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Ceviche Summer Hot Dangles
Ceviche
Summer THE GREAT CEVICHE BOOK, by Douglas Rodriquez. Ten Speed Press, 2003. $17.95. It is high time to explore the sweet, salty, sour and spicy world of ceviche (pronounced se-vé-chay)! Inspired by travels through South America, Douglas Rodriguez started this collection of recipes with three dishes he served in his first restaurant in Manhattan. When they quickly became favorites on the menu, he saw a revolution coming. Ceviche is a mix of lime juice, salt, herbs (usually cilantro), onions and chile that is used as a marinade to "cook" chopped raw fish. The acid in citrus breaks down the protein in fish, causing it to turn opaque, and the combination of the remaining ingredients create a robust, fresh flavor that pairs perfectly with warm weather. Rodriguez takes this simple recipe to new, extravagant and occasionally excessive levels. Although its origins are disputed, it is widely believed that early Peruvians first prepared ceviche, eating raw fish and seaweed with aji (chile). Lime juice and onions were then added by Moorish women who came with the Spanish to Peru in the 16th century. With great enthusiasm Rodriguez discusses the ceviche "revolution" that he sees coming in America. He compares it to sushi, which enjoyed its own revolution here in the 1980s. The book's foreward, by Calvin Trillin, describes his first meeting with Rodriguez. After suggesting to Mr. Trillin some restaurants in South America for an article on ceviche, Rodriguez paused and suddenly exclaimed, "I'm going with you!" It is this excitement that inspires his colorful recipes, with brief, but ardent explanations or stories written for each. There are over 30 to choose from, with names like Honduran Fire and Ice Lobster. I tabbed eight recipes and went by ingredient list — the shorter the better. Smoky Maine Shrimp with Tangerine was first. I invited friends over and put them through the waiting process while I deveined, chopped and squeezed. Luckily there was wine, and after a few hours we had our first taste. We enjoyed the flavor and texture, but there was perhaps too much smoke? Trial number two, a devilish plan: my own, simple ceviche paired with a side dish from the book. The ceviche was enjoyed universally on the back porch, reinforcing my suspicion that basic is better. The side dish, though, was the real hit. The recipe below yields a lot, so my neighbor Audrey has a standing invitation from me to split a batch of this. She was enamored of its rich flavor, as was I. For the third test of the cookbook, I prepared Four Citrus Sea Scallops with Cucumber with Quinoa Amontillado. The quinoa, although crunchy, was tastier than the main course. The combination of herbs, citrus and cucumbers reminded me too much of pickles! In spite of my love for ceviche, I think this book is for the quite adventurous gourmet. The mixtures of ingredients create strong flavors that could only please crowds already known to enjoy the truly exotic. I recommend mixing up your own simple concoctions. Keys to creating successful ceviche are: a sharp, non-serrated knife (to avoid grinding the flesh and creating a cloudy appearance); a fresh, firm fish; and a little patience. Never use dried herbs, and if you decide to squeeze juice in advance, be prepared for a longer "cooking" time, as the juice loses some kick. The possibilities are endless: A Guatemalan friend even created a tasty beef ceviche for me. However you make it, be sure to serve it before the weather turns cold — and enjoy some saucy potatoes on the side.
Roasted Papas Amarilla with Huancania Sauce 2 lbs sweet or Yukon gold potatoes Preheat oven to 350. Wrap each potato in foil and bake 1 hour, or until fork-tender. Remove from oven and let cool slightly before unwrapping and peeling. Cut into one inch slices, sprinkle with salt and serve room temperature with sauce.
Huancaina Sauce 3 Tbs. vegetable oil Heat the oil in a skillet, add the onion, garlic and eggs, and saute over medium-low heat until the onions are translucent, about 5 minutes. Stir in the turmeric and saute another 2 minutes. Stir in the evaporated milk and simmer 3 minutes. Remove the pan from heat and let the mixture cool briefly. Transfer it to a blender. Add the feta, cream cheese, and crackers, and blend on low until smooth. Season with salt to taste. Cover and chill in the refrigerator overnight. Bring to room temperature or heat and serve over the Roasted Papas Amarilla.
