Bolivian Silpancho

Voting in Project Food Blog for this post begins September 27. Please head over here to place your vote. I will also post a direct link on the 27th.

As you may recall from an earlier post, one of my favorite things about food is the way it gingerly invites me to pack my bags and travel to its land of origin.

So when Project Food Blog Challenge #2 called for an exploration of a classic dish from a culture unfamiliar, I immediately turned to a conversation I had with my friend, Jim, who recently returned from a five-month stay in Bolivia. I, of course, took interest in the food there and he regaled me with a story of Bolivian Silpancho. And he kindly agreed to help me envision the final product, holding me to a high standard of authenticity as I attempted to recreate it. I must thank him for being the potato peeler, egg fryer, dish dryer, and all around pleasant kitchen comrade.

I use ‘comrade’ deliberately, a term that has historically been dragged through the dirt of many a political movement, absorbing dusty particles of connotation that might as well speak to the style of this dish. For Silpancho is a staple in Bolivia, in contrast to its somewhat tumultuous political instability. Jim would like you to know that this dish is, essentially, utilitarian in nature. Though I might try to infuse it with romance and dreams of a trip to this country flanked by the gorgeous Andes Mountains, such ethereal travel will most likely be interrupted by corrupt visa acquisition and my highly imperfect Spanish language skills. But Silpancho will do its job, giving you the energy you need to survive any of it. And boy does that sound like the kind of adventure I’d like to take.

But, then again, this is why I loved making this dish in my very own kitchen. Nothing there could stop me from a Bolivian excursion. And, in fact, I think the product was – if just a little bit – beautiful.

Now, Jim is the kind of guy who infuses conversations with the sort of unassuming educational tone that gives you so much knowledge, but does so without your feeling like a freshman in a lecture hall. So it was no surprise to me that about 3 minutes in to our cooking endeavor, I already learned of the astounding 3,000 potato varietals housed within the borders of Bolivia alone. I settled on these adorable little Yukon Golds.

Potatoes and rice form the foundation for the Silpancho, something you can easily compare to chicken fried steak. And I looked to this recipe from Saveur magazine for Patatas Bravas. These fried potatoes are crunchy on the outside, flavorful on the inside, and line your plate like golden medallions as if you’ve won some sort of price at the state fair. And, really, I’m sure this meal probably would.

A stacked layer of fried food items – fried potatoes, fried meat, fried egg – and there’s really no room for complaining, at least from anyone I know.

The bread crumbs rolled into the ground meat as you flatten it (I used lamb) into disks “the thinness of a crêpe” provide this light, crunchy texture that the yolk of the egg and the creamy rice soften just enough.

The Patatas Bravas call for a brava sauce to be served alongside. The sauce draws its spice from a serrano chile, and is a pleasant surprise when it peeks out from beneath the fried egg. My vision was to create an eggs-in-purgatory-esque top layer. It just seems such a shame to ever leave Italian influence completely behind. So I placed the sauce on top of the lamb, then allowed the egg to rest in its limbo of tomato and spice.

It is important, Jim tells me, to build a perfect bite when eating Silpancho. The parts of the meal are nothing on their own. A lot like all of us, I imagine. But together – the potatoes, rice, lamb, spicy brava sauce, and fried egg – form this creamy, little bit spicy, surprisingly delicious, yet unwavering utilitarian meal. It hits all its bases. And that’s not a bad thing in the slightest.

Care to pack your bags? Vamos.

Patatas Bravas
From Saveur magazine, here.

Bolivian Silpancho (serves 4)
Adapted from Lindsey Sterling and found here.

1 c. white rice
1 small green pepper, diced.
4 yukon gold potatoes (made into Patatas Bravas)
1lb. ground lamb
salt
pepper
3/4 cup breadcrumbs

Cook rice in boiling water. Set aside.

Massage salt and pepper into lamb with hands. Separate ground lamb into 4 balls. Put the breadcrumbs in a pile on a cutting board. Flatten each ball and press both sides into breadcrumbs. Roll with a rolling pin on top of breadcrumbs. Flip over patty and roll again. Continue rolling and flipping until the lamb is the thinness of a crêpe. Make a stack of four on a plate.

Drizzle olive oil into saute pan and warm at medium high heat. Cook lamb, one at at time. Flip when brown starts to show through the raw pink. Stack as they’re fully cooked on a fresh plate. At the same time, fry four eggs and leave yolk runny.

Slice Patatas Braves into 1/4 inch rounds and place them around the edge of each plate. Then place a scoop of rice in the center. Put the lamb on top of the rice – the potatoes should be poking out from underneath. Put the brava sauce on top of the lamb, top with diced green pepper, and place the egg on top of the sauce.

Serve with more brava sauce on the side if you like.

sentimental hearts, seasonal goodness, and sentimental eating: creamy cucumber velouté

I wouldn’t say that I’m an expert at convincing people of things. Well, some things at least. For instance when I spent a summer conducting telephone surveys, I had pangs of anxiety each time the phone dialed my next unsuspecting victim, as I would soon be forced to convince them that the purpose of my job was not to waste their time. Other times I can manage to get by, especially if my gentle nudges are set in motion by something I can be passionate about, like food or Italy or music or philosophy. You get the picture.

But since I’ve admitted it, I’ll be clear that I think this post will go a lot more smoothly if I don’t try too hard to convince you that I should be given the chance to progress through the challenges of Foodbuzz’s Project Food Blog (though I do hope you’ll vote for me). Instead I’d just like to show you what this blog and its writer are about through the best way I know how – by way of a story about a delicious meal I had.

