Hi everyone! We have an exciting announcement to make – our own real food business! After many years of excitedly eating our way around the world, we’ve finally settled in Boston (at least for the time being) to work on a new project:  Mei Mei Street Kitchen!

Named by our amazing brother Andy for us (Mei Mei means little sister in Chinese), this family business will start off as a Chinese and American-influenced, farm-sourced, community-oriented food truck serving up dumplings and other deliciousness.   We’ll serve only humanely raised meat and work with local growers to serve great tasting food produced in the best way possible.

Some day, we hope to have a larger business that encompasses multiple exciting food projects that celebrate delicious food, friends & family, sustainable farming and eating, social entrepreneurship, pop-up events, producer partnerships, exciting spaces, and other fun things we love.   It will probably involve buns…

and will most definitely involve crispy, fatty, spiced pork belly.

Since we’re spending tons of time on this project, we’ll no longer be blogging here at Family Styles. We want to thank all of you for putting up with our food porn raves and sustainable food rants over the past three years – we’ve loved sharing our food with you.  If you want to keep up with our antics, we’ll be doing some blogging on our Mei Mei Street Kitchen website and you can also follow our journey across the interwebs on Twitter and Facebook.

Even better, come visit us in Boston! There’s a slight chance you might be able to get in on some bun & pork belly action that might look something like this:

If you’re still looking for any of the recipes or links we’ve posted, we’ll try to archive all these old posts on our old WordPress site once we get a chance.  Thanks again to you all for reading and as always, happy eating.

Much love,

Mei & Irene

Below – sesame white chocolate, green tea chocolate ganache, orange blossom chocolate ganache, ginger with ginger vanilla buttercream, ginger with green tea buttercream, and pistachio with white chocolate ganache.

A) The undeniably obsessive baking of macarons. Ask anyone in the house, it’s gotten a little out of hand. I’ve read countless blogs with insane amounts of information that has led to a once, twice, or sometimes even thrice-daily macaron bake.  I’ve purchased enormous boxes of almond flour and gone through at least 10-12 pounds of butter in this month-long quest.  It’s led to some macaron disasters, but also some things of beauty…

B) Over-the-top Thanksgiving cooking!

We visited 3 Massachusetts farms and bought 2 turkeys, 2 pork shoulders, 5 hunks of smoked bacon ends, a ginormous bag of short ribs, and 150 pounds of fall vegetables.  Whew.  Check out our happy food faces:

So much food we jump for joy.  It was an epic 30-person, 14-dishes and 8-desserts night of eating madness. The very best holiday of the year.  And now for the big excitement…

C) We’re starting a sibling food business! Along with our awesome big brother Andy, we’re working on a very exciting venture and hope to hit the streets of Boston within the next few months. Keep your eyes peeled for more information soon…

Corn season is almost over in these parts. I can tell because I have to wear slippers (like a proper Chinese person) and butter won’t soften just because I left it on the kitchen table (though that has as much to do with household thermostat policies as the weather outside). This photo is of some corn we bought at the Ithaca Farmer’s Market. We took it home, with no plans in particular, and when we shucked it (husked? Whatever, I like “shucked”), it looked good enough to eat – pearly white and yellow with irregular kernels so plump (sorry, I hate that word too) they almost looked decadent, fatty, excessive, like obscenely marbled steak.

I couldn’t resist taking a bite. And that bite, and the subsequent bites (I ate the whole thing), inspired me to take this rather terrible photo so that I would remember how insanely sweet and, well, corn-y this ear of corn was. Corn from the grocery store or corn that has been sitting in the fridge too long can approximate the texture of fresh sweet corn, maybe, but has nothing on its taste. Chowing down on this ear was like eating a candy bar, with all of the snap and sweetness, only way, way better (for you).

We ended up sauteeing the kernels with double-smoked bacon and coconut oil, and garnished the dish with cilantro, black pepper, and milk from the cob, obtained via Max’s technique – using the back of the knife to scrape and squeeze all that corny goodness out of each ear. The dish was amazing. Even so, I don’t know if I’d trade it for eating corn straight off the cob, utterly raw and crazily sweet (while watching a Top Gear marathon). They were both amazing.

Anyway, we’re heading to the Copley Square Farmer’s Market this afternoon. I’ll probably buy a bag or two of corn, maybe to freeze, maybe for soup, maybe to eat right off the cob. We’ll see! I won’t miss summer, or corn (corn… corn… corn!), at least not for now. Fall brings lots of excitement, even and especially for root crops, which I’m sure I’ll hate by the end of winter. Visit your local market, support your local farmers and gardeners, and they’ll have plenty of sweet corn for you next summer.

