Baked Churros

l'America era un angolo, l'America era un'ombra, nebbia sottile,
l'America era un'ernia, un gioco di quei tanti che fa la vita...

America was a corner, America was a shadow, a fine mist,
America was a hernia, a game of the many that life plays...
~ Francesco Guccini, Amerigo

He was selling churros with cinnamon from a cart on 16th Str., behind the stairs at the exit of the subway; his name was Francisco but for his friends and in the neighborhood and he was only and ever Pancho. He was as old as Jesus, black hair over the shoulders and hands stained with sugar and fatigue. He spoke slowly in a language foreign to him, masking his stubborn and unyielding southern accent against his will. His underground America was that street corner, a t-shirt Yes We Can, and a dream never faded.
He was a sinner, an innocent outlaw with his breath always on the alert: his mistake without fault was to be born beyond, in a country with no moon, torn apart by knives, white powder and misery.
He had arrived at night, clinging to the dark wind of a train still in the running. They say he had a girl, too young to still remember him, too beautiful to stop loving her. He had left behind his heart in love, closed his eyes to the sadness and left for his quest.
He ended up in the city that bore his name, greeting and hope for a better future, witness and accomplice of a present without glory. 12 hours a day, 300 churros at sunset and one Sunday for beer and freedom every month.

TWO FOR $ 1.
TWO FOR $ 1.

A hand-written sign was selling his sweetness for him, filled with memories and the warm scent of melancholy. A handshake, a smile, a buenos dias: two churros to the gluttons for a dollar of his youth.
He was always there, Pancho, smiling and generous in front of us who asked no questions. He was always there, safe and cozy, with his eyes fixed on the future.
Until one morning when we couldn't find him anymore: they say they were stationed, an unhappy call, the forced supervision of a mockery of fate.
Everybody liked him, them also, Francisco Pancho Juarez, Francisco Pancho fabricante de churros.




Baked Churros
for approx. 15 pieces

flour 140 gr
sugar 50 gr
butter 100 gr
salt 1 pinch
water 200 gr
egg 1
vanilla extract 1/2 teaspoon
sugar and cinnamon to finish as needed

Heat water with salt and then dissolve in the sugar. Add butter and when it's completely melted, add flour and mix. Cook until the dough is smooth and has no lumps, and gathers into a shiny ball (it'll take about 1 minute). Remove from heat and let cool. Add the egg, at room temperature, vanilla extract and mix well.
Put the dough into a pastry bag with a star tip, form several strips about 3-4" long and place them on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper; bake at 350 for about 30 minutes until churros are golden.
Roll them still hot in sugar mixed with cinnamon.
Churros, traditional Mexican sweets, should be fried in hot oil; this is my so-called light version.
Light but not vegan, for the first sin of the year.

Black Bean Soup

It was a midsummer evening, last summer, the postcard from a trip to Costa Rica half an exile and half a vacation.
I remember that green like a proud hug in the midst of impossible roads, among a tangle of rocks and puddles, a bright and shiny emerald, nourished by a beneficial rain, on time every day at six o'clock.
I remember the guys on their bicycle and the couples holding into each other's arms, tight on the seat of damaged scooters; their lean bodies, tanned, dusted with love and smiling.
There was the chaos of the streets in downtown, and then the suburbs, violated by the arrogance of fast food chains, seduced by the illusion of a wealth coming from the north. Scattered everywhere biting your liver, there were Coke vending machines, and innocent-looking signs, mean and intrusive, almost an insult to the poverty of people.
I remember the villages, slow, quiet and sunny, those pueblos made only of temporary churches, outdoor schools and improbable soccer fields: a narrow and wet meadow and two poles as the goal.
There was Costa Rica going to the World Cup, the TVs turned on in the bars, two cold Imperial and happiness.
I remember the ripe fruit, sweet and seductive, bought on the corners of the streets along with the pure water of a young coconut that had fallen down.
The darkest nights began early in the jungle, on the highest hill lying on a bed of leaves.
I remember men and women who were different, who had escaped from our dizziness to chase a dream with no comfort.
I met a taxi driver and mechanic who had no shoes, an instant friend who they called El Che. He told me where are you going, why, where are you running, you people of the north? You're fool, deluded to believe you can buy our reality.
We split one jugo helado, and this spicy soup during an afternoon of solidarity.
Pura vida.




