Hawaii’s treasured taro root goes upscale as a crispy foil for the ahi tuna tartare and caviar mold on the menu at Chef Mavro in Honolulu.
PHOTO: Tony Novak-Clifford
Tropical Tubers -Warming up with sunny starchesBy Carole KotkinThe concept of mashed potatoes as the ultimate comfort food may be as last century as network television's limited menu. Famously narrow American tastes have become much more broad. So with palates primed by cumin, curry and cayenne, it follows that humble, homely yuca and malanga, gnarly boniato, bizarre-looking taro and true yams (as opposed to what Americans refer to interchangeably as sweet potatoes) are piled high in produce bins from Miami to Minneapolis.
Helping the trend along are America's burgeoning Hispanic and Asian populations, and, to a lesser degree, the influence of Caribbean and West African immigrants, all of whom brought with them a heritage enriched by the tubers and roots that are staples of their respective cuisines. No longer limited to ethnic specialty shops, these satisfying and healthful starches can nonetheless be intimidating to the uninitiated. Often lumpy and bulbous, sometimes hairy and frequently gigantic, many of the aforementioned tropical specimens resemble something from prehistoric times.
But they needn't be off-putting. In fact, these extraordinary roots and tubers, rich in vitamins, minerals and carbohydrates, are as versatile and user-friendly as the ubiquitous Idaho potato. And because they are rather inexpensive, they offer the home cook an opportunity for risk-free experimentation (just don't eat some varieties raw, because they can be poisonous in their natural form).
As long as 7,000 years ago, indigenous societies in the tropical forests of Central and South America began cultivating manioc and other plants with edible starch roots for sustenance, according to a new study by archaeologist Dolores Piperno of the Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute in Balboa, Panama. Although cultivation appeared later there than in the Middle East, the data support a controversial theory that tropical-forest dwellers cultivated roots and tubers long before such practices emerged elsewhere among Native American tribes.
Developing underground, where they absorb water and minerals from the soil and store nourishment for the stem and leafy parts of the plant that benefit from photosynthesis above ground, tropical tubers survive both droughts and hurricanes. Because they are so naturally durable and easily cultivated, they historically served as a staple carbohydrate for African slaves toiling on plantations across the Caribbean and Deep South. In the intervening centuries, the majority of these old preparations have been passed down through the generations; today, many of the home cook-developed recipes are used as springboards for modern interpretations of these high-energy foods.
While some of the roots and tubers have a certain sameness of appearance, each has distinguishing characteristics and historical differences. A native of the tropical Americas, boniato, a firm sweet potato, was introduced to Spain by Columbus. (In scientific circles, what we used to refer to as a sweet potato is now written as one word, sweetpotato, though the new form hasn't yet been adopted in gastronomy.) Boniato gained wide popularity in Europe until it was supplanted by the white potato, also a New World import that, unlike boniato, can be grown in cooler climes. The name boniato dates to 16th-century Cuba, and is thought to come from the Spanish for good (bueno) or pretty (bonito), though there's nothing particularly attractive about its scruffy, reddish exterior. Boniato is irregularly shaped, has cream-to-yellow flesh, and tastes like a cross between a sweet potato and an Idaho potato. It's also ranked as the seventh most important food crop in the world.
Malanga is known in West Africa as the cocoyam, which has prompted speculation that it came to the New World with African slaves. But according to culinary historian and chef Maricel Presilla, malanga was eaten by the native Arawak Indians long before Europeans and Africans arrived in the Caribbean. It's shaped like a knobby sweet potato and has shaggy, mottled brown skin. There are more than 40 types, but for commercial purposes it's categorized by the color of its moist, starchy flesh - white (malanga blanca), pink (malanga lila), or yellow (malanga amarilla). It is nutty-tasting and is often confused with taro.
