Soup Trumps Hate (Spicy Lamb Soup with Whole Wheat Dumplings)

Don’t listen to what people say, watch what they do.  My mother—a Republican, teacher, and badass lady told me that.

This election has been brutal and America needs a hug.  It is clear many Americans were hurting and took their anger into the voting booths.  They heard someone say we need to fix Washington, attack Wall Street, protect the working class, make America great again.

It sounded good.

But I am making therapeutic rebuttal.  I am tossing in some documented facts.  Then I am making soup.

Trump has threatened our First Amendment.  Remember that one?  The one that protects freedom of the press?  Defends freedom of religion? Safeguards freedom of speech?  Anyone? 

He has called for a ban on Muslims entering the country and a relaxation of libel laws that help the press safely do their job.  (Trump has sued, and lost, on similar libel suits in the past.)  It is questionable whether he could actually get such laws passed as president.  But it is still scary.

He has bullied throughout his campaign—calling people dummies, dopes, losers, grubby, stupid, and boring.  In fact, there is a list of over 280 people, places, and things he has insulted ranging from Fox News to a podium in the Oval Office to Samuel L. Jackson. (He did not like the actor’s golf swing—“not athletic” enough for the fast food-eating golf course owner.)

He has vowed to decrease the Environmental Protection Agency (proposed by Nixon) and dismantle laws intended to ensure clean water and air.  He wants to give more regulatory power to the states, because it worked so well in Flint, Michigan, presumably.

Yet, he has already started to include the special interests he campaigned against into his White House transition team.  Lobbyists from the oil and gas industry.  Economists from Wall Street—remember Bear Stearns?

He has threatened the foundation on which our country was built. He has said things you would scold your seven-year-old from repeating.  He has bragged about sexually assaulting women. He does not represent the workingman.

He was given a million dollars from his father to help start his empire and admits this, but records from the eighties show additional loans from him totaling 14 million.  Then again, he also managed to go bankrupt and not pay his taxes—which should raise eyebrows.  A self-touted entrepreneurial billionaire who has not given back to his country and now vows to make it great again? This is the stuff snake oil is made of.

But, like it or not, he will be our president. So what can we do?

As Garrison Keillor advises, we liberals can go drink craft beers, grow heirloom tomatoes, and meditate. That all sounds pretty good.

But we can also try to smile more walking down the street. Hold elevator doors open. Bake cookies for neighbors. Be better role models.  Continue to read newspapers. We can support local businesses. We can increase our NPR donations. We can make soup.

The soup I am discussing today comes from watching an ex-boyfriend—a hunter and The New York Times reader—make a soup he learned from some Buddhists he once cooked with on the Cape. I hope I am remembering the story correctly. I never really understood why Buddhists would include a pound of ruminant flesh in their recipe, but, if I am being honest, I think the addition is important.

The soup is spicy and flavorful—owing its depth, in part, to an aromatic dose of garlic, ginger, and hot pepper.  The mushrooms are just as important as the meat.  Plus the homemade whole wheat pasta dumplings are laid-back in preparation and therapeutic to make in times like these.  It has remained one of my favorite recipes, despite its peculiar origins. And it seems particularly consequential to share a few days after an election that has deeply divided the country.

We cannot change that we elected a con man.  But as Bill Maher said Friday night, in reference to the half of the country that did not support Trump, “we’re still here.”

And we are bringing soup.

Spicy Lamb Soup with Whole Wheat Dumplings

Ingredients:

• 2 to 4 tbsp olive oil
• salt, throughout the cooking process
• 1 pound stew meat (I prefer lamb), cut into 1-inch chunks
• 1 onion, diced
• thumb-sized piece of fresh ginger, peeled and minced
• 3 garlic cloves, minced
• 1 habanero, minced (see notes)
• 8 to 10 cremini mushrooms, sliced
• 1 large tomato, diced
• 1 to 2 cups peeled and chopped daikon (about 1 large)
• 1 bunch bok choy, stems and leaves, diced
• ¾ cup whole wheat or spelt flour
• ½ bunch (about 2 handfuls) fresh greens (e.g. baby spinach or kale, arugula, escarole)

Instructions:

Heat a large dutch oven (or sauce pot with a lid) on medium high heat, add a few generous glugs of olive oil. Salt and add the stew meat and let sit for a few minutes without disturbing it (like you are searing it). Once the meat has a nice brown crust on the underside, stir it briefly and cook another minute or so; take it out of the pan and place in a small bowl.

