Portia's: Southern Discomfort Food

I grew up with a Southern stepmother.  She was from Alabama and raised me with grits, biscuits, and award-winning fried chicken (hers won the fried chicken competition one year at the Alabama state fair), as well as boiled peanuts, greens, fried green tomatoes and cornbread dressing (NEVER stuffing).  My stepmother wasn't just a Southerner, she was a white Southerner, and I think it is important to make the distinction, especially when discussing cuisine.  While her cooking wasn't bad, for someone brought into this world amidst the spices and flavors of Latin America, Southern cuisine - at least that of my stepmother - was bland.  Not subtle, like Japanese cuisine or Vietnamese cuisine, or even German cuisine.  It was just bland.  And it wasn't until I had my first taste of soul food that I realized that Southern food could be zesty and flavorful and comforting....food that nourishes the body and the soul, hence the name.  Upon doing research, I discovered that Southern food is essentially African American food, and unless it is made by African Americans, it will usually be missing that essential ingredient: soul.  Non African American Southern food, to me, has always been a toned-down version of the real deal - soul food for white folks.

There are always exceptions, of course, but it seems that when someone else tries to play at Southern cooking they tend to be a little too "creative" with their cooking.  Yes, the inspiration lies in traditional Southern dishes, but the execution utilizes foreign elements.  The results are tasty but never feel authentic and always manage to seem embellished.  I always end up asking myself how a soul food version of a dish is so delicious in spite of its simplicity, while the same dish executed by a white Southerner is either bland or has to include so many extra elements.  Until I shadow a soul food cook, the answer will remain a mystery, and I'll continue to go to a soul food restaurant when I was Southern food because to me, it's like the difference between real Chinese cuisine and Chinese-American.  Once you have the real thing, it's hard to go back to a dumbed down imitation.

Nevertheless, there are good Southern restaurants manned by white cooks/chefs that offer very tasty "nouvelle" Southern cuisine - creative, sometimes gourmet, twists on classics their mamas made for them or recreations of what their most-likely-black cooks prepared in their kitchens.  The food at these restaurants can be subtle, which is definitely a step up from being bland, and when the cook/chef has some sort of culinary background or just a level head on his/her shoulders, the unique creations being served up can be quite glorious.  For instance, adding fresh herbs and garlic to chicken and dumplings - superb idea!  Or adding some bold spices to a fried chicken marinade - ingenious!

Sometimes, however, one has the misfortune of going to a Southern restaurant where the creative ideas are not always well thought out, and the resulting dishes turn out to be both bland and a little disturbing on the palate.  Such was the case during a recent dinner at Portia's, a new restaurant on Oakland Park Boulevard, in Broward County.  The restaurant took over the space of another restaurant, called The Cellar, which served mostly German and central European dishes.  Although I never dined at the old restaurant, it was obvious that some of the old décor remained - embossed copper ceiling panels, tiffany lamps, and romantic, impressionistic portraits.  Portia's own touch was most noted in the presence of paper place mats displaying the image of a pig, which was a kitschy touch, but didn't seem to match the rest of the restaurant.  The lighting was very low inside, but somehow failed to be romantic.  The tables were cheap-looking, as were the chairs.  Paired with the disco soundtrack and the numerous senior citizens dining within, the ambiance was a depressing portrait of a retirement home dining hall for gay men.

The service was friendly.  Our waitress offered us a complimentary bowl of house made pork cracklins, which were good although it would have been nice to have something with which to cut the richness.  Maybe I'm channelling Mexican cuisine, which uses a squeeze of lime and some chile, or Nicaraguan cuisine, which serves them with a vinegary slaw.  It might not be traditional for Southern cuisine, but it sure would be a nice innovation.  While the pork cracklins were a nice touch, it would have been nice to get some biscuits or corn bread or dinner rolls.  No such bread ever arrived at our table, and I think it had to be ordered and paid for.

An appetizer of fried green tomatoes, which our waitress recommended, were just dissatisfying.  There seemed to be something wrong with the tomatoes, as if they were getting ripe or they were pickled.  The flavor was off.  Additionally, they were coated in panko bread crumbs, which I didn't care for.  The remoulade sauce with which they were served was practically inedible and clearly not a remoulade.  It was like a thinned-out tartar sauce with a lot of vinegar and paprika and little chunks of unrecognizable pickled vegetables and onions.  

