Minoo Bakery

Shirini Khoshk
Minoo Bakery

Reknowned anthropologist Margaret Mead theorized that a culture's essential character is determined by the rigor and timing of its toilet training practices. (It's true! She even made a highly entertaining documentary about it.)

Personally, I'd argue for judging a culture by its cookies. Besides being more palatable, cookies are at least as revealing. Even simple things, like size, or variety, or shelf-life can lead to new understandings (or at least new questions) about how people within a group relate to one another.

Without getting into the twisted messages lurking in every family-size pack of Double-Stuff Oreos, I'll present a contrasting scenario, the cookie counter at Minoo, "Seattle's Only Persian Bakery". Lined with a huge variety of bite-sized cookies, Minoo's counter speaks of sharing and hospitality, of social gatherings at which there is a little something for everyone and plenty to go around. The bakery itself is an extension of that generous impulse, "...the culmination of [the owner's] lifelong dream of wanting to share the sweet traditions & culture of Iran with the Seattle community."

Minoo sells both shirini tar, or "moist sweets", and shirini khoshk, sweets with a drier texture (interestingly, moist/dry is also one of the major ways in which the Japanese categorize their sweets). Moist sweets are those filled with cream or custard or topped with fruit, many clearly influenced by French pastries. As Minoo's website points out, "Iran’s prominent position along the ancient Silk Road created an opportunity to exchange ideas and cuisine from Europe to Asia."

More traditionally Persian are the dry sweets, a mulitude of small, delicate cookies that Minoo sells by the pound. Berenji are pale, sandy circles made from rice flour, sugar, rose water, and a sprinkling of poppyseeds. Nokhodochi are clovers of chickpea flour shortbread, while keshmeshi have raisins and saffron. The larger kolouche have walnut or fig filling, but kulukhi are thick and plain. Zabaan are oval millefeuilles with coconut topping, and the little walnut gerdoi are earthy, not-too-sweet, and crisp-soft like fresh amaretti. Since the cookies are made from a range of flours, fats, and sweeteners, treat-seekers on restricted diets may be able to find something to suit their needs.

There are at least a dozen more varieties of cookies, as well as breads, cakes, muffins, pastries, rice pudding, saffron ice cream, summer drinks, coffee and soup. And whatever you buy will buy, the nice guy behind the counter will make sure that the most delicate items are nestled safely on the top of the box, kept in perfect condition so that you can share them with friends or guests.

Minoo Bakery
12518 Lake City Way NE
Seattle, WA 98125
206/306-2229

Sample more travel-related treats at WanderFood Wednesday...

Anamitra Chakladar: Kushti

Photo © Anamitra Chakladar-All Rights Reserved
At the outset of my Tribes of Rajasthan and Gujarat Photo~Expedition, I spent a few days in Delhi where I had the immense good fortune to meet with Anamitra Chakladar, a friend who attended the Foundry Photojournalism Workshop in Manali last July.

Along with Terri Gold and Wink Willett (participants in the photo expedition) we visited a Kushti akhara (a traditional Indian wrestling arena), and spent a couple of hours photographing the wrestlers.

Anamitra was born in Kolkata, and expected by his parents to be a teacher or an accounting executive/CPA (he graduated with an accounting degree), but chose to be a photographer instead.

He joined an established newspaper as a trainee photographer, then moved on to television joining NDTV, and saw more than his share of world conflicts including the first Gulf War, the ongoing conflict over Kashmir between India and Pakistan, the coups in Nepal and Bangladesh...and getting shot at during the 2001 attack by Lashkar-e-Toiba and Jaish-e-Mohammed terrorists against the Parliament of India in New Delhi.

Anamitra published his photographs of the Kushti training on Photojournale.

Remo Borrachini's

Remo Borracchini's Bakery

"Seattle's Favorite Bakery"?? Open since 1922?!? How did it take me 6 years and a serendipitous wrong turn to stumble across this place? I mean, they're not exactly hiding their light under a basket...



In the 15 or 20 minutes that I spent wandering the jam-packed aisles of Borracchini's grocery- deli-bakery complex I ate least a meal's-worth of samples and had my socks knocked off a couple of times. From tubs full of crumbled cookies and crackers, I had a chunk of the tenderest, most flavorful amaretti biscuit ever. Back at the bakery counter I discovered that simply letting your gaze linger momentarily on any of the goods in the case would cue the staff to extract an item, snap it in two or more pieces, and distribute the shards to any customers within reach. I especially enjoyed the traditional Italian treats (such as sfogliatelle, a stack of paper-thin pastry sheets wrapped around a citrusy ricotta center; pictured below center) and the seasonal iced sugar cookies (below, right). I also had a couple of bites of delicious sheet cake and watched at least a half-dozen birthday and wedding cakes go out the door.

