Debra's Articles in The Boston Globe

Expert's Guide To The New Asian Megamart

2009-11-12T10:20:00.010-05:00

' You’d think I was in Korea’

RESTAURATEUR JAE CHUNG TAKES US INSIDE H MART, THE ENORMOUS NEW KOREAN MEGAMART, FOR A COOKING LESSON LIKE NO OTHER

By Debra Samuels, Globe Correspondent November 11, 2009

BURLINGTON — Standing in front of a tower of Korean grapes, restaurateur Jae Chung surveys the new H Mart. “Wow! Now I won’t have to drive to New Jersey,’’ he says. Opened last month — the first one in New England — this H Mart is the 30th store for the New Jersey-based chain owned by Korean businessmen. It began in 1982 and at this point moves into a region in a big way. The footprint is the size of a football field. The store combines elements of Asian and American supermarkets, department store-type concessions, and a food court anchored by a French Asian bakery. Some customers look like they’re participating in a supermarket sweepstakes race. Carts are piled high with boxes threatening to topple over. All Asian cuisines are represented here but Korean products dominate. Still, the fresh food is abundant: meats, poultry, seafood, vegetables, and prepared foods.

Since it opened its doors, H Mart has been jammed. (H stands for hanahreum, literally “armful’’; the company says it means “love and care for the customers.’’) The tall, slim Chung, 46, who owns several Jae’s enterprises in Boston and Western Massachusetts, is drawn to the store, to the bins of spicy kimchi, crocks of salted seafood, sacks of grains. Chung is touring the mega-market to explain ingredients and tell us how he’d cook them. One of his chefs, Yeong Sohn, joins us.

We start at one corner of the store, where the banchan (little dishes) and kimchi (fermented vegetables) are located. This is what you would find in a supermarket in Seoul. Chung was born in Seoul and moved to Clarksburg, a tiny town in the Berkshires, when he was 13. “I was the only foreign kid in town,’’ he says. Sometimes it embarrassed him to bring friends home because of all the unusual food smells and herbs his parents were drying that might have seemed weird.

At H Mart, Chung is right at home. Banchan, which are seasoned vegetables, tiny fish, seaweed, and wild herbs, are the base of a Korean meal. Chung notes that these prepared dishes will save home cooks hours of work. “This is a real boon for the Korean housewife,’’ he says. “Making these side dishes is labor intensive.’’ His parents made all these things themselves when he was growing up. The case is brimming with 20 kinds of kimchi, which is on the table at most Korean meals. “I like the New York [brand] kimchi. It is all natural with no MSG,’’ says Chung. H Mart carries other MSG-free brands. On weekends at H Mart, women wearing rubber gloves are making fresh kimchi and the lines to buy it are long.

Chung opened his first Jae’s Cafe in the South End in 1990 followed by seven more. The original location is still open, as is another in Brookline. He was one of the first restaurateurs here to make pan-Asian food. Today he lives in North Adams with his wife, Suzanne, and 7-year-old daughter, Hanul, and has restaurants in Pittsfield and North Adams.

At H Mart, Chung sees crocks filled with raw salted seafood in spicy sauces. “I love this stuff,’’ he says, and points to pollock roe, which is thousands of tiny eggs in a natural sack. Serving instructions are simple: “Drizzle with soy sauce and sesame oil and sprinkle on minced scallions,’’ he says.

The meat case is filled with cuts you don’t see at regular supermarkets: pork belly, sliced beef and pork for stir-fries, chicken feet. Chung picks up a package of something marked “LA beef short ribs’’ (LA is a type of bone-in rib, thinly sliced for table top barbecue). He likes these. “Good marbling,’’ he says. Then a quick recipe: “Sprinkle the meat with salt and pepper and marinate in a mixture of grated Asian pear, ginger, garlic, sake, soy sauce, and sesame oil for three to four hours. Cook in a frying pan or under the broiler. Serve with red leaf lettuce, red pepper paste, some raw garlic.’’

In the seafood department, most of the fish have heads and tails intact. There are fewer boneless pieces available, but lots of ready-cut sashi mi, split blue crabs, and pre-packed seafood hot pot ingredients ready to mix with water. Lobsters are in tanks, abalone is in the freezer section, and clams and mussels are on ice, ready for customers to scoop their own into a plastic bag.

An entire department is devoted to dried seaweed. In the produce section, there’s everything from lettuce to lotus root. Chung notices chubby white radishes called mu, something like daikon; slender red and green chili peppers; and unusual varieties of mushrooms. A refrigerated case is loaded with a half dozen brands of tofu in textures from silky to firm, as well as custard-like for sundubu chigae (tofu stew). Soy bean sprouts are beside the tofu. Korean Rx for colds: “Combine garlic, beef stock, and [soy] sprouts,’’ says Chung.

The restaurateur spots a mountain of Napa cabbage, the kind used for homemade kimchi. “Thirty years ago in Clarksburg we could only get the round green kind [of cabbage]. My dad made the kimchi and buried it in the backyard - the tradition.’’ In Korea, the cold ground kept the fermenting cabbage at the perfect temperature and provided vegetables when none were in season. Now some families in Korea and here have kimchi refrigerators that control not just the temperature but also the distinctive odor of fermenting vegetables. On the way to housewares, you can see one of these nifty fridges. You’ll also find specially designed plastic ware for kimchi, and the latest in electronic rice cookers, well-designed table top grills, steamers, and tableware, including stonepot bibimbap bowls.

“I’m just so happy to see these Korean items in a store like this. Usually you can only find them in mom-and-pop stores,’’ he says. He thinks H Mart is trying to appeal to a broad spectrum of Asian and non-Asian families, but notices that most of the food and housewares are items from Korea.

We round the corner, passing a store-long aisle of noodles, and turn into an alleyway of rice and grains. Brown, white, short grain, sweet rice, and dozens of others share space with bags of barley, millet, red adzuki beans, black and white soy beans, sorghum, and lentils. “Koreans like white rice, but it has no real nutritional value,’’ says Chung. “When I was in school in Korea, the government introduced all these beans and legumes to cook with rice and improve nutrition. The teacher would check our lunch boxes and you would get hit if your rice didn’t include a healthy mix of beans.’’ Many Koreans make their own rice blends today, but premixed grains are now available for the daily pot.

An abundant market makes customers hungry. We lunch on reasonably priced dishes in the food court: bibimbap, the classic rice and vegetable pot; sundubu chigae, the soft tofu dish; ja jang noodles, a spicy Korean-Chinese favorite; tteokpokki, rice cakes shaped like small tubes bathed in a fiery sauce; and Korean sushi, called kimbap.

H Mart president William Choi says the decision to open in the suburbs reflects the large Asian population now living outside the city. In fact, most customers are Asian. Those who aren’t, like Joan McDonough and her daughter, Melanie Donlan, both of Watertown, may receive advice from grandmotherly shoppers. “Eat kimchi. It will never make you fat,’’ announces Soon Kim, a handsome and slim 74-year-old from Salem.

Chung likes the notion that Korean food is being brought into the mainstream. “You’d think I was in Korea,’’ he says.
H Mart, 3 Old Concord Road, Burlington, 781-221-4570. For locations of Jae’s restaurants, go to www.jaescafe.com
For more photos go to The Boston Globe's website

© Copyright 20092009 The New York Times Company

For boat's chef, some thrills and spills

2009-10-05T22:45:00.032-04:00

Keeps crew happy with comfort food

By Debra Samuels, Globe Correspondent

September 23, 2009

GLOUCESTER HARBOR - The schooner Roseway, a 137-foot former fishing boat, lurches through the waves, and doors flap to the rhythm. time,announces Jessica Reale, who quickly secures the kitchen cabinets with bungee cords. The 26-year-old chef works quickly, holding a door closed with an elbow while hooking the cord under the cabinet before another wave knocks her and everything in the cupboard off balance. The next lurch pushes her into the electric stove, which has pot braces for the burners. A huge pot of clam chowder is practically stirring itself.

The hardest part of cooking on a boat is when I am feeling seasick,says Reale. A brownie batter in a large baking pan has pooled at one end.
Reale, an East Bridgewater native, cooks three meals a day for the 10 crew members of the Roseway, which docks in Boston Harbor during the warm months when guests aren't onboard.

The boat is used by the World Ocean School for education programs for schoolchildren. Today, there are 30 passengers - the Roseway is racing other tall ships out of Gloucester - and all will have lunch with the crew.

The chef was up an hour before the crew, preparing homemade blueberry pancakes and coffee. One by one, sleepy crew members climb the ladder from their bunks in the fosle (boatspeak for forecastle) into the cramped galley. Deck hand Margo Vanderberg, 30, grabs coffee and walks the five steps to the other end of the galley, descends into the dining area, piles pancakes on her plate, and tucks in.

We love Jess,says chief mate Andrew Kaiser, 23. Hey Jess, he asks, did you grind the flour for the pancakes?
Reale, who has a head of brown curls and a contagious laugh, is a Culinary Institute of America-trained chef. She had managed and cooked at restaurants in Florida and Maine, but had never been on a sailboat before this job. The galley is her domain and also the universal pass-through to sleeping quarters, dining room, engine room, deck, shower, and the only toilet. Storage in the kitchen is under floor boards and behind stairs; two portholes have ever-changing views.

The boat's food budget is meager. Reale spends $5.50 per person per day. You can do a lot with that if you shop smart,she says. The crew likes meatloaf, soups, and homemade breads. brought my professional books but find myself mostly using the only cookbook in the ship library, The Joy of Cooking,she says.

The Roseway sets sail for St. Croix in November. know staples will be more expensive down there, but I am looking forward to the challenge. Off the Massachusetts coastline, the crew dines on chowder. The chef uses canned clams when fresh ones aren't available. She sets a pot of creamy chowder beside ham and cheese sandwiches on homemade baguettes and adds a platter of oddly shaped brownies (they baked on a sea-induced angle).

Hours later, the Roseway, which finishes in fourth place in the race, returns to Gloucester.
On a typical day, Reale would prepare dinner now. She bought chicken earlier in the week and cooked it to make fajitas with corn tortillas and her own guacamole.

Tonight, Reale catches a break. All the crews have been invited to a potluck dinner.
Fajitas are on tomorrow's menu. Hopefully, so are calmer seas.

To learn more about the Roseway, go to http://www.roseway.com/

To hear Jess talk about her role as a chef and meet her mates watch the video taken by Boston Globe photographer John Tlumacki

http://www.boston.com/video/viral_page/?/services/player/bcpid19067533001&bctid=41478825001

The flavors of Sicily, topped with tradition

2009-09-02T15:17:00.011-04:00

Concetta checks the pizza sponge as Angela makes the sauce.

Twice a month, Concetta Cucinotta and Angela Molinario spend the day making pizza for their family in the kitchen of Cucinotta’s home in Dedham.

By Debra Samuels

Globe Correspondent / August 12, 2009

DEDHAM - The old yellow plastic tub, covered with a soft, well-worn blanket, sits on Concetta Cucinotta’s kitchen table. You can almost see the blanket moving. Under it, a mound of yeasty, bubbly dough is spilling, like molten lava, over the sides of the tub. Lively Italian folk music is coming from a CD player and Cucinotta periodically breaks into song.

It’s pizza day for Cucinotta and her sister, Angela Molinario, a ritual that takes place twice a month. The sisters spend the day shopping, cooking, and feeding their families - along with anyone else who shows up. The crowd is rarely fewer than 15.

Cucinotta, in a flowered apron, starts to tame the dough. With a flick of her wrist, she scatters flour onto a big board and kneads the mass into submission. When you start with 10 pounds of flour, this is no simple feat. She makes quick work of forming six pieces for bread, six for pizza, and at least one mound for the Sicilian calzone called scaciadda (ska-cha-da).

The sisters immigrated to the United States in the early 1970s from the village of Saponara near Messina, Sicily. Their mother, Maria Gangemi, always made pizza for the family; the daughters have continued the tradition for the last nine years. Molinario is a seamstress in Lexington; Cucinotta, now retired, worked on the housekeeping staff of Children’s Hospital Boston.

Today, they’re making sauce and toppings that include sausage, onions, peppers, and pepperoni. Molinario sautes two huge onions in olive oil. When they begin to brown and release their aroma,
she lifts them out of the skillet and stirs tomato paste and two large cans of ground tomatoes into the pan. “That’s the secret,’’ says Molinario. The tomato mixture sizzles and splatters and absorbs the onion flavors left behind. Eventually she returns the cooked onions to the skillet with dried oregano and basil, black pepper, and water.

An ornery stove that’s seen better days doesn’t always deliver consistently high heat, so the sisters jack up the temperature to 550. Somehow it turns out crusty masterpieces with an occasional burnt loaf.

Cucinotta hands off pieces of the dough to her sister, who lays one on a worn rimmed baking sheet. She presses and stretches the dough to fit the rectangular tray. Molinario grates bricks of mozzarella and lays the toppings within easy reach. “They are like a machine, these two,’’ says Enza Hart, Cucinotta’s daughter. Each pizza is spread with sauce and scattered with toppings.

One is cheese only, another pepperoni, and so on. The diminutive duo - both sisters are under 5 feet - make the pies they know their family likes.

Still singing, Cucinotta lets the loaves rise on a floured bed sheet spread on the table, covering them again with the blanket. Her calzone goes into a rectangular baking dish. She rolls a piece of dough and sets half of it in the dish; the rest hangs over the edge. She heaps on onions, potatoes, sausages, and escarole, then folds the soft dough over the top, crimping the edges shut.

Cucinotta’s husband, Giovanni, comes in through the side door. He’s been shopping in the North End and sets down his haul of groceries. Giovanni gets the first hot slice. He pours himself some potent homemade wine. Giovanni points out a photograph of himself, standing in a hard hat on an empty, soon-to-open Zakim Bridge. His daughter explains: “My dad was a construction laborer for 30 years, and he worked on the bridge. His grandkids call it Nonno’s bridge.’’
Those kids are trickling in, along with some nieces. Aunt Angela gives 13-year-old Jennifer Hart a little knot of fried dough dipped in sugar. The phone starts ringing. “Is it ready yet?’’ ask the callers.

