THE ADVENTURES OF A WAYWARD CHEF

There are a lot of adjustments and sacrifices a food “enthusiast” makes when bidding adieu to life in the big city. When I said goodbye to New York to jump on a yacht sailing down to the Caribbean, I also said goodbye to my favorite butcher, fishmonger, ethnic markets, gourmet stores and most difficult of all, the cheese counter at Murray’s Cheese in Greenwich Village. Granted, I traded those places for white sandy beaches, and bartering with Rasta’s over the price of breadfruit and mangoes, so who am I to complain? But, even in a tropical paradise, I pined for a good butcher and a respectable cheese counter.

So here I am, once again, “officially” bidding farewell to one world and jumping into another. I’ve turned down several offers aboard yachts, instead opting for life on land in a quiet, little community in Southern Oregon’s Rogue Valley. As I’ve made my home here over the past few months, there are adjustments and sacrifices too. No white sand beaches, I have yet to find a good butcher, and I have lamented for months the lack of a “real” cheese counter here as I’ve pawed through the pre-cut, shrink-wrapped wedges of pepper jack, brie and blue in the cheese section of my local food co-op. I’ve missed the experience of smelling, sampling and ordering – and that warm, fuzzy feeling knowing that each wedge was being cut fresh from a big wheel, just for me. But today, my luck changed. As I lamented the sorry state of those poor, cryogenically sealed delicacies a message comes across my iPhone, “Rogue Creamery has Burrata and fresh buffalo mozzerella!” Fresh Burrata? Reason enough play hooky from work and drive out to the creamery in Central Point. I’ve been meaning to check that place out…

I thought I was taking another step in my new world, in my new life, as I pushed through the doors of Rogue Creamery, but instead it was just like a taste of my old life again. There, behind a gorgeous cheese counter, with his cheese shirt and baseball cap, glasses pushed up on his nose, and a big, cheese-loving smile spread across his face, was my old friend, Tom Van Voorhees, the leading, ACS award winning cheesemonger in the US (and formerly of the aforementioned Murray’s Cheese, Fairway, and Tuller Premium Food). A basket of heirloom tomatoes and a sampling of Burrata, that amazing cream-filled Italian mozzerella, sat on a small tasting table in front of the cheese case. I’ve had Burrata before, but couldn’t help but sample it again. It was so fresh tasting, I asked Tom if it had just been flown in from Italy. “Nope, it’s handmade in Southern California by Gioia Cheese Company” What? No way, Burrata this good cannot be from the United States. I didn’t believe him. “It is”, Tom said, “and half its shelf life isn’t gone by the time we receive it here, like it would be with Burrata from Italy”. Oh my god, my prayers have been answered. Who needs New York City when you have Rogue Creamery?

I perused the cheese selection and am happy to report that not only does Rogue Creamery carry it’s full line of award winning blue cheeses, curds, and fresh-churned butter, but they also have probably one of the finest selections of American made, artisan cheeses I’ve ever seen (and tasted) – this side of the Mississippi. Edelweiss Emanthaler raw milk aged swiss and Pleasant Ridge Reserve, both from Wisconsin. Pholia Farms raw farmstead goat cheese from Rogue River; Cyrpus Grove; Tumalo Farms from Bend; “Up In Smoke” chevre from River’s Edge on the Oregon Coast. And, a few essential European cheeses, for good measure. “Yeah, we pretty much don’t carry any boring, mass-produced cheese” Tom told me, in his usual matter-of-fact manner, as he handed me a golden, crystal-flecked shard of a 4-year aged Gouda.

So, I traded my cheesemonger in New York for the Rasta’s in the Caribbean. But now, my little piece of New York is here. Perhaps my sacrifice is trading back the Rasta’s in the Caribbean for my cheesemonger. That’s a faire enough trade-off to me. And heaven knows – if I really need a dose of trustafarians Rastafarians, all I have to do is go for a walk through downtown Ashland. In the meantime, I’ll be sampling my way through Rogue Creamery and weighing whether the sacrifice is worth it…

Rogue Creamery
311 North Front Street
Central Point, Or 97502

Cheese shop hours:
M-F 9am to 5pm
Sat 9am to 6pm
Sun 11am to 5pm

When people think of clay pot cooking, most often, they think of grandma’s ceramic casserole or crock-pot. But for those in the know, clay pot cooking invokes impassioned responses and cult-like zeal. “I found my first clay pot, a French triperie, [for cooking tripe], at a shop in New York City years ago. I didn’t even know what tripe was!” exclaimed iconic food writer, Paula Wolfert. The Sonoma, California resident and self-proclaimed clay pot “junkie” has been collecting clay pots from her travels around the world for over fifty years. “It’s a personal sickness” she confessed, “I have hundreds of clay pots”.

