Each week I attend a meeting for a few hours—really it's like a group counseling session—with the focus and goal being on having amazing, long-term partnerships that reach new levels of turn-on and intimacy over time (instead of what so many of us have experienced in or past, which is just the opposite). So, as you can imagine, many and most subjects get covered in our year-long course. This meeting was on Halloween, and my dad had just passed not two weeks prior. The facilitators had asked if I would like to share with the group what was going on for me, and it turned into one of the most intense experiences of my life.
Halloween happens to be one of my most favorite holidays of the whole year, and this was no exception. Adam had just given me a beautiful black silk corset, custom made by the uber-talented seamstresses at The Dark Garden here in San Francisco, as a belated birthday gift. That, along with his pre-Burning Man surprise of a red cloak, and I was well on my way to being a sexy Red Riding Hood, with him at my side as the Big Bad Wolf (apropos since he's also the furriest man I've ever met!).
The topic that night was the prostitution of the authentic pains of our past for the purposes of our Super Ego today. After a 20 minute meditation, feeling into our body and the experience of Now, Erwan lectured on the subject and asked us to split into groups of three and give ten-minute monologues on how this shows up for us personally in our lives. So, there I was, dressed like a Victorian prostitute, feeling into my experience and divulging some of the most intimate details of my inner self, when it was all-of-the-sudden time to share my feelings on the passing of my father. Life has such a sense of humor sometimes. I was physically so exposed, and yet that almost seemed to help with revealing those details I was having such a hard time fully baring to myself. When I stood up, I didn't know what I would say. I thought all I had to tell were the facts of his final adventure. What came out were questions of the reason for existence, and a turbulent vacillation between hot anger and deep sadness.
This was intense and exhausting.
We were ready for food.
As I've mentioned before, I tend to pour my emotions out into food. A few nights prior I had started out to make Adam and me a simple dinner of seared chicken with peppers over polenta, and maybe a little something green. What we got was red wine and garlic marinated chicken breasts in a spicy sauce of peppers, onions, and sundried tomatoes with crispy Italian sausage over herbed polenta. This was accompanied by sides of pureed butternut squash with ginger, and sauteed red Russian kale with apples in white wine to top. Along with that hot mess, I started the Sunflower Pate for the Evening of Intensity.
INGREDIENTS
3 cups Sunflower Seeds
1 1/12 bunches Green Onion
6-8 Cloves Garlic
4 Eureka Lemons
1/2 bunch Basil (fresh)
1-2 teaspoons White Truffle Oil
about 1 1/2 cups First Cold Pressed Olive Oil
Celtic Sea Salt, to taste
I started soaking the seeds on Monday night. Select your bowl and make sure you give them at least three times the space to grown as was the original volume. Cover the seeds with at least two inches of fresh, cold water and leave on the counter for about 24 hours. I am a little anal retentive, so I ended up rinsing them about twice in that period of time, first to wash away the blackish, murky water; and second, to try and figure out how to pull out the chaff quickly separating from the seed. If jostled in the bowl a bit, I found the majority of the outer-coating of the seeds will float to the top of the pile, then I just skimmed it off. A few seeds were sacrificed, and a bit of the chaff remained—but I ain't trippin'. The seeds will start to sprout, if they are still live seed, and that is what we want.
Next, I had to split my portion of sprouted seeds in half because our food processor isn't quite big enough to fit all that goodness in it's little bowl. Into this batch I threw half of the garlic; half of the green onion, chopped from white to green; the juice of two lemons (please do not be tempted to use Meyer lemons. They are way to delicate in flavor and acidity to "cook" the onions and garlic, and to stand up, taste wise, to the other ingredients.); and a pinch or two of Celtic Sea Salt (I chose this variety because of it's high mineral content, and softer punch).
Now blend the bejesus out of it. While it is whirring, there should be enough liquid in the mix to allow the ingredients to break down, and start to form a paste-like substance that will climb up the bowl walls, then crumble back over into the middle of the spinning blades. As this is happening, slowly drizzle in half of the olive oil. You know you have poured in enough olive oil when the mix stops climbing the walls, and seems to be a bit wet. (Note: this should not take *too* long. If it's dragged out, the contents will heat up and separate, or break. If that happens, pulse in some [as in 1-4 tablespoons] ice water. This *should* bring it back, or re-emulsify the product.)
