mary eats

Ssam -Korean for “to wrap”, is an ideal summer dinner; light, quick to make, and of course the opportunity to play with your food. The idea is that you wrap something, traditionally rice, garlic, and ssamjang in lettuce, fold the leafy green over into a nice little bundle and eat.

Versions of the dish are endless, you can use just about any small slices of meat, think slab bacon, thinly sliced steak, chicken tenders. Raw fish: salmon, tuna, or lightly sauteed shrimp.  Vegetables: crunchy jicima, roasted sweet potato and parsnips, cucumber or shredded red cabbage. Wrap with green leaf lettuce, butter leaf or sesame leaf. If you don’t dig ssamjang, try ssam with hoisin or harissa, sirracha or mango chutney even.

Ultimately, this could be a brilliant use of leftovers and condiments housing just a couple tablespoons of product. Pull it all out of the fridge, make some rice, wash lettuce, and viola, dinner.

After last night’s dinner of construct your own spring rolls (there is a theme here), I had a craving for more hoisin sauce. In an effort to tone down ssamjang’s punchy pungency, I decided to combine hoisin and ssamjang. The result? Delicious.  All the flavor notes were hit, sweet from the hoisin, the spicy, salty, and sour from the ssamjang.

Flat Iron Ssam

1 cup short grain sticky rice
1 Flat iron steak, trimmed of silver skin (flank steak works too)
Kosher salt and pepper
1 TBSP canola oil
1 head green leaf lettuce
3 cloves garlic
1/3 cup ssamjang
2 TBSP hoisin Sauce
teriyaki or bulgogi or Asian BBQ sauce optional*

1. Cook rice in a rice cooker or on the stove.

2. Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Season steak with salt and pepper on each side and cut in half (I only do this because me frying pan is too small to accomodate the steak whole. If yours is big enough or if you are grilling your steak, then by all means, don’t cut it). Heat a sauté pan with 1 TBSP canola oil until pan until shimmering. Place steak halves in pan and sear until nice and brown on each side (about 2-3 minutes per side). Immediately transfer pan into preheated oven and cook until an internal temperature of 140 degrees is reached. About 10 minutes, sometimes more, sometimes less. Remove steaks from the pan and let sit on the cutting board to rest at least 5 minutes.

3. Separate lettuce, wash leaves, and tear off the bottom crunchy bit. Arrange leaves around a large platter.

4. Peel and slice garlic cloves uber thin. Place in a small serving dish and set on platter.

5. In a small ramekin mix together the ssamjang and the hoisin, adjusting by adding more of either until a desired taste is reached.

6. Transfer cooked rice to a serving vessel and place on platter with a serving spoon.

7. Cut the meat ¼ inch thick on the diagonal for thin slices. Place in a bowl with all the yummy juices that have escaped and place on serving platter.

8. Set table with platter, small individual plates, and chop sticks for everyone

Chef’s Notes.
Other condiments that can work if you don’t have ssamjang, are mixing together gochu jang and doenjang, or using a chunky dark miso, or use hoisin and sriracha, or harissa whatever your tastes are.

If you want to further flavor your meet, before transferring pan to oven, pour enough teriyaki, bulgogi, or Asian BBQ sauce over the meat to cover. Turn once while cooking.

To eat ssam, place one leaf of lettuce on your plate, top with a golf ball size of rice. Flatten it out a bit to make a nice surface for which to place a couple slices of meat. Top with a spoonful of ssamjang or other sauce and one or two slices of garlic. Wrap up into a nice little package, less burrito like and more envelope style. Open up and enjoy!

Comfort food.

Until recently these two very loaded words instantly projected drool worthy images of creamy mac and cheese or whipped mashed potatoes drenched with pepper studded gravy into my mind. But like a little Debbie Oatmeal Cream Pie, these meals were more instant gratification than nourishment for the soul.

Maybe I was just following along, nodding in a quiet gastronomic coma when others spoke of how a bite of meatloaf made them feel as secure as through embracing in a hug from mom. Though plenty of nostalgia foods sounded like they could do the trick, none of them ever succedded in calming that nervous stir, the feelings of uncertainty rumored to be cured by a steaming bowl of chicken and dumplings.

