This week

I have few exciting food revelations this week, except Trader Joe's plain, non-fat yogurt makes a good breakfast with some cereal sprinkled over it, and I've been into tea lately, especially Darjeeling tea, the "champagne" of teas...

5 Reasons Why Berkeley Bowl Rocks

1. Fresh garbanzo beans in their pods.
2. Raspberries for $1.19 a basket.
3. The wall of yogurts.
4. You can smell the tomatoes when you see them.
5. Everyone's favorite: the bulk bins.

Stinky tofu

According to wikipedia, stinky tofu is made by marinating tofu with fermented (in essence, rotten) vegetables, is said to smell like sewage and taste like blue cheese, and was a favorite food of Mao Zedong--all in all, sounds pretty scary. While I love plain tofu and blue cheese, the idea of toilet-bowl smelling tofu doesn't appeal to me. But is it really that bad? People love to complain about the smell of fish sauce, kim chee and aged French cheese, three items that I enjoy. The durian is much reviled for its smell and taste, and while I don't crave it, I don't hate it either. What's your take on stinky tofu--eat it or leave it?

Bread for breakfast

In the past weeks I've been eating bread for breakfast. While I go into cereal and oatmeal phases, I always come back to bread. It might be a way of conjuring up those Saturday mornings while I was a teenager, when I ate fresh baguettes from Acme Bakery with my family. We sat around the dining table and dipped our bread into the yellow yolk of a fried egg, or spread pate on it using a butter knife. My breakfast lately isn't as fancy, but it works. Some days I take a large piece of sourdough toast, cut it in half, and place it into the toaster until it is slightly burnt. I spread the toast with butter and eat it with my coffee as CNN plays in the background. Other mornings I take a "middle eastern flatbread" (a Trader Joe's specialty), cut it in half, and toast it. Once crispy, I add a couple slices of avocado and a few crumbles of feta. With my mug of coffee and the morning paper, it's not pate and Acme, but it's pretty good.

Leftovers

Leftovers suggest old styrofoam cartons of dried-up pad thai languishing in the fridge, or a meal that didn't go so well, thrown into an old tupperware, to be hopefully forgotten behind the milk container. For a while, just thinking about leftovers would bring about a heavy feeling in my chest and an urge to go to Chipotle. But I've learned that leftovers don't have to be so bad. It started with the leftover eggplant-corn chili that tasted good the first day, great the second day, and fantastic the third day, as all the flavors mixed together and the cumin mellowed out. I ended up taking that chili to work and had to scrounge for a container that hadn't ended up in my husband's locker at work. Other leftovers I enjoyed around that time were homemade lasagna, enchiladas, and macaroni. I've found that grilled meats and vegetables in particular fare well as leftovers, but I can't say the same for grilled fish.

Some of the better leftovers I've had recently are cilantro pesto pasta, basil pesto, which I used as a sandwich spread and on top of stuffed zucchini, and homemade spicy tofu rolls and ume shisho rolls. Tomorrow I plan to have Sunday's scraps: beans, rice, and beef tacos (shells were kept seperately to avoid sogginess.) I'm counting down the hours until lunch...

Hope for mangosteens

After reading an article in the New York Times, I am hopeful for mangosteens.

I tasted mangosteens just once, a few years ago in Saigon, where piles of mangosteens, looking like old, brown tomatoes, laid in crates at the fruit stands. The outer layer, tough and darkened, gave an unappealing look to the fruit, along with the flies that buzzed over them, but I wanted to know what they tasted like. I had tried many fruits during this trip that I enjoyed, like the dragonfruit that reminded me of kiwi, the creamy fruit called "Na" or apple-custard, and the little mangos that smelled like wood. My father bought a few mangosteens from a stand, and used a knife to cut the top of the mangosteen off, revealing the pale fruit inside. The taste was sour but sweet, almost like a mix of guava and tangerine and lychee. We had a few, and then they were gone. I didn't get a chance to eat them again in Vietnam, and haven't had them in the States. But the article in the Times whet my appetite, and with luck, I'll have a few this fall.

Whole Rip-Off

While the title of this post is somewhat inflammatory, Whole Foods has let me down. Some may smile knowingly upon reading this post, having maintained for years that Whole Foods charges too much. But this chain kept me captivated in New York with its salad bar and free samples of preservative-free hot dogs, just a fifteen minute walk from my apartment. Alas, the salad bar at the Westwood Whole Foods is of a humbler size, and there is no "raw food" section, nor psuedo-pad thai. But what really burst my bubble was the vegetarian burrito I ordered a couple of days ago. I have memories of many a delicious burrito from the Berkeley Whole Foods, with a whole-wheat tortilla, brown rice, jack cheese, perfectly chopped salsa, creamy guac, and hot sauce. Sometimes a few chips would be thrown in. While burrito purists might rail against this kind of burrito, I enjoyed it for the delicious combination of ingredients, and the suspicion it was healthier than a super chorizo burrito at Picante Cocina Mexicana.
Alas, the vegetarian burrito I bought this week, which cost around $6, was wrapped loosely (translation: it fell apart) in a regular tortilla (they were out of whole-wheat), with regular rice, black beans, cheddar cheese (inferior to Jack cheese in a burrito), mediocre guacamole, and very watery salsa. After consuming three-quarters of this unfortunate meal, I discarded the rest, vowing to go to the burrito stand a block away, where a chicken and guac burrito can be had for around $3. And for groceries, I probably won't be coming by anytime soon.

