Durian Ice Cream: First, Catch Your Hedgehog

I found my hedgehog frozen, shivering in the vast produce section of Fei Long Market, on 8th Avenue in Brooklyn's Sunset Park neighborhood. Tiny crystals of frost nestled between the prickles. It joined my bag of bitter melons and mustard hearts and stem lettuce. 

At home, I banished the durian to the cold terrace overnight, in case its infamous smell evicted us in the wee hours. And the next day I let it thaw at room temperature. 

By this time I could smell it. To me, it's not offensive at all. It's more scent than smell - strong, but in a tropically assertive and suggestively layered way. Like truffles. But not. The Frenchman disagrees completely: It smells like trash, he offered, when I held it under his long French nose. Well, I said, I'm about about to make some trash ice cream. 

He backed away.

In Manhattan's Chinatown I've bought durian by the wedge from a sidewalk fruit vendor, who also provided a spoon to attack its custardy innards. The whole, heavy fruit, sealed in serious prickles, looks intimidating. But as mine thawed it split helpfully at the tip. Steadying the durian with an oven-mitt-clad left hand I wiggled a sharp paring knife into that crack and followed it, slicing towards the stem. The leathery skin gave way surprisingly easily. 

The knife repeated that pattern, tip to stem, until the durian fell into five parts, each with double rows of segmented, custard-soft pulp, each segment hiding an enormous seed. 

I ate a couple of segments, the flavor very strong and very rich. Also very more-ish. But my mission was ice cream, to see if I could recreate the best ice cream I can remember eating, from the tiniest Thai restaurant, now very much a memory, on 4th Street (or was it 8th...) in the East Village. That place taught me a lot about food.

The seeds are very easy to remove - each is about two inches long. Once pulped, I puréed this natural custard in the food processor. At the last minute, tasting it - so rich - I decided to add some slices of yuzu from my huge jar of yuzu syrup. This super-aromatic citrus's uplifting and uncomplicated high notes were exactly what the heavier, sexier durian needed. 

Instant pudding, prior to freezing: durian and yuzu.

I had frozen the bowl of the ice cream maker overnight. Instead of cream, I added half-and-half, one cupful to the two cups of pulp. No sugar. In 20 minutes, it was close to frozen. 

And there you have it. Durian ice cream (with yuzu zest atop). It was very, very good. 

A pint went to Burmese and Hungarian friends in Prospect Heights, on the other side of the park. A pint went into me. The Frenchman wanted nothing to do with it.

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Memorabilia

The things one brings back from the mother country. Not shown are the 24 bottles of wine the Frenchman and I carried to Brooklyn across two hemispheres. And US customs officers have never minded. Asked if I had brought anything in with me this time, I replied, "A case of wine." The customs officer looked at me sternly and said, "Don't drink and drive. Welcome home, Red!" Stamp.

Other than that welcome, arriving at JFK is complete pandemonium and I feel very sorry for bright eyed and bushy tailed tourists who are familiar with other, civilized airports. You are barked at, herded, ignored and then have to pay for your luggage cart. It's brutal.

But here we are. With, from left: in the tube, two beautiful prints from my friend, artist Willemien de Villers, whose embroidery I call subversive. She will be teaching another course in New Mexico next year. Above that, Cape Town-made bottarga, salt-cured roe from sustainable hake, under the Leipoldt and Langa label, from my Instagram friend Kurt Ackerman. I traded a bottle of vermouth for it. To its right two South African made rugs for our kitchen door, which leads outside. And 72, yes, 72 mini ice cream cones from Woolworths. Because they really are that good and I think they might be fun for wild ice cream tastings. Peri-peri cashews, because, why not? Top right, cream of tartar for home made rusks, and a bottle of amber Inverroche gin, made in Stilbaai.

