An oval or oblong tray of metal or glass with compartments for fresh vegetables, pickles, and other condiments, the relish tray has been a fixture on the American table. Full of raw vegetable crudités, radishes, scallions, and sweet peppers, it provided a way to brag about one’s garden. The small wells filled with dilly beans and several varieties of cucumber pickles—as well as those made from watermelon, pearl onions, beets, and even quail eggs—bespoke a knowledgeable, talented, and thrifty cook. The cavities filled with exotic chutneys, fruit preserves, spiced dips, or “catsups” made from tomatoes or nuts were emblematic of travels, worldliness, and, of course, immigrant help in the kitchen.
Relishes might be nibbled before the first course to take the edge off an appetite, or used as a counterpoint—be it crisp and cool, sweet, spicy, sharp or salty—to various courses. A good rule of thumb: The more abundant and imaginative the relish offerings, the more important the occasion.
The creation of relish trays peaked between the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Not long after, Grandma’s relish tray was attic bound, to be unpacked only for holiday meals. Perhaps the ornate trays eclipsed their contents. Perhaps relish offerings became less toothsome as more of them were made outside the home. Or maybe the relish custom was collateral damage to the rise of the cocktail party.
The current return of the relish tray is likewise related to cultural shifts. There is less stand-around-with-a-cocktail time and more hang-out-at-the-table time these days. Gardening has returned with a vengeance, and homemade pickles and preserves are badges of honor. Condiments also add a note of exotica to an otherwise ho-hum meal.
Jicama, Japanese daikon, and varietal radishes have joined the carrots and celery, and if the celery is stuffed today, it is most likely with goat cheese rather than cream cheese. Olives are no longer merely green or black. They may be Arancino from Italy, Amfissa from Greece, Araban du Var from France. Salsa and Asian chile dips occupy the former catsup compartment; sweet peppers are more likely to be roasted and served in olive oil; pickles are as likely to be from East Asia as they are from Grandma’s recipe box.
EASTHAMPTON, NEW YORK
It is not possible to overstate the importance of pickles in America. The Spanish pickle merchant and explorer Amerigo Vespucci stocked the ships of Columbus’s voyage with scurvy-fighting pickles, and when the crews lived to plant the flag in the New World, the pickle man lent his name to the continent. For many, pickle-making has remained the best sort of patriotism. Dorothy Kalins, the founder of Saveur magazine, and her husband, Roger Sherman, a documentary filmmaker, fell in love with the pickles that they bought from a farmstand near their summer house at the eastern tip of Long Island. In fact, their appetite for pickles—on sandwiches, served with roasted meat like duck or turkey—soon outstripped the local supply, and they had to make their own. “I knew that I wanted crispness, so I wanted a refrigerator pickle, not a canned pickle. I was afraid that the water bath would turn them limp. Limp is the enemy. We wanted a classic American bread-and-butter pickle, nothing innovative, nothing fancy, no overpowering seasonings. This recipe emerged after trying a bunch of batches. For perfect crispness, slice the cucumbers at least ⅓ inch thick; thinner slices go limp. I like to use small onions so that you see a whole slice in the jar. Stored in the refrigerator, they stay perfectly crisp for eight or nine months.”
60 Kirby cucumbers, well scrubbed but unpeeled
½ cup kosher salt, plus more if necessary
8 small white onions, thinly sliced
2 quarts cider vinegar
7 cups sugar
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon yellow mustard seeds
2 tablespoons ground turmeric
Eight 1-quart canning jars and lids, washed, sterilized, and standing in scalding-hot water
1. Cut the cucumbers into slices ⅓ to ½ inch thick and form a neat layer in the bottom of a very large nonreactive pot. Season lightly with salt. Add another layer of cucumbers, cover with a thin layer of onions, and sprinkle lightly with salt. Continue cutting and layering the cucumbers, onions, and salt until all ingredients are used up. Place the pot in the refrigerator overnight.
2. In the morning, drain the cucumbers and discard the liquid. Working in batches as necessary, place cucumbers in a colander to drain further.
3. Rinse the pot and add the vinegar, sugar, mustard seeds, and turmeric. Place over low heat and cook until the sugar is dissolved, about 5 minutes. Return the cucumbers to the pot, cover, and bring to a boil over medium-low heat. Simmer until cucumbers are no longer bright green but are still crisp, about 20 minutes.
4. Transfer the pickles to the sterilized jars, filling them with the pickling liquid to within ½ inch of the rim, and refrigerate. When cool, wipe the rims and put the lids on the jars.
