Magic Eggs

There is magic in early childhood. Given the proper chance, it's a time when a child can know with certainty that the woods are full of underground creatures called gnomes, that ash trees growing together by the side of a trail are indeed a fairy house that can be climbed into, that sand and mud can be pushed into mountains with endless vistas into another domain. 
 
Young children see the world with such wonder. Even the smallest discoveries are huge and thrilling. To be reminded of how interesting the world really is -- that's one of the best side benefits of spending time with a small human. Since I live with a four-year-old, I'm a lucky person to be around that kind of excitement and magic daily (though admittedly between some rough patches typical of this age).

When I was thinking about this today, I wondered if Kingston's worldview has rubbed off on me a little. This is because I realized that I have developed a tendency to call many things "magic" or "magical," things which in adult eyes would seem utterly banal.

Somehow, for instance, I have started calling our dog "Magic Dog." He has taken to coming into Kingston's room with us to do the bedtime routine each night. If he doesn't, I find myself saying, "Come, Magic Dog! Time for bed!" He usually obeys and pads in after us.

If I had to tell you what is actually magical about our dog, well, I'm not exactly sure what that would be. He doesn't fly. He doesn't glow in the dark. He doesn't grant wishes. Maybe the fact that he is constant in his gentle mood and ever-loving toward us is magic enough. 

Even scrambled eggs have become magical in our house. It began by necessity. Kingston would only ever eat egg whites and not the yolk. Initially I saved them for other things, but there are only so many recipes for using up yolks. In my wiliness, I realized that if I called the eggs I cooked "magic," Kingston might actually eat them in their entirety, yolks and all. 

It's not just in the name, though. While these eggs may appear to be unexceptional, they are anything but that. The first time I made them, I turned to Marc as we sat down to breakfast and said, "These eggs are magical." He nodded in agreement, as he silently shoved another forkful into his mouth. I had cooked them with leftover Ethiopian spiced butter, or nit'er kibbeh, based on a version from Marcus Samuelsson. Originally, I had made the butter as I was getting ready to cook the Ethiopian chicken stew, Doro Wat (nit'er kibbeh is an essential flavoring ingredient for the dish).

The basic idea with nit'er kibbeh is to infuse flavors into unsalted butter by simmering the butter with onion and spices typical to Ethiopian cuisine, including turmeric, cumin and fenugreek. By the end of the simmer, you essentially have clarified butter with a beguiling aroma that provides additional layers of flavors to whatever you are cooking, be it a chicken stew, or in this case, scrambled eggs. Ni'ter kibbeh is worth making and having on hand for when you want to add a little magic to almost any dish. 

Magic Eggs
For these eggs, use a gentle hand, cooking on medium-low to low, and they will be magically irresistable to anyone, including a four-year-old.

Serves 1-2. Nit'er Kibbeh slightly adapted from Marcus Samuelsson.

Ingredients
For the nit'er kibbeh:
8 tablespoons unsalted butter (1 stick), cut into pieces
1 onion, coarsely chopped
1/2 teaspoon ground turmeric
1 cinnamon stick
2 garlic cloves, peeled
2-inch piece of peeled fresh ginger
sprig or two of rosemary

To cook the dish:
3 eggs, preferably organic
1 1/2 to 2 tablespoons Ethiopian spiced butter
salt

Instructions
First, make the spiced butter. Place butter, onion, turmeric, cinnamon stick, garlic, ginger and rosemary in a small saucepan. Turn heat to low. Slowly melt butter, then simmer very gently for 30 minutes. Do not allow the milk solids to brown. Let the butter sit for 5 to 10 minutes to allow the solids to settle to the bottom. Pour butter through a piece of cheesecloth or fine sieve to remove most of the solids. This is your ni'ter kibbeh for cooking the eggs.

Whisk eggs until well beaten. Place an 8-inch skillet over medium-low heat and then add the butter. Allow butter to melt then pour in the eggs. Allow the eggs to begin slightly setting then use a spatula to stir and scrape eggs from the middle. I like to sprinkle a small pinch of salt over the eggs at this point. 

