Cooking Local: Beautiful Beet Salad

Seasonal farmers’ markets are something of a novelty for me. I’ve been to permanent markets in Montreal, where farmers sell some of their produce, but they just aren’t the same as the lovely little Redmond Saturday Market that I can walk to from my apartment. Redmond’s farmers’ market runs every Saturday from May through October, and seems to be different each week. There are some constants: the quiet farmer right at the entrance whose produce is all organic, though he no longer carries the USDA organic certification, because he “doesn’t need to pay the government to tell (him) something (he) already knows,” the various food vendors, like the crepe stand, the tamale stand, and the Hawaiian ice stand, the eggs and dairy stand where you can get chicken eggs that were gathered that very morning, and the farmer with long hair that runs all the way down his back, who always tells you what he’ll be selling the following week. What changes, though, is the produce on sale because, of course, as the season progresses, the crops that are ready for harvesting change. I try to go to the market without a plan in mind in terms of what I’ll buy: I purchase whatever inspires me and then I work with that.

Recently, what inspired me were a few items that came together in a salad I have made several times before. I don’t know when exactly this salad became popular, and I’m not entirely sure whether or not it’s still considered “in”, or if it has been demoted to passé status, but it is a favorite of mine. I helped to make it at a wine dinner at my school about a year ago, I’ve had it at Seattle’s amazing Crush restaurant, and I’ve seen it on the menu at several other establishments. I’ve also made versions of it at home, experimenting with slightly different ingredients each time.

The salad in question is a beet salad, made with some kind of green, or often a combination of a few varieties, tossed with a vinaigrette, usually balsamic, and dotted with roasted beets, chèvre, and often some kind of nut, usually walnuts or hazelnuts.

This time, I made mine with farmers’ market spinach, and green beans that I blanched and shocked (dropped into boiling water for about 45 seconds, then immediately plunged into ice water to stop the cooking process), unfortunately not from the market …

… farmers’ market beets, which I roasted and quartered …

… and amazing chèvre (goat’s cheese) that I got at Pike Place Market. I had the opportunity to chat with the farmer who makes the cheese and I got to hear all about how his goats live their lives, which was very cool!

I tossed my spinach and green beans with homemade balsamic vinaigrette, then laid it out on my fancy-schmancy square white plate:

I roasted the beets by wrapping them in tin foil, then tossing them in the oven for 45 minutes. When they were tender, I let them cool for a few minutes, then removed the skin simply by rubbing them with a paper towel—trust me, it comes right off! When the beets cooled completely, I quartered them, and then placed them gently in the salad.

Next, I dotted the salad with some of that amazing chèvre, and drizzled it all one more time with the vinaigrette.

I didn’t use nuts this time, but when I do, my favorites are walnuts. I think this salad is visually stunning, and absolutely delicious. The combination of roasted beets and goat cheese is heavenly. Actually, if you’re not a big fan of beets, but you’re willing to try them again, I can’t think of a better way: this salad will please almost any palette.

I won’t give a proper recipe, because you should definitely try making a version of your own. Try different greens, different vinaigrettes, and different vegetables. Go to your local farmers’ market, and see what inspires you!

Copper River Salmon Gravlax

It’s Copper River salmon season! OK, if you’re not in or from the Pacific Northwest, that statement probably means nothing to you. If you had said it to me two years ago, I would have had no idea what you were talking about. I have now been living in Seattle since September of ’09, and I have learned, as everyone who lives here does, I believe, what Copper River salmon is and why it is such a big deal.

This is the salmon of—you guessed it—the Copper River in Alaska. The fish that swim in this river must battle a long, cold, and rough journey through it, resulting in salmon that is rich and more flavorful than any other salmon. Another reason for the craze for C.R. salmon is its brief season: it is only available from mid-May to mid-June, so there is always a scramble to get some while it lasts.

