Potluck Challenge

I have a love and hate relationship with potlucks.

I enjoy the element of surprise when you arrive at a party and find an eclectic spread of dishes that are likely foreign to you. It's also a rare opportunity for me to cook in larger volumes than usual -- it gives me an excuse to make grand dishes like a whole roast or a deep-dish pie.

However, catering to the dietary needs or preferences of a group of people is extremely limiting. A lot of potluck standbys like casseroles, stews, and lasagna typically involve meat and/or dairy. Trying to go vegan in order to satisfy the vegetarians and severely lactose intolerant individuals isn't always enough. Nuts are often found in vegan recipes as a source of protein, but nut allergies are unpredictable and scary to someone like me who eats them with abandon. Gluten intolerance forces the exclusion of various grains. The caveats are endless.

There's also the problem of portability and temperature. Stews are great one-pot recipes, but they're a bitch to carry, especially via public transit. Dishes like pie and lasagna need to be carried horizontally in front of you; you can't just throw it in a backpack or sling it over your shoulder. Try balancing a tray of food on a crowded bus filled with pushy jerks and over-sized bags jabbing into your backside. If it's piping hot when you finish making it, you have to factor in the cool-down time before you can take it to go, and figure out how to reheat it once you get to the party. If it needs to stay chilled, you have to put it in a cooler and make sure there's a fridge/freezer at your destination.

Which is why I was relieved to find a recipe for "Lemony Chickpea Stir-fry" at 101 Cookbooks. I don't anticipate any objections from the people at the potluck regarding any of the ingredients. I had trouble finding kale this weekend so I used some kai-lan instead. It's an appropriate substitution given that kai-lan is also known as Chinese kale. It would have been nice to use two colors of zucchini like the recipe author did, but unfortunately, the yellow variety was unavailable. I was short on shallots so I supplemented it with some green onion. The chickpeas were soaked in water and rinsed thoroughly to cut down on their fart factor. Here's hoping that the dish will be welcomed at the potluck.

Easy Lemon Daikon

I'm one of those people who likes fresh, raw radishes of every kind. Some find the peppery taste too overpowering, which is understandable. That's why I've been messing around with cooked radishes.

Sometimes I will boil radishes (and other root vegetables) in a soup or broth. But the weather in Canada is finally starting to warm up and the idea of slurping a steaming bowl of soup is about as appealing now as wearing a parka in a Bikram Yoga class.

So I simply cut my fresh daikon crosswise into rounds and seared them on a pan of well-heated sesame oil until browned. The rounds were quartered. A sprinkling of freshly squeezed lemon juice (yuzu would have been ideal), fleur de sel, ground pepper, and chopped green onions finished the side dish. It was delicious with a bowl of jasmine rice.

Frying or roasting has a way of sweetening root vegetables as well as softening them. I like how the daikon rounds browned, creating a wheel-like pattern that nicely contrasts the soft, white interior. The citrus gives it a teeny shot of vibrancy. I was thinking of rolling the rounds in cornmeal next time to increase the exterior crunch.

The Physiology of Taste

"The pleasures of the table belong to all times and all ages, to every country and every day; they go hand in hand with all our other pleasures, outlast them, and remain to console us for their loss."

Not long ago, my father sent me the 1970 English translation of Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin's "The Physiology of Taste". He had been rooting through some of the older books in his formidable library and stumbled across a Japanese edition of the same book. Aware of my cookbook project, he figured that I might be interested in reading it too.

Indeed I am. My reading progress has been slow -- at work, I read hundreds of pages of technical and business documents every week, which disinclines me to read outside the office -- but the book has delighted me from page one. [Note: a free eBook edition of the first English translation in 1854 by Fayette Robinson is available here.]

"Tell me what you eat: I will tell you what you are."

Brillat-Savarin's tome on gastronomy was published just two months before his death in 1826, but it has had a lasting influence to this day. It is a unique, sometimes cheeky collection of essays, anecdotes, recipes, scientific observations and history lessons that all relate to the pleasures of good food and dining. I think if Brillat-Savarin were alive today, he would have taken to blogging like fish to water.

