Category Archives: Ginger

Stew Sensation

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Fennel stars in this awesome stew.

This is without a doubt one of the best stews ever.

Since it was published four years ago in Gourmet magazine, I’ve made this “Braised Pork with Orange and Fennel” at least annually, if not twice or thrice a winter. It’s the one stew I can’t wait to make once the weather turns the least bit chilly.

Moreover, it’s the stew that created a sensation when I wrote about it a year or so ago in the San Jose Mercury News Food section. Readers wrote to tell me how much they loved the flavors of orange zest, fresh ginger, soy sauce, cinnamon, and anise seeds. A friend even recalled that women friends at her gym were all gabbing non-stop about how divine the dish was.

Who can blame them? The pork shoulder cubes cook up tender alongside slices of fennel in a sauce that’s hauntingly part Asian and part Italian. Serve it over plain steamed rice or, as I do, over soft, spoonable polenta cooked with plenty of Parmigiana.

The presentation is pure rustic comfort. The taste is a savory sensation. It’s homey enough for family; chic enough for company. And it’s a straightforward recipe that cooks up mostly unattended, so it can be easily whipped together even on a weeknight if you find yourself with a little extra time on your hands.

I’ve already made it once this winter. Try it, and there’s no doubt, you’ll be making it again and again, too.

Braised Pork with Orange and Fennel

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Like Mother, Like Daughter

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Fuyus and fresh ginger make magic together.

Sort of. Kind of.

When it comes to persimmons anyways.

You see, I was never a persimmon fan until I reached adulthood. As a child, though, I remember my late-Mom having baskets of persimmons all over the kitchen and dining room at this time of year. They were the acorn-shaped Hachiya variety, the ones that are bitter and nasty astringent if eaten unripe. You had to wait patiently, to be rewarded when they turned soft and sweet like summer apricots. And my Mom was nothing if not patient.

I, on the other hand, admit to enjoying more instant gratification at times. Plus, as a kid, there was something so horror flick-like about watching fruit get more and more gushy before you ate it out of hand, the sticky flesh smeared all over your fingers. “Attack of the Strange Orange Fruit,” anyone? It was enough to give you the heebie-jeebies.

Now that I can appreciate persimmons, though, I prefer the squatty Fuyu. After all, with this type, there’s no waiting. You eat it when it’s still firm and crisp. My kind of persimmon.

I love it in salads. The orange color lends a jewel-like contrast to leaves of bitter greens tossed with toasted walnuts. Or enjoy them with the heat of ginger in this salad from “The Breakaway Cook” (William Morrow)  by San Franciscan Eric Gower, who lived in Japan for 15 years.

Known fact: I love ginger.

A heap of minced fresh ginger (1/4 cup!!) is softened in a little butter, maple syrup and champagne vinegar, then poured over Fuyu slices. It’s as simple as that. The sweet burn of fresh ginger pairs harmoniously with the sweetness of the Fuyus. If you dress the persimmons earlier in the day, then refrigerate them until serving later that night, the fruit will soften a bit, for those who like their Fuyus a little less crisp.

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A Show-Stopping Dessert with A Spicy Taste of Winter

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Gingerbread cake that's mmm, mmm good.

This is one of the desserts that award-winning San Francisco Pastry Chef Emily Luchetti says she makes most often.

It’s easy to understand why.

It’s a classic gingerbread cake with an air of elegance and sophistication because of its accouterments — a compote of warm, tender apples, and a rich, creamy sabayon with the added complex kick of Calvados (apple brandy).

Luchetti says she used to slice the cake and build little gingerbread houses out of them. Now, she takes the simpler approach and just cuts the cake into squares. “Tastes just as good,” she says with a smile.

“Gingerbread with Warm Apples and Cider Sabayon” is from Luchetti’s lastest book, “Classic Stars Desserts” (Chronicle Books).

The dark, moist cake looks almost like it’s made of chocolate because of the molasses in the batter. Warm spices including ground ginger, cinnamon, and cloves give it a comforting taste of winter.

The cider sabayon is made by whisking egg yolks, sugar, apple juice and Calvados in a double-boiler until thick and smooth. Then, whipped cream is gently folded into the cooled sabayon for even more luxuriousness. I could happily eat this by the spoonful all on its own. But that would be wrong, wouldn’t it?

You can make the cake, warm apples (I used a mix of Galas and Granny Smiths), and sabayon a day ahead of time. Just reheat the apples before serving.

I made this dessert for my in-laws’ Christmas gathering. Even my husband’s 20-something nephews went wild for it.

The recipe says it serves 6, but that would mean some seriously large slabs of cake. I found that it makes more like 8 servings, even for me, who can’t get enough of this knockout dessert.

Gingerbread with Warm Apples and Cider Sabayon

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Who Put Chocolate in My Gingerbread?

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A taste of Christmas with chewy chocolate gingerbread cookies.

Why, Martha Stewart, of course.

Take rich, dark, semi-sweet chocolate chunks. Pair them in a cookie of sticky molasses, ground cloves, ground cinnamon, ground ginger, plus fresh ginger, and you get a cookie that is chewy-licious. It’s like your favorite spicy gingerbread, but with the lushness of good dark chocolate to boot.

Even my husband, who is not always a fan of ginger (what’s up with that?), ate one cookie after another after these babies came out of the oven. See those hands above? Those are his, reaching yet again for another cookie.

“Chewy Chocolate Gingerbread Cookies” are from “Martha Stewart’s Cookies” (Clarkson Potter). If you haven’t already heard it by now, it’s become one of my favorite cookie books. I’ve made only about four of its 175 cookie recipes. But don’t be surprised if I bake my way through this book.

I could eat all of these. How about you?

The cookbook is the perfect holiday gift for any cookie-loving friend. Wrap it up with a few home-baked cookies. Well, if you can spare any, that is. In my household, that’s always a tough challenge.

Chewy Chocolate Gingerbread Cookies

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Memories of Dried Shiitakes, Sweet Chinese Sausage, and Sticky Rice

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Dried shiitakes -- a must-have ingredient for Thanksgiving sticky rice.

For my brother Dale and I, Chinese sticky rice has been both the hallmark and the bane of the Thanksgivings each of us has hosted over the years.

This traditional dish of glutinous rice studded with salty dried shrimp, slices of fatty Chinese sausage, earthy shiitakes, and crunchy bits of water chestnuts has been a staple at our family’s Thanksgivings since I can remember.

But the sticky rice also has proved, well, a sticking point. You see, try as we might, for years he and I could never make sticky rice that proved up to snuff for our Mom.

My late-Mom took pride in all that she did, and was quite the perfectionist. When she sewed, if a stitch was at all crooked, she’d rip it out and start over. When I used to sew as a teenager, I was less fastidious. I remember times when an inner seam might turn out a little less than straight, and I’d tell her, “Nobody will ever see it.” She’d give me that look, which basically said, “Yes, but you will know it’s crooked. You will know you did not do it as best you could.” All it took was that look, and the next thing I knew, I’d be ripping out the thread to redo it.

Of course, with a rice cooker full of steaming sticky rice cooking away, it’s a little harder to rip things out and start over.

Still, even as a child, I remember my Mom anxious over the outcome of the sticky rice. It was always made in the big rice cooker, not the smaller one we used for everyday meals. She’d peer into the rice cooker now and then to stir the contents or to monitor its progress. She’d fret if it wasn’t cooking as fast as it should. She’d sigh if it started sticking on the bottom of the inner pot.

Who knew rice could be so nerve-wracking?

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