This year, I did get some. I bought myself a nice big fish and used it for several scrumptious and simple meals that Andrew and I enjoyed thoroughly. I say simple because when you have good ingredients like this salmon, you don’t need to do much with it: a basic sear and good seasonings makes for a memorable meal every time. I have a chipotle rub I like to make and use on salmon, sear it or grill it, and then serve it up with a dollop of chipotle crema. I also like salmon smeared with pesto, and then baked. To add a little variety to my salmon creations, and to make it last a little longer, I decided to use my last few pounds to make gravlax.

If you weren’t already aware of gravlax, allow me to be the first to introduce you to this delicious creation. It is salt-cured salmon that concentrates all the good flavor of salmon without cooking it and changing it from its beautiful raw state. As long as you use fresh salmon and follow the directions carefully, there is almost no risk of food borne illness, though, I must warn you, that risk always remains. It makes for a visually stunning and delicious appetizer.

Though it takes 48 hours to make gravlax, it is a very simple process, and requires little work on the part of the cook (can I say cook when there is actually no cooking involved?). The process basically consists of covering one fillet of salmon with dill, then a cure mix of salt, sugar, and cracked black pepper.

That fillet is then covered with another fillet, and then the whole thing is weighted down, put into the refrigerator, and then forgotten about for twelve hours.

After twelve hours, the salmon gets turned, and then it goes away again. The process is repeated until 48 hours has gone by when it is finally ready to eat. To serve, slice it thinly off the skin.

You can use gravlax pretty much any way you would use smoked salmon. It is delicious on bagels and cream cheese, or as an hors d’oeuvre, served on a toast round with crème fraiche. You can mix it up a little, and replace the toast round with a mini potato latke like I did here, or with a potato chip. You could use gravlax on a pizza covered with cream cheese, or in sushi.

Whatever you choose, this salmon is sure to look impressive, given its brilliant pink color, its glossy texture, and its delicate appearance when it is thinly sliced. It is perfect to make in the summer since no cooking is involved, and tastes fabulous with chilled cocktails enjoyed on a patio on a hot day!

Gravlax
Adapted from The Fannie Farmer Cookbook, p. 59

2 fresh salmon fillets (about 3 pounds), center cut and skin on
1 large bunch fresh dill
¼ cup coarse kosher salt
¼ cup granulated sugar
2 tablespoons crushed black peppercorns

Pat the salmon dry and remove any small bones. Place one fillet, skin side down, in a deep, flat-bottomed glass baking dish.

Spread the dill evenly over the fish. Combine the salt, sugar, and pepper, and sprinkle the mixture evenly over the dill. Cover with the other salmon fillet, skin side up, so that the two flesh sides face each other.

Place a piece of plastic wrap over the salmon, then put a dish over the salmon and weigh it down with heavy cans of food, or bricks, making sure the weight is evenly distributed. Refrigerate for 48 hours, turning the salmon over every 12 hours and basting with the marinade that accumulates, letting it flow between the fillets.

When the gravlax is finished, remove the fillets from the dish, separate the halves, and scrape off the dill and seasonings. Pat dry with paper towels. Refrigerate until served. To serve, place the fillets skin side down on a cutting board and thinly slice on the diagonal and off the skin.

Perfecting Potato Gnocchi

If you’re a home cook with a penchant for making different, possibly challenging, foods, there’s a good chance you have at least tried to make gnocchi before. You’ve heard people say “Making gnocchi is so easy!”, and, “You’ll have so much fun making your own gnocchi, you’ll never buy it premade again!” Bolstered by promises of the pleasure and simplicity of creating these little potato dumplings, you sought out a recipe from a book from your cookbook shelf, or maybe your favorite recipe website. You start out strong, cooking your potatoes, and lining up your ingredients. Things are still going all right when you mash your hot potatoes with flour and egg to create your gnocchi dough.