No doubt comfort foods change as we get older, pass through new phases in life, emotionally trying experiences, each clinging to some food item as a safe house. A bowl of eggs and rice topped with sriracha would have never entered my consciousness had it not been for a frightful hunger driven journey onto the streets of Bangkok at hours of the morning best known to backpackers in a drunken stupor and less savory types praying on said backpackers. Now, it is the first thing I crave on cold and rainy Seattle winter mornings when leaving the house is the last thing I want to do.

My time in Korea had a large impact on the person I am now, but honestly I never thought I would seek refuge in the fermentation process of kimchi, a condiment for which I held such a distaste for the majority of my sojourn. And I may never of noticed had it not been for the astute observations of a close friend.

As my final project for culinary school drew near, I was sleeping less, drinking more and popping B-complex vitamins like Frans’ Gray Salt Caramels on Valentines Day. Nervous about my performance as a chef, my skills, my ingredients, and my guests, I looked for distraction in the form of pickling. (My fridge is now full of mason jars teeming with vinegar kissed asparagus spears, brunoised beets, and paper thin shallots- not a bad vice I tell you)

“How you doing, you ok, you nervous” Lily asks, calling to check up on me.
“Yeah, I mean no. No. I’m fine. Really,” I reply, “I’m making Kimchi.”

This conversation occurs at 10:00pm. In my head I am going over the finer points of my chef of the day menu: a 6 course look back at the foods of my youth, Southern inspiration by the way of Northwest ingredients. Every dish, I think out step by step, the flavors, the textures, every ingredient accounted for. The obsession akin to a performer’s; hours just before the curtains rise. Committing movements and words to memory.

Oh Mary,” Lily sighs. “I think kimchi is your comfort food, not succotash.”

Nothing will ever be as reassuring as a hug from my parents or a squeeze of my hand from my husband. Not mac and cheese or kkakduki. But just maybe for chefs, cooks, and kitchen dwellers alike, cooking is our comfort food.

With gochu and garlic stained hands I tightened the last of the mason jar lids on my medium diced kkakduki and place them in a lower cabinet not to be disturbed for three days, turned off the kitchen light, and headed for bed.

Kkakduki
Adapted from Eating Korean by Cecilia Hae-Jin Lee
Makes 3 pint jars

1 bulb purple garlic, cloves separated and peeled- you can really use any garlic, I just like the purple variety because it peels easier.
1 2-inch piece of ginger root, peeled
2 TBSP Korean chili powder, gochu garu
2 TBSP kosher salt, if using table salt cut in half
2 large Korean radishes, Mu, peeled, squared off and cut into 1/2 inch dice.
1 bunch of mustard greens, washed, stems left intact (except for grubby end bits you should trim off) chopped into 1-inch pieces
1/2 tsp sugar

Equipment:
3 pint jars
gloves
food processor

1. In the bowl of a food processor, combine the garlic, ginger, chili powder, and salt. Process until finely minced. If you don’t have a food processor this process won’t be easy. I’m not going to lie. Mince the garlic as finely as possible. Grate the ginger with a microplane, then combine it with the garlic, chili powder and salt in a blender. What? No blender? Dang. Then a bowl. You do have one of those, right? Mix it up real nice.

2. For this next step you may want to consider some gloves, especially if you have any cuts on your hand. Rub the radish cubes with the garlic chili mixture until all sides of the radish cubes are well stained red. This is best done in a large bowl.

3. Place 3 pint jars on work surface. I like to use canning jars, but you can use any cleaned out pasta or mayo jars you have lying around the house. I’d caution away from yogurt tubs or tupperwear for fear that the caustic chili garlic mixture would burn right through the plastic. It probably wouldn’t happen, but I’m just sayin. Fill about one jar half full with chilied radishes. Pack a thin layer of mustard greens on top and sprinkle with a pinch of sugar. Add more radishes until the jar is full. Fill the remaining jars as you just did.

4. Find a nice cool place to store the jars while the kimchi ferments. After 3 days you’ll notice the water leaching out of the radishes and greens, that when you know its ready to eat. Be sure to refrigerate after opening.

