Hungry in Berlin

On W 110th in New York, in Harlem, there’s a restaurant called Miss Mamie’s Spoonbread Too. Peasant Glasses and I have been a few times. More than a few times. It’s a kind of pilgrimage for us whenever we go, with soul food that makes you want to stand up and sing, except your stomach is so full you can barely move. Gravy-drenched chicken, corn bread bread stuffing, sweet potato pie, home-made lemonade.

But my favorite, the thing I keep going back for, is the jerked chicken. Dripping off the bone, encrusted with a fiery mudlike sauce that hurts a little, but is so complex and rich-flavored that the chili heat unfolds into something else entirely. Some kind of bliss. Naturally I’ve always wanted to make it for myself.
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Here’s another guest Dönerspende post (keep it up, peoples!) that addresses one of HIB’s favorite comfort foods, dhal. A staple of much of India and the surrounding region, it’s a great dish because with rice, it makes a complete protein and couldn’t be cheaper to make. Lentils (of any shape or color), spices, rice. Our contributor Kean, originally from Malaysia, has sadly left the Hauptstadt with his gorgeous family after a three-year stay; yet he continues to taunt us with delicious (and even cheaper) meals enjoyed in his home country (as seen in the picture to the right.) Enjoy.

Here’s that dhal recipe I promised you, though without the authentic Malaysian spices, of course…Madras curry powder makes a suitable substitute (and it’s widely available, at about 80 cents per pack.) This is a lentil/veg curry, sorta Malaysian style, and it feeds at least four people.

Malaysian-styled Dhal

3 cups of lentils, soaked overnight in filtered water, then drained…if you mix both red and yellow together, it’s quite a nice texture later) (Ed note: Lentils are nice in that you don’t necessarily have to soak them ahead; doing so will cut down on the cooking time slightly, however.)
2 peeled, medium-sized potatoes (or sweet potato), chopped
2 peeled medium-sized carrots, sliced up
1 (red) onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, chopped
1 chunk of fresh ginger, about 1-2 cm thick, cut into strips
vegetable oil
water

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Here’s a guest post from Bowleserised, a very talented lady who knows both her food, ponies and the writerly life in Berlin, and who often is called upon by bizarre British TV talent to explain the Hauptstadt to them.  This is an ideal Dönerspende dish, as it’s got few ingredients but is also flexible — i.e., what you’ve got in your ‘fridge or pantry will probably get you by. Enjoy.

This is an adaptation of a Claudia Roden recipe for Brinjal Albaras from The Book of Jewish Food. It’s a dish from the Bene Israel community in India. It should have fresh coriander in the coconut milk mix, which might still be possible depending on the pricing, and the courgette substitution is one I’ve improvised.

I usually use a can of coconut milk so my version is more liquid than the purist’s, which involves creamed coconut milk and water. I like the more liquid version though as then you can eke the meal out with rice. Obviously you can use fewer potatoes and more aubergine or any different combination, according to preference and available ingredients.

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Can you name that sprout?  We’ll give you a few hints.  They belong to the genus Physalis, for one.  They are a key ingredient in salsa verde.  And we’ll be damned if you’ll find them on a menu in the Hauptstadt…although we’re willing to be proven wrong, as long as you direct us to said restaurant immediately.

These little green friends represent the first sproutlings from three secret locations where HIB and a few very generous friends are growing decidedly non-local vegetables for cooking fun, perhaps even for a little guerilla planting once they’re all sprouted and feeling strong.  (Don’t tell the Ordnungsamt.)  We’ll keep you posted on their progress…

But in the meantime, we’ve got some Cinco de Mayo to celebrate.  While briefly in Barcelona we came across an amazing Mexican restaurant where they served micheladas alongside some of the finest, authentic food we’ve ever had both south of the border and this side of the Atlantic.  (And yes, that was a plug. If you’re in Barcelona, find this place and eat.)

But what’s a michelada? A mixed beer concotion that might make most Reinheitsgebot-purists faint, a michelada combines hot sauce, Maggi (or soy sauce or Worchestershire sauce), some salt and lime juice with a Pilsner-style beer (or Mexican beer, if you’ve got a Tecate or other light sort available.)  Oh, and even the WSJ thinks it’s cool. 

