The Sweet Potato Recipe Contest

I’m a Sagittarius. It’s supposed to be the luckiest sign in the zodiac.

I’ve never won anything.

I’ve never even opened up a bottle of soda, looked under the cap, and won another bottle of soda.

So why I ever thought I could win the Sweet Potato Recipe Contest, I have no idea. The winner gets $1000 and the honor of having come up with the best new sweet potato recipe according to the Sweet Potato Commission of North Carolina.

Like most of my adventures, this one started off full-throttle. I spent some time coming up with sweet potato recipe ideas and then, the next day, headed to the Farmer’s Market to pick up a large bag of fresh sweet potatoes.

Three weeks and several bags of sweet potatoes later, I think I just might have a winner.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve learned more about the sweet potato than I ever thought I would know in my life. I can also now tell you exactly how to cook a sweet potato to get the proper texture for anything from soup to crispy French Fries. And did you know that sweet potatoes can not only be cooked any way you cook a normal potato, but that they’re WAY more nutritious? You will also be stunned to discover that the sweet potato contains fantastic amounts of protein, fiber, calcium, magnesium, potassium, folic acid, Vitamin C, and a ton of Vitamin A; and that a great deal of the nutrition is found in and near the skins. And you are now privy to this knowledge due to my slightly obsessive nature and a burning curiosity about all things.

If you aren’t obsessed with cooking, trust me, you wouldn’t have wanted to be around me the past few weeks as I bored friend after friend with my lengthy discussion of sweet potatoes. Not since my pursuit of the perfect paper towel holder for my kitchen (see earlier blog post) have I been so singularly obsessed.

As the days went by and I found myself elbow deep in mushy sweet potato pulp, I read up on sweet potatoes, posted cryptic updates on my Facebook page, and emailed and called family and friends letting them all know of my sweet potato activities and my intent to do everything possible to win this contest.

Finally, I came up with this:

Sweet Potato Skins

One distinguishing thing about sweet potatoes is that the skin easily peels away from the flesh, making sweet potato skins difficult to master---but not impossible! After several attempts at healthing them up by baking, I finally gave in to what restaurants do with regular potatoes---I fried them. The final result is amazing!

Here’s what you will need:

Sweet Potato Skins

Sweet Potatoes

Brick of Monterey Jack cheese

Good quality lean ham

Peanut oil

First you wash your sweet potatoes, cut the end bits off, and cut them into quarters. With a melon baller, scoop out a good portion of the sweet potato inside to get a nice skin. You can save these bits for boiling, frying or baking later, if you like.

Pour enough peanut oil (you can also use vegetable or canola oil, but I find peanut oil best for frying) to make a nice pool in the bottom of your pan. Raise the temp to about 250 degrees (that’s around medium to medium high heat, depending on your stove) and blanch the sweet potatoes for a few minutes till they get just a tiny bit soft.

Take them out, pat dry with a paper towel and let them rest for a few minutes.

Then, raise your oil to a high heat and drop the potatoes back in for a few minutes of frying. You’ll smell the sweetness of the potatoes as they cook and turn slightly brown at the edges. Turn them several times to get just the right amount of crispness on the outside and soft on the inside.

Pull them out again, pat dry with a paper towel, pre-heat your oven to 400 degrees and get started on your toppings.

Grate up a nice pile of Monterey Jack cheese and cut or rip your ham into tiny pieces to fill the potato skins. Put the ham on the bottom and the cheese on top. Place your filled skins on a baking sheet and pop them in the oven for about five minutes, just till the cheese melts on top.

Serve them with a side of sour cream and apple sauce.

Now, this, to me, was a winner.

Unfortunately, one of the prerequisites for entering this contest was that you post the recipe to your blog site. Yes, I have a blog site, but it’s certainly not all about cooking or food. While I do mention cooking and food quite often on this blog, you’re just as likely to find me writing about rats, going to the eye doctor, or finding free books in my laundry room. While this recipe might be good enough for a food blogger, for someone who wrote an entire essay about paper towel holders… Well, I felt that my series entitled “A Week’s Worth of Excuses on Why I Couldn’t Write a Week’s Worth of Essays of 500 Words or Less (In 500 Words or Less)” definitely put me in the Underdog category. With this fear in mind, I ate all the sweet potato skins without even taking a decent picture. Sure, I could have made them again---but suddenly, I felt I had to up the ante.