Taco night was one of my favorites as a child. Not just because we got to eat with our hands or consume copious amounts of shredded cheese and spicy ground beef, I loved taco night because it meant in some small way I was in charge of what I ate. Set in the center of the table, the lazy susan offered up topping choice like green onions, salsa, shredded cheese, black olives, tomatoes, and IMO (we had yet to discover sour cream), once mom would fill our shells with meat, we were given free reign. If I wanted an all cheese taco, then so be it. Green onion and IMO? You bet. If I got to the black olives before Jamie, then tough luck little sis,- it’s survival of the fittest on Taco night.

Not that any of these creations were profound in flavor development, but it was mine, just the way I wanted it. And as an ornery 8 year-old who felt totally oppressed by her parents- No, you can not wear your bathing suit to the dinner table. No, you can not dress up the cat. Yes, you must eat your sautéed mushrooms. This taco handiwork of mine gave me just a kiss of power. Mary-Elizabeth 1, Parents 0.

Though I don’t have a lazy susan of my own, Kevin and I took pleasure in a build your own Hwae Dap Bop earlier this week. I didn’t intend it, but as I chopped and sliced our veggies, the piles building up on the cutting board looked too lovely to disrupt. I’d like to think I wanted to give Kev the option of building his dinner just the way he liked it, the right combination of creamy avocado and crispy cool cucumber, but really, I just wanted to hoard all the avocado for myself. I didn’t. But I thought about it.

Hwae Dap Bap is raw fish, atop a variety of raw vegetables, on a bed of rice with seasoned chili sauce. In Korea we generally ate this for lunch or a light dinner. While in composition it can appear quite simple- it spans a variety of textures: the crunch of cabbage and carrot, the buttery-ness of raw fish, and the gentle toothsome-ness of short grain rice. The dish also lends itself well to creativity. The variety of vegetables used can play on a theme; spring greens: asparagus, pea vines, radishes, and radish sprouts or Northwest foraged: fiddlehead ferns, sea beans, sauteed nettles and wood sorrel.

In Seoul we noshed on white flat fish or tuna, but back home I’m a sucker for salmon. I like to sear it on either side, lightly seasoned with salt and pepper, before cutting into a large dice. Traditionally, Hwae dap bap is served with a spicy chili sauce, a mixture of gochujang, sesame oil, and soy sauce, punctuated with garlic and green onion.

Hwae Dap Bap
Serves 4
This dish is a fantastic vehicle for creativity. We like to throw in a fried egg. Try changing out the rice for a grain: quinoa, bulgur, or brown rice. Use seasonal vegetables picked up at the farmer’s market. Serving the dish in individual portions is more traditional, but if you have a lazy susan, why not enjoy a build your own hwae dap bap night?

1 cup short grain white rice
1/2 lb fillet salmon, skin removed.
1 carrot, julienned
1/4 head red or green cabbage, thinly sliced
1 avocado, cut into medium pieces
1 cup packed sprouts
1/2 cup cucumber, seeds removed, cut into small pieces

Seasoned Chili Sauce
3 TBSP gochujang
2 TBSP water
1 TBSP soy sauce
1 TBSP sesame oil
1 tsp sugar or mool yut (Korean Malt Syrup)
2 cloves of garlic, minced
1 TBSP toasted sesame seeds (to toast sesame seeds, place seeds in a dry skillet over medium-high heat. Stir, or shake the skillet, continuously until seeds are brown and smell nutty, about 3 minutes)

Equipment
Rice cooker
Mandolin (for the carrots and cabbage)
Medium Sauté Pan

1. If you have a rice cooker, cook rice to your rice cooker’s specifications. If not, consider getting one. They’re great, really. You can even get ones that you can leave the rice in’em for, like, 2-3 days. Imagine, having rice any time you wanted. Amazing. Right. Back to you and your uncooked rice. Place rice in a medium saucepan and add 1 1/4th cup water. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to medium, cover and cook for 10-15 minutes. Turn off heat and fluff rice with a fork. Cover, and set aside at room temperature until ready to use.

2. After you have the rice started, heat your sauté pan over high heat. While you are waiting for the pan to heat, season both sides of the salmon with kosher salt and pepper. Once the pan is hot, hot, hot, (I’m not joking, you want this thing hot as the famed Texan sidewalk that cooked an egg) add the salmon and sear for 1-2 minutes. We aren’t cooking the fish through, just getting a delicious crusty side. Flip the fish over and repeat. Remove fish from pan and set on the cutting board, and rest for a few minutes for no other reason than trying to cut the fish now will probably burn the tips of your fingers and make you grouchy. Once the fish is cool enough to handle, cut into nice 1/2 inch cubes.

