My Favorite Black Bean Soup

And with a suddenness that has once again caught me off guard, the darkest time of year is here.

Meanwhile, our family has been furiously celebrating the light within, mostly through festivals at Kingston's school. Michaelmas, to remember our courage when we are faced with dark times; Martinmas (and its corresponding Lantern Walk), to make external our inner light, our lanterns guiding us in the darkness.

These activities were designed to remind us -- children and grown ups both - that though we may be faced with the unknown, we have the ability to summon strength and courage, light and goodness from inside ourselves. These festivals help us to remember again and again that light and dark each have their time as they move through the seasons, like the earth breathing in before exhaling again.

This has been good for me to remember, especially in the past several weeks. Since the night of November 8th, I've been mucking through, trying to sort out my feelings about our general collective state. I've been doing this, like more than half of the people in this country, because the candidate I threw in with did not win.

We are joined together in whatever happens next, no doubt about that. This makes it more important than ever for us to connect with those around us through conversation and shared experiences, good food and open minds.

Neighbors, friends, acquaintances and family. It doesn't take much. Invite them in for soup. Let it soothe us as we take comfort in one another's company. Together, we are resilient.

Comforting Black Bean Soup
This is the soup I could eat every day, rain or shine, whether I'm feeling happy, sad or worried about nothing and everything. It is extremely simple and requires pretty much no attention once you have thrown all the ingredients in the pot. If you want to make this vegan, simply omit the pork and throw in a piece of kombu to add that extra umami flavor that the pork otherwise gives this.

Adapted from The Kitchn.

Serves 4-6.

Ingredients
1 lb. dried black beans
2 medium red onions, finely chopped
1 red peppers, finely chopped
5 garlic cloves, finely chopped
3-4 slices thick-cut bacon (or substitute 1 large piece of kombu)
1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil
2 teaspoons salt
Black pepper
1/3 cup apple cider vinegar

Garnishes
Chopped cilantro
Chopped jalapeno
Chopped onion or scallion
Sour cream or grated cheese
Hot sauce (such as Tapatio or Cholula)

Instructions
Pick through beans, removing any stones or debris. In a large container, cover beans with a good 2 to 3 inches of water. Allow to soak overnight.

The following day, drain beans. Place in a large pot. Cover with about an inch of filtered water. Add onions, peppers, garlic, bacon, oil, salt and a generous amount of black pepper. Over high heat, bring the pot to boil then turn down to low simmer. Allow to simmer covered for 3 1/2 to 4 hours. At this point, the beans will be quite soft. Use a potato masher to gently press down on the beans. This will break down some of the beans while leaving some texture. If you are using kombu, the seaweed will have melted into your soup by this point. Continue to simmer 15 to 20 minutes then add vinegar. Cook an additional 15 minutes to mellow out the vinegar. Serve with garnishes and a dash of Mexican-style hot sauce if desired. This is great with cornbread.

The soup keeps for several days and continues to improve in flavor, as bean dishes often do. It will thicken up after refrigeration. Sometimes I add a little water when I warm it up, other times I eat it as is, thick and creamy.

Japanese Curry: My Ultimate Comfort Food

This month five years ago, Marc and I pulled into my brother's driveway here in Bellingham, our truck packed tightly with everything we thought necessary plus the poor dog who was allotted about one square foot of space for the 2,000-mile journey. All along the way, boxes kept falling down on his hairy head and not once did he complain.  

We had, after some deliberation, decided that this was the place where we were going to put down roots. Marc and I didn't know where we would exactly live in our new town, but a month later, after I'd started to settle into my private practice, we found a house next to the woods. We have been here since. 

Two or even three years in, there were moments where I would suddenly forget where I was. I would open my eyes in the morning, feeling disoriented at seeing the walls of a room other than those of our old bedroom in California. Or, I'd be driving along by the lake and take a turn, expecting to arrive somewhere in L.A. 

Somewhere in the middle of living my life, though, that unsettled feeling drifted away. It took a while. My former life in Southern California feels like a dream and now my roots reach down, firmly anchoring me to this place of clouds, rain and wetland woods. 

