Gomasio is a condiment comprised of toasted sesame seeds and salt. Furikake means “to sprinkle” in Japanese and refers to condiments like gomasio, usually including seaweeds. Here, we’ve got variation on a classic theme. After a suggestion by Michael Tierra, I added some secret herbal liver-boosting magic: milk thistle seeds.

Milk thistle is well-known as a wonder herb for all ailments of the liver. It is safe for general use as a basic liver tonic, though it is specifically indicated in cases of hepatitis, jaundice, cirrhosis and liver congestion. It helps regenerate the liver and even reduces fat deposits on the organ. If you do anything that may be considered taxing to the liver–live in a polluted environment, eat processed, fried or fatty foods, drink alcohol, etc–then milk thistle is a good, safe herb to know.

On top of that, milk thistle grows practically everywhere. If you are a die-hard, you could probably don some heavy-duty gloves and go harvest some for yourself. Me? Nettle is one thing (read about my nettle noodles here), but milk thistle? Ouch.

This version of Furikake is an enjoyable way to boost liver function. My Ayurveda teacher, Dharmanidhi, used to say, “Your liver is you.” Which is funny, come to think of it, because my TCM teacher used to say, “Your spine is you.” I can see both perspectives and when I can connect to reverence for my liver and spine, it is easy to eat fresh and homecooked and then treat myself to the delicious but difficult discipline of a good yoga session or workout.

Do something nice for your liver on a daily basis. The liver likes bitter. Drop bitter watercress into your soup. Hide a pinch of turmeric in your meal or chai. Simply eat yummy bitter greens regularly. But, I like to make this Gomasio Furikake recipe because it is always around to liven up a less-than inspiring meal while reminding me to think about the wellbeing of my largest internal organ.

This liver-supporting version of Furikake has as many uses as you have imagination for it: a topping for rice, baked on fish with a layer or miso paste, or popcorn.

My favorite: top a batch of homemade fresh french fries. How’s that for taking care of the liver? Ha!

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Milk Thistle & Sesame Gomasio Furikake

.5 oz wild nori (or seaweed of your choice)
1 1/2 cup sesame seeds
1/4 cup milk thistle seeds
1/4 cup salt

Preheat the oven to 300 and arrange nori flat on a cookie sheet. Cook until it looks toasty, about 10-15 minutes or when it looks done to you. Pulse in a spice grinder.

While nori cooks, dry-roast sesame seeds in a skillet over medium-high heat, turning frequently. They are ready when they are fragrant and slightly darkened. Allow to cool.

Pulse milk thistle seeds in grinder until very small. The outer portion of the seed is rather course must be broken down. The medicinal component of the herb is not usable by the body unless is is ground well, otherwise the body sees it as just roughage.

Combine toasted, ground seaweed, toasted sesame and ground milk thistle with salt in a medium bowl. Take care when filling spice jars that the salt is heaviest ingredient and tends to fall to the bottom while seaweed rises to the top.

Store in jars with tight-fitting lids and consume within a month or two for best results. Unless you are putting a shaker on the table that will be eaten quickly, store in a cool, dark place as all seeds and oils tend to become rancid in extended storage.

In traditional herbalism, we take our cues from nature. We consciously choose activity, food, drink, exercise, sleep patterns and even the company we keep with the intention of syncing up our individual rhythms with the larger cycles. This moves us toward greater health and harmony and as such, we feel ourselves as part of a larger whole.

In the winter season, the cold outside and the shorter duration of sunlight prompt us to bundle up, to stay in, to cozy up by the fire, to do less, to rest more. But, how often do we override our desire to shift our behavior? It’s easy to be tempted to fuel ourselves with caffeine, overcome the urge to rest and push ourselves to accomplish just a little bit more. I’ve caught myself looking at the clock to determine my bedtime rather than sensing within.  It takes an added level of awareness to observe how obtuse it really is to have all these electronic lights and gadgets glowing at us with ancient sunlight mined from the earth and piped in through electric currents.

