Kids Make Fried Plantains

The Washington area isn't known for it's Cuban restaurants (that would be Miami). But at one time, back in my student days about a century ago, there was a great little Cuban place in the Adams-Morgan neighborhood here in the District of Columbia called The Omega.

The wait staff consisted of older Cuban gentlemen with thick accents, all smartly outfitted in white shirts and black pants and possibly even white aprons. We'd go there when we wanted a delicious meal for cheap. I think a chicken casserole thick with meat and onions and peas was something like $4.95 and with that you got the standard sides, consisting of a bowl of runny black beans and a generous scoop of rice.

But we always had to order a side of fried plantains, or platanos, because they were simply irresistible. I remember them being more on the sweet side than savory, lightly fried and somewhat delicate. What a taste, scooping up a sweet plantain while you still had black beans and rice in your mouth. You could never make something like that up, it had to come from the original cuisine.

In any case, that's the image I had in mind when I decided to make fried plantains in our "food appreciation" classes this week. We don't normally cook with hot oil (I don't even want to think about an accident). But how can you travel around the Caribbean without eating plantains? So this week we are in Puerto Rico on our virtual world food tour making fried plantains and a simple dipping sauce. We are taking unusual precautions around our pan of hot oil so that the kids don't even get close.

Our brief stop in Cuba last week reminded all of us how food binds the world together and sometimes requires us to think about many different issues, not just cooking but questions of culture, ethnicity, politics, history, ethics. I couldn't help pointing out that while Cuba lies only 90 miles off American shores, we have maintained for the last 50 years an economic and political blockade of that country simply because we don't like Fidel Castro or his form of government. We decry the Communist regime of Castro on the one hand, but meanwhile elevate another communist regime with a horrible human rights record--China--to the position of important trading partner and principal banker to the U.S.

"Hypocrisy...." I heard one of the kids mutter.

I went on to note that Puerto Rico, while a U.S. territory, has no voting rights in Congress and the residents do not pay federal income taxes. Meanwhile, we here in the District of Columbia, the seat of our national government, also do not have voting rights in Congress but we are required to pay federal income taxes. (Imagine all the people who'd be trying to move here if we didn't?)

"Why are you telling us these things?" another student asked.

It all led to a very lively discussion of how food can take us to unexpected places and teach us more than just how to eat.

But back to the food....

For the completely uninitiated, a plantain looks like a big banana but harder and much starchier. Only toward the very end stages of ripeness do plantains begin to soften and taste mildly like a banana. Otherwise they are often used more like a potato or other starchy vegetable. They are often sold in supermarkets if you live in an area with any sizable Hispanic population. Or look for them in Latin groceries. Sometimes they will be separated into two types--plantains that are still green, intended for savory dishes such as casseroles, and the riper ones that are better for eating on their own.

I'm not a plantain expert, but I'm told that in Puerto Rico they are commonly cooked according to a two-step process. First, remove the skin by using the tip of a pairing knife to make two or three slits lengthwise on the fruit. After removing the skin, cut the fruit crosswise or on an angle into fairly thick pieces, about 3/4 inch.

Meanwhile, use moderate heat to bring about 1/2 inch canola oil in a heavy skillet to around 360 degrees, or a point where a piece of plantain placed in the oil will create fairly vigorous bubbles but not burn. Arrange the plantain pieces in the oil and cook until they are browned on both sides, using a pair of forks to flip them over. Remove the pieces to a plate covered with paper towels to drain. Allow them to cool for a few minutes before whacking them with a meat tenderizer or other heavy object.

The intention is not to destroy the plantain pieces or turn them into chips, but simple to flatten them a little exposing some of the insides. You can do this between a couple pieces of waxed paper. Then return the plantain pieces to the hot oil and brown again. This second step will cook the plantain all the way through.

For a dipping sauce, mix 1/2 cup sour cream with 2 teaspoons lemon juice and 2 teaspoons lime juice. Add 1/2 teaspoon chili powder and mix well.

Enjoy picking up the plantain pieces with your fingers and dipping them into the sauce. You might need to make more. They are quite addictive.

