What's In Your Olive Oil? The Agromafia Knows.

di·rect

/dəˈrekt,dīˈrekt/

A few observations about the the word "direct" as it relates to the Dutch, the Mafia, and Michel's olive oil procurement method:

Dutch people are known for their unflinching frankness. In fact, they are often baffled and outwardly perturbed by the dodgy replies offered by people from other cultures in response to direct questions or comments. Michel is no exception. He is direct in everyday conversations (always asking lots of questions), in violin business dealings, and when purchasing goods or services. 

I guess it's this innate, unabashed Dutch directness that allows him to strike a friendly bargain with auto mechanics, plumbers, auction houses, oriental rug salesmen, you name it. He's completely fearless about finding the best deal and cutting out the middle man to get to the primary source for what he wants.  

Not me. No way. At those moments when Michel begins to negotiate something I become very nervous and I try to make myself invisible until the deal is done. Yes, that's irrational on my part but Michel's forthright approach to people and life in general runs completely counter to my restrictive Southern upbringing. 

I was taught not to ask for anything in "company" situations but to wait until things were offered to me; this method only works when all parties involved are equally hyper-polite and the hosts turn themselves inside out to accommodate their guests. Otherwise a kid could starve to death at Miss Fannie Belle's Emily-Post-Perfect dinner table. To her credit, Miss Fannie Belle made a mean baked macaroni and cheese (yes, that was her real name). 

Southerners are crazy like that, but we are the reigning champions of All Things Euphemistic; we know that "bless your heart" really means "wow, what a bad idea," among other things. It's our version of aloha, sort of. 

Apparently the British have some difficulty with directness, too. It's similar to the discomfort a Southerner might feel when he or she encounters a Northerner (i.e.,Yankee) with the brusque manner we see in the likes of Mr. Trump or NJ Governor Christie, let's say. Here's an amusing, brief, and aptly titled post from a Brit now living in Amsterdam. She sums it all up quite nicely:

 "Are the Dutch direct or just rude?" www.telegraph.co.uk

Michel was completely unfazed--even amused--by the directness he met with when he came to New York to study the violin as a young man in the 1960s. (Now I'm wondering if that NY conversational style has evolved somehow from the Dutch who settled there and called it New Amsterdam. Hmm.) Michel also loves the dialogue written for "The Sopranos" characters, maybe because he lived in New Jersey for several years and heard it firsthand in neighborhood butcher shops and hardware stores. Films like "The Godfather" and "Goodfellas" he can recite almost verbatim. 

La Cosa Nostra obviously has its own cultural directness, hence the clichéd "make him an offer he can't refuse" line which is, of course, a veiled threat against anyone who would dare to cross a mafia boss. That legendary "Godfather" horse head moment is about as direct as communication gets--fictionalized or not.


Back in the real world, it came as no surprise to Michel that CBS "60 Minutes" recently reported on the tactics of the Agromafia in Italy. This organization is making a fortune from sales of fake extra-virgin olive oil, among other things. Agromafia activity is so widespread that the Italian government has created a special department to test olive oil and to monitor other food products as well. They also have beautiful Italian designer uniforms.

Olive oil fraud is nothing new but it's more pervasive in today's global economy. Current research shows that half the olive oil sold as extra-virgin in Italy and up to 75-80 percent sold in the US does not meet legal grade for extra-virgin. Are you outraged yet? It's often diluted with cheaper seed oils or worse, it's not olive oil at all but sunflower or other seed oil colored with chlorophyll. 

The bottom line: Caveat emptor when shopping for olive oil at your favorite supermarket chain.  In case you missed it, here's a preview of the segment.  60 Minutes videos are available online. 

60 Minutes Preview: Agromafia

A few years ago Michel set out to find a safe, direct way to buy olive oil--mostly due to the ridiculous price per ounce the consumer pays in a supermarket or specialty food store. He went after a direct olive oil source with the same tenacity he brought to bear when he searched for safe (non-radioactive) tea after the Fukushima disaster. Now Michel buys extra-virgin olive oil directly from California growers. 

The first source he found was an olive grove run by Phil Bava, who was very nice to deal with and answered all of Michel's questions during a series of phone conversations. Mr. Bava's products are very high quality and pressed/bottled at just the right time for the best tasting oil. 

