Burger Leftover = Mini Empanadas (Recipe)

The other day I was invited to a bbq get together with friends I hadn't spoken to since middle school. I was startled by this framing of the years that had passed. Time to rekindle old friendships! A few of us were going to supplement the meat part of the bbq with a potluck of snacks and I wanted to bring something more creative than my usual contribution of the latest baked good recipe from my stockpile of "to trys." A quick peek into the fridge uncovered some ground beef leftover from hamburgers D. and I had made a few days prior.

Aside: the burgers were incredible by the way. I hardly ever crave burgers, amend that, never crave. Yet even I was interested in the burger topped w. melted Saint Agurs blue cheese, thick grilled onion rings, sauteed mushrooms, and mesclun from the garden.



But back to scavenging through the fridge for odds and ends I could fashion into a picnic snack. Some wrapped pâte brisée (pie dough) was hiding out in my cheese compartment (is that actually meant for cheese? I've always wondered) along with a small portion of minced waterchestnuts. My first inclination was to form curried beef dumplings that you can buy in Chinatown bakeries or occasionally at a dimsum pallor. Waterchestnut = Chinese dish in my mind. I've always reverted back to my Asian roots when pressed for an idea, however this time I wanted to work with different flavors.

EMPANADAS DEFINED
South America's response to dumplings, or empanadas, can be found baked or fried and stuffed with a variety of fillings from cheese and vegetables, ground meats, and even fruits and jams for a sweet bite. Variations are specific by region and the dough can range from a simple savory wheat flour pastry dough to a coarser cornmeal or plantain dough. The savory ones are often served with a dipping sauce of pureed cilantro, vinegar, lemon, salt, pepper, and scallions called aji.

Perfect, a simple alteration of spices from Asian to South American and I was good to go. The empanadas or empanaditas as I like to call them were wonderful. The parcels puffed up beautifully in the oven and the beef was nicely flavored by the spices and herbs. D. loved them too, his only remark was that he could have done with more of the filling since the dough rose away from the meat during the cooking process. Por supuesto!

I baked the dumplings the night before and they heated up nicely on the bbq grill. They also recrisp nicely in a 350F oven or toaster oven for a few minutes.



THE RECIPE
South American Mini Beef Empanadas
(for ~ 20+ dumplings)
Dough:
- 2 C flour
- 1/2 stick cold butter in small cubes
- 2-3 tsp shortening
- ice water
- pinch salt
1) Add flour & salt to a bowl. Sprinkle the butter cubes over the flour and quickly work the butter into the flour to form a cornmeal-like consistency. (Alternatively pulse a few times in a food processor).
2) Add shortening and work into the dough in the same manner; the fat should be thoroughly dispersed throughout the flour with as minimal handling as possible.
3) Sprinkle the mixture with a tablespoon of ice water at a time and use a fork to scrape dough together to form a loose mass (3-4 Tb or more).
4) Lightly knead the dough just so it comes together in a ball, adding a little more water if necessary.
5) Wrap in plastic wrap and chill in the fridge for at least 30 min.

Filling:
- 1/2 lb ground beef (I used 23% fat, leftover from burgers)
- 1/4C waterchestnut, finely chopped
- 1 scallion, finely chopped
- 1/4 C cilantro, finely chopped
- 1/2 tsp cumin powder
- 1/4 tsp garlic powder (or fresh minced)
- 1/4 tsp coriander powder (or less)
- few shakes each cayenne, paprika, and white pepper
- a few pinches salt
- beaten egg, for brushing
1) Place beef in a large bowl and add the other ingredients.
2) Massage together with your hands or a fork until everything is thoroughly combined
3) Cover and place in the fridge to allow the flavors to marinate.
4) When you dough is chilled, unwrap on a floured smooth surface and roll into a thin sheet about 1/8" thick
5) Using a 2.5" round cookie cutter or round cup, cut out circles from the dough. Transfer to a floured baking sheet. Gather the dough scraps into a ball and re-roll for extra dough circles.
6) chill the dough circles 10 min
7) Preheat oven 350F
8) Take a dough circle and roll a bit larger (the dough will have shrunk a bit while resting in the fridge). Fill with a teaspoon or more of filling. Fold over to form a semi-circle, pressing the edges together tightly and crimp with a fork.
9) Transfer to a lined baking sheet and repeat with the remaining pastry and filling
10) Brush the pastry tops with a beaten egg. Bake for 10 min and check, flip the pastries and bake another 10 min or so.