Once the batch is at the consistency you want (it will be a little less smooth than hummus), pulse in half of the basil that has been roughly chopped with a super sharp knife. Basil bruises easily, so a sharp knife will reduce this browning effect. That is also why I throw it in almost at the end—all that action in the Robot Coupe really tears it up. I highly recommend tasting the batch as it progresses, and adjusting the seasoning as you go—like now. Adding salt is much easier to get consistency in the mixer, than later by hand.
After the basil has been pulsed in, dump into a large mixing bowl and do it again with the second half.
We now have a product of garlic-y, oniony, lemony pungency. The hot garlic is cooled by the crisp basil, the pungent onion brightened and cleaned by the lemon. But what of umami (pronounced: you-mommy)? That is where the beloved/hated truffle oil comes in. You should have about eight cups of product in your bowl, but truffle is notorious for being an under-estimated David taking down some pretty big Goliaths. With that in mind, start with folding in one teaspoon of the stuff, and taste to see where everything ends up. I highly recommend having some coffee near by to cleanse the nose, and maybe a glass of white wine for the palate, as the taste and smell of truffle oil will saturate your senses.
Also keep in mind that these early tastings will have the flavors polarized. This concoction should sit for at least eight hours to allow the flavors to blend and calm. The fresh lemon ends up cooking the garlic and onion, primarily, turning their heat to sweet. The addition of the truffle oil is to meld the flavors, not to actually taste it, itself. It simply adds a certain something that should tickle and flirt with the eater, not beat over the head with it's brazen attitude.
I served it up with Dosa Chips I found in the Marina at a Bi-Rite, I think. They are a fermented rice based, gluten free, salty/crunchy treat perfect for dipping in this raw, vegan pool of deliciousness.
Maybe it was the sensitization that comes from such an intense evening, but one of the gals (a deliciously buxom blonde, I might add) exclaimed she was enjoying the dip so much, she wanted to slather her whole being in it. Could there possibly be a better compliment?
Halloween happens to be one of my most favorite holidays of the whole year, and this was no exception. Adam had just given me a beautiful black silk corset, custom made by the uber-talented seamstresses at The Dark Garden here in San Francisco, as a belated birthday gift. That, along with his pre-Burning Man surprise of a red cloak, and I was well on my way to being a sexy Red Riding Hood, with him at my side as the Big Bad Wolf (apropos since he's also the furriest man I've ever met!).
The topic that night was the prostitution of the authentic pains of our past for the purposes of our Super Ego today. After a 20 minute meditation, feeling into our body and the experience of Now, Erwan lectured on the subject and asked us to split into groups of three and give ten-minute monologues on how this shows up for us personally in our lives. So, there I was, dressed like a Victorian prostitute, feeling into my experience and divulging some of the most intimate details of my inner self, when it was all-of-the-sudden time to share my feelings on the passing of my father. Life has such a sense of humor sometimes. I was physically so exposed, and yet that almost seemed to help with revealing those details I was having such a hard time fully baring to myself. When I stood up, I didn't know what I would say. I thought all I had to tell were the facts of his final adventure. What came out were questions of the reason for existence, and a turbulent vacillation between hot anger and deep sadness.
This was intense and exhausting.
We were ready for food.
As I've mentioned before, I tend to pour my emotions out into food. A few nights prior I had started out to make Adam and me a simple dinner of seared chicken with peppers over polenta, and maybe a little something green. What we got was red wine and garlic marinated chicken breasts in a spicy sauce of peppers, onions, and sundried tomatoes with crispy Italian sausage over herbed polenta. This was accompanied by sides of pureed butternut squash with ginger, and sauteed red Russian kale with apples in white wine to top. Along with that hot mess, I started the Sunflower Pate for the Evening of Intensity.