Harvest is over. Those plants that will thrive again next Spring have all withdrawn their energy from the branches and directed it back down to the roots. We would be wise to do the same.

Stop. Rest. Don’t overdo. Reflect.

I made a nice tonic chai tea using Chinese herbs and warm, wintery spices that can be enjoyed plain or with milk. On a naughtier day, I might add some black tea, but it tastes just lovely without.

Astragalus, or Huang Qi, has a sweet, almost licorice flavor. Studies indicate that it may stimulates the immune system and help the body withstand stress and extreme temperatures. Codonopsis root, of Dang Shen, is a sweet tonic herb which boosts the lung and spleen systems in TCM. It’s considered by some to be like a cheaper, less potent ginseng, with a shorter duration of effects. Cinnamon brings warmth and nourishment and even antidepressant qualities to the heart while aiding digestion. Cardamom is a delicious herb with the special quality of helping humans digest cow’s milk.

Winter Tonic Chai

small handful astragalus
2-3 codonopsis root
1/2 stick of cinnamon
4-5 cardamom pods
1-2 quarter-size slices of ginger
a few peppercorns
pinch turmeric
water
milk
sweetener, optional

Rinse astragalus and codonopsis and soak in cool water for a few minutes and rinse then again (this helps remove pesticides or preservatives in case your herbs are coming from Chinatown and may not be organic). Make an herbal decoction of these herbs by simmer them plus cinnamon, cardamom, ginger and peppercorns in water in a small uncovered saucepan for 30 minutes or until it reduces by about half (longer to get more effect). Add about half the quantity of milk back to the infusion with a pinch of turmeric and bring up to heat. Strain and serve. Sweeten, if desired. Serves 4.

p.s. Jaggery is my favorite natural sweetener because it has lots of minerals which lend it a nutty, rich flavor, almost salty. Palm sugar or honey also work nicely.

p.p.s. Use common sense with these herbs. Ginger, cinnamon, cardamom and turmeric are common kitchen herbs that are effective and safe for daily use. Use caution with tonic herbs such as codonopsis and astragalus. Most people should be fine with them on a regular basis. However, if you are on immunosuppressant drugs or already fighting a cold or flu, these herbs may not be appropriate. Ask your doctor.

From the Traditional Cooking 101 series…

Description: Good broth is more than just simmering bones and some veggie scraps. Participants will learn cooking principles to reap maximum nutrients. Recipes will be given; variations and herbal add-ins will be discussed. Following the presentation, we will share a meal.

Why broth? Nutritive bone stock is the foundation of low-budget, health-conscious meals and complex, gourmet cuisine alike. We will discuss the difference between throwing some bones and veg in a pot with some water and creating a truly healthful cooking base or sipping side. In particular, we will discuss how to draw the nutritive gelatin, collagen, calcium, magnesium, potassium and minerals out of the bones effectively and create a refined, delicious final product.

Why jook? Jook (or rice porridge, or congee) is an easy and adaptable recipe that can be eaten anytime. This Chinese breakfast staple can be adapted endlessly. The addition of herbs can make jook a medicinal meal. Made with or without homemade broth, savory or sweet, jook is a delicious way to boost the health.

Demonstration:

How to Make Broth: Kombu/Bone Broth

How to Make Jook: Nutritive Jook with Chinese Herbs

Menu:

Chestnut & Apricot Kernel Soup with Lotus and Cress

Seasoned Mushrooms and Greens over Nutritive Jook with Chinese Herbs

Fee: $30

Date: Sunday, December 4th, 11am-1:30pm

Location: Berkeley, CA

Space is limited. Please pre-register. Call 415.938.7421 to register or click below to pay and register online.

True story.

It is 1983. Mom has us 3 kids plus a job and Dad is out of the house at work all day. She’s the one who puts breakfast, lunch and dinner on the table amidst chaos and deadlines and responsibilities. And she’s doing it on a budget.

