An Inspired Idea: Tonnato Puttanesca

I have already written about the delectably sensuous pasta sauce from Naples, puttanesca. This velvety concoction of tomatoes, olives, capers and anchovies which is known as “whore’s sauce” is one of my very favorite comfort foods. It makes for a quick supper from the pantry when I haven’t had a chance to think too long and hard about what to cook. but it never tastes like something thrown together thoughtlessly.

It tastes artful.

A good puttanesca is a balance of salty, sweet and savory flavors sparked with the fragrance of capers and garlic.The salty flavor obviously comes from all of the preserved ingredients: the olives and capers are brined, and the anchovy paste is also well-salted. Sweetness comes from the cooked canned and sundried tomatoes, as well as from my carefully caramelized onions and lightly browned garlic. The savory note comes from the umami punch carried by the anchovies or anchovy paste; I have tried to make purely vegetarian versions of puttanesca, and while they were all very good, they lacked the depth and smoky nuance that the anchovies bring.

But, you know, as much as I adore spaghetti puttanesca, and could probably eat it three times a week without being fatigued, I always wondered if there wasn’t something else I could do with that sauce.

When Hilarie at Restaurant Salaam asked me to come up with a new sauce for seared tuna, for whatever reason, puttanesca leaped into my consciousness and refused to be dislodged. And even though Hil is not herself fond of olives, she jumped on the idea and insisted that I give it a whirl.

So, I did.

And I am really glad I did, because this is a dish I would serve proudly to anyone, anywhere, anytime. (Provided, of course, that they were able and willing to eat fish and olives, of course. I would never, ever serve this to a vegan, for example, or a Jain, or to someone who just plain old didn’t like fish. That would not only be cruel to the diner, it would be a waste of a rare and delicious bit of fish.)

I like the combination of a very expensive cut of fish with what is essentially poor-folks food from the back-alleys of Naples. (And the irony of serving whore’s sauce on tuna steak appeals to my bawdy sense of humor as well.) But as appealing as the combination is intellectually, it is even more pleasing to the palate.

Rare or medium rare seared tuna, with its clean, rich ocean flavor really pairs amazingly well with the melange of salty, sweet and savory flavors and strong fragrances of puttanesca. They are just two great tastes that taste great together, to use the old advertising line from those old Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup commercials.

A note here on the issues of the overfishing of tuna–I am of the opinion that if we are going to eat tuna at all, it should be very sparingly. I think that everyone gives up a portion or two of sushi, sashimi, seared tuna and tuna fish sandwiches per week, that perhaps the resulting slump in demand for the fish would cause overfishing them to slow down, and perhaps stop altogether. Besides, with the amount of mercury found in the flesh of these large predatory fish, it is probably a good idea to treat tuna as “a sometimes food” as the modern, newly-ascetic Cookie Monster would say. (What is up with that, anyway? The whole reason that Cookie Monster is a monster is because of his immoderate love of cookies and his habitual gluttony regarding same. Or, at least, I got that message when I was a kid. Political correctness has gone too far.)

Be that as it may, tonnato puttanesca turned out to be a delicious entree, one that combines the richness of seared fish with the earthiness of whore’s sauce, and I am very pleased I had the idea to combine them.

Tonnato Puttanesca
Ingredients:

3-4 tablespoons olive oil
1 small onion, thinly sliced
4-5 cloves fresh garlic, minced
3 anchovy fillets, chopped finely or 1 1/2 teaspoons anchovy paste
1/2 pound pitted Kalamata olives, drained and chopped roughly
1/3 pound pitted green unstuffed olives, drained and chopped roughly
1/4 cup finely minced oil-packed sun-dried tomatoes
3 tablespoons capers, drained of brine and rinsed thoroughly, then drained again
1 teaspoon or to taste red chile flakes (optional)
1/4 cup dry red Italian wine
1 14 ounce can diced tomatoes with their juice (I use Muir Glen Fire Roasted Organic)
handful of fresh basil leaves, minced
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
1 clove garlic, minced and pounded into a paste
1 cup basil leaves, minced and pounded into a paste
2 teaspoons olive oil
4 tuna steaks
minced basil and basil sprigs for garnish.

Method:

First, make the puttanesca sauce. This recipe will make a sauce that is not very fluid. Instead, it will hold together like a salsa or relish on the plate, making a good platform for the tuna steak.

