Yogurt 3 -or- Oh man, is hummus good

I have to admit an attraction to... cute things. Novel. Well-designed. However you say it, I'll be the one ooo-ing and aah-ing over things like egg cooker/timers masquerading as flowers, bamboo-handled technicolor silicone ladles, and bento-box tulip wiener cutters.
Do I eat... um.. wieners? No. Is that the point? Also no. These kinds of unnecessarily aesthetically pleasing objects are simply very appealing to me (as, I suppose, is the idea).
For this reason I was especially excited at the prospect of eating this lovely little becher of Landliebe plain yogurt. How cute! How quaint! How other-diminuitive-adjective! My expectations were high. I was actually saving it for last (still well within the sell-by date) because of the excitement factor, which shows great discipline on my part.

However.
The yogurt inside is, after all, quite important. A dealbreaker.
And this one just didn't cut it.
There was no tang, no smooth-down-the-throat, no yogurt-ness. It was vaguely milky, but not in a rich way, despite its whole-milk history. Before and after stirring, this is still what faced me:

If someone ever dropped a bunch of these in my lap, I would use them for baking-- like in quick breads, pancakes, or as egg replacer. Or it might, might be acceptable under a lot of granola and dried fruit and honey. Sigh. It was really worth a try, though. And now we're using the becher as a dandelion vase, so it wasn't a complete loss.

In other news, I made hummus, and it was brilliant.
Through sheer luck I recently came upon a (huge) bag of dried chickpeas for €2.99 or some other scandalously low price, and then proceeded to forget I had purchased them. It was probably some kind of subconscious repression, I'm not sure. At any rate, I decided taking baby steps toward an actual dish would be the best course of action.

So one evening I left a cup of the dry wrinkled beans to soak in three cups water.
The next day I boiled them with some more water (this is getting exciting, I know) and a cut-up onion and some peppercorns. Then they waited. Patiently.
Finally, later that night I decided some protein was in order. I whipped (whup?) out the tahini! Lemon! Olive oil! Garlic! Cumin, paprika, sea salt! I was on a roll.
The lack of things like blenders, food processors, and pastry cutters in my apartment encouraged the use of a fork for mashing. There was no real recipe. Go by taste-- I ended up using far more salt than I expected to, mainly because canned beans usually have it added by the scoop. Two whole scoops in every can!

The final product got to wait, once again, in the refrigerator. Hummus and baba ghannouj and such really appreciate having some time to let the flavors get to know each other, if you will.

Some wheat flour, a drop of oil, salt, and water later I had chapati dough and a wine bottle with which to roll it as thinly as possible. These hand-sized rounds (or shapes, at least) rested for a couple of minutes before I seared them in a hot, hot skillet. Press down lightly with a spatula so the whole surface has contact with the pan, and when it starts browning a bit flip it (once!) and watch it puff. If everything comes together, they are even more fun to watch cooking than pappadam. The one in the picture, you might notice, was no such chapati. It still had a nice nutty wheat flavor.

Now tell me that isn't gorgeous. And here's a money shot, in natural light.

Just for kicks, I tried to think of reasons why hummus is not a perfect food. And I couldn't. It has fiber, legume protein, seed protein, good fats, good spices. Garlic for whatever reason people are crazy about it now. Wheat to make a complete protein. Goes well with practically any vegetable or savory bread product, keeps well, has a thousand variations, and cost me practically nothing.
I'm glad I finally made the commitment.

IMBB 25: Ration Cakes

The timing was perfect. I had a lonely loaf of bread, the challenge open in my browser, and a friend from England chatting on the side:

"What are you up to then"
"Staring at some dry bread and appealing to the recipe gods."
"Uh what"
"I need to make something out of it for that blog thing-- but not bread pudding or bread crumbs or anything. I don't know. I never, ever have leftover bread, so I'm in foreign territory to say the least."
"Well when I was a kid my mum would make these things for us sometimes"
"Things? DO elaborate."

