I hereby offer a salve to anxiety surrounding the global warming and economic crises plaguing this country: BUY IN BULK.

I’m not talking about pulling up your 20-foot SUV to the nearest Costco and stuffing it with gallons of mayonnaise and 5-pound boxes of Cocoa Puffs. I’m talking about going to the grocery store and buying food from the bulk bins, as they are an economical resource for consumers on so many levels.

First, there is little packaging waste. Why purchase food that’s dolled up in lacquered boxes or plastic tubs emblazoned with hocus-pocus marketing claims? A humble paper bag is more than adequate for purchasing items like nuts and grains.

Buying in bulk further eliminates waste by allowing consumers to purchase only the amount they need. If I only need 2 ounces of pine nuts, I don’t want to be forced to buy an 8-ounce bag from the baking aisle and have the remaining 6 ounces turn rancid before I get a chance to use them.

Finally, most bulk bin items are considerably less expensive than their glamorized, pre-packaged counterparts. Here are a few examples from my most recent shopping trip:

1/3 cup Earl Grey tea from bulk bin (15 servings for $1.62) =$.11/serving
1 package Bigelow tea bags* (20 servings for $4.29) = $.21/serving

Cumin seeds from bulk bin (2.5 oz. for $2.10) = $.84/oz.
1 jar Spice Islands cumin seeds* (2 oz. for $4.63) = $2.32/oz.

Basmati rice from bulk bin (14 oz. for $1.70) = $.12/oz.
1 box Eating Right American basmati rice* (12 oz. for $2.23) = $.19/oz.

*These figures were taken from Safeway supermarket’s website. Bulk bin figures were taken from my grocery receipt.

Most health-food supermarkets have bulk bin sections that carry everything from flours to laundry detergent. Here in San Francisco my favorite place to shop is Rainbow Grocery, where I can buy nearly everything by the pound, including liquid soap and almond butter. What is your favorite grocery store? Does it have bulk bins?

City living is filled with quirks. A small geographic area with a large population means that a person’s private space is not always her own, no matter if she holds a lease or deed with her name on it. Like it or not, all living spaces in a city are communal to some degree.

I live in a 12-unit apartment building, so I’m no stranger to shared property. Although Max and I try our best to keep our lives within the confines of our unit, we inevitably become a fixture in other people’s existences. Walls here are as thin as wonton wrappers, meaning that residents hear each other’s stereos, footsteps, coughs, even vibrating phones. When we’re in the kitchen, however, there is full-on voyeurism at play.

The six units at the back of the building all have kitchens that overlook one another. Big, exposing windows frame the goings-on of everybody’s eating business. And, true to the nature of city living, we all pretend we don’t see one another.

If you’ve never lived in a city or apartment building, consciously ignoring the other residents may take some practice, but it’s something that will be expected of you. It’s a bizarre reality that one must ignore her neighbors in order to insure their privacy and her own. My neighbor across the hall and I share this don’t-see-don’t-wanna-know relationship when we’re both in our kitchens at the same time, our windows directly across from one another, a mere 10 feet away.

With my peripheral vision I can see her hovering over the stove, her thick, black hair pinned back in a loose twist. I wonder what she’s cooking. A batch of soup? Mac and cheese from a box?

When my neighbor is not in her kitchen, I sometimes look over to her side while I’m washing dishes. She’s set up her kitchen quite nicely, with what looks to be a steel rack lined with blue and white mugs, a few bottles of wine and a large bottle of olive oil. Her microwave has a little round window on the door, different from ours, which is square.

Sometimes when I’m in my kitchen and my neighbor suddenly appears in hers, I feel I should steal away to another room so she can have some privacy. It’s an odd situation, feeling that we’re working in a communal space when, in fact, we are standing in completely different territories. If we both open our windows, we can hear each other’s conversations. As soon as her words circulate to my side of the building, I quietly close my window. Seeing someone on full display is one thing, hearing them makes it far too intrusive.

When at our sinks, we have full view of each other’s space. Sometimes we’re washing dishes at the same time, but we keep our heads bowed so as to preserve that thin veil of privacy that is blatantly an illusion.

If we see each other in the hall or pass each other in the lobby, we will say “hello,” but acknowledgement of the other person while in the kitchen is strictly off limits. How strange, the false realities we create in our structured lives.

I walk into the hallway and smell brothy water and frying garlic. My neighbor’s dinner will be ready soon, but what she’ll be eating I’ll never know.

