New Year's Resolutions

In the new year, I vow to eat more of these:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/dr-patricia-fitzgerald/let-food-be-thy-medicine_b_406582.html

Okay, maybe not the salmon (not a fan), but everything else for sure. This should be one New Year's resolution I can keep.

Wishing you all a happy, healthy, and prosperous New Year.

Road Trip: On and Off the I-95 Beaten Path

By G.A. Peck

I have fond memories of my first official road trip, and have since loved the means of travel—getting behind the wheel with a destination in mind, but no real agenda for getting there. How relaxing and spontaneous it is to let the miles unfold behind your tires and stop and go, out of whim or necessity.

My first road trip. I was five, maybe six. Young, little, tiny. Somehow my parents managed to scrape together the finances to fund a trip to Disney, and we decided to span the distance between Maryland and Florida in our VW Bug. I remember the trip was long, and by the time we began to see the signs advertising South of the Border (http://www.roadsideamerica.com/story/2211) , we welcomed the small distraction of reading them. I pleaded with my parents to stop there, if only briefly.

My friend Butch reminded me of one of the slogans: “I never sausage a place!” Well, I just had to see this place!

And when we finally arrived, I was enthralled by the flashing signs and the big tower in the shape of a giant Mexican man in a sombrero. There were several buildings then—some where fireworks were sold (we bought sparklers, I think); a restaurant; souvenir shops, and so forth. I had ordered a Sloppy Joe and a Coke at the restaurant, and then my parents shelled out the cash for a tiny American flag on a stick, and a fur-covered sheriff’s vest with a badge, which I wore the rest of the way to Orlando.

In hindsight, I was probably just a tad too young to appreciate Disney World, and have difficulty remembering it all now. But I do recall a few highlights:

The Dumbo Ride: http://disneyworld.disney.go.com/parks/magic-kingdom/attractions/dumbo-the-flying-elephant/

The spinning and churning teacups, which made me dizzy and queasy and reluctant to get on another ride after that. http://disneyworld.disney.go.com/parks/magic-kingdom/attractions/mad-tea-party/

The Hall of Presidents, which I found oddly spooky, though I don’t think it was meant to be. http://disneyworld.disney.go.com/parks/magic-kingdom/attractions/hall-of-presidents/

It’s a Small World. I loved all the animatronic dolls in motion, but by the end, I was plain sick and tired of that song. To this day, I can’t listen to more than two choruses of it without wanting to pop my eardrums. http://disneyworld.disney.go.com/parks/magic-kingdom/attractions/its-a-small-world/

And 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. By far my favorite “ride” of the day. We boarded the submarine. I loved how tiny the space was, and how we all had to pile in it like sardines and jockey for spots at the portholes. I really believed we were moving, plunging into great depths, and when the giant squid grabbed hold of our vessel and rocked it, I screamed and held on tight. I never wanted it to end. There is a GREAT, full-length video of the actual ride here: http://www.20kride.com/

Once Disney had run its course through us, we piled back into the VW and headed north on I-95. The mood in the car was light, despite the long journey we had before us. And I entertained my parents by donning all of the junk we’d bought along the way and posing for my mother’s camera.

We may have been in Georgia when we first saw the billboard advertising the “Land of Oz,” an amusement park in homage to the classic film. My eyes must have lit up. I may have said, “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” and pointed at it to make sure he saw it, too. Kids do annoying things like that, and I was no exception.

I suppose it was because the mood was light and none of us were very excited about the prospect of the long drive ahead—or maybe we just grew hungry, and my parents saw this attraction as an opportunity to feed; or maybe it was because my folks knew how special that movie was to me—but they decided to follow the signs, which led us deep into North Carolina’s rural areas in search of this illusive Land of Oz.

And when I say “deep,” I mean it. We drove for hours out of the way, through largely undeveloped areas, up and down hills, through forests of trees. My father nervously joked about the prospect of getting lost and made references to Deliverance. Our stomachs growled. On the trip down, we’d shared a box of Yankee Doodles. They were long gone.

