Doris and Jilly Cook » Fermentation

Spring Loaded Carrot Kimchi

dorisandjilly — Fri, 25 Mar 2011 13:05:56 +0000

Last weekend I pulled up the carrots I had left to overwinter at my community garden. The boards on the raised bed were rotten, and my billy goat had offered to build me a new frame so I could put in my spring seeds. While I was grateful, that meant that I had to rip out everything still in the ground, ready or not. The carrots were a pleasant surprise. When I last checked on them a few weeks ago, they looked small, sad, lonely, and frozen. Turns out a few days of sunshine and warmer weather perked them right up.

We’ve eaten about half of the big ones already, in a slaw, a roasted carrot and beet salad, and as aromatics in yet another lentil stew. The little guys, being too delicate to cook, have found their way into a kimchi. We’re still finding daikon radish at our local farmer’s market, and carrots and radish are a natural pair. This is a quick kimchi that needs only a couple of days instead of the usual three or four to get just the right amount of tang. It’s tasty, too—I’m tempted to buy up all the daikon I can find to have enough to enjoy all summer.

Carrot Daikon Kimchi

Approx. 1/2 lb. carrots, cut into matchsticks (quartered lengthwise if small)
Approx. 1/2 lb. daikon radish, sliced thin (I used the 4 mm blade on my food processor)
3 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
1/2″ quarter ginger root, shredded
1 dried hot pepper
Scallions, if you have them
4 1/2 T kosher salt
6 c. water

1) Dissolve the salt in the water to make a brine.

2) Combine all the vegetables in a quart-sized, wide-mouthed sterilized jar. You may think they won’t fit, but push.

3) Pour the brine over the vegetables. Remove the air bubbles and convince the vegetables to stay submerged using whatever technique you’d like (I find that a jelly jar filled with brine makes an excellent weight).

4) Put your jar on a saucer (to catch spillover) and let it ferment for 2 to 4 days, depending on your preference, in cool, dark place. You should start seeing bubbles (indicating fermentation) within 12 to 24 hours. Kimchis are happiest when fermenting at 50 to 60°F, but note that the cooler your room, the longer the fermentation will take. Stored in the refrigerator, this will keep at least a month, possibly much longer.

The Preservationists Vs. the Artisans

dorisandjilly — Thu, 17 Mar 2011 13:05:38 +0000

Sometimes the New York Times annoys me.

Yesterday—in case you missed it—the Dining and Wine section featured a “D.I.Y. Cooking Handbook.” For most of the day, at least until nuclear fears and March Madness pushed it down the page, the story held a coveted spot just to the left of the videos. Click through, and you encountered an invitation to make your own mustard, vinegar, kimchi, and even Nutella. But do not fear, apartment dwellers! The author assured readers that the recipes are not seasonal and that they would require neither canning nor freezing. “Before getting underway,” Julia Moskin writes, ” it’s not necessary to understand lactic fermentation, or to learn the difference between bacon and pancetta.”

ARRRRGH. Where to begin. Let’s start with this. Has the author tried freezing kale, which she mentions as a particularly terrifying activity? I’m wondering which part of blanching vegetables and sticking them in plastic bags is so complicated, especially compared to, say, making tesa, a kind of cold-cured pork belly? And how do you reconcile the line that “You can’t get more local than your own kitchen” (from the introduction) with recipes that involve hazelnuts and chocolate? Are there secret cocoa plantations hidden in the wilds of Long Island? And what’s with the random swipe at Charcutepalooza’s February challenge?

I was trying to figure out what, exactly, ticked me off about this article. To begin with, I have a knee-jerk reaction against reporting that presents knowledge as bad. As an editor, it makes no sense to me that the Times will front complicated diagrams of nuclear reactors, but somehow decide that explanations of canning, lactofermentation, and freezing (?!!) are beyond its readers. The piece was also sort of randomly researched. The bibliography includes some useful links, like the National Center for Home Food Preservation, Hank Shaw’s Hunter Angler Gardner Cook, Kate Payne’s The Hip Girls’ Guide to Homemaking, and Charcutepalooza (at which I seem to be 1 for 3, but that’s another story). But no Food in Jars? Seriously? And what about Punk Domestics, your one-stop-shop for kitchen DIY? No Canvolution? No smaller-but-just-as-brilliant blogs, like Hitchhiking to Heaven?

