Messing Around with Sumac

My father would spin in his grave if he knew I was messing around with Sumac.

Years ago, my parents had a lovely large house in the exceptionally beautiful Manhattan suburb of Bronxville. My brother, sister and I grew up in that house and played in a big back yard that was carefully manicured by my father with precious little help from his reluctant kids who did not appreciate the benefits of a magazine-perfect landscape. Every inch of that acre was carefully groomed, except for what grew behind the rock wall that defined the northern edge of the yard. It was in that no-go zone where my father battled the intractable bushes of Poison Sumac. Every summer, undaunted, he would don something like a haz mat suit and flail away at those shrubs to keep them under control, then carefully bundle the cut branches in burlap so that when the trash men made their rounds, they wouldn’t have to touch the venomous leaves. And every day he would admonish us kids to “Stay out of the sumac!”

Poison Sumac (Rhus toxicodendron vernix) is closely related to Poison Ivy and Poison Oak, but is far more toxic. Touching any part of the plant, including its white berries, can cause a painful dermatitis and getting it in your mouth or nose can be fatal.

So imagine my surprise last week when I joined my friends Judy and Sandy for lunch at Jonathan’s in Ventura and I was served salmon dusted with a paprika-colored spice that had a wonderful sour, lemony taste, which, when I asked, turned out to be ground sumac!

Back home, I immediately got online to find out how that lethal plant growing in my childhood backyard could be edible. Rhus coriaria, the culinary sumac, is related to the poisonous variety of sumac (Rhus toxicodendron vernix) but is completely harmless. Its red berries are dried and crushed to produce a tangy powder that has been used in food and drinks in the Middle East for centuries; in fact, the word “sumac” comes from the ancient Aramaic language. Fans of Greek, Turkish, Persian, Lebanese or North African food use the sumac spice in vegetables, eggs, chicken, fish, grilled meats, rice, sauces, or anything that needs the kick of lemon without the liquid of the juice. It’s better, I think, than paprika for dusting on top of hummus.

Needless to say, I ordered 4 ounces of imported ground sumac from My Spice Sage in New York, hoping to revolutionize my cooking. First, I tried grilling salmon dusted with ground sumac, just as I had experienced in the Ventura restaurant. Alas, I screwed up in two ways: first, I was too timid and didn’t use enough sumac, and second, I undercooked the salmon. But I was able to make fish cakes the next day with the leftover salmon and I added sumac to the recipe, which saved the day.

I’m a convert now and I wish my dad were around so I could share my personal discovery with him. I’d make him a dinner of seared lamb rubbed with sumac and other spices, potato salad dusted with sumac, fresh green beans dressed with lemon and sumac, and a dessert of blueberries with yogurt dusted with ground sumac. We’d dive in to every dish and have a good laugh about how delicious it is to mess around with sumac – the right kind.

Gourmet Tomato Tasting

I promise this is the end of the tomato rant. I had even promised myself that tomatoes were getting beyond boring, until I spied an announcement in the local newspaper: "Tomato Tasting!"

My favorite nursery had invited an expert vegetable gardener to display his best tomatoes, and offer tastes of as many varieties as one could consume. Almost as good as a wine tasting, but not as snooty.

There were purple-black, pale yellow, brilliant orange, green, red and striped tomatoes in all shapes and sizes. Some tasted bland, some very acidic, and some were full-bodied and complex, just like a good wine. But my favorite was the pale orange 'Garden Peach' tomato that was as sweet as candy. Maybe I'll try that next summer.

But in the meantime, my Satsuma plum tree is loaded with plums, and so a new rant begins.

Gazpacho

If you are a passable cook, you can probably recall pivotal moments in your childhood kitchen when your mother (or whoever was the best cook in your family) shared a culinary secret with you, a tidbit of knowledge or culinary insight that made the light go on in your head and you just knew that someday you were going to be a good cook, too.

My mother was an uninspired cook who passed precious few culinary insights on to me. In fact, so few that the only one I can actually recall is when she announced that one of her dearest friends could make soup out of leftover lettuce, along with all the bits from the bottom of the salad bowl. Whatever ambitions I may have had about becoming a decent cook went as limp as a used lettuce leaf at that precise moment.