MAKES 8 QUARTS PICKLES
LOUDON COUNTY, VIRGINIA
Growing up in southern Virginia, Andrea Meyer admired her grandmother’s basement shelves of beautiful and colorful jars of vegetables. But they never found stringing beans and snapping the ends much fun, so she swore she would never can. But after teaching in Saipan, Colombia, and Saudi Arabia, the mother of three “rambunctious boys” returned to Virginia and reconsidered her position on not stocking the larder. “My sister, Angela, is really the Canning Queen,” she said, “but the more we grow our own food, the more I understand and appreciate farmers, especially how their lives can revolve around harvesting. As the cold temperatures creep in, I find myself pulled into the garden, collecting what is left of our summer herbs and vegetables, and then back into the kitchen as we preserve what we grew.” Green tomato pickles are especially delicious with wafers of ham or other rich meat. They are not bad with fried chicken, either. Making pickle brine was once guesswork because the density of commercial salt varied. To ensure a brine with a salt concentration sufficient for winter preservation, early picklers followed the rule of enough salt to float an egg, but the resulting pickles were often so salty that they had to be soaked in water for days before eating.
FOR THE PICKLES
36 garlic cloves, peeled
24 jalapeño or serrano chiles, stemmed, halved, and seeded
¾ cup chopped fresh dill
¼ cup olive oil
1 tablespoon pickling spice
1 tablespoon powdered alum (optional)
Twelve 1-pint or six 1-quart canning jars and lids, washed, sterilized, and standing by in scalding-hot water
5 pounds green tomatoes, cored and quartered
FOR THE BRINE
3 quarts water
2 quarts distilled white vinegar
¾ cup pickling salt
1. To make the pickles: Evenly divide the garlic, chiles, dill, oil, pickling spice, and alum (if using) among the jars. Pack each jar tightly with tomatoes.
2. To make the brine: In a large saucepan, bring the water, vinegar, and salt to a boil over high heat. Reduce the heat to medium and simmer for 15 minutes.
3. Fill the jars with the hot brine up to ½ inch below the rim. Run a knife down and around each jar to release air bubbles. Wipe the rims and seal the jars. Cool to room temperature and refrigerate for two weeks before serving. The pickles will keep for one year in the refrigerator.
MAKES 12 PINTS OR 6 QUARTS PICKLES
DALLAS, TEXAS
Kim McVicker and her husband, Bryan, are partial to healthy, adventuresome cooking, and, oddly, few recipes satisfy their tastes as succinctly as her grandmother’s recipe for chow-chow, a traditional American pickled relish. Sometimes spelled “chowchow,” some linked its name to nineteenth-century Chinese railway workers, for whom the term described a condiment of orange peel and ginger in heavy syrup. Others claim chow-chow comes from the French chou, or cauliflower, which is often a primary ingredient. In Pennsylvania, a sweeter version prevails, but further south, Cajun-ish versions like Ms. McVicker’s are used like hot sauce.
“My grandmother never had a food processor, so making chow-chow was an all-day, all-hands-on-deck type of thing,” says Ms. McVicker. She remembers an uncle slicing onions with a piece of bread in his mouth to keep the tears from flowing. She first ate chow-chow on red beans and rice, influenced by their Cajun/Creole neighbors. “I loved it! It was always on the table at my grandmother’s house. I really like it on hot dogs and black-eyed peas. I gave a jar once to my sister-in-law’s mother, who is from the Midwest and had never had it before. She said her jar was gone in a week. She and her husband ate it on scrambled eggs for breakfast.”
5 pounds green to pink (unripe) tomatoes, cored and finely chopped
2 medium heads green cabbage, cored and finely chopped
10 medium onions, finely chopped
6 green bell peppers, stemmed, seeded, and finely chopped
4 red bell peppers, stemmed, seeded, and finely chopped
2 to 4 jalapeño chiles (optional), stemmed, seeded, and finely chopped
⅓ cup kosher salt
6 cups cider vinegar
3 cups sugar
1½ teaspoons ground turmeric
1½ teaspoons ground allspice
1½ teaspoons ground cinnamon
1½ teaspoons celery seeds
Fourteen 1-pint canning jars and lids, washed, sterilized, and standing by in scalding-hot water
1. Toss the tomatoes, cabbage, onions, bell peppers, and chiles (if using) with the salt in a large nonreactive container, cover, and refrigerate for 8 to 12 hours.
2. Transfer the vegetables to a large nonreactive pot and stir in the vinegar, sugar, turmeric, allspice, cinnamon, and celery seeds. Bring to a simmer and cook, stirring occasionally, for 20 minutes.
