Spring

lambshankEven though spring is officially here, I'm still craving comfort foods, like stews and braised meats. Since cold weather isn't a prerequisite for braising, this past weekend I braised short ribs. After a low, slow braise, the meat turns buttery, soft and absolutely tender enough to cut into with a fork. With Passover and Easter just around the corner, a braised meal is just right for a holiday dinner with family. Instead of the more typical brisket for Passover, why not bring braised short ribs to the Seder table?

Every year around this time, I love to enjoy Passover foods even if I'm not Jewish. (I am still waiting for someone to invite me over for Passover.) I love matzo ball soup and can't get enough of chocolate-covered jelly rings, which I add to my homemade sorbet. But I'm in love with short ribs. It's definitely still popular—I saw it on the menu at Orson restaurant when I was in San Francisco last month. A meal of short ribs is literally a stick-to-your ribs kind of food. So, no, I wouldn't eat it every day, but on special occasion, why not?

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asparagusslices2Sometimes it’s all about the cut. Take asparagus. Everyone loves the long, lanky, sexy look of a whole asparagus spear. (Sorry—sounds like I’m describing a brand of Gap jeans). Why would you want to wreck that by cutting it up?

Oh, yeah, there’s that awkward moment when you’re trying to cut those long spears with a fork on your dinner plate.

And the even more awkward moment when you push the woody bottom half of the spears over to the side of your plate because they’re undercooked.

Now consider this—with a few extra seconds of work upfront, you can have a beautiful, evenly cooked, easy-to-eat asparagus side dish that can take on a variety of flavors, too.

So I’m going to ignore my mother (who claims I tend to get a bit fussy about my vegetable cuts), and suggest that you try slicing your asparagus on the diagonal (sharply…at a sharp angle…on the bias…however you want to say it) for a change.

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vegetables_h500.jpgSustainable. Local. Organic. They've become culinary buzz words. They've caused confusion. What does it all mean? Russ Parsons says there is not even a definition for sustainability. He also cautions that organic is not necessarily synonymous with small farming. He suggests visiting a conventional farm to see what they're doing.

Basically, all the buzz boils down to just eating good food. Good food is the stuff you'll find around the outside perimeter of your supermarket -- fresh fruits and vegetables, whole grain breads, fish, meat, milk, butter. It's the great food we find at the farmers' market, grown on small farms by people who care about protecting the earth and protecting the health of humans who will eat the food they grow.

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beet.jpgCilantro haters have been vindicated.

The New York Times recently ran a story: Cilantro Haters, It's Not Your Fault, in which Harold McGee, respected food scientist and author, explained why cilantro really does taste like soap to many people.

According to experts from flavor chemists to neuroscientists, some people "may be genetically predisposed to dislike cilantro." Turns out that cilantro's aroma is created by fragments of fat molecules called aldehydes. Flavor chemists have shown that "the same or similar aldehydes are also found in soaps and lotions...."

So cilantro-haters are not crazy after all. But what about beet-haters? Why do so many people say beets taste like dirt or metal? Is it chemistry? Canned beets? Craziness?

Mention beets and people react extremely. Lovers wax that beets are as sweet as sugar. Haters wane that they're dull as dirt. Literally. This could be because they failed to properly clean their beets and ate dirt, which studies have shown tastes like dirt.

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pastagreens2.jpgA few weeks ago at the farmers' market I asked for a bunch of beets. The farmer grabbed a beautiful bunch: five crimson colored globes topped with remarkably long, red stalks and large, crisp leafy greens. I could practically taste them.

Then right in front of my eyes, before I could utter a word, he beheaded my beautiful beets and flung the greens into a dirty cardboard box with other sad, misfit vegetables.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"What? You didn't want them did you?" he asked, incredulous.

Didn't want them?
! The beet greens are the best part.

It made me miss Carlos, the farmer from whom I bought beets all last year when we lived in LA. One Sunday when Carlos saw me coming, he ran from the table into the back of his van. He motioned me to follow him. When I reached the back of the van, he uncovered a big box full of fresh bunches of beet greens and flashed me a smile. "For me?" I asked. "For you, Miss."

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