Taro, on the other hand, is barrel-shaped with a topknot at one end and rootlets at the other (the beard is a good way to distinguish it from malanga). Its speckled white flesh tastes a bit like chestnut or, some say, artichoke. The weirdest looking of the exotic roots, it ranges from the small, golf ball-size, ruby-streaked sato imo, preferred by the Japanese, to the coconut-size, blue-streaked monsters from Hawaii. Dozens of cultures have used this root crop for centuries. They have a starchy quality much admired and found useful throughout Asia, the Caribbean and Polynesian islands, North Africa and South America.
By contrast, the buttery-tasting yuca (a.k.a. cassava) has a bright white flesh encased within a long, narrow, bark-covered body. And while you may not realize it, yuca - the sweet versus bitter kind, the latter of which can potentially be very toxic - has retained its popularity throughout the Americas as the source of tapioca. Yuca is not the same as yucca, although the two are often confused because of the similarity of their names (yucca is related to the agave plant from which tequila is made). The first European explorers in the West Indies found yuca in use everywhere in the form of meal and dried, flat cakes. Similarly, on the islands of the Caribbean, such as Jamaica, its pulp was used to prepare a thick, unleavened bread. Yuca went from Brazil to Africa during the 16th century, and arrived in Malaysia and Indonesia in the 18th. During the 19th century, it became an important food in Hawaii, where it is often used as an alternative to taro in making poi. Now, it numbers six globally among crops grown for consumption.
Finally, what we call "yams" in the United States are really varieties of the sweet potato native to the Americas, referred to by African slaves in their own languages (njam in Gullah, nyami in Senegalese or djambi in Vai, each a verb meaning simply "to eat") and overheard as "yam" by the English settlers. True yams, native to Africa but now grown all over, have a skin that ranges from blackish-brown to tan and taste more like Idaho potatoes than any other tropical tuber. Long and nearly cylindrical, with shaggy skin and crisp white or yellow flesh, they are like a combination of a root, bulb and oversized truffle.
A true yam tastes mild - indeed, almost flavorless - compared to most tropical fruits and vegetables.
Restaurants in major metropolitan areas have been the most important ambassadors for these vibrant, lively and varied starches. Specifically, the many kitchens overseen by chef Douglas Rodriguez - formerly of Miami's defunct YUCA and New York's Patria and presently of OLA on Ocean and OLA Steak, both in Miami, and Alma de Cuba in Philadelphia, and who is widely considered the godfather of the Nuevo Latino movement - are credited for launching various renditions of tropical tubers as captivating main-course foils.
Maricel Presilla, chef-owner of Zafra and Cucharamama restaurants in Hoboken, New Jersey, has also helped these inherently Latin American ingredients become more visible in the fine-dining arena. "I love all these roots and tubers. They are the mainstay of my cooking because I can prepare them myriad ways," she says. "Because of their extremely high starch content, they cook up to crisp perfection when deep-fried. But they can [also] be boiled, sautéed, baked or roasted. They can be mashed or puréed, or added to soup as a thickener."
Although they are often compared to potatoes, tropical tubers "have much more flavor, more starchy sweetness than potatoes, and they also have a bit of bitterness. The nuances of earthy, nutty flavors and the mouth-feel are also different," notes Presilla, a Cuba native who has traveled from Mexico to Argentina collecting recipes from contemporary chefs and historical archives. One of her signature preparations is a pancake made with grated tropical roots, sofrito (a basic seasoning mixture comprising tomato, green pepper and onion cooked in oil and flavored with annatto and cilantro), bits of truffle and bacon, which she pairs with "a lush Catena Alta Chardonnay."
She continues, "My favorite is the true yam, probably because my father grew them in his backyard in Cuba. He and Aunt Juanita would compete with each other to see who could grow the largest. Grown on compost, some were as huge as a man's leg. We would peel and boil them and serve them with a simple mojo sauce," she recalls.
