Out of sight, out of mind

Morro da Providência, the oldest favela in Rio and our neighbors

I don't know if this happens to you, but I'll often forget about an ingredient that I love-- for years-- and then, prompted by who knows what-- an article online, a conversation, astrology (jk, definitely not astrology)-- all of the sudden pick it up one day and use it in absolutely everything for the next month or so. For Felipe's sake hopefully its something that he likes as well, something other than eggplant-- that was a rough two months for him awhile back. 

More eggplant, with tahini

In this case, I actually know exactly why I started buying tahini again. It's because of Yotam Ottolenghi's Jerusalem cookbook. Roasted squash with tahini, fried cauliflower with tahini, sabih (why oh why is this not sold as street food here?)...and that's before I even hit the dessert chapter, my preferred section of cookbooks. Ottolenghi and co. included a recipe for the popular Israel tahini cookies, which are really quite similar to peanut butter cookies but a bit more interesting for those of us who grew up happily bathed in peanut butter. Because of how much I liked the tahini cookies (made without cinnamon, because yuck) I started thinking about including tahini in other desserts outside of the typical halvah, which I do also love dearly. I started thinking about a tahini tart, and then Google led me to Turkish tahini cake, which led me to promptly baking it and Felipe telling me that we really needed to get more tahini "so that we can make like 10 more of these cakes." 

So, we made a bunch more of the cakes, and I started fiddling with the recipe-- replacing some of the oil with butter, upping the baking powder (I suspect there's a translation error in the original recipe), and replacing the crunchy outer sesame seed crust with my beloved demarera sugar when I was out of the seeds. The last time I made the cake, I realized that the original recipe calls for beating the eggs and sugar for 5 minutes, "until foamy," which makes me wonder if what this really is supposed to be a modified chiffon cake. Being that I don't have an electric mixer and that I reserve my arm "muscles" for things like merengue and buttercream frosting, my theory will have to go untested for now. Besides, we are 100% happy with this present, non-beat-your-arm-off iteration, slightly dense with tahini, not too sweet, and positioned to stick around even when/if the tahini craze abates. 

Turkish Tahini Cake
     adapted from Hayrire's Turkish Food and Recipes

6 oz. (1 c.) sugar

2 eggs
2.5 oz. (1/3 c.) vegetable oil
2.5 oz. (1/3 c.) butter, melted and cooled
2.5 oz. (1/3 c.) whole milk, cold from the fridge
6 oz. (1 1/3 c.) flour

1 1/2 tsp. baking powder
2.5 oz. (1/3 c.) tahini

1/3 c. sesame seeds or demarera sugar

Preheat the oven to 350 F. Butter a 9 x 5 in. (8 x 4 in. should be fine too) loaf pan, then pour in the sesame seeds/demarera and tilt the pan around so the seeds/sugar stick to the buttered sides relatively evenly. 

In a large bowl, mix the sugar and eggs with fork/mixer until foamy. Add in the oil and cold milk. Using a wooden spoon, stir in the flour and baking powder. Finally add the tahini, and stir well to incorporate all the ingredients.

Pour the batter into the pan and sprinkle the top with additional sesame seeds/demarera sugar .
Bake for ~45 minutes, until the cake is golden brown and a knife inserted into the center comes out clean. Let cake cool in pan. 

The cake will keep a couple of days well wrapped in plastic. Serve it plain alongside cafe con leche or black tea, or you could probably serve it with some lightly sweetened whipped cream if you like (I mean, you can do that with pretty much any cake, can't you? It's not ever really a bad idea. But I don't think it's particularly necessary here, unless you need to dress it up.)


Tahini-- o pasta de sesamo/ajonjolí-- le da un sabor muy rico a esta torta que es muy rápido y fácil de hacer. 