Everyone who knows the sisters knows it’s pizza day.

© Copyright 2009 Globe Newspaper Company.

Feast day calls for a special sweet

2009-03-25T10:19:00.004-04:00

photo by: Debra Samuels Zeppole with vanilla cream and amarena cherries

By Debra Samuels
Globe Correspondent / March 18, 2009
In Italy tomorrow, men named Joseph and women named Josephine will hand out zeppole, a Neopolitan pastry of fried dough filled with cream, to family and friends to mark the feast of San Giuseppe. Closer to home, this patron saint of families is given his due at Italian bakeries in the area.
At Modern Pastry in the North End, baker Dago Ortez has been making zeppole for 19 years. Ortez uses an old-fashioned scale with free weights to measure his ingredients; the dough is fried twice and fillings are made from scratch. "I make these with my heart," says Ortez. Originally from El Salvador, Ortez was taught the art of making zeppole by Giovanni Picariello, whose son John, a sixth-generation baker, now owns the bakery with his sister Rosaria and mother Josephine.
Like many labor-intensive pastries, zeppole are no longer made by the women in the household. "My mother-in-law is from Sicily and she used to make them, but she doesn't do it anymore," says Paul Ursino, owner of Salem Foods, an Italian deli in Waltham. So Italian bakeries have become the surrogate nonne (grandmothers), and their pastry chefs work feverishly during the weeks leading up to the feast, known here as Saint Joseph's Day. Ortez says he can make, and sell out of, 400 zeppole a day; as Saint Joseph's approaches, he sometimes makes up to 1,000 daily.
Zeppole vary from region to region but are basically made of a choux paste (cream puff) dough. At Modern Pastry, Ortez's movements are like a choreographed dance sequence. He brings a huge pot of water and fat to a boil, then pours it into a commercial-size mixer. Then he adds the measured flour in one movement and sets a large paddle to work combining this into a paste. Ortez has ready a 2-quart metal pitcher filled with 160 eggs that he rhythmically cracks - klink, crack, klink, crack, klink, crack - adding three at a time to the paste. Using only his eyes and experience, he knows when to add the next three, and the next three, until the paste is a perfect consistency. There is no rushing this process.
Next he scoops the paste with a rubber spatula into long pastry bags fitted with a star tip and pipes large rings onto a baking sheet covered with parchment paper. Two cauldrons of hot oil are ready. Ortez slips the rings from one sheet into one of the pots. Picariello explains: "We fry the rings in two different vats of oil. One at a low temperature - it helps the zeppole rise. The other, very hot, where they cook, expand in size, and fill the entire surface of the cauldron."
In constant motion, Ortez sways back and forth between the two vats swirling the zeppole until they are perfect. With a wire basket he scoops these amber jewels from the bubbling oil and sets them on a baking sheet. Piled high atop a glass case, they wait to be plucked and filled to order with a vanilla custard made from whole milk on the premises and studded with sweet and sour ruby red amarena cherries, also freshly made, and sprinkled with powdered sugar. Other fillings available are ricotta cream or chocolate custard; the zeppole sell for $3 apiece.
Teresa Scialoia is on her way back to Florida and is stocking up on some favorites at the bakery before heading to the airport. "I used to work here so whenever I come back I stop by. Too bad I can't take the zeppole on the plane."
She is joined by her sister-in-law Carolina from Medford and a friend from Saugus named Fran Contino. Both have family members with the name Joseph. "This is the only place I come" for zeppole, says Contino, eyeing the pastries. Carolina will return with her 21-year-old son, Joseph, who will buy a dozen. "It is our tradition," she says.
"People want me to have the zeppole all year round," says Picariello, "but then it wouldn't be special."
Modern Pastry, 257 Hanover St., Boston, 617-523-3783 and 20 Salem St., Medford, 781-396-3618; http://www.modernpastry.com/
© Copyright 2009 Globe Newspaper Company.

Gifts that keep on giving

2009-02-09T15:43:00.001-05:00

Gifts that keep on giving
In the right hands, cookware makes for happy returns

By Debra Samuels, Globe Correspondent December 22, 2008

If you're still looking for a holiday gift, think outside the mall. In fact, think outside all your usual places. The Institute of Contemporary Art's museum shop offers many ultra-hip selections (including an index of chopping boards so you don't mix chicken with veggies). Or head to the North End to Salem Street True Value Hardware, where ravioli molds are nestled beside pizzelle makers. If the person on your list is practical, you might find something at BMS Paper Co. in Jamaica Plain. It's not just paper, but all manner of objects for the sweet and savory professional or home kitchen.
The ICA's gift shop is just a few steps down from the glassed-in lobby. Artful displays range from a funky Banana Bunker ($4.95) to store in your briefcase or knapsack, to the graceful Asian-inspired porcelain teapot ($165). Hard plastic Solo drinking cups ($1.99) are playfully arranged and based on the undulating soft Solo cup landscape in an exhibit by artist Tara Donovan. Retail operations manager Victor Oliveira draws inspiration for his products from ICA shows. U+, the high end of the Umbra kitchen line, is a favorite throughout the store. The company's elegant salad set, called Ensalada ($99), includes a thick glass bowl (red or white) with a pair of magnetic stainless servers that fit together like a puzzle. Chilewich's op-arty white vinyl dots come as placemats ($6.95) or table runners ($24.95).
The Knot Wine Rack ($138) is beautiful even when empty. That pesky business of keeping poultry away from other kitchen tasks is solved with the Index Chopping Board System ($75), which integrates four colored boards in a sleek storage unit. Off kilter and in neon, Hula Vodka and Tumbler Glasses (four for $29.95 and $39.95) may tickle a friend with a sense of humor.
Ken Rothman's family has owned the North End shop Salem Street True Value Hardware for 44 years. In the window, a kaleidoscope of enamelware colanders ($16.99 to 29.99) is your first clue that there's more here than plungers. Mindful of his location, Rothman stocks a selection of hand-cranked pasta makers ($69.99), wood gnocchi boards ($6.99), ravioli stamps ($7.99), and pizzelle makers ($69.99).
Bialetti stovetop espresso makers range from one cup ($21.99) to the larger Mukka Express ($89.99). You'll also find espresso cups and saucers, available in singletons or sets of four ($4.99 to $8.99). (When you're done, walk a few paces to Polcari's at 105 Salem St. for a pound of beans to go with the new coffee maker.) True Value also carries Terra Allegra, an earthy 5 1/2-quart clay baker ($89.99) with a deep red glaze for beans, soups, and cassoulets. Use this pot directly on the burner with a heat diffuser under it, in the oven, in the microwave, or on an outdoor grill. Gloveables ($14.99), those fun rubber gloves, are for friends who want to be fashionable at the sink; glass storage containers and spice jars are for filling before you give away; and a selec tion of cast iron, the longest-lasting and most practical cookware, is for giving away and buying for yourself too.
Don't be misled by the name BMS Paper Co. Paper products are only part of what's in this cavernous treasure chest of a store. The place also sells restaurant and baking supplies, industrial-size jars, canned and frozen foods, and spices. Owner Bob Harrington says people come into his Jamaica Plain store and "wander around for hours." To that end, they might find a 100-quart stock pot ($149) a more practical 8-quart size ($25), and every capacity in between. Whatever you see comes in incremental sizes. Ladles, for instance, go from 1 ounce ($2.29) to 32 ounces ($7.99); mixing bowls start at 3/4 quart ($1) and go up to 16 quarts ($12.75). Whisks, slotted spoons, tongs, and spatulas hang together in a collage. There's a whole section devoted to old-fashioned diner supplies like thick white American-made dishes and mugs. You can even buy those stainless steel cake stands with plexiglass tops that house mile-high frosted confections ($25.99 for a top and stand). Long-handled wood pizza paddles range from $18 to $30.
It's a good bet people will be cooking more at home next year. Your gifts may play starring roles in the months to come.
BMS Paper Co., 3390 Washington St., Jamaica Plain, 617-522-1122.
Institute of Contemporary Art, 100 Northern Ave., Boston, 617-478-3163, www.icastore.org.
Salem Street True Value Hardware, 89 Salem St., North End, Boston, 617-523-4759.

Bap till you drop

2009-02-09T14:04:00.005-05:00

Bap till you drop
By Debra Samuels, Globe Correspondent November 5, 2008

In Korea, some foods trickled down from the Imperial palace and others have humbler origins. Bibimbap seems to be somewhere in the middle - a dish thought to have been introduced to Korean monarchy by the court of China, but also served to farmers in their fields.
This layered specialty consists of rice, meat or seafood, and seasoned vegetables, topped with an egg. It's as much a part of the Korean table as risotto is to Italy or paella to Spain. Unlike those dishes, bibimbap isn't made with uncooked rice, but rather with the cooked grains, which makes it more akin to Chinese fried rice. In this country, look on the menu of any Korean restaurant, and you'll find at least one version of bibimbap. In Korea, there are restaurants that specialize in the dish.
Ingredients vary according to region and season. Bibimbap can be served hot or at room temperature. A stone pot version, called dolsot bibimbap, is made in a well-seasoned stone bowl ($25 at Korean markets), which produces a crisp, crunchy bottom. When it's done, the rice continues to cook and crackle from the heat of the stone. Whatever the cooking pot, the dish always contains vegetables, which might include bean sprouts, carrots, cucumber, and spinach. After cooking, the ingredients are combined with a flourish and finished with sesame oil and spicy red pepper sauce. Hence the name bibim (mixed) bap (rice).
Every Korean mother prepares the dish. "Making bibimbap was a way for my mom to clean out the fridge of all the leftover side dishes," explains Kiki Oh, owner of the Bibimbab Cafe in London, made famous by Margaret Drabble's novel "The Red Queen," which starts in 18th-century Korea and ends with Drabble herself enjoying a bowl of bibimbap in Oh's cafe.
At home, bibimbap is a project. Unlike Chinese fried rice - where all the vegetables are stir-fried together and mixed into the rice - bibimbap's vegetables are cooked separately before they're added to the grains, which accentuates individual characteristics such as sweet, crunchy, salty.
Some cooks think mixing the dish at the end of cooking is important to how it tastes. At Seoul Food restaurant in Cambridge, the servers want you to enjoy the dish properly, so you may find your spoon pulled out of your hand and your dish folded together with the runny egg by one of the staff.
Boston University graduate student Kelly O'Leary is besotted with Korean food in general and bibimbap in particular. O'Leary, chef at the Bayridge residence in Back Bay, is in the Master of Liberal Arts program in gastronomy. "I just love the beauty of the dish," says O'Leary, who is writing a paper on bibimbap. "I eat a dish and then deconstruct it." Recently she attended a Korean food festival in New York, where a 500-pound bowl of bibimbap was served to hundreds of passersby in Manhattan's Koreatown.
To make the dish, use an old-fashioned American cast-iron skillet, which gives the rice its nice texture and holds in the heat as you serve it. Consider the presentation more relaxed than royal.
Debra Samuels is coauthor with Taekyung Chung of "The Korean Table."

*For photos on how to make bibimbap go to: http://www.boston.com/lifestyle/food/gallery/05bibimbap/

RECIPE
Bibimbap Recipe
Serves 4

Make bibimbap in a deep cast-iron skillet, which produces a crispy crust on the bottom, or a nonstick skillet. The dish consists of rice and toppings, including an egg. Here are instructions for bean sprouts, carrot salad, cucumber salad, spinach, beef, and a tangy red pepper dressing. Use about 1 cup of each. This recipe has one egg, but you can also make one for each person. Add them to the bowls after serving.

SPROUTS
1/2 cup water
1 teaspoon salt
12 ounces soybean sprouts
2 scallions, chopped
1 tablespoon toasted sesame seeds
1 tablespoon dark sesame oil

1. In a medium saucepan, combine the water, salt, and sprouts. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat to low, cover, and steam for 5 minutes.
2. Strain the sprouts and transfer to a bowl. Add the scallion, sesame seeds, and sesame oil.

CARROTS
1 tablespoon dark sesame oil
4 carrots, cut into matchsticks
1/2 teaspoon sea salt

1. In a skillet, heat the oil over medium heat. Add the carrots and salt. Stir-fry for 2 minutes.
2. Remove them from the pan.

CUCUMBERS
4 Armenian or pickling cucumbers or 1/2 English cucumber, thinly sliced
1 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons red pepper dressing (see below)
1 tablespoon toasted sesame seeds

1. In a large bowl, toss the cucumbers and salt; set aside for 5 minutes. Gently squeeze the liquid from the cucumbers. Transfer to a bowl.
2. Add the dressing. Sprinkle with sesame seeds.
RED PEPPER DRESSING
2 tablespoons Korean red pepper paste (from a Korean grocery)
1 tablespoon rice or cider vinegar
1 teaspoon honey
1 tablespoon apple juice or water
2 teaspoons sesame oil

1. In a medium bowl, whisk together the pepper paste, vinegar, honey, juice or water, and sesame oil.
2. Set the dressing aside.

SPINACH
1 pound fresh spinach, rinsed and stemmed
2 tablespoons toasted sesame seeds
2 tablespoons dark sesame oil
1 teaspoon salt

1. In a pot of boiling water, cook the spinach for 1 minute. Drain and rinse with cold water. Squeeze out the water by the handfuls. Chop coarsely.
3. Transfer the spinach to a bowl. Add sesame seeds, oil, and salt.

BEEF
2 ounces beef rib eye, cut into strips (or use ground beef)
2 teaspoons soy sauce
1/2 teaspoon sesame oil
1 teaspoon brown sugar

1. In a bowl, combine the beef, soy sauce, sesame oil, and sugar; marinate for 15 minutes.
2. Heat a small skillet. Stir-fry the meat for 2 minutes; set aside.

