A good comparison today. Two recipes, both alike in dignity, in fair DC, where first we set our scene. The wasabi shrimp I tried to make worked much like any regular recipe, trying to use wasabi as a traditional spice. As a result... nothing. No heat, only the tiniest echoes of wasabi flavor. The mashed potatoes, on the other hand, did what I suggested yesterday - tried sneaking the wasabi in around the side door. As a result, they keep a lot more of the wasabi flavor.
Word to the wizard, though - mix those potatoes well. (I have, depending on how you look at it, either a good or a terrible eye for bowl sizes. That is, given a known quantity of ingredients, I am good at knowing exactly what bowl will fit all the things that need to go in. What I don't have, however, is the forethought to take the next bigger bowl, if I'm going to be mixing ingredients rather than just storing them. Combine that with being too lazy to transfer everything and clean an extra bowl once I've realized that the process of mixing will spill half of my ingredients on the floor... and I often wind up mixing things in a less than vigorous manner.)
That being said - if you don't mix them well, do not give the heaviest wasabi bit to your spice-phobic wife.
Wasabi Shrimp Ke-Babs
24 shelled and deveined shrimp (I almost always use 31-40 count shrimp, but honestly, that's purely because of pricing pressure. At my local supermarket, they're often on sale and therefore half the price of the larger shrimp. I would probably choose to use larger shrimp, if this wasn't what I had at home.)
1/8 cup peanut oil
1 tablespoon rice vinegar
2 tablespoons soy sauce
1 tablespoon sake
1 tablespoon wasabi paste
2 cloves minced garlic
Mix up all the non-shrimp ingredients, whisking thoroughly. Remove half the sauce to a zip-lock bag. Marinate the shrimp in the bag for fifteen minutes, making sure to squeeze all the air out so the marinade is in full contact with the shrimp. Remove the shrimp, skewer them, and either broil or grill them for 3-4 minutes a side. Serve with the other half of the sauce for dipping.
I'm learning, right? Anyone who's been reading this blog for any length of time has heard me sing the same song a dozen times. This is a bad recipe. I should have, upon reading it, realized that it wasn't going to work as promised. I probably could have corrected the flaws, come up with something different that actually did what it promised. But, I didn't; I went ahead with this recipe, and got something which...
Well, to be perfectly honest, something which was really, really good. Broiled shrimp marinated in soy sauce, with some garlic for extra punch and peanut oil to give it a nice tan? I would totally make that again. It was delicious. But, if I was appearing in the Wasabi Battle episode of Iron Chef, the vapid Japanese soap actress would remark approvingly that she couldn't taste the wasabi at all in this dish. Then Chairman Kaga would totally katana her.
I do have one thing to fess up to - when I made these shrimp, Victoria and I were out of sake, so I didn't include it in the recipe. There is a chance - a remote chance, but a chance nonetheless - that the sake, in some way, has some heat-fixing effect on the wasabi. I somehow doubt it, though.
If I had it to do all over again, I would probably marinate the shrimp in soy sauce, with some garlic, ginger, rice vinegar, and a splash of peanut oil. I would grill them, then make up a wasabi mayonnaise sauce (I'll talk about that tomorrow) and either drizzle it over the shrimp or give a small bowl to each person for dipping.
Wasabi Mashed Potatoes
Yum. These came out great. I usually do a slightly more complex mashed potato recipe - a blend of red and russet potatoes, a la Good Eats s01e02 - This Spud's For You. (Admittedly, an early episode and one I've watched several times - but I don't know if I should be worried that I can cite Good Eats off the top of my head.) However, I didn't think that would work here - I didn't want the extra texture that the red potatoes would add, I just wanted a smooth and consistent dish. For whatever reason, I didn't feel like chunks and spice would go well together, and I stand by that. (In similar news - never make a screwdriver with pulpy orange juice. Recipe for instant vomit, that.)
I'm going to be relying heavily on that good eats episode here - so if anything I'm writing is unclear or incomplete, just go to the source.
3 lbs russet potatoes, peeled and cut into chunks
Put these into a big pot, and fill it with water until it just barely covers the potatoes. Add salt until you can taste it in the water - Alton says "until it tastes like seawater" but I don't think that really helps me. Put the heat on, bring it to a boil, and then simmer until the taters are soft - about twenty minutes. You should be able to pick out a potato with tongs and crush it easily.
Prepare some wasabi paste - two tablespoons powder, one water, and leave it to sit. (If that's not enough water to reconstitute all of the paste, keep adding more, slowly - literally a drop or two at a time - until you've got a nice solid ball of wasabi.) Should leave you about fifteen minutes for the wasabi to wake up, which is exactly the right length of time.
Once those are on their way, get some whole milk or heavy cream - about a cup - on medium-low heat in a saucepan. Toss some butter and some minced fresh garlic in, and carefully - carefully! - bring the heat up. You want to soften the garlic, but a heavy boil will ruin everything really quickly, so just keep your eye on it. When the potatoes look like they're ready, take this off the heat.
Drain the potatoes, and either transfer them into a mixing bowl or put them back in the pot, depending on where you prefer to mash. Add the wasabi to the milk/cream mixture, and whisk it until it's mostly dissolved. Now, pour some of the liquid into the potatoes and start mashing; the liquid lubricates the process, and at the same time gets absorbed by the potatoes. You can definitely ruin potatoes by over-mashing them, so go easy; you're unlikely to ruin them with too much of the milk mixture, so don't worry about going heavy on that. Early on in the process, give it a taste, and add a pinch or two of kosher salt if needed. Once it's mashed, it's ready to serve.
I would go easy on the garnishes here; sour cream or butter would hardly go awry, but I wouldn't add cheese, and I'd be wary about bacon, scallions, or anything like that. Now, I know, it seems insane that I'm encouraging people not to add cheese or bacon to something; it's just my gut feeling that it wouldn't really work out that well. Actually, maybe scallions would be good. Who knows.
So, again, the lesson for today is this: don't try to treat it as a regular ingredient. It hates that, and will give you nothing in return. Treat the wasabi as something special, give it the royal treatment. Make it feel special, and it'll reward you; make it spend too much time with the hoi palloi, and it'll leave before you get a chance to taste it.
Finally, in ironic news - coming of age in the era of Dan Quayle has left me totally unable to spell the plural of the word "potato". If it wasn't for the magic typing box telling me when I'm right and when I'm wrong, I'd be making myself look like a fool accidentally, rather than on purpose.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
Cooking with Wasabi is hard.
Irritating and difficult, to say the least.
After a few days working with it - well, I definitely have to agree with what I wrote the other day. It is fragile, fragile stuff. A little bit of heat, or a little bit more of time and air, and you've got something which has barely any flavor at all - and no heat to speak of. It needs to reconstitute in water to really gain its heat and flavor back, but wasabi paste doesn't really mix well into things. As a result, despite how strong a snootful of wasabi seems, it's rarely something which will headline dishes.
What makes wasabi both exciting and educational, then, is that someone interested in cooking with it needs to find a way to sneak it into dishes. The most successful things that I've cooked over the last week have used wasabi as part of a sauce, dip, or other additive.
I've done a lot of experimentation; some of it has been really good, some of it has been really bad. Most of it has been fairly short. As a result, there will probably be a higher-than-average percentage of two-recipe posts this week - however, there will probably be a higher-than-average percentage of fairly short recipes, as well.
I thought today would be short, and had planned to write about popcorn, then about shrimp. Then I got to writing, and realized that I'm bad at "short". Or maybe I was trapped in a maze of twisty little passages, all alike.
WASABI POPCORN
Okay, this is kind of a lie - the topic is really "wasabi butter" - but here's how it went down. Wasabi butter is brutally easy to make. This is what I did:
You are standing in an open road east of a white house, with a glass front door. There is a small mail slot in the door.
>WEST
You are in the KITCHEN.
>OPEN PANTRY
You open your pantry door, exposing your pasta, canned goods, and various teas and spices to the world.
>TAKE WASABI
You have taken the wasabi powder.
>TAKE BUTTER
Do YOU store butter in the pantry? No, you don't. The butter is in the fridge. You'll have to go over there.
>GO TO FRIDGE
What, were you raised in a barn? The pantry door is still open!
>CLOSE PANTRY
Regretfully saying goodbye to your precious apple sauce stockpile, you close the pantry door.
>OPEN FRIDGE
You walk over to the Frig-o-matic 5000 and open the door. A blast of icy air fills the room. Wow, anything you take out of this baby is going to be solid as a rock!
>TAKE BUTTER
You have taken the butter.
>INV
You have:
1 teaspoon of wasabi powder
1 half-stick of butter
>SOFTEN BUTTER
You leave the butter on the kitchen table for a half hour. It slowly warms up from the chill of the fridge, releasing an aroma of delicious buttery goodness. When it is sufficiently soft to cook with, you put it back in your pack.
>TAKE FORK
Do YOU store your forks in the fridge? No, you don - aah, what's the point. You have taken the fork.
>MAKE WASABI BUTTER
I don't understand what you mean.
>USE FORK
What do you want to use the fork on?
>USE FORK ON BUTTER
Using the fork, you mush the butter up. Now you have mushy butter. Happy?
>USE FORK ON BUTTER AND WASABI
Using the fork, you mush the butter up. Now you have mushy butter. Happy?
>USE FORK ON WASABI
I don't know how you can use a fork on that.
>I HATE YOU
I don't understand what you mean.
>YOU SUCK
Maybe you should try rephrasing that.
>PUT WASABI IN BUTTER
You dump the wasabi powder into the soft butter.
>USE FORK ON BUTTER
Using the fork, you mush the wasabi into the butter until the two are thoroughly combined.