3. In a small bowl, combine the gochujang, water, soy sauce, sesame oil, garlic, and sesame seeds. Gochujang is incredibly thick, and even with the addition of soy sauce and sesame oil, the sauce is still too thick. Add enough water (starting with the 2 TBSP), stirring constantly, until you get the thickness you want. I like it akin to Hershey’s Chocolate Syrup. You may like it thicker or thinner. It’s your call.

4. To serve, place 1/4 to 1/3 cup rice in the bottom of each bowl (you could use more, but I don’t want you filling up on all that rice). Place a tablespoon or so of each vegetable and fish on top of the rice in a circular pattern (or as much that will fit). Crown it all off with a healthy dose of chili paste.

Voila. Deliciousness.

It is no secret that cupcakes are the IN dessert of the moment. From whimsical wedding cakes redeux to the shopping snack that is just too cute to pass up, cupcakes are the new double-tall-vanilla-non-fat-no-foam-extra-hot-latte. Who’s Starbucks? That would be Sprinkles, the little Beverly Hills cupcake shop that could.

Featured in every pop culture media outlet, from the NY Times to NPR, to In Style and In Touch, Sprinkles is moving on up, and out of Beverly Hills’ palm tree lined boulevards and into neighborhoods near you. In addition to new stores opening up in cities across America, the home baker can partake in the madness by picking up a package of Sprinkles Cupcake mix from Williams-Sonoma, for 14 greenbacks. Which is just what I did last week. Of course I needed the requisite muffin tins (I opted for the mini-muffin tin, smaller means I can eat more).

Sprinkles claim to fame is their minimalist presentation, a la Jill Sander if you will. Cup cakes in the sunshine state are frosted in a flat top crowned with a “modernist” double layer candy dot. My container included 12 such dots, which on taste inspection, closely resembled craft candy, having decorated a gingerbread house in 1984, still on display in your grandmother’s china cabinet. Very untasty.

After mixing in my eggs, milk, and lemon zest into the baking mix the cup cakes went upstairs to bake and I set about to make my frosting. I was instructed to sift my three cups of powdered sugar, and I set out with good intentions, fat skimmer in hand, but after sift or two, grew impatient and dumped in the powdered sugar in the mixing bowl.

This exercise in cupcake baking, I should add, is the longest workout my Kitchen Aid mixer has seen ever. Shaking like one of those 1950’s weight loss machines, I could see why Cooks Illustrated recently rated this series with a “not recommended.” Rather than puffing out over the sides and creating a rounded mound to frost, my cupcakes shrank a tad after cooking.

As suggested by Sprinkles, I used a small offset spatula to create their iconic flat top rounded edge. Sinking my teeth into the dense lemon sponge cake I wasn’t impressed. The sugar sent my mouth screaming for the toothbrush. To me the cake felt heavy, but Kevin thought otherwise, happily wolfing down more than his fair share. Which brings me to a question. Does food taste better if you don’t cook it?

Summer Cooking Accomplishments

Years ago, I remember seeing Aquavit chef Marcus Samuelsson on Martha Stewart Living long before it was the participatory live talk show it is today. Together, Samuelsson and Stewart, in her sedated kitchen studio demonstrated how to make aquavit, the iconic Swedish spirit, placing eye-catching vibrant berries, lemons, dill, and peppercorns in wide mouth display jars. This was around the time that placing various spices and vegetables in ornamental jars filled with vinegar or oils was a popular craft activity.

Every country has that one drink. Drunk straight, from a shot glass that will, according to my father, light your eyeballs on fire, or put hair on your chest. Korea, soju. US, Whiskey. Russia, Vodka, and the Nordic countries, it’s Aquavit. Distilled from grain or potatoes, commercial Aquavit, from the Latin water of life, is colorless, though generally flavored with caraway seeds. It is served chilled, and swallowed in one gulp.