3. Pack the mixture into the prepared jars. Run a knife down and around each jar to release air bubbles. Wipe the rims and seal the jars. Process in boiling water for 10 minutes. Let the jars cool on the counter without touching before storing.
MAKES 14 PINTS CHOW-CHOW
WOODBURY, NEW JERSEY
Having plowed up every inch of the yard surrounding his home in Woodbury, New Jersey, to plant vegetables, mail carrier Dave Umphress produces so much bounty that his kitchen becomes all but a food processing station in the late summer and early fall. In the front he grows eggplant and peppers, since they add color “in a more traditional landscape sort of way.” On his mail route, he encourages gardeners to plant more vegetables among their flowers and shrubs. Each fall he looks forward to making old-fashioned piccalilli from the peppers and green tomatoes that keep coming until a hard frost. He adds jalapeño chiles for heat, a hedge against the winter ahead.
2 pounds green tomatoes, cored, and coarsely chopped
6 tablespoons kosher salt
3 cups sugar
2 cups cider vinegar
¼ cup yellow mustard seeds
1 teaspoon whole cloves
1 teaspoon celery seeds
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 teaspoon mustard powder
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground allspice
2 large red bell peppers, stemmed, seeded, and coarsely chopped
1 large onion, coarsely chopped
2 jalapeño chiles, stemmed and finely chopped
Six 1-pint canning jars and lids, washed, sterilized, and standing by in scalding-hot water
1. In a large nonreactive bowl, mix the tomatoes and salt until combined. Cover and refrigerate for 8 to 12 hours. Drain the tomatoes.
2. In a large nonreactive saucepan, bring the sugar, vinegar, mustard seeds, cloves, celery seeds, pepper, mustard powder, cinnamon, and allspice to a boil and cook about 2 minutes, until the sugar has dissolved. Stir in the tomatoes, bell peppers, onion, and jalapeños. Bring to a simmer and cook, stirring occasionally, for 30 minutes.
3. Following the instructions from the USDA (see page 74), pack the mixture into the prepared jars. Run a knife down and around each jar to release air bubbles. Wipe the rims and seal the jars. Cool to room temperature. The relish will keep refrigerated for one year.
MAKES 6 PINTS PICCALILLI
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
Anna Otieno’s father, like Barack Obama’s, left Kenya to pursue educational opportunities. He married the daughter of a white midwestern couple who hosted him while he was in school. Anna’s parents settled in Minneapolis because her dad felt the city’s large population of Somalis and East Africans needed black doctors. Her extended family now includes Christian, Jewish, and Muslim relatives all over the world. President Obama’s inauguration was an emotional day for her because, as she says, her “family’s differences became shared similarities . . . my family’s differences were finally celebrated as the American story.” Many Americans and Africans prepared celebration meals in honor of the historic inauguration, including kachumbari to accompany chicken or roast meats—perhaps lamb in the United States or goat in Kenya.
4 medium-size ripe tomatoes, cored and coarsely chopped
1 medium onion, finely chopped
1 jalapeño chile, stemmed, seeded, and finely chopped
¼ cup fresh lime juice
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons chopped fresh cilantro
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
In a medium bowl, mix together all of the ingredients until combined. Season with salt and pepper to taste, and serve.
SERVES 4 TO 6
THE BACTERIUM CLOSTRIDIUM BOTULINUM, WHICH IS PRESENT IN the form of spores on the surfaces of most fresh food, can cause botulism, a deadly form of food poisoning in canned food. The bacteria grows in anaerobic environments (such as vacuum-sealed jars or cans) and is not destroyed by washing or blanching. Highly acidic foods and high heat—240 to 250 degrees over a long period of time—are the safest way to protect against these toxins.
In general, ingredients that are typically lower in acidity—red meats, seafood, poultry, milk, and all fresh vegetables except for most tomatoes—are preserved in vinegar, lemon juice, or citric acid and are processed at high heats. Fruits, pickles, sauerkraut, fruit jams, jellies, marmalades, and fruit butters are generally acidic enough to pose no risk. However, to ensure canned food safety, refer to the most current edition of the USDA’s Complete Guide to Home Canning, currently posted at http://foodsafety.psu.edu/canningguide.html. It is also useful to consult books. Well-Preserved by Eugenia Bone (New York: Clarkson Potter, 2009) is a very good source.