I could tell my parents’ patience was wearing thin, and I was so excited by the prospect of extending our trip-o-fun that I panicked at the thought they might finally conclude that it was a lost cause and do a U-turn. It had not been their intention to drive hours out of their way. It had been meant as a quick stop-off. We needed to get home, after all.

I closed my eyes and concentrated on those images from the billboards and signs that led us to this place of nothingness. We were so alone; it did feel like “us against the wilds of North Carolina” on that drive. I’d read what I could about the “Land of Oz” from those billboards passing us by at 55+ miles per hour. The pictures were what drew me in most of all. I imagined it a magical place, where I could immerse myself into the Wizard of Oz screenplay, to become a character (Dorothy, of course). I daydreamed about some Hollywood type spotting me in the throngs of park visitors and tell me that I should play the role in the modern-day remake of the film. I hoped this imaginary man would not ask me to audition on the spot.

On those signs had been depictions of what the park promised: live-actor character shows, rides and a real-life hot-air balloon you could go up in!

We finally found the place. My parents were thoroughly annoyed by then, and walked a few steps behind them, my chin to my chest, contrite for having talked them into this little aside from our trip. My folks paid the admission price—probably reluctantly by then—and we walked inside. It wasn’t a big piece of property—at least it didn’t seem like it to me then, having the recent Disney experience for comparison.

We were hungry, but we searched for a spot to eat to no avail. We may have gotten some of those sippee drinks in plastic containers shaped like fruit. And so we all grew a little crankier.
We walked the path—naturally parts of it paved in yellow brick. I remember there being a lot of trees, walking through the forest, and wishing that they’d really played it up and decorated it all scary and dark like the one Dorothy had to endure in her journey. But it didn’t scare me. That was probably the first realization I had that this place wasn’t going to be what I expected.

Admittedly, my memory is spotty, at best. I don’t remember eating, or taking in one of the shows, or even any of the amusement rides. As we walked, I hoped, at the very least, to bump into a Dorothy character (or that Hollywood movie agent looking to cast the next child star) in the worst way. But there were just other tourists like us milling about, and not very many of them.

My mood completely deflated when I discovered that the park did not, in fact, have a real-life hot-air balloon, and there would be no soaring above the tree line for me. Instead, what had been depicted as such on the billboard, was actually a ski-lift-type of transport device, that moved people from one end of the park to the other, allowing them to glide along the paths, over the heads of the tourists below, and take in all the sights for the high vantage point. On that day, the little carriages in the shapes of hot-air balloons sat still. It was broken.

I feared that my parents’ moods would take a turn for the worst. I could tell they felt it had been a bust, a total waste of time, coming to this place, and delaying our arrival at home. I certainly felt that way.

But as we headed back the way we came, toward the highway, one by one each of us would say what we disliked most about the little excursion—the lack of sustenance, the broken rides, the long walk on already weary feet, and on and on we prattled and laughed. We were united in our animosity about the experience, so in the end, the little oddball trek into the wilds of North Carolina brought us just a smidgen closer together as a family that day.

Herring Under a Fur Coat

by Tatyana Meshcheryakova

I would like to continue the “Russian holiday salad swimming in mayo” streak by bringing up another Soviet fave, selyodka pod shuboj, translated literally as “herring under a fur coat.” Also called simply “dressed herring,” this recipe’s shining star is pickled herring under the layers of boiled vegetables and dressed with mayonnaise. It has to be salted pickled herring -- no sweet wine sauces please.

Here’s my mom’s recipe. Unlike some other Russian staples this dish doesn’t vary as much, so you probably won’t find a version of it calling for capers and pears (I did see a version with salmon instead of herring, but the traditional recipe calls for herring and herring only).

