This is the view from my kitchen window. It’s a lot of unrelieved green and gravel and the roots of the shrubbery are so thick there is no planting anything under it, so I decided to add a little interest with pots. This project started last spring with bulbs. Ranunculus foliage is irresistible to whatever pests are lurking in those Cherry Laurels and the bulbs were mowed down as soon as they popped up. Next up: bacopa plants. They were not eaten alive, but neither did they thrive. Round 3: our one remaining helpful local nursery man says “I know just what you need.” And he may be right! Poppies, violas and Carex grass. That sparkle of white is just what I wanted. It makes me happy to look out and see this view.
Well, the folks at Golden Grain have upped the ante on sliced bread with their pot-sized spaghetti. Best idea I’ve come across in ages but why did we have to wait so long, always breaking spaghetti in half over the pot of boiling water and having little bits of it end up everywhere while risking a nasty steam burn?
What WILL they think of next?
It’s been a while since we had Tourshee, but I’ve been craving it lately. Last time I made it I burned my hands so severely while pouring the boiling brine over the vegetables that I had to go to the nearest urgent care center and they slathered the second degree burns with cream and wrapped my hands in gauze. What happened was that the brine sloshed over one hand and then my reaction caused it to splash back over the other hand. Then I dropped the pot. I was lucky it didn’t splash back into my face, really.
Next day when I went to my own doctor, he declared all the gauze wrappings to be overkill and introduced me to Aquaphor ointment which quickly became a staple in the household first aid kit. I was ready to get back on the pickle horse right away, but the family was too traumatized and begged me not to make Tourshee anymore and I haven’t until now.
But enough about that, let’s talk about the actual Tourshee, a life-saving Armenian staple. Basically Tourshee is any pickle, but the way we make it, it’s a brined or marinated pickle. It could be a fermented one, or a traditionally canned one, depending on your choice of recipe.
I say Tourshee is life-saving because I remember when there was a terrible earthquake in Armenia I read about a man who was dug out of the rubble that had been his home and rescued 3 or 4 weeks after the event when the hope of finding survivors was virtually gone. He explained that he had been making pickles and carrying them down to his basement when the earthquake struck. He survived all that time by eating the pickles and as I recall, was in pretty good shape when they found him.
I’ve been craving them because they are a perfect low carb food as long as you don’t eat the onions or carrots and I’m bored with my usual fare. Trust me, there is nothing boring about Tourshee! Oh my, the vinegar burn and the heady garlic and onion fumes will knock your socks off. Nothing subtle here. The only other Armenian food I’ve tried that comes close in assertiveness is Basturma, a preserved meat that shares a common linguistic heritage with Pastrami, but let’s just say I’ll never be ordering a Basturma sandwich even though a nice Pastrami on Rye used to be my standard deli order back in the sandwich days.
Recipes abound on the internet for mixed pickles. Nothing too special about this one I got out of an old Sunset book on Canning and Preserving, the vegetables do all the work. So I won’t post the recipe. If you have a hankering for pickles outside of the ordinary, pick the recipe that sounds best to you and get going, just be careful handling that hot brine!
My grandmother used to make coleslaw with this dressing and I remember loving it as a kid. Funny, my dad doesn’t remember her making it at all. He likes sweet coleslaw, which is about all you can get these days and every time I taste coleslaw, I think, “Ick, this is sweet, coleslaw shouldn’t be sweet, and where’s the horseradish?” So here it is:
3 oz. Sour Cream or Full-fat Greek-style Yogurt
3 oz. Mayonnaise
1 oz. prepared Horseradish (Too hot for you? Back off a bit. Needs more kick? Add more!)
1/2 – 1 teaspoon Celtic Sea Salt, or similar coarse salt (Adjust this according to taste)
10 oz. bag shredded green cabbage
8 oz. bag shredded red cabbage
Mix the first 4 ingredients in a large bowl. Add the cabbage or other coleslaw mix. Of course you can shred your own. And if you are feeling really healthy, throw in some broccoli you’ve shredded or ground up in your food processor. Grandma added chopped bell pepper and shredded carrots to the base of shredded green cabbage instead of using the red cabbage, but I liked the all cabbage version best. Aim for just over a pound of vegetables, shredded or finely chopped. The dressing will stretch to cover a bit more, much less than a pound of vegetables and you’ll have coleslaw soup. Some vegetables weigh more, some less. You’ll have to keep experimenting and you’ll soon discover if you have to increase or decrease the amount of dressing proportionally. This is what I use for the amount of coleslaw I make and it’s just about right.
This coleslaw has attitude. Forget that sickly sweet stuff they offer in restaurants and go bold. More proof that low-carb doesn’t have to be boring!
Perversely, I always feel ready for new beginnings in the fall rather than the spring, probably because I am still in synch with the old standard academic calendar beginning in the fall more than the Gregorian calendar with January as the beginning of the year or nature’s cycle of beginnings in the spring and endings in the fall. Many thanks to Christina for helping me to set up my blog and website. Now is as good a time as any, let’s begin!