In an attempt to be Continental, yet simple, I tried to adapt a recipe a friend recently gave me for an amazing Pannekuchen (that’s a German/Norwegian-style pancake). This new jewel in my recipe box is so simple to make, yet so amazingly delicious. I added some sweet potatoes, adapted the recipe in an attempt to accommodate and came up with this:

Sweet Potato Pannukuchen

It was tasty, and yes, I ate it with some delicious Lingonberry Jam purchased during my last Ikea trip. But the texture was still off and I doubted it had enough sweet potato flavor to really put me in the running.

Then I came up with the idea of Sweet Potato Biscotti.

Now, I LOVE biscotti! But I’m kind of funny in that I don’t like my biscotti completely hard as a rock. My favorite biscotti to make is with dried figs and pistachios---a recipe I made up myself and whip up on a regular basis. It’s just slightly moist, but still retains a hearty texture.

Unfortunately, the moist, yet starchy sweet potatoes completely threw off the texture. Even after three tries, I still wasn’t happy.

But then, baking is a science. I’m sure Jonas Salk had his share of mishaps, too. However, unlike Salk (who tested the polio vaccine on his own wife and children before offering it for public consumption) I knew better than to offer my biscotti-gone-bad to anyone except the local birds, squirrels and (most likely) rats---this is NYC, after all.

It wasn’t BAD biscotti, just not prize-winning.

And that, after all, was my goal, wasn’t it?

It wasn’t as if I didn’t have other more pressing matters to attend to. A script under deadline. A short film I started the rehearsals for just today. My French studies so I can pass my French equivalency exams. And the loads of Spring cleaning that not only was begging for my attention, but that now included a daily sweet potato counter and dish clean-up that was seriously eating into my free time.

However, like an inveterate gambler, I somehow convinced myself that if I could just win the Sweet Potato Contest, the sheer act of winning ANYTHING just might turn my luck around. After all, who doesn’t love a winner? Unless you win too much, like the Yankees, and then everyone wants to see you lose.

But as a struggling writer-slash-waitress, I was surely not lumped into the Yankee camp. Tips haven’t been that good. Trust me.

It wasn’t until a mere two days ago that I came up with the recipe that could possibly topple my Sweet Potato Skins and turn the competition in my favor…

Sweet Potato Butter.

Ingredients:

2 cups of sweet potatoes (boiled or baked)

¼ cup apple cider vinegar

3 tablespoons apricot jam

3 tablespoons brown sugar

¼ cup applesauce

1/8 teaspoon ground cloves

¼ teaspoon allspice

¼ teaspoon nutmeg

½ teaspoon cinnamon

Simmer all ingredients on low heat for about 15 minutes till flavors come together. Blend mixture to a smooth consistency using either an immersion or regular blender. Let cool. Can in sterilized containers for long-term use or put in jars to keep in the refrigerator where it will keep for about two weeks---though it certainly won’t last that long!

As a kid, my Grandma used to buy jars of Apple Butter and, for a mid-afternoon snack in the summertime, would smear a glob of the cold, jam-like spread onto a piece of white bread to keep us going till dinner. Online recipes for homemade Apple Butter seemed to involve hours upon hours of simmering of fresh apples. But, with a large container of freshly-boiled sweet potato pulp all chilled in my refrigerator, I decided to try to put it to use. I looked thru some cookbooks for tips on how to make apple butter and then set off on my own.

The first batch was delicious.

The second was nothing short of perfect. Absolutely THE most delicious thing I’d ever had on a piece of bread in my life!

I quickly packed it into a few tiny jars and set it in my refrigerator to chill over night.

The next morning, I spread it on a piece of bread and had it with my coffee.

This was my winner!

If I had ever doubted the enormous amount of work I’d put into this Sweet Potato Contest, I had no doubts now. I could bottle this and sell it at the Farmer’s Market in Union Square and easily make $1000 in one weekend!---that is, if I knew how to can. Luckily, I knew my Sweet Potato Butter would last for about two weeks in the fridge in just a regular jar---tho it probably wouldn’t last that long in my apartment. I immediately made plans for the extra jars, saved one for myself, and planned to make another batch of it the next weekend just because it was so gosh-darned good!

Then, I went onto the Sweet Potato Recipe Contest Website to get some final tips on how to submit my recipe.

