A guilty thought arose: I have killed so many. Insecticide, fly traps, wet tea towels: you name it, I have done it. Not because I liked doing it, but it was what you did to keep food safe, to preserve cleanliness. In hot places, flies are pests that threaten your food with their disease-carrying shit.
In La Granja, as children, during the long, boring siestas, we developed an obsession with trying to catch flies.
Sometimes it would take hours before we could, in a snap, hold a fly in our hand. We would wait for a fly to land near us, and then we would grab it, snap it, trying to be quicker than the fly. Most of our attempts failed. Once we caught one, we would play “Make a Fly a Pet”. This game involved tying a long strand of hair from the head of one of the girls around the fly’s body to hold it captive. The fly became like a miniature balloon with wings, desperate to take flight. It felt like a hero moment: “Look at what I got, a Fly Pet.” We would keep it for a while, amuse ourselves as it struggled, held by an almost invisible thread. Then we would finally let it go, the poor exhausted fly.
Who was the first person who told me to kill a fly? Growing up, killing flies was almost a summer ritual. We cleaned the kitchen after every meal, covered everything and sprayed insecticide around the room. At least once a week we washed the brick floors of the patio with a few drops of creosote to make flies go away. My grandmother was usually armed with a flyswatter, exterminating the last few flies before she shut the door on the kitchen.
The thought of taking the life of such a beautiful insect filled me with sadness. A familiar desolation descended on me, one I often feel when I think how uncaring we are with the life around us. Then I felt grateful for the moment, for the teaching that this fly was offering me.
A few minutes later, Fly went about her business and I got back to the parsley.
Later on that day, after serving afternoon tea and cake in the garden, I joined the group for the chanting session in the Chan Hall. We were chanting a mantra in English. It was sung almost as a hymn, which I found difficult to engage with: the words were beautiful but there were too many of them and it felt a bit churchy to me. The room was warm as we had to keep the stove lit for hot water, so the windows were open. The hot air made the space feel as if it was seething, as if each individual was multiplying just like the flies in the kitchen.
Flies were buzzing about. Two or three kept landing on my arm and got between my fingers, crawling around inside my mudra (the position in which we hold our hands in meditation). To start with, I felt aggravated by the flies invading my palms and fingers. Then I remembered my Fly and began to feel the little flies as they touched my skin. My heart opened, I dropped the annoyance. Distracted by the tickling sensation they created, I snapped both my hands shut, like I did when I was a young girl. In each hand I was holding a Fly.
Rather than the feeling of prowess I used to feel as a child, I felt humbled and touched by the flies in my hands, by the beauty of the moment, by the connection to my previous encounter with the Fly under the sycamores. I could feel the tears filling my eyes. I felt like tapping the Guestmaster with my elbow to show her but I kept the moment to myself and, for a second, I observed the room. Everyone was lost in their chanting and breathing. The flies were struggling and my hands remained shut. I could feel them buzzing against my palms. I held them there for a while, just to feel them. Then I opened my hands and, gazing at their freedom, smiled.
Essential Elements of the Zen Kitchen
Whenever I create a meal for a retreat, I attempt to bring into play the contrasts that give dishes a specific balance, hoping that in each bite people can savour the different flavours of each ingredient, as they come together in one harmonious plate of food.
Cutting vegetables and the handling of ingredients requires attention, and in the Zen kitchen it is elevated to an art form. Simple tasks like chopping or washing feel worthwhile and satisfying.
I love cooking on an open flame. Cooking with fire is like cooking with sunshine and I have never been able to bond with electric rings or ceramic hobs. In my opinion, fire enlivens food.
Whenever I source food I try to get the best quality ingredients. If you work with good ingredients, the food will sing as you cook it; you will need to intervene much less. I prefer to use organic eggs, flours, grains, root vegetables and oranges. Whenever I mention orange zest in a recipe, I would only use organic. I would also recommend brushing the skin of the orange before zesting it.