Fast forward several years to the time I first tasted gazpacho, that icon of summer soups. It was in a New York restaurant on a hot August day in the sixties. I had met friends for lunch, escaping for an hour from my job as a secretary at Vogue magazine. About all any of us could afford on our $88-a-week jobs was soup and some iced tea. Lucky for us that the soup-of-the-day was ice-cold gazpacho.

Gazing at the bowl that was thick and fragrant with summer vegetables, I flashed back to the leftover lettuce concoction that my mother had thought was so exotic. I plunged my soup spoon into that blended ambrosia before me, and became a believer.

The tomato bonanza in my garden this summer has called for heroic measures to use tomatoes in as many different ways as I can, so I’ve made gallons of gazpacho that I’ve served to friends and have myself consumed for lunch and dinner in a single day.

There may be as many recipes for gazpacho as there are for turkey stuffing, but this one is easy and if your garden is overflowing, you can pull most of the ingredients right out of your back yard.

 Ice cold Gazpacho served on the patio, herbs from the garden for a centerpiece.

Gazpacho

½ Sweet onion, cut in 6 pieces

2 Cloves garlic

4 Large ripe tomatoes, cored and quartered

2 Cucumbers, peeled and cut in chunks. Set aside ½ cup.

1 Red pepper, diced. Set aside ½ cup.

1 Small green pepper, diced. Set aside ½ cup.

1 Jalapeno pepper, stemmed and seeded

¼ Cup balsamic vinegar

2 Cups tomato or V-8 juice

2 Teaspoons tomato paste

2 Sprigs each parsley and basil

½ Teaspoon salt

6 lime wedges for garnish

1-2 Avocados, diced for garnish

If you can’t find a sweet Vidalia onion, use a red onion instead. Cut the onion in 6 pieces and soak in ice water for 15 minutes before blending.

Blend the garlic, tomatoes and onion. Add the cucumber, peppers, jalapeno, and vinegar. (Make sure to set aside ¾ cup each of the cucumber and red and green peppers.) Add 1 cup of the tomato juice, tomato paste, parsley, basil and salt. You may have to do this in batches. Combine the blended vegetables in a large bowl. Add remaining tomato juice and season with salt and pepper. Stir in the reserved diced peppers and cucumber. Chill at least 2 hours before serving. Serve each bowl with a wedge of lime and a spoonful of diced avocado. Serves 6.

I asked the guys at Ojai Beverage Company to recommend both a red and a white wine to go with gazpacho, and they suggested a crisp Sauvignon Blanc from Paso Robles, and a Sicilian red from Rapitala. Both worked perfectly.

Quinoa Meets a Tomato

In my current quest to find ways to use up the profusion of tomatoes taking over the garden, I tore through last week’s L.A. Times’ Food Section looking for recipes that would come to my rescue.

Food columnist Russ Parsons, an amiable sort whom I met years ago at a food event in Ojai sponsored by Saveur magazine, did just that. Russ had written a feature on using grains in summer salads and his recipe for a salad of quinoa, grilled corn and tomatoes looked just about right for making a dent in the pile of tomatoes on my kitchen counter. Besides, I’d never grilled corn before, so it was time to learn.

Quinoa Salad

1 Cup quinoa

1¾ Cups water

Salt to taste

2 Cups grilled corn cut from the cob, 2 ears

2 Cups chopped tomatoes, or cherry tomatoes cut in half

1 Serrano chile, seeded and minced

½ Cup chopped green onion

3 Tablespoons lime juice

2 Tablespoons olive oil

1 Clove garlic, minced

1¾ Teaspoons ground cumin

1½ Cups chopped cilantro

Place the quinoa in a strainer and rinse under running water until the water runs clear, 1-2 minutes. Turn the quinoa into a medium saucepan and cook over medium heat, stirring constantly. The quinoa will dry, and then begin to stick a bit. Keep stirring and eventually it will begin to toast, smell nutty and turn a light golden color, about 5 minutes total. Add the water and ¼ teaspoon salt, bring to a slow simmer and cook until the quinoa is dry, about 30 minutes. You can cook the quinoa a day in advance and keep refrigerated tightly covered; bring to cool room temperature before finishing the dish and serving.

