Read Feeding the Hungry Ghost Online
Authors: Ellen Kanner
Feeding the Hungry Ghost (23 page)
Serves 4
1 head broccoli
1 bunch fresh mint
1 lemon, halved
Olive oil for drizzling
Sea salt for sprinkling
Take one lovely green head of broccoli. Rinse off the invisible nasties. Cut into florets, leaving on as much stem as you can stand. That’s where the phytonutrients are. Tossing out the broccoli stem wastes resources and cheats you out of the best nutritional bits. Steamed, the woody stems turn tender and kind of great tasting — like asparagus. Chop them into bits and you’ve got bonus broccoli.
Do you want to be plunged into boiling water? Neither does broccoli. Steaming preserves the nutrients in produce, so invest in
a covered steamer or double boiler. Place the broccoli — florets and chopped stems — in the top pot, the one with the holes at the bottom. Fill the pot below halfway with water. Bring the water to a boil over high heat. Cover and steam for 7 minutes, then peek inside and check on your broccoli’s progress. It should smell vegetal and rich and be glowing and green. You want stems that snap, not bend. Give it another minute or two, if needed, then rinse in cold water or toss a handful of ice into the steamer. Like other vegetables, broccoli retains heat and will continue cooking until you bring down its temperature.
Stop to admire. You have just steamed fresh broccoli and it is beautiful. Do a little broccoli dance.
Take the naked broccoli florets and the chopped stems, and throw them in a bowl. Take a few handfuls of fragrant mint, chop or tear into bits, and throw it in too. Squeeze the juice of 1 lemon over the broccoli and drizzle it with olive oil. Toss. Sprinkle with sea salt. Eat as a salad, as a side dish, or like it’s popcorn.
Let your whim and the season guide you. Because whatever vegetable you choose will offer you something fabulous, be it cold-friendly kale in the winter, with off-the-charts amounts of antioxidants, calcium, iron, and vitamin C, or the first tender peas of spring — vitamin K, folate, zinc! That’s why Hippocrates said, “Let food be thy medicine and medicine be thy food.”
Still more taken by the big, the blingy? More by the Kardashian sisters than you are by kale? Behold the kale chip.
All you need are three ingredients and ten minutes to transform the leafy green you’ve been avoiding into addictive finger food.
Change up the flavor by mixing the sea salt with a pinch of cumin, red pepper flakes, curry powder, thyme, or any dried herb or spice you like.
Serves 4
1 bunch kale
2 teaspoons olive oil
Sea salt for sprinkling
Preheat the oven to 300°F.
Wash the kale leaves and blot dry. Tear or cut the leaves free of the stems. (Reserve the stems for vegetable broth.) Tear the leaves into generous-size chips, keeping in mind that the chips will shrink during baking. Place the kale pieces on a large baking sheet. Drizzle with olive oil and toss until the leaves are evenly coated with the oil. Sprinkle with sea salt.
Bake in the oven for 10 minutes. The kale will shrink down and turn magically crispy.
Our first year in Tokyo, Benjamin and I discovered Japan has street festivals every weekend all spring and summer long — cherry blossom festival, plum festival, festivals all around town, with the people in each prefecture parading their own shrine through the
neighborhood. They all seem to feature happy crowds and street vendors selling grilled squid on a stick. We’d know we were closing on the festival location when we’d get that squiddy whiff of burned tires.
One summer evening, we were out walking and stumbled onto an event we hadn’t known about. It had squid, but it felt different. It felt hushed, as though everyone was holding their breath.
Women in their crisp
yukata
(cotton summer kimonos) and men in dark suits and ties clustered by the banks of the winding Sumida River in the fading light of day. They lit candles and set them afloat in little paper boats. Then they would bow and release them out on the water. When darkness fell, the sky was lit with fireworks, what the Japanese call
hanabi
— “fire flowers.” But I kept turning back to look at the glow of the candles in their boats, floating out and away.
The next day, the proprietress of the noodle shop downstairs explained this was the week of Obon, when the dead return to visit their living families. The families gather, pray for them, do a little dance, place fruits and vegetables on the family altar, tidy up the graves of the dead, then send them off in the candle ceremony we’d witnessed.
One of the things I like best about human beings is our ability to make a party out of anything. The dead are busting loose? Outstanding. Let’s dance, let’s make them feel welcome, let’s cook. What’s their favorite thing to eat, besides squid on a stick? Japan’s
other
street food — donburi.
Donburi means something served over rice — usually eggs. It’s easy, popular; it’s Japanese comfort food. I’ve enriched it by adding vegetables. And losing the egg. It’s still excellent.
Serves 2
2 cups water
1 cup rice (white is traditional, brown is more healthful)
1 cup Stone Soup (see
page 84
) or other vegetable broth
¼ cup sake or sherry
1 tablespoon white miso paste
1 tablespoon soy sauce
2 teaspoons sesame oil (optional)
2 cups broccoli florets
2 carrots, chopped
1 teaspoon minced fresh ginger
2 cloves garlic, minced
8 ounces mushrooms, sliced
4 scallions, chopped
In a medium saucepan, bring the water to a boil over high heat. Add the rice, cover, and reduce the heat to low. Simmer until all the liquid is absorbed and the rice is tender, about 30 minutes for white rice, 40 minutes for brown rice. Remove from the heat, with the saucepan covered to keep the rice warm.
