Habanero Hell

Believe everything you hear about the dangers of habanero peppers, and take every precaution known in handling them. Last night I bought 8 orange habaneros for 45 cents ($3.99/lb at the bodega versus $7.99 at a chain grocery store), brought them home, washed, cleaned, deseeded and deveined them. I stored the deseeded peppers in the fridge, placed the seeds in a glass tumbler to dry, and scrubbed my hands with soap and warm water.

Then habanero hell started, and it lasted for hours. It felt like a chemical peel was applied to my face and hands. What makes peppers hot is a compound named capsaisin (cop-SIGH-ih-sihn), found in greatest concentration in the veins and seeds. Always use heavy rubber gloves, or disposable gloves. If you cut onto a wooden board, scrub it with dish soap afterwards. Capsaisin is quickly abosorbed into the skin, and lingers even after washing. I had to go outside twice for fresh air. I sneezed at least 20 times. I coughed and coughed. Finally I took a shower, washed my hair, my face with facial cleanser, scrubbed my hands with foot scrub lotion (yes, little pieces of pumice) and feel grateful nothing got into my eyes. My cuticles burned all night! 

If this doesn't convince you, I can eat a container of pickled jalapenos at a sitting and not suffer. Raw jalapenos? Not a problem, just don't touch them to your lips. But these habaneros? Almost one hundred times hotter. I will never clean habaneros again without gloves. Habanero hell is hours of misery, the highly concentrated capsaisin lingered for hours - as in all night long.


Did I mention that I soaked a paper towel with milk and applied it to my hands? Dairy products contain caisen, which neutralizes the capsaisin. I've also heard of rubbing alcohol being applied to the skin, then milk. Sugar rubbed on the spot may help (I've never tried this one). Another remedy is to wash the skin with warm, soapy water and apply olive oil (or a vegetable oil). Rub the oil into the skin, wait a minute or two, rinse. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure! Open a window, wear safety glasses, wear gloves, operate on the chilis inside a plastic bag (less spray). Discard gloves after wearing (turned inside out to protect landfill archaeologists).


Now that I'm 90% past the habanero hell episode, 18 hours later, I want to try jerk sauce. 


3 T ground allspice
1/2 t ground nutmeg
1 t ground cinnamon
1 T ground coriander
4 green onions, chopped
1 t tamarind concentrate
1/4 c wine vinegar
1/4 c oil
3 or 4 habanero peppers, cleaned and trimmed using rubber gloves
salt and pepper to season


Blend to a smooth, ash-colored puree. If too dry, add some rum, water or lime juice. Using a spoon, spread over the surface (chicken, pork, tofu, etc), keep in fridge at least 4 hours. Cook as slowly as possible on a covered grill, or in a slow oven in a pan with a rack .

Fire! I Have Created Fire!

Thai food lovers, rejoice with me! I have mastered one tiny facet, one infinitesimal corner of the cuisine, successfully understood and reproduced the making of red curry sauce. Oops, suddenly I realize how much more there is to learn about Thai cooking. Oh well. It was a great moment. 

Thaifood.about.com has a recipe for "Thai Red Curry Paste" by Darlene Schmidt, which was where I started. As I've mentioned, I can't completely follow a recipe unless it has leavening.

• 1 shallot or 1/4 purple onion (I used 1 purple onion because 3/4 would stink up the fridge)
• 1 stalk lemongrass, minced (lemongrass is tough and difficult to chop so I used the most tender parts from all the stalks in the bundle, oh well)
• 1-2 red chilis (I used all the red ones in the package, discarding any green or brown chilis)
• 4 cloves garlic
• 1 thumb-sized piece of galangal (I used regular ginger, a piece the size of my fist)
• 2 T tomato puree
• 1 t ground cumin (1/2 tea cumin seeds, pulverized to powder)
• 3/4 t ground coriander (same as the cumin seeds)
• 1/4 t ground white pepper
• 2 T fish sauce (removed top from bottle, cleaned away salt)
• 1 t shrimp sauce
• 1 t brown sugar (plan to try jaggery next time)
• 1 1/2 t chili powder (ooh, chipotle chili powder would be good)
• 3 T coconut milk (shake the can hard to mix before using, add more if too thick)
• 2 T lime juice
• 1/4 t cinnamon

Place all ingredients in a food processor (or blender) and puree well. This will make a thick, strong-smelling paste which will mellow when you cook it. There will be enough for one curry, or in my case, for at least two curries. Heat with a little oil or butter, then add your choice of vegetables and meat. I used shredded leftover chicken, diced carrots, chopped beans, snow peas and spinach; served with steamed rice, sprinkled with chopped cilantro.

