There’s something about the brassica family that generally doesn’t agree with me.
Fry up the onions and fennel, then add rice.
Maybe it’s the sulfury notes of broccoli or Brussels sprouts. Or perhaps it’s the bitter flavor of underprepared kale that burns me. Maybe it’s just the general consistency of the brassicas that sends me running and screaming.
Whatever you call it, don’t call me late to eat brassicas – because there is no late on “never.”
It’s been fun to expand my spice collection – and to use what I have.
We’re all guilty of spice hoarding. Deep in the back of your spice cabinet is something you don’t use – cloves, mace, in my case, cinnamon. And then there’s the stuff you see at specialty markets, thinking you’ll find a day when you need that exotic-named, richly-colored powder you’d never heard of before.
After spending two weeks in Europe, it was back to the grindstone – with another trip to the Muslim world.
This time, I was cooking Nihari, a national dish of Pakistan, and a contrast from the rice-and-meat heavy influence of most of the Middle East. Hell, in the U.S., we’d call this fusion cuisine – a mix of Indian and Middle Eastern influences.
I can’t imagine going dawn-to-dusk without a morsel. My respect for those who do is immense.