INGREDIENTS
3 cups Sunflower Seeds
1 1/12 bunches Green Onion
6-8 Cloves Garlic
4 Eureka Lemons
1/2 bunch Basil (fresh)
1-2 teaspoons White Truffle Oil
about 1 1/2 cups First Cold Pressed Olive Oil
Celtic Sea Salt, to taste
I started soaking the seeds on Monday night. Select your bowl and make sure you give them at least three times the space to grown as was the original volume. Cover the seeds with at least two inches of fresh, cold water and leave on the counter for about 24 hours. I am a little anal retentive, so I ended up rinsing them about twice in that period of time, first to wash away the blackish, murky water; and second, to try and figure out how to pull out the chaff quickly separating from the seed. If jostled in the bowl a bit, I found the majority of the outer-coating of the seeds will float to the top of the pile, then I just skimmed it off. A few seeds were sacrificed, and a bit of the chaff remained—but I ain't trippin'. The seeds will start to sprout, if they are still live seed, and that is what we want.
Next, I had to split my portion of sprouted seeds in half because our food processor isn't quite big enough to fit all that goodness in it's little bowl. Into this batch I threw half of the garlic; half of the green onion, chopped from white to green; the juice of two lemons (please do not be tempted to use Meyer lemons. They are way to delicate in flavor and acidity to "cook" the onions and garlic, and to stand up, taste wise, to the other ingredients.); and a pinch or two of Celtic Sea Salt (I chose this variety because of it's high mineral content, and softer punch).
Now blend the bejesus out of it. While it is whirring, there should be enough liquid in the mix to allow the ingredients to break down, and start to form a paste-like substance that will climb up the bowl walls, then crumble back over into the middle of the spinning blades. As this is happening, slowly drizzle in half of the olive oil. You know you have poured in enough olive oil when the mix stops climbing the walls, and seems to be a bit wet. (Note: this should not take *too* long. If it's dragged out, the contents will heat up and separate, or break. If that happens, pulse in some [as in 1-4 tablespoons] ice water. This *should* bring it back, or re-emulsify the product.)
Once the batch is at the consistency you want (it will be a little less smooth than hummus), pulse in half of the basil that has been roughly chopped with a super sharp knife. Basil bruises easily, so a sharp knife will reduce this browning effect. That is also why I throw it in almost at the end—all that action in the Robot Coupe really tears it up. I highly recommend tasting the batch as it progresses, and adjusting the seasoning as you go—like now. Adding salt is much easier to get consistency in the mixer, than later by hand.
After the basil has been pulsed in, dump into a large mixing bowl and do it again with the second half.
We now have a product of garlic-y, oniony, lemony pungency. The hot garlic is cooled by the crisp basil, the pungent onion brightened and cleaned by the lemon. But what of umami (pronounced: you-mommy)? That is where the beloved/hated truffle oil comes in. You should have about eight cups of product in your bowl, but truffle is notorious for being an under-estimated David taking down some pretty big Goliaths. With that in mind, start with folding in one teaspoon of the stuff, and taste to see where everything ends up. I highly recommend having some coffee near by to cleanse the nose, and maybe a glass of white wine for the palate, as the taste and smell of truffle oil will saturate your senses.
Also keep in mind that these early tastings will have the flavors polarized. This concoction should sit for at least eight hours to allow the flavors to blend and calm. The fresh lemon ends up cooking the garlic and onion, primarily, turning their heat to sweet. The addition of the truffle oil is to meld the flavors, not to actually taste it, itself. It simply adds a certain something that should tickle and flirt with the eater, not beat over the head with it's brazen attitude.
I served it up with Dosa Chips I found in the Marina at a Bi-Rite, I think. They are a fermented rice based, gluten free, salty/crunchy treat perfect for dipping in this raw, vegan pool of deliciousness.
Maybe it was the sensitization that comes from such an intense evening, but one of the gals (a deliciously buxom blonde, I might add) exclaimed she was enjoying the dip so much, she wanted to slather her whole being in it. Could there possibly be a better compliment?
No comments:
Post a Comment