I don't miss the heat, the perpetual summer. What I miss most about my hometown is people -- friends I haven't seen in so long, family I no longer get to spend time with on a regular basis.

There are a few other things, like food, for instance. I know L.A. has changed so much since we left, and the food with it. Just today, I was listening to Evan Kleiman's Good Food on KCRW. She was talking about the rise of Latino coffee houses all over Southern California, including Tierra Mia a few blocks from my old high school. I hadn't heard anything about that before turning on the podcast.

When it comes to food and my hometown, I miss Little Tokyo, or J-Town most and the yummy stuff we'd regularly eat there. Like mochi and mochi ice cream from Mikawaya and warm red bean cakes from Mitsuru Cafe called imagawayaki (see video below) that are cooked in rows of copper pans.

Most of all, I miss our weekly, sometimes twice-weekly visits to the Curry House.

Have you ever had Japanese curry? It seems not that many people up here in our town, at least the ones I've talked to, know about it. In many American minds, Japanese food equals sushi and not curry. But in Japan, it's a comfort food cooked at home, one of those well-loved dishes where each family makes it their own way. Everyone loves it, kids included.

It's my ultimate comfort food.

Kare raisu, as it is known, falls into the category of yoshoku. This style of cooking takes Western ingredients and transforms them into something to suit Japanese tastes. Though most of us think of curry as an Indian spice, rather than something from the West, it's thought to have been introduced to Japan by the British. Hence, kare raisu's yoshoku status. At its most basic, kare raisu is a curry-flavored gravy with onions and may also contain beef, pork, chicken or veggies. As the raisu part of the name points out, it's typically served over rice. 

At Curry House, you can order your dish in many different ways. You can get a deep-fried meat cutlet over it, or a ground beef patty. You can have it topped with tofu or boiled egg. It's completely customizable.

Here's the version we cook in our house. It's the one we like and now eat at least once a week as we hold onto memories of friends, family and visiting our favorite place in Little Tokyo. 

Japanese Curry (Kare Raisu)

Adapted from Serious Eats.

Ingredients
For the roux:
2 tablespoons vegetable oil (such as sunflower), OR unsalted butter
1/4 cup rice flour (or all-purpose)
1 tablespoon hot curry
1 1/2 teaspoons mild curry
1 3/4 teaspoons garam masala
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
1 tablespoon tomato paste
1/4 teaspoon cayenne (use more if your prefer your curry more spicy)
1/2 teaspoon mild honey OR half a finely grated apple

For the curry
2 teaspoons vegetable oil
2 medium onions, halved then thinly sliced
4 carrots, peeled and cut into 1/2-inch chunks
4 cups vegetable broth
1 1/2 pound firm-fleshed potatoes (such as Yukon Gold), peeled and cut into 1/2-inch chunks
2 teaspoons salt
3/4 cup peas

Instructions
In a large, heavy-bottomed pot heat oil over medium heat. Add onions and saute until they turn golden and are just beginning to caramelize, 10-12 minutes. Add carrots, then vegetable broth. Bring to a boil then add potatoes and salt. Cover and simmer for about 30 minutes, until potatoes are tender.

In the meantime, make the roux. In a large saucepan or a wide skillet, heat oil. Add flour, both curry powders and garam masala. Stir for a minute or two, incorporating the ingredients together. Add Worcestershire sauce, tomato paste, cayenne and honey, stirring and pressing mixture together. You will have a dry paste. Turn off heat. Set aside.

Once your vegetables are done, ladle out about 2 cups of the liquid. Turn heat back to low for the roux. Add a small amount of liquid to the roux at a time, stirring after each addition, until all of the broth has been added.  You will have a very thick gravy. Add all of this back to the pot with the vegetables and stir gently, until a rich gravy develops. Add peas and allow to warm through. 

Serve over rice. I like my curry garnished with red pickled ginger (beni shoga). And here! Come watch how they make goza soroh (another name for imagawayaki). They are delicious!

