Perhaps no other chef today has racked up quite so many impassioned fans, as well as so many ardent detractors as New York's David Chang.

When it comes to public opinion, though, the 32-year-old, James Beard award-winning chef will be the first to say he "could not f**king care less.''

Unless you've been living under a rock or happily subsisting on a vegan, raw food diet, you know all about the famously potty-mouthed, Korean-American chef who has elevated the porky, spicy goodness of Korean street food to dazzling new heights. You know about his phenomenally successful restaurants in New York - Momofuku Noodle Bar, Momofuku Ssam Bar, Momofuku Milk Bar, Momofuku Ko, and the soon-to-open Momofuku Ma Peche. And you know of the East Coast-West Coast ruckus he created last year when he told a New York audience, "F*****g every restaurant in San Francisco is just serving figs on a plate. Do something with your food."

Yeah, that David Chang.

Think what you will of him, but the man can cook, as evidenced by the droves lining up for his addicting pork buns, rich pork ramen, and his first cookbook, "Momofuku'' (Clarkson Potter). Written with New York Times writer, Peter Meehan, it was one of the most highly anticipated cookbooks of 2009.

Chang's personality comes to life in these pages, so much so that it's probably one of the few - if not only - mainstream cookbooks laced with profanity. Chang wouldn't have done the book any other way, though. When I interviewed him last year by phone, he explained, "People curse. If someone did a book about the New York trading floor, there would be more curse words in that book. We wanted to try to be as truthful as possible. And that's how we speak to one another. If we took that out, we would lose some of our integrity. That's not what we wanted to do. We didn't reinvent the wheel with this cookbook; we just told our story. If it rubs people the wrong way, I'm sorry but I don't really care. If they think I'm an a**hole, they're probably right.''

And what a story it is. The cookbook chronicles Chang's exploits -- from his journey to Japan to learn the art of ramen to working his a** off at New York's Café Boulud to his opening of Momofuku, which initially was met with a lackluster reception but eventually grew into the happening hangout for celebrated chefs and foodies. Meehan is a gifted writer who brings to life the sweat, tears, ferocity and stress of it all.

Like Chang's personality, itself, this book is not for the faint-of-heart cook. Sure, there are some simple recipes for things like bacon dashi, pickled shiitakes, and cherry tomato salad with soft tofu and shiso. But the bulk of the book is dedicated to dishes that take some doing, that are the furthest one can get from a "30-minute meal.''

The recipe alone for "Momofuku Ramen'' covers about 10 pages, as you have to make the broth, pork belly, garnishes and slow-poached egg. There are even instructions for rolling out your own ramen noodles, too, if you so choose. There's also a recipe for "Pig's Head Torchon,'' if you're so inclined. It requires - of course - a pig's head. But only half of one.

A lot of Chang's most popular dishes are included here, including the fried chicken and the bo ssam (a family-style affair, in which a whole pork butt is roasted, then served with raw oysters, kimchi and rice - all to wrap in Bibb lettuce leaves).

But if I was going to try my hand at cooking one dish first, it had to be the wildly popular pork buns. How good are they? When I was in New York last year, my husband and I ate them three out of four days we were there. And when we dined there, almost every table at Momofuku Noodle Bar and Momofuku Ssam Bar also was indulging in them.

Puffy, soft clam shell-shaped buns are filled with slices of deliriously juicy, fatty pork belly, a smear of hoisin sauce, a few pickled cucumbers, and a sprinkle of fresh, chopped scallions. You eat one, and just want more.

To replicate them at home, you have to cook the pork belly, make the super easy pickles, and make the buns (or buy them at an Asian grocery store).

Take a 3-pound piece of pork belly (again, easily available at Asian markets), smear on a rub of kosher salt and sugar, and let it sit in the fridge for 6 to 24 hours, before roasting in the oven for about two hours. Then, you chill it overnight to help compact its shape so that slices can be more neatly cut from it.

