Scar Lover

We were in the weeds, a kitchen term meaning we'd fallen woefully behind.  All the Common Threads kids had. Their bus was leaving in 10 minutes, they hadn't finished making the spring roll filling and were closing in on panic.  It was then we sustained our first injury.  Rudy II in my group (there are two Rudys, Rudy I and Rudy II -- what are the odds?) had a grating incident. There was blood.

A bandaid on his finger and he was fine.  I mean, look at him.  Me?  I couldn't sleep that night, thinking we'd hurried the kids too much, I should have been watching Rudy II when I was helping Rudy I, we'd broken our no-injury pact, Rudy II would never come back and why should he, I was a rotten instructor and all good had gone from the world.  

There's a little neuroscience behind this.  Three a.m., when I tend to be awake and fretful, is when one of your really good neurotransmitters, the one that helps you cope -- serotonin? tryptophan? -- is down to the dregs.  If you can tough it out until daylight, your brain starts up production again and things tend to look a little better.

And so, come morning, they did.  The truth is, cuts and burns are badges of honor in the kitchen.  You know a real chef by his hands.  They don't feel human.  They're scarred over, petrified.  And injury can extend well beyond hands.  Gordon Ramsay has flambeed his testicles.  Semipros and home cooks get battle scars, too, though perhaps less spectacular ones.  I've got a burn on my left hand from a pan of sage-roasted squash with walnuts.  My wonderful friend Tony was so taken by Jamie Oliver's easy, chatty manner on the telly, he, too, began talking and chopping away and oops, had dinner preempted by a trip to the emergency room.  My Greek friend Dimitra shows off her injuries like they're jewelry. "This is from spanokopita," she says, pointing to a crescent-shaped burn on her wrist.  "Loukemades," she says, pointing to a constellation of tiny burns from spattered oil.  

Tony healed long ago, Dimitra, Rudy II and I are well on our way.  But there'll be more injuries as long as we want to cook, which I hope we always will.  We will not be defeated by dinner.  By our injuries so shall we be known, so shall we be forged. And our scars, as Harry Crews reminds us in his 1992 novel Scar Lover, make us beloved and beautiful.  

Just the same, keep a first aid kit handy and use a food processor rather than a box grater for the cabbage and carrots when you make:

 Thai Confetti with Basil and Mint

For the wok sauce:

4 tablespoons toasted sesame oil 

4 tablespoons light soy sauce

4 tablespoons fresh lime juice 

2 tablespoons chopped scallions

1 tablespoon light brown sugar

1 teaspoon chopped fresh chili or 1 tablespoon Asian chili-garlic sauce

For the vegetable-tofu confetti:

1 tablespoon toasted sesame oil

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 cup mushrooms, sliced thin

2 scallions, sliced thin

2 carrots, shredded

2 red peppers, julienned

1/2 cabbage, shredded (about 3 cups)

8 ounces firm tofu (1/2 package), drained well and diced

1/2 cup chopped or torn mint leaves, plus additional for garnish

1/2 cup chopped or torn basil leaves, plus additional for garnish

handful of chopped peanuts for garnish

Combine all the sauce ingredients in a small bowl.  Stir to dissolve sugar.  Set aside.

In a wok or large skillet, heat oil over medium-high heat.  Add garlic, mushrooms, scallions, carrots, peppers and cabbage.  Stir well to coat.  Add sauce and tofu.  Reduce heat to medium. Cook, stirring constantly, until vegetables are crisp-tender and sauce is absorbed, about 3 minutes.  Fold in chopped mint and basil.  

Serve topped with chopped peanuts and additional fresh herbs.

Serves 4.

Songs of Innocence and Experience

Michelle Bernstein, James Beard Award-winning chef and foodie darling, moves in the kitchen like the ballet dancer she once was.  This cannot be said of my guys Rudy, Robert, Stefan and Yvan, or indeed any of the kids participating in Common Threads.  

A national nonprofit program begun in 2003 by Oprah chef Art Smith, Common Threads pairs kids from Title 1 schools with chefs (fancy pros like Michy and semipro-to-eager-amateurs like me).  Michelle provides inspiration a little cooking demo.  Volunteer chefs work with children, ages eight to 12, and make sure when they chop onions, they don't chop fingers, too. The kids learn how to cook, but they also learn nutrition basics and global awareness by making -- and eating -- cuisine from all over the world.  

I'd signed up for Common Threads because I believe in community service and believe in the importance of our connection to food, yadayada.  I did not think it would be so incredibly fun. 

Fun has not been on the menu so much lately.  The economy?  Pakistan?  Korea?  Afghanistan? Let's not even go there.  Closer to home, many people I love are struggling.  We all are.  I want us all to get through it the best we can.  In fact, I'd rather we were already out the other end. You know some people rhapsodize about the Journey?  I just want to friggin' get there. But maybe that's wrong.

The Common Threads kids may not have the grace that comes of knowing their way around the kitchen, but they've taught me, jaded me, there can be joy in discovery -- joy in discovering how to cut corn off the cob, delight in tasting tahini for the first time. It is very much like falling in love.  And it is contagious.  I like to have the kids sniff each spice, sample each unfamiliar ingredient before we add it to the mix.  

After our class had Turkey Day (the country, not the bird) Yvan, who'd never had a chickpea, became a convert. Judy said she could eat tabbouleh every day.  These things do my veggie heart good.  I want these kids to see how delicious food can be, am grateful they've reminded me life can taste pretty good, too.  I want to keep that joy going -- for all of us.

Spinach Salad With Tahini and Yogurt

Here's an easy Turkish-inspired composed salad with (mostly) familiar ingredients that come together in ways surprising ways. There's interplay between flavors and textures, with crunch, creaminess, tang, spice and sweetness, the comfort of what you know and the thrill of discovery.  

1pound fresh flat-leaf spinach

1 cup chickpeas, rinsed and drained

1/2 cup pomegranate seeds (or dried cranberries)

1/2 cup pine nuts

For tahini-yogurt dressing:

3 cups plain yogurt (nonfat is fine)

1/2 cup tahini

1 teaspoon cumin

1-1/2 teaspoon minced garlic

1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika

sea salt and pepper to taste

In a large bowl, mix all ingredients for dressing until thick and creamy.  Set aside.  

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.  

Place pine nuts in a small oven-proof baking dish and toast for 8 to 10 minutes, until golden and fragrant.  Give them a stir at least once during baking time. 

Place spinach on a large platter or shallow bowl.  Scatter with chickpeas, pine nuts and pomagranate seeds.  Drizzle some of the dressing on top (there will be more than enough).  Go for visual appeal -- channel your inner Jackson Pollock.  The idea is not a thoroughly tossed salad, but one where the separate flavors get to peak through at will. 

Serves 6.

Any leftover dressing keeps refrigerated in an airtight container for several days.