For my entrée, I ordered a pork tenderloin sandwich, which was not a Southern dish, but more of a specialty of Indiana, Iowa, and the surrounding areas, which I guess would kind of go with the "country" theme of Portia's.  What I received were two breaded, fried pork cutlets coated with something I'd never seen before.  This came with a buttered and toasted commercially-made bun of the cheaper variety, an iceberg lettuce leaf, a few slices of tomato, and some cheap neon green pickle chips.  I did not care for the breading one bit!  Upon first looking at it, I thought that it was perhaps comprised of cornflakes.  Upon biting into a piece, it was determined that it was coarsely crunched up saltine crackers; they were not ground nor crumbled but crunched up, meaning that there were 1/4" pieces of crackers soaked in days-old fryer oil surrounding this thin slice of pork cutlet.  I asked the waitress what the breading consisted of, just to be sure, and she said it was a "secret recipe".  Well, that's once secret that Portia's can keep to themselves!  As a side dish, I ordered a side of peanut cole slaw.  Again, maybe I was thinking about a different cuisine, perhaps somewhere in Southeast Asia, because what I had in mind was nothing like what I was served.  I was soon reminded as to what kind of restaurant I was at when I took a bite of the shredded cabbage tossed in mayonnaise, ground peanuts that I couldn't tell were in there at first, and absolutely nothing else.  There really was nothing else in that cole slaw...and it tasted that way.

John ordered the fried chicken, for which the restaurant is supposedly well known.  The chicken is made to order, which means that you can be waiting an average of 20 minutes for your order, which I think is the amount of time we waited.  The chicken was flavorful and juicy with a crispy crust and offered what one would expect from good fried chicken.  The dark meat pieces were characteristically tender, and the breast was surprisingly moist.  Portia's fried chicken is definitely a cut above most places, but definitely not the best.  John's sides, like mine, were abysmal.  His creamed corn should have had quotation marks surrounding it on the menu - a tiny condiment bowl filled with corn nuggets, bacon bits, and milk that appeared as if it was thrown together at the last minute.  His lima beans were satisfactory but also arrived in a minuscule bowl.   Honestly, I believe I've had banchan at a Korean restaurant - those little condiments that come with every dish of Korean barbecue - that were more generous than the side dishes at Portia's.

The only redeeming moment at Portia's came at the end of the meal when John and I partook in a slice of very good coconut cream pie.  If there was one thing that would bring me back to Portia's, it would be that, and just maybe some fried chicken...although it would be awfully tough to come back.  While I'm definitely one to notice good food at a restaurant before anything else, the ambiance at Portia's was just too depressing, and the food just wasn't good enough to warrant a second visit.  Especially considering that Betty's Soul Food is just a little closer in distance from us, there really is no reason, in my opinion, to return to Portia's.

Portia's

199 East Oakland Park Blvd

Oakland Park, FL 33334

Provoleta

Last night we just fried up the provoleta that I had trekked down to Graziano's in Miami to purchase for Christmas Eve dinner.  Considering that the Noche Buena table was already heavily weighted with all sorts of cured meats, cheeses, breads, panetón, marinated vegetables, fresh anchovies, and John's Swedish meatballs and a spiral ham, as well as a platter of pigs in blankets, we decided to hold off on the provoleta that night.  However, every time I opened the "deli drawer" in the refrigerator, the vacuum-sealed package of two pale disks sprinkled with dried oregano and chili flakes kept looking back at me, almost asking me if tonight was the night it would get eaten.  Well, John decided to purchase some crusty Italian bread and make last night the night that we would partake in this Argentine and Uruguayan delicacy.

Argentina and Uruguay really don't have a very complex or even interesting cuisine.  It's actually very simple and relies heavily on grilled steaks and New World interpretations of European - mostly Italian - dishes.  Go to any Argentine and/or Uruguayan grocery or restaurant and you will be confronted by mostly a selection of meats and sausages, as well as a selection of pastas - no exotic seasonings, and very few vegetables.  Don't get me wrong.  The few dishes that comprise both countries' cuisines are very well made, and both Argentina and Uruguay are known throughout the world as being masters in grilling steaks.  Additionally, I consider the best Italian inexpensive Italian food to be had in Miami is to be had at an Argentine or Uruguayan restaurant; just like the Italians from which many of them descend, they have unrelenting standards when it comes to quality of ingredients and freshness.