New York native Randy Zweiban, executive chef of Chicago's Nacional 27, was in the kitchen with his mentor, Norman Van Aken, at Norman's in Coral Gables, Florida, when the first wave of Nuevo Latino chefs turned the tide in the late 1980s and early '90s. "I was aware of Latin roots and tubers used in a traditional way," he says, "but when I worked for Norman, I discovered that these products were major players on everyone's New World menu. At Nacional 27," Zweiban continues, "we're taking traditional dishes and reinventing them for the American palate, as well as taking American dishes and adding Latino flavors."
Although Zweiban was confident that American diners were ready for the spice and sizzle of unfamiliar foods when he opened Nacional 27 - named for the number of countries south of the United States from which the restaurant draws its influences - he was a bit surprised. "At first, when patrons saw boniato on the menu, they thought it was the second baseman for the Phillies," he recalls. Even with today's informed and sophisticated consumer and the wide availability of the products, Zweiban is challenging palates with winter dishes such as truffle-crusted filet mignon, accompanied by a chorizo and three-potato (boniato, true yams and red-skinned potatoes) hash, a Malbec reduction and caramelized red onions. His wine choices, too, reflect the restaurant's philosophy: "A Catena Malbec, of course, or a Montes Cabernet Sauvignon-Carmenère would harmonize with the flavors in this dish."
In Coral Gables and Las Vegas, chef-owner Cindy Hutson is blazing Carib-Latin trails at her and partner Delius Shirley's effusively island-influenced Ortanique restaurants. "We celebrate the cuisines of the sun and the foods of the Americas, so cooking with tropical tubers is a staple element in Ortanique's kitchens," Hutson says. One of her most popular starters is a bisque that she prepares with malanga, and a signature entrée is pan-sautéed Bahamian black grouper, with an ortanique (a hybrid citrus fruit) sauce served over mashed boniato. "The average American diner is unfamiliar with traditional Latin tubers and roots," Hutson says. "But with a little education at the table by our servers, they always try them and always like them." (For the grouper, Hutson suggests an Oregon Pinot Noir to complement the sweetness and pepper flavors in the sauce and boniato.)
Another temple of tropical cuisine, Ceiba pays tribute to the imposing umbrella-shaped tree found throughout the New World tropics, and not surprisingly, the food at this Washington, D.C., restaurant focuses on Yucatan, Brazilian, Peruvian and Cuban specialties. Chef de cuisine and D.C. native Travis Timberlake credits his kitchen staff (Nicaraguans, Cubans, Guatamalans, Costa Ricans and Puerto Ricans) for opening his mind to the possibilities of cooking with tropical roots and tubers: "A good part of my inspiration comes from my cooks. I don't stick to traditional guidelines, but at least I know where a dish comes from, how they grew up with it, how their grandmothers cooked it. I get a better sense of how they would expect to see it used." You can even find feijoada - the national dish of Brazil, made with braised pork shanks, black beans and rice, and garnished with a dusting of farofa (toasted, ground yuca) - on Ceiba's menu. (He suggests pairing this dish with a fine Rioja, such as a 1995 Bodegas Muga Prado Enea Gran Reserva.)
These tubers also form the foundation of many Chinese meals and are largely regarded as the empty pages on which a mélange of flavors, textures and colors may be scripted. At Susanna Foo, the legendary restaurant in Philadelphia, and at Suilan by Susanna Foo at the Borgata in Atlantic City, acclaimed chef, restaurateur and cookbook author Susanna Foo delights in cooking with taro. The taro pancakes she serves remind her of her childhood in inner Mongolia and Taipei. "Pancakes made from taro are very popular in China and are often sold as a snack by street vendors or served as dim sum in Cantonese teahouses, as we serve potato pancakes in the West," she says. "Taro can be sliced and stir-fried along with other vegetables and meats, or used as a stuffing for duck." In her James Beard award-winning cookbook, Susanna Foo, Chinese Cuisine, she writes, "My mother-in-law in Taiwan boiled the small taro roots whole and we ate them out of hand, like a banana. It is also made into sorbet and is sold by street vendors everywhere in Taiwan, all summer long."