Hot
Dangles Grazing my way through the garden: a leaf of kale here, a cherry tomato wrapped in basil there. It's a deeply satisfying activity, in a vaguely archetypical way. Like hunting and gathering. Except the garden is a soft and highly edible landscape, an ecosystem with the odds tilted in your favor. Pull a carrot from the ground, wipe off the dirt, sit under a sunflower and munch.
Checking on some spinach I recently seeded, I pass a celery plant and grab a stalk. My abeja plant, a type of Peruvian pea, is climbing up the stalk of a yuraksacsa corn plant, also from Peru, that is over 10 and a half feet tall. Unfortunately, it hasn't flowered yet. My neighbor scoffs at my monster corn dud. "All meat and no motion," he says. "Yer shootin' blanks, laddy!" Peppers, on the other hand, dangle from the plants like the prettiest Christmas tree ornaments ever, so pretty you just want to eat them. They come in literally every color in the spectrum, rich in vitamins, iron and potassium. Myself, I dig the endorphin rush that hot peppers trigger in my brain — the same mechanism that drives "runner's high" and heroin's kick. There is something euphoric behind the snot and tears commingling on your chin. Originally native to South America (probably Bolivia), peppers share a dubious distinction with Native Americans: They too were misnamed by Christopher Columbus, who, while still thinking he was in India, thought that he had discovered a new species of black pepper plant. The use of peppers quickly spread throughout the world, especially Asia. This time of year, when the local peppers are fresh, I go big in the chile relleno department. Most vegetarians and non-mystery-meat-eaters are likely familiar with the chile relleno, often the only meatless option available at many Mexican restaurants. In Spanish, relleno means stuffed. Chiles rellenos are stuffed with cheese, and cooked in a sort of egg soufflé. The best peppers for chiles rellenos are the long, semi-spicy ones in between bells and hotties, like poblano, passilla, moreno, anaheim, or my favorite, the red and green corno de toro (which means "horn of the bull"). These peppers have good spice, but won't K.O. you, and are big enough to relleno with the stuffing of your choice. Cut the tops off, scoop out the seeds and put the peppers on a baking pan in the oven, broiling at about 400. When the skins blister, turn them over until the other side blisters, too, then remove and place immediately in a sealed plastic bag. Once the peppers have cooled to room temp, gently peel off the thin, clear skin. What remains is a pathetically limp and collapsed pepper that looks left for dead. Your job is to bring it back to life. First, stuff them — with cheese, and other goodies if you prefer. I like curd cheese for the stuffing, but you can go with jack, mozzarella or blue cheese. Separate the yolks from the whites of however many eggs you want to eat. For each serving, I usually go with two eggs and two to five peppers, depending on size. Beat the whites until they are stiff. Beat the yolks, and then fold them into the whites. At this point, you have two basic options: You can pour the egg mixture over the chiles in a well-oiled pan and bake at 350. The mixture will rise considerably and turn golden brown. Or you can dredge the stuffed peppers in flour, dip them in the egg mixture and then fry them. This is how they usually do it in Mexican restaurants. Myself, I fry up some chopped bacon, take it off the heat, and immediately stir in some chopped garlic and cheese curds. The great thing about cheese curds is they softly hold their form when hot. I stuff the peppers with the curd/garlic/bacon mixture. If I go the fried route, I just add some grapeseed oil to the bacon grease, then dredge, coat and fry it up, flipping once. If I go the baked route, I lay the chiles in a pan with some cherry tomatoes. Then I add a layer of corn chips — this is a great way to use those broken dregs at the bottom of the bag. On top of this layer I place the peppers, and then I pour the egg mixture over everything and bake. While it's cooking, I sometimes toss something on top of the rising soufflé: a sprig of cilantro, a sprinkling of fresh corn kernels, an extra chunk of cheese. When the top starts to brown, take it out. Pour on some salsa and start eating. Eat until you are relleno with chiles rellenos. They're great for breakfast with a hot cup of coffee. Or, if you want it exactly like in the Mexican restaurant, serve it on a heated oblong plate with red rice, refried beans and melted cheese. Chef Boy Ari is also known as Ari LaVaux, currently living and cooking in Missoula, Montana.
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