ASSEMBLY
2 tablespoons sesame oil, plus more for sprinkling
3 cups cooked white rice
1 egg, fried sunny-side up
3 tablespoons red pepper dressing (see above)

1. Set a 10-inch skillet over medium heat. When it is hot, add 2 tablespoons of sesame oil. Heat for 1 minute.
2. Add the rice and spread it around the bottom of the pot to form an even layer. Cook for several minutes or until the rice begins to brown on the bottom and you hear the grains sizzle.
3. Carefully arrange each of the seasoned salads on top of the rice, grouping them like the spokes of a wheel. Set the beef in the center. Continue heating for 2 minutes. Set the egg in the center.
4. To serve: Add the dressing and fold the rice, vegetables, egg, and meat together, scraping the bottom of the pot to distribute the crust. Serve in individual bowls, sprinkled sparingly with sesame oil and extra dressing. Adapted from "The Korean Table"

What's a Sox game without dried squid and beer?

2008-11-27T15:00:00.000-05:00

TOKYO - Peanuts! Popcorn! Squid jerky, anyone?

The manekki nekko (beckoning cat), its paw raised in welcome, is the theme for this shop, which has cute, expressive cats from floor to ceiling, most handmade.
The Boston Red Sox play their season opener nine days from now at the Tokyo Dome, once home field to their relief pitcher Hideki Okajima, a former member of the Yomiuri Giants. And instead of those sausage and onion subs on Yawkey Way, fans will be munching dried squid, soy beans, fried noodles, and sushi along with their burgers and corn dogs.

If anyone wants a beer, young women come around with backpack kegs and fill a cup for about 800 yen ($7.50). And there's the organized cheering, replete with complicated clapping rhythms, chanting, and hand motions. Sox fans can start their own: "Gambare Reddo Sokkusu!" (Let's Go, Red Sox!)

Shopping for Major League Baseball paraphernalia? On the main concourse is a rare place where Yankee and Red Sox gear is laid out side by side, as are posters of two of Japan's current elites playing Stateside: Daisuke Matsuzaka and Hideki Matsui.

The stadium, part of the Tokyo Dome City entertainment complex, is anchored on one end by the Tokyo Dome Hotel and the other by a spa and multilevel outdoor shopping mall. From one end to the other there are family friendly restaurants and amusement park attractions. Thunder Dolphin, an erector-set-like roller coaster, slips its screaming passengers through a hole in one building before it descends precipitously and through another hole in the colossal "Big O" Ferris wheel. But it is not all "Fear Factor"-type rides. There are plenty of mini-thrills for young children, like whirling cups and a carousel.

The popular "takoyaki" - big round pancake balls stuffed with octopus and topped with seaweed shavings smothered in a savory sauce - are available at the shop Tsukiji Gin-daco. Visitors can snack while watching the Water Symphony, a shallow pool with a chorus line of water jets shooting high into the air synchronized to arias and Broadway tunes. On the sixth floor is one of Japan's greatest natural resources, the "onsen" (natural hot spring), at Spa LaQua. Natural hot springs bubble up through the earth's core right into the pipes of the indoor and outdoor shallow pools. Aches and pains can be kneaded out at one of the many massage venues.

At the end of the day, The Artist's Cafe on the top floor of the Tokyo Dome Hotel is a great place for drinks. Here patrons sit on the stools at the floor-to-ceiling glass windows and look out over the capital sparkling all around them.

From that lofty height, with Tokyo's glamour on display, one wouldn't guess that there are areas nearby that still retain their old neighborhood flavor. Sugamo, just three subway stops from the Dome on the Mita Line, is a deeply urban section considered a fashion and lifestyle haven for seniors. Don't be put off. This place, with its temples and bargain shopping, is interesting for any age.

Sugamo may be Japan's capital of red wear. Red is an auspicious color in this country and the Japanese believe the center of a person's well being resides in the stomach region. Protect and keep this area warm they say, and you will gain strength and happiness. So seniors flock to shops like Maruji, one of many along Jizo Street, for "akapantsu" (red undies), also fondly referred to as "power pants." This is not Victoria's Secret lingerie. It's cotton over-the-belly wear and it's available along with red belly warmers, red boxers, red long underwear, even red socks.

Health is serious business in Japan and Sugamo is usually crowded with shoppers and wellness seekers. Before the start of Jizo Street is the temple Shinseiji, site of one of the six largest jizo statues in Tokyo. (A jizo is a guardian saint in Buddhism.) With an umbrella-like hat fanning out over his 9-foot frame, this jizo sits atop a pedestal amid the smoke from lighted incense sticks. This is the place to pray for health.

Beyond the temple, through the arches, is the main shopping street, Jizo Dori. The aroma of roasting soy sauce wafts from a shop selling handmade rice crackers piled high in an old wooden display case. Inside patrons sit at the rear on one of the wooden benches surrounding a charcoal pit. There's no charge for a warm cup of green tea.

Farther down the street is the gate of Koganji Temple, where the middle-aged and elderly come in droves to fix what ails them. On the temple grounds are stalls selling talismans, antiques, old kimonos, and even salted pickles. Inside the temple a priest chants above the steady beat of a drum. But the big attraction at Koganji is the statue of Kannon, a female saint who represents mercy and salvation. Families stand in a snaked line awaiting their moment with the saint. They carry white towels, available for purchase, to wash and dry the part of the body that ails them or a loved one. The cloth is then taken home to rub over the afflicted area.

The shops along Jizo Street are always bustling, but on the 4th, 14th, and 24th of each month the atmosphere is festive. That's when outdoor stalls set up to sell food, roots, trinkets, spice, and herbal mixtures. At the spice stall buyers choose their own blend of black and white sesame seeds, shaved seaweed, and cayenne pepper. For souvenirs there are "daifuku," sweets made from rice flour and bean jam, and sesame cookies with imprints of the jizos

Fuyusha stocks crafts made from Japanese fabrics: stuffed folk animals, mobiles, handbags, hair clips, and pocketbooks. There is no shortage of Japanese tchotchkes here - and none is terribly expensive.

With its good humor and boundless vitality, Sugamo never gets old.

Not far from Sugamo, at Nippori Station on the Yamanote rail line, is the more tranquil Yanaka, which escaped damage from the Kanto earthquake in 1923 and the fire bombs of World War II. The neighborhood has retained many of its old wooden structures, including the tile-roofed homes of merchants and more than 80 Buddhist temples. During cherry blossom season the next few weeks, Sakura Dori (Cherry Blossom Road), bordering the Yanaka Cemetery, becomes an arborway of pink.

Although the area has a vibrant main shopping street, Yanaka Ginza, it is the side streets that are the most fun. They are filled with small temples, antiques shops, folk crafts, and artisanal food. One shop sells handcrafted "tenugui" (handcloths) with folk designs.

The Asakura Choso Museum is closed on Monday and Friday. The exterior of the famous Japanese sculptor's home is Art Deco modern, the interior traditional Japanese, with a beautiful garden.

Farther along is Space Oguraya, a gallery for visiting artists in what was once a storehouse for family treasures. Its museum is housed in a former pawnbroker's old wooden shop. Takao Ito, the owner, displays his mother Toshi's paintings of early-20th-century Tokyo. Her scenes from daily life between the world wars depict women and children sewing, folding origami, drying persimmons, and playing games. Ito sells colorful postcards of the paintings in the shop attached to the gallery.

On a street near Yanaka Ginza is Jomyoin Temple, famous for its 84,000 jizo stone statues stretched out row after row. Beyond the temple, shops along the narrow road sell traditional wooden sandals, fashionable clothing, bedding, and green tea. Most are on the ground floor of old wooden structures, some in better condition than others. The area is home to the distinctive architecture of old Tokyo. Here the aroma of grilled chicken attracts a crowd purchasing food to take home for dinner. Another group gathers around a shop known for its potato and meat croquettes.

At the end of the street are steep steps leading to Nippori Station. It's a tough climb at the end of a long day wandering some of Tokyo's old neighborhoods.

Debra Samuels, a freelance writer in Lexington, can be reached at debrasamuels@yahoo.com.

Thinking inside the box

2008-11-26T21:55:00.000-05:00

More people than ever are packing a lunch for work or school. The number of ways to carry the meal have grown, too.
Are you still brown-bagging it? If so, it may be time for a change. Lunch has evolved beyond the sandwich, and lunch containers have kept pace. They keep your salad crisp, your dressing separate, your drink cold and soup hot, and your taco intact.

JoAnne Anderson, marketing manager for Pacific Marketing International -- the parent company of Aladdin, the lunch box manufacturer, and Stanley, the thermos maker -- says research indicates more people than ever are bringing their lunch to school and work, for economic, nutritional, and environmental reasons. What they bring that lunch in now includes reusable sandwich wraps that wipe clean, bowls outfitted with yogurt-holding ice packs, and containers with serious style.

Kids' lunch totes are still adorned with superheroes and princesses, but instead of metal and hard plastic boxes, they are soft, insulated sacks with pockets for cold packs and elastic bands for securing bottles. Betsy Block, author of the newly published "The Dinner Diaries: Raising Whole Wheat Kids in a White Bread World," says that "if the cheese gets wet or the x chips soggy, my little daughter, Maya, won't eat."

But as Block shops for containers that forestall those disasters, she is also concerned about safety. She cautions that consumers need to know what containers are made of. "Look for ..... 1(PETE), 2(HDPE), 4(LDPE) and 5(PP) in the recycle triangle," says Block -- these are OK. "Even if the risk is small, why take the chance if you have choices?" She recommends the National Geographic Green Guide website (www.thegreenguide.com/doc/77/plastics) as a place to educate yourself.

Deborah Hamilton, creator of the website www.lunchinabox.net, spent nine years in Japan and became besotted with bento, the Japanese portable meal that is the ultimate in compartmentalized lunchboxes. Healthy food arranged attractively for both kids and adults is serious business in Japan. Her website illustrates the lunches she packs for her young son. "Basically I am too lazy to make him something different from what we eat at home," says Hamilton, "so it is all in the packing." She has a collection of cute Japanese-style lunchboxes for her son with all manner of sauce containers, appealing muffin holders, and cartoon-character-shaped molds for rice balls or sandwiches. Her website has recipes, excellent tips for making food in advance, product reviews, and information on bento boxes. Although some might be intimidated by the lengths she goes to for her son's lunch, the site has practical information and is occasionally inspirational. Tokai Japanese Gifts (617-864-5922) at the Porter Exchange in Cambridge has bento boxes for adults. (They are also a great way to practice portion control.)

Several new products help reduce the amount of disposables. Wrap-N-Mat is a square of fabric lined with plastic (the good kind) that closes with a Velcro strap to wrap sandwiches or cookies. When opened, it doubles as a place mat. Wash and dry overnight and use again and again. (Bye bye, baggies.) These are available in a variety of colors and designs (www.wrapnmat.com). Check out the www.reusablebags.com website, which offers items for toting all manner of things around, including food.

Today's containers are often designed with specific foods in mind. There is, for example, a hinged plastic container for a banana (www.bananasaver.com). Fit & Fresh (www.fit-fresh.com) has compartmentalized containers with snap-in, fitted cold packs. There is a carrier for salads with a lid that contains the dressing. Flip open a cap and the dressing drizzles onto the salad. The Breakfast Chiller comes with a doughnut-like ice pack that surrounds a container for milk or yogurt.

Among local stores, Target seems to have the largest variety of lunch solutions. You will find them in the housewares, back-to-school, and outdoors departments. A young cashier got really excited as she scanned a bunch of saladware. "Wow! I stopped bringing salad to work because it got all mushy. These are way cool."

Get healthy, be frugal, and go green. If you can make it, you can take it -- in safety and style.

Swooshing through a spa in high-tech Tokyo

2007-06-03T14:19:00.000-04:00

TOKYO -- Spa LaQua is a contemporary take on one of Japan's national treasures: the "onsen," natural hot springs that bubble up from deep inside the earth. Such resorts are a popular destination for Japanese and are found from north to south on the archipelago.

Spa LaQua's saltwater springs come from about 5,500 feet below and contain minerals said to be good for your skin, arthritis, and muscle fatigue. Located in the happening Tokyo Dome complex, Spa LaQua (pronounced la-koo-wa) takes up several of the top floors.

As I enter the spa, I place my shoes in a cubby. At the reception desk I am issued a Lucite bar and a wristlet with a digital code. I'll use this for any purchases or treatments, including massages, food, and drink. It is also my locker number. This cashless system makes it easy to spend money -- one pays on the way out.

As I enter the dressing rooms I have a choice of three types of stylish spa-issued jammies and get a net bag with towels. (At a traditional onsen , guests receive a cotton kimono called a "yukata.") I wave my wrist in front of the locker scanner and it opens. Then all I have to do is leave my clothes and inhibitions behind.

The locker rooms and bath areas are segregated by sex. Bathing in an onsen or public bath is a communal affair. Although everyone is naked it is very modest. All I am wearing now is my wristband. I bring that rectangular piece of white cloth they call a towel with me as I take to the waters.

Knowing the proper etiquette for bathing in Japan will put you and your fellow bathers at ease. I overheard one group of foreign guests say they had brought their bathing suits because they didn't know what to expect. You will be more conspicuous if you are wearing your bathing suit instead of your birthday suit. Their suits were left in the lockers.

That little towel is important. First, you can drape it modestly in front of you. Second, it is used for washing, which is what patrons do before they go near the deliciously warm pools of water. I walk through the doors into a huge area of knee-high three-walled cubicles. Each has a spigot, bucket, soap, shampoo, and conditioner. I scrub and rinse until clean. In the women's area there is usually lots of chatter. After washing I have several choices. The indoor shallow saltwater pool is pleasantly hot and usually the first stop. Women are submerged to their shoulders. The white towels are now folded in neat little squares and top their heads or wrap their hair.

Now for the dry and wet sauna options. The dry sauna has a huge TV. I was in there when a comedy show was on and everyone was giggling and sweating. Then there is a cold pool to immerse in. My husband told me to just get in and count to 11: I'd either be dead from the shock or have gotten used to it. The wet sauna has a natural amethyst-colored rock spotlighted as vapors swirl about it. In the water massage section bathers sit submerged to their necks and move from station to station, with water jets perfectly positioned to hit targeted body areas.