Heat the first measure of olive oil on medium heat in a heavy bottomed skillet or pan. Add onion and cook until softened and golden, stirring now and then. Add garlic and anchovy and continue cooking until garlic turns golden, the onions brown slighty and the anchovy fillets disintegrate. (If you are using anchovy paste, do not add at this point–add it after the olives and capers have cooked for about a minute.)

Add olives, sun-dried tomatoes, capers, and chile flakes, and continue cooking until very fragrant, about three minutes. Add wine and allow alcohol to boil off.Add tomatoes and their juice after the alcohol has boiled away and turn heat down slightly and allow to cook until it thickens up and most of the liquid is boiled away.

Remove from heat and stir in first measure of minced basil.

Next, make the garlic and basil infused olive oil.

Mix together the 1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil with the garlic and basil paste, and allow to steep for about an hour or so.

Just before serving, stear tuna steaks.

Heat two heavy-bottomed skillets (not nonstick–I like cast iron or heavy stainless steel) over medium high heat until they smoke slightly. Add one teaspoon of olive oil to each and tip pans back and forth to coat the bottom thoroughly. Add tuna steaks two per skillet. Allow to sear on the first side undisturbed for a few minutes, or until a nice brown crust is formed. Watch the sides of the fish; a line of white cooked flesh will come up from the bottom toward the top. At this point, turn the fish and press the second side down with the back of the spatula. Put a lid down on the pan, and allow to cook undisturbed for the same amount of time it took to sear the first side.

For rare tuna, sear both sides of the steak, then if you like, using tongs, lift and hold each edge of the tuna against the hot pan to sear them as well. This looks much prettier, and you still have a nice red interior.

For medium rare tuna, after you sear both sides and clap the lid over the fish, let it cook until the edges turn beige on their own. That should lead to a pinkish red interior that is warm all the way through.

For medium well tuna, meaning warm all the way through and barely pink on the inside, before you clap the lid on the pan, squirt about 1/4 cup of water into the pan, then slap the lid on it (the oil will make is splatter, so use the lid as a shield while you squirt in the water–I use a squeeze bottle as it is easier to get the water in without being burned since my hand can stay out of the way. Pouring the water in usually involves getting my hands spattered and burned by hot oil, which, while I am used to it, still sucks.

The steam from the water will help cook the tuna through without drying it out.

For well done tuna–open a can. Okay, okay, if you really want well done tuna, do yourself a favor and slice the steak in half so you have two thinner tuna steaks instead of one thick one. Then cook as per my instructions for medium-well tuna, except because the steak is thinner, it will steam through more quickly and lose less juice and flavor that way.

To plate this dish, take about a half cup of the sauce and drain any remaining liquid from it. Mound it in the center of the plate. Place a tuna steak on top of the mound, and then drizzle the basil garlic oil over the fish. Then place about a tablespoon of the puttanesca on top of the fish, and dot the edges of the puttanesca on the plate with basil garlic oil, then sprinkle with minced basil, mild chili flakes (;like Aleppo or Kirmizi pepper) and top the little mound of puttanesca with a basil sprig.

It’s Kimchi Time Again!

Yes.

The nights have become crisp and cool, and the autumn harvest of Napa cabbage has begun.

The Farmer’s Market is filled to bursting with locally grown goodness: garlic heads nearly as big as my palm, cayenne chilies longer than my hand, Japanese globe turnips, bok choy, Chinese bunching onions, crinkly violet and vibrant green mustard, juicy-crisp daikon radishes–it is a food lover’s paradise right now. These items, of course, are all in addition to the usual summer suspects which are still producing plenty of fruits: tomatoes, eggplants, summer squashes, sweet bell peppers, cucumbers, lettuces, green beans, sweet corn. Of course, that is not to mention the fruits, but the point is that while autumnal vegetables and fruits are definitely in evidence, with piles of hard-shelled winter squashes and pumpkins all over the place, and baskets of sweet potatoes and white potatoes, the summer vegetables are still going strong.

In fact, I think that September is probably one of the best months at the Athens Farmer’s Market, because the deep, rich soil of our county goes through a frenzy of fecundity, throwing out pound after pound of delicious produce with each passing day. Even the garden on my deck has thrown caution to the wind and is currently putting out more Thai chilies, Thai basil and bok choy than we can eat ourselves.

So what is there for us to do but preserve what we cannot eat now?

That is where kimchi comes in.

