A Labor Day of Rest: Indian Home Cooking

I decided to stay home for Labor Day, and since home is New York City, my plan involves taking in each of the five boroughs. I’ve hit the easy ones (Bronx, Queens, Brooklyn and Manhattan), and intend to take the much-fussed over Staten Island Ferry one afternoon. “It’s the one thing I tell all my Italian friends to do,” claims a pal from New Jersey, who now lives in Tuscany. “It’s the most NY thing I can think of.”

(After said friend made me an incredible dinner of Cacio e Pepe, followed by Chilean Seabass over Tuscan Beans and Spinach, I take his suggestions as if they were papal orders).

My journey has taken me to Arthur Avenue in the Bronx, which offers three (count 'em) streets with that sought-after Little Italy vibe, the kind you’ll no longer find on Mulberry Street. There are fresh pasta stores, laticcerias (cheese and dairy shops), and butcher shops with dried sausage hanging from the ceiling, like stalactites in some sort of vegetarian hell.

This is not to be confused with anything from the home country; this is solidly, distinctively, Italian American. I was treated to conversations by the kind of matrons you find in Scorcese movies; the ones who talk about their grandfather’s butcher shops, sisters who never left the zip code. The kind that crosses themselves as punctuation to most stories.

Queens offered a variety of ethnic experiences – I started out in Flushing, by Shea stadium, and walked down Roosevelt Avenue into Jackson Heights. I visited The Lemon Ice King of Corona, who is deserving of his citric crown; and Spicy and Tasty Szechuan that made me yearning for more heat (I was most certainly given the white man modification), and Patel Brothers grocery stores (I and II).

I’ve never seen women dress like this to go grocery shopping – these women were in bright jeweled saris, wearing more makeup and gold than I own. I recognized about half of the vegetables, and took a variety of well-priced spices and pickles like chundo (sweet), mango (sour), lime (spicy), some of which were sour enough to make a full sour kosher dill seem as mild as baby pablum.

Prior to my excursion, I’d been cooking up an Indian storm, guided by my heroes Madhur Jaffrey and Suvir Saran. When I saw the asafetida, fresh curry leaves, and dessicated unsweetened coconut, I knew just what had been missing from my pantry.
Indian food made at home, with a reliable guide, a generous spicing hand and plenty of vegetables from the farmer’s market, can be quite gratifying and delicious. Sure, I can detect cumin and cardamom in a dish, but when I start adding garam masala, fenugreek, and nigella seeds, the flavors are so unfamiliar all I can do is sit back and enjoy; the culinary analyst in me is forced to rest.

I’ve been playing with Saag Paneer, Parathas, and Smoky Spiced Eggplant, but this Ground Beef with Green Herb Sauce is the one I know I’ll be making again – try it with Cucumber Raita (recipe below), pita or basmati rice. Steam or roast some crisp vegetables like carrots, okra or string beans to go alongside and enjoy.

Ground Beef with Green Herb Sauce
Adapted from Indian Home Cooking by Suvir Saran
Serves 4 to 6.

1 (10-ounce bag) fresh spinach, stems removed and leaves rinsed
1 ½ cups cilantro sprigs
½ cup fresh mint leaves
3 tablespoons canola oil
2-inch cinammon stick
8 green cardamom pods
6 whole cloves
2 garlic cloves, minced
2 tablespoons grated ginger
1 large onion, cut into ¼-inch half moons
1 serrano or jalapeno pepper, cut into ¼-inch thick rounds
1 teaspoon salt
1 pound lean ground beef or bison
½ teaspoon black pepper
1 cup plain yogurt
½ teaspoon garam masala

1. Steam the spinach until wilted; add still-damp spinach to a hot pan and cover; spinach will wilt in 3 to 5 minutes. Place spinach in food processor; add cilantro and mint. Process until it makes a smooth paste; add water if needed.
2. Heat oil with cinnamon stick, cardamom, and cloves in a large skillet over medium high heat until spices are fragrant, about 2 minutes. Add garlic and ginger, and cook until fragrant, 1 minutes. Add onion, pepper, and salt and cook until onion begins to brown, 8 to 10 minutes.
3. Add beef and black pepper and cook, stirring, until rawness is gone, about 5 minutes. Add yogurt slowly, stirring as you go, so as not to curdle the yogurt. Simmer 2 minutes. Add green paste, bring to a simmer and simmer 5 minutes. Stir in the garam masala, cook for 1 minute, taste and adjust seasonings.

