Recent Posts by Diana Zahuranec

Part 4: Step-by-step Fermentation – How to Ferment Vegetables

Published by Wednesday, August 1, 2012 Permalink 0

Part 4: Step-by-step Fermentation

by Diana Zahuranec

How to Ferment Your Own Vegetables

I said in my first fermentation post that I found a couple of particularly helpful websites:

Sandor Ellix Katz, “Making Sauerkraut”
Mary N. Mennes, “Make Your Own Sauerkraut”
Recipes from a German Grandma, “Make Your Own Sauerkraut”

Katz’s was detailed and informative, and I completely trusted his judgment because he is the undisputed wild fermentation expert. Also, he helped my friends and I make cheese, which turned out edible, if squeaky. The unnamed German Grandma had pictures, which I took too and I’ll provide them here for you fermentin’ folks.

Equipment used:

2 big glass bowls
2 freezer bags
Saran wrap
Big plastic tray

Ingredients used:

Click here for French/British/American converter

1 head of cabbage
1 onion
2-3 hot peppers
2 carrots
Stems from a bunch of catalogna (chicory (or a type of), a leafy green with tough stems that I didn’t want to throw out)
1/3 C mildly spicy coarse hot pepper
Salt, water: 3 T salt per 5 pounds of vegetables
Whey from yogurt

Procedure:

Note: This outlines what I did, and might not be the ultimate, end-all-be-all way to ferment; I’m just sharing the experience and knowledge I gained along the way!

(chicory (or a type of), a leafy green with tough stems that I didn’t want to throw out)
1/3 C mildly spicy coarse hot pepper
Salt, water: 3 T salt per 5 pounds of vegetables
Whey from yogurt

Procedure:

Note: This outlines what I did, and might not be the ultimate, end-all-be-all way to ferment; I’m just sharing the experience and knowledge I gained along the way!

[caption id="attachment_27484" align="alignleft" width="319"] Chopped vegetables

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Part 3: What is Fermentation?

Published by Monday, July 30, 2012 Permalink 0

“Fermentation is one of the oldest and simplest means of preserving foods. It requires no particular kind of climate, no cooking, and so no expenditure of fuel: just a container, which can be a mere hole in the ground, and perhaps some salt or seawater,” quoted from the ever-insightful Harold McGee, author of On Food and Cooking: The Science and Lore of the Kitchen.

On Food and Cooking

Harold McGee’s “On Food and Cooking: The Science and Lore of the Kitchen”

vegetable

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The third article in this mini-series is going to be scientific and a little bit nerdy. Get ready to learn the nitty-gritty behind fermentation.

Fermentation begins in the vegetable or fruit. The naturally-occurring microbes in the food proliferate under the right conditions – namely, under the lack of air. At the same time, these beneficial microbes suppress the growth of harmful microbes that rot the fruit or vegetable. The good microbes metabolize the plant’s sugars and carbohydrates before the bad microbes get a chance. In a way, fermentation is a “controlled-rotting” process: the difference between sauerkraut and rotting cabbage is which microbes are allowed to grow.

When protected from air, these microbes get to work producing lactic acid, alcohol, carbon dioxide, and other compounds and nutrients.

Ferments can be made by crushing the vegetables or fruit until enough liquid is let out, ensuring that the vegetables are covered and protected from the air. Usually, though, the vegetables need a little bit of help: salt draws out the liquids, sugars, and other nutrients, and so ferments are often dry-salted or submerged in a salt-and-water brine before being stored in a covered container.

Crushing: wine is also a form of fermentation

As the plants ferment, much of the material remains intact, hence crunchy kimchi and sauerkraut as opposed to being mushy or slimy (two problems which usually signify contact with air; check out a great troubleshooting link). As the vegetables ferment, not only do they retain their vitamins, but additional nutrients are formed in the process: namely Vitamin B, folate, and the production of enzymes. New flavors and aromas begin to develop, and continue to age and change for as long as you ferment your food.