>INV
You have:
Wasabi Butter
>USE POPCORN MAKER
You plug in your trusty Pop-O-Matic 9000, but as you do you hear the sound of a fuse blowing. All your lights go out.
It is pitch black. You are likely to be eaten by a grue.
>OPEN FUSE BOX
The fuse box isn't in the kitchen.
>EAST
Oh no! A lurking grue slithered into the room and devoured you!
*** YOU HAVE DIED ***
See what I mean? Easy-peasy. Make sure you've got a lantern, or at least a book of matches and a candle, when you turn on the popcorn maker and you should be fine.
I made the wasabi butter during dinner, just on a lark, with no idea what I was going to do with it. At about one in the morning, I decided I needed a snack - and with that special one-in-the-morning logic, I decided that snack should be popcorn with wasabi butter on it. The part of my brain which might have flagged that idea as "crazy" was long asleep at that point - so I got the popper running, gave the butter twenty seconds in the microwave, and got some salt.
It was delicious. I was totally floored at how much I enjoyed it, considering that I thought that it would be a random stupid experiment. There wasn't a ton of piquancy in the butter, but there was just enough to keep it interesting, and the flavor the wasabi added was totally unexpected - in a great way - on popcorn.
I'm not sure why the butter only had the faintest hint of heat. It could have been any of three things. First, wasabi powder itself isn't spicy if you taste it - it needs to be mixed with water to really develop its full heat. I had assumed that mixing with butter would be just as good. I read several recipes that used wasabi butter - none were clear that they were mixing wasabi paste in with the butter, so I assumed "wasabi" meant "wasabi powder." So it seemed reasonable that whatever chemical brought the piquancy to wasabi was fat-soluble. If not, I thought that once the butter melted, the wasabi powder would dissolve in it the same as it would water. (I know that oil is not the same as water - but I'm pretty sure there's a ton of water in butter.) Therefore, if both of these assumptions were wrong, the heat would never really get drawn out of the powder.
Second, of course, is the fact that I subjected it to heat - to wit, twenty seconds in the microwave. I think tomorrow I'll do a fairly simple experiment - take a small mount of wasabi powder, and see how the taste degrades over repeated five and ten second microwaving sessions.
Third - and perhaps most obviously - I might just not have been using very much wasabi by volume. Wasabi paste is wasabi powder mixed somewhere between 1:1 and 2:1 with water, depending on various factors. One teapoon of wasabi to four tablespoons of butter is a 1:12 ratio; the butter simply might have drowned the heat.
Honestly, though? Whatever the reason was, I think I was a lot better off with low-spice wasabi butter. Hyper-piquant popcorn wouldn't have been nearly as fun as what I got, which was popcorn dripping with a greenish-yellow butter that had hints of piquancy, like little firecrackers going off in your mouth as you ate them. This isn't just something I would do again, this is something I would serve to guests at a movie night, or something else that called for popcorn. This is something that actually makes me want to make more popcorn, simply so I can try again. Another one of those random experiments that hits gold.
Sheesh - I had hoped to get to the shrimp today. Oh well - guess I'll have to leave that off for tomorrow. This is going to be a fun week.
After a few days working with it - well, I definitely have to agree with what I wrote the other day. It is fragile, fragile stuff. A little bit of heat, or a little bit more of time and air, and you've got something which has barely any flavor at all - and no heat to speak of. It needs to reconstitute in water to really gain its heat and flavor back, but wasabi paste doesn't really mix well into things. As a result, despite how strong a snootful of wasabi seems, it's rarely something which will headline dishes.
What makes wasabi both exciting and educational, then, is that someone interested in cooking with it needs to find a way to sneak it into dishes. The most successful things that I've cooked over the last week have used wasabi as part of a sauce, dip, or other additive.
I've done a lot of experimentation; some of it has been really good, some of it has been really bad. Most of it has been fairly short. As a result, there will probably be a higher-than-average percentage of two-recipe posts this week - however, there will probably be a higher-than-average percentage of fairly short recipes, as well.
I thought today would be short, and had planned to write about popcorn, then about shrimp. Then I got to writing, and realized that I'm bad at "short". Or maybe I was trapped in a maze of twisty little passages, all alike.
WASABI POPCORN
Okay, this is kind of a lie - the topic is really "wasabi butter" - but here's how it went down. Wasabi butter is brutally easy to make. This is what I did:
You are standing in an open road east of a white house, with a glass front door. There is a small mail slot in the door.
>WEST
You are in the KITCHEN.
>OPEN PANTRY
You open your pantry door, exposing your pasta, canned goods, and various teas and spices to the world.
>TAKE WASABI
You have taken the wasabi powder.
>TAKE BUTTER
Do YOU store butter in the pantry? No, you don't. The butter is in the fridge. You'll have to go over there.
>GO TO FRIDGE
What, were you raised in a barn? The pantry door is still open!
>CLOSE PANTRY
Regretfully saying goodbye to your precious apple sauce stockpile, you close the pantry door.
>OPEN FRIDGE
You walk over to the Frig-o-matic 5000 and open the door. A blast of icy air fills the room. Wow, anything you take out of this baby is going to be solid as a rock!
>TAKE BUTTER
You have taken the butter.
>INV
You have:
1 teaspoon of wasabi powder
1 half-stick of butter
>SOFTEN BUTTER
You leave the butter on the kitchen table for a half hour. It slowly warms up from the chill of the fridge, releasing an aroma of delicious buttery goodness. When it is sufficiently soft to cook with, you put it back in your pack.
>TAKE FORK
Do YOU store your forks in the fridge? No, you don - aah, what's the point. You have taken the fork.
>MAKE WASABI BUTTER
I don't understand what you mean.
>USE FORK
What do you want to use the fork on?
>USE FORK ON BUTTER
Using the fork, you mush the butter up. Now you have mushy butter. Happy?
>USE FORK ON BUTTER AND WASABI
Using the fork, you mush the butter up. Now you have mushy butter. Happy?
>USE FORK ON WASABI
I don't know how you can use a fork on that.
>I HATE YOU
I don't understand what you mean.
>YOU SUCK
Maybe you should try rephrasing that.
>PUT WASABI IN BUTTER
You dump the wasabi powder into the soft butter.
>USE FORK ON BUTTER
Using the fork, you mush the wasabi into the butter until the two are thoroughly combined.
>INV
You have:
Wasabi Butter
>USE POPCORN MAKER
You plug in your trusty Pop-O-Matic 9000, but as you do you hear the sound of a fuse blowing. All your lights go out.
It is pitch black. You are likely to be eaten by a grue.
>OPEN FUSE BOX
The fuse box isn't in the kitchen.
>EAST
Oh no! A lurking grue slithered into the room and devoured you!
*** YOU HAVE DIED ***
See what I mean? Easy-peasy. Make sure you've got a lantern, or at least a book of matches and a candle, when you turn on the popcorn maker and you should be fine.
I made the wasabi butter during dinner, just on a lark, with no idea what I was going to do with it. At about one in the morning, I decided I needed a snack - and with that special one-in-the-morning logic, I decided that snack should be popcorn with wasabi butter on it. The part of my brain which might have flagged that idea as "crazy" was long asleep at that point - so I got the popper running, gave the butter twenty seconds in the microwave, and got some salt.
It was delicious. I was totally floored at how much I enjoyed it, considering that I thought that it would be a random stupid experiment. There wasn't a ton of piquancy in the butter, but there was just enough to keep it interesting, and the flavor the wasabi added was totally unexpected - in a great way - on popcorn.
I'm not sure why the butter only had the faintest hint of heat. It could have been any of three things. First, wasabi powder itself isn't spicy if you taste it - it needs to be mixed with water to really develop its full heat. I had assumed that mixing with butter would be just as good. I read several recipes that used wasabi butter - none were clear that they were mixing wasabi paste in with the butter, so I assumed "wasabi" meant "wasabi powder." So it seemed reasonable that whatever chemical brought the piquancy to wasabi was fat-soluble. If not, I thought that once the butter melted, the wasabi powder would dissolve in it the same as it would water. (I know that oil is not the same as water - but I'm pretty sure there's a ton of water in butter.) Therefore, if both of these assumptions were wrong, the heat would never really get drawn out of the powder.
Second, of course, is the fact that I subjected it to heat - to wit, twenty seconds in the microwave. I think tomorrow I'll do a fairly simple experiment - take a small mount of wasabi powder, and see how the taste degrades over repeated five and ten second microwaving sessions.
Third - and perhaps most obviously - I might just not have been using very much wasabi by volume. Wasabi paste is wasabi powder mixed somewhere between 1:1 and 2:1 with water, depending on various factors. One teapoon of wasabi to four tablespoons of butter is a 1:12 ratio; the butter simply might have drowned the heat.
Honestly, though? Whatever the reason was, I think I was a lot better off with low-spice wasabi butter. Hyper-piquant popcorn wouldn't have been nearly as fun as what I got, which was popcorn dripping with a greenish-yellow butter that had hints of piquancy, like little firecrackers going off in your mouth as you ate them. This isn't just something I would do again, this is something I would serve to guests at a movie night, or something else that called for popcorn. This is something that actually makes me want to make more popcorn, simply so I can try again. Another one of those random experiments that hits gold.
Sheesh - I had hoped to get to the shrimp today. Oh well - guess I'll have to leave that off for tomorrow. This is going to be a fun week.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Week Wasabi
Wasabi. That little mound of green stuff that comes along with your sushi is a surprisingly complex spice. I've always thought of it as the spice equivalent of flash paper; it's intense, but it burns out quickly. Usually, even if my eyes are watering (I learned the word for "something that makes your eyes water" when looking up wasabi - "lachrymatory") when I exhale, I exhale all of the heat along with the air. Which I like, because it means that you can risk putting a bunch on, knowing that the pain will be fairly transitory if you misjudge.
