hey, it's fuyu!

Tell me, what would you do if given a thousand pounds of ripe fuyus?
Inspired by last year's experiments with goo I took action.....

Take one box of the crazy-soft goo balls (between 24-36 fruit) and rip off and compost the stems and upper leaves. Toss the rest into an 8q pot and mash with a potato thingie. Chuck this into a big gauge colander and stir around with a spoon-like object. When most the pulp is through, remove most the skins and compost 'em. Pour the remaining mess into a clean 5 gallon bucket. Repeat this process 6 more times, adding a quart of orange blossom honey at the end. Stir thoroughly and you have something like this. I covered it with a nylon grain bag to keep the flies and monkeys out and took to stirring it every few hours.

By day two and a half, the froth had set in. It was getting on near that time to put this beast into a large vessel before it decides to go eat some sugar elsewhere. I got out a huge piece of glass for just such occasions, scrubbed it a bit and left it overnight to soak some more. The next morning I check on the yeastie beasties and they have shoved the nylon bag into a slight dome, stretching it some, causing it to hold tight to the bucket rim, thus keeping the foam from climbing out. I removed the bag at first sight and it released the cork a bit. A few quarts or so of foam blurbed on over the edge.

Safely behind glass, I could now judge the true character of these wild organisms. They were chewing up the persimmons pretty good, but the pulp still had the consistency of a runny flan. I added a gallon of tap water and swirled it around as well as one can when you find yourself agitating a 45 pound glass container with 5 gallons of orange snot in it. I gave it my best, then left it alone. Checking a few hours later, some separation had occurred and I finally felt like this experiment was leaning toward success.

Now, more than a week into it, I wonder if I should have made more. Maybe a lot more. Then I think, that's crazy! I couldn't post something about that, people would think I'm nuts!

Then my brew buddy gives me an update of the madness we have going in his backyard. He sends a link. So now, if you have any interest in what one might do with a mad amount of ripe persimmons........

Because, really, using seven boxes only puts a tiny dent in 170!

wild winter mead

I have a love/hate relationship with persimmons. You see, I want to love them, but they are so easy to hate. They are a fruit that I have purchased maybe twice in my life, but somehow I end up with a box or two of them every year. Not wanting to see them wasted, I've tried some different means of preparation these past couple of years. I started with a korma. Satisfying yes. Duplicated, no. Then came the sorbet. Tasty indeed, but once again, have I made it another time? No. Let's see, how about that winter soup? Nope. Okay, maybe I'll make the souffle again, but I'm not guaranteeing anything. Anyway, my point is, I've tried and tried to use persimmons in new and fun ways, but ultimately have only succeeded in getting them off the counter. I ate them, but haven't really looked forward to doing it again. This winter, that changed.

I'm not going to go into too much detail here, because like all ferments, it involves a bit of hocus pocus, and sometimes a little witchcraft, and describing it in words won't suffice. Lets say, it starts right here though, with gooey, slimey, do I have to really touch that? textured fruit. Notice the whitish stuff on the skin. That's yeast right there. Smelling and possibly tasting each piece of fruit you are using, goop up about eight of these bad boys and stir it into about half a gallon of honey. Add about one gallon of tap water, mix well and cover with cheesecloth. Don't cook anything. Well, maybe the water, but thats it. Stir somewhat frequently (whenever you remember, which for me was about every hour of so) until the cauldron you have it in begins to froth.

In this case, by day three we were rocking. I liked the idea of this being a winter fruit mead, so expanded on the theme and added the juice of a few tangerines and the arils of a few pomegranates, along with some more water into a three gallon carboy. To this I added the stockpot's contents of bubbling brew and put on an airlock valve. A few weeks of magic later, the arils were looking all bleached out, the fruit pulp was nice and separated into distinct horizons on the top and bottom and the liquid looked fairly clear. I siphoned this off into another carboy and put the airlock back on.

