipped up a quick thai marinade, rinsed a heap of bok choy and placed everything in the bamboo steamer. It’s a good idea to put fish and other potentially smelly stuff on a plate to protect the steamer.

For those who haven’t seen or used bamboo steamers before, the baskets can be piled in a tower, so you only need one source of steam. Six minutes on top of a pot of boiling water, and the meal is ready. That’s what I call fast food :)

Salmon in Thai Sauce

Serves 2 (480 kcal / serving)

1 bunch cilantro with stems and roots
12 mint leaves
1 tsp chopped fresh ginger
3 cloves garlic
1 tsp salt
1 large red chilli, finely chopped (or dried chilli)
2 limes
1 tbsp nam pla (fish sauce)
2 x 200 g (7 oz) Norwegian salmon fillets
plenty of bok choy

Mix cilantro, mint, ginger, garlic, salt, chilli, juice of the limes and nam pla in a food processor until a smooth paste.

Use 2/3 of the sauce to marinate the fish for 20-30 minutes. Place bok choy and salmon fillets on a plate in a steamer and steam for six minutes.

Pour the reserved sauce over the fish and serve immediately.

Argentiinalaiset ovat täysin jumissa dulce de lecheen, ruskeaan pehmeään tahmaan joka on kirjaimellisesti karamellisoitunutta maitoa, jonkinlainen kinuskin isoveli. Se on erityisen hyvää jäätelön kastikkeena ja jälkiruoissa. Tavara on kuin crackia, psyykkinen riippuvuus syntyy kertamaistamisesta.

New Yorkissa dulce de lecheä saa melkein kaikkialta, kulmabodegastammekin. Mutta kun etsin selvityksiä siitä kuinka maito karamellisoidaan, törmäsin urbaaneilta legendoilta vaikuttaviin juttuihin umpinaisten säilyketölkkien keittämisestä painekattilassa. Fysiikan lakien sanelemana lämmön ja paineen kasvu suljetussa tilassa enteilee räjähdysvaaraa. Netissä riitti juttua ympäri keittiötä sinkoilevista kuumista tölkeistä, palaneista jäsenistä ja silmänsä menettäneistä kokeista. Yleinen viesti oli ÄLÄ KOKEILE TÄTÄ KOTONA.

Ruokabloggaaminen on keskimäärin aika kesyä puuhaa. Tässä oli nyt ainutkertainen mahdollisuus toteuttaa kotona kolmen minuutin harkinta-ajalla ja $1.79:n investoinnilla Improvised Explosive Device, joista yleensä kuulee vain Bagdadin uutisissa.

Dulce de leche – älä kokeile tätä kotona
(recipe in English)

1 tlk makeutettua säilykemaitoa (“sweetened condensed milk” – saa Suomestakin ainakin etnisistä kaupoista)

Kaivoin esiin syvimmän mahdollisen kaapista löytyvän 10 litran kattilan. Maitosäilyketölkin etiketissä luki CAUTION – NEVER HEAT UNOPENED CAN. Heitin etiketin pois. Laitoin avaamattoman tölkin kattilaan ja täytin kattilan liki piripintaan vedellä. Kriittistä on että säilyketölkki pysyy koko keittoprosessin ajan kunnolla upoksissa, vähintään tuuman verran veden alla – Arkhimedes osaisi varmaan tilittää tästä jotain sellaista mitä minä en.

Tölkin kiehuessa kuuluu jatkuva kop-kop-kop -ääni. Jos liekki oli hitusenkin liian vahva, ääni yltyi pelottavan synkopoiduksi KLONK-UTI KLONKK KLONKKKKK KLONKKKKKKKK -ääneksi , jossa voi omasta paranoian asteesta riippuen kuulla kiskoiltaan syöksyvää junaa tai välitöntä räjähdysvaaraa. Velipoika ehdotti ystävällisesti käyttämään kattilankantta kilpenä, poistumaan asunnosta ja palaamaan sopivasti moppaamaan karamellin asunnon katosta.

Kestin odotuksen hermojännitystä kolme tuntia. Tänä aikana tölkkiin ehti jo ilmaantua ruostepilkkuja. Kahdessa tunnissa olisi syntynyt karamellikastiketta, kolmessa tunnissa kehittyi semisolidi vanukas, ja neljässä tunnissa pitäisi päästä jo jollakin lailla itsenäisesti pystyssä pysyvään jälkiruokaan. Annoin kattilan jäähtyä huoneenlämpöön edelleen veden alla. Kun lopulta avasin sen uunihanskat kädessä kuin olisin käsitellyt Loviisan polttoainesauvaa, tölkinavaajan tekemästä reiästä purskahti ilmoille lämmintä ruskeaa massaa huomattavalla pakonopeudella. Refleksit toimivat. Väistin sopivasti: näkö on vielä tallella.

Lämmin dulce de leche oli käsittämättömän hyvää – kuin luotu jäätelön tai omenapalojen kastikkeeksi. Sitä voi myös levittää paahtoleivän päälle.

Karamellisoidun maidon voi toki tehdä aivan lähtöaineistaankin, maidosta, sokerista ja vaniljasta (ohje en español ja in English). Niihin ei liity mitään räjähdysvaaraa, ainoastaan pitkäveteistä keittämistä, joten ihan vapaasti kokeilemaan…

Aivan kärkeen viime vuonna syömistäni aterioista kirii illallinen ravintola Phnom-Penhissä Vancouverissa. Kyseessä on ulkoisesti vaatimaton ja hinnoiltaan edullinen kamputsealainen perhepaikka piskuisen Chinatownin ja narkkariraunioiden päätesijoituspaikan Downtown Eastsiden puristuksessa. Syömämme vihreästä papaijasta tehty salaatti ja rapupata tyrehdyttivät keskustelun ja saivat aprikoimaan milloin viimeksi pistimme suuhumme mitään yhtä maukasta. Kaupunki oli muutenkin mieletön kulinaarinen elämys. Tinkimätön satsaus maukkaisiin ja tuoreisiin raaka-aineisiin, iso aasialaisyhteisö ruokineen ja Tyynen valtameren ja lumihuippuisten vuorten tavaton kauneus houkuttelisivat itse asiassa takaisin pitemmälle visiitille. Ensiapuna matkakuumeeseen kävimme jo katsomassa pöhkön Vancouverissa kuvatun Bollywood-leffan.