Black Bean Soup
for 4 people

dried black beans 250 gr
white onion, large 1
garlic 2 cloves
carrot 1
red bell pepper 1
tomatoes 3
lime 1
vegetable bouillon cube 1
olive oil, salt, pepper, oregano, cayenne pepper, cumin seeds, coriander seeds and allspice as needed
fresh cilantro, tomatoes and cucumber to serve as needed

Soak beans overnight for at least 8 hours.
Chop the onion and the garlic cloves, sauté them for a few minutes in a little olive oil, then add diced carrot and bell pepper. Stir and cook for a few minutes, add the beans, drained and rinsed, spices (if using seeds, grind them fine), vegetable bouillon, salt and pepper. Cover with water, bring to boil and cook over medium heat for about two hours.
Half an hour before beans are ready, add the juice and zest of lime, and the tomatoes, peeled (dip them in boiling water for 30 seconds, then peel) and cut into pieces. Season with salt and pepper.
Puree the soup with a blender only for a few seconds, so that it gets creamy but visible pieces still remain.
To serve, garnish with fresh diced tomato and cucumber, and chopped cilantro to taste.
w.v.<3

Chana Masala

They're chickpeas. Cooked.
Cooked and then sauteed in a sauce that's vaguely tomatoish and super-extra-hot.
But then let me tell you, these are the Kings of chickpeas, inimitably pleasure-giving, humble sailors on a red sea of spices, luxurious, deep, and blissfully stormy.
Embellished with a long list of spices, from here to Porbandar, these chickpeas become an alternate reality, a mysterious and welcoming world, a refuge for the heart and the palate.
My advice is this: do not be intimidated. Ok, the powders are many and perhaps hard to find, maybe they'll make you run from one side of the city to the other, you'll probably lose patience and maybe even half a day; but perhaps they'll also make you explore hidden corners, discover the magic of new colors bursting with life, or understand the beauty disguised within our conundrums.
If you're in doubt, but even not, just do it. Buy them all. Because it's worth it. Because some like it hot.
Just do it. And tell them I sent you.




Chana Masala
for 4-5 people

dried chickpeas 300 gr
onion, large 1
ginger garlic paste 3-4 tablespoons
fresh jalapeño 1
cumin seeds 1 teaspoon
coriander powder 1 tablespoon
mango powder 1 tablespoon
cayenne pepper 1 teaspoon
turmeric 1 teaspoon
paprika 2 teaspoons
cumin powder 2 teaspoons
garam masala 1 teaspoon
tomato paste 2 tablespoons
lemon 1
olive oil, salt, fresh cilantro to taste

Soak chickpeas for about 6-8 hours. Rinse, cover with water and cook over medium heat for about 1 hour and a half or 2 hours, until they are tender. Drain, keeping aside a cup of their cooking water.
In a large pot heat 3 tablespoons of olive oil, toast the cumin seeds for a few minutes, then add the ginger garlic paste (if you can't find it, you can use 2 garlic cloves and a lot of ginger, minced; however, if you're lucky enough to have an Indian store, full of spices and traditional products close to home, or even at a 45-minute ride from you, I recommend this alternative), onion and jalapeño, finely chopped, and cook for about 5 minutes. Add the rest of the spices, the reserved chickpea water and the tomato paste, and cook for a few minutes. If necessary, adjust the flavor.
Add the chickpeas and cook for 10 minutes; finally add the lemon juice and a handful of chopped fresh cilantro.
If you wish, serve with basmati rice. Or maybe not.
w.v.<3

Harissa Homemade

Give me a bit of your time, a look at the horizon and a memory. Every day and forever.
I'll give you a smile, a little light on my shadows and something red. Every day and forever.
~ Anonymous