Middle row: a cotton blanket, also South African, and beautifully soft. Mampoer to its right, a clear peach liquor with a mule-ish kick, for the neighbor who watered our plants. Then a bottle each of my October Vermouth and its bitters, bottled on my birthday. There are more, off stage. Soap! I know, but it's wonderful and has no Bad Stuff in it, by South African brand Earth Sap (whose marketing presence is nil). And a cherished bottle of wine made by aforementioned Willemien's husband, Etienne de Villiers. They live below their small vineyard on an idyllic spot above False Bay and Etienne was kind enough to give me one of very few bottles. Fortunately, when my wine box came hurtling down the JFK luggage shoot, smashing into someone's suitcase, this was not the bottle that died on impact. First time I have ever suffered a casualty.

Bottom left: a fresh batch of kikois (Tanzania), a first aid box I could not resist, an old China plate and a Woodstock glass tumbler, found on an after-lunch walk through Kalk Bay's antique shops.

Such is memory and nostalgia, to be eaten, drunk, slept under, walked on and looked at.

And now it's a deep dive straight back into my new book - Forage, Harvest, Feast, as the editing phase begins.

See you on the other side.

Wild Salmon in your Belly

I should be writing about my garden and here I am writing fish. It happens.

Backstory: The Frenchman and I eat very little fish. I would like to eat more. It's wonderful to cook with and it is healthy. But it is not that easy, even in this Biggest of Apples, to find fish that is ethically sourced and caught. It is simpler to know where meat comes from than it is fish. Fish are the last free roaming wild thing that we are ripping out of the ocean by the ton. And the collateral damage (to use war-speak) or tamely named 'by catch' - the other critters that are swept up or killed in nets - is deleterious (if you care about conservation, and that is a whole other philosophical conversation). Then there are fish farms, of course, but you really, really need to do your homework to figure which ones are not causing more harm than good.

In local bluefish and mackerel season we are on them. Strong fish that are good on barbecues. And we love locally caught trout.

Gabrielle Langholtz, my friend, and former editor at Edible magazine (as well as author of The New Greenmarket Cookbook), introduced me last year to the family-owned Iliamna Fishing Company, based out of Alaska. Once a year out they go in their boats and catch wild sockeye salmon. The fish are cleaned, flash frozen and packaged on board. For eight years that catch has been sold to local customers, using a community supported fishery (CSF) model. They also sell in Oregon markets (Portland, Eugene and Wilamette Valley), and New York City.

Last October I cycled to pick up our first share from the Red Winery in Brooklyn. Yes, the winery is on New York Harbor, no there are not grape vines on site.

The 12lb share of salmon costs $204. I know that is a lot of money. But we received nine sides of gorgeous red sockeye salmon. It works out to $22 a side. Which is less than you would pay  for wild salmon in a store, for considerably higher quality. I still have four sides in the freezer.

I have grilled it, poached it, made gravlax (above)...

...and recently a roast salmon spring dashi with ramps, Japanese knotweed and morels (recipes will be in my the wild foods cookbook, yay!).

It is the best salmon I have ever eaten.

I am writing about it now because I just received the email from Iliamna saying that now is the time to sign up for a 2017 share. You pay half up front, which keeps the fishery's show on the road. On pick up in October you pay the balance.

I am rarely enthused enough to tell people to go out and buy something, but this is one of those times. If you live in those hoods. There are other CSF's out there, now, so do some Googling if you live elsewhere and are interested in learning more about where the fish you eat comes from.

In other news, there is one spot left on my Central Park ramble on May 20th and four left on the Inwood Hill Park foray on May 13th. We will not be fishing, but hunting for edible invasives and learning about delectable native plants. And having a picnic, of course. Because life is too short not to picnic.

Hey (idea strikes)! Maybe I'll make some potted salmon with ramp salt to spread on nettle sourdough!

Gifts for Gardeners - Veldt Studio Soap

From my homeland comes a range of hand made soaps by The Veldt Studio. These small batch, botanically-inspired soaps are now available online in the United States. (In South Africa, find out more about local distribution at Rondavel Soaps.) While they are ideal gifts for anyone originally from the southern African region, these high end soaps will be very welcome stocking stuffers, or simply special gifts, come the holidays.