Its a Tuesday in this story. In the morning, she pulls a whole chicken out of the freezer and sticks it in the sink. FDA and their recommendations about thawing food in the fridge be damned: Mom needs that bird defrosted and in the oven so it will be done when Dad gets home from work, the hungry teenagers roll in starved from track at school and definitely in time to give the preschooler (that’s me, by the way) a full belly and then off to bed.

Afternoon rolls around and Mom’s back from a few after-work errands. That bird’s thawed and has gotta get in the oven. But, a woman’s voice is hollering through the screen door. Suzanne, Mom’s pal, has stopped by just like that. Its 1983, remember? It was ok back then, we didn’t text in advance.

Suzanne wants Mom to come with her…”and c’mon, you have two hours until the other kids come home. Bring A.S. in the back.” (Nobody called me Sri then.)

Mom had a lot of responsibilities, but she wasn’t going to miss out on life because of them. But what about dinner?

True story, remember? With one hand, she picked up the defrosted chicken by the leg. With the other hand, she opened the pot. The bird went right in without spice or ceremony. She closed the lid and put the whole thing in the oven and set the heat and walked out the door.

“Done,” Mom said, grabbing her keys.

Suzanne said, “That looked like something Carol Burnett would do.”

In my herbal practice, I think of this story all the time. In every initial appointment comes the dreaded question: will you describe your typical breakfast, lunch and dinner?

Seriously. People would rather describe the color and texture of their poop than come clean about the crap they are eating. Don’t even get me started about the answers I get to the question of how often people eat out.

The bottom line is this: too many people are not eating real food, or they are paying someone else to make it. And 90% of the time they have an excuse. It’s either, “I don’t know how to cook!” or “I’m too busy.”

This is bunk. So I took myself to task and made Carol Burnett chicken to prove that cooking can be easy, fast and delicious. After all, mom told me this story over the phone when I was in my first apartment and trying to figure out how to feed myself. I think she added that you can tell a chicken is cooked by wiggling the leg and seeing if it is loose and looks like it wants to come off and get eaten up right then and there.

The final product was juicy, flavorful and tender. It was better than good and that mattered because when I started the process, I had forgotten there would be dinner guests. Though, I have to come clean about one thing. I added salt and pepper. I just couldn’t handle possibly wasting an entire chicken and subjecting my guests to what possibly may have come out a bland, unevenly cooked mess. Turned out, it would have been just fine without.

Since I had company, I spruced it up a bit for the table by opening a jar of my homemade (also ridiculously easy) preserved meyer lemons (the plain kind) to serve on top. I served a nice crusty, artisianal bread, a simple salad and some braised greens from the garden. A bottle of wine. Finger-lickin’ and I spent less than 20 minutes in the kitchen.

This proves it. I am no longer accepting the “I don’t have time” or the “I don’t know how” excuse. Clients be forewarned that you will be referred to this post.

Oh and leftovers? This chicken could have been cut up and dropped into broth with veggies as soup, or chopped up and mixed into a salad, or stir-fried with noodles and seasoned with garlic, ginger and lime and squirted with soy sauce. The carcass got simmered with a splash of wine and whatever scraps I had.

This cooking stuff CAN be easy. Take it from Carol Burnett.

Ordinarily, I have a therapeutic, lofty or otherwise brainy reason for a food choice. This time, however, I just wanted some carby goodness.

Blah blah blah about how stinging nettles are a mineral-rich herbal delight growing freely as a weed which cure a myriad of complaints. Yeah, its diuretic, astringent and a blood building hormone balancer. Just check Wikipedia. Whatever.

Honestly, this time I was just thinking about how good stinging nettles would be cooked with garlic and onions and rolled into handcut noodles, then slathered in the precious sour cream I knew we had in the cabin and sprinkled with the Three Stone walnuts which had been originally ferreted away as an emergency snack for the kid.

