Pumpkin Pie Spice

As Starbucks has proven, Americans love their pumpkin pie spice.  This has nothing to do with actual, edible pumpkin, which is utilized with far greater frequency in Asian cuisine (our loss).

No—canned pumpkin is not the same thing.

I keep a jar of pumpkin pie spice in my cupboard and sprinkle it wherever it strikes my fancy: in chai and smoothies, or as a topping for homemade applesauce or carrot purees.  This is like sriracha, people—it just makes everything better!

P.S. These spices have the added advantage of being good for you.  Like, green-vegetable good!  Sprinkle away . . .

Notes:

***The vast majority of spices imported into the U.S. are stale and have no life left in them; when you open the packaging, the actual “spice” should hit your nostrils like a high-proof alcohol.  I recommend teensy-tiny packages from Spicely Organics, as they are fresher and you are more likely to use that one tablespoon of powdered ginger before it leaches all its lifeforce.

***My “secret ingredient” is vanilla bean seeds, which add a rich, bourbon-y sweetness to the mix; this is elusive and expensive stuff, so feel free to leave it out.  If you want to purchase amazing vanilla, high-quality versions are available at Longevity Warehouse as well as Bulletproof Executive

Kelly’s Pumpkin Pie Spice

3 tablespoons ground cinnamon

1 tablespoon vanilla bean seeds

2 teaspoons ground ginger

2 teaspoons ground nutmeg

2 teaspoons ground cloves (you can substitute allspice if you prefer the taste, or use half & half)

Measure spices into a recycled glass jar and shake to mix.  Use liberally on oatmeal, toast, baked sweet potatoes, or make one of these recipes:

Pumpkin Pie in a Bowl

Pumpkin Spice “Latte”

Gingerbread Cookies & Gingerbread Marshmallows

Pumpkin Spice Dehydrator Cookies

No-Bake Pumpkin Pie

30-Second Coconut Milk

@ The Very Beginning

At a dinner party that I attended recently, a new acquaintance asked about my hobbies.  When told that I enjoyed cooking, he inquired whether I knew how to make cheesecake.

Without thinking, I breezily informed him that cheesecake is “easy.”  The look I received in return reminded me that my “easy” is the result of thousands of happy hours experimenting in the kitchen.

This year, I find myself inspired to share what I’ve learned, starting with the basics.  I’m going to post about what I eat on a daily basis, which I strive to make:

 Anti-inflammatory

Hypo-allergenic

Traditional or local

Yummy

Suited to my body’s unique needs

Coconut Milk

First up is homemade coconut milk.  I always keep a batch of this in the refrigerator, as well as frozen portions in the freezer.

While travelling back from a visit with my grandparents in Arizona, I found that a nutmilk recipe had earned a spot on the cover of Bon Appetit.  This is roughly eight years after I was introduced to the ambrosia via Raw Food, Real World—but hey—nice to know that it’s being accepted into the mainstream.

Here is my staple version—this recipe is similar to the unsweetened coconut milk sold in the refrigerated aisle for pouring over cereal.

Recipe Notes:

***Using stone ground coconut butter yields the best results for the least effort; the texture is much more pleasing, as there is less of that course, gritty inulin fiber remaining.  My favorite brands are: Sacred Foods / Dastony / Vivapura, but the Artisana and Manna brands are the most readily available

***Even if you are allergic/sensitive to soy products, you likely will not react to organic soy lecithin; if you are categorically opposed to soy, I recommend sunflower lecithin

***Why filtered water is important and your options

***My coconut milk has the texture of skim milk; if you want a fattier, richer milk, simply double or even quadruple the amount of coconut butter

***If you want to sweeten this, I recommend one tablespoon of a local sweetener, such as maple syrup; even though I love sweet things, I actually prefer to leave this milk in its natural state

“Carton” Coconut Milk

1T stone ground coconut butter

1C filtered water (boiling)

 1t soy lecithin

¼ t Himalayan pink sea salt

½ t almond, vanilla or coconut extract (optional)

 3C filtered water (room temperature)

Combine 1T of stone ground coconut butter with one cup of freshly boiled water.  Blend for several seconds in a high-speed blender or for a minute or longer in a conventional blender.

