The [true] story of The Apron and The Magical Hand...

People do crazy things to become famous, never forgotten or to be remembered forever.  For me, I found the answer unintentionally almost 5 years ago, on a Fall afternoon, much like today.  I remember that it was early on a Saturday evening after my daughter and I had finished running errands.  It was a fun day overall.  We always found things to laugh at, or new activities to discover.  We still do.

The sun was still shining through the patio doors and I was almost done cooking dinner. My beautiful little girl came in the kitchen just as she always did.  I have figured out that she is driven there, in spurts, partly because of the anticipation of being hungry and then because of the marvelous aromas that lure her there.  That day I realized that she is also driven by...curiosity.

To a five or six year old who grows up in an era of convenience, super-market conglomerates and a generous assortment of chain restaurants in the heart of her suburb, cooking one's own meals must hold some type of "magic" potential.  She seemed to be wondering how the food that her Mama throws in the pot comes out of it magically delicious.  This was my chance!  A chance to form yet another bond with this lovely little giggling fairy of mine with the rosy cheeks, and the long brown curls.

In an instant, the giggles and the smiles just stopped and a sad look overcame my little girl. I asked her what was wrong, what made her change so quickly.  "Mama, what if I never learn to cook like you and Nanny?", she said with her big blue eyes afraid to disappoint.

I'm a mother, who treasures her child but also never wants to set her up for failure or disappointment.  In that moment, I had to look in my heart and think carefully at the answer that I gave her.  I looked back at whether I had ever shared her concern.  The answer was, no.

In my heart I always felt that there was a passion, a love and maybe yes, magic, that all the women in my family commanded in their presence as they cooked.  The kitchen was their realm.  I had seen Mamita and my Mom cook endless meals.  There was a time that I thought everyone cooked as they did but as I got older I realized that was not necessarily the case.

The experience that confirmed this for me happened when I was 12 years old, on one of our trips to Puerto Rico.  Although I had not yet learned how to cook (yes, I was a late bloomer in that sense), I watched my great-grandmothers, Marcola & Mera (short for Esmeralda).  It was on that trip that I realized where the technique, the intensity, the creativity and the dedication that Mamita and my mom had always showed, came from these women, the elders. It was also at that moment when I realized, without a doubt, that I would one day show that same love and prowess in the kitchen.  I didn't know when, but I was sure that I would. 

That memory gave me the ability to turn to my child and give her an honest answer, from my heart.  I needed to deliver the same message to her in a way that she could understand it at 6 years old.  I knelt down in front of her, took her hand and looked into her worried eyes.

"Do you see these lines, baby?"  I asked, pointing to one of the lines on her palm.
"What lines?  No." she answered, looking more through her palm than at it.
"These lines in your palm, that go in different directions."  At that, she smiled.
"Well one of these lines is your family line"  And she responded with a look of confusion, of course.
"What I mean is that the magic that Mama has when I cook came from Nanny.  The magic that Nanny has, came from Mamita.  And the magic that Mamita had, came from Abuela Marcola, and so on, and so on.  You come from a line of strong women, passionate women.  You won't understand that yet because life has to sometimes put us through tests in order for us to remember that it's there.  Every person has been given gifts, but sometimes life helps us to rediscover them.  Like I said, you won't understand that part yet.  What I want you to know is that you come from a line of women who were dedicated to the kitchen, in their heart.  And each of those women passed that happiness that comes from cooking to their daughters.  Nanny and I are giving it to you.  One day, it will wake up inside of you and you will be just as good, if not better."

"You promise, Mama?"
"I believe this with all of my heart", I said looking into those blue diamonds glistening at me, and holding her warm little hand to my heart.

That was a long time ago.  Yet, last week, the memory came vividly flooding back to me.  I was right.  

My daughter is eleven and is growing up in a suburb of Upstate, NY.  She comes from a Puerto Rican mother and a Dominican father.  She has not yet had the opportunity to step foot on either of our islands.  And yet still, that is one very proud little Latina.  Part of this comes from having parents and family who is proud of our heritage, yes.  However, in order for that heritage to flourish inside of her and to mean something to her, it must be nourished.  I found with my daughter that the best way to do this is in the kitchen.

