Dishes and Wishes

Recipes and Culinary Commentary

Perfect and Nearly Effortless Pulled Pork (a Crock Pot Recipe)

Last month I worked on a barbecue piece for the Brooklyn-based print journal Remedy Quarterly. The barbecue sauce recipe included hails from my stepmom’s side of the family; the recipe dates to the Civil War from the Arkansas-Texas border. Since writing the article, I’ve wanted barbecue in a bad way. Last Sunday, despite having tons of food in the house (including a whole smoked chicken from Marczyk’s Fine Foods), I decided to make some pulled pork in the crock pot and try out the sauce. It was a resounding success, and some of the best pulled pork I’ve ever had.

Crock Pot Pulled Pork

1 cup of water or broth of your choice (I used chicken)
1 pork shoulder
salt of your choice (I used Savory Spice Shop’s Red Rocks Hickory Seasoning –it’s mostly salt and paprika)
pepper

Add water or broth to crock pot and set on high to heat up. Season pork shoulder and sear on all sides in a lightly-oiled skillet. Add pork to crock pot when the water’s as warm as you can get it/have the patience for. Cook on high for about 30 minutes then turn to low. Make sure the cover is as tight as possible. The one I used was disturbingly uneven so I also covered it with a kitchen towel.

After six or seven hours, take the utensil of your choice (preferably a knife or fork) and test the pork. If it’s as tender as you could ever hope for, turn it over, cover for ten minutes or so, and move pork shoulder to a large enough casserole dish. Remove the fat and use two forks to shred. Add your sauce, heat up again, and serve on the bun of your choice with or without cole slaw.

Barbecue Sauce for Pork*

1-2 tablespoon(s) of butter (or margarine, for authenticity)
2 cups of your favorite ketchup
2-3 tablespoons or more to taste of white vinegar
2-3 tablespoons of white or brown sugar
1 wedge of lemon or more
2 teaspoons of Worcestershire or A1 sauce

and, if you’re me,

2 teaspoons of Sriracha

Add the butter to a sauce pan heated to medium-low. When butter is foaming, add the rest of the ingredients in the order listed. Stir well and adjust the vinegar to sugar ratio to suit your tastes. You’ll know you have the recipe right when the vinegar burns a bit when you taste it. I thought pulled pork was best with a pure vinegar-mustard sauce until I made this just right. Perfection.

* Use less sugar when dressing other meats besides pork.

Kheer: Indian rice pudding

Last week I wrote about this dish, a new favorite. It’s fragrant, easy, and utterly enchanting. It tastes of far, far away. Kheer is rice pudding made with a few tablespoons of basmati rice, fragrant exotic spices, and five cups of milk. It requires ground cardamom at the very least and whole cardamom, saffron, and pistachio at its best. This dish would be stunning with dried organic rose leaves or maybe some oil of bergamont. Next time I will add the rose water with the milk and take my chances, because I don’t like the way it clouds up the dish, as you can see in the picture below. The effect is a bit like pastis in water. 

Saffron-cardamom rice pudding garnished with walnuts, fennel fronds, and a splash of rose water.

My recipe for eggplant caviar, a favorite Russian dish.

My recipe for eggplant caviar, a favorite Russian dish.

Eggplant, red pepper, zucchini, garlic, onion and parsley made into a tapenade of sorts. Heavenly.

December’s Kitchen Wins and Losses

Besides being the best month of the year, December was a boom month for my spice collection. My sister surprised me with a spice I’ve coveted for years after reading that Amanda Hesser (now of Food52) had put it in her pepper grinder (not like she has only one, I’m sure she’s got loads): grains of paradise. From Le Sanctuaire. Ooh-la-la. You will not find these at Penzey’s. Not at the one in Madison, Wisconsin, in December 2010, where I threw a tantrum when I realized they didn’t have grains of paradise, sumac, dried lime, asafoetida (hing), and other obscure things that I think a spice store should carry. Especially in Madison, a real foodie town with impressive grocery stores. [N.B. I did just check Penzey’s online and they do have sumac to order. They do not have the GOP, hing, nor dried lime. Weirdly, though, they carry and carried Ajwain Seed, which is a used in Indian cuisines, and contains thymol, allowing us to substitute thyme for it.]