We are lucky to have a wonderful pantry in the Maenllwyd in which we store the basics. Over the years I have found that there are certain things that I tend to use all the time.
Miso paste
Miso is a fermented soybean paste. It is a major ingredient in Japanese cooking, used in soups, stocks and dressings. I like to add it to the dough when I make bread and muffins.
Tamari sauce
Tamari is the original soy sauce. It is made by collecting the liquid which drains from miso as it ages. In Japan, tamari soy sauce is mainly produced in the Chubu region, where it is also known as miso-damari. In the UK you can buy it in wholefood shops and in some supermarkets. Most wholefood co-operatives stock big bottles of tamari, and I suggest you order one. I guarantee that you will begin to fall in love with the quality it adds to food and will think twice before you use ordinary soy sauce instead.
Umeboshi plums
Umeboshi pickled plums are a sweet and sour fruit product popular in Asian cultures and now available in most wholefood shops. The ume plums are pickled and dried in the open air. Then they are packed in sea salt and sisho leaves, pressed and aged for at least six months. They offer a variety of health benefits. You can use them whole, or in a paste; you can also find them in liquid form. I like them in miso soup, or as an addition to other soup bases – I add them as I fry the onions.
Mirin
Mirin is a sweet sake or rice wine that has the texture of a clear, light syrup. It is normally used in Japanese cooking and I like to experiment with it. It gives a mild sweetness to sauces and it is useful when you are trying to avoid using sugar to make food taste less acidic.
A complete spice rack
I buy my spices by the weight and often develop dishes just because I am eager to use a certain spice. I keep them in jars and tins, and love searching for good spice blends.
Good quality oils, always cold-pressed and extra virgin
I cook with extra virgin olive oil or cold-pressed sunflower oil wherever I can, but I sometimes use ordinary, good quality sunflower oil for cakes and curries.
Pomegranate molasses
Pomegranate molasses have a very distinct, smoky-sweet flavour and I am still finding different ways of using this ingredient. I talk about it in more detail in the chapter on Pomegranates. It isn’t always easy to find, nor is it cheap, but it is worth it. You can find it online at http://webstore.ottolenghi.co.uk/collections/pantry
Good quality balsamic vinegar
Recently, York has been invaded by delis that sell excellent quality balsamics stored in big barrel bottles, from which I decant the vinegars into my own bottles. Amongst my favourites are fig and pomegranate. A good balsamic can really enhance a dish, almost taking it to a different dimension.
Sea salt flakes
I use Maldon, but other sea salt brands are good too.
Herbs
I very rarely use dried herbs. I buy them fresh in bunches and in pots and I love the way they enliven a plate of food.
Some words on preparing vegetables
Vegetables need to be stored and kept fresh until you are about to cook them. Firstly, wash them carefully. Whether you are tenderly rinsing leaves or scrubbing mucky carrots, this is your first opportunity to begin connecting with them, as you start to think about how you are going to cut and prepare them. A vegetable that comes into contact with water often revives slightly and if you look carefully you might be able to “see” it in all its splendour.
The way we cut vegetables is also very important. The w
ay they are sliced provides a keynote to how a dish will eventually look.
Make sure you have a sharp knife, a clean board and a bowl in which to put your vegetables. Have you decided what role your vegetable will play in the dish? Is it the star, or is it there as a base note flavour? Centre yourself in front of the board, remembering that your energy is going into the chopping, to enhance the vegetable. Sizes should be uniform to avoid unevenly cooked vegetables.
Food preparation can be a meditative practice; your awareness and attention should be on the food you are preparing, on the people you are preparing it for. Put your heart into it.
On my first retreat I was taught how to chop onions using macrobiotic principles, by following the onion’s natural line and giving it the thickness that you need for the meal. When I started chopping onions like this at home I noticed that the flavour was different, that the onions kept a beautiful shape. They cooked better too. I really enjoy giving shape to vegetables for my dishes, or instructing assistants on retreats. I have developed different ways of cutting and have never since then used a food processor to chop a vegetable.