I recognize that I’m partially annoyed that the New York Times does not recognize the brilliance of my hard-working canning friends, without whom there would be no canning phenomenon to merit a backlash against. I’m biased. Fair enough.

But I think this is about something deeper. For me, this article highlighted the fundamental divide in the DIY food community between artisan production and resourcefulness. On the one hand, you’ve got what I would call the Artisanal Brooklyn Movement (or perhaps Moment)? These are the folks bringing you $9 pickles. It’s a movement fueled by a desire to achieve freedom from corporate producers and industrial food. (These are values I share, by the way.) It is not, however, a movement that’s about simplicity or locality. As the Artisanal Brooklyn Movement moves toward self-parody, it seems more and more like its proponents are suggesting that you continue to eat the stuff that you get at high-end restaurants and specialty groceries—but instead of purchasing them, they suggest that you learn to make them yourself. And this, my friends, is how you end up making your own maple vinegar.

The most avid proponents of local food preservation, on the other hand, push austerity and making do. How long can you push the harvest? What’s the maximum distance of your food shed? Do you find that blueberries in March are better dehydrated, frozen, or canned? Sometimes you sacrifice quality for the satisfaction of knowing where your food comes from. Rather than something to be worked around, seasonality is the point. In spring you plan and plant; in summer you eat from your garden; in fall you harvest and preserve; in winter you eat from your stores. It’s alternatively exhausting, exhilarating, and monotonous. And this, my friends, is how you end up eating frozen kale salads in March.

Don’t confuse DIY with food preservation. There’s something to be said for each. While I happen to find frozen kale delicious, I wouldn’t eat nearly so much of it if it didn’t keep so well. It’s not very exciting, and I doubt that I’m going to see it offered up in my local boutique grocery anytime soon. It is, however, extraordinarily dependable, and cheap. So, I’ll stick with it. At the same time, I recognize the joys to be had from homemade artisanal products made with specialty or imported ingredients. As I type this, I’m sipping organic coffee imported from Costa Rica, sweetened with sugar from God-only-knows where. My coffee would be even better accompanied by a fancy homemade cracker topped with homemade Nutella—maybe I’ll try my hand at it next week.

All of which is to say that maybe the DIY Cooking Handbook isn’t necessarily so awful. It’s just not talking to me. I’m trying to take this as a reminder that I want my own posts to be as inviting to those of you coming at this from the artisanal side as this piece was originally off-putting to me. And I offer my solemn promise that knowing how lactofermentation works won’t make your kimchi taste any more sour (unless you like it that way).

But enough of my grumpiness. What did you think? How’s that tomato chili jam?

Ask the Goats: Canning Kimchi?

dorisandjilly — Mon, 03 Jan 2011 06:55:48 +0000

Ask the Goats is a semi-regular Monday feature in which we, the goats, attempt to answer your food preservation questions. Got a question? Drop us a line at dorisandjilly@gmail.com.

Q. I would like to can kimchi so that it can be preserved without refrigeration and for longer periods. Is this possible? You have no information on your site.—Robin A.

A. Alas, no. All sources I’ve seen say that while it’s safe to can sauerkraut and fully fermented cucumber pickles, it is not a good idea to can kimchi. Although I have yet to find an extended explanation, there seem to be two separate issues. First, there’s the practical problem that kimchi is generally too fragile to withstand the heat of a water-bath processor. Fresh kimchi is delicious; boiled kimchi, not so much. But putting aside the texture, there’s also the question of acidity. In fully fermented foods, like sauerkraut, the lactic acid produced by the bacteria is strong enough to bring the acidity below a pH of 4.6—the magic number necessary to make a food safe for water-bath canning. The shorter fermentation period in kimchis, however, is usually not strong enough to ensure such a high pH.

There’s one other thing to consider. If you’re eating fermented foods for their health-giving properties, keep in mind that canning will kill the good bacteria along with the bad. Killing bacteria is, after all, the point of water-bath processing.