Here’s where you hit your first bump, though: the dough is not a dough at all, just a goopy, mushy lump that you can’t imagine will ever be gnocchi. Not to worry, though: just work a little more flour in, and let it absorb some of that excess moisture. Soon enough, you do have a dough-like mass that you can divide up and roll into long strands that you can cut into gnocchi. It isn’t as elementary as your recipe suggests, though: the dough doesn’t roll out easily—it breaks, and is uneven, creating gnocchi of every imaginable shape and size, other than, of course, the perfect little dumplings you desire. There is flour everywhere and all you can think is how certain you are that this will not come out as you had hoped, and how long this will take to clean up. When finally you have a sheet pan of gnocchi in various forms, you get a pot of water up to a boil, and then skeptically dump the little lumps in, hoping for a miracle.

Just as your recipe says, you wait for the gnocchi to rise to the surface of the water, and then remove them to a separate bowl. The first few come out looking all right, but then the gnocchi still in the pot, waiting to be removed, are beginning to disintegrate in the water. You frantically try to get them all out, but meanwhile, those first few are getting covered in the mush you’re pulling from the pot, and beginning to fall apart themselves as the heat from the rest of the gnocchi steams them. What you’re left with is a watery bowl of mashed potatoes, and the feeling that if you can’t make the apparently simple potato gnocchi, what kind of a cook are you?

I use the second person in the story above in the hopes that you, reader, can empathize with me since this is exactly what happened to me the first few times I tried to make gnocchi. After a few failed attempts, though, I started to realize what was causing me problems, and I have figured out a few tricks to make gnocchi that is, I daresay, enjoyable and straightforward to create.

I have provided a recipe below, but the truth is, making wonderful gnocchi is not about having the perfect recipe. Getting gnocchi right is about knowing the right techniques, the right tricks, if you want to call them that, to creating this Italian classic.

First: you will need to cook your potatoes, but do NOT boil them! Boiling adds even more moisture into to your already water-filled potatoes. Instead, bake the potatoes in their skins. They will lose moisture this way and concentrate the starches, which is what you need to hold your gnocchi together.

Next, get the consistency of your dough right, but don’t over-mix it. You do want a dough that is slightly moist, but not overly wet. I find it best to be conservative when adding flour, then continue to work in just enough to get your dough to the right consistency. Be careful about over-mixing, though: mixing develops gluten in the flour, toughening your gnocchi. You want gnocchi that is light and fluffy.

When rolling out the dough to cut the gnocchi, divide the dough into small portions and roll gently, exerting only the slightest amount of pressure to create long “snakes”. Try to cut them into evenly-shaped dumplings, but don’t worry too much about this. As long as they’re roughly the same size, they will cook evenly.

Finally, you need to get the cooking right. Get a large pot of salted water up to a rolling boil, and have a large bowl ready to the side. When the water is ready, add the gnocchi, being careful not to crowd the pot. If necessary, cook the gnocchi in batches. Now, as soon as the gnocchi rise to the surface of the water, remove them using a slotted spoon and place them in the bowl. It’s good to allow the gnocchi release some steam for a few seconds after they’ve been pulled from the water. After a moment, add them to your sauce, which you should have gently simmering on another burner. Once all the gnocchi has been added to your sauce, give it a toss and serve it up right away.

Now, a note on sauces: there are endless possibilities in terms of what sauce you can serve with gnocchi, but personally, I prefer something not too heavy. This time, I made a cream sauce with leeks and bacon, and it was good, but maybe even a little too rich. Gnocchi is fabulous with a braised meat sauce, as long as it isn’t too thick. Small, spring vegetables are also good, or try a fresh tomato-basil sauce.

Potato Gnocchi
Serves 4
1 ¼ lbs. russet potatoes, washed and dried
¾ cup flour
2 eggs
Salt and pepper, to taste

Preheat oven to 400 F. Poke a few holes in the potatoes to allow the steam to escape. Bake until tender, about 45 minutes. While potatoes are still warm, peel, then mash them, or pass them through a food mill or ricer.

Mix in ½ cup of the flour, eggs, salt, and pepper (this is best done while potatoes are still warm) until dough is formed. The dough should be wet, but not too sticky or gooey. Add more flour if necessary.