And so it went. In between using inexcusably endearing terms like "mum" and "rather," my friend was able to relay the gist of a treat he remembered from his childhood in Lancaster. Loaves of white bread would be skinned, sliced, dipped, coated, and left to ripen, so to speak. The recipe was so simple to measure and execute that he and his sisters would make it themselves when they had the chance (take note, this is also before their palates matured beyond fourth grade).
After a quick e-mail to his mum, we established that these nameless sweet fingers of wheaty goodness were a way to make use of the least amount of the most common ingredients during World War II. Now, I know all about rationing in America in this time period, because, among other reputable sources, I read and re-read the entire An American Girl: Molly book series as a grade-schooler. They grow a Victory Garden, eat lots of brown bread, and save up butter for weeks to bake a birthday cake for the protagonist and her displaced British playmate. It might even have been a crazy cake, using vinegar and baking soda instead of eggs, like the ones I used to eat when I was vegan.

However, this particular treat is neither vegan nor prominent in children's literature. It is simple, though, and I set out armed with pantry staples and rearing to go.
Here you can see all the supplies: sugar, dessicated coconut (unsweetened, more finely ground, and drier than the American shredded coconut), cocoa powder, and milk or juice. Some rough steps:

• Cut loaf of bread into slices, remove the crusts, and slice into strips (or "soldiers"-- another great term). Mine were about 1.5 inches on each side.
• Stir together equal parts of the dry ingredients in a shallow dish.
• Pour milk or juice (orange was suggested) into a similar dish, quickly dip in the dry bread and roll in the dry mix.
• Lay the pieces on a parchment paper-lined surface, such as a baking sheet, and let sit overnight.
  

I used about a quarter cup of each of the dry ingredients and had quite a comfortable of the mix to work with. Because of a juice drought in my apartment, milk was the soaking agent of choice, and I used much more than I expected. My bread wasn't exceptionally dry, so either that was to blame, or the fact that the loaf was opposite of dense-- this was an end-of-the-day, we-need-to-sell-the-white-bread-and-fast 80 cent deal. I know part of the IMBB was to use the best loaf of bread possible, but I was working within the limits of my budget and, as it turns out, the authenticity of the recipe. =o)

These are the coated cakes, ready to be left alone for a while. You can see where there were air holes in the bread, which would have cut into perfect right angles had it been a bit drier.

Now, I have to confess taking a tiny bite of one two or three hours into the leaving-them-alone stage. It was a sad, sad, bitter, chewy, soggy mess of a cake. You must have faith! Wait it out! There is something more appealing to eat in your kitchens, I promise, unless Berlin is in a black hole and the rest of the foodblogging world is once again facing the rationing of ingredients on a point system.

The next morning, the above dusty logs had transformed themselves (physics majors, feel free to explain this) into these richly brown pre-Twinkie finger snacks. But you and I both know that taste is the name of the game. Would it still be overwhelmingly cocoa powder-bitter? What about that unpleasant tearing of a bready core I experienced in the first inning?

I was met with a lovely, mild milky chocolate taste delivered by a very moist and spongy crumb. My fingertips were left coated with cocoa... um... coating. I'm not sure what I had been expecting, but these were much different. I did not taste the coconut, though the cocoa and sugar must have married overnight to make it much sweeter than my earlier rouge taste. Some acidic juice instead of the milk might have been interesting, to give the plainness a foil.

I can easily imagine being six or seven and thinking these were the best things since dry bread (if I didn't have toooo much else to compare them to). The mild chocolate flavor has no offensive nuts, chili powder, amaretto, or other tastes that tend to adulterate more, uh, adult treats. From a parent's perspective, too, these are extremely inexpensive and the opposite of time-consuming, with very little cleanup. Also, although the nutritional benefits are negligible at best, nothing in there is going to do much harm, either. The two minor drawbacks are waiting overnight and possibly leading smudgy fingerprints on nearby surfaces.

This little cake is showing off, treating you to a photograph of its innards. The texture is evident here.

