Hungry in Berlin

The tomato display at our local Extra is blinding.  Then again, it is always blinding, all year ’round.  Ah, globalization, the glories of greenhouse cultivation, and the resourcefulness of our northwestern neighbors, the Nederlanders.  Factoid: some 1,178 hectares of greenhouses shaked ‘n baked some 525,000 tons of tomatoes in Holland in 1999 (per the Embassy). I’m sure that number’s way higher today.  And, almost a quarter of that ruddy, bouncing bounty comes to Germany.

But, and but. I shouldn’t want tomatoes in winter. And I shouldn’t encourage the clever greenhoused northerners to find even more ingenious ways to solve hunger and stuff and in the meantime, grow a delicious tomato in December.

Delicious?  Hardly.  These things are ping-pong balls with a randy blush.  But that’s news to no one.

While I’m trying not to make a habit of it (in the interest of local fooding and all; choosing tomatoes grown in Deutschen vitro rather than further afield, when possible), I’m buying tomatoes and drying them.  Not completely beef-jerky dry — just enough (say, 50%) to concentrate whatever sugar the thin Northern sun was able to coax to the surface, while still staying a bit juicy.

Oven to 100C. Smaller tomatoes work best; cut them in half, and place cut-side up on parchment or foil on a tray. No need to salt or oil. Let ‘em slow cook for at least 3 hours, or more. Use immediately in pasta or sandwiches or keep in the ‘fridge until you do. Your ideas and recipes always appreciated below…

This summer has seen an outpouring of fresh vegetables like I’ve never seen in 14 summers here. Not only that, the “bio” versions in the outdoor markets are no more expensive — and in some cases cheaper — than the same items in the supermarket.

Making a very rare appearance this year are absolutely fresh green peas. In the past, you’ve been able to get these delightful legumes maybe one year in three or four, and by the time they got to Berlin, the pods were beginning to brown and you had to throw out 10% of the peas inside them. The ones I’ve seen this year are shiny and bursting with fat peas.

The other star of the show is a crop of green beans which are unlike any I’ve seen here previously. Also fat and shiny, they are surprising because, despite their heft, they’re not at all fibrous, and, when properly cooked, give up a wonderfully nutty flavor in addition to the green taste.

I’ve adapted two of my favorite pasta recipes for this joyous occasion, so click away and start boiling some water.

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I’ll just start off by saying: Aimee’s carnitas are good. There’s maybe nothing I miss more than a basic hot fried pork burrito in San Francisco. It’s terrible for you. But so delicious; and these channeled that loveliness surprisingly well.

But you can’t have carnitas without a little spice, and good tortillas. It is possible to buy salsa here in Berlin, but it tends to fall more into the category of what my mother used to call “taco sauce.” Red, vaguely tomato-based sauce, with a little spice, but no real flavor.

Once summer rolls around, making a raw tomato salsa might be more feasible. And if anyone finds tomatillos, well, let me know and I’ll buy you all the beer you can drink. But for now, since most of the tomatoes we get here aren’t spectacular (even mid-summer), I recommend a roasted tomato-chipotle salsa. Brings out the flavor nicely, even if there’s barely any to start with.

Here’s one good recipe, with a tip of the hat to Heidi Swanson and her 101 Cookbooks site.
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As a native Californian, I speak culinary Spanish (with an emphasis on the Mexican dialect). Four years of college in San Diego proved that a person can gladly and happily live on rice and beans (and salsa and tortillas) alone. And although my Heimstadt gave birth what has come to be known as the “San Francisco burrito” (see Dolores in Mitte for an up-market, but not totally authentic, version), nothing beats a homemade feast of carnitas, frijoles refritos, handmade tortillas and smoky, spicy salsa. Us gringos celebrate Cinco de Mayo (Mexican military victory over the French, 1862; gradually morphed into a “hooray for all things Mexican” celebration in the U.S., sponsored by Corona) with food. I’m going to focus on the proteins in this post — how to make carnitas, or boiled-then-fried pork shoulder, and refried beans. See “part dos” for a how-to on flour tortillas and chipotle salsa — with ingredients that can be found all here in Berlin. Read the rest of this entry »

For a very short time, it’s asparagus season in Germany. No matter that asparagus fields will continue to produce into the early summer: local tradition decrees that it is over on June 1. Only clueless foreign vegetable stands (ie, those run by Turks or Vietnamese, which is where I prefer to buy my vegetables anyway) will continue to offer any.