I wish I was able to describe colors to a blind man, to speak of white, silver and blue, or green, black and yellow, to make them alive even without light, and to stick them forever under the skin and inside the eyes; I wish I was able to grasp their secret, to understand their mystery and enigma, and then give the answer to those who don't know it.
And then I wonder, what color is it, the color red? Warm and strong like a sudden jolt that goes through your stomach; it's the color of sin, a forbidden apple, the tousled hair of an almost respectable girl. It burns, at times, like a sick passion, a cross and some blood spilled on the crazy sidewalks. It's exuberant as crimson and soft as velvet, positive as a new beginning and a horizon full of hope. It's the color of Mondays, safe, straightforward and a bit ambitious.
But red are also the bricks and the cracks of the houses up the hills, within the faded frame of my memory; summer tomatoes under the sun, a bed of poppies that you wanna dive in, the smell of the earth, and the dirty hands of simplicity.
Red to me is the only wine, full of fruit, and intoxicating with love and serenity. Red is the truth, that feeling that screams and suffocates, but that sometimes, unexpected, brings life back.
Red and shiny are the shoes that I've always wanted to wear, a touch of makeup that made you fall in love one day, and in the end, is that flower that we no longer had the courage to share.
I wish I was able, able to explain all the red that I carry inside and that you don't know. I wish.




Harissa Homemade*
for 2 small jars

medium size red bell peppers 3
cumin seeds 1/2 teaspoon
caraway seeds 1/2 teaspoon
coriander seeds 1/2 teaspoon
small red onions 2
garlic 6 cloves
fresh red hot chilies 4
extra virgin olive oil 1 tablespoon
tomato paste 1 full tablespoon
lemon juice 4 tablespoons
salt 1/2 teaspoon

*This one comes always from here, Plenty, a book so full of red, yellow and green, so packed with vegan recipes... but not too much. Come on, tell me you already like it.

Harissa is a spicy hot sauce, typical of some North African countries (Tunisia, Algeria, Libya, Morocco), it's used to accompany grilled vegetables, meat (noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!), or rice and couscous dishes. But in my house it's also eaten with bread by the spoon...
Peel the bell peppers: roast them over a gas flame, close them for a few minutes in a paper bag, then remove skin and seeds. Cut into pieces and set aside.
Toast cumin, caraway and coriander seeds in a hot pan, then grind them up in a food processor until you get a powder.
Coarsely chop garlic and onion, and sauté them for a few minutes in a pan with a tablespoon of olive oil. Add the chilies, cleaned, seeded and cut into pieces. Cook over medium heat for about 8-10 minutes until they take on an amber color. Let cool off slightly, and then blend the mixture with roasted peppers, spices powder, tomato paste, lemon juice and salt, until you get a smooth paste with no lumps.
It keeps in the fridge for a few weeks and it's used with love.
w.v.<3

Salmorejo

Bread and tomato.
A bit of sun, the waves of the ocean that looks like the sea. The goodness of a thick and refreshing soup. An open afternoon and a book to start.
So I build my own summer in the city.
Happy weekend.

Salmorejo
for 4 people

ripe vine tomatoes 1 kg
day old bread 150 gr
toasted almonds 30 gr
garlic 1 clove
balsamic vinegar 1 tablespoon
extra virgin olive oil 4 tablespoons
salt, pepper, water as needed

For the cucumber salsa
cucumber 1
small red onion 1/2
tomatoe (optiona) 1/2
lime 2
fresh cilantro, salt, pepper as needed

Strawberry Agua Fresca

people
their eyes
the scent of the sea
I need flowers and grass
wheat, sun.
sugar and strawberries
moon, wind, letters and colors.
I need ideas
words
the sound of a smile,
to share a night
or paint the winter,
I need brotherly love
wine, milk, and salt.
I feel it bursting from inside
this desire, a mirage of life
it suffocates me, it quenches
it burns
it consoles
~ Anonymous to the wall, Strawberries in Winter




Strawberry Agua Fresca
for 4 people

strawberries, net 600 gr
water 750 ml ca.
lime 2
sugar 3/4 tablespoons

Wash strawberries, remove their stalk and blend well until they are reduced to a puree. Pass through a sieve with fine meshes and discard seeds. Add water, lime juice and sugar, and mix well until the sugar is completely dissolved. If you want, add a few leaves of fresh mint or basil. Serve the drink cold, preferably in the middle of a sunny day.

