Thursday, February 24, 2011

Day 16: Never have I ever... sample the fruits of a real Indian market

Another belated post.  Why is 30 days so long, but also so fun?

After a tasty Indian lunch last weekend, we popped over to the Indian market conveniently located next door. I didn't know exactly what to expect, having never been to one before. We went in search of prepared/frozen Indian vegetable dishes, on recommendation from the parental units. But what else would I see? Fresh goat meat? Curry in bulk?

As soon as I walked in, I was in an Indian market half frenzy/half trance. It was awesome. Big barrels with new and interesting dry beans and grains. Indiscernible flavors of cookies with adorable smiling Indian children on the box. Exotic soda flavors. A huge display of incense (that I embarrassingly mistook for candy. brightly colored boxes!) And my personal playground: the produce section. I loved walking up and down the aisles examining all of these edible plants that I had never seen before. The shapes and colors were fantastic. Roots, legumes, leaves, and fruits... I had no idea how any of them tasted. How are they prepared? Had I ever eaten it before without knowing what it looked like in it's raw, whole form? I was so curious.

I selected a vegetable medley that spoke to me. The ones with most interesting skins and textures and colors. There were literally dozens I wanted to try... every single one! But I reined myself in, leaving with a harvest of six: toori, karela, tindori, white muli, parval and chayot. 

The next day, I googled each one. All are technically fruit, save for the white muli which is a root. (though chayot and toori are "gourds" which still falls into the fruit classification.) 
 Clockwise from top center: white muli, karela, chayot, parval, tindori, toori. 

Tindori and Parval. Both looked a lot like miniature cucumbers; Tindori looks quite similar to cornichons, but smoother, and parval looks like a baby garden cucumber. Short and fat and smooth. Raw, they have a lower water content as cucumbers, and both tasted like a young zucchini. 
Toori. Also known as the ridged gourd, this fruit is popular in African, Arabic, and Asian lands, and looks a lot like the offspring of a zucchini and a starfruit. The skin was very thick and rough, and so I used a peeler to take off the most rigid part: the ridges themselves. I left the balance of the skin on. Raw, it tasted like a mealy zucchini. 
Karela. Also known as bitter melon. This was the most interesting to examine, as it looked like a warted up pod or freeze-dried sea creature. My google research yielded two interesting factoids: 1. It's touted in ayurvedic cooking/medicine and supposedly works wonders for controlling blood sugar for diabetics, is known to balance various skin ailments such as acne and psoriasis, as well as being regarded as an antiviral, anticancer, antimalarial, and even antiscabies. What can't this plant do?! 2. I also learned that if you cut into a karela and eat the red seeds, this is anecdotally linked "Brain Fever", which is Victorian-era speak for meningitis or other viral infections that affect the brain. These two factoids contradict each other, I know. I cut my karela open and found... red seeds indeed. Oh well. Brain fever here I come. Raw, this thing tasted like ass. Bitter ass. Nothing melon-y about it. 
White Muli. This big guy is the parsnip's secret twin, in terms of looks. Would it taste like one too? Nope. It's the Danny Devito of twins, tasting like a biting and spicy radish over a verdant and earthy parsnip. 
Chayot. It looked a little like a mango or other tropically delcious fruit. It's bright chartreuse hue was appealing, but it's form odd. At the bottom there was a navel that looked like a toothless old man pursing a big lip-less mouth. Inside, there was one large seed, and I found the cut form to be much more aesthetically pleasing than the whole. Raw, it tasted incredibly bland. Just the general flavor of plant.

I sliced, diced and chopped each one and then sprinkled with salt. I then sauteed with olive oil, salt, pepper, a little chili powder, red pepper, and turmeric. Basic spices to enhance flavor, but not overpower. 
Cooked veggies, nom nom

Results: Cooked, the chayote was the tastiest of the group, now having a fresh and easy flavor. White muli retained it's radish-like flavor and now was just cooked radish. Parval, toori and tindori were still bad zucchinis, with parval as a slight favorite due to it's crisp texture. Karela was just as unpalatable cooked as it was raw, and I spit it out each time I tried to consume it.  It was great fun to experiment with these foreign fruits and vegetables, and to imagine how second-nature the preparation of these items are to so many millions of women in the world. And to me, they are an exotic kitchen adventure. Perhaps our most banal of produce staples, like mushrooms or celery or carrots, are alien plants to many peoples of the world? They eat these dirty, odorous fungi that is grown in horse manure! And these weird green stalks that taste kind of bitter, with chewy strings inside! And then there are these beautifully orange spikes...

Status: SUCCESS! 

Monday, February 21, 2011

Day 15: Never have I ever... eaten Goat (Indian food fun part 1)

I'll try any meat once. I've had venison, lamb, kangaroo, rattlesnake, ostrich. But I would never try goat, despite being emphatically told it was delicious by several palates that I trust well. 

