Comfort By Coconuts

I remember the land of smiles as this new piece of the world that I connected with for the first time when I was 24. Instantly stunned and aware from the moment I arrived. As if I had just woken up to something more intriguing then the dream I had just left. Enchanted by sweet and spice, a world of new before me.
I vividly recall witnessing fresh coconut milk being made in the market one day in Bangkok. My feet stopped moving suddenly as I caught this display of lustrous, creamy milk. It was as intoxicatingly alluring as that of beautifully drawn bathtub (you know, like that porcelain, claw foot tub with bubbles and rose petals.) In fact, I'm sure the ancient Kings and queens of Asia bathed in hand pressed coconut milk all the time. I would...

The young man, barely in his 30's, quickly passed the fresh coconut meat through the shredder, and then with soft moves, placed the coconut shreds into a large bowl. 2 more large bowls of equal size lay beside them. Fresh, cold water flowed from a pitcher onto the shreds. He massaged them quickly, and the water turned bright white. The same process was continued as the shreds were pulled out by handfuls and squeezed, ringing them out like old laundry, and placed in the next bowl, and then the next. The result was incredible, 3 variations of fresh coconut milk -the cream, the milk, and the water. The best you've ever tried, so rich and sweet.

I had forgotten all about that coconut milk that stopped me in my tracks that day. Like an old sunburn, it had faded away to nothing, not even the mark or tan was left behind that Thailand once made upon my flesh. Just the memory that I had been there before and that its land felt familiar. That was until I showed up again. Instantly, the thick scent in the air of dried fish, frying oil, rotting trash and human body odor, all came rushing in like a drug to my senses. Ah, Bangkok! Pathways on sidewalks too small to walk trough, and street food venders begging for your attention. A place where cold, sweet mango and warm, sticky rice find balance on your plate together, and where chiles, garlic and basil have never danced so harmoniously in your mouth. Thailand is the gateway into the intoxicating and stimulating palate of Southeast Asia.

New food and ingredient inspirations flood in with an urgency to be known….

-Soft-boiled eggs wrapped in a spicy fish paste, fried and served in with cold cucumbers and fried basil leaves.

-Thinly shaved banana blossoms, laced with peanut dressing and strips of ginger and basil.

-Fried rice balls smashed and mixed with baby lettuce, cilantro, ginger, thai chiles, lime juice and the liquid gold of fish sauce. Crispy, spicy and fresh!

In search for a new take on Thai food, and that moment which stands out like the "cream of the coconut" I head out of Bangkok. Escaping the crowds and avoiding the "gringo trail" as much as possible by heading north. Finding comfort in fried bananas and doughnuts with black sesame seeds as the bus rides grew longer and hotter. Hunkering down in Soppong, Mae Hong Son and Chiang Rai. A new Thailand was budding up through the concrete cities I wandered through.

No matter how crowded and touristic Thailand continues to grow with it's western visitors, and no matter how many unfortunate times I was offered HEINZ chile sauce alongside my flavorless pad thai ::sigh:: It still remains a standing rule of traveling that once you scratch a little bit deeper beneath the surface, or at least drive your motorbike an hour outside the center…. you'll discover all that brings you here to begin with. The true cultural wonder and the intrigue of this exotic land of red earth and sweet bananas is still here. A place where they really do smile before you, they really do still create dishes with a fiery spice, and they really do make coconut milk by hand. 

Love from Asia,

-Ash

M & M

Mallorca & Morocco, March 2013

 Captivated by food, smells, colors, tradition, culture and it's people, Morocco has always allured me. I arrived 3 years ago for the first time. I have returned twice a year ever since. A new avenue, flavor, artisan and spice blend are introduced to me each time I revisit. Last time it was red tassels and Aragan-rose oil, this time it's saffron yellow shoes and handcrafted belt buckles from Essouirra. Enchanted by it's mystic and unknown I simply can't get enough of what lays beneath the surface of this country. 