Indian Soup with Red Lentils and Yellow Split Peas

Orange, as happiness. Hot, as the summer that's going away, or the one that never really got here. Tasty and spicy like only an Indian soup can be.
Someone like it hot. Can you really blame them?


Indian Soup
with Red Lentils and Yellow Split Peas
for 4-5 people

red lentils 200 gr
yellow split peas 200 gr
onion 1
garlic 2 cloves
carrots 2
fresh ginger one 3"-long piece
ground turmeric 1 teaspoon
ground curry 2 tablespoons
ground coriander 1 teaspoon
cardamom seeds 6-7
cumin seeds 1 tablespoon
tomato paste 2 tablespoons
water or vegetable stock as needed
olive oil, salt, pepper, cayenne pepper, fresh cilantro as needed

I left you with a soup, I'm coming back with a soup. Could this be my new obsession?

Wash and drain lentils and peas. Set aside.
Finely chop the onion and cook it in a tablespoon of oil along with the garlic cloves cut in half for about 10 minutes, until it's soft and transparent. Combine finely grated ginger and the rest of the spices, and cook for another 5 minutes. Add carrots, peeled and cut into small cubes, lentils and peas, and tomato paste diluted in half a cup of hot water or vegetable stock. Cook for few minutes, then cover with the rest of the water or stock, season with salt, pepper and cayenne pepper and bring to a boil. Continue to cook over medium-low for about 40 minutes or until lentils and peas are tender, stirring occasionally and adding water if necessary. In the end discard garlic cloves and cardamom seeds, and adjust the amount of spices according to your taste.
Serve hot sprinkling with some chopped fresh cilantro.

Photo (Thurs)Day: Guacamole

Ripe avocado, red onion, tomato, lime juice, salt, pepper, chili, cilantro. ¡Feliz Cinco de Mayo!

Squash, Bell Pepper & Coconut Milk. Thai Inspired.

Soup. One more time. Again, orange. Again, squash.
This time though, no butternut squash. Instead, I chose a kabocha, which may sound like a bad word, but in reality it's the name of a Japanese squash, small (well....of course, it's Japan style), round and very sweet. I'd even say that to me kabocha is no doubt the perfect squash, the real Cucurbita Maxima, the Rolls Royce of all squash.
Stuff that'll make all Cinderellas out there red with envy.


Kabocha, Bell Pepper & Coconut Milk
a (little) Thai Soup
for 4

kabocha (or other squash), cut in pieces about 1.5 kg
yellow bell pepper, large 1
onion, small 1
red Thai curry paste about 2 teaspoons
coconut milk 1 can (about 350 gr.)
lime 1
olive oil, salt, pepper, ginger, lemongrass, pumpkin seeds to serve to taste

My weekly soup is somewhat Thai inspired. Just as I've already experimented here, I started from a base of Thai curry paste, this time red, to which I added extra ginger, lime and lemongrass, just to make sure that the Thai effect be nice and strong.

Place cut squash on a baking pan lined with parchment paper, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and bake at 400 for about 45 minutes, until squash is soft. Peel it, cut the flesh in small pieces and set them aside. Meanwhile, roast bell pepper on the stove, peel it, discard seeds and white parts, and cut it in pieces.
Heat some olive oil in a large pot, sauté the chopped onion, about 2 teaspoons of curry paste (the exact amount depends on how spicy and hot the curry is, it's better to start with 1-2 teaspoons, and then add more at the end, if necessary), a small piece of fresh ginger, grated lime peel, and some chopped lemongrass. Cook for few minutes, until curry paste has dissolved, then add the vegetables. Pour in coconut milk and lime juice, bring to boil, and then puree everything with an immersion blender until soup is nice and smooth.
If needed, dilute it with some more water and add a little more curry paste. To serve, sprinkle each bowl with a handful of roasted pumpkin seeds.