The source Michel uses now is Lucero, another family-run business in northern California. They offer a variety of products, including extra-virgin olive oil by the gallon. Their prices are quite reasonable and they frequently post special offers. 

Since Michel cooks with olive oil every day, ordering by the gallon is definitely more cost-efficient than purchasing smaller bottles at the supermarket. He orders about twice a year and there is no problem storing the oil for a few months. Online ordering via the Lucero website is easy and shipping is prompt--also free when certain purchase requirements are met.  

So the next time you're ready to buy olive oil, check those deceitfully picturesque labels carefully to find out where the oil comes from. The Agromafia is hard at work to defraud us. 

Lucky in 2016? Moroccan Black-Eyed Peas and Cabbage with Dried Fruit and Pistachios (vegan)

                             

January 2016 has been a strange one with several days still remaining. In the U.S. we’ve seen record high temperatures, tornadoes, heavy rains and flooding, avalanches, blizzards, ice storms, and a big earthquake in Alaska. And that’s just on the ground. Over our heads we’ve had a Mercury Retrograde, the Quadrantids meteor shower, a full “wolf” moon (so named for the howling of wolves desperate for food in winter), and a five-planet alignment of Mercury, Venus, Mars, Saturn, and Jupiter for the first time in over a decade.  Mother Nature has been very busy and it looks like we’ll need all the luck we can summon.

At our house the New Year began quietly with four spoiled dogs, a toast of sparkling apple-peach cider, and a traditional Dutch treat of aged Gouda topped with thin slices of candied ginger.  Delicious. 

New Year’s Day brings traditional “good luck” foods to the tables of many cultures, which generally means black-eyed peas (which are actually beans) and cabbage or some kind of greens for Southerners. The rationale is that foods representing coins and paper money will improve our fortunes. 

I gleaned some new items for my mental file of useless trivia via a quick read of a “lucky foods” post on www.epicurious.com. In Spain, you eat twelve grapes at midnight on New Year’s Eve, one for each stroke of the clock; if you get a sour grape in the sequence, the corresponding month could be less than pleasant. 

Italians enjoy green lentils with sausage while Germans consume lentil or split pea soup with sausage. Why the pork? Its fat content signifies wealth and prosperity. (Don’t get me started on the “pork” our elected representatives are so fond of in Washington, D.C.) New Year’s fish dishes are also quite common. Some Germans even go so far as to put a few fish scales in their wallets for luck. No thanks. I'll take my chances.  

Meanwhile, back at the Samson kitchen, Michel was determined to make lucky black-eyed peas and cabbage for us in a non-traditional way. He decided to go full-on Moroccan with all the spices he likes to incorporate. The results were outstanding.  We’re awaiting the good luck final report but so far (knock on wood) things are going well.  

                                                                                                   

Ready to cook?

Moroccan Black-Eyed Peas and Cabbage with Dried Fruit and Pistachios (vegan)

Heat oven to 350 degrees.

You will need:

1 head of green cabbage

2-3 cups of black-eyed peas, rinsed and drained (can be fresh or rehydrated, i.e. soaked, overnight)

5 dried Turkish figs*, rehydrated overnight

5 dried apricots*, rehydrated overnight

A "handful" of dried tart cherries*, rehydrated overnight

(*Dried figs, apricots, and cherries can be soaked in the same bowl overnight. Reserve ¼ cup of the liquid for later.)

A “handful” of Craisins

¼ cup pistachios, ground

dried figs, tart cherries, apricots, pistachios

1 preserved lemon, chopped

1-inch piece of fresh ginger, chopped

5 cloves of garlic, chopped

3 tablespoons olive oil

½ cup vegetable broth

2 sticks cinnamon

1 bay leaf

1 teaspoon salt

1 tablespoon ground cumin

1 tablespoon ground coriander

1 teaspoon ground cardamom

1¼ teaspoons hot red pepper flakes

                                                      

First, the black-eyed peas.

In a large skillet:

Heat 1½ tablespoons olive oil. Add cumin, coriander, cardamom, ginger, cinnamon sticks, and bay leaf.

When spices have heated, add ¼ cup of liquid from dried fruits.

Cut rehydrated fruits into coarse slices and add to skillet.

