In a Corn Castle

Sweet Corn Ice Cream and Corn Flour Madeleines

There does indeed exist a corn castle. Connect to this concept: driving down the freeway; you see giant billboards advertising "come, pick apples!" or "the best fried chicken for the next 200 miles!" "World's largest Pumpkin patch, Next four exits!" And each kilometer that you draw nearer, the signs begin to mount, urging you on, "almost there! almost to the freshest bite of fish you'll ever have!" just around the next bend...it is in this very fashion that i arrived at the corn castle. No not the world's largest structure supported by cob columns, but a road side stop shop decorated dino-land water park style to create a facade akin to a castle of ears filled with--yep, you guessed it; corn. Corn as far as the eye can see. Oh how corny. on y va.

I kid you not, a castle of corn does indeed exist. Three actually, and all on one very long stretch of Brasilian high way. of course i'm still talking about Brasil, get used to it. They are called Castelhinho Pamonha, litterally little corn castle, and they are filled with corny treats. Sweet corn tamales (pamonhas), corn juice (suco de milho), corn cakes (bolos de milho), cuscuz (i have no way of explaining this to you), corn cookies, corn candies, polenta, and finally--what i had requested upon arrival, Sorvete de milho: corn ice cream. I had come across it goggling food gawker one evening, and since i have been stolen by its curious concept: a vegetable in an ice cream? We initially pulled over to pick up a bottle of suco de milho, but as we stepped out of the car, H registered, Ah, we can get you corn ice cream here! Corn ice cream? i thought with a smile, it's nine in the morning. Let's do it. The creamy concoction came out of the machine as a soft serve into the cup awaiting its arrival, two spoons please! Brasilians eat a lot of corn, not to imply that North Americans don't, but Brasilians use it in a much wider array that, well, tastes a hell of a lot better than creamed corn casserole.

The cream of the crop, pun intended, is the sorvete de milho. At least in my opinion, and who could care for anything else? That being the case, i have grown attached to corn, not only for it's gluten-freeness, but because it finally tastes good. Sitting at my desk in Seattle, staring out the window, and longing with every fiber of my being to be back in Brasil with H and the rest of the family, i decide that it is time for the Salty Cod to pay closer attention to this summery warm weather treat. Ice cream is my guilt, or rather my non guilt, never say no to wine, chocolate, or ice cream, and to the ears of any North American, the concept of corn ice cream is slightly repulsive. Therefore, i must break, convince, and enlighten. C'est possible? watch me.

I hate canned corn. But i don't mind it if it's an ingredient, no dad, eggs scramble mash surprise doesn't count. A recipe for ice cream: one cup whole milk, one cup cream, sugar, a pinch of salt, and your ingredients. Let us think. This is Brasilian. So let us proceed: one cup whole milk, one cup heavy cream, one can condensed milk, and 1 cup corn. Maybe a little vanilla. A pinch of cinnamon. This is a Salty Cod confection, after all. It's first tasters: my brother R and Sister K. R: it tastes like ice cream, with a background of corn. K: background? try foreground. Success? Well, they said they would take another spoonfull. It's unexpected, that's all, K continued. Unexpected? Well, the unexpected is the best kind.

Another corny treat; mais mais, eu quero mais! Corn cakes. Very similar to North American cornbread, though less dry and with, gasp! flavor! are very scientific. I decided to honor the teaching of Aunt P, who made my 23rd birthday cake in a blender with milk cups, hand full measurements, and hey you like cheese, let's put some in! Experimental fashion. Ergo, corn cake Madelines reflect the same kitchen daringness--nose goes.

Sorvete de Milho (Sweet corn Ice Cream)
Ingredients: 1 cup whole milk ~ 1 cup whipping cream ~ 1 can corn, drained or one cup cooked and de-cobbed ~ 1 can leite condesado ~ 1 tsp vanilla extract ~ 1 tsp cinnamon

method: 1) in a blender, liquefy drained corn along with the milk 2) strain through a blender, press with a spoon to get all liquid. Discard pulp 3) return corn milk to blender, add cream, condensed milk, and everything else and mix well 4) refrigerate until quite chilly, at least an hour 5) process in an ice cream maker, or if you are doing it old-school style, god speed to you.