And finally, yes, you really should refrigerate your kimchi. I just had to throw out a batch that I’d been storing in my 55°F basement. I had hoped that the temperature would be cold enough to inhibit the growth of molds, but such was not the case. The kimchi at the very bottom of the jar was still edible, but the rest of it had an off-taste from mold spores that had dissolved in the brine. Another jar of fully fermented pickled green tomatoes, on the other hand, had been more successful at fending off the molds. Presumably the higher acidity level had something to do with it. Chalk it up to lessons learned.

The Accidental Salt Mine

dorisandjilly — Tue, 19 Oct 2010 13:55:52 +0000

This has to be the coolest thing I’ve ever found growing in my basement. Fermented things, as you probably already know, require a lot of salt. To make sauerkraut, for instance, you mix approximately 4 1/2 T of kosher salt per 5 pounds of cabbage, stuff everything into a jar, and weight it until the cabbage is submerged in its own brine. Weight 3 to 6 weeks, and you’ve got sauerkraut.

Sometimes, fermentation gets messy. Your jars leak and leave little salty puddles on the floor. And because the basement gods were smiling, I got crystals instead of scum and mold. And although I do know that there’s a perfectly reasonable scientific explanation, I’m happy to chalk this one up to magic.

Canning Sauerkraut

dorisandjilly — Wed, 09 Sep 2009 12:10:50 +0000

Remember my pink sauerkraut experiment? It worked! And it’s delicious! And it made 2 1/2 quarts! Fortunately, sauerkraut cans well, so it’s now safely tucked away in jars. It will also keep well for months in the refrigerator if you have enough space.

Pink Sauerkraut (can be canned)

5, 10, or 15 pounds of red cabbage
lots of salt
a big jar or crock
a large plastic bag

1) Shred the cabbage very thin. If you don’t have a kraut board, a mandoline is your next best bet. If, like me, you’re frightened of mandolines, you can use a very sharp knife.

2) Combine each 5 pounds of cabbage with either 3 T of pickling salt or 4 1/5 T of kosher salt. Using your hands, make sure it’s evenly distributed.

3) Pack the cabbage as tightly as possible in large jars or crocks. The tighter it is, the better the fermentation will be. As a guideline, I was able to fit 8 pounds into a 3/4 gallon jar.

4) Move it to a cool dark place and wait one day. By now, the cabbage will have started forming its own brine. If the cabbage is not yet covered in liquid, make a new brine by dissolving 1 1/2 T pickling salt or 2 1/4 T kosher salt in 1 quart of water. A trick to keep the cabbage submerged is to insert a food-grade plastic ziplock bag in the jar and fill it with brine.

5) Wait patiently for 2 to 5 weeks, depending on the temperature of your basement or other cool place. It will ferment faster at higher temperatures, but you’ll get a better flavor in the 50 to 70°F range.

To can:

Pack as tightly as possible into clean, sterilized jars. Process pints in a boiling-water bath for 15 minutes, quarts for 20 minutes.

Pink Sauerkraut

dorisgoat — Fri, 07 Aug 2009 20:27:52 +0000

Thank you all for your wonderful suggestions about what to do with all of my red cabbage. The folks on Facebook were big fans of various braised cabbage options, but I’m sticking with the blog favorite: sauerkraut. Let’s hold off on sharing that recipe until we see if it works, shall we? Nicely salted and stuffed in a jar, it’s now hanging out in my basement. Progress report in two weeks.

Update: It worked! Recipe and canning guidelines are here.

Bok Choy Kimchi

dorisgoat — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 16:07:17 +0000

Philadelphia’s unexpected additional month of spring has been a boon for my bok choy. So far I’ve harvested at least six pounds from a single, 4 foot-long row. But my abundance of bok choy begs the question of what, exactly, to do with it. I do love the stuff, but you can only eat it steamed so many nights in a row before losing interest. Hence, kimchi.

For those readers not familiar with it, kimchi is kind of Korean pickle subject to neary infinite variations. Traditionally it was made by groups of women and stored through the winter (sometimes underground) in clay pots. The kind that you’re most likely to find at your local Asian grocery or Korean restaurant will have some kind of Asian cabbage, garlic, some kind of hot pepper seasoning, and lots of salt. Like most traditional pickles, however, there are as many kinds of kimchi as people who make it. Sometimes it has daikon radish; sometimes it has anchovies. Some people use fish sauce; others use pine nuts. As luck would have it, bok choy, with its big white stems and leafy greens, makes excellent kimchi.