In another medium saucepan, bring the broth to a boil over high heat. Add the sake, miso paste, soy sauce, and sesame oil (if using). Stir together until smooth. Add the broccoli, carrots, ginger, and garlic and cook for 2 minutes, or until the vegetables soften. Add the mushrooms and scallions and cook, giving the vegetables a brisk, light stir, until the mushrooms turn dark, soft, and juicy and all the vegetables are heated through, a few minutes more.
Divide the cooked rice into two bowls. Gently spoon the vegetables and their sauce on top.
In Hong Kong, Benjamin and I discovered Yu Lan, the Hungry Ghost Festival, much as we had come upon Obon in Tokyo — by accident. We were on summer holiday, walking along Cat Street, with its dazzle of antique and apothecary shops, the street vendors holding up their wares. They called out in English and Cantonese, their shouts ringing together like music. Amid the bustle of vendors, I spied a woman with a cooler full of ice. She was selling fresh lychees. There may be some for whom grilled squid on a stick sates a deep and urgent craving, but for me, it’s chilled lychees on a gloriously hot afternoon. We bought a bag and went on our way, peeling the fruit, popping the cold sweetness into each other’s mouths. We had no destination in mind, no schedule to keep; the day was its own reward.
We came to a temple surrounded by a fug of incense. Through the high open doors, we saw people bowing and praying as if their lives depended on it.
In theory, China’s Yu Lan is similar to Japan’s Obon. It’s an honoring of the dead, but it translates into something edgier. In China, hungry ghosts are seriously hungry, depicted with teeny little mouths, narrow, reedy necks, and big, empty bellies that can never get enough.
Oh, they might venture back to their living kin for a reunion, but they’re more likely to hang out in the water, waiting till you take a refreshing swim. Then they’ll pull you down and under. They’re dead, depleted, ravenous, and in a bad mood.
Like Obon, Yu Lan involves prayers and altars and food offerings, but the consumables are more likely to be a pack of smokes
and a bottle of scotch. It’s not healthy, but what does it matter? They’re offerings for people already dead. Booze and ciggies are what they want — or what we think they want — and it’s better they’re appeased. Or else.
Go ahead, blame the dead. They’re not corporeally here to defend themselves. I think we’re more often the ones who want more, more, more. Even better, we want you to have less.
Some of the seven deadly sins are fun — lust comes to mind. Gluttony, sloth, and pride also have their appeal. Of all of them, I get plagued by envy, your real downer sin. I can tell you, too much wanting gets in the way of living, the way too much salt ruins the dish, scours your taste buds, and makes it so you can enjoy none of it. And it’s exhausting. Bad enough to be that way when I’m alive; I’m not going through it when I’m dead.
A little desire, a little appetite, is sexy. Even in a ghost. It means you’re open to receiving the world’s pleasures. The question is, what are you hungry for? If you knew almost ten billion animals are killed every year for food, would you really want seconds on the barbecue?
We’re hungry for more than dinner. I am, anyway. There’s not a bunch of kale or head of broccoli or loaf of zucchini bread big enough to fill the ache, the hole, the hunger to be more, to be better.
Often — mostly late at night — my insecurities come out and dance. They’ve got the moves; they’ve got the looks. Meanwhile, I’m lying there awake and fat and old and stupid and ugly. This is what my insecurities tell me, anyway. While they’re dancing. Through perfectly lipsticked lips, they remind me I’m not Deepak Chopra. Or today’s Food Network star. Or Lady Gaga (though they know I would never, ever do her meat-dress thing). Or you.
When necessary, I visualize rushing out on that dance floor
and tripping them. Then I rip off their false eyelashes and hair extensions. When I can prize my grip off my obsession du soir, the thing I lack, that I must have or die, I am — human paradox — less hungry for it. It is a matter of breathing through the crazies.
I strive for
enoughness,
feeling complete with what I have and who I am. It is not all about me. Lady Gaga probably has bad days, too. Perhaps another word for this is
perspective.
The next recipe is one of those Zen, less-is-more kinds of things, perfect for when your inner hungry ghost is being particularly pesky. It requires many vegetables and a bit of prep. Embrace the process; it’s there to get you out of your own head. It’s a simplified version of Buddha’s Delight, the traditional mild and meatless monk’s stew that brings good health and good fortune. Its selling point isn’t spice, but a symphony of textures. It delighted an enlightened guy like Buddha. May it work for you, too.
Shirataki are low-calorie, gluten-free noodles made from sweet potato, with an interesting chew. They require no cooking, come packed in water, and can have an off-putting smell when you open the bag. Don’t be afraid; just rinse them well. Find shirataki, along with rice vinegar and sesame oil, at most Asian markets and natural food stores.