Dinner plans? Pick up a dozen eggs and cook on with this egg drop soup.
Darlings of the dining scene come and go, but the Spanish dish paella consistently holds its place.
Follow this simple recipe in my Cook On food column and transform rice into a flavorful meal.
Cook On: 1 part chaos, 2 parts calm
Give me an edible gift and I’ll give you a nourishing meal in return. If we’re sustaining the age of natural gifts of food, I’m going to do my part to continue the trend.
Who doesn’t love the surprise of a beautiful bottle of wine or even a pint of maple syrup? I’m grateful for all the fine food that comes my way, from free range eggs that my neighbor offers to me from her share to vibrant green sprigs of basil that Kate Vikstrom, our graphic designer and layout editor at The Paper, showers coworkers with when her basil plants are producing at peak volume.
Beyond the simple joy of being on the receiving end of someone’s thoughtfulness and generosity, the givers of edible gifts help us discover new tastes. Food gifts (all the better if givers know the tendencies of recipients to like or dislike particular flavors or to tolerate certain foods) can spark a new appreciation, inspire a unique recipe and renew the motivation to create meals with fresh ingredients (and the unshrinking culinary connoisseur will find a way to make use of even the most obscure edible elements).
The latest wave of sweet and savory gifts that has made a way to our home includes a wide range from Greek wine to Linzer cookies to Hudson Valley honey and we’ve enjoyed everything. But the most succulent gift of all was undeniably the parcel of persimmons. A native Asian seedless fruit, dripping with sweet flavor and bold orange flesh, the Fuyu persimmons that we received turn up seasonally around the Hudson Valley. I can’t offer the reason why I’ve skipped the purchase of persimmons for the past several years, but I resolve to change the pattern. It’s just one of those produce items that I pass by, pausing briefly to notice how appetizing they look, but then I keep right on moving to avocadoes or some other staple that I probably overuse.
The Fuyu variety of persimmons given to us, round shaped with taught skin, were selected with a keen eye for quality, and a sticker on one of them revealed their Spanish origin. This particular variety, #4428, was labeled as sharon fruit, a seedless treat that can be eaten raw, cooked or juiced.
Our bright orange fruit rested on the kitchen counter for several days, and one of my sons said they looked a lot like tomatoes. And they do. But he couldn’t quite believe how their taste differed from tomatoes. Once they ripened to perfection, we pulled away the waxy peel with a paring knife and sliced one to sample the flavor. Each piece burst with a sweet and juicy sensation. They taste so ambrosial that you want to savor every bite. We polished off the slices, which needed nothing to enhance their natural goodness.
For the remaining persimmons, I chose to showcase them as the star of a salad. Not a side salad, but a superb family meal of a salad. A mature jicama sat in my refrigerator, and I decided to assemble it as a key ingredient as well to amp up the salad’s taste and texture. The crunch of the jicama added the perfect complement to the velvety smoothness of the persimmon slices. Served on a bed of greens, baby spinach and kale, and finished with a citrus-enhanced vinaigrette dressing, the persimmon and jicama salad not only created a splash of color on our dinner plates, but satiated us with a healthy and hearty menu.
It might be time to give your table the gift of an upgraded salad, embellished with ingredients that you may be overlooking at the farmers’ market or the produce aisle at Foodtown. Assemble a salad of a different sort and keep its components in mind: a nice bed of whatever’s leafy green and in season (or for the lucky ones — what your neighbor is growing next door), a key vegetable or two from peppers to carrots, your preferred protein (meat, fish or a selection of beans), something crunchy from seeds to nuts, and a subtle splash of vinaigrette dressing. I used hulled organic sunflower seeds in this salad as one among us has a nut allergy. For those who are able to indulge, consider a hazelnut, almond or pine nut addition. And a cheese (goat cheese would be spectacular) may perfectly finish this effort. We didn’t add cheese this time, but there will be a next.
Give a gift to savor and build a better supper salad.
Baby Greens and Persimmon Supper Salad
½ teaspoon honey
1 teaspoon orange zest
3 tablespoons freshly squeezed orange (or clementine) juice
1 tablespoon white wine vinegar
1 tablespoon light balsamic vinegar
pinch of sea salt
Combine all ingredients except oil. Add olive oil and whisk thoroughly.
6 to 8 handfuls of baby greens (rinsed and dried)
1 medium jicama, quartered, peeled and sliced
2 tablespoons hulled sunflower seeds
¼ cup pomegranate seeds
3 ripe persimmons, peeled and sliced
Place jicama, sunflower seeds and pomegranate seeds in mixing bowl and toss with half of the vinaigrette. Arrange greens on platter and layer jicama mixture on top. Add persimmon pieces. Drizzle with remaining vinaigrette. Serve immediately.