To the pot, add the onion and cook about two minutes or until it starts to soften; add the ginger, garlic, and pepper, season with salt, and cook until softened (another minute or two).  Add the mushrooms and cook a minute more; add the tomato and stir.

Add nine cups of water and the meat, plus any juices left in the bowl.  Season again with salt and cook on medium to medium high heat. When the liquid starts to simmer, add the daikon.  When it comes to rolling boil, add the bok choy; reduce the heat to a simmer and cover mostly with a lid (leave a little space to let some steam escape); cook for about 45 minutes .

After letting the soup cook, in a small bowl combine the flour with a small amount of water (add about a tablespoon or two at a time).  You want just enough water to form a stiff, somewhat dry pasta dumpling dough (it should be the texture of dry silly putty). Knead the dough with your hands like you would Play-Doh to help it come together; ultimately, it should hold together and not crumble.

Pinch off a piece of dough a little smaller than a golf ball and roll the piece into a log about ½ inch thick.  Then pinch off a piece of the log about the size of a fingernail.  Place the piece on the palm of your hand and press down and away from you and slightly up, so it spreads and curls into a shell shape.  Do this over the soup and let the piece fall directly into the cooking pot.  Proceed shaping the dough in this manner moving down the log as you go.  Repeat with the remaining dough.  (Throughout the process the soup should remain at a low simmer.)

Once all the dough is in the pot, simmer uncovered for 45 minutes more or until the pasta is fully cooked (it will expand), the meat softens, and the broth turns rich in color.  (You may need to turn the heat up a bit if it seems to be taking too long.)

In the soup’s final moments, toss in the greens to wilt them (though if I have escarole I like to add it a bit sooner). Taste and aggressively season.

Makes about 4 quarts

Notes:

1. A hallmark of this stew is its spiciness, but you can tone it down by switching to a serrano pepper and removing its seeds.
2. Aggressively season throughout the cooking process and again at the end.  (It will taste like dishwater unless you add enough salt.)
3. You can fish the meat out at the end, shred it into little pieces, and then return it to the soup, but I am usually lazy when it comes to this sort of thing.

Lucky Charms Cookies, Magically Delicious

Thirty-four was my scary age. 

The time at which, I was once told, my fertility would drop swiftly, like an Oldsmobile sailing off a cliff. The time at which being unmarried and without a mortgage would place a searing spotlight on me as an adult fraud.  The time at which I would be guaranteed to die a grim death alone, perhaps eaten by pet canaries.

This, of course, is ludicrous.

I am not alone.  Plus most of my friends are now my scary age. Which makes my impending situation less frightening. Strength in numbers.

But on the days my consciousness is dialed up, I can detect certain vicissitudes.
I notice that bodily things are starting to shift down, and spread.

I notice that my memory is not as elastic as it once was.  I find myself searching for words like chamomile and amuse-bouche.  And this can no longer be correlated with prior gin ingestion.

I notice that my friends with children have all vacated the city.  Some days it feels like an emotional fallout shelter—where cultivated adult relationships are unreachable due to nuclear war caused by the whims of toddlers and unaffordable housing. 

I notice that some places I love have vacated as well.  Like the shockingly recently departure of River Gods, a bar that offered equally good beef and vegetable-based burgers; poured decent beers; and hung things like mermaids or witches or stars from ceiling, depending on the season.  I have had multiple friends live near River Gods.  They have since moved too.

But there are new homes of old friends to visit. There are new friends too. There are new restaurants and new recipes, like this frozen negroni I recently stumbled across. Because I am nearing thirty-four and still alive and enthusiastically capable of drinking something alcoholic made in a blender. 

I also recently found a recipe for cornflake chocolate chip marshmallow cookies from Momofuku Milk Barthat I thought might distract my aging corpse.  Except Corn Flakes were a common breakfast option growing up and I felt compelled to bake with the type of cereal that I was never allowed to eat as a child.  Because I am securely an adult and can do such things.

The result is a cookie with not one, but two forms of marshmallows.  It is a sweet dessert, for sure, but also salty and chewy and thereby addictive to any human with taste buds and a childhood rooted in the mid-twentieth century or beyond.

Through some research I learned Lucky Charms are more or less glorified Cherrios (another Gelsomin sanctioned childhood breakfast) with added marshmallows.  These confections are officially known as marbits and were originally based on circus peanuts.  Circus peanuts!  Which I hate.