Perhaps the national dish of both countries is La Parrillada (or El Asado), which is closest in nature to an American barbecue, but is comprised of different cuts of grilled beef, as well as sausages and some offal (their grilled sweetbreads are some of the best that I've tried).  As an appetizer to this style of cooking, there is provoleta, which is a slice of firm provolone (not the kind used in an Italian sub sandwich) coated with oregano and chili flakes and quickly grilled over a very hot open flame rendering a crispy crust and a gooey interior.  Call it South American fondue (or raclette), if you will.  

The technique is pretty tricky to master, as the cheese can drip through the grates of the grill and cause flare ups.  The short cut way to make provoleta is on the stove.  Leave the provoleta out for about an hour, unwrapped, so that the exterior forms a sort of light "crust".  You might have noticed this with cheese plates that have sat along too long, especially on cheeses like gouda or cheddar.  When ready to prepare, heat a nonstick pan over medium heat and add just a little bit of oil to coat the bottom.  Place the slice of provoleta on the frying pan, and cook until bubbly and crusty on one side, then flip over with a spatula until a slight crust forms on the other side.  Put the provoleta on a plate and eat immediately with a baguette or ciabatta.  This really is a great dish to serve with wine for a an informal get-together.

Cevichery Restobar, My New Favorite Peruvian Restaurant

Peruvians are a tough crowd to please when it comes with food.  We've been referred to as the French of Latin America, and with good reason.  Peruvian cuisine, apart from being on par with China for having one of the world's largest and most diverse cuisines, is also the most elegant and sophisticated in Latin America.  Don't believe me?  Just read what Auguste Escoffier and Ferran Adrià (both gods of the gastronomic pantheon) say about Peruvian cuisine.  Contemporary Peruvian cuisine is a cross between the culinary traditions of various Amerindian peoples, West Africans, Arabs, Spaniards, French, Italians, Chinese, and Japanese.  To paraphrase Peruvian celebrity chef, Gaston Acurio, Peruvian cuisine is the original fusion cuisine that occurred decades before trained chefs began toying with the concept.  Unfortunately, due to poor marketing and an almost psychological confusion of where to compartmentalize Peruvian cuisine (being that it's unlike what many people picture Latin American cuisines to be), most people are ignorant about it or it just gets shoved to the back burner as something akin to Mexican food but with more potatoes.  I hope to bring about a greater worldwide appreciation for this cuisine that inspired the likes of Chef Nobu Matsuhisa.

Anyway, Peruvians are demanding when it comes to their cuisine and eating at Peruvian restaurants.  I've seen Peruvians get upset over being served by a Colombian or Argentine waitress.  I've seen Peruvians return platters of ceviche because it was sitting in lime juice a minute too long.  And Peruvians in Lima are known to return whole platters of chicharron (fried pork) because "there's just a little too much gristle on this one piece and how dare you try to cheat me out of meat and serve me a bad cut of pork!"  As one Peruvian chef in Miami once told me, "our Peruvian customers are our most....'special' customers".  That being said, THIS particular Peruvian-American is very demanding when it comes to eating Peruvian food at restaurants.  Ironically, a lot of the Peruvian restaurants in South Florida are pretty deplorable, and sadly they've become the reference point for many non-Peruvians as to what Peruvian cuisine is like.  Up until now, there have been only two Peruvian restaurants worth going to in South Florida that I know about:  Cvi.che 105 in Miami and Bravo! Gourmet Sandwich in Broward County.  Along with Chifa Du Kang (a Chinese-Peruvian style restaurant known as a Chifa), these are considered to be the best Peruvian restaurants in South Florida.

I now have Cevichery Restobar in Miami Beach to add to that list.  The name of the restaurant is an anglicized play on the word cevichería, which is an informal place to grab drinks and eat ceviche and other Peruvian seafood appetizers.  It's like the Peruvian version of a sports bar, tapas bar, and sometimes even blues lounge all wrapped up in one.  This particular cevichería is located on the beautiful Española Way, which gives you the feel of being on a quaint side street in the chic neighborhood of Miraflores in Lima, and the décor, location, cuisine, and service make it much more than your average hole-in-the-wall ceviche joint.  Regardless of its elegant surroundings and outstanding and inventive cuisine, the prices are very reasonable, with entrées all under $18.