And now let me introduce some heresy: I just don’t like white asparagus, which is what you mostly find in the markets here. It’s flavorless, has no discernable vitamins, and is usually masked by some ultra-rich sauce to distract you from its blandness. Nope, I grew up with green asparagus, and that’s what you’ll find on my table.

There are some advantages to having this preference: for one thing, the elevated cost of thick white spears is outrageous, as is the fetishistic insistence on all-white (as opposed to “purple,” which has the tips in the process of turning green — horrors!). Green asparagus — when you can find it — is cheaper. Plus, the best green asparagus is thin, and, thanks to our overlords in Brussels, listed as Class III. The best, cheapest asparagus I’ve ever found in Berlin was courtesy of a couple of ladies who’d set up in the Winterfeldtplatz market to dump this “trash” at about a Euro a kilo.

You can find green asparagus for €1.50 to €2 a 500-gram bundle all over the place at the moment, coming in from Greece and Spain, so make the most of it. I like it steamed and covered with a garlicky balsamic vinaigrette, or garlic butter, but I also make a killer pasta dish out of it.

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Okay, I’ll admit it: I’m a lazy cook a lot of the time. The main reason for this is that I’m nearly always cooking just for myself, but although I don’t tolerate bad food from me any more than I tolerate it from a restaurant or another cook (although Ward’s Rule does apply: any dish made by someone else automatically tastes 20% better than it really is), I do make a lot of stuff I generally won’t make for guests.

One of my favorite solo dishes is chicken curry. It’s so totally inauthentic — but, when I’m in the mood, so totally delicious — that I generally wind up making it once a month. It’s also so simple that any idiot can do it, and thus I figured I’d share it here — especially because this week I finally figured out an equally inauthentic and equally delicious vegetable dish to pair with it. Read the rest of this entry »

Gray winter days call for baked apple crumble, a topping otherwise known as “streusel” here in Deutschland. It’s a simple concept: “streusel” means crumble. Streusel (not to be confused with “strudel,” the super-thin pastry dough) is essentially a lazy pie “dough” that never quite gets its act together, baking crisp yet crumbly over fruit or cake. To make a streusel topping, all you need is flour, butter and sugar, and perhaps a touch of spice. The American and British versions of crumble tend to be a bit more, well, crumbly than the German versions — German recipes seem to call for more sugar (and a bit of egg), which makes the crumble more of a crunchy (and keeps the topping on the cake, rather than the table or your lap). I’m really more of a fan of the messy, brown-sugary and cinnamon (think coffee cake) kind of crumble, which goes especially well with baked fruit. You don’t need to do much: peel, core and chop some apples or other fruit that bakes well. Assemble a streusel: there’s suggestions for recipes here, and here, and here. (I added some granola and chopped hazelnuts to mine, for the crunch factor.) Sprinkle the streusel on top of your fruit and bake until the fruit’s bubbly and the streusel’s browned and slightly crunchy. Not a bad way to pass yet another gray Berlin day, eh?

I’m a little late to the Christmas cookie-making party, but for heaven’s sake — it was -8 degrees this morning. What else can one do but bake to warm up the blasted apartment? But before I get ahead of myself here, first, some good news for Yankee bakers: eagle-eye HIB contrib John spied this lovely bag of brown sugar (see photo) at our Asia Markt on Kopenhagner str. It’s the first we’ve found in the hauptstadt. Not to be confused with granulated, or “natural” brown sugar, this is the soft, moist and packable brown sugar used in lots of cookie recipes and sometimes barbecue sauces — and apparently is also key in Thai cooking (news to me, but explains the packaging.) Our bag of light brown sugar is the real deal, if not a bit rustic — we found a few small, dark chunks of sugar amid the fluffy stuff inside. Didn’t seem to bother the cookies a bit.

So to celebrate the new year (and the cold weather), here’s a quick recipe for chocolate “flake” cookies that use one hard-to-find item (brown sugar) and one re-purposed German item (”raspel Schokolade,” or chocolate flakes.) Thin layers of chocolate flakes melt together to create a cookie that appears practically stuffed with chocolate. It rules.

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