The Veldt Studio is a family business run by wife and husband team Kate and Chikondi Chanthunya, who live in KwaZulu-Natal. They produce soaps with the Rondavel label (a ron-DAH-vil is a circular, thatched traditional southern African dwelling); Chikondi is the soap maker, Kate is the artist (and a gardener) - each soap comes in a slide-out box and is individually wrapped.

I started reading my wrapping, a page from a book. Kate told me, when I asked (we met on Instagram), that the paper is a temporary measure while she works on printing a South African map she has drawn; they use discarded and damaged Reader's Digest Condensed books from the local (Howick) library. "I find this hard sometimes," she wrote to me, "as I love reading, and often read the pages I am meant to be using for wrapping...but at the same time, I always hated that Reader's Digest and thought it was okay to condense/leave out sections that the author spent a lot of effort in writing!"

Every soap is redolent of fresh botanicals, some of which I have stumbled across on our wild hikes back home.

Beaten-up hands, post work. After an afternoon of rooting in the garden without gloves, I tried the Gardeners Scrub. Yes, it scrubbed out all the soil. But then I put it in the shower, where the Frenchman, to my surprise, guarded it fiercely. He has worn the bar down to a sliver. It's the complex botanical scent, as well as the poppy seeds, which feel very good on the skin.

I am not usually a fan of soap with Stuff in it. Like, bits-of-things. But the poppy seeds make a beautifully textured loofah for tired or itchy skin. We both love this soap.

The baobab and African bluegrass is intensely fragrant with Adansonia digitata (baobab) oil and seven other botanicals that include the bluegrass, but also coriander and grapefruit. It makes for a very happy shower experience and is noticeable to others only if someone comes right up to you and plants a kiss on your neck (as they do). Even the bathroom smells good.

Some of the soap names are very nostalgic and evoke the landscape and the vegetation types I love, and speak to them via the essential oils they contain: Little Karoo; Fynbos;Wild Coast; Bushveld; Platteland. Enough to make a person start tjanking (making noises like a wet dog who's been left out in the rain while inside his people - his life - are sitting around the fire gnawing roasted bones, telling stories of walks to come). But I have several more to go, and am looking forward to each one.

Each Veldt Studio soap is $12, which is much steeper than what I pay for our everyday Dr Bronner's All-In-One (it was Tom's of Maine until recently, when I realized they had been sold to Colgate-Palmolive). But considering the manufacturing process, the ingredients, the care in packaging and the unusually good aromatherapeutic experience, I feel that these are keepers, and gifts no one will regret giving, or receiving.

Wash on.

(And maybe send some to Obama. He shook that man's hand.)

- Previous Gifts for Gardeners Posts:

Tools with Teeth

Market table

What became of them? Well, the drink was drunk (makrut lime-infused gin and tonic - it tasted a lot like the Rose's Lime Cordial that my grandmother used to take in her gin and tonic before lunch on Sundays).

Strawberries? Mostly just rinsed and eaten straight up, while I watched a movie. Others cut in half and doused with some black currant gin to sit for a few hours before being scooped up with cream.

Leeks: Vichyssoise. Of course.

Onions. Hm. What happened to the onions? Oh. Chopped finely and mixed with cilantro and lime juice as a dressing for super-fresh braaied bluefish.

Asparagus. Steamed. Olive oil and lemon. A bit gritty - I should have soaked them longer.

What is at your farmers market?

Urban foraging

When you forage in Chinatown:

Giant bamboo shoots ($3.39/lb), baby bananas and quails eggs  - New York Supermarket, 75 East Broadway, under the Manhattan Bridge.

Pork buns, $1/bun - Mei Li Wah Bakery, 64 Bayard Street.

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Book a Spring Forage Walk

Contradictions

Yesterday's skies looked like they belonged to the turbulent weather systems of late summer. And this Sunday, snow is expected.

After shopping at Whole Foods (now their daffodils are the cheapest in the hood, two bunches for $5, and their Florida organic strawberries, $3.99 per box, cost less than at Key Food, so the crunch is on - but I digress), I stopped beside the Gowanus Canal.