Then comes the body cleanse treatment , for which you make an appointment using the telephone on the wall. This could be daunting if you don't speak Japanese, but a staff member or a fellow bather will help. There are several rubber-matted tables and some deceptively dainty-looking women waiting to scrub and slough off dead skin. There are several "courses" to choose from. I choose the half-body back scrub for 15 minutes and about $20. I could have sworn the person was wearing gloves made from Brillo pads.
I head out to the "rotemburo," or outdoor pool, enclosed by high fences and greenery. There is a wooden arbor over the stone pools. The cold January air feels good as I sink into the natural pool, look up into the winter night, and see a perfect half moon. Suddenly I hear a rumble of a roller coaster as it ascends just above us. Then the happy, hysterical screams of those crazy riders as it descends. I think, I am in the buff, outside in the center of Tokyo, in the middle of winter, in hot water with a bunch of strangers, with a gazillion tons of metal whooshing above me. Who's nuts?

I head back to the locker room and put on my jammies and pad out in bare feet to meet my husband in the "relax lounge" -- a huge room with dozens of the cushiest recliners. Each chair is equipped with a TV screen and a phone for chair-side service (beginning at 6 p.m.) for beer, sake, lemonade, or a snack. Or you can walk up to the snack bar. Just wave the wristlet and your selection is added to your tab. The freshly squeezed grapefruit juice hit the spot.

It is quiet in the room except for the occasional snore coming from under a blanket. A huge wall of windows looks out onto the roller coaster. After an hour or so we head to a restaurant just down the hall. Dress code: PJs. The choice is between a contemporary Japanese or a Korean BBQ restaurant. We have eaten at the Japanese restaurant several times and have been happy with cold beers, creative salads, and small plates of grilled fish, sashimi, and "yakitori" (grilled chicken on a skewer). There are lots of options and pictures on the menu. I flash my wristlet again. It's addictive.

The spa offers 11 beauty/massage options, including facials, hair and nail salons, foot massage, head massage, Hawaiian and Thai massages, reflexology, and color therapy. Courses range from 20 to 100 minutes. Prices are prominently posted, but a translation may be needed.

I pass the gift shop and purchase candy in a tin box. Swoosh, swipe that band. My husband and I separate for a final soaking. The women's changing room is outfitted with so many amenities I want to try them all. There are rows of counters with mirrors, hair dryers, and every type of face product for free. There are baskets with disposable toothbrushes with the paste already on. Forgot your hairbrush? No problem-- reach for a sanitized brush. There is even a vending machine with personal items like razors and underwear.

When you check out you discover what all that swiping cost. Sticking to just the bath and relax lounge with no extras the fee is about $23. The extras do add up but not prohibitively. One entry fee with a meal and a few beers is about $75.

So if you are heading to a Japanese onsen, the only word you will really need to know is "ahhhhhh."

In the heart of Chicago, hardy food full of comfort

2007-04-22T14:17:00.000-04:00

CHICAGO -- On a recent visit to help my son settle into his apartment off Lake Shore Drive, I opened the fridge to look for something for breakfast. Skunked!
On his way out the door to register for classes, he said, "Mom, try Valois on 53d Street . They have the best breakfasts, it's a friendly place, and cheap. Just don't worry about the nutrition thing."
Caffeine deprived, I whined, "How am I going to find it?"
"Just look for the sign that says, 'See your food.' "
Creeping along in a jumbo jet of a rented car, I turned onto a main shopping drag, and just a block later, there it was, Valois Cafeteria See Your Food.

It was warm and bright inside. The smell of coffee was almost as satisfying as a sip. Setting down my coat before I joined the line of hungry patrons, I glanced at the plate of the man sitting at the next table. Was that mashed potatoes, gravy, and scrambled eggs? He noticed me peering at his plate.
I just had to ask, "Excuse me, sir, are those mashed potatoes and gravy on your plate?"
"Yes, ma'am, that's exactly right," he answered in a broad Chicago accent.
"Is that a specialty in Chicago?" I asked.
"Not particularly -- but you can get it anytime you want here. Would you like to join me for breakfast," he said with a smile.
And with that I spent the next hour sharing a meal, talking about family, politics, sports, and, of course, food with John Casillas, a major in the Army Reserve. Casillas, 47, has been coming to Valois (vuh-loyz) for breakfast "almost every day since 1988." That is, when he isn't deployed to Korea, Kuwait, or Iraq.

Sitting down with people you don't know is a tradition at Valois.
The range of outfits in the line of customers included teens in hip-hop gear, professors in tweed, city workers in overalls, and women in fur coats. Everyone dines here. According to Bill Bogris, who works here with his uncle Gus Sellis and co-owner Spiro Argiris, more than 80 percent of the customers are regulars and some eat multiple meals here each day.

There is nothing American about the village of Ahladokambos in Greece, where Sellis and Argiris are from, and nothing Greek about the menu at Valois. But adorning some of the walls are murals of Greece alongside famous places here in Hyde Park .

This is down-home American cooking with heavy Southern touches. For breakfast, there are grits and gravy, eggs every which way, huge raised biscuits, and pancakes the size of the 10-inch plate (three to a serving). You can choose sides from pork patties, links, or bacon -- some customers choose all three. "This is the food your mom made on the weekends for breakfast -- only we have it every day," said Bogris.
The lunch and dinner menu could be a page out of the classic Fanny Farmer cookbook: stews, pot pies, meat loaf -- all comfort food, all the time. "See Your Food" is exactly what you do at this 86-year-old restaurant. The line cooks perform like athletes. The sound of spatula scraping the griddle is a constant. The place is clean; the food is real and real cheap.

My scrambled eggs, grits, links, coffee, and biscuits cost $5.23. Roast beef, mashed potatoes, and broccoli to go cost $5.75. The beef is rare and sliced just before you eat. I asked Bogris how they can serve this food at these prices. "You give people good food at reasonable prices they are going to come back," he said.
A similar dining institution is Carson's Ribs, a famous barbecue restaurant downtown . This is a large place with high ceilings. The walls are covered with photographs of local and national celebrities who come to dine. There is usually a long line and just so you won't die of hunger , there is a big sideboard with baskets of rye breads, crackers, and an enormous mound of chopped liver. There was no line on this evening, but I swiped a smear anyway. It tasted like the real deal.

I was urged to go for the sampler: ribs, pork, and chicken. Everything was moist, delicious, and had been smoked on the premises. There must have been 300 grams of protein on my plate, which was not tarnished with anything green. The meat comes with a side of Carson's famous cole slaw, which is treated like a salad. A waiter offers ground pepper .

The potato offerings are numerous: au gratin, baked, double baked, skins, french fries, french fried sweet potatoes, or a vegetable. The baked potato was so big it made me wonder about the fertilizer. For good measure we got a side of the fried sweet potatoes, which have a light seasoning of sugar and cinnamon. They were unique, crispy, and delicious.

Next to us was a table of men laughing, gnawing ribs, and licking the sauce from their fingers. This is not a delicate dining experience. There was a young Japanese woman, with her shopping bags and guide book , sitting alone. She was making her way through her plate of food in a most decorous manner with a fork and knife -- but she might have been the only one in the place doing so . A group of girlfriends came in, sat down , and immediately began singing and slap-clapping a rhythmic version of "Happy Birthday."
My advice: Do not go to these places with a card-carrying member of the nutrition police. You want to enjoy your demise. Give in, then get out your sneakers, and walk it off.

COOKBOOK REVIEW'Japanese Cooking' is still the master

2007-04-11T14:15:00.000-04:00

Japanese Cooking: A Simple Art,
By Shizuo Tsuji, Kodansha International, 507 pp., $45

When "Japanese Cooking: A Simple Art" first came out 25 years ago, sushi was exotic, teriyaki was the sauce, and miso soup was for the macrobiotic crowd. No one who frequented the few Japanese restaurants in American cities could have predicted what would happen in just over two decades.

The late Shizuo Tsuji mastered Japanese cuisine, then French. He started the Tsuji Culinary Institute in Osaka in 1960 to train chefs, and it remains one of the well-respected cooking schools in Japan. He wrote this encyclopedic book to share the "essence and spirit" of his native cuisine. In this 25th anniversary edition, the content is the same as the original. There is a foreword by the late food writer M.F.K. Fisher and a preface by Tsuji, both of which are from the first volume, as well as a new foreword by Gourmet magazine's Ruth Reichl, and a preface by Tsuji's son, Yoshiki.

Yoshiki Tsuji considered an extensive revision of the book, but in the end rejected it, he writes. He still sees this as an "almost perfect Japanese Cooking 101," and he is right. It is to Japanese cooking what "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" is to French cuisine.
"Japanese Cooking" is divided into two parts. The first offers detailed chapters on ingredients, a deconstruction of the Japanese meal, equipment, and techniques. Each cooking method -- among them steaming (mushimono), simmering (nimono), and grilling (yakimono) -- has its own chapter, with a few recipes to illustrate each technique. The explanation on simmering, for instance, discusses the round wood covers that go inside pots to maintain the shape of the food and help the seasonings become absorbed. Tsuji suggests using an aluminum pie plate for this if cooks don't have multiple wooden covers the way Japanese kitchens do.

The second part is divided again by cooking techniques and categories such as noodles, sashimi, and rice dishes, along with recipes that reflect them. In some instances, you need to refer back to the first part of the book, where Tsuji offers exhaustive explanations on how to salt a fish or bone a chicken thigh or make a particular sesame dressing. Line drawings throughout take you, step by step, through unfamiliar territory.

Though not much of what's here is new -- only eight pages of color photographs have been added. What is remarkable is how many of these recipes are now in Americans' everyday lives. Edamame, the fresh soy beans, are a favorite snack. We can find local sushi bars and order uni (sea urchin) and toro (tuna), and the ingredients for seaweed salad are at many supermarkets. Pages of ingredient sources, in fact, listed state by state in the original, don't exist in this new release.
I bought the first "Japanese Cooking," and it anchors a collection that now fills several shelves. Even with many choices, the book still remains my go-to for reference and classic recipes. When Tsuji called his volume "a simple art," you have to realize that a single shrimp floating in a clear fragrant broth, garnished with a sliver of lemon rind, looks easy enough. But the shrimp has been somehow folded onto itself, the clarity of the broth seems unattainable, and coaxing just the right amount of fragrance from the lemon rind is a lesson in restraint.
But we have decades to master all this.

A sweet Portuguese tradition

2007-04-04T14:14:00.000-04:00

EAST CAMBRIDGE -- You might walk right past Central Bakery without knowing there's a behemoth workroom just beyond the glass cases in the front. There, year round, bakers churn out Portuguese sweet breads and rolls.

At Easter, the round sweet breads are made with more sugar and more butter and baked with a hard-cooked egg and a decorative braid. Some of these breads are sold at local supermarkets, but the bulk go to hundreds of loyal Portuguese customers who wouldn't think of having Easter without the breads they call "folar " in Portuguese .

"I have a lot of customers who buy several loaves and ship them as gifts all over the country to relatives who have moved away," says co-owner Michael Vital.

Central, which has been in business since 1919, makes over 2,000 loaves with more than 14,000 eggs just for Easter week . Vital was 16 in 1981, when he started working for his father, who owned the bakery. Michael purchased the bakery in 1995 with John Carvalho and Tony Medeiros.

Maria Nunes, who works at Central, sees how excited customers are when they come in for the rounds. "The bread is so good that people are tearing off pieces and eating it in the car, on their way home," she says. Nunes grew up on Saint Michael in the Azores. "My grandmother used to make all of us kids special breads. Mine was in the shape of a doll and the egg was the face. The boys got a heart or round with the egg in the center." The egg is not just for decoration. She explains that people who didn't have enough to eat considered an egg a treat.

As to the significance of the egg, Vital says, "Tradition, I guess."

"Do you know?" he asks Nunes and Jose Vicente, a carpenter doing some renovation for the bakery. Both shrug and offer this: "Tradition!"

Vital speculates that the Rev. Jose S. Ferreira , pastor at Saint Anthony's, might know.

Saint Anthony's, or Igreja de Santo Antonio, is a modern building a block from the bakery. Ferreira, who comes from Vila Verde in the north of Portugal, has been at Saint Anthony's for over 14 years. The meaning of the egg inside the bread, he says, is indeed tradition. "Spring, in nature, is the beginning of new life. Easter is a time of renewal and the Resurrection . The egg is the beginning of life."

With that and good bread in mind, customers crowd Central Bakery this week for loaves. Some contain up to six eggs, and those are surely saved for special meals. For eating in the car on the way home, there are breads with a single egg baked inside.

Better than takeout

2007-01-31T14:11:00.000-05:00

A splash of soy sauce, a drizzle of sesame oil, a little rice wine, a smashed clove of garlic, chopped scallions, and a knob of ginger. You have the aromatic elements of a simple Chinese stir-fry. Exotic bottled sauces or even a stop at an Asian grocer aren't essential to make an authentic dish.

Stir-frying has become as much a part of our culinary repertoire as steaming or broiling. Today, many woks share kitchen space with frying pans in cookware departments and on bridal registries. To stir-fry, use any wide implement that you can scoop under food in a hot pan and just keep it moving.

You can make a fine stir-fry with a minimal amount of oil. The most important part of the dish is good preparation. The actual cooking is done in a flash over high heat. Finely chopped garlic, scallion, and ginger go into a small bowl; seasonings such as soy sauce, sugar, and wine go into another.

This is not a chop-as-you-go operation. Cut up all the vegetables and arrange them on a platter next to the seasonings at the stove. Begin with the finely chopped seasonings. Then add the vegetables, in this case cabbage, shiitake mushrooms, celery, red pepper, carrots, and broccoli. Even broccoli stems can go into the dish. Peel them and slice them into 1-inch diagonal chunks for great crunch. If the vegetables are all the same size, they'll cook evenly. Fresh or dried shiitake mushrooms add heft and a musty flavor. In fact, dried mushrooms, reconstituted in hot water, are more flavorful than the fresh and the soaking liquid can be added, too.

When all the vegetables are in the pan, add a small amount of water or stock, cover the mixture, and steam the dish briefly. A dash of sesame oil releases a nutty aroma. Serve with a bowl of white or brown rice.