Easy enough. But the measurements make far more rub than you'll need. In fact, when I make this again, I'd definitely cut the amount of sugar and salt in half. The directions also don't specify how much of the rub to use, and if you use too heavy a hand, you'll end up with a fairly salty piece of meat. So, go easy.

I decided to make my buns from scratch, even though the fact that the recipe makes 50 of them seemed rather daunting at first. But in reality, it's not a massive ball of dough. And the extra buns do freeze well.

The yeasted bread flour-dough comes together easily in a stand mixer with sugar, nonfat dry milk, and a little pork fat or shortening. After the first rise, the dough is divided up into 50 little balls, which each get flattened into ovals that are folded in half. The directions state to fold the buns over a greased chopstick. I would add that you should run the chopstick along the inside of the bun, so that you smear the halves with the shortening. That way, after they are steamed, they don't end up sticking together so tightly that it makes stuffing them later more cumbersome.

The buns ended up soft and fluffy. Although the pork belly recipe says there's enough meat to stuff only a dozen buns, I found it was enough for more like 30 buns.

The quick pickles were a revelation. So good and so easy to make - just slices of Kirby cucumbers tossed with a little salt and sugar. That's it. These would be great on other types of sandwiches, too.

All in all, it was a pretty good rendition of what I had enjoyed at Chang's restaurants. My only regret was that I couldn't find a slab of pork belly as thick as the ones restaurant chefs have access to. Mine was probably half as thick (and with half as much fat), which made it just a tad less melt-in-your-mouth than Chang's.

Chang may not give a flying cr*p about what you think of him or his food. But I'd happily tap him on the shoulder to tell him his pork bun recipe is pretty damn fine. Then, I'd duck, of course.

Momofuku Pork Buns

From Momofuku by David Chang and Peter Meehan, (Clarkson Potter, 2009)

SERVES 1

• 1 Steamed Bun, see below
• About 1 tablespoon hoisin sauce
• 3 or 4 slices Quick-Pickled Cucumbers, see below
• 3 thick slices Pork Belly, see below
• 1 scant tablespoon thinly sliced scallion (green and white)
• Sriracha, for serving

It's weird to be "famous" for something. Can you imagine being Neil Diamond and having to sing "Cracklin' Rosie" every time you get onstage for the rest of your life? Neither can I. But if Momofuku is "famous" for something, it's these steamed pork buns. Are they good? They are. Are they something that sprang from our collective imagination like Athena out of Zeus's forehead? Hell no. They're just our take on a pretty common Asian food formula: steamed bread + tasty meat = good eating.

And they were an eleventh-hour addition to the menu. Almost a mistake.

No one thought they were a good idea or that anyone would want to eat pork belly sandwiches.

I got into the whole steamed bread thing when I stayed in Beijing. I ate char siu bao-steamed buns stuffed with dark, sweet roast pork-morning, noon, and night from vendors on the street who did nothing but satisfy that city's voracious appetite for steamed buns. When I lived in Tokyo, I'd pick up a niku-man-the Japanese version, with a milder-flavored filling-every time I passed the local convenience store. They're like the 7-Eleven hot dogs of Tokyo, with an appeal not unlike that of the soft meatiness of White Castle hamburgers.

And in the early days of my relationship with Oriental Garden-the restaurant in Manhattan's Chinatown where I've eaten more meals than anywhere else on the planet-I'd always order the Peking duck, which the restaurant serves with folded-over steamed buns with fluted edges, an inauthentic improvement on the more common accompaniment of scallion pancakes. Char siu bao and niku-man were influential, but the Peking duck service at Oriental Garden was the most important, if only because it was here in the city and I could go back and study what made their buns so good-and also because the owner of the restaurant was willing to help me out, at least after a point.

After I'd eaten his Peking duck about a million times, I asked Mr. Choi, the owner (whom I now call Uncle Choi, because he's the Chinese uncle I never had), to show me how to make the steamed buns. For as many times as I had eaten steamed buns, I had never thought about making them, but with Noodle Bar about to open, I had the menu on my mind. He laughed and put me off for weeks before finally relenting. (He likes to remind me that I am the kung-fu-the student, the seeker, the workman-and he is the si-fu-the master.) But instead of taking me back into the kitchen, he handed me a scrap of paper with an address, the name John on it, and a note scribbled in Chinese that I couldn't read. 