After another month more of spontaneous alcohol formation, it was ready to bottle. Clear, big on the fruit, yet nearly totally dry, with a slight tinge of pinky orange and well over 10 percent alcohol, this is some potent stuff, though I'm surprised how smooth it is already. It never fermented at anywhere over 70 degrees during the course of magic involved and this likely helped. Well that, and apparently, persimmons have good yeast on them. Now, finally, I have something to do with these freaky fruit that I'll look forward to duplicating next year.

Really, like, I can't wait! Because the story goes deeper, and involves two beers now, both fermented with the wild yeast that started it all. But, unfortunately, I'll have to get to blabbing about that one later. I've got some wild winter mead to sample.

persimmon and corn soufflé; californio dreamin' part two

Jan. 12th, 1864
Dear Uncle Garner,

I find myself thinking of you again, as you are the relative that I confide my "new world" produce experiences with; this occasion I made a Kakee soufflé. A "what was that my dear?" you are probably mouthing as reading this. Well, that is right Uncle, a Kakee! It is really a form of a persimmon, somewhat like the ones encountered on my trip through the Ohio River valley, some twenty years or so ago, only this time much larger and easier to deal with if, if I may say so. Anyway, the manner in which these "simmons" (as some call them) came into my kitchen is that an Asian man in the neighborhood, hunched over and hardly able to see toward the horizon (from years of Railroad work I hear, not his current farming ventures) has taken it upon himself to introduce me to these bizarre orange fruits. Upon receiving them, I was in a quandry as to what to call them since he pressed a basket of them into my hand and then proceeded to sneeze. I promptly said "bless you" and placed the gift on the counter. He gave me a look of confusion and began saying over and over what he must have said when I thought he sneezed, with each repetition slower, making a point in pronouncing each syllable sharply: "Ha - Chee - Ya." Seeing my reaction, he quickly smiled, grabbed my hand and began squeezing it as though I were his child, then with a little shrug of his shoulder he spoke in a very reassuring tone and laughingly said "Ka - Kee." I smiled back and repeated: "Kakee!" I can't say why exactly, as both words sat wrong on my english speaking tongue, but I found I preferred Kakee.

I find this new fruit most delectable and very sweet, but with a pudding like consistency that is much too soft for me for wanting to eat out of hand as one would an apple. Maybe making a true pudding with it would be splendid? I had been wanting sweets of late, but my last sack of sugar has been empty for months. Luckily, some relations returning from an area drained by el rio de los reyes had recently given us several jars of honey. I have put this on my corn meal pudding lately, and even spooned it onto toasted pieces of wheat bread. But when I received the Kakee and found I wouldn't be eating much of them uncooked, I thought of combining them with the honey to make a pudding of sorts. With this thought in mind I immediately spoke with my neighbor, a Mrs. DuBois, who seems to have quite the mastery in her own kitchen. She informed me that she had no idea what this "slimey orange pulp in a skin" was, but in a pinch I could at the very least make a soufflé. She then explained how it involves separating eggs and treating the respective parts with the utmost care and attention, yielding divine results both sweet or savory she assures me. The texture of it she described as something we know to be a bread pudding. I was intrigued and made up my mind to try my hand at one. Thus was born the persimmon and cornmeal soufflé.........

now, back to today, or more realistically, two days ago:

So there I was. Staring in the freezer at two cups of frozen orange pulp labeled Hachiya. We had a lot of eggs, a jar of honey on the counter and I was feeling adventurous. I did a search for "persimmon soufflé" and was disappointed with the results. I figured, sheee-iiiit, as a food blogger, I can do something about this. Post a little something, label it accordingly and in the near future, if enough traffic comes my way you will soon be able to use this search phrase and come directly here. Consider it a form of direct action that involves no regard for demographic and whether this recipe is fit for the masses to read on paper. I said to myself: "Self, I will run an experiment. Can little 'ol Monkey Wrangler, use all local ingredients (within 200 miles for this experiment), make a yummy dessert AND have immediate effect on the internet search for persimmon soufflé?" The answer, we shall find out is up to you, the reader.