The second half of this recipe was heated with oil, vegetables, chicken, rice, broth and more coconut milk to make a thick soup. I like to use green and orange vegetables (broccoli, string beans, peas, snow peas, spinach, carrots, yams). This was very hot and spicy but so good I couldn't stop eating it. 

Baby Seedlings, Mommy Gardener

About 10 days ago I seeded a 50 cells planting tray with mostly tomatoes, five cells of rainbow mix Swiss chard and five of huckleberries. The first day I soaked the cells good (with the garden hose on dribble) and left them out in the sunshine all day. The next few days the tray stayed out all day, but I brought it into the garage at night (15 degrees warmer than outside and no risk of birds and squirrels when the dog and I weren’t around). Five days ago, the first seedlings sprouted.

I’m pretty sure they are chard. The next day, I took the tray to work and left it on my desk (on a layer of paper towels) in the bright office fluorescent lights all day. The tray has been going back and forth from outside in sunshine to inside (warmer with fluorescent lights) for almost a week now, and almost every single cell has sprouts, except for one row which must be the huckleberries, which should have been stratified, but I haven’t given up on them yet. I emailed their eBay seller a request for a photo of huckleberry sprouts, which will be sent when the seller returns from vacation.

Last night and this morning I’ve been gripped with a huge sense of responsibility, similar in feel but not in degree to the sense of responsibility when my daughter was born. I planted these seeds at the wrong time of year and they are dependent on me now to live. Holy crap. With a child, you can seek advice from all kinds of sources – relatives, friends, pediatricians, advice nurses, baby books, internet – but sources for baby seedlings are rare. I’m digging around gardening sites for guidance. I'm trying to figure out how to rig up a growing light and I need a greenhouse. I have about a week before these tiny seedlings will outgrow their "baby clothes" and need to be transplanted into pots. Actually, they need to be planted in the ground but that's not an option in mid-November.  

Interline Travel with the Wi-Fi Bandit

Do you like to travel? Explore new places, meet people, taste new foods? Everyone who says they love to travel should go on a trip with an interline flier (an airline employee who flies space available – last on, first bumped off). The excitement and uncertainty will make you appreciate the 30 cubic feet of space allotted to you by your plane ticket, even if you still wish you could “fly for free”. Accompanied by my interline friend, I went “leafpeeping” in New England last month, carrying my laptop, printouts of Boston bus schedules, and Plans A, B, C and D.

Plan A is that I fly to Boston, catch a bus to Portsmouth and wait at the terminal. Plan B is take bus to Manchester, pick up the rental car from the airport, drive to Portsmouth, check into hotel and wait for further instructions. Plan D: everything has gone to hell, my travel companion has been rerouted to Fargo and is stuck. Go on vacation by yourself. Plan C? Never set up since Plan A seemed feasible all along. Text messages were exchanged as we flew across country on different flights and times. What a relief, when my plane landed in Boston, to read “ON CLT TO MHT” which meant back to Plan A.

I meet up with PepsiPal, who forgives me my daily coffee while I forgive him his Pepsi transgressions.  When you travel and everything is strange or new, just having the coffee I want creates my comfort zone. Driving around Portsmouth, in search of food and cheap champagne (California wines’ prices make me laugh, I’ve already seen enough to keep me busy for several days. Smuttynose Brewing Company offers tours and tastings Fridays and Saturdays. I’m intrigued by the name and want to try the Pumpkin Ale, the Winter Ale and the upcoming S’Muttonator Double Bock.

There are little Adirondacks on the front lawn of the hotel like an illustration in a children’s book. Breakfast, the next morning, is a crowded business of many people milling around a small room stoking up on calories for a strenuous day of staring at autumn colors. I sit down with my oatmeal and fruit next to a French couple who look like models from an Air France advertisement. They are going to Boston next. What do you say to somebody from France who wants to brave Boston traffic to visit the Freedom Trail? PepsiPal gave them some tips while visions of “Escape from Logan Airport” run through my head.