I went with my sister last night, and we started off with a mora (a South American blackberry that has a floral note) pisco sour and a kiwi pisco sour.  Although both lacked the traditional head of foamy egg white, our waitress informed us that the traditional pisco sour did include the requisite egg white froth and the dash of bitters.  Both cocktails really piqued our appetites for our ceviche shots that were brought to us just moments after being made to order.  Proper Peruvian ceviche is never left to sit and marinate, but is left to "cook" in the lime juice for just a few minutes before serving, demonstrating an appreciation for raw seafood that was taught to us by Peru's Japanese community.  My ceviche was spiked with a purée of fiery rocoto pepper, while my sister's was accented by the sweetness of fresh-squeezed orange juice and a chiffonade of fresh mint.  While mine offered all the traditional elements a Peruvian would expect, my sister's ceviche presented a well-balanced mixture of flavors that was very refreshing.  After our ceviche shots, we were brought a plate of conchitas a la parmesana, a nod to Italy's contribution to Peruvian cuisine.  Six scallop shells arrived topped with a golden-brown layer of melted parmesan cheese sealing a tender scallop nestled in a cream sauce infused with the scallops briny-sweet juices.  There was perhaps just a little too much cheese on each scallop for my sister's taste, but the sauce beneath the cheese was so good I found myself licking each shell clean.

For an entrée, I was recommended the pescado a lo macho (macho fish), which consists of a lightly breaded and fried fillet of white fish (I believe they used grouper) topped with a spicy cream sauce ideally containing a cornucopia of shellfish.  Cevichery Restobar's version is the absolute best I have had in all of South Florida, period!  The fish was perfectly cooked and the sauce was rich, thick, and offered just the right amount of kick from yellow ají.  The shellfish that dotted the "macho" sauce was so tender it could be cut with a spoon.  This was served with a side of fluffy white rice (perfectly desgranado) topped with a few kernels of choclo (Peruvian hominy).  My sister ordered the lomo saltado served with a side of quinoto.  Lomo saltado is a dish of Chinese-Peruvian origin and contains bite-sized pieces of steak (traditionally sirloin) stir-fried with red onions, wedges of roma tomatoes, soy sauce and other seasonings and is finished with a touch of chopped fresh cilantro.  If served with plain rice, the stir fry is topped with french fries.  The version my sister ordered this evening came with a side of quinoto, a more contemporary addition to the Peruvian culinary repertoire that is basically a risotto made with quinoa, a grain cultivated in the Andes since time immemorial.  Quinoa is ideal for making a risotto, as it naturally has a creamy texture and does not clump like rice does.  At Cevichery Restobar, diners have the option of having their quinoto flavored with  rocoto chile, pesto, or huancaina sauce.  On the waitresses suggestion, my sister ordered the huancaina option.  Huancaina sauce is a thick dressing for boiled potatoes originating from the Andean region of Huancayo, and consists of a purée of ají amarillo chiles, onion, garlic, fresh cheese, and milk (with a few other things, of course).  The combination of the spicy-creamy quinoto with the juices from the sautéed beef tips of the lomo saltado was heavenly - a perfectly conceived and executed dish!

We were able to meet the chef, who is Peruvian but apparently was raised in the United States as evidenced in his flawless English.  He therefore is true to his Peruvian roots, but has a firm grasp on the American market as well as diverse culinary influences that only eating and cooking in the United States can give.  He informed us that he just devised a completely new menu that will be revealed very soon - I was still reeling from the intoxicating food to pay remember whether he said tomorrow (which would be today) or the next week.  Our waitress informed me that if we loved that evening's dinner, we'll be blown away by the new menu.  I'm finding it hard to contain my excitement!  Anyway, after having chatted with us, the chef sent us over some complimentary shots of passion fruit pisco sours, which should definitely not be missed.  We rounded out our evening with a slice of lúcuma cheesecake (see here for a description of lúcuma), with a cinnamon and clove-spiced graham cracker crust.  The cheesecake, while being rich and flavorful was uncharacteristically light in body and was made with a bit of gelatin, making it almost like a cheesecake-panna cotta.  Speaking of panna cotta, they were sadly out of their chirimoya (sweet sop) panna cotta that evening, but I will be sure to order it next time.

And there will be a next time, especially considering that my sister and I were given 10% off coupons to come back and try their new menu.  Cevichery Restobar will not only be my go-to place while I'm on the beach, but also new destination for perfectly-made Peruvian cuisine in a beautiful setting.