This year for my birthday my friend Erin gave me a copy of Samuelsson’s cookbook Aquavit, and fast as my fingers would go I flipped to the recipes for aquavit. There, beautifully photographed and as lustrous as I remembered, were the glass jars, filled with tinted red liquid from the vodka, or cubes of lemon, lemongrass and ginger. While the rest of the cookbook’s Swedish Fusion dishes proved alluring, the itch to make aquavit demanded a long overdue scratch, and I chose lime aquavit as my foray into the world of mixology.

The first hurdle was finding potato vodka. Samuelsson recommends using potato based vodka because, “it has the clearest, cleanest flavor.” With Washington state liquor taxes and limited selection, I sent my mother in law searching for potatoes on a business trip. She returned with an Idaho produced potato based vodka. $30.00 for 1 liter.

Unable to find the elegant wide mouth jars reminiscent of old fashioned candy shop jars, I opted for a liter mason jar. “If the jar you use for infusing the vodka is attractive, it can serve as a centerpiece on your table or on a sideboard while the vodka steeps.” In it I stuffed lime zest, sliced limes, kaffir lime leaves, peeled and diced ginger, and finally the vodka. Mason jars are attractive, right?

Next I placed the jar on a ledge to sit for 8 long weeks.

Despite Auqavit’s place as the country’s national beverage, the strong elixir is generally reserved for pairing with special foods, with smoked and pickled herring, or important times, at Yulebord, the Christmas Buffet. (And no, you can’t buy it at IKEA). In bars today it is served chased by a beer.

Finally, the date on the calendar matched with the fading ink scribbled on the jagged piece of masking tape adhered to the bottom of the jar, August 8th.

My next hurdle, finding a jar to decant into. The vodka, soaking up the color from the limes had turned a vibrant yellow-green, redolent of freshly squeezed limes and crushed ginger. Kevin and I placed the decanted aquavit into the freezer and waited.

The next evening found us with sake glasses full to the brim with our home brew. Gingerly Kevin touched it to his lips, took a sip, and instantly began coughing, as a teenager would with their first taste of whiskey. “Whoooooooo, babe.” He remarked once he had caught his breath. “That’s strong.” Dejected I looked down at my cup and took a reluctant sip, letting the smallest amount pass through my lips. Warming spice instantly filled my mouth and nasal cavity. Ok. Maybe I used a little too much ginger. Lime eventually made its presence known as the icy liquid slid its was down the back of my throat.

I looked at Kevin, now fully recovered, and raised my eyebrows, he responded with a head crock to the side. I nodded and refilled our glasses.

I’ve been moonlighting.

No, I haven’t been asked to guest post on is my blog burning, or Ed Levine’s mondo popular Ed Levine Eats (he totally copied me, but, he’s a better blogger-what can you do?). No.

I have started a new cooking project/blog with my husband aka, the forearms in all my restaurant photos. Here at www.cookingcrowes.wordpress.com you can follow Kevin and I as we cook through a new cookbook each month, half testing our culinary skills and half testing our patience with each other’s culinary skills (he totally second guesses everything I say! Hello! I am in culinary school! If I say high heat, then high heat it is!)

The story goes a little like this. I have been cooking seriously since I was 19. I have also been collecting cookbooks since that time. Thus far I have amassed a fare collection, everything from celeb chefs (How to Eat by Nigella Lawson) to the classics (Mastering the Art of French Cooking) to the fads (Raw) not to mention the whole Lonely Planet World Food Series.

While Kevin supports my culinary endeavors in every way, he is always dubious when a package from Amazon arrives, or when he finds a crumpled half priced books receipt in my pocket (must remember to clean out jean pockets when putting them in the laundry). He claims that I haven’t cooked out of at least half of them, and I swear he calls every time I am browsing the cookbooks online or at the bookstore. It’s like he knows.

So, after a particularly sassy tiff, “It’s for my education!!! You don’t want me to fail because I don’t know the history of caviar do you?” I challenged him to cooking out of a new cookbook each month with me (this way I can buy obscure culinary tools and ingredients instead of cookbooks). My plan is working brilliantly, I tell you. Brilliantly! (insert demonic laugh here) I had also just finished Julie and Julia, the book born out of a blog, chronicling Julie Powell’s year cooking every recipe out of Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking. While I wasn’t committed to the idea of cooking out of one cookbook for an entire year, I wanted a project kev and I could do together. And a blog was born.