I’ve rediscovered the joys of cooking and eating at home, after being forced to eat all my meals at restaurants during our vacation last week. For the past few days the thought of ordering off a menu has made me wince.

Technically Max and I are still on vacation, as we are not officially going back to work until Monday, so I have lots of time to spend in the kitchen. The first thing I did once we arrived home was take a trip to the produce and meat markets and pick up a few bags full of goodies. What’s been on the dinner menu this week? Linguine with clams on Wednesday, roasted chicken for Thursday, and lamb biryani for tonight.

I must admit, I’m not always the most diligent about cooking at home. Given that my work revolves around sautéing and chopping, I’m not always enthused about donning my apron and whipping up dinner at the end of a long day at the stove. More times than not I’m contemplating my restaurant choices for the evening.

During our road trip through Northern California we stayed in remote places that had very limited restaurant options. Our question “Where’s a good place for dinner?” posed to the locals was often met with a shrug and a pull of the beard. “Well, the Trout Cafe serves burgers and sandwiches. They’re open ‘til 7:00.” And more times than not, a single recommendation was our only option because there was only one restaurant in town. Pizza delivery and take-out menus were also nonexistent.

What do these local people do for food? I asked myself. It took a moment to register that these people ate AT HOME every night. I was embarrassed that this was such a foreign concept to me. Living in San Francisco, eating at home is often not even a consideration, given that there are thousands of restaurants within city limits. Many people opt to use their ovens for storing tax files.

I looked at the residents of these small towns with newly found admiration. They actually take the time to cook for themselves, a simple pleasure that is close to extinct in modern America.

Traveling opens my eyes to things I have never before considered, or things I’ve take for granted. It’s time to fire up the stove. Lamb biryani is on the menu tonight.

I recently found a sign in my client’s house that read “Shoes in Oven!!” I suppose it was a cautionary note from long ago, as it was sitting in the drawer on top of a pile of scrap paper. I can only hope that the note made its way to the oven door before the smell of burning leather made someone reconsider ordering take-out for the evening.

We’ve all been known to put items where they don’t belong, whether intentionally or otherwise. I once found a DVD in my refrigerator, my garage door opener in my shoe, and my keys in the medicine cabinet. I believe this is what people refer to as a “brain fart.”

Well, it seems that Max had one of these the other day. As I opened the door to our storage closet in the garage, hoping to locate some tennis rackets, I came across a peach sitting helplessly on the shelf next to the suitcases. A peach?! Sure enough, it was super ripe and starting to ooze juice. Another day and every bee in the neighborhood would have laid claim to our garage.

I brought the fuzzy fruit to the kitchen and placed it on the counter. It was so ripe, I needed to eat it right away or it would be mush by morning. I was feeling finicky and didn’t want to eat it in slices because it was a bit too soft, but I was determined to put this fruit to good use. A moment of inspiration hit and I took out the blender, some yogurt and honey and made myself a lovely lassi.

Lassis are similar to smoothies because they contain fruit and yogurt, but they have a thinner texture that makes them more sip-able. This is the perfect way to use up summer fruit that’s not quite picture-perfect but is still full of juicy flavor. I added orange blossom water to bring out the floral notes in the peach, but the lassi will certainly taste delicious without it.

PEACH LASSI
(amounts are approximate)
1 super-ripe medium peach, peeled
1/2 cup plain yogurt (preferably whole milk)
1/4 to 1/3 cup cold water
1 spoonful orange blossom honey
1 tiny splash orange blossom water

Purée all ingredients on medium speed in a blender. Serve as is, or over ice.

Has the heat got you looking for ways to chill down? Then check out my latest Cool Soups recipes in Delicious Living magazine. Pick up the magazine in your local Wholefoods or other health food market, or check it out online.

Here are links to the individual recipes:

Chilled Southwestern Tomato Soup with Crab

Middle Eastern Spinach-Yogurt Soup with Chickpeas

Spicy Thai Curry Soup with Rice Noodles* (see my notes below)

These are all quick and easy recipes, so you won’t be tied down in the kitchen during the tempting summer weather.

Enjoy!

*For more flavor, I would recommend doubling the amount of peanut butter and curry paste (as long as the paste isn’t too spicy for your taste). You can also adjust the fish sauce if you feel the soup needs a bit more salt.