Something about eating goat just doesn't sit right with me. I think it has to do with the fact that when I was growing up, my childhood best friend's family had several sheep and a goat. We would head down to the barn to feed and play with the animals in their large pasture, and Gretchen, the goat, had a lot of personality. Sometimes Gretchen was a friend, sometimes a foe, but I liked her. And now, I find it weird to think of eating an animal with that much personality. I know, I know, I will happily scarf down chickens and cows and pigs and ducks, and I know they may have winning personalities as well. But what can I say.... every time I see a plate of curry goat, full of bones and meat, I envision that I'm consuming spindly little goat legs, better meant for climbing meadowy hills! (yes, I know that usually legs are never eaten...) 

But at Indian lunch yesterday, I tried the curry goat, indeed. The meat was succulent and tasted more like beef or veal than lamb. It wasn't gamey at all. But it was hard to truly discern the meat's virgin taste through the thick veil of curry and coconut flavor in the sauce. 

Results: I came, I ate. It was good. I can certainly understand why many people of all cultures enjoy goat meat. Perhaps if my Gretchen-guilt subsides, I'll enjoy a goat dish again in the future.

Status: Success! 

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Day 14: Never have I ever... tried to knit

Knitting has always seemed like the kind of repetitive, mechanical craft that I'd be good at. I've always wanted to try it, despite missing the hipster knitting craze of the mid 00's. So I looked up knitting classes in Brooklyn, and found one that was free (free!) from 5-7 PM on Saturdays. Most others are upwards of $100, which was out of my blog project price range, so despite the undesirable timeframe, I decided to give this one whirl. Enlisting a knitting buddy in my friend Beth, we set off for the Brooklyn Yarn Cafe. 

First of all, the journey to the store was an adventure in itself, through some of Brooklyn's neighborhoods least likely to ever make it to New York mag's annual liveable list. The main drag was sparsely populated and bleak. Having had my car broken into two years ago mere blocks from this location, I was extremely wary of leaving my Golden Girl on the street. But luckily, we found a spot right outside the yarn store, and I had to admit... it did look like an adorable shop with it's bright window painting of yarn and cupcakes. It was a warm and inviting oasis in the middle of a sparse, gray, run-down area.  
Enthusiastic beginnings

Miss Rosemary, the proprietor and teacher, greeted us. Her business was eclectic, to say the least: café/yarn shop/laundry service. It took me a while to catch on to that last part. I couldn't understand why people (mostly men) kept coming in with large, bulky bags... until I eavesdropped on an interaction between Miss Rosemary and a mystery customer. I guess peddling yarn isn't the most profitable endeavor, and Rosie seemed like the resourceful type. A girl's gotta pay the bills! 

We waited for a long time in the "back room" with a Guy Friday-type employee named Al. He was a young guy from Tennessee with a molasses-thick accent and black newsboy cap. We endured his random dissertation about the nuances of Tennessee county politics with a smile, but when we asked if he knit and his reply was "I'd love to, but where I'm staying doesn't allow me to keep needles," well, that's when things started to get weird. Would this class start already? Finally, Miss Rosemary came in to help us pick out some yarn and announced the class would be starting in the front room. I looked at my watch, she was starting 45 minutes late. But, hey, it's hard to complain about a free class, right?
Yarn Disaster

Right away, I could tell Miss Rosemary was a thorough teacher. She first taught us about "casting-on", or starting the yarn on the needle, which was a skill I picked up right away. This was easy! I would have this baby blanket done in no time! But no, she had a system. She made both Beth and I do and undo our stitches 4 times, to ensure we had the skill mastered. After about 45 minutes of this tedium, we moved on to the actual knitting. This is where it all fell apart for me. My smug mastery of casting-on meant nothing now. I fumbled with the needles and simply could not visualize the stitch. Finalllllly, I finished the first row after about 45 more minutes. Something looked weird. When I got to the second row, it became clear that my work was beyond repair. It was a tangled mess of pink and blue fuzz. Miss Rosemary took one look, and promptly ripped the whole knot off the needle. All of my hours of fine motor skill down the drain. MY MASTERPIECE!?!?! 

I doggedly started again, but had less patience this time. It was 8:15, and I was getting hungry. Now, it's important to mention that the knitting class was also attended by four interesting and friendly ladies. Their intimate tone made both Beth and I assume that they were a group of friends. Turns out, they met last weekend at the shop, and had come back for another stitch n' bitch sesh. They welcomed us right into their group, allowing us to truly understand the concept of a knitting circle. There was something profoundly connective (and quite relaxing) about rocking back and forth, as our fingers worked away, our mouths laughing and chatting, our eyes micro-focused. Who cares that it was a Saturday night, and most of NYC was getting dressed in their best for a hot night on the town. We were knitting ladies. 