Corn Flour Madelines:
Ingredients: 1 cup corn flour ~ 1 egg ~.5 cup sugar ~ .5 cup milk ~ 2 tbsps melted butter ~ .25 cup Parmesan cheese ~ 1 tsp baking powder ~ pinch of salt ~ some vanilla ~ some cinnamon ~ some love. damn it.

method: mix wets. mix dries. combine. spray a madeline pan, bake at 350 for less than ten minutes. please don't burn.

In two months, H and i spent over 32 hours in the car together (we like to travel). So when the sign screams at us 50 kilometers until the best traíra! brandishing a cute little fish holding a trident, we know we're gonna stop. And when we do, and find the place a complete bust on service, but escape with a memory of a tiny red armchair made for 2 year olds that i somehow managed to squeeze my ass into, a parking lot kiss that yes i remember, and a laugh as we wave at the giant crowned fish statue as we pull out, then it was without a doubt, all worth it in the end.

Sweet corn ice cream in my little kitchenaide off in the distance of the pacific northwest; castles made of corn can be home to a fairy tale princess too. Or perhaps, just to a cod-girl. One scoop, spoon, lick of the drip on my finger and my mind is flown body and soul to that car ride, to the corn castle, to the shared cup that numbed my fingers in the car on our way to Sao Paulo. ice cream at nine in the morning. And then a cake, and i am transported one month later (in the car as well) eating Aunt P's corn cakes after the failed king of traíra. Life is a collection of connections, you just have to make them. Corn, ah. I could eat a pool of you. Taste, smell; these memory triggers outlast all others. Distance does not have to be a terrible burden. If you make the right recipes, it can, and only will enhance and make yet greater every memory that causes your saudade. And yes, i'm talking about corn ice cream. So stop off at the cheesy billboard. You may in fact catch a great memory, at least one to keep you warm until you can catch the next one.
A bientot

And do you, Mr. Orange Take Miss Lentil to be your Lawfully Wedded Wife...

the pound-caking objection of mistress anisette

It is starting to get cold. Not chilly, not brrrr, not wow maybe i should put on a jacket because my nose is sniffling, but cold. I won't lie, I do not fancy this cold unless chairlifts and powdered moguls are involved. Morning is dawning at seven. November gives the Spokane sky a picturesque glow--it is bright, but not sunny. A sad bright, if oxymoron may be called upon. It looks cold, if cold is a look. A beautiful coldness. The sun sits hovering behind wispy clouds stretched far too thinly over the Tiffany blue backdrop, the look is quite promising, though the skeleton trees and frost stiffened grass cry silent intimations through the window pane of no! do not let him fool you, your day has dawned sub-zero! How unfortunate that tricky sun gloating above us in all his mockery--you may see me but you can not feel me. To leave one building means only a race to get into another. That is the winter game. Well we will play our own winter game mr. sun, with smarties of your likeness. Orange in America is a winter fruit. It grows in the real sun of the south. The rays are bottled in its sun-tanned rind; thus sun made orange in his own image. The savior is then sent northward to we the vitamin D deprived. Why, little glowing citric orb of heat; you are my sunshine. So on y va.


So what of this lentil and orange business? That is a good question. No one really knows why they are together, but there they are all the same, in a cake. Lady Lentil is quite the jewel; small and bubbly, a protein, a staple, versatile and malleable. Could you ever imagine her in a cake? Orange did not, but what could there possibly be to lose. Orange lentil cake, what a perfect idea; healthy and yet sweet, is that not the divine marriage of flavors. But perhaps flavor divinity is in the eye of the beholder, for while the butter whipped and the flour sifted, a little seed spilled onto the counter, shouting in her controversy to be taken along. Orange and anise, they were made for each other. A striking slap of bitter licorice, yet there is some power of sweetness dissolving her bite. Anise, a tricky little spice. You either love her or you hate her, there is nothing in between. Orange and Lentil stared at one another, unknowing of what to do. But Miss Anisette could not be shaken, and tipped head first into the batter. But what could be done? To pick out a million specs is impossible, there's no getting rid of her now. Lentil and orange, though they sound mysteriously unique are not enough on their own. Lentil as flour is too void of flavor and personality to compliment citric orange. Thus we must remember that it is not the surprise ingredient that stands out, but rather what you do to it (who saw that ostrich egg on top chef last week?) Orange lentil cake--no. Orange anise lentil cake--now we're talking.