Torta de Tahini Turca
     adaptada de Hayrire's Turkish Food and Recipes

170 g. (una taza) de azúcar

2 huevos
70 g. (1/3 taza) de aceite vegetal 
70 g. (1/3 taza) de mantequilla, derretida y enfriada un poco
70 g. (1/3 taza) de leche entera, fria de la heladera
170 g. (1 1/3 taza) de harina de trigo 

1 1/2 cucharita de polvo de hornear
70 g. (1/3 taza) de tahini (pasta de sesamo/ajonjolí)

1/3 taza de semillas de sesamo/ajonjolí o azúcar demarera/azúcar morena gruesa

Precalienta el horno a 180ºC. Amanteca un molde de pan, después echale el ajonjolí/azúcar demarera e inclina el molde para que las semillas/el azúcar se peguen a los lados uniformemente. 

En un bol grande, bate el azúcar y los huevos hasta espumoso. Echale el aceite y leche, batiendo. Con una cuchara de palo, incorpora la harina y polvo de hornear. Echale el tahini, revolviendo bien para incorporar todos los ingredientes.

Echa la masa al molde y salpica la superficie con ajonjolí/azúcar demarera adicional.
Hornea durante ~45 minutos, hasta la torta esté dorada y un cuchillo metido al centro salga limpio. Deja la torta enfriar en el molde y sirve cuando ya esté fria.

Guarda la torta envuelta en plástico.

Rumba Tipo Colombia Turns 1!

Though none of us can believe it's already been a year since this ridiculousness started, I'm very happy to announce that we'll be having our 1 year anniversary Rumba Tipo Colombia party in June.

If you happen to be in Rio de Janeiro and want a break from all the Portuguese to come dance salsa and eat empanadas, come find us next to the Arcos da Lapa on June 7th.

And in case you were wondering, no, Colombia is not actually homogenous to the point that you can have one true Colombian-style party, as you can imagine might be the case with any country of almost 50 million people with mountains running between the big cities. But absolutely everyone loves to rumbear (party) and dance, and at our parties the people in charge of the music are from four different regions (Cali, Bogotá, Pasto and Medellín) so we end up with a pretty diverse mix. And at the end of the day, everyone just ends up goofing around anyway, like Felipe in the video below:

On technology

In Cali, there's a restaurant called "El Arca" (The Ark) that specializes in plantains. That sounds a bit funny to say given that most Colombians eat plantains at least once a day, but they are generally eaten as a side to the main dish or as a snack instead of being the focus of a meal. The menu at El Arca is divided according to the three general stages of ripeness of plantains-- green, yellow/green, and yellow/black, a.k.a. verde, pintón, and maduro. Green plantains are turned into giant patacones piled with all the toppings your little heart could possibly desire, and the sweet yellow/black plantains are split and stuffed with cheese and other luscious melty things.  And they have canastas de plátano pintón, fried plantain baskets made with the "in the middle" stage plantains, which are a little bit sweet but have still retained much of their starch. Stuffed with cheese and stewed vegetables or shredded meat, they are damn tasty-- and not very common, in Colombia at least, as this was the first time I had ever run across them.

Luckily, last December in Colombia Felipe's mother gave me a plantain press used to make the baskets and I kind of really love it, even if my (Colombian) friend Gabriel's reaction when I pulled it out was to rant about how Colombian "technology" is limited to wooden plantain presses, which, ok, fair enough (sort of), but my iPod is not helping me get fed anytime soon, and I don't think it's a mutually exclusive proposition anyway. 

And other than medical stuff, when it comes to "technology", I'm not sure there's much I value more than knowing how to feed oneself well, which at the end of the day is not unrelated to medicine and which much of the U.S. is pretty incompetent at. Hell, I thought I knew how to cook when I left the U.S., and I couldn't even make decent rice (good oatmeal cookies, though).  

