mustard, a re-issue

The following is a re-issue of an essay first published in May of 2006. That version is no longer available online.

At some point during my middle-elementary school years, I discovered that eating mustard on a cracker was a good way to induce a temporary high. Interestingly, without the cracker or other starchy medium, the mustard had no effect. Many a recess break was spent sitting in the sun with classmates--many of them thrill-seekers I'd otherwise never socialize with--a squeeze bottle of Grey Poupon, and packages of saltines from the cafeteria. A short time later, I was introduced to the fine regional mustards manufactured by Raye's of Eastport, Maine.

One of my few restaurant meals while in the Netherlands last month included a bowl of mosterdsoep. It was made with a whole-grain mustard, and had the wonderful flavor of mustard without being overwhelming. Gelderland is, I have since learned, known for its mustard.

In Paris, one of the shopping destinations suggested in my Lonely Planet guide that I thought I might visit but did not quite make it to was the Maille flagship store. While in France I often thought of mustard but never did find myself in one of its better-known provenences.

Recently on the Boston Natural Areas Network email list, there was sent a bulletin concerning wild garlic mustard--an invasive non-native species that self-seeds aggressively and casts shadows over native wildflowers who would otherwise grow and provide food for wildlife. From a foraging perspective, "wild garlic mustard" is an intriguing name, and it certainly is edible, but the plant really does need to be kept in check. In any case, I did not, until just now, realize what the specimen looked like. All along I assumed it was the more garlicky-looking green shoot that is coming up all over my garden. Turns out it is actually the white-blossomed, toothy-leafed one that I picked the other day to put in a vase in the kitchen.

All this brings me to my present experience wherein I find myself nursing a nasty chemical burn, the result of a remedy involving mustard gone awry. Yes, it was my friend Irina who told me about it to begin with, but I do not hold her in the least bit responsible for the rectangular red welt that now marrs my décolletage. No, I am accustomed to botching naturopathic remedies (some of you may remember my nasty incident with an iron supplement last summer), and if she had not mentioned it to me there is no telling what other trouble I may have found for myself.
In any case, I just googled "mustard burns on the skin" and here is what I found: http://www.gulflink.osd.mil/2d_recon/2d_recon_refs/n51en057/chapter4.htm. scroll down for a description of my wounds. According to this document there is still time for a blister to form, though I think I might be out of the woods. Fortunately, it doesn't sound like I will have a scar.

Jars

Small jars of thoughtfully made and given preserves have become my most treasured refrigerator-door keepsakes.

-two kinds of hot sauce from Tyler, which I have enjoyed with fried eggs on my days off for over a year now.
-from Danny and Corinne, many things: a rather wondrous rosehip and honey preserve, like nothing else I have tasted--I bring it out for pancakes and popovers; once, a quart-jar of unspiced kimchee, which we ate over the course of many weeks as a rejuvenating snack; a jar of Raye's (my longstanding favorite mustard)!
-from Annette, a jar of apple chutney made with apples from a specific state park.

Last year, I gave out a number of jars of strawberry-mulberry jam, a few jars of sauerkraut, some extra spicy kimchee.

Success at Last, in Sourdough

still waters no more

I am pleased to say that tonight my companion made for us our first homemade sparkling water. We have a pressurized tank strapped to the leg of the butcher block work table. He estimates it will yield over a year's worth of sparkling water.

chickpea/garbanzo, socca/panisse...

Somewhere, in an Elizabeth David book or maybe MFK Fisher, I read about an Italian/Provençal street food that is a chickpea-flour pancake..
I missed out on the real thing in my visits to both those places--back then, I had not known it existed--but I knew from the description that I would love it.

In the Silver Spoon cookbook--the Joy of Cooking-scale Italian food compendium translated and put out by Phaidon a few years ago--I found two recipes involving farinata: one, the pancake. Two, a chickpea flour polenta, cut into strips and fried. I decided to try the pancake. The batter is a lot of water--six cups--and quite a bit of oil, and some chickpea flour and salt.
I heated some olive oil in a cast iron skillet and swished a rosemary bough in it. I poured in as much of the batter as would fit and put it in the oven.