The other day on the way to a client’s house, the hot sun and 3:00 hour had me nodding at the wheel. I pulled over and picked up an iced coffee drink to help me through the mid-afternoon slump. I brought the drink into the kitchen and, after a bit of slicing and dicing, realized I was making a mistake. I glugged a few sips then stowed the rest in the refrigerator.

A few days later I was cooking a few dishes in my own kitchen. I had just finished making an iced jasmine tea and pineapple infusion and eagerly poured myself a glass. Another mistake. I set the tea aside and replaced it with a glass of water.

Why was I making such a fuss over what was in my glass? Because drinking beverages that are sweet, bitter or sour can skew a person’s sense of taste, which is a major liability when working in the kitchen.

Say I was making a vinaigrette, and I’d just taken a sip of Coke. If I then tasted the vinaigrette, it could very well taste balanced when it was, in fact, far too sour, because the residual sugar left on my tongue from the Coke toned down the taste of the vinegar. Similarly, if I drank some Coke then tasted something sweet, like strawberry sauce, the sauce would taste extra sweet.

To get the most authentic reading of flavors from the dishes I’m cooking, I never drink anything but water while in the kitchen. That way I know that what I’m tasting is what my guests will be tasting when I serve the food.

I’m in berry overdrive at the moment. Look at these luscious beauties, all decked out in patriotic colors just in time for the Fourth of July.

It’s easy to do one of those festive red-white-and-blue numbers with any variation of blackberries, raspberries and cream. When I was a kid, my friend’s mother would make our gang a Jell-o poke cake with a blueberry and raspberry stars-and-stripes pattern to celebrate Independence Day. When we cut into the cake, trails of cherry Jell-O lined the sides of each slice. And the frosting (Cool Whip beaten with vanilla pudding mix) was the most decadent treat a 13-year-old could wish for.

My grown-up riff on the Fourth of July poke cake is a berry trifle. I still get the red-white-and-blue theme going, but I forego the stars and stripes. Of course, you can always adorn the top of the trifle with a berry flag if you’re feeling patriotic, but I usually opt for separate layers of blueberries (or blackberries) and raspberries (or strawberries) nestled in between dollops of custard and sponge cake planks.

Traditional English trifles are composed of layers of sponge cake (soaked in sherry), custard, fruit or jam, and whipped cream. This is such a fun dessert to make because there are so many possible variations. For a summer pot-luck barbecue party last year, I brought a trifle with layers of sponge cake drizzled with strawberry-Grand-Marnier sauce (strawberries pureed with sugar and Grand Marnier, then strained), pastry cream (flavored with ½ a vanilla bean) folded with whipped cream, and a variety of berries. It was sensational.

Trifles are also delicious with stone fruits. Try sponge cake brushed with Amaretto, layered with vanilla custard, peach slices (peeled) and raspberries, then topped with whipped cream and toasted almond slivers. Or perhaps try sponge cake brushed with lavender simple syrup, custard flavored with vanilla bean and orange zest, and sliced strawberries.

The combinations are endless. Do you have a special dessert you’re planning to make for the Fourth of July?

If you love shrimp and want some quick-fix dinner recipes, check out my latest recipes printed in Delicious Living. You can read them Online, or pick up a copy of the magazine at your nearest Whole Foods or other health-food market.

Here are direct links to the individual recipes:

Shrimp, Avocado and Tomato Salad with Potatoes Vinaigrette

Soffrito Shrimp with Crispy Polenta Cakes

Blackened Shrimp Tacos with Vegetable Slaw

Happy cooking!

A few weeks ago, the tasting panel where I consult began in-depth training to identify what many call the fifth taste: umami.

Umami roughly translates to “deliciousness” in Japanese, as I soon found out from one of our Japanese chef panelists. The instructor asked me and the other chef panelists to describe umami, and most everyone shrugged their shoulders. Except for the Asian panelists, that is. They knew exactly what it was and how to use it in cooking.

It’s an elusive taste, similar to trying to put the feeling of joy into solid words, or describing what “sweet” tastes like. It’s just something you know and is difficult to describe to someone who has never experienced it before.

Our Chinese chefs offered descriptors such as “succulent,” “delicious” and “meaty.” But what, exactly, do those things translate to – a bite of prime rib? Certainly, but there are lots of other foods that contain umami and are not flesh-based.

We learned that a variety of foods contain umami: tomatoes, aged cheeses, asparagus and mushrooms, for example. Most of us still didn’t get it. I’ve read about umami and know what its definition is, but it was still an foreign concept to me and many of the non-Asian chefs on the panel.