Roll the dough into two rolls, about 1 inch thick on a lightly floured surface; cut them into ¾ inch pieces. Place the pieces on a sheet pan, lightly dusted with flour.

Bring a large pot of salted water to a rolling boil. Add the gnocchi. As soon as they rise to the surface, remove them with a slotted spoon to a bowl on the side. Serve immediately with sauce.

The Best Risotto I've Ever Made

About two weeks ago, I made the best risotto ever. I wasn’t trying to do anything spectacular—the risotto was just a side dish—but it came out as the most scrumptious, homey, and flavorful risotto I’ve ever had. The rice still had a slight bite, and each grain could be separated, an important attribute to a proper risotto (no mushy rice!). It was also a little soupy, which is not so traditional, but it’s the way I prefer my risotto. By soupy, I mean there was a thin layer of starchy, thickened stock covering the bottom of each bowl, perfect for slurping up when the rice was gone. I could taste the richness of the stock, which paired beautifully with the distinctive flavor of the braised kale I folded in. I finished it with butter (this, also, is very traditional), lots of parmesan, and some freshly-ground black pepper. I think it changed my life. The question was, could I do it again?

A few nights ago, I tried to recreate this earth-shattering rice dish, mainly just by trying to remember exactly what I had done the first time, and repeating it. This, ladies and gentlemen, is why when you are cooking without a recipe, you should write what you are doing down as you’re doing it, or right after, if you ever want to make it again. That is what I should have done. Instead, Andrew and I ate our risotto with great enthusiasm, and then melted into globby piles of post-gobbling goo, causing me to completely neglect jotting down notes on what I had done. So when I attempted to do it again, I worked from memory. The first few ingredients were obvious: shallots and garlic.

When I make risotto, I typically start by chopping and mincing these up, and sweating them for a few minutes in oil. This is a great base for your risotto—the oil becomes infused with the shallot and garlic, so that when you then stir in your Arborio rice …

… it gets coated in a flavorful oil. After letting the rice to cook a little in the oil, I deglazed the pan with some white wine (I used a buttery chardonnay—its richness worked really well). Once that had been absorbed, it was time to start adding the stock. Now, I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: homemade stock is always better. However, the first time I made this risotto, I didn’t have any homemade stock, so I used store-bought, and, well, see the first paragraph for notes on how gosh-darned good it was. So, I used the same brand of stock the second time around, and it has become my new favorite store-bought stock. It’s called Kitchen Basics, and it comes in a yellow, modest looking carton:

It’s much darker and richer than other store stocks. I recommend it when you haven’t got any homemade. As to adding stock to your risotto, there are two schools of thought. The traditional way is to add hot stock to your rice, the idea being that adding cold or room temperature stock would mean having to cook the rice for longer, since it would take time for the stock to heat up enough to be absorbed, resulting in an overcooked final product. The second school of thought says that adding room temperature (note: not cold) stock works equally well, and saves the time, energy, and equipment necessary to heat the stock. I’m not sure who’s right, but I like to do things the traditional way, so I heat my stock. One day, I’ll have to conduct an experiment to see if it makes any difference! So I stirred in the stock one ladleful at a time (½ to ¾ cup).

Whenever I make risotto, I don’t stir it constantly, but I stay close and stir it often to ensure that the bottom doesn’t stick and burn and that the rice gets evenly distributed throughout the stock. When the stock has mostly been absorbed, I add another ladle of it. I continue to do this until the rice has softened, but is still al dente. Now, for this risotto, a little before this happens, I needed to deal with my kale.

I heart kale. It is yummy and incredibly, amazingly good for you. I washed, stemmed, and chopped a whole bunch of it. I brought my stock (there was only a little left in the pot at this point) up to a simmer, and then added the kale to it, letting it cook down into the stock.

Cooking it this way is amazing, because it gets cooked just the right amount, and any nutrients that escape the leaves in the cooking process turn up in the stock, so they aren’t lost. After about two minutes, I folded the kale into the risotto.