When ready to serve, transfer the quinoa to a mixing bowl and gently stir in the corn, tomatoes, chile, green onions and 1 teaspoon salt.

Combine the lime juice, oil, garlic and cumin in a blender and puree to a smooth dressing. Pour the dressing over the quinoa mixture and stir gently to combine. Add more salt or more lime juice if needed. Fold in the cilantro. Serves 6-8.

This salad is no dainty “lady’s luncheon” salad. I’ve made an entire meal out of it, and it would be hearty enough to serve as a side dish with barbecued tri-tip or pulled pork. Thanks to the serrano chile and green onions, it has a good kick to it. You might want to include cold beer in your menu.

The Revenge of the Killer Tomatoes

Okay, now what?

Those four tiny tomato seedlings I planted in the spring have joined forces to overwhelm the garden. They’ve gotten so heavy and unruly, they’ve knocked over their wire tomato cages, have cascaded over their raised bed and are overtaking everything in their path.

The plants are so intertwined I can no longer tell where one begins and the other ends, except for the size and shape of the tomatoes. I reach for a Heritage, and out comes a cluster of cherry tomatoes; their stems are so snarled up it’s impossible to pick one at a time. So I picked a basketful of everything I could reach and got ready for a tomato binge.

I started with a basic tomato dish that happens to be my favorite summer appetizer: the classic Calabrese salad. There are a million variations on this salad that originated in Calabria in southern Italy, but tomatoes, basil, olive oil and red wine vinegar are absolute musts; mozzarella cheese is optional (according to some Italian purists), but I would never leave it out.

Calabrese Salad

Large tomatoes

Mozzarella cheese

Fresh basil

Balsamic vinaigrette.

Salt and pepper to taste

I didn’t list quantities because it depends on the size of the tomatoes and how large a salad you want to make. For an entrée size dish, slice 1-2 large tomatoes into ¼-inch slices, arrange them in an overlapping circle on a large dish and season with salt and freshly ground pepper. Cut mozzarella into thin slices and tuck them in between the tomato slices. Garnish with just-picked basil leaves. Drizzle with a balsamic vinaigrette, or drizzle with olive oil followed by a splash of red wine vinegar.

This, along with a demi-baguette and a glass of Chianti, is all I could ever hope for on a hot summer evening.

There are another dozen or so tomatoes still waiting for me in the kitchen, so if anyone has a recipe that uses LOTS of tomatoes (but not ketchup; I don’t like peeling and seeding tomatoes), please let me know.

Santa Cruz Tasting Notes, Part Deux

Back in Banana Slug-ville to continue my exploration of what’s to eat. Oh yes, and to visit my grandkids, too.

First stop, the newest member of Santa Cruz’s culinary shops, Nut Kreations. My grandson was anxious to point out all the roasted and raw nuts, nut oils, nut milks, nut butters, and nut coffee blends that this pleasant shop offers. We inspect their nut bar with 120 varieties and flavors and our eyes start to glaze over with all the choices. The solution: Javier custom blends his own granola and off we go.

Across the street is my favorite downtown eatery, Asana, where I once again order their “Lavender Love,” a diet-busting milkshake that I have described before in this blog. This time, someone in the kitchen added an extra spoonful of lavender buds and I was surprised it didn’t look purple in the glass. It’s a good thing I love all things lavender.

 Lavender Love, the world's most exotic milkshake.

My son splurges on their Lemon-Cashew Mousse, made with cashew milk, almond liqueur and whipped cream, topped with a puree of peaches and mango. I think Nut Kreations could prosper by adding a selection of nut-based puddings to their offerings but having just opened in May, they have enough to worry about now.

 Cashew Mousse with Mango-Peach Puree, garnished with Lemon Zest and edible flower petals.