She is a great student and has learned so much.  I marvel in watching her as she develops her own cooking techniques, even as a newbie, a little girl.  It makes me feel that perhaps we don't just pass on DNA to our children but also memories and experiences.  Sometimes I've watched her do things that I haven't yet taught her.  Or perhaps, it may be that she watches her grandmother and I even closer than what we realize. 

Last week I came home exhausted from a long day at the office, and saw it as an opportunity to continue her cooking lessons.  My daughter insisted that she wanted me there, but that night she wanted no direction.  She wanted to make that meal on her own, from start to finish.  Proud, and not at all skeptical, I conceded.

The meal was looking fabulous and the neighbors must have been well aware that we were cooking because it smelled amazing in our kitchen.  I was helping clean up before we sat down to eat, and caught myself glancing at her with one of my famous side-way squints.  

"Hey, what's up with you wearing Mama's apron, little lady?"  I teased her.  It was odd because she has her own apron that she loves.
She put down what she was doing and turned to me.  There was a moment's pause before she looked at me and smiling said, "I'm wearing your apron because tonight I cooked just like you do, and did everything just like you do.  Tonight, I deserve to wear your apron."

You can imagine the love and the pride that swelled in my heart in that moment.  I wanted to scoop her up and give her kisses just as I've always done since she was a baby.  I held back. Instead, I nodded and gave her a big smile, because she was right.

For that night we were as equals.  My baby was wearing my apron.  Behind her, I looked at the picture of my grandmother that always keeps me company in the kitchen.  I knew she'd be smiling just like that if she were there too.  And, I remembered that my daughter's gift, is literally in the palm of her hands...


The first (top) picture is my apron, coveted by the most beautiful little girl in my world.

The second is a Polaroid picture of my grandmother, Mamita, and I on the morning of my 6th birthday.

Banjan!

So today is a special day for our Muslim brothers and sisters.  A very Happy Eid to you all!

As some of you know, I'm definitely a fusion of several cooking styles.  What you may not know is that I grew up close to an Afghani family and learned a great deal about their customs, culture and cuisine.  What I absolutely loved most about their style of cooking and eating is similar to my own.

This family was from Kandahar, in southern Afghanistan.  So the names of the dishes and ingredients I use are referred to in their language, Pashto.  Naturally their cooking encompasses their local vegetation, such as cucumbers, tomatoes, onions, cauliflower and eggplant.  There's so much more.

Cooking was an opportunity for the women in the family to come together and socialize.  They are very clean and sanitary in their techniques and only used the freshest ingredients.  Like Latin-Caribbean cuisine, their food is very flavorful and aromatic, but not spicy-hot.

The particular level of heat that an individual prefers is left up to preference.  In Kandahar, one of the sides or condiments, is always Murchak.  A small and very hot green pepper, which I believe is also used in Mexican cuisine.  Murchak  was also their nickname for my daughter because even at 2 years old, she caught your attention like a hot pepper when she wanted to be heard.

Most meals are also accompanied by a deliciously thick, homemade, yogurt called Mastieh, which is used as a condiment as well.  This is usually made the night before, by boiling whole milk, letting it sit in a pot and lastly letting it chill.

Another impressive aspect of Afghani culture was the way in which food was served, and eaten.  Once prepared, the food was served on a Starjan (star.han), which is basically a table cloth that was spread on the floor.  The family gathers around the starjan on which the main dishes are served.  We used to then serve ourselves in individual plates and eat from there.  Although, my understanding is that traditionally everyone ate out of one large serving plate.    I've seen Islamic African cultures do this the same way.

And here is the best part...  You get to eat the deliciousness with your hands!  Your right hand to be precise (there is symbolism behind why it is the right hand).  If you're not used to it, it may sound strange.  The truth is that it's a wonderful experience once you get the hang of it.  Part of what makes it easier is that you use flat bread, Dudi, to pick up the food and soak in any sauces.  Something about eating with my hands made the experience more like a ritual, than just having an ordinary meal.  And, I found it fun too!

After dinner, the family sits together to have Chai, a delicious tea.  During the afternoon and evening it's usually green tea leaves with [ground] cardamom and sugar.  Some shortbread cookies go magnificently with this tea.