At this point, I tasted my rice again to see if it needed to be cooked more. It didn’t, so I just added a little more stock to get that soupy consistency, and removed the pot from the heat. To finish it, I folded in butter, parmesan, and black pepper. I served it in shallow bowls, and made sure that each bowl got a bit of that thick liquid at the bottom of it.

So, was it just as fabulous as the last time? Well, almost. It’s hard to remember exactly what I did before. Also, when I have a particularly memorable food experience, it is very difficult, usually impossible to recreate it: the memory will always seem better. That said, I did overcook the rice a little this time. The final result was a little mushy, and a little gummier than I would have liked. The problem was that the rice continued to cook after it had been taken off the heat since it absorbed a little more of the hot stock. The lesson: just as you take a steak off the grill just before it’s accurately cooked, take your risotto off the burner when it is just shy of al dente so that it will be perfectly cooked by the time you eat it.

Here’s the recipe—I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!

Risotto with Braised Kale
Two main course servings
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 medium shallot, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
¾ cup Arborio rice
½ cup white wine (chardonnay is good)
2 cups, or more good chicken stock, heated
1 bunch of curly kale, washed, middle stems removed, and chopped
2 tablespoons butter
½ cup, or more finely grated parmesan cheese
Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
Salt, to taste

Heat the olive oil in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Add the garlic and shallot, and sweat for about two minutes, until the shallot has softened. Add the rice, and stir to coat it completely in the oil. Cook for about a minute, until the germ is visible in the rice (you’ll be able to see a white spot in the center of the grain). Stir in the wine, and scape up anything sticking to the bottom of the pot.

Once the wine has been mostly absorbed, add one ½ cup ladle of the stock. Stir it frequently, ensuring that the bottom doesn’t stick and burn, and that the rice gets evenly distributed throughout the stock. When the stock has mostly been absorbed, add another ladle of it. Continue to do this until the rice is just shy of al dente.

Just before this happens, bring the remaining stock to a simmer in a medium pot. Add the kale to it, and let it cook down into the stock. Stir it for a minute or two, and then use tongs to add it to the risotto. Fold the kale into the risotto, distributing it evenly. Take the risotto off the heat and add one more ladle of stock (if you like it soupy).

Stir in the butter, parmesan, and salt and pepper to taste. Serve in shallow bowls, getting a nice layer of thick stock on the bottom of each bowl.

Let’s Hear it for the Local Butcher

Last time, I talked about my ever-evolving food philosophy. I spoke about how I’m trying to cut down on meat consumption and switch completely to organic and ethical meat sources. I said that I was buying my meat from Whole Foods and PCC, both of which offer organic meat options. Whole Foods, once a smaller organization, dedicated to local and sustainable foods, is now a huge corporation who uses their “green” focus to overcharge customers for products they are made to feel are morally superior to those from the Safeway down the road. By reading the labels on many of their products, indicating places of origin everywhere from California to Australia, they seem to be far less committed to local products than they once were. Now, this is not to say that Whole Foods is not a store worth going to: they do offer great variety and quality in many of their products, especially fish, meats, and cheeses, and if you know where to look, you can get some local and sustainable products. PCC Markets is much smaller than Whole Foods: they have a total of nine locations, all in the Seattle area. They are similar to Whole Foods in their focus on organics, but they seem to be a lot more dedicated to local products, and a better bet for meat that is local, organic, ethical, and sustainable.

Both of these options have their advantages, but neither can beat Bill the Butcher, the awesome butcher shop that just opened up two blocks away from my place. I’m not going to lie: I am ridiculously excited about this place. Their meat is all very local, organic, ethical, sustainable, and, just as important, of very high quality. I’ve been on the hunt for a place like this: a small, local shop where I can go in and talk to the (knowledgeable) butcher about what I’m buying. I’ve been in there three or four times since I’ve discovered it, and every time I’m greeted by an enthusiastic butcher who can’t wait to tell me about what they’ve got in this week, whether it be the exquisite grass-fed beef tenderloin on display, or the impressive wagyu rib steak that just came in.