Asparagus, Green Curry and Coconut Milk Soup

To start the week right and forget that it's only Monday, a super easy soup that tastes like exotic places, distant horizons and barefoot in the sand. With all the flavor of seasonal vegetables.
That is to say, dreaming doesn't cost anything, half hour in the kitchen at the most...


Asparagus, Green Curry & Coconut Milk
a Soup
for 4

asparagus, net about 1 lb and 5 oz
leeks 2
shallot 1
green curry paste 2-3 teaspoons
coconut milk 1 small can (about 5.5 oz)
lime 1
olive oil, vegetable stock, salt, pepper to taste

Clean asparagus and cut off the hard ends. Cut them into pieces and set aside. In a large pot, saute sliced leeks and chopped shallot in a little olive oil. Add two teaspoons of curry paste and a splash of coconut milk, and cook for few minutes until curry paste is diluted. Add the asparagus pieces (if you'd like, keep some of the tips aside to garnish the soup in the end) and cover with the stock. Season with salt, pepper, lime zest and bring to boil. Adjust the taste by adding some more curry paste, depending on how spicy you want the soup to be. Cook for 25-30 minutes or until asparagus are tender, then mix in a blender until you get a smooth puree. Put it back on the stove, add the lime juice and the rest of coconut milk, cook for five minutes longer and serve with some Thai basil and the asparagus tips kept aside, briefly steamed or sauteed in a pan.

Filipino Salted Eggs

Check out what I found this morning at the Farmers' Market. I don't know about you, but I've never seen these futuristic eggs before.
I was walking around between the usual kiwis, cauliflowers, potatoes and grapes, when all of a sudden I caught a glimpse of something pink emerging from the booths. Pink??? Whatever it is, it has to be mine!
They told me that these are salted duck eggs, a traditional delicacy from the Philippines, where they are often sold by street vendors. To make them, you need to let them sit for few weeks in a solution made of water and plenty of salt, then you boil them with some red food coloring, so that they can be distinguished from regular eggs.
I don't quite know how to use them yet, but one thing for sure: now when I open the fridge, all of a sudden oranges seem pale, pomegranates dull, and apples faded.
Help!

Ayva Dolmasi. A Turkish Affair, aka Lamb Stuffed Quinces

I pack everything up and move to Turkey. I leave you a legacy of 153 cookbooks, many of which are still virgins, 74 types of cookie cutters, a pantry full of jams enough for the next 5 years, 12 types of flour, a notebook full of recipes, and an empty fridge. Yes, 'cause I decided I really like Turkish things, all of them, lamb, rose water, charred eggplants that are turned into puree, dried fruit mixed with chicken or red meat dishes, the barrels of yogurt, the spicy meatballs cooked on the grill.
I'm going to abandon my igloo and fly to the Aegean; I'll give up the never-ending Starbucks coffee and its paper cup for a nice cup of Kahve, black and strong; goodbye to spaghetti and tagliatelle, from now on only bulgur and pilaf.
At least until the next craze, Thai or Vietnamese, who knows?


Ayva Dolmasi
for 3

quinces, medium size 3
ground lamb about 1 lb.
onion, medium size 1
pine nuts 3 tablespoons
olive oil, salt, pepper, cinnamon, allspice to taste

The recipe comes from my last mindless appropriation, Arabesque: A Taste of Morocco, Turkey, & Lebanon, which won me over amidst another 200 books for its turquoise cover. No comment.