I've veered way off topic, because what I mainly wanted to say is that if you are a fan of plantains, well, do I ever have a recipe for you. And even if you don't have a fancy-shmancy plantain press, you can make mini baskets using a citrus press-- just cut the plantains into smaller pieces before frying, and line the press with plastic wrap so the plaintain doesn't get stuck in the crevices. It's kind of a nice party trick, don't you think? And you can leave your iPod at home.

Plantain Baskets

For the plantains:
4 yellow-green plantains (ask for plátanos pintones if you're at a latin market)
vegetable oil for frying
salt

For the filling:
1 Tbsp. vegetable oil (sunflower or canola or the like)
1 lg. onion, quartered and thinly sliced
1 lg. red pepper, deseeded and deveined, quartered and thinly sliced
3-4 scallions, chopped
1/2 tsp. turmeric
salt
1/2 c. cilantro leaves, chopped
8 oz. mozzarella cheese, sliced thinly

Line your press with plastic wrap or a clean plastic bag. Heat at least 3 in. of oil in a medium pot over medium-low heat. Peel plantains and then and cut in half horizontally. Fry them slowly (lower the heat if they begin to brown immediately, you need low heat so they will cook all the way through) until you can pierce them easily with a fork. Remove with a strainer and immediately place one plantain half in the press. Close the press gently, exerting slow force. If the plantain breaks roughly it may not have been cooked all the way through (don't worry about it, but it's good to know for the next batch). Remove the pressed plantain gently to a clean plate and immediately continue with the rest of the cooked plantains-- you have to press them while they're still hot. Once pressed, the plantains will keep a couple of hours at room temperature, or you can even freeze them to use later in the week (not much longer, though). 

In a medium skillet over medium-low heat, heat the vegetable oil and onion together until the onion is translucent (add in a pinch of salt and stir), then add in the red pepper. Cook for 5 minutes, stirring occasionally, then cover the skillet and let the onion and pepper stew together for another 10 minutes, stirring every now and then and adding a tablespoon of water or two if the bottom begins to burn.  The peppers should be soft and sweet. Add in the scallions, turmeric and another pinch of salt. Cook another minute or two, cover the pan and turn off the heat.

Right before you're ready to eat, heat up the oil again until very hot, then fry the plantain baskets, one or two at a time (if you add too many the temperature of the oil will drop and they won't crisp up). Turn them once or twice so they brown evenly, then remove them with a strainer to a paper-lined plate and fill (and consume) immediately.

Stir the cilantro into the pepper mixture. Fold and roll a slice of cheese so that it fits into the bottom of a plantain basket, then cover it with the pepper mixture. Repeat with the rest of the baskets. Serve hot or warm.


Canastas de Plátano Pintón

4 plátanos pintones
aceite para freír
sal

Para el guiso:
una cucharada de aceite
una cebolla grande, partida en quatro y cortada
un pimentón rojo grande
2 tallos de cebolla larga
1/2 cucharita de cúrcuma
1/2 taza de hojas de cilantro, picadas
225 g. (1/2 libra) de queso mozzarella 

A "proper" Brazilian party

Ok, so I lied, two posts about Brazil in a week does not a Brazil week make. Note to future self: don't promise posts that depend on information that is not in your current possession, e.g. verifying recipe proportions, photos from places that aren't your house etc.

But I do have one more Brazil-centric post for now. And it's about parties, birthday parties specifically, and what makes a good one around here. A couple of weeks ago I went to a great birthday party-- lots of music, good food, and happy people-- but even at the time, the thought occurred to me that the party would not have been good under similar circumstances in the states. In fact, I am quite sure that arriving 5 hours late to a birthday party in someone's back patio for a cookout as a huge storm hits and during which the power goes out for hours would be a recipe for disaster in the states. Right? Your friend would be pissed for your lateness (or you would just miss the whole damn party), as soon as the storm hit people would head inside, and as soon as the electricity went out people would go home. But in Rio, the rain pours down, the power goes out, and nobody blinks. I was actually filming when the power went out (and we were already huddled under the roof on the patio).