Add salt, red pepper flakes, and black-eyed peas.

Fill in mixture with enough vegetable broth to “just barely cover.”

Bring to a boil then transfer to a tagine (a 9x13 baking dish will work also if no tagine).

Cover and place in the oven for 30 minutes.

Next, the cabbage.

Grind your pistachios, if you still need to do that.

Heat 1½ tablespoons olive oil in skillet. Add chopped garlic cloves.

Chop preserved lemon, add to garlic and olive oil in skillet.

Cut cabbage into quarters, cut out the core, and chop into 1-inch chunks. 

Rinse under cold water. Put cabbage in the skillet. 

Top with salt and ground pistachios.  

Bring to high heat, reduce when liquid starts to bubble. Cover and simmer until cabbage is done to your liking.

Lastly,

Mix cooked cabbage with black-eyed peas, top with pomegranate seeds and serve.

Italian Favorite Meets Jewish Comfort Food: Vegan Bolognese Sauce with Kasha and Quinoa Pasta

It’s a pretty safe bet that most people don’t think about the origins of the dishes they see on a restaurant menu.  Diners want their food ASAP, not an etymology lesson—although it’s not such a big leap to connect the word “Milanese” to the city of Milan or “Bolognese” to Bologna, Italy.  Michel has invented a meatless version of the classic Bolognese Ragù, traditionally made with ground beef and/or pork. The preservation of this sauce recipe is so important that the Accademia Italiana della Cucina notarized an official version in 1982 "with a solemn decree." Really. 

The city of Bologna (bōh-lōh-nyah) is known for its culinary traditions, including this well-known meat sauce that locals refer to simply as ragù (which explains the name of the ubiquitous sauce brand found in jars on supermarket shelves in the US).  It all comes down to pasta with meat sauce.

The kasha part of this recipe mimics an old-school Jewish holiday dish called "Kasha Varnishkes." Don’t be alarmed; there is no actual varnish in the recipe. Here’s a description from a website called www.jewfaq.org (you can’t make up this stuff):

Michel left Holland during his teens to continue his violin studies in Rome. He lived there for quite some time and he’s traveled Italy from top to bottom during his lifetime. He knows Italian food, clothing, cars, films, sculpture, playwrights, paintings, music—you name it.  Italy is special to Michel for very personal reasons. From his early youth he has studied the violin makers of Cremona and other important Italian centers for instrument making. He still spends time on a daily basis researching violin makers from Italy and beyond, and fielding questions from the people who frequently contact him to identify a particular instrument or bow. 

Beyond his interest in musical things connected to the city of Bologna, Michel has boundless respect for and utter fascination with the artist Giorgio Morandi, who spent most of his reclusive adult life in a small apartment (with his sisters) where he made his paintings and etchings.  His depictions of seemingly mundane objects become almost abstract as the bottles, etc., he painted again and again take on a monumentality of their own.  If you’re interested, he’s a fascinating subject for a Google search.  In fact, President Obama chose two Morandi paintings for the White House.

Here’s just one example of a beautiful Morandi still life.

Now for the cooking. 

Bolognese Sauce with Kasha

You will need:

3 tablespoons olive oil

½ an onion, chopped

1 red bell pepper, chopped        

½ bunch Italian parsley, chopped

5 cloves garlic, chopped

1 teaspoon dried rosemary

1 teaspoon dried sage

1 teaspoon dried fennel

1 teaspoon salt

½ teaspoon red pepper flakes

1 bay leaf

2 cups vegetable broth

Tomato paste—about 2-3 tablespoons or a bit more to taste (Michel prefers tomato paste in a tube rather than a can.)

1 cup kasha grains

1 egg

1 box quinoa pasta—penne or shells or whatever pasta you prefer

Grated parmesan cheese (vegans can skip the cheese or use alternate topping)

The Sauce

In a skillet or sauté pan:

Heat olive oil then add chopped onion, garlic, red pepper, and parsley. Top with rosemary, sage, fennel, salt, pepper flakes, and bay leaf.

Let the mixture cook over medium heat for 5-7 minutes until onion is transparent then add “a few squeezes of tomato paste” from a tube.  (Michel’s measurement descriptions have been addressed in a previous post—a good amount, a few squeezes—you know.) 

