Chocolate Covered Bananas w/a Twist

Today I donated my meal swipes to the YHHAP fast, benefiting homeless shelters in New Haven. It's a great program and they've made it so signing up for it is easy, but it always leaves me with the problem of figuring out what to eat. One of the things I absolutely cannot live without is a bundle of fruit, so last night before I headed out to Miya's for dinner with Amy and Liz, I stopped by Trumbull to swipe some fruit. I came away with 6 blood oranges, 2 apples, a pear, and two bananas. I know. It sounds like an atrocious amount of fruit--but trust me kids, I inhale the stuff. Anyway, I've been itching to relive my childhood lately, especially since crunch time is starting to feel especially crunchy these days. The last day of classes is next Friday, and then it's Reading Week, papers, finals etc. You get the horrible picture. This stress all made me think back to this time I performed with the Irvine Unified School District's Honor Orchestra at Disneyland. Of course I remember having fun playing music and all, but what I distinctly remember is how hot it was, how gruesome the lines on my 10 year-old feet, and how fun it was to devour sourdough bowls full of soup at Disneyland's New Orleans quarter.

My friends and I would buy popsicles, water, or anything cold we could get our hands on as we waited in the hour-long lines. Once, in front of the Haunted House ride, four of us decided to buy frozen chocolate-covered bananas. As the vendor opened the cart, dramatic wisps of liquid nitrogen flowed out of it, and our bananas emerged solid as concrete. This all would have been fine, except that as we neared the end of the line, a sign cautioned us to eat or drink all of our food unless we wanted a ghost to follow us home. I nearly dropped the banana when I read it. My mom grew up with her large share of superstitions, and was terrified of death, spirits, and wackiness. Standing there, I had two options. Wolf down something that refused with great frozen energy to be eaten properly, throw it away (which I couldn't let myself do because Disneyland charges exhorbitant prices), or take a ghost home with me. I chose the first option, which is probably why I remember the scene so well. The brain freeze was like nothing I've ever experienced.

This time around, I was less interested in cooling off, and more interested in taste, quality, and smaller bites. I took one of the bananas I'd pilfered from the dining hall last night, chopped it into pieces, and came up with what I think is a new, sophisticated take on the standard kid-friendly frozen banana. I used organic rose-berry dark chocolate. Dagoba brand makes it with raspberries and rosehips, which I thought would give a depth of flavor to the treat. I froze the bananas, melted the chocolate in a make-shift double-boiler, and scooped the melted chocolate over the banana slices until they were covered. Then I froze them again, and took them out after about a half hour. I couldn't believe I even waited that long!

Recipe to make 6 chocolate-covered banana chunks:

2 oz dark chocolate (I used Dagoba rose-berry, but feel free to use regular or other flavored chocolate)

1 pot boiling water

1 bowl (to melt chocolate in over the pot)

1 banana

(optional) garnish: chopped nuts, berries, or coconut

1. chop bananas into thick chunks, freeze on platter

2. melt chocolate

3. take bananas out, and scoop melted chocolate over them

4. refreeze chocolate-covered bananas until set (about 15 minutes)

You can keep these in your freezer for a while, and take them out whenever you want to eat them. They make a beautiful dessert!

Roasted Red Pepper Deviled Eggs

"The opaque white outer layer lay open-faced on my plate in two halves, looking rather despondent without its sunny yellow center: the Tin Man without his heart. The purity of the yolk was damaged, mixed with gloppy mayonnaise, mustard, and pepper and stuffed back into the body cavity of the egg in an imperfect transplant. The hardboiled egg had gone into surgery and not come back the same. I shrugged and took a tentative bite. I remember the sweet creaminess of the deviled egg, interrupted by the Jello-like intervals of egg white and the generally sulfuric smell of hard-boiled egg neatly disguised by the smokiness of fresh-cracked black pepper. More importantly, I remember that I proudly taught my parents the recipe right when I got home."