I had some fun last year about this time, using the voice of a deceased relative, who 140+ years ago lived here as a Californio. It was fun to imagine myself in their shoes with trying to make sense of the "local" ingredients and having to make do in order to feed the family. With the ingredients I chose for this post, I soon realized that this was another great candidate for a similar experiment. All local ingredients, likely available in this part of California mid last century, and made by hand. So here goes nothing.

Have you ever made a soufflé?

They are really much easier than they sound. If you are at all familiar with what an egg can do for you in the kitchen then there really ain't too much mystery about them. Another way to say that is that if you understand the physics and chemistry involved with eggs, this should be easy peasy. I started the whole thing off by taking out my eggs and setting them on the counter to get to room temperature. I gathered up the whole grain products, tasted a spoonful of the honey for calibration purposes, and put my Hachiya pulp in a pot to cook just a touch and then press through a sieve. With everything assembled, I separated the eggs, turned on the oven, and prepped my dish for the fluff.

After much arm breaking whisking, rue making, pudding flop-plopping and the like the experiment was closer to reality. With the fluff carefully placed in the dish and its stiff paper collar in place, I loaded it into the 400 degree oven and hoped for the best. This was a first for many ingredients in a soufflé here at the monkey ranch: sweetened with honey; whole grain wheat and corn used; and pectin thickened persimmon pulp. This was most certainly uncharted territory, that was maybe, just maybe, soon to be charted. Searchable that is.



It worked, it worked!

Well, it wasn't the lightest, fluffiest cloud of egg ever, but considering it was a heavy recipe to begin with, I was most pleased with the results. If you consider yourself a whole grain lover, this is just the thing for you. If you don't, you'd probably think someone just handed you a scoop of bread pudding that must have had some corn bread and graham flour in it.

Well, thank you dear readers for getting through this post. If you are feeling adventurous and really like persimmons, give this a try some time.........

californio kaki n' corn soufflé:

2 cups persimmon pulp
4 large eggs
1/2 c honey
1/2 c cornmeal
1/3 c butter
2 T whole wheat flour
pinch of salt

remove eggs from the fridge at least one hour before doing anything. put the pulp in a pan and cook over medium heat until it plops. remove and press through a sieve into a small bowl. separate the eggs. heat the butter in two quart pot and add the butter, whisking it over medium heat until it bubbles and begins to brown slightly. add the pulp and the cornmeal and stir most vigorously. temper the egg yolks in and cook for another few minutes until a light boil is achieved. set aside and cool to near room temperature. while this is cooling, preheat the oven to 'round fer-hunnerd degrees. prepare your soufflé-appropriate dish and beat the egg whites to a medium peak. casually fold the egg whites into the now tepid persimmon and cornmeal pudding of sorts until almost completely combined. gently and of course still quite casually, guide this mixture into the dish and put into the oven. try not to giggle the oven too much when you first peek at the thing at around 15 minutes into the cooking. somewhere around 20-25 minutes in, the desired brownness will occur and the middle won't be all wiggly-jiggly. remove from the oven and try some before giving to anyone else.........

Hopefully it looks something like this. If not, all I can say is that maybe you should try a real tried and true recipe from a professional! Although I doubt they would make this version, let alone publish something about it, for fear of losing some readers and thus money.

Still, I couldn't find a persimmon soufflé recipe and did something about it. Or so I think, let me know.

Later 'taters! Catch you soon!

winter root and fruit

I could be talking about us, pictured here in front of the Ecology Center Booth at the Sat-BFM, or the produce in the bags seen at the lower right, or what I'm thinking about when the shot was taken. (Thanks Rosalie!) You see, I get a seed stuck in my head, and the cycle begins. It germinates and begins to infiltrate the soil in my mind, branching into unknown territory while passing by the familiar. It takes shape, and at a critical point in this early life, I glimpse what it may become. The idea has roots now, and as a carefully attentive gardener, I must decide if I need to nurture this one, or concentrate my energy on another. To weed or not to weed........that is the question. When this pic was taken, I had one of those "hare brained" ideas in my mind...