Now that you have been wrung through a poorly written and seemingly unnecessary pastry soap opera of personified foodstuffs, perhaps there is some splaining to do. Lentil cake! Yes lentil cake, but why? Why--because I am me. And my fridge is empty and I am starving. I see a bag of lentils. There are bean cakes, so why not a lentil cake? A cake without gluten, a cake I could eat. So in Salty Cod fashion, we crossed our eyes, hailed mary, poured a glass of wine, and played baking god. And what do ya know, my Frankenstein, he lives!

Orange Anise Lentil Cakes:

Ingredients: 1 cup pureed lentils ~ 1 cup gluten free flour mix like bob's (or if you could give a damn about gluten, just use a cup of regular old flour, any flour actually) ~ 3 eggs ~ 1.5 cups powdered sugar ~ 0.5 cups butter (1 stick) ~ 1 tsp baking powder ~ 0.5 tsp salt ~ 1 packet vanilla suagar (or extract) ~ 0.5 tsp almond extract ~ 1 tsp anise seeds ~ zest of whole orange

method: 1) combine butter and sugar, add eggs, extracts, zest, and anise 2) in another bowl combine flour, bs, and salt 3) combine wet mixture and flour, add lentil puree 4) divide into sprayed muffin tins or a loaf pan 5) bake at 350 F until done.

You are correct, orange and anise do sound of classic biscotti, but now they are lentil pound cake. deal with it. You wish to know if the cake tastes of vegetable? If you are yet doubting, which i do not blame you for, I will here gloat that none of the cake's consumers were told of the ingredients, none, and yet eyes fluttered back in pastry ecstasy of palatable bliss! And well, because I am so full of myself, I will say these cakes were quite successful. Sorry Lentil, Orange is nothing without Anise. So on a cold sunny day--we found our sunshine.

à bientôt

Lentils

oh boy the excitementSome of you, well rather very few of you, ok maybe just one, are aware of my great disappointment at having missed last weeks annual National Lentil Festival in Pullman, WA. I know what you are thinking; how could she have missed that! It's almost as idiot as say, missing the Sequim Lavender Festival! Which I did indeed miss this year. What can I say, I am a failed adventurer, but none the less, the lentil is deserving of our attention, I know you will agree. So on y va.

There is a festival for absolutely everything. And it is not just an American thing. If it exists in the world, there is a group of people somewhere celebrating it. Party everyday eh. In my own town of Poulsbo we celebrate Norwegian heritage by consuming lutefisk and spit roasted meat at our annual Viking Fest held in May, in neighboring Sequim on the Olympic Peninsula the Lavendar festival is held every July to make known the worlds largest producer of lavendar outside of Provence, here in Spokane the lilac festival is held every May, in Walla Walla the onion festival is held late july, and the Wenatchee apple harvest festival in late September celebrates the regions apple bounty before they are shipped off to grocery stores around the world (including Paris). These are a few of the hundred in my state alone, multiply that by fifty and then add in 3 million from around the world. It is a notion as common as two eyes and a nose, we like to celebrate.

Driving my housemate S to the Spokane International Airport for her evening flight to Washington DC from where she will be driving all the way back to Spokane in a little car (yes, cross-country, but more on that later) we hear on the radio the voice of the weather woman announce, "and what beautiful weekend weather we'll have for you to get out there and enjoy the end of the lentil festival with.." What did she say? Lentil festival? Ahk! When, where? Did we miss it? S just stares ahead, clearly relieved by her immense fortune at finding herself en route toward the opposite side of the country from me. Home from the airport, I phone E, E there is a lentil festival! We must find out about it. E: I love lentils! Alas, as we discover too late, the lentil festival is but a few hours shy of finishing, and that being in Pullman, a no-nothing town about an hour and a half's drive south of Spokane. Perhaps next year. Only kiding--Spokane next August? Not on your life.