Breaking the salt addiction

Recent reader comments have criticized my use of salt. Yes, I admit to being addicted to salt. Salt, also known as sodium chloride, enhances flavor more than any other compound I can think of. It was used as currency by the Romans and is necessary for many bodily functions such as absorption of nutrients, the conduction of the heart, and nervous system function. Besides making food tasty, salt also functions as a preservative.

Too much salt, though, is a bad thing. Our diets are inundated in salt, especially if we eat out a lot or eat processed foods. Eating too much salt can lead to high blood pressure (hypertension), which may cause atherosclerosis, the hardening and thickening of the arteries, increasing one's risk for heart attack and stroke.

I've been pondering for a while how to reduce my salt intake. One step that I've taken is not using the complete flavoring package when making a processed item such as yellow rice pilaf, a trick I learned from my mother. The second step I've taken is reading the sodium label when buying food in addition to the calorie, fat, fiber, and protein labels. This has opened my eyes to the astronomical amount of salt in some packaged ramen, and the salt hiding in many sweets. I've bought reduced-sodium soy sauce, which tastes like regular soy sauce to me, and noticed the many flavorings I add to make food saltier, such as hot sauce, salsa, soy sauce, fish sauce, pickled peppers, ketchup and parmesan cheese. Finally, I'm using a little more reserve with my salt shaker. So while I still can't live without salt, I may be able to handle a little less of it with dinner.

Cooking Kale for the First Time

Today, I made kale for the first time. I had eaten kale in minor amounts before, but the idea of cooking it had always intimidated me; it was too healthy, too green, too much of a vegetable that vegetable-lovers adored. Today, I took the plunge and bought a head. I tried boiling some with my ramen, which worked pretty well. But I found a better use for it tonight with dinner. I started by sauteeing one clove of chopped garlic in a tablespoon of olive oil. Next, I added the roughly chopped kale. After a few minutes, I put about half a cup of water in and some salt. I let this mixture cook for a short while, then tasted it--too bland. In went some shredded prosciutto, a little hot sauce, and some red pepper flakes. After a bit of cooking, the kale was pretty tasty, but too salty. I added some white kidney beans, and little bit of cider vinegar, then turned the heat on again. This turned out to be the perfect combination, and I'm happy to report that I will be cooking kale again. Soon.

Oh, Sourdough!

Half a sliced loaf of sourdough sits in my freezer, waiting to be eaten. I have established a new rule in my kitchen: at least half a loaf of sourdough must be in the freezer at all times. Those who violate the rule by eating some of the sourdough shall be responsible for replacing it. I will not look kindly upon those who waste the sourdough in any way, including accidentally dropping bread on the floor.

What provokes this militancy? The three years of sourdough deprivation I've endured, with only an occasional reprieve when I sojourned to San Francisco. At times, my yearning for sourdough became so desperate that I would eye the Colombo bakery stand in the Oakland airport and debate purchasing a loaf (which never occurred, as my carry-on luggage was always too full.)

In New York, the lack of sourdough meant that I settled for rye, which never had the satisfying tang of sourdough (just the abrupt zing of caraway seeds), or resigned myself to the fibrous choice, wheat. I never understood the paucity of sourdough in New York, but my best guesses include the prevailing yeast in the air is different in California or perhaps, an unspoken hatred of sour bread exists in the Northeast.

Is anyone wondering why I need my sourdough frozen? (Is anyone even reading this?)
When I was in elementary school, one of my "science" projects looked at the ideal household conditions for the growth of mold on bread. ("Science" here is meant in a broad sense, as my other projects included "What to Eat Before a Swim Meet" and "Do Plants Have Feelings?") To my horror, the conditions in the fridge were the best for mold, and the runner-up for the most mold was bread at room temperature. Surprisingly, the bread placed in the basement fared well, staving off mold growth for many days. Using the knowledge gained from this pivotal experiment, I now freeze half a loaf of sourdough soon after buying it and eat the other half over the span of a week.

The best way to enjoy frozen bread is to first defrost it at room temperature or in the microwave, then toast or grill the bread. While I might look wistfully back at other breads in New York--the "free" foccacia at Le Gourmet, the fresh pita at the Hummus Place, and pastries from Patisserie Claude, I look forward to making sandwiches with nicely sour, oh-so-tangy SoCal bread.