Tuesday, January 10, 2017

Citrus Ginger Tofu Salad with Buckwheat Soba Noodles

I recently read a great article by Chrys Napolitano about rising to the challenge of staying locavore during the winter months.  Recognizing urban local winter eating as neither easy nor haphazard, she relayed a few simple rules in Edible Bronx for practicing the sustainable philosophy.

First and foremost, plan ahead. Her article was riddled with tips for freezing, pickling, and dehydrating late autumn produce. As we’ve clearly missed the boat on this one, I’ll relay two principles that stuck with me and are actionable right now.  First, know what’s in season. For New Yorkers, cabbage, cauliflower, root vegetables, winter squash, dried beans, apples, pears, arugula, baby spinach, and baby kale are produced steadily throughout the winter. Did you know that just shy of two dozen GrowNYC Greenmarkets are open year-round?
Second, accept that compromise is ok. Certain produce, such as citrus, avocados, nuts, and olives, will never be local in the tri-state area. “Don’t sweat it!” Chrys emphasizes.  Noted, and the perfect segue into this Citrus Ginger Tofu Salad with Buckwheat Soba Noodles recipe.
Starting with local kale, carrots, and cabbage, this salad boasts an A+ on the nutrient and crunch scale; broccoli florets contributing to the attractive texture/nutrition profile, too.  Add delightfully smooth, earthy soba noodles and crisp tofu squares— enveloped in an Asian citrus dressing that hits every flavor nuance imaginable—and this salad is simply sensational. The marinade for the tofu consists of orange juice, soy sauce, sesame oil, ginger, garlic, maple syrup and cayenne and is repurposed for the salad's dressing; perked up with added citrus and acidity through lime, rice wine vinegar, and extra orange juice. Garnished with basil, cilantro, and sesame seeds, the salad is sprightly and animated; a triple-the-recipe dish for sure.
I’ve made this salad a few times, once substituting chicken breast for tofu, which works just as well. I definitely recommend doubling or tripling the marinade/dressing, as if you are like me— using the entire bunch of kale and whole head of cabbage because it's there, that is—your salad will be underdressed.  A quick note: 100% buckwheat soba noodles (which make this recipe gluten-free, in addition to using tamari instead of soy sauce) are expensive, about $8.99 a package. However, combination buckwheat and regular wheat noodles run at a much more reasonable price point, comparable to regular spaghetti.
So while native citrus will always be a no-go in the Empire State, you can reduce food miles by aiming for domestic citrus rather than that grown in South America. Florida is in citrus season right now.  We’re just in cold and flu season, so I’m thinking it’s definitely a good time to get a healthy dose of that vitamin C.  Plus, simply being locally mindful—even if you’re not practicing with diligence—counts for something, for sure. 

Citrus Ginger Tofu Salad with Buckwheat Soba Noodles (from Food52)
Serves 4

For the Tofu & Marinade:
1/8 cup orange juice
1/8 cup tamari or soy sauce
1/8 cup toasted sesame oil
1/8 cup extra virgin olive oil
1 tsp finely grated ginger
1 clove garlic
2 tsp maple syrup
¼ tsp cayenne pepper
1 package extra firm tofu

For the Salad:
Leftover marinade
Zest of 1 lime
Juice of ½ lime
1/8 cup orange juice
3 Tbsp seasoned rice vinegar
Sea salt to taste
½ package Eden Buckwheat Soba Noodles
1 stalk broccoli, florets only
1 large carrot, peeled and cut into matchsticks
1½ cup lacinato kale, de-ribbed* and cut into ribbons
½ cup green cabbage, shredded
1/3 cup cilantro, chopped
8 basil leaves, chopped
1 Tbsp sesame seeds, toasted

Optional garnish: chopped roasted peanuts

1. Preparing the Tofu + Marinade: Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. In a bowl mix together orange juice, tamari, sesame oil, olive oil, ginger, garlic, maple syrup, and cayenne and set aside. Cut the tofu into 1-inch cubes and place into a small baking pan without overlapping. Pour the marinade over the tofu. Put the tofu into the oven and bake for 15 minutes, stir, and bake for 15 minutes more until browned. With a slotted spoon, scoop out the tofu and place onto a plate and allow to cool. Pour the remaining marinade into a bowl and set aside.

