Tuesday, January 20, 2009

A Spoonful of Sugar


I have some seriously picky eaters at home, even though I know that each of you is saying ‘Lady, you haven’t met picky until you meet my Tommy’. You are probably right. I don’t have the monopoly on picky, yet all the same, I need to live with my own set of challenges. My eldest won’t eat anything that has sauce or cooked vegetables on it. My second won’t eat anything without sauce on it, and cooked vegetables are a must at every meal. My third will eat anything as long as it is white and its only ingredients are milk or cheese, no vegetables or sauce (unless it’s cheese sauce) allowed. And my baby, at this point, will eat anything as long as he can feed himself, the table, the floor and the walls in the process…it’s all so frustrating.

It is hardly surprising that as I walked through the supermarket yesterday, there was all the amazing Israeli winter produce on display. I developed a serious frown. The colors were amazing, the different opportunities for fast homemade vegetable dishes were numerous and the fruit looked like jewels beckoning to be touched. Yet, all I could think of was: Number One won’t eat this and Number Three won’t eat that. And then my eyes honed in on the strawberries. G-d, I love strawberries, and so does ‘the papa’ as do Numbers One and Two. Three won’t eat them as they are not white, and Four may be sensitive to them. But hell, four out of six ain’t bad.

In the hopes of convincing the people to eat more fruit, I have tried plain strawberries, I have served strawberries with cream, Eaton mess, strawberries with balsamic vinegar… and finally, yesterday, I hit on strawberries-sprinkled-ever-so-lightly-with-homemade-vanilla-sugar, and I got them! Score one to mommy…and I’m just 1,072 points away from my challenger. Until Number Three said well if they were in a cupcake, perhaps she would try them, because, as she pointed out, pink is really just red with loads of white added in.

Logically I know that adding sugar butter, flour and egg to the strawberries isn’t the solution to Number Three’s aversion to anything that isn’t white. Desperate times, and all that…



So, yesterday, we had a strawberry cup cake baking party. The kids loved the pink cake, and they loved making strawberry icing and – score two – I actually had them waiting in anticipation for the icing to harden. Once they had tasted them, I had them asking for seconds, and could they take them to school the next day (score three and four). The crowd in the background was cheering for the underdog: ‘Well Done Mommy!’

It just goes to show a spoon full of sugar helps the fruit go down. Mary Poppins and my kids have nothing on me!

Thursday, January 8, 2009

Tavlin


Route 38 is considered Israel’s premier Wine Route with over 35 wineries veining off of this one 30-kilometre central road, with a number of different cities, towns, moshavim and kibbutzim all with access to the road. Last Thursday, though, I wasn’t on the look out for wine or towns. I was searching for spice.

If you are a student of history you will know that wars have been waged, countries destroyed, territories discovered and lives lost, all in the pursuit of spice. On Thursday, I wanted to reign supreme. Not over the world (though, for most of my childhood, I dreamt of world domination); today it was the dull chicken recipes that needed to be conquered.

“Tavlin”, the Hebrew word for spice, just off Route 38, is a mecca of colors and smells. If you are not careful, your senses may overload. My suggestion is to grab a basket and take it slow. The store is packed with over 640 different varieties of spices, spice blends, condiments, dried herbs and tea infusions. Amongst the products fighting for your attention you will find dried beans, dried fruit, nuts, homemade halva, home made jams, a huge selection of medicinal herbs and so much more. Don’t be put off by the sheer quantity; the store is wonderfully organized, and the shop management is helpful.

Tavlin’s owner, Erez Kuril, took me on a tour of his beloved spice haven. Tavlin, on the edge of the Eshtaol Forest, was built on land designated for agriculture and tourism. When investors approached Erez, he knew he wanted the spot, in all its breathtaking splendor, with pine trees and forested mountains set in a sky of the clearest of blues. Beauty aside, he had no idea what to do with it, until one day the word spice came to his head.


I think that uttering the word “spice” on Route 38 is fortuitous. Roads leading up to the Mateh Yehuda region from the Negev desert are part of the ancient Spice Route that made its way north west from India and China. The Nabataean people who lived in the south of Israel and Jordan were a trading people. Ruins of their towns can be seen in such places as Avdat and Hulza. The traders would send the spice either west to the port of Gaza, or north through Mateh Yehuda on to the ports of Jaffa and Tyre. A spice store on an ancient Spice Route seems appropriate. Like in ancient times, the spices are bringing people together. Though Erez is enamored with spice – in particular turmeric (“kurkum” in Hebrew) – it’s the people that get him really excited.

Tavlin has become a tourist hot spot. It’s a must-see-and-shop spot for Israeli culinary tours. On weekdays, busses will pull up to Tavlin’s barn-style store. Half is the shop while the other half is a dairy restaurant. Tourists step in and gasp. As soon as they have stopped “ohhing and ahhing” over the sheer quantity, quality and selection of spices, they are ushered upstairs to the lecture gallery, where they are told about the benefits of different spices and herbal infusions for twenty minutes, while ladies fold and unfold wish-lists of spices to buy. A few months ago, I watched as a lady nearly catapulted herself from the steps into the shop after one of these talks. She ran straight for the large stainless steel bowl filled with za’atar (hyssop). I had to know what her hurry was. She explained that all forty of the ladies had za’atar on their list. Tavlin’s za’atar is reputed to be the best in the country, and they each wanted a kilo. I stepped back and watched the ladies fight it out (who said the life of a housewife was boring?). One of the shop assistants later explained that their spice is always super fresh and with the za’atar ladies on hand, that may have been an understatement.