The salt concentration of the brine and the temperature during fermentation are the two main components that determine which beneficial plant microbes flourish and, consequently, the flavors and aromas that result. Vegetables with a low-salt brine and fermentation under low temperatures will produce mild but complex flavors with Leuconostoc mesenteroides. Fermentation done in high temperatures will produce almost exclusively lactic acid bacteria, from the Lactobacillus plantarum microbe. Also, fermentations undergo a dual process: they produce the first microbe, Leuconostoc mesenteroides, which is then taken over by Lactobacillus plantarum during the second stage of fermentation.

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Part 1: Food Fermentation for Beginners

Published by Tuesday, July 24, 2012 Permalink 0

Part 1: Food Fermentation for Beginners

by Diana Zahuranec

Cultures all over the world and for thousands of years have developed fermented foods and drinks. Japanese miso, Korean kimchi, kefir from Eastern Europe and the Middle East, sauerkraut from Germany; yogurt, sourdough bread, and even chocolate are some examples. While scarfing down some quickly “pickled” carrots I had made, I thought, why not make real fermented vegetables? I have a penchant for salty, sour foods, so why not ferment a big batch of it? The nutritional value actually builds and multiplies in fermented foods. I would satisfy my cravings, indulge in a natural, traditional super-food, learn about an ancient practice, and have a project to boot.

To learn the scientific details behind fermenting, I picked up Harold McGee’s On Food and Cooking: The Science and Lore of the Kitchen. For fermentation how-to, I quickly found an article on Sandor Ellix Katz’s blog (who, before, helped my friends and I make cheese). For a fermentation step-by-step picture guide, I found Recipes from a German Grandma.

 

I wanted to settle the nagging doubt about using equipment no more advanced than big glass bowls picked up in a used goods store. Pickl-It jars, Harsch crocks , and other crocks aren’t found easily in Italy, my home-away-from-home, or if they were I wouldn’t carry them around on my back while biking from store to store in the sweltering heat. Ideally, I would use Pickl-It jars or a Harsch crock over my open crock method, because I’ve never fermented vegetables and believe I’ve already made a few mistakes (ahem…this I will find out in roughly two weeks). Small batches of fermenting veggies are prone to come into contact with air when using the open crock method, causing you to lose some of the precious little you’ve made.

I don’t know which I would choose over the other, but apparently there are Team Pickl-It and Team Harsch Crock sides to this debate.

Too late now. I’ll find out if my haphazard but enthusiastic open crock method works in about two weeks. That will be the turning point in my brief fermentation career in making a major decision: to buy or not to buy a Pickl-It jar.

Pickl-It jars

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Along with growing doubts as I read about fermentation, the more fascinating information I find. This post will be just the beginning of a short fermentation series that sort of follows along with my own method: dive right in knowing the basics, then nervously twist a strand of hair as I read more about it, then fixate on all things fermentation.

Harsch crock. I didn’t have strong doubts about the open crock method. No one 500 or 2,000 years ago had Pickl-It jars or a standard Harsch crock. Unfortunately, and after I already had my kraut for a day and a half, the more I read about it, the more uncertain I’ve become. Sandor Ellix Katz’s directions seemed straightforward, but some other articles worried me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Let the fermentation begin!

Here are some other links I found useful:

Make your own sauerkraut, by Mary E. Mennes
Comparison of Vegetable Fermentation Methods, by Kimi Harris
Homemade sauerkraut, by Jenny
Vegetable Fermentation Further Simplified, by WildAdmin
Fermented Foods Webinair, by Jenny

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Encylopedia of Pasta

Published by Friday, July 6, 2012 Permalink 0

by Diana Zahuranec

This is too exciting not to share.

I have discovered an entire, legally downloadable Encyclopedia of Pasta by Oretta Zanini de Vita, translated by Maureen B. Fant, with hand-drawn sketches of over 300 traditional types of pasta. A description and production method, origins and with what recipe each kind is used are included for every pasta shape. Plus, there’s a lovely introduction about pasta.

Next to see if it is downloadable on a Kindle.