Jiggle the pan so that the still-liquid egg from the other edges flows toward the middle. Cook for another minute or two. Scrape eggs and flip. Continue doing this until the eggs are cooked to your liking. I prefer my eggs quite soft, almost runny. Remember, they will still continue cooking after you turn off the heat. Serve garnished with some chopped herbs. Toast, which some would consider magical all on its own, is a worthy accompaniment.

Snap Pea Salad with Red Chile, Feta, Mint and Lettuce

With all the beautiful produce showing up recently, it's been hard not to have salad on the brain. In fact, it's easy to start daydreaming about being Yotam Ottolenghi, the vegetable master, flipping all sorts of gorgeous possibilities around in my mind. Red chile? Snap peas? Feta? Yes.

There is much to hope for in a good salad. When seasonings and textures are in harmony and the freshest ingredients used, a salad can be invigorating. Uplifting, even. This is especially true on those hot days when we feel droopy to the point of not wanting to eat - or hope for - much of anything.

Salads can veer off into wild exuberance, with acidity, for instance, nearly taking over only to be pulled back from the edge by just the right amount of salt. Crunch can get piled on top of more crunchiness and crispness, each element steeped in its individual flavor. If they are put together right, a mouthful is bliss on a sunny day.

I know people like my neighbor, Heather, however, who dreads putting a salad together for fear of not doing it right or making it "too bland." I'm not sure where this fear comes from, but it must be set it aside. 

Those intimidated, would-be vegetable artists need to step up to the task of salad making with courage and determination. Not to do so would mean missing out on life.

"Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people," writes the very wise Anne Lamott in Bird by Bird.

But really, when it comes to warm weather produce and what to do with it, this line could be rewritten as: "Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the salad."

This means, be brave and pull it together. Don't be afraid of making a salad with what you have. Don't worry too much about the outcome. Dare to let your veggies be great. 

Walk through the farmer's market or the produce section and grab what pleases you. If you are fortunate enough to be asked by a neighbor (such as mine) to water her garden while she is visiting Southern California or even have a small plot of your very own, pick what is ready and calling out to you. 

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Step back and gaze at the pile of things you have collected and thunked down on the counter. In what ways could they possibly be encouraged to live happily together?

Maybe just a dressing will do? The simplest one I can think of for a large head of lettuce washed, torn, and thrown into a bowl is made with the juice of half a lemon, a few glugs of good olive oil (twice as much as the juice) and a generous pinch of salt.

Knit them together with a quick, energetic whisking. If no lemon is in sight, a lime will work just as well. Or use a vinegar instead.

Taste as you go along. Make sure that you have yin to balance out the yang of your vegetables. If something is crisp, add an element that may be soft or silky. Tart? Add sour. Bitterness? Add sweetness. And so on. Just have fun with it and should anything go amiss, it can always be corrected. 

In the worst case, when you can't quite figure it out (with practice, this will happen with less and less frequency until it becomes a non-concern) you will at the very least, still have something fresh and healthy to eat.

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Snap Pea Salad with Red Chile, Feta, Mint and Lettuce
Our neighbors did ask me to water their veggie garden while they were away for ten days recently. They had plenty of snap peas, which I had to snatch away from Kingston, who ate them out of hand. I had the lettuce, chile, onion and a hunk of feta in the fridge already. Mint and tarragon were in my herb box on the back deck. So, this was a salad about using what I had. These, for me, are always the most enjoyable kinds of meals. Simplicity itself. 

Serves 3 to 4.

Ingredients
2 cups snap peas
1 small fresh red chile
1 small fresh banana pepper (optional)
1/3 cup crumbled feta cheese
6 or 7 Boston or Butter lettuce leaves (larger, outer leaves)
Fresh mint, enough leaves to make 1 teaspoon when roughly chopped
Fresh tarragon, 1 sprig, leaves torn off
1 teaspoon black sesame seeds, plus more
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon olive oil
salt and pepper

Instructions
Cut snap peas on the diagonal into 1/2-inch pieces. Mince the red chile. Cut banana pepper lengthwise then again crosswise into thin pieces, about 1/8-inch each (if using). Roughly chop mint and tear or cut tarragon into small pieces.

Whisk together lemon juice and olive oil. Add salt to taste, keeping in mind hat the feta will add saltiness as well. Just a small pinch was enough for me.