Last time I went, the new excitement in the shop was the bag of morel mushrooms that just came in. When I say “just came in”, I don’t mean it came on a big refrigerated US Foods truck with a bunch of other produce from California, Mexico, and Chile. These morels arrived in the hands of a man who goes foraging for them in the nearby woods and the mountains and then goes around, selling them to local shops. The butcher, described him as quite a character.

  Now, can we just pause for a moment and appreciate the awesomeness of this? I went wandering in to my local butcher shop, thinking of buying some flank steak to serve while my mother-in-law was visiting, and maybe something else for the week ahead, and I left with (among other items) wild morel mushrooms. I want to emphasize how vastly different this experience is from anything that ever could happen in a large supermarket, and that includes Whole Foods and PCC Markets. I didn’t take these mushrooms out of a bin in the refrigerated area of the produce section, picking through dried, broken, and old-looking fungi to select the few edible ones. I didn’t toss a plastic-wrapped package of these mushrooms into a cart filled with every other category of food one could imagine. In fact, these mushrooms were not on display or in visible evidence anywhere in the shop. I only learned about them because I had a conversation with the butcher, and he told me about these morels that they had just gotten. The personal connection was necessary in order to even know that this treat was available, and I absolutely love that. It makes it so special, and this is no small triumph. I believe that food should be special, all the time, and I believe that we should have this personal of a connection to it. I believe in the importance of having the story behind where my food has come from. When you buy food from the big, national supermarket, you don’t get the stories behind what you are buying; at places like the local butcher shop, you do. Does the story make the food taste any better? I would argue that absolutely, yes, it does.

 So, along with my flank steak, I left the butcher shop with a few house-made Italian sausages (good enough, by the way, to make you swear off eating any sausages from the supermarket ever again), and a quarter pound of freshly gathered morel mushrooms. A quarter pound may not sound like much, and it isn’t, but (understandably), they were not cheap. The five mushrooms that made up this quantity cost twelve dollars, so I took great care to treat them gently and use them well.

 I sautéed them with the sausage, along with some blanched green beans, shallots, and garlic, tossed with whole wheat spaghetti and parmesan. It was a satisfying meal, perfect for the beginning of spring, made special by the knowledge of the story behind what I was eating.

Whole Wheat Spaghetti with Sausage and Morels
Serves 3-4
¼-½ lb. fresh morel mushrooms, or 1.5 oz. dried morel mushrooms, reconstituted in hot water and drained
½ lb. green beans, rinsed and trimmed
1 lb. Italian sausage, casings removed
1-2 tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil, if necessary
1 tbsp. butter
1 medium shallot, thinly sliced
2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
1 lb. whole wheat spaghetti
½ cup finely grated Parmesan cheese
Salt and pepper

If using fresh morels, soak them in a large bowl of cold water for 30 minutes to one hour to remove dirt and any critters in the caps. Do not skip this step! Remove mushrooms gently and dry well with several paper towels. When mushrooms are dry, slice them.

While the mushrooms soak, blanch and shock the green beans: bring a large pot of water to a boil. As it comes to a boil, fill a large bowl ¾ of the way with ice water. When the water boils, dump the green beans into it and boil them for 30 seconds to one minute, depending on how crisp you like your beans. Drain the beans and then immediately plunge them into the ice water. Leave them for about five minutes to cool completely, and then drain them again. Slice the beans on a bias, into halves or thirds. Set aside.

Cook the pasta in a large pot of boiling, salted water, and then drain. Meanwhile, heat a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the sausage and brown until cooked through, 8-10 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, remove the sausage to a separate dish and tent with foil to keep warm. Add olive oil to the hot pan or remove dripping as necessary to equal two tablespoons of fat in the pan. Add the butter and let it melt. Add the mushrooms and sauté until browned and softened, 4-5 minutes. Season generously with salt and pepper, remove from pan, and set aside.