Remo Borracchini's Bakery and Mediterranean Market
4737 California Ave SW
Seattle, WA
206/935-8944

POV: I Don't Kneel To A Golden Calf

A few days ago, I posted an opinion piece (or POV) on a renowned photographer about to engage in a project which I deemed unrelated to his travel documentary specialty.

As a consequence, I was criticized by a half dozen people in the blogosphere who, perhaps having misread the gist of my opinion, disparaged my photography, my prior career, my being Egyptian-born (as if that made me unfit to speak my mind), etc. Bah.

I was reminded of Jean-Jacques Rousseau who said: "Gratitude is a duty which ought to be paid, but which none have a right to expect" when I noticed some of the disparaging remarks on that blog were made by the very same people whose photographic work was frequently lauded, applauded and supported on my blog. Double Bah.

I don't know for sure why these people resorted to abusive ad hominem, but one of my guesses (and I have a few) is that they sought to get back at me for not being a lemming, for being an iconoclast of sorts, for not sharing their "gods", golden calves and icons, or to force me into a mold of their choosing. People simply don't like people who are not like them and don't act like they do...it's small-minded tribalism.

So move on boys and girls...I don't need you to tell me what to think and say, nor do I kneel to your golden calves. Get it?

Just so we're clear: A few expressed their disagreement with my view, but did not resort to insults. To those, I say thank you for your point of view...and let's agree to disagree.

Cherry Hibiscus Ice

Cherry Hibiscus Ice

Mazama Community Market, $1.25

Located in northeastern Washington's isolated Methow Valley, the town of Mazama boasts a population of 230--most of whom turn out for the Wednesday evening Community Market. As you might expect from an area that's equally attuned to the needs of hikers, skiers, wine connoisseurs, and libertarians, Mazama's residents are sporty, colorful, creative, and into having a good time.

While enjoying acoustic covers of Dylan and Grateful Dead songs and keeping one eye on the vegetable sculpture contest (for kids only, sigh), we wandered around the ring of stalls to check out all the goods on offer. Apparently, there are no limits on who can open a stall or on what they can sell. There were jars of honey and slices of pizza, t-shirts and crafts, a couple of mini yard sales, several people selling surplus produce from their gardens, girls offering custom bracelets, and a kid at an actual Kool-Aid stand unexpectedly selling pudding. Dogs wandered freely, sometimes chewing on hunks of cauliflower discarded by the vegetable sculptors.

One stall had a pretty impressive wooden sign advertising chicha tea, which I'd never heard of. The seller explained how she got into chicha and how it's really great and delicious, then admitted that she'd forgotten her tea at home. Instead, she had tubs of homemade fruit ices. I had the cherry hibiscus, which was lovely, with the sweetness of a jamaica soda and chunks of sour cherry.

Banh Xu Xe

Banh Xu Xe
Oaktree Market, $1.99/4

I try not to poke fresh produce, but since squishy treats won't bruise, I prod the little darlings with impunity until I find the tenderest batch on offer. Although I gave these banh xu xe a thorough once-over, the texture was a big disappointment. The padanus-tinted tapioca flour exterior was unpleasantly rubbery--just on the edible side of chewing on a fishing lure. Since another on-line review described banh xu xe as "jelly-like" (and "amazing" and "addictive"), I'm willing to belive that my experience wasn't typical. More likely the trip from Mai's Bakery in Montery Park, CA to the Oaktree Grocery in Seattle, WA didn't do the texture any favors. The paste inside was a tasty blend of mung bean, coconut and vanilla; I managed to think of the green part as just a disposable wrapper.

Banh xu xe appears to be a close relative of banh phu the, a sweet with very particular role in tradtional Vietnamese culture. Because the cakes' sticky texture is considered to symbolize the tenacious bonds of marriage, banh phu the can be given as part of a marriage proposal, distributed to announce an engagement, exchanged by new in-laws, or served at a wedding. The name refers to a tiny origami box folded from fresh coconut leaves for each cake; ideally, the box, lid, and cake should be a perfect fit.

Vietnam-beauty.com has a recipe for a cake that looks almost exactly like my banh xu xe, but calls for entirely different ingredients. Hmm...

"Give Mercedes a Chance" Cake

Decorated Layer Cake

$35, QFC

Last week it was my boyfriend's turn to host the monthly office birthday party.   Since it was also the 41st anniversary of John and Yoko's first "Bed-In for Peace", he chose "Give Cake a Chance" as the party theme and headed off to the supermarket to commission an appropriate cake.  Although he sketched a peace sign on his order, the final result delivers a somewhat mixed message... 

Himmelska

Himmelska
Svedala Bakery, $2

When the Svedala Bakery's tiny stall in Pike Place Market shut down last November, I feared I'd seen the last of their impeccable mazarin, biskvi, katalan, and limpa. I was thrilled to rediscover Svedala at the Thursday night Queen Anne Farmers' Market. Although under new ownership, Svedala is still turning out homestyle Swedish treats using traditional recipes and high-quality ingredients. I celebrated with a himmelska, a thin slab of fudgy brownie topped with a lacy layer of caramelized coconut macaroon.