I generally like piquant food, but I find that even people who don't like food particularly hot enjoy wasabi. Well, enjoy things that are like wasabi - it's entirely possible that it's a spice that you've never actually tasted. Real wasabi is very expensive - the pure, ground root costs ten to twenty dollars an ounce or more, and that ounce generally doesn't take you very far. Wasabi powders start out, at the lowest end, not including any wasabi at all; seiyo-wasabi is made from horseradish and mustard powder and dyed green. One spice house (whose honesty I appreciate) describes their natural wasabi as "A blend of horseradish, mustard, tapioca starch and wasabi."
I'm not sure, to be perfectly honest, how large the difference is. The first time I used the "natural wasabi" instead of the non-wasabi powder we used to use, I could definitely taste the difference. Hotter and... brighter, more flavorful. Tonight, however, Victoria made sushi for us for dinner, and I have no idea which one she used. Well, that's not quite true either - the non-wasabi powder has been moved, so I'm fairly certain she used that. Three possible explanations - either I was fooling myself that I could taste a difference, or the difference is so slight that I have to be looking for it to notice. Third, and the one I think is most likely, is that the old wasabi powder is the one that I'm most used to; we've been using that type of powder for years, and have only used the new one once or twice, so nothing was different from what I expected.
So what is wasabi? It's a rhizome - an underground leaf-bearing stem, similar to ginger or turmeric. Even though horseradish is most often used to fake wasabi, they're not related; wasabi is a type of cabbage. The rich green color most of us associate with wasabi is marketing mumbo-jumbo, a reminder that chlorophyll or other dyes are being used to color it. The two main variants of wasabi are pale green and nearly white, with the lighter color being the hotter one. Outside of japan, few people will ever see an actual wasabi root. Wasabi only grows in Japan, and its flavor is extremely fragile. Wasabi gets powdered and dried to protect the flavor, then gets shipped out. (Traditionalist sushi cooks grate fresh wasabi using a sharkskin grater. This doesn't add to the flavor, but I'm sure adds significantly to the awesomeness of both the sushi and the chef.)
Fragile flavor? Sure, most of us think of wasabi as a total bruiser. It's hard to think of something that can kick your ass so easily as fragile. But wasabi has a glass jaw. Think about it - and think about our definition of spice. Volatile essential oils. Think about that flash paper effect; wasabi is strong, yes, but it's also extremely volatile. Try it for yourself; mix some up (or swipe some from the restaurant next time you go out for sushi.) By the next morning, most of the fire will have faded; by the evening, it'll be hard to taste anything at all.
This makes my life at least a little difficult, but at the same time, a little more educational. I was planning, tomorrow or the day after, buying some tuna steaks; I've occasionally grilled tuna with wasabi and soy sauce on it. I always assumed that I wasn't putting on enough wasabi, because it never came out particularly spicy. Actually, heat will kill wasabi fairly quickly. It needs to be mixed into something and kept cool in order to keep its flavor.
Ironically, respecting its fragility needs to happen on both sides - you can't just mix up some powder and water and expect it to taste good. You need to give it at least fifteen minutes to come to its full potency, after which it immediately starts going downhill from exposure to air. This is part of the reason why sushi rolls (yes, I am aware that my sushi terminology is off. Don't be pedantic.) are made with a schmear of wasabi paste inside of them - once it is rolled up, it is somewhat protected from the deleterious effects of contact with air. The lump of paste that is plated along with it has no such protection.
I will admit - I was, at one time, one of those macho idiots who piled tons of wasabi onto my sushi in order to prove I can take it. I have since learned that if you leave sushi alone, it has a subtle and complex taste that you can actual enjoy, if your eyes aren't watering through it. These days, actually, I've become an annoying purist about almost everything; I don't put a sauce on my steak, I don't take sugar in my tea, and I don't put soy sauce or wasabi on my sushi. The exception to all three cases is if I'm consuming something low-quality; Lipton tea gets sugar, but I actually want to taste the genmaicha that we bought. Steak needs to be shoe leather before I'll sauce it. And at most quality sushi restaurants, anything but the most basic rolls comes with a sauce of its own; something that the chef deliberately put on it. Why would I want to overwhelm that with a generic sauce? (Sorry, sweetie - I love making sushi with you, but the stuff we make definitely counts as low-quality, which is a testament to how bloody good sushi is.)
I'm a little excited, going into this week. I'm going to have to treat wasabi differently than I've treated anything else, because it can't just be added into a dish then cooked. I'm sure I'll talk about sushi again, but I don't know if I want to do a long post on how to make sushi; I think that's something that it would be easier to learn elsewhere. There's a great Good Eats episode on the topic. My challenge is going to be to find places where I can use wasabi as a sauce, and at the same time not overwhelm my wife - who has a low tolerance for piquancy - with its heat. I'm due for a spice shopping trip, so I'll probably splurge on an ounce of pure wasabi, and do a taste test. Aside from that - I have no idea. I'll be doing a lot of research tomorrow.
By the way - I hope at least some of you did your homework and bought some fresh oregano, and hopefully some other spices as well. Don't make me come over there.
I generally like piquant food, but I find that even people who don't like food particularly hot enjoy wasabi. Well, enjoy things that are like wasabi - it's entirely possible that it's a spice that you've never actually tasted. Real wasabi is very expensive - the pure, ground root costs ten to twenty dollars an ounce or more, and that ounce generally doesn't take you very far. Wasabi powders start out, at the lowest end, not including any wasabi at all; seiyo-wasabi is made from horseradish and mustard powder and dyed green. One spice house (whose honesty I appreciate) describes their natural wasabi as "A blend of horseradish, mustard, tapioca starch and wasabi."
I'm not sure, to be perfectly honest, how large the difference is. The first time I used the "natural wasabi" instead of the non-wasabi powder we used to use, I could definitely taste the difference. Hotter and... brighter, more flavorful. Tonight, however, Victoria made sushi for us for dinner, and I have no idea which one she used. Well, that's not quite true either - the non-wasabi powder has been moved, so I'm fairly certain she used that. Three possible explanations - either I was fooling myself that I could taste a difference, or the difference is so slight that I have to be looking for it to notice. Third, and the one I think is most likely, is that the old wasabi powder is the one that I'm most used to; we've been using that type of powder for years, and have only used the new one once or twice, so nothing was different from what I expected.
So what is wasabi? It's a rhizome - an underground leaf-bearing stem, similar to ginger or turmeric. Even though horseradish is most often used to fake wasabi, they're not related; wasabi is a type of cabbage. The rich green color most of us associate with wasabi is marketing mumbo-jumbo, a reminder that chlorophyll or other dyes are being used to color it. The two main variants of wasabi are pale green and nearly white, with the lighter color being the hotter one. Outside of japan, few people will ever see an actual wasabi root. Wasabi only grows in Japan, and its flavor is extremely fragile. Wasabi gets powdered and dried to protect the flavor, then gets shipped out. (Traditionalist sushi cooks grate fresh wasabi using a sharkskin grater. This doesn't add to the flavor, but I'm sure adds significantly to the awesomeness of both the sushi and the chef.)
Fragile flavor? Sure, most of us think of wasabi as a total bruiser. It's hard to think of something that can kick your ass so easily as fragile. But wasabi has a glass jaw. Think about it - and think about our definition of spice. Volatile essential oils. Think about that flash paper effect; wasabi is strong, yes, but it's also extremely volatile. Try it for yourself; mix some up (or swipe some from the restaurant next time you go out for sushi.) By the next morning, most of the fire will have faded; by the evening, it'll be hard to taste anything at all.
This makes my life at least a little difficult, but at the same time, a little more educational. I was planning, tomorrow or the day after, buying some tuna steaks; I've occasionally grilled tuna with wasabi and soy sauce on it. I always assumed that I wasn't putting on enough wasabi, because it never came out particularly spicy. Actually, heat will kill wasabi fairly quickly. It needs to be mixed into something and kept cool in order to keep its flavor.
Ironically, respecting its fragility needs to happen on both sides - you can't just mix up some powder and water and expect it to taste good. You need to give it at least fifteen minutes to come to its full potency, after which it immediately starts going downhill from exposure to air. This is part of the reason why sushi rolls (yes, I am aware that my sushi terminology is off. Don't be pedantic.) are made with a schmear of wasabi paste inside of them - once it is rolled up, it is somewhat protected from the deleterious effects of contact with air. The lump of paste that is plated along with it has no such protection.
I will admit - I was, at one time, one of those macho idiots who piled tons of wasabi onto my sushi in order to prove I can take it. I have since learned that if you leave sushi alone, it has a subtle and complex taste that you can actual enjoy, if your eyes aren't watering through it. These days, actually, I've become an annoying purist about almost everything; I don't put a sauce on my steak, I don't take sugar in my tea, and I don't put soy sauce or wasabi on my sushi. The exception to all three cases is if I'm consuming something low-quality; Lipton tea gets sugar, but I actually want to taste the genmaicha that we bought. Steak needs to be shoe leather before I'll sauce it. And at most quality sushi restaurants, anything but the most basic rolls comes with a sauce of its own; something that the chef deliberately put on it. Why would I want to overwhelm that with a generic sauce? (Sorry, sweetie - I love making sushi with you, but the stuff we make definitely counts as low-quality, which is a testament to how bloody good sushi is.)
