Caffeine Complicit

The caffeine addict's dilemma; depicted here in a honey-cardamom latte made by the wonderful Mark at Maha's

I have a caffeine habit which I ingest through the medium of coffee. I’ve tried to reduce my consumption via the method of substitution; tea, hot lemon water - even chaga mushrooms. Nothing compares to the hot, swift kick of coffee. How many times have I risen, exhausted or hungover; dreading the day that lay before me. How many times have I then prostrated myself before coffee’s altar, begging for alchemical salvation. I started my abusive relationship with coffee out of necessity. I was in journalism school and I took up drinking coffee at the same time as smoking, quickly becoming a caricature of the disheveled reporter; pacing back and forth outside the newsroom. I stopped both smoking and working for newspapers, but I still fuck with coffee.

A place that has good coffee will stay in my memory for years. I’ll return to old neighbourhoods just to stop by the local coffee shop and wander around aimlessly while I drink it. There is even a specific Tim Hortons in the east end of Toronto that manages to be slightly better at brewing then the rest of those awful, franchised pits of desperation.

The whole world shares in my addiction; coffee is a multi-billion dollar industry that has altered human civilization immeasurably. Entire nations owe significant portions of their economy to coffee production and trade. It’s an exploitative industry, rife with colonialism and slave labour. The top ten nations that consume coffee are all in the northern hemisphere and are predominantly white. Its production promotes monoculture in some of the worlds most biologically diverse areas. But what else is new, right? To merely exist in today’s global capitalist nightmare is to be complicit in exploitation and suffering. But that is a discussion for another post.

I still love coffee even though it treats me like shit. It can quicken my heart rate, dehydrates me and even stains my favourite clothes. Not matter how many times I attempt to cut out (or at least cut down) my coffee intake, I still come crawling back every time - eventually. Maybe if I were to wander off into the woods to live a hermit's life, then maybe making tea out of birch fungus might one day become an acceptable substitute. Until then, I will probably continue to embrace that sweet, troublesome bean juice as long as I can get my hands on it.

Film Feast: Tampopo (1985)

Cooking is a constant learning process; we always strive to improve or tweak a dish, but it requires you to reach out and share with other cooks. Whenever I’m talking about food with friends, we always share the little tweaks we think we would make next time or how we deviated from a standard recipe by substituting ingredients and flavours. Food is a communal act; you can only truly thrive as a cook when you work with others to grow and develop your dishes and techniques. Tampopo takes you through every step of the process in the quest for perfection. From the first step of asking for help to the collecting and sharing of secrets and tips; all the way to assembling a crew of misfits to transform a failing business into the greatest ramen shop of all time.

You can stream the fully restored edition of Tampopo on the Criterion Channel.

The film opens with two strangers rolling into town on a rainy night. Big rig trucker Goro (played by a young Ken Watannabe) and his faithful sidekick/apprentice Gun. The character of Goro is already a mix of Clint Eastwood as the Man With No Name and Kurt Russell’s Jack Burton in Big Trouble in Little China. The two lonesome drifters are discussing ramen and decide to stop for a late night meal. Enter Tampopo (whose name translates to dandelion) and her innocuous ramen shop, already filled with a motley crew of regulars led by tough guy Pisken. When Goro gets jumped by Pisken’s crew, Tampopo takes in the two drifters. After patching them up she asks their opinion on her ramen; the verdict is what she fears - it’s boring. She enlists them to help transform her ramen into the envy of her competitors; Goro and Gun agree. What follows is a montage of assembling the dream team, from fellow cooks to homeless gourmets. This is intercut with numerous vignettes and side stories, from a grocery store clerk hunting down a produce-molesting old woman to a mysterious gangster and his lover as they erotically explore food and films together. There’s even a showdown between Goro and Pisken which devolves into a fistfight reminiscent of the epic rumble between Keith David and Roddy Piper in They Live. In the end everyone comes together to lend their particular set of skills to help Tampopo transform into a capable and confident chef. And at the end, Goro walks away from the shop, satisfied with helping Tampopo and ready for the next adventure.

Another fantastic, genre-bending director gives her thoughts on Tampopo.

But this film is about so much more than the ramen; it encompasses all food in its manic glory. Tampopo touches on so many film genres; western tropes, absurdist comedy, sport movie training montages and samurai master/apprentice dynamics are all woven into this kaleidoscope of a movie. It also hammers home the fact that following a recipe is only the first step; true joy in the kitchen is found twisting conventions and ideas until you’ve made something your own without any instruction but your own imagination. You’ll need to fuck up a bunch before you get to that point, but it’s worth it.