Recipe
Stir-fried vegetables: Serves 4

1/4 cup water or chicken stock
2 tablespoons soy sauce
1 teaspoon sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons Chinese rice wine
6 button mushrooms, quartered
1 cup bean sprouts
2 teaspoons sesame oil

1. Heat a wok or large frying pan over high heat for 30 seconds. Add the oil and swirl it around pan. Add the garlic, ginger, and scallions. Stir-fry for 30 seconds.
2. Add the cabbage, shiitake mushrooms, celery, red pepper, carrot, and broccoli florets and stems. Stir-fry for 2 minutes.
3. Add the water or stock, soy sauce, sugar, salt, and rice wine. Cover with a lid and cook the vegetables on medium-high heat for 2 minutes more.
4. Uncover the pan. Add the button mushrooms and bean sprouts. Stir-fry the vegetables for 1 minute more. Turn off the heat. Sprinkle with sesame oil. Stir again and serve with rice.

A cookie contest keeps friends together through the years

2006-12-20T14:10:00.000-05:00

WEST PEABODY -- They call themselves the Agawam Babes, and for 16 years, these girlhood friends have been getting together in each other's homes for brunch and a cookie swap. It started as a way to stay connected despite marriages, kids, and jobs. The group has changed over the years, but the core has stayed solid.

The Babes include the Nascembeni sisters, Karen and Sandra; the Gatti sisters, Dina, Lisa, and Lynn; and Kathy Walsh Bautze and Pam Lombardini. They all grew up in the same neighborhood in Agawam, in Western Mass., attending the same schools and church. All in their mid-40s to early 50s now, they're still dear friends. Their annual event takes cookie swapping to new heights.

This year, Dina Gatti Bona, 44, dressed in a shimmery red top, is hosting at her home here. Everyone comes with several dozen cookies. They contribute confections to a common plate, and after brunch they have a contest -- a serious tasting, in fact -- to decide the best. There are rules: no one can help you bake, no mixes, when it's time to vote you can vote for yourself, and, of course, you have to be from Agawam.

By 10 a.m. on a recent Sunday, Bona's house is a flurry of activity. Bing Crosby is crooning Christmas carols and the friends are laughing, reminiscing, and grumbling about the packaging becoming a craft project. Lombardini, 51, is arranging cookies on a two-tiered platter. Karen Nascembeni, 44, is dramatically recounting how she shelled dozens of pistachios for her entry. Her sister, Sandra McArthur, rolls her eyes. Then Nascembeni notices large chocolate cookie sandwiches. "Who brought these big mothers?" she asks. "They look so unhealthy." Without skipping a beat, Lombardini says, "They are."
Lisa Gatti Whelan, 48, and her twin, Lynn Gatti Walton, share a photo album and charts of past entries. Bautze, 45, cutting bread, hears someone say that her husband helped print the recipe. Uh-oh. "You're disqualified," she shoots back.

Bona tells the group how her power went off, she almost had a nervous breakdown, and she was up into the middle of the night making cookies. No sympathy.

They toast with mimosa cocktails, and the 16th Annual Catty Cookie Swap begins. Cookies are placed on the table; each baker offers an explanation and gives her personal "year in review" -- heartfelt, funny, and bawdy stories about families, jobs, and life in general. Nascembeni, last year's Cookie Queen, wearing her feathery crown, starts. Her lemon pistachio wreaths go on each plate. McArthur presents Italian horn cookies.

Bautze offers lime-coconut snowballs; Whelan has made red-sugar-dusted poinsettias and her twin offers coconut-cherry chews. Lombardini talks about the effort it took to make her chocolate peppermint confections. Bona explains how to make hazelnut macaroon domes.

In addition to the crown, the winner gets a wire whisk scepter and a satin sash with stamped gingerbread men down one edge and "Cookie Queen" on the other. Over the years, the recipes have become more complicated, the packaging more elaborate. If one person's presentation becomes all glitz and glamour, everyone else follows.
After the tasting, it's time to crown the queen. Each participant writes a name on a piece of paper, ballots are folded, and placed in a bowl.

Hostess Bona opens the first ballot and shrieks out her own name: "Dina!" Next, "Karen!" Then: "Dina!" "Dina!" In the end, Bona's hazelnut cookies with ganache are chosen, and for the fifth time she is queen. With scepter and sash, she throws kisses and thanks the group in a queenly way.

The Agawam Babes roar with laughter.

And they seem to be planning how to unseat Bona next year.

Getting schooled in Korean cuisine

2006-12-06T14:08:00.000-05:00

CONCORD -- Spatula in hand, prep cook Domingos Netos is frying dozens of sunny-side up eggs on the griddle in the open kitchen of Concord Academy's cafeteria. Hundreds more eggs are ready on commercial-size baking sheets. But this isn't breakfast. The eggs will top the Korean seasoned rice dish bibimbap. Dozens of bowls of this Asian classic will be served for lunch today.

The private school is hosting chef Hak Joon Kim of Incheon, Korea, who is participating in the Global Chef Program run by Sodexho, the school's food service. For two days recently, Korean kimchi, the fiery cabbage salad, shared space with the salad bar and cold cuts.
When Kim arrived, Sodexho's general manager at the school, Dennis Gallant, wanted the Korean chef to teach the staff how to cook short grain rice properly. The grain is already a menu staple, and the staff had been using a giant rice cooker, but the students -- six percent come from South Korea -- kept telling the kitchen that something just wasn't right. Kim immediately identified the problem. No one was rinsing or soaking the grains before cooking, resulting in very sticky rice. Yes, short grain rice is called sticky rice -- but it should not be sticky enough to elicit comments.

For this lunch, Kim seasons a fresh bone-in mackerel stew, called mugulguk, with a piquant sauce of red pepper paste scattered with scallions. A radish and oyster soup, along with kimchi, round out the menu.

Before students and faculty come in for lunch, food services manager Herb Read is helping spoon the now perfect rice into black plastic bowls for the bibimbap, while Kim adds a savory mixture of vegetables and beef, then tops each with an egg. The kitchen is filled with the aromas of sesame oil and soy sauce. Kim garnishes a big bowl of kimchi with a yellow rose carved from a turnip-like vegetable. Read, watching, says that Kim "treats all food with respect."

To serve the students, the Korean chef takes a spot at the counter alongside an interpreter. Curious students ask questions and take some of everything on their trays. No one makes a face and all seem intrigued. Some of the Asian students chat with Kim in Korean.
Lewis Selas, a sophomore, usually has pasta for lunch, but today he is trying fish. "Holy mackerel! I don't eat fish," he exclaims. Senior Annie Lobel says "This is amazing. They should do it every day."

While one group of Korean students comments on the authenticity of the bibimbap, junior Hae Sung Kim is munching on a quesadilla. "The line was too long," he says.

Holly Fowler of Sodexho's Education Division is here to see how the program is working. "Typically you think students won't try [unfamiliar] foods," she says. "We do those programs in many schools and they eat until the food is gone!"

A few stragglers make their way to the counter. Not a grain of rice is left. Dinner tonight for the school's boarding students -- and day students who don't want to miss out -- will be dwaejigalbi-jjim (braised spareribs of pork) and doraji and oi-saengchae (seasoned bellflower root and cucumber). Rice is soaking and Netos is prepping vegetables.

Kim, energized by the response of the students, says, "It was an explosive experience for me."

Sharing the pleasures of real sushi

2006-10-18T14:06:00.000-04:00

Hiroko Shimbo has been teaching Japanese cooking in her native Tokyo, New York, Spain, and England for 15 years, which has given her new opportunities in the restaurant industry as Americans become ever more captivated with the food of her culture. She was the culinary consultant for Taneko Japanese Tavern , which opened earlier this month in Phoenix . She is the author of ``The Japanese Kitchen," an accessible volume introducing readers to the basics of the cuisine, and "The Sushi Experience," published this month, which takes sushi-lovers from the simplest hand rolls to complex nigiri-zushi -- raw fish on finger-size beds of rice -- the real test of a sushi chef. Along with step-by-step photographs, Shimbo explains how to cut fish yourself.
We spoke by phone from her kitchen-office in New York, where she lives with her husband, James "Buzz" Beitchman , a telecommunications expert. Shimbo thinks Americans are becoming more sophisticated in their taste for sushi and sashimi and now want authentic dishes. There is a large repertoire of home-style sushi made for picnics, lunch boxes, and celebrations. Start with the basics and build up your skills, she advises, because information and confidence are key.

Q. What it was like growing up in your mother's kitchen?
A. My mother's kitchen was a wonderful busy, busy place. My father was a physician. His clinic was attached to our house. We had patients staying at the clinic so my mother always cooked a large amount of food both for the patients and then delicious dinners for our family. My sisters and I were always hanging around in the kitchen. We were raised with delicious food. We naturally developed a love to cook and eat.

Q. Did you help your mother?
A. Not when we were small, though we did carry the trays to the patients. When we grew up we helped quite a lot. But with my two sisters and mother in the kitchen, it became quite aggressive! Many women!

Q. Americans read that Japanese businessmen come home late after an evening out with co-workers and expect a hot meal. Did your mother have dinner waiting for your father?
A. My father was always there so my mother made breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He was a very lucky guy. But yes, most of my friends' husbands come home and eat with their families only once or twice a week. It is a very common pattern. I think the younger generation is changing. When the Japanese economy slumped in 1990, the companies cut back on entertainment budgets, so businessmen had to eat at home more often.

Q. We hear the complaints that younger Japanese women don't cook anymore. What are they serving their families?
A. It is true. They are feeding their families prepared foods bought at the supermarkets and food courts. Many buy frozen food they reheat at home. It is very disappointing.

Q. When we hear "food court" we think of cafeteria-style places in shopping malls. In Japan, though, these refer to boutique-style stalls on the lower floor of Japanese department stores.
A. While the presentation is wonderful and the taste is actually pretty good, prepared food contains quite a lot of additives so I don't buy them no matter how appealing it looks. It isn't everyday food.

Q. Can ordinary people afford this?
A. Yes, prepared food can be reasonable. You can choose the more expensive food in the boutiques or those sold at 7- Eleven or other convenience stores.

Q. How did you begin teaching Japanese cuisine?
A. I was a Japanese language teacher, but teaching language is teaching everything, from how to bow, culture, history, food. Language is based on these pillars. One day a student said, "Why don't you teach us how to cook a Japanese meal?"

Q. Did you teach from your own experience or go to culinary school?
A. Mostly from my own home training. Like most Japanese ladies, after graduating from university, looking for a future husband, I went to a cooking school. But I learned nothing at that cooking school. In Japan, students don't ask questions. We just receive whatever they teach us. I was living in Japan and had an American husband, and had many foreign students. They asked me how to make miso, how to make sake, how to make rice vinegar. I couldn't answer these very basic questions. I was frustrated, so I started to contact artisans and manufacturers and learned from them.

Q. How did you learn how to make sushi?
A. I attended the Tokyo Sushi Academy. It sounds like the military. The president started this school in 2002. They offer expensive and intensive sushi training for one month. One month is so brief, but every day starts with cooking sushi rice and filleting fish. We also learn to make nigiri-zushi, the rice ball with a slice of sashimi on top.
After that I did research on all aspects of sushi -- tradition, history, culture, and recipes. This included interviews with sushi chefs, rice farmers, wasabi growers, knife makers, wholesalers, and fish mongers.
Because I was raised with real sushi, I was initially quite disappointed to see how sushi evolved in America. People started with unconventional sushi, like California roll [avocado, crab and cucumber] to suit the American palate. Then came sushi with mayonnaise dressings. However, sushi chefs can be more creative here. This is now even popular in Japan.

Q. Who is the audience you have in mind for "The Sushi Experience?"
A. Raw fish lovers and those who are not so keen on it -- which makes everyone! I want people to know that sushi is not just raw fish. Fifty percent of the recipes are made with vegetables, cured fish, seafood and omelet.

Q. Many skilled Japanese sushi chefs seem quite skeptical that non-Japanese can prepare this food. What do you think?
A. I agree in part. Take the Japanese chef who trained in Italy. They can cook pretty good Italian food but they haven't been raised as Italians. Food is not just preparation. The Japanese are very stiff in their mind-set that somehow a non- Japanese can master the Japanese language, or that a non-Japanese cannot really understand the Japanese mentality. These attitudes are too extreme. However, when it comes to sushi preparation, especially nigiri-zushi, there are so many things that you need to know about the fish, the specific way to make rice. It really takes long years of training.

Q. There is an impression in Japan that America has no food culture beyond hamburgers and fast food. Having lived in the United States, what is your impression?
A. Oversized! This is a country where things are always changing because of the addition of new immigrants. This has had a big influence on American food. One thing I don't like here is the concept that bigger is better and quality is not much of a concern. When people ask for larger sizes, food loses its quality.

Q. What do you think of the concept of an all-you-can-eat sushi buffet?
A. That is awful. I don't know what kind of sushi they offer, mostly rolls. When it comes to raw fish, it is expensive and if there is any place that says "All-you-can-eat raw fish sushi," I just doubt the quality of the fish. Certain expensive fish cannot be offered so generously.

Q. What advice do you have for Americans eating at a Japanese restaurant?
A. In Japan, restaurants are highly specialized. Here the Japanese restaurants aren't. Everything is on the menu like yakitori, tempura, teriyaki, katsu [fried foods], and noodles. But the Japanese food boom has finally arrived. In New York City and on the West Coast there are more authentic Japanese restaurants which serve more unusual dishes. Try what you haven't tried before.

Hiroko Shimbo will be at Boston University’s Seminars in Food, Wine, and the Arts on Monday from 6 to 8 p.m. The fee is $65, which includes tastings and a copy of her new book. Call 617-353-9852.

Competition cooks up at a 4-H county fairFood and Fun Club members put their kitchen skills to the test

2006-09-06T14:01:00.000-04:00

WESTFORD -- Louise Donahue looks for an empty cake rack on her kitchen table, brimming with baked goods. "We've already had one disaster today," she says as she sets down the hot pan of butterscotch bars her 10-year-old son, Greg, has prepared for the 51st annual Middlesex County 4-H Fair. The bars go next to the "disaster," a plate of very flat cranberry cookies that taste great but don't have that blue-ribbon look.