New Yorkiin on tupsahtanut kuluneen vuorokauden sisällä 24 tuumaa lunta – ennätys 150 vuoteen. Kotikadulla autojen konepellit ovat kinoksen alla, lentokentät ovat kiinni, ja kaupunki on aavemaisen hiljainen, mutta sisällä vallitsee lämmin tropiikin tunnelma, sillä hommasin eilen räntäsateisesta Chinatownista riittävästi ruokaa viikon tarpeiksi. Keräily-metsästyksen pääkohteena oli vihreä papaija, joka löytyikin pienen hakemisen päätteeksi Kowloon Bay -marketin hedelmäkojusta Boweryltä (jonka lähes uhanalaiset spurgut palauttivat mieleen häivähdyksen Vancouveria). Suunnittelin papaijan ympärille indokiinahenkisen aterian joka sai vastikään hankkimani bambuisen höyrytyskoritornin taas keikkumaan hellalleni.

Kun reissasimme viitisen vuotta sitten Brasiliassa, halkaistu kypsänoranssi papaija tuntui olevan koko maan ehdoton aamupalasuosikki. Itse en hedelmästä enkä varsinkaan sen väljähtäneeltä aftershavelta maistuvasta mehusta ole oikein ikinä innostunut. Mutta vihreä papaija on ihan eri juttu. Sen geneerinen raa’an hedelmän maku ja rakenne on hätkähdyttävän lähellä raakaa lanttua, naurista tai turnipsia. (Jos joku innostuu fuusiokeittelemään oheisen ruoan lantusta tai nauriista – Pille, I’m thinking of you – lupaan vastineeksi kokeilla mangopapaijalaatikkoa lanttulaatikon sijaan ensi jouluna). Aterian inspiraationa on tietenkin elokuvaklassikko Vihreän papaijan tuoksu, jota katselemalla oppii tästä vihanneksesta
kaiken oleellisen.

Salaatti vihreästä papaijasta
(adapted from this original recipe)

puolikas vihreä papaija (tai 1 lanttu tai nauris)
kourallinen tuoretta minttua

Salaatin makea kalakastike:

1/4 dl kuumaa vettä
1/4 dl sokeria
1 limetin mehu
1/3 dl nam pla -kalakastiketta
3 pientä thaichiliä ohuina renkaina (poista siemenet)

Kuori ja halkaise papaija, raavi hassut värittömät siemenaihiot lusikalla roskiin. Raasta hedelmäliha karkeaksi raasteeksi tai pilko julienne-tikuiksi. Sekoita kastike, kaada raasteen päälle, anna vetäytyä ja maustua hetken kylmässä ennen tarjoilua.

Höyrytetty thaikala ja tahmea riisi
(original recipe in English)

n. 1-2 dl tahmeaa riisiä / syöjä (höyrytyskorissa pystyy valmistamaan enintään 5dl)
1 nahallinen kalafile / syöjä (lohta, turskaa, kissakalaa, red snapperia…)

jokaista kalafilettä kohden:

1 rkl sakea
1/2 tl suolaa

2,5 cm tuoretta inkivääriä
1 pieni thaichili
1 kevätsipuli
seesamiöljyä

Liota tahmeaa riisiä (sticky rice, glutinous rice, sweet rice) vähintään neljä tuntia vedessä. Valuta siivilässä, verhoile alempi höyrytyskori leivinpaperilla, levitä sinne riisi tasaiseksi matoksi. Sulje höyrytystornin kansi; höyrytä 20 minuuttia.

Sotke sake ja suola keskenään, marinoi sillä kalafile. Kuullota kuorittua pieneksi hakattua inkivääriä chilin ja kevätsipulin vaalean osan kanssa vajaa minuutti kuumassa seesamiöljyssä. Nosta kalafile leivinpaperin päälle omaan höyrytyskoriinsa (riisikorin päälle). Ripottele chili-sipuli-inkivääriseos kalan päälle. Höyrytä kalafileen koosta riippuen 5-10 minuuttia. Riisi saa samalla jatkaa vielä kypsymistään alakorissa. Ripottele kevätsipulin vihreä osa mukaan viimeiseksi höyrytysminuutiksi. Tarjoa koko komeus papaijasalaatin kanssa.

]]> http://www.taikinapoika.com/2006/02/13/vihrean-papaijan-tuoksu/feed/ 9 http://www.taikinapoika.com/2006/02/09/rachaelin-you-wont-be-single-for-long-penne-alla-vodka/ http://www.taikinapoika.com/2006/02/09/rachaelin-you-wont-be-single-for-long-penne-alla-vodka/#comments Thu, 09 Feb 2006 18:03:07 +0000 Antti http://www.taikinapoika.com/2006/02/09/rachaelin-you-wont-be-single-for-long-penne-alla-vodka/ Ajattelin ensin otsikoida postauksen “Antin ‘I Don’t Wanna Be Single’ Penne alla Vodka”, mutta olkoon nyt alkuperäisessä asussaan. Toivottavasti lopputulos on sama, jään odottelemaan :)

Penne alla Vodka on italialainen keksintö, joskin Italiasta sitä on nykyisin melko vaikea löytää. Ruokalajin historia juontaa 1970-luvulle, jolloin vodka oli vielä tuntematonta Italiassa, ja maahantuojat tekivät kaikkensa saadakseen sen tunnetuksi. Yksi markkinointikikka oli reseptikilpailun järjestäminen, ja lopputuloksena oli tämä votkakastike. 70-luvun puolivälissä se oli varsinainen trendipasta, mutta nykyisin Penne alla Vodkaa löytää parhaiten Amerikasta, jossa se on erittäin suosittua.