This sign is very funny. I think they don't want you to smoke because you might set the canal on fire. The greenest supermarket in NY state is beside the most poisonous body of water.

Very healthy bayberries are planted in the new little park that edges the carpark.

And the red chokeberry (Aronia) is still loaded with last year's fruit. Excellent spot for a mini wild foods walk.

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Book a Spring Forage Walk

The writing on the wall

The changeable giant wall ads beside the 3rd Street Bridge spanning the Gowanus Canal are painted by hand. We have often wondered, the Frenchman insisting theywere painted, but me swearing they were stuck on, in sheets (if I'd visited Colossal Media's website earlier that would have settled the argument).

We see them when we walk back and forth on our way to Whole Foods, where we shop every week or two (mostly for a limited palette of: affordable organic chicken, local greens and those New Jersey tulips - on sale today, three bunches in tight bud for $12).

The picture above was taken with my new phone, a very generous gift from the Frenchman who gives presents on his birthday. I am very happy with it - an Android again, the super-smart Samsung Galaxy S7. There is now minimal difference between it and its iPhone peers (which I always lusted after, but no longer), and now the Samsung's camera is arguably better - so it won the coin toss.

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Book a Spring Forage Walk

Spring in the hood

Cardoons, courtesy of California. I have one - now I just have to remember what to do with it.

Daffodils are everywhere.

I should add that, while it is February, and typically the c-c-c-c-c-coldest month of the year in New York, today was spring. Warm. 61'F/16'C. No coat required. Consequently my frigid forage walk at Brooklyn Bridge Park wasn't (frigid) and was packed. January, last month, was the hottest month on record. In the world. 

  ________________________________________

Book a Spring Forage Walk

The small things

There is a shop on Wolfe Street in Cape Town that I love: L'Orangerie. The last time I was there I spied a vintage rhino watercolour print, applied to a placemat. There was an elephant, a hippopotamus. I wanted them. But I needed six. A sales assistant found three more animals for me at another branch, nearby. But by the time we had had all our other gifts wrapped a phone call came in saying that a woman in the other shop had snapped up all MY animals. Gr!

But 18 hours later, Jess, the sales assistant, called to say that she secured more animals from the person who makes the beautiful mats, and the Frenchman went to pick them up for me on the day we left town. Now I have the springbokkies above, a sable antelope and a kudu, too. I love them.

The proudly displayed shampoo is the haul I just brought back from Whole Foods. I can't find it anywhere else in the hood, so I stocked up. Giovanni. It's nice.

Glass, one of six given to me many years ago by my friend Bevan. In it? Cider.

Coaster, silver and glass  - from a local junk shop.

There endeth the post about Objects as Pleasure.

How to make a magnetic spice rack, and why

The finished magnetic spice rack (and the mysterious microwave)

I like our kitchen in Carroll Gardens. There is a glass door to the garden, a little sash window beside the oven, two work surfaces, a good fridge, an oven that works, and just enough storage space. True, I'd rather have storage where the microwave is (can someone tell me what to use it for?), but that is a tiny niggle.

Spices at Sahadi's 

The real problem was my spice collection. In Harlem the spices lived stacked on a lightweight wire shelf that stood on the floor beside a kitchen island, but we have no space for the island, here, and it is dismantled and stored. Before that, in Cobble Hill, they were hidden in a cupboard above the oven. Most of them were from Sahadi's, and stayed in their clear plastic containers, but some were irritatingly miscellaneous jars for the extra spices I make myself from foraged ingredients.

The old spice shelf

But in this new kitchen, despite the increased work space, the spices did not fit. They sat on their floor shelf on the wrong side of the kitchen counter in the living room, for weeks, while I pretended they weren't there (inbetween bursts of online searching for solutions). The Frenchman said nothing, and waited. He is good, that way.

I looked at the walls. The spices would have to go Up.

There were two wall spots in the kitchen - a wide one beside the sink, and a long narrow one between the stove and the door.

I searched for shelves that would fit either space. Nothing was quite right.