The idea started as seed while writing a comment on a beautiful post by callipygia about "Finding Heat". I was thinking of the orange items in our produce and I inadvertantly germinated the seed in my head. With a little prompting, I was bent on seeing this root through to fruition.

These crazy thoughts often revolve around an ingredient. Sometimes, I picture myself in the past, with a glut of some particular crop. I have to feed my family, and by the looks of it we will be eating this item for at least a month. (Okay, in leaner times in our history I would be eating said item for EVERY MEAL, not just experimenting with it several times.) First we have it in the fashion we are familiar, expand on the theme maybe and then end up at the inevitable; grossed out and feigning fullness. I know I'm not the only person out there who has looked at an ingredient, closed there eyes trying to invoke some knowledge from an etherial realm, and asked out loud: "Please, may I find a new way to prepare this, for I am sick and tired of (insert bland or boring recipe here) and I will absolutely hurl if I have to have (ingredient identified above, for example: persimmon) prepared this way again. For the love of god, please."

We go hit the Farmer's Market for inspiration, and drop by for some yummy ketchup from Happy Girl Kitchen (for some fries at a later date), drop by River Dog Farm to pick up some golden beets and super sweet carrots, and manage to kill another hour listening to fine music and hitting some of our other favorites. In fact, I'm positive that as the photo up top was taken, the monkey was busy working on a "meat stick" from, who else.

We got back on the bike, and peddled our way home. I often do my best thinking while exercising, and the ride did me good. I needed to work on some spices, but the idea was growing, and the first glimmer of the end was in sight. I wanted to incorporate the cilantro we purchased and it made me think of it's seed form. A curry spicing! It was an idea just crazy enough that it might work. I wanted to see what produce might find it's way into our hands the next day before making my next move.

With a bag of oranges on our table (their glowing spheres plucked that morning in Reedley at H's folks place) it made me think of Pearl. My friend J there made a chilled beet soup that had a touch of orange in it and I loved it. Knowing this was comforting. It seemed my thoughts had some basis in reality, so I watered them, with some nutritive beer during SB41, and slept on it.

Even though I was making two other items, I thawed and blended my goo-yu. The multi-tasking led to another of our recent episodes where the monkey nabs the camera and begins clicking away, but the result captured this messy shot. I looked at the slop and immediately wished I had pulled this idea as a weed.

My director of photgraphy remained enthusiastic about me combining the roots and goop and wanted me to simply pour it all in a bowl. She needed redirecting. Knowing her past work with a mortar and pestle, I set her to measuring out some spices while I prepped the roots for roasting. When finished, I blended the cooked roots, goo/slop, veggie stock, and some orange juice. It needed the spices. I set it on the stove, lit the burner and started mixing. With our powder incorporated, it was a sweet carrot and beet soup, with a bright citrus nose and curry-likeness. The persimmon was there, but really only if you knew about it. While this type of ingredient showcasing might not sell any cookbooks, and really maybe should not be shared at all (like that nightmare from the other night where I'm on the Iron Chef and the secret ingredient is Fuyu), it will get me to finish the aforementioned (see, I'm even sick of typing the word) glut of fruit without barfing. Many a recipe in this world was invented because someone wanted to hide an ingredient without their family/kids (think: green usually) or perhaps even king (think: poison) taking notice. I'd call this a smashing success with those criteria......