I’m in bold over there, so you’ll know who to skip if you’re just looking for more Mary. But if you love bumbling and (usually) high effort, you may enjoy it. What else do you have going on? Yeah, that’s right, come check it out.

Tell us what you think, we love comments.

In the week after Thanksgiving every news outlet from NPR to MSN goes through the recipe cards, giving their respective audience dozens of ideas for what to do with mounting leftovers, stacked neatly in the fridge.

The gobbler is a classic, but there are alternative takes, an American southwestern turkey with chipotle sauce. Then there are the standard pot pies, potato croquettes, and casseroles. Exotic takes included a diced turkey and mango cury on rice, and the list goes on.

Our take kept us in America with deep fried pumpkin cheesecake bites and thanksgiving enchiladas.

Putting together the enchiladas was a no brainer. Lay the tortilla flat, fill it up like a burrito with a slather of mashed potatoes, a serving of turkey. A spoonful or two of stuffing, and a pinch of green beans. Wrap it up and place in a glass baking dish. Cover the whole thing with leftover gravy, bake for 30-40 minutes and voila.

The cheesecake I needed a little help with.

I knew I wanted to wrap them in eggroll wrappers, but then what?

How bout a coating of cinnamon sugar and cinnamon?

Perfecto!

What did you do with your leftovers?

Triangle Kimbap, or SamgaKimbap, is an easy first staple in a foreigner’s diet. Without our beloved pizza by the slice joints, we are forced to look elsewhere for a shot of carbs and protein. Enter Samga Kimbap.

Found at every mini-mart across the country, triangle kimbab is a rice triangle stuffed with cooked meat, tuna, kimchi, and a host of other tempting treats for around 700won, or roughly 70cents US. I’ve been a longtime connoisseur of the Tuna and Mayonnaise version.

Really, unless you don’t have access to a mini-mart, or are easily coned by smiling ajumas at supermarket kiosks, there is no reason to try and make these at home.

But being the latter I gleefully purchased my own Samga Kimbap kit, and here is how it turned out.

contents of the kit

seasoned rice on the left, tuna and mayo on the right

helpful step-by-step instructions

inside the triangle mold

the seaweed wrapping

the finished product

For the time and effort involved (and price of ingredients) I’ll be sticking with the bounty at my local family mart.

“If it not be ripe it will drawe a mans mouth awrie with much torment; but when ripe it is as delicious as an Apricock” - Captain John Smith, 17th century.

Fuyu persimmons

October marks the arrival persimmons to Korea’s markets, tables, and tree branches. Having not tried one until I came to Seoul it was surprising to learn that the persimmon was a popular fruit in the American South in the 17th century, primarily used in baked goods, puddings, and such.

I recall having seen them in Olympia’s Eastside Co-op, sequestered to the far corner of the produce case, contained in a plastic tray, ripened to a barely stable mush, surrounded by a cloud of fruit files. Needless to say, I never purchased one.

Korean persimmon tree

Persimmons are a tricky fruit, the many varieties fall into two categories, astringent and non-astringent. The former, most likely tasted by Captain John Smith, contain high levels of tannins (red wine pucker) and cannot be eaten until it is puddingly soft. Non-astringent varieties, including the popular fuyu, sold in the Korean grocery stores and off the back of trucks, can be eaten hard or soft. However, the indigenous Korean variety, whose shape sags like a teardrop, is tres astringent. Better to look at, than to bite.

dried persimmons, kotkam

For Koreans, persimmons are commonly consumed and used in desserts. Dried persimmons are often stuffed with walnuts and sliced into rounds to be served with tea. They are also mixed with ginger to create a tasty “punch”, Sujonggwa, which is often served at the end of a Hanjeongsik meal. Persimmon vinegar is popular with the health conscious, as it is said to help digestion after heavy meals by dinking a glass of water graced with a teaspoon of vinegar. Bottoms up!
Hanjeongsik meals are multi course meals providing an array of side dishes.

Earlier this month my kitchen (toaster oven) was a flurry with persimmon related activity. Counted among the successes, a persimmon and jujube bar, a persimmon cream cheese tart, and wait for it, a persimmon cheesecake. Not so successful, getting the walnuts into the dried persimmons and slicing them into neat rounds, or the crust for the tart. I blame it on the toaster oven.