The history of clay pot cooking runs as rich and deep as civilization itself, from ancient times to present day and from Indonesia to Egypt. Even the United States has its own history with earthenware. ‘Boston’ Baked Beans, originally a native American dish, were cooked in earthen bean pots. Traditional micacious pots of the American Southwest Indians have a cult status all their own. But clay pot cooking is getting a renewed look as of late as chefs such as Deborah Madison and Richard Olney extol the virtues of these earthen wonders in their cookbooks. Steve Sando, founder of Rancho Gordo Heirloom Beans in Napa, readily admits to his obsession. He’ll use any one of his eighty-plus bean pots on a daily basis. Tom Wirt, of Clay Coyote, recently launched a line of clay cookware and believes that as people make more conscious food choices, they’ll want cookware with a conscience too. On a recent walk through Sonoma, Paula Wolfert quipped “of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world…” upon stumbling upon the new store, Bram. Bram, the Egyptian word for a clay pot, is dedicated entirely to clay pot cookware from around the world. The timing and location couldn’t be more auspicious as Wolfert’s latest cookbook, Mediterranean Clay Pot Cooking, (Wiley, 2009), is due out this fall.

What fuels such an emphatic following? Enthusiasts claim that clay pots lend a taste of the earth to whatever is cooked in them; a “fingerprint” of the clay, Wolfert calls it. La Chamba, the jet-black earthenware from Columbia, is smoked in rice husks, imparting a smoky flavor into the pot’s contents. Mineral qualities are said to infuse into the dishes cooked in the clay pots from Egypt, Morocco and Mexico. Micacious clay pots are said to lend a “sweet” or “balanced” quality to whatever is cooked in them. As well, clay distributes heat evenly and then holds its temperature making it ideal for cooking low, and slow, and developing flavor; whereas, cast-iron or steel pots continue to heat up unless they’re moved away from their heat source. Enthusiasts often describe feeling an almost ‘primal connection’ to their food when they cook with clay. Although Wolfert is quick to dismiss the notion that clay pot cooking is anything more than a niche market for an impassioned group of cooks, some might beg to differ…

Since leaving the yachting world, I feel that my blog has been left adrift, without the wind to guide it. I just can’t write about what I cook and eat on a daily basis. Without the element of adventure, I’m feeling a bit lost. It’s not that I don’t have great fun in my kitchen – on the contrary – but there are a million blogs out there talking about what so-and-so has cooked up in their kitchen today… In yachting, everyday brought something different – like a massive storm, or the arrival of a famous guest just when all of my galley equipment decided to stop working, or the chance to shop in some crazy, local market. Some days were scary, some were frustrating, and many were insanely fun! But, I’ve grown accustomed to sleeping in my own bed at night, and not having nine roommates, and I don’t plan on returning to the yachting world again anytime soon. So, time to look for a new adventure, wouldn’t ya’ say?

I’ve been a complete recluse for the past four months writing a proposal and converting my Caribbean adventures into a book. The proposal writing process is a project in and of itself! It’s coming along – and I have a very persistent editor needling me and making sure that I don’t sit on it for yet another year and a half. But, it’s time to earn an income again and seek out some new inspiration! Some chefs find inspiration in manipulating food with machinery and chemicals, alla Grant Achatz or Hester Blumenthal; creating bubble gum flavored smoke, or peanut butter and jelly flavored spheres of indefinable ooze. That’s cool, but it’s never been what gets me excited when I’m playing in the kitchen. I draw a lot of inspiration from my environment – cooking on a yacht, perusing foreign markets, building a kitchen in a warehouse, or out in a vineyard, or even on a safari (which always sounded like grand fun to me and which I haven’t done – yet). I like the factor of unpredictability. It keeps me on my toes.

So where to next? That is the question…

My Bottarga arrived! With the patience of a five-year-old on Christmas morning, I ripped the package right open. There, before me, was a gorgeous, soft, amber cake of salted, pressed mullet roe. It smelled divine, like the ocean: briny, slightly fishy, reminding me of salted anchovies. Never having eaten Bottarga before, this was not to be just another average day – this was an occasion!