Caldo Verde

One of the most prominent culinary comforts in my life is caldo verde. It’s like an aromatic hug from my mother and grandmother, or avó for all you pork chops out there. It’s a simple Portuguese dish both in name and composition; the name literally translates to green soup. It requires very little in terms of effort, cost and specificity - except for the chorizo. You can use any kind of potato, any kind of onion and any kind of large leafy green; kale, swiss chard or collard greens. But you absolutely need chorizo, hopefully a Portuguese one but Spanish will do in a pinch (more on that later). The chorizo is what gives this soup its deep, rich flavour. You don't even need stock; the fat from the sausage gives the broth a silky, fatty component that screams comfort and its smokey, spicy flavour augments the potatoes and tempers the bitterness of the dark leafy greens. It’s not caldo verde without chorizo.

I could only find Spanish-style chorizo.... #pandemicproblems.

Chorizo is a popular flavour on many menus these days, but I’d wager most people don't know the difference between its three distinct variations. Spanish style chorizo is made with chopped fatty pork and is mixed with garlic, white wine and smoked paprika before being fully cured in its casing. Mexican chorizo is probably the most recognized version in North America; it is made up of ground meat (usually pork but you can use any meat or meat substitute you desire) and uses local hot peppers instead of the costly imported paprika. They also substitute white vinegar for the wine and, of course, lots of garlic. Most Central and South American versions of chorizo can be found either loose or in a casing, and are typically served freshly fried or grilled instead of being cured. There are dozens of variations of this sausage according to regional preferences in Spain, Latin America, Asia, Africa; in fact anywhere that the Spanish and Portuguese established colonies, there is a local version of chorizo. But I’m talking about a Portuguese soup here so that means a Portuguese-style chorizo if you can get it. You can spot it easily because it’s spelled chouriço and will say Portuguese-style on the package. It’s made with chopped pork, the fat of which is marinated in wine with paprika, hot chilis and garlic. It’s then all stuffed into casings and smoked for days, resulting in a semi-cured sausage that’s not as dry as the Spanish version.

Now before I waxed poetic about sausages there is another key flavour component of this soup. Of course garlic and bay leaves are important, but the secret star of caldo verde is marjoram.

Dried marjoram.

Marjoram is a key component not only in this soup, but perhaps all Madeiran cuisine. Madeira is a tiny volcanic island in the middle of the Atlantic ocean, about halfway between Portugal and Morocco, and it is my maternal grandparents’ birthplace. There, you’ll find plenty of fish and meat dishes cooked “Madeira-style” which usually means it has marjoram as a key flavour. Now marjoram is probably one of the dustiest of jars in your spice rack, right next to the ancient dried parsley and some mummified coriander seeds. You’ve probably used marjoram without even realizing it; dried marjoram is often a part of any mediterranean herb blend and is a key component of both herbes de provence and za’atar. It’s similar to oregano in appearance and flavour, both herbs belonging to the same Origanum genus. The plant is indigenous to Cyprus and southern Turkey and the flowering shrub symbolized happiness for ancient Greeks and Romans.

The whole gang's here.

Now for the “soupification” of all of these ingredients. In a large pot, saute the onions, garlic and chopped chorizo until everything is soft and most of the fat from the sausage has rendered. Add your cubed potatoes and marjoram and then fill your pot with water until everything is covered by at least an inch. You'll need room for the greens later. Now, as I said earlier, the fat and flavour from the chorizo give the broth enough body on its own but you can use any homemade stock to make the soup even richer, but it's up to you really. Add your bay leaves and bring to a rolling boil and cook until you can pierce the potatoes easily with a fork. Bring the heat to its lowest setting and prepare to chiffonade your greens. Roll up and slice your greens into thin ribbons; I find collard greens to be the most amenable to this technique. Add the leafy ribbons to the soup and close the lid and turn off the heat. After a few minutes, the greens will have fully cooked in the residual heat (this will depend on the green varietal you’ve used; kale takes the longest to soften). Remove the lid and sample the broth. Salt to taste and eat on a cold or rainy day.

Side note*

You can also make more of a pureed version of this soup, in fact it is probably the most common version of it. In this version you render the chorizo first and on its own. Remove and set aside, then soften your onions and garlic in the fat left over in the pot. Then add your potatoes and water. Once your potatoes are done, mash or puree to your desired consistency. You can then either add the greens and puree them into the rest of the soup, or just chiffonade them and toss in with the sauteed chorizo you set aside earlier to finish it off.