The birthday guy is the guy dancing in a speedo-- he was dealing with the water running off the tarps rigged up to protect us from the rain and just gave up at being dry at some point. We stayed until late, bellies full of feijoada and beer and sickly sweet cake. And I don't think it even occurred to anyone that the party was a failure, because it wasn't. 

Prato Feito

Lunch is the main meal in Brazil, meaning that most people eat lunch out in the middle of their work day. Though buffet-type places that sell food by the kilo are probably the most common option these days (with wildly variable quality), many older pubs and hole-in-the-wall restaurants sell what is called a "prato feito", an extremely filling dish made up of a protein, rice, black beans, farofa and spaghetti. You know, real (and real caloric) food, made up of whatever was cheap at the market that day. Black beans and three kinds of starch? Count me in. I will choose a prato feito over a "kilo" restaurant almost any day of the week.



While the prato feito at some places can be kind of a mess on a plate, I recently stumbled upon a really quality one, among the old crumbling buildings and restored façades that line the Avenida Mem de Sá in Lapa. Nicely stewed frango com quiabo (chicken with okra) and in this case, mashed potatoes instead of the typical spaghetti, all for 7 reais (~$3.50). If you order a glass bottle of off-brand guarana soda to share (one of the only sodas in the world I actually like, and no I can't tell the difference between brands), two people can eat an enormous lunch for 16 reais, possibly with leftovers, not bad in a wildly overpriced city where it can be hard to find meal for under 20 reais for one person. And Lapa during the day is charming/gross/pretty all at once, its restaurants somehow always occupied by older men idly drinking beer at noon. It'd be a shame not to pass by every now and again.

Carinhos Brasileiros

I spent the beginning of last week in Búzios, a coastal resort town a couple of hours east of Rio. It was low season and the beaches were so clean the sand squeaked under our feet and the water was smooth like glass. 

I need to get out of Rio more. And I need to get out of the Latino ghetto in Rio, which I've actually been doing more of the last couple of weeks. You know, samba and feijoada instead of arepas, mate and salsa. It's not for nothing that my Portuguese is crap, though I do like Portuguese the Language, and Brazilian food, and Brazilian music, for that matter (as long as it's not pagode or funk, but I feel like that should go without saying...)



Yesterday we were at an all day feijoada for a friend's birthday, and after everyone had tired of eating and drinking and playing music, the jokes and stories started. One guy told a story about his young kid's linguistic confusion that I loved in part because it could only happen in Portuguese. In English, we don't use an auxiliar to ask someone for something (we don't say, ask TO your mom if you can go to the park), but in Portuguese "para" is used both to say "pergunta para ele" (ask him) and "pede para ele" (ask FOR him). So the guy explains that he's at a family event and his kid spills something on himself, so he tells the kid (let's call the kid Mikey): 
Mikey, vá pedir um guardanapo para você. (Mikey, go ask for a napkin for you.)
Para quem? (Ask who?/For who?)
Para você! (You!/For you!)
The kid, beginning to look distressed, Para quem? 
Para você, peça um guardanapo para você! (For you, go ask for a napkin for you!)
So the poor kid, looking really confused, asks himself out loud, Mikey, me da um guardanapo? (Mikey, can you give me a napkin?)



When we finally left the party at 2 in the morning, we ran into a large group of very drunk people coming out of a roda de samba. A friend walking with us had his guitar on his back, prompting the drunk crowd to chant "Play Pixinguinha!" (a famous Brazilian composer whose birthday is tomorrow) repeatedly until they took it upon themselves to start singing "Carinhoso" ("Affectionate"), complete with harmony and rhythm provided by some random percussion instruments they happened to be carrying with them (it's Brazil, I don't ask questions). 

But I have been thinking that I should post more Brazil-related stuff on this blog, given that I do live here and all (and given that I have a folder full of half-finished posts on the subject), so that's the plan for this week, for real. All Brazil, all week long, it's going to be incrível.