Until then, I’m spending my final few weeks in London eating everything I’ve always wanted to eat and haven’t or what I know I’ll miss when I leave.

An obvious first move on the bucket list: fish&chips! Specifically from George’s on Portobello – Jamie Oliver’s favourite. Wrapped up in a cone of newspaper and sprinkled with salt and vinegar, it’s a beautiful flower bouquet of battered deliciousness.

I’ll miss the delights of the chippie for sure….

It’s only been 3 days since I got to Tel Aviv and I’m sunburnt and footsore and absolutely stuffed full of hummus and pita. I’m visiting my friend Dan in TLV and we’ve walked from Center City to Jaffa to Neve Tzedek and back, all in the name of seeing and eating the best the city has to offer.  And sample the best we certainly did, starting with a morning pilgrimage to what is generally acknowledged to be the best hummus place in Tel Aviv if not Israel or the entire world, Abu Hassan. You might think your hummus or your friend’s hummus is the best in the world but take a look at the picture above for some visual proof – can’t really argue with that, can you?

However, we went on an Indiana Jones-style adventure trek through the city to get there, starting with a fantastic coffee affuk (upside down cappucino) from a cute shop called Boutique Central which I’ve seen dotted all over the city.  They also have amazing pastries…

or rather amazing looking pastries, because Dan wouldn’t let me ruin my appetite for hummus.

This face says: ‘NO CROISSANTS BEFORE HUMMUS!’ I bet that’s what the sign says too.

We wandered all over the city, along the beach and through the winding streets of Old Jaffa and past the port and up and down some streets that didn’t exist on the map and past other streets that didn’t seem to exist in real life and finally ended up on a tiny street with a tiny storefront packed full of people.  We expected to do the classic eat-your-takeout-hummus-on-the-street-overlooking-Jaffa-port-and-the-Mediterranean move, but got lucky when a table for two emptied right in front of us.

You’ve already seen the amazingly fresh and creamy hummus and masabacha mixture (hummus with whole chickpeas and hardboiled egg), which we rapidly downed with fluffy thick pita and the classic accompaniment of chunks of raw onion with hot pepper sauce and a malta, or black beer.

According to an Israeli friend who hosted us for an incredibly delicious shabbat dinner later that night, the onions are soaked in some sort of salt mixture rather than completely raw, which might explain how they were so incredibly delicious and not the painful experience one might assume.  The malta? It tastes like coke. And beer. At the same time.

The atmosphere? Bustling, loud, fast-moving, full of rich smells and the clink of plates and hot wafts of steam, yells for hummus orders and people reaching over your head and jostling your table for bags of pita and raw onions.  Seated right next to the kitchen and the takeout counter, we got to enjoy the madness at its finest.

Main lessons learned:

1. Hummus is a meal and an art form unto itself. Rather than a side dip or an afterthought, in Israel it is very much the main attraction.  No falafel, no salad, no nothing besides the basic and the best.

2. When visiting Abu Hassan, get there early. When the pot of hummus is gone, they close up shop for the day and it’s all over.

3. Big bowls of hummus and chunky rounds of pita bread are seriously filling.  We were full after about 10 bites, but continued on for about 1oo more.

After stuffing our faces, we waddled on past the Jaffa port and on to the famous Carmel market…photos to come soon!

]]> http://eatfamilystyles.com/2011/07/27/a-hummus-pilgrimage-in-tel-aviv/feed/ 3 http://eatfamilystyles.com/2011/07/18/grow-your-own-veggies/ http://eatfamilystyles.com/2011/07/18/grow-your-own-veggies/#comments Mon, 18 Jul 2011 23:31:24 +0000 irene http://eatfamilystyles.com/?p=3742

Er – maybe not like this. They are pretty, though! Maybe you want to:

1. Grow your own sprouts! (Sprouted chickpeas are great for hummus)

2. Grow random crap from your pantry and fridge! (Special shout-out to potato sprouter extraordinaire Judith Ternes – you inspire us)

3. Check out Carolyn Cope‘s advice for edible windowbox gardens!

4. Find out who among your friends and family are undercover garden wizards! They’re everywhere, and they’ll definitely give you advice, probably bring you their extras, and maybe even deliver you some transplants.

Don’t forget to have fun and not worry too much! This spring, I tried to let go of my desire to read and read and read about gardening, and just gardened. It’s been great. Maybe (read: probably) I’ve made some serious technical errors, but I’m too ignorant to know the difference! And as long as I’m not perpetuating pests, I figure my amateurish behavior is acceptable. And the herbs are hard to kill. And it feels good to eat food you’ve grown. And it feels almost as good if not better to not pay $3 for a pathetically small bunch of “fresh” herbs.

