Sunchoke Chips

After Sophie Charlotte Elisabeth Ursinus married an elderly privy councilor at the age of nineteen, she enjoyed the upper class privileges of Prussia for decades, until her fate changed on the evening of March 5^th 1803. While she was hosting a card game at home, police stormed in and arrested her. The trial that followed shook Berlin. No longer did “Lotte” draw attention as a well-dressed widow, a pietist and a poet, but as a serial killer.

A scientist Valentin Rose was an expert witness on the trial. He submitted a report stating he was unable to prove that Madame Ursinus had poisoned any of the victims – Officer Rogay (her lover), her husband, or her aunt. The suspicion, though, was overwhelming. When Benjamin Klein, a servant and a murder attempt survivor, stepped forward to testify that his mistress had served him a bowl of prunes she had first marinated in arsenic, Mrs. Ursinus was convicted and sent to prison. Although pardoned thirty years later, she failed to recover her social standing, and died alone.

After the trial, Valentin Rose became obsessed with developing a method of detecting arsenic in the body. He succeeded in 1806 but, before the breakthrough, he discovered another peculiar – yet less harmful – substance, inulin, while distilling horse-heal extract in his laboratory.

Inulins are dietary fibers that occur naturally in many plants, such as agave, banana, garlic, asparagus, chicory, wheat, onion and sunchoke. Inulin acts as an energy reserve and regulates the cold resistance of these plants.

Enzymes in the human alimentary system, designed to metabolize starch, cannot digest inulin which is a different kind of complex carbohydrate, called fructan or a polymer of fructose molecules. It passes through the upper gastrointestinal track all the way to the colon where the local flora feasts on it. If you have ever thrown such a party in your hindgut, you know it releases a lot of carbon dioxide, hydrogen and methane – to put it politely. John Goodyer, an English botanist, says it more bluntly in John Gerard’s Historie of Plants from 1621: “which way so ever they be dressed and eaten, they stir and cause a filthy loathsome stinking wind within the body, thereby causing the belly to be pained and tormented, and are a meat more fit for swine than men.” Although he referred to sunchokes, the phenomenon applies to all inulin-contained foods.

Native Americans, long before Europeans arrived, cultivated sunchoke tubers and used them as root vegetables. When the early colonists learnt that these underground nubs were edible, they sent seeds back to the Old World. Now Jerusalem artichoke (another name for sunchoke) is a popular crop around the continent. Pleasing to harvest, each root can produce hundreds of tubers a year!

Despite the name, Jerusalem artichoke doesn’t hail from Jerusalem, nor is it a close relative of artichoke (although the two have a similar – sweet and nutty – taste). Italian settlers in America called it girasole, which in Italian means a sunflower. If you twist your tongue, you may hear how “Jerusalem” and “girasol” sound alike. Some other names are French potato, topinambour, lambchoke, sunroot and earth apple. How can such an ugly lump have so many names?

You can substitute sunchokes for potatoes in some recipes. The two have a similar consistency and texture, and become mushy when boiled. However, introduce sunchokes in small doses to your diet, and examine how you react to them. If you are sensitive to fructose, your body may respond in a more hostile way. The zero glycaemic index of sunchokes offers no solace if you have to suffer from gastric pain and flatulence!

SUNCHOKE CHIPS

The ingredients for the chips:

Sunchoke tubers

Little olive oil

Himalayan salt

Cayenne powder

The method:

Wash the tubers carefully. You don’t have to peel them if they are young, and organically grown. Slice them very thinly, either with a sharp knife or mandolin.

Sprinkle very little olive oil on the slices and rub it in.

Roast the slices in a hot oven (225 C / 400 F) until they are golden on both sides. You may have to turn them during the process.

Add salt and cayenne before serving the chips (with tomato chutney, for example).

Thank you.

Zucchini Blossoms

According to weather reports, the remote lowland of permafrost in Oymyakon, Siberia, where the winter temperature may drop below -70 Celsius (-95 F), was warmer than Finland in the past June and July. This summer seemed like a long rainy afternoon that lasted until the middle of August. Then the clouds suddenly gave way to the sun for two weeks, and then it started to pour down and thunder again.

Our little lodge is so cozy – wood crackling in the stove and all – that I was hardly disturbed by the weather, unlike the seeds and seedlings in our garden. They simply refused to grow. And, those that finally sprouted in July (yes, in July!) were immediately savored by the same white-tail-doe whom we see sporting with a fawn on our backyard. She has gusto for beans and zucchini-leaves, but dislikes spinach, and is indifferent to beetroot and swizz chard. Had I failed to build a fence around the garden, she would have left nothing to harvest. As naughty as she is, she is a majestic animal; despite of trying to be upset with her, I'm not able to.