There are random chapters about the physiology of the tongue and olfactory system (this, being written in a time when people still had their tongues cut off as punishment in certain parts of the world, presents some interesting observations about the sense of taste), the linguistic limitations of describing smells and flavors, the correct way of frying foods in oil, how to make perfect bouillon, the relatively recent introduction of turkey to the European diet (brought over from the New World to the Old), the erotic properties of truffles, experiments on making great coffee and the author's abrupt decision to abstain from the beverage after a long night of insomnia, the effects of chocolate on women, and so on.

One point comes through loud and clear through all his random musings: Brillat-Savarin loved food. He had an intimate knowledge of cooking, which was then considered a chore of the lower classes. He understood that peasant food was fresh, hearty, and deeply comforting, having spent less time traveling from kitchen to table than the meals of the upper class. He revered those who had honed their culinary craft to an art and enjoyed the company of those who were able to appreciate everything from the aromas of chocolate to the texture of a perfectly cooked quail. It was his assertion that anybody who claimed to dislike a certain food was a person who never had it prepared properly, or was not born a gourmand.

Speaking of gastronomy, Brillat-Savarin wrote: "For what could be refused to her who supports us from the cradle to the grave, who lends new delights to love, strengthens the bonds of friendship, disarms hatred, facilitates the conduct of affairs, and offers us, during our brief span of life, the only pleasure which, having no aftermath of weariness, remains to refresh us after all the rest?" That's my kind of guy.

Street Gourmand

The people of LA -- you are lucky, lucky bastards. For a long time now I've been reading about Kogi, the fusion cuisine on wheels that has taken the city by storm. Its founder Mark Manguera and chef Roy Choi have blended the best of Mexican and Korean food (I dare you to go look at their Korean Short Rib Tacos or Kogi Kabezza without drooling) and serve it up as street eats. That alone is a tasty idea, but in a stroke of marketing brilliance, they chose to use online technology (Twitter) to let people know where their two trucks -- Roja and Verde -- are parked on a given night. The "Where's Waldo" elusiveness combined with exceptional cooking and social networking has made Kogi a local phenomenon.



Chef Roy is open to experimentation, it seems, much to the delight of Angelenos. Take a look at his Specials. His Pork Belly with Lychee makes me crazy with hunger and yearning. The Venice Beach Vegan Black Sesame Seed Jelly Special was Roy's response to a vegan challenge -- it uses fermented soybeans which many of you know I adore. And as if to taunt my love for good molé sauce, Kogi served up the Spicy Korean Chicken Molé Special last winter. Fuels the imagination, doesn't it?

I would love to do something like this in Toronto if I had the resources or capability. Perchance to dream...

Foodie Friends

If the company you keep says a lot about you, then I sure hope my friend who goes by the handle Wordsmith on Open Salon is a good reflection of me. She's amazing at everything that I can only dream of doing marginally well. As far as food is concerned, she has a refined palate, she cooks brilliantly, and surpasses most of the foodies in my circle in that she has also been a restauranteur.

So it came as no surprise that her recent blog entry featured a dessert recipe that made my mouth water. Just imagine the smells and flavors of her Apple-Berry Cobbler as it comes out of the oven...

Lady Biscotti

I have some Italian friends, all of whom can make excellent, authentic biscotti that would have made their Roman forebears very proud. So I mean no offense to them when I say that the best biscotti I have ever had is made by a Serbian-Australian -- my good friend Lynn.

These are her signature cookies, and I literally dream about them, which says a lot because I don't really ever crave cookies. Even the crumbs are great -- for sprinkling on yogurt or fruit -- and she humors my request to save all the cookie crumbs left on her baking sheets after she has stored away the latest batch of biscotti.

The sliver of chocolate/cocoa in the middle, the crushed pistachio nuts, and the crumbly texture are a perfect complement to a freshly brewed cup of coffee. I am currently rationing the latest stack that I was given, even though the temptation to scarf them down is overwhelming.

"Lady Biscotti" is the handle Lynn was given by a friend of hers, who left an improvised ditty on her answering machine one day, singing the virtues of her very special cookie. If you had one, you'll understand.