Bostonissa lempi-italialaisravintolani oli Brooklinessa sijaitseva Vinny Testa’s, ja siellä herkullisin annos oli heidän Penne alla Vodka makealla italialaisella fenkolimakkaralla ja Asiago-juustolla höystettynä. Mmm! Annos oli edullinen, vain kymmenen euroa, mutta niin iso, että siitä riitti syötävää kahdelle tai toinen ateria vielä kotiin viemiseksi. Söinkin monesti jääkaappikylmää pastaa yöpalaksi. Herkkua!

Tämä Rachael Rayn resepti ei sisällä lihaa, mutta jauheliha tai italialainen tuoremakkara sopii sekaan oivallisesti. Kastike on todella helppo ja nopea valmistaa – se on oikeastaan aivan tavallinen tomaatti-kermakastike, johon on lisätty votkaa. Aromi on kuitenkin uniikki, joten ei muuta kuin kokeilemaan.

Penne alla Vodka

kahdelle (600 kcal / annos)

1/2 rkl öljyä
1/2 rkl voita
2 shalottisipulia
2-4 valkosipulin kynttä
6 cl maustamatonta votkaa
1,25 dl kanalientä (kuutiosta tehty ok)
400 g tölkki karkeaa tomaattimurskaa
225 g penne rigateja
0,6 dl kermaa (Valion 10% 3 juuston ruokakerma sopi kivasti)
tummaa Maizenaa suurustamiseen
suolaa, pippuria
10 tuoretta basilikan lehteä

Hienonna shalotit ja valkosipulin kynnet. Kuumenna voi ja öljy kasarissa, ja kuullota shalotteja ja valkosipuleita 3-5 minuuttia, kunnes kauniin ruskettunutta. Lisää kanaliemi ja tomaattimurska sekä mausta suolalla ja pippurilla. Jätä porisemaan hiljakseen.

Kiehauta iso kattilallinen vettä, lisää reilusti suolaa ja keitä pennejä valmistajan ohjeen mukaan (noin 10-15 min), kunnes al dente.

Lisää kerma ja votka kastikkeeseen, ja poista liedeltä, kun se alkaa kuplia uudelleen. Jos kastike vaikuttaa liian juoksevalta, suurusta kourallisella tummaa Maizenaa. Valuta pasta ja sekoita kastikkeeseen silputun basilikan kanssa. Tarjoile heti raastetun parmesanin kanssa.

Rachael Ray (yllä) ei ole vielä tunnettu ainakaan Suomessa, mutta Yhdysvalloissa (ja viime kuulemani mukaan Australiassa) hän on supersuosittu TV-kokki Food Networkilla. Rachael on kirjoittanut myös lukuisia keittokirjoja (joista yhden sain Annalta joululahjaksi, Thanks!). The New York Timesissä ollut artikkeli viime syksyltä summaa Rachaelin saavutukset:

Though the nation’s food elite might cringe, Ms. Ray, 37, is one of the most influential people cooking today. Let the big-name chefs fuss with foams and sous vide. She’ll stick with hot dog nachos and “jambalika,” a dish that is kind of like jambalaya. With more than 4 million books in print and four shows on the Food Network, Ms. Ray has shown America the way back to the kitchen.

En ole myöskään ainoa, jonka mielestä Rachael on söpö-Rachael:

Her mother answers her daughter’s fan mail, which can range from children’s drawings to marriage proposals to letters from recently widowed senior citizens.

“She’s big with the guys, let me tell you,” her mother said.

Lopuksi vielä hieman silmäniloa ainakin miespuolisille Taikinapojan lukijoille. Amerikan FHM (For Him Magazine) julkaisi artikkelin Rachaelista vuonna 2003, josta The New York Times kirjoitti seuraavasti:

“The shots feature Ms. Ray in short-shorts with an exposed midriff, licking chocolate off a big wooden spoon, eating a strawberry and sitting in a sink, laughing as suds cascade down her curvaceous thighs.”

Mitäpä tuohon lisäämään muuta kuin itse kuvat :)

Rapu-bok choy -wokki

kahdelle (170 kcal / annos)

250 g (baby) bok choytä
1-2 valkosipulin kynttä
2 rkl osterikastiketta (Nahm Man Hoi)
100 g kirsikkatomaatteja
tölkillinen (170 g) ravun lihaa
suolaa ja pippuria
öljyä paistamiseen

Huuhtele ja valuta bok choyt ja leikkaa ne noin kolmen sentin mittaisiksi paloiksi. Halkaise kirsikkatomaatit ja leikkaa valkosipuli hienoksi.

Wokkaa valkosipulia kuumalla pannulla noin minuutti ja lisää pilkotut bok choyt. Hämmentele 2-3 minuuttia kunnes lehdet ovat kutistuneet, mutta lehtirangat ovat yhä rapeita.

Lisää osterikastike ja tomaatit, ja wokkaa vielä minuutti. Lisää ravun liha, mausta suolalla ja pippurilla, ja tarjoile välittömästi lihan lämmettyä.

Thai Red Bean Curry

kahdelle (170 kcal / annos)

200 g vihreitä papuja (tuoreita tai pakaste-)
1-2 valkosipulin kynttä
1 pieni, tulinen chili tai n. 1/2 tl kuivattua chilimurskaa (maun mukaan)
1/2 tl paprikajauhetta
1 sitruunaruohon varsi (lemongrass)
1 rkl thai-kalakastiketta (nam pla)
reilu 1/2 dl kookosmaitoa
1-2 kevätsipulin vartta
1/2 rkl öljyä paistamiseen

Leikkaa pavut noin viiden sentin pätkiksi, keitä kaksi minuuttia ja valuta kuiviksi.

Leikkaa valkosipuli ja sitruunaruoho ohuiksi suikaleiksi. Laita valkosipuli, chili, paprikajauhe, sitruunaruoho, kalakastike ja kookosmaito tehosekoittimeen, ja sekoita kunnes tasaista.