Strain using a nutmilk bag or cheesecloth.

Rinse out the blender cup and lid.

Return strained milk to blender and add lecithin, sea salt and extract (if desired).  I personally enjoy almond extract, but this will vary widely based upon preference.

Reblend for several seconds in a high-speed blender or for a minute or longer in a conventional blender.

Pour into a pitcher and add the three remaining cups of water.  Chill in the refrigerator and use anywhere you would normally utilize skim, soy or almond milk.

This milk also freezes well.  Make a huge batch and enjoy non-allergenic, additive-free milk all week.

Want something more adventurous?  Put your coconut milk to delicious use in my World Famous Matcha Latte.

Looking for alternative coconut milk recipes using coconut flakes?  See these recipes from my favorite domestic goddesses:

DIY Coconut Milk

Homemade Coconut Milk

Gotcha, Matcha.

 

What is it?

Tea leaves.  Specifically, shade-grown tea leaves, plucked while still tender, sun-dried, and ground into a fine powder—all in the Kyoto region of Japan.  It’s both an ancient part of the Japanese tea ceremony and a trendy, weight-loss drink. 

Why should I eat/drink this stuff?

I was first indoctrinated to matcha by my friend, Chef Ito-san, who serves his matcha straight and piping-hot, nestled in a dark blue earthenware mug straight from Tokyo.  There is nothing better, although, as I later learned, matcha can take many forms …

“It’s sooo gooood,” says my secretary, taking a sip of her matcha smoothie and stretching out the words in her Alabama drawl.  “It’ll make you wanna slap yer mama!”

Indeed, matcha gets consistent rave reviews among my acquaintances of all culinary persuasions–Coke drinkers and raw foodists alike.  In my experience, matcha’s mystical properties include: melting excess fat, quelling hunger pangs, and introducing some of coffee’s mood-modifying magic—minus the unpleasant side effects.

For those who like to read the bit about “scientists have found” and “studies show”—I will refer you to Dr. Weil, Dr. Oz, and the “health benefits” section @ Wikipedia and World’s Healthiest Foods.  If you’re willing to wade through the medical studies cited therein, you are a better person than me.

For everyone else, please try the simple recipes below, approved by yogis in India, and the “normal people” working in my legal office. 

Matcha—it’s mama-slappin’ good!

Let’s make matcha!

World-Famous Green Tea Latte

It’s stupidly simple, but no mind.  Everyone loves this latte.

1 C milk (I prefer almond milk, but literally any kind will do)

½ C water

½-1 t matcha

1-2T sweetener, as desired (organic sugar, agave, maple syrup, jaggery or (a little  bit of) stevia will all work—I prefer raw honey)

Cold latte: combine the ingredients and blend.  Pour over ice.  A straw makes it more fun.

Hot latte: combine the milk, water and matcha in a saucepan over medium heat.  Whisk the contents until hot and foamy.  Pour into mugs and add sweetener to taste. 

Japanese Slim Fast

When I am feeling really awful, I fast on this concoction for a day—it’s also a staple breakfast drink.

2 C almond milk (again, any kind of milk that you usually use will work)

2 C water + ice cubes

1T matcha

Dropper of liquid stevia (or 1-2T of another sweetener—as you like)

1 T chia seeds

 Blend and drink when hungry. 

Smoked Cherry Matcha Salt

This is brilliant over some toast, popcorn, eggs, or any other neutral-colored food that will showcase the vibrant jade green of the matcha.

1/4 cup coarse sea salt, such as iburi jio (try the Japanese salts here)

1 teaspoon matcha powder

Combine in a recycled glass jar and shake well.  Use as finishing salt.

Well, where can I get it?

I’m so glad you asked.  Here are links to my favorite importers; you can also purchase okayish-quality matcha from Whole Foods (DoMatcha) and several not-very-yummy brands from Teavana, Republic of Tea, and so on.  But please don’t do that.

The matcha sold in supermarkets is of inferior quality (twigs and stems are ground with the tea leaves, resulting in a muddy, brown brew) and you will end up very sorry with your purchase.  This is one area (among many) where it pays to get the good stuff.