Kids Make Black Beans & Rice

They call beans "the poor man's meat" because they are full of protein. But beans are not a complete protein. They're missing some essential amino acids that are readily supplied by animal sources such as meat or eggs or by simple grains. That's why you so often see beans paired with grains in cultures around the world.

In Cuba, the next destination on the virtual world tour our "food appreciation" classes are taking, black beans and rice rank as a cultural icon. Add some fried plantains on the side and you have a meal that any Cuban would instantly recognize.

Normally we would prepare our beans by soaking dried beans overnight in plenty of water, then cooking them with onion, bay leaf and thyme. But for purposes of our classes, we used canned black beans from Goya, an excellent substitute. Simply scoop the beans into a colander and rinse with water.

Cuban black beans couldn't be simpler. Just add a few common vegetables--onion, green bell pepper and red bell pepper--and a little cumin for flavor. Yet the aroma of the beans simmering on the stove transfixes anyone who comes near and children quickly devour the finished beans with their meaty Latin flavor.

To prepare the beans, cut a peeled onion into small dice. Add to it 1/2 large green bell pepper and 1/2 large red bell pepper, each cut into small dice, plus 2 cloves garlic, finely chopped. Heat 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil in a heavy pot over moderate heat. Add the onion, peppers and garlic and season with 1/2 teaspoon salt. Lower heat to low and cook, covered, for about 10 minutes, or until the vegetables are soft.

Empty a 30-ounce can of black beans into a colander and rinse thoroughly (or cook your own beans). Mix beans into pot with sauteed vegetables. Stir in 1 teaspoon ground cumin. Replace cover and cook about 40 minutes, or until the beans have started to give up some of their starch to create a sauce. (If the beans are too dry, add a little water.) Variations call for adding bay leaf, oregano, vinegar or olive oil to the beans. They all sound good, but they're not necessary. Some cooks like to mash some of the beans and add them back to the pot for a thicker sauce.

White rice has become the default rice around the world, but that is strictly a matter of status. People came to consider white rice as more refined and cultured. Brown rice was for poor people. In fact, brown rice has it all over its white cousin because so much of the nutrition--fiber, vitamins, minerals--is located in the bran. Remove the bran and all you have a lesser-quality starch. We are trying to teach our students to avoid starches that contribute to diabetes and obesity.

Quality brown rice has a wonderful chewiness and full flavor. I normally use a bulk brown rice from Whole Foods. But for these lessons I chose a long grain brown rice from Lundberg that cooked up big and fluffy--no clumping here. Just add the beans and you'll soon be serving seconds.

Viva el Cubano!

They say you can't get an authentic Cubano sandwich outside Miami and I tend to believe it. Ingredients can be extremely local. I can't image a true lobster roll, for instance, without a top-cut bun, and top-cut buns aren't available outside certain areas of New England.

Still, we continuously try to duplicate the flavors, the smells, the textures we love--or at least imagine we are doing so. I say, if you love a good Cubano sandwich and the only thing standing in your way is an authentic Cuban roll, close your eyes and wrap your gums around the best roll you can find.

A Cubano is an odd combination. You would never think of a Cuban slapping together a soft roll, yellow mustard, roast pork, dill pickles, ham and Swiss cheese and calling it a taste of the home country. The truth is, the Cubano is 100 percent American, a product of South Florida. What makes it really local is the Cuban bread it is made on, which traditionally contains lard (so they say). After that, what separates the Cubano from the ordinary submarine sandwich is the fact that is pressed--hard and long--in a plancha, or sandwich press, that melts the cheese with the meat and pickles.

If you don't have any Cuban bread on hand, find yourself a soft submarine-type roll. Cut the roll in half lengthwise. Smear one of the inside halves with mustard (yellow or Dijon) and cover the other half with slices of Swiss cheese. Over the mustard lay slices of a full-flavored, deli-style ham, such as Black Forest ham. Over the cheese lay a mound of pulled pork, or slices of roast pork. (We used slices of loin I had spit roasted with some hickory chips last Thursday--the flavor was intense).

