More lentil wat and my first batch of injera

Last month, I wrote about my Ethiopian friend, Hiwot, and her generosity. She brought me a bag of berbere, her recipe for red lentil wat, homemade injera, AND starter so I could try and make my own. She also directed me to Black Lion market where I bought teff flour, more lentils, and a mitad, the grill on which injera is cooked. 

Hiwot sent me a YouTube video about making injera, and let me tell you, I was intimidated. I mean, the man in the tutorial used a fermentation bucket and an airlock. I can make a pie crust in my sleep, and it's rare that in the kitchen, I pause, put my hands on my hips, and think, "Dang. This is gonna take some time and practice!" 

Injera made me think exactly that.

But I love a challenge, and so with Hiwot's starter and my new flour and a generous dash of "fake it 'til you make it," I ordered a cheap bucket and airlock (great products and service from Bell's General Store, a brewing-oriented company in Kalamazoo, by the way) and got started.

starter

airlock nestled in the fermentation bucket's lid

Injera is a three-part, multi-day process punctuated by lengthy periods of rest time during which the batter ferments (hence the use of the airlock, although Hiwot was like "Huh??" She does NOT use the dang airlock!). If you linger around the batter or crack open the lid of the bucket just a bit, you're whacked with a pleasantly pungent aroma- yeasty, sour...rather what you might expect from fermenting grain and sourdough bread.

after 3 days of fermenting, the batter was actively bubbling!

Injera is unlike any bread I've ever made. The batter is runny, rather like that for pancakes. And Teff is a very fine flour, the brown variety particularly so.

brown teff flour

There's no kneading involved in the making of injera, and ultimately you cook each injera like you would a crepe, batter poured fairly thinly atop a hot griddle-for injera, the mitad-for a brief spell.

mitad off and minus its lid

Mitad heating and with lid

I am very pleased with this grill. It's fabulous to be able to set your desired temperature and know that it will remain steady, a must for such quick, needs-to-be-even cooking. Because everything happened so rapidly once I started making the injeras, I don't have many action shots. But here, you can see the "eyes" of the injera popping open.

eyes forming

That's good. Many eyes, the result of active, successful fermentation, produce the spongy texture that injera is known for. The mouthfeel of good injera is an absolute delight, a chewy, pillowy, yeasty pleasure.

Hiwot's was perfect. Mine was too dense and not as pliable, but for a first go, I'm proud. And perhaps the best part was that the kids enjoyed this whole meal. Will wonders never cease?! I even remembered to reserve some of the batter as starter for my next batch.

injera made from both brown and ivory teff, and red lentil wat

I sent Hiwot all these pictures, and she was, as always, incredibly lovely and supportive. She also sent me the second video in the series of tutorials she's making me. I know my injera will be so much better next time. And meanwhile, lucky me to have this woman as a friend. 

Barbecue shrimp

I am not even kidding, y'all. The hankering I had earlier today for Louisiana barbecue shrimp was off the charts. Luckily I was in the market when this desire struck, so I hurriedly picked up a pound of fresh shrimp and a crusty baguette for sauce-sopping. 

You should always sop good sauce. Do you do that? 

Perhaps you're aware that barbecue shrimp has approximately zero to do with barbecue sauce as you know it. It is, instead, a shrimp-shell stock infused with onion, garlic, bay leaves, Worcestershire, a bit of wine, pepper, salt, and Creole seasoning, reduced to a sauce and mixed with cream and a pat of butter for good measure.

straining the reduced stock

At some point along the way, you quickly cook the shrimp in that ambrosial mess and then serve both in a bowl with a generous hunk of oven-toasted bread.

Note: we did not have enough Worcestershire, so the color of the sauce isn't as richly tinted as usual, but we added some anchovy paste (because umami and also Worcestershire has a fair amount of anchovy in it), and while the depth of flavor wasn't quite as intense as I like, this was still pretty darn good.

shrimp cooking in the hot sauce

Doesn't this look sublime?

It was.

I also saw my friend, Hiwot, and we talked injera. Mine is coming along. Post about that soon!

Meatless Thursday Salads, and a hat that says "Meow"

Today was lovely and fascinating and involved lots of time with friends new and old. A few snowflakes fell, a gorgeous neighborhood cat with no collar ended up purring in my kitchen for twenty glorious minutes, my new hat for the Women's March arrived, and Tom indulged me by not complaining about the dinner I served him: two beautiful salads with nary a bit of meat in sight. 

Meow! #dontgrab #resist #pussyhat

Remind me to tell you about the new internist he recently visited who suggested my carnivore husband go vegan. Hilarious!

Anyway, these salads resulted from A) a desire to use what was in the fridge, B) my having just made the kids dinner and not wanting to commit to much more time in the kitchen, C) my mad love of veggies, and D) a realization that it's been an awfully long time since I contemplated and crafted a proper composed salad.

Result 1:

A wintry mix of celery, cucumber, blood orange, pomegranate, candied kumquats, shaved Pecorino, parsley, blackberry Balsamic, olive oil, salt and pepper. 

Result 2:

A hearty "don't let the rest of that baguette go to waste" salad of roasted golden beets, raw shallots (shaved), goat cheese, parsley, the baguette cubed and lightly fried, pimentón, and a very generous drizzle of olive oil.

Neither was difficult, both used a variety of aging ingredients and also pantry staples, and never can you underestimate the beneficence of a beautiful meal.