Stir and let simmer while you go to work on the kasha.

The Kasha

Bring two cups vegetable broth to a boil in a small saucepan. 

While you’re waiting for broth to boil, beat the egg with fork or whisk in a deep bowl or plastic container. 

Add the kasha to beaten egg and mix thoroughly (very important!) until grains are completely coated and egg is no longer visible, about 2-3 minutes.  

Note: The egg coating allows the kasha grains to hold their shape during cooking and creates a nutty, chewy texture.  Remarkably, the result will be that the kasha will have the appearance of chopped meat when mixed with the sauce/pasta in your finished dish.

Transfer the egg-coated kasha grains to a dry 3-quart skillet and stir continuously—again, very important!—over medium heat for 3-4 minutes to thoroughly cook the egg and toast the grains.

Add the boiling broth and allow liquid to cook down.  

Stir in sauce mixture from sauté pan.  

Looks like chopped meat, doesn't it?

Cover and simmer while you cook your chosen pasta. Add a little broth to the skillet mixture as needed.

The Pasta

Cook pasta to your liking.  Before you drain the pasta liquid away, add ¼ cup liquid to the kasha in the skillet just as you would do with any pasta dish to help the sauce to adhere to the noodles.  

Drain pasta and add to kasha skillet.  Stir to make sure noodles and sauce are well acquainted.

Top with grated parmesan cheese.  Vegans, this is delicious without cheese too.

Buon appetito and Happy Hannukah!

Tagine or not Tagine (Cooking): Vegan Moroccan Stew

Michel has often spoken about the influence of Indonesian and Moroccan immigrants (government-invited “guest workers”) on the Dutch culture and its food.  The Netherlands has a long and sometimes not-so-pretty history of colonization/immigration. Of course the U.S. has some karma coming its way for similar actions at home and abroad; we have no room to finger-point at the Dutch—don’t get me wrong. Given the numerous worldwide crises blaring at us from cable news day and night, it’s a highly sensitive time to have conversations about immigration but it’s certainly not a new issue. 

My previous post about the cabbage (kool) recipe made reference to Michel’s early interest in Indonesian food. This post will take a Moroccan turn.  Because I am a hopeless nerd and a compulsive reader, I always look for information about the ingredients or historical context of the dish Michel is making before I post his recipes.  He tells me I tend to include way too much information but I guess that’s my teacher brain at work. (Must cover all relevant content and provide context so students will understand the big picture.) #sorrynotsorry

This time around, Google magic led me to a master’s thesis by a student at Leiden University—the oldest university in the Netherlands, founded in 1575, alma mater of numerous Dutch royals and other VIPs.  Sounds dull? Not entirely. The research topic: Postwar Indonesian/Moroccan influences “at the Dutch table.”  To be clear, I didn’t read all 107 pages covering the period from 1950-2000 but I did learn some interesting socio-cultural tidbits about a popular women’s magazine, Margriet, and the food writer Wina Born—known as “the mother of Dutch gastronomy”—and her strong influence on home cooking and the growing restaurant scene in mid-century Holland. 

So while housewives in the U.S. were replicating colorful JELL-O dishes they found in Ladies Home Journal and discovering the wonders of frozen TV dinners, Dutch housewives were following Wina Born's advice columns as they experimented with non-traditional ingredients and occasionally tried restaurant dining instead of home cooked meals.  

Moroccan dishes are among Michel’s favorites to prepare.  He’s already shared his ideas about using preserved lemon in an earlier post (the one with the babouches).  This new recipe was created on the occasion of his acquisition of a tagine—the name that applies to the cooking vessel as well as the stew itself.  The tagine design allows the steam to rise into the conical lid and lets the liquid drip back down the sides into the dish. Some people prefer tagine cooking to a Crock Pot because they claim it produces more tender meat dishes—not an issue in Michel’s kitchen. 

We didn’t go for an ornamental model like the merchants sell in the exotic souks of Marrakech or a pricey Williams-Sonoma find.  We just went to the local World Market chain store and bought the basic twenty dollar glazed clay version. Turns out it works quite well.

One bit of advice from our “we learned it the hard way” file:  
You might want to place a sheet pan or some foil on the lowest oven rack below the tagine. Why? The first time Michel used the tagine the liquid bubbled out around the rim and baked onto the oven floor. (For the record, if you are a person who enjoys cleaning a dirty oven, you have my undying respect.) 