WINTER ROOTS AND FRUITS SOUP or
a decent reason to put persimmons into a soup, rather than tossing them:

6 big carrots
3 medium golden beets
3 runny fuyu
2 sweet oranges
1 cup veggie stock

spice mix: (this time, I'm gonna expand on this one later)
1 t coriander seed
1/2 t cumin seed
1/2 t brown mustard seed
1/2 t ground ginger
1/2 t ground turmeric

Peel and chop the carrots and beets into half inch cubes, toss into a shallow pan, drizzle with olive oil and a pinch of salt and bake at 400 for an hour, stirring once or twice. While roots are cooking, grind spices into a powder and give a dry roast in a hot pan until the smell punches you. Set aside. Make a slice in the side of the persimmons over the food processor and squeeze into it, removing any seeds if you find them and discarding the skin. Blend. When roots are tender and getting brown edges, remove from oven, toss into an empty blender with veggie stock and hit the switch. Add the goop and juice from them oranges and give another go until smooth. Pour into pot and begin simmering. (Carefully, remember beets, persimmons, carrots=orange dots of very effective dye.) Adjust the quantity of spice to suit your palatte and cook for about an hour. Garnish with a bit of cilantro to show people that you know it and coriander are really the same thing. Serve with high alcohol beer so that people forget about the persimmon.

DISCLAIMER/WARNING: I take no responsibility for such wreckless usage of persimmons that might occur in your home as a result of this post. In fact, such carefree actions performed in front of the children may cause a sort of confusion within the normal rules, resulting in them also taking a creative stance with the combination of their lunch items. In this pic, the fruit, in taking after her roots, decided to combine raw almond milk onto leftover penne with freshly grated parm. Didn't really strike me as too yummy, but with her having witnessed and taken part in my soup the night before, I didn't really feel that I stood on to firm of authoritative ground when it came to explaining why we don't normally do such things in our home. Yet another example for this parent that it is of the utmost importance to choose your battles wisely....

mas fuyu, por favor

Huh? What the hell is that a picture of you might ask? It is the inside of our worm bin, ready for a new batch of semi-rotted plant material (read: the inevitable fruit gone mushy or rank). If this were one of those photos where someone had drawn animation on top for that comic book-like effect, there would be a tiny message spelled out in individual coffee ground particles on the skin of some sweet potato that reads: NO MOR PURSIMNS! PLEEZE! or DON'T YA NED MOR COUGH-EE?

Two years ago, in a stupid decision (mine most likely) we put the worm bin outside so that it would not be a source of entertainment for our then rug-monkey. Problem was, red wigglers don't like it hot or cold. They prefer the ambient temps found in our local fog, and not much on either side of that. When we rescued them from their abusive outdoor conditions, the population in the bin had been reduced drastically. With them now safely inside, and with an injection of new annelid genetic stock, our "Wriggly Ranch" is now back on line, with a growing population when fed regularly. I'm back to feeding them about once every week or so, as they will only eat roughly their own body mass in food per day. If you "only" have a few hundred (500? who really knows, they're hard to count as you can imagine) then they are more fun than functional and it takes more than a few days for them to go through one day of compostable kitchen waste. They have their routine fare; coffee grounds, various peels and ends of things like potatoes; but I was afraid if I gave them persimmon again it might erupt in some bizarre protest. You see, after my last post, there were STILL 5 gooey fuyus on the counter, waiting for a purpose besides being fodder in the worm bin. I needed to try something new. No way around it, I'm going to ingest these frickin' fuyu if it kills me.

I went with the blended theme from last time as a base to start with. I was imagining something along the lines of a smoothie with fresh ground spices creating something reminicent of a chai tea, but with chocolate. I peeled the fuyus, plopped them in the blender and gave it a whirl. Mmmm, baby food. It was time to play spices. I had my lovely assistant to help me add and pulverize the spices that flowed out of the cabinet and into the mortar. I started with a few cardamom pods, peeling away the skins and mashing the seeds.

"What do we add next Daddy?" she asks, grabbing the pestle and clutching it in her hands. How about some cinnamon honey?

"Oh yeah!" BASH BASH BASH, SCRRRAAAAAAAAPE, BASH BASH.

"What do we add next?" Some clove. THUMP, BASH BASH.

