Guess the Color: Pumpkin Seed Oil (dressing recipe for potato or kale salad)

pumpkin seed kurbiskernol vinaigrette — *Looks more appetizing on the kale*

Over the course of my culinary exploration, I’ve been amazed by just how many different types of oil there are. Some are pretty standard and widespread. Canola and vegetable (often soybean) oils are neutrally flavored, easy-to-find, affordable, and widely used in baking and frying. Some cooks prefer corn or peanut oil for deep frying. For sautéing and salad dressings, olive oil is a favorite. In a well-stocked grocery store, you often find sunflower, sesame, flaxseed, grapeseed, avocado, and coconut oils.

Certain oils are largely restricted to particular cuisines or uses. Sunflower is popular in Eastern Europe due to Orthodox fasting rules and the inability to grow olives. Toasted sesame oil is common in East Asia, especially China, while Middle Easterners prefer untoasted. Nut oils like almond or walnut are sometimes used in European salad dressings. And bright reddish-orange palm oil gives many West African dishes their distinctive flavor.

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In Austria, a local specialty is pumpkin seed oil, called kurbiskernol, made from the appropriately-named oilseed pumpkin. It’s typically used in salad dressings and as a dip for bread. Due to its low smoke point, it’s not suitable for cooking, which damages its distinctive flavor. But here’s a question for you. If the stereotypical pumpkin is orange and inner seed kernels (pepitas) are green, what color is pumpkin seed oil?

Answer: It’s a lovely deep purple, with yellow-green undertones.

In 1000 Foods to Eat Before You Die (pgs. 323 – 324), Mimi Sheraton describes pumpkin seed oil as resembling liquid amethysts. If it had been available during the Middle Ages, sophisticated diners would have been all over it. They loved bright, even tacky colors, and very few foods are naturally that shade of purple. For people who created elaborate gilded dishes with egg yolks and saffron, liquid jewels sound right up their alley.

Pumpkins arrived in Europe after Columbus. Exactly when Europeans began eating them or pressing their seeds is unclear, but the oil makes a great vinaigrette base. To boost its color, I added red wine vinegar, minced shallots, a little salt, and a dash of mustard and honey to keep the dressing from separating. If you find the flavor of the pumpkin seed oil a little strong, try replacing about half of it with sunflower oil, which is typically pale, for a lighter shade of amethyst. Yellow or greenish olive oil will make it look muddy.

Thinner layers of the oil can look muddy anyway, but the taste, clearly that of roasted pumpkin seeds, is worth it. It’s a fantastic complement to potatoes, and makes salads much more satisfying. Kale is especially good, because its strong flavor is less likely to be overwhelmed. It also holds up in the fridge for a few days, even with dressing.

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To dress about six medium potatoes or one bunch of kale, just combine 6 tablespoons of pumpkin seed oil, 2 tablespoons red wine vinegar, a minced shallot, and a little salt. Mix in a teaspoon each of Dijon mustard and honey and whisk until combined. Toss with cubes of hot cooked potatoes (waxy varieties like reds or Yukon golds are best, peeled or not is up to you) or chopped kale and let rest for an hour at room temperature. Store leftovers in refrigerator, bringing potato salad back to room temperature before serving. If desired, rewarm for about 30 seconds in the microwave. The kale salad is ready right out of the fridge.

Vinaigrette-based vegetable salads are perfect year-round. They stay crisp (if applicable) better than lettuce, are more interesting than a veggie tray, and provide a pleasantly light counterpoint to grilled or roasted meats, heavy sides, and desserts. With no egg or dairy, they’re safer on hot days than those with mayonnaise. And during the winter, sturdy vegetables like potatoes and kale (or even frozen vegetables like green beans) are more consistent than fresh sweet corn, tomatoes, or lettuce.

And with how popular pumpkin spice is, pumpkin seed dressing would be perfect on a fall or Halloween theme menu. Perhaps a kale or other cabbage salad with pumpkin seed vinaigrette and toasted pumpkin seeds to start, followed by pumpkin or squash ravioli with butter and sage, and concluding with a pumpkin or apple dessert. With plain coffee or tea, though. Pumpkin spice belongs in desserts, not beverages.

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food history, italian cuisine, pizza

Cook’s Tour of Italy Menu 70 (Pg. 226) Revisited: Adventures in Pizza-Making and Decluttering

Sweet pepper pizza — *Tasty, but a little dry*

A few months ago, I came across some ricotta salata while browsing at Woodman’s. Remembering that lack of it led me to improvise on sweet pepper pizza a few years ago, I decided to remake the recipe and give it a try. Plus, I had some unbleached flour and quick-rising yeast I wanted to use up before they went bad. At the time, I’d been trying to clear out the pantry, find a use for the ingredients pushed to the back, and therefore avoid food waste.

Recently I started watching Hoarders, which is enough to make anyone want to clean, even if they don’t have a problem. Many of the jam-packed kitchens came about because their owners liked to stock up when preferred items went on sale. There’s nothing wrong with that, as long as you don’t buy more than you can use before it goes bad. Having some extra cereal, pasta, crackers, and canned goods in the basement is handy. Just don’t overdo it.