While walking through the Medina, we were welcomed into a rug shop, and not for rugs, but for lunch. Seated upon thick layers of woven rugs, we were served warm kefta, and bread from a beautiful woman in red. Ripping off chunks of bread, we use it as a natural set of tongs to grad a steaming and perfectly seasoned kefta from the center of a blue platter. We listen to stories of the old medina as silver trays of cucumber and mint salad are passed around. A picnic within a rug shop. 

We sit back, sipping mint tea and dusting the breadcrumbs off our laps. Breathing in Morocco.

*Adventures in Morocco click here* 

Ras al Hanout. Moroccan spice mixture

Cilantro and Mint

Orange blossoms sold of pages of pop magazines

Mallorca Spain.

Introduced purely by chance 6 years ago. I was set up to intern at a restaurant with an American-French chef and his Spanish wife. The internship was a disaster as the chef had slipped into a darkened existence as he watched his restaurant dream slip away. His only sense of entertainment was to torture his new intern and make it impossible for her to love this industry of food and the foreign home to her now. But he was too late, not only did I fall deeply for the magnificent island in the Balearic seas, but somehow it began to take care of me as well.

It seems like forever ago that I learned the ways of the Spanish and walked the streets of Mallorca as a newcomer. Friendships on the island have sustained years of barely frequenting the Spanish soil, but my mind and heart remained connected from afar. 

I am currently researching an opportunity to bring me back to the island yearly in the culinary world. My former "boss" from the failing French restaurant however, had to close his doors many years ago and move from the island.
While my lessons from Mallorca have been bitter and sweet, the karma has been even sweeter.

Sopresada- A spiced and cured Mallorcan delicacy 

Lechona

Little Ears

Orecchiette- which means "little ears"

The 28th year is said to be the Saturn Return. When that shift from your years of countless re-invention, exploration, transformation take a turn, and something brings you "home" again. Maybe home translates to the weary traveler as a place, or a feeling, maybe even a quality or trait that re-surfaces itself in your life. For me it literally brought me home. Eucalyptus in the air, in the land wild sage and avocados- Central California. 

So, once the siren of my 28th year sounded her song, I made it home in time for my birthday. Uniting first with my tribe of lady chefs and coming together to determine what new task on our ever growing list of creations to try.

"Ash, Orecchiette!!" 

Kim proclaimed with girl-like excitement. A creative task we had yet to embark on within our 9 years of cooking side by side. Convincing Peggy was easy, as she would be the one to give us the personal tales from watching the process on the streets of Puglia herself.

The day began with our fists united with in a vigorous kneading for 20 minutes on the white marble counter top. A strong task to ensure strong dough, our muscles feel it as our mound of raw orecchiette begins to smooth out and ready itself for rest.

The process is simple. Using a bench scrapper to slice off wedges of dough, then roll between your palms and the cutting board. The dough remains smooth and firm, in no way clinging to your fingertips when touched. An almost silky tactility that soothes the spirit as therapy through creation.

 Roll, slice into 1" squares and then quickly pull the dough across a wood cutting board with the back of a butter knife. The true Nonnas of Puglia would jump to their feet with disapproval if they witnessed our first attempts at Orecchiette- "NO! Non cosi!!!" they would proclaim. As dough was smashed, torn, or pulled too thick or too thin. But eventually we got our groove on, and little ears appeared one by one.

We set our pasta out in the garden, inside a clean beehive screen and covered with a linen sheet.

The destiny of our oriecchiette was to be happily united with kale, braised lamb with jus, and fresh chili breadcrumbs. 

Orecchiette drying in the March sun of CA

Table set, awaiting guests. 

Chèvre and beets unite!

A Birthday Menu

Cocktails- 28 Roses (gin, grapefruit & rose geranium) Thyme Sip (bourbon, meyer lemon, & thyme)

Hors d'ouvré - Fava bean and preserved lemon dip with crudite. Beet and chèvre spread with crostini and radish.

Pizzas- Radicchio, mozzarella and amaretti. Melted leeks, sausage and burrata.