*Play with different fillings to suit your palate. Tuna and hardboiled quail eggs, salted fish, ground turkey etc.

#1 Curry: Escaping the Formal Economy (INDIA - part 2 of 2)

Following the lead of a rickshaw driver is a street food lover's dream. As tradition dictated, I dedicated a final, full day in Chennai to enjoying regional flavors, with an emphasis on understanding the informal street food economy of India. Under Rama's lead I was free to sit back, confident that he would expose me to the best street foods in all of Chennai. Stick with the locals.

We headed out with Rama at 2PM, learning that afternoons and particularly the evenings are the best times for street food. Vendors usually uncover their carts by 1PM to serve the midday rush, staying until three or four before wrapping up for the day. A separate wave of vendors emerge with the last rays of sunlight to operate the evening crowd. Over the melee of impatient horns and grumbling engines, Rama shared with us his insights on Indian street food culture.

The majority of local citizens rely on meals bought off the dusty, sooty roads as an inexpensive calorie source. A basic rice and curry plate costs no more than 20 rupees ($0.40), a third of typical restaurant fares. More formal dining arenas are frequented by middle and upper class Indians to avoid the sanitation risks associated with eating in unregulated settings. As we drove, my eyes followed Rama's sudden gesture down an unexceptional street. "This is the #2 place for beef curry. You can see all the rickshaw drivers are eating here today." True to his description, a slanted row of neatly parked rickshaws formed a golden-yellow block against the monotonous cement background. A congregation of men, heads dipped to their plates, hailed Rama as we passed. Our rickshaw continued on, destined for "#1 curry" (leave it to Rama). Moments later we had sidewinded through oncoming traffic and cut a surely illegal U-turn to park by a compact, wooden blue cart. Despite being shunted off to the side of a three star hotel, the cart was surrounded by locals who prefer quality and simplicity to the bounty of restaurants in the vicinity. Rama ushered me behind the production table, elbow-to-elbow with the slightly startled vendor, to smell the action taking place. I edged in behind the surprisingly clean, well-maintained cart, and found myself catching a unique glimpse from a typical vendor's perspective towards the facing crowd. The curious patrons (more curious than hungry, Rama informed us) smirked or smiled up to me, with curry-filled plates in hand.



INFORMAL ECONOMY
Street vending in India plays out a textbook description of informal economies. While there are no legal government permits to operate and impose minimal safety regulations, vendors must bribe local police 10-20 rupees daily to avoid harassment. Despite the fluctuating conditions of the informal economy, vendors usually make more money than participants in the formal food industry according to Rama. #1 curry vendor dishes out an impressive 300 plates in three hours during the afternoon. At 20 rupees a plate, absent fixed start up costs, the man grosses nearly $120 USD for the shift. Variable operating costs are also lower with the one-item menu. Vending is a typically a family affair, with wife and mother participating in preparing and cooking the food. Unlike small independent restaurants in the formal sector, street carts are not usually passed down through the generations. Instead, many relocating Indians might set up a stall to alleviate debts while searching for other work. The unregulated nature of the street food economy has additionally created an informal credit system for trustworthy customers. Vendors may permit monthly payments for meals, and debts are casually memorized rather than meticulously recorded by pen and paper.