Max and I threw a bunch of stuff in the ground this spring. Click on for some photos of our -likely-unimpressive-to-you-but-totally-life-changing-for-me garden! I’m practicing for my hopefully long career as a slightly senile but very proud grandmother who has impressively but inconveniently learned to use snapfish.

We started out with some super cute herbs from various farmer’s market stands (background), some tiny squash and melons, and some rhubarb. Special thanks to previous tenants for the tulips, mint, and marjoram! I think this photo is from May-ish.

Here’s a (slightly) better look at our herbs: three types of sage, rosemary, marjoram, basil, thyme, mint, oregano, chives, purslane (technically a weed, but apparently edible!), cilantro.

We were out of town for two weeks and our cilantro bolted! We could hardly believe it.

The rest of our herbs didn’t do so poorly either. The weeds, as you can see, are also well. We also added a jalapeno pepper plant and a serrano pepper plant. And our toes!

Here’s a closeup of our little squash:

They grow up so fast! From total cutie-babies to beautiful adults! But they’re overwhelming us. Maybe they’re more like teenagers.

We’ve also put in eggplant and tomatoes. Angela has graciously allowed us to plant our watermelon and extra pepper and eggplant seedlings in her garden. We can’t wait for harvest to continue! We’re so sick of lettuce!

When the Li-Bruynell-Hull vacation team pulled up for Pizza Night at the Orange Peel Bakery on Martha’s Vineyard, the sun was so bright that I forgave the weather for the past three days of rain, the stone oven so beautiful that I snapped pictures unabashedly, and the people so friendly that I wondered if I’d somehow teleported to the West Coast. In a word, it was heavenly. Special thanks to Amanda for the recommendation!

Here’s how it works:

During the rest of the week, Juli and the folks at Orange Peel can be found reaching into their stone hearth for treats like ciabatta bread, sweet and savory scones, and the amazing amazing amazing baking powder biscuits. Day-old goods can be found inside the kitchen while freshly baked items rest outside. Shelves brim with ingredients and possibility! Looking around in a small but organized kitchen like this (and unlike my large but very disorganized kitchen), all I can do is sigh.

On pizza night, though, things work a little differently. Drinks and special toppings are BYO to share, while the Orange Peel provides dough, sauce, shredded mozzarella, and hands highly experienced with roaring-hot-oven-pizza-cookery. The recommended donation per person is $10. It’s a great expression of what it means to cook and eat family style.

We always read through the recipe before we start cooking!

There were other first timers, like us, and plenty of regulars, many of whom helped out with prep and cooking. We brought fresh mozzarella, locally grown basil, portobello and white mushrooms, and some leftover salsa for the topping table.

The lovely volunteers presented us with dough, which we topped with our own and others’ toppings, and then returned for bake-ification.

We started things out with a simple basil-mozzarella pizza:

Minutes later, the pizzas emerged from the oven, hot, crispy, bubbling, and slightly charred, just the way I like it.

The Orange Peel folks sliced the pizzas and served slices up to any guest who wanted a taste. We got to try pizzas with pesto, pepperoni, fresh herbs, ground buffalo meat, and raw cheese! Sharing is so badass. We were stuffed!

Community vibes and teamwork can make good food great.  If you’re on the Vineyard on a Wednesday, don’t miss Pizza Night!

Thank you, Orange Peel, for a fun and delicious experience. We loved meeting you and hanging out with all the other people and families there. The community/family atmosphere was awesome and the pizza was great. Thanks for letting us have a taste.

Here’s hoping that heaven has a Pizza Night!

1. This morning, Max picked the first sungold tomato produced in our garden. The tomato plant came from our amazing CSA at Westhaven Farm, and we have watched it grow and fruit over the last few weeks. Tiny, orange, and pretty darn delicious, it was a little piece of sunshine after all the thunder and lightning yesterday in Ithaca. To us, though, it meant something else. It was a reminder of the industrial food system and our efforts to disconnect ourselves from it and to figure out how others can do the same.

2. We recently read an article, an excerpt from a book, actually, by Mark Estabrook, a former editor of Gourmet (RIP). Many of us know about the horrifying human costs of industrial tomato farming. I learned in this article that there are migrant workers who are literally, not figuratively, enslaved on tomato farms. Maybe you already knew about this?

3. This is a little hard for me to write. When I got done reading the Estabrook article, I felt really, really sick. I wanted to drive to Wegman’s and yell at someone. I don’t think this is a good platform to tell people what and how to eat, but I want to share what I learned and what I think, which is this: It’s still important to eat carefully, especially when it comes to tomatoes. For me, this means eating local tomatoes only when I’m the one doing the shopping. In Ithaca, this means eating them when they’re in season, not whenever I want one. This is a choice I’m prepared to make. And anyway, they taste better.