Svedala's baked goods can also be found at some Whole Foods. And on Fridays, Svedala sells smörgåsar sandwiches at Seattle's Swedish Cultural Center.

Dede Pickering: Bhutan

Photo © Dede Pickering-All Rights Reserved
Dede Pickering has just returned from Bhutan with a collection of new photographs, which she posted on her Bhutan Gallery. She traveled in that Himalayan country from its west to its east and trekked in the rarely visited Sakten Valley.

I chose Dede's lovely photograph of the unfurling of a thongdrel for this post. The thongdrel is a large tapestry typically depicting a seated Guru Rinpoche surrounded by holy beings, the mere viewing of which is said to cleanse the viewer of sin. During tsechus, it's unrolled before dawn and rolled up by morning.

Having retired from the corporate world, Dede became a world traveler and photographer. She has traveled to Antarctica, Mongolia, Tibet, Nepal, Bhutan, Burma, China, Cambodia, Peru, Patagonia, Kosovo, Albania, Rwanda, New Zealand, Guatemala, South East Asia and has made multiple trips to Africa and India, but her passion is the Himalayan Region.

POV: P As In Professional

Photo © Tewfic El-Sawy-All Rights Reserved
The New York Times' Gadgetwise blog features an interview with Harry Benson, the legendary Scottish photographer, who shared some tips on taking photos in low-light situations. It was also picked up by WIRED's Gadget Lab.

Harry Benson's tips are:

1. Use program (P) mode to get the best results and to capture detail.
2. Remain in the reasonable ISO range, and avoid setting it above 1000.
3. Use manual focus instead of autofocus in dark situations.
4. Avoid using flash which, in Benson's words, makes one lose a lot of humanity.

It's refreshing to read such advice, especially since i've come across many photographers who shudder at the thought of using the P setting on their cameras (or admit to it).

I frequently advise participants in my Photo~Expeditions to set their cameras on the P setting during the first couple of days of the trip, to compensate for the jet-lag fatigue, and for the sudden disorientation we all experience in a new unfamiliar environment, especially if it's at a bustling heart-pumping festival.

I have used, and will continue to use, the P setting on the occasions when I'm unable to achieve the look I seek from a particular scene . This may be because it's a fast moving situation or because it's a low-light, or because I'm too tired or distracted to think straight.

During my Land of the Druk Yul Photo~Expedition in October 2009, I and the participants agreed that the P setting on the DSLRs we carried didn't stand for Program at all, but for Professional.

So my advice is when you're not getting the exact result you seek from a particular scene for whatever reason, set your camera on P and let it rip. The photograph above is an example of this. It was made during a festival in Bhutan's Jakar Valley, and I had trouble getting the right exposure using a manual and Av setting, so I just resorted to P...and I got what I wanted. Elementary, isn't it?

Harry Benson's interview via The Click

Setsuko Pastry

Green Tea and Cream Mochi

Setsuko Pastry, from $3

For two years, Osaka native Setsuko Tanaka has been supplying Seattle with the sort of Japanese-inflected French pastries that have become so popular in Japan (as well as in France). When she moved to Seattle 6 years ago, Tanaka hungered for treats she couldn't find: fresh Japanese sweets, light French desserts, and something in-between.  Having studied wagashi and pastry in Japan, Tanaka began to make the sweets she craved.  Gradually, her hobby became a new career.  

The featured sweet for March provides a great introduction to Setsuko Pastry's products.  The green tea and cream mochi (pictured above) is a delicate hybrid of East and West, old and new.  The mochi gets its verdant color from a generous amount of green tea, while the red bean paste filling is lightened by a non-traditional layer of whipped cream; the finishing touch is a preserved cherry blossom.  Like all Setsuko pastries, the green tea and cream mochi is fresh, made from scratch, and free of preservatives.  

The dessert platter pictured below displays some of the other items on Setsuko's menu:  a Mont Blanc topped with red bean paste and pureed candied French chestnuts, a green tea "rare" cheesecake, a syrup garnish made from a dark Japanese sugar, the green tea mochi, and two rounds of black sesame shortbread.

Setsuko pastries are currently available at Shun, Village Sushi, Issian, Kozue, Root Table, and the Panama Hotel.  Contact Tanaka via her website to be notified of monthly specials.  She also accepts special orders for birthday and wedding cakes, with vegan options available. 

Setsuko Pastry
206/816-0348

Hungry for more?  Check other food- and travel-related posts over at Wanderfood Wednesday. 

My Work: The Rabari & The Charpoy

Photo © Tewfic El-Sawy-All Rights Reserved
While in Dasada (in the Little Rann of Kutch) during the The Tribes of Rajasthan & Gujarat Photo~Expedition ™, we stopped by a small Rabari village to photograph. We fanned out to photograph whatever caught our eye, and whoever was willing to cooperate.