At first, these were the poor man’s subsitute for black pepper, but as the availability of black pepper grew, it was clear that  grains of paradise were harder to source, and they’re now one of the most expensive spices, up there with vanilla seeds and saffron. I’d have to say, unlike black pepper, most of the pepperiness comes at the end of the taste, maybe similar to the way you’d taste the spicy hull on a large piece of ground pepper, almost like a surprise. It has a coriander citrus-y note, but it’s milder than I expected.

This past Christmas my sisters and I had a blast cooking. There were a few hiccups. Worst was when the oven rack was jammed at an ungodly angle. My father had to strong-arm it out with the back of a hammer. It was a high-tension moment in the Schiebler household. The following is the second worst kitchen disaster that happened.

I was having a complete mental lapse at the supermarket and accidently bought sardines. I know, right!  I made sure they were packed in olive oil, but I couldn’t manage getting the right fish. Something is deeply wrong with me. I know at my parents’ old house in Florida, they had anchovy paste, and at my other parents’ they have anchovy paste –because it’s sort of a staple– but no dice. What my parents do have is a handful of Italian neighbors, but my dad refused let me entertain the idea of asking them. It was Christmas Day, to be fair. He allowed me one post Tintin stop at the one open convenience store, which in addition to a long line also had sardines and tuna and Vienna sausages but no anchovies. So, I tried. After pondering the idea of using sardines, I opted for the next best option: Worcestershire. And it worked brilliantly! Really. All that fuss…

Sage Chestnut Sausage Stuffing with Rye and Challah and Thanksgiving Fixin’ Kitsch

I’ve never had a fondness for Thanksgiving food. I spend most Thanksgivings in Florida, where my favorite parts were (besides family, obviously) the sweet shrimp caught right off the Atlantic coast my uncle had picked up the night before and the pumpkin soup my Aunt Sally made long, long ago. My Aunt Michele taught me how to prepare the bird before cooking one year. This was a great lesson, involving water, many paper towels, two lemons, peels reserved and finely diced (this is my suggestion, not hers, but why waste lemon rind when you’ve got turkey skin to stuff it under), as many cloves as you like of peeled and thinly slivered garlic (this is me talking to, I don’t remember her using garlic, but I certainly couldn’t resist) and a LOT of olive oil. Never had a Thanksgiving Turkey I really fell for until I tried Gourmet’s dry brine and (yeah, so what, it’s cheating, but it’s not soooo different from sous-vide) using an oven bag on my very own turkeys that I began to appreciate the Thanksgiving Turkey. But there’s no turkey tutorial going on right here, folks. Be strong, carry on.

Because poorly prepared turkey has such a tendency towards blandness, we prepare the traditional fixin’s as a distraction. In my eyes, sweet potatoes with marshmallows, mashed potatoes (again?), the cranberry sauces, it’s all kitsch. Or that’s my way of saying it’s all a ritual that I don’t much care for. I’ll take smoked oysters and ham on potato rolls any day over “the fixin’s.” That said, the emergency pumpkin soup my sister and I churned out last Thanksgiving was spectacular. Said emergency was a “friend’s” suggestion of a butternut squash, white wine and cardamom soup was was, especially by the time I was finished with it, inedible. I’m pretty sure he didn’t get that one from a Keller cookbook. But I did not listen to my better instinct on that one either. I think it was a loser from the get-go, but no matter, we cooks under deadline soldier on.

From Decorative Punkin to Emergency Soup Punkin

So, fixin’s. This leads me to stuffing. Stuffing, in my opinion, is the “money” fixin’. I never muchcared for it but now it’s my number one absolute Thanksgiving food. I had one with a similar recipe to this, as a child that my best friend’s mom made, but that was ages ago, and all I remember how good it was and figuring it must have been sausage and she didn’t tell me, but oh well. But I’ve done this one up my way. Basically this is an incredibly flavorful sausage, chestnut, sage bread pudding with amazing texture, a bit mushy, a tiny bit crunchy, every bite delicious.

What I suggest is to use a loaf of rye bread or pumpernickel if you don’t like flavor (okay, that much flavor, or, better, that that rye flavor), and another type of bread (I might use an egg bread like challah or brioche or potato bread for a sweet contrast to the aforementioned), both fresh and hand torn and roughly diced, two eggs lightly beaten, a bit of thyme, some chopped fresh sage  (but don’t go overkill because sage is really strong), a cup and a half of chestnuts (roughly diced, use canned because you do NOT want to read what Julia Child has to say on preparing chestnuts, it would scare anyone but the naive/masochistic/truly brave) and then a little mirepoix of diced onions -at least one, but personally I’d go for two, maybe one clove of finely diced and smashed garlic, at least a cup diced celery-all cooked in half butter half olive oil (when butter foams add celery and a few minutes later add the onions because onions and garlic because they cook really quickly plus all this is going to bake), a freshish (raw) sausage or two of your choice casing removed and crumbled. I find Italian hot sausage a little distracting in this recipe; I recommend mild Italian sausage, bratwurst, or kielbasa. Something not too spicy or spiced.