Your thoughts?

Some important quotations from the Estabrook article:

On nutrition: “Today’s industrial tomatoes are as bereft of nutrition as they are of flavor. According to analyses conducted by the U.S. Department of Agriculture, fresh tomatoes today have 30 percent less vitamin C, 30 percent less thiamin, 19 percent less niacin, and 62 percent less calcium than they did in the 1960s.”

On the consumer’s right to not consume: “Not everyone can grow a garden or head out to a neighborhood farmers’ market in search of the ideal tomato. But we all have an alternative to the sad offerings of commercial agriculture. At a lunch spot in the town where I live, a handwritten notation appeared on the blackboard one afternoon. “Dear Customers, we will not be putting tomatoes on our sandwiches until we can obtain ones that meet our standards. Thanks.” With that small insurrection, the restaurant’s proprietor had articulated a philosophy that more of us should embrace: Insist on eating food that meets our standards only, not the standards set by corporate agriculture.”

On pesticides: “When forced to struggle in the wilting humidity of Florida, tomatoes become vulnerable to all manner of fungal diseases. Hordes of voracious hoppers, beetles, and worms chomp on their roots, stems, leaves, and fruit. And although Florida’s sandy soil makes for great beaches, it is devoid of plant nutrients. To get a successful crop, they pump the sand full of chemical fertilizers and can blast the plants with more than one hundred different herbicides and pesticides, including some of the most toxic in agribusiness’s arsenal. Workers are exposed to these chemicals on a daily basis. The toll includes eye and respiratory ailments, exposure to known carcinogens, and babies born with horrendous birth defects.”

On labor conditions: “Although there have been recent improvements, a person picking tomatoes receives the same basic rate of pay he received 30 years ago. Adjusted for inflation, a harvester’s wages have actually dropped by half over the same period. Florida tomato workers, mostly Hispanic migrants, toil without union protection and get neither overtime, benefits, nor medical insurance. They are denied basic legal rights that virtually all other laborers enjoy. Lacking their own vehicles, they have to live near the fields, often paying rural slumlords exorbitant rents to be crammed with 10 or a dozen other farmworkers in moldering trailers with neither heat nor air conditioning and which would be condemned outright in any other American jurisdiction.”

On enslavement: “In the chilling words of Douglas Molloy, chief assistant United States attorney in Fort Myers, South Florida’s tomato fields are “ground zero for modern-day slavery.” Molloy is not talking about virtual slavery, or near slavery, or slaverylike conditions, but real slavery. In the last 15 years, Florida law enforcement officials have freed more than 1,000 men and women who had been held and forced to work against their will in the fields of Florida, and that represents only the tip of the iceberg. Most instances of slavery go unreported. Workers were “sold” to crew bosses to pay off bogus debts, beaten if they didn’t work, held in chains, pistol whipped, locked at night into shacks in chain-link enclosures patrolled by armed guards.”

On prosecuting slaveholders: “Even though police have successfully prosecuted seven major slavery cases in the state in the last 15 years, those brought to justice were low-ranking contract field managers, themselves only one or two shaky rungs up the economic ladder from those they enslaved. The wealthy owners of the vast farms walked away scot-free. They expressed no public regrets, let alone outrage, that such conditions existed on operations they controlled. But we all share the blame. When I asked Molloy if it was safe to assume that a consumer who has eaten a fresh tomato from a grocery store, fast food restaurant, or food-service company in the winter has eaten a fruit picked by the hand of a slave, he corrected my choice of words. “It’s not an assumption. It is a fact.”"

In summary: “In this world, slavery is tolerated, or at best ignored. Labor protections for workers predate the Great Depression. Child labor and minimum wage laws are flouted. Basic antitrust measures do not apply. The most minimal housing standards are not enforced. Spanish is the lingua franca. It has its own banking system made up of storefront paycheck-cashing outfits that charge outrageous commissions to migrants who never stay in one place long enough to open bank accounts. Pesticides, so toxic to humans and so bad for the environment that they are banned outright for most crops, are routinely sprayed on virtually every Florida tomato field, and in too many cases, sprayed directly on workers, despite federally mandated periods when fields are supposed to remain empty after chemical application. All of this is happening in plain view, but out of sight, only a half-hour’s drive from one of the wealthiest areas in the United States with its estate homes, beachfront condominiums, and gated golf communities. Meanwhile, tomatoes, once one of the most alluring fruits in our culinary repertoire, have become hard green balls that can easily survive a fall onto an interstate highway. Gassed to an appealing red, they inspire gastronomic fantasies despite all evidence to the contrary. It’s a world we’ve all made, and one we can fix. Welcome to Tomatoland.”