Vegetables should always be the stars of vegetarian dishes, so it is important to really allow them to shine in all their glory. Here are some different methods I use to help them do so.
Searing
Searing, or sealing, is my preferred method, as it allows vegetables to keep their crunch. In a heavy metal pan or a wok, with a tiny bit of oil, on a high heat, sauté the vegetables so that the contours are sealed and golden, but the inside remains firm. Do not let the vegetables lose their colour by cooking them too much.
Charring, or broiling
I grew up eating broiled or charred vegetables. For our meat-oriented barbecues in Argentina we used to place summer vegetables in the wood embers and burn the skin completely, then gently peel it off to reveal a smoky, fleshy vegetable: delicious. You can do the same under a hot grill or directly on a gas flame. Sweet peppers, aubergines and onions work a treat.
Roasting
Roast vegetables (or fruit) with extra virgin olive oil, sea salt, herbs and garlic. You name it, it can go in a roasting tin: potatoes, onions, squashes, courgettes, beetroot, tomatoes, fennel, endive, carrots, parsnips, apples, pears, sweet potatoes, peppers, celery, to name but a few. I like to heat up the oil first and toss the vegetables with herbs and seasoning.
Water frying
This is my preferred method for greens. Heat a little water in a wok, add your vegetables and a pinch of salt, give them a stir and cover. This is a quick method, so presence and speed are paramount. You don’t want to overcook your chard or kale. You are steaming and boiling with the speed of a stir-fry.
Deep frying
This is not something I normally do, but I cannot resist a tempura of summer vegetables, or a plate of home-made chips, once in a while. The secret of deep frying is very hot oil and a good pan with a heavy base.
Steaming
Steaming helps preserve nutrients, enzymes and flavour. I don’t have a steamer and it is possible to steam vegetables without one. Fill a saucepan with about an inch of water, add salt, and bring to a boil. Add the vegetables, turn to a simmer and cover. Be aware that different vegetables steam at different rates.
Blanching
I learned to blanch vegetables with my sister-in-law Jane in New York, as I helped her prepare endless baskets of crudités for cocktail parties. Blanching is easy and a wonderful way to preserve the colour, flavour and texture of vegetables. Cooking them quickly helps to tenderise them whilst allowing them to retain their crunch. Bring a large pot of water to a boil and add salt to taste. Make sure that you have all your vegetables prepared and ready. Get the cooling station ready while the water boils. Fill a bowl or a clean sink with cold water and ice. Only add small amounts of vegetables at a time to the boiling water, to make sure that the water does not come off the boil. Boil the vegetables for only a couple of minutes and remove them with tongs or a slotted spoon. Plunge them immediately in the iced cold water, then drain and rest them before serving.
Braising
Braising is a good way to cook vegetables that can be stringy or a bit tough, such as carrots, celery or parsnips. Ideally you should braise them with a pulse, so that they are not the star of the show. First seal the vegetables then cover them with liquid and cook in a casserole dish in the oven or on a very low flame.
Zen kitchen basic vegetable stock
There is nothing more comforting than a bowl of home-made soup, and nothing more predictable than a mass-produced stock cube: a gungey lump of salt and who knows what else. Even Marigold stock is too salty and thickens the soup too much. I like my broths to be clear and light so I find this irritating. I work on the seasoning once the soup is nearly ready; my favourite seasoning is tamari sauce.
This is why we make our own stock on retreats and why I make it at home too, as a base for a risotto, for a soup or for a pot pie. Here is a rough guide to a vegetable stock. It is appropriate for all the recipes in the book. Don’t be shy with fresh herbs or with salt. Salt helps the flavour from the vegetables to seep into the broth). These are just guidelines, but remember that if the stock is too strong it might alter the flavour of your soup later on. Keep it simple, as the beauty of the stock is in its frugal taste. You will have space to tweak your soups with seasoning at a later stage.