Cucumber Raita
By Allison Fishman
Makes 1 generous cup

1 cup whole milk yogurt
½ large cucumber, scrubbed
juice from ½ lime
salt and pepper

1. Place the yogurt in a fine strainer, lined with a just-damp paper towel. Let sit for 30 minutes, until excess liquid has drained (Or use ½ cup of a pre-drained greek-style yogurt).
2. Grate cucumber using the coarsest grater. Use your hands to squeeze out excess moisture, and place shredded cucumber in a strainer. Add ½ teaspoon salt to the cucumber; toss, and continue to squeeze/strain until most of the moisture is gone.
3. Combine yogurt and cucumber, add lime juice and season well with pepper. Serve as a condiment.

Strong Drinks and Sweet Old Ladies: Whiskey Sour

My father makes few things in the kitchen. Ribs, cocktail sauce, tuna fish salad, and peanut butter and jelly on ritz crackers are among the classics. They receive much more fanfare than my mom preparing a three course meal from scratch every night.

The fanfare is primarily instigated by my father, who is a much better self-promoter than my mom. In addition to his 6 or 7 dishes, he can be counted on for one very important contribution most evenings: the cocktail. An well-timed libation before mealtime can be among the more valuable contributions.

As bartender, he’s part Henry Ford, part Soup Nazi: During the summer, guests can have any cocktail they'd like as long as it’s a Tanqueray & Tonic. And when he's decided you've had enough (because he doesn't feel like getting out of his chair), well there's no more drink for you.

In my pre-drinking days, I can remember my father mixing Whiskey Sours on a regular basis. These were particularly thrilling events because sours, made the way my dad makes 'em, require a blender. My Dad was a city boy, and had no skills with man tools. He couldn't figure out lawnmowers or leaf blowers, and had no interest in learning. The most sophisticated tools he could handle were manly kitchen tools: the blender and turkey carver.

When it came time for Whiskey Sours, out came the safety goggles, and children were not allowed in the kitchen. So my feet stayed in the den, and I'd lean as far into the kitchen as gravity would allow to get a look at the big event. I watched, but never saw. Until recently, I had no idea what went into the drink.

Whiskey Sours had a different aesthetic than my dad’s other cocktails, primarily highballs. This one had a ½-inch head on top that never receded. The cocktails were served over ice which in a rocks glass -- the thick blanket of foam made the ice cubes give off a blunt thump instead of a click when they knocked together. It was unlike the other highballs.

As a kid, I was not allowed to have a Whiskey Sour. So I would stare at the glasses, begging like a mutt, until someone caved and let me sip, holding the glass at a stingy angle as I’d dive nose-first into the glass, trying to suck up as much Sour as I could. Inevitably, I’d get some of that head on my nose, and spend the next ten minutes trying to lick it off with my tongue.

Recently, Kidalicious and I were making dinner, and he asked me to make him an old-fashioned cocktail. I remembered the Whiskey Sour, and called my mom for the recipe (she never made the drink, but she’d know how). The recipe belonged to Ruth Magee, a pal of my Grandmother’s, who had passed on years ago. I remembered her well because she had a son who wrote children’s books, which I thought was a very cool thing for an adult to do.

Those upstate New York little old ladies play it prim, but they know their cocktails. Especially ones with gin and whiskey. Mrs. Magee’s recipe had only three ingredients. With all the fuss surrounding the preparation of these drinks, you’d think my dad had to sacrifice the fattest calf before he could make them.

But no. You just leave it to the practicality of the upstate New York woman to come up with a cocktail recipe that’s delicious, memorable and easy. And let the man get the credit for the fuss.

RUTH MAGEE’S WHISKEY SOUR
1 can of frozen lemonade concentrate
1 can of whiskey (same can, conveniently!)
1 egg
Ice

Combine ingredients in a blender. Blend. Make a fuss. Serve over ice, breaking a faux sweat.

NOTE: As I’ve aged, I’ve become less of a sweet fanatic, and more of an alcoholic (just kidding, ma). Try it with 1 ¼ cans of whiskey, and stir in club soda before serving. That will take the sweet edge off. Garnish with a lemon wheel (which will also help ease the sweet) in a rocks glass.