Leikkaa kevätsipulit viistosti ohuiksi suikaleiksi, ja paista niitä noin minuutti kuumassa öljyssä. Lisää kastike tehosekoittimesta ja anna kiehahtaa. Keitä kastiketta kasaan, kunnes siitä on jäljellä noin puolet (mukavan paksua, ei enää juokse), noin 3-4 minuuttia. Lisää pavut, ja anna niiden lämmetä hautumalla pari minuuttia. Tarjoile heti kuumana.

Nämä pavut sopivat hyvin jonkin toisen ruuan lisukkeeksi, tai ihan sellaisenaan maukkaaksi alkupalaksi. Ellet muuten pidä vihreistä pavuista, tämä voi olla keino saada suosituksen mukainen päivittäinen kasvisannos nieltyä alas ;)

New Yorkin etnisistä kaupunginosista Chinatown on se ilmeisin. Jalkakäytävät ovat yleensä tukkoon asti täynnä Vuitton -klooneja tinkiviä vyölaukkuturisteja. Meno on tönivää ja hymytöntä, sillä kaupunginosan asukkaat vetävät ja työntävät perässään mitä oudointa roinaa. Jätteistä lismainen katukäytävä toimii sekä myyntipöytänä ja näyteikkunana. Tyypillisin asiani Chinatowniin on ollut taistella itseni Bostoniin menevään halpaan Fung Wah -bussiin. Kokemukset ovat olleet sen verran rasittavia että olen kehittänyt fobian koko paikkaa kohtaan ja hakenut kiinaelämykseni ihan muualta – Brooklynin Sunset Parkista ja Queensin Flushingista, tai sitten Torontosta ja San Franciscosta.

Tänään voitin kiinalaisen uuden vuoden varjolla vanhan vastenmielisyyteni ja hankkiuduin D-junalla Grand Streetille. Ihmettelin metroaseman väentungosta, mutta syy selvisi kun pulpahdin keskelle peking-oopperahahmoista ja veitsitanssia esittävistä pikkulapsista koostuvaa paraatia. Paraatin teemana oli siirtyminen koiran vuoteen, joka on erityisen onnekas avioliiton solmimiselle, koska sisältää tavallisesta vuodesta poiketen kaksi kevättä. Paraatin sankarit olivat siksi tänään enimmäkseen erilaisiin kiina-asuihin puettuja tiibetinspanieleja. En meinannut uskoa silmiäni kun yleensä tuupiskelevat ja yrmeät kiinalaiset katukauppiaat hymyilivät kasvot loistaen ohi tanssiville savua puhkuville lohikäärmeille, papaatteja poksautteleville pikkulapsille ja konfettia kylväville pommeille. Tungos oli niin kova että olin vartin verran kirjaimellisesti väkijoukon syleilyssä Canal ja Mott Streetin risteyksessä. Katuvilinän kirjo ylsi buddhalaisista munkeista, tuhatvuotiaista kiinalaismummoista ja lempeäsilmäisistä karibialaismiehistä Park Avenuen daameihin ja Boweryn pummeihin.

Tungoksenkin seassa jalkakäytävillä myytiin kaikkea mahdollista: elävä kala pomppasi puulaarista jalkoihini, ja toisessa myymälässä sangollinen kilpikonnia ryömi ympäriinsä valmiina päätymään liemeen. Punaisia taatelimarjoja, kuivattuja sienia ja kukkivaa bok choy -kaalia löytyi joka paikasta, mutta useimpia kuivattuja kasviksia en millään pystynyt tunnistamaan. Dynasty-supermarketin lihatiskillä myytiin siisteillä styroksilevyillä lehmän penistä, ankan varpaita ja porsaan kärsiä.

Tarkoitukseni ei ollut varsinaisesti ostaa mitään, mutta kahmaisin mukaani taiwanilaisia vihreästä teestä tehtyjä riisikakkuja, sokeroitua inkivääriä, macaolaisia kirjoitusmerkein koristeltuja manteli-papujauhokeksejä (jotka maistuvat aivan portugalilaisilta leivoksilta) ja välitöntä riippuvuutta aiheuttavia makeansuolaisia lakritsiluumuja. Teepuolelta ostin oolongia ja valkoista teetä. En voinut myöskään vastustaa vauvakokoisia bok choy -kaaleja. Seuraavaksi löysin litsiluumun makuista kuplateetä. Pisteenä iin päällä imeydyin Boweryllä ravintolakeittiövälineitä myyvään varastokauppaan. Olo oli kuin joulupukin lelupajassa. Harmi että muuttokontti Suomeen lähti jo… Kuudellatoista taalalla irtosi hyvälaatuinen kolmikerroksinen bambuhöyrytin ja ammattikokin pihdit. Olin suunnitellut käveleväni East Riverin yli Brooklyniin lempikirjakauppaani Williamsburgissa, mutta kolmen valtavan muovikassin raahaaminen metroon ja kotiin oli ihan riittävä haaste.

Kotona pistin bambuhöyrytyskorit, pihdit ja tortillaprässin heti käyttöön. Tein dim sum -nyyttejä, jotka ovat lihaton versio dumplingeista joita ostin taalalla neljä kappaletta chinatownilaisesta katukeittiöstä (hyvännäköinen lihanyyttiresepti löytyy täältä). Ensi kertaa söin näitä bok choy -nyyttejä parikymmentä vuotta sitten Saksassa, jossa kiinalaiset vaihto-opiskelijat valmistivat meidän perheellemme juhla-aterian. Olen aina ajatellut että höyryttäminen on vaivalloista sähläämistä, mutta nyytit valmistuivat siististi ja nopeasti. Lisäplussana nyytin rakenteesta tulee höyryttämällä parempi kuin keittämällä, eikä täytteen valumista kattilaan tarvitse pelätä kuten keittäessä.