Next stop: lunch at Samba Rock Acai Café, a Brazilian joint that specializes in huge bowls of ice cold acai mixed with granola and topped with fresh fruit. Locals park their bikes inside the restaurant where the samba beat is just a prelude to the energy boost you get from the fresh organic ingredients.

So it turns out that someone has already put together a Santa Cruz food tour, a 3½-hour stroll to five local drinking and dining spots with a lot of local history thrown in. That’s what I’ll do next time I visit.

In the meantime, here’s a recipe for cashew mousse from an old issue of Gourmet magazine:

Cashew Mousse

1 Cup salted roasted cashews (4½ ounces)

½ Cup sugar

1 Cup plus 1 tablespoon cold water

½ Teaspoon unflavored gelatin

1 Teaspoon almond-flavored liqueur

2/3 Cup chilled heavy cream

Blend cashews, sugar, and 1 cup of water in a blender until very smooth, about 2 minutes. Pour mixture into a fine-mesh sieve set over a large glass measuring cup and let drain (gently stir if necessary but do not press on solids) until 1½ cups cashew milk accumulates in cup (discard solids).

Sprinkle gelatin over remaining tablespoon water (cold) in a 1- to 1 ½ -quart saucepan and let stand 1 minute to soften. Heat over low heat until gelatin is melted, then add cashew milk and liqueur and heat, stirring, until mixture is thickened (do not simmer), about 6 minutes. Cool to room temperature, stirring occasionally.

Whisk cream until it just holds stiff peaks, then fold cream into cooled cashew milk mixture gently but thoroughly and divide among serving bowls. Chill, covered, until set, at least 3 hours. Serves 4.

Your vegan/vegetarian friends will think you are so clever.

Pea Shooters

My broken toe has pretty much limited my garden activities to sitting on the patio and gazing out at all the herbs that need trimming, or picking and using in the kitchen. How frustrating to see all that oregano, tarragon, mint, chives and parsley flowering and going to seed due to neglect.

Meanwhile, my fellow gardeners (the ones with two good legs) are having a hey-day making hearty salads, salsas, pesto, vegetable soups and garnishing everything from cold drinks to steaming hot pasta with the bounty from their gardens.

During a recent heat wave, newspaper food sections were staying away from writing about hot soups and casseroles, featuring instead cold soups for dinner that had the double benefit of using fresh vegetables and herbs from the garden. I found a recipe in the New York Times that seemed like something even a gimp could manage (with a few adjustments), so after a little shopping and a minimum of herb-gathering in the garden, I renamed the recipe and started in.

Pea Shooters

3 Tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

2 Leeks, white and light green parts only, cleaned and sliced

Salt to taste

5 Cups frozen or fresh peas (I used 2 12-ounce bags of frozen peas)

3 Cups, tightly packed, coarsely chopped Bibb lettuce (about 1 head)

¼ Cup coarsely chopped tarragon leaves

¼ Cup coarsely chopped flat-leaf parsley leaves

¼ Cup coarsely chopped fresh mint leaves

¼ Cup chopped chives

Small whole herb leaves for garnish

Heat 1 tablespoon of the olive oil over medium heat in a large, heavy soup pot. (Set aside the remaining 2 tablespoons for use later). Add the leeks and a pinch of salt. Cook, stirring until tender, about 5 minutes. Add the peas, lettuce and stock and bring to a boil. Add salt to taste, reduce the heat, cover and simmer for 5 minutes. Remove from the heat. Drain through a strainer set over a bowl, and allow the vegetables and the broth to cool separately for 15 minutes. Taste the broth and season to taste.

Working in batches, puree the vegetables and herbs in a blender with the broth and remaining olive oil for 2 minutes per batch until smooth and frothy. Pour into a large bowl and stir to combine. Taste and adjust seasonings. Chill for several hours. 

Serve in soup bowls if this is to be the main course, but I like the idea of serving it in individual Irish coffee glasses, espresso cups or shot glasses as an appetizer or aperitif.  Either way, garnish each serving with leaves of tarragon or mint.

Makes 2 quarts, enough for six soup bowls, or 12-15 aperitifs.