Kreplach: Not just for Klingons

Though I have loved matzo ball soup since forever (and ever), I had never had kreplach, the Other Eastern European Jewish Dumpling, until quite recently. Now, although I wouldn't consider kreplach categorically better than matzo balls, I may or may not know others, unbiased by childhood memories of copper cauldrons brimming with matzo ball soup, who strongly prefer kreplach in their soup if given the choice. If you, like me, didn't grow up with kreplach and were assuming all this time that they were Klingon food, allow me to illuminate you: kreplach are like Chinese ravioli-dumplings, but they taste unequivocally Ashkenzic Jew-y due to the chicken, parsley and onion-y flavorings present. I like them in soup, but you can also eat them on their own after being fried or boiled (the kreplach, not you). And kreplach can actually be filled with all kinds of things (beef, cheese, etc) and are kind of fun to make; pinching their sides together reminds me of making hamantaschen, except for that I'm not tempted to lick my fingers when the filling gets on them because it's raw chicken parts. Delicious.

Ok, but in all seriousness, once cooked, kreplach are very tasty little dumplings. I screwed around with a couple of recipes, South Americanizing them a bit-- using the white and green parts of scallions instead of shallots and chives, and generally being amused that the original recipe authors think I have a food processor at my disposal. I also experimented with passing the dough through a pasta roller (yes, I have a pasta roller but no food processor, sue me), which turns out a nicer, more uniform dough than using a rolling pin empty cachaça bottle but is kind of a pain because the dough is wetter than your typical pasta dough and likes to break when forced through a pasta roller. I'm told you can also just use wonton wrappers, and if I had ready access to them I might, though I would imagine you would get a drier, less ravioli-like kreplach using them. 



yISop! Es gezunterheyt! 

Kreplach
     adapted from The Mile End Cookbook and Michael Ruhlman

For the filling:
1/2 Tbsp. vegetable oil
2 Tbsp. chopped shallots/scallion whites
1/2 lb. raw boneless chicken meat
1/4 lb. chicken skin and fat
2 chicken livers (optional-- I've made the without also and might prefer it that way)
2 garlic cloves, minced
1/4 c. chopped chives/scallion greens
1 1/4 tsp. kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper

For the dough:
1 c. flour
1 egg
2 Tbsp. water
pinch salt

First, make the dough: Place the flour in a large bowl, and make a hole in the middle of the flour, adding the eggs, water and salt. Use a fork to whisk the water and eggs together, then slowly bring in the flour from the sides until you've incorporated all the flour. Knead a bit until you have a smooth, homogenous dough. Cover the dough with plastic and let it rest while you make the filling. 

Saute shallots/scallion whites in vegetable oil until translucent. Pulse chicken meat, skin/fat, livers, garlic, chives/scallion greens, salt and pepper very briefly in a food processor just until roughly chopped and combined, then stir in the cooked shallots/scallion whites. If you don't have a food processor, use a sharp knife (or a mezzaluna would probably work great) to finely chop the meat, livers and skin/fat. The last time I made these I froze the skin/fat and found it much easier to chop frozen. Stir together the chopped chicken with the rest of the filling ingredients. (I've over-processed the filling before, and personally I strongly prefer a slightly chunky filling over a homogenous one, which is why I haven't try doing this in the blender, not that you would ever consider doing that.)

Roll out the dough quite thinly, less than 1/8 in., and use a sharp knife or pizza cutter to cut out 3 in. x 3 in. squares. Place a dollop of filling in the center of each square, then pinch the sides to seal. You can do a four-cornered pinch like me, or you can just fold them over diagonally, corner to corner, to get triangle ones. You can also use a bit of water or beaten egg to help seal the edges if they don't want to stick together, but I haven't found this necessary (if you were to use wonton wrappers, this will definitely be necessary).

Drop the kreplach into simmering soup (or boiling water) and cook until they float up to the surface, like ravioli.