Bok choy -täytteiset taikinanyytit

12-15 kpl eli 1-2 hengelle

2 dl vehnäjauhoja
1/2 dl (+ mahdollisesti 1-2 rkl) vettä
pari bok choy -kaalia tai 8-10 baby bok choy -kaalia
1 tl soijakastiketta tai osterikastiketta

Täytä kattila vedellä, saata se kiehumaan, ja kokoa höyrytyskoritorni kattilan päälle. Verhoa kunkin korin pohja palasella leivinpaperia (myös banaanin, salaatin, kaalin tai bok choyn lehtiä voi käyttää). Asettele kaalien kovimmat osat kohti höyrytyskorin keskiosaa. Höyrytä vauvabokchoyta höyrytyskuvun sisällä 3-4 minuuttia tai kunnes hieman pehmenevät. Poimi pois pihdeillä tai syömäpuikoilla – höyry polttaa helposti sormet. Anna jäähtyä hetken, hakkaa sitten terävällä veitsellä aivan hienoksi silpuksi: purista silpusta vesi pois. Sekoita bok choy -hakkeeseen hiukan soijaa tai osterikastiketta.

Vaivaa vedestä ja vehnäjauhoista 5-10 minuutissa silkkinen ja kimmoisa pastataikina joka ei tartu enää käsiin eikä kulhon reunoihin. Jauhojen kosteus vaihtelee vuodenajoittain joten lisää vettä tarvittaessa mikäli taikina jää murenevaksi.

Boweryn ravintolatukussa myytiin sekä tortillaprässin kaltaisia taiwanilaisia alumiiniprässejä että pastakoneita. Tee taikinasta pastakoneella lasagnelevyjä, joista otat muotilla noin kymmenen sentin halkaisijaisia pyörylöitä. Jos käytössäsi ei ole pastakonetta, pyörittele taikina tangoiksi, joista leikkaat noin kolmen sentin halkaisijaisia pikku palloja. Purista pallot tortillaprässillä tai ihan perinteisesti kaulimella noin millinpaksuisiksi kiekoiksi (sama tekniikka kuin karjalanpiirakan kuoren valmistus). Annostele kiekon keskelle noin teelusikallinen bok choy -täytettä ja rypytä nyytti umpeen. Istuta nyytit höyrytyskoriin leivinpaperin päälle toisistaan erilleen; höyrytä 3-4 minuuttia. Tarjoile soija- tai osterikastikkeen kanssa.

Ensi sunnuntaina New Yorkin Chinatownissa on luvassa on vielä yksi lohikäärmeparaati – uudenvuoden juhlinta päättyy sunnuntaina 12.2. Koluamatta jäi niin paljon fantastisia dim sum -ravintoloita ja indokiinalaisia kauppoja että taidan jatkossa käydä tiuhaan Chinatownissa. Nyt syvennyn napostelemaan lakritsiluumuja ja vihreä tee -makeisia ja katselemaan elokuvaa Saving Face, jossa vilahtaa taiwaninamerikkalainen työtoverini Larry. Ang Leen Syö juo mies nainen sopisi myös tunnelmaan.

Jokunen päivä sitten Kinopalatsissa käydessäni söin elokuvan alkua odotellessani erinomaiseksi osoittautuneen tandoorikanasalaatin (€6,50) Namaskaarin Fenniakorttelin toimipisteessä (Kinopalatsin ja Kaisaniemen metroaseman välisessä tunnelissa). Maanantaina Vii Voanissa pistäytyessäni ostin varmuuden vuoksi pussillisen tandoorimaustetta, joten aamuvarhainen K-kauppareissuni päättyi ripeään kotimatkaan raa’an broilerin ja bulgarianjugurttipurkin kanssa.

En ole aiemmin paloitellut kokonaista kanaa, joten pieni googletus auttoi tässäkin puuhassa. Hetken pähkäiltyäni kaunis jyväbroileri oli muuttunut Fiskarsin terävällä veitsellä nälkäisen katseeni ryydittämänä perinteisiksi kahdeksaksi palaksi: siivet, koivet, reidet ja rinnat. En ollut sopankeittotuulella, joten ruhon muut osat lensivät roskiin, kuten myös nahka, jota intialaisessa ruuanlaitossa ei käytetä. Paloja hetken pyöriteltyäni päätin hankkiutua eroon myös muista luista, jotka lähtivätkin helposti irti käsin kiskomalla.

Kun liha oli valmisteltu, jätin sen jääkaappiin marinoitumaan iltaan saakka jugurtti-tandoorimarinadissa. Ideaalisesti marinointi olisi saanut kestää yön yli, mutta tällä kertaa en malttanut odottaa niin kauan.

Söin puolet valmiista tandoorikanasta edelliseltä päivältä tähteeksi jääneen peruna-paprika masalan kanssa. Tänään tein kylmän kanan kyytipojaksi mustaa riisiä ja kurkku-raitaa. Kokonaisuus oli oikein miellyttävä tomaatin ja tammenlehväsalaatin kera.

Tandoorikana

kahdelle

500 g luutonta kanaa, esim rinta- ja koipilihat
tandoorimausteseosta
2 dl Bulgarian jugurttia

Marinoi lihat hyvissä ajoin, 6-24 tuntia ennen paistamista. Poista mahdollinen nahka kananpaloista. Viillä rintapaloihin ristikkäisiä syviä viiltoja. Sekoita tandoorimauste jugurttiin mausteseoksen paketin ohjeen mukaisesti, laita lihat pakastuspussiin ja kaada marinadi päälle. Sekoita huolellisesti, jotta marinadi menee myös viiltoihin. Jätä jääkaappiin marinoitumaan.

Vuoraa uunipelti foliolla, josta reunat on taiteltu ylös ammemaisesti. Lämmitä uuni 300 asteeseen pellin ollessa uunin sisällä. Kun uuni on saavuttanut lämpötilan, aseta kananpalat pellille ja paista 10 minuuttia. Ota pelti pois uunista ja sivele palat jäljelle jääneellä marinadilla. Laita kanat takaisin uuniin, ja sammuta uuni. Paista vielä 20 minuuttia luukkua avaamatta.