Selyodka Pod Shuboj

Ingredients
A tin of pickled salted herring. Mom insisted on “horoshaya,” or the “good” selyodka. So yes, high quality is the ticket. If you, like me, live where no Russian food is sold whatever the Whole Foods has to offer might do, as long as it’s salty, not sweet
1 yellow onion
2 boiled potatoes
Olive or corn oil (a tablespoon or so)
3 whole boiled beets
3 boiled carrots
1 boiled egg
Half a cup of grated cheese of your choice
Mayo (enough to coat the top of the whole dish)

Preparation

Cut the herring into small pieces (remove as many bones as possible). Spread on a large dish.

Cut the yellow onion into thin half-circles, spread on top of the herring.

Boil the potatoes in their skins (Don’t overboil; they need to stay firm), carrots, beets -- if you’re using fresh beets -- and the egg. Peel the egg, potatoes, beets and carrots. Cut the potatoes, beets and carrots into small cubes.

Put the potatoes on top of the onion and the herring.

Sprinkle olive or corn oil on top. Then put the beets on top of the potatoes, and the carrots next.

Spread a reasonable amount of mayonnaise on top (enough to cover the dish).

Grate the cheese and the egg. Put the egg on top of the mayo, and finally sprinkle the grated cheese on top. Let the dish stand unrefrigerated and “settle” for a couple of hours before serving.

Mom Tips:
1. If the herring is too salty, soak it before using for two hours in milk or black tea.
2. To keep the potatoes firm please don’t boil them for too long. You can also add a teaspoon of lemon juice in the boiling water with the potatoes.
3. Mom is OK with using canned beets.
4. You can sprinkle about half a cup of chopped green onions on top of the mayo, before you add the egg and the cheese.

Mom, Meat, and Mayo: The Beloved Soviet Salad

by Tatyana Meshcheryakova

Growing up in Kiev, Ukraine, in the 80s, I ate a lot of dairy. Milk, eggs, kefir -- other kinds of cultured milk -- were cheap and widely available. Sometimes we’d have to stand in line for butter but I remember it being at least accessible. Same story with the mayonnaise. It was usually available to the unwashed masses, but if you stumbled upon it in the store you stood in line no matter how long it took, and bought more than one jar. The main reason for hoarding the mayo, at least in my family, was that, come any holiday, we’d make no less than a barrel of salat Olivier. A gigantic bowl of this salad would then grace the holiday spread, to be cheerfully consumed throughout the hours-long dinner by all. If we were lucky, there would be enough left over for a few days.

I imagine that to a many sophisticated American palate a salad containing boiled potatoes, carrots and canned peas would appear pedestrian at best. Also, if you don’t like mayonnaise you probably stopped reading already. I do admit that I am biased, and perhaps my misty-eyed devotion to this salad is due more to my personal nostalgic notions than to its culinary merit. Still, even after being exposed to many cultures and cuisines all over the U.S. and abroad, I love, love, love salat Olivier.

In fact, I made a barrel to call my own the day after Thanksgiving using the leftover turkey (and setting aside a meatless batch for my vegetarian boyfriend). I ate it for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and late at night while watching the “Law & Order” reruns. When it was gone (too soon) I have lamented yet again the lack of the Russian-food delis where I live. For instance, in the Northeast Philadelphia, where my parents live, you can get Olivier in any Russian-speaking deli, made that very morning in the ambitiously sized batches. Here in New Orleans, if I want some, I better start chopping.

Salat Olivier’s posh beginnings date back to the 19th century. Like any story of a deserving subject, this one is full of intrigue and ideally deserves more space. Before the revolution of 1917, salat Olivier, the legend goes, contained a more refined list of ingredients. Concocted by a Frenchman named Lucien Olivier, who owned a popular restaurant called Hermitage in Moscow, the salad’s recipe was a secret but was said to have boasted crawfish tails, truffles, caviar, pheasant, veal tongue, capers, aspic, and other expensive and difficult to obtain ingredients that varied seasonally. The recipe for the salad’s Provençal-type dressing was also jealously guarded by its author.