Persimmon and Jujube Bars with Lemon Icing
Adapted from an online recipe from the webstie recipes.epicurean.com
Prep time 45 minutes. Baking time 15 minutes
Makes 16 delicious cookies.

Ingredients for the persimmon bars
Ingredients
16 Korean dates jujubes
4 Soft persimmons
1 1/2 teaspoons lemon juice
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 egg, beaten
1 cup light brown sugar
1/2 cup soybean or other vegetable oil
1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt,
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon,
1 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1 cup chopped pecans or walnuts

3/4 cups powdered sugar
2 Tbsp lemon juice
Zest of 1/2 a lemon

1. Place the jujubes in a bowl and cover with boiling water. Cover the bowl with a plate and let soak for 30 minutes. Drain jujubes, remove pit and coarsely chop. Set aside.
2. Take four very ripe persimmons and remove skins, and stem. Using a wooden spoon, or your clean hands, press the soft persimmons through a fine meshed sieve. Discard seeds. Place the pulp in a bowl and add the lemon juice and baking soda. Set aside
3. In a large bowl combine the egg, sugar, and vegetable oil. Mix to combine.
4. In another bowl (yes, this recipe calls for a lot of dishes) mix the dry ingredients: flour, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves. Add the flour mixture to the sugar mixture, alternating with the persimmon mixture. Stir to combine.
5. Add the chopped nuts and jujubes.
6. Pour dough into a square glass baking dish, smeared with butter.
7. Bake in your toaster oven (or real oven 350 degrees) for 15-20 minutes, depending on the strength of your oven. Use a toothpick to test for doneness

8. Let the cookie cool in pan, atop a wire cooling rack for 10 minutes. Invert baking dish and remove cookie from pan. Let cool completely on rack

9. In a small bowl (the last bowl, I promise), whisk together the powdered sugar, lemon juice, and lemon zest. Brush the glaze atop the cookie and let harden 15 minutes. Cut the cookie into bars and serve.

Not a baker? From www.sdfarmbureau.org comes other ways to enjoy fall’s bounty.

Slice Fuyu and spread with lime juice, salt, and chili powder. Eat with a slice of cheese or spread with peanut butter.

For an Autumn Salad, mix cubed Fuyu with grapes, pomegrante seeds, cubed apple, and pretty sliced green kiwi.

Top hot or cold cereal with little pieces of bright orange Fuyu.

Salsa is great when chopped Fuyu, onion, tomatillo, cilantro, and chili serrano are mixed together.

Smoothies can be blended using Fuyu, ice, lime juice, and milk. Sweeten if desired.

Syrup for hotcakes is delightful when peeled and chopped or blended Fuyu is cooked with butter and sugar.

Dehydrate thin slices of Fuyu to enjoy as a snack or to add to trail mix.

Eat up before they’re gone.

Chusok, the Korean holiday where families pay respects to their elders, and women of the house prepare elaborate meals of thanks, passed this last weekend. Many expats that this extended holiday for a quick jaunt to China or Japan, some spend it in a beer induced haze wandering the Itaewon strip, and some gather for potlucks, drinks, and good company.

Last year Kev and I hightailed it to Pyeongcheon for an afternoon of Korean cooking with friends. This holiday weekend found us, yet again, in the city of Anyang, this time in the lovely home of Korean blogger Zen Kimchi.

The big kimchi invited fellow food and Korean bloggers over for, what he described as a humble, meal of crackling roasted duck rubbed with Chinese five spice powder, heavenly mashed potatoes, salad, and from scratch, pain a l’Ancienne and a rustic onion and gouda tart. You can find a couple of the recipes on his blog.

I, humbly contributed with a persimmon cream cheese tart.

Before you browse through the mouthwatering photos, documenting our excellent meal, let me just sat that it pays to be friends with foodies. We may bore you with our talk of the latest culinary equipment or our arcane musings on braising techniques, but boy do we feed you well.

From left to right: Shuana, Me, the daily kimchi, Devante, Zen Kimchi, Seoul Life, David, and Colin. Photo by Kevin.

Onion gouda tart.

The spread.

Zen Kimchi and my persimmon tart.

The roasted duck.

The roast duck master