Tangy Kimchi Mac n' Cheese

“In the dark wood, by the sodden ground, I found my way by the whiteness of his collar.”

— Franz Kafka

I've been thinking a lot about the darkness. Ever since November arrived and we turned our clocks back, it seems the rainy, low-light days of northerly living are inevitably here. 

It's been almost six years since we moved. Coming from the relentless heat of the Pasadena chapparal, adjusting to the darkness of Western Washington falls and winters has taken me a while.

I'll admit, there were days during those initial Decembers and Januarys when I would turn on the TV to watch Hawaii 5-0 with its shots of bright Oahu beaches. It was my...sun porn (Is that a real term?). This, so I could pretend that I lived with the full glory of the tropical sun and imagine that I was about to dive into the ocean sans rain pants or waterproof boots in the middle of winter.

I've finally made a discovery that in retrospect feels like it slowly crept up on me. Or, was it blantantly flinging itself at me without my noticing -- until now? 

Darkness is not terrible or even bad.

Just as we need the light and warmth of summer to really enjoy things like walking alongside the lake or savoring the flavors of the berries we've picked ourselves, we need the darker days for slowing down and reflecting. As in, who am I? How do I relate to others? How do others see me? 

You just can't do that sort of wondering in broad daylight. Somehow it doesn't match up.

So let's give a cheer to the shorter, darker days. Celebrate its necessity as a counterpoint to all that is wonderfully outward and external about summer. 

There is beauty within each of us, and this is the time of year when we should slow down, just be, and take a look inward to explore and renew our connections to ourselves.

While you are holed up this fall and winter in your cabin by Walden Pond or another such appropriate place, don't forget to also make an occasional foray into the world.

Reach out to friends. Remember to check in with the people you love. You can even invite a bunch of them over to cook up and share a bubbling casserole with you. This one, perhaps.

Tangy Kimchi Mac n' Cheese

Adapted from Serious Eats.

Serves 6.

I had forgotten all about the jar of kimchi I’d made a couple of months back in an attempt to use up some napa and savoy cabbages and a sad-looking daikon. Upon finding the jar, I promptly opened it up and gobbled some down (ummmm! tangy! funky in a good way!). Then I decided I had to put it together with that ultimate comfort food, macaroni and cheese. The richness of the cheese tempers the kimchi while the buttermilk adds to the tangy flavor, bringing the dish into balance. 

Ingredients
1 pound elbow pasta
2 eggs, lightly beaten
2 ½ cups buttermilk
1 ½ cups whole milk or evaporated milk
1 tablespoon powdered buttermilk (optional)
½ teaspoon dried mustard
1 teaspoon hot sauce, such as Frank’s Red Hot
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
8 ounces cheddar, grated
8 ounces jack or other melting cheese such as gruyere, American, Gouda, grated
1 tablespoon cornstarch
1 ½ cups kimchi, finely chopped
salt

½ cup panko breadcrumbs
2 tablespoons melted butter
1 tablespoon finely ground red chili, such as Korean gochugaru
1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt

Instructions
Preheat oven to 350° F.

Butter a 9 x 13" casserole dish. Set aside.

In a medium bowl, mix together eggs, buttermilk, whole/evaporated milk, mustard, and hot sauce. Set aside. In another bowl, toss together cheeses with cornstarch and set aside.

In a large pot, bring water to boil. Add salt and cook pasta to al dente, about 7 minutes.

While pasta is cooking, make bread crumb topping. Mix together breadcrumbs, butter, red chili, and salt. Set aside.

Drain pasta and return to pot. Over low heat, add butter. When it has melted completely into the pasta, stir in milk mixture. Add cheese and stir gently, allowing sauce to thicken. Stir in kimchi then taste for salt, adjusting to your liking. 

Pour the pasta mixture into the prepared pan. Top with the seasoned breadcrumbs. Place on middle rack of oven and bake for 30 minutes, until the top is golden-brown and crispy. 

Serve on its own, or complement it with a green salad.