Ready?  Here goes. 

               

Moroccan Stew (Vegan)

You will need:

2-3 cups butternut squash cut into cubes.

(Peel/cut the squash yourself or buy a package of cubed squash from your favorite grocer. No need to tell you which option we prefer.)

10-12 Moroccan olives, pitted and chopped (or other seasoned olives will do if you can’t find Moroccan)

1 red bell pepper, seeded and chopped

2 habanero peppers (or scotch bonnet/other mean little peppers) chopped together with ½ an onion*

½ an onion*

6 cloves garlic, chopped

½ bunch fresh cilantro, chopped

1 16 oz. can chickpeas, drained and rinsed

1 16 oz. can diced tomatoes, drained

6-7 dried figs, with stems removed and sliced into small pieces

1-2 tablespoons Craisins (cran-raisins)

1 cup vegetable broth

2 tablespoons olive oil

2 sticks cinnamon

1 teaspoon salt

1½ teaspoons sumac

 

http://www.maureenabood.com/

1 tablespoon coriander seeds

1 tablespoon cumin

1 teaspoon nigella seeds (also known as black cumin)

In a dry skillet: Toast coriander seeds, cumin, and nigella seeds. Grind spices together after toasting and set aside.  For this task Michel uses an old-school electric coffee grinder that we found at a yard sale.  Nothing fancy. Works perfectly.

In a large deep skillet:

Heat olive oil then add chopped onion/habanero peppers, red bell pepper, and garlic. 

Cook over medium heat 5-8 minutes “so the onion will fry but don’t let it brown—if it starts to brown, lower the heat.”

Add salt, ground spices, sumac, chopped olives and cilantro, figs, craisins. Stir to make sure spices are evenly mixed. 

Add vegetable broth and cubed squash. Bring to a boil.

Lower heat and let simmer until squash has softened.

Add chickpeas and diced tomatoes to the mixture. 

At this point you have a choice: 

Option 1: You can finish cooking the dish in the large skillet for another half an hour.

Option 2: If you have a tagine, you can transfer the squash mixture to the tagine bowl and cover/cook in the oven for 30 minutes at 375 degrees. 

This dish can be served on its own or, if you like, on a bed of couscous or quinoa.

Kool and the Car Salesman: Braised Italian Cabbage with Mushrooms, Gnocchi, and Cannellini

To say that Michel has a prodigious memory is actually an understatement. It’s almost savant-like in its scope and depth. I often tell him that I wonder how he can carry his head around “with all that stuff in it.” Some researchers label this type of person a Super Memorizer (yes, that’s a thing).  Obviously this innate skill has served him well as a violin dealer; he can identify a fiddle from a fuzzy photo or a PBS broadcast of the NY Philharmonic even if he has seen the instrument only once many years ago. But—in addition to naming the instrument he can also recall its provenance, including what the owners paid, who wrote the certificates, how it sounds compared to other violins, damage/repairs, etc. This same alarming ability also applies to violin bows, by the way. Michel can rattle off the names of international music competition winners over many decades the way some guys recite World Series stats. It’s not just the first prize winners, either; it’s second, third, fourth, fifth place along with where they made their solo debuts, who conducted the concerts, etc. It’s exhausting (and scary) just to think about how much this man knows. One of his former violin-dealing associates teased him, saying: “Ask Michel what time it is and he’ll tell you how to build a watch.” Before you get the idea that his brain is filled with music-related data exclusively, let me add that his highly developed recall ability also applies to cars, food, historical figures and events, painters and sculptors, cigars, films and books, fountain pens, travel, etc. Not a day goes by that I don’t hear a new anecdote or learn something unexpected from Michel’s Massive Memory Bank.