Have you ever seen the blaxploitation martial arts movie The Last Dragon from the eighties, where the dude is in constant search for some type of master who can provide some wisdom, and in the end it turns out to be a hoax-the master's place is a fortune cookie factory? Probably not. But that's how I felt when the place I was sent to learn the secret of steamed bread turned out to be May May Foods, a local company that supplied dozens of New York restaurants with premade dim sum items, including buns, for decades before it closed in 2007. The guy there, John, showed me the dead-simple process: a little mixing, a little steaming, and presto! buns. It turns out they are made from a simple white bread dough, mantou (not so different from, say, Wonder Bread), that is steamed instead of baked.

But when I saw the flour everywhere and tried to imagine that mess in our tiny, already overcrowded kitchen, I immediately placed an order. We didn't have the space to attempt them then, and we continued to buy them from Chinatown bakeries even after May May closed.

If you have that option-a Chinese bakery or restaurant where you can easily buy them, or even a well-stocked freezer section at a local Chinese grocery store-I encourage you to exercise it without any pangs of guilt. How many sandwich shops bake their own bread? Right. Don't kill yourself. But don't be put off by the idea of making them either. They're easy and they freeze perfectly.

Here's the recipe for our pork buns, which you can increase ad infinitum to make more to share.

1. Heat the bun in a steamer on the stovetop. It should be hot to the touch, which will take almost no time with just-made buns and 2 to 3 minutes with frozen buns.

2. Grab the bun from the steamer and flop it open on a plate. Slather the inside with the hoisin sauce, using a pastry brush or the back of a spoon. Arrange the pickles on one side of the fold in the bun and the slices of pork belly on the other. Scatter the belly and pickles with sliced scallion, fold closed, and voilà: pork bun. Serve with sriracha.

Pork Belly

for ramen, pork buns & just about anything else

From Momofuku by David Chang and Peter Meehan, (Clarkson Potter, 2009)

Make enough pork for 6 to 8 bowls of ramen or about 12 pork buns

• One 3-pound slab skinless pork belly
• 1/4 cup kosher salt
• 1/4 cup sugar

The best part of this belly, besides the unctuous, fatty meat itself, which we use in two of our most popular dishes at the restaurants-ramen and pork buns-is the layer that settles at the bottom of the pan after you chill it. Most cooks who are familiar with it know it from making duck confit, and they know it's liquid gold (or jellied gold, if you want to get technical). We label containers of it "pork jelly." I add it to broths, to taré, to vegetable sautés-anything that would benefit from a hit of meaty flavor and the glossier mouthfeel the gelatin adds.

To harvest it, decant the fat and juices from the pan you cooked the belly in into a glass measuring cup or other clear container. Let it cool until the fat separates from the meat juices, which will settle to the bottom. Pour or scoop off the fat and reserve it for cooking. Save the juices, which will turn to a ready-to-use meat jelly after a couple of hours in the fridge. The meat jelly will keep for 1 week in the refrigerator or indefinitely in the freezer.

We get pork belly without the skin. If you can only find skin-on belly, don't fret. If the meat is cold and your knife is sharp, the skin is a cinch to slice off. And you can save it to make the Chicharrón we serve as a first bite at Momofuku Ko.

1. Nestle the belly into a roasting pan or other oven-safe vessel that holds it snugly. Mix together the salt and sugar in a small bowl and rub the mix all over the meat; discard any excess salt-and-sugar mixture. Cover the container with plastic wrap and put it into the fridge for at least 6 hours, but no longer than 24.

2. Heat the oven to 450ºF.

3. Discard any liquid that accumulated in the container. Put the belly in the oven, fat side up, and cook for 1 hour, basting it with the rendered fat at the halfway point, until it's an appetizing golden brown.