I'm a little excited, going into this week. I'm going to have to treat wasabi differently than I've treated anything else, because it can't just be added into a dish then cooked. I'm sure I'll talk about sushi again, but I don't know if I want to do a long post on how to make sushi; I think that's something that it would be easier to learn elsewhere. There's a great Good Eats episode on the topic. My challenge is going to be to find places where I can use wasabi as a sauce, and at the same time not overwhelm my wife - who has a low tolerance for piquancy - with its heat. I'm due for a spice shopping trip, so I'll probably splurge on an ounce of pure wasabi, and do a taste test. Aside from that - I have no idea. I'll be doing a lot of research tomorrow.
By the way - I hope at least some of you did your homework and bought some fresh oregano, and hopefully some other spices as well. Don't make me come over there.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Sleepless Oregano Cheesy Bread
I’ve been losing a lot of sleep over this blog lately.
I mean that literally; I don’t mean that I’ve been worrying about the blog. I mean that I’ve been up in the evenings writing, and that for one reason or another I've been getting distracted, haven't been able to either write or get to sleep, and have been up until the wee hours. I've seen sunrise twice this week. That's not good times when I've got a baby to watch. (Who just turned one, by the way.)
I think part of it is the fact that I'm just not super-jazzed by oregano. I've definitely got some delicious oregano in the house, and I'm discovering that it is not the boring, flavorless spice that I've always thought it to be. But in the end, oregano is oregano; I've used it before. I could make a red sauce, or a pasta dish, or something, but that honestly sounds kinda boring - and honestly, several of the people who I know read this blog are better Italian cooks than I am.
The other problem is that Victoria's parents are down from Toronto for Benji's birthday, and we've been going out a lot. Like I said yesterday, I'm really into the idea of making lamb, but they're vegetarians - yet another thing that throws a wrench in the works. Maybe when my folks come down on Saturday, I'll make some lamb... or maybe I'll just say "I said what I felt I needed to about oregano, which was less about dishes - because most people know where and when to use oregano - and more about the common problems people face with, i.e. the sucking."
In any case, I made some cheesy bread as an appetizer/side dish tonight. (I say cheesy bread because... well, you'll know why I don't feel right calling it garlic bread in a second.) It was really good. It's also not a particularly long or involved recipe - hence the whole discussion about the fact that I don't feel like oregano is really getting its due.
Sleepless Oregano Cheesy Bread
Take a loaf of crusty bread and cut it open. Butter both sides. Sprinkle liberally with oregano, then minced garlic, then shredded mozzarella (or any other cheese that will get melty.) Bake at 300 degrees for fifteen to twenty minutes, or until the cheese is starting to brown. Let cool for 5 minutes, cut, and serve with tomato sauce for a-dippin'.
When I say sprinkle liberally - the bread was about 1/2 covered with oregano, and I used a big soup spoon scoop of garlic on each side.
See what I mean? That's not much of a recipe. Oh well. I need sleep more than I need a long wordcount. (I don't think that it helps that I look at the counter in MS Word which reports how many words your document is as my score for the post. Hey, if it's good enough for Dickens...)
(Oh, wait. I hate Dickens.)
Anyway - I used the Mexican oregano, which was probably not the obvious choice. The thing is, I wasn't likely to make anything Mexican in the next few days, and I haven't cooked with the Mexican oregano at all yet! It was delicious - deeper than the Mediterranean oregano, with that hint of piqancy. It definitely made the dish more interesting than it would have been otherwise. An old girlfriend always used to talk about "the wrong touch at the right time", and that's the feeling I got here - the Mexican oregano was absolutely not the flavor you were expecting, but not nearly different enough for it to taste wrong. It just jolts you out of your expectations for a moment or two, which is a lot to get from a simple choice of spices.
I'm not sure where to go from here, to be honest - I've still got a dish or two (a Greek potato dish forwarded to me by Mike, and the lamb I keep talking about) that I want to cook, but at the same time, I feel like it's time to move on. Oh well, we'll see. For now... sleep.
PS - I never realized how much of a racist I was.
I mean that literally; I don’t mean that I’ve been worrying about the blog. I mean that I’ve been up in the evenings writing, and that for one reason or another I've been getting distracted, haven't been able to either write or get to sleep, and have been up until the wee hours. I've seen sunrise twice this week. That's not good times when I've got a baby to watch. (Who just turned one, by the way.)
I think part of it is the fact that I'm just not super-jazzed by oregano. I've definitely got some delicious oregano in the house, and I'm discovering that it is not the boring, flavorless spice that I've always thought it to be. But in the end, oregano is oregano; I've used it before. I could make a red sauce, or a pasta dish, or something, but that honestly sounds kinda boring - and honestly, several of the people who I know read this blog are better Italian cooks than I am.
The other problem is that Victoria's parents are down from Toronto for Benji's birthday, and we've been going out a lot. Like I said yesterday, I'm really into the idea of making lamb, but they're vegetarians - yet another thing that throws a wrench in the works. Maybe when my folks come down on Saturday, I'll make some lamb... or maybe I'll just say "I said what I felt I needed to about oregano, which was less about dishes - because most people know where and when to use oregano - and more about the common problems people face with, i.e. the sucking."
In any case, I made some cheesy bread as an appetizer/side dish tonight. (I say cheesy bread because... well, you'll know why I don't feel right calling it garlic bread in a second.) It was really good. It's also not a particularly long or involved recipe - hence the whole discussion about the fact that I don't feel like oregano is really getting its due.
Sleepless Oregano Cheesy Bread
Take a loaf of crusty bread and cut it open. Butter both sides. Sprinkle liberally with oregano, then minced garlic, then shredded mozzarella (or any other cheese that will get melty.) Bake at 300 degrees for fifteen to twenty minutes, or until the cheese is starting to brown. Let cool for 5 minutes, cut, and serve with tomato sauce for a-dippin'.
When I say sprinkle liberally - the bread was about 1/2 covered with oregano, and I used a big soup spoon scoop of garlic on each side.
See what I mean? That's not much of a recipe. Oh well. I need sleep more than I need a long wordcount. (I don't think that it helps that I look at the counter in MS Word which reports how many words your document is as my score for the post. Hey, if it's good enough for Dickens...)
(Oh, wait. I hate Dickens.)
Anyway - I used the Mexican oregano, which was probably not the obvious choice. The thing is, I wasn't likely to make anything Mexican in the next few days, and I haven't cooked with the Mexican oregano at all yet! It was delicious - deeper than the Mediterranean oregano, with that hint of piqancy. It definitely made the dish more interesting than it would have been otherwise. An old girlfriend always used to talk about "the wrong touch at the right time", and that's the feeling I got here - the Mexican oregano was absolutely not the flavor you were expecting, but not nearly different enough for it to taste wrong. It just jolts you out of your expectations for a moment or two, which is a lot to get from a simple choice of spices.
I'm not sure where to go from here, to be honest - I've still got a dish or two (a Greek potato dish forwarded to me by Mike, and the lamb I keep talking about) that I want to cook, but at the same time, I feel like it's time to move on. Oh well, we'll see. For now... sleep.
PS - I never realized how much of a racist I was.
Breaded Salmon with Quite a Lot of Oregano
One sign, to me at least, that I’m getting to be a better cook is that I have gotten to be much better at identifying what each part of a recipe is doing. Not that it’s usually rocket science; usually it’s just “the bun is keeping my hands from getting greasy, and the burger’s is being delicious.”
Actually… I wrote that as a joke, but it’s not a terrible example. Victoria turned me into an absolute avocado fiend; we probably go through 5 avocados a week, on average. I went through a phase where I was literally putting them in everything – and believe me, I know what the word “literally” means. I got to the point where I was making burgers, saw an avocado... and, well, you know the rest. Today I rarely make burgers WITHOUT avocado in them. Don’t worry if you’re dubious; everyone is at first. And then they say “Oh my god, this is amazing!” or something similar. Silly people. Of course it is.
The spark was random – but my brain has developed fairly sensitive filters to differentiate between me being an idiot, and me merely thinking stupid thoughts that nonetheless are likely to be fun. In this case, it was the latter. And when I thought through it, it made sense. After all, avocados are deliciously fatty, but don’t taste greasy; if you mix in some avocado, you can use leaner beef than you would otherwise, and still get phenomenally great tasting burgers.
The point I’m trying to make is that middle step. I’m the first to say that there is a great deal of joy to an “idea – experiment” process. At the same time, being able to run the experiment in my head first has a ton of value as well. Being able to think, “yes, this will probably work, because avocados have such-and-such properties” is a useful skill.
I guess what I mean isn’t that I CAN figure out what’s going on in a recipe – it’s that I DO. The process is becoming more automatic. Just like anything else – you look at something that you know well, and rather than seeing the top-level elements, your brain starts translating, interpreting, recognizing patterns.
Example – show a chessboard, with a game in progress, for five seconds to a chess master and to someone who doesn’t play chess. Ask them to recreate the scenario. The non-player will make the kinds of mistakes you’d expect – pieces shifted more or less randomly. The master will have a better memory – but more interestingly, when he makes an error it is more likely to be a bigger error, in absolute terms, but a smaller error when it comes to the tactical situation of the game. For example, he may transpose an entire attack that was happening on the right side of the board to the left side of the board; a mistake that may involve many more pieces being out of place than for the non-player, but in the end recreates a situation more or less the same as the one he saw. On the other hand, take the board and put the pieces down randomly – put them into a pattern that doesn’t make any sense from a strategic perspective – and all of a sudden the chess master is in the same boat everyone else is.
Filters. Pattern recognition and filters; what separates man from beast.
So when I sat down to make a tasty looking salmon with oregano dish that I found, there were alarm bells going off in my head. I wasn’t quite sure what – but there was something wrong with the recipe.