That was my first cooking experience. Deviled eggs and I go way back to the tender age of 7. Back then, I had to make them for a class project, though I don't remember what it was. Leave it to me to remember the food and not the assignment. Of course Sunday was Easter and eggs and Easter go hand in hand. Eggs symbolize new life, which all ties in pretty neatly with the Resurrection. The thing is, Easter, like many other holidays has come a long way from its religious roots to become an opportunity for many to hang out and feast with family or enjoy a basket of too many chocolates. That's great for people like me, heathens with no spiritual roots other than the sacrosanct necessity to eat.


Thus: the deviled egg. The perfect recipe to use up all those painted creations that now serve no purpose and will stink up your garbage if left to their own ends. I made this recipe with some spices in my dining hall. It's Italian inspired, that's for sure. Which I suppose is fitting with Catholic and Easter tradition. I diced some roasted red peppers and sprinkled some dried rosemary, basil, and thyme on top for added flavor. They were delicious, easy, and quite classy-looking. You could certainly serve them as appetizers at a party. In fact, you should, if you've got eggs left over. If you've got fresh ingredients as well, by all means, use them! I was limited to dried herbs because that's what my dining hall has--but if I had choice or form of transportation, I'd be all over some fresh basil.

Recipe for Roasted Red Pepper Deviled Eggs:

1 hardboiled egg
1 tsp mayonnaise (I used pesto mayonnaise)
1/2 tsp mustard
2 slices roasted red peppers
1/4 tsp combination of dried basil, thyme, and rosemary

Makes 2 halves, multiply for multiple eggs.

1. Halve the egg lengthwise. Put yolk into bowl. Dice red peppers. Add mayonnaise, mustard, and peppers to bowl. Mash and mix until you form a kind of paste.
2. Scoop the egg yolk mixture back into the hollow of the egg white. Sprinkle the dried herbs on top. Yes it is that easy.

Matzo Pizzo

The following is excerpted from an article I wrote for the Yale Herald:

Here in America, we have three main pizza categories: you can get your pizza on thin crust if you’re into the Atkins diet; normal crust, which actually varies across the country between a base with pita-thickness and one nearly twice as bready (think 10 year old birthday parties and Pizza Hut); and deep-dish, which is Chicago’s original attempt to thwart (or support) Jenny Craig. Once you’ve figured out what kind of crust you want, you get to choose between the old-school red sauce and white sauce, which is usually made with parmesan, garlic, and olive oil. Then your mind becomes overwhelmed with topping combinations and you spew them out in a disorderly fashion and hope that what you’ve made isn’t going to end up uneaten, stale, and wasted.

The original Neopolitan pizza, on the other hand, was nowhere as complex. Though the first pizzas were fired in the ovens of humble folk, they quickly became part of a stubborn Italian culinary tradition. The Japanese might have their so-called “Sushi Police,” but the Neapolitans have their equivalent pizza brigade at the “Associazione Verace Pizza Napoletana,” or the “True Neopolitan Pizza Association,” founded in 1984 in response to worldwide degradation of the original pizzas. Officially, these pizza fanatics only recognize two varieties as authentic. The first, margherita, made with tomato sauce, basil, and a small bit of mozzarella, has become an American favorite. The second, marinara, is nothing more than really good bread with an amazing tomato sauce on top. Here in the United States, where food is ridiculously plentiful year-round, we rarely have the stomach for Naples’ pizza pretension.

This week marks the Jewish holiday of Passover, and with it, I’ve come up with a variation on my recipe for rebellion against the pizza mafia: matzo pizza. I might not be Jewish, but I love the versatility of the unflavored cracker. It’s a welcome treat amongst the endless isles of salted, sugared, and buttered crackers. Because matzo is bland, it can be dressed up in countless ways. The original matzo pizza that I came up with is your go-to LBD, nothing fancy. It requires just a little tomato sauce, some shredded or fresh mozzarella, and an oven or microwave.