NOTHING REVOLUTIONIZED THE SAFETY AND EASE OF HOME food preservation as much as the Mason jar. Replacing more primitive sealing with wax, in 1859, John L. Mason, a 26-year-old New York City metalworker, patented a self-sealing zinc lid to fit glass preserving jars. He quickly sold his patent, but his name remained. Produced in several sizes, from cup to half-gallon, a boiling water bath makes sterile jars reliable storage by creating a vacuum seal.
The Ball brothers began their company in 1880 in Buffalo, New York, with a borrowed $200 to produce paint, varnish, and kerosene containers. By 1884 they were manufacturing home canning jars, a business they later moved to Muncie, Indiana, to take advantage of natural gas, critical to the glass-making process. The company printed the first Ball Blue Book, giving canning techniques and recipes, in 1909.
Antique canning jars have an avid following among collectors, who value them for shape, markings, closure, and color, chasing down rare examples of amber, dark green, cobalt blue, and milk glass jars. In 2001, one deep cobalt fruit jar sold for $29,000.
YAKIMA, WASHINGTON
An avid gardener, Paulette Brown began taking a master gardener’s class in 1980, the year the Mount St. Helens volcano erupted 150 miles away and covered her Yakima, Washington, garden in ash. Now, using cow manure, leaves, and compost, she organically grows only two zucchini plants a year because they are so prolific. Sometimes she gets as many as thirty or forty squash per plant. “If a zucchini wants to produce,” she says with a laugh, “you can’t stop it.” The zucchinis start out small but “if the water and sun are right, they can grow twelve, sixteen, or eighteen inches long.” One year she had a twenty-four-inch-long zucchini that was five inches in diameter. She dressed it up—adding buttons for eyes and grape leaves for ears—and gave it to a neighbor with a note that said “Help, I’ve been kicked out of my garden!” She makes twenty-five to thirty large loaves of zucchini bread each year and puts her relish in pint-size jars to give to dinner guests. The relish is a perfect topping for sandwiches and hamburgers and works well as a side dish with pork.
5 pounds zucchini, halved lengthwise, seeded, and shredded
4 medium onions, finely chopped
2 red bell peppers, stemmed, seeded, and finely chopped
1 green bell pepper, stemmed, seeded, and finely chopped
5 tablespoons kosher salt
5 cups sugar
2½ cups distilled white vinegar
2 teaspoons celery seeds
2 teaspoons yellow mustard seeds
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
Eight 1-pint canning jars and lids, washed, sterilized, and standing by in scalding-hot water
1. In a large colander set over a bowl, toss the zucchini, onions, and bell peppers with the salt. Cover and let sit at room temperature for 8 to 12 hours.
2. Drain and rinse the vegetables and transfer to a large nonreactive pot. Stir in the sugar, vinegar, celery and mustard seeds, and black pepper. Bring to a simmer and cook for 30 minutes, stirring occasionally.
3. Divide the mixture evenly among the jars. Run a knife down and around each jar to release air bubbles. Wipe the rims and seal the jars. Process in boiling water for 10 minutes. Cool the jars on the counter without touching them and store for two weeks before serving, to give the flavors a chance to ripen.
MAKES 8 PINTS
BRISTOL, RHODE ISLAND
When Sister Marie Antonia, a member of the Religious Sisters of Mercy since 1943, retired from her teaching work in Belize, Nicaragua, and Providence, Rhode Island, she continued the routines she developed over a lifetime of service to the poor. For decades she chopped and minced the squash and peppers that teemed in the convent gardens to make this relish, which, she said, converted devout zucchini haters into fans. Its high vinegar content is a natural preservative, and the good sister simply packs the relish into sterile jars. She may have special protection, but to be safe, process the jarred relish according to the USDA standards (page 74).
12 cups finely chopped zucchini
4 cups finely chopped onion
2 red bell peppers, stemmed, seeded, and finely chopped
5 tablespoons pickling or kosher salt
6 cups sugar
2 teaspoons turmeric
2 teaspoons cornstarch
2 teaspoons celery seed
2 to 4 cups apple cider vinegar
1. Mix together the chopped zucchini, onion, and bell peppers in a large bowl and sprinkle with salt. Cover and refrigerate overnight.
2. The next day, transfer the vegetables to a fine strainer, working in batches if necessary, and run them under cold water for a few minutes. Squeeze the vegetables dry in clean kitchen towels until they clump together and then transfer them to a large pot.
3. Add the sugar, turmeric, cornstarch, celery seed, and 2½ cups vinegar to the vegetables and stir until well combined. Bring the vegetables to a rapid boil, reduce the heat, and simmer, uncovered, for 30 to 45 minutes, until the vegetables are soft and transparent. Halfway through the cooking time, taste and add more vinegar if necessary to get the sweet and sour balance you prefer.