The kids won't let them go to waste: "Dad will eat them," they chime.
With Donahue's attention focused on daughter Sarah's gingerbread batter, Greg pokes the top of the warm butterscotch bars, denting the once perfect crust. Uh-oh. Mom looks up. From under his brown curls Greg croons, ``I just wanted a taste." Mom sighs.

Sarah, 15, holds dripping beaters over a bowl as she walks from the counter to the stove to pour batter into a greased pan. Oops. The batter trails from table to hot stovetop like a sticky version of Hansel and Gretel's crumbs. The smell of burning gingerbread hits the air before the pan even gets into the oven. Just as the words "Sarah Donahue" leave her mom's lips, Sarah says, "Chill, Mom!" Twelve-year-old Shannon is at another table carefully measuring six cups of popcorn into a bowl for clusters she'll enter in the nutritious snack category.

It's good old-fashioned fun, the 4-H way, and the children are learning it from their mother, a freelance computer programmer who leads the 12-member Food and Fun Club in her spare time. Donahue was an active 4-H - er growing up in Woburn, and she relishes the chance to pass on the program's philosophy of ``learning by doing" to her children and club members.

Despite the occasional slip-ups and all the activity, Donahue, 48, runs a very organized kitchen andis a calm, cheerful, and patient teacher. She gently guides Greg's hand away from a cocoa cake batter to a waiting custard dish as he measures vinegar into a spoon. At the sink, he adds water into a liquid measuring cup and plunges a turkey baster into the cup. Before he is snagged for fooling around, he explains he's just trying to suction the water off to the one-cup mark. ``What a good idea," says his skeptical mother. But the extra water is just too tempting; Greg squirts it around the sink.

Sarah and Shannon, working independently, reach for plastic bags that hold the dry ingredients for herb bread, apple cake, banana bread, and biscuits, all pre-measured the day before and stacked in a corner of the counter ready for the wet ingredients. Sandra Lee may espouse the virtues of "Semi-Homemade" on the Food Network, but these girls are making their own cake mixes, from scratch.

MORE 4-H PHOTOS View a photo gallery at www.boston.com/ae/food.
A few miles from the Donahue house in a rural corner of Westford, the smell of fresh-cut grass and hay mingle at the Middlesex County Fairgrounds. On this Aug. 23 evening, crickets are singing, and 4-H-ers and their families empty the trunks of their cars and fill the shelves and walls of the brightly lit exhibit hall with their baked goods, art, photos, vegetables, wood working, sewing projects, and jars of jams, jellies, pickles, and honey. All are to be judged the next day. From the other side of the fairgrounds, you can hear a neigh, a baa, and a moo. This could be Kansas, except that most people are wearing Red Sox caps.

More than 700 families are involved in 4-H clubs in Northeastern Massachusetts, says Wendy Marcks, the region's 4-H educator, who on this day is sporting the program's four-leaf clover logo on finger- and toenails as she sets up a display in the exhibit hall. More than a century after 4-H began nationally as a collaboration among the USDA, land-grant universities, governments, and other private partners, more than 30,000 young people in Massachusetts are involved in some aspect of the organization. Projects here range from cavies (guinea pigs) to cooking, marine biology, and robotics.

In Donahue's club, members work on crafts, perform community service, learn about food and nutrition, and plan dinners for their families. Entering the fair is voluntary, but as Penina Buonsanto of Westford says, "it is nice to get ribbons and show people what you are capable of doing." Buonsanto, 15, who won a blue ribbon one year with her mom's apple pie recipe, says she has learned many useful things in Donahue's club, such as ``clean as you go," something most adults fail to master.

Kristiana Graves is making Oreo truffles, a combination of cookie crumbs and cream cheese rolled into a ball with a white candy coating. "I chose this recipe because everyone loves them," says Graves, 15, who lives in Littleton. "I always read the judges" comments because I want to do better next year."

Another club member, Jennifer Couture, says she learned about the food pyramid, how to read a recipe, and how to handle "dangerous kitchen tools." Besides practicing cooking with her club mates, she learned canning skills from her mother, Brenda Couture, also a 4-H-er. "I enjoy putting things together to get a final result," says Couture, who lives in Billerica. When this 12-year-old traces the process of making pickles or talks about attaining the proper temperature when making jelly so it coats a spoon, she sounds like a veteran USDA extension agent.

For this, the largest all-youth fair in the state, more than 150 entries compete in some 30 food categories, including drop cookies, cornbreads, single- and double- crust pies, refrigerator cookies, yeast breads, quick breads, and novelty cakes (for looking at, not for eating). The rules require a fixed number of items (such as six cookies) set on plain white paper plates and enclosed in plastic bags. No doilies or decorations. These items stand or fall on their own merit. Recipes are attached, and judges know only the category and age of the contestant. The members compete against one another in their age group: novice, junior, or senior. A novice's slightly misshapen chocolate chip cookie is not judged as harshly as one offered by a senior.

Everyone gets a ribbon -- blue (excellent), red (very good), or white (good) -- and a hand-written comment from a judge. Amy Herrick, chairwoman of the fair's Food Department, gives her team of judges guidelines: recipe cards must be complete, products appropriately sized, colors appealing, textures good, and the taste delicious. Herrick says the kids like the competition, especially with the small amounts of prize money, based on a point system. "Some kids are shocked when they have to do something right," she says. "The next year they try harder. They learn to do things correctly."

There is also a "challenge category," in which everyone enters with the same recipe, making it strictly a matter of execution and appearance. This year, Herrick has chosen peanut butter cookies. Fork hatch marks decorate one batch, a sprinkling of sugar embellishes a second, and chopped peanuts top yet another. It doesn't always go so well. One year, Herrick recalls, the challenge recipe was whoopie pies, and one child -- hopefully it was a mistake -- substituted cinnamon for chocolate. ``It was brutal for the judges."

On opening day, Donahue's club members head first to the food department and scatter to find out how their entries fared. Novice Brian Prato, 10, wins a blue ribbon for his peanut butter chocolate chip cookies. "Nice and crunchy," one judge has written, but added: "Need to get cookies in uniform shape." Graves earns a blue for her Oreo confections, and Couture cleans up in food preservation with Top Junior, Top Exhibitor, and Best Individual Exhibit for her blueberry lemon mint vinegar. Her baked goods get top honors, too.
As for the Donahue kids, Greg goes looking for those butterscotch bars -- and finds a red ribbon. ``Good color but tasted flat," one judge has written. (His mom suspects he forgot the vanilla.) But his banana bread wins a blue.

Shannon's apple cake also takes a blue ribbon, and she wins first place in the unfrosted cake category. Her sister, Sarah, takes Best Individual Exhibit with her Orange Blossom Coffee Cake, a fancy yeast bread. The judge writes that it had ``great shape, texture, and taste."
Some things, after all, never go out of fashion.

To learn more about UMass Extension 4-H, call Wendy Marcks at 781-891-0650 or visit www.mass4h.org.
To learn more about the Middlesex County 4-H Fair, visit http://www.middlesexcounty4hfair.org/.

Dress-up season in TokyoSummer spawns celebrations of season and spirits

2006-07-30T13:58:00.000-04:00

TOKYO -- The passion in Japanese souls is never more evident than at a ``matsuri" -- a festival that is part Mardi Gras, part history lesson, and part food festival.

From local neighborhood fetes to large-scale city events, matsuri celebrate everything from rites of passage to changing seasons to local culture. They even are used to give thanks and help purge sins. Often associated with local shrines and temples, matsuri can last two to three days.

Dancing, archery, drum performances, and other traditional arts, as well as open-air food and game stalls can be part of the celebrations. The centerpiece of many festivals is a parade-like event in which portable shrines, called ``omikoshi," are hauled about on the shoulders of men -- and sometimes women -- dressed in dashing outfits.

During the summer, Tokyo is one big dress-up party. The trains are loaded with women dressed in colorful ``yukata," cotton summer -weight kimonos, and men in their ``jimbei ," or fancy pajamas. All are headed to the festivals and their wooden sandals make a slap-clapping sound on the pavement.

Not merely a colorful accessory, but a necessity, the ``uchiwa," summer fan, completes the outfit. They are handed out on street corners by merchants and local officials to help keep the crowds cool.

On a sizzling August evening at the Azabu Jyuban Summer Night Festival, the main attractions are the miles of open-air stalls selling favorite Japanese snack foods. Men and women hawk their wares, vying for the attention of the hungry crowd. Each booth is devoted to a single food -- and each is a delight.

There is ``tako yaki," morsels of octopus in batter, cooked in a cast iron griddle of half-circles. Once the batter is set, the balls are turned using a long pick and a flick of the wrist before they are sprinkled with shaved seaweed. ``Yaki soba" are fried noodles tossed with shreds of vegetables, meat, and ginger heaped onto plates. Next door, there are enormous round potatoes steamed in a stack of wooden boxes, served with a scandalous amount of butter. To beat the heat, there is ``kaki gori," a mountain of shaved ice infused with neon-colored fruit syrup. Roasted ``ayu," river trout, salted and cooked over charcoal, are presented on skewers; their aroma is irresistible. And the all-time favorite, ``okonomi-yaki," is a savory pancake fiilled with shredded cabbage, pickled ginger, and slathered with piquant sauces.

Interspersed among the food booths are carnival-like games of chance. Boys and girls with strainers made of paper squat next to troughs of water trying to scoop up goldfish or little rubber balls . It's not easy to do either before the strainer dissolves.

Follow the sound of drums through the thick crowd to a park on a side street. Glowing lanterns light the grounds where a local group is performing on ``taiko" drums. Their beat is primal and relentless. Nearby everyone is invited to join the folk dances. Dancers move as one, in a circle, to a story told in song and movements.

Later in the festival season, on a sweltering day in early autumn, the voices of revelers rise in unison at the Hakusan Harvest Festival in downtown Tokyo. Intermittent sounds of a leader's whistle punctuate their cries. The deep boom of a large drum trails the omikoshi, providing the cadence that slowly propels the bearers' syncopated shuffle forward.

Prior to the parade, the omikoshi are taken out of storage to the local shrine for a blessing that also allows the spirits of the deities residing within to enter before the annual neighborhood walk about. These bearers are members of neighborhood clubs and civic and business associations who gather to care for and carry the omikoshi.

``Wasshoi! Wasshoi!" -- ``All together! All together!" -- is their fervent cry as the marchers make their way though the streets. Their elaborate shrines, gorgeously handcrafted from heavy timber, can be simple or gaudy, but atop each sits a golden phoenix. Lacquered pieces of timber are set crossways through special holes to form the grid that rests on the bearers' shoulders. No padding here -- this isn't supposed to be easy. Even smaller omikoshi are heavy and need at least 40 bearers, and the larger ones can weigh more than a ton, requiring more than a hundred people surging forward in unison.

Various groups of marchers will relieve others along the route, each group vying to be the most spirited. The festival can actually become quite rambunctious, as the bearers become more focused and more frenzied. Several members of the team guide the omikoshi to stay on course and to keep it from careening into the crowd following along.

As the light begins to fade, the omikoshi is borne back toward the shrine where the gods will reside for the rest of the year. For the final push, a group of particularly brawny and boisterous men take their final turn and hoist the omikoshi high in the air with a huge roar before settling it back down on their shoulders.

By now their shouts are louder and rougher, their pace more feverish. At the base of a slope they stop in a flurry of patterned clapping and chanting. They have reached the entry way to the shrine and slowly , almost dirge-like, creep up the hill and bring the omikoshi to rest under broad gates, where a priest in full garb invites the gods to re enter the shrine.

Aching, but very happy, members of one club gather for a party in an apartment near the shrine. The wife of one of the bearers and her friends have prepared mountains of food, beer, ``shouchu," a potent potato-based alcohol drink, and sake for the men.

Between drinks, an exhausted Yutaka Yamaguchi, 54, a banker and omikoshi bearer for more than 20 years, says he has enjoyed building ``harmony with others while having fun." He and his buddies will travel to more neighborhoods to participate in other festivals where their shoulders are needed.

Sated, but still drinking, the men get louder and looser. They take off their coats and compare the size of their shoulder calluses, jokingly called ``tako."

``Looks like the head of an octopus doesn't it?" said Yamaguchi. The bumps develop from years of carrying omikoshi and are huge, permanent, and borne with great pride.

World of CookingArrive a tourist, eat your mistakes, go home with recipes for a feast

2006-05-21T13:56:00.000-04:00

MENFI, Italy -- We weave our way out of the densely packed city of Palermo at rush hour and drive south through western Sicily. The road slices through a valley surrounded by huge rocky outcroppings. The sky is a deep blue and green fields stretch ahead like a velvet patchwork bordered by a riot of orange, red, and yellow wildflowers. On a hillside, a herd of sheep is so tightly clustered, it looks like a giant ball of moving yarn.

Our destination is the coastal village of Menfi, an easy 1 1/2-hour drive away, to attend a class on Sicilian cooking taught by Natalia Ravidà and experience an olive oil tasting. Off the highway, at the end of the main road, sits the family's 18th-century neoclassical villa. The sea is just beyond and the smell of salt fills the air. We enter the gates and park in the outer courtyard.

Ravidà is a former journalist and now cookbook author, entrepreneur in the family's award-winning olive oil business, wife, and mother. She will share her family's culinary heritage for the next several hours in flawless English.

Joining me is Nunzia Radenmeyer, a South African whose parents emigrated from Sicily when she was a teenager. Like me, she is a cooking teacher. We both thought it would be great to be the students this time.

On our way to the kitchen, we pass a long marble table surrounded by cast iron chairs where we will take our lunch. A large wooden frame window is splayed open so we can see into the kitchen. Across the courtyard, under a tiled overhang and atop a huge grinding stone cum table, we will do the olive oil tasting. Usually, the tasting is done on the Gurra farm, elsewhere on the estate, where students tour the olive groves and see how the oil is processed.

