soup

Dec

04

In Praise of Sinigang

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Mmmmm…..

Sinigang.

What’s that you say?  Sinigang?  What is that?

Sinigang is a traditional Filipino tamarind-based soup that my grandchildren’s other Grandmother,  Annabel makes.  The base is made of tamarind, fish sauce, meat and tomatoes with vegetables and sometimes peppers added.  The first time I had it, I fell in love with it.  The flavor of that tangy, delicious soup haunted me and made my mouth water every time I thought of it.

Annabel knows its my favorite and so she makes it for me often.  Whenever I ask her how to make it, she says, “Just meat and vegetables” in that typically modest way of hers.  She doesn’t think she’s a good cook when in fact, she’s really an incredible one.  In some ways, she reminds me of my Grandma Lupe.  Like my grandmother, she tosses in a little of this and a little of that to make magic in a bowl or plate.  She shows her love and care for the people close to her by feeding them, another Dona Lupe trait.  Also like my grandmother, Annabel is overly modest about her abilities.

One of her specialities is her soup.  Annabel makes soups that will make angels weep, they are so good.  There’s always something simmering on the stove that smells amazing and nine times out of ten, one of those pots is full of some kind of yummy soup.  The queen of them all though, is sinigang, my personal favorite.  My Latina palate loves all things spicy and tangy so it’s no big surprise that this is my favorite Filipino dish.

Annabel uses a tamarind base by Knorr though she’s told me that given time, she’d make it with fresh tamarind pods.  Since the grandkids are still young and their palate’s not quite so developed, she omits the finger-length green hot peppers that traditionally are part of the dish.  I’ve had it with those, and it brings a spicy heat to the soup that is delicious, but I agree with her to not include it when the kids are wanting soup.  We don’t want to turn them off of a delicious thing just because its too spicy.

I spent last night at the grandkids’ apartment and had arrived sniffling.  With the recent high winds all over Los Angeles, I either had a bad case of allergies, or the beginning of a cold.  Either way my nose is red and raw.  Annabel took one look at me and said, “You need soup” as she poured my coffee.  Settled in with the grandkids later, I fell asleep and woke to the scent of tamarind.  “Sinigang”, I thought, “she’s making sinigang” and jumped out of bed to watch her make it.  Sadly, she was already done and serving it into a bowl with steamed rice.  “Gina, eat soup.  I made your favorite, sinigang.”  Yes, I am a lucky woman to have this blended family that loves me. Well, she didn’t have to tell me twice.  Jasmine popped her head out from the covers and said, “I smell sinigang.”  It didn’t take her long to slide down from the top bunk and tumble into the small kitchen.

We sat at the table with steaming bowls of tamarind-scented soup, and I watched the grandkids smiling as they dug in.  Annabel was hovering over Aiden, chopping up his meat in small bite-sized pieces and I found myself turning Jasmine’s bowl in just such a way so she wouldn’t spill her rice over.  The wind howled a little outside as we ate our tangy, tomatoey broth with vegetables, meat and rice.  Warm in my belly, the soup soothed, kept my sneezing at bay and I had made sure to snap a photo  before demolishing it.

Annabel promises to show me how to make it.  She often changes up the vegetables in it, depending on what’s available in her fridge.  Today the veggies included radishes, baby bok choy, asparagus and tomatoes.  I’ve told her I’m going to video the whole process so that the grandkids we share have it always.  It’s as much their legacy as my grandmother’s recipes are, and most definitely belongs here in Doña Lupe’s Kitchen.

Nov

22

Waste Not, Want Not

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If you’re like me, once in a while there’s a day when you look in the fridge and say, “oh darn, the vegetables are starting to go soft and I might have to throw them away.”  I HATE wasting food.

I grew up mostly hungry.  My mother was on welfare and NEVER had much in the fridge.  She was a poor manager and really a bit of a space cadet when it came to household stuff.  Early on, my sisters and I learned that if we wanted to eat regularly and well, we’d have to do it ourselves.  My sister Wendy was the business manager.  It was she who would confiscate food stamps, make lists and handle the shopping with me (the oldest) to plan the menus and cook the food; and my sister Carol (the baby) to ride along in the shopping cart we would bring home.  Before we learned to do that, however it was either baloney in a tortilla, burnt beans (my mother was a horrible cook), and watery, unsweetened Kool-aid.  Blech.  I still can’t drink that stuff.