Add torn lettuce pieces to the snap peas and peppers. Drizzle dressing over the veggies and scatter sesame seeds and then the feta. Add a grind or two of fresh black pepper. Toss salad gently but thoroughly with your hands or with tongs. Make sure all of the vegetables are coated with a bit of the dressing.

Serve in a big salad bowl or on individual plates. Scatter a pinch more of the sesame seeds over the salad before serving. Eat immediately.

Coin Purse Eggs...Hello Spring!

Winters here in Western Washington can sure feel long. By the end of February, the consistently dark and wet days begin to feel like they will never end. You wake up with your house solidly encased in darkness, turn all the lights on (for mental health reasons) and before you know it, your afternoon goes from murky dampness to pure blackness once again. And it’s not even anywhere near dinner time yet.

Lately, our still drizzly days have been punctuated here and there by an actual sunny day. That’s when you’ll find us running outside dressed in tee shirts and shorts. Who cares if it’s still a bit cold out? Who even notices that we are blinding one another with the full moon glow of our winter skin?

We tilt our faces up to the sky, grateful for the light. We greet our friends, whom we haven’t seen since we traded cookies and jars of hot fudge in December, with hugs and say things like, “You made it through the dark months!”

Hello Spring. You are here!

For me, Spring is about fresh eggs. Not those bland ones from the supermarket that we dye for Easter. I’m talking about rich, Omega-laden yolks like the ones local pastured hens have been busy laying now that there is more light each day (Did you know, chickens need about 14 hours of daylight to be able to lay consistently?).

Eggs make me think of my little Chinese mom who raised six hungry kids by herself with a simple dish of steamed white rice and coin purse eggs. We ate a lot of this stuff. It was filling and cheap but still felt special. After all, each “coin purse” contained the promise of wealth and prosperity.

Fresh Eggs From My Brother's Hens

Before you start on the eggs, make sure you already have a pot of cooked rice done. Long-grain is good. So is medium-grain brown. Today we made haiga, a Japanese type which is almost white but not quite brown rice. The bran has been removed, but the germ still remains. It's an in-between thing. Anyway...

It’s time to start your eggs.  

You’ll be cooking one egg at a time, but the whole process goes pretty quickly. You'll be eating very, very soon. I promise.  

Heat two tablespoons or so of oil of your choice (I like sunflower or peanut) in the bottom of curved cooking vessel – like a wok, for instance. Make sure it’s good and hot. This is important!

Take one fresh egg (now’s definitely the time to splurge on organic, farm fresh) and crack it into your little pool of heated oil. Alternatively, you can place your egg in a bowl or cup and then slide it in. But we live on the edge around here. Crack it right in, I say!

Once it goes it, it will sizzle and pop in a most satisfying way. The white should puff up and start to set around the edges. I like to tip the pan to one side to encourage the white to stretch a bit toward one side. This will make it easier to fold.

At this point, swirling the oil a bit around the whole egg is good too. The bottom will start to become crispy and develop brown spots. The yolk will still be wiggly with some uncooked white immediately around it.

It’s been about a minute-and-a-half now. Take your spatula and carefully work it under one side of the egg.

Gently fold the white over the yolk so that it comes together with the opposite edge of white. Introduce them. Let the edges be friends.

This next part might get a little tricky, especially if you are cooking on a flat surface. You might need to tilt the pan a bit and try to nestle the egg into the curved inner part. You will need to hold your spatula for a few moments keep the egg used to its new position. It will quickly set.

When you let go, you’ll see that you’ve made a chubby purse-shaped package with a delicious yolky “coin” inside. So cute. It wiggles when you touch it.   

The proper way to eat it?

Scoop some rice into a bowl. Gently lay your egg on top. Add a splash of soy sauce and a sprinkling of green onions. Shower it with some sesame seeds and it's practically fancy. Poke the soft yolk and let it run down into the hot rice. Mix this rich, sunshine-y concoction up with your chopsticks then savor each bite.

Here’s to sunny days ahead! Enjoy!

Note: If you have some greens lying around in your veggie bin (Radish greens are great – we don’t like to waste anything around here), go ahead and sauté them with a little garlic and oil. Add that to your bowl and you will have a beyond satisfying meal.