Kurkku-raita (Kheere ka Raita)

kahdelle

2 dl Bulgarian jugurttia
1 rkl hunajaa
n. 10 cm pätkä kurkkua
n. 1/2 dl silputtua tuoretta korianteria
(kuminaa)

Raasta pesty kurkku karkeaksi ja lyhyeksi raasteeksi, silppua korianteri hienoksi ja sekoita jugurttiin hunajan kanssa. Pidä kylmässä tarjoiluun saakka. Koristele halutessasi kuminalla.

Musta riisi

kahdelle

2 dl mustaa riisiä
vettä

Liota riisiä vesitilkassa noin tunti ennen keittämistä, niin siitä tulee pehmeämpää. Keitä 3-4 desissä vettä kunnes pehmeää, 20-30 minuuttia. Riisilajeja on tuhansia erilaisia, joten täsmällistä keitto-ohjetta on mahdotonta antaa :)

Tarjoile tandoorikana joko kylmänä tai kuumana 3-4 sentin paloiksi leikattuna. Virkistävää raitaa lusikoidaan reilusti lautaselle riisin viereen, ja siinä voi dipata myös kanaa ja leipää.

Kun kiipesimme pari viikkoa sitten Pueblan osavaltiossa Meksikossa turpeiden alle hautautuneen Cholulan intiaanipyramidin päälle tähystelemään kaupunkia ympäröiviä tulivuoria, kengänterä rasahti äkkiä tutuntuoksuiseen marjaterttuun: löysin elämäni ensimmäisen villin rosépippuripuun.

Rosépippurilla ei ole mitään tekemistä tavallisen pippurin kanssa – makukin on lähempänä pihkaa tai tilliä. Pastanjauhajien lohipasta toi mieleen vanhan suosikkirosépippurireseptin. Törkeän helppo kastike ei vaadi lainkaan kypsentämistä.

Rosepippuri-kylmäsavukirjolohipasta

100-150 g fusilleja tai pennejä per aterioitsija

tuorekastike 1-2:lle hengelle

1/2 – 1 dl kevyt-crème fraîchea
n. 100 g kylmäsavukirjolohta ohuiksi nauhoiksi leikattuna
2 tl tillin siemeniä tai 2 rkl tilliä
valmiin annoksen pinnalle 1 tl rosépippureita sormissa murskattuna

Keitä pasta. Pastan keittoveden kannattaa olla yhtä suolaista kuin Välimeri ;)

Sekoita pastan kypsymistä odotellessa kaikki kastikeainekset paitsi rosépippuri keskenään erillisessä kulhossa. Valuta pasta lävikössä, kaada se takaisin kattilaan, ja kaada päälle kermainen lohisekoitus. Älä laita kattilaa enää laita liedelle – kastiketta ei ole tarkoitus kypsentää – mutta sekoittele läpikotaisin ja anna kastikeaineksien imeytyä pastaan minuutin verran. Annostele lautasille. Ripottele annoksen päälle murskattu roseepippuri mausteeksi ja koristeeksi.

Jos haluat todella tyylitellä ruoan väreillä, voi käyttää mustekalan musteella värjättyä pastaa. Ja rutikuiva jääkylmä eteläranskalainen rosé voisi olla ihan hauska viinipari tälle ruoalle.

Mikäli haluaa pastasta lihansyöjän variaation, korvaa kylmäsavukirjolohi rasvattomalla viipaloidulla keitto- tai palvikinkulla, jätä tillinsiemenet pois ja korvaa rosepippuri viherpippurilla.

Viime keskiviikosta lähtien olen syönyt kaaliruokia, joten tänään oli korkea aika saada vaihtelua ruokapöytään. Juttelin eilen illalla Bostonissa asuvan intialaisen ystäväni Meenan kanssa, ja pyysin häneltä kevyttä intialaista reseptiä. Meena, kuten suurin osa intialaisista, on pääasiallisesti kasvissyöjä. Bostonissa asuessani niitin mainetta häikäilemättömänä antivegaanina (Antti eats anything with a face!), ja niinpä helpotin Meenan tehtävää sanomalla heti alkuun, että kasvisruuat ovat ok.

Oheinen resepti on varsin tyypillinen intialainen kasvisruoka, ja muitakin vihanneksia voidaan valmistaa aivan samalla tavalla. Ruokakulttuuri vaihtelee hyvinkin voimakkaasti Intian eri puolilla pohjoisen miedoista etelän tulisiin makuihin. Tämä perunasta ja paprikasta tehty masala edustaa pohjoista keittiötä.

Thanks, Meena!

Peruna-paprika masala (Potato Capsicum Masala)

kahdelle (275 kcal / annos)

1 sipuli
2 tomaattia
3 perunaa
2 paprikaa
2 rkl oliiviöljyä
1/2 tl sinapinsiemeniä
(1/2 tl kuminaa)
1/2 tl kurkumaa
1/2 tl garam masalaa
murskattua kuivattua tai tuoretta chiliä
suolaa
korianterin lehtiä koristeluun

Kuori perunat ja pilko parin-kolmen sentin kuutioiksi. Kypsennä normaalisti keittämällä.

Perunoiden kiehuessa leikkaa sipuli ohuiksi suikaleiksi ja pilko paprikat reiluiksi paloiksi. Leikkaa tomaatit pieniksi kuutioiksi.

Lämmitä öljy ja paista sinapin- ja kuminansiemeniä hetken aikaa kunnes sinapinsiemenet poksahtelevat. Käytä kuminaa, jos pidät siitä, muussa tapauksessa jätä huoletta pois. Lisää sipuli ja paista kunnes suikaleet muuttuvat kauniin ruskeiksi. Lisää suola, garam masala, kurkuma ja chiliä maun mukaan. Lisää tomaatti ja paprika. Kypsennä miedolla lämmöllä välillä sekoittaen. Jos kasvikset vaikuttavat liian kuivilta, lisää hieman vettä. Masala on valmista, kun öljy erkanee. Lisää perunakuutiot, ja anna hautua vielä muutama minuutti. Koristele korianterinlehdillä.