This year, I decided to go all out. I bought some goat cheese at the Wooster Square farmer’s market this past weekend, and brought it to Commons with me. I had a delectable experiment in mind. Goat cheese tastes great with something sweet like honey or fruit to undercut its tanginess, so I was set on grilling pears for this matzo pizza. I know, you’re thinking, pears on a pizza? Just trust me on this. If you’ve ever had crostini, you know what I’m talking about. Cheese, fruit, and carbs make a magical combination. First, I had to check to see whether I could use a panini press or George Foreman-type contraption to grill my pears. A simple Google sesh revealed that those machines can grill anything from fruit to flesh. Perfect. As the pears were grilling, I drizzled a little olive oil on the matzo. No sauce. I layered some tomatoes on top, lightly salted them and crumbled an ounce of goat cheese on top. I then added my grilled pears on top and crumbled the remaining ounce of goat cheese onto the pizza. Ideally, I would have stuck it in an oven for a few minutes, but the closest thing Commons has to that is a microwave, so I nuked it for about a minute. I also happen to like heat, so I sprinkled a smattering of crushed red pepper on top before I cut into it.

As I bit into my creation, I couldn’t help but think that I’d successfully made my point. Food is an art, and pizza is no exception. Tradition is beautiful, but variation is what makes tradition special in the first place. So really, I guess the Associazione actually see eye-to-eye. Of course, using matzo in place of pizza bread is somewhat outlandish and in many ways fruit on a pizza is an act of sacrilege as offensive as not kissing the Pope’s ring, but Signore, I swear I mean no disrespect.

To make One Fancy Shmancy Matzo Pizza:

1 matzo cracker
1 pear sliced
2 oz. soft goat cheese
4 slices tomato
1 tsp olive oil
Pinch of salt

1. Grill the sliced pear on your college panini press. If you don’t have one, go to a dining hall that does, like Commons, Davenport, Pierson, or Trumbull. Should take about 5 minutes.
2. While the pears are working, drizzle a tsp of olive oil on the matzo. Layer the tomatoes on top and season them with that pinch of salt. Crumble 1 oz of goat cheese on top.
3. Retrieve the pears, layer them on top of the cheese and tomatoes, and then crumble the remaining cheese onto the pizza. Add some red pepper or freshly ground pepper, if you so like.
4. Microwave it for about 45 seconds, or eat it raw if you’re against microwaving. It tastes great either way.

*Note: if using oven, preheat oven to 375 degrees and bake for 10 minutes

Eat your heart out

Until some time during the middle of my high school career, post-Joy Luck Club personal ethnic crisis and pre-"Material Life in Modern China," I'd always thought that everyone all over China ate the exact same mish-mashing of vegetables and meats, rice, breads, and noodles. I never thought twice about the difficulties of transporting food in a nation where, until recently, the vast majority of the population biked or walked. It barely occurred to me that, in another country where food seemed plentiful for the most part, the people there might still leave their crops to the seasons rather than force them to grow when the skies said they shouldn't. Which isn't to say that food here is grossly homogenized. In fact, dishes everywhere have distinct, regional ties--I just never really thought about them until that moment I discovered that instead of the stringly yellow egg noodles of my childhood chow mein, I'd walked into a restaurant that was serving thicker, doughier ones typical of northern Chinese cuisine, where flour/breads/noodles are staples. The south, however, serves the food that we in America are more familiar with: rice and side dishes.


I can't say that I prefer one or the other--it's a bit like asking someone who really likes The Beatles which song is their favorite. I'd say mood has a lot to do with it. Hunger always has a direction. When I'm at school though, I often miss the freedom of my own, fully stocked fridge and the resources (read: parents) to go out and buy any produce I want. This noodle recipe was the last thing I made before I came back to campus. My dad made it for our family's Christmas gathering and I was really impressed at how great it tasted and how simple it was to make. Unlike the chow mein or other noodle dishes you'd get at a restaurant, this recipe uses a minimal amount of oil. In fact, the only oil in it is sesame oil for flavoring rather than for cooking. You can add any mix of vegetables or meat to it. For this particular recipe I used shrimp and spinach. I probably would have used gai-lan, which is commonly known as Chinese broccoli, if I had it.