Wash the quinces, removing their downy coating, pat them dry and place them in a baking pan covered with aluminum. Bake at 320 for one or two hours (baking time will depend on the size of the quinces), until they're soft to the touch. Allow to cool down.
Meanwhile, finely chop the onion and sautee it in a little olive oil, until it becomes translucent. Add the pine nuts and toast them lightly. In a separate bowl, mix the lamb with salt, freshly ground black pepper, cinnamon and allspice. Add the onion with the pine nuts and stir well until you get a smooth mixture.
Cut quinces in half lengthwise and remove their core with a sharp knife. Scoop out the interior with a spoon, removing about 1/3. Chop the pulp you've obtained and add it to meat. Lightly salt the quinces halves and fill each one with a couple of tablespoons of the meat mixture, pressing lightly. Place them in baking pan lined with parchment paper and bake at 350 for about half hour.
If there's some filling left, you can make meatballs and bake them in the same pan with the quinces (or in a separate one) for the same baking time.

Six-Spice Steak

Yesterday I ran for 20 miles, and today my leg muscles are raising a chorus of protest. However, this is not the only reason why I decided to make myself a steak. It's also because I had a score to settle with meat since the previous post; plus, again because of the above tagine, I find myself with a pantry full of spices, and any excuse for using them is welcome.

I found the recipe - definitely of Asian influences - browsing through an old issue of Gourmet Magazine. Don't ask me what kind of cut I've used, because I wouldn't be able to tell you (the recipe calls for hanger steak, but who can find that?). To each place its own steak cuts. All you need is to be friend with Mr Butcher, and the problem is solved.


Six_Spice Steak
for 2 or 3 people

For the meat
beef steak, about 1,5" thick, cut lengthwise about 3/4 lb.
Sichuan peppercorns 1 tablespoon
whole black peppercorns 5 or 6
fennel seeds 1/2 teaspoon
anise seeds 1/2 teaspoon
cinnamon stick 1 piece, about 3/4" long
cloves 3
dark brown sugar 1 teaspoon
salt a pinch

For the sauce
soy sauce 3-4 tablespoons
rice vinegar 1/2 tablespoon
water 1 tablespoon
freshly grated ginger 1/2 tablespoon
dark brown sugar 1 teaspoon
minced shallot 1/2
minced garlic 1 small clove
fresh cilantro, chopped to taste

Preheat broiler. Lightly grease the pan where you'll cook the meat. Grind all spices in a food processor with sugar and salt until they're almost pulverized. Rub the meat with the spice mix and spread it evenly over it. Arrange meat on the pan and broil close to the heat, about 4 or 5 minutes per side (it must be on the rare side).
Remove meat from the oven and let it rest for about 10 minutes. Collect the juice that's been released, add it to the rest of the ingredients for the sauce (except cilantro) and let it thicken on the stove for a minute.
Brush the steak with the sauce and sprinkle it with the chopped cilantro. Cut it into thin slices and serve over a bed of salad.

Lamb Tagine with Cinnamon and Dried Prunes

I'm sorry, the lamb ran away. The rest of the ingredients (more or less) are all assembled here. True, we're missing the main character, but he didn't feel like showing up in front of everybody, looking such a mess. And he put it off to the next tagine.

The reason may be known, or at least may be understood by budding foodbloggers like myself. Photographing meat is so damned difficult; no matter how nice is your serving bowl or how well the dish turned out to be. It's already hard to take a decent portrait of photogenic subjects such as cookies, tarts or croissants (not that I've ever tried to make croissants, but let's not split hairs here....). So, it's already difficult take a decent photo of subject that are beautiful per se, let alone meat! Even worse if it's something with undefined outlines, like goulash or stews. What you've prepared with so much care (for this recipe, it took me one hour only to make the list of the spices I needed...) turns into an undefined brownish patch that would make anybody loose their appetite.

Yet, I really wanted to share this tagine, because it's delicious. Therefore, picture or non picture, I decided to palm you off with this post. I put together this patchwork-recipe looking around in the web and in all those books that I haven't put on sale yet. Cooking for so long with the spices, the lamb acquires a very distinctive taste, and most of all it becomes so tender that I still can't believe I made it myself (...I've never had a great relationship with meat). The most exciting thing is that while the meat is cooking, such an incredible scent will spread around your house (or your 20 square meters) that you'll feel like The Mistress of Spices. And I wouldn't be surprised if your neighbors, following the scented trail with their nose, will knock at your door with some kind of excuse, hoping in your famous generosity.