The salad’s secret recipe was eventually stolen by a devious Russian chef who had worked for Olivier, Ivan Ivanov. Eventually Mr. Ivanov had branched out and started serving his own version at another restaurant, Moskva (Moscow), presenting the salad as Stolichnyj (“The Capital”). Later, popularized versions of the salad had surfaced all over, sometimes called Kupecheskij (“The Merchant”), or, simply, salat a la Russe (“The Russian salad”). In the all-encompassing cookbook, Kulinariya (published in 1955), that I have inherited from my grandmother, the salad still goes by Stolichnyj, and calls for bird meat.

In Soviet times, such delights as capers, pheasant and truffles became unattainable by the common citizens, and salat Olivier was down(graded) but certainly not out. Peasanted-up by potatoes, canned peas, cucumbers, carrots, mayo, whatever meat was at hand (kolbasa, or “sausage” that closely resembled bologna, was the cheapest option, I remember), the salad had enjoyed a long life of a respected holiday staple. I do not remember a single New Year’s Eve without it.

Nowadays, if you search the Web you’ll find many varied versions of salat Olivier. Some claim to be more traditional -- closer to Lucien Olivier’s original; some call for Dijon mustard, apples and other crazy stuff; yet other recipes stick to the devolved, “classic Soviet” version. In better restaurants in Russia, some adventurous chefs update the salad with such high-end ingredients as marinated gourmet mushrooms, truffle mayo, champignons, crab, and, inexplicably, pineapple. The Eastern European cookbook I have at home, penned by a bunch of non-Eastern Europeans, offers a version that calls for juniper berries, “two young grouse or partridges,” and yes, Dijon mustard. The effort, lavishly photographed on a bed of lettuce, looks, though appetizing, like nothing I grew up with.

I’ll leave you with my mom’s recipe, which does not contain onions or dill, but other than that sticks to the Sovetskij variant (the “Soviet version”) pretty closely:

Ingredients

5 potatoes

4 eggs

3 carrots

1 pickle

3 cucumbers

1 can of green peas

1 pound of boiled meat (chicken, turkey, bologna)

Mayo to taste

Pepper to taste

Salt to taste (optional)

Preparation

Boil the unpeeled potatoes, peeled carrots, and eggs. Cool.

Peel the potatoes. Finely chop potatoes, carrots, eggs, cucumbers, pickle, and meat. Mix the ingredients in a bowl.

Add the drained peas.

Dress with the amount of mayonnaise that seems reasonable to you.

Add pepper to taste.

Refrigerate for 1/2 hour before serving.

Mom Tips:
1. To prevent the salad from becoming runny gently wipe excess moisture from the ingredients (peas and cucumbers in particular) with a paper towel.
2. It’s OK to vary the number or pickles and cucumbers, just keep the pickle-to-cucumber ratio 1:3.
3. Don’t overboil the carrots and the potatoes -- they should be hard, not mushy.
4. Mom swears pepper alone would suffice (I do add salt in mine).

Related Links:
Salat Olivier is important enough to get its own Wikipedia entry:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Russian_salad

This 12/3/09 article in the online edition of the newspaper Vedomosti talks about how Russian chefs update the classic “Soviet salads” with the gourmet ingredients (in Russian):
http://friday.vedomosti.ru/article.shtml?2009/02/27/14451

On the origin of salat Olivier (in Russian):
http://www.eda-server.ru/blog/wordpress/?p=97
http://www.kuking.net/10_1012.htm

Variations on the recipe:
http://www.answers.com/topic/salat-olivier
http://bonappetit.com.ua/salat/1412-salat-olive-sovetskij-variant.html

Apple Cake

by Carolina Sanchez Shay

This is kind of a family recipe. It's very popular with friends; everyone seems to love it. My brothers ADORE it, and when I take it to the Thanksgiving party/dinner, I make two--one for the party, and the other for breakfast the next morning.