During training, our instructor presented us with three unmarked cups of chicken broth. We were to taste them, then identify which had the most chicken flavor and which had the most umami. Each chef was then asked to tell the panel which broth was which.

It turns out most of the panel correctly identified which broth had the most chicken flavor, but the majority of chefs misidentified the broth with the most umami. The three cups were as follows: cup A was 100% chicken broth, cup B was chicken stock diluted with water, and cup C was chicken stock, water and a drop of MSG. Some of the panelists thought the diluted MSG-spiked broth had more chicken flavor. We were fooled. It also turned out that this same MSG sample had the most umami.

One of the Chinese chefs (who correctly identified the broths) said that, in Chinese cooking, chefs use MSG all the time in place of stock because it offers more of a succulent flavor. (For an informative article about the health misconceptions surrounding MSG, click here.)

We tasted the samples again. I still couldn’t identify what umami was, and I wasn’t alone. Since Western palates are not accustomed to acknowledging umami as part of a taste profile (our taste palate consists solely of sweet, salty, sour and bitter), we had to be exposed to umami products repeatedly until we had that “Aha!” moment when we finally got it.

For the next two weeks, we began each session with the same broth tasting. After the third tasting I was finally able to identify umami, but we discovered that not everyone tasted it in the same way. For me, umami made me salivate and left a rich, full feeling on the back of my tongue. Others claimed it gave them an astringent sensation. Our instructor told us that people who are sensitive to umami may experience this drying sensation.

The exercise was fascinating, and helped me to finally understand this elusive taste. Reading about it did nothing to help me understand – I had to literally get my tongue in it and experience it authentically.

Umami is the trendy taste right now, and chefs are creating umami-based menus and dishes called “umami bombs” in which every ingredient contains this succulent taste. It’s been touted as an aphrodisiac for the taste buds.

If you’re interested in reading more about umami, check out these links:

“A New Taste Sensation” (The Wall Street Journal) - article with recipes

“Culinary Tsunami - It’s Called Umami” (Chicago Tribune) - article with chef interviews

Chef Morimoto demonstrates umami recipes (video on Amateur Gourmet)

Last week my upstairs neighbor threw food out his window. It was 11:30p.m. on a steamy night when we had our windows flung open, so every outside noise was amplified in our first-floor apartment. First there was a small thud, then another. Max and I peered out the window to find a half-eaten peach and a bag of potato chips lying on the sidewalk. Our neighbor (drunk and oblivious from graduation week) awoke the next morning to a rotting peach and chip bag outside his front door, with a note attached: No, your action did not go unnoticed.

During a worldwide food crisis, it’s appalling to witness people literally throwing food away. The New York Times reported Sunday that Americans waste one pound of food per person each day. One pound! Food is being wasted while others are going hungry. Listening to NPR the other week, I heard a Cleveland caller talk about the food shortage in her own home; that the bad economy made groceries a luxury. She fed her kids first, then she and her husband ate whatever was leftover.

Food waste is prevalent all over our country. Food is entertainment to us, and we think nothing of throwing something out that simply doesn’t taste good or we don’t feel like carting home with us after eating out. Restaurants pile food onto our plates that the average person cannot possibly finish in one sitting – a half pound of homefries on a breakfast plate, for example.

I urge you to think twice before throwing away food, especially in restaurants when we fail to think of where our half-eaten platter of food really goes after we send it away with the server. Leftovers can be eaten for lunch the next day, or used as part of another meal. One morning Max and I went out for breakfast and finished everything but that aforementioned pile of potatoes. I took them home with me and used them as a side dish for dinner that evening.

If taking leftovers home with you is not an option (if you’re traveling and don’t have a refrigerator, or you’re on your way to a night out and have no place to stow the food, for example), ask for your leftovers to be packaged up anyway. If you live in a city such as San Francisco, there are plenty of homeless people who need to eat. Leaving a box of food with utensils and a napkin on a newspaper vending machine, for example, may keep one less person from going hungry that evening.

Another thing to try: If you know for sure that you won’t be able to finish a restaurant meal, ask for a smaller portion. I’ve done this before. If a fried chicken plate comes with three pieces but you know you can only eat two, tell the server to send out only two. Little things like this can help conserve food and keep us mindful of the abundance we have in this country, while showing respect to those who do not share our good fortune.