 Matcha Source (Coupon code: SHARECHA)

 Taste of Kyoto

 In Pursuit of Tea

 Harney & Sons

As my friends know, I love to get feedback on my cooking.  If you can’t stop by for a latte, at least leave me a comment.

Frequent Flyer

Restaurant Eugene’s Nick Hearin showcases his love of liquor . . .

It’s 10 o’clock on a Friday night and Restaurant Eugene’s bar is packed.  Nick Hearin, RE’s Bar Manager, is shaking up his hundredth or so cocktail of the evening by hand, the ice clinking and chugging against the metal shaker.  A Buckhead businessman orders two gimlets and “none of that fresh lime, now!”  Nick politely tells him that RE’s bar is stocked exclusively with fresh lime and grabs a Reidel saucer with his free hand.

“Looks like you need more arms,” says a blonde.  “Yes,” Nick replies—“like Vishnu.”  The blonde blinks and leans forward, puzzled.  “Who’s that?”

 ******************************************************************************************************

 

I moved to Atlanta in August 2007, at which time a serious food and wine snob told me that RE was her favorite restaurant in Atlanta.  Based on this endorsement, I dragged my boys over to partake of RE’s Fall tasting menu.  I was living strictly vegeterian at the time, and remember such dishes as expertly molded beet tartare and vegan chocolate and peanut butter cake (an old World War II recipe that I recognized from high school kitchen exploits).  The boys—solid carnivores—were fed what looked like endless variations on pork, peanuts and fried Southern greens. 

Nothing at RE bowled me over on that first visit—with the notable exception of service.  In my book, service makes RE.  Nick, who officiated over our wine pairings that first night, embodies the perfect combination of wine geek and unobtrusive bartender.  If you want a dissertation on Valdobbiadene, he can give you an impressive one—but he won’t bother trying to indoctrinate that gimlet-slurping Buckhead businessman. 

At the end of our meal, while we were drinking Canadian ice wine, Nick informed us that his “real passion” was liquor and invited us to come to one of his “Friday Night Flights”—three cocktails paired with amuse bouche-sized “snacks” for only $25.  Due to the size of the tasting menu bill, however, I could not get my thrifty dates to return for more than two years.

When we did go back to RE in January 2010, I ordered a la carte, attempting to lower the bill.  I ended up with breathlessly perfect sweet potato soup, a heavy, hearty array of offal, kale “salad” (if salad were deep fried in peanut oil), and a number of blasé fish dishes.  “Even the fish tastes like bacon,” my date whined.  I scraped an offending piece of lardon off my loup de mer.  “Restaurant Eugene,” I echoed—“tastes like bacon!”

It was a Sunday, and Nick was nowhere to be found.  The flier that held our (slightly smaller) bill, however, noted that Nick still hosted a weekly “Friday Night Flight.” I hung the flier on our refrigerator, where it languished until April, when rising temperatures made the 3-course liquor tasting sound downright sensible. 

 *****************************************************************************************************

To make a long story short, I quickly became a Friday Night Flight groupie.  (And I don’t even like liquor!)

For starters, the Friday Night Flight is just good fun—who doesn’t love the carefree quality of happy hour?  And Nick is the perfect host–like David Chang slurping ramen, he seems truly in his element.  If you ask, Nick will happily explain the contents of the various drinks, his sources of inspiration, and share arcane bits of liquor lore.  He may even share his homemade peach brandy.

Even better, the “flight” format—now arranged as three cocktails and corresponding small plates for $15 a course—highlights what’s best about  the RE kitchen: fresh, local ingredients, innovative technique and some of the best soups and sauces in the city.  Lavender onion puree?  It works.  Cucumber soup with house-made yogurt and brioche croutons that taste like melt-in-your-mouth garlic bread?  I wish I could lick the bowl!  A tiny “PB&J” with hibiscus syrup?  Fanciful, elegant—damn near perfect.  (Not to mention that I am now addicted to their house-made epi bread and pimento cheese.) 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Based on the glowing review of RE in the June issue of The Atlantan, which characterized the tasting menus as “the only way to go”—I recently gave the full-bore, seven-course tasting another try.  But unless you incinerate calories like Michael Phelps or are a self-confessed pork-a-phile (I agree with Richard Blais on this one), I just don’t “get” it.  My date and I split the tasting and I still ended up stuffed.  Even worse to my mind, the only memorable dish was Painted Hills beef (prepared perfectly rare with sugar-snap peas).  I suppose I prefer smaller portions and more “frou-frou” flavor profiles than Chef Hopkins. 