My Aunt Lupita remembers coming over and finding a very little me standing on a milk crate cooking something for my sisters.  I’ve been cooking for almost as long as I can remember and I can pretty much make a meal out of nothing, which in the current economy, is a darned good skill to have.

Visiting my grandparent’s house wasn’t just a holiday, it was salvation.  We’d walk in and there would be food EVERYWHERE.  The pantries were full, the fridge and freezers were full, the garden had food growing in it.  It was heaven to me, and if I could have lived there forever, I would have.

Once I had my own place, I made it my mission to always have food.  I’m a little obsessed with food and I hate waste.  So my vegetable drawer drives me crazy when I see things starting to soften.  That’s when I make soup and freeze it.

You can get some amazing soups out of the vegetables in your crisper that are starting to go soft.  Just the other day, I found broccoli that needed to be cooked immediately, some celery and carrots that were a couple of days away from being thrown out.  So I made soup.  I boiled the veggies with onion, garlic, a bit of fresh thyme then pureed it in the blender when it was cooled.  I used a can of evaporated milk in the vegetable puree, some salt, pepper, nutmeg and heated it through.  I served it with crusty brown bread and some grated cheese on top.  The rest, I froze and now can have some really great soup whenever I want.

It only takes a bit of time and the result it healthy, nutritious and cost effective.  Don’t throw the soft veggies away – make soup.  If you waste your vegetables, I just might throw a chancla at you.

 

Gina’s Creamy Broccoli, Celery and Carrot Soup

1/2 a head of broccoli, stems and florets – chopped into small chunks

1/2 a stalk of celery, leaves included – chopped

 

3 carrots – chopped

1/2 an onion – quartered

2 cloves of garlic

a few stems of fresh thyme

water

1 can of evaporated milk

salt and pepper to taste

Chop the vegetables and place in a saucepan with just enough water to cover.  Bring to a boil, then lower flame and cook covered, till the vegetables are very soft (about 15 minutes).

Let vegetables cool to room temperature, then strain, reserving the cooking liquid.

Puree in a blender or food processor until smooth.

Pour the puree into a heavy saucepan, add the milk and the reserved cooking liquid.  Whisk the mixture. Add salt and pepper to taste and heat through, stirring often to prevent the milk from scorching.

Makes about 4-6 servings.

Sep

01

Project Food Blog Challenge #2: Two Irish Classics

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Two Irish Classics

My traditions and culture are solidly Mexican.  I grew up in a Mexican house with Mexican family.  We spoke in Spanish, English and Spanglish.  I still have fond memories of my grandfather saying, “Andale, walkale” which was a funny way of saying hurry up and walk whenever we were going somewhere.  The sounds of boleros and oldies were the music of my growing up and the smells in the kitchen were spicy and sweet.  There is another side of me though – the Irish side.  I am half Irish.  The Mexican is so steeped in me though that I rarely give it a thought unless I am cursing my freckles or lighter than the average Mexican skin as it blisters in the hot Los Angeles sun.  I remember I am half Irish when I think of my red-headed, freckled and blue eyed father but I certainly never remember it when I am cooking.

Irish food?  Um..yeah.  My Latina palate requires spices sharp and pungent, my nose needs the scents of chocolate, cinnamon, chiles roasting on a comal, a kitchen redolent with color, sensation, aroma.  Irish food?  Bland, boring, colorless…or so I thought.

When I read this challenge, to create a dish from another culture out of my comfort zone the first thought was oooh Indian!  That thought quickly went out the window as I mentally flipped through countries.  Problem was the most exotic was NOT out of my comfort zone.  There was color, spice, and adventure – all the things I most equate with the food I am most comfortable cooking.  Then it hit me.  Why not use this challenge not only as a chance to push the envelope and challenge myself but also to learn about myself, that other hidden side of the family tree?  Explore my buried roots through the medium of food?

