(Non) Bread

No-Grain Bread!

I'm generally a happy little thing, hopping around with wild-caught fishes, grass-fed meats, a pleathora of cheeses, coconut milk (and oil, and flesh, and vinegar, and shoyu...), and other delectables that we primals nourish ourselves with.

However, every now and then, I want a freaking sandwich. I want a sandwich on something that won't crack thinly under its load. I want a sandwich that won't leave my hands wet. I want a sandwich that I can set down once I've started eating (is this a common phenomenon?).

I was happy to find a recipe at Middlin' Plus that targeted each of the problem areas involved with "primal bread," (saying those words makes me a bit disdainful, still). And delicious it was. It held up spongefully, it comforted springily, and it held my sandwich's contents loyally. Thank you, bread-that-isn't-bread. You were lovely.


First, a lovely tuna-salad sandwich. And behold our second photo, the glorious and long abstained from, toad-in-the-hole. I remember my little sister asking me to make that for breakfast. I still cherished the leftover 'biscuit' and topped it with coconut-butter and strawberries. (Those in the background are some self-spiced sausages. Pork? Methinks.)

(I used sharp cheddar added a barely-stirred line of chili powder and some toasted pepitas. It was deliciously similar to jalepeno cornbread. Give it a go!)

A New Cave for Jeff

OK, so I've mentioned before what a blast Jeff and I had grokking about, and after a few more visits, he has finally moved up to the Metroplex from down by Waco. I assisted he and his family during move-in, and we spent the next night and day eating, walking, unpacking, shopping, and arranging. It was incredible to be in someone else's place being cooked for in a VERY primal way! As such, I'm happy to share some of Jeff's handcrafted meals. These came from the Primal Blueprint's Quick and Easy Cookbook, if I recall correctly.

 

The Return of the Bento

Once upon a time in a kitchen far far away, I began a blog to showcase the bento boxes that I thrived on. Much of my life and beliefs have changed, but some things remain the same: I love food and I love bento.

Bento boxes and all their little toys and cups excite me and make lunch that much more special. Though I'm certainly not afraid to dump good ingredients into a bowl and happily devour, there is something entirely special about cracking the lids of an artfully arranged, delicately balanced little lunch. Bento boxes allow for a sort of break in your day that removes you from the sit-and-scarf catches of 30 minute work breaks. They seem to be something of a culinary breath. 

Admitedly, I've not been attentively documenting or sharing my bento boxes with you so much anymore (sorry, if you need emotional support let me know), but I'm leaning to change that. Please, enjoy my bento. 

Kabocha pumpkin with cinnamon, Kale Avocado Salad

Egg salad and Sardine stewed in tomato sauce

As I ate this, I began to realize something. As a normal part of my life, I make a lot of things from scratch. I don't think about it, I don't make an effort to do it. I have simply become a person that does this. The egg salad was made from eggs that I get directly from the chicken farmer locally, made with my homemade mayonnaise, and included chives that I grew and pickles that I had fermented and chopped into relish myself. Crazy? It seems to be regarded as a little bit crazy. 

Ode 002: The Radish

In order to allow move on to important upcoming posts, I have a similarly important one to finish up on. This is my second Ode!

The radish: Crispy, refreshing, and bright when raw, cooling and juicy in salad, is a doppelganger of vegetables. It has the ability to suggest qualities of potatoes, water chestnuts, nuts, jicama, and potatoes-- but only suggest, and not emulate. The radish feels no need to hide his true identity, unlike many superheroes.

Red radishes, black and icicle radishes, Daikon and Mu-- they are so unexplored in Western culture, and I vote we change that, stat.

The classic little red radishes, (the "Oh-I've only-had-radishes-raw-in-salads" Radishes), begin our venture into the unnappreciated world of these coolly hot little roots. If you get a good radish-- really fresh radishes, from a good enough place-- they are NOT all that spicey. They still have a whisper of a bite that makes them interesting, but nothing eye watering. Try slicing them into coins and eating guacamole with them. Awesome. They can also be sprinkled around a roasting chicken or added to the roasting pan of veggies. The larger ones, quartered, and the smaller ones, halved or left whole, roast dry beautifully with seasalt and cayenne. They transform into something magical and silky when cooked in a wet environment and topped with butter and herbs.

The larger radishes, like black, watermelon, and icicle, have a very important place in my heart, and my kitchen. When you get out the mandolin (the one your mother gave you, with the melted edge), and slice these guys thinly, you are borderlining ceremony, for something spectacular is on the horizon. Toss these with olive and coconut oils, chili powder, sea salt, and black pepper. Now, bake them at 400 degrees on a pizza stone or something, 10-15 minutes on each side, until they crisp up. If you let them burn, they are bitter-- if you undercook them, they are soft-- but if you cook them JUST right and let them cool, they rival any kettlechip. They're done when they've gone black (but not carbon) all the way through.

