Finding comfort

Note; Posts in this blog originally appeared as my column, Amuse-bouche, in the Napa Valley Register. This one is from May 2008.

 

What’s your comfort food?

At the cookbook club meeting last week, we tackled food of the Philippines. Some of the dishes were familiar — chicken adobo, empanadas, lumpia (a fried egg roll), sausage, a kind of rice pilaf — and some were a bit more out of the ordinary.

Among the most exotic was a party dish called bringhe, which was billed as a kind of Philippine paella, though it didn’t contain fish or shellfish. It consisted of a glutinous rice-chicken-coconut milk mixture, cooked and then formed into a big round loaf and steamed inside banana leaves until the outside developed a golden brown crust.

The member who made it followed the recipe to the letter, and it turned out perfectly — just like in the picture.

It was impressive, but I couldn’t quite visualize it as the centerpiece for my next party. It was kind of like a big, mushy, coconut-y rice pudding with some chicken hidden in it. It tasted like pure comfort food. But only if you happened to be (or once had been) a Filipino two-year-old

Someone once introduced me to congee — a kind of gloppy rice soup that is a Chinese comfort food — and I had the same reaction. Bland, perfectly edible, but not a culinary sensation.

The cookbook dinner started me thinking about the nature of comfort foods. Bringhe is a lot like some of my go-to foods, and so is congee. But neither satisfies the yen to cocoon. Obviously, the appeal lies not just in the food itself, but in the memories you bring to it. The taste preference is specific, and acquired in childhood, before permanent teeth.

Because for most comfort foods, molars are not required. Actually, neither is strong flavor. Or color. Ask folks to start listing their favorites. You’ll hear mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, hot cereal, chocolate milk, chicken pot pie, noodles, matzo balls — all foods that take them back to their days in a high chair, and are soft and mild and colorless in more ways than one. Many of the universal favorites are white, beige or brown (or occasionally Velveeta yellow or Campbell’s cream of tomato soup pink).

One thing is for sure: comfort foods aren’t green (unless you count creamed spinach). And they don’t require much chewing. You’ll almost never hear anyone cite lettuce. Or broccoli. Or corn on the cob. Despite their blandness, lack of texture and association with happy toddlers, strained peas don’t make the list either

Gerber jars of veggies aside, I feel the draw of childhood favorites these days, what with global warming, gas prices, the miserable state of the economy, the never-ending war and the interminable, slow-motion race for the White House. I have a strong desire to turn off the phone and computer, and crawl under an afghan in my den with a warm, oozing grilled cheese sandwich and a cup of cocoa.

But I firmly believe life should have flavor and texture. Bland and blah doesn’t satisfy me for long. The world looks dire, but even so, I’m putting my bib and blankie into storage. 

No bringhe for me. I have all my wisdom teeth and I want food I can bite into.

I think I’ll go make a big, crunchy salad. The farmers market opened last week, and despite freezes, threats of drought and Washington shenanigans over the Farm Bill, the earth is once again offering up its bounty of fresh greens and veggies.

Now that’s what I call comforting.

 

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On my trip last month, I discovered that what stays in Las Vegas is mostly all the money that you came with. We had a lot of fun, and given that the place is designed to pick you up by the ankles and shake all the funds out of your pockets, we did pretty well finding ways to amuse ourselves without going bankrupt. While nursing a $14 cocktail in an over-the-top lounge at the Wynn one afternoon, I found the inspiration for this great mojito salad. (Hmm. Think the IRS will find that sufficient grounds for me to write the trip off?)

The vegetables listed here are my suggestion, but feel free to throw together your favorite combination. Add some cooked shrimp, chicken, salmon or steak to make it an even more satisfying meal.

 

Mojito Chopped Salad

 

Juice and zest of 1-2 limes

4 Tbsp. avocado oil or other mild oil

1 Tbsp. water

1/2 tsp. sugar

1/4 tsp. salt, pepper to taste

1 bunch mint, leaves cut in chiffonade

2 cucumbers, seeded and chopped

1 small head Romaine lettuce, chopped or torn into small pieces

1 red, yellow or orange pepper, chopped

1/2 small jicama, chopped

1 medium daikon, peeled and chopped or 1 bunch radishes, trimmed and sliced

2 carrots, chopped

1/2 red onion, chopped

1/2 cup green beans, lightly blanched

1/4 cup Kalamata olives

1/2 cup crumbled Feta cheese

1/2 cup chopped toasted pecans

1 avocado, pitted and chopped

 

Note: All vegetables except the mint should be chopped into 1/2” dice. To make the chiffonade, pile the mint leaves on top of one another and roll them together tightly from the side to form a cigar shape. Slice across as finely as you can. You should end up with thin ribbons of mint.

 

Take about 2 tablespoons each of the chopped cucumber and mint, and mince finely. Place them in a small bowl or cup with the finely grated lime zest, and crush with the back of a spoon or a pestle. Add the lime juice, vinegar, water, avocado oil, sugar, salt and pepper, and muddle together. Correct the seasonings to taste and set aside.

 

In a large bowl, mix together the remaining cucumbers and mint with the lettuce, red pepper, jicama, daikon, carrots, red onion and green beans. Add the dressing, olives and pecans, and toss. Gently fold in the avocado and cheese.

Serves 4 as a main course, or 6-8 as a salad.