Can you figure it out?
Herb Baked Salmon [1]
Ingredients:
vegetable oil spray
3/4 pound salmon fillet
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
1/4 cup parsley, fresh, chopped
1 teaspoon oregano, dried
1/2 teaspoon thyme, dried
1/2 cup plain bread crumbs
salt and pepper to taste
1 egg white
Preparation:
Preheat oven to 350°. Line a baking tray with foil and spray with vegetable oil spray, Wash salmon, pat dry, and spread mustard over the top. Mix parsley, oregano, thyme and bread crumbs together. Season with salt and pepper. Blend in egg white to bind mixture together. Spread over mustard. Bake in oven for 20 to 25 minutes, depending on thickness of fillets. Remove from oven and serve on individual plates with rice.
Serves 2.
See it?
The recipe is using two different methods to adhere the topping to the fish. It doesn’t make any sense. Use an egg wash or use a layer of mustard – either one works – but using both at the same time is just crazy-talk.
Now, I’ve got to come clean with you. I’m pretty sure that the whole reason that I built this all up is to make fun of myself. You know why? Because the next thing I did wasn’t to trust myself, ignore the egg and cook the fish. It was, in fact, to say to myself “Well, I don’t think that makes sense… so I must be missing something.”
Sigh.
Needless to say, putting an egg white in with the topping mixture simply turned the parts that touched the egg into a solid mass – impossible to do anything with other than throw out. Luckily, that also meant that it didn’t mix in with the other stuff at all, so it wasn’t actually a problem, aside from making me feel really stupid.
Oh, and since this is week oregano, I made a fairly significant alteration to the recipe. You see where it says one teaspoon oregano, one quarter cup parsley? I swapped those. (Actually, I doubled the whole recipe, but still only used a quarter-cup oregano… so I guess I swapped them, then halved the amount of oregano.
Yeah… remember that system I talked about above, that’s supposed to filter things like this for me? It was actually functioning PERFECTLY here. It said “A quarter cup of oregano is absolutely insane. You’re going to ruin dinner. This will NOT be fun. Abort.” To which I said, of course, “Science!” and plowed on. (Hey, the system exists. Whether or not I choose to listen to its recommendations is up to me.)
But you know what? It came out amazing. Victoria was just as dubious as I was about the massive quantity of oregano, but we were both sold once we started eating. The one thing I would do differently would be to cook it on something metal, rather than in a Pyrex dish. I really think this would have done well finished off in the broiler, so the coating got nice and extra-crispy before it got served. Alas, I have exploded one too many pieces of Pyrex bakeware to ever do it again.
I don’t do breaded stuff that often, and this was a nice change. Baking it with mustard rather than frying it with oil (much as I dearly love frying things with oil) made it slightly less crispy, but a lot less heavy than it would have been. The mustard and the oregano really played off of each other nicely, and – oh! Forgot this. I added a teaspoon of dill, as well.
Yum.
You know what I don’t eat enough of? Lamb. See you tomorrow!
PS – Confidential to MB – When you said at your rally “we are going to elect the boldest, strongest, most courageous, rock-ribbed, constitutional conservative president this country has ever seen”, did you mean Jesus Rambo? Because that guy is awesome.
PPS – Confidential to MB – you do realize that “bold” and “conservative”, in context, are conflicting traits, right?
PPPS – Confidential to MB – also, please be less crazy. Minnesota elected you to do a job… and your only concern seems to be keeping that job.
PPPPS = Confidential to MB – your biggest legislative accomplishment is introducing a bill called the “light bulb freedom of choice act.” PLEASE be less crazy.
[1] Compliments of http://southernfood.about.com/od/freshsalmonrecipes/r/bln44.htm
Actually… I wrote that as a joke, but it’s not a terrible example. Victoria turned me into an absolute avocado fiend; we probably go through 5 avocados a week, on average. I went through a phase where I was literally putting them in everything – and believe me, I know what the word “literally” means. I got to the point where I was making burgers, saw an avocado... and, well, you know the rest. Today I rarely make burgers WITHOUT avocado in them. Don’t worry if you’re dubious; everyone is at first. And then they say “Oh my god, this is amazing!” or something similar. Silly people. Of course it is.
The spark was random – but my brain has developed fairly sensitive filters to differentiate between me being an idiot, and me merely thinking stupid thoughts that nonetheless are likely to be fun. In this case, it was the latter. And when I thought through it, it made sense. After all, avocados are deliciously fatty, but don’t taste greasy; if you mix in some avocado, you can use leaner beef than you would otherwise, and still get phenomenally great tasting burgers.
The point I’m trying to make is that middle step. I’m the first to say that there is a great deal of joy to an “idea – experiment” process. At the same time, being able to run the experiment in my head first has a ton of value as well. Being able to think, “yes, this will probably work, because avocados have such-and-such properties” is a useful skill.
I guess what I mean isn’t that I CAN figure out what’s going on in a recipe – it’s that I DO. The process is becoming more automatic. Just like anything else – you look at something that you know well, and rather than seeing the top-level elements, your brain starts translating, interpreting, recognizing patterns.
Example – show a chessboard, with a game in progress, for five seconds to a chess master and to someone who doesn’t play chess. Ask them to recreate the scenario. The non-player will make the kinds of mistakes you’d expect – pieces shifted more or less randomly. The master will have a better memory – but more interestingly, when he makes an error it is more likely to be a bigger error, in absolute terms, but a smaller error when it comes to the tactical situation of the game. For example, he may transpose an entire attack that was happening on the right side of the board to the left side of the board; a mistake that may involve many more pieces being out of place than for the non-player, but in the end recreates a situation more or less the same as the one he saw. On the other hand, take the board and put the pieces down randomly – put them into a pattern that doesn’t make any sense from a strategic perspective – and all of a sudden the chess master is in the same boat everyone else is.
Filters. Pattern recognition and filters; what separates man from beast.
So when I sat down to make a tasty looking salmon with oregano dish that I found, there were alarm bells going off in my head. I wasn’t quite sure what – but there was something wrong with the recipe.
Can you figure it out?
Herb Baked Salmon [1]
Ingredients:
vegetable oil spray
3/4 pound salmon fillet
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
1/4 cup parsley, fresh, chopped
1 teaspoon oregano, dried
1/2 teaspoon thyme, dried
1/2 cup plain bread crumbs
salt and pepper to taste
1 egg white
Preparation:
Preheat oven to 350°. Line a baking tray with foil and spray with vegetable oil spray, Wash salmon, pat dry, and spread mustard over the top. Mix parsley, oregano, thyme and bread crumbs together. Season with salt and pepper. Blend in egg white to bind mixture together. Spread over mustard. Bake in oven for 20 to 25 minutes, depending on thickness of fillets. Remove from oven and serve on individual plates with rice.
Serves 2.
See it?
The recipe is using two different methods to adhere the topping to the fish. It doesn’t make any sense. Use an egg wash or use a layer of mustard – either one works – but using both at the same time is just crazy-talk.
Now, I’ve got to come clean with you. I’m pretty sure that the whole reason that I built this all up is to make fun of myself. You know why? Because the next thing I did wasn’t to trust myself, ignore the egg and cook the fish. It was, in fact, to say to myself “Well, I don’t think that makes sense… so I must be missing something.”
Sigh.
Needless to say, putting an egg white in with the topping mixture simply turned the parts that touched the egg into a solid mass – impossible to do anything with other than throw out. Luckily, that also meant that it didn’t mix in with the other stuff at all, so it wasn’t actually a problem, aside from making me feel really stupid.
Oh, and since this is week oregano, I made a fairly significant alteration to the recipe. You see where it says one teaspoon oregano, one quarter cup parsley? I swapped those. (Actually, I doubled the whole recipe, but still only used a quarter-cup oregano… so I guess I swapped them, then halved the amount of oregano.
Yeah… remember that system I talked about above, that’s supposed to filter things like this for me? It was actually functioning PERFECTLY here. It said “A quarter cup of oregano is absolutely insane. You’re going to ruin dinner. This will NOT be fun. Abort.” To which I said, of course, “Science!” and plowed on. (Hey, the system exists. Whether or not I choose to listen to its recommendations is up to me.)
But you know what? It came out amazing. Victoria was just as dubious as I was about the massive quantity of oregano, but we were both sold once we started eating. The one thing I would do differently would be to cook it on something metal, rather than in a Pyrex dish. I really think this would have done well finished off in the broiler, so the coating got nice and extra-crispy before it got served. Alas, I have exploded one too many pieces of Pyrex bakeware to ever do it again.
I don’t do breaded stuff that often, and this was a nice change. Baking it with mustard rather than frying it with oil (much as I dearly love frying things with oil) made it slightly less crispy, but a lot less heavy than it would have been. The mustard and the oregano really played off of each other nicely, and – oh! Forgot this. I added a teaspoon of dill, as well.
Yum.
You know what I don’t eat enough of? Lamb. See you tomorrow!
PS – Confidential to MB – When you said at your rally “we are going to elect the boldest, strongest, most courageous, rock-ribbed, constitutional conservative president this country has ever seen”, did you mean Jesus Rambo? Because that guy is awesome.
PPS – Confidential to MB – you do realize that “bold” and “conservative”, in context, are conflicting traits, right?
PPPS – Confidential to MB – also, please be less crazy. Minnesota elected you to do a job… and your only concern seems to be keeping that job.
PPPPS = Confidential to MB – your biggest legislative accomplishment is introducing a bill called the “light bulb freedom of choice act.” PLEASE be less crazy.