We are en route to Whaleback Light at Kittery, Maine although I am fully aware that said lighthouse is on an island, difficult to access by boat, and not open to the public. It’s located on the Piscataqua River, closest town is Kittery, established in 1830 and automated in 1963. The 50 foot granite tower originally had a fourth-order Fresnel lens, its present optic is a VLB-44 and the distinguishing characteristic is two white flashes every 10 seconds. The fog signal is two blasts every 30 seconds. These characteristics seem irrelevant until you realize that the two white flashes is unique to the area and serves as a landmark. There are no signposts on the ocean.

Speaking of signposts, I’ve heard they are rarer than hen’s teeth in New England. Sure enough, we get turned around, do some driving in circles and before you know it, we’re halfway to York. Dammit!! Missed the first lighthouse on the Maine coast!! Stay tuned for October sunbathers in New England and what to do in Kennebunkport.

    

In Search of the Perfect Biscuit

It’s really Grover’s fault that I’ve been making biscuits, in search of perfection. I had brought triple-ginger gingerbread to work to share one day, which inspired spicy applesauce muffins...  chocolate-chip peanut butter cookies…and brownies, the kind that don’t come out of a box and melt in your mouth. I saved Grover a brownie and told him I was sorry that his was the smallest one in the batch. Grover responded by asking what I was bringing in tomorrow (yes he is that annoying) and then he waxed poetic over biscuits, hot from the oven, smoking from steam and eaten with a chunk of butter, washed down with honey or homemade jam (told you he is annoying). I suddenly had that hot biscuits with butter taste in my mouth, too, which was why I researched biscuits, all kinds from baking power to sourdoughs and ended by fermenting my own starter and baking many batches of sourdough biscuits. Hot from the oven, smoking and steaming, they are delicious, flaky, tender, blessed with butter and anointed with honey.

Using google, I researched sourdough starters and yeast, leavening methods, history of the sourdough method, Lactobacillus culture, and somehow ended up reading about the hay maze in Bozeman, Montana. Suddenly I understood why breadmaking is intimidating to some. Sourdough is traditionally made using a portion of sourdough saved from a prior batch. (How do you get started if you need a prior batch?) The prior batch is called mother dough, or chef, or seed sour. What? Three words for the same thing? I liked the info at joejaworski.com/bread, everything seemed so straightforward. But again, I became overwhelmed with all the info. Ultimately I used unbleached flour, tap water (left overnight, uncovered, in a bowl), dunked briefly rinsed local grapes in it to get the local microorganisms and waited. It worked and I was pleased but mildly shocked. I used this starter many times. The biscuits have a distinct flavor which I now know is the result of the lactic acid produced by the lactobacilli. The biscuits are also delicious – so incredibly good that I suddenly have an urge to bake them again.

In August, of all months, I suddenly had a taste for biscuits again, but wanted to try a different flavor, which led to experiments with sweet potato recipes although I prefer yams. The first batch was good, but I wanted to make it better, and my daughter said I should make it sweeter and spicier. This is the recipe:

Sift together 2 cups flour, 2 teaspoons baking powder and ¼ teaspoon salt. Cut ½ cup butter into the flour mixture, using a fork or a pastry cutter. Meanwhile, you have microwaved or baked two small garnet yams, peeled and mashed them in a separate bowl, added 2 tablespoons each of molasses and brown sugar, ½ teaspoon cinnamon, and ¼ each of grated fresh nutmeg and mace or cloves. You should have about one and a half cups of gooey spicy yam glop. Add it to the dry mixture, then add up to 6 tablespoons of milk. Blend the mixtures together with as few strokes as possible, turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and roll it out ½ inch thick. Use a round biscuit cutter, or make large squares. Oven 400 degrees, ungreased cookie sheet, bake about 10 minutes.

The little biscuit sandwiches in the picture are from the first batch, spread with horseradish stoneground mustard and sliced chicken basil sausages. Notice how brown the biscuits are because of the addition of the yams. I also made tomato sandwiches with these biscuits.