You can vary what you put into the stock according to the soup you are planning to make. I like to add some kombu (seaweed) if I am going to make a miso soup; afterwards I slice it finely and add it to the soup. For dahl, I put in some fresh ginger and fresh coriander. Remember to use the tops and tails of your vegetables and the mushroom stalks. Be thrifty and inventive.
1 large onion (peeled as the skin can sometimes be too strong and bitter)
1 leek, trimmed and washed
A few celery stalks
2 or 3 carrots
1 potato, chopped, with the skin still on
A bunch of parsley
3 bay leaves
½ tsp salt
A few whole black peppercorns
Put all the ingredients into a pot of cold water. Leaving the lid off, simmer for approximately an hour. Drain directly into the soup, or into a container, to use later.
Vinaigrettes
Vinaigrettes offer the perfect opportunity to become creative and to experiment with ingredients. Get a sense of what might go with your type of salad. Be adventurous; tweak. Adding condiments and spices to vinaigrettes takes them into a different dimension. You might try adding tahini, pomegranate molasses, toasted spices, orange or lemon zest, or chopped fresh herbs. Choose according to the season or to the type of oil you are using. Buy something you have never cooked with before and taste it: what do you think it would like to be mixed with? Here are some guiding recipes.
Classic vinaigrette
125 ml extra virgin olive oil
30 ml good quality balsamic vinegar
Sea salt
Mix all the ingredients together in a measuring jug or a jar with a screw top. Shake spiritedly. Toss over your salad before serving.
Summer vinaigrette
125 ml cold-pressed sunflower oil
½ tsp Dijon mustard
½ tsp runny honey
1 garlic clove, crushed
Sea salt
It is important to whisk this dressing so I generally use a large glass measuring jug. Add each ingredient at a time and mix with a small whisk or with a fork. Be moderate with the salt, as it is better to add more salt later straight into the salad. Trickle the lovely ochre dressing directly onto your salad, or transfer it into a jar.
Fragrant vinaigrette
5 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
4 tbsp good balsamic vinegar or cider vinegar
3 tbsp water
2 tbsp wholegrain mustard
3 tbsp lemon juice
2 tbsp chopped lovage or basil or chives
A dash of tamari sauce
Follow th
e same instructions as for the summer vinaigrette.
My favourite Japanese vinaigrette
2 tbsp cold-pressed toasted sesame oil
½ tbsp mirin
2 tbsp brown sugar
1½ tbsp tamari sauce
75 g black sesame seeds
This dressing is perfect for greens, like kale or spring greens, served warm. It also works fabulously with blanched asparagus or green beans.
First toast the sesame seeds in a frying pan on a low heat until they begin to pop. Keep an eye on them so that they do not burn. Transfer the seeds into a pestle and mortar and crush them together with the sugar, the tamari, the oil and the mirin until you have a paste. Don’t expect it to be smooth; the texture given by the seeds will complement the softness of the vegetables.
Miso vinaigrette
2 tbsp barley miso
1 tsp Dijon mustard
1 tbsp water
2 tbsp fresh lemon juice
125 ml extra virgin olive oil
2 tbsp cold-pressed sesame oil
1 tsp finely grated fresh ginger
A good dash of tamari sauce
2 spring onions, finely chopped
In a bowl whisk together the miso and the mustard and slowly add the water and the lemon juice. Then drizzle the oil in gently while whisking (this helps create a good emulsion). Add the tamari and ginger and leave to rest. Before serving, whisk again and add the spring onions. You can keep this dressing for up to a week in the fridge.
Acknowledgements
I was on retreat at the Maenllwyd when a deep wish arose to write a book about my cooking experiences. I shared this wish during a communication exercise with Sarah Bird, and when it was her turn to speak, she talked about creating an ethical publishing company. Now both Vala and Feeding Orchids to the Slugs have come into existence: both owe a great deal to that retreat.
Tales From a Zen Kitchen Page 17