It's almost like I am a parent. I live in England, maybe on Penny Lane (hey, it's my hypothetical situation), and there's a war on-- maybe my brothers or husband or neighbors are fighting. Last night I had scraped together what was left in the cupboards, and set the tray in the pantry, next to my canning supplies for stretching what grows in our garden. My youngest just got back from asking for bottle caps, door-to-door, for the school scrap drive. I bring out the cakes, stir up a glass of powdered milk, and we sit down to have something sweet.
Mmm.

Tomato bread solution and Yogurt 2

The other day I found myself once again in a breadless, money-less situation, but this time with a twist: I had a mere two hours before embarking on a four-hour block of classes. Enter, the Internet! Searching for quick whole-wheat bread recipes landed me lots of fruit-laden holiday breads, fry breads, and finally (and with the most potential) Irish soda breads. Intriguing.
I took a couple recipes, averaged their ingredients, and then halved the amounts. This is what I ended up throwing together, in the most unrefined manner possible:

• Preheated to 325, lined a baking sheet with parchment paper
• Whisked together 1.5 cups whole wheat flour and 0.5 cups all-purpose
• Added some salt, a smaller amount of sugar, and 0.5 tsp each of baking soda and baking powder
• Made a well and poured in 0.75 cups of liquid (mostly vegetable juice, supplemented by water), mixed
  
• Kneaded a minute or two until smooth, formed a loaf, sliced in an X, and threw it in for 30 minutes.

Every recipe I found used buttermilk (or some substitute conglomeration therefor), but my lack of all things dairy led to a nice mild tomato taste in the finished loaf (as well as a pinkish-tinted dough). It would have gone well with salad or soup, or, ooohh, made into grilled cheese! Wow... I haven't had grilled cheese in a long time. But that's a whole 'nother post.

Next time I will form the dough into a flatter, wider shape, to cook the middle more quickly, but I had really no qualms with this bread. It was so fast, and really everyone has flour, leavening ingredients, salt, and some kind of liquid. So easy! I was sad, though, not to have had more time to spend baking. For some reason, I feel like my food always turns out better when I am happy and relaxed, and especially if I am cooking for a friend or family. Does anyone else feel this way? It reminds me of those studies about plants thriving when someone reads them bedtime stories. Maybe I should start playing guitar for my sourdough starter...

An old friend of mine comes from a staunch Irish background, and as I was chewing on a tomatoey wing of crust, I was imagining her mother turning in her sleep 4,000 miles away. Someday I will make this recipe authentically, I promise! Other (traditional) suggestions were to add some amount of currants, some recipes used oil or butter, and I'm sure you could go in all sorts of directions with other additions and flavoring.
My loaf was the perfect size for someone living alone, two people using it as the main part of their meals, or three people looking for an accompaniment. I'm lucky I had class right away, though-- otherwise I might have stayed and eaten the whole thing then and there.

I know all of you Germany-dwelling yogurt lovers have been refreshing your homepages like crazy, praying desperately for another report on products of the single-serving, cultured-milk variety. Well, wait no longer! I bring you:

This is an offering from Landliebe, a squat 200g tub of whole milk blackberry goodness. It retailed for €-.49, if I remember correctly, and my somewhat low expectations were happily exceeded. There were good pieces of near-whole berries (which had at one point been frozen) throughout, and it wasn't obnoxiously sweet. It was a pleasant breakfast even without bread or cereal alongside (see dilemma above), and I am usually a firm believer of pairing yogurt with some kind of chewy grain in order to offset all that smoothness.
Verdict: Well done, Landliebe! I look forward to trying more of their flavors, and although it isn't organically certified, my student's budget approves. Bonus: the container fits especially well in my lunchbox.

This episode of Bread and Yogurt is brought to you by spring weather and the goodness of carbs. Stay tuned for more exciting adventures!

Yogurt 1: Raita

The usual yogurt in our apartment comes in a 1 liter brown glass bottle, thick with rich cream sitting on top of the tart cultured layer. At the BioMarkt the other day, however, I bought a variety of single-serving yogurt pots in anticipation of packing my lunch for class this week. Today's selection is a mild plain organic yogurt from Naturkind, which was a deal at €-.39 for one.