Grease a casserole dish and add all the above.

Nota bene: for the vegetarians out there, substitute hand crumbled veggie patties for the sausage and hope she forgets about the chicken stock. Or pour milk in hers. Or just make her a separate dish and tell her you used veggie sausage because most vegetarians haven’t had meat in so long they have no clue how good it is, which is a large part of why they’re still vegetarians. For the rest of us, feel free to sub some of the oil and butter for bacon fat in the mirepoix.  (I think we can all agree that a little bacon fat never hurt anyone, excluding those dear people of faiths for whom certain or all meats are forbidden.)

Cover it at least halfway with most of a carton of the best chicken broth or stock you can get your hands on. Season with quite a bit of salt (or not, depending on whether you are dealing with hypertensives or salt Nazis and they’re watching). Better reasons you may want to hold back some on the salt is that your turkey’s brined  (right?) and/or your chicken stock is really salty. Add fresh ground black pepper to your taste, and if you wanted to get Penzey’s-fancy then some dill or caraway seed crushed up in the mortar and pestle. And a hit of Herbs d’Provence never hurt anybody. Then you bake it all for some time at 350. At least a good 20-30 minutes but probably longer.

You should no doubt check out a few other recipes to fill in the my blanks I left out. (Haha, a recipe that calls for looking at other recipes. Well, if you’re anything like me, you read a handful or recipes and then you go ahead and do your own thing once you’ve gotten the hang of the ingredients, preparation means, temperatures, and flavors.) This is all just off the top of my head in the dead of the night.

Enjoy, and Happy Thanksgiving. Love to all.

Madhur Jaffrey’s Green Lamb Curry

When my sister gave me an Indian cookbook for Christmas, I was less than thrilled. Call me jaded. But at least my sister understands. However while reading her first recipe my opinion took a complete 180° when she compared fried papad (also known as pappadoms) to Gehry-like shapes and microwaved papad to Hadid-like shapes. (I know my friend Mike who requested this recipe would also soften to such architectural metaphors.) So, you could say that Jaffrey had me at “Frank.”

I made this curry on Monday, and by Tuesday at noon there were no leftovers. I only used half the amount of cilantro called for because that’s all I had, anise seeds for fennel seeds, and slightly more meat, and it turned out so heavenly. I also used less of the coconut milk because we had some kind of first-press coconut milk that was like coconut cream.  It was so brilliant. I haven’t had such a good meat curry since I was in London eating home cooking, if that says anything.

Serves 3-4

  • 2 tbs fresh lemon juice (don’t use fake stuff, it’s ick)
  • 1 to 2 cups of cilantro leaves removed from stem and roughly chopped
  • 1 1-inch piece of ginger, peeled and diced
  • 4 large cloves of garlic, chopped
  • 1 jalapeno, diced (I didn’t de-seed it; recipe calls for 3-4 hot green chili’s like bird’s-eye)
  • 1/2 tsp ground tumeric
  • 1 1/2 tsp salt
  • 3 tablespoons vegetable oil
  • 1/2 tsp fennel seeds (I used anise because that’s all I had)
  • 1 medium onion, chopped (I used red)
  • 1 1/4 pounds boneless lamb (she prefers shoulder but I used lean leg steaks) cut into 1 to 1 1/2 inch cubes
  • 1/2 cup or less of coconut milk from a well-shaken can
Add this to your blender in order: lemon juice, 1/2 cup water, the cilantro, ginger, garlic, chilies, turmeric, and salt. Blend into a paste, scraping the sides if you need.

Preheat your oven to 325° F.