Last but not least, we come to two gargantuan varieties: Daikon and Mu. Daikon is used grated in Japanese cuisine to add a cool aspect to salty grilled fishes for a refreshing palette cleanse. Without Mu (a monster, melon looking radish) we wouldn't have kimchee or kaktugi-- travesties, both! Daikon also works into chips as mentioned above, but tends to yield slightly softer results. Kiriboshi Daikon is a shredded, dried daikon, awesome to use in dishes to add texture and a mellow nutty sweetness. For radish kimchee, cube Mu (or daikon) and lots of green onions. Puree lots and lots of garlic and ginger with fish sauce, salt, and korean red pepper flakes. Put both vegetables and puree in a jar and shake like mad until evenly coated, then leave on the counter for about 5 days before chilling for another 5. Kaktugi! Like magic!

And with that, our second Ode. Tell me, have you yet to embrace these humble little beings? Tell me a radish's tale.

More to come, don't you worry.

Mother's Day Snack

IMG_8365, a photo by CaptainShen on Flickr.

Mom + Park + Snack = Awesome day.

Check out our spread!

The Forage: Episode Two, and: A Little Instructional, Plus: too many punctuation errors in this title.

So, on a morning sprint not too long ago, as the little town of Denton stretched its bright and strange eyelids, I found some mulberries. They were scant and the tree a tad sickly, but they did a good job of reminding me of one of my favorite pickin' trees elsewhere in Denton. I returned home with a LOT of them, only having picked a little of what the tree had to offer (of course I left the red berries to ripen for later pickings!). 250 grams, to be exact-- uh, minus the handfuls I threw back during picking.

I hoped on my bike after prepping my Foragin' Bag. It is imperative to truncate the 'g' on 'Foraging' when prepping your Foragin' Bag. It just helps you, you know, get in the mood or whatever. The following is just little stuff for a casual picking-- nothing too hardcore.

YOUR BAG

Bandana/Cloth* (to tie into bags to carry/clean up, whatever)
Ziploc Baggies
Hard Container (for dainty items)
Knife
Small Scissors
Small Flashlight

Of course, its good to have a guide-book and familiarize yourself with your area (really, if you start eating strange mushrooms and throwing back unknown berries, it is NOT my fault). On a simple casual outing you can expect to come back with the ubiquitous green onions and chives (a bit grassy by this time of year), dandelion greens (best picked before the yellow flower appears). Certainly with a little more romping you can find delightful little mulberries, wild blackberries, and pears. I've even seen wild asparagus and what I THINK was wild carrot (it was too young to tell).

Be careful, guys, and happy eating.

*I believe that bandanas are absolutely necessary for anything you do, ever.

Home Cured Bacon

I accidentally deleted my post on home-curing bacon without a smoker. Sad day! Any questions?


edit: Alright, since DeusInvictus so quickly (and desperately!) replied, I'll give a synopsis of The Baconing. And first, to answer the question of description: Meaty, spiced, peppery, smoky, and mildly sweet. It will indeed make you sway. It didn't uniformly crisp up like I like, but that can be easily solved by getting it cut more thinly.* Unfortunately, since I cannot recover that post, it won't be exact-- but I can remember the gist of it. 


Essentially, home 'curing**' bacon is simply marinating pork-belly in salt and spices until it is 'cured,' in the same way that one (if one were smart and wonderful) would make salted salmon for Lomilomi Salmon (salt, wait, wash). If you didn't understand the things that I just mentioned, just move on. There is still hope for you. 


My dad is a genius of smoking. Not that my father has a cigarette between every finger or a special cigar-smoking device-- not that at all. Silly-wicket. My father built a magnificent smoker out of a propane tank long long ago, welding huge sheets of steel into a magical sculpture that transforms raw meat into charred treasure. My favorite times, as a child, involved being treated to 'the heel' of the brisket, in its black crusty goodness, with a tender line of pink meat just underneath. He'd fire it up only when he'd stocked up on an entire petting-zoo worth of meat and could fill it (and the oven on the end) to the brim. I have fond memories of a clean bathtub full of raw briskets thawing in the front bathroom (how very strange). It fed us, and many other family and friends, for months. 