Eventually, it cooked down--the water evaporated--and it became deceptively eggy and custard-like--and, to this omnivore who lives in a vegetarian home, also reminiscent of chicken fat (though it was, of course, just flour and water and oil). Authentic? I have no way of knowing.

It was different, and not bad at all. We ate as much of it as we could--nearly half, I think. I must disclose that later, we both experienced indelicate digestion.

lavender + lime

Just a month ago, I started some paperwhite narcissus bulbs in two shallow bowls.

Their perfume, which I find mysterious and slightly challenging, is, I believe, responsible for this morning's similarly challenging biscotti flavor: lavender flowers with lime.

For months I have been dreaming of a crisp, dry, not-too-sweet biscuit to have with tea. I imagined that cornmeal would be involved, and bought some to have on hand. An aromatic seed would infuse the morsel. 

Eventually, I resolved to try the anise-almond biscotti recipe from Alice Waters' new Simple Food.

I have never been a huge fan of biscotti (the 1997 biscotti I remember from an early adolescent coffee house experience had a squiggle of icing piped on it, I recall...like mustard on a hot dog), but I have enjoyed those dry cellophane-wrapped Stella D'oro cookies from the supermarket. I suppose they remind me of my italian grandmother, whose heritage I did not recognize until years after her death. 

This biscotti recipe does not call for cornmeal, or butter...simply eggs and flour and sugar, with almond, aromatic seeds of choice, and a citrus zest. In the first batch, I replaced the anise with fennel, and added currants. Marvelous!

The second batch was conceived of and carried out by sea-faring Benji, and was lightly flavored with coriander and clementine zest.

Today, the third batch: it was a toss-up between anise seed, which I have by now procured, and delicate lavender blossoms, which caught my eye in the bulk spices aisle. Are they truly edible?

The sight and smell of them transport me back to the markets of Aix-en-Provence, where I arrived two years ago next week.

The lime just happened to be the only citrus in the house with a good firm skin. 

And so: when I mixed it up, the lavender blossoms remained lavender, and the lime zest was a nice green. By the time they are thrice-baked, these colors fade...but it is initially a striking combination.

sourdough starter

 

Some weeks ago, I was initiated into the world of sourdough. I have long been interested in it, and every year when blueberries and plums and grapes are around, I think about mixing up flour and water and those unwashed wild fruit and and allowing it to bubble and rise from the wild yeasts on the skins of the fruit. But I never have.

At last, my sourdough dreams were "jumpstartered" when a friend brought us some already-thriving starter in a jar. It came from far downeast, too, which pleased me...

So far we have used it twice, and we have much to learn about its mysterious ways. The bread we made last week was almost unpalatably sour, and lacked salt. We think we know what went wrong: too much time fermenting, not enough salt.... last night, though, we mixed up the sourdough hotcakes from Sandor Ellix Katz' Wild Fermentation, and they are good. 

Sourdough baking requires at least 8 hours of forethought, and I appreciate this change of pace though it is the thing that keeps me from practicing breadbaking regularly. 

The fact remains--good bread is extremely hard to come by. 

Years ago, I worked in a wonderful small bakery of the sort that should be in every neighborhood. Incomparable naturally leavened breads were made fresh each morning, and baguettes twice a day, along with buttery pastries. There were no wholesale accounts--it was all foot traffic-- and it was cash only. Prices were not inflated. The owner had trained at Acme Bread Company. It was a wonderful place that succumbed eventually to owner burn-out (in its place today is a bakery producing comparable-quality pastries--though they rather shamelessly use fresh berries and summer fruits in midwinter--but the current owners are not interested in making bread. I miss the old bakery to this day, but I feel certain that one day we will see more of that sort of place, when the bakers' secrets are more widely known and a whole class of dedicated craftsmen find their place.