Product review time: I peeled back the lid and was greeted by cream coating the rim and foil, even after shaking before opening. The label proclaims it to have "at least 3,7 percent fat," making this whole (cow's) milk yogurt. The initial taste was indeed mild, probably a good choice for people used to Dannon or Yoplait but who wanted to try it plain. The price was sure right, especially since it is Bio [organic]-certified.

Now, what to make? I had cucumbers left in the fridge, so a light raita for lunch seemed like the plan of the hour. My improvised recipe included

• Half of a container of plain yogurt
• Half of a very large cucumber, mostly peeled, seeded, and diced (after peeling and seeding, soak in ice water for a minute or two to really crisp it up)
  
• A squeeze of lemon juice
• Salt, fresh cracked pepper, and crushed cumin to taste (maybe 1/8 tsp each of the last two, but I like a lot)

I remember buying these dark, heavy cucumbers at two for €1 down by Kottbusser Tor. Either it's cucumber season (but it isn't yet, right?) or I got really lucky. A lot of the time just eat simple slices with some rock salt, but this is a good way to use up a lot if you either need to clear space in the veggie drawer, or want a cucumber-showcasing salad that incorporates just a few common ingredients (and some protein to boot).

Raita is used to accent Indian cuisine, and is similar to the richer tzatziki sauce that accompanies some Greek dishes. However, as I consulted its Wikipedia article, it turns out cucumber isn't even a minor part of authentic raita, as combining cucumber and yogurt could upset the body's balance. Who would have guessed? Not me at any rate, and I still think this version is pretty tasty.

Here are the cucumber pieces (which could have been cut smaller) making friends with a generous scoop of yogurt. I salted and lemon-juiced the dice before adding the other ingredients, but I doubt it makes much difference. The whole thing is very open to interpretation. =o)

To serve, I dug through the pantry and found a package of pappadam just waiting to be toasted up. These stiff, thin rounds are about as thick as cardstock and the size of a salad plate. You can fry them in oil, but I just used a wire spatula to wave one back and forth over a medium-high flame on our gas range. It crinkles and bubbles up (and it will burn-- be careful!), making lovely little crevices just waiting to scoop up daal, raita, or curry.

All in all, this is a light, healthy meal or snack. Let's check the cost:
€-.25 cucumber
€-.20 yogurt
€-.15 pappadam
(and assorted spices)

Wow-- that's about 75 American cents, which means you could easily supplement this with a mango lassi or piece of halawah for dessert without breaking a budget. This time I think I'll pick some up on my way to class-- next time, I'll make it at home to share!

Café café wherever you are!

Saturday was a day of sleeping in, reading a little, doing some shopping. By nine or ten in the blessed P.M., I realized I hadn't had a proper meal all day. Not one to break a trend, and needing to get away from the apartment, I grabbed my umbrella and went off to explore my neighborhood café scene.

I live in Prenzlauer Berg, which is a slightly yuppie, still moderately "underground" area of Berlin. The street where all the action happens is called Kastanienallee, or Chestnut Street, and it is a long stretch of independent designer stores, specialty shops, pay-what-you-will bars, and expensive candlelit cafés next to organic hot dog stands. Interesting fact: Prenzlauer Berg has a birth rate of 2,1 children per woman, which is to say the highest in the entire continent of Europe.
That fact nonwithstanding, I left my six screaming children at home (joke) for a bit of peace on the misty streets, slick surfaces reflecting colored lights and pedestrians passing in quiet pairs or chattering trios. Deciding to stray from the road most traveled (my buddy Frost clued me in to that one), I came upon Kauf Dich Glücklich, which translates roughly to "Make yourself happy and/or bring yourself luck by buying things!" It is a secondhand store-turned-café where you can still, if willing, purchase the chair on which you sit or the mirror hanging in the corner.
It was a pretty hopping scene, being a Saturday night, and I stepped my way through the red-light-lit "living room" section of the restaurant to get to the more brightly illuminated ice cream counter and coffee bar adjoining. After a significant wait (maybe the pointy-toed, stilletto boots those girls were wearing somehow impaired their decision-making skills), I ordered a Vanillewaffle mit Vanillesahnesauce. Okay! The crepes were too expensive for me, and as I was planning to sit and write, ice cream was not an option. After explaining how to pronounce my name, I crawled back through the couches and armchairs to a lower-key back room and settled in. Someone with a decent voice started playing guitar and singing from the front room, and I got at least two angsty poems written by the time I was presented with this:

