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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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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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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