Pour oil into an ovenproof pan (with a cover that fits) and set over medium-high heat. When oil’s hot, add the fennel (or anise) seeds and TWO SECONDS LATER add the onions. When the onion’s browning on the edges, deploy the meat and turn up the heat to high. When meat’s lightly browned, add your curry paste and wait until it simmers. Cover and place in the oven for at least an hour, but possibly 75 minutes until your meat is to-die-for tender. If for some reason it’s not, return to the oven for 15 more minutes or so. Because I used leg meat the meat was perfectly tender in an hour. Diff’rent strokes for diff’rent folks. When the meat’s done, add the coconut milk and gently reheat just before serving.

I served this on flatbread because store-bought naan was expensive, and I’m too lazy to make chapattis. I had some fancy basmati rice with lentils from another recipe in her book I froze that I put out as well, because most Americans are not used to eating Indian food sans rice. If you have any errant cilantro leaves (don’t lie, I know you do) leftover toss them on top of the curry for some garnish. Now pat yourself on the back for making a bomb curry.

If you’d like to serve this with a raita, which I do, because I love raita, I made a quick one with 1/3 of a cuke, diced, some tomato, cumin seeds toasted then roughly ground, salt, pepper, yogurt, and water.

I also had my sous-chef/sidekick do some papad Hadid-style, which we served with Patak’s mango chutney. For a small party, I think this was an overkill, but for a larger party it would be great for an hors d’oeuvre.

This dish will definitely impress. It’s gorgeous and delicious. I don’t want to say it’s the best Indian dish I’ve made because I’ve got pride and this comes from a cookbook, but I’m a gori (white) girl, and that’s probably true.

Nota bene: according to Wikipedia in South Asian cuisine they don’t make a distinction between fennel and anise seeds, so I was in the right all along. (If you know any of us Schieblers, you know we’re always right. And we often are.)

Feta Mango Chutney Pita and Thoughts on Sand Witches

Last night I stumbled onto a really satisfying and easy sandwich filling, and it was simply too good and easy to keep to myself. Crunchy, sweet, spicy, salty, and a little protein: it was everything I wanted. And did I mention easy? A good sandwich can be very time consuming, and this isn’t that. (I didn’t even get out the cutting board. I sliced the feta in its package and the cuke in the air.) If you wanted to make this into a fancy tea sandwich, put on some nice bread and cut off the crusts.

  • Whole wheat pita
  • Thinly sliced Feta
  • Thinly sliced Cucumber, peeled first if store-bought
  • Non-fat Greek Yogurt
  • Mango Chutney, I used Patak’s (readily available in most supermarket chains)
Spread one side of the pita with yogurt and the other with chutney. Fill with thinly sliced feta and cucumber slices. If you want to add chopped scallion, thinly sliced red onion, or tomatoes, feel free, but this sammy’s good just the way it is.
Nota Bene on Toasting Pita: Pita will over-toast (and become brittle) on settings that toast bread, so if you’re toasting a pita do it on half-strength. Also, as a teen I was once surprised then chagrined to bite into a just-toasted pita and receive a steam burn on the side of my mouth. That and having a piece of glass in a store-bought sandwich loaf (probably this was when my father was shopping at Food Lion, that Belgian concern) are my oddest bread moments. Caveat me.
Today I think I will indulge on the best of summer sandwiches, the tomato and Hellman’s with salt and pepper. I haven’t had one since… well, I don’t remember, which is a sad state of affairs to be immediately remedied.

Crostini Amelia: Homage to the Summer Tomato

This past weekend my grandmother, a brilliant cook, wowed me with this crostini topping. It celebrates the best of summer produce available on Amelia Island, just off the coast of Jacksonville, Florida. This recipe calls for the freshest, best tomatoes you can find, because this treatment will infuse the olive oil with the dreamiest tomato, onion, and garlic flavor. She used Vidalia onions, and not just because Georgia is a few miles away. Their sweetness works  in this dish because the onions don’t caramelize, they remain crisp, juxtaposing the soft tomatoes. English translation: the texture contrasts in this dish might blow your mind.

  • at least four or five large, ripe local tomatoes, roughly chopped into 3/4 inch cubes
  • one to two Vidalia onions, sliced thinly lengthwise and quartered
  • a head of garlic, or less to taste, peeled (I am a garlic freak, but in this dish it’s mellow)
  • a fair amount of olive oil
  • crostini (recipe also below)
  • a handful of fresh basil, cut into very fine ribbons (use scissors)
  • Prep time: about ten minutes. Baking time: give or take an hour.

