Celeriac

A relatively lovely specimen, from marcwomm on flickr

Celeriac is one ugly bugger. It's a knobby, tangly, dirty root hiding beneath a mop of straggly greens. Why I selected it from the assortment of root vegetables adorning the winter vegetable display at the farmers market is a bit of mystery - perhaps I felt sorry for the homely little guy. All I can say is, I'm glad that something prompted me to bring this sad specimen home. Because hiding beneath the gruff exterior is a unique and enjoyable flavor experience.

I decided to try my hand at adapting a traditional French preparation for celeriac - the remoulade. It took a bit of work, but I didn't mind. I lopped off the greens and made myself a green juice (celeriac tops, 1 apple and 1/2 a lemon) to fuel me up for a culinary task at hand. Then I simply cut away all of the gnarly exterior. What was left resembled a turnip or swede. The celeriac was treated to a quick grating (I used a box grater, but I sure am missing the grater attachment to my food processor that is buried in a box somewhere from my last move) and set aside.

A traditional remoulade is dressed with a garlicky mayonnaise. Since I'm not averse to the idea of raw egg, I've tried this before. But I found the results to be so rich that eating it made me feel kind of sick. So I decided to make a lighter version of the creamy, garlicky dressing using avocado as the base, with an assortment of seasonings including parsley from the garden and fresh raw organic garlic (I'm definitely going through a garlic phase at the moment, eating about 1 clove a day...hopefully nobody's noticed). The resulting dressing packs a lot more nutrition and is easier on the stomach than the original.

I tossed the dressing with the grated celeriac and, voila! A lighter, brighter version of celeriac remoulade. Yeah, it looks a little bit greener than the traditional type, but in the raw food world we're used to our food having a slight tinge of green.

Light, Bright Celeriac Remoulade

If you haven't tackled celeriac yet, I urge you to try it. Its flavor has hints of celery, but nuttier and sweeter. Once you cut away the exterior, it is really easy to handle, and has such an unusual taste that is really surprising. Don't let its funny looks deceive you.

Light, Bright Celeriac Remoulade

1 celeriac root, trimmed
1/2 avocado
3 Tbsp olive oil
juice of 1/2 lemon
1/2 tsp himalayan salt
1 tsp tamari or nama shoyu
1 Tbsp nutritional yeast
1 Tbsp mustard
1 clove garlic
1 Tbsp chopped fresh parsley

Grate celeriac into a bowl. Set aside.

Combine avocado, olive oil, lemon juice, himalayan salt, tamari, nutritional yeast, mustard and garlic in food processor. Whir until smooth. Add parsley and pulse until just combined.

Toss dressing with grated celeriac. Serves 2 as a side or 1 as a big meal.

Neomania (and some really great chana masala and saag)

Raw Chana Masala and Amaranth Saag

I have an insatiable appetite for the new. When I come across a food I've never tried before, all of my senses come to focused attention like a puppy at a banquet waiting for the crumbs to drop. Nevermind what I came to the shop for, I must immediately purchase and take home this rare treasure. Then comes the fun of taking little nibbles to assess its culinary properties and doing copious research on the internet to come up with an exciting preparation. Some of my experiments may be disasters, but truth be told I'm more excited by the process than the results. And every so often, my creativity may just lead to something inspired (she says modestly).

The philosopher Roland Barthes calls my penchant for novelty "neomania." In his view, a neomaniac was not a particularly flattering thing to be called, as it suggests a lack of contentment with what we already have. I suppose this is a fair enough assessment when we're talking about consumers and the need to buy more more more. But come on, a little joy over a new vegetable at the farmer's market? Far better to exhibit neomania than neophobia.

The neomaniac in me did a little jig when I stumbed across a gorgeous bunch of amaranth at my local market recently. I'm familiar with amaranth grain - it seems to be in every health food shop these days in flour or breakfast cereal form - but I've never seen the leaves for sale here in Australia. However, I've heard that they're used in northern Indian cooking in the same way as spinach or mustard greens. A nice creamy saag popped into my head instantly. I ran home and got some chickpeas soaking to make an chana masala as well, and soon a lovely little Indian spread was in the works.

A lovely green tangle of amaranth leaves

One of the drawbacks of raw cuisine is the need for patience. I had to wait three days for the chickpeas to soak and sprout. Sprout faster, little chickpeas! But my patience paid off big time. Since I've studied Indian cookery in some depth, I had an idea of the flavors I wanted to bring out in these dishes and the ingredients that might combine appropriately.

I think the chana masala was one of my best raw dishes to date, and non-raw partner J raved. The key was mimicking the creaminess of a cream-based sauce with avocado, creating the complexity of flavors in a cooked curry with raw ingridents, and balancing the spices properly. The complexity problem was solved by using sundried tomatoes as well as fresh tomatoes and red onions to up the sweetness factor, and adding fresh ginger for a real kick. I played around with the spices until I had the balance of flavors that I was looking for - using a special blended curry powder made for me by an Indian friend didn't hurt either. There are lots of good commercial curry powder blends out there in a variety of flavors and spiciness, so find one that you really love. The star of the curry was the crunchy sprouted chickpeas, which both J and I actually preferred to mushy cooked chana. They're also such a filling, nutritious ingredient for a raw foodist. So much more lifeforce in these babies than their sad, starchy cooked counterparts.

The saag was lovely as well - creamy, tangy and slightly bitter. Turns out amaranth tastes like a slightly less sweet, slightly less juicy spinach. The key ingredient here is a good mustard - I have a fantastic stoneground variety that is made with apple cider vinegar. If you can't find such a mustard, substitute some ground mustard seed and a bit of ACV. Creamy tahini and olive oil balance with tangy lemon juice, pungent scallion, and a handful of spices to create a really memorable saag. I recommend making these two dishes together, as the colors and flavors combine for a really complete meal.