I’m offering a recipe below loosely adapted from one in Linda Ziedrich’s wonderful Joy of Pickling, but I encourage you to experiment. Don’t mess with the proportion of salt, as you need a certain level of salinity to encourage the right kind of fermentation. Everything else, though, from the ingredients to the length of fermentation, is flexible. After six days my first batch was almost too pickle-y for my tastes, but the second batch came out absolutely perfect after only four days. Enjoy!

Bok Choy Kimchi

About 1 1/2 pounds bok choy (stems and leaves), cut into 2 inch squares
1 or 2 turnips, peeled and thinly sliced
1 to 2 T ginger, minced
1 to 2 T garlic, minced
6 scallions, cut into 2 inch pieces, then cut in half lengthwise
2 T hot or mild paprika (your choice: I liked it better hot)
6 cups water
4 1/2 T kosher salt (or 3 T pickling salt, if you have it)

1) Make your brine by dissolving the salt in water. Put the bok choy and the turnips in a large bowl and cover with brine. Weight the vegetables so that they stay submerged (see picture) and let sit for 12 to 24 hours.

2) Drain the vegetables, reserving the brine. Mix the remaining ingredients by hand, then stuff them into a large jar. I was able to make this batch fit into a regular-mouth quart mason jar, but you may need to use a bigger one, or use two, if you have more vegetables. Pour the brine over vegetables. Run a knife alongside the inside of the jar to release air bubbles and add more brine if needed. If you’re using a regular mouth jar and everything’s submerged up to the lid, just put the lid on. If you’re using a large jar and are having problems with things floating to the top, put a ziplock bag within the jar and fill it with brine. The goal is to prevent air from touching the vegetables.

3) Move the jar to a cool, dark place (ideally 68º: I used the basement) and let it sit for 3–6 days. After a day or two you should see bubbles rising to the surface. Taste it after a few days to see if it’s sour enough. When you’re happy with the pucker factor, stash it in your fridge, where it will keep for months (assuming you don’t eat it first).

Hobo Bread: Theme and Variation

dorisgoat — Tue, 19 May 2009 19:54:45 +0000

Some of you may recall Jilly’s gorgeous—and somewhat curious—hobo bread. In Jilly’s low-impact approach to daily baking, not only do you not knead the dough, you don’t wash the bowl. I’d been meaning to try it for quite some time, but I must admit that I was a little bit intimidated by the process…all those weights and measures and stuff. Last week I finally dived in. Since I didn’t have a starter, I used about 1 teaspoon of yeast to get things started, mixed it with 3 cups of flour and 1/2 cups water, a handfull of oatmeal and flax seeds, and let it sit all night. The next morning I stirred it down, tossed it around a couple of times on a flour-covered surface, put it in a colander lined with a muslin bag, let it rise, and baked it in a preheated dutch oven. (And very important: I saved a blob for the next time and stuck it in the unwashed bowl.) It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t spectacular.

Day 2: No added yeast: This time, I used the previous day’s blob as my starter. And lo! Beautiful bread:

And then, the next day, I took the starter and made tasty little sourdough hamburger buns:

The moral of the story is that you, too, can have amazing, pseudo-sourdough breads with very little effort, so long as you can stand the sight of an unwashed bowl and dough blob in your kitchen. By request, I’ve provided simplified instructions.

Jilly’s Hobo Bread, Simplified

1) When you make a batch of bread, pull off about 1/4 c of dough and throw it in your bowl. Add about 1/2 c of water and whatever flour is left on your counter to the bowl. Cover and let it sit overnight, or a day or two.

The night before or morning that you want bread:
2) Add about 2 1/2 c flour and 1 c of water to the bowl. Stir everything together and cover. Let it sit overnight or at least five hours. It should be quite large and bubbly.

3) Prepare a surface to work on by coating it with flour. Pour your dough onto the surface. If you’re planning on adding goodies, like herbs or nuts or seeds or cheese into the dough, remember to pull off the hunk of spare dough first. Work enough flour into it that you can handle the dough, then let it rest for about 15 minutes.