[1] Compliments of http://southernfood.about.com/od/freshsalmonrecipes/r/bln44.htm
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Oregano Daze
Oregano is the first flavorant that I’ve talked about which can be strictly classified as an herb; to go back to basics, that means that the essential oils are secreted by glands located in its leaves and flowers, rather than anywhere else. In other words, unlike cilantro, which has tasty leaves AND tasty seeds, or fennel, which is delicious all over the place, oregano is only good if you’re eating the leaves.
Oregano also has looser morals than most of the plant kingdom; according to the Herb Society of America, while it has a ton of variants on its own (71, if I am counting correctly) it also crossbreeds fairly easily – “there are hundreds of unclassified hybrids growing in gardens where close proximity encourages crossing that isn't likely in the wild.” [1]
Despite all that, for culinary value, there are two main contenders – as I mentioned in passing yesterday, they are Mediterranean and Mexican. They’re actually different plants; I don’t even vaguely pretend to understand how scientific classification works, so I can’t tell you how closely related they are. (Okay, I tell a lie – I understand how it works, I just don’t know what “same order, different family” means as far as how close the two plants are.) In any case, an idea that I’ve read more than once in the last few days is that oregano should be thought of as a flavor, rather than a particular plant. In other words, there are a number of different plants that contain the chemical carvacrol, and there’s not enough difference between them to really make a fuss if one of them is technically oreganum vulgarae and the other is lippie graveolens.
Mediterranean oregano – oreganum vulgarae, or common oregano for those of you… who the crap am I trying to kid? Not only do I not know anyone who can’t figure out what “oreganum vulgarae” means, I can’t imagine any of the people I know would recommend this blog to anyone who can’t figure out what it means. I’m sorry. Let me try again.
Mediterranean oregano, the plant that is actually biologically oregano, is the type we use most frequently. Mexican oregano is darker and color, and a more complex flavor; to me, it’s more pungent, with hints of lemon in the scent. It’s slightly piquant, as well, and unsurprisingly it is a perfect complement for dishes with cumin in them, or any other Mexican-type dish that might call for oregano. I definitely wouldn’t use it in pasta sauce…
Damn it! I need to get through a paragraph without lying to you guys. I would DEFINITELY use it in pasta sauce – in fact, I think I’m going to go do that right now, for science – but I don’t think it will be nearly as good as Mediterranean oregano. I can see it overwhelming the other flavors in the sauce fairly easily.
I had a fun conversation with Joe yesterday. Fun, because metaphorically I got to punch him right in his stupid face, and then even more metaphorically he turned around and roundhouse kicked me (metaphorically, of course) right in my metaphorical balls.
Actually, I think that’s a pretty good metaphor for all of my friendships.
Anyway, this guy was all like “I use fresh oregano – fresh ingredients are teh roxxorz.” (I may be paraphrasing slightly.) To which I was like, “Your MOM are teh roxxorz. And besides, oregano is one of the few herbs that generally tastes better dried – drying it really brings out the flavor.” And I was thinking, man, pwned right in the face, poor guy. But then he busts out with “If you gots da bling, you can git yo’self a food dryer like the J-Dawg got, fool! Then you be dryin’ you OWN oreganizzle!” (Again, I might be slightly misremembering his exact words.)
I was like, I just got pwned so hard I fell out of my chair… at which time my baby came over and, as is his wont, started kicking me in the nuts. Well played, Joe, well played.
So, two good points there – first, don’t automatically assume that picked-right-off-the-plant is going to be better all the time. (Although since Victoria got me an oregano plant, I’ve been looking for a recipe that calls for fresh oregano specifically.) But second, don’t be afraid to do a little bit of work – Alton Brown is constantly doing episodes where he dries various foods without the benefit of no fancy-shmancy machine.
Mushroom Report: Turkish oregano mushrooms were spectacular. Oregano’s not a flavor that often gets to be the star of its own show – and while the stuffed mushrooms aren’t a one-man oregano show, they’re still giving the herb a chance to really strut its stuff. The fact that the mushrooms were the first thing I made using the bag of awesome oregano I bought – and thus my first chance to really sample the full flavor – might have had something to do with it as well.
Tomorrow, I get totally nuts on some fish, oregano-style.
[1]http://www.herbsociety.org/origanum/odesc.php
Oregano also has looser morals than most of the plant kingdom; according to the Herb Society of America, while it has a ton of variants on its own (71, if I am counting correctly) it also crossbreeds fairly easily – “there are hundreds of unclassified hybrids growing in gardens where close proximity encourages crossing that isn't likely in the wild.” [1]
Despite all that, for culinary value, there are two main contenders – as I mentioned in passing yesterday, they are Mediterranean and Mexican. They’re actually different plants; I don’t even vaguely pretend to understand how scientific classification works, so I can’t tell you how closely related they are. (Okay, I tell a lie – I understand how it works, I just don’t know what “same order, different family” means as far as how close the two plants are.) In any case, an idea that I’ve read more than once in the last few days is that oregano should be thought of as a flavor, rather than a particular plant. In other words, there are a number of different plants that contain the chemical carvacrol, and there’s not enough difference between them to really make a fuss if one of them is technically oreganum vulgarae and the other is lippie graveolens.
Mediterranean oregano – oreganum vulgarae, or common oregano for those of you… who the crap am I trying to kid? Not only do I not know anyone who can’t figure out what “oreganum vulgarae” means, I can’t imagine any of the people I know would recommend this blog to anyone who can’t figure out what it means. I’m sorry. Let me try again.
Mediterranean oregano, the plant that is actually biologically oregano, is the type we use most frequently. Mexican oregano is darker and color, and a more complex flavor; to me, it’s more pungent, with hints of lemon in the scent. It’s slightly piquant, as well, and unsurprisingly it is a perfect complement for dishes with cumin in them, or any other Mexican-type dish that might call for oregano. I definitely wouldn’t use it in pasta sauce…
Damn it! I need to get through a paragraph without lying to you guys. I would DEFINITELY use it in pasta sauce – in fact, I think I’m going to go do that right now, for science – but I don’t think it will be nearly as good as Mediterranean oregano. I can see it overwhelming the other flavors in the sauce fairly easily.
I had a fun conversation with Joe yesterday. Fun, because metaphorically I got to punch him right in his stupid face, and then even more metaphorically he turned around and roundhouse kicked me (metaphorically, of course) right in my metaphorical balls.
Actually, I think that’s a pretty good metaphor for all of my friendships.
Anyway, this guy was all like “I use fresh oregano – fresh ingredients are teh roxxorz.” (I may be paraphrasing slightly.) To which I was like, “Your MOM are teh roxxorz. And besides, oregano is one of the few herbs that generally tastes better dried – drying it really brings out the flavor.” And I was thinking, man, pwned right in the face, poor guy. But then he busts out with “If you gots da bling, you can git yo’self a food dryer like the J-Dawg got, fool! Then you be dryin’ you OWN oreganizzle!” (Again, I might be slightly misremembering his exact words.)
I was like, I just got pwned so hard I fell out of my chair… at which time my baby came over and, as is his wont, started kicking me in the nuts. Well played, Joe, well played.
So, two good points there – first, don’t automatically assume that picked-right-off-the-plant is going to be better all the time. (Although since Victoria got me an oregano plant, I’ve been looking for a recipe that calls for fresh oregano specifically.) But second, don’t be afraid to do a little bit of work – Alton Brown is constantly doing episodes where he dries various foods without the benefit of no fancy-shmancy machine.
Mushroom Report: Turkish oregano mushrooms were spectacular. Oregano’s not a flavor that often gets to be the star of its own show – and while the stuffed mushrooms aren’t a one-man oregano show, they’re still giving the herb a chance to really strut its stuff. The fact that the mushrooms were the first thing I made using the bag of awesome oregano I bought – and thus my first chance to really sample the full flavor – might have had something to do with it as well.
Tomorrow, I get totally nuts on some fish, oregano-style.
[1]http://www.herbsociety.org/origanum/odesc.php
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
YOUR OREGANO SUCKS
I’m sorry. It’s nothing personal. I mean, yes, it is your fault, and yes, there is something you can do about it – but really, it’s not personal. You shouldn’t feel bad, just because you consign yourself and the people you love to sucky oregano. It’s clearly your ignorance – not any malice on your part – that makes you choose to do this, over and over again. Trust me – I’m the last person to think the less of you for this.
You see, I was once like you.
But it’s okay; don’t worry. I’m here to lead you into the Promised Land – the place where oregano ceases to be bland filler and turns into rock-solid flavor.
For all its popularity, oregano has a fairly short history here in the States. It was virtually unheard-of before World War II, when soldiers returning from the war in Italy sent the popularity of pizza – and “the pizza herb” – skyrocketing. And while that word is generally overused, here it’s accurate; in the decade after the war, sales of oregano in the US increased by a factor of more than fifty. Today, in the American mind – or at least, in my American mind – it’s considered a spice for Italian food… and that’s a big part of the problem.
Italian food and oregano interact in an extremely problematic way. (Well, Italian food in America, at least.) Italian food is popular, cheap, and much of it is easy to make. (It’s possible that causal relationships exist there.) Because of that, many of us can probably count some form of simple Italian dish – of the “random box of pasta plus red sauce plus white cheese” variety – as the first thing we learned to cook on our own. And when we branched out – decided we wanted to up the flavor quotient of that relatively bland canned sauce – the first thing that we remembered was that mom added oregano.