I had seen many articles and posts about magnetic spice racks, where a small magnet holds individual containers to a wall-mounted steel sheet. I found many links to ready-made magnetic spice racks, from Target and Ikea's el cheapo versions to nicer ones on Etsy. But none was right for me - too small (just 12?), or too heavy (small glass jars), or too small, too heavy and too few, or just poor product reviews.

I would have to make one.

For wall-mounting we had the added challenge of metal struts in the dry wall on one side (so not every spot was good to drill), and brick beneath the dry wall on the other (which we did not want to penetrate and damage). I started to focus on the idea of  a stainless steel sheet light enough to be glued - rather than screwed - to the wall, but thick enough to attract magnets. I figured a large enough surface area would provide enough grip to keep the sheet in place, plus a host of lightweight containers.

But what did I need? The best starting point was The Kitchn's How To post (see link), but the post is now dated, and has key missing elements. The comments section, however, was very helpful and I investigated about every suggestion, from magnet size to glue for fixing magnets to type of steel.

It was time consuming.

But by the end I knew that I wanted very lightweight containers, and not glass (which I would have liked), because of support issues. I wanted clear lids so I could identify a spice by appearance, rather than by label. And I wanted 8oz containers because perversely they hold a 4oz volume of ground spices, which is how I buy and cook. And I understood more about which magnets hold what.

Eventually, I ordered each element, one by one, and finally put the whole thing together. It is not the cheapest spice rack ever. But in terms of satisfaction, I love it.  I smile every time I see it.

The stainless steel sheet arrives

So, if you're interested in making one for yourself (save space! reduce clutter!), here's what I did and how, which I hope will spare you hours of research and head-scratching.

This was made for a collection of 40 spices.

Stainless Steel Sheet:

Important: you want lower grade, 430 stainless steel. Higher grade 304 is NOT magnetic.

My custom-cut sheet came from Stainless Steel Supply, in North Carolina.

Use this form to specify the details you need.

Mine were:

Size: 16" x 38"
Thickness: 20 gauge
Slightly rounded corners: ABCD Radius: 1/8" (the letters refer to the corners - the form above will clarify)
Cost: $59.63, plus shipping ($20)

An aside: Customer service at Stainless Steel Supply was superb. Scott Huggins answered an email within four minutes of my sending it (I panicked about the gauge and changed it from 16 to 20 within a few minutes of ordering - no problem). The sheet arrived impeccably packed and protected a week later.

Spice Containers:

From SKS Bottle and Packaging (which sells fascinating supplies - you can get lost, there).

48 containers, 3"W x 2.25"Deep - 8oz deep metal tin with clear lid
Cost: $50.40, plus shipping ($23)

I had to order more than I needed, but I figure some will be damaged in time and I might need extra containers as my wild spice collection grows.

The Magnets:

To hold my containers I chose 1/2" x 1/8" neodymium magnets from Apex Magnets

I bought 5 packs of 10 magnets, so 50 total
$44.95, plus shipping ($10)

If you are curious about how much a magnet can hold, that link is helpful.

And wow! Those magnets were weird - they arrived all stuck together with crisp warnings about the damage you could inflict upon yourself and others: in their massed form, don't let them near pacemakers, credit cards or metal. Or computers or electronics. Or steel pins in legs.

Total Cost of Supplies?

$207.98 - not cheap. But in this case, I bought happiness.

Magnets affixed with glue

Then What?

1. I glued one magnet onto the base (inside) of each container, using a single drop of Super Glue. (They will stick of their own accord, but they tend to drag about, and I didn't want that.)
2. I sanded the wall lightly where I was going to place the stainless steel sheet, and then washed it and let it dry well.
3. I traced a pencil outline on the wall around the steel sheet as I held it in place, to know exactly where to apply the glue (do this with someone to help; I did it on my own, which is not ideal).
4. For gluing the sheet I used Gorilla Epoxy, which combines resin and hardener as you squeeze, and which you must stir together in a little tray. I brushed that onto the wall with the ice cream stick-like trowel provided, placed the steel sheet against the wall inside the stencil lines, and pushed with all my might. For 30 minutes.

