Soba Salad Rolls

What’s a girl to do? It was almost noon. I had spent the morning accomplishing general correspondence, taking a walk, and reading a book entitled, "The Renaissance Soul," by Margaret Lobenstine. Now, I was hungry - cosmically hungry for nourishment, enlightenment, and satisfaction.

I opened the refrigerator to discover that no dark, leafy greens graced its shelves. Creative food requires greens, sprouts, shoots, leaves, and herbs. Associated with springtime, these vegetables energetically assist the body in reaching towards the sky. All I found was some lettuce, scallions, and mint leaves.

Then I thought of eating some root vegetables for stability. Associated with wintertime, these dense edibles are full of the grounding force that keeps my creativity in check. A bunch of carrots peeked out underneath the lettuce.

But a salad? I needed something that would engage my senses and keep me satiated for the next several hours without the slightest tummy gurgle. Hum….

The idea flowed out of me in stages: soba noodles, because they were fast and full of buckwheat (a grain we Americans often neglect); salad rolls, since I found a lost cucumber in the vegetable bin; adding a bit of pickled red cabbage on top for color and digestive properties. Aha! Lunch…

The nice thing about this dish is that the proportions and ingredients are approximate. Have cilantro instead of mint in the house? Great! Want to use garlic in the sauce instead of ginger? Fine. What about adding more cayenne or a bit of chili sauce? Be my guest.

Although this may seem like a restaurant-style dish with too many ingredients and steps, I urge you to reconsider. How hard is it to mix nut-butter with soy sauce and a few other seasonings while the soba noodle water is coming to a boil? Is tearing off a few mint leaves that complicated? This is the perfect dish for two (or one with leftovers tomorrow). All I can say is that I’m no longer hungry…at least not for food. :)

Soba Salad Rolls

For the soba noodles:

6 ounces soba noodles, cooked according to product instruction, rinsed and drained
1 small cucumber, grated (about 1 cup)
1 carrot, grated
1/4 cup mint leaves
8 soft lettuce leaves, or as much as you want!
2 teaspoons pickled red cabbage, fermented and raw (optional)

For the nut-butter sauce: (All quantities are approximate. Taste and adjust as desired)

1/3 cup chunky or smooth peanut or almond butter
1/2 scallion, minced
1/8 teaspoon minced fresh ginger
+ or – 1 tablespoon soy sauce and brown rice vinegar
1 teaspoon honey, mirin, or agave
a dash of cayenne, or to taste

Stir all ingredients in a large bowl, loosening the mixture with a few teaspoons of pasta-cooking liquid, if needed to create a sauce.

To serve:

Mix the noodles, cucumber, and carrot into the sauce. Present the lettuce, mint, and cabbage on a separate plate. To eat, mound a heap of noodles onto a lettuce leaf, top with mint and a dab of cabbage (if desired) and enjoy!

Le Fallafel

I love falafel. But I am pickier than almost everyone I know when it comes to those fried chickpea balls stuffed into pita breads, and rightfully so. Who wants a dried out pita or overly greasy chewy balls of beans? I don’t.

So, after ten years of waiting, yearning, and fantasizing, I traveled back to my ultimate falafel hang out, L'as Du Fallafel, in Paris. I know, I know – a far commute for a little sandwich, but I tell you, it’s worth every ounce of jet lag.

Here’s the way it works. On Rue de Rosier, the Jewish hangout in the 4^th quarter, the street is lined with falafel joints, cafes, Judaica shops, and bakeries. In the middle of the road, two Israelis (speaking impeccable French) vie for customers. “The best falafel in town,” one shouts. I feel bad for the guy I dismiss, but there is only one falafel for me. As I pay my 5 euros, I eagerly wait in line as the man behind the counter slits the top part of the pita, slathers a thin layer of hummus, shoves in some slightly vinaigrette-laced red and green cabbage, a few diced tomatoes, fried eggplant chunks, falafel balls, and then a repeat of the same action. Oozing down the filling is a layer of tehina sauce poured on top, followed by either red or green hot sauce. My sister taught me the trick of saying, “un falafel special, s’il vous plais, avec picante.” The lovely Israelis didn’t even try to speak English to me – an encouraging welcome from traveling in Israel where I couldn’t coerce anyone to speak Hebrew to me.

When they hand me the falafel, it isn’t wrapped in foil paper or served in a napkin. These Las Du Falafel people actually have their own “bag” holder, a triangular pouch to stick the falafel in so nothing drips onto your lap. And then, time comes for that first magical bite.

The falafel balls are warm and crisp, light and airy. The vegetables provide a crunch and tang, while the tehina enriches the entire experience curled up in that soft pita.

If I only had the recipe, I would open up my own falafel shop and tour around the United States just to show America what falafel can be.

Maybe some day…..

Meanwhile, I can rack up some frequent flier miles and dream.

Eat well, be well, and enjoy!

Cherina

Basil - the green, the purple, the exotic

Herbal musings...

Last month, I dried fresh basil on the counter top. I'd like to say it was purposeful, but actually I forgot about the vibrant green bunch before leaving on a trip to Europe. When I returned home, the leaves were dry and I now keep them whole in a glass jar, crushing the the leaves with my fingers to release the essential oils before adding them to tomato sauces and sautes. Putting my nose up against the home-dried basil and bulk basil, there is no competition. The bulk basil is vaguely fragrant while my version smells like the heat of summer. I can almost taste the dribbling juices of tomato...

One thing to keep in mind when drying your own herbs is to place them in a single layer in the shade so that they do not mold. In humid weather, it can be best to dry herbs on very low heat in the oven, but if you live in a drier climate, try this simple method. When I have used the bulk of my fresh basil for pestos etc., I scatter the remaining branches onto a glass plate covered with an unbleached paper towel and let them sit for a few days until dry. Store dry basil and use in autumn and winter.

Don't be afraid to try some exotic varieties - purple basil, sweet cinnamon basil, lemon basil, and Thai basil. For a tiny twist on Genovese basil (those glorious, tender leaves for pesto), try fino verde basil. The small leaves scatter beautifully across a bowl of pasta or atop roasted yellow beans.

A few ideas for your fresh basil: shred purple basil leaves on a hummus and tomato sandwich for intense color power or drop a few Thai basil leaves at the end of cooking into stir-fry for an herbal zing. Save the stems. Added to lemon zest, peppercorns, garlic, and water, this is the ideal liquid for steaming or boiling artichokes. The basil gently coaxes out the sweetness of the chokes and makes them irresistible.

Can you believe summer is almost over? I'm still in denial.

Eat well, be well, and enjoy!

Cherina