Author Archives: Lia Huber

Fragrant Curry Paste

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This is a good choice for an all-purpose curry paste recipe. If your fresh chiles are red, it’ll be a red curry paste. If they’re green, you’ll get a green curry paste. The texture will depend on whether you’re pounding the paste in a mortar and pestle or whizzing it in a food processor (note: if using a food processor, still adhere to the order the ingredients are added, just pulse together instead of pounding). This recipe makes enough curry paste to use for several dishes. Store it, tightly sealed, in the refrigerator for up to two months or in the freezer for up to six.

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Spanish-Leaning Spinach and Chickpea Dip

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I waffled about whether to name this “hummus” or “chickpea dip,” but ultimately thought it veered far enough from tradition — thanks to the addition of spinach and smoked paprika — to go with the latter. (And my choice should satisfy purists like Cheryl Sternman Rule — check out her tongue-in-cheek thoughts on the matter the hummus debate here.) It is, in any case, delicious. If you’ve ever had any doubt as to the strength of pounded garlic, this little dish will set you straight.

spinach-and-chickpea-dip

3 cloves garlic, peeled and pounded to a paste in a mortar and pestle with a pinch of salt
2 cups cooked chickpeas
12 ounces frozen spinach, thawed and squeezed dry
2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
2 tablespoons tahini
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
1 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon ground fennel
1/4 teaspoon ground coriander
Sea salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste

Combine garlic, chickpeas, spinach, lemon juice and tahini in a food processor, and blend until smooth.

Warm olive oil in a small pan over medium-low heat and add spices. Stir and cook for 1-2 minutes, until just fragrant. Scrape oil and spices into bowl of food processor, add a pinch of salt and process until well blended.

Serves 8

Ode to Mortars and Pestles

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By Lia Huber

I have a thing for mortars and pestles. Part of my fascination, I think, comes from the fact that they’re so utterly primitive. They don’t have a plug. They don’t make motorized noise. They don’t even have a sharp edge. Even the name—mortar and pestle—is simple when traced back to its Latin source: “mortarium” means receptacle for pounding and “pestillum” means pounder.

mortar-pestle-postBut don’t let the simplistic nature fool you into thinking they’re not useful tools. I use mine far more often than my food processor. With just a few whacks and a pinch of salt, garlic and herbs are rendered into a pungent paste; spices are crushed to fragrant bits; simple vegetables are transformed into a surprisingly full-flavored sauce. And you get to let off steam while taking in a little aromatherapy.

Part of what makes mortars and pestles so effective is that pounding ruptures the cells in food, as opposed to slicing or processing which semi-cauterizes them. That’s why one clove of pounded garlic can taste and smell so much more powerful than three cloves of minced.

No wonder nearly every culture has created its own version over the millennia. Each is made of materials abundant in a particular region and fashioned for the culinary needs of a particular cuisine. In France, they tend to be deep bowls made of marble. In Southeast Asia, they’re conical and often made of clay with a wooden mortar. In Latin America, you’ll find giant stone receptacles called molcajetes with a nubbin of a pestle called a tejolete.

It was a quest for the perfect molcajete, in fact, that cemented my infatuation with the tool. My husband and I were on an extended road trip from San Francisco to Costa Rica and had just spent a week in Cuernavaca, Mexico, taking a cooking class. Many modern sauces are now made in blenders, but the dishes that stole the show for me were the ones we pounded in the behemoth basalt molcajetes. The following week, when we paused in Oaxaca for a couple of weeks, I was determined to find the perfect version amidst the city’s sprawling market.

We searched for hours and hours and had almost given up when we turned the corner and spotted it—wide and irregular and pitted and rough. A tiny woman rose to her feet in front of the stall. Her face crinkled into a smile and as we looked each other in the eyes I could see a joy that matched my own. It felt, somehow, like we’d been seeking one another. We made the exchange and shared a hug, and Christopher and I packed up the molcajete for the remainder of the drive. Later, when we pulled the bowl out in our Costa Rica kitchen, I noticed that the bowl had writing around the edge—Recuerdo de Oaxaca, memories of Oaxaca.

