the Yummy letter

Volume 1 Issue 8 March 25, 2009

‘Yes, Bill, there is a Tamale Lady.’

Tamale I fondly remember my first time tasting genuine tamales. It was many years ago, and my dart team had an away match in a bar on Dolores Street. About halfway through the match, everyone seemed to lose interest in darts and instead focused on this tiny Mexican woman who entered the bar towing two large ice chests behind her. The bar patrons’ eyes seemed to glaze over and they gravitated to her as if she were a great spiritual leader. I asked the nearest person what was going on, and in a near zombie-like tone he replied, “Tamale Lady.” I had heard stories of this legendary woman and the amazing contents of those coolers she dragged around the Mission district, and until that moment I had thought that the tamale lady was just an urban legend like Sasquatch.

For many years, I roamed aimlessly through the neighborhood in hopes of spotting her and getting another chance to unwrap one of those parcels of golden goodness. I had to resort to visiting random taquerias to see if anyone else could replicate the magic. Time after time I came away disappointed. Often, when my friends would mention their mothers or aunties were making tamales, I would find a way to get invited or at least get one brought to me. This is when I realized the secret to the Tamale Lady’s wares was the love she put into making each one.

In many families, tamales are reserved for special occasions and the act of making them becomes almost a celebration unto itself, bringing many generations of the family together before the meal to help prepare and roll the tamales.

This inspired me to try making tamales on my own, but there was no way I could hope to equal the flavors of the masa goddess of the Mission, so instead I decided to add an Italian twist to it. Polenta is an ingredient I’ve always loved, and I felt its texture would hold up well in this format. Recently I have begun to experiment with making my own sausages and thought my Italian fennel sausage filling would work really well here. For an extra boost, I added a tomato and basil salsa that works almost like a bruschetta topping for the polenta.

Italian Tamales
(serves 10–15)

2

pounds ground pork

1

sweet onion

2

large cloves garlic, minced

1

tablespoon olive oil

1

tablespoon salt

1

tablespoon black pepper

1

teaspoon crushed red pepper

2

tablespoons fennel seed, crushed

2

tablespoons fresh Italian parsley, minced

4

chopped Roma tomatoes

3

cups polenta

6

cups chicken broth

30

dried corn husks (soak in water for 15 minutes before using)

In a large sauce pan or a deep frying pan, start browning pork over medium high heat. Add onion, garlic and olive oil. As onions begin to soften, add salt, both peppers and fennel seed. When meat is completely browned and onions completely wilted, add parsley and tomatoes. Simmer for 15 minutes. Remove meat mixture from pan and set aside for later, but leave the juices in the pan.

Add the chicken broth to a heavy-bottom pot and bring to a boil. Slowly add the polenta while stirring constantly. Cook while stirring until all liquid is absorbed and remove from heat. Using a large spoon or a spatula, spread a quarter-inch layer of polenta on each cornhusk, leaving the bottom third and one third of a side clear of polenta. Lay 2 tablespoons of the meat mixture down the middle of the polenta and roll the husk toward the clear edge. Fold the bottom of the husk up. Place in a steamer basket in the bottom of a large stockpot and add water until it touches the steamer. Add the tamales, folded side down, and steam covered for at least one hour. Make sure the water does not completely steam away or the tamales will dry out. Unroll, add salsa and enjoy.

Tomato and Basil Salsa

6

Roma tomatoes

1

tablespoon fresh Italian parsley

1

tablespoon fresh basil

1

teaspoon salt

1

teaspoon black pepper

4

cloves garlic

1

teaspoon olive oil

2

teaspoons red wine vinegar or balsamic vinegar

Combine all ingredients in a food processor and chop until desired consistency is achieved.

Cheers,
Bill

For more of Bill's recipes, visit http://www.northsidesf.com/kitchenlesscook.html
E-mail: bill@yummyletter.com

Home Recipes from GraceAnn Walden
My Life with Sourdough

I had two sourdough starters for 14 or 15 years. It was like having another pet to feed and take care of. When my long-time companion and I went away for an extended period of time, we boarded the cat, Kinky, and our dog, Shibui. I brought the two sourdough starters to my neighbor for good keeping and feeding.

When I was home, every two weeks I’d take the containers out of the fridge and pour off any grey water. I’m convinced that when the yeast eats, this is their waste. I gave them each a cup of white flour, mixed with lukewarm water and one-half teaspoon of sugar. This addition should be the consistency of thick gravy. I would leave them out overnight, uncovered, and in the morning my whole kitchen smelled like apple cider. Replacing their lids, I put them back in the fridge.

When I moved from Oakland back to the City, I left them behind. I doubt he took care of them.

These days on my North Beach tour, I take people to Italian French Bakery on Grant. We munch on biscotti and sip coffee and then tip into the vast workroom of the bakery. I explain the process, and show them the almost 100-year-old ovens where they bake the bastoni loaves of sourdough. Donning one rubber glove, I scoop up some of the “sourdough mother,” which weighs in at 40 pounds, for the group to smell. Apple cidery sourdough = San Francisco. Invariably, I tie a piece of the starter up in the rubber glove and give it to one of the tour participants.