2. Preparing the Thai citrus vinaigrette: Add the lime zest and juice to the remaining marinade. Continue to add the orange juice, rice vinegar, and sea salt to taste. Set aside.

3. Preparing the salad: Cook the soba noodles as described on the package, rinse with cold water and set aside. Meanwhile, bring a small pot of water to a boil, and blanch the broccoli florets for 30 seconds. Immediately strain the florets and rinse with cold water. Put the noodles, blanched broccoli florets, carrot, kale, cabbage, cilantro, basil, and sesame seeds into a large bowl and toss. Dress the salad with the Thai citrus vinaigrette.

4. Serve the salad topped with baked tofu and garnished with sesame seeds (and peanuts, if desired).

*Optional. De-ribbing kale takes so long, and in my book, no one notices the absence of said ribs except yourself. Skip if you're crunched for time.  

Monday, December 19, 2016

Hearty Beef and Rutabaga Stew

The selection of produce at the farmers market drastically scales back as we plunge into the onset of winter, like a “last vegetable standing” survivalist showdown. What remains are the the gnarly subterranean dwellers; parsnips, turnips, beets, daikon, potatoes, onions to name a few. With their knobby torsos and listless dirt-covered exteriors, these vegetables look like the aftermath of a catastrophe—a paltry display huddled under a few lonely tents, their dismalness echoed by the fleeting bundled passerbys hurrying through the cold and wind towards their final destinations. Note how we don’t pick up a parsnip, caressing it lovingly with our hands like we might an heirloom tomato or summer peach. No, we spend a split second weighing the necessity of the parsnip versus the consequence of taking off our gloves, and if the former triumphs, plunder it into our bags before sprinting back off into the frigidness.

But how appearances do deceive, because these below ground tuberous, taproots and bulbs are truly the pearls of produce come wintertime. A quick scrub to remove that matted dirt, maybe a peel? and 40 minutes later—diced, roasted, with nothing more than a dash of olive oil, salt and pepper—these vegetables become regal.  Warm jewel tones of gold, bronze, and deep eggplant simply glow, vibrant with their brown caramelized corners. And the taste! I marvel at the complexity of these vegetables, sweet as sugar with an earthiness—a heartiness—that keeps them in check. They have substance, thanks to the cooked-through starch embodying an almost burly, toothsome quality. I could eat this preparation for days on end, constantly enthralled by the luxuriousness of such trivial ingredients, before ever finding it tiresome.
And to think that what I described is the root vegetable’s most basic preparation, the lowest recipe on the totem pole. Imagine the possibilities with a little spice, a little herb. Imagine the opposite of the first scene I described, and instead, the kitchen that all those bundled people were running to, the warm glow of the heat, the light, the coziness of being inside on a freezing day. Imagine on their dinner table, a heaping bowl of Hearty Beef and Rutabaga Stew.
One of the most gnarled of all the root vegetables, the rutabaga is round and squat with an ombre exterior that fades from purple to cream. Its preparation is identical to that of a turnip, but upon cooking, it tastes much sweeter, like an extremely rich yellow potato. That being said, if you cannot find rutabaga, turnips are a perfectly acceptable alternative for this recipe. I actually used both.  This recipe confines its taproots to carrots and rutabaga, but feel free to add other types such as kohlrabi, celeriac root, and parsnips, too.
In my book, the hallmark of a successful stew recipe is one that fulfills its duty of being hearty, robust, and satisfying without also being excessively fatty or rich. To garner flavor, this stew relies on a plethora of Middle Eastern spices and other basic pantry items, like tomato paste and red wine, for acidity. I substituted vegetable broth for the beef broth, which also contributed to the lighter feel.
Initially, I felt like the stew was missing some acidity, and tried to compensate with extra tomato paste and wine. By the next day though, I realized the flavors just need some time to sit, and a simple swirl of red wine vinegar before serving would do the trick. (If you like tomato-based stews though, I do suggest doubling the paste).  Taste-testing is key to this recipe, depending on your preferences regarding salt, acidity, and herbs (I added dried thyme, too, which I highly recommend). If you can, make this stew a day ahead for optimal flavor fusing. 