In Sardinian cooking Bottarga is traditionally cooked in, or grated on top of, pasta. In Lebanon the Bottarga is sliced thin, drizzled with olive oil, garnished with a slice of garlic, and then eaten with soft triangles of pita bread. But, I decided to go with the Sardinian preparation – with fresh made pasta, of course.

I rolled, cut, and cooked about a half-pound of fresh linguine, minced a few cloves of garlic, a handful of parsley, and finely diced about two tablespoons of the Bottarga. Then, I poured a generous amount of good quality olive oil into my pan, added the garlic and about a half teaspoon of red pepper flakes and let that cook to infuse the oil. Once the aroma of garlic filled the kitchen, I added in the Bottarga and let it sizzle just long enough to release its flavor. My salivary glands were just beginning to get happy in anticipation. I added the cooked linguini and enough of the pasta cooking water to marry with the infused olive oil, tossing it well to create a light sauce. With its subtle, briny, oceany, and stinky funk, fresh grated Pecorino seemed like a winning choice to compliment the Bottarga.

Now, don’t think me greedy. Although I could’ve been quite content keeping this little treasure to myself, I did invite a few girlfriends over for lunch…

Finally sitting to eat, I twisted the long tendrils of linguini around my fork, making sure each ribbon of pasta was sufficiently speckled with Bottarga. I took my first bite. Heaven. The Bottarga was much more subtle than I had imagined. It lent the perfect hint of briny-saltiness to the pasta, and melted in my mouth.

Lingering over the platter of pasta, working our way through a few bottles of vin gris, chatting about life, and gardening, and food, it was a perfect meal and a perfect day. Oh, and for dessert, we did what I would assume any proper Italian would. We tore apart big, crusty pieces of peasant bread and dragged them through the salty, Bottarga and garlic infused oil from the bottom of the pot and ate that too.

Mmmm, if life were only this sweet every day (I’d never fit into my pants again)…

Every year, for the past 5 years, I’ve gotten this asinine idea in my head that I’m going to fast. How healthy of me, right? Last year, I tried fasting at a special “cleansing” resort in Thailand. Even surrounded by dozens of other fasters, I broke down after three days and gave into my desire for solid food. Why, I asked myself, would I come all the way to Thailand and not eat? Good question. And why, again, when I am in a beautiful location with a bounty of incredible produce and ingredients at my fingertips would I willingly choose to abstain from eating? I honestly don’t know. My nutritionist tells me that my hunger is a monster that I need to let die. But, I want food! Asking a chef not to eat is like a asking a racecar driver to slow down on the racetrack. Not possible.

I’ve tried distracting myself from thoughts of food. I fertilized and cultivated the patch in the backyard where my vegetable garden will soon be. But, vegetables = food. I go on walks: past my favorite coffee shop, past my favorite restaurant. I read books – about food. Even the Internet is not safe! Last night, I’d punched in my credit card number and clicked “purchase” before I even realized what I was doing. And now, as I slurp my way through veggie broths and green juices, easing myself back into the world of solid food, I eagerly await a shipment of Sardinian Bottarga di Muggine. I think I’m going to put this whole fasting notion to rest, once and for all. I sense a plate of Spaghetti alla Bottarga in my future…

The ground beneath me explodes as I rip a handful of weeds from the rich, dark soil. A lacy netting of roots clings for dear life to a giant dirt clod. I knock the extra dirt off on a nearby rock and throw the weed into my rapidly expanding weed pile. I’ve never gardened before today! In fact, I’ve killed almost every plant I’ve ever owned – which really consists of only about four. Ever. In my entire life. Last week I killed a pot of tulips given to me as a house-warming gift by my step-mom. I completely forgot to water them. Plants don’t like it when you forget to water them.

