Slow Down With Slower Food

After a hectic holiday season, I suspect we all need to tap the brakes and slow down. When the blurred flurry of  meals, snacks, parties, and celebrations dies down, we can finally exhale. Take it easy and slow down.  Tuck away the cookie cutters, bundt pans, roasting racks, new fangled multi cookers, and angst. Embrace slower food. As languid as they might be, I'm not talking about the low and slow braises, hours long simmered stews, or crock pot cookery. Take it down one notch further and explore fermentation, the ultimate slow food. With little effort (a welcome respite) fermentation is
a lesson in slow motion magic. With fermentation, there are no deadlines to meet, temperatures to monitor, or stress to endure. It simply needs time. As an ages old means of food preservation, just about anything can be fermented. While deli style sour pickles and saurkraut might be the most familiar examples, Korean Kimchi, fermented chili-spiked funkified napa cabbage,  takes it to another level and lets the wheels fly off the cart. Better yet, it's fun to prepare, healthy (loaded with off the charts priobiotics), downright delicious, and utterly addictive.  It can be be eaten straight up out of the jar, served as a side dish,  or added to a myriad of other things. With time on your side, slow down and enjoy the ride.

Kimchi.
Packed with aged funk, tangy sour undertones, and peppery heat, kimchi is a sexy power hitter.

Funk it up.

Brine.
There are a couple of different ways to prep cabbage for  kimchi. It can be chopped into bite sized pieces or sliced into quarters before the initial salt bath. For a variation in texture, I combined both methods.

I halved one 3 1/2 pound crisp napa cabbage, chopped one half into 2" pieces, quartered the remaining half, and tumbled  the cabbage into a large bowl before tossing it with 1 large jullienned daikon radish and 4 jullienned carrots.   After dissolving 1 cup kosher salt in 2 cups water, I poured the brine over the vegetables, massaged the salt into the nooks and crannies (making sure to have everything come into contact with the solution), and set the cabbage aside to brine overnight.

When the cabbage wilted and could bend without snapping (about 9 hours), I thoroughly rinsed it under cold water to wash away any excess salt and set it aside.

Spice.
Umami bomb.
The spice paste is everything. It defines kimchi. Grab some rubber gloves.

After tossing 6 peeled and smashed garlic cloves into a food processor, I added a peeled 2" knob of chopped fresh ginger, 1 peeled and diced Red Valley Farm pear, 1/3 cup fish sauce, 2 tablespoons dried shrimp, and 2 tablespoons palm sugar. I buzzed the mix into a paste and mixed it with 1 cup Gochugara (Korean chili flakes). After tossing 2 bunches of  scallions (sliced into 3"batons) with the wilted cabbage, daikon, and carrots, I slathered everything with the fiery paste before stuffing the kimchi into a large 3 quart glass container. After loosely covering the container, I set the kimchi aside in a coolish dark place to do its thing for 3 days, monitoring the bubbling fermentation every day. On the third day, I transferred the kimchi into smaller glass jars, sealed the lids, and slid them into the refrigerator to slow down the fermentation.

While the kimchi is good to go after one day of refrigeration, it gets better and funkier with time.

Slow down.

All good things take time.

Winter Candy

It doesn't take long for the cold gray days of winter to erase the warm embrace of summer. With a damp chill in the air, those sun-kissed tomatoes, overflowing corn trucks, delicate lettuces, and vibrant vegetables seem like distant childhood memories. The lucky folks, with enough fortitude to put up their summer hauls, have pantries and freezers stocked for the long haul. Constant visceral reminders of summer.  Still, during the winter months, we all revel in the jeweled-toned winter squash, hardy greens, dried beans, pantry goods, turnips, and wild array of overwintered potatoes.

And just when the muted colors of winter seem to lull and blanket us with calm, perky winter citrus rolls into town, crashes the party, and changes everything. Sweet. Acidic. Bright. Sun bombs.

Upside Down Grapefruit Polenta Cake with Candied Almonds.

Sugar Sugar.
Candied Almonds.
Unlike traditional sugar-coated baked candied almonds, these nuts are a fun riff on spun sugar without the frenzy of a whirling dervish.

I combined 2 cups granulated sugar with 1/2 cup water in a heavy sauce pan. After bringing the combo to a boil, I let it rip without stirring (scraping down the sides with a pastry brush to prevent crystals ) until it bubbled and foamed. When it turned light amber, about 8-10 minutes, I pulled the molten sugar from the heat and carefully placed the pan over an ice bath to stop the cooking process. After letting caramelized sugar cool just enough to drizzle or spin, I skewered individual blanched whole almonds, slipped them through caramel, and hung them upside down to
completely cool. When the sugar hardened, I snipped off the ends and set the candied almonds aside.

 Almost Candied Grapefruit.
Wanting to utilize the rind, pith, and flesh of the grapefruit, I knew I needed to temper the bitterness of the peel before incorporating it into the cake. Sidestepping the traditional method of an upside cake, I brought 1 cup sugar and 1/2 cup fresh squeezed and strained ruby red grapefruit juice to a rolling boil in a large cast iron skillet before reducing it to a gentle simmer and sliding 3/4" thick grapefruit slices ( in single layer batches) into the simmering syrup. When the pithy peels turned translucent, I scooped the grapefruit slices onto parchment paper, reserving the gloriously sticky grapefruit syrup.

Eat Cake.
Grapefruit polenta cake.
Polenta cake (gluten free) is very forgiving.  Almost teetering on the edge of savory, it's a fabulous foil for the sweet/tart grapefruit.

I sifted 2 cups almond flour, 3/4 cup fine polenta, and 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder into a bowl and set it aside. Using a stand mixer with a paddle attachment, I creamed 1 3/4 sticks room temperature unsalted butter and 1 cup castor sugar until light and airy. With the mixer running, I added 1 teaspoon vanilla extract and incorporated 3 large eggs one at a time, alternating 1/3 of the flour mixture after the addition of each egg, until the batter was well blended.

After folding 2 tablespoons of grapefruit zest into the batter, I buttered  4" ramekins,  lined them with trimmed parchment paper, buttered the parchment paper, and nestled the grapefruit slices into the bottom of each ramekin before pouring the batter into the ramekins, smoothing the tops with an offset spatula, and sliding them into a preheated 350 degree oven for 35-40 minutes.

When the toothpick test came out clean, I pulled the cakes from the oven, brushed the tops with the grapefruit syrup, and set them onto a wire rack to cool.

Upside Down.
After 10 minutes, I inverted the cakes, peeled away the parchment paper, and drizzled the remainder of the reserved grapefruit syrup over the now downside up grapefruit before finishing with flaked sea salt, candied almonds, and fresh mint.

Let the sunshine in.