Kimchi is the Korean answer to the human need for fresh vegetables during the harsh winter months.

This national dish, or rather, type of dishes, is basically a mixture of vegetables and seasonings, often including huge amounts of chili peppers, which are then fermented by the process of lactic acid fermentation. This process, which is carried out by the naturally occurring lactobacillus bacteria (which live in the air and on the surface of vegetables), creates lactic acid from the sugars present in the vegetables. This results in a naturally bubbly, tangy food product that is beneficial to health in many ways. Scientists from around the world have found that lactic acid fermented foods may have anti-cancer properties, and Korean scientists recently found that kimchi may have anti-viral properties that were beneficial in treating bird influenza.

These possible health claims for kimchi aside, what is known about it is that it is low in calories, high in fiber, filled with vitamin C, beta carotene, iron and other beneficial nutrients. The exact nutritional profile depends on what ingredients are used to make the kimchi, so these statements are just generalizations.

It also tastes good, and makes other foods taste good too. I love it in noodle soup, and with beef or chicken. It is great in fried rice, too.

The first time I made kimchi was last April, and then I used seasonal local ingredients to great effect, including ramps (wild Appalachian garlic), radishes, Japanese globe turnips, mustard greens, and of course, the giant Napa cabbage that inspired the entire idea. (When you see a cabbage that is bigger than your baby, you just need to buy it and use it for something special. Well, at least, I have to, I don’t know about you.)

This time around, I ended up using three smaller Napa cabbages, two heads of bok choi, some Japanese globe turnip tops, mustard greens (I love the way mustard greens taste in kimchi), giant cayenne chilies, scallions or Chinese bunching onions, and huge heads of German extra hardy garlic. All of these ingredients were organically grown here in Athens county by the good folks at Shade River Farms, Haulin’ Hoof Farm, Green Edge Gardens/Athens Hills CSA, and Rich Gardens Organic Farm.

The very few non-local ingredients were the kosher salt, and the ginger, Korean chili flakes and fish sauce. The former I bought in at Kroger and the three latter ingredients came from our local Asian market. (And I must insist on using the Korean chili flakes–they add the proper flavor and color to the kimchi. And they are easily found in most Asian markets in cellophane packets. They are brilliant scarlet and very fragrant–you cannot miss them.)

How does this Athens Autumn Kimchi taste?

Well, truthfully, I have no idea. I have to wait three days before tasting it, to give the little lactobacillus guys a chance to do their stuff.

I promise to report back on the results.

But I suspect that it will not only taste like kimchi, but it will also have the flavor of this very special place–a small town in Appalachian Ohio, a place of clay soil and steep hills, winding rivers and streams and brilliant blue skies, country houses and rolling pastures dotted with grazing cattle, horses,sheep and goats.

I suspect it will taste like home.

Until then, here is the recipe I used, if you feel the need to gather up some of the early autumn harvest and make yourself a jar or two of kimchi to enjoy over the next few months. (Once it ferments after three days, you can start eating it, and it will stay at about that level of fermentation if you keep it in the fridge for around a month. I have kept mine longer, although it keeps fermenting the whole time you store it. The cold retards the process somewhat, but it doesn’t stop it. Some people don’t like the flavor of long-fermented kimchi, but I do, so I don’t mind that it keeps going and going and going, rather like the Energizer Bunny.)

Oh, one more thing–before you make this recipe, you might want to read my first post on making kimchi–“Up Close and Personal With Kimchi”–some of the photographs of the process may be helpful to you, as well as the general commentary.

Athens Autumn Kimchi
Ingredients:

8 pounds Napa cabbage
1 pound bok choy
1/2 pound turnip greens
1 1/4 cups plus 1 tablespoon kosher salt
3 heads garlic, peeled and sliced
4″ long chunk of fresh ginger 1″ thick, peeled and sliced
1 1/2 cups Korean ground red chiles
2 bunches scallions or Chinese bunching onions, trimmed, washed and sliced thinly (about a cup and a half)
1/2 pound fresh mustard greens, washed and sliced into 1/2″ wide ribbons
2-6 fresh red chilies, stemmed and quartered (this depends on how hot your chilis are, how big they are and how hot you want your kimchi to be)
2 pounds diakon radishes, peeled and cut into thin half-rounds
1/3 cup fish sauce (if you are a vegetarian, leave this out)
2 teaspoons raw or brown sugar

Method:

Fist, you need to gather your materials: you will need a one-gallon jar, and a one quart jar (I made enough so Morganna could take some back to the dorm with her) preferably glass, with a screw on lid or self-locking lid. Run them both through the dishwasher and make certain to put it through the heat dry cycle. Or, wash it well by hand, then pour boiling water over both the jars and the lids, then allow them to air dry. Also, you will need a very large bowl, crock, pot or basin and a large plastic bag. I used one of the giant Ziplock bags which are meant for storage of household items. It is tough enough to be rinsed out and used for later batches of kimchi, and it makes the periodic mixing of the cabbage during the brining process much easier.