Fold the sandwich together. Butter the outside of the roll. Press it hard and for a good long while in your sandwich press until the roll is lightly browned and the cheese is oozing.

What's that? You say you don't have a sandwich press? Well, maybe you do and you just don't know it. Place a large, heavy skillet over moderately low heat. When it comes up to temperature, lay your sandwiches in there. Now take a second, smaller heavy skillet. Lay it on top of the sandwiches and fill it up with canned goods, as many as you can fit. Press down on the sandwiches and let them cook. That is your sandwich press.

Listen for cheese sizzling in the skillet. That is your cue to remove the flattened sandwiches, slice them in two and serve with some tangy cole slaw and a cold beer.

It will make you want to shout, Viva el Cubano!

Bottom photo--pickles on the side--by daughter

Life Without Oil

Is the world running out of oil?

Everyone knows that oil is a finite resource. But more and more people are embracing the concept of "peak oil," a theory positing that we may have or will soon have reached a point when half of all the planet's supply of oil has been used. That's a startling thought to contemplate, considering it took Planet Earth hundreds of millions of years to create the oil, and it took mankind only 150 years or so to use up half of it.

Even scarier, though, is that the "easy" oil has mostly been used up, never to be replaced. From here on out, extracting fossil fuels will just get harder and harder. Recently a barrel of oil topped $80 for the first time. Author James Kunstler believes we are on the cusp of a "long emergency," when the huge infrastructure and suburban lifestyle we've built around easy oil will begin to crumble.

The implications for food are huge. More oil is spent on food than in any other sector, from the natural gas used to make artificial fertilizers, to the diesel consumed planting and harvesting crops and trucking food to market. The United States in just the last generation has gone from an exporter of oil to the world's biggest importer. We are a nation of oil guzzlers. You might even say that the food on our plate is just fossil fuel transformed into something more edible.

So what would happen if we ran out?

For the answer to that question, you need look no further than the neighbor we most love to hate, Cuba. When the Soviet Union collapsed in the 1980s, Cuba lost its primary patron and benefactor. Almost overnight, supplies of fuel and food disappeared. Up to that point, Cuba had been even more dependent than the U.S. on artificial fertilizers for its agriculture. What ensued was a time Cubans now refer to euphamistically as "the special period," a time of hunger and privation.

In the ensuing years, the average Cuban lost 20 pounds. Malnutrition swept the country. Without oil, Cubans had to give up their cars and learn to ride bicycles. Getting to and from work often meant waiting hours for rare buses. Long power blackouts became common. Most importantly, the entire country had to band together and learn how to feed itself, meaning growing its own food without oil.

Last night I was in Greenbelt, MD, to view The Power of Community: How Cuba Survived Peak Oil, a documentary about Cuba's struggle to become self-sufficient. Greenbelt, a town secreted just outside Washington's famous Beltway, is one of the original eco-villages, designed to preserve a corridor of greenery amidst the suburban sprawl. From the New Deal Cafe, where the film was being show, what you see mostly is parking lots filled with huge America vehicles. Still, the co-op cafe (which recently voted not to declare bankruptcy) was filled to overflowing with middle-aged hippy types eating bowls of vegetarian chili and eager to find out how Cubans persevered through their own oil collapse.

What Cuba represents is a kind of experiment that the rest of the world can look to, perhaps even a view into the future of a world where the oil wells have run dry. Cubans rediscovered natural farming methods, bringing fertility to the soil with compost, recycling everything and composting with worms. Ox-drawn plows made a big comeback. Just about every green space in the country has been converted into food production. Cubans, whose national dish was pork, have learned to love vegetables. Urban gardens are everywhere, even on the rooftops. Neighborhood produce markets are a common sight and farmers have gained new respect and viable livelihoods.

The U.S. was no help at all in Cuba's transformation. We only tightened our embargo during those years. But could this be a vision of our own future? Can you imagine our happy motoring society reduced to tearing up its perfect lawns and replacing them with vegetable gardens? That's exactly what some activists are advocating. Some communities are already oranizing, preparing for the day when growing food will become a matter of survival. Meanwhile, the rest of the nation goes about its business seemingly without a care...