To my horror, I discovered that after all that work---they already had a recipe for Sweet Potato Butter listed on their website!

Early in the game, I had been so careful to make sure I wasn’t repeating any recipes they already had posted. And granted, my recipe was quite a bit different---but they already had Sweet Potato Butter. And I thought my idea was so original. I almost cried.

Instead, I smeared some of my Sweet Potato Butter onto a piece of bread and felt how fresh, sweet and spicy it was as the flavors rolled across my tongue. Every single nuance hit and blended just perfectly---yet, with all those flavors, you could still taste the sweet potatoes in all their perfection. Why, oh why?---I lamented.

Today, I packed a jar of my sweet potato butter into my bag and took it into the restaurant where I work. I pulled out a loaf of bread from behind the line, cut it into quarters, and began smearing the Sweet Potato Butter onto the pieces and walked around offering it to various members of the staff. Not only did they like it, but I immediately began to get requests for jars of the stuff.

However, the toughest critic was my manager. Like me, he is addicted to The Food Network. Unlike me, he has an aversion to most forms of cooked fruit. And when I mentioned Sweet Potato Butter, he made a face and, like a child, actually said, “Ewww.”

He did this twice.

However, he does swear that my Chicken Noodle Soup is THE best chicken noodle soup he’s ever had and recently, when he came down with a bad cold, actually handed me some raw chicken and vegetables from the kitchen cooler and begged me to go home that night and make him my chicken soup.

A tough critic, but he appreciates my work. Nevertheless, I was venturing into dangerous territory. Cooked “fruits” and mulling spices---two things he was definitely not feeling.

Finally, with great trepidation, I handed him a small plate with a sample of my Sweet Potato Butter on a slice of bread.

“Just try it.”

He looked at it cautiously and sighed.

“Well, you haven’t let me down yet,” he said, as he popped the sample into his mouth. A moment later, I saw him disappear around the corner. Oh no! He was spitting it out into the trash can, I thought as I began to walk away to avoid what would undoubtedly be some snarky comments.

Suddenly, he popped back around the corner and declared, “Okay---you win a can of sweet potatoes for that one!” he declared as he handed me a giant, industrial-sized can of sweet potatoes left-over from the Thanksgiving special.

“I didn’t think I was going to like that…but I need more.”

While I may not win the Sweet Potato Recipe Contest, I was a winner today. I received the accolades of my friends, co-workers and one pretty harsh food critic for my weeks of effort. I also now have a recipe that I will be making over and over again. And I have a giant can of sweet potatoes that may not be as attractive as an Oscar or a Tony Award---but it was earned thru years of effort in my kitchen.

After all, cooking, like all human activity, is really done for one true purpose---to secure love.

Today, thanks to sweet potatoes, I am a winner.

And I LOVE sweet potatoes!!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cesOEgpZzPs

The Food Network

When you break your jaw, you realize that the ability to chew is something you simply took for granted.

Sure, I occasionally enjoyed turning on The Food Network. Before my accident, I became fascinated with a show I mistakenly referred to as Paula’s Deep Fryer---because the woman seemed like she was constantly deep frying everything. Every recipe started out with a stick of butter. And when I watched her make a cup of hot chocolate with pure half and half and then top it with a huge dollop of heavy whipping cream----well, it was like stopping to watch an accident. You just couldn’t help but look.

However, after my surgery, I became obsessed. After all, if I couldn’t eat, I could at least watch people cook up tasty dishes.

As I sucked down yet another jar of baby food, I watched Guy Fieri shove huge deep-fried things into his gigantic mouth on Diners, Drive-ins and Dives. For weeks, I ate vicariously thru him.

And Giada! She is just so adorable! You just want to hang out in the kitchen with her and watch her make you a delicious pasta dish and a tasty salad. I love her recipes and constantly try whipping up things like her chicken carbonara and her tasty cupcakes with mascarpone cheese. Her dishes are always crowd pleasers. When I made her balsamic vinegar truffles and took a batch of them to work, one of the guys said, “Which cook is she?”

“You know, the cute Italian lady.”

“Oh, the Food Porn Lady!” he said with a laugh. Apparently there are quite a few men out there who simply enjoy watching her cook.