You will also need a pair of latex gloves for yourself and any and all of your helpers. You do not want to get the chili oil on your hands when you mix the kimchi and pack it into the jars. It is pretty wicked stuff.

You will also want to scrub your sink out well with soap and rinse it well before you start.

Once all of this is accomplished, you can start making your kimchi.

First, cut off the root end of the Napa cabbages, and then strip away the tough outer leaves. Cut them in half longitudinally.

Then, making a v-shaped cut with your knife, cut the core of the cabbage, then pry it out with your fingers.

Then, depending on how dirty and bug-infested your cabbage may be, you can either wash each leaf individually before cutting them by spraying them under running water, and then setting them on paper towels to dry, or if the cabbages are pretty clean, like the ones this time were, you can fill your sink with cold water, and cut your cabbage leaves into two inch square pieces and dump them into the sink. Swish the pieces around with your hands, then pull them out to dry on a paper-towel lined countertop.

If you use the former method, cut the leaves into two inch square pieces -after- they are washed. It is easier to wash individual leaves when they are whole than after they are cut up.

Cut and wash the bok choy the same way as you did the cabbage. For the turnip greens, cut off the big stems and central veins, remove any yellowed bits and rinse well by either spraying or swishing. Once they are clean, cut them into 1″ wide ribbons.

The next step is salting the cabbage, bok choy and turnip greens.

Squeeze out as much washing water as you can by grabbing handsful of the greens and squishing them well. Dump two handsful of greens into the bag, then sprinkle with some of the one and a quarter cup of salt. Then reach in and squish the greens, rubbing the salt well into them. Continue this process of layering greens and salt, squishing and massaging with each layer.

When all of the greens have gone into the bag, and all of the one and a quarter cup of salt is used, seal up the bag. Give the greens a good shaking and squishing through the bag and then set aside for three hours. Every half hour or so, give the bag a good shake and a squish, making certain that the greens are covered by the juices coaxed from them by the salt. This brining process has two purposes. One is to remove excess water, and the other is to help kill bacteria that are not lactobacillus so that the fermentation can go on properly without the vegetables being attacked by microbes that cause them to rot instead of ferment.

While the greens sit in the brine, cut up your daikon, mustard greens (you may wonder why I don’t brine the mustard greens–it is because there isn’t as much water in them as there are in the other three greens) and scallions. Take your ginger and garlic slices and grind them up into a paste in a food processor.

After three hours have passed, it is time to drain and rinse the greens.

Dump them into a colander, and allow all of their juices to drain away. Then, squeeze out as much liquid with your hands as you can. Rinse under cold water, tossing the leaves as you go. Finally, squeeze out as much water as you can with your hands and put them into whatever mixing apparatus you have–a big bowl, crock, pot or basin.

Add all of the other ingredients to the greens, including that last tablespoon of salt, and put on your gloves. Now, the fun part begins.

Start mixing.

Squish, toss, turn, mix, fold, spindle and mutilate your ingredients in your mixing bowl. (We used our big stockpot set down in the sink for this job–it contains the ingredients really well.) Massage the stuff well into each other, making sure some of everything gets into some of everything else.

After everything is well blended, start packing the kimchi into your very clean and dry jars.

You don’t have to pack everything down tightly so that there is no air in the jar, you just have to tamp everything down gently with the back of your hand.

When the jars are filled, screw the lids on loosely and set into a cool, dark place at room temperature for three days to allow the fermentation to begin.

You will see bubbles fizzing up to the top of the jars as the fermentation process goes along–that is how you know that everything is working properly.

After three days, you can open and taste your kimchi. After that, refrigerate it for storage.