Hawaiians believe that they are descendants of the taro root, and that as long as taro survives, they will, too. The most famous dish comprising taro is poi, made by pounding the steamed starch into a paste that can be eaten fresh or fermented. Hawaiians often prefer one- or two-day-old poi because it is a bit tangier, though some consider it an acquired taste. When French-born George Mavrothalassitis, chef-proprietor of Chef Mavro in Honolulu, has a day off, he heads over to Ono Hawaiian Food to stand in line for tripe stew with poi on the side. "You have to be patient. The line starts forming by 6 p.m., and you need to get there early because they stop seating at around 8:30 p.m. But if you beg them, they'll let you in," he advises.
Mavrothalassitis incorporates his familiarity with native dishes into his cooking. "A chef must work from the local market and I love the taste of Hawaiian flavors. My guests enjoy fresh, regional ingredients and a dining experience they could have only in Hawaii," he explains. His dishes are the epitome of elegance, possessing an enormous depth of flavor with a minimum of ingredients. For example, he thinly slices taro into chips and deep-fries them to serve with ahi tartare topped with sevruga caviar, pairing them with what he considers the most sophisticated and multilayered quaff: Champagne. "To my knowledge, it is one of the best pairings with sushi and sashimi. The acidity and the green apple character of the Champagne match perfectly the oily texture of the fish. Also, the Champagne bubbles are a beautiful balance to the caviar," he says.
Similarly, tropical tubers are a complement to any main course, warming up a dish or toning it down. And they're a whole lot less expensive than a vacation. Sharpen your best chef knife, pull out your vegetable peeler and embark on a balmy, comforting journey through their native, sunny climes.
Food Editor Carole Kotkin manages the Ocean Reef Club Cooking School in Key Largo; is a syndicated columnist for KnightRidder; is co-author of Mmmmiami; and co-hosts Food & Wine Talk on WDNA FM.
Navigating tropical roots & tubers
Much of the information that follows was excerpted from MMMMiami - Tempting Tropical Tastes for Home Cooks Everywhere by Carole Kotkin and Kathy Martin.
Many of the most common tropical roots and tubers are available in supermarkets, and almost all can be found in any Latin specialty shop. Look for tubers that are rock-hard with no soft, moldy or shrunken spots or cracks. Pick the best by pricking through the skin with a fingernail: The flesh should be crisp and juicy, like celery. The rubbery juices seal over the cut mark to protect the surface. Once purchased, keep tubers in a well-ventilated place that is cool but not cold - these tropical roots are chill-sensitive and will deteriorate rapidly in a refrigerated setting. Use tubers within a couple of days, before they get soft.
Boniato (boh-nee-AH-toh): This tropical tuber is also called Cuban sweet potato, camote and batata dulce. It's related to but quite different from the more familiar orange sweet potato, with a drier, denser texture. Boniato has about 115 calories per half-cup serving, and is a good source of potassium.
Boniato oxidizes quickly, so cover it with water as soon as it's peeled (you may even want to peel it under running water) and keep it submerged in the cooking liquid when adding it to soups and stews.
Though it's used in some Latin desserts, boniato is most often served as a vegetable. Cooked just like a white potato or orange sweet potato - baked, boiled, mashed or fried - it can be substituted for them in virtually any recipe. The dry-textured boniato requires more liquid than regular potatoes when mashed or puréed. Seasoning it too heavily will overwhelm its delicate sweetness.
Malanga (mah-LANG-gah): Also known as yautia or tannier, malanga is the cormel (an underground stem similar to a tuber) of a large-leafed tropical plant. It has a slippery feel when raw and, when cooked, has a potato-like texture. At about 135 calories per half-cup serving, it is a good source of thiamine and riboflavin.