Missing New England, Missing Vacation

I don't do recipes, I really don't, except when there's leavening involved, and I always follow the oven temp and baking times. Outside of that, whenever I try to follow a recipe (and I really do try) somewhere my version takes flight and becomes its own version. I truly first realized this several years ago when my daughter asked me for my recipe for jambalaya, and I admitted that I didn't have a recipe.Long ago, I had read someone else's recipe, but I started making jambalaya and I kept making it without measuring anything. So, I told Sasha that I could tell her how I make it, and if she could remember watching me make it, she could do it, too. I'll have to ask her how that worked out for her....

Tonight I've been back from Maine for ten days now, and have been longing for lobster chowder, so I made some except I had no lobster. ps it was all yummy good
I started with 2 tablespoons of olive oil and 2 tablespoons of butter, heated and melted, to which I added 2 small onions, chopped (or 1 large) and 3-4 stalks of celery over medium heat. Turned the heat down to low while I diced 2 medium potatoes and let them cook, stirring constantly as the potatoes could make the whole thing stick-and-burn. After 5 minutes I added about 4 ladles of (homemade) chicken stock that just happened to have been on the back burner, and let it simmer a little while. Next, I sliced the kernels off an ear of corn, and when the mixture was boiling again, added more stock, enough to almost cover the ingredients. I ground in fresh pepper, covered the pot and left it alone for about ten minutes. The last ingredient was one half pound of surimi, crab-flavored fish. (I'd wanted to use lobster, but oh well) I stirred it, covered it and left it alone for another ten minutes. It had thickened, was quite hot and delicious. I forced myself to eat seconds, sadly enough. 

Now, if I'd had lobster to use, and had added 1/2 cup cream, the character of the chowder would have been very different. Or, if I'd added 4 strips of bacon and two more ears of corn, along with the cream, but subtract the surimi, I'd have had corn chowder - another favorite.
Please pass the crackers.

Travels with the Wi-Fi Bandit October 2010

Last year I went foliage-gazing in NH and Maine and Im going again this year, leaving this Saturday. Here is one of the emails I wrote from the road, excerpted:
Dear Friends, Relations and Those Who Prefer Door #3......
Virgin Airlines seats are so closely packed that you have to get off the plane to change your mind...my forehead was almost pressing against the back of the chair in front of me. My neighbors on either side, however, were not nearly as close due to the remote controls stored in the arm rests for the screen on the back of the chair in front of you. Yeah, that's right, the one my forehead was pressing against. You can also play video games on them - one round of Mah Jong was all it took for me to go cross-eyed. 

The FAA has passed a new law against consumible foodstuffs allowed on planes - there aren't any. If I hadn't brought a tomato sandwich I would have starved on that five hour flight, sandwiched as I was between two Sox fans. Im hoping to hear a Brahmin accent. My linguistics professor said Boston Brahmin is a dialect which has been studied, noted, dissected, analyzed und so wieder... I've heard none of the above but much of the linguistic variety aspired to by the cast of "The Perfect Storm" while I'm surrounded by men swilling ginger ale. Attention Samuel Adams: your Boston Lager isn't being lagered on this plane! !

I was expecting total madness from Logan but it was much cleaner and calmer than I had expected. I made my way to the luggage claim area and retrieved my suitcase (singular) then began looking around for the Concord Trailways bus to take me to Portland which was when I realized that the Entire Airport I had walked around was really only a teeny-tiny corner. Oh my goodness. I bucked up my courage and hoped the bus could find me amidst Loganmetropolis. (Where the hell am I????)  and the blue-white striped monster drove me to Portland and showed me a movie on the 2-hour drive about a wholesome African American choir girl who meets a handsome gospel-singing player, joins his troupe and goes on the road with him.

Portland's routes look unfamiliar to somebody who grew up with California freeways, but are similar to Bozeman, Spokane and St. Louis. The air was BRACING when I got off the bus and couldn't find Greg Ford straightaway (where the hell am I???) but he was parked in front whereas the bus parked in the back. Hence the confusion. This was Saturday.

Day Two: Escape from SFO to Boothbay Harbor
Yesterday I arrived in Portland after 10pm with an mild case of excessive g-forces absorbed from flying across the country and an extreme case of sillie-willies. We bought cheap champagne and stayed up late talking and sipping Andre from plastic cups. Who says travel isn't glamorous? Sunday morning before coffee kicked in we set out for Portland Light, located at the old Fort Williams at Cape Elizabeth on Casco Bay. Portland Head Light, or Portland Light, is the beloved lighthouse maintained by the city of Portland.