Like every summer, I stuffed zucchini blossoms this year, too. Again, I was like being bewitched. For some reason, I don’t get the recipe right: either I forget an ingredient or a procedure while being clueless that I’m doing something incorrect.

Last year I neglected to dip the flowers in tempura batter before deep-frying them – a serious mistake, causing the blooms to explode in hot ghee. Although I specifically reminded myself of the mayhem this year, I repeated the blunder again! However, now – instead of being humble – I blamed the wok, the stove, the ghee, and the zucchini mother who sacrificed her buds before I realized no one or nothing else was culpable for my mental haze. I mean, who forgets what she is doing while doing it?

To save the situation, I plunged a slotted spoon into the ghee and scooped out the gruel of spinach, ricotta, feta, spices, basil and what was left from the delicate flowers, and filled a pie crust with the mixture. That day we ate cheese and zucchini flower tart for lunch. It tasted more terrestrial than tempura, but filled the belly nonetheless.

Some days later our zucchinis bore new blossoms. I picked and washed them, and unplugged the pistils in order to pipe the tiny envelopes of petals with homemade chenna (fresh cheese), feta-like salty cheese, basil, black pepper, Himalayan salt, and kala namak. When I was whisking the batter of rice flour, pinch of salt and ice-cold water, it dawn to me that I had ran out of ghee! There was just enough fat to shallow-fry the flowers. As a result, the dish became quite heavy, similar to a patty you would expect to be served by a grey-haired, black-wearing yiayia (grandma) in a roadside tavern of a Greek village.

What about the third time, was the spell lifted? I’m not sure. Although I had all the ingredients (I even used creamy mascarpone as the base stuffing and carbonated water instead of icy tab water for the batter), and followed the cooking instructions, I wasn’t impressed by the result. The charm of tempura is that you have to eat it immediately when it’s still hot and crispy. If it sits for five or ten minutes, it begins to taste unhealthy and pointless. It is finger food you should fry in an outdoor grill during a party, and eat from a newspaper slip with a lemon wedge.

Maybe next summer I’ll get the zucchini blossoms rock and include the recipe. How do you like to eat them?

Thank you.

Papadam

Before starting to prepare for the greatest Bengali Vaishnava festival of the year, Gaura Purnima, which we celebrate this weekend in Finland, under the full moon, I want to rush off a papadam recipe to you.

Papads are thin, lentil-based wafers or brittle crackers served as digestives, usually in the end of a meal. Sometimes they are offered as appetizers, snacks or croutons over a bowl of rice, soup or wet vegetable dish. Coming with various flavors – hing, black pepper, chilli, jeera or fenugreek – they are either roasted or deep-fried.

Papad making is an old craft still practiced in Indian villages and, if you are lucky, you can see rows of parchment-like flatbreads drying in the sunlight. Because kneading and rolling large quantities of them by hand is a laborious task, the tradition has gradually shifted from families and cottage industries to factories. Today, machine-made papadams are commercially available everywhere; therefore, you may ask, what’s the point of making them at home? Isn’t that a regression rather than a progression?

Not to me. The title of this blog, Pure, refers to the purity of intent along with the skill of cooking and ingredients. The consciousness by which we produce, share and eat food, yields a long lasting effect exceeding the needs of the belly. What we think, feel and will in the kitchen (or at the table, among our family and friends) influence the quality of life. Sattvik actions – deeds in the mode of goodness – that illuminate and open gateways to the higher stages of experience, always include a proper attitude. It is the mood we actually taste when we put something into the mouth; that’s the dynamic, spiritually potent component that either connects us with divinity or binds us to the dualities of temporary reality. Machine-made, industrially processed food carries a heavy karmic load despite of an attractive packaging. Therefore, it is always better, although perhaps more inconvenient, to cook at home instead of buying ready-made items.

There is hardly any information available about the process of making papadams. I have always been under the impression that it’s very difficult (read: impossible) to make them in an imperfect climate and without traditional tools. After a couple of trials and errors, I learnt that the procedure is very easy! All you need is a cup of whole urad dal (skin removed), salt, baking soda, a flavoring agent, water, and ghee or oil for the dough; a little bit of time for twisting and pounding the dough; an oven for roasting the dal and quickly dehydrating the papadams; and, a stove for frying or roasting.

I noticed that split urad dal does not produce a good texture; use whole lentils instead and make sure the expiry date is well ahead! You can mix urad with mung dal, or substitute some of the dal with rice flour.

