The Melting Teapot

For the past couple of weeks, our air has been filled with big fluffs of cotton from the many cottonwood trees that are currently seeding.  The cotton looks like big flakes of snow, getting carried aloft with any puff of wind, then floating softly down to nestle in the grass and along curbs. I appreciate the beauty of the experience. . . at least as much as I can through my puffy, itchy, watery eyes, while sneezing and blowing my nose endlessly.  Yes, this is my personal allergy season.

Luckily, it only lasts a few weeks each year, and I can make things better by taking over-the-counter antihistamine.  Even the “non-drowsy” versions, though, make me dopey and sleepy. It’s been a couple of weeks now of low energy, haziness, sudden nap attacks, and my ordering pizza or Thai food instead of cooking.  However, I’m getting tired of takeout and delivery, and tonight I wanted to actually cook something.

Dinner was all about shortcuts -- opening cans and using only a few ingredients. It was super easy Indian food, done without much care or attention. I needed something on the table fast, and my mind wasn’t clear enough to really spend the time that truly great Indian food deserves.

This is a one pot meal from my grad student days, when I couldn’t afford to spend much money or time on dinner.

Quick Chickpea Curry

½ onion, chopped

1 can chickpeas, drained and rinsed

1 can chopped tomatoes with green chiles

2-4 tablespoons curry powder

pinch of salt and pepper

¼ cup grated coconut (optional)

¼ chopped cilantro (optional)

Saute the onion until it starts to brown, then add the rest of the ingredients to the pan.  Let it all simmer for about 10 minutes.  Spoon some into a bowl and serve with a warmed up pita.

Tonight I added some chopped potato that I sauteed with the onion, and I tossed in a teaspoon or two of garam masala along with the curry.

Beverage Pairing

Normally I’d choose a Riesling to go with something so spicy, but on this rainy evening a warm cup of chai seemed to be a better choice.  I don’t usually do tea after 5pm because caffeine keeps me awake at night, but what the heck – I’ll be sleepy from the antihistamine anyway.

I used a chai blend from Special Tea, brewed it nice and strong, then added milk and a touch of sugar.  It was the perfect pairing, with the milky tea providing a soothing contrast to the spice and heat of the curry.

In about a week, the cotton fluff will be gone and I should be clearheaded enough to be writing more and making regular posts here.  In the meantime, please excuse my absence (as well as any typos or thoughts that trail off into odd places).

Sometimes a glass of wine is best enjoyed with friends, to sip as a colorful background for conversation and fun activities.  Other times, a glass of wine can enhance a meal, cleansing the palate between bites and elevating the flavors of food.  Occasionally, a wine is best enjoyed in a thoughtful way, taking time to think through flavors and aromas, engaging all of the senses to evoke memories, and gaining a depth of understanding that is rewarding in and of itself.

Complex wines are better for this sort of examination, with multiple layers that expand and open up throughout an evening.  I’ve often seen these referred to as a thinking-person’s wine, but I prefer the idea that these are wines for “contemplative moods,” for those times that any person might want to focus themselves in a thoughtful, even pensive way.

Tonight, I found myself in one of those introspective moods where I’d like to be lost in thought, so I chose a wine that might suit this mood: 2003 Allegrini La Poja Veronese, from Italy.  After reading comments and reviews of the wine, it seemed to have enough of a full and complex profile for me to enjoy its dissection.

Knowing that the aromas are a big part of pulling out flavors and picking a wine apart, I grabbed my oversized sommelier glass for this wine.  It is not a glass for a weak wine, since its size tends to expose flaws more than most.

I poured about an inch of wine in my glass, giving a quick sniff to make sure it wasn’t corked and to define any opening characteristics. I swirled it aggressively to expose the liquid to air, as well as encourage the aromas to rise up in the glass.

The first sniff was subdued with just a hint of vanilla, which concerned me (it can sometimes indicate a heavy handed use of oak).  Soon, though, the vanilla gave way to vegetables dusted with powdered sugar.  Yes, I know that’s an odd description, but it was somehow sweet and savory at the same time – sort of like a carrot cake, or veggie tempura dipped in a sweet chili sauce.   As I tried to break it down even more, further aromas appeared:  soy sauce, bubblegum dust, black cherries, roasted red bell pepper (just a tiny bit), tomato sauce, and a sweet herb I couldn’t quite identify.

After the wine was exposed to air for another 20 minutes or so, there were notes of milk chocolate and a wonderful lightly roasted tea (talk about hitting the center of my personal target).  Wow!  The La Poja became more and more intricate as it sat in my glass.

The nose was really spectacular, and I enjoyed it so much that nearly half an hour passed before I took more than a cursory sip.

The color was a deep garnet, growing lighter on the edges.  It is more transparent than it looks in the photo above; I could still make out my fingers beneath the glass.

As I finally tipped the glass of wine to my lips, there was an instant hit of that initial aroma of sugared veggies, then the flavors began to pile on to my palate:  cherries cherries cherries! at first, then a sort of vegetable broth, herbs, and something that made me think of the outdoors.

