The Hungry Tiger

Sage tea in a blue teapot

Our current favorite teapot is a duplicate of our old favorite teapot, which once belonged to my grandmother. Nanny was brought up poor and proud in the East End of London and, having grown up to not be poor, was very, very particular about her house and everything in it. The handful of things that were hers that are now in our house are all beautifully made, and beautiful to look at as well.

It was a sad day last winter when the teapot suddenly went CRACK and water began pouring out the bottom. I am sure it was at least thirty years old, a good run by any estimation, and had faithfully served up enormous quantities of tea day in and day out.

I immediately snatched it up and looked at the bottom to see who had made it, and ran to the internet to see if I could replace it. Well, I could, but it would cost rather more than I had expected or would ever be inclined to spend on a teapot on my own initiative. (This is often the case with Nanny-things.)

First I dithered. Was replacing it really going to work? asked a friend. It wouldn't be the same teapot, after all. Wasn't it kind of like buying a new goldfish after the cat ate the old one and hoping no one would notice? This was perfectly true, but I decided that it was what I wanted to do, regardless.

And I was quite right, it turned out. The new teapot feels just right and provides us with endless cups of excellent tea every day. Traitor to my race that I am, I usually order my tea from France, specifically from Le Palais des Thés. I also usually take my tea unsweetened, with milk.

Recently, though, someone mentioned sage tea in my presence, and my curiosity was piqued.

Sage tea apparently is the Jordanian/Bedouin analogue to the sweetened mint tea served in pretty Moroccan tea glasses all around North Africa and elsewhere. It sounded a bit medicinal and offputting, but I was assured that it was not. The Internet seemed to agree; a search turned up lots of people waxing nostalgic about the delicious sage tea they'd had in Jordan, and no one at all saying they didn't like it. So we gave it a try, and the next thing we knew we were drinking it nonstop.

SAGE TEA

I know nothing, unfortunately, of the proper preparation rituals. Are they as exacting as the Moroccan method? If you know, I'd love to hear about it. In the meantime, this approach yields something that tastes good to me. Maybe you'll like it too.

Where Moroccan tea is typically made with mint, of course, and green tea, to make the sage version (I'm told) you begin with loose black tea, say a nice Assam or Darjeeling. Add several sage leaves, dry or fresh, and a few cardamom seeds if you like, and steep the lot together in your teapot for about five minutes. Strain into cups or glasses and sweeten to taste.

Links: Things to make

Bottled Fruit: Belgian Pears.

A truly delectable sounding recipe for special (but not complicated) poached pears, from The Cottage Smallholder.

Dutch Apple Cheese muffins.

"I make these once or twice a week. Lord help me, but when I'm pregnant I make them every other day or so." 

"Red espresso".

Rooibos tea ground to be used in an espresso machine or moka pot. Via Ask Metafilter. I have no idea if this is any good, but it's intriguing.

Miso, tahini, and nut paste.

A toasty topping for roast vegetables or a vegan filling for onigiri, from Just Bento.

Things to have in the middle of lessons

I have a very definite fixed idea that the truly civilized life consists of engaging in scholarly activities all day, punctuated by walks outdoors and little snacks accompanied by nice things to drink. Unfortunately, I do not manage to make this happen nearly often enough, even though it would actually not be very difficult at all. (As I once said here on a related subject, "this fantasy is so much like what my life could easily be, if only I were a better person, that it is kind of depressing." But no matter.)

In any case, I have no doubt that my notion of the proper morning version of this fantasy comes from a passage in Noel Streatfield's fine children's book, Ballet Shoes:

Vacation slides, plus a tip for ordering Manhattans

We were in New York this weekend, where we attended a lovely wedding and ate a great deal of excellent food. One of the highlights of the trip was lunch at the superdeluxe Google cafeteria, as the guests of our kindly and delightful hosts, who (you will have already figured out) work there.

The Google sushi chef was on paternity leave, a state of affairs I found so deliciously... something, it made up for being deprived of the deliciousness that we missed due to his absence. Anyway, the other options were plentiful and very tasty, and the quality and variety are really quite amazing. There was a roasted pepper and potato soup that S. and I both liked most especially.

Another highlight was getting to try some of Audrey Saunders' gorgeous cocktails at the Pegu Club. They really were superb, though of course also not cheap. I had the Little Italy, which is a Manhattan variant made with Cynar, as well as rye, vermouth, and bitters. (Oh! Did I tell you? I realized why the Manhattans I was getting in bars and restaurants were all so feeble -- apparently most places these days don't put bitters in. What is the world coming to?

Anyway, I picked up a handy way to circumvent this without risking stepping on anyone's toes: ask for a Manhattan "with an extra dash of bitters."

At the Pegu Club this is far from necessary, as not only are they going to put bitters in already, each table has an assortment of little bottles full of things, including Angostura, to let you doctor your drink as necessary, though none of us thought there was any need for adjustments.) Cynar, as you may not know, is an artichoke aperitif, which I realize sounds fairly revolting, but here it was great.