Of course, my absolute favorite is Alton Brown. His show, Good Eats, helps take the mystique out of things like risotto, soufflés, leg of lamb and he even devoted an entire show to the intense workout involved in making a true coconut cake. I love his sense of humor, his pop culture references and the fact that he will squeeze in about five different recipes in an episode about milk. For heavens sake, the man showed me how to make cottage cheese! I always thought that if I had to take a regular 9-5 job, it would be working as Anderson Cooper’s assistant---but that’s a whole other blog. However, in second place, I would happily work for Alton Brown any day. Sure, you might not get to travel around the world---but at least where he goes, there are no wacky wars going on.

Of course, probably the biggest star on The Food Network is Rachael Ray. Tons of chefs (including The Food Network’s own Anthony Bourdain) have made fun of her simple, quick and easy dishes. But com’on, I’d say that about 99.9% of Food Network’s viewers AREN’T chefs. And honestly, sometimes chefs aren’t the greatest cooks. The vast majority of viewers are people like myself---just looking for fun ideas for different things to make for the family dinner or to feed some special guests. Rachael Ray is our hero. And, when I could finally eat somewhat solid foods, her parsnip and potato hash was one of the first things I ate. And it was yummy!

But speaking of chefs, the ones featured on The Food Network are definitely approachable. Even Iron Chef Morimoto, the Japanese chef who is constantly speaking English and still having his English subtitled below. I understand him. Why the subtitles? And, beyond that, he looks like a Japanese Johnny Depp. He could make sushi for me anytime.

And, speaking of Anthony Bourdain---his culinary travels are amazing! And, despite his dig on my lady Rachael Ray, he seems like he would be a great guy to hang out with. A bottle of wine, some Tom Waits and a whole mess of oysters. That’s a great night. I also hear from a friend who has a friend who works for The Food Network that he's a great guy and that all the crew and Food Network Kitchen chefs LOVE him. Not a surprise at all.

And then there’s our loveable Sondra. Sondra’s catch-phrase is “semi-homemade”. She does what she has to do to get delicious, nutritious food on the table. And if anyone has a fascinating life story… Wow. The woman looks like a Barbie Doll with G.I. Joe’s guts.

But there are so many to love. The Barefoot Contessa (I feel a particular affinity with her dishes), Tyler Florence (just so entertaining and great comfort food), and the new pair of The Neelys, and Jamie Oliver. Oh, there are so many!

And I love them all! Why? Because I am completely addicted to The Food Network. What started out as an occasional cooking show here and there has now reached AA proportions.

You see, I’ve always loved to cook. I think my first entrée into the kitchen was helping my Aunt Joyce bake a cake. I was given the arduous chore of sifting the flour---which I charmingly mispronounced as “sniffing” the flour. And I still remember the day I was finally allowed to use a potato peeler. I was given a red potato and a peeler, along with very careful instructions on how to safely operate the sharp instrument. My aunt sat down next to me and peeled almost five pounds of potatoes in the time it took me to do one. However, despite my slow potato-peeling pace, I was rewarded with so much praise and was able to utter my favorite commercial jingle, “It’s Shake and Bake! And I helped!”

However, while my Aunt’s Kitchen was kid-friendly, my Grandma’s Kitchen was no place for a child. Grandma didn’t have the time for my slow potato-peeling pace. The kitchen was no place for fun and games. Meals needed to be on the table and there was no time for nonsense.

And Grandma’s Kitchen was enormous. Two refrigerators. Cast iron skillets. Contraptions like waffle irons and electric mixers. And an entire room off to the side of the kitchen known as a Butler’s Pantry---the cabinets of which were stocked full of spices, flours, dried fruits and nuts, rice, and things like Baker’s Chocolate (which, I learned the hard way, was not tasty at all).

It was a culinary wonderland.

My Grandma was 100% Polish, but born in St. Louis---so her style of cooking was based on a mix of heritage and regional fare. The Polish dishes she grew up with combined with the Southern cooking that comes from St. Louis being right on the border of what I like to call the Biscuits and Gravy Belt, mixed with a bit of Italian influence due to the influx of Italian immigrants that had migrated to the South Side of St. Louis where she lived.

One day you’d get Spaghetti with homemade meat sauce, the next you’d find Southern Fried Chicken on you plate and the next…well, it would be something weird and Polish. Trust me, Polish Kielbasa and Sauerkraut was a good day. Some of those Polish dishes were scary.