We will be cooking in the home kitchen -- well equipped but not commercial. Although you are in the hands of a professional, it feels as if a group of friends has gathered to prepare a meal. A wooden spoon is propped inside an antique crock of the Ravidàs' own sea salt from local salt flats. Well-worn copper pots hang from a cast iron rack on a long white wall. The ingredients for the dishes are organized by recipe and laid out on an oval marble island in the center of the kitchen. We gather around as Ravidà explains the day's recipes. She introduces Sicilian cuisine by tracing the influences of some of the many civilizations that came through this storied island -- Phoenicians, Greeks, Arabs, Normans, and Spaniards.

She stresses the importance of seasonal ingredients. With recipes in hand, we begin. Ravidà divides up tasks.

We start to chatter and to help each other. Tears run down Radenmeyer's cheeks as she cuts the onions that will go into a sweet and sour sauce. The pit of a black olive shoots across the table as I press too hard on its flesh with the broad side of my knife. Fresh sardine fillets lie glistening next to a plate of homemade bread crumbs, waiting for a light dusting.

Ravidà begins to fill a wok with olive oil to deep-fry hollowed-out eggplants. More surprising than finding a wok in rural Sicily is her using such an expensive oil for deep frying. She explains that good olive oil cooked at such a high temperature can be reused. And she reminds us that the better the oil, the less greasy the food. After several minutes, she removes the eggplants and prepares to stuff them with anelletti, little pasta rings, in homemade tomato sauce.

As we arrange our handiwork on platters, kitchen assistants begin to clean up and set the table. Our stomachs are rumbling, but lunch will have to wait.

First, to the courtyard and the tasting. Six bottles of olive oil and a bunch of little white plastic cups are on a tray on the stone table. Ravidà explains the differences among grades of oil and helps us to understand why one bottle may cost $5 and another $40. We learn about the proper storage of oil and how it can spoil.

She pours about a tablespoon of oil in a cup and demonstrates how to take the oil into the mouth -- sliding it to the back of the tongue where our taste buds register both bitter and spicy flavors. I don't think I mastered the right swishing motion, but I didn't get it all over myself, either.

The tasting begins with rancid olive oil. Whew, is that bad! She introduces successively higher grades, and we begin to discern differences. ''The better the oil the more peppery and bitter it tastes in the back of your mouth," Ravidà explains. By the time we get to her oil, with its peppery surge and light velvety texture, the difference in quality is clear. I cannot claim to have tasted ''a hint of fresh mown grass," as described in a review of Ravidà oil, but it was wonderful and I had an entirely new appreciation. The award-winning Ravidà oil is exported worldwide.

Finally it is time to eat. The atmosphere is informal and friendly. The table is laid with local ceramics. We begin with a crisp Sicilian white wine and the sardine fillets. We raise our glasses to Ravidà, who declares ''Buon appetito," and serve ourselves, family style. We enjoy the baked eggplant stuffed with pasta alongside a very colorful dish of roasted peppers with a caper, olive, and mint sauce. On another platter is pan-fried mackerel with a sweet and sour onion sauce. A large bowl of linguine is tossed with cherry tomatoes, olives, and capers, and a colorful fennel salad with black olives and oranges completes the entrees. For dessert, we enjoy a refreshing gelatin made from mandarin orange juice and its grated rind. The warm spring sun and the wine are working their magic. We could linger forever.

We tour the rest of the house and it is obvious that this was once a grand villa. While it is still elegant, some rooms need repair. Costly renovations to the chipped frescoes on vaulted ceilings and fading wallpapers are underway, and there is scaffolding on the rear of the house. Ravidà's explanation of the project is fascinating. The layers of the family's history peel away before your eyes.

You can spend anywhere from a day up to a week at Villa Ravidà. They are flexible and willing to accommodate your interests. Besides cooking classes and olive oil tastings, there is pizza making at the farm, and guided tours can be arranged to visit surrounding towns and local markets. You will be given a quote based on the package you choose and on the number of people in your party. There is a two-person minimum. Classes run April to July and September to November.

The villa can accommodate up to 10 people. We didn't stay overnight, but the rooms, some of which are in what once were stables, are spotless, if somewhat spare and on the small side. All have a private bathroom with shower. A continental breakfast, served in the villa's dining room, is included. There are many places to sit and sip an aperitivo or read a book when you are not cooking or tasting. This is one kind of rural tourism that is changing the way we think about taking an Italian holiday.

SPRINGTIME IN SICILYIn the markets of Palermo, vendors share deliciously imprecise recipes

2006-04-26T13:54:00.000-04:00

PALERMO, Italy -- Nestled among the faded gray and peeling concrete buildings, some still cratered by World War II bombings, sits one of the liveliest markets in Sicily. Bright red and blue awnings cover hundreds of stalls in the colorful Ballarò, the most extensive of many markets in this charming, chaotic city.

I traverse the warren of vendors and happen upon a butcher selling all the cuts of beef you don't recognize, as well as the innards. A fishmonger cuts thin steaks from local Mediterranean swordfish for a popular dish made with seasoned breadcrumbs. Giuseppe Bronte grabs the stem of a gigantic green-yellow broccolo, a variety of cauliflower, with his rough hands and hacks off the thick stem. Bronte belts out a rhythmic call, letting everyone know what he's selling, his voice joining the cacophony of shouts and sounds.

My husband and I are spending two months in the seaside town of Mondello, just 20 harrowing minutes (what drivers!) from Palermo. Our studio apartment in a wisteria-covered stucco house, set on a steep hillside facing the Mediterranean Sea, has something that approximates a kitchen, with a briefcase-size four-burner stovetop. Two narrow shelves hold sea salt, olive oil, and dried wild oregano, all local staples. A few pots and pans are in the cabinet. In other words, a basic but sufficient setup for exploring Sicilian cooking and the recipes shared with me while foraging through markets.

In Sicily, as in the rest of Italy, if you buy something from a vendor, you're almost obligated to hear what a wife or mother or sister would do with that particular ingredient. Here, everyone has an opinion about cooking. And no one has an exact recipe for anything.

This is a friendly place, and vendors are luring you over to try his goods. A roly-poly baker is selling sesame-studded loaves and pita-like breads with spongy interiors from Monreale, a town famous for its cathedral and bakeries. A few steps away, I encounter a hill of black and green olives, then wheels of pepper-studded pecorino. ''How about a taste?" asks the big-bellied proprietor.

The kind and patient Providenza Di Noto has become a favorite. Her 70-year-old shop is on the periphery of another open-air market, the Vucciria. ''Più o meno" -- ''more or less" -- is how she describes measurements for minestrone soup. Her brother, Sandro, interjects. After a heated exchange about onions, she turns back and says triumphantly, ''One. Big one." Then her usual ''more or less." She puts her index finger to her cheek and twists it -- the gesture that describes anything delicious in Sicily. ''Buonissimo," she says, eyes cast upward.

Di Noto's mixture of dried chickpeas, green and red lentils, white beans, cranberry beans, and split favas sits in a sack near the front of her shop. As she dips her scoop in, she continues her impromptu cooking lesson. I understand about every fifth word, but I do catch how to break the spaghetti into the soup because she mimes it as she goes. The low tables at her stall are covered with hand-labeled packets of mixed spices, sun-dried tomatoes, salted capers, and glass jars of anchovies. Little bags of a currant and pine nut mix, a sampling of the Arab influence on Sicilian cuisine, hang on one wall. Beans in hand, I navigate the narrow lanes to gather the remaining ingredients for my pot.

Later, while the soup is simmering, I get a call from friends of friends. Palermo resident Ludovico Ziino, a retired pediatrician who loves to cook, asks if we can join him and his wife, Giulia, for dinner the next week (like most Sicilians, the invitation is for 9 p.m. -- often my bedtime). Dinner, he tells me, will consist of ''specialties from Palermo -- my grandmother's recipes."

At Ziino's house in the heart of the city, at a table laid with heirloom linens and silver, we dine on large shell pasta tossed with the green-yellow cauliflower I've seen all over the markets and a saffron-scented, slightly sweet sauce made with pine nuts and currants. This dish is typically made with bucatini (pasta straws), but Ziino used shells to better cradle his aromatic sauce. Everyone is chattering about how the dish is made. When I ask how much saffron, Ziino looks at his large hand, puts his thumb to the top joint of his pinky, and in his deep bass tells me, ''About this much -- more or less." I add the cauliflower and pasta dish to my list of meals to try.

Visiting the fish stalls on the pier in Mondello early one morning, I listen as shoppers bargain with the fishmongers. The miniscule, opalescent neonata (newborn fish) glisten in a pile. I turn to the gentleman who has just bought a bagful and ask how to prepare them. Make a little fried fish cake, he tells me emphatically, with olive oil, salt, pepper, an egg, and just enough flour -- more or less! -- to hold it all together. Fry in a spoonful of oil, he continues, and when it turns white, sprinkle with lemon juice and eat right away. This, he says, is ''the end of the world." Then he sighs, dreamily, slightly shaking his hands, which are cupped, prayer-like.

Across the street at the Schillaci family's shop, wooden crates of oranges, pears, artichokes, those handsome giant green-yellow cauliflowers, and eggplant spill out onto the piazza. I buy two pounds of cipolline -- tiny, squat onions -- to prepare in a sweet and sour sauce. This is a recipe that the entire Schillaci family -- and several customers -- gave me the week before.

Offering their advice in loud voices, everyone speaking at once, they instructed me to balance the wine vinegar and the sugar. The amount of each, of course, is several spoonfuls.
That is, more or less.

An American burger in Tokyo

2006-01-11T13:52:00.000-05:00

TOKYO -- Pass the neighborhood shrine, pass the smell of charcoal-roasted fish, pass the sushi shop, pass a noodle spot. Then comes a surprise: The unmistakable aroma of grilled burgers and fries from a restaurant a few doors down.

In Tokyo, anything culinary is a possibility. Yes, there is American fast food here -- McDonald's and Kentucky Fried Chicken are both a presence. But well-made hamburgers and a side of crisp potato wedges is another story.

Daimon Yoshida, 32, was born in Japan but spent eight years in California and Oregon, beginning when he was an impressionable teenager. When he returned home and had a hankering for burgers, he couldn't find any that thrilled him. With a loan from his mother, this handsome entrepreneur opened Fire House seven years ago, and the place is a hit. The restaurant is tuckedamong more than two dozen Japanese eateries along a 150-yard stretch. And while sushi and soba shops on the street have plenty of empty seats at their counters, the hamburger joint boasts lines out the door. Every day, Yoshida and his staff send more than 500 burgers out of the busy kitchen.

Fire House is a step down from the street, where a deck and the outer walls of the shop are laid with wide planks of 150-year-old American wood. With old tools, board games, and lithographs part of the decor, thanks to Yoshida's mother, who dealt in American antiques here, the 30-seat spot feels like a real American establishment. Country music plays and customers linger over lunch -- a rarity in Japan, where the midday meal is often inhaled, while standing, in 15 minutes.

Yoshida's burgers, one-quarter pound each before being cooked on a flat griddle, are hardly lean. ''Perfect ingredients create great food," says the restaurateur, who adds fat from the famous and highly prized Japanese Matsuzaka beef to Australian ground meat because Japanese diners prefer their beef well marbled. Several years ago, Yoshida had to stop using American beef when imports were banned after an instance of mad cow disease was discovered. He won't use Japanese beef, he says, because ''it's too good."

To find the perfect bun, Yoshida taste-tested hundreds until he found the right bakery. Sesame seed buns, something like brioche, are placed on the griddle just before cradling the burgers. The patties are liberally sprinkled with a salt and pepper seasoning mixture that Yoshida made up. Then burgers are constructed: mustard on the bottom bun, lettuce, a slice of tomato, chopped onion, sweet pickle relish, the patty, and finally, mayonnaise.

The stacked burger is tucked into a paper wrapper covering half the bun. On the plate are wedges of deep-fried potato with the skins intact, the outsides crisp, the flesh soft. Some customers use a knife and fork on the burgers, others eat them holding the paper wrapper to catch the drips.
A burger with fries and a pickle starts at around $9, cheap for Tokyo but not as inexpensive as McDonald's, where a Quarter Pounder with fries and a drink costs just over $5. Fire House offers bacon cheeseburgers, chili burgers, and a few Japanese twists: burgers with fried eggs and the hamburgo, served with stewed apples.

Yoshida doesn't want customers to think all Americans eat enormous quantities of food, so he offers a bit more than regular Japanese portions, but doesn't overdo it.
The cooks and the wait staff are in constant motion. So is Yoshida, who has muscular forearms from scraping the griddle with gusto after each order. In addition to the 350 burgers he serves daily on the premises, the shop delivers another 200-plus to neighborhood homes and businesses.

The restaurateur does everything -- both work and play -- with zeal. Now that the shop is running smoothly -- it's open daily -- the chief cook has finally been able to take time off. He spends three months a year in the Caribbean while his staff carries on.
And oddly enough, he doesn't miss the griddle.

Fire House, 4-5-10 Hongo, Bunkyo-ku, Tokyo, 03-3815-6044, or go to http://www.firehouse.co.jp/

The layered look is easy and elegant

2005-08-03T13:50:00.000-04:00

Watching a chef create individual pieces of sushi at lightning speed is quite a sight. Rice is compressed into a perfect oval in a slightly cupped palm and topped with a thin slice of fish. Artistry and skill and many years of practice are in evidence. But without any training or experience at a sushi bar, you can make at least 25 pieces of sushi at one time and present something quite artistic.
To do it, press the rice and other ingredients into a square. Known as oshizushi, or pressed sushi, the dish is made with layers of cooked short-grain rice and fish, then cut into bite-size pieces.
In Japan, a special box made from cedar is used for the dish. A slightly smaller square lid is set on top and weighted to compress the mixture. Using nothing more than an ordinary square or rectangular baking pan -- the sort you would pull from the cabinet to make a batch of brownies -- you can layer the rice with smoked salmon, arugula, and spicy mayonnaise. A heavy cookbook will serve as a weight instead of the special lid.
Once the mixture is pressed and cut up, serve the squares as hors d'oeuvres at a summer party. With them, offer cold sake and a slice of lime. Vary the filling by using cooked shrimp or slices of avocado in place of salmon.-- DEBRA SAMUELS

Pressed salmon sushi
Makes about 30 bite-size pieces
These sushi pieces are served on a platter sprinkled with scallions, with soy sauce. To dip the pieces, turn them salmon side down; if you dip the rice end first, the pieces fall apart.

