The Many Ways of Purslane

purslane

The enlarged clover-like leaves, the purple tinged stems, the blaring Omega 3 endorsement. Purslane, a green I’ve yet to hear of, grabbed the five dollars right out of my worn wallet.

When I mentioned to some foodie friends that I bought this mysterious-to-me green, they dismissed it. It was too stemy. It was nothing special. I’m here to promote purslane, and not just because its name reminds me of my favorite accessory.

eggs with purslane

Purslane #1
I quickly cooked the chopped up green in butter, added in halved sungold tomatoes (My very favorite variety this year; as my friend Jeb noted: they’re so sweet it reminds you why a tomato is actually a fruit), shoved them to the side of the pan—added more butter!—and scrambled two farm fresh eggs. When the eggs were almost cooked, I stirred everything together and hit it with salt and pepper.

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Bombay By Way Of San Jose

charminar market Aug 16, 2009 3-56
Fresh pineapple cut to order. Don’t eat it, though. You’ve been warned.

Greetings from India. This is my fourth week here, about the halfway point of the trip, and all is well.

Well, sort of. The first week was taken up with recovering from jet lag. They say to expect a day of screwed-up circadian rhythm for each time zone you travel through, and I passed over fifteen getting here. Once you’re over it, however, you kind of miss it. Even though you’re crashing out at around nine every night, you’re also awake by four in the morning, which equates into a whole extra half-day if you act on it. But even when you recover from jet lag, homesickness can set in right afterward.

A little history: not only is this my first visit to a country outside the U.S., it’s also the first time I’ve traveled anywhere by plane in over a decade, since before 9/11. So between not getting sick on the flight over and not getting sick from questionable food or water sources, I think a little pining for my own bed is a natural reaction and the least that could happen. It could very easily have been worse.

And by “worse,” most people mean, of course the Indian equivalent of Montezuma’s revenge, a.k.a. “Delhi belly,” or less delicately, mudbutt.” Dysentery and its cousins can be caused by improper food handling, unsanitary conditions, or simply a tender tummy’s reaction to new foods. But the biggest culprit of intestinal illnesses in the developing world is, sadly, the water. The hard and fast rule is that if you’re traveling in a country where you don’t absolutely trust the source of your food, there are only two safe choices; eating something that’s had the shit boiled out of it, or eating something that you can peel, like a banana.

Of all the things you’ve heard about India, the one that turns out to be the most true is the people. I’m currently working in Hyderbad, which is one of the country’s Silicon Valley counterparts; it’s also the third largest outsourcing city in India. People are everywhere; crowding the roads with their insane driving, building mansions into the rocky hills, and selling everything in the marketplace. Find out what after the jump.

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Top Chef Masters: Finale Round 2

tom-chef-masters-season-1-105-winner-art

I’m sorry to report that I will be calling off my pre-pre engagement to Zooey Deschanel. She’s handling the news very well actually, thanks largely to the fact she has no idea who I am. But if she did, and maybe, just maybe one day she will, I’d like to think she would at least be mildly disappointed.

The thing is, we’ve just been struggling with these imaginary problems for a while now and it’s really taken a toll on our long term future. The final straw was the realization that the only source of nutrients Zooey is allowed to consume is grass. I was crushed when I found out. All these years you think you know someone and then a bomb like this drops on your head and shakes your imaginary relationship to the core.

Find out how the remaining Top Chef Masters handle cooking for a group of people that hate choose not to enjoy everything on this planet worth eating, after the jump.

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Perfect Pattypans

chickpea-pesto

Hey ESers, did you miss me? I missed you!  I’m afraid I’ve been gallivanting about for about a month and I have severely neglected ES in the meantime (and cooking in general).  I’ve been back for a week, and I must admit that my brain is a bit rusty and my cooking thus far has been less than inspired.  Does that ever happen to you all after a long time away from your kitchen?

I mean I was missing my kitchen the entire time I was gone, but my cooking muses seem to have expired during my brief journey, leaving me with only enough energy to cook a few stir-fries and throw together some salads.  Ugh….  Cookers’ block.

However, lucky readers, before I left for travels, I was struck by no such affliction.  In fact, just before I left I hosted a dinner party for which I pulled out all the stops. With my favorite summer ingredient at the ready  I made my most delicious  and complex pattypan dish yet:  Chickpea and Pesto Stuffed Pattypans:

stuffed pattypan with chickpeas topped with pesto

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Cupcake Rampage: Arnold Palmer Cupcakes

arnold 02
“I want you to kill every golfer on this course.”

Legend has it that one day at the height of his powers in the early 1960s, pro golfer Arnold Palmer was at the Cherry Hills Country Club in Cherry Hills, Colorado for one reason or another. Reportedly, Palmer asked one of the bartenders to mix him a special drink, the ingredients of which must have been so gauche that the Tom Cruise-wannabe behind the bar initially refused to sully his Boston shaker with the likes. At this, Palmer allegedly became so incensed with the mixologist’s cheek that he flew into a mild rage, threatened to get snooty, and, if his request was further denied, promised to get downright snotty.

Blanching at the prospects of facing down a murderously thirsty PGA Master and his posse, the barman wisely caved and quickly built Palmer’s beverage: a tall glass of ice, filled halfway with lemonade, and topped off with iced tea.

The drink has since earned the reputation of being the black-and-tan of the country club, the virgin Queen of 19th hole quaffers, and to this day, such a mixture is still known colloquially as an “Arnold Palmer.” Most barkeeps will know what you want when you order one by name, although some restaurant waitstaff may fix you with a funny look, since it is kind of a fusty old drink; something for teetotalers or closet lushes who want to keep their vice on the down-low. And while it hasn’t stopped marketers from pushing pre-packaged versions onto the masses, at least it comes with a readymade practical joke:

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Return of the Pattypan

pattypan

There she was… gleaming and yellow in the morning sun, delicately curved, coyly beckoning at the bottom of the squash crate…. Who could resist her?  The rest of the farmers’ market bounty blurred around her scalloped edge. I was completely enchanted. In a word: transfixed.

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