Cevichery Restobar

440-448 Espanola Way 

Miami Beach, FL 33139

(305) 532-6620

www.cevichery.com

My New Thing: Mustard Oil

One of the cuisines I've been obsessed with for over 12 years has been South Asian cuisine.  Over the years I went from adding every ground spice imaginable to a pot of simmering yogurt to realizing the differences between regional South Asian cuisines and refining my own spice mixtures and sauces to the point that I consider myself pretty pretty familiar with Indian cooking and cuisine.  Most of the dishes I try to make are from Northern India (Delhi and Punjab), as well as some Pakistani dishes.  I have also delved into southern Indian cuisines from Tamil Nadu and Kerala.  One regional cuisine that I have yet to experiment with is Bengali cuisine.  I'm familiar with their spice blend called panch phoron that contains 5 spices usually consisting of cumin, fenugreek, fennel, black mustard, and nigella.  The cuisine of Bengal and surrounding regions uses a lot of fish, thickens foods with ground poppy seeds, is particularly famous for its sweets (gulab jamuns and rasgullas) and is very fond of mustard - good, strong mustard.  Bengali cuisine is also known for its use of mustard oil as a cooking fat, which is unique to the region.

I went yesterday to my favorite Desi (South Asian) grocery, Asia Grocery, to stock up on some supplies and decided that I should buy a small bottle of mustard oil and start experimenting with Bengali cuisine.  As I was putting away packages of spices, dals, food dyes, and syrups, I decided to open up the small bottle of mustard oil and give it a taste to see what I'd be working with.  Once the drop of oil hit my tongue, it was like a new culinary portal was opened to almost endless possibilities.  This is going to be one of my new ingredient obsessions!

Imagine an oil that tastes like dijon mustard or chinese mustard!  Imagine being able to infuse that flavor as a backdrop to complex curries, or adding a few drops into salad dressings.  For dinner this evening, I used up the last bits of cucumber and daikon radish for a quick relish.  I made paper thin slices of both vegetables and marinated them in a mixture of white vinegar, salt, cayenne powder, black pepper, and just a few drops of mustard oil.  It was a flavor explosion that went beautifully with the tartness of the vinegar and the spice from the cayenne powder.  I can only imagine what a dash of sugar would do to such a dressing!

Think of mustard oil the same way you would think of sesame oil - a few drops can really add a je ne sais quoi to whatever dish you're making and really pull everything together.  Look for it the next time you're shopping for South Asian ingredients

How do you get the taste of curry out of your mouth?

The answer is mukhwaas!

Every South Asian meal should end with paan, but if paan is unavailable, there should be mukhwaas.  This comes after dessert, after chai or coffee, when you've decided that dinner and drinks are officially over.

I rediscovered my canister of mukhwaas while rummaging through my cupboard looking for some spice I thought I had, and quickly took a break, sat down in front of the television, sprinkled some into the palm of my hand and had a blissful mouth-freshening moment.  Mukhwaas is a mouth freshener, and after paan (which is almost impossible to find freshly-made in South Florida, but practically omnipresent in NYC or Chicago), it is the most perfect end to an Indian/Pakistani/Sri Lankan/Nepalese/Bangladeshi meal.  There are countless varieties of mukhwaas with all sorts of secret breath-cleansing ingredients, but most mixtures that I've found contain, first and foremost, saunf - fennel seeds.  These can be plain fennel seeds, but are more commonly sugar or candy-coated fennel seeds, which have a slightly medicinal, licorice-like flavor, but with more of a "green" note to to them than licorice or anise seeds.  To the fennel seeds are added a myriad of other ingredients, which can include:  minuscule sugar candies, sprinkles, melon seeds, chopped dates, dried herbs, silver leaf, coconut, betel nut shavings, rose petals, and even little bits of sandalwood or sandalwood essence.  There is nothing that cleanses the palate better after a multi-course Desi (South Asian) feast than mukhwaas.

At any good Desi restaurant frequented by South Asians, you will find a bowl of mukhwaas at the entrance (or sometimes even a jewelry box-looking thing by the hostess stand) with a teaspoon.  Like probably most goras (non-Desis), I had passed by such bowls for years thinking that it was some type of potpourri.  It was only after seeing someone at an Indian restaurant sprinkle a spoonful of the stuff into his right hand and pop it into his mouth that I followed suit and had my post-Indian meal epiphany:  this is the ultimate breath-freshener, and pretty natural compared to all the breath mints and gums out there!

Mukhwaas can be purchased at almost any South Asian grocery either in large pouches for placing into your own bowl at home or in canisters.  My canister has about half a dozen different compartments, each with a different mukhwaas mixture - some consisting of nothing more than sugar-coated saunf, and others consisting of exotic and luxurious combinations of seeds, spices, and dried fruits.  There are also countless brands of single-serving mukhwaas sachets that make excellent additions to lunch boxes as a unique post-lunch refreshment.  So, next time you're at a South Asian restaurant, make sure not to skip the big bowl of mukhwaas.  You're mouth will rejoice...and your dinner date will thank you for it later, I'm sure!