Malanga should never be eaten raw. Peel it like a potato. For soups or stews, cut it into chunks and add it to the pot, allowing about 20 minutes cooking time. To serve it as a side dish, cut the peeled malanga into thick slices and boil it in lightly salted water until tender, about 15 minutes. To mash, moisten the hot cooked malanga with olive oil and cooking water or butter and hot milk, and mash it by hand. Cooked malanga hardens as it cools, and should be served immediately.
Malanga is excellent fried as chips and in savory or sweet fritters. Cooked in other ways, it is best combined with other starches. Baking ruins the taste and texture. Boiled malanga can be put through a ricer or food mill and treated like mashed potatoes with cream, butter and seasonings. A good thickener for soups and stews, it's also used as an ingredient in empanada dough.
Taro (TAHR-oh): Also known as dasheen or eddoe, taro is often used for chips, which have fewer calories than potato or plantain chips (they appear as the blue-streaked chips in a bag of Terra Chips). Taro has about 100 calories per cup and is a good source of iron and fiber.
Taro roots peel and slice easily, but their starchiness makes the slices sticky. Taro irritates the skin of some, so oil your hands or wear gloves when peeling. While smaller ones don't peel quite as easily as the larger roots, they can be parboiled for ten minutes, and then the peels can be rubbed off.
Slices or chunks are a great addition to stir-fries. Japanese cooks will braise the small taro in seasoned broth. The green leaves of taro are sometimes available and are called callaloo. Prepare them as you would mustard or turnip greens. Besides deep-fried into chips, taro can be steamed or boiled like potatoes; added to stews and soups. It can be boiled, then used as an ingredient for croquettes, fritters and soufflés. It's also delicious cooked in a sugar syrup for dessert.
True Yam: Also known as ñame (nyah-may), these tubers have about 80 calories per cup and provide an excellent source of potassium, folic acid and zinc.
The skins and underlayers should be cut off. Scrub, cut into large chunks, then peel and pare deeply. Rinse and drop into acidulated water until ready to use. Frozen, peeled yams are also available.
The flesh can be simmered in salted water until soft, then served as a foil to sauce or stew. Like sweet potatoes, yams possess considerable thickening power, ideal for use in soups and stews. Boiled, they are tasty with cheesy or garlicky sauces. A purée can be incorporated into fritters and puddings.
Yuca (YOU-ka, not yuck-a): Also called cassava or manioc, yuca is used as a thickening agent in soups, puddings and fruit fillings. Yuca has about 135 calories per half-cup serving and is rich in potassium and carbohydrates.
As is the case with malanga, you should never eat yuca raw. To prepare yuca for cooking, rinse and cut it into three-inch chunks. Slit the peel lengthwise, slip a paring knife under the pink inner layer and pull off both layers of peel. Cut each section in half lengthwise and remove and discard the fibrous cord that runs down the center. Rinse well and cover with cold water. Frozen, peeled yuca, available in select supermarkets, is a good shortcut.
When cooked, it has a slightly glutinous texture (and if old or not cooked enough can be soapy or stringy). Latin Americans use yuca as you would a potato - deep-fried, boiled, in salads, shredded to coat chicken and fish, or puréed for use in breads, cakes and fritters; one favorite Cuban dish is yuca con mojo, or boiled yuca with garlic sauce. The fermented porridge known as foo-foo is made from yuca. A thick syrup made by boiling down yuca juice with sugar, cloves and cinnamon is essential to the West Indian Pepper Pot Stew, a dish that traveled to the United States, where it evolved into the classic Philadelphia Pepper Pot Soup. A similar sweet syrup called tucupi is used in Brazil, where native tribes also make cassava beer and boil the young leaves as a green vegetable. - CK
Yuca Puffs
Adapted from MMMMiami
by Carole Kotkin & Kathy Martin
- 1/2 pound yuca, peeled
- Salt to taste
- 1 egg, beaten
- 1 tablespoon fresh lime juice
- 2 tablespoons flour
- 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
- 3 scallions, trimmed and thinly sliced
- 1 red bell pepper, seeded and diced
- 1 small garlic clove, peeled and minced
- Freshly ground black pepper to taste
- 1/2 cup plain dry bread crumbs
- Vegetable oil for frying
Drain well and transfer to food processor. Purée immediately or it will harden. Add egg and lime juice; process until puréed. Add flour and baking powder; pulse to mix. Add scallion, bell pepper and garlic; pulse until just combined. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Chill for an hour.