Recipe for 1 bag (14oz or 16oz) of egg noodles:

1 tablespoon oyster sauce
1 tablespoon sesame oil
2 tablespoon light soy sauce + 1 tbsp if needed
2 tablespoon water (make it easier to mix)
4 quarts boiling water

1.Cook noodles in boiling water for about 2-3 minutes. You don't want them to end up mushy.
2. Mix in the sauce
3. Put any combination of stir-fried vegetables/meat or steamed vegetables on top

Goat Cheese, Honey, Pear, and Grape Crostini

My friend John got one-week's leave on account of good behavior from the labor camp he was sent to for failing to pay his barber's bill. Out of all the places he chose to vacation, he picked New Haven, Connecticut. So I've spent almost every waking moment of the last three days with him, natch. Before you gasp and tell my mother that one of my best friends is a Siberian-age criminal and she doesn't speak to me for a month, I guess I should rewind and say John's actually studying abroad this semester at Goldsmith's College in London. I'm not sure whether he's failed to pay his barber's bill, but I know that he no longer has his Jimi Hendrix fro. And he has got a new, VERY ridiculous jacket.

I want to say this jacket of his is European, genteel, and tweedy. Something he could wear to, say, an uppercrusty soiree or Saturday afternoon cricket. Alas, no. This jacket is puffy, shiny to the point of patent, quilted, sweater-lined, attitude-collared, and all together fab-u-lous. So I decided to tame it with crostini.

Ever since my first visit to the farmer's market a couple months ago, I've been in love with Beltane Farms' fresh soft goat cheese. I'm totally obsessed with the idea of salty and sweet and love the combination of fruit and cheese, like many people do, so I was really looking forward to this venture. But alas! I don't have an oven, so I had to improvise a bit with a little bit of olive oil and a pan.


I think John and Amy were happy with the results, which made me happy--yay!

Recipe
1/4 baguette sliced into thin pieces, about 1 cm thick (approx. 10 pieces)
1 tbsp olive oil for pan
1 oz fresh soft goat cheese
1/4 tbsp honey
1 pear
a few grapes (optional)
pinch of salt

1. coat bread slices in olive oil in pan, toast them until crispy and lightly browned.
2. smear goat cheese on crostini, take a pinch of salt and sprinkle it on all the pieces. you don't really need to salt them, but it helps bring out the flavor.
3. drizzle honey over the crostini
4. thinly slice pear and put on top. halve some grapes if you've got them.

Americana: Blueberry muffins

The night before I flew out of LAX bound for Budapest, I asked my dad to pick up a blueberry muffin for me on his way home for the long plane. "Isn't there anything else you'd want to eat? Anything better?" he asked. My dad doesn't believe that muffins are "real" food. But I believe that muffins can be everything. They can be savory, they can be sweet; they can be gooey and half done, or moist and ready to eat. Muffins satisfy all kinds of cravings with their almost cake-like texture, endless combination of flavors, and the individualized muffin cup that says me, Me, ME! They assuage all kinds of doubts or apprehensions. Just one poorly pinched corner of a warm, moist, buttery muffin is enough to make me think that some day, muffins will save the world. Not that I advocate emotional eating.

Anyway, I had to have that blueberry muffin.

I had this vision that it would give me unparalled peace as I squirmed uncomfortably for 14 hours in the leather, supportless, bad-tv airplane seat. That poor muffin had high expectations to fulfill. The thing about muffins that I've found, though, is they're a bit like a comfortable, wrapped up nap after an early, hectic morning and an awfully late night: easily satisfying.


So I waited until the bad airplane movies started to get even staler as they began to be replayed over and over. Until the illusions that I was even sitting in a chair gradually fell away as the circulation in my lower body started to grow frenetic. Until the small well of beverages and services began to dry up because I was 20 feet outside of business class. Then, and only then, did I take out the moist blueberry muffin. I was comforted by the known: what it would taste like, the store it came from, that nursery song, the fact that ever since I could remember, blueberry muffins were part of my American life, and a food I associated almost entirely with the old U.S of A. I didn't know what to expect in Budapest. But I wouldn't have to think about that until I was done with the muffin.