Everyone else seemed to have their own response to the concept.

This is Dad: “You’re eating WHAT?! Doesn’t that stuff sting? Honestly, Sri. There are grocery stores.”

Dad, its like sauteed spinach, only way tastier. Dad, it is my husband’s favorite pizza topper. Dad, I read that this lady suggests topping it with eggs and I can’t even deal with how good that sounds. This is a veggie-that’s-an-herb-that’s-a-veggie; its ridic, Dad.

This is Lil’ Huck: “Let’s go sting ourselves AGAIN!”

Yes, of course I egged my kid on until he would touch the stinging hairs on the undersides of the leaves. I urged him to do it until he overcame his fear. Then, we quickly chewed up plantain leaves and spat the hasty poultice onto our sores. The pain subsided. Magic which involves parentally-condoned spitting? Win and win.

Have you tried this before? Are you too chicken? Or, maybe you don’t have nettles around? Sure you do. I’ve personally seen it on three continents and I wasn’t even trying. Look by the creekside or in the forest. Failing those places, check the web. Once some lady on craigstlist.com offering her roadside nettle bounty for free to whomever had gloves and a free Saturday to collect it.

Here’s how you do it. The recipe is easy and forgiving. I’ve provided an easy sauce using what I had in the cabin. Its not gourmet or anything, but it was yummy and no one would know better. That said, don’t feel compelled to make a trip to the store to make this cheater cream sauce. Butter and salt and maybe some sauteed garlic and you’re done, if you want.

Rachel from Clean’s Beet Ravioli Recipe provided the template for the dough. I took it from there, improvising with what I had.

Harvesting and Cooking Stinging Nettles

Look near rivers and creeks, roadsides and forests. Use only the freshest, brighter green tips, the top cluster of leaves or so. Below that can be fibrous. (Wear gloves or cover hands with a dish towel. Sometimes I just let myself get stung. It isn’t all that bad. In fact, the presence of formic acid can be medicinal for arthritic conditions.)

Rinse in cool water. Steam-stirfry with a clove of smashed garlic in a tiny bit of water (no oil) over medium heat, covered. It will cook down like spinach. Discard garlic or reserve for sauce and chop nettle finely.

(P.S. Optionally, stop here. This alone makes a delicious side dish.)

Stinging Nettle Pasta

Combine 1 cup of chopped cooked nettles, drained, with 2 eggs.

Mix 2 1/2 C flour with 1 tsp salt. Make a well in the center of the flour and add nettle mixture. Stir and knead (adding extra flour as needed) until well combined and no longer sticky. Cover with a damp towel and allow to rest for 1/2 hour.

Roll out and cut into desired shape. Sprinkle well with flour if you don’t intend to use it right away.

Cook until tender in boiling water. Drain, reserving some liquid for the sauce.

Easy Sauce:
Saute diced onion in a nonstick frying pan. Add minced garlic reserved from cooking the nettle. Add cooked pasta and stir in approximately 1 cup sour cream. Thin the sauce as desired with starchy pasta water. Salt and pepper to taste and sprinkle with walnuts. Serve immediately.

Since we will be the custodians of Glen’s garden next door for about a month or so while he travels, we couldn’t help but notice the overabundance of delicious Meyer lemons just sitting there on the tree with no one to eat them and love them.

Now we are having lemon everything. It’s juice is the acid balance for my salad dressings. It’s zest gets sprinkled on the summer squash/mint/coppa/tapenade/goat cheese pizza right after a drizzle of olive oil before it hits the oven. It’s the squeeze to refresh and brighten the leftover whatever I concocted in haste the other day. It’s even the centerpiece on the table in a pretty white, rectangular bowl.

All this and they are still spilling over onto the counter.