Once decided it felt right.  All I had to do was choose the food.  Beef and Guiness pie?  No. Stew?  Overdone.  Crusty roast lamb (Uaineoil faoi chrusta)?  Colcannon?  Brambrak? No, no, no.  It was getting late.  I was getting frazzled.  Then it hit me just as the idea to cook Irish did.  You want a challenge girl?  Go simple, uber simple and traditional.  After all, this blog is about traditions, just not Irish ones.  Yet.

I settled on an ancient recipe for Brotchan Foltchep (Leek and Oatmeal Soup) with Brown Soda Bread also known as cake.  It was a challenge in many ways.  First of all oatmeal for soup?  Are you kidding me?  That’s for breakfast!  No meat in it?   And, and, and OATMEAL?  Wthout raisins and cinnamon and cream?  Well. there is cream, but it’s not the same.  Then there was the bread.  Oh.  My.  God.  Seriously?  Two tablespoons of butter in about 6 cups of flour?  No eggs.  Stone ground wheat flour.  I was dubious and kept thinking to myself, “this is going to be awful dry.”  I was so tempted to sneak in yeast, sugar, more butter, eggs anything to make that pile of sticky dough a little more like bread.  I swear I slapped my own hand at least three times to keep from trying to “fix it.”  I ended up needing a full cup more buttermilk than the original recipe asked for and it was still very dry.  Another 1/4 cup or so got it feeling right about how the recipe said it should feel.

To get in the spirit of things, I turned on some music.  Believe it or not, I’m a big fan of The Saw Doctors and Juliet Turner.  Turner’s Belfast Central is one of my favorites.  She’s Northern Irish, not where my family is from but her voice and Northern accent are ilovely and it helped soothe me.  The Saw Doctors got me dancing and not worrying so much about the brick I was sure my bread would turn out to be.  Being used to kneading dough, it was hard for me to do as little as possible with the Irish bread.  The trick with that is to keep from letting the glutens form so you want to knead as little as possible or it will be tough according to my research.

I had been lucky enough to have had some left over vegetable stock I’d made the other day in the fridge so I didn’t have to make that and it saved me some time which was a relief since I’d left it to the last minute.  As I got into making the soup, it started to make sense to me.  The oatmeal was almost like a roux as it was cooked in butter almost masquerading as flour.  The end result was a hearty, healthy and surprisingly tasty soup with a bit of bright color.  It wasn’t a bit bland!  The brown bread spread thickly with good Irish butter was a perfect accompaniment.

I think I like this Irish side and intend to explore it further.  I still want to make that carrot pudding, that Apple and Bramble cake with Bushmills custard and the crusty roast lamb.  I may find more surprises along my way and I think I will learn more about myself, that other I hardly know as I wend my rambling way through Southern Ireland via the route of food.

Brotchan Foltchep (Leek and Oatmeal Soup)  – recipe adapted from http://www.irishcultureandcustoms.com/2kitch/rSoups.html

3 Leeks
1//4 cup of butter
1 cup of Irish oatmeal
2 1/2 cups of vegetable stock
Salt and pepper to taste
Pinch of mace
Chopped parsley
2 tablespoons heavy cream

Wash the leeks thoroughly and chop into chunks. (Save one chunk and slice into rings as a garnish, if liked: put these aside until the soup is done.)
Melt the butter gently in a saucepan, not allowing it to brown. Add the oatmeal and fry it in the butter, stirring until golden brown. Still stirring, pour in the stock and milk.
Add the chopped leeks, salt, pepper and mace. Bring to a boil; then lower heat and simmer for about 30 minutes, until the broth is thick. Remove from heat, allow to cool slightly, and then either liquidize the soup in a blender or with a “stick mixer”, or push it through a sieve.
Reheat gently without allowing it to boil again. Stir in parsley: serve and garnish with a swirl of cream and / or the previously sliced bits of leek (or stir the cream in when the parsley is added).