My Dad got the recipe from an ex-girlfriend. He then taught my Mom how to make it, and the rest is history.

Cake Ingredients:

1 1/2 cups all purpose flour

75 grams butter

6 tablespoons sugar

1 cup milk

1 egg

1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder

3 medium Granny Smith apples

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 lemon (will use the juice and the peel)

Topping Ingredients:

1/2 cup sugar

3 teaspoons cinnamon

Preparation

Mix all the dry ingredients (sugar, flour, baking powder).

Melt the butter,and when it cools a bit, mix with previously stirred egg & milk.

Slowly incorporate the butter/egg/milk mixture into bowl with dry ingredients. It should be a batter of smooth consistency.

Add the vanilla extract and grated peel of the lemon. Mix.

Place batter in a pre-greased (butter/flour), rectangular baking pan. It doesn't have to be too deep as the cake is not thick.

Peel apples and slice thin, so you end up with half-moon shapes. For speed, I use a mandolin.

Squeeze the juice of the lemon on the apple slices so they don't turn brown. This adds more flavor to the cake, too.

Arrange the apple slices on top of batter. Make sure you cover all the batter, but don't press down; just overlap the slices.

Coat the apples with the cinnamon/sugar mixture, and then 'strategically' place very small dollops of butter over the top.

Preheat oven to 350, and bake for 30 min. To check for doneness, I insert a knife, and if it comes out clean, then cake is done!

Giant Squid and Cobblestone: The Gustatory Glimpse at Lisboa

by Tatyana Meshcheryakova

Last October, I have found myself accompanying my boyfriend on a five-day business trip to Lisboa (Lisbon), Portugal. While traversing the cobblestoned hills of Bairro Alto, the 16th century “Upper Quarter” region of central Lisboa, we happily played tourists, which included sitting down at the many quaint outdoor restaurants to eat -- at every opportunity.

Portuguese cuisine is a magnificent blend of flavors that reflects the many cultural influences -- Moorish, Brazilian, Mediterranean -- and Portugal’s status as a sea-faring nation. The locals use a variety of spices (saffron, chili peppers, vanilla, and cinnamon), a generous amount of garlic and “good” olive oil, and eat lots of seafood. Even the obvious tourist traps served a mean grilled squid (with tentacles the size of my arm), and delicious renditions of the typical Portuguese dish of the dried salted cod, bacalhau. The sardines were also pervasive and equally flavorful. All the fish swam in a garlicky olive oil and was accompanied by roasted or boiled potatoes, onions, olives, and a few kinds of veggies on the side (the latter varied), or a small garden salad.

Everywhere we ate, before we ordered, we were served tasty sourdough bread along with a tapas-like variety of plates of the local cheeses (made with goat and sheep milk), olives, patés, and prosciutto. Their quality depended on the restaurant’s, ranging from heavenly (made from scratch and looking fresh) to skippable (a dried up hunk of mystery cheese or an individually packaged sardine paté you could get as part of the continental breakfast in a second-rate hotel). Either way, eating those is optional, and you only pay for what you eat (you’re charged per item or slice, not including the bread).

While there are numerous ways to eat cod in Portugal, from every imaginable type of stew to fresh, grilled with a variety of spices, I would definitely recommend trying the bacalhau. It goes down easy with the many local wines, which Portugal has many of, and which deserve a separate article. I’ve sampled several red Dão table wines, some white Bucelas, and the Vinho Verde (“green wine”), and have found all of them exciting. Even the one-euro variety of the table red was drinkable (even if barely so).