The previous evening at the Rann Riders Resort, we were shown a wonderful book of Olivier Follmi's photographs; some of which were of the area. One photograph in particular caught our attention, and it was of a Rabari shepherd asleep on a traditional rope bed called "charpoy". It was a photograph that I (and others in the group) was determined to imitate, provided I found the necessary rope-bed and a willing and able photogenic Rabari.

I easily found the charpoy, but to convince one of the Rabaris to lay or sit on it taxed my very limited Hindi and my rudimentary sign language. After some insistence (as well as having to literally drag him by the hand) on my part, the chosen Rebari cooperated and played his part...however, feeling self-conscious being watched by some of his fellow villagers, it didn't last very long at all.

Photo © Sharon Johnson-Tennant-All Rights Reserved
Sharon Johnson-Tennant, one of the group members who was also photographing this recalcitrant Rabari, captured the moment as I showed him the various photographs.

The Rabari tribals live throughout Gujarat, Punjab, Harayana, Uttar Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh and Rajasthan states in India. Some also live in Pakistan, especially in the Sindh. Their principal occupation is raising cattle, camels and goats.

Heirloom Apples

Heirloom Orchards Apples

Metropolitan Market, $2.49/lb

The first day of my freshman year of college I took a "Red Delicious" apple from the dining hall and placed it on a shelf in my room. I'd heard rumors that the cafeteria produce was irradiated so I figured I'd do a little low-tech experiment. When the school year ended, I took the apple down and threw it in the trash. Under its blanket of dorm dust, it was just as shiny, red, and rock-hard as the apples I'd eaten throughout the year--and presumably as tasteless.

After college I spent two years living in a small English village that holds an "Apple Day" festival each autumn. Apples were celebrated in all their solid, semi-solid, and liquid forms. There was a bake sale, apple champagne, and fresh cider, courtesy of an ancient stone-wheeled press and a very patient horse. Among the attractions was a leathery old man that a few of us called the "apple whisperer". Bring him a branch, leaf, or fruit from an unidentified apple tree and he'd tell you the make and model, then diagnose any ailments. I particularly loved to watch him take on a mystery apple; after giving it a long and serious look, he'd whip out an old wood-handled Opinel, excise a wedge, and pop it in his mouth in less time than it would take for me to find a clean cutting board. After a few seconds of furious chewing, he'd spit into the garbage and pronouce, "Dropsey's Amber Fleshpot grafted onto Blackgold Pucker; wants fertilizing." It was tremendously good regional theater.

Another booth sold a bewildering array of heirloom apples. My favorite of all was the tiny Egremont Russet, named for the lord of a nearby village and for the fruit's potato-like papery brown skin. Its creamy-white flesh tasted of honey, roses and jasmine. The first year, I bought a couple of pounds in spite of the stallholder's warning that they "wouldn't hold". I remember being surprised at how quickly they started to go soft, and then delighted that I had a good excuse to eat them one after another. Not in a million years would I trade an over-the-hill Egremont Russet for a dozen ageless, tasteless Red Delicious.

More recently I was delighted to find a selection oddball apples from Heirloom Orchards at a nearby grocery. I bought one of each and had my own tasting. My favorite of the bunch was the King David, a small apple as shiny and red as a garnet, with a sweet-sour tang reminiscent of Sour Patch Kids.

Mukhwas

Mukhwas

Mukhwas is to South Asian restaurants as starlite mints are to all-American, all-you-can-eat buffets. Dispensed from bowls conveniently placed near the register, these sweet little breath-fresheners also have digestive properties that can take the edge off a heavy meal.

In India and Pakistan, there are about a thousand different mukhwas recipes, most based on fennel or anise seeds. Mukwas can be sweet or savory and often includes aromatic oils such as peppermint or cinnamon. Some mixes look deceptively like confetti; others, like potpourri.

Although I've eaten plenty of mukhwas since starting this blog, it had never occurred to me to write about it until today, and I'm motivated mostly by the need to work through a weird experience I had on a day trip to Bremerton, WA. At a deserted downtown restaurant, I had some of the most delicious Indian food I've ever eaten, paired with what might be the most contemptuous service I've ever experienced. Our chana masala, palak paneer, and garlic naan were superlative--perfectly spiced and full of small but recognizable chunks of fresh and flavorful ingredients. Our server, on the other hand, was consistently hostile and brusque--but earned style points by having mastered the art of refilling water glasses without taking her eyes off the blaring TV on the far side of the room.

By the time we had finished and paid I wanted nothing more than to run for the door, but I made myself take a quick detour past the bowl of mukwas. Then I enjoyed my handful in the more welcoming atmosphere of the street outside. The toasted fennel seeds were so heavily candy-coated that they looked like reject TicTacs, but they were an effective antidote to the bitter taste in my mouth.