You can roll the papads as thin as you like. When nearly transparent, tiny air bubbles cover them during frying and roasting; when thicker, they puff like chapatis or pooris. Both kinds are equally crunchy.

These home-made papads don’t expand like the commercial ones. It is likely due to the lack of an alkaline salt, papar-khar, specifically used in India.

An unrelated question to the readers who are using Blogger: During the past year, Blogger has changed some image settings that affect color, contrast, brightness and compression. Is there any way to reverse these effects? It seems they have added some wild enhancement feature while I was away. Grrr!

Potato Swirls

”Indian Halloween” headed an invitation to a Diwali celebration I saw – and smiled at – a couple of days ago on Facebook. It sounded like a hybrid of the Festival of Light and All Saints ’ Day! These two holidays intersect on the Vedic lunar calendar and the Western almanac this year.

A couple of minutes ago, I googled “Halloween” in order to understand what the tradition is about. When I was seventeen, I spent a school-year in America as an exchange student and, still, remember the cat outfit I dressed up for Halloween. My older sister, Kim, in the family I stayed at was a cowboy. She took me to a reception at her workplace and I assumed Halloween was an annual costume party. I wondered about the lanterns, skulls and scarecrows but don’t recall anyone explaining them to me. Due to commercialism, Halloween has since been adapted in Finland, too.

Although there are similarities, Diwali and Halloween are visibly different traditions. The former is about awakening the inner knowledge. It’s about contemplating, growing and revealing the pure and eternal beyond the physical, whereas the latter is about associating with the dead: the good, bad and evil. All Hallows’ Eve is observed in the Christian community as a reminder of our mortality and to honor and, in some cases, fear those who have passed away. The custom of dressing in disguise was there, initially, to hide from the vengeance of the spirits. Of course, both, Diwali and Halloween are mostly taken today as social events rather than occasions of spiritual or religious importance.

In one sense, yogic lifestyle is a year around Diwali because it’s anchored in the cognition, consciousness and activities of devotional nature. The meditation I wake up for every morning is like igniting a ghee-lamp to dispel ignorance and apathy.

We had a snack of aloo patras yesterday. They are potato filled whirls that are usually deep-fried. I made the dough slightly fattier and baked them in the oven instead. I’m not sure about the origin of the recipe. It seems to me, like the combination of Diwali and Halloween, a crossbreed of two different worlds.

Aloo patras must be served with a chutney. They set a canvas on which the flavors of chutney are painted. A recipe for the date and tamarind chutney will be in the book.

Pardon the ugly vinyl glove in my right hand. It looks like a Halloween themed artifact generating doom and horror! However, it's there because of a touch sensitivity to chili, ginger and a million other things.

Oh, and before I forget: happy Indian Halloween!

Sourdough Pan Bread With Butterbean Filling

If you have been following the blog, you have noticed that I use spelt in most of the recipes that call for flour. Because I’m frequently asked about it, it is a good subject to explore.

There are a couple of theories of the roots of spelt (Triticum spelta), an ancient hybrid of emmer wheat (Triticum diococcoides) and wild goat-grass (Aegilops tauschii). It remains unresolved whether it has two separate origins in Asia and Europe, or a single one in Mesopotamia (modern Iran), where it grew prior bread wheat, around 6000 BC. The earliest archaeological evidence of spelt, in Central Europe, is from the Eneolithic Period (2500–1700 BC). In the late Iron Age (750-15 BC) it became a principal wheat species in southern Germany and Switzerland. It wasn’t until the 20^th Century that it was replaced by bread wheat due to the mechanization of agriculture. Unlike wheat, spelt is stored and shipped with a tough outer husk intact which, although ensuring the freshness of flour, makes it laborious and more expensive to produce. Today, the revival of organic farming has made this peasants' staple food of the past available again. Most of the spelt products on the market have an artisan flavour for being carefully stone-milled.

Spelt (Triticum aestivum ssp. spelta) that was introduced to America in the 1890’s is a sub-species of common wheat and, therefore, different from pure spelt. In the old continent it has been grown as feed for livestock for hundreds of years. Living in Europe I’m not aware how popular pure spelt is in the US nowadays but I’m sure it is available.

Health wise, spelt is better than wheat. Even whole wheat, which has the fibre and nutrient content intact, is nutritionally inferior to it. Because spelt is highly water soluble, the nutrients are more readily absorbed by the body. It is high in protein, B vitamins, and both simple and complex carbohydrates. The complex carbohydrates are important in blood clotting and stimulating immune system. Spelt is a superb source of fibre, amino acids and minerals.