Spread the thinly sliced Vidalia onions and garlic cloves in a casserole or glass dish. Pour olive oil in the dish until the onions are 90% covered. Add the tomatoes on top. Bake at 275-300 F and do not stir. They’re done when the tomatoes have softened and shrunk but the onions still have a bit of crispness. Pour into nonreactive bowl and let cool. You may want to remove some of the oil and reserve it for another use before serving. (Perfect for making more crostini, or adding to cooked pasta or Northern Italian-style vinaigrette tuna salad.) Just before serving add the basil.

So, crostini. In this case, it’s convenient to make them together. Or you could pick some up at the store. Whatever. You choose your own adventure. Most recipes on the interweb, including professional ones like Wolfgang Puck’s, skimp on the proper technique for making crostini, which is a slow, low oven to dry out the bread so that it crumbles in your mouth, and serve instead toast. Nothing against toast, but it’s not crostini, capiche? Toast is flat and scratchy whereas crostini should crumble.

To make crostini slice a baguette very thinly, about 1/3 of an inch, coating both sides generously with olive oil, salt and freshly-ground pepper. Put on a baking sheet and bake it as low as you can bear –between 250 and 300 F– for about an hour.

Both ways, I promise you’ll close your eyes and thank my grandmother.

A note on seasonings: I was surprised when she told me that she did not season the mixture at any point. I’m extremely keen on black pepper, and anyway would have salted this dish without thinking, but damn if it wasn’t absolutely perfect the way it was. The tomato, onion, and garlic mix would make an excellent non-anchovy tapenade if you chose to blend it. (Don’t add the basil until serving if you wanted to store it in the fridge.)

Quick Cucumber Salad

Sorry for the hiatus. I was waiting on a getting a camera but it started to be an excuse, because I’m eager (no pun intended, for those of you who know both me and Russian pronunciation) to share my borsch recipe with you. Instead, we will opt for one of the simplest salads to make with just four ingredients. It doesn’t take that much imagination to figure out what it looks like. My take on the German-style cucumber salad is:

  • cucumber, preferably garden-fresh or organic
  • lite sour cream (or full fat if you’ve decided you don’t have quite enough fat in your diet)
  • fresh or dried dill
  • rice wine vinegar (seasoned or unseasoned: whatever)
Peel cukes if they’re store-bought and coated in that nasty wax. Otherwise, slice it into about 3-4 mm pieces and cut in half. I stack them roughly when I slice them in half so they’re not all cookie-cutter shaped. If you slice the cukes thinner, they sort of dissolve into the dressing as the water leeches out of them, so thicker is better. (Phrasing!) I’ve utmost respect for vegetable integrity. (I also think it’s ugly to take the seeds out and then slice them into crude almost-crescent moons, so I always leave them whole, unless I’m doing a Chinese cucumber salad with garlic and sesame oil.) In a bowl, add about a teaspoon of rice wine vinegar. Nota bene: if you were going to use this recipe to make just sweet ‘n’ sour marinated cukes, then add some sugar to the vinegar, whip it in, then season w/ salt and pepper and add your cukes and put in the fridge to marinate for a couple of hours. Or if you were even more motivated, you might want to salt the cukes after you slice them and fridge ‘em for a good hour before you add them to the marinade so that the cuke-water doesn’t dilute the marinate. Sorry to digress, folks, because this is not that recipe. That recipe doesn’t have sour cream either. In this one, it’s essential.
Okay, so you’ve got some rice vinegar in a bowl, I wouldn’t add sugar because the vinegar’s sweet, and add in about half a tablespoon of sour cream and mix to a uniform consistency.  (If you haven’t pre-salted the cukes, the cuke juice will make this a more viscous dressing when you add them in, just keep that in mind. ) Add in about half a teaspoon of dried dill or fresh dill to your taste. I advise finely mincing fresh dill, if using, because uncut dill has a similar mouthfeel as human hair. If you’re cutting herbs, you want them as dry as possible. I towel-dry all my herbs and legumes because I detest all salad spinners unless they’re made by Zyliss. (Sorry, America, but your manual cooking gadgets are generally laughable.) Toss in. Mix. Adjust vinegar and sour cream to your liking, you can’t really go wrong with either. Season with salt and fresh-ground pepper. (If you don’t have fresh-ground pepper, please stop reading, buy a Peugeot pepper grinder and some black peppercorns and call me in the morning with the story of how your life has changed.) Add sliced cukes. Et voilà! Cucumber salad. Not too creamy, not too sour, not too sweet, just right. Just perfect for Goldilocks.