Spread bread crumbs on a baking sheet. Form dough into 1" to 11/2" balls, then roll them in crumbs to form neat balls. Refrigerate again on baking sheet, covered, for at least 1 hour.
When ready to cook, heat 2 to 3 inches of oil to 375° in a deep-fryer or a suitable pan. Working in batches, lower yuca balls into oil with a slotted spoon. Fry them, turning several times, until golden brown on all sides, 2 to 3 minutes. Drain on paper towels.
Makes about 16 puffs
Yuca Salad
From Chef de Cuisine Travis Timberlake of Ceiba
- 5 pounds yuca, peeled
- 2 pounds applewood smoked bacon
- 1 cup blended olive oil
- 1/4 cup Sherry vinegar
- 1/2 cup Creole mustard
- 2 tablespoons coriander seed, toasted andground (divided)
- 2 tablespoons minced garlic
- 1 red onion, julienned
- 2 stalks celery, sliced thin on the bias
- 1 bunch cilantro, minced
- Salt to taste
Julienne bacon against the grain. In a medium saucepot, combine bacon and oil and bring to a simmer over medium heat. Cook until bacon is crisp. Strain and reserve both bacon and oil separately.
In a large bowl, combine vinegar, mustard, half the coriander and garlic. Whisk in reserved oil.
In another large bowl, combine diced yuca, red onion, celery, bacon and cilantro. Toss with vinaigrette. Garnish with remaining ground coriander.
Caribbean Malanga Bisque
From Chef Cindy Hutson of Ortanique on the Mile
- 1/4 cup herb butter
- 2 large Vidalia or yellow onions, sliced
- 3 pounds malanga, peeled and diced
- 2 cloves garlic, chopped
- 1 Scotch bonnet pepper, seeded and chopped (or more to taste)
- 1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
- 1/2 teaspoon ground coriander
- 6 sprigs thyme leaves, stripped off stem
- 1 smoked ham hock (substitute bacon)
- 2 quarts chicken stock
- Salt and pepper to taste
Makes 3 quarts
Truffled Malanga Skillet Cakes
with Mushroom Fricassee
From Chef Maricel Presilla of Cucharamama
- 1 pound malanga (about 2 large), peeled
- 8 scallions, white and 2" green, finely chopped
- 1 tablespoon crème fraîche or sour cream
- 2 tablespoons white truffle olive oil
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 1 pound plus 4 ounces mixed exotic mushrooms, trimmed, cleaned and sliced
- 1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil, plus 2 tablespoons (divided)
- 4 garlic cloves, finely chopped
- 1 large yellow onion, halved lengthwise and thinly slivered
- 2-3 serrano peppers, halved lengthwise, seeded, deveined and thinly slivered (substitute jalapeños)
- 1/4 teaspoon ground cumin
- 1/2 cup white wine
- 1/2 cup chicken broth
- 6 sprigs fresh rosemary (or thyme)
Place purée in a bowl. Add the scallions, crème fraîche, truffle oil and salt to taste; mix well. Divide into 12 equal portions and roll into balls between the palms of your hands. Flatten into
3-inch-wide patties and place on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and let cool at room temperature or inside the refrigerator.
Heat oil in a 12" sauté pan over medium heat. Add bacon and sauté until golden brown, about 5 minutes. Add garlic and sauté until golden, about 40 seconds. Add onion and sauté until soft and lightly golden, about 4 minutes. Add peppers and season with salt and cumin; stir for 1 minute. Add mushrooms and sauté until golden, about 5 minutes.