MAKES 6 TO 8 PINTS
AUSTIN, TEXAS
With traditional dills, sours, and bread-and-butter pickles so firmly identified with mass production, home cooks are increasingly drawing from arriving cultures to create alluring pickles. Ms. Sanitchat serves this quick Thai pickle with her satay (page 63). It also makes a wonderful counterpoint to grilled meat, crackers, rich pâté, or fried nibbles.
¼ cup water
3 tablespoons distilled white vinegar
3 tablespoons sugar
1 small pickling (Kirby) cucumber, halved lengthwise and thinly sliced
4 shallots, thinly sliced
1 serrano chile, stemmed and thinly sliced
1 tablespoon chopped fresh cilantro
Pinch of kosher salt
In a medium bowl, combine all of the ingredients. Let sit for 20 minutes before serving.
MAKES ABOUT 1 ½ CUPS
A MILESTONE IN THE TRANSFER OF PICKLES FROM GRANDMA’S KITCHEN to the industrial processing plant occurred in 1893 at the World’s Fair in Chicago. To promote its “57 Varieties,” the Heinz Company gave away lapel pins—a green, wrinkly, curved pickle—to lure people to their booth. It worked. Rare now is the refrigerator door that lacks at least one jar of commercially made pickles. Pickles have become de rigueur on hamburgers, and commercial pickle juice—a well-balanced brine of vinegar, salt, and spices—has been used as a medicinal drink, energy tonic, and hangover cure. Or maybe all three. When the Philadelphia Eagles beat the Dallas Cowboys on a ferociously hot September day, Philadelphia defensive end Hugh Douglas said, “I may start drinking pickle juice when I’m just sitting home chilling.”
PORTLAND, MAINE
Marya and Otis Baron live in Portland, Maine, in an 1837 house that Mr. Baron, a custom woodworker, is restoring. Mr. Baron learned canning from his mother on Cape Cod, who “always had a garden of some sort. She always made traditional New England dilly beans.” Mr. Baron has revamped traditional recipes that call for the dill—which gives dilly beans their name—to remain in the mixture throughout the process, preferring to strain it out after heating the brine and adding dill seeds to the jars.
The Barons like to serve the beans with steamed lobster—and just about anything else.
FOR THE BRINE
5 cups cider vinegar
5 cups water
¼ cup plus 3 tablespoons pickling salt
1 large bunch fresh dill, tied with string
FOR THE PICKLES
24 dried Thai chiles, crushed, or ¼ teaspoon red pepper flakes
12 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
¼ cup yellow mustard seeds
2 tablespoons dill seeds
2 tablespoons whole black peppercorns
Twelve 1-pint canning jars and lids, washed, sterilized, and standing by in scalding-hot water
4 pounds fresh green beans, yellow wax beans, or a mix, ends trimmed to fit in 1-pint jars
1. To make the brine: In a large nonreactive saucepan, bring the vinegar, water, salt, and dill to a boil over high heat. Reduce the heat to medium and simmer for 15 minutes. Remove and discard the dill.
2. To make the pickles: Evenly divide the chiles, garlic, mustard and dill seeds, and peppercorns among the jars. Pack each jar tightly with beans, then fill with brine up to ½ inch below the rim.
3. Run a knife down and around each jar to release air bubbles. Wipe the rims and seal the jars. Process in boiling water for 10 minutes. Cool the jars on the counter and store for 1 month before serving to give the flavors a chance to ripen.
MAKES 12 PINTS
SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA
Shala Nostrat learned to pickle after the 1979 Iranian revolution. Unable to return home and missing her family, she used books and her memory to re-create traditional dishes such as litteh, one of many Persian pickles. The pickles were part of the celebration of the winter solstice, when the season’s harvest is picked and enjoyed or preserved for the cold months. When one of Ms. Nostrat’s twin sons was 8 years old, he proved his talent for identifying subtle flavors. Tasting litteh for the first time, he immediately recognized the marjoram, cilantro, and golpar—a bitterish Persian spice—that define the Iranian condiment.
Ms. Nostrat will not cook with eggplant that has not had a chance to live outdoors and ripen in the sun. She desperately misses the four-season climate of Iran and at the first signal of a cold spell or rain will cook something warming.
In Iran, litteh is stored for many years; after a decade, the preserve is used in folkloric home cures.