Grandma was also my part-time baby-sitter and, may I say, lunch was a crap shoot. Many was the summer day I’d come inside after a long and vigorous morning of playing in the back yard, only to be greeted with a Head Cheese Sandwich.

And for those of you who don’t know what Head Cheese is----well, it sure ain’t cheese. It wasn’t until years later that I learned that what I’d been eating was actually parts of a cow’s head (lips, eyes, snout, etc.) held together with the gelatin from the meat. Grandma would take two pieces of white bread, dip them in a plate filled with apple cider vinegar, and slap a piece of Head Cheese in the middle.

“There you go. Lunch.”

Oddly enough, I actually found this sandwich delicious. Well, you pour a bunch of apple cider vinegar on pretty much anything and I could call it a meal.

It wasn’t till college that I learned that Head Cheese wasn’t actually cheese and I haven’t been able to touch it since.

Head Cheese Sandwiches aside, I was not to be deterred in the kitchen. While my mother worked full-time and really only had the energy to make a weekly Sunday dinner---I was a kid with lots of time on my hands. And suddenly festooned with my newest baby-sitter---my Uncle Virgil. And Uncle Virgil couldn’t cook.

My first classic dish was a little something I liked to call Buttered Noodles. Shell noodles boiled up and covered in melted butter----mmmm. Well, actually it was margarine. But my brother and I did love our Buttered Noodles. It’s noodles and it’s butter. What’s wrong with that?

My second classic dish was Corn Bread and Beans. A can of great northern beans heated up in a saucepan with a quick mix cornbread. Simple and delicious! I alternated back and forth between these tried-and-true dishes for months. Despite the repition, no one seemed to complain.

However, when I wasn’t reading, writing, practicing the piano or cleaning the house---I generally found myself in my Mom’s kitchen with her Joy Book of Cooking. To this day, my Mom remembers coming home and finding little dishes I’d cooked up all on my own. Once, she was out at a relative’s birthday party and came home to find me in the kitchen, welcoming her home with, “Hey! I baked a loaf of bread!”

She didn’t believe me. But I did. And it was amazing. The smell of fresh, baked bread alone was enough to make me want to learn more and more.

When I went away to college, my Aunt Joyce gave me a hot pot for my dorm room. I could make entire meals with just a hot pot and a little mini-fridge. People would come from down the hall to get my spaghetti and my tuna and noodle hot pot casserole.

At my job before moving to New York, I was known for bringing a Soup of the Day into the office. The office loved my homemade lentil soup, my cabbage soup, chicken noodle and all the fresh baked breads I made to go with them.

To this day, I still don’t have a fancy kitchen like the kitchens on The Food Network. But you’d be surprised at what you can do with a few pots and pans, a stocked spice cabinet and a trip to the Farmer’s Market. And, despite my small Manhattan Kitchen, I have all the ingredients of the world available to me in this city.

I moved into my lovely apartment almost a year ago to the day. I do love it here. It’s so peaceful and yet, still Manhattan. Tho don’t get my started on the A Train. Last night I wrote my THIRD complaint letter to the MTA. I’m waiting for my pat response regarding the “ongoing track work”.

In any case, I realized that a year has gone by and I have yet to have any kind of a housewarming party. Of course, a year later, it’s not really a house warming party. But who cares? It’s a party. And the most important thing to me is making some super fantabulous dishes for my friends. To that end, I am glued to The Food Network for ideas. Sure, I have a few tricks up my cook’s sleeve. But I always love trying new things, new ingredients and new techniques. The plan is to practice a few dishes to see how they turn out. Planning the fest for about a month and a half from now. And the party plan will be to show a few of the new films I’m shooting with friends and just have a great feast with great food and drinks.

And, after my accident, I'm a survivor, damnit. I deserve a party!

Bengali Cooking

Some people think that Muslims don’t have a sense of humor. But nothing makes my Muslim friends laugh more than my appreciation of the Holy Month of Ramadan.

No, I am not a Muslim. I was raised Catholic. But I love Ramadan.

For those of you not familiar with Ramadan, it basically involves a month of prayers and fasting. And the fasting is pretty intense---no eating, drinking, smoking or sex from sunrise to sundown. It is all about personal discipline, obedience and being a good Muslim.

For me, it’s all about delicious Indian food.