So we went to the supermarket, and picked up a container of dried oregano. One of the little tiny ones, that costs about four bucks. And we used it up in a semester or so, and spent another four bucks on another little jar. Which we used up in another few months. And next time we went back to the supermarket, we saw… the big jar of oregano. The one that cost about twice as much, but had about ten times as much oregano, almost as though the cost of packaging and distribution represented a far, far greater part of the price than the actual herb inside. And even though $8 was a significant cash outlay in those days, we could see the economics. And dagnabbit, it was a good decision – most of us still haven’t needed to buy new oregano since then!
Which, of course, is the crux of the problem.
Remember the rule? Two years for seeds, six months for herbs or ground spices. The large jar of oregano that most American households have is a crime against cooking. Under ideal circumstances – when that container was still on the shelf of the supermarket – it already contained inferior-quality oregano, which had been sitting in warehouses, on shelves, and exposed to light for an unknown amount of time. (Remember? Essential, volatile oils; more light = more energy = more volatility.)
Go into your kitchen and open that container. Does the scent waft, or do you have to stick your nose in the jar before you know it’s there? Is it just dry, or would “desiccated” be a better descriptor? Is the color a rich, vibrant green, or is it fading to brown and gray? Well, let’s do something about that.
The simple point is this – buying spices in the supermarket is a terrible idea. The only time you should ever do it – ever – is if you’re in some kind of emergency situation; people coming over this evening, and no time to make alternate arrangements. With just a tiny bit of forethought, you can make sure that the spices in your house are better-tasting, fresher, and cheaper than the ones you buy in the supermarket.
Cheaper! No lie! In order to make sure I’m stocked up for this blog, I go to a local spice store (the local branch of a national chain, actually) every two weeks. And what absolutely blows me away is how the things that I get there are not only worlds better, but that I actually spend less money this way. As is the case in almost every other facet of life, giving just a tiny bit of forethought – and being willing to stray from the beaten path just a tiny bit – makes your outcome significantly better.
But doing anything for the first time is difficult. It’s confusing and intimidating, and a lot of the time it’s easier to continue doing something you know is wrong – a lot of the time it’s easy to find excuses why not to change things today. So I’m going to make things as easy as possible, and walk you through it.
Bet you never thought you’d have homework from a blog, right? Well, I guess this is more of an in-class assignment.
First, search Google for online spice merchants. I don’t want to shill for anyone on this blog – I’m sure all of the stores that link off of that search are good. (The one I use starts with a P.)
Now, click through to oregano. There are two main variants – Mexican and Mediterranean. More on that later; we’re going to start with Mediterranean, which is the commonly-used one. Look at those prices – I flipped through some online grocery stores a few minutes ago, and oregano averages at about $3.50 an ounce; the first store that Google linked had a quarter-pound for that price. Quality is, again, what we’re shooting for… but quality plus lower price is good stuff. (Not that you should buy a quarter-pound, of course. Weren’t you listening a few minutes ago? Find someplace that will sell you an ounce or two.)
Of course, if we’re buying online, rather than looking for a retail location, we’re going to have to pay shipping. Even adding $5 for shipping, though, it’s still cheaper to buy online… and if we do a little bit of thinking ahead – buy four or five things at a time, or more – the shipping is going to be insignificant.
Go ahead. Place the order. I’m serious! Buy some fennel and cumin, as well. Spend $10. That’s about what two tiny jars of spice would cost you at the supermarket, and then you’ll have done it, once – and the next time you need spices, you’ll know exactly what to do.
Okay, now step two, and this one is a little bit harder. This one is homework. Now, search Google Maps for “bulk spices”. Look for any places within twenty minutes or so of you that sell spices; there are a few national retailers, and a lot of independent stores as well. Even if it’s a little bit of a haul, how often are you really going to have to go? It’s worth travelling forty-five minutes every six months to ensure that your spices aren’t dull and faded. Plus, spice shopping is a lot more fun than it has any right to be. At least if you enjoy smelling new things as much as I do.
In an earlier post, I talked about things that are worth being snobby about. This is one of them. Since I started buying spices this way, it has been like taking off a pair of sunglasses that I’ve been pretty much wearing all my life. The flavors are bold and beautiful; scents waft across the room, and you never have smell something twice to try to figure out what it is.
You can do this! I have faith in you. I was once like you.
You see, I was once like you.
But it’s okay; don’t worry. I’m here to lead you into the Promised Land – the place where oregano ceases to be bland filler and turns into rock-solid flavor.
For all its popularity, oregano has a fairly short history here in the States. It was virtually unheard-of before World War II, when soldiers returning from the war in Italy sent the popularity of pizza – and “the pizza herb” – skyrocketing. And while that word is generally overused, here it’s accurate; in the decade after the war, sales of oregano in the US increased by a factor of more than fifty. Today, in the American mind – or at least, in my American mind – it’s considered a spice for Italian food… and that’s a big part of the problem.
Italian food and oregano interact in an extremely problematic way. (Well, Italian food in America, at least.) Italian food is popular, cheap, and much of it is easy to make. (It’s possible that causal relationships exist there.) Because of that, many of us can probably count some form of simple Italian dish – of the “random box of pasta plus red sauce plus white cheese” variety – as the first thing we learned to cook on our own. And when we branched out – decided we wanted to up the flavor quotient of that relatively bland canned sauce – the first thing that we remembered was that mom added oregano.
So we went to the supermarket, and picked up a container of dried oregano. One of the little tiny ones, that costs about four bucks. And we used it up in a semester or so, and spent another four bucks on another little jar. Which we used up in another few months. And next time we went back to the supermarket, we saw… the big jar of oregano. The one that cost about twice as much, but had about ten times as much oregano, almost as though the cost of packaging and distribution represented a far, far greater part of the price than the actual herb inside. And even though $8 was a significant cash outlay in those days, we could see the economics. And dagnabbit, it was a good decision – most of us still haven’t needed to buy new oregano since then!
Which, of course, is the crux of the problem.
Remember the rule? Two years for seeds, six months for herbs or ground spices. The large jar of oregano that most American households have is a crime against cooking. Under ideal circumstances – when that container was still on the shelf of the supermarket – it already contained inferior-quality oregano, which had been sitting in warehouses, on shelves, and exposed to light for an unknown amount of time. (Remember? Essential, volatile oils; more light = more energy = more volatility.)
Go into your kitchen and open that container. Does the scent waft, or do you have to stick your nose in the jar before you know it’s there? Is it just dry, or would “desiccated” be a better descriptor? Is the color a rich, vibrant green, or is it fading to brown and gray? Well, let’s do something about that.
The simple point is this – buying spices in the supermarket is a terrible idea. The only time you should ever do it – ever – is if you’re in some kind of emergency situation; people coming over this evening, and no time to make alternate arrangements. With just a tiny bit of forethought, you can make sure that the spices in your house are better-tasting, fresher, and cheaper than the ones you buy in the supermarket.
Cheaper! No lie! In order to make sure I’m stocked up for this blog, I go to a local spice store (the local branch of a national chain, actually) every two weeks. And what absolutely blows me away is how the things that I get there are not only worlds better, but that I actually spend less money this way. As is the case in almost every other facet of life, giving just a tiny bit of forethought – and being willing to stray from the beaten path just a tiny bit – makes your outcome significantly better.
But doing anything for the first time is difficult. It’s confusing and intimidating, and a lot of the time it’s easier to continue doing something you know is wrong – a lot of the time it’s easy to find excuses why not to change things today. So I’m going to make things as easy as possible, and walk you through it.
Bet you never thought you’d have homework from a blog, right? Well, I guess this is more of an in-class assignment.
First, search Google for online spice merchants. I don’t want to shill for anyone on this blog – I’m sure all of the stores that link off of that search are good. (The one I use starts with a P.)
Now, click through to oregano. There are two main variants – Mexican and Mediterranean. More on that later; we’re going to start with Mediterranean, which is the commonly-used one. Look at those prices – I flipped through some online grocery stores a few minutes ago, and oregano averages at about $3.50 an ounce; the first store that Google linked had a quarter-pound for that price. Quality is, again, what we’re shooting for… but quality plus lower price is good stuff. (Not that you should buy a quarter-pound, of course. Weren’t you listening a few minutes ago? Find someplace that will sell you an ounce or two.)
Of course, if we’re buying online, rather than looking for a retail location, we’re going to have to pay shipping. Even adding $5 for shipping, though, it’s still cheaper to buy online… and if we do a little bit of thinking ahead – buy four or five things at a time, or more – the shipping is going to be insignificant.
Go ahead. Place the order. I’m serious! Buy some fennel and cumin, as well. Spend $10. That’s about what two tiny jars of spice would cost you at the supermarket, and then you’ll have done it, once – and the next time you need spices, you’ll know exactly what to do.
Okay, now step two, and this one is a little bit harder. This one is homework. Now, search Google Maps for “bulk spices”. Look for any places within twenty minutes or so of you that sell spices; there are a few national retailers, and a lot of independent stores as well. Even if it’s a little bit of a haul, how often are you really going to have to go? It’s worth travelling forty-five minutes every six months to ensure that your spices aren’t dull and faded. Plus, spice shopping is a lot more fun than it has any right to be. At least if you enjoy smelling new things as much as I do.
In an earlier post, I talked about things that are worth being snobby about. This is one of them. Since I started buying spices this way, it has been like taking off a pair of sunglasses that I’ve been pretty much wearing all my life. The flavors are bold and beautiful; scents waft across the room, and you never have smell something twice to try to figure out what it is.
You can do this! I have faith in you. I was once like you.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
He who controls the Spice, controls dinner!
As I do every month here, I'm going to repost the basics about the Melange which is so basic to our lives, and add whatever new things I may have learned recently. As I've said a thousand times, I'm hardly the Kwisatz Haderach; I'm still just learning to use this incredible substance. Hopefully, you've are enjoying my Year of Living Spicily - and if you're using spice-induced prescient powers to read my future posts, hopefully you're enjoying them, as well.