Mains- Orecchiette with lamb jus, kale and chili breadcrumbs. Wood-fire oven broccolini. Salad of garlicky kale and roasted chickpeas.

Dessert- Choice of salted caramel or lemon curd ice cream. 

Coffee or verbena mint tea.

Bellies were full and sore from laughter. Our glasses remained filled with central California's best in red wine. Some still found space for another scoop to top off the evening, while a question was posed...

In this house and around this table for as long as I can remember, a question has been posed for all to answer. It's a beautiful tradition that brings everyones attention back to the center and gives each individual a chance to tell a story of personal importance. 

The question (posed by Howard, Kim's sweet husband)--

"What was a lesson or experience that you could not learn from anyone else, and only on your own?"

A wave of vulnerability and joyful emotion came over everyone as they told there stories of that lesson or experience that invited a shift and a transformation. We listened tenderly with open hearts as the smell of lamb from the wood fire oven continued to linger over the table. One of my favorite aging moments yet, the year of the saturn, and the night of rose geranium-scented cocktail surrounded by my favorite beings. A magical start to my 28th year.

28 Roses Cocktail on March 1st, 2013

:: 28 Roses Cocktail ::

5 oz Fresh Grapefruit Juice
1 1/2 oz Gin (Preferably Plymouth)
1/2 oz Fresh Meyer Lemon Juice
2 oz Rose Geranium Simple Syrup (recipe follows)

Add all the ingredients to a shaker with ice, shake and serve in a tumbler.


Rose Geranium Simple Syrup:
1 c White Sugar
1 c Water
4 or 5 Rose Geranium Leaves

Heat the sugar and water together until the sugar is completely dissolved without boiling. Add the Rose Geranium once you've turned off the heat and steep the leaves for 10 minutes. Or less. It can get strong quickly, so check the progress and taste as you go along.

Of Eggs and Fate

It was April of 2011. A long awaited and slightly avoided Skype call with my father was in order.
I had just flown into Mallorca Spain after 4 months in India and Morocco.  It was time. Time to face the facts and accept the raw truth of my reality. One that only Jimbo (that's dad) can offer to me at a time like this...
"Sweety, you have $500 in your bank account...... What on earth are you doing in Europe right now!? You can't even afford a ticket home to California, honey!"

He was right. And right then, like a lightning bolt, 4 months of colors and bliss came rushing through my mind. I settled into my seat and swam in a smile and satisfaction for money well spent. But the truth is unavoidable, and quite noticeable as I claimed a friend's sofa as my home and consumed only Spanish mandarins and fried eggs for a week now.

"I know, dad." I said calmly. "And you are right...... but I can't come home now. I'm living in the open question (yes. That is something you just do after months of "finding yourself" in India.) I am not meant to be there, I can feel it."

I was hovering just above that red line of financial lows, but I hadn't hit it yet... so to say.
The truth is that I did feel it. Something was happening, a shift in my world, and I could feel it deep in my being. A chapter was closing and a new to open, but I needed to hold still to see it. I couldn't leave now.

::Fast forward 7 days::

A couple traveling over from Austria were set to spend a weekend in Mallorca on holiday. A friend threw my name on the plate as someone to stock the fridge and tidy up. "oh yeah, and she's a chef and yoga teacher too." my friend mentions. On Thursday I made diner. Friday they enjoyed an hour of yoga and Berber omelet for breakfast. Sunday I moved to Vienna.

Now don't assume that I was just moving to Vienna to make some quick cash from a couple strangers. In fact, I actually liked them. There was a straight line of honesty and happiness from the beginning, and I wanted to see how this would evolve. It was like facing the open decision to turn right or turn left on a Sunday cruise. Your gut physically speaks the truth before your logic even kicks in. No I did not get punched in the stomach by a wealthy Austrian, thrown on a plane and made a servant in the kitchen. Far from. I was asked a simple question:
"Are you available for the next few months and beyond?"
Um... well...Other than my current in depth research of the citrus and egg diet manual I'm writing....... yes, I'm free.