Mmmm. I had opted for the standard waffle ($$) over whole wheat ($$$), and it was nice and crispy on the edges, if not piping hot. Next time I would ask to have the almost pudding-like sauce on the side for maximum crispiness preservation. Or maybe I would try the homemade raspberry sauce on top, or the Cow Waffle, which they create by dropping spoonfuls of chocolate and vanilla batter in the waffle iron.
Surprisingly, there was a mother/father/child family in the back room with me, and, unsurprisingly, the child was very confused as to why I was taking pictures of my food instead of eating it. But then I did eat it, and it was gooood. You can see the extra-toasted wings coming off its edges-- by far the best part. Maybe I would have added some more salt to the batter, but it was a big waffle, and because of the comfortable atmosphere, I was okay with parting with my €2.

Earlier in the day, I had taken a new route to the tram station (crazy and wild, I know), and passed La Focacceria, a rectangular-pizza-by-the-slice place, the line outside of which indicating its mad popularity. On the way back to my apartment some time later, I passed by it again, and when I say I passed by, I mean I walked in and purchased a monstrous block of oregano focaccia.
The tiny inside area was very inviting, as were the green picnic table benches lining the storefront, but I gave the man my €-.80 and took the chewy, stretchy, yeasty bread to go. I want to go back with a friend so we can take advantage of the three pieces for €3.70 deal, as opposed to paying €1.45 each. If you stop by, expect cold selections with cream cheese and salmon, ruccula and mushroom, as well as hot gorgonzola-spinach-walnut and all manner of meats. Oh, and my piece extended beyond what you can see in this (somewhat orange) picture! I think it would have eaten me if I hadn't gotten to it first.

Kauf Dich Glücklich
Oderberger Straße 44
10435 Berlin
44 35 21 82

La Focacceria
Fehrbelliner Straße 24
10119 Berlin
44 03 27 71

It was a strawberry, at the canal, with the Brötchen

Spring is here! Spring is here!
The past few days have been all sun, open windows, and fresh breezes. My second semester at Humboldt also started on Tuesday, so I have spent less time in the kitchen. Across the street from a couple of my classes, however, is a BioMarkt which has just begun its sidewalk display of gorgeous, glistening produce. Thus, in the past three days, I have eaten three 500g baskets of strawberries. That's breakfast, lunch, and dinner, folks (supplemented, of course), and I couldn't be happier.

The somewhat mutant berries here were my lunch today, as I sat on a concrete pedestal, my back against a tree, along the bank of a canal in Kreuzberg (near Kottbusser Tor). I had expected there to be a huge produce market, but as it turned out, I was a day early, so I got to spend some time sitting in the sun and making sketches of passerby.

Here is a strawberry innards shot, inspired by Robyn's Flicker group and the juiciness of this particular specimen:

The free-with-purchase of this photograph are the shimmering canal waters and my right hand (anyone else here left handed?). I am still figuring out the new camera, and it is a lot of fun, even without a manual.
These berries aren't quite at their peak yet, but really, each 500g package is a whole €-.75, or less than a dollar! Considering what it costs for a much less colorful, transportable, fresh, organic meal in the cafeteria, the BioMarkt gods are offering up an amazing deal. The produce man there even knows me by now (how many people spend five minutes picking a basket of berries at 12:30 three days in a row?), and today put together a basket of the best just for me.
I love making friends with people who provide me food. The woman who runs the BioLaden right by my apartment consistently lets my roommate and I know what we need at home:

"Has Bernhard bought milk yet today?"
"Not yet, but he did say that he brought home bread from work so you don't need any right now."
"Great. Did you get any more of that yogurt in? That's the kind he likes, right?"
"Oh yes, you two should try..."