You see, I work with quite a few Muslims. Most of them from Bangladesh. And all of them very nice and generous with their nightly feast---a community meal fondly referred to as Iftar. All of them are men. And all of them have wonderful mothers and/or wives who spend all day in the kitchen preparing glorious curried dishes that their husbands and/or sons pack up in Tupperware and bring into work to eat at the breaking of the fast. This year, Ramadan started around 7:00pm New York City time.

A few minutes before the appointed hour, the smell of curry and spice wafts out of the microwave and thru the kitchen of our otherwise American-themed restaurant. All of the Muslims working that night begin to scurry around the kitchen---opening Tupperware containers, setting the table, and chopping vegetables for the salad---the Middle Eastern version that involves no lettuce, but lots of chopped tomatoes, cucumbers, onions and the dressing a mixture of freshly squeezed lemon and spices. While this nightly ritual goes on, they begin to call the Iftar to my attention. Because somehow, I have become a part of their Ramadan.

My Ramadan feasting began a few years ago. One of the bus boys was eating his Ramadan feast alone in the kitchen. I made an innocent comment about the Indian food looking tasty, and next thing I knew, I had a huge plate of rice, goat meat, bread and some sort of coconut dessert in front of me. Sure, I’d eaten Indian food plenty of times before. But this was different. This was the equivalent of somebody’s Mom’s pot roast. It was amazing.

Last year, I noticed plates of Indian food suddenly beginning to appear before me.

“Is it Ramadan?” I asked with glee.

“Yes,” one of the bus boys replied, “Enjoy.”

Enjoy I did. Thank you Allah.

Of course, the Catholic guilt immediately began to creep thru. After all, they’ve been fasting all day. They haven’t even had a sip of water. And here I am eating their dinner. Don’t think I didn’t try to refuse. I’m nothing if not polite. But the Bengali’s explained to me that Allah gave them extra blessings for sharing their food. And there sure was a lot of rice and chicken curry. Well, okay. Twist my arm.

This year, I was immediately included in their Ramadan feast. There was always an extra plate and an extra chair. And all of my little Muslim boys immediately called me over to join in their feast. They know there’s no hope of converting me. They’ve heard me spout too much feminist propaganda to even try. And there’s no talk of Allah or The Koran. Only a discussion of how wonderful the food is. How delicious the feast. They do take the time to explain all the dishes and how they’re prepared. They also answer my questions about the holiday and the particular peppers used in the chick peas. And, for a few moments every night, I’m eating in the best Indian restaurant in town.

For those of you in parts of the country without a significant Muslim population, may I say---I feel sorry for you. I really do. The stereo-typical view of the Muslim as serious and brooding, is not what I know. In fact, I’ve never seen grown men giggle as much as these fellas do. Seriously. Giggle. My friend Kabir has the cutest laugh you’ve ever heard. And he giggles at virtually everything. If anyone ever pulled him aside at an airport, he’d probably start giggling. They wouldn’t know if he was an uncomfortable terrorist or just ticklish.

They all laugh constantly. Maybe it’s because they’re from Bangladesh. It’s not exactly Saudi Arabia over there. But here they are, fasting all day, and it’s 6:30 and they’re starving and they’re laughing their asses off watching me trying to interpret the Ramadan calendar---a chart listing all the dates and local times for each part of the fast.

“So, Iftar is the meal---and after that it says it’s time for Isha. What’s Isha? Dessert?”

Oh, how they laughed. Apparently, Isha is more prayers. They found this extremely amusing.

So this year, for Christmas, one of my managers gave me a copy of a book called “Bengali Cooking”. And, once again, the Bengalis laughed. Though they certainly don’t doubt my cooking abilities. A few times, during Ramadan, I even brought in a few dishes of my own. Of course, the meat thing’s a little difficult. Especially during Ramadan---it really should be halal. But I haven’t the slightest idea where one goes to buy halal meat. Instead, I opted for vegetarian dishes. I made one with couscous, zucchini and an apricot chutney that went over well. They also enjoyed my spicy green beans. And coconut macaroons are always a hit. After all, blessings from Allah or not---I just didn’t feel right eating all their delicious food.

And it’s amazing! I told the Bengalis that if they opened up a restaurant and sold this food---they would make a million dollars. It’s really that good. My favorite dish is the chick peas. The Bengali chick peas are slightly different from your standard garbanzo beans. They’re darker in color and about a third of the size. They even wrote the recipe down for me. It’s so simple. A little onion, a little pepper and some spices. Mmmm. I could eat it everyday. And all the curried rice and the thin breads that seem to be practically fried in something resembling a flavored lard---yeah, I know, lard doesn’t sound appetizing, but just think what it does to a pie crust.