In the morning you typically have Chai Shiddieh (shiddieh is Pashto for milk), which is a black tea, also infused with [ground] cardamom and steamed milk.  It's so delicious with breakfast, or with Dudi!  Still to this day, all of the teas I make are from the actual leaves and spices.  I find it soothing to grind my own cardamom, for instance. 

Among my favorite dishes, which I still make and is always a hit with my dinner guests, is Banjan.  It's delicious,  it's bursting with flavor, and so healthy too.  It's also my favorite meal to cook for when my vegetarian friends come over.  Banjan is an eggplant cooked with sauteed onions, in a tomato-based sauce.  It really is so simple to make!

                                                                            Banjan  

 The long thin eggplants are preferred for this dish, because they are sweeter, but you can use any.  

Cut the top and the bottom off each eggplant.  With a vegetable peeler, alternate cutting lines along the long side of each eggplant.  You should end up with stripes, one purple, and one white.  
Looks pretty, right? Or, as you say in Pashto, Shaistah, which means beautiful or lovely.

Now cut the eggplant in medallions. 
I love to slant the cut to give it that julienned angle.  Looks even prettier.

I like to sprinkle the eggplant with a little bit of lemon juice.  
The acid from the lemon slows that oxidation process and stops the eggplant from turning a brownish color.  I do the same with apples, potatoes and bananas, for example.

Drizzle the eggplant itself generously with olive oil, then add salt and pepper to taste.  
The salt is important because it naturally releases the moisture from fruits and vegetables and will enhance your sauce.

Heat a skillet to a medium flame, drizzle with olive oil.

Add in a purple onion, chopped or sliced to your preference.   This is where you can also add garlic.
I love garlic.  Passionately.  And although my friends did not add garlic to their Banjan, I don't miss the opportunity.  If I have sofrito, sometimes I even add that if I want to give the dish a PR flair.  If you're in a rush, you can also get away with generously sprinkling garlic powder.  Heck, this is your dish, I'm just giving you ideas, Reader.  Sprinkle away with any spices that make your mouth happy!

Sometimes if I feel a little Italian that day, I even add mushrooms to that mix!

Once the onions and other veggies become translucent, I add in the eggplant.  Let that simmer and get some color on both sides. 


Add in your pureed tomato sauce and let that simmer together on low heat. 

I like to add some wine to the mixture to add flavor to the sauce.  Islamic cooking does not use wine, so you can use water and salt accordingly to your taste.  The sauce should not be watery, but not to thick either.


Throw some flat bread in the oven.  
I love to make flatbread home made!  In Afghanistan it's called Dudi, in India Naan and in the West Indies Roti.  I just love it!  You can also make the store-bought kind, throw a couple of drops of moisture on it and throw in the oven till it's lightly golden.  


Once your Banjan is ready, you can scoop it and the delicious sauce with your Dudi!

Happy Eid!  

Until next time, Da Khudai, pah ahman....

What exactly is Sofrito, you ask?

Reader, hello!  Nice to see you again this evening... go on and pull your kitchen stool over closer.  Don't mind me, I have a handful to do tonight.  It'll be nice if you keep me company as I cook.

Remember, when you're in my kitchen, you become part of my family.  You may even hear the whispers of ancestral women sharing their wisdom with you and I.  That's what my family and I do.  We catch up and have these great conversations as we prepare a meal.  Your family probably does the same.

Some of the best advice that I've gotten from my parents, I received in the kitchen.  Although, I admit, not always willingly.  Like most kids, it didn't matter at the time whether I wanted to receive my parents', or my grandmother's, gift of wisdom.  What mattered is that it stuck with me.  There are times when some  twenty something years later I can remember something important that my family taught me, that now holds even greater relevance.

For instance, one that came to me as I prepared last night's dish was my Dad sternly reminding me never to start something new without first finishing what I'd started.  At the time, surely he meant not to move on to the next dish without first finishing chopping up the veggies, and cleaning up.

After repeated drills from Dad I learned to have "Cooking Stations".  I now have a "prep" station where I do all my washing and chopping.  Then I have a wet ingredients station, one for dry and the infamous "garbage bowl" (which I swear to you that my Dad invented) to keep garbage in as I go.  The garbage bowl is simply a large mixing bowl lined with a plastic shopping bag, like the ones we get from the market.