I hope that woman knows how rich they are.

Roasted Tomatillo and Chile Sauce

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I first encountered this chile verde sauce at a remote resort in the Copper Canyon. It’s simple, but deceptively flavorful. Use it as a rustic salsa or as a sauce spooned over grilled chicken.

roasted-tomatillo-chile-sauce-recipe1 pound tomatillos, husks removed
1/2 pound peppers and chiles, a mix of poblano, jalapeno, etc.
1/2 large onion
3 cloves garlic, peeled
sea salt
juice of 1 lime

Heat a comal or large cast-iron skillet over medium-high heat. Roast tomatillos, peppers, onion and garlic until semi-charred and softened, turning often, about 10 minutes.

Roughly chop vegetables and transfer to a large mortar and pestle. Sprinkle with salt and pound to a rough paste. Stir in lime juice.

Serves 8

Make Flavor with a Pan Sauce

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I remember the first time I learned what fond was. I was in a kitchenware store in New Orleans and Chef Paul Prudhomme stopped by to give an impromptu cooking class. He sautéed some chicken with a spice mix and then picked up the pan and pointed to all the gunk glued to the bottom. “That’s the good stuff,” he chuckled. “That’s where the flavor comes from.” From that day on I stopped fretting when my sautés stuck. But it wasn’t until later, when I was taking a course at the Culinary Institute of America, that I learned the technical name for that gunk was fond, and that it was the essential ingredient for making a quick pan sauce.

make-flavor-with-pan-sauce Just add a splash of liquid—like wine or vinegar, or even broth—scrape up the fond from the pan (called deglazing) and you’ve got the makings of a tasty sauce. Take it off the heat, swirl in a knob of butter or a tablespoon of cream and some minced herbs and you’ve just turned a simple supper into something special.

Here are seven simple steps to making a pan sauce:

1 – Heat your (not nonstick) pan over medium-high heat. Heating the pan before adding fat or food allows the cells of the metal to expand, creating a nearly non-porous surface.

2 – Add your fat and let it get nice and hot. The heated fat—be it oil, butter or duck fat (ahhhh)—creates another barrier; having it hot ensures good browning when the food hits it.

3 – Add the main attraction to the pan … and then leave it be until it’s ready to be turned (be sure to leave enough room in between pieces to allow air to circulate or else the food will steam rather than sear). Be it meat or chicken or fish or tofu, if you move the food around too much, it won’t develop a crust. When it’s cooked through and nice and brown on the outside, remove it to a plate and keep it warm in a 200 degree oven.

4 – Sauté additional ingredients and aromatics. Nudge these around often, letting them get good and caramelized.

5 – Pour in liquid and deglaze. Wine, vinegar and broth are all great deglazing liquids. Use a stiff-edged spatula to scrape up the bits at the bottom of the pan. Here’s a quick video on how that works:

6 – Take pan off the heat and swirl in a bit of richness. Just a tablespoon or two of butter or cream can enrich a sauce dramatically. Be sure the pan is off the heat, though, or they’ll separate and become oily (that’s what it means when a sauce “breaks”).

7 – Adjust for acid and salt. Give the sauce a taste and adjust the seasoning: a squeeze of lemon for brightness, a drizzle of vinegar for punch, a dash of salt, a grind of pepper; add what makes you go “mmmm.”

To get you started, here are three different ideas for three completely different pan-sauces:

  • Sauté minced ginger and garlic before deglazing the pan with a dry white wine like vermouth and swirl in a bit of vegetable or chicken broth, a tablespoon or two of cream, and a pinch each of minced fresh thyme and lemon zest.
  • Sauté minced shallots before deglazing the pan with dry white wine, then swirl in a bit of vegetable or chicken broth and two tablespoons butter with a generous pinch of tarragon.
  • Sauté minced pancetta and onion before deglazing the pan with dry red wine. Add a touch of red wine vinegar, two tablespoons butter and several turns of freshly ground black pepper.

Or keep it simple and make the recipe below. In any case, set your sights on making some flavor this week!