1 quart distilled white vinegar, plus more as needed
2 large eggplants, finely chopped
1 large bunch celery with leaves, finely chopped
2 cups finely chopped fresh parsley
2 cups finely chopped fresh cilantro
2 jalapeño chiles, stemmed and finely chopped
12 garlic cloves, peeled
3 medium carrots, peeled and grated
1½ teaspoons dried tarragon
1½ teaspoons dried marjoram
1½ teaspoons golpar (optional)
1½ teaspoons kosher salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 teaspoon ground turmeric
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon black caraway seeds
1 teaspoon ground coriander (optional)
Six 1-pint canning jars and lids, washed, sterilized, and standing by in scalding-hot water
1. In a large nonreactive pot, bring the vinegar and eggplant to a simmer. Cook about 10 minutes, until the eggplant is soft. Transfer to a large bowl and cool completely.
2. Stir the remaining ingredients into the eggplant until combined. Divide the mixture evenly among the jars. Add more vinegar to each jar as needed to cover the vegetables completely. Wipe the rims and seal the jars. Refrigerate for at least two weeks before serving. The pickles will keep for one year in the refrigerator.
MAKES 6 PINTS
LOUISVILLE, COLORADO
Manisha Pandit and Divyesh Patel were friends in the same Bombay computer company before they married, started their own technology business, and traveled through twenty-seven of the United States looking for adventure and customers. They liked the sun in Louisville, Colorado—it shines 300 days a year—and so they settled there in 2005 with their daughter. Ms. Pandit made sun pickles for the first time when she ran out of the nimboo pickles that her sister in Bombay supplied. She couldn’t get nimboo citrus, a thin-skinned fruit that is about the size of a key lime, but found that small American varieties such as Key or Bearss Limes, as well as small lemons, can make admirable pickles. An excellent nibble that dances in the mouth, the spicy lime brightens up anything dull. Their daughter likes to sprinkle the pickle juice on a cheese and lettuce sandwich.
1 teaspoon methi (fenugreek) seeds
1 teaspoon yellow mustard seeds
¼ teaspoon asafetida
10 small limes, scrubbed and dried well
8 lemons, scrubbed, dried well, and quartered
20 to 30 green Thai chiles, stemmed and halved
4-inch piece fresh ginger, peeled and cut into 1-inch matchsticks
½ cup sugar
½ cup kosher salt
¼ cup fresh lemon juice
2 teaspoons ground turmeric
One 2-quart canning jar and lid, washed, sterilized, and standing by in scalding-hot water
1. In a small skillet, toast the methi seeds, mustard seeds, and asafetida for 4 to 5 minutes, until the methi seeds are a light reddish brown. Let the spices cool to room temperature, then grind to a powder with a mortar and pestle or spice grinder.
2. Pack all of the ingredients in the jar, cover tightly, and shake well. Set the jar in the sun for 4 hours a day for about 4 weeks, until the juices have thickened and the peels are soft, shaking the jar each day.
3. Let the jar sit in a cool, dark place for 4 to 5 days, then transfer into smaller jars and refrigerate. The pickles will keep for 1 year in the refrigerator.
MAKES 4 PINTS
NOTE: You must have a window that gets at least four hours of bright sun every day; the jar must get very warm for this pickle to cook.
ASTORIA, NEW YORK
In Astoria, Queens, a three-block-long stretch of bakeries, shops, and cafes known as Little Morocco makes architect Meryam Ouzzano feel at home. She moved to the United States to finish her professional training and to establish the sort of independent life that is not easily accomplished by women in Morocco. About 85,000 Moroccan expatriates now live in the United States. “It feels exactly like Morocco,” Meryam says. “The food, the smells, the products are the same. The tables set up outside are the same. Even the noise is the same.” The greatest single difference between cooking in the United States and cooking in Morocco, she notes, is scale. In Astoria, she cooks for one, a phenomenon that astounds her mother, who counts on family and friends dropping by at mealtime and cannot imagine cooking for fewer than a dozen.
5 to 10 small, unblemished lemons, scrubbed
Sea salt
One 1-quart wide-mouth canning jar and lid, washed, sterilized, and standing by in scalding-hot water
Fresh lemon juice, as needed
1. Cut the protruding tip from the stem end of the lemons. Make one lengthwise cut through each lemon, but leave the two halves attached at the stem end. Make a second cut perpendicular to the first, leaving the quarters attached.
2. Stuff the lemons generously with salt, then pack them tightly into the jar, pressing down so they release some juice. Cover the jar and store at room temperature in a dark closet or cabinet. After 3 days, check to make sure the lemons are covered with their juice. If the lemons on top are not covered, add lemon juice as needed. Let the lemons cure for 1 month before using, then refrigerate. The lemons will keep for about 6 months in the refrigerator.
