Lacto-fermentation experiment #2 (Kishk)

Kishk is a powdery cereal of bulgur fermented with milk and yoghurt.  It is easily stored and is valuable to the winter diet of isolated villagers or country people. Kishk is prepared in the early Fall when the wheat crop is harvested. Milk, yogurt and bulgur are mixed well together and allowed to ferment for nine days. Each morning the mixture is thoroughly kneaded with the hands. When fermentation is complete the kishk is spread on a clean cloth to dry. Finally it is rubbed well between the hands until it is reduced to a powder and then stored in a dry place. To make kishk porridge, melt one tablespoon of qawwrama. Add several garlic cloves and fry lightly. Add (preserved wheat) two tablespoon kishk and saute for several minutes, stirring constantly. Add one cup water and salt to taste. Boil and stir until the desired porridge consistency is reached. Serve hot.

From Food from the Arab World Marie Karam Khayat and Margaret Clark Keatinge, Khayat's, Beirut 1959 

I am on day five.  The smell is delightful--strong, but also slightly sweet.

Aside from the fact that it is not fall and I have not harvested any of my non-existent wheat crops, I think living in Climax, NC qualifies me as a "country person."

My recipe is from Sandor Katz' book, Wild Fermentation,

pink, white and orange

At home (after being in the studio)

Lacto-fermentation experiment #1 (summer)

Despite my teaching leave in the Fall and despite my sincere hopes for a different spring semester in terms of physical, spiritual and artistic equanimity, I lost it by about April.  The studio went up in smoke.  All personal reading turned into a growing pile of unopened books beside my bed.  My blog lost steam.  And worst of all lunch frequently became handfuls of peanuts eaten while standing in front of the cupboard.  As might be expected, I got sick toward the end--not majorly so, but enough to result in a 7 day course of antibiotics.  Antibiotics are not evil obviously but I really don't like taking them, especially for seven days.  Every day I'm on antibiotics is one more day during which all the bad stuff is being killed (good!) but then all those nice, friendly, helpful bacteria we all have and need are being decimated too (bad, very, very bad).  At the end of seven days my body is functioning without infection--but wearily, and all in all I feel kind of like an empty corn husk.

Being that this last course of antibiotics was so obviously the result of some pretty unbalanced living, I effectively woke up to the fact that I am really, REALLY not twenty-two any longer.  I gave up coffee, cut way, way down on refined sugar, flour and alcohol, eliminated peanuts from my diet (because I found out they contain mycotoxins very frequently which is not so agreeable to our bodies) and started eating a lot of, well, sauerkraut.  Sauerkraut is a miracle food!  Not the cooked kind of sauerkraut but the kind that is made by mixing chopped cabbage with some sea salt and whey (the rather gross looking liquid that always sits on top of your yogurt the day after you've eaten some), pressing it hard into a glass jar until it's covered in its own liquid, sealing it up, setting it on the counter--and then waiting a couple of days for it to do its thing!  In those three days or so something amazing happens!  All the good bacteria in the jar start fermenting the cabbage, little bubbles begin to dot the sides of the glass, AND if you are like me and decide you are going the press the crap out your cabbage while piling it into glass jars, then you might have something of a fizzy, explosive science-experiment kind of event when you open the jars.  But if you throw some purple cabbage into the mix your explosion will be pink and rather beautiful, as you can see above.  And really, no harm done--in fact, it is quite humbling to experience the reality of food that is actually, truly alive. 

But back to sauerkraut, the miracle food.  Faced with the slaughter of all my good bacteria, I began eating lacto-fermented sauerkraut, and really, truly my body is humming again, back to its preferred balance.  But to be honest, I feel even better than normal; I feel kind of like my body is glowing with health.  So now I am hooked on fermentation, and I've resolved that aside from this being a summer of painting, reading, gardening and general all-around vibrancy, the summer will be filled with as many forays into lacto-fermentation as I can muster.  I doubt they will all be as visually lovely as this one.

Here's the recipe I used--from Sally Fallon's wonderful book, Nourishing Traditions:
Sauerkraut
(Makes one quart)
In a bowl mix one medium chopped cabbage, 1 tablespoon caraway seeds, 1 tablespoon sea salt, and 4 tablespoons whey.  Pound with a meat hammer for about 10 minutes until the juices are released.  Press down firmly into a quart sized jar until juices come to the top of the cabbage.  The top of the cabbage should be at least 1 inch below the top of the jar--very important!  Cover tightly and keep at room temperature for about three days before placing it in the fridge.  The sauerkraut can be eaten at this point, but it gets better with age.

Painting, flowers, little hands, big hands, greens, eggs/Images from the weekend

Handmade, hand drawn

 

My son is five years old today!!  I really, truly cannot believe he is five and neither can he actually; this morning (after seeming more pensive than usual) he asked me if I was sure he was five today.  He also wanted to know when the grand event happened...while he was sleeping?   

Of course a newly minted five year old boy is a perfect chance to get some baking into what would otherwise be a typical studio day.  His request? Strawberry cupcakes with blue icing.  

the parts of potages I really like

1. fillup of cream or butter
2. light liaison (that will hold the vegetables in suspension)
3. as the old books used to say
4. or serve it in peasanty chunks
5. add a dollop of cream

Potages

What a delicious soup, you cannot help saying to yourself as you breathe in its appetizing aroma, and then its full homey flavor fills your mouth.  There is nothing to mask the taste of those fresh vegetables--no canned stock, no enhancers, preservatives, additives--nothing but the vegetables themselves and a final enriching fillip of cream or butter.  This is homemade soup in its primal beauty, to me, and although I love many others, it is leek and potato that I dream of.  And it couldn't be simpler to make--saute the leeks briefly in butter to release their flavor, stir in a little flour to make the light liaison that will hold the vegetables in suspension, add potatoes, water, and salt, and cook until done, as the old books used to say--30 to 40 minutes in a saucepan, or 5 minutes in the pressure cooker.  Puree the soup if you wish, or serve it in peasanty chunks; add a dollop of cream for each serving, and that's all there is to it.
Julia Child, From Julia Child's Kitchen

Thanksgiving! (2)

Thanksgiving!

Red and Round Things

I've enjoyed the days settling back in to home.  My son is older--amazingly so.  What conversations we've had!!!  Fall has come and nearly gone.  The arugula and lettuce in the garden are shooting up.  And I've spent some good hours cooking and baking--always an intensely aesthetic and grounding experience.

This week #2

Christopher went on a soup-making binge. (Photos courtesy of Alexander)

This week #1

My son was sick for much of the week (he is much better now) so there is little news in the studio.  I've spent most of my days inside the house with him.  We are assuredly in Fall now; I think we've closed the windows until Spring, and I've pulled out the heavier blankets.  I also spent moments here and there cooking apples for applesauce--I made and froze 13 quarts!!!  I feel quite honored to have inherited the applesauce maker/sieve (silver, old, with a turning handle) my grandfather used to make applesauce in the few years after my grandmother died.