4) Shape the dough however you want. It’s not a terribly sturdy dough, so it will do better if it has support, like some sort of bowl or pan lined with a flour-lined shirt. It does have some spring, though, so you can definitely make rolls if you want. Let it rise about 2 hours.

5) A half hour before you’re ready to bake, preheat the oven to 475°, preferably with a cooking vessel, like a dutch oven or clay pot, inside. Then gently transfer the dough to the vessel and bake it until it’s done: generally about half an hour. Note that I baked the rolls dirctly on a cooking sheet, and they turned out just fine.

Vinegar Update

dorisgoat — Fri, 20 Mar 2009 00:50:41 +0000

Loyal readers may recall that one of our earliest posts dealt with making your own vinegar. I have been remiss in posting the promised update. As you can see, the gallon jug on the left contains a slightly opaque substance that used to be apple cider. It’s hard to see in the picture, but there’s a thin layer of bacteria about the thickness of a sheet of plastic wrap floating on top of the liquid. This is the mother: a thin layer of bacteria that eat alcohol and produce acetic acid, or vinegar, as a byproduct. It’s starting to smell a lot like vinegar, but the taste test says that it’s not quite there yet. I must confess that tasting it was a leap of faith, but I am happy to report that it tasted actually tasted pretty good—just like a sip of hard apple cider seasoned with some vinegar. Give it another couple of weeks, and we’ll have vinegar.

Now, the jar on the right is a true experiment, inspired by a recent post on Local Kitchen and another blog that I unfortunately have misplaced (if it’s yours, please speak up!). I’ve been told that you can make vinegar not only from fruit juices, but also from fruit scraps. So, last weekend when I made apple chutney, I saved all the peels and cores and stuck them in a giant jar with about a quart of filtered water. The first stage of fermentation (from fruit juice to alchohol) requires anerobic bacteria, so I’ve sealed the jar. Once it stops bubbling, I’ll assume that the alcohol production is done and will move to a cheesecloth cover, as the vinegar-producing bacteria—unlike the alcohol-producing bacteria—require air. This apparently may take many months, so stay tuned.

DIY: Are you creme curious?

jilllygoat — Mon, 16 Mar 2009 20:35:55 +0000

Welcome to the first installment of our new weekly feature, Ask the Goats!

Q: Tell me more about creme fraiche. It seems expensive. What’s all the fuss about? Is there a version I can make myself?

(Courtsey J, one of Doris’s co-workers)

Friends, it is time to examine a dairy product you may be lacking in your life. Creme fraiche is like sour cream’s fancy kissin’ cousin. It tends to be a little thinner and more tangy than our sour American version. However, there are two worlds to creme fraiche. The first one is the true, authentic (and expensive ) product of thick, unpasteurized fresh cream that is left to thicken and mature with its own proper lactic cultures. It is generally pricey and sometimes quite difficult to obtain since it requires raw cream. (However, you can order it from the Vermont Butter and Cheese Company.)

Our version of creme fraiche should always be identified as to its origins: a mock version that is easily made it at home with heavy cream, buttermilk, and time. Obviously, if you have lovely local, raw and organic dairy products on hand, use those. But you can very easily make this with corner store ingredients.

Here’s what you do:

Stir about 2 tablespoons of buttermilk into 1 cup of heavy cream. Place in a warm area, say near a pilot light, wood stove, or on top of your refridgerator–you’re looking for a home of about 85 degrees. Cover loosely and leave for at least 8 hours. The amount of time it takes to thicken and sour slightly will depend on the temperature and quality of the buttermilk you are using.

Why isn’t this real creme fraiche? If you’re pouring your cream and buttermilk from a carton that says “pasteurized” or “ultra-pasteurized” you’re miles away from the real deal simply because your product is barren of wild and tasty lactic cultures that are swimming around in the raw dairy product. Another important difference between the two is that real creme fraiche will tolerate cooking and gentle heating and retain its thickening powers. Mock creme fraiche lacks this ability and is poorly suited for dessert slathering and sauce thickening. It is, however, great for drizzling over special bruschetta, starchy things like potatoes, or adding to a composed dessert bowl thing (like fresh berries topped with crumbled streudel bits…)