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Yummy Umami: The 6th Basic Taste?

Published by Thursday, April 26, 2012 Permalink 0

Yummy Umami: The 6th Basic Taste?

by Diana Zahuranec

Quick, name the 5 basic tastes: sweet, sour, bitter, salty…and the fifth one is umami. Umami is the word that describes the savory taste of food, or perhaps “meatiness” of a food. It is the taste of the amino acid L-glutamate. The Japanese singled out this flavor in the early 1900s thanks to a chemistry professor from the Imperial University of Tokyo, Kikunae Ikeda, who isolated the glutamic acid compound C5H9NO4. Glutamic acid is found in both free and bound forms. The free form, which is formed when the protein molecule breaks down and releases glutamic acid, is the one we taste. “Umami” means in Japanese, literally, deliciousness.

Kikunae Ikeda, the Chemist who singled out MSG

A few years ago, I remember there was some hype that spread virally through America’s highly-informed (and often misinformed) consumer culture about MSG.

What is this lethal-sounding additive in the foods we eat, so cleverly covered up by only using three letters to trick us when we know better? It was soon known that MSG, or monosodium glutamate, is an ingredient added to most processed foods in order to enhance their flavors. In the media, MSG was linked to many ills, including migraines, nausea, and cancer, among others.

Wariness and fear of MSG actually began in the 1970s, after Dr. Ho Man Kwok wrote in the New England Journal of Medicine that he was experiencing all sorts of uncomfortable after-effects from a Chinese dinner, including numbness, weakness, and palpitations. He did not specifically link his symptoms to MSG, but a year later a study was done on baby mice by injecting high dosages of MSG (up to 4 grams per kilogram of body weight) and observing the brain lesions the mice suffered afterwards. Thus was born Chinese Restaurant Syndrome (CRS). Studies, anecdotes, and reports were quick to follow suit afterwards, claiming that MSG was linked to all sorts of ills. Some prominent nutritionists today are convinced that added MSG is harmful, especially for children.

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‘Nduja: The Spicy and Spreadable Calabrian Treat

Published by Tuesday, March 13, 2012 Permalink 0

by Diana Zahuranec

‘Nduja (n-due-yah) is a spreadable, spicy, red pork meat that can be found everywhere in Calabria. Calabria is the southern Italian region that is the “toe” of the boot, so to speak. Nduja Nduja is used for sauces, bruschetta, or on anything that spreadable meat – spalmabile – would be tasty, including a spoon.

‘Nduja is produced from the throat of a pig, called the guanciale meat, and also the guanciale – stomach meat – and the back lardo, or fat. The lardo, when mixed with salt and added to the meat, takes on another name that has no exact English translation, called sugna. This meat and fat mix is ground with salt, local peperoncino (the Italian chili pepper), and absolutely nothing else. Not even nitrates, a common preservative added to most sausages and cured meats (linked to a higher risk in cancer), adulterate this all-natural ‘nduja. Salt, the extended maturation, and the fact that 30% of ‘nduja is peperoncino, which acts as a natural preservative, defy the need for synthetic additives.

 

Luigi Caccamo, left

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After the Cheese Making comes the Cheese Tasting

Published by Thursday, March 8, 2012 Permalink 0

by Diana Zahuranec

A black trash bag is tossed onto my desk. When I peer inside, four rounds of cheese stare up at me, one with a small wedge like a Pac-Man smile sliced out of it.

These raw cow’s milk cheeses are the result of the efforts of a group of students from the University of Gastronomic Sciences who, for one January day, were cheese mongers. After a year of visiting cheese producers, tasting cheese in class, and going  a little crazy at the biennial Slow Food Cheese 2011 fair, the next logical step was a DIY cheese-making party (see how here). Five and half weeks later, and the two big and two small rounds are set on the picnic table outside in the approaching spring’s warmth.