But we were also hungry ladies. Bob (female), a spunky and spritely massage therapist who lived in the apartments above the shop, was very enthusiastic about a group dinner. It's uncommon to meet random, new friends and head out for dinner within a few hours of making the acquaintance, but hey, what did we have to lose? Bob's husband Lez joined in to complete our eclectic group. So the ladies-plus-Lez packed up our projects, paid for our yarn, thanked Miss Rosemary, and went to a nearby Japanese restaurant owned by Bob and Lez's friend. 

Sushi "Bombs"
It was the kind of secret place you have to know to find. It blended into this mostly industrial neighborhood seamlessly. There was no sign. No sound from the street. But once the massive, wooden door opened, we stepped inside an intimate and aromatic secret sanctuary. Long wooden tables filled with the hipster glam. A funky music mix of Duran Duran b-sides, Dr. Dre, and Fela Kuti. And a totally bare, minimalist asian design of the small space. The friendly owner, Phil, greeted our new friends with hugs and kisses, and showed our group inside. He asked us how much we wanted to pay per person, and announced he would do all the ordering for us. $25? Ok. Any food allergies or aversions? Nope. Great. Sit back and enjoy. 
Pork Perfection

With minutes, the courses began to arrive, one after the other. Salad with fresh miso dressing (made six times nightly for optimal flavor), braised lotus fruit, pickled japanese vegetables, perfectly crunchy vegetable tempura, three plates of "sushi bombs", crispy dumplings, and the pièce de résistance: a ring of pork belly slivers with crème fraiche in a salty, bacon-y broth that we sopped up with sticky rice. Did I mention the potpourri of freshly made sauces and purees with interesting ingredients like yuzu and 6-hour soaked chiles? This meal was thebomb.com, and was only $25 a head?! We were getting hooked up. Look at all these other suckers in here. They have to look at the menu. Order food? We just chatted with our new friends as plate after plate of deliciousness was presented to us in bountiful quantity. We felt special. Phil was treating us like old friends rather than new customers. It was delightful.  

As I parked my car in my neighborhood at midnight, hours after my anticipated 8PM homecoming, I couldn't help but think "This is exactly why I'm doing this blog experiment." Openness to new experiences can lead to the most unexpected adventures.... 

Results: I sucked at knitting, but I intend to keep trying. It just takes practice, I'm sure I'll get it down eventually. However, the social aspect of this classic American craft* led us to make some unique, new friends and share a very special meal. It's a night I won't soon forget. 

Status: Craft FAIL; Life SUCCESS! 

*Knitting's origins date back as early 300 AD with Romano-Egyptian socks, but the knitting circle is an iconic American symbol of domesticity and female community. 

Saturday, February 19, 2011

Day 13: Never have I ever.... skied a double-black-diamond

Most avid skiers have blazed down double-blacks all over the Rockies, the Sierra Nevadas, maybe even the Alps. But not me. I'm a pansy. I stick to my blues and zig-zap happily down the mountain, sometimes I even like to sing as I ski. I'm not exactly a mountainside daredevil. See, I'm fond of my face, and all four of my limbs. And I've heard one too many horror stories (Friend A broke his leg last year in Wyoming. Friend B required medical heli-transport in order to survive her skiing accident. Friend C broke his arm and leg, requiring six permanent pins in his bones. Need I go on?) I just don't care to ever know how it feel to ride down the mountain on one of those red sled-gurneys. 


Warning: Ski Patrol's last sweep is 3PM. If you ski this trail 
after 3PM  and become injured, you will  not be rescued, 
and will  likely die  alone overnight on the side of a 
freezing cold mountain. Happy Skiing!

But, I went skiing out in Utah this year. And it was gooooood. Thigh-deep powder. 50 inches in four days. Trails called "Mystic Pines" that literally made me weep. Constant falls, near-constant fear. Runs so long, I had to stop seven times on the way down. And when I ski east coast mountain, the blues suddenly feel  like greens. The blacks were like blues. I'm not really challenged? This is strange. So, since I was skiing with some trés advanced skiers that day, I felt the confidence to go for broke. (no bones.)



So, I saw the double-black-diamond trail called "Outrage" and thought.... I want to be Outraged! I'll do it! Down the wooded, steep, mogul-y trail I went.

Results: My form was terrible. The trail skied me. But, I was in control about 90% of the time, and the other 10%, I was lucky enough not to crash or fall.

Status: Success! 