4. Turn the oven temperature down to 250ºF and cook for another 1 hour to 1 hour 15 minutes, until the belly is tender-it shouldn't be falling apart, but it should have a down pillow-like yield to a firm finger poke. Remove the pan from the oven and transfer the belly to a plate. Decant the fat and the meat juices from the pan and reserve (see the headnote). Allow the belly to cool slightly.

5. When it's cool enough to handle, wrap the belly in plastic wrap or aluminum foil and put it in the fridge until it's thoroughly chilled and firm. (You can skip this step if you're pressed for time, but the only way to get neat, nice-looking slices is to chill the belly thoroughly before slicing it.)

6. Cut the pork belly into 1/2-inch-thick slices that are about 2 inches long. Warm them for serving in a pan over medium heat, just for a minute or two, until they are jiggly soft and heated through. Use at once.

Steamed Buns

From Momofuku by David Chang and Peter Meehan, (Clarkson Potter, 2009)

MAKES 50 BUNS

Okay, fifty buns is a lot of buns. But the buns keep in the freezer for months and months without losing any quality, and if you cut the recipe down any more than this, there's barely enough stuff in the bowl of the mixer for the dough hook to pick up. So clear out a couple of hours and some space in the freezer and get to work.

• 1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon active dry yeast
• 1 1/2 cups water, at room temperature
• 4 1/4 cups bread flour
• 6 tablespoons sugar
• 3 tablespoons nonfat dry milk powder
• 1 tablespoon kosher salt
• Rounded 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
• 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/3 cup rendered pork fat or vegetable shortening, at room temperature, plus more for shaping the buns, as needed
  

1. Combine the yeast and water in the bowl of a stand mixer outfitted with the dough hook. Add the flour, sugar, milk powder, salt, baking powder, baking soda, and fat and mix on the lowest speed possible, just above a stir, for 8 to 10 minutes. The dough should gather together into a neat, not-too-tacky ball on the hook. When it does, lightly oil a medium mixing bowl, put the dough in it, and cover the bowl with a dry kitchen towel. Put it in a turned-off oven with a pilot light or other warmish place and let rise until the dough doubles in bulk, about 1 hour 15 minutes.

2. Punch the dough down and turn it out onto a clean work surface. Using a bench scraper or a knife, divide the dough in half, then divide each half into 5 equal pieces. Gently roll the pieces into logs, then cut each log into 5 pieces, making 50 pieces total. They should be about the size of a Ping-Pong ball and weigh about 25 grams, or a smidge under an ounce. Roll each piece into a ball. Cover the armada of little dough balls with a draping of plastic wrap and allow them to rest and rise for 30 minutes.

3. Meanwhile, cut out fifty 4-inch squares of parchment paper. Coat a chopstick with whatever fat you're working with.

4. Flatten one ball with the palm of your hand, then use a rolling pin to roll it out into a 4-inch-long oval. Lay the greased chopstick across the middle of the oval and fold the oval over onto itself to form the bun shape. Withdraw the chopstick, leaving the bun folded, and put the bun on a square of parchment paper. Stick it back under the plastic wrap (or a dry kitchen towel) and form the rest of the buns. Let the buns rest for 30 to 45 minutes: they will rise a little.

5. Set up a steamer on the stove. Working in batches so you don't crowd the steamer, steam the buns on the parchment squares for 10 minutes. Remove the parchment. You can use the buns immediately (reheat them for a minute or so in the steamer if necessary) or allow to cool completely, then seal in plastic freezer bags and freeze for up to a few months. Reheat frozen buns in a stovetop steamer for 2 to 3 minutes, until puffy, soft, and warmed all the way through.

Quick Salt Pickles

From Momofuku by David Chang and Peter Meehan, (Clarkson Potter, 2009)

Makes about 2 cups

A recipe seems excessive for these types of quickly made salt-and-sugar pickles, because the technique for making them is so simple: Sprinkle some thinly sliced vegetables with a 3:1 mix of sugar to kosher salt and toss. Ten to 20 minutes later, they're ready to eat. The resulting pickles have a fresh snap.