Stir in white wine and chicken broth. Lower heat and simmer for 5 minutes or until pan juices reduce.
Heat a large nonstick skillet, coated with a film of oil, over medium heat until sizzling. Working in 2 batches, place patties in pan and brown for 1 minute on each side. Lift out with a spatula. Divide mushrooms into 6 portions in the center of plates. Top with 2 cakes and garnish with rosemary.
Serves 6
Ahi Tartare and Caviar
with Taro Chips
From Chef George Mavrothalassitis of Chef Mavro
- 1/2 cup mirin
- 1 tablespoon shoyu
- 1 teaspoon lemon juice
- 1 pinch Hawaiian chili finger, crushed
- 1 tablespoon corn starch, dissolved in 2 tablespoons water
- 3 tablespoons Sherry vinegar
- 1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
- 2 tablespoons finely chopped chives
- 1 tablespoon finely chopped shallot
- 1 teaspoon ground coriander
- Salt and pepper to taste
- 1 pound ahi, diced into 1/4" pieces
- 6 slices white bread, toasted
- 6 teaspoons sevruga caviar
- 6 slices taro chips (see recipe below)
In a mixing bowl, combine vinegar, oil, chives, shallot, coriander and salt and pepper. Toss ahi with dressing.
Cut bread with a 3" cake cutter and leave the piece of bread inside. Using the cutter as a mold, fill with the ahi mixture up to 1/4" from top. Finish with a teaspoon of caviar. Remove tartare from mold and place on a plate. Repeat and garnish all with taro chips.
Makes 6
Taro Chips
Adapted from MMMMiami
by Carole Kotkin & Kathy Martin
- 1 pound taro (substitute starch of choice), peeled
- Peanut oil for frying
- Salt to taste
Heat 2 to 3 inches peanut oil to 375° in a deep-fryer or a suitable pan.
Dry slices well with paper towels, then fry them in small batches until crisp and golden brown, about 2 minutes.
Remove with a slotted spoon and let drain on paper towels. Allow oil to reheat between batches.
Sprinkle chips with salt to taste and serve warm.
Serves 4
Sweet Rice, Taro & Pineapple Compote
Adapted from Chinese Cuisine by Susanna Foo
- 2 cups short- or medium-grain white glutinous rice
- 1 cup taro root, cut into 1/8" dice
- 1/2 cup fresh pineapple, peeled, cored and chopped
- 1/2 cup unsweetened coconut milk
- 1 tablespoon butter
- 1 tablespoon sugar
- 1/2 teaspoon coarse or kosher salt
Place cheesecloth in the bottom of a steamer rack. Spread rice and taro in an even layer over the cheesecloth. Fill the bottom of the steamer pot with water close to, but not touching, the rack and bring to a boil. Cover and steam for about 30 minutes, until rice is cooked and taro tender. Transfer to a large bowl.
Combine pineapple, coconut milk, butter, sugar and salt in a small saucepan. Heat over high heat until the sugar melts, about 2 minutes. Bring to a boil and remove from heat. Stir into rice mixture.
Serves 6 as a side dish
Three Potato-Chorizo Hash
From Chef Randy Zweiban of Nacional 27
- 1 pound boniato
- 1 pound yams
- 1 pound red-skinned potatoes
- 1/2 cup mayonnaise
- 1 tablespoon roasted garlic purée
- 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
- 1/2 teaspoon fresh ground black pepper
- 1/4 cup canola oil
- 1 cup diced chorizo
Whisk mayonnaise in a bowl with roasted garlic, salt and pepper.
Heat a heavy bottom sauté pan over high heat and add oil. Sauté tubers. When they begin to turn light brown, add chorizo. When heated through, add a few tablespoons of mayonnaise mixture and season to taste.
Serves 6 - CK
- CK