The Lentil Festival in Pullman is actually a national festival, as it commemorates the largest lentil producing region in the nation. Over one third of the lentils grown in the entire country come from the Eastern Washington region known as the Palouse. Eastern Washington, for as unromantic hic farmer-town as it sounds, is an agricultural paradise of rolling fields and peaking hills studded with farm land as far as the eyes can see. Potatos, wheat, onions, apples, barley, alfalfa, grapes, and of course lentils. Lentils are consumed all over the globe; in Europe, Asia, throughout the Americas, the Middle East, Africa--the lentil is as communal as wheat. They have been discovered filling grain sacks in Egyptian tombs since before 2000 BC, and like everything else to the Egyptians (did you catch Bourdain eating the pigeon on Monday?) lentils are famed as an aphrodesiac. Food in general is eh. Lentils are more of a bean than anything, though flat like a fan or a lens. Rich in protein, soluble fiber, and iron, the lentil is a little health pill.

(photo borrowed from Photo Quarry)

Green, black, yellow, brown, red--lentils are as diverse as the countries in which they are consumed. Though the Pelouse region may be the greatest lentil producer in America, the greatest in the world is the Saskatchewan province in Candada. Go Canada. An international legume, though I have always associated lentils with French cuisine, for I have never had a French soup de lentilles which I did not swoon over. Velvety smooth, or with whole beans, savoring of chestnuts, or swirled with rasperry coulis and a drizzle of creme sauce. However, soup is the common preparation for the lentil throughout most of Europe and North and South America, while in India and the Middle East lentils are prepared relatively dry, cooked simultaneously with rice, producing mejadra in the Middle East and Khichdi in South Asia.

Following is the winning recipe in the festival, by Lindhda Sagen--an actual Pullman resident. Go figure. Poppers, quite the unappetizing name I will say; inspires images of something sticky that comes in a bucket from say a large fried chicken chain. But we must remember, we are in Eastern Washington--a land all its own.

Fabulous Lentil Mushroom Poppers: By Lindha Sagen
Ingrdients:

30 medium-size white mushrooms (remove stems and set aside. Scrape out all the gills using spoon)

1 tube Jimmy Dean original flavor sausage

¼ c. finely chopped mushrooms stems

1 c. cooked lentils

¼ c. finely chopped onion

¼ c. celery

1 tsp. breadcrumbs

4 oz. cream cheese (1/2 of package)

½ c. shredded Italian cheese (divided)

¼ c. Parmesan shredded cheese

1 c. Marinara sauce (optional)

Method:

Place clean and hollowed mushrooms on baking sheet. Preheat oven 375 degrees. In a separate medium size pan, combine sausage, mushroom stems, lentils, onion, and celery. Cook over medium heat stirring occasionally to break-up sausage.

Remove from heat when sausage is cooked (10 minutes). Add bread crumbs, cream cheese, and ¼ c. Italian cheese. Stir mixture until uniform. Using a spoon, scoop mixture into mushroom caps (fill to the look like a cooked cupcake).

Sprinkle remaining Italian cheese and Parmesan cheese. Bake for 10-15 minutes. Remove from heat and serve alone or with heated Marinara sauce for dipping.

The lentil, lentille, lentilha--where would humanity be without the lovely lentil. Stuck with chicken noodle soup that's where. Lentil soup is an ambrosia, one which I would unhesitatingly be proud to list in Bourdains "what would your death row meal be?" game. They celebrate the lentil in Pullman every year, but we can award it equal justice without throwing it a party. For none of you will ever (hopefully) travel physically to Pullman for the festival, so make soup, share soup, we're all connected by soup! Vive la lentille!