Reduce heat to medium, and add olive oil, if necessary, to equal one tablespoon of fat in the pan. Add the shallots and sauté until beginning to soften, and then add the garlic. Sauté one minute, then add the green beans. Sauté another minute, then return the sausage and mushrooms to the pan. Stir to combine, and then add the cooked spaghetti to the pan. Toss for a couple of minutes until all ingredients are well combined and heated through. Remove skillet from heat, and stir in the Parmesan. Season to taste with salt and lots of freshly ground black pepper.

Why and How I Eat

All right, so the explanation of the title of this post might seem obvious: I eat because if I didn’t, I would starve, and I do it by placing food in my mouth, chewing, and swallowing. As you may have guessed, this is not what I mean. I want to talk a little about why I eat what I do, as well as why and how I try to be aware of what I’m consuming and take pleasure in having it. I’m not going to get into a lengthy discussion about the problems with the food industry in North America, or the problems with what and how people are eating in North America, because then this post would be much, much too long and I’m sure I would still have more to say on the subject. But I will say this: most of us are not thinking enough about what we’re eating, why we do, and whether or not we should. People are seeking convenience and economy, and dinner has become something we grab from a drive-through window and eat in the car, or throw in the microwave, and devour in front of the television. Meanwhile, the Big Food industry is destroying our planet and destroying our bodies. It is also abusing the animals that produce much of our food, and abusing the farmers who grow and raise our food. This state of affairs will not stand, but very little will change until there are some changes in policy when it comes to the sale and manufacturing of food (the subsidization of corn, for example, needs to end). It’s not all about policy, though, and the vast majority of us need to start making some changes to what we’re eating.

Where I’m getting my information: I’m constantly learning, and I learn from many different sources. I read a lot. I read food blogs and magazines on a daily basis, and I read food-related books regularly, many of which are about food ethics and sustainability. Right now, I’m about a quarter of the way through Michael Pollan’s The Omnivore’s Dilemma, and it’s fantastic. So far, I was more or less already aware of most of the stuff he’s talking about, but he goes into more depth than I’d seen before, so I’m learning a lot. I’m also in culinary school, so discussions with classmates and chefs about food ethics and sustainability is a common thing in my day-to-day life. The more I find out about this stuff, the more I want to learn, the more I want to change my own habits, and the more I want to inform others, and change the world. Honestly, get me started, and I could talk about this stuff all day, which I’m trying very hard not to do in this post.

What I’m eating: My diet, for lack of a better word, is constantly changing and evolving. Lately, it’s been changing more quickly than it had in the past, mainly because I’m learning more about food than ever before. This includes what I learn in culinary school, so culinary fundamentals, techniques, theory, and so on, as well as what I’m learning from the reading described above.

So what exactly are these changes? I’ve started to cut out processed food almost completely (and by processed food, I basically mean anything with more than three ingredients), buying mostly whole foods and making everything I can from scratch. Also, no more fast food. I’m eating a lot more organic foods, but not all. There are some limits to what I believe is worth the extra cost for organic, what I trust as what I believe organic means, rather than the USDA’s definition, but that merits a whole other discussion. I have started buying mostly organic dairy products, though. I’m trying to eat as locally as possible, and if that means no tomatoes in December, then so be it! The biggest change I’ve made is with my meat consumption: it’s gone way, way down. I used to eat meat about five to six days per week. Now, I eat it about two times per week. I’ve also changed the quality of meat I eat: I’m buying only organic and humanely-raised meat (I’m lucky enough to live near a Whole Foods and a PCC Natural Market that allow me to do this), and again, local as much as possible. Also, when I do eat meat, I make the portion sizes much smaller than I used to. The reduction of my meat consumption allows for an increase in fruits and vegetables (I’ve been loving the leafy greens lately), whole grains, and legumes.

These changes happened about as organically as they could: I didn’t wake up one morning and decide to start eating this way. I’ve learned little by little, so I’ve made changes little by little. I sought out more vegetarian recipes, and so I cooked more vegetarian meals. I barely even thought about how much less meat I was eating until after the change had been made. I started trying out different grains and legumes, and now many are regular staples in my pantry. I discovered that if I was eating less meat, I could afford to pay more for local, organic, and humane, and the more I read about it, the more I realized that this was a necessary change if I was going to continue to eat meat at all. I read more labels, and think more before tossing something into my shopping cart. It was easier than I expected to make these changes, and gradually, I know that even more changes will be made.