The wedding lunch was also fantastic and bursting with vegetarian options (the groom was a vegan for many years) -- loads of delicious vegetable appetizers, including extra good tiny bruschetta, teeny samosas, and beautifully crisp tempura.

The main course for vegetarians was a layered vegetable thing of the sort that might have been bland and gloomy but was instead entirely delicious, and accompanied by some sort of small risotto timbale kind of thing with a lovely crunchy crust. The meat-eaters got steak or cornish game hen, which looked as if they were equally enticing.

After a full afternoon of walking across Prospect Park and up and down the streets of Brooklyn, appetite just barely began to return, but we squelched that quickly with an assortment of surprisingly affordable treats from Nana. And then yesterday morning we had an excellent brunch as well! Oh, and I almost forgot our stop in to... hm, I can't remember the name, but I think we grabbed a matchbook, so I'll ferret it out for you later today -- anyway to somewhere very pleasant with a "snack" menu for the time after they stopped serving lunch and before they started serving dinner, which I thought was highly civilized and an excellent idea.

Also I drank a ridiculous amount of coconut water, which I'd tried a couple of times in the last month or so, but really guzzled it in New York, since it's so very refreshing when you've been out walking in the sun, and there it's available on (it seems) every street corner, whereas here you have to haul your ass to Whole Foods. Now I am tragically addicted. In conclusion, we had a great time, saw many wonderful people, and stuffed ourselves silly, just as one ought to. Perhaps for the rest of the week? month? we will live on nothing but soda water and biscuits, like Byron.

Trends

Is it possible that my beloved musty old Pimm's cup is going to be the next mojito? Bizarre.

Elevenses

American English is sadly lacking in names for proper structured between-meal meals. "Snack" doesn't do it, because it has skittered away from structure and taken up residence with furtive fumblings in desk drawers and that sort of thing. I am not quite at the hobbit level of proliferating meals, but I will certainly confess to enjoying both elevenses and afternoon tea -- the latter often featuring coffee, in my case. A hot drink and a little something to take the edge off is just what the between-meal dips in morale and blood sugar call for.

My afternoon goûter is very well in hand, as S. and I have taken to faithfully stopping for a cappuccino and a little bite in Little Italy on our way home from work in the evenings. Midmornings more frequently get short shrift, but sometimes when I am working at home I manage to take the time for a little spread like the one pictured above.

The cookies are Almondias, which I always pick up when I happen to be in a Trader Joe's. I've only ever tried their "original" flavor, but I have found no reason to want to stray. (That said, now that I know that they make other flavors, I find myself intensely curious about what they are like.) Not too sweet, not too unsweet, thin and crunchy, just the thing. Some occasions call for for a baked good that is small and crisp, rather than large or gooey or chewy. The manufacturers take a lot of trouble to emphasize that they are not dreadful for you, but that is entirely beside the point. The important thing is that they are very tasty and a fine complement to a restorative cup of tea.

Limeade tastes good

Today I had a citrusy, thirsty kind of hankering, and so I made the sweet, sour, and spicy blackberry limeade recipe at grub, and danged if it isn't tasty as can be. (The spiciness is very low-key, just a sort of enhancement to the tanginess.) It's nice of them to convince me that it's good for me, too. The limes at my local store are particularly small and hard right now, so it took seven rather than four to make three quarters of a cup of juice, and my right arm and shoulder got quite a workout squeezing them, too. Now I feel extra virtuous.

S. got a new battery charger for our camera today, so maybe I'll be able to document how pretty the limeade is, too. That would be keen.

You say "monotony," I say "more, please"

Last night's dinner consisted of:

*Tomato salad with Green Zebras, Paul Robesons, and halved Sungolds, fresh mozzarella, lots of basil, real balsamic vinegar, sea salt, olive oil, and pepper *Frittata with farm-fresh eggs, red pepper, onions, and thyme *Toasted bread

We have had and will be having many variations on this meal this month. I love summer.

Drink: 1 part lime and lemongrass cordial 1 part citron vodka 5 parts fizzy water

A beer I like

I am currently all in love with Dogfish Head brewery's Raison d'Etre beer. Holy moly is it good. We got it for Snark's birthday event, and I bought some more today. I want to branch out and try other of their beers, but was too chicken to take a chance when I knew I liked this one so much. It is complex and molasses-y and just damn tasty.

In other news, I made another batch of the lentils I wrote about last time, and we had them warmed up with a blob of Greek yogurt for breakfast this morning. This was a good idea. I'd always sort of wondered about the Egyptian habit of eating beans for breakfast -- would I like that, or no? Well, it turns out that I would, very much. So I think we'll do that again soon. I've bought more of the Thai crispy onions and am thereby prepared.

Naga hot chocolate

I love Naga chocolates. So tonight I made myself a Naga-style hot chocolate, by adding a couple of shakes of leftover homemade curry powder to my hot chocolate. It rocks. Rocks, I tell you!

This is very good for tired people who have toiled over both research and midterm-writing, and who have to get up early in the morning. It is probably good for you, too.

For one big mug, I took the milk, a heaping tablespoon of cocoa, a heaping tablespoon of sugar, and a square of dark chocolate. This I heated to a simmer and took off the heat. I added a shake-shake-shake of my curry powder, which was made along the lines of the first recipe here, whisked thoroughly and put back on the heat.