::Fast forward 2 years::

I write this now from window seat on the third floor of a traditional family home in Switzerland. It is April and snowing. My fingertips smell of mountain cheese and cured meats, and my belly bloats from excessive bread consumption. I am happy, and I am set in motion of reflection.

In the past two years, in accordance with this couple and their extensive group of family and friends I have experienced an extremely abundant chapter in my life. As a private chef in their homes and boat, I cooked in 10 new countries, challenged my senses with foreign ingredients, challenged my  patience with tight quarters and long hours, challenged my stomach with high waves, and challenged my heart with an adorable Swiss engineer. My blessing from the past 2 years are abundant, and I can't help but be filled with gratitude, even through the struggle. My cup runneth over.

And to think, it all just started with a poached egg in spiced tomato broth on a Friday morning...

Berber Omlette

1/2 red onion, grated on a cheese grater
8 roma tomatoes, grated on a cheese grater
1 T Ras al Hanout (or a mixture of paprika, turmeric, cumin, ginger and pepper)
6 eggs
fresh cilantro, chopped
Olive oil
salt

In a 10" tagine or pan with lid, heat a drizzle of olive oil. Add the onions, tomatoes, salt and Ras al Hanout spice mixture. Cook the mixture down to 3/4, stirring regularly, about 15 minutes. Add the eggs on at a time in a  circle and one in the middle. Sprinkle with a bit more salt and cover. Cook for 5-8 minutes on medium heat. Depending on your stovetop, it may take longer. Just check for doneness, just how you would when poaching an egg in water. Your looking for white whites, not clear. Present your omlette on the table, unavailing your masterpiece at the last minute. Sprinkle cilantro on the top just before enjoying. Sometimes and extra drizzle of olive oil doesn't hurt either. Serve with good bread. Enjoy!

Belize It.

There are some places in the world that never make it to your bucket list. For one reason or another, it being the weather, the chaos, the people or animals, the danger, the boredom, it's history, or maybe it just lacks that "zing" that you crave in a new adventure. To many, destinations like India, parts of the Middle East, or Russia have dropped to the lowest point of places to be present in (according to my conversations with a few.) 

One of those places, for me a few years ago, was Belize.

I'm not even sure WHY it was not a destination of interest to me, in fact its quite bizarre. Now, I can't imagine life without knowing a bit of Belize.

I've recently been asked by many friends and family to offer suggestions for honeymoon locations. I know very little, if nothing, about honeymoon planning. But I do have cultured opinions on the place I "would" honeymoon in. And one at the top of the list really is the sweet country of Belize. 

Road side lunch

Belize City Marina

Belize City Fresh Market

Golden.Fried.Curbside

Fresh Catch. San Pedro.

Robinson Cay

Belize City Harbor

Pelican Cay

Fresh Market. Placencia.

We nestled ourselves primmarily in the southern town of Placencia. A place that is truly hard to leave. The water in Belize is clear, the reefs are abundant, the chilies are hot, the beer is tasty, and the people are overwhelmingly kind.  

Find a solid dock to tie your dingy to and stop into Yoli's. Run by an incredible family team that instantly treats you like one of their own. From the first moment you arrive, you intend on returning.

Till my coffee cravings and new found love of Caribbean cinnamon rolls beg me back to Belize....

-A

Salty Beer and Rich Papaya

"No dar la Papaya" 

The literal meaning is-- "To not give a papaya." 

But in Colombia this expression is known by all and translates to - "don't show off your stuff, or put yourself out there to be taken advantage of."

 Sandra and Maria (my two Colombian soul sisters, and present guides) explain this expression to me as we sit in a rooftop bar at midnight in Medellin. This Colombian night club was pouring over with fashionable and beautiful young adults. Dressed to the nines, with stilettos and laced with jewelry frosting. And yet even out here, you do not show your goods off.

