Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Wicked Wednesdays

Beautiful Beets!

I would never under normal circumstances use such predictable words together like “Wicked Wednesday” (unless I was unapologetically enthusiastic about something very specific... and I am!), but this week it just fits, because in a few short days it’s one of my favourite holidays: Halloween. Costumes, silliness, candy, haunted houses... and in my childhood it also meant the world smelling of wet leaves - Of hummus and forest - the air would smell frosty and catch in your nostrils. While completely enchanting and magical, this weather (and temperature) change meant that we could never go trick or treating without an honest-to-God winter coat beneath or on top of our costume (if you were lucky it was somehow incorporated in your ghoulish, scary character). It also meant that my dear, imaginative, wonderful mother would feed us very special soup before we would run off: vampire soup. First off, it was deep, jewel mauve-red (thanks to beets), and loaded with garlic “to keep the vampires away” (I think it was more to keep the colds away that run rampant at that time of year, but that doesn’t sound as exiting). The soup, simple and absolutely delicious, is prepared as follows:


Vampire Soup


2 lbs of beets, cleaned and scrubbed
2-4 cloves of garlic, depending on strength and size
2 cups of buttermilk (or enough to make the soup liquid but not overly runny)
Salt, pepper, to taste


Boil your beets in water until they become tender (this depends on the size of the beet, but I would say anything between 20-50 minutes). Take off the heat and let cool slightly, or until you can handle the beets (recommended kitchen gloves unless you want stained hands). Once cooled sufficiently, but not cold, they should still be warm, peel and cut up in quarters. Plop in the blender. Add garlic (best to grate it in, to prevent huge-lump-of-garlic phenomenon), a dash of pepper and buttermilk to the beets. DO NOT SALT! Salting a soup before its blended is never a good idea, because the strength changes, and if you don’t want to have to eat a bowl of Dead Sea, hold your horses and add last. Blend very well. Here is your vibrant, delicious liquid! Ok, you can salt it now (you have my permission)... and serve in a white bowl with a little bread and butter on the side, just like my mother used to.  Soup is served room-temperature, but is also great chilled later.


Note: if your beets are not the freshest, add a little sugar to the soup (between 1 tsp and a tbsp should do). The interesting thing with this soup has always been for me the strong, pungent garlic, contrasted with sweet, delicate beets, and vibrant colour.


All the little witches must eat their soup before going to collect their sugar treasures!

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Persimmons

I love them. Everything about them. From their thicker-than-average skin that crunches and gives beneath your teeth as you bite into a succulent, honeyed, plush fruit, to their beckoning colour, right down to their acorn shape. I love the smooth jewel-like seeds, that drop out of the fruit, looking like a piece of woodwork, polished and perfected to an elegant sheen; I love its elegant hat, looking every bit the ‘couvre-chef’ that it should be.



Here they are called “Kaki”. I name that in my belief does them little justice. Persimmon on the other hand... just say it: Persimmon. It evokes perfect.... and mom and mmmm. What better name for a fruit that is so comforting?


I will be looking up recipes today to see if there are any worth doing, but as always with a perfect fruit or vegetable, I am afraid to ruin it. Why make jam with such a perfect specimen? Why alter something that in its natural state is just, perfect? And this is the difference between myself and so many other cooks and chefs. I love foods as they are, the most simple, the purest form. Sure, I will cook them, but in no way do I want to lose their distinctiveness... what makes that perfect aliment... itself. I love the sweet, grassy taste of zucchini, and I love the way it melts into a more buttery version of itself as it cooks, needing very little help and being delicate, wonderful, smooth. It’s a shame it loses so much colour as it cooks, because for me, the bright deep emerald of a zucchini is just part of its charm. Its mystery. Just like a beautiful woman enhances herself with makeup, it’s bright green exterior beckons, calls... and I will answer.


And with that I will leave you to ponder persimmon thoughts... and maybe ones of zucchini, with it’s crazy names and so many uses.... zucchini cake anyone?