Day 11: Never have I ever... channeled my inner Bubbe

I recently received a request from my roomie to make matzoh ball soup. Or matzo ball soup, or matzah ball soup, depending on how you spell it. Now, I really should know a thing or two about matzoh ball soup, seeing as though half of my family (and half of my heritage) is Jewish. But the truth is, I've only had it once, tasting a friend's order at a diner. And I thought the balls were kind of.... meh. I much prefer slippery, slurp-able noodles. But, honoring such requests make for a happy home, and I like to try new things. So Matzoh Monday it is! (well, I think it was a Wednesday. Whatever.) 

I should mention that the request wasn't for any old matzoh ball soup. It was for his mother's recipe. The request every woman dreads: Please live up to my infallible Mother's famous signature dish. I felt destined to fail. As I began the recipe, he said "I don't know about this.... you have 29 years of Debbie's Matzoh Magic to live up to." Great. 

She had graciously sent her recipe, but unfortunately we went shopping without it in hand, and guessed at a few ingredients. Right away I realized I couldn't follow it exactly. First of all, I had bought boneless chicken thighs instead of a whole chicken. Second, her recipe only called for water and no stock (the whole chicken would soon turn the water into stock). But without the chicken innards, I knew a flavorful broth would require a boxed stock. Cheating? Maybe. But nothing is worse than bland soup. 

I also browned the chicken thighs first, my own little additional step in the recipe. Then, I covered the thighs with half water/half stock, and added heaps of chopped carrots, celery, and onion. Then it was let to simmmmmmmmmmmmmer... for about two hours. 

In the meantime, I began to make my first matzoh balls. I bought whole-wheat matzoh meal, partly because it's healthier, and partly because that's all the store had in stock. In the middle of February, without any matzoh-mongering holidays in the near future or recent past, I guess it isn't a top-seller? The recipe distinctly said that I should mix the matzoh balls in "a non-metal bowl". This perplexed me. Why a non-metal bowl? I googled it. Apparently there is some debate over whether yeast reacts with metal, giving dough a funny taste. However, I'm pretty sure that the whole point of matzoh meal is that there is no yeast, as it's ground-up unleavened bread made of flour and water. But regardless, I didn't want to monkey with the rules, and so I pulled out my Grandma Marie's orange milkglass mixing bowl circa 1935. It's such a classic. 

I mixed eggs, water, oil, baking powder, salt, pepper and matzoh meal until it became a glue-like paste. After a good chill in the fridge, I shaped the paste into ping-pong sized balls and dropped them into boiling water to cook on low for 30 minutes. 

By now, the soup smelled delicious. The chicken had completely broken apart into strings and small chunks, and the veggies were perfectly tender. I ladled the soup out first, then placed 1-2 cooked matzoh balls in each bowl, as per the recipe's instructions. I wondered if I could have just plopped the cooked matzoh balls right into the soup all at once, but it was insisted upon that the two items needed to be stored separately until they were to be consumed. Because that's the way it has to be, and always has been, forever. 

Results: It was delicious!! I can't pretend this was some great feat. It was chicken soup and some dough balls. And my slight adjustments were (surprisingly) noted as welcome changes, as they made the soup slightly healthier by way of whole wheat and less chicken fat. 

My opinion of matzoh balls remains the same: meh. But I was just relieved that I didn't mess up 29 years of magic. 

Status: Success! 



Gone Fishin'

I wish. Actually, I've been sick. And turns out that the only new thing I've wanted to try this week is the new Puffs Plus Lotion with the Scent of Vicks. Inhaling the soothing menthol felt so good on my burning lungs. And made me smell like this guy.
Thank you for understanding my recovery hiatus. I'm almost all better, and will be resuming my activities today as well as catching up on two long overdue posts. I have lots of exciting, new activities planned this week, none of which include coughing up blood or passing out in the grocery store. Fingers crossed.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

On the trails, off the rails

Uh oh. My blogsperiment was derailed by an annual tradition called Ski Bunny Weekend. (Technically, now it's Ski Bunny+Squirrel Weekend, but that's not really important...)

Unfortunately two days worth of posts were compromised by the travel required to get to and from our destination. I thought that perhaps I could squeeze in some manageable new experiences... but yeah, that didn't happen. I thought about trying snowboarding, but the prospect of watching my friends zoom away together as I joined Snow Stars Ski School to spend the entire day bumbling down Hot Dog Hill, well, that made me cry tiny, frozen tears. It was also suggested (by a squirrel) that my new experience should to reenact the Columbia Sportswear ad campaign, since I had all of the elements present: lots of snow and undergarments. But that seemed more like a cheap stunt than a new experience.

So, I just hit pause. Sometimes it's just not practical to shoehorn new stuff into old traditions. And some things are perfect just the way they are, and shouldn't be messed with. Ski weekend. And s'mores. Just two examples off the top of my head...

Now, it's back onto the rails. I have two backlogged experiences to post, a two-day extension on my 30 days experiment, and a giant inflatable rat outside my house that says "Unreliable Blogger Lives HERE".