Time for preserved lemons. Traditionally, this Moroccan preparation uses simply lemons and salt. I like it with spices as below. Try it on a plain, roasted chicken. Try it on a baked fatty fish with fresh mint. Chop it and toss it into a salad. Stir it into coriander and cumin and pepper-spiced brown rice (or Haiga, if you can find it). Go crazy: make it with limes instead.

Spiced Preserved Lemons:

6-12 juicy lemons (especially Meyers)
kosher or sea salt
3 cloves
1 in. fresh ginger, chopped
2 in. fresh turmeric, chopped
1 cinnamon stick

1. Wash lemons and dry them thoroughly. Slice or quarter the lemons. (Slicing speeds the curing process.)

2. Layer about 1 tablespoon of salt in the bottom of a 1-quart mason jar with a tightly fitting lid (or use a vegetable fermenting jar). Layer the lemons on top, alternating with salt and spices. Add approximately 1 tablespoon of salt for each whole lemon. Tightly pack the jar by gently pressing down on the lemons. If the level of the juice has not risen to cover the fruit. If it is not, squeeze in some additional juice. Seal the jar and shake gently.

3. Let sit in a cool, shady place, shaking occasionally. The lemons are ready when they are soft and the juice has become syrupy, approximately 3 weeks. When you are ready to use your lemons, transfer from fermenting jar into a mason jar. Store in the refrigerator. Keeps for several months or longer, especially if lemons stay submerged in the brine.

First, a story about why I bought the one-trick-pony in the first place:

Back when we went cherry-picking, Hubs dutifully made a homemade pitter by banging a nail through a block of wood. I sat outside and pitted about half of the 18 lbs of bounty, but then I started to go insane.

It wasn’t just that it was messy and difficult. Or that my fingers were wrinkled from the wet work. Or that my cuticles were stained from the juice. It was because more than once, I caught lil’ Huck with a cherry properly positioned on the “pitter,” poised to push his little palm right through the point of the nail.

Enough.

I was ready to abandon the project altogether. I considered dividing the remaining cherries into three equal portions and declare to Huck and Hubs that it was their responsibility to consume their fresh allotment before spoilage.

It was that or pie with pits.

Luckily, neighbor Glen arrived just in time from next door with his cherry pitter.

What a difference.

I  wanted to get one, but I couldn’t justify top-quality kitchen drawer real-estate for an item that only has one application.

Neighbor Glen chimed in: you can pit olives with a cherry-pitter, too.

Duh. Why didn’t I think of that before?

His instructions? Go to the Halal market and get their freshly brined, high-quality olives for cheap from the barrel. They’ve probably even been prayed over.

Awesome.

I’m serious.

Ok. The recipe:

Tapenade with Home-Roasted Red Pepper
3 cups olives, pitted (the softer and/or medium-sized kinds are the easiest to pit)
1 red pepper (brush with oil, place directly over gas flame on stove until slightly blackened, turning with tongs; remove from heat and let sit in a bowl covered with plastic wrap until soft, remove peel)
2 tablespoons of capers
a handful of curly parsley
a handful of basil
2ish Tablespoons olive oil
pepper

Pulse till lookin’ good. The freshest damned tapenade you will ever taste. Keeps well in the fridge for a few weeks.

It’s summer. The sunflowers are opening their tight fists to reveal a sunny display.

Cue an overabundance of cucumbers and squash and mint. Luckily, they are still early enough that we haven’t gotten tired of eating them…yet.

The tomatoes aren’t ready. At least, they are not ready here.

The radishes that were coming out of our ears–cutie little red French Breakfast ones, giant white diakon ones–they have all been eaten. The hidden ones we missed harvesting earlier are now too fibrous.

Did you know that when you plant the Three Sisters–corn, squash and beans together as the Native Americans did long before us–that yes, those bean tendrils wind their way beautifully up the stalk? It is comforting: what they taught us in preschool is indeed true.

The garden gives its gifts in waves. Sometimes those waves rush up over you and you have more than you can eat, more than you can pickle, more than you can manage. That’s when your friends get lucky.