Fragrant purple lilacs drip from the bushes on my street; cherry and quince trees explode with pink puffs; the apple and peach orchards look like fields of popped corn – pass the butter! The farmers market stalls are filled with transplant seedlings for tomatoes, peppers, herbs, and baby lettuces. The first asparagus of the season has arrived at the local Co-op. It’s amazing being so close to so many local, yummy edibles. On the yachts, almost everything is imported. Too often, the produce is shipped thousands of miles across the ocean to wherever in the Caribbean, or Mexico, or elsewhere, the yachts are provisioning. It’s not always feasible or possible, when you’re responsible for feeding 18 people a day breakfast, lunch, dinner, and cocktails, to make it to the little farmers market on some tiny island to shop everyday. And, those special people that own those multi-million dollar yachts, or are paying thousands of dollars per day to charter one, don’t like to here the word ‘no’ when they request organic white peaches. In February. In the Caribbean. Uggg. But to be back on land again, hooray! It’s like e venerable, local feast at my fingertips! I love being so close to my food source again! I want to grow things, to eat, but nothing in my previous 30+ years of big city living and the past four years spent on the water has prepared me for the agrarian utopia I now live in. So, how do I begin?

I planted 4 pots of herbs today; mint, lemon balm (for tea), lemon thyme, and savory. My landlord is an arborist, so my house is hidden away in a little forest of beautiful trees and shrubs, which means that I don’t have much in the way of direct sunlight. But, I do have a small, sunny patch in my backyard, near the fence. So I’m thinking of putting a few tomato plants, maybe some sort of winter squash, like acorns, butternut or pumpkin and lots more herbs, maybe some lettuces; my very first edible garden. Let’s hope I don’t kill it!

I read recently that bartering, though it’s been around for centuries, is the new ‘new’ thing and with the economy falling out from underneath us, the online bartering community has exploded with new websites popping up everyday. Craigslist.org’s barter section has more than doubled in just the past year! My cooking skills have been a handy bartering tool in the past. I’ve gotten discounted dental work in exchange for catering a baby shower, some yoga lessons and even tax advice, but that was some time ago and I decided recently that it was time to put my bartering skills to work again.

I’ve been wanting to make vinegar for quite some time now but it’s not as simple as just leaving a bottle of wine out in the open air – just like making cheese is not simply leaving a carton of milk out on the counter for a month – wine needs the right bacteria to make a good tasting vinegar. Many of the articles that I had read on vinegar making suggested buying a vinegar ‘mother’ or starter (essentially a ‘live’ vinegar containing the right bacteria for a good flavor) from a beer brewing supplier, while others recommended starting with a live vinegar such as Bragg’s Live Apple Cider Vinegar and then adding water and juice and allowing time for the cultures to grow before building it up with wine or more juice. One article described a complicated arrangement of garden hoses and water buckets to let C02 out of the soon-to-be-vinegar, without letting any oxygen in, and then lots of mixing and toiling, while another involved making fruit juice from fresh fruit, converting that to alcohol and then to vinegar and so on. It seemed rather complicated for a process that has probably existed for over a thousand years and most likely did begin with someone forgetting to cork their wine vessel.

So, I decided to talk to a family friend who happens to be a wine importer. If anyone is going to know about vinegar, I imagine it would be someone in the wine business, right? Right. You can only imagine my delight when I found out he heads up a super-secret vinegar society on the west coast. A whole group of people who gather together to make and taste and talk about vinegar? Awesome. He lead me to the back of his store, where, in a dark recess, underneath the stairs was a very large, glass jug filled with a deep purple liquid. “That, my dear, is made from a 109-year old balsamic vinegar starter from Modena, Italy, brought to the United States by Benedictine Monks. The starter is kept in a monastery in a location that I cannot reveal. I can’t even tell you how I received it or the Monk who gave it to me could be excommunicated from the church by The Pope, himself!”. “Wow, a super-secret vinegar starter – so sought after that a monk risked his life to give you some?”. My mind raced. I could distract my little wine-importing-friend while someone else heisted the bottle for me. But that wouldn’t be very nice. I could ask to use the restroom and siphon some off of the top of the bottle. He probably wouldn’t notice. But that isn’t nice either, and karmic retribution is a bitch sometimes… Hmmm, “would you be willing to trade something for a little starter?” I appealed to his Italian heritage, “how about some jars of homemade mostarda and homemade blood-orange marmalade?”. “Ok”, he said. “Come back tomorrow, at midnight. The exchange must take place in complete secrecy. No one can know. And bring an empty wine bottle with a cork.” Hmmm, an empty wine bottle. Now where am I ever going to find one of those?