To avoid any misunderstanding, tagine is literally the name of the pot with a conic lid - usually a clay pot - that is widely used in Moroccan cuisine - and North African cuisine in general - for this type of recipes. The tagine is ideal for slow cooking, because thanks to its structure, aroma and steam are retained in the inside, and the meat turns out very tender and tasty. And with all the gadgets that I already own, how could I do without a tagine?
But let's come to the point, here is the recipe. Trust me, it's not your usual piece of meat.


Lamb Tagine
with Cinnamon and Dried Prunes
for two

lamb meat, cut into 1 1/2 inch cubes about 1 lb.
paprika, salt, pepper, fresh ginger, turmeric, ground cinnamon, cardamom, cumin, coriander, cloves, cayenne pepper to taste
whole cinnamon sticks 2
red onion 1/2
garlic 1 clove
saffron to taste
white vine 2 or 3 tablespoons
honey 1 or 2 tablespoons
pitted prunes about 10
olive oil

The night before, toss the lamb with one tablespoon olive oil and ground spices (paprika, fresh grated ginger, turmeric, cinnamon, cardamom, coriander, cloves, cayenne pepper, and cumin). Cover and keep it in the fridge.
The next day, heat one tablespoon olive oil in the tagine, add meat with all its spices and let it brown on all sides. Take it out of the pan using a slotted spoon, add another tablespoon olive oil and cook garlic and onion, thinly sliced, for 5 minutes, adding some water if needed. Put the meat back in the pan; add salt, pepper, whole cinnamon sticks and the saffron previously dissolved in the white wine. Add water to almost cover the meat, put the lid to the tagine and let simmer for about one and a half hour, stirring occasionally. If needed, add more water, and adjust the taste with salt and spices.
Now, add honey and prunes. Let cook for another 15/20 minutes until meat is tender and the sauce thickens.
Serve with couscous.

Chinese Tea Eggs

It's not Easter and it's not even Chinese New Year. But I couldn't wait that long to try these gorgeous eggs. After all, I've read that in China they eat them regularly as a simple snack and millions of them are sold each day, not only in specialty stores but also in common markets and street food carts.
I remember seeing them here, soaking in big pots in some of the dim sum places in Chinatown. But to be honest, looking at deep brown eggs floating freely in a black liquid has always sort of scared me. I could have never imagined that hidden inside that dark wrapping one would find such a marvelous thing. Never judge by appearances...
Yet, I kept thinking of a special occasion for this photogenic dish. And why not? I decided I want to celebrate my almost new born blog, which is approximately, about, more or less one month old!
Congratulations and a sincere thank you to those of you who support me.


Chinese Tea Eggs

eggs 6
soy sauce approximately 1/2 glass
black tea leaves 2 tablespoons
salt 1 teaspoon
sugar 2 teaspoons
cinnamon stick 1
star anise 3
cracked peppercorns, orange zest, gingerto taste

Put eggs in a pot with enough water to cover them. Bring to boil, then let cook for 3 minutes.
Remove eggs from the pan, keeping their water, and cool down by placing them in a large bowl filled with cold water.
Crack the eggshell by tapping gently with a knife. Tap until the shell is fragmented all over, but be careful to keep it intact. The more you're able to fragment the shell, the deeper the marble effect.
Add all other ingredients to the cooking water, stir well and place the eggs back in. Bring to boil one more time, lower the heat and cover with lid. Simmer for 1 to 3 hours, adding more water if needed to keep the eggs always covered. The longer you let them simmer, the more intense their color and flavour. I reached a sort of compromise, simmering for approximately one hour and a half and then letting them soak in the same water overnight.
I was really curious to try them and I've been pleasantly surprised with the spiced and peculiar taste. On the side, I made a salad with thinly sliced white cabbage, dressed with toasted sesame oil, soy sauce and white vinegar, and sprinkled with a generous amount of black sesame seeds.