It makes this city that much smaller, not to mention our relationships with the floury baker and his soft-spoken wife down the road, or the enthusiastic bartender and tattooed cook from the pub across the corner.

Incidentally, right next to the strawberry-laden BioMarkt is a little bakery (called Tuna Bäckerei, I believe, for no discernable reason), where I stopped in to round out my lunch with--what else?-- bread! This kind of brötchen is called Kraftmeier Brötchen, which is like a Weltmeister except there is carrot in the dough, which sweetens and lightens the whole-grain experience a bit. My favorite part is tearing off the first crusty corner piece. Mmm.

This photograph also marks the first time I received spoken comments on taking pictures of a 50 cent piece of food in a (bustling) public place. And when I say "comments" I mean "criticism," and when I say "received," I mean "overheard," and "overheard" in a way that I was no doubt intended to. But really. This is a city of four millionpeople. I think there are stranger things happening on these streets.

It's bread! Wait... waffles... no, bread!

In an extremely unusual turn of events, I've been doing a decent job of baking things and giving them away. This is mind-blowing, I know. But yesterday I was left in the position of having zero (0) yeasty risen wheat products in the house, and don't forget that it was still within that other dimension I like to call "all the stores are closed on a weekday." What to do? Homework? Right!

So at one point, when I was procrastinating organizing the pantry, I came across all kinds of baking goodies. The "pantry" is more like an empty space under the counter, and baking goodies in this context were oat bran, oatmeal, and about four kinds of flours. Woohoo! It was high time for some Toaster Oat Bread. And how.

I won't repeat the recipe (Kelli did such a nice job), but I made these substitutions:

• soy-rice milk and vinegar for milk and lemon
• raw brown sugar for honey
• 0.5 cup whole wheat and 0.5 cup bread flour for the all-purpose
• added almost a tablespoon of rock sea salt, and
  
• threw some raw oats and oat bran on top for extra good times.

This is the only recipe I have followed, ever, in which the given time was exactly how long it took for golden browny perfection. For more experienced bakers this might not be as important, but I get very motherly-instinct on bread and tend to fret like a high-schooler getting ready for the prom. Is it done? Is it the right color? Does it sound hollow? Is this kind supposed to crack on top? Why didn't you tell me it would be this color? What if he doesn't show up? Where's the corsage? Mooom!

Uh. Right, well in this recipe, the date shows, balances feminism and chivalry beautifully, and knows how to dance. Check it out:

The idea behind this bread is that toasting brings out its ultimate flavor, which makes it a good thing my roommate is gone. From what I have gathered here, toasting as a method is only for when bread is old and hard-- once we had a spanking new loaf and he could barely handle that I wanted to toast a slice. But really, I neededto. Who eats avacado on soft bread?
Germans with fresh bread, apparently. But I've come across opposition to avacado-on-bread period, so take that as you will.
Anyway, toast. Has anyone ever eaten Nutri-Grain toaster waffles? We used to have them in the freezer when I was a kid for breakfast before school. This bread tastes exactly like them. It took me a good four two slices of serious concentration to come up with the taste memory, and man, I haven't had those waffles in years. If I had syrup now, in fact (i.e. if it didn't cost eight dollars a bottle), I would dip the toast in it. Crazy.

From these pictures I am inadvertantly revealing more and more about our kitchen. Check the bread box. Bread boxes are perfect inventions for three reasons: bread products stay crispy-crusted without going (very) stale, bread products are extremely accessible for when one is too lazy to, say, open a Tupperware or bend over and look in the fridge, and finally, one gets to use the word "breadbox." Breadbox!

It reminds me of this children's book in which a young boy is sent to the store for a loaf of bread, and is given a dime with which to pay for it. He walks to the store alone, finds the right kind of bread, and brings it home to the mother, who is busy nursing the sick younger brother. They had a breadbox.

And the broken dishes.... well, that's just a fringe benefit.