I quickly recall that Maria had changed her earrings from earlier in the day to something else for night, something simpler as opposed to the chunky pearl studs she rocked when she picked us up at the airport. Sandra and I have just arrived from Cartagena to visit Maria for a long weekend and to see the famously, infamous city of Medellin. At night the city glows up the mountains that frame it, much like any city would. But the tumultuous history of Medellin has become something I am suddenly very interested in absorbing and understanding. So I begin to ask questions.

Both women had stories of their childhood growing up in Colombia- stories on the news, bombs, drug lords, killings, kidnappings, friends of family affected by tragedies... etc, oh AND Maria's childhood under house arrest.....

"Wait. what? I'm sorry, come again? House arrest?"

After her father was kidnapped and held for months until the family could pay for ransom, the Farc threatened to take his youngest child. Maria was 3. For nearly 10 years she stayed in and never went out without adults surrounding her. He father was kidnapped a second time, and unfortunately never came back to the family after that. 

An incredibly positive and talented woman, now in her 40's, she is a private chef and cooking instructor. Incredibly close to her family and her goals, she is in love with her country and speaks with tenderness on her life experiences and the loss of her father. Based out of her 5th district, Medellin apartment, she has the "Papaya" within the confines of her sanctuary, but she lives carefully outside the walls of her home. To me, she evokes all that is Colombia. Through strength and gratitude, her stories silenced me in curiosity of what it is like to be a true Colombiana.

The countryside of Medillin

The country itself is much different now than it used to be. Take for example the club in which we had drinks - a renovated mall, that was once under the care of Narcs to hold money, weapons, drugs, etc. Now, it's comparable to an expensive Manhattan-style trendy hot spot. But again, all this glamour is just a facade. 5 years ago it was illegal to travel in your personal car between major cities, for fear of Guerillas. It is a different Colombia now, with room to move around and experience the country's natural wonders.

We took a day out of the city to experience the thrill of the countryside. Winding through mountains of farmland with the brilliant sun guiding our path. Stopping for freshly baked cheese bread and handmade sausage. It was the countryside that committed me to loving the country of Colombia.

Homemade chorizos curing outside a home in the still, dry mountain air.

Roadside assistance- fresh baked cheese bread

A classic Paisa man on his way to church.
Tucked in shirt, hat, and wool blanket over the right shoulder is a symbol of the men from this region.

After connecting our beings with the earth of the country through mountain hikes, we were prepared to properly fill our bodies with some local magic. Seated outside at a traditional restaurant, micheladas were promptly ordered to cure our sun-strained fatigue. The menu was written in the local dialect of Medellin. I understood nothing.

from left to right: chicharon, blood sausage, chorizo, arepa, fried egg, dried beef, avocado, plantain, and white rice.
This is a classic Paisa plate (the meal of Medellin)

30 minutes later after grazing upon fried plantain chips and sipping our salty, thirst-quenching micheladas, the food arrived. A bowl of creamy beans, the color of warm caramel and the taste of wood-fire, this was the base. Garnishing the bowl with chicharon- fried pork belly, as the ultimate in crouton glory. Finely ground and dried beef to dust the surface of the bean soup. Slices of perfect avocado, white rice, and spoonfuls of Aji (hot chilies, onion and cilantro in vinegar) finish off the bowl. One dense, light yellow, and rich corn flavor arepa remains on the plate for dipping. Along with a fried sweet plantain to offset the array of flavor profiles before me. Incredibly rich and balanced, this meal struck me at the core with comfort and intrigue.

Sopa frijole

No thought or space in my being was left available for dessert. A rich flan-like pudding or sweet guava jelly filled rolls were offered, but not even a papaya could be craved. I was filled and fulfilled with Colombia and all it's simple, humble, and frosted decadence.

Colombian Micheladas

1 central American beer (Aguilla, Corona, Pacifico...)

Juice of 1 lime

dash of tabasco or chalula hot sauce

1 salt rimmed pint glass

Serve cold or on ice. 

Preferably on a hot day in the countryside. 

Buen Provecho!

-Ash