It's located at Bug Light Park in South Portland (no, Drew, that's not Bud Light but BUG Light). The entemologists among you may take a moment to explain this to the etymologistically challenged. The site was established in 1855, the lighthouse built in 1875 (ahoy Captain Ahab) automated in 1934, discontinued in 1942, relighted in 2002 as a private service. Its original optic was 6th order Fresnel glass (pronounced Freh-NELL) currently its 250mm. The tower is 25 feet, its characteristic is a flashing white every 4 seconds. The parking is free, you hike in and of course I hadda see the fort first (kind of reminded me of Sutter's Fort without the scary mummified figures lurking in the darkened rooms....) There is a wonderful stroll/view, a sidewalk of sorts with a wall, you look out over the ocean/vista and there are rocks, tidepools and far far out in the distance a cruise ship, kind of like a BIg Duck Turd. What's wrong with this picture? You can visualize yourself here amongst the 18th/19th century stage props, baking bread, mending fishnets, running back and forth in the invigorating sea air, then there is that big lump of DT like an excessive jolt of reality, kind of makes you believe in alien abductions..I digress...

There is a gift shop, so small you have to go outside to change your mind. I bought a pack of Maine lupine flower seeds, Greg Ford bought a lighthouse flashlight. The lighthouse tower is humongous, I looked it up and down, trying to mentally calculate how many bushels it could hold were it a silo. The lighthouse is a very bright white, shiny and thick-feeling, like there have been hundreds of layers of white enamel paint applied since 1855. You can't go inside the tower. Im looking forward to Pemaquid, one of the few lighthouses you can go into and climb up inside.

Which pretty much brings us up to date. I flew into Boston today, caught a bus to Portsmouth while Greg Ford crisscrossed his interline self across country. Tomorrow, Kittery (is it an island or a lighthouse? depends on the tide) and Boothbay Harbor, a LOBstah roll from Phil's, a pit stop in Kennebuck, and Lighthouses 101, my 2011 version.

My brother broke the thermometer. Or maybe my mother broke the thermometer. Memory is a funny thing - you think you remember something happening when it happened to somebody else. Or maybe you patched two things together, or maybe something completely different happened, but you don't realize it. I do remember that strange liquid pooling. My mother used the end of the glass tubing to scoop up little bits of glittery silver molten, and pushed them towards each other until they joined. She let me play with it for a few seconds after telling me not to lean over it. In my adulthood, I now have a frame of reference to describe this experience. The T1000 in "Terminator 2" is composed of metal that rejoins like the mercury. There was a scene where John Connor shoved a chunk of metal off the back of their vehicle, it bounced down the road to rejoin the body of the T1000. 

The mercury was viscuous but fluid, it shimmered and fascinated me. After she had put it up out of reach, my mother told me it was poisonous and even breathing in the air around it could harm me. Using the edge of the glass tubing, then a piece of paper, she scraped up all the mercury, gently shaking each bit into the shimmering pool collecting on the saucer. She told me to never use a vacuum or a broom while cleaning up mercury. At her request, I retrieved the powdered sulfur from the shed leftover from dehydrating apricots. Mom sprinkled the sulphur on the floor, then gave me a special job for the afternoon: keeping my brothers out of the kitchen.


I know now that the mercury and sulphur created mercuric sulfide, which Mom used a whisk broom to gather. I don't remember how she disposed of the mercury. I only remember the quicksilver or mercury, named after Mercury, god of speed and mobility. Chemical symbol is Hg, atomic number 80, short for hydr- (water) and argyros (silver). A coin floats in a puddle of mercury due to a combination of buoyant force and surface tension. Mercury's unique electronic configuration is that electrons fill up all the available subshells 1-6. Liquid silver.


Quicksilver is also something that moves or changes very quickly, that's impossible to define, to hold, to contain. What is this blog about? Music, languages, math, food and food science. Travel. Anxiety. Facing your fears. Grief. Friends, loyalty, passion. And an ode to my mother, the artist who became a chemist who became a minister.