Brown Bread recipe adapted from Irish Abroad

4 cups of stone ground wheat flour
2 cups of white flour
1 1/2 tsp salt
1 1/2 tsp baking soda
3 cups of buttermilk
2 tablespoons of butter
Mix the wheat flour throughly with the white flour. Rub the butter into the flours. Add the salt, and soda.
Make a well in the center and gradually mix in the liquid. Stir with a wooden spoon. You may need less, or more liquid – it depends on the absorbent quality of the flour. the dough should be soft but managable. Knead the dough into a ball in the mixing bowl with your floured hands. Put in on a lightly floured baking sheet and with the palm of your hand flatten out in a circle 1 1/2 inches thick. With a knife dipped in flour, make a cross through the center of the bread so that it will easily break into quarters when it is baked.
Bake at 425 degrees for 25 minutes, reduce the heat to 350 degrees and bake a further 15 minutes. If the crust seems too hard, wrap the baked bread in a damp tea cloth. Leave the loaf standing upright until it is cool.

It was an interesting and fun challenge and one I am grateful to Foodbuzz for thinking up.  Please consider voting for me on Monday when voting opens by clicking here.

Mar

06

Rain

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The rain beats against my window with no rhythm, no rhyme.  At times it is unrelenting, vicious in its determination to get inside.  It batters the windows, rattles them; then frustrated, it takes a breath and prepares for the next assault.  It’s been raining five days now in Los Angeles.  There have been tornado warnings, 65 mph gale winds, hail and rain in buckets enough to generate a Twitter hashtag called #theendoftheworld.  At times the rain is gentle, soothing; the kind of rain that makes one long for Sunday papers in bed, a good book, a cuddle with a loved one or the smell of bacon and coffee drifting upstairs to waken you.

I love that kind of rain, it always propels me to the kitchen, to bake or make soup – the vegetable rich, lemony caldo de pollo that my grandmother made so often.  Brimming with color from corn on the cob, translucent green cabbage, dark green zucchini, bright orange carrots, the pale quarters of onions and the earthy dark of unskinned potatoes.  She’d serve it in a deep bowl over a scoop of red Spanish rice with warm corn tortillas wrapped in a cloth to keep them warm and a half slice of lemon to squeeze over it.  She always did hers a little different, a way I thought special.  To hers, she’d slice up a regular banana, not a plaintain but a banana and add a sprig of mint.  It gave an unusual sweetness to the soup that was distinctly Grandma Lupe.  No one else ate it that way, it was Grandma’s soup.  Sweet, distinct, unusual with a gentle touch, just like her.

Always on the table was the fresh salsa de molcajete she made and my grandfather, Papa Chava would pile it up on his bowl.  It added a smoky, spicy flavor to the soup that I loved and still do now with the added flavor of memories.  I make it often, roasting the tomatoes on the comal till their skins burst, wrapping the roasted chiles in a damp cloth so their skins can steam off and gently removing the cilantro leaves from their stems to add whole to the salsa.  I am recreating my grandmother’s steps, I am keeping her memory alive in my kitchen.

My grandmother’s salsa had little cilantro flowers in it because my grandfather grew cilantro in a way to ensure she never ran out.  He’d stagger the planting carefully so that there were soft earthy mounds with tiny stems poking their heads out, the next with the cilantro a little bigger, the next in full cutting mode and the back mounds were left to go to seed.  He gathered those round seeds and dried them carefully, saving them in an old glass baby food jar that he kept in his garage/gardening shed.

When the cilantro flowered, my grandmother loved to put the tiny white blossoms in her salsa and in the tomato relish (I guess you can call it that) that she made for tacos and tostadas.  The blossoms were surprisingly flavorful, that sharp green tang of the cilantro intensified.  You’d never know such a tiny, wispy flower would pack such a punch.  Store bought cilantro just isn’t the same.  The leaves are so much bigger, the flavor not as intense and of course, there are no delicate, lacy white blossoms to beautify and flavor your dish.

The rain is calming now and I’m still making up my mind whether to go out, bake or make soup.  For now, I’m content to snuggle in, pet my dog and remember a kitchen where love what the secret ingredient.