• 2 meaty Kirby cucumbers, cut into 1/8-inch-thick disks
• 1 tablespoon sugar, or more to taste
• 1 teaspoon kosher salt, or more to taste

Combine cucumber slices with sugar and salt in a small mixing bowl and toss to coat with the sugar and salt. Let sit for 5 to 10 minutes.

Taste: If the pickles are too sweet or too salty, put them in a colander, rinse off the seasoning, and dry in a kitchen towel. Taste again and add more sugar or salt as needed. Serve after 5 to 10 minutes, or refrigerate for up to 4 hours.

About Momofuku

Never before has there been a phenomenon like Momofuku. A once-unrecognizable word, it's now synonymous with the award-winning restaurants of the same name in New York City: Momofuku Noodle Bar, Ssäm Bar, Ko, and Milk Bar. Chef David Chang has single-handedly revolutionized cooking in America with his use of bold Asian flavors and impeccable ingredients, his mastery of the humble ramen noodle, and his thorough devotion to pork. Momofuku is both the story and the recipes behind the cuisine that has changed the modern-day culinary landscape.

Available at Amazon.com

PermaLink

You know Michael Symon as the first winner of the Food Network's "The Next Iron Chef'' competition, as the well-regarded chef with the rather maniacal laugh of Cleveland restaurants, Lola and Lolita, and as the comrade-in-arms of the irrepressible Anthony Bourdain.

I know Symon, though, as one of the most meticulous cookie judges I've ever seen.

Three years ago, just after he was crowned an "Iron Chef,'' Symon and I happened to be on the same panel to judge the annual KGO-radio cookie-baking contest. Dozens and dozens of homemade cookies lay before us, awaiting our verdicts. It's not as easy as it sounds, not with so many cookies to keep track of, so many prizes to give out, and a ginormous sugar overload taking its toll.

Seated next to Symon, I couldn't help but watch him as we all worked hard to figure out which cookies we liked and which we didn't. The rest of us would take bites, push the sampled cookie aside, then jot down notes. Symon did the same, but also something quite different. He would keep a penny-sized piece of each cookie, then arrange them all in a straight row almost like cookie soldiers at attention. Periodically, when he would discover a cookie he liked better, he'd shift the position of one cookie remnant or another, but still maintain that perfectly straight formation. It was a sight to see.

So, naturally, when Symon's cookbook, "Michael Symon's Live to Cook'' (Clarkson Potter) came out last year, I was curious to see if that same sense of order and attention to detail pervaded his recipes.

Indeed it does, but not in an overbearing, fussy chef-y way. After all, you have to love a guy who writes in his introduction, "If I can't finish a dish in two pans, I won't do it.''
The book, written with one of the best food writers around, Michael Ruhlman, is all about robust flavors. The dishes are influenced by Symon's Greek, Italian, Eastern European, and Midwest heritages. There's lamb tartare with lemon and Greek yogurt; spicy tomato and blue cheese soup; turnip kraut; and braised short ribs with pickled green tomatoes.

Symon makes no secret about his love of the pig. Indeed you'll find all manner of porky recipes from crispy pig's ears with pickled vegetables to pappardelle with pig's head ragu to pork cheek chili.

What attracted my eye, though, was his "Lightly Cured Tuna with Olives, Orange, and Shaved Fennel.'' I've cured many a salmon and tuna before. But none where the curing was done with olive brine. How intriguing is that?

I thought for sure the checkout girl at the grocery store would give me an inquisitive look after I made my way to the olive bar, and scooped up ¾ cup of brine into a container along with only 10 olives. But she let me pay for my strange purchase without a word.

This dish, which makes a lovely first course, comes together easily. You cut sushi-grade tuna loin into thin slices, then pour the olive brine over them, along with the actual olives, some fresh-squeezed orange juice, and chopped fennel fronds. Then, you let it do its thing in the refrigerator for at least 30 minutes or up to a day.

When you're ready to serve, divide the dish amongst four plates. Arrange orange segments, shaved fennel, fennel, and a little of the curing juices. A few cilantro leaves give added color. A drizzle of good olive oil and a sprinkle of sea salt ties it all together.