How I eat: I’m trying to take my time more when I eat. I’m also trying to think more before I put something into my mouth. I’m trying to think about how fortunate I am to have access and to be able to afford more than enough food to sustain me, and this affects the quantity and quality of what I do eat. I try to remind myself that the reason I am eating is to sustain myself, and that eating too much will, in one way or another, hurt me, and also probably hurt others. I also take pleasure in eating. This means taking my time with food, chewing well, and identifying the different flavors contained in it. I try to think about (without obsessing about) what harm or good the food I am eating is doing to my body, and I try to adjust my consumption accordingly. I come from a family where family dinner—all of us sitting around the table each night to eat, to talk, and to spend some time together—was a nightly occurrence. Dinner in front of the television was simply never an option, and I think that we have all benefitted from this, both nutritionally, and in our relationships with each other. Family dinner is actually an important topic to me, and something that I would like to talk more about another time, but I just wanted to mention here that it is something that I strongly believe in.

I feel like I could continue this diatribe for a lot longer, but I’ll end it here because I think I’ve at least given a good overview of my own personal food philosophy. One more thing though: the best way to learn about food, to think about food, and to understand food is to cook food, and that’s why I do it every day.

But enough about me, what are your food philosophies?

Falafel

I’m a little embarrassed to admit that falafel is one of those foods I used to associate with dreary, unimaginative food courts. Until recently, I had only ever experienced falafel from little Lebanese restaurants in sad shopping malls where I munched on the dry, fried balls of chickpeas that had probably been prepared hours earlier, and had since been losing moisture and flavor under a heat lamp. That said, it has always been a food I took pleasure in eating and that I ordered frequently enough. They were unlike anything I had tasted before.

Well, I have since had better falafel at better restaurants, and I can now better appreciate what falafel has the potential to be: a simple, unassuming combination of ingredients to produce a unique and delectable treat. After tasting superior falafel, and seeing a particularly inspiring episode of Throwdown with Bobby Flay in which he heads off against the maker of the so-called best falafel in NYC, I decided, of course, that I would have to try making falafel for myself.For those of you poor souls who don’t know what falafel is, and have never tasted it, allow me to enlighten you: falafel is basically a mixture of mashed chickpeas with various herbs, spices, and baking powder for volume, rolled into a ball, and deep fried. The origin of this tasty treat is up for debate: several countries in the Middle East claim it as their own, including Egypt and Israel. Regardless of who created it, falafel is popular in many places today, and for good reason: it’s delicious.
I had wanted to make my own falafel for a while when a recipe for it popped up in my February issue of Bon Appétit. I took it as a sign, and decided to give the recipe a shot, at least as a starting point for my own version.
The recipe is as simple and straightforward as you can imagine: basically, mash the ingredients together, form into balls, roll around in some flour, and fry. I fried mine in about a half inch of canola oil in my cast iron skillet on the stovetop, and they came out quite beautifully. Served on couscous with hummus and pita bread, they made a very tasty vegetarian meal. Unlike the heat lamp-petrified falafel I had had in the past, this falafel was hot with a crisp outside, and a fluffy, moist interior. It tasted fresh and delicious.
They weren’t perfect, though. My cooking method was fine: I liked how they came out texture-wise. Where I found they were lacking a little was in flavor. They needed more. The next time I make this, I think I’ll use more parsley and cumin, and I would also add some mint and coriander.

If you haven’t had falafel before, I would recommend that you try it at a restaurant (even a restaurant in a food court) so that you can get an idea of what falafel should taste like. I think that this is one of those dishes where it is really necessary to know what you’re going for before you try it yourself. Then, find the recipe here, make it at home and perfect your own scrumptious falafel, worthy of so much more than their food court popularity.