I'll tell you why this is better than keeping the trash can nearby.  Once you're done disposing of onion layers, trimmed fat off meat, or excess vegetables you can seal off the bag and slow down the oxidation process in your trash can, therefore avoiding that offensive garbage smell given off by organic material.

My mom used to also stress the importance of not starting something new until I finished what I had originally set out to do.  She had a creative way of making that lesson stick with me, but you'll have to stay tuned for that one.

If you're like me, you don't have a large kitchen and are probably thinking you don't have room for "cooking stations" or garbage bowls.  I assure you that it really doesn't take much room at all.

Another thing to keep in mind is that the neater you cook, the more you can enjoy your meal later without the threat of a kitchen that looks like Picasso and Van Gogh had a party commemorating your kitchen walls with a vast assortment of marinades! 


The less that you have to worry about clean-up, the more you and your family & guests can enjoy yourselves.  So there!  No need to have a state-of-the-art kitchen.  If you have counter space for 2 or 3 of those floppy cutting boards and one large mixing bowl, we're in business!

So, here you are spending time with me and watching me go, here in my kitchen.  You're probably wondering what exactly is a Sofrito Disciple.  Right?  I assure you that it is not some freakish cooking cult!  I think of myself as a disciple because I am a student of my kitchen, my ingredients and what life has to teach me.  The kitchen just happens to be my hall of epiphanies, where it all comes together.  Why there?  Because that is when I have the time and serenity to assimilate my thoughts, my fears and my dreams.

Now, I'll let you in on a secret.  I am a creature who treasures rituals.  When I was a girl, Mamita & my mom and I would sit together in the kitchen about once a month, to make Recca'o, otherwise known as Sofrito.  This is where it gets confusing for some people.  The definition of Sofrito varies from region to region in Latin America.

Sofrito is technically a cooking base used in many of our sauces or rice dishes.  Making Sofrito is no easy task. We would sport our "batitas", or house-dresses, and bandannas.  Sounds attractive, right?  Well, it's a good idea not to get your good clothing dirty, and to keep hair out of your prep area all-together.  A good hair clip or baseball cap works too.

I have to tell you that there is something about making Sofrito that connects me to my Native-American and African roots.  This process renders respect for my ancestors who made this herbal paste, as well as the Earth that provides the many blessings that we often take for granted.  The herbs, the garlic and the onions overwhelm my senses and seem to trigger innate memories that I'm not quite certain that I've ever known.

Doesn't it sometimes amaze you how we are given gifts that we really didn't learn?  Or how we assume traditions and skills that have been in our families for generations.  This is the type of respect for my elders, and for the Land, that cooking provides my soul. 

                                                                       Sofrito

A green herbal paste, used as a cooking base; made with lots of garlic, coriander, fresh herbs, peppers, onions, lime juice, salt and ground pepper.

First you must peel and crush about 3-4 cups of garlic. 
Unfortunately, this was always my job.  Now I just buy the container of freshly peeled garlic cloves in the market.  It is important that you not use the garlic paste sold in jars.  That has it's own benefits in our kitchen, but never for making sofrito.  There is no substitute for fresh garlic.  Further, it's also not worth toying around with "Elephant Garlic".  Yeah, it's easier to peel and much to my mom's dismay I experimented with this for a while.  She was so right though, there is no substitution for your regular garlic cloves.  The flavor is super-concentrated and it is much more fragrant.  Okay reader, you win.  That was my dissertation on garlic.  Moving on...



There are also these small, sweet, multi-colored peppers that we call Ajis or Ajisitos.  
You must remove the seeds from these.  You need about 2 cups.  I'll be frank, I can only find these in New York City.  They really don't sell them in Upstate, NY and I often have to skip this part (I'm sorry, Mom!) despite how flavorful they really are. You can substitute any other kind of assortment of sweet peppers, although my Mom will warn you that it does not compare.  I have to agree with her, but depending on where you live, you may not find the ajisitos either.

 Now let's add about 5-7 bunches of Recca'o, or Coriander leaves (main ingredient), well rinsed.

 4 bunches of cilantro, after they've been washed well.


4 bunches of scallions, also well-rinsed.