The spice melange - a byproduct of the lifecycle of the Arrakin Sandworm - is, obviously, the single most valuable and important substance in the universe. It is also an exercise in contradictions. In minuscule doses, it is responsible for elongating our lives by hundreds of years. However, as little as a gram a day is enough to get one irrevocably addicted - and, as everyone is taught in high school health class, Spice withdrawal is inevitably fatal. And in large doses, it... changes you. The Guild Navigators use it - space travel would be impossible without it - but it requires that they use so much of it that they become irrevocably mutated. In such high doses, it can lead to precognition, as well... but honestly, from what I've heard, people who learn about the future tend to wish that they had been mutated instead.
I'm sure you guys have heard this story a thousand times by now... but I never get tired of telling it. My dad is actually from Arrakis - or "Dune", as the media calls it these days. He was a Freman, working with House Atreides against the Harkonnens. My mom was a Bene Gesserit, who left the Chapterhouse to go backpacking across the universe. They met right after the Battle of Arrakeen; my dad spoke Freman, my mom Galach. They didn't have a way to communicate with each other... but my mom's love for my dad was so strong that she used her Bene Gesserit mind-witchery to instantly learn how to speak his language.
I don't know - I've just always found that story so romantic.
Almost everyone, the first time they smell or taste Spice, thinks that it reminds them of cinnamon. (Next week, I'll be talking about cinnamon - in passing - as I continue with more explanation of how to use the Melange.) As people get more and more exposed to it, though, virtually everyone reports that the taste changes. When paired with almost any food, the melange operates to enhance whatever the natural flavor is. This holds true even for fairly unexpected or exotic foods - I've tried it as a topping on ice cream, and it was amazing. Well, as amazing as it is anywhere else.
I remember, when I was a kid, the first time that I asked my dad about the Stillsuit he still has hanging in his closet. He didn't seem to want to talk about it; I kept bugging him about it for a while, but honestly, my dad can still be as hard to get a hold of as sand, when you try to pin him down. He didn't want to talk about any of it.
I moved to Arrakis for a year, and spent some time with his relatives there. It's funny; the Fremen are so different, when you're looking at their culture from the outside in. I think the popular perspective is that they are heartless murderers - peerless warriors in strange costumes who would slit your throat as soon as look at you.
Which is true, of course - your body is full of delicious, delicious water. But that's not my point. Actually, it's kind of the opposite of my point... so I think I'll ignore it.
Anyway, the point is, from inside the Freman culture, things are very different. They're not the Stillsuit-wearing, knife-wielding maniacs that everyone things. I mean, yes, sure, they wear those Stillsuits 24/7. And yes, most of their culture, directly or indirectly, revolves around threatening people with knives, or carrying out those threats... but really, once you get to know them, they're totally sweet.
So while I was living in Arrakeen, I was spending as much time as possible with my father's family. Almost every Tuesday evening (taco night) I would go out into the desert to have dinner with my dad's people. And I can see why some folks are scared of them; these people were basically proposing armed insurrection against the Emperor. In fact, once Paul Muad'dib dethroned the Emperor, they basically started a jihad across the whole length of the galaxy.
Okay, I'll come clean. The Fremen are absolute psycho nutjobs. But still - fun at parties, and TACO NIGHT!
After a few months of this (also, there was lots of drinking) my dad's family started opening up to me, telling me about the Face Dancer he killed (in a knife-fight, of course) and all that kind of thing. From my dad himself? All I ever got was static.
He said, "Nobody is interested in my past - not even my children."
I can't even imagine how lonely he must be.
There's a part of me that thinks he's an idiot, as well, of course - after all, he's the one that's walled himself off. Both my brother and I are desperate to learn about our heritage - but not desperate enough that we're going to fight him every step of the way to do it. I guess when you grow up wearing a stillsuit, it just sinks down under your skin - even when you take it off, you're still isolated from everything around you.
Also, while I was out there, I put on a stillsuit for a few minutes.
Guess how much those things suck? The proper guess is "a lot." It was fun and interesting for about thirty seconds. Then it was hot and sweaty and disgusting... and knowing that I should sweat it the hell up, because I'd be drinking that sweat later, did NOT help. Not even a little bit.
But the point is, that was what I was reduced to? No distance, ironic or otherwise? Just put on an insanely irritating garment, because I feel have no other way to connect with my heritage?
I guess so. And it's sad, because if he opened up, I think the three of us - my dad, my brother, and me - would probably have a much easier time of it. Until then, I'll be drinking sweat-water over in the corner, okay?
That's it for today, folks. Tomorrow, I'll talk about the various ways you can cover up your bright blue eyes, if you've become addicted to the Melange, and whether or not there's anything to the seaworm-produced "Ultraspice" that all the news programs are talking about. Until then, walk without rhythm, and you won't attract the worm!
The spice melange - a byproduct of the lifecycle of the Arrakin Sandworm - is, obviously, the single most valuable and important substance in the universe. It is also an exercise in contradictions. In minuscule doses, it is responsible for elongating our lives by hundreds of years. However, as little as a gram a day is enough to get one irrevocably addicted - and, as everyone is taught in high school health class, Spice withdrawal is inevitably fatal. And in large doses, it... changes you. The Guild Navigators use it - space travel would be impossible without it - but it requires that they use so much of it that they become irrevocably mutated. In such high doses, it can lead to precognition, as well... but honestly, from what I've heard, people who learn about the future tend to wish that they had been mutated instead.
I'm sure you guys have heard this story a thousand times by now... but I never get tired of telling it. My dad is actually from Arrakis - or "Dune", as the media calls it these days. He was a Freman, working with House Atreides against the Harkonnens. My mom was a Bene Gesserit, who left the Chapterhouse to go backpacking across the universe. They met right after the Battle of Arrakeen; my dad spoke Freman, my mom Galach. They didn't have a way to communicate with each other... but my mom's love for my dad was so strong that she used her Bene Gesserit mind-witchery to instantly learn how to speak his language.
I don't know - I've just always found that story so romantic.
Almost everyone, the first time they smell or taste Spice, thinks that it reminds them of cinnamon. (Next week, I'll be talking about cinnamon - in passing - as I continue with more explanation of how to use the Melange.) As people get more and more exposed to it, though, virtually everyone reports that the taste changes. When paired with almost any food, the melange operates to enhance whatever the natural flavor is. This holds true even for fairly unexpected or exotic foods - I've tried it as a topping on ice cream, and it was amazing. Well, as amazing as it is anywhere else.
I remember, when I was a kid, the first time that I asked my dad about the Stillsuit he still has hanging in his closet. He didn't seem to want to talk about it; I kept bugging him about it for a while, but honestly, my dad can still be as hard to get a hold of as sand, when you try to pin him down. He didn't want to talk about any of it.
I moved to Arrakis for a year, and spent some time with his relatives there. It's funny; the Fremen are so different, when you're looking at their culture from the outside in. I think the popular perspective is that they are heartless murderers - peerless warriors in strange costumes who would slit your throat as soon as look at you.
Which is true, of course - your body is full of delicious, delicious water. But that's not my point. Actually, it's kind of the opposite of my point... so I think I'll ignore it.
Anyway, the point is, from inside the Freman culture, things are very different. They're not the Stillsuit-wearing, knife-wielding maniacs that everyone things. I mean, yes, sure, they wear those Stillsuits 24/7. And yes, most of their culture, directly or indirectly, revolves around threatening people with knives, or carrying out those threats... but really, once you get to know them, they're totally sweet.
So while I was living in Arrakeen, I was spending as much time as possible with my father's family. Almost every Tuesday evening (taco night) I would go out into the desert to have dinner with my dad's people. And I can see why some folks are scared of them; these people were basically proposing armed insurrection against the Emperor. In fact, once Paul Muad'dib dethroned the Emperor, they basically started a jihad across the whole length of the galaxy.
Okay, I'll come clean. The Fremen are absolute psycho nutjobs. But still - fun at parties, and TACO NIGHT!
After a few months of this (also, there was lots of drinking) my dad's family started opening up to me, telling me about the Face Dancer he killed (in a knife-fight, of course) and all that kind of thing. From my dad himself? All I ever got was static.
He said, "Nobody is interested in my past - not even my children."
I can't even imagine how lonely he must be.
There's a part of me that thinks he's an idiot, as well, of course - after all, he's the one that's walled himself off. Both my brother and I are desperate to learn about our heritage - but not desperate enough that we're going to fight him every step of the way to do it. I guess when you grow up wearing a stillsuit, it just sinks down under your skin - even when you take it off, you're still isolated from everything around you.
Also, while I was out there, I put on a stillsuit for a few minutes.
Guess how much those things suck? The proper guess is "a lot." It was fun and interesting for about thirty seconds. Then it was hot and sweaty and disgusting... and knowing that I should sweat it the hell up, because I'd be drinking that sweat later, did NOT help. Not even a little bit.
But the point is, that was what I was reduced to? No distance, ironic or otherwise? Just put on an insanely irritating garment, because I feel have no other way to connect with my heritage?
I guess so. And it's sad, because if he opened up, I think the three of us - my dad, my brother, and me - would probably have a much easier time of it. Until then, I'll be drinking sweat-water over in the corner, okay?
That's it for today, folks. Tomorrow, I'll talk about the various ways you can cover up your bright blue eyes, if you've become addicted to the Melange, and whether or not there's anything to the seaworm-produced "Ultraspice" that all the news programs are talking about. Until then, walk without rhythm, and you won't attract the worm!
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