So there you have it, another story about getting older. More or less a collection of the truths we sell, stories mixed with the circus peanuts of youth and the Lucky Charms of adulthood. It is probably best not to take your marbits too seriously.  As Anne Lamott once wrote “the truth is we are all terminal on this bus.”

So I guess the new truth is that thirty-three plus is not a scary prospect at all, if you stay curious and adaptive. In fact, given some recent evidence, it’s magically delicious.

Toasted Lucky Charms Marshmallow Chocolate Chip Cookies

Inspired by Momofuku Milk Bar by Christina Tosi

Ingredients:

for the toasted Lucky Charms crunch

• 100 grams (¼ cup plus 3 tbsp) butter
• 125 grams (3¾ cups) separated Lucky Charms oat cereal (without marshmallows)
• 30 grams (¼ cup plus 2 tbsp) dry milk powder (see notes)
• 20 grams (1½ tbsp) sugar
• 3 grams (¾ tsp) kosher salt

for the cookie batter

• 225 grams (2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature
• 250 grams (1¼ cups) sugar
• 150 grams (2/3 packed cup) light brown sugar
• 1 egg
• 2 grams (½ tsp) vanilla extract
• 240 grams (1½ to 2 cups) all-purpose flour (see notes)
• 2 grams (½ tsp) baking powder
• 1½ grams (¼ tsp) baking soda
• 5 grams (1¼ tsp) salt
• 230 grams (all the recipe, or about 3 cups) toasted Lucky Charms crunch (see instructions)
• 100 grams (1 cup of ¼-inch pieces) dark chocolate (see notes)
• 30 grams (about ¾ cup) mini marshmallows
• 45 grams (about 1½ cups) separated Lucky Charms marshmallows (marbits)

Instructions:

to make the toasted Lucky Charms crunch

Set the oven to 275 degrees.

In a small saucepan, melt the butter on medium to medium-low heat, swirling the pan occasionally, until it starts to caramelize and smell nutty (about 5 to 7 minutes).

Meanwhile in a medium bowl, place the separated Lucky Charms oat cereal and crush it with the end of a rolling pin until it is one-quarter of the original size (it is okay if pieces vary slightly in size). Add the milk powder, sugar, and salt and mix to combine. Pour in the butter and toss to coat (the mixture will get moist but not enough to clump together).

Line a sheet pan with parchment paper and spread the cereal mixture on the paper.  Bake for 30 or 40 minutes or until fragrant and slightly toasted in color. Let cool. (This can be made ahead of time and stored in an airtight container.)

to make the cookies

In the bowl of a stand mixer, combine the softened butter, sugar, and brown sugar; cream together with a paddle attachment on medium-high for 2 to 3 minutes.  With a spatula, scrape down the sides and then add the egg and vanilla and beat for about 8 minutes.

Meanwhile in a medium bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.
Reduce the mixer speed to low, add the sifted dry goods and mix until the dough just comes together. Remove the bowl from the stand and, with a spatula, add in the Lucky Charms crunch, chocolate, and both types of marshmallows; mixing until just incorporated.

Line a sheet pan with parchment paper and portion out heaping ¼ cup size scoops (about 50 to 60 grams each). Wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate (ideally overnight but for a minimum of one hour).

When you are ready to bake, set the oven to 375 degrees.  Line a sheet pan with parchment paper and arrange the scoops of cookie dough four inches apart. (Two sheet pans can be prepared and baked at a time.) Bake for about 18 minutes or until the cookies brown along the edges and the centers are no longer pale and doughy.

Cool the cookies on the sheet pans.  (They will harden as they cool, forming crisp edges and soft middles.) Transfer to a plate or container.  Repeat until all the cookie dough has been baked off.

Makes about 20 cookies

Notes:

1. I like Meyenberg goat milk powder.
2. For the flour, I went with the gram measurement (the book said 240 grams was 1½ cups but using my measuring cup it was closer to 2 cups).
3. I used Wild Ophelia 70% dark chocolate laced with BBQ potato chips, because why not?
4. Oh the picture?  We are celebrating a birthday of thirty-four, in the Boston Harbor.
    

Mapo Minus the Tofu

Brett and I went to Mission Chinese on East Broadway in New York City last January, just after it opened.  I suspect they have worked out the kinks since then because people seem to love it, but we had a terrible meal that night.