"And now Daddy?" Uh, how about a little ginger? The bottle gets turned past horizontal in her little paws, resulting in at least a full teaspoon dumped in. She begins shaking her head: "yeah, I like ginger, but not too much cause it's really really spicey." Not TOO much honey? Here let me have that bottle, thanks. SCRAAAAAAPE SCRAPE SCRAPE, THUMP.

"What's next?" Mmmm, black pepper. You know how to handle the peppermill, give it a few cranks over the mortar. SHICK SHICK SHIIIIICK SHICK.

The kitchen now smells like we're swimming in chai tea. Perfect. Now for some chocolate. I hand this to the monkey, counting on an ample addition of powder to our mix. FWUMPF!

SCORE! At least two heaping tablespoons of the chocolatl are now added. I look at the powder mix we have going, give it a whisk with a fork a few times and sample it by licking the tip of my finger and dabbing a taste on the end. The monkey, seeing this licks two full fingers and most of her palm, then begins to put her whole hand in the mortar for a fistfull of the concoction, until she looks up and sees my reaction. Thinking twice about the possibly forfeited spice grinding rights she now enjoys, she gives me a coy smile, dips her index finger in and says "I was just being silly."

It tasted nice and chai-ee, so I added some more chocolate (almost always a good decision, right?) and pondered how to mix it into the persimmon without it clumping. I drizzled some vanilla soy milk into it while the monkey whisked away. We poured the resulting syrup into the blender, added some sugar and hit play. It needed a bit more soy milk to get it circulating freely. When finished, I gave it a taste. Yummy? Well, not quite. It was a touch frothy in consistency, and along with the aromatic cardamom fumes it was somewhat hard to get down. I was about to ditch the couple cups in our compost bin outside, maybe even pour a bit in the worm bin for experiments sake. I thought about my options. Then I poured it into a few ceramic cups and put it in the freezer, intuiting that making it colder might somehow help while I thought some more.

A few hours later it dawned on me. Dilution is the solution to your polution (A joke saying I heard from my days working in the environmental field) We needed more mass, like at least 25% more. And of course, in the form of more chocolate and ginger. Scharffen Berger chunks, and diced crystalized ginger. Mmmmm. Talk about a no brainer though, I mean you could probably add this to cat turds and make it taste good (thanks JM).

With the proportions within my imagined parameters, and many bits of chocolate having "fallen" into my mouth, I removed the semi-frozen cement from the freezer and mixed in the aggregate. It looked good and promising, and a little nibble gave me hope that I had saved this free fruit from being recycled by the wigglers. Time would tell.

The following day, I tried it again, serving it up in one of those tiny little ramekins, embellished with some "theme" toppings. My first impression was that somehow I had managed to make a decent sorbet, that believe it or not, I would serve again, should anyone be brave enough to eat it once they are told the ingredients. I gave a bite to Aunty, knowing full well that persimmons aren't her thing, but wanting some feedback on the spicing from someone older than three.

"Whoa, chai! Damn D, that's a lot of cardamom......oh, okay, now there's the chocolate." What do you think, is it too much ginger?

"No. Cardamom though, yes."


So, I thought about my spice proportions, and figured that it might help if I wrote this one down, but adjusted the recipe to fit more of how it could have been altered for greater appreciation by others possibly infested with those pernicious, too soft to eat out of hand, persimmons.


CHOCO-CHAI FUYU SORBETTO

4 cardamom pods
1 small cinnamon stick
4 whole cloves
2 t ground ginger
1 t black peppercorns
3 T chocolate powder (Scharffen Berger, just chocolate)
5 soft fuyu persimmon (very soft hachiya should work too, but maybe use 1 less as they tend to run bigger)
1/4 cup organic sugar
1/2 cup vanilla soy milk (substitute freely here)
1/4 cup diced crystallized ginger
1/2 cup coarse cut dark chocolate