3. To serve, remove the lemons from the jar with tongs and rinse to remove the excess salt.
MAKES 5 TO 10 PRESERVED LEMONS
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA
Salsa is the refining point for the simple, fresh tacos sold by Benjamin Santana from his four trucks in San Francisco’s Mission District. Mr. Santana and his wife, Marisela, consider their two salsas, red and green, their secret weapons and the tacos’ razón de ser. Mrs. Santana, working alone, makes fifteen gallons of salsa twice daily. This version, she says, while not the secret recipe, is a version that she likes nearly as well with chips or with El Tonayense’s Chicken Burrito (page 367).
1 pound tomatillos, husks removed and rinsed in hot water
2 serrano chiles, stemmed
1 medium white onion, peeled and quartered
½ cup water
2 garlic cloves, peeled
Kosher salt
½ cup chopped fresh cilantro
1 tablespoon fresh lime juice
Freshly ground black pepper
1. In a blender or food processor, process the tomatillos, chiles, onion, water, garlic, and ½ teaspoon salt together until mostly smooth.
2. Transfer the mixture to a large skillet, bring to a simmer, and cook for 10 to 15 minutes, stirring occasionally, until thick and the flavors have blended.
3. Transfer to a serving bowl and cool to room temperature. Stir in the cilantro and lime juice. Season with salt and pepper to taste, and serve.
MAKE ABOUT 2 CUPS
SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA
From the cutting of the rosca de reyes (Three Kings cake) in January to the tamale-making party at Christmas, Martha Ojeda-Aguilar Bayer’s family—between her twelve siblings, their spouses and children, and the grandchildren, there are seventy-nine of them—have a full calendar of birthday parties, anniversaries, graduations, and holidays, plus the Saturday cooking and knitting club and Wednesday lunches. For Sunday dinner they congregate at the home of Reynalda Aguilar de Ojeda, the clan’s matriarch. It can get crowded—and loud—with folks from San Diego and Tijuana in the kitchen to prepare traditional dishes. Salsa is a constant source of contention; everyone claims there is only one true version: his or hers. It has surpassed ketchup in condiment sales in the United States, but most Americans know it only as the dance partner for a tortilla chip. This, says the Mexican-born Ms. Bayer, seems strangely limiting. Salsa is a many-splendored thing with many uses. “It brings the flavor of my roots to all my dishes. I wouldn’t consider myself a true Mexican if I didn’t have homemade hot sauce in the refrigerator.” Everyone has a signature salsa—her own variations include salsa cruda (raw), salsa cocida (boiled), and salsa asada (roasted). Her brother-in-law Juan makes the chile de molcajete using a traditional lava stone mortar and pestle. One sister, Rosa, makes the salsa borracha (drunken salsa), while another, Mercedes, makes the hot salsa in the blender. “It’s the easiest to make, and everyone knows that Mercedes is lazy!” Martha declares, and then adds, “Or maybe she is just more practical than the rest of us.”
SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA
“My family has two words to describe sauce,” said Martha Ojeda-Aguilar Bayer. “Salsa is the one we use to give other foods an extra flavor when cooking, and in general, it’s not very spicy. Chile is the one we use as a condiment. We like this very hot and add it to almost everything on our plate. My father’s mother taught my mother how to make this salsa, and it’s one our entire family agrees upon. The nuts give body to soups or sauces, but its toasty, nutty flavor is also delicious on roasted meat and tacos.”
2 dried pasilla chiles, seeds removed
¼ cup raw shelled unsalted sunflower seeds
1 dried finger chile or chile de árbol
3 garlic cloves, peeled
3 medium tomatoes, quartered
2 tablespoons olive oil
¼ cup chopped fresh cilantro
Kosher salt
1. In a dry cast-iron skillet, toast the pasilla chiles and sunflower seeds over medium heat about 4 minutes, until aromatic. Transfer the pasilla chiles and sunflower seeds to the food processor.
2. Add the finger chile and garlic to the skillet and toast over medium heat for 2 to 4 minutes, until soft. Transfer the finger chile and garlic to the food processor.
3. Drizzle the tomatoes with the oil, add to the pan, and cook over medium heat about 10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until tender. Transfer the tomatoes to the food processor. Process about 30 seconds, until smooth.
4. Transfer the salsa to a bowl, stir in the cilantro, and season with salt to taste. Cool to room temperature, and serve.