At work tonight, I began skimming thru the Bengali cookbook---which is more than just a cookbook, but also a history of the country and its dishes. The author immediately explains that Bengali cooking is never really found in restaurants---why? Because, for Bengalis, it’s considered simple fare. It’s the sort of thing that is best served in the home. Something that involves love and care. Not the slapdash way food is generally prepared in restaurants. It needs time. And, according to the author, Chitrita Banerji, even restaurants in West Bengal and Bangladesh generally serve your standard Northern Indian dishes.

Bengali food, she explains, “…is not easy to reproduce on a mass scale, nor does it maintain its nuanced flavors after repeated heating or long hours in storage.” She also party blames the Bengalis themselves, for not realizing that the simplest dishes, tried and perfected over centuries, are suitable for more than just their daily meals. According to Ms. Banerji, they would never dream of serving their simple meals to guests---whether in their home or in a restaurant. It just wouldn’t be fancy enough.

As I skimmed thru the book tonight, I began asking questions. They were particularly helpful when it came to the hilsa---a fish. They were all eager to remind me that hilsa is The National Fish. If you mention hilsa, this is the first thing they will all say, “It is our National Fish!” This seems to be something they are extremely proud of---their National Fish. I’ve heard of the phrase “National Dish”, but never “National Fish”. If other countries have a National Fish, I don’t think any of them are as proud of their fish as the people of Bangladesh.

I hear about this damn fish all the time. In fact, I actually tried the National Fish this past Ramadan. It was good. It was fish---what can I say? It did have a lot of tiny bones you have to be careful to pick out---a fact they reminded me of this evening, should I attempt to cook their National Fish.

Frankly, I have no more idea where to get the National Fish than I have of where to pick up a case of halal meat. But I suppose I could give it a try.

“But be very careful,” they warned. “You have to cook the fish. Not like in American where you don’t cook the fish all the way. You must cook this fish properly, or it will make you sick.”

Maybe I’ll stick with the chick peas for a while. But I will definitely be making a trip to the Indian groceries in Jackson Heights soon.

Beets

Beets are messy. Let me make that very clear. Not even a Christmas Binge Cookie Bake has made as much of a mess in my kitchen as beets.

My whole beet experience began a few weeks ago. On my weekly shopping trip at my local market, I noticed something new in the produce aisle---bagged greens.

Outside of my usual lettuces and spinach, I’ve really never delved into the greens. Collard greens, turnip greens, mustard greens, and beet greens were all a mystery to me. According to the handy information on the package, the greens were very good for you and could easily be boiled or sautéed like spinach. A huge bag was only two dollars. Why not?

I plopped the greens in some chicken broth (as suggested on the handy package). They took but a few minutes to cook and were just about the tastiest vegetable I’d ever had. Once I powered thru my bag of beet greens, I quickly moved onto collard greens. Then Swiss chard. I was like an addict going from marijuana to coke to heroin. Only my substance of choice was greens. And there’s no rehab for greens.

Last week I found myself jonesing for some greens in a mostly greenless market---my only choices being collard greens or fresh beets with the greens attached. I decided on the beets with leafy greens. I gobbled up the greens that very night and was left with the beets. And you can’t just throw out perfectly good beets.

According to my handy Joy Book of Cooking, beets took about two hours to boil. What the book failed to mention was the mess. As the beets boiled, they quickly turned the water a bright red and the red juice occasionally bubbled up and overflowed onto my stove top. There was beet juice everywhere. I quickly changed out of my white sweater and into a black one. This stuff made a mess.

When the beets were cooked, I covered them and put them into the refrigerator to cool. Honestly, I had no idea what to do with them. And then it came to me.

Borscht.

I’d eaten Borscht a few times in my life. Can I say?---never particularly cared for it. And I come from Eastern European stock. Borscht is in my blood. However, I had a sinking feeling that I’d never eaten a really good Borscht. I was determined to change that.

The next day, I thumbed thru some cookbooks and distilled the many variations into my own recipe for what I truly believed would be a super-fantastic Borscht. And, cut to the chase---it was. And I will happily share my Borscht recipe, but I firmly believe that all recipes for Borscht should begin with a warning in boldface:

WARNING: BEETS ARE EXTREMELY MESSY!