Some items, like the cornmeal that I bought at the start of Covid, expired two or three years ago and weren’t salvageable. The yeast and unbleached flour were still good, but expiring soon, so it was as good a time as any to make pizza. I made the garlic oil that all the recipes use, stuck it in a jar in the fridge, and decided to start with a white pizza using the leftover provolone and some of the pecorino from the eggplant timbale (and leftover parmesan from some gnocchi, and some mozzarella already in the fridge).

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When I went to put the dough in the intended pan, a large round sheet pan with a short “lip,” it wasn’t there. Turns out, it had started flaking and reached the end of its natural life. Looking at my other options, I settled on a roasting pan with slightly higher sides. If I spread the dough all the way to the edge, the surface area would be similar, just in rectangular form. Nothing wrong with that.

This turned out to be the best culinary misadventure in a while. Because this dough recipe produces a thick crust, I had never spread it to the edge of the pan before, in case the garlic oil in the topping dripped off onto the bottom of the oven. Being able to do so made a huge difference. The crust rose evenly instead of bulging in the middle, and the edges got extra golden and crispy. Everything was delicious, but the edges were phenomenal. And the pizza fit perfectly on the new, giant wooden cutting board.

After this success, I decided to make any future pizzas in this pan. The sweet pepper and ricotta salata pizza was up next, for the simple reason that peppers were on sale at the store. This was good, but a little dry, even with the garlic oil. For pizza, meltier cheeses with a bit more fat seem to be the way to go.

british cuisine, food history

Summer Pudding: Britain’s No-Bake Specialty (and let’s talk about currants)

No-bake desserts are great for special occasions during the summer. I’ve already discussed strawberry trifle, which uses frozen pound cake for beautiful and delicious results. Another showy use for berries and their juices is the British dessert summer pudding. It involves lining the bottom and sides of a bowl with white bread slices, filling the center with a mix of berries and sugar, covering the top with more bread, and pressing everything together with another bowl overnight. Excess juices are thus forced into the bread, coloring it a lovely hue between red, pink, and purple, depending on what fruit you use.

I was a little skeptical at first. It sounded like a recipe for soggy bread, but if summer pudding is popular in the British Isles, there had to be a reason. After finding red currants at the farmer’s market, I decided to give it a try. If the bread part wasn’t good, the berry filling could be scooped out and served on its own with whipped cream.

This turned out to be unnecessary. Odd as it sounded, the bread worked perfectly. Due to its gluten structure, it soaked up the juices like a sponge and held together even when fully saturated. Cake would typically fall apart in a similar situation. Beyond that, the bread balanced out the tart currants and raspberries very well. It was indeed soggy, but in a good way.

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Let’s pause here to talk about currants. The dried currants you can buy in boxes are not true currants at all. They are actually a type of small raisin. Most boxes now specifically refer to their contents as Zante currants to avoid confusion. These Zante currants are worth trying in their own right in scones, oatmeal, and the like. But they’re not what we’re talking about today.

True currants come in three common colors: red, white, and black. All are much more common in Europe than in the US, though the red kind is occasionally found fresh in farmers’ markets and backyard gardens. White currants are a mutant form of the red variety. Black currants are even harder to find, and were in fact banned for several decades because they could carry white pine blister rust, which threatened the US logging industry. Even with new disease-resistant varieties, black currants are still illegal to grow in several states. Which is a pity, because they make great jams and juices.

This history could explain the rarity of currants in the US. So too could be the fact that red currants, which were never banned, have to compete with native cranberries. Both are tart red fruits that make excellent juices and sauces, but cranberries are a lot cheaper and easier to store. And in the Midwest, where growing conditions are favorable for currant bushes, people prefer sour cherries in jams and desserts. Red and occasionally black currant jam can be found at stores and farmer’s markets, but beyond that, there are few traditional (or modern) American recipes for the fruit.

British cuisine, by contrast, has plenty of uses for currants, especially, it seems, for the black variety, which are in fact dark purple. Blackcurrant jam is one of the favorite varieties. Many candies use the flavor. A sweetened concentrate called Ribena (which is not uncommon in the international food aisles in the US, at least in big stores) makes what tastes like currant-flavored Kool-Aid. It would taste better with a little less sugar, but is enjoyable nonetheless. And of course, there are numerous desserts made with all varieties of currant.

One of the favorites is summer pudding, which Mimi Sheraton suggests is best made with a mix of red currants and raspberries. Taking the expert’s advice, I picked up some frozen raspberries, scaled down the recipe on pages 29 – 30 in 1000 Foods to Eat Before You Die by half, and got started. (Information about currants can be found on pages 12 – 13). Whether or not to cook the fruit or just briskly stir it with the sugar depends on how soft and/or ripe the fruit is. Since currants are firmer and tarter, even when ripe, I decided to cook them with the sugar for a few minutes, then stir in the raspberries, which are more prone to fall apart, after. This worked perfectly.