Weekend Kat Blogging: Birthday Girl (And Boy)

Kat’s birthday is September 16th, and Zak’s is September 21st, so we have a week in September devoted to birthdays. (One of Kat’s cousins also has a birthday in there, so it is definitely week of birthdays around here!)

We didn’t have a big party for Kat like we did last year.

It was just Mommy, Daddy. Kat and her little cake, pictured here. She blew out her own candles without help, this time, and ate one piece of cake without help, and only poached a little bit from Mommy’s piece of cake.

She also ate a pint of fresh local raspberries by herself–that was my present for her. And she ate all but three by herself–those three Zak and I ate.

But her birthday celebrations extended to the day before the big day–my Mom and Dad came to visit and bring Kat her first bicycle, which she is still learning to ride. It has training wheels, and she is learning how to push down on the pedals effectively still, but she has fun with it.

And, the day after her birthday, we took her to the Columbus Zoo.

It is a pretty small zoo, compared to many others I have visited, but it is nice and nicely laid out, which is good.

Besides, no matter how small it was, Kat was happy when she got to see her favorite animal.

She took one look at the sprawled out sleeping tiger and squealed “KITTY!” so loudly that the big cat’s whiskers twitched in response.(For a zoo tiger, that is a big reaction, especially if said tiger is in the midst of a late afternoon nap in the sun, like this one was.)

We had to stay and gaze at the magnificent kitty for a long time, because he was just so–magnificent.

Then we moved on to the petting zoo where Kat got to meet any number of goats, sheep and kids, all of whom she tried to feed hay.

Luckily none of the barnyard critters bit her hand, but she was still shy about petting them. I wasn’t. I love goats–they are one of my favorite farm animals ever. (Goats and ducks are the best. If we ever have a farm, I am keeping some goats and ducks. Goats for milk, and ducks–just because they are cool.) But the goats and sheep were more interested in eating than in being petted by two more people, so they mostly ignored us.

And then, last Sunday was Zak’s birthday which we celebrated by me going to the ER. While his birthday was pretty much ruined, two days later, his birthday present arrived: a sexy red Gretsch. The guitar not only looks good, but it sounds great., and as you can see, Kat took to it immediately.

So, all in all, it turned out to be a good week of birthdays here at our house. I’ve recovered nicely from my allergic reaction, Kat is having fun with her toys, and Zak is having fun with his guitar.

And, Kat has reached the milestone of finally sleeping in her own bed. For the past three nights, she has slept like a big girl on her own twin mattress on the floor next to our bed, along with her huge stuffed tiger guardian, Goro, Ticklebird and Melora. She is adjusting quite well, although at five this morning she woke up and cried to get in bed with us, which we allowed. We aren’t being hard-line about it–we want her to learn that sleeping in her own bed is not a punishment, but just a part of life. It is a process, and I am proud of her for doing as well as she has.

So, that is all for this week’s Weekend Kat Blogging.

Pawpaws and Their Festival

Aren’t pawpaws pretty fruits?

Look at them, with their smooth jade green skins and distinctive ovoid leaves. They are the largest native North American fruit, and they are the only species in the tropical custard apple family, Annonaceae, to grow in temperate climes. A distinctly Appalachian fruit, the has a unique flavor and texture; its flesh is creamy and rich with a complex variety of aromas and flavors depending upon ripeness, variety, and growing conditions. Most people say that pawpaws taste like bananas mixed with a range of fruit flavors from mango, papaya, berries, or melons.

What I found two weekends ago when I was privileged to serve as a judge for the 10th annual Ohio Pawpaw Festival’s best pawpaw contest and pawpaw cookoff, was that saying that pawpaws taste like bananas does the unique fruit a disservice.

The truth is, they taste like pawpaws. And the truth is that pawpaws have so many flavors locked into their skins that it is very hard to describe exactly what it is that they taste like. But, I, a confirmed banana-disliker (I don’t hate them–I just don’t like them much), found that there were more differences in the flavors of the two fruits than similarities.

Bananas tend to all taste alike–like bananas. When I was pregnant with Kat and would eat bananas as snacks because I could stomach them and they were good for me, I used to complain, “You know, I wish bananas came in another flavor, but all they every taste like is bananas.” Unlike other fruits like apples which vary widely in flavor, texture, color and aroma, bananas are pretty much bananas. At least, that is, when it comes to the ones we buy in the grocery stores. Bananas grown in their natural climate not for shipment to colder zones may indeed have diverse flavors, textures aromas and colors. But, in my experience, a banana is a banana is a banana.