Because I like a nice thick luscious hot chocolate, my favored method is to heat it gently up to a boil multiple times. Each time, the very instant it comes to the boil, it comes off the heat. I let it settle down and whisk it well (or use an immersion blender). Then I put it back on the heat, bring it just to the boil, and take it off again and whisk. Repeat as necessary to get the thickness you desire. It thickens up quite impressively at the third boil or so.

Tasty steamed milk

I feel clever. It looks like my second-hand lessons in milk steaming from Eric of the Phoenix Pastaficio covered every last bit of the technique involved in making really lovely foam. (In fact, that last link leaves out Eric's most crucial recommendation, which is to be thinking clearly, firmly, and continually about the dense lovely foam all the time that you are doing the steaming.) Now if only I were not always attempting to practice these methods before I have had my morning coffee.

What would I do without my beloved stovetop milk steamer? Why, oh why, does no one make them anymore? I live in fear of the possibility that it will die and we will not be able to find another. This is the stuff that stockpiling behaviors are made of.

UPDATE: Aha! Though last time I checked, they appeared to have fallen off the face of the earth, there are still two models being made, after all: 1, 2.

For my future reference

A slightly elaborate but appealing recipe for masala chai at getcrafty.

Orangina of the gods

Last week, S. and I made a special trip to Dean and Deluca to splurge on a few exorbitant food items for the holidays. I was hoping to pick up some more elderflower syrup, but there was none to be found. It looks like I'll have to suffer the indignities of Ikea if I want to replenish my stock. Ugh! But all is not lost, as you will see.

I'd been suffering acutely from the lack of sweet-tart-fizzy beverages since I ran out a week before, and then came down with a filthy cold, to boot. Surely there is no time when one is more in need of a lovely tangy beverage. So, rather than go home empty-handed, I picked out a different flavor of syrup, expecting to be disappointed. But it was unso! This blood orange syrup is made by quirky antique Austrians, and oh man, it is good. It contains blood orange juice, lemon juice, sourcherry juice, and orange peel oil, in addition to the sugar and water, and with seltzer from our beloved siphon, it is like the version of Orangina served in the afterlife for very, very good people.* But by some miracle, it is instead available in the actual life for very, very bad people like me. Yum! I think I will use it as a periodic reward for myself as I dig my way out of my enormous pile of end-of-semester work.

*Or at the Magical Café, Normalton.

Hic!

Without a doubt, I should be working, but instead I am having a cocktail and will go to bed early. Our bar is uncommonly well stocked right now, thanks to our party preparations, and I am discovering the joys of the Perfect Manhattan. Mm.



The decadance of having any vermouth, let alone both red and white, in the cabinet is almost inconceivable. I should pretend to be a dusty old Italian man and have a rosso e bianco next time.

Plop plop fizz fizz

After a day of infectiously cranky moods, we have returned home to do a taste test of the champagne-type options for the wedding. We'd had hopes that we would like the cheaper prosecco, but it was very much not so. And of course, alas, in my reading around on affordable champagneish wines I realized that when people like us are buying champagne in bulk, affordable is a good shelf below what the wine fiend crowd means by affordable. They like to slum around in the $30 a bottle range, it seems, which is too rich for my blood, however much more delectable it may be.

Much as I enjoy drinking wine, I don't enjoy talk about wine. Whatever, it's a cliché, but so much wine discussion and writing is so sniffy and esoteric and condescending toward the non-cognoscenti that it makes me alternately cranky, itchy, and sad. I was browsing around the discussion boards at eGullet for mentions of the California wine we're getting, and found mention of it really only in the not-so-uplifting thread "Overheard in the wine shop," dedicated to the theme "Heard any howlers lately?"

And of course I am as fatuous a snob as the next snot-nosed fellow, and any day of the week you can hear me be a big, unfair, self-satisfied asshole on any number of topics. Any number. Lots. Let there be no confusion on this point. I'm a jerk and superior and horrible. But still, har-har rib-jabbing antics devoted to wine just depress me, somehow. Why does this brand of elitism get so particularly up my nose? Got me. But just lookit!

An amusing experience I had while working at a specialty wine shop. The date is December 31, 1999 and the phone rings. I answer it. A gentleman asks me, "I have a bottle of Champagne and want to know if it's ready to drink."

"OK sir. Who is the producer?"

"Ferrer."

"I'm sorry sir, who?"

"Ferrer. Gloria Ferrer from Sonoma."

"OK - (I am already stifling the urge to giggle because it isn't even real Champagne, however, I realize the label may say Gloria Ferrer Champagne Caves and assume he doesn't know it's Sparkling wine. I proceed)...

He called it champagne. Even though it isn't even real champagne! Hahahahahahaha! Oh, go fuck a tree.

Anyhow, blah blah blah trashy sparkling wine rather than real champagne blah wine snob scorn blah still a big wad of money blah tastes good to me. And sampling bottles of fizzy alcohol is not a bad way to get over a glum wet Sunday, either.