SOCIAL NORMS
In a small village, squeezed into another corner of Chennai, a shy woman was crouched by a circular griddle with her patterned sari wrapped neatly around her. She efficiently ladled and spread the fermented daal batter by her side over the hot stone in a few practiced movements. Minutes later, a thin dosa crepe was folded back onto a banana leaf, heaped with a familiar, spicy beef curry, and thrust eagerly into our hands. Feeling accustomed by this point to eating without utensils, I dug in and enjoyed a remarkable sixth dosa in three days. I had requested that we find a street vendor that "cooked" on site rather than merely dole out foods from industrial-sized pots prepared in-home. Beside me Rama beamed at the clear satisfaction on my face and the success of his mission.

Women are invisible participants in the street food industry. We questioned Rama about the female dosa vendor and discovered that her small set up was not typically intended to serve people outside of her village. Within the village, her role as a street vendor was more akin to a member of the cook crew in a cooperative living situation. A larger crowd, including toddlers and their caretakers, gathered around to watch us mop up the simple meal, wide-eyed in wonder as if to ponder, "Why are these foreigners here eating our humble food?" Humble or not my mouth tingled from its spicy deliciousness. Half of my delight I attributed to the elemental nature of our meal, and the other half to the opinion of my taste buds. Aside from our unusual presence, women are never seen eating from street vendors, much less playing the role of one. Rama explained that it was more comfortable for women to forgo the long stares in the clearly male-dominated environment and pay a few extra rupees to sit indoors. Not to say that women don't love street food as well; a national quality. Social customs differ throughout the country and in Goa and Karola, women feast or serve alongside men under the sun.

BEEF - The edible kind
Another intriguing aspect of Indian street food was the availability of meat in a predominantly vegetarian region. India has a hefty 80% Hindu majority which reveres the cow as the god Shiva's vehicle of transport, i.e. the cows with brightly painted, dual-tone horns, wandering aimlessly through the streets are not for eating. Beef and pork are absent from the handful of non-vegetarian South Indian restaurants, substituted instead with poultry or mutton. However, beef is surprisingly common in curries and stews from street carts, albeit scrappy, sinewy cuts and small cubes of liver; fine by me, I prefer the various textures. The reasoning is purely economical, beef is cheap whereas mutton is not.

SUGGESTIONS
Attach yourself to a local (preferably a rickshaw driver) to experience delicious street food at clean(er) locations. You can be certain that they have sampled every street cart around to find the best. Food vendors fill unexpected pockets around the city and would be impossible to scout out unguided. I had no need for either Immodium or pink Pepto, but bring both for peace of mind.

"Sister, Step Into My Shop": A Township Experience (NAMIBIA - post 2 of 2)

The beaten dirt paths by the beachside of Swakopmund are lined with several dozen craft vendors displaying their handiwork on top of blankets or propped against desert palms. As we wound lazily between the merchandise, vendors rushed out to greet us as "sister"and pulled us by the wrist into their "shop". Where one shop ended and another began was difficult to determine; the various wooden and stone statues, masks, and trinkets were near carbon copies of each other and only distinct in terms of handmade flaws. Similar to our experience from Moroccan souks, the vendors are relentless salesmen and the slightest interest in buying will lock you into a done deal before the price of the item in question is even determined. My motive, however, was not to buy and I soon discovered that as soon as I shifted my weight backwards onto my heels and brought my eyes up to their face rather than down at their goods, the men dropped their unctuous personalities and became folk conversationalists. One particular man made it his 30 minute goal to educate me on the "poor"foods of Namibia, once I proclaimed an interest. Instead of game meats most foreigners associate as local cuisine, most Namibians eat what can best described as homecooking. "True food is in the townships,"he informed me as if privileging me in on a secret, "You cannot find it in the restaurants or out here in the cities".

Townships are slums along the fringes of larger towns in many parts of Southern Africa. Villagers relocate to townships, most craft vendors included, where they will travel from their communities (sometimes as far as 20 km without a car) to sell their goods in the city centers. The disparity of wealth in Namibia is appalling. From the 2005 census, 30% of Namibians lived on $1 or less a day while 50% lived on less than $2 per day. Contrasted to the cozy oasis of Swakopmund, the townships are tight, packed communities with their own governing body and system of order. Crimes are notorious to townships and most tourists are sheltered from the periphery of these communities much less experience the culture and lifestyle within one. However these are the neighborhoods where the majority of the citizens live, eat, bath, and function day-to-day. This was the place to go for the "real"food. My vendor-friend shrugged casually and sent me on my way, muttering about bringing me some dried Mopani caterpillars (a regional specialty) to test the limits of my curiosity the following afternoon.