Veal Scaloppini with Shallot-Caper Sauce

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This dish is a fresh twist on the classic veal piccata. Although it has an air of elegance, this whole dish comes together in less than 15 minutes.

veal-scaloppini-recipe2 teaspoons minced lemon zest
1 tablespoon minced parsley
2 tablespoons butter, divided
2 tablespoons olive oil
1/4 cup white whole wheat flour
Sea salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste
4 (4-ounce) veal cutlets, pounded to 1/2-inch thickness
1/4 cup minced shallots
1/4 cup white wine
2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
2 tablespoons capers, rinsed

Preheat oven to 200 degrees F. Place an ovenproof platter on the middle rack.

Mix together lemon zest and parsley in a small bowl, and set aside.

Heat a large skillet (not nonstick) over medium-high heat. Add 1 tablespoon butter and the oil to pan.

While pan is heating, mix together flour, salt and pepper on a wide plate, and dredge veal cutlets. Swirl the butter and oil around the pan, shake off excess flour from cutlets and sear for about 2 minutes per side. When nicely browned on both sides, transfer to the platter in the oven.

Add shallots to the pan and saute for 3 minutes, until softened and brown. Pour in white wine and cook for 1 minute, while scraping up the browned bits in the pan (the fond) with the flat edge of a stiff spatula.

Remove pan from heat and swirl in remaining 1 tablespoon butter, lemon juice and capers. Season to taste with additional salt and pepper.

Serve cutlets drizzled with sauce and sprinkled with lemon zest and parsley.

Serves 4

When “Light” is Right

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by Lia Huber

Here on NOURISH Evolution, we often advocate indulging in a little bit of the real deal. But, given that an excess of those pesky little things called calories will cause us to gain weight, there are times when, with certain ingredients, I’ll opt to go light. Here’s where I draw the line:

light-right

  • If you don’t notice the difference—or if you don’t care about it—opt for the lighter version. I’d rather not ingest extra calories on something that tastes the same to me and doesn’t lose any nutritional value (or gain any fake ingredients) in a lighter form. For me, that tends to be dairy products (minus cheese). I think light sour cream and Greek yogurt taste just as good as their full-fat counterparts, and in fact I prefer their fluffier texture (I don’t, however, go for the fat-free versions; those just taste unnatural to me). I’ll also use neuftachel cheese in my cheesecakes to shave off a few calories and have yet to notice a difference. There is even a particular brand of potato chip whose reduced fat version I prefer to their full fat; I find them a touch crispier and less greasy. The net is, I’m banking calories on foods where I don’t feel like I’m making a compromise so I can cash them in on ones that I do (like cheese).
  • If the ingredient is playing a supporting role, experiment with how light you can go. Mayonnaise is a great example. If I’m just throwing together a tuna salad for weekday sandwiches or using a bit of mayo as a binder, I’ll likely opt for a light version. If I’m whipping up a dip I might combine both light and regular, especially if there’s a strong flavor like curry or garlic permeating it. But if I’m making a BLT with height-of-the-summer tomatoes, you can bet that I’ll either be using the best full-fat version I can find or making my own. In that case, the mayo is integral to the meal.
  • If it’s something you really love, go all out, in small portions, occasionally. The other night I was craving a tin roof sundae, a favorite childhood dessert of mine. I made one with fat-free ice cream, sub-par chocolate sauce and unsalted peanuts that I’d accidentally grabbed from the grocery store shelf. Guess how I’d felt when I finished the bowl? I was still craving a tin roof sundae. What I’d eaten was missing all of the elements I love about tin roofs—the creamy ice cream and rich chocolate sauce, the interplay between salty and sweet, creamy and crunchy. I’d cut corners everywhere and gotten no satisfaction whatsoever. The point is, you’ll feel satiated, crave less and ultimately end up eating less if you let yourself indulge in the real versions of the things you love, in reasonable quantities, every once in a while.