The knife squeaked when I pushed it through the small cheese with both hands. It definitely had grate-able potential. Tiny flecks of dark blue mold gathered on the bottom of the rind, but it was mostly creamy white and clean-looking. I sniffed the small cheese, and it smelled like butter. Tentatively biting a small piece, I tasted the saltiness first, and then a slight acidity cut through. It was crumbly and reminded one girl of pecorino cheese, nevermind that it’s cow’s milk, not sheep’s. It had a faint animal-like taste (normal enough in a cheese), but a weird, pungent aftertaste. A little salty overall, but not bad. A few friends thought otherwise. The most exciting thing about it was that we had made it.

 

 

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Stalking the Black-Eyed Villnösser Brillenschaf Sheep

Published by Tuesday, February 28, 2012 Permalink 0

by Diana Zahuranec

The most terrifying ride of my life was up a slick, steep mountain road in Alto Adige. Alto Adige is the northernmost region of Italy that touches Austria and melds with its language, architecture, and mountainous geography. This little-known region to the usual American tourist is prosperous, picturesque, and culturally stimulating. Before its annexation from Austria-Hungary as part of the Treaty of Saint-Germain in 1919, Alto Adige had been part of the Austrian Empire and the Holy Roman Empire for centuries. The identity of the region has been tugged between Austria and Italy ever since its annexation, a dual identity that is seen on everything from road signs to cultural heritage sites.

The charming architecture of Alto Adige

 

Alto Adige itself is divided into two other regions, Südtirol, or South Tyrol in the north, and Trentino in the south. The closer one gets to Austria, the stronger the Germanic influence is. In the northernmost parts of Alto Adige, the Austrian culture can be seen as the primary one, while the language and culture of Italy is definitely secondary.

The field trip that took a class of 26 and I to the Dolomite Mountains of the region was part of the curriculum of the University of Gastronomic Sciences, a school in Piemonte, Italy. Our journey was to begin with a monster of a man at odds with his traditional wear of embroidered, tan leather lederhosen, and end with the rare Villnösser Brillenschaf sheep breed with black fur “glasses” framing their dark eyes and black-dipped ears.

The man was burly, tall, straight out of a German-Austrian fairy-tale that could involve lumberjacks fighting giants, and he was our driver. We stood huddled in a damp group at the bottom of a hill, ready to be transported to the top of the mountain to see the sheep and learn about them. The charter bus we usually took could not go up the mountain, because it was too big. We were ushered into two large vans. The driver of mine was Herr Lumberjack (he was not a lumberjack, that I know of; but for lack of a name, this is it). I regret that I didn’t take a photograph of him, but he was a bit intimidating even with embroidered lederhosen. I felt – we all felt – we were in sure hands up this mountain road that grew steeper every ten feet, and which a charter bus could not hope to climb.

 

View from above: the Dolomites as seen from the bus

 

The road was much like other frightening mountain roads: unpaved, steep, narrow, and sans guardrail. I was not nervous at first, but the road was longer and steeper than we thought. The rain came down heavier and our breaths fogged the windows as we climbed in altitude into cold clouds. The hairpin turns were stomach-churning when Herr Lumberjack stopped, backed up a few inches towards the cliff – and a few more for room to turn – and looked back, grinning widely through the hand-wiped back windows to determine how much further he could go (answer: not another inch).

Looking over the edge from up high in a large van, my stomach dropped. It seemed from the high vantage point that the road’s edge was exactly at the tire’s edge. The trees were cut back at intervals, and the cliff of the mountainside fell away to reveal beautiful, jewel-toned landscapes, wet and saturated with color. I snapped a few hurried photos when I wasn’t gripping the headrest in front of me, because it was safer than closing my eyes and less frightening to look through a lens. All the photos turned out blurry; and talk about a photo not doing the real thing justice.

When the last switchback was so narrow that the inching, maneuvering wheels were too close even for our driver; when there was actually not enough room to turn at all; when Herr Lumberjack’s face was serious in concentration and not grinning manically; and when we were all sweating and silent from nerves was when we stopped to walk the rest of the way to the top. My legs were shaky, and the gravel slippery when I climbed down to solid ground from the steamy van. The air was cold, colder on the top of the mountain, and our breath came out in foggy, hot puffs. We hiked to the top.