I pull apart the ends of the herb leaves with my hands.  In other words, what you would normally cut with a knife, it's better to twist off with your hands.  The blade of the knife can speed up the oxidation process and your sofrito will not last as long.

Let's add about 3 chopped purple onions (rarely do I ever use anything but the purple onions (why would you)..?

And now, the best part!  You dear Reader, are reading this in the year 2011.  Gone are the days where you had to mash all of these ingredients by hand with a mortar and pestle. Or even with a blender.  Nowadays we have food processors!  That means the hardest part of all this is washing and trimming all of the veggies and herbs.  

Once you do that, throw them all in the food processor, adding in fresh lime juice (about 2 whole limes squeezed), olive oil and light salt and pepper.  Aside from adding flavor, these ingredients also serve as natural preservatives.

Once all of your ingredients have been mixed in, it should all form a green, aromatic herbal paste.  This my friends, is Sofrito!  The base, the life and the foundation for so many of our dishes.

Now you pack this in jars or freezer safe containers.  Freeze a few containers.  Keep one in your fridge for use.

If you want to add life  and depth to your dishes, try adding some olive oil to the pan before you cook.  Add one large table spoon of Sofrito. and add a can of tomato sauce.  Simmer for a few minutes, and add any type of meat, soup, fish, rice and water as needed.  Garnish with peppers and onions and Voila!  Or Wepa!, as we say in Puerto Rico!


I added 3 photos for you so that you can see the mixture process  in steps.  Remember to store in air-tight containers.

 Although to some this may seem like an arduous process, you can take it as an opportunity to sit with your loved ones, peel garlic, wash veggies, laugh, cry (because of the onions,  of course) and pass it on.  Plan to be in the kitchen for a couple of hours, but it's so worth it.  By having this pre-made you will be adding flavorful freshness to even your quickest meals.  It's certainly worth finishing once you get started!

Remember: The more love that you put into your culinary techniques and preparation, the more you are giving and sharing of yourself.

Muy buen provecho!

Footnote: My family calls sofrito "Recca'o" because one of the main ingredients is this flavorful, crisp fragrant herb that we call recca'o.  I believe that in English it's called Coriander.  This is not easy to find in the states, much less in Upstate, NY.  I can only find it in a local Asian Supermarket about 20 miles from where I live. 





 

When [Hurricane] Irene and I made Asopa'o De Camarones

Late this week everyone was in a frenzy over Hurricane Irene that was rapidly and forcefully moving up the coast with a vengeance.  I knew all about her from my family in Puerto Rico, who kept us updated via Facebook as they were getting hit.  Once I knew she was coming, I started to prepare too.

By nature, I'm whimsical and impulsive.  My profession demands otherwise.  With discipline and dedication,  being a mother, and a Risk Manager, has taught me to calculate risk and prepare for the worst.  What I still haven't learned is to prepare for the best... (stay tuned because that's a monster many of us struggle with, a topic all on it's own).

I meticulously shopped for the items on my "Disaster Preparedness" list, jotted all emergency municipality contacts and carefully tied down all lawn furniture (that was too large to move indoors) with bungee cords.  Not bad for a single woman, eh?

It was my kids' weekend with their father and it was frightening to know that I'd be alone, and that my little one would be away from her Mama.  My ex-husband was gracious enough to offer me shelter, and thoughtful as he was I gather it may have been a tad bit uncomfortable for the new girlfriend.  Scary as it was, I looked forward to uninterrupted moments alone with my thoughts.

So what do I do when I need to make peace with my soul?  You guessed it!  I cook.  My kitchen is stocked with fresh herbs, vegetables, fruit and seasonings.  At any given moment I can cook a vast array of international delights.

Today, as I often do when I feel lost, I yearned for the warmth of my mom and my grandmother, Mamita.  I called my mom while I still had electricity and ran my tentative menu by her.  Then, I looked up at a picture of my dearly departed grandmother that I keep in my kitchen and ran it by her too.  I always talk to my Mamita.  She has been gone for 11 years now, and I still run everything by her, especially when I'm in the kitchen.