I ran home, looking over my shoulder to make sure there were no Priory of Sion followers after me – but this is Ashland, Oregon. I’m more worried about the Prius of Sion followers. A non-violent environmental fringe group dedicated to electric cars, green energy and tofurkey. So, I returned the next night, under the veil of darkness, with my jars of homemade condiments and an empty bottle in hand…

“Hold the funnel”, my friend told me, as he poured the giant jug into my little wine bottle. Glug-glug-glug. “Doesn’t that make you just dream of salad?”, he said, as the aroma of the tangy, jewel colored liquid filled the air. I corked up the bottle, slipped it inside my coat, waved goodbye and slid out the backdoor. Walking home, my eyes couldn’t help but watch the sidewalk, taking careful steps so as not to fall.

I poured half of the contents of the wine bottle into a 1 gallon glass jug and added a bottle of red wine, gave it a good shake to aerate it, as my friend told me to do, tied a piece of cheesecloth over the top and stuck it in the pantry where it will breath and grow and turn my wine into more yummy vinegar. Then, I slit an avocado in half, drizzled it with a little bit of the remaining vinegar and a sprinkle of Maldon Sea Salt, grabbed a spoon and had a little feast. My mouth watered. There was nothing offensive or obtrusive about the flavor. It was sharp, tangy and good.

>>Sigh<<

And what’s so wrong with a life of vinegar?

The signs that spring has sprung are everywhere out here in Southern Oregon. The warm sun melts the frosting-like snow glazing the Syskiyous. Knock kneed calves suckle from their momma’s teets and wobble around the pastures as though they’re on stilts, baby lambs and kids graze on the fresh green grass, pregnant buds are ready to burst forth from the trees. But it’s March, a typically fickle month almost anywhere in the Northern Hemisphere and tomorrow it might just snow. But I know spring is just about here and before long the farmers markets will be bursting with the Rogue Valley’s bounty. And I can’t wait…

I’ve decided to stick around for a while. Jessie, my Caribbean cheese making friend, and I have moved into a great little house right in the heart of downtown Ashland. Our humble little abode is just a few blocks from the Ashland Food Co-op, farmers market and the food mecca that is downtown. And, since I’m not working 100-hours a week, I feel like I’m practically on vacation – and Jessie and I are getting into plenty of trouble in the kitchen. Continue reading Mostarda di Rogue Valley

A student asked me the other day if I thought a food processor was a necessary item in the kitchen. Personally, I can’t live without my food processor, I use it all the time for shredding vegetables for coleslaw, grinding breadcrumbs from the heels of my loaves of bread, grating gruyere for mac’n’cheese. It’s an essential piece of equipment for a creamy, chicken liver and cognac pate or smoked salmon mousse. I guaranteed my student that come the holidays, she’ll be so happy to have a food-processor.

The question that proceeded was, why not use a blender? The answer to this might seem obvious if you’re comfortable in the kitchen and cook often, but as I begin teaching a second series of “Confident Cooking”, a 10-week course on kitchen basics, I realize that there are a lot of people out there that are totally new to the kitchen and it is a big step for them just to be cooking. The student that asked me the question has been on a very limited diet for 10-years due to some health concerns and this is the first time in a decade she’s enjoyed cooking and eating the way she wants. I have another student whose spouse past away 3-years ago and they’ve been using only a microwave ever since. So, it’s interesting to me to find out what drove them into the kitchen and be able to help them with even just the basics. So, blender vs. food processor: first and foremost, a blender has a tall narrow jar meant for more liquid or moist ingredients (like fruit) to be able to move around. A blender, essentially, is meant for pureeing and it will puree much smoother than a food-processor ever will, whereas a food-processor has a wide bowl and can chop, grind and slice and can process dry and moist foods – but too much liquid and it’ll leak. So, they’re two different tools for several different jobs.

When choosing a food-processor, there are really only two companies worth considering and those are KitchenAid or Cuisinart. KitchenAid has a reputation for quality products, their food processors look like race cars compared to the utilitarian, boxy design of Cuisinart, circa 1962. But, I bought my Cuisinart long before the hot-rod red KitchenAid even hit the shelves, and I don’t plan on replacing it anytime soon. It’s minimalist and simple with just two buttons – Pulse/Stop and Go and I hate gadgets with too many buttons. Do you really know the difference between Frappe and Puree on your blender? The only other button that I whish mine had was one that read, “wash dishes”. Sometimes less is more. But I don’t like the feed tube on the Cuisinart. It’s poorly designed; there are two many small gaps and pockets for bits of things to get stuck. According to Consumer Reports, the KitchenAid scores slightly higher for it’s ability to puree, but I used my dad’s less-than-a-year-old KitchenAid recently and the handle fell apart (the plastic literally just fell right off and broke). Apparently it’s a problem that they are aware of and they’ll replace the bowl if you contact them. There are pro’s and con’s for both, and I probably won’t be buying another food-processor for at least a decade – but the KitchenAid does rate highest in Consumer Reports and Cooks Illustrated. So, if I did buy another, well, a hot-rod red food-processor would look nice with my granite countertops.