Mountain top with Villnösser Brillenschaf sheep

 

We were greeted with a beautiful pastoral scene. In the dipping center of two hilltops was a small, wet wood cabin. Scattered between and up the vibrantly green hills was a small flock of sweet, white sheep, all with black glasses patterns circling their eyes. We walked with restraint, eager to see the peaceful scene with the stormy backdrop while not frightening the animals. Threatening, grey clouds opened to a steady, cold drizzle as the shepherds told us the history of the sheep. We huddled under shared umbrellas.

The Furchetta company, named after the mountain chain, tends to one of only two flocks of this breed of sheep, which is the oldest race in Alto Adige. It is seemingly a mixed breed with its black markings on white fur, and so had a tough time surviving during the Second World War when Hitler was bent on eliminating anything not of “pure” race. The Villnösser Brillenschaf was nearly eliminated, and about 400 survive today thanks to the shepherds and farmers of companies like Furchetta. The particular breed is also a Slow Food Presidia, which both protects and promotes it.

Villnösser Brillenschaf sheep are a Slow Food Presidia

 

Furchetta’s main product is cooked lamb prosciutto, which we had the pleasure of eating at lunch only an hour later at a restaurant in the foothills; but the farmers also realized that the high-quality wool was often going to waste. The price of wool has dropped significantly in recent decades and producing wool products is expensive. Furchetta strives to capitalize on the fact that, because the Villnösser Brillenschaf breed has extra-oily wool, its heat-retention and water-wicking properties are superior. The high quality and excellent taste of the prosciutto and various lamb salumi have encouraged chefs of Michelin star restaurants of the area to purchase the meat.

Cooked lamb salame

 

I would like to experience a little adventure like this for every food I eat. The harrowing ride into the clouds and the perfect scene at the end, offset to biting cold and wet weather with the promise of a full, hot meal at the end, were stimulating. The memories of the Villnösser Brillenschaf sheep and how we arrived to see them in their mountain environment connect to the meal we ate later, a meal whose memory would have already faded had it not been for all the elements of the experience.

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Is Focaccia Pizza’s Rival?

Published by Thursday, February 16, 2012 Permalink 0

by Diana Zahuranic

“It’s the most dangerous competitor of pizza,” said the president of Recco’s Consorzio near Genova. What could possibly pose a risk to the hallowed Italian dish? The risk lies in a similar bread known as focaccia, an olive-oily, salt-crunchy, inch-thick fluffy white dough often cut into squares in the piazza’s panetteria, or bakery. Tomato sauce and ciliegini cherry tomatoes, may be dropped on top, as well as anchovies, thin potato slices with rosemary sprigs, zucchini, eggplant, olives and tomato – basically any ingredient that goes on a pizza sits comfortably on its fluffy focaccia pillow, too. And like pizza, mozzarella cheese is basically a given.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If focaccia is pizza’s most serious contender, then Focaccia di Recco is the Achilles of this battle – but Recco’s focaccia has no weak spot.

I went with my class from the University of Gastronomic Sciences, a Slow Food-founded school based in Piemonte, Italy, to the 150-year old Ristorante Vitturin. The owner applied for the IGP label for his focaccia, and is now waiting for it to pass. If the bread earns this Indicazione di Geografica Protetta, or Protected Geographic Indication, that will make it the first restaurant product with that label. Naples’ pizza likely regrets not applying for one every time a new “Napoletano style” pizzeria erects its greasy walls in small suburbs and big cities. If it gains the IGP label, then that’s Point One for Focaccia di Recco.

We walked down a flight of steps into a moodier section of the restaurant and the kitchen, open with a line of windows framing the working chefs who flip paper-thin focaccia dough in the air and mix potions of ingredients to create pestos and sauces. The bustle of a restaurant kitchen was unapparent, non-existent, at 2:30 in the afternoon. The chef had time to show us how to make Focaccia di Recco.