When you bake sourdough bread, you use some of the mother mixed with water, flour, salt, and oil. The starter I have now is two years old.

OK, hold onto your spatulas: In all the years I have been keeping the mother alive, then and now, I have made sourdough bread once. I have sourdough starter for only one purpose: to make sourdough pancakes. Oh, Sunday morning heaven — a couple of sourdough pancakes, a goodly smear of sweet butter, and real Canadian maple syrup!

Here is my recipe for the pancakes. I found it in the 1976 edition of The Tassajara Bread Book, by Edward Espe Brown, who was the chief priest of the Zen Center and a helluva baker. You can still buy the 1995 revision — it contains the pancake recipe.

Over the years, I have tweaked Brown’s sourdough starter recipe (also in his book), substituting white flour for all whole wheat because the pancakes come out lighter in texture. (Note: You can also buy sourdough starter in kitchenware stores.)

Sourdough Pancakes
(Serves 2–4)

2 1/2
cups of sourdough starter

1
tablespoon vegetable oil

3/4 - 1
cup milk

1
egg

1 teaspoon salt

1
teaspoon baking soda

1
tablespoon white or brown sugar

vegetable oil for frying

Mix dough thoroughly with oil, milk and egg. Combine salt, soda and sugar separately.

Sprinkle dry mixture over top of dough. Fold in gently. Let sit a few minutes, and then fry small pancakes in a little oil in a nonstick skillet. When the top of the pancake develops small holes, peak at the bottom for a light brown color, then flip.

Additions: chopped fruit, especially apples, bananas, nuts and, if desired, cinnamon, nutmeg or coriander.

Happy cooking,
GraceAnn

Tools & Toys: Mauviel Potato Steamer

Mauviel cookware is so beautiful that it’s tempting to keep it out just for decoration, but my potato steamer gets a lot of use. The strange looking V-shaped vessel is an ingeniously efficient steamer for vegetables of any kind: the narrow, rounded base boils water quickly, sending steam up and around the food, which rests on a perforated insert plate. As with all products from Mauviel, a family-run French company founded in 1830, it’s pricy but will last a lifetime.

Mauviel Potato Steamer: $340 at Williams-Sonoma

— Susan

Cookbook Review

The Heirloom Tomato: From Garden
to Table
By Amy Goldman; photographs by Victor Schrager
Bloomsbury, $35
ISBN 10: 1-59691-291-X

One warm snap and my fingers start itching for garden work. For me it isn’t work at all.

When people ask me, “Why did you move to Novato?” I have two simple answers: “Tomatoes and an affordable home.”

For a Jersey girl who grew up sitting on the stoop with my friends on a steamy afternoon, eating ripe farm tomatoes out of hand, sprinkled with salt, the juices dripping down our chins, Novato’s weather is perfect for tomatoes, veggies, strawberries, grapes, even eggplant, not to mention my beloved roses.

The Heirloom Tomato by Goldman is like tomato porn for someone like me. Schrager’s photos are beautiful enough to frame. But the heart of the book is the history, lore and cultivation of heirlooms. That alone would be enough for me, but then there are the recipes.

One of the most significant parts of the book is the classification of heirlooms by size, weight, color and, most important to me, taste. On the small cherries, should I try to find Gold Rush Currant or stick with my Green Grape and Large Red Cherry? And when it comes to ribbed tomatoes, only Zapotec has really good flavor. So, that is why Mr. Brown was pretty but bland. Other chapters deal with Plums, Pears, Striped, Globes, and Beefsteak. It convinced me to grow Brandywine beefsteaks again — Goldman says they are superior in flavor.

Recipes cover soups, a custard, pastas, sauces, a stuffed tomato, and even a couple of desserts. One of my favorites in this book that I will make all summer is this variation of the Japanese chawan mushi:

Savory Tomato Custard
(serves 8)

1
tablespoon canola oil

2
teaspoons garlic, finely minced

2
teaspoons ginger, peeled and finely minced

8
large eggs

5
cups chicken stock

2
teaspoons salt, divided

1 pound tomatoes, peeled, seeded, diced, and drained

2 1/2 tablespoons soy sauce

1 tablespoon hot sesame oil

3 tablespoons green onions, thinly sliced

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

Heat the oil in a sauté pan, and add the garlic and ginger. Cook on low heat until aromatic. Reserve and cool.

Whisk the eggs gently in a large bowl — don’t create a lot of foam. Stir in the chicken stock and 1 teaspoon of salt.

Combine the tomatoes and the reserved garlic and ginger and season with the second teaspoon of salt. Divide the tomato mixture between eight oven-proof 8-ounce custard cups. Pour the egg mixture over the tomatoes. Cover each cup loosely with foil. Place them in a baking dish or pan and fill halfway with boiling water to create a bain-marie.

Cook for 25 minutes until eggs are set, but still tremble, when shaken. Serve hot or cool.

Garnish each custard with 1 teaspoon of soy sauce, ½ teaspoon hot sesame oil, and some green onion slivers.

— GraceAnn