I had heard their mapo tofu was not to be missed.  Even after a ropy lamb shank and weird coconut cocktail that was on its way to becoming pudding, the tofu was the biggest let down.  Brett was skeptical on pressed soy to begin with—and still is. But I had the misplaced confidence that with enough pork and beef fat we could change all that.

Ours came so salty that it was barely edible and laced with enough Sichuan pepper that to this day it still elicits numb tongue jokes.  For two people who will eat pretty much anything you put in front of them, the mapo went unfinished. 

After that, I was inspired to make the dish myself.  Though it took some months to revisit.  It was enough time for Lucky Peach to publish a few recipes on mapo—including the Mission Chinese version with a suspiciously miniscule amount of Sichuan pepper.

I suspect their recipe is actually quite good and the kitchen was likely still finding its groove that night.  But I settled on another recipe from Han Dynasty in Philly, which ended up being incredibly delicious.  

It has been adapted and tailored a great deal since then, mostly due to my low energy search for doubanjiang.  And my contempt for chili oil made using cheap soybeans.  And my habit of keeping chicken stock frozen, so it cannot lend itself to impulse or whim.  And our coupled indifference towards tofu, which I am ashamed to admit as a healthcare professional, was phased out altogether.

Turns out, the dish is quite good solely with beef—I often use ground veal because I can get a quasi-local source—or pork. I may try adding back some soy in the form of edamame.  But in the meantime, the recipe remains heretically tofu free.

It still feels like a fairly wholesome dish—and a fairly fast one to recreate, perfect for a Friday night supper. The healthy dose of aromatics in the form of ginger, garlic, and leek is crucial, as is the Sichuan pepper. But the amount of oil originally called for in the recipe is not.  I jettisoned a half cup so we could eat it more regularly as a lighter meal.

I doubt the cooks at Han Dynasty would recognize the recipe.  But to quote Lucky Peach, “the mapo tofu galaxy is one of infinite possibilities, spiraling outward from an originally spicy, oily, numbing, meaty sauce/stew of Sichuan origin.”

This is one meaty mission I can get behind, with just the right level of numb tongue.

Mapo Veal

Inspired by Han Dynasty courtesy of Lucky Peach #15: The Plant Kingdom

Ingredients:

• 3 to 4 large cloves garlic, minced
• 3 tbsp minced fresh peeled ginger
• 1 leek, white and light green parts well cleaned, split lengthwise, and thinly sliced
• 1½ to 2 cups uncooked white rice (see notes)
• ¼ cup canola oil
• 2 tbsp chili garlic sauce (such as Huy Fong)
• 2 tbsp hoisin sauce
• ½ pound ground veal (or regular beef or pork or lamb)
• 1 tbsp fermented black bean paste
• 1 tbsp gochujang (Korean chili sauce)
• 3 tbsp cornstarch
• 1 tbsp ground Sichuan pepper
• Optional garnish: chopped cilantro

Instructions:

Make sure your garlic, ginger, and leeks are prepped and ready to go. 

In a medium saucepan, add the rice and 1½ times the quantity of rice of water.  (For instance, add 3 cups of water to 2 cups of rice.) Stir and bring to a boil uncovered, then reduce the heat to low and cover.  Cook for about 15 minutes or until the water is absorbed and the rice is fully cooked.  (Turn off the burner and keep the lid on for 5 to 10 minutes after the rice has finished cooking—the rice can sit longer, if necessary, while the sauce comes together.)

While the rice is cooking, heat a large saucepan on medium high heat, add the oil and the garlic and ginger; sauté until softened, about 2 minutes.  Stir in the chili sauce and then the hoisin.

Add in the ground meat, breaking it up with a spoon.  Cook for about 30 to 60 seconds, stirring occasionally, and then add in the leeks and cook another 60 seconds or so.  Stir in the black bean paste and gochujang. Add in 2 cups of water and bring to a simmer over medium heat. 

In a small bowl, make a cornstarch slurry with 3 tablespoons of cold water. Add in the slurry and let the mixture simmer about 5 minutes, or until it thickens slightly.  (It should look like a thick chili.)

Stir in the Sichuan pepper.  Serve on top of rice with cilantro, if desired.

Makes enough for 4 to 5 humans

Notes:

1. I typically prefer basmati rice and this case is no exception.  The rice to water ratio may vary slightly depending on the type of rice you use. (I left a range for the rice, the resultant portion should be just enough for the sauce.)
2. This would also be great with noodles instead of rice.