In the days since I've thought a lot about this experience and my reaction to it, and I've realized how much of my interest in food stems from its being a fundamentally social product. I work in retail food service, and I acknowledge that it's a challenging field and that everyone (especially me!) has their bad days, but I'm thinking more and more about whether anything can taste equally delicious whether served with a smile or with a snarl.

Although I usually include supplier contact information in my blog posts, I'm going to leave off the name and address of this restaurant. If you find yourself in downtown Bremerton with both a strong psyche and a strong appetite, I'm sure you'll be able to find it.

NPR: Ed Kashi On Pakistan

Photo © Ed Kashi/National Geographic-All Rights Reserved
Apart from joining the agency VII, Ed Kashi was also featured on NPR's The Picture Show in a piece titled On Photographing Pakistan. He also has more of his photographs on the National Geographic blog.

Ed Kashi's objectives were to show how the people of Punjab live, and how millions of Pakistanis just try to live their lives despite the threat of religious fundamentalism, especially as it's also home to the peaceful sect of Sufism.

I had the pleasure of meeting a number of young Pakistani women photographers at the Foundry Photojournalism Workshop in Istanbul just last week or so, and I was amazed at how they just lived their lives to the fullest, worked and crafting their impressive body of work seemingly unperturbed by the events that get reported in our mainstream media.

The above photograph was made at the mosque of Badshahi in Lahore, which is the second largest mosque in South Asia and the fifth largest in the world. The way Ed Kashi photographed the scene by slightly tilting the camera seems to be giving motion to the barefooted man and his cane. Nicely thought out and it gives a different perspective to the mosque which must've been photographed countless times.

"Summer Treats" Mural

Across from the city hall in Bremerton, WA, there is a wall of painted murals celebrating "Summer Treats". My favorite: this blueprint for the perfect ice cream cone--including provisions for "erosion control"!

WSJ Photo Journal: Sayyida Zeinab Shrine

Photo © Suhaib Salem/Reuters-All Rights Reserved
Readers and followers of this blog know that I am always interested in religious rituals of all sorts because it's during these rites, festivals and traditional events that devotees are devoid of day-to-day artificiality.

The WSJ Photo Journal recently posted the above photograph of devotees praying at the Sayyida Zeinab shrine in old Cairo commemorating her birthday. Zeinab was the daughter of Ali and the grand-daughter of the Prophet Muhammad. There's a disagreement as to whether she was interred in Damascus in a shrine bearing her name, or in Cairo.

Al Sayyida Zeinab is the patron saint of Cairo, and her shrine is located in mosque that bears her name. It was renovated and rebuilt many times since her death. The mosque is typical of the Mameluke style, and the cenotaph (seen in the photograph) is enclosed within a finely worked bronze grille.

This commemoration has now been added to my list of events to photograph. Hopefully next year in Cairo!

Sakura Daifuku

Sakura Daifuku

To understate the obvious, cherry blossoms are a big deal in Japan. Every spring newspapers and tv programs deliver breathless up-to-the minute reports on the best viewing spots. Photographers offer tips for capturing all that fluttering beauty on film. Friends and co-workers camp out to secure the best spots for ohanami (flower viewing parties), enjoying picnic lunches and sake (and sometimes portable karaoke) under canopies of frothy, pale pink blossoms.

But there's also a somber side to this blossom worship. As the short sakura season wears on, every puff of wind releases showers of loose petals, which drift like tenacious snowflakes onto the picnics and parties below. Short-lived sakura are a reminder of mortality (albeit a fluffy, pink reminder) and therefore a traditional favorite of samurai, yakuza, and all those who aspire to a short, beautiful life.

Every year around this time the global wagashi purveyor Minamoto Kitchoan sells sakura daifuku, little balls of white bean paste wrapped in mochi that has cherry blossom petals mixed into it. The petals infuse the mochi with a delicate but unmistakable perfume. It might not be one of the loveliest Japanese sweet, but it's one of my favorites.

Since I'm nowhere near a Minamoto right now, I decided to try making my own. While it's hard to harvest petals without feeling like a scoundrel, I quashed my guilt by wandering the long way home and taking a single blossom from each tree I passed. At home I rinsed them and separated the petals from the stamen and calyx (I guessed that these would be unpleasantly crunchy).

For the outer casing, I cooked up some short grained sweet rice (mochigome), then worked it over with a potato masher until it became a coherent but lumpy mass (having seen how much labor goes into real mochi, I hesitate to apply the term to my mush). Then I stirred in a little salt and sugar, a touch of beet food coloring, and a handful of petals. I formed my shiroan into small balls and encased each one in the rice paste, then topped each ball with a single petal.

I put a few in the freezer to taste when my diet is over and I can eat sugar again, and distributed the rest to friends.  Mmmm, mortality.  