Then, of course, there is Vinho do Porto, or port, for which Portugal is famous for, and which we drank after dinner or as an aperitif. If you are like me and don’t know much about this fortified wine from the Douro River Valley, you might want to try the lesser known variety than its red counterpart, Porto Branco, or white port. It’s lighter in alcohol content, chockfull of complex, fruity flavors, and is delicious, chilled as an aperitif. In my ignorance, stemming from only trying the sweet red port wines I’ve found in America, I’ve pigeionholed port into a dessert wine category. After trying some tawny and white varieties I’ve realized that I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Speaking of fortified wines, Vinho de Madeira (think sherry) also comes in many varieties, ranging from dry to super sweet, and could also be enjoyed as both dessert wine and an aperitif. You could also try a popular local liqueur called Ginjinha (or Ginja). It is made from infused ginja berries (sour cherry), and is usually served in a shot glass (it was too sweet for my taste though).

Well, when in Lisboa… dine when and where the locals do, which meant starting dinner around 10 pm on most nights, and asking the locals for recommendations. One of the best ones came unsolicited from a cab driver who drove us to Bairro Alto one night, the Cervejaria Trindade on Rua Nova da Trindade. Cervejaria Trindade is a gorgeously tiled tavern with a loud, cheerful ambiance you’d expect of a beer hall, and a lovely courtyard. It’s the oldest operating cervejaria in Portugal (since 1836), built on the foundation of the 13th-century Convento dos Frades Tinos, which was destroyed by the infamously devastating earthquake in 1755. The restaurant’s specialties include steak and Amêijoas à Trindade (clams). We got there on the early side, while the place was slowly filling. By the time we were leaving, around 10pm, the line was snaking out the door.

I’ll leave you with a few observations on dining in Lisboa:

For lunch, head to the city’s central district, the Cidade Baixa (“Lower City”). Its main street, Rua Augusta, is happening during the day but is eerily deserted at night.

So, for dinner and to sample the nightlife, Bairro Alto is your best bet. It’s brimming with life starting around 9 pm, and really gets hopping between midnight and 3 am. Some joints were too young for me -- think Dutch girls meet German boys and head to Bourbon Street -- but behind virtually every door there is a bar or a restaurant, so I guarantee that you’ll find what you like.

Dinnertime is after 8 pm (10 pm is better). If you can, sit outside and people-watch over the course of a few hours and a couple of bottles of wine. Lingering is highly tolerated if not encouraged. You can always walk it off later by braving the steep cobblestoned hills!

Many restaurants don’t serve wine by glass, but you can buy a half bottle (“split”) if the 750-ml bottle is too much to handle (wasn’t a problem for me).

Many local restaurants feature live fado music, popular in Portugal. We preferred to listen from our seats outside though -- the mournfully dramatic singing accompanied by the guitar could get a bit too intense if it’s happening right by your table.

You can pick and choose what you like from the cheese, olive and meat plates you’ll get brought to your table along with bread before you order. You will be charged per item and per slice (bread is included in the price of the meal).

Although many typical Portuguese dishes seem to be swimming in olive oil, it’s high quality, so eat it! A lot of fish is grilled and is served with plenty of fresh vegetables. I haven’t encountered anything deep-fried once, which made me miss New Orleans, where I live.

Similarly, I haven’t encountered a single obese person during my short trip to Lisboa and Sintra (not counting the tourists), which, again, made me miss New Orleans.

What I have seen was plenty of late-night, extensive dining accompanied by enthusiastic drinking, similar to New Orleans. Needless to say, this was my kind of scene, and I can’t wait for an opportunity to sit down to some giant squid and a bottle of Vinho Verde somewhere in Lisboa again.

Recommended Restaurant (in Bairro Alto, Lisboa):
Cervejaria TrindadeRua Nova da Trindade, No. 20 C1200 -303 Lisboa, PortugalPhone: (351) 213 423 506http://www.cervejariatrindade.pt/

About the author: Tatyana Meshcheryakova is a Russian-born journalist and editor who had been living in Philadelphia and New Orleans for 19 years. She makes voodoo dolls and is one of the founding members of Krewe of ‘tit Rex, a Mardi Gras miniature parade. She can be reached at tatyanameshch@yahoo.com.