Not so a pawpaw.

As you can see, I got to taste a whole lot of pawpaws in one afternoon. Fifteen different entries into the best pawpaw contest, to be exact, although I know we tasted more than fifteen individual fruits. Each entry had to include three pawpaws and some of these fruits differed so much from each other that we tasted more than one from some of the entries.

And what I can say is this: I am astounded by the differences in flavor among the different fruits.

Many of them tasted more of melon to me than banana–some of them had the exact scent of a ripe cantaloupe, while others had the more delicate flavor of a honeydew or even the flowery taste of a watermelon. Others tasted very custard-apple like–which makes sense, because the two fruits are close relatives. Some did taste sort of banana-like, but there was always an aftertaste that took the pawpaw away from the banana and into another realm entirely.

Only one of the fruits was truly horrid.

What is also interesting about the highly variable nature of the taste of pawpaws was that so much depended on how ripe the fruit was.

One overripe fruit the panel of judges (which included a local radio show host who is a local food fanatic, a food writer from Columbus, myself and a woman who studied pawpaws at Kentucky State University) found especially interesting. When I took the first bite I was shocked to discover the very distinct and unmistakable flavor of burnt caramel. It tasted exactly like sugar that had been caramelized just a hair past the caramel stage and into the slightly burnt stage. It had that exact sweetness tempered with an edge of burnt bitterness. It was fascinating.

I, of course, thought that one could definitely utilize such a flavor, in a custard or flan say, or perhaps in creme brulee.

Another discovery I made was that very slightly underripe fruits–ones that would be technically ripe within a day or two, so they were soft enough to eat, but not really sweet, tasted almost exactly like Haas avocados. They had the same buttery texture, because the flesh hadn’t softened to the custardy consistency that is typical of ripe pawpaws, and the same lightly sweet, rich flavor that a good avocado has. I couldn’t help but think it would be fun to experiment with slightly under-ripe fruits to see if I could make a native Appalachian quacamole with them. The only non-temperate produced ingredient would then be limes, which I cannot believe I could make a good guac without, though I might try replacing them with some homemade apple cider vinegar from Athens county. That might actually work.

(This is an experiment that will be carried out next year, when I can fight the raccoons to harvest the pawpaws in our yard before they are ripe.)

The different types of dishes that pawpaws were used in at the festival was pretty impressive. Two of my favorites were the pawpaw chili sauce, pictured here, to be used as a dip with these Punjabi style pastry turnovers that were filled with curried ground lamb, potatoes, peas and carrots. The sweetness of the pawpaw went well with the fiery chilies and a touch of sour from vinegar. Pawpaws were also used to brew beer specifically for the festival and they were also made into wines and meads. I preferred the meads myself as the pawpaw flavor was more apparent in the mead than it was in either the beer or the wine. (I thought that the bitter character of the hops in the beer really overpowered the fruit.)

Sweet dishes are a natural for any fruit and two desserts in the PawPaw cookoff really stood out. One was the PawPaw Apple Torte, pictured here and the other was the winning dessert, PawPaw Fosters Cream Pie. Both of these recipes used the natural flavor of the pawpaws to great effect and both managed to be delicious desserts without being too sweet, which is impressive.

My favorite pawpaw dessert of all time, however, is Chef Scott’s PawPaw Creme Brulee from Restaurant Zoe, which used to be in The Plains, but recently moved uptown in Athens. He uses pawpaw puree in the bottom of his ramekin, then puts in a not-too sweet vanilla creme over top it and then after the custard is baked, of course, burns a crackling sugar crust on top. That is one magnificent ending to a meal right there.

Another great pawpaw dessert though, is Snowville Creamery’s PawPaw Ice Cream Sandwiches. Featuring Snowville’s rich cream, the pawpaw ice cream, which is churned using this very Gilligan’s Island-looking contraption with a bicycle, is placed between two chewy-homemade gingersnaps. That is a great combination of flavors, textures and aromas, although I think that everyone who eats one of those ice cream sandwiches should probably take a turn on the bicycle churn, just to offset the calories consumed!

The Ohio PawPaw Festival is definitely a fun regional food event, and is well worth attending. In addition to the pawpaw foods to taste, there are workshops on growing pawpaws and all sorts of other country-living skills, there are wagons pulled by magnificent draft horses, talented local musicians, and great craftspeople, all coming together to celebrate Appalachia’s native fruit. Folks bring their kids, their dogs, their goats (no kidding–see that pretty Sanaan I photographed!) and have a great time–some of them even camp at the site all weekend, which must be fun.