I served this stew over a bed of barley, and it hit the spot completely, getting better every single day as the flavors continued to meld. Now, instead of mourning the end of the harvest season, rendering obsolete some of Fall’s greatest hits, I relish the thought of exploring the culinary offerings of these versatile roots in the upcoming months.

Hearty Beef and Rutabaga Stew (slightly tweaked from Dishing up the Dirt)
 Serves 4

1 lb sirloin or strip steak, trimmed and cut into 1-inch cubes (preferably grass-fed)
½ tsp salt, divided
½ tsp ground pepper
2 Tbsp olive oil, divided
1 lb rutabaga, peeled and cut into ½-inch cubes
3-4 medium sized carrots, cut into ½-inch cubes
1 medium yellow onion, chopped
3 cloves of garlic, chopped
2 -4 Tbsp tomato paste (use the higher quantity if you prefer an overt tomato flavor)
1 tsp paprika
¾ tsp ground cinnamon
½ tsp ground turmeric
½ tsp ground coriander
1/8 tsp cayenne pepper
¾ tsp fresh thyme (optional)
2 Tbsp all-purpose flour
½ cup red wine
3 cups low-sodium beef or vegetable broth
minced parsley for serving
dash of red wine vinegar for serving
Pearled barley, farro, or crusty thick bread to accompany

1. Sprinkle steak with ¼ tsp salt and pepper. Heat 1 Tbsp oil in a large dutch oven or saucepan over medium heat. Add the steak and cook, stirring frequently, until no longer pink on the outside, about 4 minutes. Transfer the steak to a plate.
2. Add the remaining 1 Tbsp oil to the pan over medium heat. Add rutabaga,
carrots, onion, garlic, tomato paste, paprika, cinnamon, turmeric, coriander, cayenne, thyme,
and remaining ¼ tsp salt. Cook, stirring occasionally until the onion begins to soften and the mixture is fragrant, about 5 minutes.
3. Add the flour and cook, stirring, for 1 minute more. Add the red wine and continue to cook, stirring to break up any bits that have stuck to the bottom of the pan. Add the broth and bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the rutabaga and carrots are
tender, 10-12 minutes.
4. Add the steak and any accumulated juices to the pan. Reduce the heat to medium
and cook the steak through, about 2 minutes longer.

5. Before serving, taste soup and adjust seasonings to taste. Divide the stew between bowls (over barley/farro, or with bread) and top with a swirl of red wine vinegar and plenty of chopped parsley.

Tuesday, December 6, 2016

Best Ever Chicken Noodle Soup

Despite having a blog with a yiddish appellation, it took this Jew two months shy of 29 years to accomplish two cooking staples of the chosen people. First, make chicken stock from scratch, and second, use schmaltz to form matzo balls. Sacrilege! You and my grandmothers cry. The truth is, I was scared of the process. The rudimentary details seemed daunting to me. Buying a whole chicken. Dissembling that whole chicken. Separating the chicken fat. Utilizing the chicken fat.  As the daughter of a nutritionist and sister of a lifelong vegetarian, I can't say I have a lot of meat-handling under my belt. As far as cooking fats go, mine usually pours smoothly out of glass bottle with the words "extra virgin" etched in front.