The best place to get a huge selection of mukhwaas, as well as pre-packaged paan and any South Asian foodstuff you could ever want is:

Asia Grocery

785 Miller Drive

Miami, FL 33155

786-268-7700

Sunshine Indopak Grocery in North Miami Beach is probably the next most recommended South Asian grocery.

If you are simply physically incapable of driving down to Miami, Little Market is a less-than-satisfactory alternative in Broward County, although don't expect any help from the shopkeeper, and bring cotton to stuff into your nose as this place always seems to reek of sulfuric-smelling hing (asafetida)

It's Like Cooking Underwater

South Florida is the Hell of cooking environments!  Actually, Hell would probably be dry and have more consistent heat, so South Florida is worse than Hell when it comes to cooking.  Today, I tried to make bhaturas, a puffy deep-fried Indian flatbread, and after a lot of cursing and sweating and scraping dough off of a French rolling pin, I finally threw out the whole batch of dough and just improvised my own chapati recipe, which turned out pretty well.  What really made me feel worse is that I actually followed the recipe...a recipe that fails to take into consideration that in South Florida you will always get about 1/2 cup to 1 cup of extra water in whatever you cook, whether you're baking or making a stew.  Suvir Saran wrote his little recipe in NYC where he lives, I'm sure.  Even though there is humidity all over the world, and most especially in India, I'm convinced that the humidity in South Florida is intent on ruining the lives of cooks and bakers.

Add a little more flour, you say?  With any recipe calling for flour - chickpea flour, rice flour, bran flour, corn flour, any flour - it seems as if the more flour you add, the more moisture it attracts, and before you know it you have a ten pound ball of dough that's just as sticky and unmanageable as when you started.  I've tried making besan ki laddoos once, an Indian sweet made by cooking chickpea flour in ghee (clarified butter) until it forms a ball and then mixing it with sugar and nuts.  After following the recipe and watching the online video, I ended up with a very buttery porridge.  

To accompany my chapatis, I had made aloo keema, an Indian dish consisting of ground meat (beef in this case) and sliced potatoes.  I used a Masala Mixins packet from Rhode Island and used the attached recipe, which called for two cups of water.  I knew that this was a ridiculous amount for the quantity of beef, potatoes, and tomatoes I was using, and it would give me a curried hamburger soup.  I cut the water in half, and still ended up with a soupy curry which I had to simmer over high heat to thicken.  In other words, when making a stew or curry in South Florida, it's probably best to use less than half the amount of liquid that it calls for.  I've found myself having to do the same when using Shan Masala seasoning packets from Pakistan, too.

Rice is another issue.  I've heard that people up north can actually make a pot of fluffy white rice using a 2/1 water to rice ratio.  If you were to use that ratio in South Florida, you'd probably have yourself a decent congee (Chinese rice porridge).  This was something that used to perplex me for years until a Cuban friend of mine gave me the correct proportion: 1 1/4 cups of water to every cup of rice....and it can still be a little clumpy on a rainy day!

A cookbook should be made with recipes on how to cook underwater, which is pretty much what cooking in South Florida can be like.

South Florida's List of Demands

Dear non-South Floridian United States,

There are several things that you have in abundance that we want/need.  In exchange for sharing your wealth, we will be more than happy to send you some Pollo Tropical restaurants, Cuban cafeterias and bakeries, bartenders trained in making mojitos, La Carreta, A Sedano's, a Navarro, and maybe a Pizza Rustica or two.  Failure to meet our demands may result in all South Florida airports being shut down between the months of November and May, so think carefully about your decision to help us.

Our demands are as follows:

1. Trader Joe's
• Like Ikea, we just need one for the whole region.  You have a bajillion of them, so I'm sure this won't hurt you too badly.
2. White Castle
• All we ask for is one
3. Real Mexican Tacos
• C'mon, California, we're counting on you!
4. Raising Cane's
• Baton Rouge, we want free chicken fingers for our birthdays, too!
5. Giordano's
• It would be nice to have a deep dish pizza once in a while
6. Culver's
• It's hot here, and we need frozen custard....and butter burgers, too!
7. Izzo's Illegal Burrito
• Sometimes we want a really big burrito without all of Chipotle's hippy philosophies and feeling like we're eating in a tool shed; and sometimes we'd like something other than a burrito, too.
8. Sonic
• There's supposedly one down here, but we need more....many more.
9. Banh Mi sandwiches
• We need more Vietnamese people.  And tell them to bring their Southeast Asian neighbors, too.
10. Coffee shops that aren't Starbucks
11. Ethiopian restaurants
12. Puerto Rican cuchifritos
• With all the Boricuas in Broward County, I'm surprised we don't have a place serving little fried morsels of savory goodness.  NYC, this is your time to contribute!
13. Po' Folks
• So much better than Cracker Barrel.  But unlike Cracker Barrel, please put one somewhere where people can actually access it easily.
14. Halwa Puri, Paan, and inexpensive South Asian fast food
• Please, please, please send us down some of your Desis.  We're in dire need of Pakistani breakfasts, mouth fresheners, and the ability to grab a quick samosa, pani puris, or a falooda.

You can start with these for now, but be warned that the list might grow.  We'll send you some aspiring Argentine and Brazilian models, a Sergio's, and a fritanga to make up for it though.

Peruvian Comfort Food - Tallarines Verdes

Of all the Peruvian dishes there are, there is none that warms my heart more and is most satisfying on frustrating day than tallarines verdes.  This is one dish that The Momster (who's American) thoroughly conquered in her repertoire of Peruvian dishes, and few people do it as well as she does.  It's a dish that's also very simple to just whip up at the last minute....call it the Peruvian version of boxed mac n' cheese.  A few restaurants serve it with a typical grilled or breaded fried minute steak, but this is a dish best savored at home and preferably made by a mom.  The name means "green noodles", and it basically consists of pasta (usually spaghetti or linguine) tossed in a pureed mixture of spinach, basil, and milk.  Of course, there are few little secrets here and there to make it taste just right.  Garlic is a must, and The Momster adds cream cheese for added richness and body.  Served with a sprinkle of parmesan cheese and maybe a dollop of ají (read here), you have yourself a satisfyingly simple meal.

There's so much talk of ceviches and seafood dishes in Peruvian cuisine, which are all great but are primarily eaten and prepared in restaurants.  If you want to know what Peruvians eat on a daily basis, then tallarines verdes are a good place to start.  Here's what you'll need:

• 1 10 oz pkg frozen spinach, thawed
• 1 medium yellow onion, finely chopped
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• 1 teaspoon minced garlic
• 1/2 cup packed fresh basil or jarred basil paste (found at a Peruvian market)
• 2 cups whole milk (equal parts evaporated milk and water/broth is even better!)
• 1/2 cup cream cheese
• 1 tablespoon grated parmesan cheese
• salt and pepper to taste

1. Heat a sauce pan with the olive oil on medium heat.
2. Fry the onions and garlic until the onions become translucent.  
3. Add the thawed spinach and the basil or basil paste and cook this mixture for 5 minutes or until spinach is softened and basil (if raw) is cooked.
4. Put all of the above in the blender with 1 cup of milk 1/2 cup of cream cheese, and the parmesan cheese and liquefy until it becomes uniformly green.  Continue adding milk until you get a consistency that's to your liking.  If you make the sauce too thin, you can add more cream cheese to thicken it.
5. Pour the mixture into a saucepan and cook on medium heat until the sauce is heated through.
6. Season with salt and pepper to taste
7. Toss with your favorite pasta and sprinkle with parmesan cheese.  I found that this goes really well with penne pasta

I know this is like the 3rd article on Peruvian cuisine in less than a week, but after having it for dinner tonight I knew I just had to share it.

Injera on my mind...

With the closing of Miami's first Ethiopian restaurant, Sheba, more than two years ago now, as well as the subsequent closing of Kaffa, located just down the street, one now has to fly up to DC just to have some Doro Wat, Kitfo, T'ej, and freshly roasted Ethiopian coffee.  What a surprise that Miami just wasn't ready for Ethiopian cuisine [insert sarcastic tone here].  The chief complaint I've heard - and quite the ethnocentric one - was "where's the rice?"  It seems as if Miami's Latin American community has it so ingrained in their psyche that any type of stew NEEDS to be served with rice that if it's not, there's just something wrong with it.  Ethiopia's staple is not rice, but a spongy sourdough pancake called injera.  Add to the lack of rice the fact that injera is grey-colored, spongy, stretchy, and has an unmistakable tanginess to it and there's no surprise as to why Miami's two Ethiopian restaurants shut down within months of each other.  There is no escaping injera in Ethiopian cuisine, just like there's no escaping rice in Asian and Latin American cuisine, especially considering that besides being the starch of your meal, it is also your eating utensil and your plate.  If you don't like injera, then chances are that you won't enjoy Ethiopian cuisine, and to enjoy Ethiopian cuisine you just have to buckle down and develop a taste for injera...that is, unless, you had already fallen in love with it on first bite.