These look store-bought, see how shiny the skin is? Supermarket wax.

This picture is stolen from the internet, I would say it’s fair use, but I’m only using it because all the pics of cuke salad looked worse than yours will, and this one depicts a similarly-sized cuke slice as the one called for in this recipe.

German Butter Lettuce Sunflower Salad with Yogurt Dressing

Yesterday on the way back from my favorite place in Rhode Island, Sakonnet Point, I stopped by Walker’s Farm stand. We didn’t need any type of lettuce, but I am easily seduced by fresh vegetables and they had beautiful, bigger than your head-sized butter lettuce and I couldn’t help myself. Butter lettuce (also known as Boston Bibb) is my favorite lettuce green after mâche (Valerianella locusta), which is rich in omegas. Though totally different in appearance, they share a similar mouthfeel: sweet, chewy crispness. I’m not sure how good butter lettuce is for you, and I don’t really care because it tastes amazing.

This salad pretty much stolen from my friend’s grandmother, who probably didn’t know it was the number one reason in my head for getting out of bed before noon. Dan’s grandparents ran a Gasthaus, which is more a roadside inn than a B&B, in the Black Forest for many years. She was an AMAZING cook. Dan and I were not eating meat at that time and despite the fact that it was Germany, it was one of my most gastronomically-impressive trips ever. My (vegetarian) sister spent a year in Germany, first in Regensburg and then in Berlin, and she reports detesting most of the food in Bavaria. [Insert Bavarian joke here.] I think it’s mostly the fact that she wasn’t having two meals a day at the Schillinger haus. This recipe’s decidated to the Schillingers, of Himmelreich, because today is their grandson, Dan’s, opening of his first restaurant at the Blue Inn at North Fork, Long Island. (Restaurant link will be added when they put up a site.)

The Salad

  • Head of Butter Lettuce
  • Halved and sliced cucumber (peeled if waxed)
  • A tomato or two
  • optional: fresh or canned corn (it’s a Euro thing, and it grew on me… but not on pizza!), onion slices, light parsley
  • tablespoon of sunflower seeds

Tear apart, wash, and dry as much lettuce as you want. For variety, feel free to add in some other non-bitter greens, but this is meant to be a simple salad, nothing fancy, folks. Volken. Sorry. Chop your cuke. Because I had some extra time, I salted the cucumber slices and put them in a strainer to help dehydrate them and not leech cuke juices into the salad. Slice the tomato in thin wedges. Chill everything until you’re ready to dress and serve. (But do not chill tomatoes too long or they get nasty. NOTHING worse than a refrigerated tomato, IMHO.)

Yogurt Dressing

  • Canola, safflower, vegetable or sunflower seed oil (most ideal
  • Half teaspoon of Dijon or senf, German mustard (not honey mustard)
  • Plain yogurt, Greek is best, but all will work (in a pinch you can use sour cream or crème fraiche though obviously that adds fat)
  • 1/4 to 1/2 of a lemon’s juice
  • Rice vinegar (this isn’t authentic but not sure what kind of vinegar she used, will report on how it is with Bragg’s Apple Cider Vinegar)
  • salt and pepper
  • optional: dash of Maggi (which is German soy sauce; seriously, folks, that’s how they get their MSG in and get those potato salads to taste right), a bit of minced garlic (too much will taste like a low-fat aioli, which is good but too garlicky for most people)
Pour some oil into a bowl. Sunflower seed oil tastes the best, but it’s not as commonly used over here, so use whatever mild-tasting oil you want that’s not olive. Or heck, use olive, it’s not like it’s gonna taste bad. Unless you use Colavita, which is so bitter it nearly make my lips curl involuntarily. You’ll need a little less oil than you normally would for a dressing because the yogurt’s really gonna spring into action here. Add mustard, stir, then add your plain yogurt in, first a teaspoon, maybe another, or two I don’t know what size of salad you’re making. Even with some vigilant stirring, it’s going to be a bit lumpy at this stage. I’d say for measuring the yogurt, start off with two times more than the amount of mustard you used. If you’re using garlic, add it at this stage. Now add your acids. First put in your lemon juice, for a smaller salad (like for 2-4 people) I’d use 1/4 a lemon, and half for a larger salad. Then add rice vinegar as you whisk the dressing into a tangy, white emulsified beauty. Season, taste, and enjoy.

Play-pretending at the DDR Museum, Berlin

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