Begin With a Beer Nut

Commencer avec une noix de la bièrre - Começar com uma noz de cerveja
Salty Cod in Portugal Series Episode 1

A little yellow bean, she tells me, they are like a nut, not a nut, a fruit? Perhaps a small tomato. No it is a bean, like a nut. A peanut? No a bean nut. You can't get a beer without it, it's standard. They are bean nuts. Bean beer nuts. Vamos. Agora.

Tremoços are their name; the peanut of Portugal. The four days passed in Oporto I admit, were slightly preoccupied by wine bars and port cellars that I never once sat down in a pub bar, thus the allusive beer nut was still on my mind as the train left the Estação Campanhã and arrived three hours later in Lisbon at the Estação Oriente. 29degrees read the mercury. Arriving in Lisbon, for this blue eyed blondey, was meteorologically arriving at the gates of hell. am i seeing double? Perhaps it is the burn, je suis rouge comme un tomat, je pensais. Sitting inside my humid hotel of a hostel at the computer after writing my s.o.s of a 'come save me from this inferno!' whiny email to my personal hot-weather meteorologist expert whose new blog name is bq (beijo queijo), i sat glazzy-eyed for minutes in a daze only broken by a the little whistle of coucou, hey miss foodie would you like to join me and a few friends for snails? Snails? Well, of course I would.

My first question at any hostel reception is: what should i eat, but more specifically, where do you eat? A traveling foodie knows, like any Bourdain fan, that to find what and where to eat in a foreign city, it is singularly crucial to be verbal. id est, food travels by word of mouth. A silent traveler can always find a seat at the hard rock cafe, or space along the tourist track of myriad joints with waiters who pounce and heckle at passers by, thrusting their menus to any and all. with a hotness akin to a Los Angeles coke dealer. Most employees at hostels and hotels are locals, hopefully, and therefore just as likely to know the best place to eat as would the number one food critic in the city.

My conversations all begin as follows: I love to travel for gastronomic discovery, a culture is fascinating to discover through its food, i want to be a food writer, i have a blog, what is your favorite bacalhau dish? I came to this country inspired by a fish. Your fish. Perhaps I may frighten a few, but I procure results. So who in the end matters, what in the end matters? people may raise their brows which may cause your eyes to fall to the ground-- but really how could I expect anyone understand. Just remember there might somewhere be someone who does, and you only need one. Who wants to know somebody who isn't their self. A solo journey is never really solo if you have someone(s) to report back to, and there are always many people helping along the way who twine their path into yours. Make sure you eat dinner with them.

My first night in Lisbon was a bucket full of take out snails bathing in a pool of Douro Valley olive oil and salt, a gift of luck, i was told by the three Lisboans seated around the table, as that very day was the commencement of the snail season. I've rolled my roulette. As the snails disappeared faster than coconut covered pink marshmallows, it was suggested we search more provisions. Ladies you stay, have another beer (me wine. no beer), we'll get some mussels and octopus. What gentlemen. Wait! I cry, I need little yellow beans! I have their name written, just let me...tremoços. Tremoços!? They are beer nuts! they laugh--though with their return was discovered steaming mussels, a cold octopus and parsley salad, and a beer cup filled with little yellow beans, taken directly from the bar.

To eat a tremoços, or lupin or lupini bean--simply hydrate the dried bean in a salted water, throw in a beer cup (Portugal, so either Super Bock or Sagres) bite off a small end, grip the bean between your thumb and first finger, and pop the fleshy seed into your mouth, discarding the empty case in a tremoços ash tray. Beautiful. The little yellow bean. The little yellow interactive bean, as most bar snacks are interactive---breaking a pistachio shell, or cracking open a peanut. A beer snack is a beer snack in any culture, which proves that it is our differences that make our similarities visible.

Where are the tremoços in the US? In France? I promised J I would find them and report back--I will not disappoint. Until then, I leave you with the assurance that Portugal's little yellow bean of simplicity--hydration, makes a snack coveted from north to south, a little magic bean, i believe, that may give jack and his giant a run for their money. Eat a bean, and remember, it is never a shame or embarrassment to ask, even if you can only attempt with the native language, and attempt is a start. And there always has to be a start.