Since I let my tuna cure for less than an hour, its texture hadn't changed markedly. The flavors of the dish were so vibrant, with the olives adding a real lushness. Think of it as sashimi done Mediterranean-style. If you already a fan of the classic Italian fennel-olive-orange salad, you're sure to love this, which has similar fresh, citrus-y flavors, but with the added bonus of melt-in-your mouth, silky fish.

Like Symon's pieces of cookies at the cookie judging, I'm lining up straight away to try more of his wonderful recipes.

Read more on Carolyn making Michael Symon's Cured Tuna on her blog - Food Gal

Lightly Cured Tuna with Olives, Oranges, and Shaved Fennel

From Michael Symon's Live to Cook by Michael Symon and Michael Ruhlman, Clarkson Potter, 2009.

This dish is based on the ancient Greek preparation called spinialo. Fishermen would travel down from their homes in the mountains to head out to sea for several weeks. For the journey home, they would take some of the fish they had caught, cut it into cubes, put it into empty wine jugs, and fill the bottles with sea water. The salt in the water would cure the fish. They would then eat the fish with a squeeze of lemon and some wild herbs, which would sustain them during their journey home.

I cure the fish with the brine from the olives, which imparts a mild olive flavor. Here I use cerignola, which I love in raw preparations, but you could use kalamata, niçoise, or any other black, brine-cured olive. You need to leave the fish in the brine for at least thirty minutes-the tuna picks up flavors fast. Depending how far you want to take it, though, you could leave the tuna in the cure for up to a day. To keep the fishermen's tradition, we serve it with some freshly shaved fennel and fennel fronds, which grow wild in Greece (though some pickled fennel would also be delicious), along with a squeeze of orange juice and a drizzle of extra-virgin olive oil.

Serves 4

• ½ pound sushi-grade tuna loin
• 10 cerignola olives, pitted and left whole, with 3/4 cup olive brine, or more if needed to cover the fish slices
• 1 large orange, segmented (see Symon Says, page 73), juice reserved
• 2 tablespoons chopped fennel fronds
• Freshly ground black pepper
• ½ small bulb fennel, shaved (½ cup)
• Fresh cilantro leaves, for garnish
• Extra-virgin olive oil, for garnish
• Coarse sea salt, for garnish

Slice the tuna across the grain into ¼ -inch-thick slices. Lay the slices in a deep glass or ceramic dish, pour in enough olive brine just to cover the fish, and let it cure for at least 3O minutes (or refrigerate, covered, for up to a day). Add the olives, reserved orange juice, and fennel fronds. Grind fresh black pepper over each slice of fish.
To serve, divide the fish among four shallow bowls and top with the orange segments and shaved fennel, olives, and some of the curing juices. Garnish each serving with a few cilantro leaves, a drizzle of extra-virgin olive oil, and a sprinkling of coarse sea salt.

About Michael Symon's Live to Cook

Hometown boy turned superstar, Michael Symon is one of the hottest food personalities in America. Hailing from Cleveland, Ohio, he is counted among the nation's greatest chefs, having joined the ranks of Mario Batali, Bobby Flay, and Masaharu Morimoto as one of America's Iron Chefs. At his core, though, he's a midwestern guy with family roots in old-world traditions. In Michael Symon's Live to Cook, Michael tells the amazing story of his whirlwind rise to fame by sharing the food and incredible recipes that have marked his route.

Available at Amazon.com

PermaLink

If you're a jazz aficionado, who lives for improvisation and interpretation, then "Mark Bittman's Kitchen Express'' will be music to your culinary soul.

But if you're more a stickler for precision, someone who likes to practice the scales methodically until thoroughly mastered, then the newest cookbook by the prolific New York Times food writer might confound you to no end.

This is a most unusual cookbook. The "recipes,'' such as they are, amount to one paragraph each. Yes, that's for ingredients and directions combined. The measurements are not always precise. A lot of times, you have to take a stab at guessing just how much of an ingredient is required for the dish. And good luck figuring out how many servings the dish makes, because that's not listed, either.