With these two successes under my belt, I'm looking foward to exploring the flavors of the subcontinent in more depth. For some other inspiring raw Indian recipes, check out the creativity happening at Roshi's Raw Lifestyle.

Chana Masala

1 cup sprouted chickpeas
1/4 very ripe avocado
1/4 cup olive oil
1/4 red onion
1 fresh tomato
1-inch piece of fresh ginger
1/4 cup sundried tomato (soaked if hard)
1 Tbsp curry powder
1 tsp cumin powder
2 tsp coriander powder
salt and pepper, to taste

To sprout chickpeas: Place chickpeas in a glass jar and cover with plenty of filtered water. Soak overnight. In the morning, drain and rinse the chickpeas. Attach a piece of cheesecloth or screen to the top of the jar with a rubber band and turn the jar upside down over a bowl. Or stand the jar over a fine-mesh colander over a bowl. Rinse the chickpeas twice/day until little tails appear. You can let the chickpeas sprout as much as you like. When they're ready they'll taste crunchy and slightly sweet.

To make masala sauce:
Place avocado, olive oil, onion, tomato, ginger, curry powder, cumin, and coriander in a food processor. Whir until smooth. Mix the sauce with the sprouted chickpeas.


Amaranth "Saag"

1 1/2 cups tightly packed amaranth leaves (or spinach)
1 large scallion/spring onion
juice of 1/2 lemon
3 Tbsp olive oil
2 Tbsp tahini
1 Tbsp good quality mustard
1 tsp cumin powder
1/2 tsp coriander powder
1 tsp coarsely ground black pepper

Combine all ingredients in food processor and whir until smooth.

Welcome to Melbourne, Part 1

I had always heard that Melbourne was a cool city. Known for its unusual public art, its hidden laneways, its fantastic cafes, and its changeable weather, Melbourne is a dream for tourists and locals alike. During my visit last year, I explored some of the trendy and bohemian areas, checked out plenty of art, and discovered plenty of good eats.

But what I didn't know until I moved here three weeks ago was what a sustainable city Melbourne is. People here are incredibly tuned in to environmental issues, particularly surrounding climate, transportation, and food. One of my favorite places so far are CERES (Center for Education and Research in Environmental Strategies), a fully functional community farm center right on the edge of the city. Not only do they engage much of the community in growing food, they also run a nursery, many educational programs, a cafe, music events, and so much more. I also like Friends of the Earth, which is both an activist organization and a co-op/cafe/bookshop oasis in the midst of the urban environment. It's also nice to see so many bike riders, so many organic food shops, and such obvious consciousness of treating the earth and each other with dignity and respect.

There's so much more to explore, but my relationship with my new city home is off to a passionate start. Here's a little photo montage of my initial Melbourne story:

An old narrow laneway, recalling days of milkmen

I do love living local!

These guys are the greatest sustainable food activists. Love the co-op and cafe as well.

Mosaic art decorates the entrance to CERES

Where Winnie the Pooh would do his gardening! CERES love.

Seedlings galore at CERES

A really free-range chook

I wish I lived here, though I do have a lemon tree and wild rocket growing in my backyard

How the eco set get around in Melbourne

Farmers Marketing

Winter veggies

Can you imagine a lovelier setting for marketing? Okay, okay, aside from Hanalei.

Need I say more? There's a lot to love in this city.

Kauai = Raw Heaven

If there is a heaven, it looks an awful lot like Hanalei. This tiny surf town on the northern side of Kauai, the northernmost and smallest of the Hawaiian islands, is as close to paradise as one can get. Obstensibly, the draw is a semi-circular bay whose water is placid in summer but produces killer waves in winter. Towering over the bay is an ominous mountain, home to the wettest place on earth and therefore covered by clouds most of the time. But the sun shines in full glory on Hanalei, only slipping away for brief showers that are always followed by brilliant rainbows.

Abundant natural beauty, check. But even if Hanalei didn't have the perfect beach (as well as a dozen other perfect beaches within driving distance), it would still be an amazing place to live. The little town has everything I could want: an organic food shop, fish market, fantastic yoga studio, crystal and gem shop, a couple of really good restaurants and a few clothing shops (and they only sell summer wear, of course, as it's always summer weather in Kauai). Everything is within walking distance, so no need for a vehicle unless it's the 2-wheeled variety.

And with the lush tropical folliage that the rain showers provide comes my number one reason for loving Hanalei: tropical fruit. The fantastic selection, along with lots of lovely vegetables and other goodies, can be purchased at the farmers markets held twice weekly. Papayas, mangoes, mountain apples, apple bananas, the sweetest pineapples you've ever tasted, young coconuts with their hydrating water, lychees, black and white sapotes, soupsop, jackfruit, starfruit...on and on. I also picked up many different varieties of greens, skinny Japanese eggplant, okra, organic sprouts, tomatoes, cucumbers, zucchinis, carrots, avocadoes, and some lovely local goats cheese. All of this bounty is spread on folding tables in a green field, overshadowed by mountains and trees.

We arrived on Tuesday at 2:45 for a 3pm market start. Because the markets are small and popular, people crowd around a roped-off entrance as if awaiting admittance to a nightclub. But in a much more egalitarian fashion, everyone rushed through at 3pm on the dot. In a frenzy, I paid $12 for a sugarloaf pineapple - sounds steep, but believe me, it was a mindblowing pineapple, all sweetness and no acidity. With my grandmother, sister, boyfriend's sister and dad, and friend, we managed to collect quite a haul. Here we are contemplating it back home on our lanai:

Any doubt yet that this is heaven?