Rajibul Islam: The Rohingya

Photo © Sheikh Rajibul Islam-All Rights Reserved
The Rohingya, a Muslim ethnic group of the Northern Arakan State of Western Burma, are denied citizenship and suffer persecution and discrimination in Myanmar. Hundreds of thousands have fled to Bangladesh. An estimated 25,000 unregistered Rohingya refugees are living in the Kutupalong makeshift camp in Bangladesh, and are being forcibly displaced from their homes, in an act of intimidation and abuse by the local authorities. Few have been granted refugee status. The majority struggle to survive, unrecognized and unassisted in Bangladesh.

Precious little on Sheikh Rajibul Islam's background is available on the internet, although he is listed on Lightstalkers as a Bangladeshi documentary photographer and film maker. Rajibul has also worked with Benjamin Chesterton of duckrabbit in Dhaka, where they have been working on a documentary about the effects of climate change on Bangladesh.

In my view, Rajibul and his powerful work belong to what I call the Bangladeshi "school" of photography...the dark and brooding style, which showcases social issues which need to be addressed. He's in good company: G.M.B. Akash, Sumit Dayal, Munem Wasif, Andrew Biraj, Tanvir Ahmed, Abir Abdullah, Monirul Alam, Shehzad Noorani, Saiful Huq Omi, Khaled Hasan, Murtada Bulbul, Mohammad Kibria Palash and Azizur Rahim Peu...and so many other talented photographers.

The Rohingya photo essay is showcased by the excellent Social Documentary. Social Documentary is a website for photographers, NGOs, editors, journalists, lovers of photography and anyone else who believes that photography plays an important role in educating people about our world.

Thanks to Benjamin Chesterton of the incomparable duckrabbit for bringing Rajibul Islam to our attention.

Last-of-the-Blackberries Cobbler

Last-of-the-Blackberries Cobbler

Now that she has absolutely no idea who I am, my 92-year-old grandmother likes me just fine.

Whenever I stop by her nursing home she greets me with a grin and the same question: "Should I know who you are?"

Nope, I always assure her, you don't know me at all.  I'll offer her my arm and for a few minutes we will toddle around the yard, making polite chat about the weather and the relative cleanliness of any cars in the lot. Back at the door of her building, she'll thank me for the outing. If she's had a good morning at bingo, she might even press a mini KitKat or a few peanut M&Ms into my hand.

It wasn't always like this. Although reportedly thrilled to welcome her first grandchild, her enthusiasm for me waned from then on, bottoming out around the time I learned to talk. Decades of holiday phone calls went exactly like this: "Hiya, kid!" she'd cry, then, "Now, pass the phone back to your dad." 

It's an odd thing to have a grandparent who dislikes you; after all, liking grandkids is the main item in their job description. It's odder still when you have a lot in common with that grandparent. My grandma did a lot of things that, even as a kid, I considered cool. She traveled extensively, sewed stylish clothes and knitted complicated sweaters, and always had some screwball craft project on the go, usually involving repurposed rhinestone jewelry and/or googly eyes.  We shared a lot, but only indirectly. We never traveled together. I took sewing lessons at a yarn barn, and learned to knit from a friend.  I started my own stockpile of rhinestones and googly eyes from scratch.

It was only when it came to cooking that I felt some traction. When we visited she'd pass around gooey sandwiches and rich casseroles and I'd think to myself, Surely this is something remotely like love. 

Cobbler was one of her classics. She made it with whatever fruit was in season or in the deepfreeze--most often foraged blackberries or marionberries, a testament to her thrift and persistence.  Sometimes she'd tell me and my parents that the cobbler on the table had been made with the last of the frozen berries, and I'd read into that that she was really happy to see us.  

Cobbler was one of the last things she made before she and my step-grandfather left their home for a assisted living facility.  She'd already slipped pretty far, and her last cobbler was not, alas, her best, but more importantly,  she invited my dad and me over for the making of it, to train us in the way of cobbler.  Better late than never. 

My grandmother was in my thoughts when I set out to gather enough late-season blackberries for one last cobbler.   Along with her craftiness I inherited some more dubious tendencies, most notably stubbornness and irrational thrift.  The latter drove me out into the alley for one last forage, despite the bounty already in the freezer; the former spurred me to stretch to my full tip-toed height, determined to reach a juicy cluster dangling overhead.  I inevitably overbalanced and took a comical spill into the brambles, emerging snagged, scratched, juice-spattered and laughing, recalling a story about my grandma's first week in the locked memory-care unit.  

Finding herself unable to roam freely and unable to understand the reasons for her confinement, Grandma took action.  When the coast was clear she pushed a planter against the wall of the patio; my 5-foot grandma clambered over the 7-foot wall and tumbled onto the grass on the other side.  She brushed herself off and walked around to the front of the building where she was seen and apprehended as she tried to totter out towards the main road (surely one of the slowest-speed chases on record).  

When my dad heard the story he asked her if she was scared trying to climb down from that high wall.  

"Oh, no," she insisted, "when I was a kid I used to do things like that all the time."

"But Mom," my dad pointed out, "that was eighty years ago."

