Pickles!

Folks, I'm finding it hard to contain my excitement about NDP's second-ever guest post. Guess who wrote it? MY MOM!

That's right: in the post below, NDP Ima tells you all about easy-to-make, hard-to-stop-eating pickles. You'll see from her intro paragraph where I got my taste buds. These pickles are salty, tangy, and really bright from the addition of fresh dill. So read up -- then go make some pickles!

I am really not a salt lover. I don’t use much when I cook, and in restaurants great food that’s well-seasoned is often too salty for my taste. I don’t care for chips or french fries, and I prefer nuts spicy or au naturel. Nonetheless, I do love briny salty things – olives, capers, and sour pickles. So when I was leaving town for a long weekend and had a lot of small cucumbers that wouldn’t last until my return, I decided to try my hand at some pickles. I wanted spicy, garlicky, dill pickles that would make themselves in the refrigerator while I was gone. I remembered the ones a family friend used to make with cucumbers from his garden and my dad’s. He didn’t use shortcuts, though – he put his pickles in huge crocks of brine and alum in the basement for weeks.

I cut the cukes into thick, chunky slices and placed them in a quart jar with pickling spices and garlic. I didn’t have any fresh dill, so my first batch just had dill seed from the pickling spice, but it still tasted authentic. I prepared the vinegar brine and filled the jar, leaving it upside down on the counter overnight. The next morning, before rushing to the airport, I put the jar in the frig. When I returned four nights later, the pickles were done to perfection!

The recipe below is really more of a method – you can vary the ingredients, and the size of your jars and your cucumbers will determine your quantities. As long as you maintain the proportions of ¾ cup of vinegar and ¼ cup of kosher salt per quart of boiled and cooled water, your brine will work and you’ll have great pickles in a matter of days. Try this with green tomatoes if you have them in your garden, with blanched cauliflower, small sweet peppers, or blanched pearl onions. Add onions or hot peppers for extra kick. I used just one hot pepper to enhance the spicy flavor. I made a second batch with fresh dill sprigs, blanched carrots, and a few kalamata olives in addition to the cukes. They’re not quite finished as a I write this, but they look so good I can’t wait to sample them!

If you like sweet pickles instead of sour, substitute sweet pickling spices, cloves, and allspice, use cider vinegar instead of white vinegar, and add sugar (1/2 cup to ¾ cup) to your brine.

Your pickles will keep about four months in the refrigerator. If you seal your finished pickle jars with a canning process, they will keep on the shelf indefinitely. Open jars should be refrigerated.

Refrigerator Dill Pickles

1 dozen or more pickling cucumbers or small English cucumbers

4-8 cloves garlic, peeled and cut in half

2-3 tablespoons pickling spice (the brand I used had dill seed, mustard seed, celery seed, coriander, ginger, black peppercorns, bay leaves, and red pepper)

A few sprigs of fresh dill

1 small dried hot pepper, or a fresh hot pepper cut in half and seeds removed (optional)

1 quart water boiled and cooled

¾ cup white vinegar

¼ cup salt (kosher salt works well, but sea salt or table salt are also fine)

A pinch of sugar (if desired – I omitted)

Use one or two quart jars or a gallon jar, depending on how your cucumbers fit into the jar. The amounts of spices are for one gallon jar or two quart jars, but you can modify this according to taste and the quantity of pickles you want to make. Place one tablespoon of pickling spice, half the dill and half the garlic in the bottom of the jar. If using slender or English cucumbers, you can cut them into thick chunks/slices and they will be ready in less time. If you use larger cucumbers, you can pickle them whole and cut them into lengthwise quarters when you serve them. Pack the cucumbers tightly into the jar(s). When you have added most of the cucumbers, add half of the remaining spices and garlic. When all the pickles are in the jar, add the last of the spices. If using the pepper, place it in the middle layer.

When the jar is full of cucumbers and spices, stir the salt into the vinegar. Pour the mixture into the boiled water and stir to finish dissolving the salt. The water does not have to reach room temperature, since it will continue to cool as you make the brine. Fill the jar to the brim with brine. Close the jar tightly with its lid. Invert the jar into a bowl and leave it outside the refrigerator. After one day, turn the jar upright. Check to see how pickled the cucumbers are. If you used the smaller, slender cukes, it is probably time to refrigerate the pickles. They will be completely done in another three or four days. If you used larger cucumbers, leave them out for another day or two. Check for doneness according to your preferences – if you prefer half-sour, they should be edible after just one-two days.

When the pickles are as done as you like them, you can pour out half the brine, leaving as many spices in the jar as possible. Replace the removed liquid with a mixture of plain boiled water and vinegar. For each cup of boiled, cooled water, add two tablespoons of white vinegar. Fill the jar to the top again and refrigerate. You can also remove the hot pepper if you don’t want the pickles to get spicier over time.

Marcella Hazan's Pesto

Basil is aplenty at DC's farmers' markets. This week, my favorite farmer was selling massive bags of the stuff for just $3.99. I probably came home with a good 2 pounds of basil -- hard to imagine considering how light it is. There was only one thing to do: make pesto.