The roads of our country, though paved and well signposted, have witnessed many comings and going. Route 38 has laid testimony to the epic struggle between David and Goliath, as well as the ancient city of Beit Shemesh and, for nearly five centuries, it was one of the avenues of the Spice Route. Today it plays host to vineyards and growing communities and a wonderful spice store. I wonder what the road has planned for the future. All I can hope for are happy travels and happier discoveries.

The store is situated off of Route 38. If coming from Highway 1, the store is on your left. Turn left at the exit for Eshtaol. Once on the road, make a quick left after about 50 meters onto a dirt road and drive until you reach Tavlin. If coming from Beit Shemesh, make a right just after the Sonol station, and the first left onto the dirt road. Tavlin, the store, is open weekdays from breakfast time until the end of dinner; times are connected with the restaurant next door. The shop is certified kosher, by the Rabbinate of the Galil, where most of its spices come from. The restaurant is dairy but is not certified kosher.

Pan-cooked Chicken with Persian Lemons and Burgul Wheat


Persian lemon is also known as dehydrated lemon. They are black, Ping-Pong ball sized and weigh about the same. Though one of the most unappealing foods to look at, once cooked, they impart a sweet citrus flavor with none of the acidity of fresh lemons, but a lot of vibrancy. To crush the Persian Lemon, place the lemon on a cutting board, and bang down with the heel of your hand. Your lemon has probably shattered. Use all the pieces in the recipe.

1 ½ cups (300 grams) burgul wheat
3 cups boiling water

3 medium red onions, finely diced
4 sticks celery, chopped
2 cups fresh Spinach, chopped
3 Persian lemons, crushed
1½ teaspoon turmeric
Salt and pepper

One chicken cut into eight, skin on.
A lot olive oil

Place dry burgul in bowl and cover with boiling water. Cover bowl and set aside.

Preparing the vegetables:
Pace the onions, celery, and spinach each in a separate bowl.

Wash and dry the chicken. Rub pepper, salt and turmeric into the chicken. In the pot with a lid, pour in a generous amount of olive oil. Sear the chicken, starting skin-side down, about five minutes on each side, until the skin is golden. Remove to a plate. If using a soup pot, do this in batches. Do not overcrowd as it will cause the whole pot to steam up and the chicken won’t brown.

Add the onions to the hot oil. Fry for about five minutes until very soft. Scrape whatever bits of chicken stick to the bottom of the pan into the onions. Now add the celery and cook for a further five minutes. Add the burgul and any leftover water. Add the spinach and Persian lemon, season well with pepper and salt, and stir.

Return the chicken pieces to the pot. Add one and a half cups of water, lower the heat to medium and cook for twenty minutes. Remove the breast meat, cover the pot and cook the rest of the chicken for a further five minutes, until all the juices run clear.

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

Cauliflower


Well wonders never cease. Sure, Israel is at war and school has been cancelled in the south, and the entire country is glued to the TV or radio, and yet life goes on.

Yesterday, on a quick trip to the supermarket, I came across these beautiful, colourful cauliflower. Who knew that in Israel, in an out-of-the-way little city, you could get such things. I picked them up in the hopes that they would be regulars at the market but, trusting my well-honed Israeli shopper instinct, I knew that this may very well be a "one-off". Into the cart they went, and as soon as I got them home, I photographed them, steamed them, and then fried the life out of them.

My mother's fried cauliflower salad is my all-time favourite salad, but it hardly ever gets made. For one thing, there is the frying to contend with. Once fried, seldom is their enough left over to make salad. Allow me to explain.



Fried cauliflower salad has a number of cooking phases. The cauliflower first needs to be cooked or steamed. Then it needs to be dipped: first in flour seasoned with salt and pepper, and then in egg. Finally, it is shallow-fried on three or four sides depending on the shape of the floret.

Now comes the salad part. Once all the cauliflower is fried, my mom then lets it drain on paper towels. People walk in and out of the kitchen all day, taking the occasional floret as they pass by. My husband sneaks one, and then a second, just as unabashedly, and just munches away until someone physically needs to unlock his jaw from the plate. This is where the salad part comes in. If, after say five hours, there is any cauliflower left, my mom will put the squeezed juice of a lemon, some chopped parsley a little salt over the leftover fried cauliflower, and place in the fridge until ready to serve. The combo is amazing, and my disappointment today in having no cauliflower left over was palatable, and yet not as bad as if they had all been white cauliflower.

The different coloured cauliflower had a variety of tastes, and the steaming plus frying got rid of the bitter edge, letting you taste what was going on. The green tasted a lot like white cauliflower, yet even after its treatment in my kitchen retained some bitterness. The yellow was sweet, with a hint of carrot, and the purple, had a taste of artichoke. All in all, great eating.

I think Israel may be OK if, in a small town, in a small country, that is basically at war, we can talk and eat coloured cauliflower.