I paused before the next sip to take an accounting of the wine’s texture.  In front of my teeth, my lips and gums were a bit dry.  However, throughout the rest of my mouth there was plenty of saliva.  So, both tannins and acids are evident.  I like the way they balance out, not overly drying, but enough tannin to control the acidity.

Another sip showed more cherries and some root vegetables, followed by that lightly herbaceous edge, and an impression of dirt or earth. I needed to excavate that impression more.  It is not the dusty flavor on a windy day in the desert, nor is it the muddy-decomposing forest floor of the Pacific Northwest.  This is more of a mineral-driven earthiness -- iron, silver, copper.   I don’t mean to imply that it is overly so; it is not unpleasantly metallic.  What I noticed was a more elemental aspect of earth.  I kept thinking of caves, and my mind began to wander toward the times I visited Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico, and to the way things smell when you’re underground.

Okay, so I’ve gone overboard on that analogy, but it was my attempt to get at the nature of this wine.  I feel that its earthiness is distinct from the earthiness of other wines, and somehow this is what gives it the depth upon which the rest of its flavors layer themselves.

After this one very intense, hour-long inspection of my glass of wine, I condensed my notes and posted them to Cellartracker:

Nose: soy sauce, bubblegum dust, black cherries, roasted red bell pepper (just a tiny bit), tomato sauce, some sort of a sweet herb that I can’t quite identify. After the wine has been exposed to the air for another 20 minutes or so, there are notes of milk chocolate and tea.  Wow!  It is just getting more and more intricate as it sits in my glass.

Palate: dark cherries, herbs, root vegetables, and earth.  There is a nice balance between tannin and acid, which lets the flavors really shine.  It is still a tad hot, and I think that a few more years would really smooth out the rough edges (which makes me wish I had a few more bottles of this for my cellar).

Finish: The earthiness of the wine extends on for several minutes, and the herbs continue after the cherry dissipates.  For me, this wine is all about the nose and the finish.  The flavor is great, but it is the start and end that make it special.

I’m going to pour myself another glass of wine and turn my attention now to reading instead of writing.  Philosophy?  Classic literature?  Or a cozy whodunit?  Let me think about it as I give my glass another swirl. . .

Although I’m usually more of an Asian tea lover, there are some days when my British heritage bubbles to the surface.  On this rainy Sunday afternoon, tea and goodies seemed necessary (obviously I've been having an attack of the sweet tooth this Memorial Day weekend).

eccles cake plus a  small slice of fruit cake with marzipan

Tea is the easy-to-sip Harsha black tea blend from Harney & Sons, brewed in a Chatsford pot.  I take mine with a splash of milk, please.

The tea pastries are from The British Pantry in Redmond, which is a great place to shop for British foods.  In addition to their bakery counter, they stock quite a few imported food items.  They also have a nice selection of English tea pots and accessories.  Attached to the shop is a tea room/café, and next door is the The Three Lions Pub.  Three Lions is the place to be when you’re in the mood for munching on curry chips while enjoying a pint of Strongbow.  If you’re really lucky, you’ll get to enjoy a rugby match with a bunch of transplanted Brits there to watch their favorite teams.

I was in the mood for baking last night, but there were only very basic ingredients in my pantry.  I turned my attention toward a very basic cookie – the Snickerdoodle.  In my experience, the best recipe for these comes out of my oldest cookbook: the Better Homes & Gardens "Red Plaid" Cookbook.  As you can see from the photos below, my 25-year-old copy is very tattered and stained.

For those who didn’t grow up on them, Snickerdoodles are similar to sugar cookies but with two important differences: (1) the balls of dough are rolled in cinnamon-sugar before baking, and (2) the dough is made with a half teaspoon of Cream of Tartar.

Cream of Tartar is one of the quirkier items in a spice cabinet; it is more about texture and volume than it is about flavor.  It provides lift when beating egg whites, and it can make baked items fluffier and creamier. In Snickerdoodles, the Cream of Tartar creates a softer, thicker cookie than a regular sugar cookie.  I think it also gives it a bit of a sharp aftertaste that lingers long after the sweetness is gone.

A Quick Aside

Before writing this post, I had no idea that Cream of Tartar is actually a by-product of winemaking.  The term “tartar” is from “tartaric acid,” which is only found in grapes.  Cream of Tartar is collected from sediment produced when making wine.  Wine enthusiasts are probably familiar with those little chains of crystals,  or “wine diamonds,” that sometimes form on the bottom of a cork in a wine bottle.  This is actually Tartaric Acid or potassium bitartrate, the unpurified form of Cream of Tartar.

Photos and more information can be found here:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tartaric_acid

Back to the Cookies

I now have several more Snickerdoodles than we can probably eat right away, so I placed them in a container to freeze for future teatimes.  That’s when one of those serendipitous moments occurred.  Hmmmm…a bunch of delicious cookies, sitting right next to a container of decadent Dulce de Leche ice cream… These were crying out to be combined into a favorite treat of mine, Ice Cream Sandwiches!

It only took a few minutes to let the ice cream soften enough to be easily scooped, then I sandwiched the caramel-swirled ice cream between two Snickerdoodle cookies.  Voila!  Ice Cream Snicker-Sammies.