When he decided to make this cabbage dish a few days ago, Michel related an interesting story about one particular man he recalls from his childhood. To provide a little context, keep in mind that Holland has long been the destination for many Indonesian and Moroccan immigrants (among others), hence the pervasive presence of foods from those cultures in The Netherlands to this day.  Michel’s parents had an Indonesian friend, Mr. Mehlbaum, who would visit from time to time.  Mr. Mehlbaum spoke with an Indonesian accent and he liked to express his opinions about classical music (which young Michel silently disagreed with based on his own music study and concert-going experiences).  Another common topic of conversation among the adults was food and Mr. Mehlbaum also liked to talk about Indonesian cuisine.  Michel recalls hearing him describe in mouth-watering detail an Indonesian stuffed cabbage dish that sounded just great, wondering why they couldn’t try it at home.  It wasn’t just some pitiful stuffed cabbage leaves à la Betty Crocker Cookbook; Mehlbaum was talking about an entire head of cabbage stuffed with all kinds of goodness and cooked whole. Why not? Well, aside from the limited cooking skills of his mother (previously noted), Michel’s father, Eduard, hated Indonesian food.  It turns out he only thought he didn’t like it because later on he changed his mind.  It also turns out that Eduard was considering buying an inexpensive car and Michel surmised that Mr. Mehlbaum’s unspoken motive for visiting his parents was trying to sell Eduard a pricey car.  This suspicion was confirmed when, at the ripe old age of eight, Michel took the train by himself from The Hague to Amsterdam to attend a special car show. (Parenting gets tiresome after one or two kids, so the youngest generally have more liberties, right?) Among the exhibits there Michel spotted Mr. Mehlbaum and put two and two together.  Eduard eventually bought a used car from another family acquaintance. 

End of Mehlbaum story. On to cabbage and gnocchi.  Part of the blog post process for a big nerd like me includes searching for information about the ingredients in a dish, so here’s some trivia you may opt to appreciate or disregard: The Dutch word for cabbage is kool (pronounced “cole”) and koolsla is Dutch for cabbage salad.  Now you know how we get to coleslaw which, sadly, some people think is “cold slaw” because it’s served cold.  We all know at least one of those people who is blissfully unconcerned about word choices.  If you think that cabbage is lacking nutritional value, you are mistaken; it has the same benefits as its cruciferous cousins (broccoli, Brussels sprouts, etc.)—Vitamins C and K as well as a host of antioxidants. Another found tidbit has to do with the origin of the word gnocchi, the little Italian dumplings.  The name derives from nocca, which translates to “knuckles”—and one knuckle is just about the size of one little dumpling.  I was hesitant to look at the nutrition info for gnocchi because I figured a pasta dumpling filled with potato or ricotta is probably not so healthful.  Some things it’s just better not to know.  Michel described this braised cabbage dish as “real Italian country food”—simple and delicious. 

Braised Italian Cabbage with Mushrooms, Gnocchi, and Cannellini

You will need:

8 oz. cremini mushrooms, sliced

½ a medium to large cabbage

2 tablespoons olive oil

¼ cup pitted seasoned olives

5 cloves garlic

1 tablespoon capers

1 teaspoon chopped dried rosemary

1 teaspoon dried tarragon

½ teaspoon red pepper flakes

1 cup vegetable broth

1 can cannellini beans, drained and rinsed

16 oz. package of gnocchi

Optional non-vegan topping: grated parmesan

Cut the core out of the cabbage, chop into quasi-julienne pieces, then set aside.

In a 3-quart skillet:

Heat olive oil then add sliced mushrooms, letting them start to cook while you chop the garlic, capers and olives together.

Add chopped capers, garlic, olives to skillet.  Add dried rosemary, tarragon, and pepper flakes, stirring gently to mix.

                                                                              

Allow the mushrooms and seasonings to cook for about ten minutes before adding cabbage and vegetable broth to the skillet.

Cover and cook over low to medium heat for half an hour.

Meanwhile, bring lightly salted water to a boil in your favorite pasta cooking vessel and prepare the gnocchi per package directions.  While the gnocchi cooks, add drained/rinsed cannellini to the skillet.

Replace cover and tend to the gnocchi, making sure it doesn’t overcook. Important: Before you drain the pasta water, add about ¼ cup to the skillet to act as a binding agent for the dish. 

Drain gnocchi, add to cabbage/mushroom/cannellini mixture and stir gently to make sure all your ingredients get acquainted. 

If you like, top your finished dish with grated parmesan.  Michel likes to put the skillet on the table and serve our plates straight from the pan.  No matter how you serve it, this country-style food makes a perfect autumn meal.