The last time I blogged about pesto, I largely focused on the method. Heidi at 101 Cookbooks had written about making pesto like an Italian grandmother, and I was inspired enough by her post to give the old fashioned knife-on-board method a try. The result was wonderful -- chunky and rustic, with plenty of the irregularity that's the hallmark of handmade things. But given how busy I've been at work lately, standing in the kitchen slaving over chopped basil just wasn't in the cards for today. Instead, I followed the sage advice of another Italian grandmother, Marcella Hazan. I pulled her Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking off the shelf and set about to make pesto using her (apparently sanctioned) food processor method.

Before you roll your eyes and call me a fraud, it's in her book: Pesto, food processor method. Apparently the Italian goddess is fine with it. Plus, if that's not enough evidence for you, I once heard Lynn Rosetto Casper, the formidable chef and host of APM's radio show The Splendid Table, say that if you go to the Liguria region of Italy, to Genoa, where pesto originated, and follow the tips from the locals to the actual neighborhood in Genoa where pesto was actually invented, the Italian grandmothers there use food processors! That was the last time I had a second thought about whizzing the stuff together.

I think Hazan's recipe is the best one I've ever made. The balance between basil, pine nuts, raw, pungent garlic, and Parmigiano Reggiano and Romano cheeses is just teetering in equilibrium. I also used a truly olive-y olive oil that I got on a twitter rec (Aria, available at Whole Foods), which may have made the difference. In any event, it's a recipe I wouldn't hesitate to make again. So hurry out to your market while basil's still available, and try this pesto. It'd even make Marcella proud.

Marcella Hazan's Pesto I doubled the recipe and got about a pint, so this makes about 1/2 a pint

2 cups tightly packed basil leaves 3 tablespoons pine nuts 1/2 cup olive oil 2 garlic cloves, chopped fine before being added to the processor 1/2 cup grated Parmigiano Reggiano cheese 2 tablespoons grated Romano cheese 3 tablespoons butter, softened

Blend all ingredients except cheese and butter until relatively smooth. Fold in cheese by hand to give that chunky, rustic texture. Fold in softened butter, incorporating it evenly into the pesto.

If freezing, do not add cheese and butter; add to thawed pesto just before serving. Top with a thin layer of olive oil, which will help keep pesto green.

Tamarind Puree

The single best thing (the single good thing, actually) about pulling late nights at work is ordering Indian on the firm's tab. The office coordinates with one of those online delivery systems where you can order dinner and have the bill automatically charged to the company, but frankly, the pickins are slim and they charge you a delivery fee which really cuts into your allotted budget. I almost never order off the site, opting instead to be my own middle man. A bunch of us go in on a big order from Heritage India up the street, and I usually volunteer to take care of ordering and submitting receipts for reimbursement. My colleagues seem to think it's because I embody the spirit of generosity; the truth? I like to ask for lots of extra tamarind chutney.

You'll rarely find my fridge without tamarind concentrate. Tamarind is slightly sweet, but it's the zippy tang that elevates the flavor of meats, pad thai, and even tomato sauce. It's used in many Indian and Thai dishes, and you'll often get some as a dipping sauce for samosa. Perhaps lesser known, tamarind is a key ingredient in Syrian cuisine. Ever since snagging an invite to a dinner party at a Syrian friend's place while I was in college, I've been fascinated by Syrian food. For starters, there's so damn much of it! I ate until I was stuffed at that dinner, and just as the food coma set in, out came the main course. But beyond the copious quantities, I just can't get enough of the interplay between sour and sweet that's fundamental to Syrian cooking. We're talking tamarind-laced tomato sauce, or meatballs cooked in a sweet-tart cherry sauce. It's some pretty good stuff.

I bought my first jar of tamarind concentrate at an Indian grocer near my old office, and it lasted me for nearly a year. It was good, but its texture was similar to pomegranate syrup, and its flavor was somewhat harsher than the tamarind chutney I'm used to eating with my samosas. I thought to get more, but since I no longer work out in the boonies and also don't have a car, Indian groceries aren't exactly accessible. So this fearless blogger decided to make her own.

I didn't go it alone, though: I took on tamarind puree armed with Aromas of Aleppo, one of my new favorite cookbooks to read and ogle over. It's a tall, heavy book, written by a woman named Poopa Dweck (Poopa! What a name!), and it's all about the food of the Syrian Jews. (The book really is stunning, and would make an amazing gift - Julia, who lent it to me, got it for her wedding.) The emphasis is on meat, and when I say emphasis, I mean there is nary a recipe for vegetables on their own; every last one is stuffed with the classic Syrian meat-and-rice filling. Not that I'm complaining. In addition to meat, every single recipe calls for tamarind puree. I've been planning to make something from the cookbook for a while, but until last week, I hadn't gotten past the ogling stage. They just all look very complicated. So imagine my surprise, when I finally bit the bullet and made my own tamarind puree, that the process was really much more painless than I'd anticipated.