NAMIBIAN STREET FOOD
Even without the advice of my vendor-friend it soon became apparent that street food in Namibia was not only uncommon but nearly non-existent. Despite studies reporting that the majority of Namibians consume their food from street vendors, I only chanced across one solitary woman working her blackened grill one evening. She was strategically positioned, steps away from the entrance and exit of a karaoke bar, leading me to think she may have had familial connections with the owners of the local joint. Her food sizzled enticingly and was taken from mismatched tupperware containers of marinated meats, macaroni salad, and butter, pointing to the homemade nature of her production. A red-and-white checkered, lined picnic basket housed bread from the supermarket, disposable eating-wares, and napkins set beside the grill. 25 Namibian dollars ($2.5 USD) and a three-minute wait bought us a grilled slab of meat, your choice amongst a juicy marinated pork chop, steak, or spiced, long sausage. Dripping with lard and charred from the grill, the meats were penetrated with flavor, with the pork being especially tasty. The grill set-up is a common feature of Namibian foods and "braai"or bbq is ingrained in the nation's culture. Our hostess was shy, plump and good humored in her printed red cotton dress and apron. She runs her grill from 10PM until 4AM, breaking only on Sundays from the routine. Tourists, who are distinctly not among her regular customers, are missing out on some of the most authentic bbq around.

NEIGHBORHOOD COOKOUT
On our final day in Namibia I was finally able to visit the Kuisemund Township, a five minute drive to the edge of Walvis Bay, with a touring group. Corrugated sheet metal, brightly painted to liven up the atmosphere, make up the rickety shacks nudged tightly into countless rows. The expanse of the township is unbelievable. It is a necessarily closely-knit community, with rules and a formal governing system to oversee activity within the township (one could very well label it a small city). Order is strictly enforced and although the members of the township we visited were gentle, curious, and openheartedly kind, foreigners are advised to avoid the townships unless invited by a reputable member from within.



We stopped at an open air food market and the hidden street food culture of Sub-Saharan Africa was revealed to me without restraint. Street food serves a home-based need in Namibia rather than the tourist population we generally associate with street vendors. The market setup was remarkably similar to a neighborhood cookout. Neatly aligned rows of men and women wielding tongs, knives, tritons, or small hatchets filled a large dirt plaza with their bbq grills, butchering tables, stew pots, wagons, and baskets of puffy fried dough or bread. Tented produce stands lined the front of the entire operation nearest the sidewalk, displaying green apples, onions, and potatoes in bulk, wilting under the depressingly hot sun. I stopped to watch a woman baste her bloodied cow stomach, liver, and scrappy cuts of meat on the crusty grill. Closer inspection is not recommended as hygiene is minimal. One pair of tongs services raw and cooked meats and no refrigeration or running water appeared within sight. A man exchanged a few coins for grizzly pieces of the blackened tripe, which the woman had sliced into bite-sized cubes. A small pile of salt and a smaller pile of pink chili powder waited like miniature-scale sand dunes on a side wooden table. The customer seasoned his cubelettes with a pinch of each before they were deftly wrapped in a scrap of newspaper to take away. Walking between the aisles we watched similar transactions taking place. An army-sized tin pot of mystery curry or stew (probably potatoes, carrots, and meat remnants) bubbled away atop a charcoal grill in the absence of propane stoves. The atmosphere was overwhelmingly energetic and unapologetically full in your face; hot and sweaty from more than just the sun. A short distance away, a man hacked away at an unskinned portion of what was possibly once a larger animal. The local girl said it was a cow...but it could have honestly been anything. I was still debating whether the swarming flies were enough of a deterrence to sample some of the braai when we were called away to our next destination in the township. Looking back I regret my hesitation, (the tripe looked a bit dodgy but smelled amazing), however I was finally able to eat some Mopani caterpillars at our next destination.