The biggest challenge turned out to be finding a bowl that would fit perfectly inside the bowl with the pudding. This is important because pressing down on the surface with adequate weight (provided by a few cans of food) is what forces the excess syrup into the bread. The other issue was unmolding. I’m not sure why the recipe called for buttering the main bowl, since the butter completely solidifies when everything is chilled, unless it’s for flavor. The now-solid butter stuck the bread to the bowl, making for a slightly messy presentation.

Messy or not, the juice-stained bread and red fruits were pretty in their own way, especially with a contrast of whipped cream. Brits often serve summer pudding with either clotted or whipped cream. I’m not sure how the former is, but the latter is perfect, especially if you make it yourself. Homemade whipped cream is super easy to make, and it makes the odd-sounding but delicious summer pudding even better. To be honest, it makes any dessert better.

british cuisine, food history

Tastes of the British Isles: More Interesting Than People Think

British cuisine gets a bad rap. Jokes abound about it being bland, heavy, and sometimes bizarre. Even the island’s inhabitants make fun of it, and often don’t eat “traditional” British dishes on a daily basis. Partly due to immigration from the Indian Subcontinent, Brits love curry and other Indian dishes. You can find falafel, Italian, and Chinese food everywhere. Still, some local dishes are worth trying. Read through the Harry Potter series for some good examples.

Last month, I went on a trip to Great Britain and Ireland. The history was fascinating and the scenery was lovely. There were just two surprising things. First, people don’t just drive on the left. They also keep to the left on sidewalks, staircases, and anywhere else people might be passing each other in opposite directions. It felt completely backwards and I couldn’t quite get used to it. Luckily we had a bus for long distances and didn’t have to drive.

Tower Bridge London — *The Tower Bridge in London*

I was also surprised by how difficult some of the local accents were to understand. Despite having a fraction of the landmass and only about a fifth of the population, the British Isles have a greater number of distinct accents than the US. This makes sense, since people have been speaking some form of English there for around 1600 years instead of 400, giving the language a lot longer to develop various dialects.

American English certainly has its diversity, but for the most part, a speaker of one dialect can understand another. This isn’t the case in Britain and Ireland, particularly in more rural areas. On several occasions, I could only get a rough idea of what someone was saying. If asking them to repeat themselves didn’t work, I would just say ok, nod, and hope for the best.

Swans in Avon River, Stratford — *Swans in the Avon River in Stratford. They were a popular Medieval feast dish, but apparently don’t taste very good.*

The food was easier to understand. Most of the ingredients are familiar and easy to find. Fish and chips are just fried fish and French fries. Beef and Guinness stew is straightforward and delicious, even if you don’t usually like Guinness. Pasties are meat and vegetables in a pie crust. Think of them as cousins of empanadas. Cheeses like cheddar are imitated all over the world. There’s bangers and mash (sausages with mashed potatoes), shepherd’s pie, roast beef and what are essentially popovers, cheese sauce with toast, and a variety of jams and marmalades.

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Then there’s the desserts, which is where British cuisines excel. The best introduction can be found by watching the Great British Baking Show. The Victoria sponges, loaf cakes, shortbread, sticky toffee pudding, and cream-filled fruit tartlets look and sound delicious. There have definitely been some odd flavor combinations (like miso caramel and black sesame ice cream), but sometimes they turn out to be inspired. Other times, the classics done well are what impress the judges.

That contrast seems to sum up British cuisine as a whole: willing to try new ingredients and dishes, but not forgetting the classics.

american cuisine, lunch, sandwiches, summer

Poached Chicken Sandwich: An Interesting Change of Pace

Not all of the foods in 1000 Foods to Eat Before You Die are complicated. A basic chicken sandwich (description on pages 543 – 544) is quite simple and easy to make. All you need are roasted or poached chicken breast, good-quality bread, butter, and maybe some greens. It isn’t particularly exciting, but it does make a great lunch and is a nice change of pace from lunch meat and peanut butter. The only trick is making sure the chicken is tender.

At a recent cooking demonstration, I learned a new trick for poaching chicken. For a whole chicken, you just boil in enough water to cover for fifteen minutes, turn off the heat, and let the pot sit, covered, for three hours. During that time, the residual heat will cook the meat all the way through without making it tough. Chicken pieces only need to be boiled for five minutes. To be on the safe side, I did ten.

To poach about 3 pounds of chicken pieces (I did half boneless skinless breasts and half boneless skinless thighs), place them in a large pot with half a teaspoon salt. Add enough water to cover, about 6 to 8 cups. Bring to a soft boil, boil for 10 minutes, then turn off the heat and cover the pot. Let stand for 3 hours. Then the chicken is ready to enjoy, hot or cold. Save the broth for another use (like risotto).

For each sandwich, spread two slices of bakery white or whole grain bread with softened butter. Add chicken, either sliced across the grain or pulled into chunks (slicing only seems to work well for the chicken breasts). If desired, add a sprinkle of sea or kosher salt, and/or some greens. Arugula has a nice peppery flavor. Then enjoy!