RICE

2 1/2 cups short-grain white rice
2 3/4 cups water
5 tablespoons rice wine vinegar
2 tablespoons sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt

1. In a bowl, place the rice and enough water to cover it. Wash the rice by stirring it and draining it. Do this three more times or until the water becomes almost clear. Let the rice soak for 20 minutes.
Drain rice.
2. In a pot, combine the rice and 2 3/4 cups water. Bring to a boil over medium heat. Cover and cook for 5 minutes. Turn the heat to low and cook 10 minutes more. Turn the heat off and let the rice steam for 10 minutes.
3. In a saucepan, combine the vinegar, sugar, and salt. Stir over low heat until the sugar and salt dissolve.
4. Transfer the rice to a large bowl. With large cutting movements, use a wooden spoon to toss the rice without mashing it. Sprinkle the vinegar mixture onto the rice as you toss to coat the grains. Fan the rice to cool it as you mix it. Cover with a clean, damp dish towel.

TOPPING

3/4 cup mayonnaise
2 teaspoons liquid hot sauce
Dash of cayenne pepper
1 teaspoon dark sesame oil
2 cups arugula leaves
12 ounces smoked salmon
3 scallions, finely chopped
Soy sauce (for dipping)

1. Set a 9-by-13-inch pan on the counter. Line the bottom with 2 pieces of plastic wrap, letting 8 inches hang over all sides. With moist hands, place half the sushi rice in the bottom of the pan. Press lightly to make a smooth layer.
2. In a bowl, stir together the mayonnaise, hot sauce, cayenne, and sesame oil. Spread half the mayonnaise mixture on the rice.
3. Add half the arugula and half the salmon slices.
4. Repeat with the remaining rice, mayonnaise mixture, arugula, and salmon. Fold the extra plastic wrap over the top layer. Place a large book on top and gently apply pressure. Set aside for at least 15 minutes or for up to 1 hour.5. Open the plastic wrap and use it to lift out the sushi. Set it on a cutting board. With a wet paper towel, moisten the edge of a sharp knife. Cut sushi into pieces about 1 by 2 inches each. Sprinkle with scallions. Serve with soy sauce.

Fiddleheads are the season's star shoots

2005-05-25T13:47:00.000-04:00

LEXINGTON -- Deep green, earthy spirals wound as tight as coils, fiddleheads burst into the spring produce bin for a few weeks. They're shoots, and they're at their best when tightly coiled. They grow into graceful ostrich ferns -- but alas, the pretty ferns are no longer edible. Fiddleheads' spiral shape gives rise to their name -- they look like the tip of a violin.

At Wilson Farms here, fiddleheads share space with bundles of green and white asparagus. But they sit unnoticed. Produce manager Tony Casieri says, ''People who know what they are come looking for them, but most just seem intrigued. They have no idea how to cook them."

They do look different than anything else at the farm stand, and, unlike asparagus, they're not around long enough for people to become interested. Also, fiddleheads still have their paperlike scales intact.

This is what happened to Wilson staff member Paul Vlasos on a fishing trip in Maine years ago: ''We were picking fiddleheads by the side of the road with a local guy. We had about 5 pounds, and I was wondering how we were going to get off all the brown, papery scales," he says. ''My friend took us back to his garage, opened up an old washing machine, threw the fiddleheads in, and turned on the spin cycle." There was no water in the machine, and the scales flew off. ''Now that's Yankee ingenuity for you," says Vlasos. The fishermen cooked the little coils and tossed them with lemon juice and cider vinegar.

Unless you know what you're doing, however, picking fiddleheads in the wild isn't advised; some fern varieties are not edible.

As for removing the papery scales at home, that is the tedious part. But the cooking couldn't be simpler. Steaming, boiling, or sauteing in butter are the recommended methods. Inspired by Vlasos's story, I tried the centrifugal force of my salad spinner to dislodge the scales. What did the job just as well was a short soak followed by a few rinses.

The flavor of a fiddlehead is clean and subtle, reminiscent of both asparagus and green beans, so a light treatment is best. In Japan, fiddleheads (called warabi) are highly prized. A few are artfully placed in a small dish, and a simple dressing of soy sauce and wasabi is drizzled from a spoon.

Fresh local fiddlehead ferns are available at farmstands and farmers' markets through early June.

Fiddlehead ferns with wasabi soy sauce dressing
Wasabi is the green mustard paste served with sushi. It is sold in tubes at Asian grocers and some supermarkets. Serves 2.

1 1/2 cups fiddleheads (scant 1/2 pound)
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 -1 teaspoon wasabi paste
2 teaspoons water
2 tablespoons light soy sauce

1. In a large bowl in the sink, rinse the fiddleheads under the tap to dislodge the brown scales. Drain and repeat several times. Trim the ends off the ferns (last piece on the coils).
2. Bring a large saucepan of salted water to a boil. Add the fiddleheads and cook for 8 minutes or until they are tender when pierced with the tip of a knife. Drain them into a colander and set them aside.
3. In a small bowl, mix 1/2 teaspoon wasabi paste and water until smooth. Whisk in the soy sauce. Add more wasabi, if you like. 4. Transfer the fiddleheads to a bowl and spoon the dressing over them. Toss gently and serve warm or at room temperature.

Baked to perfectionAt Somerville's La Contessa, the prized ricotta pies have a longstanding following

2005-03-23T13:42:00.000-05:00

SOMERVILLE -- Paper bunnies and decorated eggs adorn the picture windows at La Contessa Bakery Cafe here. Huge chocolate Easter eggs wrapped in colorful cellophane hang above the counter waiting for excited children. On a top shelf, along with a statue of St. Anthony, are boxes of sweet Italian bread baked in the shape of a dove. Amid these confections are the bakery's prized ricotta pies, their light brown crust embracing a sweet filling, which dominate one of the glass-fronted display cases. Felix Sabatino and Annette Serrao, the lively brother-and-sister team who own La Contessa, are getting ready for Easter. Between 500 and 600 pies will emerge from the bakery's ovens.

For more than 30 years, Antonio Bruno, the head baker, has been making the pies, beginning with pasta frolla, a sweet pastry crust enhanced with touch of orange oil. It cradles and covers the filling of ricotta cheese, sugar, and the powdered vanilla called vanillin. The fresh whole milk ricotta (pronounced ri-GHOT-ta or ri-GOT) comes from Purity Cheese of Quincy and the North End, another longstanding business. A slice of the pie, also called torta di Pasqua -- or Easter torte -- for its special place on the holiday menu, reveals a dense white filling that is both moist and not too sweet, surrounded by a soft, flaky crust. Ricotta pies are eaten throughout Italy, but with many variations -- some with candied fruit, anisette flavoring, or chocolate. La Contessa's plain version is southern Italian in origin.
In some respects, time has stood still in this corner of Somerville. While rents increase and trendy cafes move in, La Contessa continues its holiday traditions in much the same way they might be celebrated in Italy. Three tables offer customers a place to sit, sip strong coffee, and eat a pastry. No one here is working on a laptop -- though cellphones ring now and again.

On this bright day, Sabatino is handing out slices of another Easter staple -- pizza chiena (GAYN-a), sometimes called pizza ripiena, which means ''stuffed," or pizza rustica. At the end of Lent, people who have given up meat can enjoy it again in this lattice-topped pie, which holds a 4-inch layer of cheese studded with cold cuts.
Serrao works the counter, addressing customers as ''honey" or ''sweetie." She came to La Contessa first, in the early 1970s, when she was 17; her younger brother followed her a while later. He was 12. At the time, the bakery was owned by ''Papa" Joe Magliaro. The siblings were raised in Somerville, and Sabatino describes himself as ''a chunky kid in orange shorts standing on a crate washing dishes." By 12, he was practicing making frosting roses after work. Magliaro told the boy: ''You have the hand," Sabatino remembers.

After stints at Mike's Pastry in the North End and at several hotels, Sabatino bought La Contessa in 2000 with his parents' help. Actually, Armando and Emanuela Sabatino, who were from the Avellino province in Campania, had saved their son's earnings without his knowing. The boy thought that his $20 weekly La Contessa wages were going directly to St. Benedicts school in Somerville. ''I thought I was paying for my schooling. But secretly my dad opened a savings account for me and deposited all the money. He did that for all his six kids," Sabatino says softly.
Over the years, Sabatino has continued the tradition started by Magliaro, who was known as ''Joe Cookie" by legions of Somerville kids. ''Joe told me to always give a kid a cookie when they walked in the door," says Sabatino.

Bruno, the baker, has been making Italian pastries since 1972. ''I got this job the second day I went looking and never left," he says, scooping rings of dough from water boiling in a dented copper pot. ''We are making tarali," he says. ''Like an Italian bagel."
With three owners in 48 years, La Contessa is a fixture in Davis Square. ''It's a little island," says Bob Baker, an Arlington resident and patron for most of his 53 years. ''If I'm going through Davis Square, I'm going to La Contessa for a rum cake slice for my wife, Lin," he says. Linda Baker has celebrated her birthday with a La Contessa rum cake since she was a little girl. Elizabeth Pizzi of Belmont practically swoons over the thought of the bakery's lemon squares. And cannoli are shipped all over the country.

The bakery is usually filled with a cast of local characters, many at their usual tables. They convey all the enviable bonhomie and caring of a genuine community. Frank Privitera, a local lawyer, talks politics while he sips coffee and greets customers, urging everyone to try a cannoli. Bruce Curliss, a loyal customer who has become Sabatino's best friend, calls La Contessa ''a great little treasure." He shares a daily corner table with several local businessmen, who enjoy coffee, pastry, and friendly insults from Serrao. ''She loves us," they insist. They flip a coin to see who pays.

When Serrao's cellphone rings, the theme from ''The Godfather" fills the room. Linger long enough and you might even get her dating advice. Playing matchmaker for a young woman recently, Serrao says, ''We're all miserable and married, why shouldn't she be?"

And the day goes on, as customers hear her cheerful greetings and the pastry cases are refilled again and again. ''Goodbye, sweetheart," she calls out as someone leaves the shop. By the end of the day, she's said it dozens of times.

La Contessa Bakery Cafe is at 420 Highland Ave.,
Davis Square, Somerville, 617-623-9193.

From one pot, a bounty of Japanese flavors

2005-03-16T13:44:00.000-05:00

In the family of Japanese one-pot wonders -- sukiyaki among them -- the standout dinner is yosenabe, a mixture of seafood, chicken, tofu, glass noodles, and vegetables. Diners use their chopsticks to dip into a communal earthenware pot on a portable burner. Inside the pot is a simmering broth filled with the seafood, vegetables, and other ingredients. Diners lift out a piece of fish, a shiitake mushroom, or savory Chinese cabbage, then dab the food into a citrusy piquant soy sauce seasoned with grated daikon.
The meal is leisurely. Friends and family make their way through a platter of beautifully displayed raw ingredients, adding them to the pot as they eat. Fish and chicken go in first because they take the longest to cook. The simmering liquid gives the food flavor and results in a delicious broth, enjoyed at the end of the meal with clear noodles, also cooked in the broth.
Most households are not equipped with portable tabletop burners, but you can make this meal with a few adjustments. Use a heavy-based pot with a lid. Heat the broth, let the seafood, poultry, and vegetables simmer briefly, and then bring the pot to the table.

Recipe Yosenabe

The Japanese hot pot of seafood, chicken, and vegetables is served with a soy dipping sauce. Have a soup bowl plus a smaller bowl for the sauce for each diner.

Serves 4.

FOR THE BROTH

5 cups water
3 chicken wings
2 tablespoons soy sauce
2 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons sake or dry white wine

1. In a large, flame-proof casserole, bring the water to a boil. Add the chicken wings and return to a boil. Skim the broth. Cover and simmer for 15 minutes. Remove the wings -- bone them and add the meat to soup -- and skim off the fat.
2. Add soy sauce, sugar, and sake or wine. Bring to a boil and set over low heat.

FOR THE SAUCE

½ cup soy sauce
3 tablespoons lemon juice
½ daikon (long white radish), peeled
Pinch of cayenne pepper

1. In a bowl, combine the soy sauce and lemon juice. Pour the mixture into a small pitcher.
2. Using the small holes on a box grater, grate the radish and place it in a small serving bowl. Sprinkle the radish with the cayenne and mix well. Set aside.

FOR THE POT

1 bundle (2 ounces) rice stick noodles
1 skinless, boneless chicken breast
3/4 pound skinless, boneless firm white-fleshed fish or salmon
8 littleneck or hard-shell clams
8 fresh shiitake mushrooms
½ small head of Chinese cabbage, quartered
1 cake (14 ounces) firm tofu, cut into 8 pieces
2 carrots, sliced diagonally to ¼ inch thick
4 scallions, sliced on the diagonal into 8 pieces each
16 pea pods

1. In a bowl, combine the rice sticks and enough boiling water to cover them. Set aside for 20 minutes. Drain noodles and cut in half.
2. Cut the chicken into 1-by-3-inch strips. Cut the fish into 8 pieces.
3. Rinse the clams. Soak the clams in cold water for 10 minutes. Arrange the noodles, chicken, fish, and clams on a large platter.
4. Remove stems from the mushrooms. Wipe the caps with wet paper towel. Carve an x into the caps. Add the caps to the platter.
5. Add the cabbage, tofu, carrots, scallions, noodles, and pea pods to platter. Set aside.
6. To the simmering broth, add half the chicken, 4 clams, 4 mushrooms, half the cabbage, and half the carrots. Reduce heat and cover the pan. Simmer for 3 minutes.
7. Add half of the remaining ingredients, except for the pea pods. Cover and cook for 3 minutes until clamshells are open. Add 8 pea pods and remove from heat.
8. Divide the cooked chicken, fish, and vegetables among 4 bowls. Add a little broth to each bowl.9. Pour a little of the dipping sauce into each of the 4 small bowls. Add a spoonful of the spicy daikon and serve at once. Dip the cooked food into the sauce. Cook the remaining ingredients in the same way.