Recipe (adapted from The Gourmet Cookbook):
6 tablespoons butter (3/4 stick) softened
3/4 cup sugar
1 extra-large egg
1 1/2 cup flour
1 1/3 tsp baking powder
3/4 tsp salt
3/4 tsp vanilla
1/3 cup milk
1 1/2 cup fresh blueberries (tossed in 1 tbsp flour)

1. preheat oven to 375 degrees. prep muffin cups or grease muffin tin.
2. cream together butter and sugar. add milk, egg, and vanilla.
3. in separate bowl, mix flour and baking powder and salt.
4. add dry ingredients to wet.
5. gently fold in blueberries.
6. scoop batter into muffin cups, about 1/2 to 2/3 full.
7. bake for 20-25 minutes.

Makes 12.

Bar Pizza: "Better than Anything?"

Easter's coming up pretty soon. I'm not religious or anything, but I kicked off Ash Wednesday with Erin in a way that probably made the pope proud: in the study room on my floor with some homework and a good talk. That is, studiously, seriously, humbly, and in good faith. She asked me what my goals for Lent were, and I replied that as much as my dad circa 1990 would have loved it if I followed Catholic tradition, we had all fallen out of that tree and hit the frustrating, but still grounding, ground. "But why not set some goals? Give something up--I think it'll free you more as a person," she said.

While most people I know gave up things, foods, and quirky habits (collecting toe nail clippings, for example...ew just kidding), I think Erin picked the best thing to shed. Self-doubt. The second I heard her say it, I threw my atheistic crap out of the window (but not too far) and joined up. Self-doubt, as I have discovered in college, leads to a slew of nasty things that perpetuates self-sabotage, which causes irrational, but very emotional jealousy, and more self-doubt. Bad, bad, bad.

So this weekend, I went out to dinner to celebrate a friend's birthday and indulged in what I would have given up because if left to my own devices what I would have spent 40 days pining for would have been a lot shallower than Erin's brave idea. Like a lot shallower. Thinnest-crust shallow.


Bar Pizza serves some of the best pizza I've ever had, and I've sampled some of New Haven's favorites (Modern and Pepe's). As I ate my Bar pizza I couldn't help running that old song through my head:

Better than making a million/Better than being a queen/Better than oil wells and gold mines/Better than pastures of green/Better than finding a horseshoe/Better than losing your head/Better than anything ever thought of/Better than anything ever said/Ah, ha,better than singing right out loud/Or being, ha, spotted in a crowd/Better than anything except being in love.

And it was. I've never been loyal to the Pizza Hut-type thick crust, though before California Pizza Kitchen and the Atkins Diet, it was all I had to work with. I like the flavors and ingredients in my pizza to taste balanced. A hint of bread here, a glimpse of sauce base there and a complementary taste and texture of toppings everywhere. Bar's brick-oven accommodates a seemingly infinite combination of toppings, so I like to try something new every time I have the chunk of change to drop by. This time around I ordered a chicken, basil, and sundried tomato white pizza and ate some of my friend's bacon and spinach concoction. The chicken was tender, which generally isn't the case after someone's cooked it, added it to the pizza, and thrown it in the oven. The basil was Thai basil, which wasn't the plant I was expecting, but it tasted great. The sundried tomatoes added a good brightness to the pizza. As for the bacon pizza...I've come to the horrible, artery-clogging conclusion that bacon tastes great on and with anything. Bar's ambiance is fun and taverny, with long wooden benches and tables and candles mimicking old world lanterns. It's a great place for a good, solid group of people, but bring your wallet and make sure it's thick and not thin.


And you know, about three weeks into this whole Lentish thing, I'm not sure I've done a great job throwing off self-doubt, but I'm more aware of it and I've never felt more humbly human in my life. I've never felt more ok with being it, either. Now I just have to work on accepting it in others.

Where: Bar Pizza 254 Crown Street, New Haven CT 06511
See site for hours, menu, and culture vibe.
$$$
Large groups can't split checks, so bring your math skills.
Casual
Other notes: Fabulous