So . . . as far as RE is concerned, save the expense and the extra five pounds, and try one of Nick’s flights followed by one or two small plates (lamb belly + lamb fritter/sugar snap peas with a “dab” of butter) chased down with one of RE’s wickedly delicious and playful desserts—caramel corn empanada with plum sorbet, anyone?  Or just order a slice of the smelliest French cheese in the pantry and have Nick pour you some Caldavos.  Cheers!

*NOTE: You can now find Nick (and his new beard) at H&F Bottle Shop.

On the Line

Line cooking done well is a beautiful thing to watch.  It’s a high-speed collaboration resembling, at its best, ballet or modern dance.  A properly organized, fully-loaded line cook, one who works clean and has “moves”—meaning economy of movement, nice technique, and most important, speed—can perform his duties with a Nijinsky-like grace. 

–Anthony Bourdain, Kitchen Confidential: Adventures in the Culinary Underbelly

Yes, that’s Richard Blais to the left, tweeting about the burger of the day at Flip Burger Boutique ATL.  Lately, however, I have been much more interested in the blur of movement to the right, Mark Nanna.

Nanna—who after a “crash and burn” dinner service at One Midtown Kitchen told Blais he would never cook a burger again—now functions as the expediter and traffic controller (title: Exec Chef) at Flip, and the result is nearer to art than places with three times the price and pretention. 

Tony Bourdain’s ode to line cooks never clicked with me until I saw Nanna at Flip.  The first time I visited, I had just finished discovering Top Chef (a period in which I watched five and some odd solid seasons in the course of maybe 3 weeks) and had just returned from a trip in NYC, where I visited The Modern, Corton, Eleven Madison Park, Daniel and Per Se.  In short, I was not in the frame of mind to appreciate any kind of fast food.

I was shocked and a little horrified, after watching and loving Blais on Season 4 of Top Chef, to see that his newest project was a burger bar.  Not only a burger bar, but a chain.  Blais made so many comments on Season 4 about his love of fine dining—and I love it, too—that I had hoped he would try to bring that kind of crazy, caramel-drenched asparagus quality to Atlanta once again.  I mean, when Eric Ripert announces on national television that your food is “borderline genius”—why would you want to make burgers?

 

When I arrived at Flip around 12:30 p.m. on a Friday afternoon, it was jam-packed.  The parking lot was a zoo, there was a constant exodus and entry of throngs of overweight Atlantans clutching take-out boxes, sucking down milkshakes and generally making the place look like any old Chik-Fil-A.  My heart sunk.  I can’t believe Blais sold out like this, I thought.

Upon entry, two things calmed me down: Nanna and a generous sprinkle of lavender on my crab burger.  The Chef’s Bar, with a large window to an open kitchen (pictured above) allows you a view of all the action: the grill and fry stations, the walk-in, and the comings and goings of trendy, high-school age servers (sort of the equivalent of those chicks on roller skates in the 50’s).  From my stool at the Chef’s Bar, I watched Nanna finish burgers and salads with fresh-grated parmesan, lemon zest and chile threads and expedite the seemingly hundreds of burgers coming off the grill station and piling up in the window. 

Though Flip plays music, Nanna moves to his own soundtrack, and the result is not exactly Nijinsky but more Pharell-Williams-choreographs-the-kitchen.  The grace, the economy of movement, and the obvious satisfaction he takes in getting the plates flawlessly garnished and out of his window is, well—beautiful to watch.  Upon my subsequent visits, I have found myself staring like some dumb-founded child, discovering television for the first time (I don’t know what this Blues Clues is—but I like it!). 

Sadly, the food at Flip has been increasingly dumbed-down for the non-foodie masses (no anchovies on the caesar salad, no smoke in the ketchup, the Crystal hot sauce MIA).  Despite this, Nanna and the occasional breakthrough—a confit duck nugget, a dose of dried lavender—that was, and is, enough to keep me coming back.