See how bravely - gravely! - Chef Yum Yum suffers for love of Food and Friends!

When Natalie first started dating Matthew, she would wax dreamily of his gardening prowess - "Chef Yum Yum! my basil, it was dying, and Matthew came and blew each leaf a gentle kiss, whispered kind, encouraging herby words, then covered its roots with worm poo, and Chef Yum Yum! my basil flourishes as basil has never before flourished!"

Matthew, it seems, has a knack for these sorts of things: the back porch of their house crowds in a meyer lemon tree, heat tolerant spinach varieties, arugula, every herb imaginable, tomatoes, peppers. It's partly Matthew, but it's also partly this beautiful place that is Durham, North Carolina. Natalie's hardly working to quell my mythologizing, taking me to the farmer's market to buy fresh butter beans and sungold tomatoes (as an aside: any thoughts to where I can find fresh beans in Chicago? Durham flaunts the pinto-esque October bean, field peas, edamame...), and plotting up a mighty autumnal feast for Rosalind's 24th birthday.

Lentil and root vegetable cakes cozy up in a honey, lavender and shallot puree; fresh savory pumpkin rolls befriend an arugula, pear and buttermilk blue salad. The zenith of the meal - upside-down pear ginger cake with lemongrass caramel from The Arrows Cookbook gave me the opportunity to try out some of the rosy stalks of Matthew's lemongrass. I'd actually never used fresh lemongrass before; before heading out of town to visit family, Matthew had instructed me in the harvest, and I bent down to cut the stalks as close to the base of the plant as possible. Lemongrass looks like a bamboo birthed of a palm tree, and has long leaves (already removed when you buy the stalks at the store) that are a bit abrasive, but I boldly shoved my arms in to the middle of the plant, hacking away with the kitchen shears. It took a while, and I was essentially in the lemongrass plant, but I managed to get four sturdy stalks. As I was pulling off the blushing outer leaves, suddenly I was itching, itching, ITCHING:

It felt like I was having an allergic reaction - to the lemongrass leaves? - I quickly rinsed my arms with hot soapy water, and it was only a few hours later that I realized my arms were actually covered in thin red welts from my time inside the lemongrass plant. I do think I fared a bit better than the plant (once looming, now limp), but I've vowed to eat the caramel at every turn, that my suffering not be in vain.


Buttermilk Pancakes with Lemongrass Caramel


I made these pancakes Friday morning, while Natalie graded papers; the pancakes are my own-ish recipe; the caramel comes from The Arrows.

Ingredients, for the caramel:
1 1/2 c sugar
1 stalk lemongrass (I used 4 rather small stalks from Matthew's bedeviled lemongrass), hard outer leaves peeled, and coarsely chopped
1/2 cup water
2 tbs freshly squeezed lemon juice
1 tbs light corn syrup
1 c heavy cream

Ingredients, for the pancakes:
2 c unbleached flour (or add a little whole wheat, if you like)
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
2 tbs brown sugar
1 tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp nutmeg
2 eggs
2 c buttermilk

Method, for the caramel:
With a large, heavy knife, finely chop together the lemongrass and the sugar (or whirl in a food processor). Combine with water, lemon juice and corn syrup in a large, heavy bottomed stainless pan over medium heat, and bring to a boil. Now, I'm always a bit terrified of ruining things like caramel, and I was not about to have another bout with the lemongrass, so I had the heat far too low, and consequently, the caramel took about 400 years to caramelize. I'll be braver next time, and perhaps you'll be brave the first time around, and caramelize your caramel over a true medium heat. Stir with a wooden spoon until all the sugar dissolves, and then let boil until the caramel turns a deep amber color. Occasionally, you'll need to wipe down the insides of the pan with a wet pastry brush, to keep any rogue sugar crystals from forming on the sides of the pan.

Meanwhile, warm the cream in second saucepan. When the syrup is caramelized, pour the warm cream into the hot syrup. It's helpful to drape a kitchen towel over the opening of the syrup pot, except where you pour the cream in, as the syrup will splatter. Whisk over medium heat until just smooth, and then pour through a strainer into a heat-proof container. Let the caramel cool to room temperature.

Method, for the pancakes:
Heat a griddle or cast iron skillet to medium-low heat. Mix together the dry ingredients, then whisk in eggs and buttermilk, but do not over mix; the batter should be a bit lumpy. When the skillet is hot, add a bit of oil, and then measure out 1/3 cup fulls of batter, and cook until bubbles on the surface pop, and the underside is golden. Flip, and continue cooking until golden. Serve immediately with lemongrass syrup (and also pears and toasted walnuts, if you like), or keep in a warm oven until you are done pancaking. Eat, with relish! eyeing the now drooping lemongrass plant vindictively.