Three long tables were set up in a U at the end of the room, set with dough, flour and long, thin rolling pins that were more like sticks. The chef was cheerful and energetic and even a bit cheeky to the very sincere Consorzio leader/ restaurant owner, who explained to us why the Focaccia di Recco deserved the IGP label.

“We use a farina di forza,” he explained. This “flour of strength” is 100% Manitoba flour, its forza derived from the high gluten content. The chef let us feel the fine, fine flour. He began to roll out soft, warm piles of dough very quickly into a thin layer on the table.

“The cheese must be this kind,” he said, showing us the Formaggio fresco latte ligurie tracciato. It was a big, white, squishy brick. The chef laid out the first layer over the tray, and then pinched off chunks with his hands of this fresh goat’s cheese from Liguria and plopped them evenly onto the pie.

“We’ve used the same recipe since 1800,” said the owner. The recipe is also written on the brochure of the restaurant (although the cheese is described as crescenza, an Italian-style Philadelphia cream cheese, because few people will ever get their hands on the crucial ligurie tracciato cheese). We were pinching off moist bits of this rich, creamy cheese and popping them into our mouths as we watched the chef toss his next piece of dough high into the air until it was so thin it was transparent.

Formaggio fresco di latte ligurie tracciato

The chef gently laid the fragile dough over the cheesy bottom layer. Some cheese chunks broke through, which would burst through in an exquisite, oily sizzle when in the oven. He drizzled it with extra virgin olive oil, cut off the excess dough in one deft motion using the rolling pin, and smashed the leftovers into another dough ball. “We don’t waste anything,” he said. In fact, we ate hand-rolled corkscrew-shaped pasta later, called trofie or trofiette, made out of that very dough ball.

The focaccia was carefully cooked on hot coals, the traditional method, especially for us. When it was ready, it was sent up to the ground level by a veritable focaccia carousel – a large wheel with level platforms where focaccia was placed, sent up, up, up and lifted off by the waiter to be served, pizza-style, at the table. The place is known as the “restaurant of the wheel.”

The cheesy Focaccia di Recco was crunchy in all the right places, soft and gooey where you wanted it, and underlined by the wholesome nuttiness and vegetal taste of the extra virgin olive oil. My preference was the Focaccia di Recco covered in zesty, herby, house-made pesto. Interestingly, they proudly deemed this una ricetta nuova, a new recipe. Tradition runs strong in Italy, where changes are tested slowly and considered seriously.

The pesto version of focaccia

Perhaps this answers the questionable “difference” between a focaccia and pizza. Focaccia is often thicker, and it is sometimes sold as “pizza a taglio,” “pizza by the slice,” even though everyone knows it is focaccia. In Italy, pizza is never one slice – it is a pie per person. And in Recco, the focaccia is thin and served on a round dish, one per person. These qualifications bring it dangerously close to pizza. When I asked the question, I was told that the ingredients in the dough are different than that of pizza dough.

And so it seems that pizza will remain pizza, focaccia will remain focaccia, and they will continue to be sold alongside one another for a long, long time as they always have. Don’t worry, pizza. Focaccia isn’t out to get you. Just don’t set up shop in Recco.

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Cheesemaking: To know how cheese is made is different from knowing how to make cheese!

Published by Monday, February 6, 2012 Permalink 0

by Diana Zahuranic

“Let’s make cheese!” To my friends and me, the idea sounded satisfyingly artisanal. Cheesemaking is simple enough in practice so that anyone with some background can try their hand at it. The theory is more complicated, but because my friends and I had that part down pat, actually putting it to use would be an afternoon well-spent.

Cheesemakers in Chaource

Cheesemakers in Chaource

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Or so we thought. Yes, the craft of cheesemaking is simple compared to the amazing, diverse world of cheese that it produces (or rather, that Europe produces, with no laws prohibiting unpasteurized cheese aged less than 60 days – which is 100s to 1000s of varieties). But the first thing the nine of us did in my friend’s tiny Italian kitchen was say, “Doesn’t anybody know how to make cheese?”

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