Often, I determine what I'm going to cook by how I feel, and then by the ingredients that I have on hand.  I had shrimp and fresh herbs, spices and veggies.  The choice virtually made itself!  I chose to stick to my Puerto Rican roots and make an Asopa'o De Camarones.  No, the accent is not associated with any fancy French pronunciation, but rather an African one.  In the Latino-Caribbean countries, we will often "drop" off consonants of a word, such as the "s" thus giving the word a more African enunciation.  Asopa'o is that pronunciation of the technical "Asopado", meaning to make a soup of.

As I washed the herbs and chopped the vegetables I felt the warm embrace of my grandmother in my mom's kitchen.  I thought of everything that I've been through this past year and what they both taught me.  Among these lessons, they always taught me to be prepared.  I always thought that meant to have a good education, but as I get older, I appreciate the lesson more.

This storm came and went without much consequence, but in those moments alone in my kitchen, Hurricane Irene reminded me of heartache I'd recently experienced last year.    Like the hurricane, promises of something great came & went..  And like the hurricane, they fell short and left damage behind.  Thankfully from both I learned a valuable lesson, to prepare for greater and more powerful things.

Lesson:  In both circumstances, I never lost power and now I'm prepared for the real thing...

                                                            Asopa'o De Camarones

Now, keep in mind that in my kitchen, just as two human beings are never the same, neither are my dishes.  My recipes evolve depending on what ingredients I have on hand, and how I feel.  The Asopa'o was so easy to make.  In a mixing bowl, I cut up a handful of red potatoes, 3 stalks of celery, 2 purple onions, finely chopped carrots, julienned peppers, two [table] spoons of olives, a handful of mushrooms and... a handful of chopped radishes.  Okay, I know my mom will be reading this, and she is gonna say, "What Mi'ja?  Radishes?  Pero, por que?  Radishes? Asopa'o does not call for radishes!"  Go with me on this one, they are just like potatoes when cooked, and soak in the flavor of your dish.  Yes, radishes.

Then to that mezcla, or mixture, you add two envelopes of Sazon, generously sprinkle some Adobo, a little oregano, chopped basil, chopped coriander leaves, chicken bouillon, 1/3 stick of butter, crushed garlic (be generous), finely chopped cilantro, two table spoons of tomato paste or one can of tomato sauce, and drizzle with olive oil....

Lastly, throw that mixture into a soup pot.  Give it some love.  Come on now!  Now add about 1-2 cups of rice.  Let it simmer and fall in love with each other over medium heat.  Once the veggies become somewhat translucent, add water almost to the top , cover almost completely and bring the heat down to a low simmer.  Take your time, have a glass of wine... once the soup is ready, add the shrimp.  One pound shelled and cleaned.  It takes two minutes for them to cook to that golden color.  Take the pot off the heat, you're good to go.  I love to sprinkle some shredded Parmesan cheese (not traditional, I know, but it taste so good!) and serve the dish with salted Tostones on the side, for dipping.



... Muy buen provecho!  

Everything that I know about living a good life, I learned in the kitchen

At first glance, aren't we all just ordinary people?  Although in everyone's lifetime there seem to be fleeting moments when we become extraordinary.  Yet, what do we do?  We long to be ordinary again.

The truth is that we all have a story.  I want to know yours... but if you're like me, you don't open up easily and you'll want to know what I'm made of.  Let me set you at ease... grab a kitchen stool from over there and sit with me while I cook.

I'm a Puerto Rican mother of two, who is a business woman by day and a philosopher by night.  I don't limit myself to any set definitions because I am a fusion of many passions and interests, which are also reflected in my cooking styles.  These experiences have come together to make me realize, at 36 years, most of what I know that adds value toward living a good life, I learned in the kitchen.

Some 30 years ago, my grandmother "Mamita" and my mom, Margie, molded my pride in my culture through cooking.  We were poor, but I didn't know it.  These ladies did not have the opportunity or funds to pursue a hobby or a cause as a means of self-expression.  What they had was their family, and their kitchen.

For many generations now, the kitchen has been our canvas. This is where the women of my family went to create masterpieces that tantalized the senses.  The kitchen is where we talked, cried, laughed and where the voices of the many women who precede me have become immortalized by whispering their secrets to me in my times of soul-searching.

And now it's your turn dear reader, because now you're in our kitchen and now you will be part of our secrets.