Being related to wheat, spelt is not gluten-free. However, its gluten is of less quantity and has a different molecular makeup from wheat. Those who are sensitive to wheat may find it easier to digest. In my case, it doesn’t cause dry skin, rash or headaches like wheat. Because of the fragility of gluten, spelt flour calls for less kneading and lower baking temperature. Although it doesn’t rise as much as cultivated wheat, it remains light and airy.

Spelt's has a nutty, warm flavour. It comes out strongly when whole berries are soaked and cooked as an accompaniment, like rice.

Spelt flour is excellent for baking. There are several types available: wholegrain, extra fine, all purpose, cake, bread, mixed and graham. They are milled from the separate layers of cereal and differ nutritionally and by their baking propensities. Some has soft and some elastic or even gummy viscosity. Usually less liquid is required than when baking with wheat. However, the general rule of leaving the dough rather wet than too dry, applies to spelt as well. One of the characteristics of spelt is that it feels fatty when coming in contact with water.

Earlier this fall, I became interested in using a sourdough starter as an alternative to commercial yeast that disagrees with my stomach acid and philosophy of consuming only sattvic (the mode of goodness) food. Using a starter is rewarding, however, it calls for planning. It takes about three days to activate the bacteria. Once it is alive, it can be used for baking or stored in a refrigerator. It takes from five to ten hours for a loaf of bread to rise in a warm place before baking.

Sourdough bread tastes wonderfully rustic. Today I’m sharing my favourite way of filling it with butterbean paste and baking it on an open pan. With a colourful winter salad aside, it makes a substantial breakfast, lunch or snack.

I have experimented with several kinds of stuffing but found mild butterbeans creating a needed contrast for the tart and crisp crust. Homemade fresh cheese works well, too.

Thank you.

Chickpea Dip & Spelt Crackers

Nearby, my camera is standing on a tripod, groomed like a bull ready to charge. As soon as I open the oven, a cloud of steam surges into the kitchen. It reminds me of the moments after rain when every scent travels on its own track. Now I smell the faint spirit of closeness between basil and rosemary that is covered by a duvet of melted mozzarella. It is hidden between the layers of tomato sauce, roasted slices of eggplant and pasta sheets.

I’ve wanted to post a lasagne recipe for five weeks. I’ve cooked it as many times, but something has always distracted me from photographing it. Armed with determination, for the sixth time, I finally place the dish on the table, climb on a kitchen stool, focus the camera and call my husband to help. He bursts in, panting: “my passport is lost!”

What? 

I rush down, enter the hallway and see our coats and jackets turned inside out on a pile on the floor. From the doorway it looks like a whirlwind has sucked in hundreds of misplaced items from the drawers and shelves and spitted them out, everywhere. It is a mess. It’s more than a mess. His passport is lost! My husband, who doesn’t lose things, has lost his passport.

Neither of us can think straight when we comb through all possible and impossible hideouts and wonder where it could be. Soon it becomes inevitable: the passport is not in the house. My husband has forgotten it somewhere or dropped it, or, it has been stolen. A call to the police station confirms: it’s there. Someone has handed it over to the police.

What a relief! But, by the time I stagger back to the photography setting, my subject has lost the momentum. The soft cushions of mozzarella have sunk in like a blanket woven from fatty, rough wool by nomads. A geyser of olive oil has jetted on the top. The palette has turned muddy. Instead of a pond after a light snow, the lasagne looks like an overgrown bed of moss. Exposing it on Internet would be a disservice.

Because I don’t have a plan B, I grab chickpeas from the cupboard, give them a quick shower and let them soak overnight. In the morning I cook them with tejpatta, a small piece of cassia, salt and some cayenne. When I finally get an idea of how to use them, I regret boiling them with spices. My knowledge of Middle Eastern cuisine is meagre, but I suspect the paste wouldn’t qualify as hummus if cooked with Indian spices. To be on the neutral side, I decide to call it a dip and stick to the Indian flavours with a liberty of using olive oil and homemade tahini, too!

For a hodgepodge, the dip turns out perfect! Although 'perfect' is a word often loaded with too high expectations, it is accurately applied here. An overall earthliness comes from the chickpeas and sesame seed paste. In an orchestra they would be the brass instruments that have a clear, directional sound travelling straight outward from the bell. The lemon zest, on the other hand, would be a seductive flute. And, just when you think the concert is over, on the back of the palate, you will feel the warmth of cayenne. It’s an instrument you didn’t notice earlier: the one that ties the theme together!

The dip has a feather light texture. It melts in the mouth. It is complimented by spelt crackers and a seasonal salad.

Thank you.