Intialaiset syövät tällaisia masaloita, kuten lähes kaikkia muitakin ruokiaan, leivän kanssa. Chapatista tai paranthasta repäistään palanen, josta taitellaan lusikkamainen kuppi, ja sitä käytetään ruokailuun länsimaisten aterimien sijaan.

Kiitos Jim Dixonin ja hänen Real Good Food -saittinsa, kukkakaali sai tänään 29 vuoden alennustilansa jälkeen ylennyksen ruokapöydässäni juhlapaikalle. Tämä karamellisoidun kukkakaalin ohje on nimittäin mitä triviaalein, ja lopputulos niin typerryttävän herkullinen, että ongelmaksi tulee lähinnä tarpeeksi suuren kukkakaalin löytäminen useamman kuin yhden ruokailijan tarpeet tyydyttämään.

Olin melko skeptinen laittaessani kaaliviipaleet uuniin, mutta puolen tunnin paistamisen jälkeen ensimmäiset maistiaiset olivat koitua kohtaloksi koko pellilliselle :)

Karamellisoitu kukkakaali

pieni kukkakaali yhdelle, iso kahdelle
oliiviöljyä
merisuolaa

Laita uuni lämpiämään 200 asteeseen. Leikkaa kukkakaali pystysuunnassa vajaan sentin paksuisiksi viipaleiksi. Yhdestä kaalinpäästä tulee vain muutama ehjä viipale, mutta ylimääräiset hieman isommat mujut kannattaa myös paistaa, ainakin arkiaterian tarpeiksi.

Sivele viipaleet molemmin puolin reippaasti oliiviöljyllä, ja ripottele liberaalisti meerisuolaa. Paista noin 30 minuuttia kerran kääntäen, tai kunnes kauniin ruskettuneita. Tarkista suola ja tarjoile heti. Halutessasi voit pirskotella hieman lisää öljyä.

Kaali on parhaimmillaan tulikuumana suoraan uunista, joten muu ruoka kannattaa pitää valmiina odottamassa!

Jackson Heightsissa sijaitsee noin korttelin kokoinen mini-Bombay, jossa sarikaupat kilpailevat asiakkaista, kulta on satsumankeltaista, elintarvikeliikkeet sisältävät aivan fantastisia maustevalikoimia, ja desit kaivelevat Amitabh Bachnanin ja muiden Bollywood-tähtien tuotantoa pahvilaatikoissa jalkakäytävillä. Alue sulaa nopeasti mini-Bangladeshiksi, halal-lihakaupoiksi ja kullattua muovia oleviksi koraaninvärssyiksi. Ja aivan silmänräpäyksessä koko Subcontinent jää taakse: seuraavat parinkymmentä korttelia ovat Latinalaista Amerikkaa järjestyksessä Ecuador, Kolumbia, Peru ja Meksiko.

Meksikon-reissun aikana addiktoiduin tuoksuviin maissitortilloihin ja olen siitä lähtien himoinnut omaa tortillaprässiä. Nappasin mukaan kolumbialaisvalmisteisen painavan valurautaprässin 12 taalalla Jackson Heightsista Roosevelt Avenuella 90. kadun tienoilla sijaitsevasta latinalaisamerikkalaisesta kodinkonekaupasta. Kokeilin joskus tehdä itse maissitortilloita Helsingissä ankein tuloksin. Ei ihme, sillä maissitortillojen teko vaatii kalkkikäsiteltyä erityisjauhoa. Oikotie tortilloihin löytyy masecasta, joka on kuivattua tortillataikinaa. Täällä sitä löytää joka kulmabodegasta.

Maseca-tortilloista tulee parempia kuin elottomat pitkään säilyvät muovipussitortillat, mutta maissin tuoksu voisi olla vahvempi. Maukkain tortilla syntyisi työlään atsteekeilta periytyvän prosessin tuloksena. Jokainen meksikolainen syö keskimäärin 15 tortillaa päivässä. Käsimorttelilla tämän jauhomäärän tuottaminen vie päivittäin neljä tuntia. Sybille Bedfordin erinomainen matkakertomus Meksikosta toisen maailmansodan jälkeen kertoo, että natsisaksaa Frida Kahlon kotikaupungin Coyoacánin mutaisille takakujille paennut vähävarainen itäeurooppalainen emigranttiperhe joutui palkkaamaan itselleen pari palvelijaa selviytyäkseen uuden maan arjesta. Vaikka palvelijoille opetettiin eurooppalaistyylinen leivänteko, he pitäytyivät mieluummin perinteisissä ruoissaan, joten palvelijoille piti palkata vielä neljä omaa palvelijaa pyörittämään kivimyllyjä jotta kaikki pysyisivät tortilloissa.

Maissitortillat

2 dl kalkkikäsiteltyä maissijauhoa (maseca- tai masa harina-jauhoa)
1 1/8 dl vettä

Sekoita vesi masecaan ja vaivaa 3 min. Jos taikina tuntuu kuivalta, lisää 1/2-1 rkl kerrallaan vettä. Tavoitteena on silkkinen kimmoisa pallo, joka ei murene sormissa, mutta ei myöskään tartu niihin. Pyörittele 8 golfpallon kokoiseksi sileäksi möykyksi, laita odottamaan kostutetun talouspaperin alle.

Taita kaksi kertaa tortillaprässin kokoinen leivinpaperiarkki kahtia. Aseta se tortillaprässiin siten että arkki aukeaa tortillaprässin saranasuuntaan. Paina maseca-pallo litteäksi leivinpaperin välissä pari senttiä kohti saranaa tortillaprässin keskustasta ja litistä edelleen prässi kiinni. Hiero leivinpaperia sormien välissä jotta tortilla irtoaa. Paista lähes savuavan kuumalla kuivalla valurautapannulla ensin 30 s, käännä, paista toista puolta noin minuutti, käännä taas, ja ota lautaselle pyyhkeen sisään odottamaan tarjoilua.