Até logo & A bientôt



This is a late addition: This photo (above) is for Click the Photo Event contest May theme: Beans and lentils. How could little tremocos pass that up. Wish me luck.

To Pick a Peck of Pickled....Pickles

How, I used to think, did peter pick pickled peppers? Peppers are not grown pickled, I would muse, where would the jar come from? Until a few moments ago I kept to the explanation that the nursery poem was just a silly conglomeration of words that rhymed and didn't necessarily make sense. But in those few moments ago I learned that peck was an actual word with meaning and not mere gobbled-y-gook, henceforth my entire relationship with Peter changed. Peter was not picking peppers as one would pick carrots from the earth, he was picking, in the sense of choosing, jars of pickled peppers to the equivalent of eight quarts or one quarter bushel. There now I have tied a simple rhyme to a chair and beaten it with a garden hose, the matronly fowl is rolling her eyes in perturbance at my attempt to analyze and quantify everything into sense. Now I know all Peter did was choose a few jars of canned peppers {a peck, if using pint jars would yield about 16 jars. Peter must have had a trolley}. Either way, why is there a nursery rhyme about this? And in further contemplation, why are there so many nursery rhymes about food? Little miss muffit was disturbed while eating her curds, to market to buy a fat hog, 4 and 20 blackbirds baked in a pie, Mr. & Mrs. Jack Sprat licking the platter clean, St. Clements bells ring of oranges and lemons, the abusive husband Peter Pumpkin Eater, the plumb on the thumb of little Jack Korner, Patty cake patty cake, the muffin man, etc. While yet there are many others that have absolutely nothing to do with food, there are more in the category that do. I view it as food is something we can all relate to, and particularly for children most of these foods represent a treat; i.e. pies, fruits, and cakes--treats that when the majority of these rhymes came into being were by far rarer in appearance than they are today. How much a child of yesteryear pined for a pint of pickled peppers though may be in need of debate, however, fresh fruit and sweets were rare treats in Europe during the 17th century when the majority of the traditional English rhymes emerged. Scholarly analysis of the conte de fee has proffered the genre's true meanings as cleverly disguised representations of political and social strife of the time. Innocent rhyming subjects play the decoy of sickness and disease, corrupt political figures, and the realities of class and station. Though not all, as I am in want of an analogy for Peter's pickles. Food is a facile stand-in for these subjects, innocent, appealing, and understood by the children they may or may not be for.

Peter Piper came to mind as I, for the first time, made pickles. The process is near enough to jam that it was neither a daunting nor difficult task, though my half-peck is not without quirks. Traditional pickling of vegetables is done in large open faced vats, where the produce is steeped in brine for a time and then packed in jars. Lacking pickling vats, my homemade pickling adventure consisted of stuffing as many small gherkins in pint jars that would fit, sprinkled with a medley of spices, covered in hot brine, and hot water processed until sealed. The yield per jar is quite minuscule, as 5 raw cucumbers were all that would fit prior to shrinking. The pickling spices used range from black pepper corns, mustard seed, dill seed, red pepper flakes, cloves, and the like. The process was time consuming, and the vinegar made for the feel of a science lab. However, the 8 jars that emerged are excruciatingly quaint. Though unready until near November, the pickles will be a "hey, remember Mallory" dish at the family thanksgiving dinner. Have you made pickles? Undoubtedly it would be cheaper and less toilsome to purchase pickles form the market that not only are more uniform in taste, but crisp and packed tight. First attempt, as I tribute.

A children's rhyme, I believe is in order about a cod. If ever one can find or write one, the honor would be of mine as it hangs framed on the wall in the bakery. Food as a literary decoy--the cod, perhaps a dead one, representing modern commercialism, or perhaps a dancing cod discovered and enslaved as a court jester. Moving on. I do intend the Salty Cod to offer of a line pickled something, whether pickles or not, I must keep experimenting until something unique, or rather just quite tasty emerges. Perhaps a relish. But for this first attempt it is joyous, and perhaps if Peter were around he would drop the peppers and pick a few pints of me pickles.

A bientôt