Wine Pairing?

I know that many people use dessert or ice wines to pair with sweets, but I always find that to be a bit of a sugar overload.  My preference is for the stouter, nutty orange-caramel notes of Madeira.  Some of my favorite Madeira wines are available throughout the U.S. from the Rare Wine Company.  They carry great aged madeiras, and they also bottle their own RWC Historic Series.

We’ve ordered these for delivery in the past, but recently a local distributor has been getting a few bottles out on the shelves of local wine shops. Madeira might seem expensive at first, but a little goes a long way.  It also lasts a loooooong time, since it is a fortified wine.  You don't need to make it airtight or even worry about heat -- just keep it on your shelf, or stick it in a cupboard.  It will be just fine.

I’m going to have Jeff stop after work at  Seattle Wine Co. to pick up a bottle of  Bual. Dessert tonight will be Snicker-Sammies with a small glass of Madeira.  I can’t wait! 


If you’d like to find out more about my favorite fortified wine beverage, take a few minutes to listen to this interesting conversation about Madeira, recorded by NPR’s “All Things Considered.”

Madeira, a wine for the ages

I love the blossom and the vines twining around this small, fist-sized teapot.  The shape and the ornamental nature of the pot make me think of kabocha squash, which is a favorite of mine.   The teapot has been sitting on a shelf since last August, when my mother gave me a box full of Asian teapots.  This one has been calling to me while I searched for just the right tea to use in it.

My mother enjoys going to estate auctions, and she always keeps an eye out for tea-related items for me.  Last summer, mom stumbled upon a collection of yixing teapots at bargain basement prices (about $3 each!).  She phoned me before purchasing them, asking if the small child-size pots, made from what looked like unglazed terra cotta clay, were the type I’d spoken of in the past.  She described them as intricately detailed, in various shapes and colors, and said that they included several wooden stands in the box.  No one else at the auction seemed interested, and mom was sure she’d be able to get them for me.

On my end of the phone connection, four states away, I was jumping up and down (well, as up and down as my bad knees and chunky frame allow).  You see, I know that yixings can be quite a bit pricier than a mere three dollars; they range from about $20 for mass produced pots, to thousands of dollars for artistic or antique pieces.  Even if these were at the low end, I would be getting a great deal.  More importantly, though, I would be able to appreciate the teapots that had been so carefully collected by the previous owner.

After a trip home to Wyoming one month later, the number of my yixing teapots more than doubled. I now have a substantial collection, and I’ve been gradually assigning teas to each pot.

Yixings are small, unglazed clay teapots.  They are usually used for Chinese and Taiwanese tea, with leaves packed in the pot for multiple steepings.  Owners dedicate each teapot to a type of tea, to a specific region or mountain, or even to one particular farm's tea.  Over the years, the clay begins to take on the characteristics of that tea.  There are apocryphal accounts that say after decades of use, an yixing pot with only hot water added will still produce a cup of tea.

I don’t know if that will ever happen with me, but I can say that the most used yixing at my house has definitely begun to take on some of the aromas of my favorite morning tea.  The porous clay now contains traces of the peppery cocoa nibs that characterize Golden Yunnan.   It has also grown deeper in color, the brown becoming a dusted chocolate and the cream taking on a dark golden hue it did not have six years ago.

I’ve slowly been dedicating each yixing pot to a different type of tea.  In addition to the yixing above, there are two other teapots used exclusively for black teas. Three more are puerh pots -- one for baked puerhs, one that I use for smokey roasted puerhs, and a pot that is for raw or green puerh.   I also have yixings in use for three different types of oolong:   Lishan, Alishan, and other high mountain.

Recently, a friend of mine brought some Dong Ding oolong to share with me.  I had not established a Dong Ding yixing yet, so we contemplated various pots.  Dong Ding is usually a more roasted tea than many Taiwan oolongs, and the region is not located on a high mountain. My friend had me lightly tap the teapots with their lid, listening to the soft chime.  Higher pitches are evidently good for high mountain teas, while lower pitches are best for other teas.  The squash pot acquired by my mother was of a medium pitch compared to the rest, so it seemed appropriate for this oolong.

Something I didn't notice until actually using the teapot was the size of the handle.  It has quite a bit of space for the fingers, which protects them from the heat of the pot.  It is also extremely well balanced as it pours, taking no effort to remain steady in the hand.  The lid fits well, so there is no need to hold it to keep it from sliding off. The combination of artistry with utility is spot on.

I find myself craving roasted teas in the chilly days of autumn, when the smokey sweetness from the roasting process seems to best match that time of year.  It will be pleasantly harmonious to brew Dong Ding in my squash teapot during the height of squash harvest.

By the way, the Dong Ding from my friend was delightful.  We only shared one brewing that day, so I kept the tea leaves in the pot overnight to brew on day two.  I ended up with six or seven steepings of the tea, and there probably could have been more.  The tea had a comforting aroma of roasted coconut, and the taste was light and not overly smokey. There was an elegant, long-lasting finish that reminded me of late summer fruit.