It said: "Clamp time, 30 minutes."

I was the clamp. Sorry, no pictures.

This is where you need that friend.

That was the hardest part, and worse than any workout session (this is where in-wall screws would have been useful). I had to exert constant pressure on the sheet.

So for 30 minutes I leaned in plank position with my palms against the steel sheet, against that wall, till every muscle trembled. Thank god I do push ups.

It may have been overkill. But it stuck.

I let it cure for 24 hours. Next day I filled my containers with spices, and transferred them to their gleaming sheet, arranging them in an order that makes sense to me: by cuisine, by botanical family, by frequency of use... You will have your own method.

Mostly filled

And there it is. When the Frenchman came home he found me grinning like a Cheshire Cat (with wobbly arms).

When I am cooking, they are right there next to me, and I take one from the wall, use what I need, twist the lid back on, and hum a little.

But I'm out of red pepper flakes.

Time to shop.

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                 Book a Frigid Forage - New Year's Day

Changeable

I did not know, in May, when I ordered statuesque annuals whose growth peaks in late summer, that we would have to move in August. Lock, stock, and smoking terra cotta.

After last winter killed off all our boxwoods and a blueberry I decided to fill their big pots with annuals, this year. Less expensive. But I wanted height, a presence. Last year's purchased (Seedman) Nicotiana mutabilis seed's enjoyed a 100% germination failure rate, and this year I found these, from Annie's Annuals. A garden design client had asked about ordering plants online and I - a devotee of local garden shops and growers - was disparaging about quality, before I thought I should investigate further. So I guinea pigged myself.

These four inch pots arrived in early May, their soil still damp with Bay Area water, and held in place with ingenious covers and elastic bands and cardboard separators. 

A few of the large, fragile leaves were broken, but I repotted the plants right away, watered them well, and within a couple of weeks they had doubled in size. Their lowest leaves are now over two feet in length, and the most advanced plant is taller than I am. Internet plants get the green light. At least, these do.

The buds open white.

A pale blush begins in the flower.

...and after another day there is rose. 

I had fallen in love with this nicotiana after seeing a clump of them in my mother's Cape Town garden, backlit in the dawn light of a jetlagged morning and subsequently at the BBG.

The subsidiary flower stems grow longer, and cantilever over the broad leaves below.

At night they are lightly scented.

Apart from their vertical interest and fat tropical stricture on the Harlem terrace they are also meant to lure hummingbirds. Like the jewelweed, the agastache, the blablabla.

The smaller, green Nicotiana langsdorfii seeded freely from last year's planting, but - curiously - not a single N. sylvestris came up. Many seeds must have been shed last summer, despite my deadheading.

For now, the tall tobacco plants behave as they did in my spring dreams.

Tall, delicate. Magnets for large bees.

Subject to change.

Shopping for dinner

Union Square is green at last.

The fiddleheads of ostrich ferns (Mateuccia struthiopteris) are still at the market, driven down from Vermont twice a week, where the season is well behind ours. Although I think they are delicious, I am curious about the impact that harvesting has on natural populations of the fern. 

And I was pleased, and also amused (despite myself), to see lambs quarters (Chenopodium album) for sale. I bought almost half pound. Ouch. Yes folks, your 'weeds' are selling in New York City for $6 a quarter pound. Eat up! Lambs quarters are closely related to quinoa, and are very nutritious. I am growing my own planterful on the Harlem terrace. Personally, I think they blow spinach out of the water, once cooked.

And another green in the foraging vein, but cultivated, in this case: a skinny-leafed species of plantain, Plantago coronopus. 

Also known as erba stella, and minutina.

So, supper, with a dessert of the first strawberries I have tasted this year, was: a risotto with the fiddleheads (cooked for a minute, first), and asparagus tips. The Frenchman scraped the pot.

Tonight? Lamb's quarter phyllo triangles with feta and sumac, and the salad of the minutina.