Grind spices to a fine powder, add chocolate powder, mix well and taste. Feel free to add more chocolate, please. Mix whatever liquid you are using, a little at a time to the spice mixture until a runny syrup -like consistency is reached. Peel and seed (if necessary) the persimmons and puree in a blender. Add the spicey chocolate syrup, the sugar, and continue blending. Use more of the milky ingredient if needed to get the mixture circulating and smooth throughout. When thick enough to stick to the sides and certainly requiring a spatula for complete removal, transfer the mix into a bowl. Chop the chocolate into big chunks and the ginger into small ones and add. Mix thoroughly, then transfer into freezer safe containers (preferably serving sized) and let sit until firm. Serve. If its too hard for your liking, set it out for a minute and try it again later.

And yes, a disk of crystalized ginger and block of chocolate, sprinkled with chocolate shavings will make it taste even better.

plentiful persimmons

Winter fruits. Good thing they last real long on the counter, in a cold house that is. We have had persimmons now for over a month, so when cousin Rohan dropped by and saw them (Bloody hell, is this another of your "biodegradation experiments?") he insisted that we take immediate action. He grabbed four of the softest, arranged them on a pillow and put them in the light in order to better contemplate our next order of business.

After a few moments of warming our faces in the sun, staring at the leathery looking orange skins and dried leaves, he announced "go clean out that mortar and pestle." I jumped to action moving toward the kitchen, allowing me to get most of the way out of earshot before he continued "I hope your arms are nice and rested cause its time for a workout!" After giving the mortar a cursory rinse, Rohan got down several bottles of whole dried spices, threw various amounts into the mortar and told me to get to work, while he arranged the rest of the ingredients on the counter and began outlining our plan. With my arms now numb with fatigue, he placed the ground mixture next to our produce and started giving directions. "Okay, now I'm gonna grind some almonds, so we can have a creamy component for our sauce......oh, and we're gonna need some dahl to go with this korma."

"Did you just say korma? But I thought we were doing something with these persimmons?"

"We are. Or will, that is."

I looked at our collection. Onions, garlic, tomato sauce, bell pepper, potato, rutabaga, mushrooms, and persimmons. I was struggling with just how this was going to come together when Rohan asked for a food processor. He peeled the fuyus, plopped them in the cuisinart and blended them to a bloody pulp (or so he said). With this done I chopped the onions and mushrooms and started cooking them in some olive oil over medium heat. When these were just starting to turn translucent, Rohan stirred in the spices and the kitchen came alive with aroma. With the sauteed mix looking sweet and just beginning to brown it was time for the fuyu fun.

We loaded on the tomato sauce and ground almonds while we were at it, adding a bit of veggie stock to get the right thickness for simmering without acting like a boiling mudpot. "Now we let these flavors meld together, for maybe two hours, while I enjoy your sourdough."

"And what shall I do?"

"Make us some dahl. I saw some leftover cilantro, an onion, and some oranges. I think you can make do with those. Oh, any chance you scored a used tandoori oven recently?"

"No."

"Then I guess I'll make this dough into pita instead......that is, providing you have a baking stone around here."

"Yeah, which one?

".......and an oven that it fits in."

Funny guy that Rohan.

I chopped the cilantro and sauteed it in a small pan with a small white onion. After five minutes of cooking, I squeezed an orange worth of juice into the pan and deglazed it, setting it aside until the lentils were boiling. The lentils were started in a mix of about 3/4 water to 1/4 veggie stock, so with the added onion mixture I was hoping they were tasty. Rohan asked how the sauce was looking. I thought it was still a little lumpy, maybe the almonds weren't ground finely enough or something. "Nothing a wee osterization can't fix now, hmm?" he suggested.

We blended it in batches until rather smooth. Now was time for the veggies we had leftover, and a block of tofu from the fridge. I cubed a potato, rutabaga and the tofu, then sliced up the carrots and bell pepper. With everthing added and simmering, we rolled out some dough balls, and put the stone in the oven, cranking it up to 500 degrees.