Tamarind is relatively hard when it's dry, the pulp having gathered and solidified around those smooth, center seeds -- but let it soak in water overnight, and it becomes as soft as applesauce. At that point, you can easily separate out the seeds and fibrous membranes from the pulp. After a good strain or two through some cheesecloth, all you need to do is boil the puree down and add some sugar, and that's it. Plus, once the puree is made, it'll keep in a jar at room temperature for upto a year. If it lasts that long.

Tamarind Puree Adapted from Aromas of Aleppo

3 pounds tamarind or tamarind pulp (sold in a hard block) 1 1/2 pounds sugar 1 1/2 tablespoons freshly-squeezed lemon juice 2 Tbsp. citric acid

If using whole tamarind, peel the hard outer shell away. Submerge tamarind (or tamarind pulp block) in about 6 cups of water, and let sit about 8 hours, until pulp has the texture of applesauce and is easily separated from seeds and membranes.

Line a colander with cheesecloth, and set over a large mixing bowl. Pour tamarind mixture into colander, and press firmly against the sides of the colander to extract the tamarind liquid and leave behind the seeds and membranes, as well as any pieces of shell.

Transfer the strained pulp from the colander into a clean mixing bowl, and submerge in more fresh water (about 3 cups). Work to pull it apart again, releasing any remaining pulp, then strain again and transfer the extracted liquid into the bowl that holds the liquid from the first straining.

Pour the reserved liquid through the cheese cloth one last time, wringing out cheesecloth to extract as much liquid as possible.

Pour the tamarind liquid into a large saucepan and bring to a boil over high heat. Reduce heat to low and simmer liquid until reduced by half. Then add sugar, lemon juice, and sour salt to the tamarind liquid.

Increase heat to medium and boil slowly until the mixture develops a silky, almost shiny consistency. Let the mixture cool some, then transfer to a large glass jar. Puree will keep several months -- refrigerate after opening.

Pickled Cauliflower

I absolutely love sour things. I've been known to suck on a lemon slice once in a while, just for kicks (though my dentist scolded me for doing it, so I reluctantly put the habit to rest). When it comes to pickles, I'm a full-sour kinda gal. None of that dill or bread-n-butter stuff; I like'em super super sour. I'm into cucumber pickles, but I can't say that they're my favorite -- not by a long shot. No, my absolute favorite pickle is a pickled green tomato, especially if it's from Guss' Pickles on the Lower East Side. My first time at Guss' was on an 8th grade class trip, when we stopped there very briefly on our way back from grabbing knishes, bialys, deli, and other LES specialties. I remember watching friends get themselves just one pickle, or two. When I looked deep into the plastic tub in front of me and saw green tomato quarters, bobbing up and down in the brine, I knew that's what I had to have. Sadly, Guss didn't sell the tomatoes by the single back then -- only by the pound. Obviously, I bought myself a pound of pickled green tomatoes. Reluctant to waste, I ate them all. Boy were they good.

Not to dismiss cukes, but compared to the tomatoes and other exotic pickled things, they're kind of ordinary. I can promise you that this cauliflower recipe is anything but. I originally published this recipe in an article I did for My Jewish Learning on Israeli Independence Day, but these sour, cardamom-spiked florets are great year-round.

Before I send you off with this recipe, I want to just make note of a couple housekeeping items: first, I finally figured out how to set up comment threads, so now we can all respond to each other's comments, which is very exciting for me, since I've been wondering how to do it for almost two years.

Second, the link to my current coveted cookbook, Bittersweet, was apparently taking everyone to my last coveted cookbook, A Platter of Figs. That's a great cookbook -- but so is Bittersweet, so now the link works.

Lastly, can you hang in there for a weekend? I'm away for a couple days, but I'll be back Sunday with more delicious things to make and eat...

Pickled Cauliflower

update: thanks to reader Rachel who pointed out that the recipe should read 3 TEASPOONS salt and not 3 Tablespoons. Egad! Sorry, Rachel! 3 tsp. coriander seeds 1 tsp. turmeric ½ tsp. white mustard seeds ½ tsp. cumin seeds ½ tsp. celery seeds, optional 3 bay leaves Pinch cayenne pepper, optional 1 head cauliflower, washed and separated into florets 1 large carrot, sliced into thick chunks ½ a small yellow onion, sliced into half-moons 1 ½ cups white wine or plain white vinegar 3 tbsp. sugar 3 tsp. kosher salt

Bring a 2-quart saucepan of salted water to a boil. Boil the cauliflower and carrots for 3 minutes; drain and transfer to a large bowl. Add the onion and stir to combine. In a large sealable container (canning jars will work, but are not required if you plan to eat the salad soon and store in the fridge), add half the total amount of each spice (not including the sugar and salt). If dividing the salad among several jars, divide half the total amount of each spice among the jars, saving the other half to top the vegetables. Add the vegetables into the container(s), leaving about ¾ " of space at the top of each container. In a 4-quart saucepan, bring 2 cups water and all the sugar and salt to a boil over high heat, stirring occasionally until fully dissolved. Add vinegar and stir to combine.

Pour the vinegar solution into the container(s), leaving ½” of space below each rim. Close or seal container(s) and transfer to the refrigerator. Allow to marinate at least 24 hours before serving; the longer you wait, the better.