Roasted Cauliflower with Meyer Lemon Fauxaioli

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This is my secret weapon dish for all who say they don’t like cauliflower. High-heat roasting encases the florets in a savory crispness while turning the insides creamy and even a touch sweet … enough to win over the most ardent naysayers. I call this a “fauxaioli” because it’s essentially a gussied-up, lightened-up store-bought mayonnaise, but it’s one I turn to again and again when time is short. This whole recipe, as a matter of fact, came about after having cauliflower in a fritto misto in Italy. I wanted to replicate the effect–crunchy, creamy, salty, sweet and pungent–without the hassle (or calories) of a full-blown fried affair with homemade aioli. And, based on the raves this dish has received (I’ll often serve it as an hors d’oeuvres with a jar of toothpicks nearby), I’d have to claim success.

roasted-cauliflower-aioli-recipe1 head cauliflower, cut into small, bite-sized pieces
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
Sea salt and freshly ground pepper
1 clove garlic, smashed and peeled
2 tablespoons mayonnaise
2 tablespoons light mayonnaise
1 tablespoon freshly squeezed Meyer lemon juice (or regular lemon)
2 teaspoons finely chopped parsley

Preheat oven to 450 degrees F.

In a large bowl, toss cauliflower with olive oil and a sprinkle of salt and pepper. Spread in a single layer on a cookie sheet and roast for 25 minutes, turning often after the first 10 minutes.

While cauliflower is roasting, mash the garlic to a paste with a pinch of salt in a mortar and pestle, and stir in mayonnaise, light mayonnaise and lemon juice. Scoop into a serving bowl and sprinkle with about a half-teaspoon of the parsley.

Transfer cauliflower to a serving platter and scatter the remaining parsley over top. Serve with fauxaioli.

Serves 4

Grow Heirlooms

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I have four gorgeous new raised beds in the back yard (thanks, honey!) filled with rich organic soil, and I’m hankering to get some seedlings in the ground. If you are too, I urge you to take a look at heirlooms.

heirloomBefore industrial agriculture begat monocrops, which are hybridized or engineered to be high producing and hardy, there were literally thousands of varieties of each vegetable. Often, the seeds of a tomato or a cucumber or a pepper would be handed down through a family from year to year (hence the term “heirloom”) so that within a small village, each family might be growing slightly different cultivars of the same vegetables.

Heirloom vegetables and fruits have been enjoying a renaissance both on restaurant menus and in backyard gardens. Here are a few things you should know if you want to join in too:

  • By definition, heirloom varieties are open pollinated, which means that the plants are pollinated by bees and butterflies and the like. It also means that the seeds of a particular species will reproduce a similar plant the next year. Where it gets tricky is that open pollination also means that plants can cross-pollinate among families—broccoli with cabbage, limes with lemon, etc.—to create some funky hybrids unless you isolate the blooms of each. An easy solution, though, is just to pluck out any sprouts that clearly come from kissing cousins.
  • Heirloom vegetables taste—and look—far more distinctive than mass-produced varieties. I’m smitten with big, meaty Kellogg’s Breakfast Tomatoes; deep gold with crimson striations. Candy-striped Chioggia Beets and scarlet Plum Purple Radishes are sweet, whimsical versions of otherwise staid vegetables. Experiment with several and find ones you like.
  • When you plant heirlooms, you’re doing more than just cultivating a tasty plate. You’re helping preserve the genetic diversity of America’s—and the world’s—crops. As our society relies more and more on monoculture (growing one variety of crop), biodiversity is lost and, along with it, the ability for a species to fight off disease. Think of it this way; the more variation there is in the gene pool of a crop, the more help a plant has to pull from in evolving to fend off constantly-mutating diseases. If a crop is made up mainly of one variety, it can easily be overcome by the more nimble bacteria. And do know, this is an issue; almost 75% of our food’s genetic diversity has been lost over the past 100 years.

Check out Seed Savers Exchange for a dizzying catalog of heirloom fruits and vegetables. For more about saving heirloom varieties, see Slow Food’s Ark of Taste.

This week, if you’re planning your summer garden, be sure to seek out heirlooms.

Sauteed Radishes with Mint

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You may know–and love–radishes in their raw state. But they’re lovely in this delicious side dish, too. Butter adds a bit of richness to this otherwise simple dish. Browning the butter takes it a step further to add a nutty note, enlivened on the other end by the mint.

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