Perhaps they should also be forced to show you a photo of a kitchen after making Borscht as a deterrent---like those disgusting photos on Canadian cigarettes. Only Borscht photos should include piles of dirty dishes all covered in red juice. Ew.

However, while the clean-up was difficult, making the soup was a breeze. Frankly, the hardest part of making Borscht is getting people to eat it.

I have never encountered such a resistance to soup.

Unlike Chicken Noodle or even Split Pea---Borscht is a hard sell. Maybe it’s the colour. After all, most people aren’t used to eating bright red soup. Then there’s the beets. Sure, tomatoes are bright red---but everyone knows tomatoes. When you order a bowl of tomato soup, there aren’t too many surprises. Beets, on the other hand, aren’t even the most popular root in Vegetable High School. That would be Mr. Popular---the potato. Finally, there’s the name---Borscht. It doesn’t sound appealing. Some people don’t even know what it is. Beet soup tends to go over a little better. But even then, be prepared for a lot of faces.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen people so full of trepidation as when I offered to give them a cup of homemade Borscht. I was this close to offering it to a homeless man just to see his reaction.

And the questions. I’ve never heard so many questions about soup. Normally an offer of soup goes a little something like this:

“Would you like some Black Bean Soup?”

“Yes, I would. Thank you very much.”

Instead, I got this:

“Would you like some Borscht?”

(Pause. Look closely at the soup. Pause again. Make a face.)

“What’s in it?”

“Beets, cabbage, carrots and a little onion.”

(Pause. Look at the soup yet again. Cock your head like a Pomeranian. Take a deep breath. Let it out. Pause again. Squint your eyes and nose and forehead. Pull your hands close to your body. Take a step back. Peer over cautiously into the soup. Pause again.)

“Well…okay, I guess.”

Even unknown meat does not cause as much dread as Borscht. If they ever run out of creepy-crawly things on Fear Factor or Survivor, they should just ask contestants to try Borscht. I guarantee, someone will be getting kicked off the island.

Despite this resistance, those who were brave enough to try my Borscht gave it a glowing review.

I’m not very good at writing down recipes (particularly for soup, which is so easy to quickly alter to taste as you go) however, I will attempt now to offer my recipe.

But be forewarned---BEETS ARE EXTREMELY MESSY. I suggest you not work on or even remotely near unfinished wood or any surface easily stained. Metal and glass are easily cleaned. Your standard kitchen countertop will also clean up nicely with either some bleach or (my favourite home cleaner) a Mr. Clean Magic Dry Erase Pad. Avoid plastics as they might stain. Wear dark-coloured clothes. Your hands will get stained but will easily clean up with soap and water.

Now, having scared the beejesus out of everyone… Go put on a black sweater and...

BORSCHT



1 bunch (approximately 3) large beets
1 medium-sized yellow onion
2 medium-sized carrots
2 cups chopped cabbage
1 1/2 cups chicken broth
Butter
Margarine
Dill
Salt
Pepper
Apple cider vinegar
Sour cream (optional)

Cut the stalks off the beets and save for a tasty greens dish. Wash the beets under cold water, place in large pot, cover with water and boil till done (about two hours). Place beets and the remaining juice in the refrigerator to cool. You can leave it overnight and make the soup the next day, or you can continue on.

Finely chop or shread one small onion and sauté in 2 tbsp margarine. Set aside. Chop about a third of a head of cabbage (perhaps 2 cups) into bite-sized pieces. Sautee in 2 tbsp butter. Shread 2 medium-sized carrots and toss in with the sautéing cabbage. Set aside.

Remove the beets from the refrigerator. The outer skin should peel off easily with your fingers (this is really messy!). Cut off the top and the bottom. Cut the beets into small, bite-sized pieces.
In one large soup pot, add 2 cups water and 1 1/2 cups chicken broth. Add the cabbage and carrots, the sautéed onions and the beets and the remaining beet juice. Add 1 tbsp dill, 1 tsp salt and 1 tsp pepper. Stir occasionally.

Allow to heat but not boil. At the very end, add 1/4 cup apple cider vinegar. Season to taste. Remove from heat.

The borscht is ready to serve and is best with a small spoonful of sour cream.

After you sample the soup, start the clean-up and try to get others to eat the soup. Good luck!