osodecanela | Food as an expression of culture.....

I make no bones that I find most "American" food boring.

I was raised on ethnic cuisine, and when we went out to eat, it was routinely some form of ethnic food (Italian, Thai, Chinese, etc.). The idea of going out to a steakhouse, or a Denny's, or an IHOP left us cold.

Call me a food snob if you wish, but I remain this way, even within my own kitchen. In my pantry, you're more likely to find sofrito than mayonnaise, brie than Velveeta, bagels than Wonder Bread, cimbru than “Mrs. Dash”, fresh garlic than garlic salt. My wok sees almost as much action as my microwave.

It was a busy weekend, as I was on call, but I did have time for a little bit of R&R, which was spent in the kitchen preparing for dinner guests. Jan (

baudyldy), & Patrick(

healerpatrick) along with his friend José (to my knowledge not on LiveJournal) were all invited to dinner. I decided to do a Caribbean style, arroz con pollo. Out came the achiote seeds, added them to the olive oil over low heat until the oil was flavored, strained and then used the oil to brown up some boneless chicken thighs. (Yeah, I know the bones would add more flavor, but with a young puppy in the house, I don't need poultry bones anywhere near the property, where he might get them.) Once browned, out came the chicken and in went the sofrito (thank you Goya; it would have taken me an extra 25 minutes to make that from scratch), plus a couple of onions coarsely chopped. I had planned to use long grain brown rice, only to find there wasn't any in the pantry. I made a flash decision to substitute quinoa, which worked really nicely. Once browned, or rather toasted a bit in the achiote oil, in went simmering chicken stock and once the stock was mostly absorbed, in went more stock and the partially cooked chicken. It was covered, stirred gently periodically, and five minutes before it was all done, in went coarsely chopped red, yellow & orange bell pepper, plus some frozen peas. That plus a salad, lightly steamed white asparagus, a bottle of Chardonnay and a bottle of Gewürztraminer, and there was dinner for five, where everyone went back for seconds.

As I contemplated the sofrito, stirring it into the oil, I remembered the last time I made the stuff from scratch. It's not difficult, at least if you use a food processor, rather than a mortar and pestle, which in turn made me think about Carmen. Carmen is this lovely lady in my practice, who came here just a few years ago from Oaxaca. The woman makes molé that is absolutely killer. Seven different types of dried chili go into it, along with garlic, olive oil, and chocolate that her mother sends from Oaxaca. She grinds most of these things by hand on a metate. Seriously, the only other molé I've had that even comes close was in Mexico City. She brought me a pot of it a year and a half ago right after I delivered her little boy. She's promised to teach me how to make it, if I can ever get over to her place on a weekend when both of us are free. After that, all I'll have to figure out how to get into her mother's good graces, so she'll send me the chocolate, plus one of the chilies that doesn't seem to be available here in the states.

Now that's comfort food. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Nourished and cared for, with warm thoughts and memories of people like Carmen, Doña Bertha, Oana and her mother, my mom, my dad and grandmothers, all bearing plates, bowls and platters, welcoming scents of places far away heavy in the air, enveloping, drawing you in, tutti a tavelo a mangiare