Tacos de carne asada

Tavallinen tapa käyttää tortilloita (jauhotortillatkin käyvät) on tehdä niistä pehmeitä tacoja – muistatko veli sonoralaiset snägäritacot viime kesänä? Tortillalle levitetään lusikallinen nopeasti ruokaöljyssä paistettuja naudanlihasuikaleita, hakattua salaattisipulia, tuoretta korianteria, ja reilusti punaista chilistä salsa picantea. Suolataan energisesti ja puristellaan päälle mehua limettilohkoista.

Meille tuttuihin ruotsalais/suomalaistyylisiin kaalikääryleisiin liittyy mielenkiintoinen historia. Ruotsin kuningas Kaarle XII Kustaa hävisi 1709 Pultavassa, Itä-Ukrainassa, suuren pohjan sodan kuuluisimman taistelun Venäjän joukkoja vastaan. Pultavasta hän pakeni Moldoviaan, joka oli silloin ottomaanien hallussa. Suuruutensa huipulla 1600-luvun lopussa ottomaanien valtakuntaan kuului liki kaikki Välimeren ympärysmaat, nykyinen Kreikka ja Turkki mukaanlukien. Kaarle vietti Moldoviassa kaksi vuotta maanpaossa, minkä aikana hän yritti houkutella ottomaaneja sotimaan Venäjää vastaan, sekä lainasi heiltä varoja jatkaakseen sotaa. Kaarlen palattua Ruotsiin häntä seurasi joukko ottomaanien pankkiireita, jotka halusivat varmistaa velkojen takaisinmaksun. He asuivat Tukholmassa 1716-1732, jolloin kaalikääryleet, ruotsiksi kåldolmar, löysivät tiensä tukholmalaisten ruokapöytiin. Dolma on suora lainaus turkin kielestä, ja tarkoittaa kirjaimellisesti jotakin täytettyä. Aluksi kääryleet tehtiin Ruotsissakin viininlehdistä, mutta pian kääre vaihtui helpommin saatavissa olevaan kaaliin.

Ne lukijat, jotka eivät nukahtaneet tai vaihtaneet sivua historiaosuuden aikana, palkitaan Finfoodista mukaillen lainatulla reseptillä.

Kreikkalaistyyliset kaalikääryleet

n. 25 kpl

kahden kilon keräkaali
1 dl ohraa (rikotut pikajyvät ovat ok)
1 sipuli
2-5 valkosipulin kynttä mieltymyksen mukaan
pienen nyrkin kokoinen kyssäkaali
1 punainen paprika
400 g lampaan jauhelihaa
1 ruukkuminttu
2 tl timjamia
2 rkl hunajaa
mustapippuria
valkopippuria
200 g fetaa
suolaa
soijakastiketta
vaahterasiirappia
2 dl lihalientä
rosepippuria
portviiniä

Valmista ensin täyte. Keitä ohra kypsäksi pakkauksen ohjeen mukaan. Kuori ja pilko sipuli, valkosipuli ja kyssäkaali pieniksi kuutioiksi. Kuutioi myös paprika.

Ruskista jauheliha, ja lisää kasvikset pannulle. Anna hautua noin 10 minuuttia. Mausta seos hienonnetulla mintulla, timjamilla, hunajalla, musta- ja valkopippurilla, sekä lorauta sekaan soijaa maun mukaan. Sekoita joukkoon kypsä ohra ja murustettu feta. Maista ja tarkista suola.

Laita kattilaan vettä 3/4 sen tilavuudesta. Koverra kaalin kanta ja keskusta pois ja nosta se kiehuvaan veteen. Kun lehdet alkavat irrota, nosta ne reikäkauhalla kylmään veteen. Nosta kaalinlehdet kylmästä vedestä ja leikkaa lehden paksuin osa pois lehtiruodista.

Täytä lehdet reilulla ruokalusikallisella täytettä ja kääri niistä kääryleitä. Nosta kääryleet vuokaan vieri viereen. Lorota kääryleiden päälle siirappia ohuena norona, ja muserra pinnalle rosepippuria.

Kypsennä kääryleitä uunissa 200 asteeessa. Kun kääryleet ovat saaneet vähän väriä, kaada lihaliemi vuokaan ja jatka kypsentämistä tunnin verran. Valele liemellä pariin otteeseen.

Kaada tarjoiluvaiheessa kääryleiden päälle loraus portviiniä antamaan maulle loppusilaus.

Kääryleet säilyvät jääkaapissa muutaman päivän, ja pakastuvat hyvin. Itselleni ne maistuvat myös kylminä suoraan jääkaapista :) Reseptin mukaan valmistettuna yhden kääryleen energiasisältö on noin 85 kcal.

Olen liian laiska tehdäkseni caesar-kastikkeen alusta lähtien, Felix kun on hoitanut asian puolestani. Itse tekemällä kastikkeesta saisi todennäköisesti maukkaamman, mutta blenderin puute, edellä mainittu laiskuus ja epäilys huonosta säilyvyydestä yhdessä vähäisen kertatarpeen kanssa ovat saaneet vaa-an kallistumaan teollisen tuotteen kannalle.

Caesar-salaatti

yhdelle (120 kcal)

1 romaine-ruukkusalaatti
caesar-kastiketta
parmesaania

Leikkaa salaatti sopivan kokoisiksi paloiksi ja kippaa silppu isoon kulhoon. Lorauta sekaan kastiketta ja raasta päälle parmesaania makusi mukaan. Sekoita hyvin.

Kohtuullisella kastikkeen ja parmesaanin annostelulla yhden salaattiannoksen energiasisältö on noin 120 kcal, eli sopivan vähän kevyeksi laihis-lounaaksi. Sadalla grammalla kanalla tai kalkkunalla höystäen salaatista tulee ruokaisampi, eikä energiaa tule lisää kuin toiset 120 kcal.

Kuvan annoksessa on kaksi kuivattua tomaattia kahdeksaan osaan leikattuina, mikä vastaa vain 40 kcal:ia. Kuivattujen tomaattien konsistenssi on mukavan lihaisa, joten salaatti tuntui kaikessa vegeydessäänkin ihan mukavalta. Nam!