MAKES ABOUT 3 CUPS
SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA
This raw salsa is picada—finely chopped so that the individual ingredients explode in the mouth, says Martha Ojeda-Aguilar Bayer. She shares her family’s tastes and habits in salsa, using salsa de chile colorado (dried red peppers) for beef and pork tamales or stews, and salsa verde (green salsa that is usually made with serrano or jalapeño peppers and tomatillo) for seafood and sometimes for pork ribs. The Ojeda-Aguilar family does not, however, make fruity salsa, but Martha has a taste for hot salsas made from plums, mangoes, or pineapple. She finds this tart, hot, and refreshing salsa a perfect counterpoint to a hot, sunny day at the market. It is delicious with chips and makes a wonderful condiment for any grilled fish.
½ fresh pineapple, peeled, cored, and chopped
1 pound tomatillos, husks removed, rinsed in hot water, and chopped
2 jalapeño chiles, seeded, veins removed, and finely chopped
1 small red onion, finely chopped
2 tablespoons minced fresh mint
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
Kosher salt
In a medium bowl, stir together the pineapple, tomatillos, jalapeños, onion, mint, oil, and lemon juice. Season with salt to taste. Cover and refrigerate for at least 1 hour. Serve.
MAKES ABOUT 3 CUPS
SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA
“Why would anyone go through all that work with a molcajete if they have a blender?” asks Mercedes Ojeda Hernandez. “The molcajete has mythical status in my family, but that is about tradition, not taste. We all keep some variation of this chili in our refrigerator and use it on everything. I add more jalapeño to make a spicier sauce. A molcajete makes better decoration than it does a kitchen appliance.”
1 cup water
2 large tomatoes, chopped
4 jalapeño chiles, stemmed and chopped
2 garlic cloves, peeled
¼ cup minced fresh cilantro
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
1. In a medium saucepan, bring the water, tomatoes, chiles, and garlic to a simmer. Cook over low heat for 6 to 8 minutes, until tender. Drain the vegetables, reserving the water.
2. Transfer the vegetables to a blender, add the cilantro, and process about 1 minute, until smooth, adding the reserved water as needed to thin. Transfer the salsa to a bowl, season with salt and pepper to taste, and cool to room temperature. Serve.
MAKES ABOUT 2 CUPS
LEMON GROVE, CALIFORNIA
Juan Siorda, an Ojeda-Aguilar Bayer in-law, grew up on a farm in Mexico and is the family’s designated molcajete guy. The large lava mortar and pestle is traditionally used to make salsa and makes everything taste better, he says. “There is something about this rock that gives salsa a unique flavor. It also tastes better when made in large amounts and with my secret ingredient, beer.” This salsa is as excellent with meat, chicken, and fish as it is with tortilla chips.
6 ripe plum tomatoes
3 tomatillos, husks removed
3 güerito chiles or yellow Fresno chiles
2 jalapeño chiles
1 serrano chile
2 garlic cloves, peeled
1 dried small red chile
¼ teaspoon finely chopped habanero chile
Mexican lager beer, such as Tecate or Corona, as needed
Kosher salt
1. Preheat the oven to 450°F.
2. Arrange the tomatoes, tomatillos, güeritos, jalapeños, serrano chile, and garlic in a single layer on a baking sheet and roast for 15 to 20 minutes, until soft. Cool the vegetables to room temperature.
3. In a molcajete, grind the güeritos, jalapeños, serrano, garlic, dried red chile, and habanero to a fine paste. Add the tomatoes and tomatillos and grind until thick, adding beer as needed to loosen. The salsa should be thick and slightly chunky.
4. Transfer the salsa to a bowl, and season with salt to taste. Serve.
MAKES ABOUT 3 CUPS
SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA
“My sister Rose found the perfect balance of beer and lime in this fresh fiery salsa,” said Martha Ojeda-Aguilar Bayer. It is delicious on chips, grilled meat, tacos, and fish.
8 ripe, firm plum tomatoes, seeded and coarsely chopped
3 serrano or 2 jalapeño chiles, stemmed, seeded, and finely chopped
5 or 6 scallions, green and white parts, or 1 white onion, finely chopped
½ cup minced fresh cilantro, plus more for garnish
¼ cup fresh lime juice
Splash of beer (optional)
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
1. In a medium bowl, stir together the tomatoes, chiles, scallions, cilantro, and lime juice. Add beer as needed to loosen. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Cover and let sit at room temperature about 1 hour, until the flavors have blended.
2. Sprinkle with more cilantro and serve.
MAKES ABOUT 3 CUPS