“This curry was like a performance of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony that I’d once heard – especially the last movement, with everything screaming and banging ‘Joy.’ It stunned, it made one fear great art. My father could say nothing after the meal.” ~Anthony Burgess

Curry, it’s a simple word, yet varied and complex in meaning and richly seeded in history, with roots in India but widely eaten throughout Southeast Asia, Africa and the Caribbean, curry’s influence can be seen all around the world! The word “curry” is an Anglicized word from the Tamil* word “kari,” meaning ‘sauce’ (Tamil is an ancient Indian language that’s existed for almost 2 millennia!). In its most generic form, ‘curry’ usually refers to any Indian spiced, stewed dish made of meat, fish or vegetables. The spice blends that make up curry are known as ‘masala’, the most commonly known being the bright yellow Indian-inspired curry powder found in the supermarket, containing heavy amounts of turmeric and cumin. Another more commonly known masala is ‘Garam Masala’, a spice blend commonly used in Northern India, consisting of a mix of sweet spices including cinnamon, cardamom and coriander among other things; and ‘Masala Chai’, a blend of sweet spices usually combined with black tea to make Chai tea. The range of spice blends that make up true masala are as diverse and wide ranging as the Asian subcontinent itself, as masala recipes vary from family to family and are often passed down through generations! Pretty neat, huh?

Indian cooking is really regional and there are so many different styles. Northern Indian cuisine uses yogurt, cream, ghee*, and other dairy products in their cooking. The dishes include meat and poultry, are mildly spiced, and accompanied by pilafs and a variety of breads such as paratha*, naan* and chapatti*. Southern Indian cooking includes vegetarian and fish dishes, uses pungent spices and coconut milk and are most commonly served with rice or rice combined with lentils to make pancakes, fritters or breads such as dosas*, uttapams* and vadas*. Southern Indian cuisine also tends to have a soupier consistency compared to the thicker, creamier dishes of the North.

Religion also plays an integral part in the regional food of India, as the country is the birthplace of two of the worlds great religions, Hinduism and Buddhism. Around 80 percent of the population is Hindu, while Muslims are the largest religious minority. Other religious groups include Sikhs, Christians, Buddhist, Jains, Parsees and Jews. Many Hindus, Buddhists and Jainists are strict vegetarians, in accordance with the ideal that they should avoid harm, violence and suffering. Which, in turn, has led to a rich and abundant array of vegan and vegetarian dishes that play an integral part of Indian culture. The Mughal Empire introduced goat and lamb and brought the influences of Persian and Mediterranean cuisine to the Indian table.

Since ancient times and the very beginnings of commerce, the spice trade has been an important commercial activity and played an integral role in the spread of Indian spices and flavors throughout the Orient and the West. Spices were considered rare and precious products, treasured for the medicinal uses as well as for use in perfumes, dyes and cooking. The spice trade, originally, was made up of a series of interconnected trade routes across the Asian continent, connecting East, South and Western Asia with the Mediterranean world, Europe and Africa. But, as marine transportation and navigational tools advanced, starting in the 15th Century, European explorers traveled the world by ocean in search of new trading partners and goods; spices being among one of the most prized trading goods, next to silver and gold!

With the development of maritime transportation and expansion of trade routes, also came the proliferation of religion – further expanding the influences of the Indian kitchen; not just into the cuisines of West brought home by early Christian missionaries, but in the cuisines of South East Asia as Buddhism made its journey southward.

At the crossroads of the East-West sea routes, Thailand and Indonesia were easily influenced by the cuisine of many other countries. And with an abundant supply of fish and seafood, as well as fruits and vegetables, the people took what was best from India, China and the Middle East and infused it with their indigenous ingredients to create a cooking style totally their own. Curry spices were combined with kefir, galangal and lemongrass and beaten to a paste. Ghee and diary products were replaced with coconut oil and coconut milk.