The funny thing is, its those very details that make stock-making so darn easy. First and foremost, your butcher (that includes guys behind the meat counter at Whole Foods) can chop up that chicken for you.  Mine even separated the edible parts from the stock-only parts, and wrapped up the liver (shudder), isolated from everything else. That being said, I did find the process of using (almost) the whole animal primitively satisfying; and the whole no-part-goes-to-waste concept is undoubtedly sustainable. Price-wise too, you get such better bang for your buck with the full bird.

If the idea of chopping onions, carrots, celery, and herbs to flavor your stock—and then repeating the process all over again for an actual soup—sounds like too much work, here's a newsflash: The first part doesn't exist. When you make stock, you throw in everything whole. Onions in the skin? Yes. Carrots unpeeled? Si señor.

Also, there is no work! You throw all this stuff in a pot and let it simmer for two hours. Only two! Then, at the end, you have a fantastic, from scratch, aromatic broth—along with the most tender, moist, fall-off-the-bone chicken you could ever imagine. It's a total win win situation. I have already become a total broth-from-scratch convert. And, like a good Jewish girl, stored my schmaltz in the freezer for next occasion's matzo ball making. Now, Grandmas are proud.

So what's the secret to why this chicken noodle soup is the "best ever"? It's not a secret, but rather a formula; one of those foods where the homemade, from-scratch version is truly better. If your stock/broth is not from a box, it too can be the best chicken soup ever. Also, this recipe is from Joan Nathan, rebbe of Jewish cooking.  She pairs her stock with a kick-ass matzo ball recipe, but for the purposes of this post, let's stick to classic chicken noodle soup.  It's cold, pitch black out by 4:30pm, 80% of the people you know have a cold—all things begging for a batch of body and soul warming via bowl.

Best Ever Chicken Noodle Soup (from Joan Nathan via Food52)
Serves 6

1 whole chicken (about 4 pounds)
3 large onions (2 for stock, 1 for soup)
6 parsnips (4 for stock, 2 for soup)
5 stalks celery (2 for stock, 3 for soup)
10 carrots (6 for stock, 4 for soup)
6 Tbsp chopped fresh parsley (optional, I didn’t use)
6 Tbsp snipped dill, divided
6 oz spaghetti or fusilli
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 tsp salt
¼ tsp coarse ground black pepper
2 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil (EVOO)
Thick, crusty bread for serving; like sourdough

1. Put the chicken and enough water to cover by two inches (about 4 quarts) in a large pot and bring the water to a boil. Skim off the froth as it rises to the top.

2. Add 2 onions (whole and unpeeled), 4 parsnips (unpeeled), 2 stalks celery, 6 carrots (unpeeled), parsley (if using), 4 tablespoons of the dill, and the salt and pepper. Half-cover and simmer for at least an hour and up to 2 hours, adjusting the seasoning to taste.

3. Refrigerate for 2 to 3 hours or overnight so the liquid solidifies. When the fat rises to the top, skim it off (reserve if making matzo balls).

4. Strain the soup. Set aside the chicken and discard the vegetables.  Remove skin from chicken and shred meat into pieces with your hands (because the chicken is so soft, this should be really easy). Discard the bones and any pieces too gizzardy to eat.

5. Transfer stock to another pot or bowl. In your now-empty pot, heat EVOO over medium heat. Peel and dice the remaining onion, add it to pot along with the garlic. Cook for 5 minutes, stirring frequently, until garlic is fragrant and onions start to become translucent.

6. Peel and chop remaining carrots and parsnips. Chop celery. Add to the pot. Sprinkle with ample salt and pepper. Cook for 7 more minutes, stirring frequently, until vegetables soften.

7. Pour chicken stock into pot. Bring to a boil. Add shredded chicken and pasta. Reduce heat to a simmer and cook per pasta package directions, stirring pasta frequently. Just before serving, add the remaining snipped dill (I used closer to 3-4 Tbsp here because I happen to love dill). If needed, add more salt and/or pepper before serving. Accompany with a large slice of toasted bread.