Even if I don’t get to attend as a judge for any of the contests next year, I have been asked back to do a pawpaw cooking demonstration.

Maybe I’ll use underripe pawpaws and make Appalachian guacamole, or Appamole. That could be fun!

Thai Spicy Basil Shrimp

The success of this dish depends upon using the freshest shrimp possible. You don’t have to catch them yourself or buy them live, necessarily, but you want very sweet, very fresh shrimp in order for the flavors to balance together perfectly.

You can make this dish with scallops or squid, too–and probably crab, though I have never tried it that way. And of course, if you cannot eat seafood or can’t get any that is good, you can always make this dish with chicken, which is the usual way we eat it at our house anyway, seafood generally being thin on the ground in Southeastern Ohio.

You don’t need to use green beans and carrots as the vegetables in this dish, either. In the spring, I make a version with chicken that has asparagus in it that is absolutely delicious. Or, you can use garlic scapes and shiitake mushrooms. Sweet red or yellow bell peppers would taste really good, too.

If you look at the chicken version of this recipe, you will note that the chicken gets stir fried before the vegetables are added to the wok. The usual order of stir-frying is the aromatics go in at first, then the chicken and when it is nearly cooked through, the vegetables are added.

This version requires that you do the stir-frying in the opposite order–the vegetables get stir-fried after the aromatics and before the shrimp goes into the wok. I do it this way because the shrimp cook so very quickly that if I were to cook it first, they would overcook and become too tough. The freshwater shrimp I had cooked within seconds of hitting the hot wok, so I put them into the wok nearly at the end of the cooking process. The only ingredients that I put in after the shrimp was the basil and the lime juice.

After the lime juice, the dish is finished, and is ready to be scraped from the wok into a serving plate, and is ready to be eaten with plenty of steamed jasmine rice.

One more thing–this dish is meant to be quite spicy hot, so use the fresh Thai bird chilies liberally in it. I have eight Thai chili plants on my deck and they have produced so many fruits that the plants are bent over double. At first, the chilies weren’t very spicy at all, but the recent month’s worth of drought has improved their flavor immensely–now they are fiery and full of a sweet and tangy heat. I got by using only about seven or eight of them instead of the ten or twelve I would have had to use earlier this summer when they were juicier but not nearly so hot.

Oh–and another thing–if you don’t have shrimp stock, you can use chicken broth, fish stock, or vegetable broth instead.

So, without further ado, here is the recipe for Zak’s delicious birthday dinner dish. (Which, hopefully, I can make and eat again someday, preferably without a trip to the emergency room.)

Thai Spicy Basil Shrimp
Ingredients:

2 lbs. fresh shrimp peeled and deveined
1 tbsp. cornstarch
1 tbsp. fish sauce
3 tbsp. peanut oil
4 large shallots, sliced as thinly as you can manage
7-8 Thai bird chiles sliced thinly on the diagonal (or to taste–with me, more is better)
8 cloves garlic minced
2 heaping teaspoons palm sugar or raw sugar
fish sauce to taste–I used about three tablespoons of it for my version–you can use less or more depending on what you like.
3/4 lb. string beans, trimmed, washed, blanched and drained
½ cup carrots cut julienne
1/3 cup shrimp stock
2 cups Thai basil leaves packed
juice of two small limes

Method:

Toss the shrimp, the first measure of fish sauce and the cornstarch together and allow to marinate while you prepare ther est of the ingredients.

Heat the wok on high heat until a thread of thin grey smoke swirls up from the heated surface.

Add the peanut oil to the wok and allow it to heat up until it shimmers in the bottom of the wok–about thirty seconds. Add the shallots and chilies and stir fry until the shallots start to brown and everything is quite fragrant. Add the garlic, palm sugar and fish sauce, then the green beans and carrots.

Stir fry for about a minute, then add the shrimp, scraping all of the cornstarch marinade into the wok.

Stir fry quickly, until shrimp change color–this will take between thirty seconds to a minute.

Add shrimp stock and scrape any browned bits from the wok, then add the basil leaves. Cook, stirring, until the sauce thickens and the basil wilts.

Take the wok off the heat, stir in the lime juice and serve.