I’d like to establish this as Berlin’s next cool hangover cure, the proper beverage to go with that 3 p.m. Sunday brunch. It might even make Berliner Pilsner potable…

So let’s see if we can get this experiment started. I wanted to share this super-simple recipe for lentil soup, in part because it’s inspired by Turkish cuisine (which in its purest form has absolutely nothing to do with döner!)  Mercimek çorbasi, like so many other Turkish dishes, is about simplicity and good ingredients. Which for our purposes, translates to yummy food for not a whole lot of cash.

The two caveats with this recipe, in light of the rules: there are spices involved that you might not already have in your spice rack, but that are easy to come by. HIB recommends getting your bulk spices at an Asiamarkt or local Turkish grocery, as they’re way cheaper and much fresher than the sort you’d find at an Extra or Rewe.

Also, a drizzle of decent olive oil on the soup is a nice touch before serving; if you don’t already have a bottle around, a dollop of yogurt will also do.

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found at: http://www.durum-kebap.at/

OK, rules is probably too strong of a word, but as I mentioned in my last post, the goal of the Dönerspende challenge is to save money *and* eat as healthily and heartily as you can.

Here’s the few guidelines for submitting and suggesting Dönerspende recipes:

1. Each recipe should be a “complete” meal. That is, protein, carbs and veg.  Protein can (and probably will be, more often than not) vegetable-based. Meat is expensive; organic, free-range meat even more so. Get a couple of veg-protein recipes under your belt and you just might realize how much meat you can go without.
2. Each recipe should feed at least two people. Because sharing is nice.
3. Each recipe, when priced out per person, shouldn’t cost more than 2.50 Euro. That’s the average price of a döner in the Hauptstadt.
4. Spices shouldn’t be included in the final price breakdown. It’s way too much a pain to calculate the per-serving price of 1/4 teaspoon of cinnamon. That said, recipes shouldn’t require bizarre or only-at-KaDeWe ingredients. Be rational.

A side goal, too, is for people to collectively come to the realization that cooking  with and for other people is actually cheaper than cooking just for yourself. It’s a recession, people, and soup kitchens are cool again. Get your ladle on with other hungry Berliners you know.

Have a suggestion? Or want to share a recipe? Toss it in the comment pile below. For our part, HIB will post weekend-ready Dönerspende recipes on Fridays, or whenever the spirit moves us from the laptop to the kitchen and back again.

Nefertiti says, Eat your veg

In case you’ve been living under a rock, capitalism’s dead. Or dead enough for the high-rollers in Manhattan who will not be able to order Kobe burgers with fois gras and truffle mayo for lunch anymore. The pity.

The global meltdown has given us here at HIB some inspiration (and yes, gotten us off our rears to finally get out of our pjs and update this blog. Sorry.) While Berlin may not be considered among the world’s gastro-capitals, it does have one thing — cheap food.  Not cheap restaurants,  but cheap goods.  Which is ideal if you’re not making a load of dough (and aren’t terribly picky.)  Which brings us to the subject of the döner.

First, a moment of silence — the inventor of the döner, Mahmut Aygun, died last month. His creation (döner is a Germanized version of a Turkish word that describes meat cooked on a spit ) quickly became a currywurst-killer, and every weekend thousands if not millions of beer-besotted kids at 3 a.m. in Berlin and around Germany shell out 2 to 3 Euros for this all-in-one meal. It’s easy, ubiquitous and while not exactly healthy, does curb a midnight craving when it strikes.

But the world isn’t about quick fixes any more, and spending money — let’s just call it Dönerspende — is hard enough to come by. So here’s our challenge to our readers, and to ourselves. We’re going to come up with buying recommendations and recipes that break the döner price barrier — or a meal for less than 2.50 Euro per person.

Difficult? Potentially. It will require some initial investment, but the long-term goals are clear.  Buy smarter, and cook more for yourself (and for others.) What you’ll gain in health and savings (and potentially new dishes and flavors) will be worth the extra effort and time.

So here starts the Dönerspende Diaries. Tomorrow, the ground rules. Zum Wohl.

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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