However, a smoker I have not. It would be efficient for me, at least right now. A few years ago, I shared my knowledge of liquid smoke making with my dad and he bestowed unto me a bottle of home-made liquid smoke. OK, we're back to bacon. Seriously, I took the scenic route to get here. Simply purchase pork belly from your meat market and place it flat in a ziploc bag with a 1/2 cup (ish) of liquid smoke, some small cinnamon sticks, whole black peppercorns, salish alderwood smoked salt, fennel seeds, and SO importantly: ground Fenugreek. Fenugreek is an intoxicating, mellow spice, reminiscent of maple syrup. Lay this bag of goodies (after mixing well) flat on a shelf in the fridge and flip it every day for seven days. When you're done, take the pork belly (we can start calling it bacon now!) bacons out of the bag, wash them under cool water to get all the excess salt off, and dry them like mad. Dry them really, really well. Crack black pepper over them and let them sit in your fridge, uncovered, on a paper towel, for another day. 


Now, there you have it. Place sheets of wax paper between them and put them in a baggy to use or freeze! Congratulations, bacon-maker. You win breakfast. 


Happy eating!


*I'm going to try this next time using unsliced pork-belly. This time I used slices, as seen in the picture below. 
**I don't claim to use the word 'curing' in any sort of scientific way. I don't know what that actually entails, alright? Back off! 

Stuffed Zucchini

I've just 'met' (well, sort of) the owner of Paleo Middle Eastern and am right now excitedly waiting for this beauty to emerge from my oven. I rarely make full-scale casserole-pan recipes unless I have guests, but this looked too good to pass up. I rode my bicycle to an Indian shop in hopes that they'd have a vegetable corer (not because I'm ignorant of the differences between 'Indian' and 'Middle Eastern,' but because the next-most-ethnic thing we've got is Kroger. As in, nothing.*) but they had one not (though I did get some good Garam Masala <3). Moving on, this brings us to tonight and my kitchen, where my little vegetable peeler with its little blade sat in its jar** mocking me. Also, I was faced with the fact that my favorite Moroccan*** casserole dish is an odd/small shape. As such, I cut the squashes all in half and made super mini little ones. Perfect! Also, the meat I happened to have thawed in my fridge was my favorite red-meat of all time: Lamb. New Zealand ground lamb. hhhhhhnnn....

* OK, mild lie. There is a little Mexican shop where I stopped and bought fresh pork rinds (sooo good dusted with cinnamon), and misunderstood them as '$1.59 a pound,' then asking for a pound. The kind lady began scooping and didn't stop until she'd essentially filled a small trashbag and labelled it $6 something. I stared in a moment of blank confusion, rarely stumped by language barriers, and began to laugh. I somehow explained what I'd thought and she happily put them back and gave me a little bag of around $2 :). Delicious.

** Who keeps a peeler in a jar?!

*** Seriously. Not a cultural dunce.

Relaxation

The modern world is one of stress and deadlines, the abundance of work and the absence of play, and a tension that seems to be constantly cranking just a little tighter. We can be happier and healthier if we just go play-- literally, go frolic, hike, swing, or play sports-- but sometimes these natural things elude us. We must make a conscious effort to balance our stress with release, our tension with relaxation, and our contracting with lengthening. Stretch. Walk. Breathe.

Sometimes check yourself. How are you sitting? Sit up, allow yourself to align. How are you standing? Relax your shoulders, bring them down. Stretch your back out, spread your toes, and twist yourself until your tension dissipates.

I have to have a clean house to relax. I turn all lights off but the string-lights, light candles and burn insense, and experience a cup of tea. I'm way, way into tea.

How do you relax?

Niçoise!

P1010667, a photo by CaptainShen on Flickr.

I had thawed out some ground grass-fed beef, but suddenly came to the realization that it wasn't ground beef at all. It was super-succulent, silky grass-fed thin deli meat, house-roasted at a store near my house. However, it wasn't what I wanted at all-- I'd had the same in a basil salad for breakfast.

Utterly hopeless, I fell to the floor and began to pound my fist on the refrigerator. What on earth could I make?! The only meat I had that wasn't frozen was tinned tuna! All I had in the fridge were bizzare, random things! An open tin of anchovies, two eggs laid by a coworker's own beloved chickens, dry-cured olives, a half of an organic roma tomato, and these darned spring onions, bulbous glossy purple-white and crisp green. Not to mention the remainder of those pesky capers and the last little serving of some vinaigrette.

Cough, cough. Apparently, my refrigerator had converted to a gigantic Niçoise salad holder.

I love this salad dearly. The startling saltiness of the anchovies, olives, and capers is soothed by the cooing coolness of refreshing tomato, spinach, and olive oil. Of course, the crown jewels of this bowl were the voluptuously creamy little orange-yolked cups, creamy beneath nutty sparks of cracked black pepper.

I tend to agree with the old school thought that a proper Niçoise salad (thats Nii-Swas) utilizes tinned tuna and does not contained the cooked vegetables (potato and green bean) that are popular in mondern times.

Perfect salad for a sunny meal on the lawn before work.

Aaaah... how... ...Nice...