Text and photos by Mary Ann Ebner
Cook On: 1 part chaos, 2 parts calm
Pillows of puffy, steaming hot bread spilled over a platter at a recent dinner that my family enjoyed during the holiday season. A doughy menu addition and its creator arrived at the celebration just as we were about to begin the meal. The texture and shape of the bread looked familiar and I recognized the taste immediately. Fried dough — the food stand favorite sold at so many of the pow wows I’d attended years earlier as a teenager. As an interpretive Native American dancer with a travelling dance team, I came to know the bread simply as fry bread, and occasionally found it billed as a Navajo taco when smothered with beans or meat.
I learned to make the bread with the dance team and the food operation served as a summer fundraiser for our travels. We’d sell out each time we set up a stand at one of our family-centered events. The world hadn’t learned of marketing through social media, but there was little need. We didn’t even need a sign on our food booth. The smell of the dough frying at a full boil spread widely and pulled prospective customers right to us. We kept our operation simple (thankfully, the health department never checked us out) and offered serve-yourself powdered sugar and honey along with the bread.
Once we sold out and closed the stand for the day, the dance team members, mostly teens, young adults and a parent or two, would head over to our dressing area (a patch of grass or gravel next to our used and aging Greyhound bus) and change into our costumes. Once fully dressed and embellished with beadwork, bustles and well-worn moccasins, we waited behind our canvas backdrop to storm onto the stage at the sound of the drum. In unison, we all mimicked our director, Frank. Dressed in a full Native American ensemble, meticulously crafted bead by bead, he would open our shows with a regular monologue that went like this:
“Good evening. My name is Frank Joachimsthaler. That is a full-blood name. Full-blood German.”
The crowd rolled with laughter and Frank loved it. He delivered this opening line show after show, year after year, explaining that most of the team members were not Native Americans, though some were. He shared his deep respect for Native American people and their varied cultures with the audience, and once the beaters hit the drum, we joined him in song and dance for the next hour, moving and singing, always in a circle — the cycle of song, the seasons and of life.
But the source of our latest crispy-on-the-outside and fluffy-on-the-inside creation at the dinner celebration wasn’t of Navajo or Native American origin. Our gathering included a host of people with roots around North America and more than a dozen from an Albanian family. One of the family members from Albania arrived with the puffed and bubbled round bread pulled directly from the fryer. It’s certain that I added a few extra calories when I decided to allow the bread to bump everything green and lean from my plate, but it was a familiar food that I couldn’t resist. I stopped at one piece but probably consumed my fat count for the weekend.
My kids also discovered their own fried dough at summer camp, but it wasn’t shaped into flat rounds. Staff members roll the dough into small balls, like doughnut holes, deep fry them, and coat the fried dough in a blanket of powdered sugar.
One of the Albanian women at our dinner said her mother had prepared fried dough forever. With the origins of cultivated grain traced back to the vicinity of their native homeland, forever sounded convincing. The variation that I recall has been a staple with Native Americans in recent generations. According to the South Dakota Legislature, the state designated the beloved deep-fried dough as its official bread in 2005.
A serving of fry bread, similar to the fried dough found at state fairs and festivals as well as certain Albanian family gatherings, may be a little less than healthy, but for those who can tolerate gluten and lard, it’s a memorable feast. Made in your do-it-yourself home fryer, it’s a hand-flattened creation perfect for occasional breaking and sharing within your own circle.
3 cups flour
2 tablespoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup shortening
¼ cup warm milk
1 cup water
1. Mix dry ingredients in large bowl. Add shortening. When shortening is mixed through to crumb-like stage, add warm milk. Gradually add water. Stir water into flour mixture until crumbs cling together.
2. Place dough on lightly floured surface and hand-flatten gently into a mound. Cover and rest dough for 30 minutes. Divide dough into 8 to 10 evenly-sized portions. Gently work each portion into a 5- to 6-inch circle, handling dough minimally. Some fry bread portions are double this size. Size your batch to your liking.
3. In fryer or large pan, heat 2 inches of vegetable oil to 375 or 400 degrees. The hotter the oil, the shorter the cooking time. Place dough one piece at a time into oil and cook on each side up to 2 minutes for desired golden crispiness, turning only once. Remove each piece of fried dough with tongs and place on baking sheet layered with paper towels. Keep cooked bread in warm oven until final batch is completed.
4. Go sweet or savory. Drizzle finished fry bread with honey, dust with fine powdered sugar, or dress with your favorite toppings — beans, meat, lettuce, tomatoes, even avocado spread — to make an open-faced taco. Serve immediately. Makes 8 to 10 generous pieces.
Text and photos by Mary Ann Ebner
Expecting house guests for the holidays? Shake up brunch with a spicy egg dish. But be warned. Your guests may try to extend their stay. Check out my latest column and this easy recipe for Sharif’s Shakshouka.
Warm up at home with a comfort meal. You’ll master a no-fail dish and find yourself with plenty of cash left in the food budget to splurge dining out. Try this variation on chicken and dumplings, an old family favorite that I love to prepare with my mom’s beat up old roaster pan.