Food in the township is basic, staples with few fringes. That being said, I had some of the tastiest food during my entire stay in Namibia at our next stop, the Mola Mola Shebeen (sha-bean). Shebeens were once illicit bars or liquor stores, popularized during Apartheid when blacks were banned from entering white clubs. Many have since obtained a liquor license and serve as historical landmarks and community gathering places in the townships. We brought our chilled cokes and orange sodas to a back room where half a dozen covered pottery bowls filled a wooden bench table. Our guide began by describing the method for eating the dishes, a pinch of "porridge", a steamed bread-like grey dough, paired with a dip into one of the savory side portions: stewed caterpillars, salted fish, rehydrated dry seasoned spinach, yellow lentils (similar to daal), or black-eyed beans. Poverty is apparent in the traditional diet where quantity is next to nothing and the ingenious use of resources is everything. The side dishes were all similarly pungent and condensed in proportion to the speckled mound of porridge, stretching what little is available to flavor the filler staple. Our caterpillars were rotund little buggers the size and thickness of your index finger down to the second joint. The first bite was crunchy and the second yielded an unplaceable Chinese herbal sharpness on my tongue, which sent me longing for home. Most of the stews, spinach, beans, or salted fish, had unique tastes despite their use of the same few ingredients, sweet peppers, onions, and spices. The legume dishes were filling, earthy and comforting, stewed to the perfect "al dente"firmness.


(Caterpillar stew - photo by M. Keen)

WHAT IS (IT) WORTH TO YOU?
A step into a township by no means demystified the economic, social and political problems plaguing the beautiful country of Namibia. What it did offer me was a personal peace in having sought and observed the lives of the majority of Namibian natives. When we haggle for our souvenirs and trinkets from the craftsmen in Swakop or Walvis Bay, we tend to disassociate from the reality these men and women face at the end of a long hot day. "What is it worth to you?"is a parting question many vendors will call to your retreating back after an unsuccessful negotiation. Peers returned with stories of exchanging their clothing, pens, used Nalgenes, cookies, basically anything to supplement their cash shortages. Above the costs of base materials, the vendors will usually come down to your counter-offer, usually about half of the starting price. Crafts and wooden masks have no personal value for the vendors, and I could not understand the seemingly lack of pride in their handicrafts until I stepped out of their shops and into their homes. Money, even crushed, melted Oreos put calories into their families bodies, not canvas paintings or beaded jewelry.

The Land of Meat, for Some: A Preface to Namibian Street Food (NAMIBIA post 1 of 2)

Let me first off begin with a correction to my MOROCCO post "Brain and Liver on a Stick" and an apology for my cultural insensitivity. As a friend kindly pointed out, the brain I ate was more likely to be lamb than pig considering that Islam is the predominant religion in Morocco. It was a delicious lamb's brain that I ate.

Onto Namibia.
To give a justifiable account of the "hidden" world of street food in Namibia (explored in my next post), I must first preface it with a more familiar depiction of foods visible to a typical visitor of Namibia.

On the 30 km stretch from Walvis Bay up to Swakopmund, a coastal German town and tourist destination, a friend questioned her taxi driver on what to eat while in Namibia. "Meat!" was his enthusiastic answer. Namibia is a country with a meat fetish. Wild game hunting is a popular activity as well as an industry, providing the exotic ostrich, zebra, boar, springbok, kudu, and oryx commonly featured on menus. (The latter three are antelope species). The pervading trend here is inexpensive animal-sized portions, reminiscent of the Caribbean style of preparation; seasoned, grilled fish, Hawaiian burgers and fries, rice pilaf, etc. Besides slightly uncommon combinations, such as mussels (shells included) topping pizzas, the food is recognizable to a Westerner's, or perhaps mid-Westerner's palate.