With the dahl done, the veggies in the fuyu korma tender, and the stone hot, Rohan baked some pocket pitas. I just couldn't help myself: "So Rohan, how is it you can make pita for this dish and still call it Indian."

"I never called it Indian my friend. Besides, like us eating seasonally I have to make do with what is currently available, and right now your home is lacking the proper oven for naan."

"Okay, I get it. And just because you had to bring it up again, you get to serve."

"Fair, bloody fair."

So eating it again, as lunch the next day with the monkey, I looked at my meal and laughed out loud. That cousin may be a pain sometimes, but I just love it when I'm part of one of his experiments in my kitchen. But I was left wondering, and I suppose I'll have to ask him next time, why it is he abhors all animal products in his food, yet freely and enthusiasticly uses the term bloody? What gives, it's not like he's from India, or any other former colony of England for that matter.

For now though, I'm thankful for getting some of those persimmons off of my counter, and for Rohan encouraging me to take them from the sweet side of my brain and place them firmly in the savory. Now in theory, I have twice as many opportunities for keeping them from sitting around for so bloody long.

FUYU KORMA

Grind together the following:
1 T coriander
1 t cumin
6 cardamom pods
4 cloves
1 cinnamon stick
1 t black peppercorns
1 t turmeric
2 t ginger
2 t poppy seeds
1 t brown mustard seeds
When finished, toast for a few minutes in a dry pan and set aside.

3 onions (red, yellow, white)
5 large cloves garlic
6 baby portabellas
4 soft fuyu persimmon (I imagine Hachiya would also work as long as they are plenty soft)
1 cup tomato sauce
2 cups almonds
2-6 cups of veggie stock
Saute onions, mushrooms and garlic together. Add spices and cook until onions begin to brown. Skin the persimmons and puree. Grind almonds (blend, chop, whatever) and add to saute along with tomato sauce and persimmon goo. Adjust the consistency with some veggie stock and/or water. The almonds will "soak" up a bit of liquid and you may need to adjust the thickness in order to attain a nice, smooth simmer. No flop, flopping, or pflapt pfoothing, think Don Ho, think Tiny Bubbles, and you'll get what I mean. Cook this together for at least an hour and feel free to blend it further if it is not smooth enough for you. After desired mouthfeel is achieved, cube up whatever root veggies you have on hand, and tofu if you like and add, cooking at a low simmer until the veggies are tender. We used:
1 russet potato
1 rutabaga
1/2 lb carrots
1 bell pepper
1 lb tofu

BLOODY ORANGE DAHL (Is not actually orange in color please note)

1 cup pink lentils
1 small onion
1 small bunch cilantro
1 blood orange (Cara cara actually, not quite the same thing, but Rohan insisted)
5 cups water
2 cups veggie stock
Saute the onion and cilantro. Squeeze the orange juice and add. Remove from heat before all of the liquid has evaporated and set aside. Boil the liquids together and add lentils and onion/cilantro. Lower heat to a simmer, and cook uncovered, checking frequently until lentils are tender. Give them a slight mashing if you prefer, before serving (with that fresh chutney you have just for this occasion of course)

ROHAN'S NON-NAAN

1/2 cup starter (active)
2 cups whole wheat flour
1 cup water
Combine these ingredients into a large bowl and leave covered for several hours in a warm place.
An hour before baking add:
1 t baking powder
1 t salt
1-2 cups more flour (as needed, 1/4 cup at a time) until dough is no longer sticky.
Separate into a dozen or so balls and set aside to rise for an hour. Put pizza stone (or similar baking stone, I use a 12x12 inch, unglazed paver I got at the tile store for 3 bucks) into the oven and heat to 500 degrees. Flatten the dough balls, a few at a time, and toss onto the heated stone. After a few minutes the "pita" will puff up, and are more or less done, you can flip it over to bake some more but it is not necessary. Place into a basket with a towel to keep warm and serve with large scoops of korma and dahl. Oh, and as Rohan always suggests, a nice hoppy beer. Cheers.