If you're a regular reader of the New York Times Dining section, you've no doubt seen recent cover stories in which Bittman has employed this method of recipe writing. The story might have 100 "recipes'' for the dog days of summer, each of them composed of a one-paragraph description to roughly create a dish.

A story is one thing. A whole 233-page cookbook is another. And one without any photos, either.

The book is arranged by seasons. I decided to try one from the "Summer'' chapter. I'm a ginger fiend, so I couldn't resist the Ginger-Lemon "Ice Cream'' recipe. I don't have an ice cream maker, mostly because I fear having such temptation at my ready disposal. But here was a recipe that promised "mock ice cream'' without the need of such a machine.

All you need is a food processor. The recipe instructs you to add 2 tablespoons fresh ginger, half a cup of sugar, 2 cups of cream (but not specifying "heavy''), and the juice and zest of one lemon. You then add ice, and pulse the mixture. How much ice is not specified. And you would think that amount would have a great bearing on the texture of the resulting ice cream, wouldn't you? You're also told to add some chopped crystallized ginger. Though that amount isn't detailed, either, that's less crucial, in my mind.

So how much ice? I went with 2 cups - a complete guess. In hindsight, I think I would have stopped at 1 cup. Who knew? You're told that the mixture will get thick and icy. But I wasn't sure if it got thicker and icier with more ice or less ice, so I added more. In doing so, though, I think my mixture got a little thinner.

I tasted a spoonful, and really liked the combination of the ginger with the lemon. It was very refreshing. The recipe says you can serve it immediately or freeze it. Frankly, I'm not sure you'd want to eat this immediately, even as wonderful as the flavor was. The texture just isn't dense enough. It would be like eating a bowl of flavored whipped cream. Maybe if you used it as a topping for fresh fruit, it might work just fine like this. But I decided to freeze it in a plastic container instead.

After six hours, the ice cream had firmed up a lot. It still didn't have the heft of real ice cream. It was more like a richer version of ice milk. It melts fairly fast, too. I didn't find it as satisfying as real ice cream. And I doubt that I'd make it again.

I'm not sure I would have bought this book on my own. But since it was given to me to review, I probably will try out another recipe or two. There's one for "Microwaved Honey Eggplant'' that intrigues.

If you're a novice cook, this book may really frustrate you. If you're an experienced cook, you might find one or two flavor combinations or techniques worth exploring that are new to you. But beyond that, most of it will already be familiar to you. In that case, you might just want to save your pennies instead.

Read more about the Ginger-Lemon 'Ice Cream' Carolyn made on her blog FoodGal.

Ginger-Lemon "Ice Cream''

From Mark Bittman's Kitchen Express by Mark Bittman. Simon & Schuster, 2009

(Add more candied ginger if you like)

In a food processor, puree two tablespoons of fresh ginger, peeled and roughly chopped, with a half cup of sugar, two cups of cream, and the juice and zest of one lemon. Add ice, pulsing and pushing down as necessary, until thick and icy; add a couple of tablespoons of candied ginger at the end and process until just combined. Serve immediately, or freeze for up to several days.

About Mark Bittman's Kitchen Express

Presented here are 404 dishes -- 101 for each season -- that will get you in and out of the kitchen in 20 minutes or less. Mark Bittman's recipe sketches provide exactly the directions a home cook needs to prepare a repertoire of eggs, seafood, poultry, meats, vegetables, sandwiches, and even desserts. Add a salad here, a loaf of bread there, and these dishes become full meals that are better than takeout and far less expensive.

PermaLink

Menu from Julia's 90th Birthday

Julia Child and Jacques Pepin's autographs

Read more from Carolyn as she remembers Julia on her blog FoodGal.

PermaLink

Let's face it: Indian food can be intimidating to some. Not only in navigating your way through a long menu of unfamiliar dishes at restaurants, but also in attempting to cook recipes at home that call for ingredients not easily found at your neighborhood grocery store.

Yet that's precisely what makes the cuisine so attractive and addicting, too. It's the sense of discovery and adventure for the palate that can't help but leave you hungry for more.