She & Him played a gig in my town a couple of weekends ago and while I had looked forward to seeing them live since I first heard their music a couple of summer’s ago, I had no idea how the night would cap off this summer in the way a swanky digestif ends a beautiful meal.

If you haven’t yet heard their music, I really recommend you give it a listen. And that’s all I’ll say in the convincing-you-of-something department. Well, except for my asking how you can ignore a band whose biography looks like this:

“She & Him make music for an eternal springtime, when the temperature is warm enough to go riding with the top (or at least the windows) rolled down and the radio turned up. They occupy an alternate universe where the saddest of songs feel as warm as sun showers; the rain may be coming down, but somewhere nearby, everything looks bright.”

Ah. Just soak in that optimism.

The band played at an outdoor venue, a stand-wherever-you-can-find-a-spot kind of place. Standing on the pavement in front of the stage, you could feel every pluck of the bass and every kick of the bass drum in your chest and in your jaw. And it’s even better than the boom of fireworks you feel in your chest because this resonates through all of you, from the ground up, and not merely from somewhere up in the clouds.

The lyrics and notes are refreshingly upbeat, innocent, and even nostalgic, if I dare say so. The sound is decidedly old fashioned. The kind of pure, good music whose romance would inspire a boy with the good looks of Ryan Gosling to ask me to dance in the street, and whose tambourine interludes would make me swoon in my wonderfully vintage wardrobe. (This is a reference to The Notebook, for any of you out there living under a rock of romantic realism, chosen or otherwise, that shields you from the hopelessly romantic novel-to-film works of Nicholas Sparks).

It’s the optimistic purity of the music that I love so much, similar to the purity that I love to discover in food. The kind of freshness and simplicity that transcends a mere combination of ingredients, but plays like a cohesive, beautiful song on your tongue.

This cold cucumber soup works a lot like this. It makes me feel like I could settle into an eternal springtime, just as long as outdoor summertime concerts settled there as well. Although the way that the words ‘cold’ and ‘soup’ clumsily trip off your tongue does little justice to this dish.

What I made was a version of Josiah Citrin’s Creamy Cucumber Velouté. And it warrants every gorgeous French syllable of that distinction – a vell-oo-tay – which in French literally means, ‘velvety’.

And velvety it is indeed. The ingredients are few and simple to boot, and the presentation is fancy without much credit to your preparation. (Though I absolutely give you permission to accept any praise extended to you as all your own.)

I added a decorative drizzle of crème fraîche atop, just to make it a little extra special, even though it didn’t really need my help. The original recipes calls for this to be served in shot glasses, which I think would be absolutely delicious and elegant. Though I had fewer guests when I served this, I served it up in soup bowls.

You see, I just love the way that a dish like this, or making your grandmother’s famous recipe, or spending a summer holiday with family can carry the kind of emotions that only food can hold.

I hope to continue building a blog that reflects the simplicity and sentimentality of food, and in that effort I am participating in Foodbuzz’s Project Food Blog.

So, why does this blog “have what it takes to become the next food blog star”?

I like to think of this blog as a cocktail party of sorts. It’s one that you can show up to as you are, but gives you the freedom to feel a little bit fancy too. When we meet at the bar, I lead with a little bit about me, and I anticipate that you will lend a little bit about yourself. Hopefully, if all goes as planned and no one has too much wine, we will both come away having become better by knowing one another.
I can’t tear food away from my life, so I experience the joy of food in the anecdotal, the beauty of everyday experiences, and food’s precious ability to bring back old memories and forge on ahead with new ones. And I encourage anyone who stops by here to do the same.

I guess you could say that what defines me as a food blogger, is the sentimental eating that goes on around here.
My favorite She & Him song asks “what can you do with a sentimental heart?”. Oh, the sentimental heart. The kind of heart that unapologetically showboats on the sleeves of people everywhere. And my answer to the question of what do with it?: let it be sentimental, I say. Laugh. Cry. Be joyful. And enjoy it all. I can’t imagine a better way to do that then sharing in it all around the table.

If I’ve convinced you, then please head over to foodbuzz.com to vote for my blog starting September 20, 2010 in the Project Food Blog challenge. The link to my Project Food Blog profile is here.

And just stop over at foodbuzz.com anyway, because there are a lot of fantastic people over there doing a lot of fantastic things with food.

Cheers!

Creamy Cucumber Velouté
Adapted from Food and Wine Magazine, by Josiah Citrin

1 pound cucumbers, cut into 1/2 inch pieces
3/4 cup plan Greek yogurt
1/4 cup water
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
Pinch of curry powder
Pinch of cayenne pepper
2 teaspoons crème fraîche, plus more for drizzling
Salt and freshly ground white pepper
1/4 cup heavy cream
16 small mint leaves

In a blender, combine the cucumbers, yogurt, water, lemon juice, curry powder and cayenne and puree until very smooth. Blend in the crème fraîche. Strain the soup through a fine sieve, pressing down on the solids to extract as much liquid as possible. Season the velouté with salt and white pepper and refrigerate until chilled.
In a medium bowl, gently whip the cream. Season with salt and white pepper and chill. Just before serving, stir the velouté and pour it into 8 small glasses or demitasse cups. Garnish each serving with a heaping teaspoon of the whipped cream and 2 mint leaves.

*This can be made one day ahead, and refrigerated overnight.