So maybe I'll also inherit her selective regard for the passage of time.  I used the berries I gathered to make the summer last just a little bit longer.  Although the recipe I use is neither my grandma's (which calls for shortening, a non-presence in my kitchen) nor my mother's (Bisquick, same story), the cobbler turned out pretty well.  I would have liked to share it with Grandma, to see if she'd have anything nice to say about a total stranger's cooking.  

Cornmeal Cobbler

2 lbs fruit or berries, fresh or frozen (but preferably free!)
up to 1 c sugar
2 Tbs cornstarch
3 Tbs sugar
1 c cornmeal
1 c flour
2 tsp bp
¼ tsp salt
1 c buttermilk
½ tsp almond extract
1 beaten egg
4 Tbs melted, cooled butter

Mix the fruit and the sugar (to taste) and spread in a shallow baking dish. Whisk together the starch, 3 Tbs sugar, cornmeal, flour, baking powder, and salt. Mix the almond extract, buttermilk, egg, and butter, and stir into the dry ingredients. Top the fruit with large spoonfuls of batter. Bake 30-35 minutes at 375.

2011 Photo~Expedition™: In Search of Gujarat's Sufis

I've just announced my first photo~expedition™ of 2011, and it'll be once again in Gujarat, but much different in context and objectives than the one I led earlier this year. As I always do, its details are shared to those who subscribe to my newsletter, and after a week or so, I make them public.

It will involve photographing tribal life in western Gujarat, the hijras at the famed Bahucharji temple, document the syncretism between Sufi Islam and Hinduism in various shrines and sacred sites in Gujarat's southern peninsula, and the African Indian Mystics of Gujarat, with their distinctive music and rituals.

This photo~expedition™ is limited to a maximum of 5 photographers, and its details have now been sent to my newsletter recipients.

It promises to be another exciting experience especially as it involves so many off-the-beaten-path documentary opportunities...Sufi and Hindu syncretism, eunuchs, the Indian Sufi mystics, and Gujarat's tribals! Not the faint of heart or for first-timers to India, it's a visual and intellectual itinerary which will offer immense opportunities to self-starters interested in documenting the complexities of conflicting traditions and ways of life in one of the most interesting countries of the world.

Xoi Nep Than

Xoi Nep Than

Mekong Grocery, $1.65

I recently took a joyride on Seattle's new light-rail train, which currently runs from downtown to almost Seatac airport (the airport terminal is due to open soon, followed by more northern stations). It was a great ride--smooth enough for my creaky bones, but bumpy enough to delight David, a talkative 12-year-old fellow joyrider seated across the aisle (he was so adorably excited to take his first train trip that he high-fived the ticket inspectors).

Somehow rocketing along either far above or far below ground level messes with my internal map, so it wasn't until the trip back towards town that I realized the Mount Baker station is mere blocks from one of my favorite Asian shops, the Mekong Rainier Grocery. When I was housesitting in the neighborhood several years ago I made almost daily trips for single-serving portions of spongy duck egg custard, cut in thick golden slabs and laid across a little bed of black sticky rice cooked with coconut milk.

Alas, things have changed. The Mekong is bigger and more bustling, but the slabs of custard are no more. The salesgirl I asked said that it just didn't sell well enough (starting the moment my housesitting gig ended, presumably). So I had a pack of xoi nep than instead; the same mass of coconut black rice, but topped with a schmear of sweetened mung bean paste and sprinkled with flaked coconut. Not quite as luscious as custard, but good enough fuel for a train trip.

Mekong Rainier Grocery

3400 Rainier Ave S

Seattle, WA

Angelcots

Angelcots

Another fruit I wish I had on hand is the angelcot. I picked up a box of these at Trader Joes's last year and am eagerly awaiting their return in June.

The angelcot is a sweet, juicy little Frankenfruit, hybridized from Iranian and Morrocan apricots. Ross Sanborn came up the cross about 30 years ago and continued to tinker with anglecots for the rest of his life. A small annual crop comes out an organic orchard in Brentwood, CA.

Desserts by Holly

Desserts by Holly
Pilchuck Glass School, Summer 2010

Although dessert wasn't on my mind (for once) when I jumped at the chance to attend Pilchuck Glass School, they now feature heavily in my mental scrapbook, nestled quietly but comfortably between shots of liquefied glass and other swaggering pyrotechnics. While Pilchuck is known for the quality of its food, in practice it's a matter of who happens to be in the kitchen. The sweet-toothed glass students of 2010 have an ally in Holly Fox.

I was mostly too hurried or too hungry during my time at Pilchuck to document Holly's work sufficiently, but I appreciated every installment. Working with glass did not come naturally to me, and I spent much of the session feeling anxious, frightened, and down; I cannot overstate the comfort I derived from a slice of blueberry tart, a bowl of fruit shortcake, or a pocketful of no-bake peanut butter oat cookies.