Monica Bhide recognizes that all too well. The New Delhi native, who now lives in Washington D.C., is a former engineer turned food writer whose work has appeared in the New York Times and the Washington Post.

As a wife and working mom of two young sons, she knows the challenge of putting good tasting and good-for-you meals on the table. Her third and newest cookbook, "Modern Spice'' (Simon & Schuster) is written for the home cook who is eager to try making Indian dishes, but who doesn't have all the time in the world to do so.

That's not to say that you won't have to seek out some specialty ingredients for some of these recipes. For instance, paneer (Indian cheese), sev (thin, salted gram flour "noodles,'' asafetida, and fresh curry leaves. But Bhide leads you by the hand, by telling you which brands of prepared sauces, pastes, rice, curry powders, and chaat masala she favors, and precisely how best to use them.

She also includes quite a few quick-cooking recipes such as Acorn Squash with Five Spices, Chile Squid, and Shrimp in Green-Mango Butter Sauce. Additionally, there are a number of make-ahead condiments to add pizzazz to any meal, including Pineapple Lentil Relish, and Kumquat and Mango Chutney with Onion Seeds.
With so much summer squash for sale at the farmers' markets now, I couldn't help but be attracted to her recipe for Pan-Fried Zucchini and Yellow Squash with Cumin.

Bhide writes in the book that it is one of her favorite Monday night recipes because it is so simple and quick. That it definitely is. Moreover, the dish calls for ingredients that you probably already have handy in your pantry and fridge.

Yellow squash, red bell peppers, and zucchini are diced to create a vibrantly colored medley. The vegetables are tossed into a hot pan, in which cumin seeds have been toasted. Chile flakes are added for heat, and turmeric for its distinctive, shocking yellow hue. Lemon juice ties all the flavors together. And a last-minute sprinkling of cilantro leaves gives the dish added brightness.

It makes for a nice light side dish that would be fabulous alongside fish, shrimp or scallops. The spices lend earthy, slightly bitter notes that really warm your body.

The dish comes together in all of 15 minutes.

With a dish this easy and satisfying, there's no excuse to be intimidated by Indian cooking any more.

See what Carolyn's version of the Pan-Fried Zucchini looks like on her blog Food Gal.

Pan-Fried Zucchini and Yellow Squash with Cumin

From Modern Spice by Monica Bhide. Simon & Schuster, 2009

This has got to be one of my favorite Monday night recipes, because it's so simple and quick. You can vary the taste by changing the spice from cumin to coriander or mustard seeds. I don't peel the zucchini but you can if you prefer.

Serves 4

Prep/Cook time: 15 minutes

• 2 tablespoons vegetable oil
• 1 1/2 teaspoons cumin seeds
• 1 large zucchini, diced
• 1 small yellow squash, diced
• 1/2 organic red bell pepper, seeded and diced
• 1/2 teaspoon ground turmeric
• 1/2 teaspoon red chile flakes
• Table salt
• 1/2 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
• Fresh cilantro leaves for garnish

1. Heat the oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the cumin seeds. When the seeds begin to sizzle, add the zucchini, squash, and bell pepper.

2. Fry the vegetables over high heat until they soften and begin to brown, 8 to 9 minutes.

3. Add the turmeric and chile flakes and cook for another minute, until the spices are well mixed with the vegetables. Stir in salt to taste.

4. Serve hot, sprinkled with lemon juice and garnished with cilantro.

About Modern Spice

Born in New Delhi, raised in the Middle East, and living in Washington, D.C., acclaimed food writer Monica Bhide is the perfect representative of the new generation of Indian American cooks who have taken traditional dishes, painstakingly prepared by their Indian mothers and grandmothers, and updated them for modern American lifestyles and tastes. Respectful of the techniques and history of Indian cuisine but eager to experiment, Bhide has written simple but deeply flavorful recipes. Modern Spice takes the vibrant tastes of India into the twenty-first century with a cookbook that is young, fun, sassy, and bold.

Available at Amazon.com 

PermaLink