The very qualities that deter most people from injera are the same that attract people to it and to Ethiopian cuisine, in general.  Ethiopian dishes, besides being laden with spices and chiles, also use a great deal of spiced clarified butter, called nitter kibbeh, which gives many Ethiopian dishes an exquisite richness.  The sourness of the injera cuts that richness, and its sponginess helps to soak up the juices.

I had been wanting to experiment with making Ethiopian cuisine at home, but without injera, there is just no way I can do justice to the cuisine.  Unlike rice, couscous, or even naan, injera is something that is hard to find ingredients for, hard to find equipment for making it, and a little complicated to make.  Injera is made from teff flour, which comes from one of the smallest grains in the world and is native to Ethiopia.  Without teff, you cannot make injera, and thus cannot make an Ethiopian meal.  Luckily, I was able to find teff flour made by Bob's Red Mill, which produces phenomenal grains and cereals, at a Publix Greenwise Market.  That was the clue from fate that 2012 will be the year in which I experiment with Ethiopian cuisine and injera.

Like sourdough, the batter for making injera needs to be fermented, and you always need to start with an injera "starter" just like when you make yogurt.  I spent a greater portion of last night doing a bit of research.  I found one recipe from an Anglo woman's blog who has a great love for Ethiopian culture.  She goes through step-by-step processes of how to make an injera starter, and how to make VERY authentic injera.  She's even gone through the trouble of getting an electric mitad (injera griddle) and other traditional implements.  You can check out her instructions and instructional videos here.  The other recipe seems a lot less complicated and actually comes from an Ethiopian webiste, called www.ethiopianrestaurant.com.  I'm thinking a fusion of both recipes would be ideal.  I'm not quite ready to make injera yet, but will definitely keep you posted of when I do venture into my first batch of of it....hopefully with some good Doro Wat and even better company.

Haitian Indepedence Day & Soup Joumou

I can't believe that I had forgotten about Haitian Independence Day today, and most importantly, I had forgotten all about soup joumou!  True, I have never had soup joumou, but this is one Haitian tradition that is mandatory to partake in at least once for anyone who has a serious love of Haitian culture, and as some of you might know, I really love Haitian culture and its delicious cuisine.  So, what is soup joumou and why is it important today?

Soup joumou translates, basically, as pumpkin soup and is something traditionally eaten on New Year's Day, like black eyed peas in the American South.  However, it is more linked to Haitian Independence than to the new year.  Reportedly (although I've read different stories) joumou is a fragrant kind of winter squash - kind of like butternut squash or calabaza - that was off-limits to slaves under the French.  Additionally, the consumption of soup was said to be something only available to Whites, and African slaves (and freed Mulattos, as well) were prohibited from drinking soups.  After Haiti finally gained its independence on January 1st, 1804, this was the soup chosen to mark the Haitian people's newfound freedom, for it symbolized something that was unjustly off-limits to them but that they finally earned through their own hard work...and there was a lot of hard work involved.  Not only did Haitians have to overthrow their slave owners, but attacks from other European colonial powers who saw Haiti as free for the taking, as well as Napoleon's troops who wanted to annihilate the Haitians and take over France's lost colony.  It's not generally talked about, but Haiti's independence sparked the independence of other Latin American countries, and it was Haiti who helped liberate The Dominican Republic, aided Simon Bolívar in the liberation of South America and forced Latin America to enforce freedom for all its people and abolish slavery.

Soup Joumou contains joumou (pumpkin), beef, potatoes, any number of vegetables, and pasta.  Like most Haitian cuisine, it's filling and aromatic with scotch bonnet chiles, cloves, and thyme....but especially with this dish, I think a good measure of pride is added into the pot.  Sadly, I missed this delicacy in 2012 for lack of a Haitian manman (mother) and lack of planning.  If you want to try it next year and don't have a Haitian manman, yourself, I heard from a reputable source that Chez Le Bebe, known as the best Haitian restaurant in Miami (and renowned for its Legim) makes an exemplary rendition.

Happy New Year & Happy Independence Day, Ayiti cheri!

Chez Le Bebe

114 Northeast 54th Street

Miami, FL 33137-2416

(305) 751-7639 ‎