Swakopmund is a German colonial town North of the port of Walvis Bay. Directly to the east, Windhoek, the Country's capital city lies in the heart of the country. Despite its unflattering name, Swakop is a coastal mecca, a sleepy hidden oasis. Restaurants, and pubs particularly, are filled with South African whites and tourists, with a sprinkling of native locals. We wandered around the beachside craftsmen's plaza before heading into a popular steakhouse for lunch. The food here was fine. A slab of sizzling meat on an iron platter, larger than a man's head (which none in our group ordered, but salivated over a neighboring table's) was probably the most exciting item on the menu. The restaurant's namesake burger towered a solid foot (at least) and pizzas the size of a medium sized bicycle wheel ranged from $4-7 USD. I was frankly a little more than disappointed to have stepped directly out of the Moroccan cultural immersion back into an African version of Monterey Bay.

Namibia is a relatively young country, gaining its independence in 1990. The destructive vestiges of apartheid are still apparent in shops, particularly within the service industry. Restaurants are nearly always owned and frequented by whites, while blacks are employed to run the show. The roads are starkly clean to the point of being barren, street food is nonexistent in town centers. In a restaurant seemingly dedicated to ostrich meat, we encountered a blend local ingredients prepared in the European style. Table cloths and glass candle votives dressed up the wooden tables where white patrons perched with their cocktails. A local musician serenaded us with his guitar from a corner. We sampled ostrich kebabs laced between onions, sweet peppers, and dried apricots, a generous 79 NAD ($8 USD) plate, and minced ostrich homemade raviolis in a silky butter sauce. Ostrich is a red meat (surprise!), similar in flavor and texture to beef with a wilder tang and far less fat and cholesterol. [Another fact check for a restless employee on lunch break - Ostrich contains less saturated fat / cholesterol / or total fat than chicken]. The cubes were slightly burnt and the bird was tougher than the standard cow but without being dry. I enjoyed it more than beef, however I have a bias for gamier flavors. The minced ostrich enveloped in a thick, homemade skin didn't have a distinct flavor but was smoother in texture than beef. The true highlight of dinner, however, was the Illy (Italian) coffee that rounded out the meal. With the exception of Moroccan coffee (more milk than coffee), I'm beginning to believe (supported by hard evidence) that team America is sorely beat in the coffee realm.

JERKY
I cannot understand the obsession with Biltong aka "beef jerky", visible everywhere throughout the country. Keeping consistent with our MEAT theme, the jerky hangs in plastic bags emblazoned with its signature blue "Biltong" brand in every gas station and convenient mart. We munched in a cafe dedicated to the snack fad and variations of jerky, "Slim-Jims", and jerky nuggets on the menu. With jerky, what you see is pretty much what you get, and the addition of melted cheese and grilled bread merely added a layer of saltiness to the dish. Granted, a small sandwich goes for about $2 USD if you're peckish between meals.

A PLUG for (Desert) PEACHES
Its not ALL about the meat. So far, I've maintained the habit of visiting the local market while in port. This latest excursion led me to the most fortunate discovery of the Desert Peach. It's fuzzy, mid yellow skin revealed no clues to the liquid gold, sweet fresh flesh and juice wrapped inside. (Picture the hue of a golden orange African sunset and you're on the right track). My companion's eyes light up and a smile only describable as James plunging his face into into his giant peach came across her face when I forfeited a bite to her. I made the half an hour saunter under the blazing direct sun to revel in a second peach, even greater than the first (if possible, and it was).

Despite my reinforced statements of Namibians' love of meat, the average Namibian consumes less than 300 calories a day from meat. The economic disparity in Sub-saharan Africa is embedded in the unique food patterns of blacks and whites. Steaks and fancier preparations of meat are consumed by a minority of upper class Namibians (as I observed) in addition to tourists. (Swakop, like Marrakech, heavily catered to the ideal tourist). Meat in various forms is still enjoyed by local populations, however with much simpler, down and dirty preparation techniques.