Driven by increased trade routes, Arab traders slowly converted Indonesia from Hindu to Muslim, adding new flavors and aromas to an already rich culinary landscape. Kebabs, a Middle-Eastern dish of marinated meats threaded onto a stick, becoming satay, goat and lamb became their staple meats. Chinese merchants made their own contribution to the South East Asian melting pot bringing with them the wok, and stir-frying, noodles and soybeans. And as the Dutch waged war over the Spice Islands, they too brought flavors from home importing carrots, cauliflower, cabbage and string beans, potatoes and corn, adding to an already diverse and plentiful array of vegetables.

The advent of slavery into Africa further expanded the influences of the Indian kitchen as Dutch traders brought slaves from India and South East Asia to do domestic work as well as work the fields. The slaves brought with them the flavors of their homeland, which quickly infused with the indigenous ingredients of African cuisine and eventually developed into a cuisine all its own.
In the quest for closer and cheaper places to find and grow spices, Europeans brought African slaves to the Caribbean. The warm climate mimicked that of India and became an ideal place to grow spices such as cinnamon, turmeric, nutmeg, cloves and ginger originally imported from Asia. With the abolishment of slavery, Europeans imported indentured workers from India, more cooking styles were introduced and a new cuisine was born, bred of the influences of the Anglo, African and Indian kitchens.

From curry-spiced chocolates to chai crème brulee, today, the far-reaching influences of India can hardly be missed. In the culinary capitals of London, Paris, New York and San Francisco, the world’s hottest chefs are quick to reach to the Indian pantry to add a taste of the exotic to even the most refined dishes. Though we may look at these embellishments as haute, modern and new, the pervasiveness of Indian spices in global cuisine is almost as old as cooking itself.

I’m really not sure at what point it was in my life that I became completely enthralled by curry. Was it as a child when my mom would make a thick, sweet and spicey yellow chicken curry served with bowls of chopped pineapple, shredded coconut, raisins and nuts to top it with? I’ve never seen curry served like that since, but it is one of my earliest happy food memories. Or was it when I first moved to New York City and my friend, Diane, took me for a gander down Curry Row on East 6th Street in the East Village where one could gorge themselves on curries, na’an and lassi’s at countless Christmas light adorned, tabla playing Indian restaurants for around $10? The going tale at the time was that all of the restaurants were actually serviced by one kitchen… Or was it the aromas of heaven that I smelled while interning at the upscale Indian restaurant, Devi? I’m not sure, but some of the best things in life are happy accidents and however it came about, I can now say that I am a loyal devotee of the Indian kitchen and its influences. I love the aroma of dozens of spices simmering together in a rich sauce; I savor the play of sweet, spicy and sour on my tongue, and the adore the fluffly, warm breads and crunchy papadams and chutneys.

In honor of my devotion to Annapurna, the Hindu goddess of food and cooking, I am holding a 3-day curry workshop at Alysson’s of Ashland in Ashland, Oregon! We’ll be exploring curries and how they’ve evolved from the Indian kitchen and spread all around the world.

February 28 – India
o Shrimp Vindaloo
o South Indian Lamb Curry
o Lemon Rice
o Lentil Dal with Fresh Ginger, Green Chiles and Cilantro
o Raita, Cilantro Chutney
o Mango Lassi

March 7 – Indonesia, Malaysia, Thailand
o Kao Soi – Chiang Mai Style Curry Noodles with Vegetables
o Indonisian Chicken Rendang
o Malaysian Hot and Sour Fish Curry
o Sambal Asam – Malaysian Chile Sauce
o Coconut Sticky Rice with Mango

March 14 – South Africa and the Caribbean
o Cape Malay Fish Biryani
o South African Butter Chicken
o “Doubles” – Trinidad Street Food, Flat Breads filled with Curried Chickpeas and Topped with a variety of Chutneys and Pepper Sauce
o Fresh Mango Chutney
o Tamarind Chutney

3 Tablespoons Coriander Seeds
1 1/2 Tablespoon Cumin Seeds
1 Teaspoon Chili Flakes
1 teaspoon Fenugreek
1 Tablepoon Ground Turmeric

In a small sauté pan toast coriander, cumin, fenugreek and chili flakes until aromatic and just beginning to toast – about 4 minutes. Pour contents of pan into a spice grinder and add tumeric. Grind into a fine powder. Store in a tightly seeled jar for up to 6 weeks (it will last longer, but it will begin to lose it’s flavor).