Of all the session's sweets, it's the macaroons (above) that still have their hooks buried deep in my taste buds: crisp-tender golden haystacks of shredded coconut and toasted almond slivers, skirted with dark chocolate. When I asked if she would share her recipe, Holly apologized for not having used one. The macaroons were simply an elegant response to an array of demands: some coconut and some egg whites needed to get used up and a dessert needed to get made. The way Holly tells it, she just stirred in some sugar and the macaroons practically made themselves.

Holly also gives stylish haircuts and sews stylish bags (and torn trousers). When I asked her what kind of training she'd had for any of this, she said she owed her abilities to her mother's good example. It struck me that she has experienced the same journey--from apprenticeship, to competence, to creativity--undertaken by many good glass artists.


Want to hear more about my Pilchuck experience?

Charlotte Rush-Bailey: Tribes of Raj & Gujarat

Photo © Charlotte Rush-Bailey- All Rights Reserved
Charlotte Rush-Bailey is the second group member of The Tribes of Rajasthan & Gujarat Photo~Expedition ™ whose work is being showcased here on TTP.

As demonstrated by her photographs here, and by those on her impressive website, Charlotte's quest to explore the unknown and learn from it has always been with her. Her career covered three decades of marketing and communications positions in a variety of global industries including energy, financial services, media, conservation, technology and professional services. This gave opportunities to work with people all over the world, and to learn to appreciate cultural nuances and the influences of socio-political forces.

Photo © Charlotte Rush-Bailey-All Rights Reserved
This is no idle claim by Charlotte. I saw her engage people in the remote villages of Kutch and in the warrens of the walled city in Ahmedabad with an incredible ease, which led her to have no difficulty obtaining the photographs she wanted.

Photo © Charlotte Rush-Bailey-All Rights Reserved

Charlotte immersed herself in her passion of photography, and attended numerous workshops including those at the Palm Beach Photographic Workshops and Santa Fe Photo Workshops. She traveled to more than 90 countries, with a camera as a constant traveling companion. She believes that it was this that gained her more intimacy with people, places and nature.

Photo © Charlotte Rush-Bailey- All Rights Reserved
Charlotte's statement on her website reads:

"These explorations have enriched my life beyond imagining. Most important is the confirmation that humans – regardless of race, creed or tradition – share core values that far outweigh the differences that are so often the cause of conflict. The importance of family, community and spirituality are universal. Beyond humanity, nature has taught me complete humility and reverence. Nothing we humans do can repeal the laws and forces of nature; nothing we create can compare with the beauty, elegance and resilience of the natural world."

She's absolutely right.

Homemade Amazake

Aspergillus oryzae is practically the stem cell of Japanese cuisine.  A benefical mold, aspergillus plays a key role in foods and beverages as diverse as miso, soy sauce, pickles, rice vinegar, shōchū, and sake.  Perhaps one of the most surprising uses of this protean spore is in making a sweet, creamy pudding called amazake.  When added to cooked grain, the aspergillus enzymes digest the complex carbohydrates, rendering them into mouth-watering simple sugars.  

For the home cook, the most convenient form of aspergillus is kōji, rice deliberately infected with the mold.  In Japan, groceries sell kōji in refrigerated plastic packets that look like long-forgotten leftovers:  kernels of rice bound together by a furry blankets of pure white mold.  In Seattle I was able to buy freeze-dried kōji (Cold Mountain brand, $6.99/20oz.), tiny white pellets that look oddly sanitary and keep for up to a year in the fridge.  

Instead of following the instructions that came with my kōji, I used Sandor Ellix Katz's recipe.  Although the recipe appears complicated and strict, I made nearly every possible blunder and still ended up with edible amazake.  

The most common base for amazake is sweet rice but I opted to use millet instead, cooking the grain very soft and allowing it to cool somewhat before mixing in the kōji.  I didn't have the gallon jar Katz calls for, so I doled my batch out into three pre-heated quart jars, then put them in an insulated bag and poured in hot tap water.  

Overnight the bag popped open and the water temperature dropped much lower than it should have.  The amazake was sweet but not intensely so, so I added more hot water.  A mere hour later I could see white fur and small puddles of alcohol starting to form:  uh-oh.  I quickly brought the whole batch to a boil to stop the fermentation.  

I ended up with about 2 1/2 quarts--plenty to share around.  Although amazake is certainly not to everyone's liking, I've found that it quickly grows (no pun intended) on anyone willing to give it a chance. Because the bran on the millet was intact, my amazake is much chewier than versions made from white rice; if I had a food processor, I would probably run it through for a creamier texture.  Amazake can be eaten hot or cold, or diluted and drunk as a hot or cold drink.  Katz recommends vanilla, ginger, espresso, or slivered almonds as seasonings, or nutmeg and rum for ersatz eggnog; I enjoyed a warm cup with several spoonfuls of cocoa powder.  Amazake is also recommended as a sweetener for baking, and my friend Margaret used part of her share to make pancakes.  

Check out more travel-related treats at WanderFood Wednesday...