But, if you get it wrong and it starts to go a little bit past, but not really rotting? That’s when the chickens get lucky.

Some more experience would be nice in terms of timing the garden or planting in phases. If I only had Pop around. (He was my granddad.)

Anyway, the heads of romaine are hanging on, but they are going to have to come out soon. We’ve been picking away enough leaves for impromptu salads a few times a week. By now, I’ve kinda already made every salad I can think of. How to make the last few salads amazing?

The farmer’s market feels silly to me now that we have so much growing at home. But, we left the Saturday market with a very pregnant container of black mission figs which turned around my salad boredom. It is the easiest thing in the world and I didn’t even mix my usual dressing for it. I just threw on the oil and vinegar.

Here it is:

Fig & Romaine Salad
Romaine lettuce, chopped
Figs, diced
(really good) Balsamic
(really good) Olive Oil
Pepper

Variations? Many. Goat cheese would be genius. The ones in the picture have cucumber. Meh. I liked it better plain as in the recipe. The walnuts went in as an afterthought and that was successful.

The boys are demanding sweets.

They bring me a big bowl of blackberries they picked from the backyard.

I think they want me to do something with it.

This is not the first bowl of blackberries I have seen this year. It will not be the last.

The begging starts. I cut it off: No.

No pie. No cobbler. No crisp. It’s hot; I’m not turning on the oven. Uh-uh.

More begging.

Ok, there’s gotta be a way to make everybody happy, but I’m so not baking today.

This is what I invent: Rosemary-Scented Blackberry Trifle

Sadly, there is no good picture to document it’s success because we could not eat it fast enough. Really, it tasted ridiculous, store-bought angel food cake notwithstanding.

It took me maybe 5 minutes to make. You can thank me after you bring this to some summer picnic potluck and everybody raves about your kitchen prowess while you privately smirk at how effortless it was.

Rosemary-Scented Blackberry Trifle
Blackberries, a big bowl of them
Rosemary, fresh.
Sugar (I use palm sugar because it is less refined and doesn’t make me as crazy.)
Greek Yogurt (no, lowfat is never recommended)
Mascarpone Cheese, optional and awesome
Angel Food Cake (Sure, I guess you could make it at home. But, I’m not turning on the oven, thankyouverymuch. Hubs turned up his nose at the storebought stuff when he saw it on the counter, but he remembered and rescinded his derogatory comments within the first few bites of the finished product the next day.)

Sprinkle palm sugar to taste over blackberries and stir in rosemary sprigs. Let sit a few hours. Or, cook them. (See note below.)

Stir mascarpone until smooth and slowly add greek yogurt to incorporate. (One time, I  used plain yogurt but the times I sweetened it was way better, softer and overall, more juicy. You could even cheat and buy vanilla flavored Greek yogurt. This from a gal who *always* chooses plain yogurt when given the choice.) Tear angel food cake into fist-sized pieces.

To assemble, form a layer of cake pieces on bottom of trifle pan (use a large mixing bowl in a pinch), cover with a layer of berries and a layer of yogurt mixture. Repeat until complete, finishing with yogurt mixture on top. Refrigerate for at least 24 hours. The longer the better. It really makes a difference.

P.S. If your blackberries are coming from the backyard and there might be creepy crawlies living deep inside, you might want to cook and cool them before using. I’ve made this recipe several times and always wash and pick over my berries well, but I had an unfortunate batch where some little bugs started to proliferate in the 24 hours or so that the trifle mellowed in the fridge. It really bummed me out to have to toss the batch.

Cherries. They were on sale. It seemed to be too good to be true.

It was.

And it wasn’t.

I got my dark red bounty home and washed it off in the colander, shook off the excess and wandered out into the garden for my favorite early summer treat: fresh cherries.

Except it isn’t early summer. It is midsummer, for reals people, and those cherries were more battered and bruised than I could see through the plastic. Another reason to use the farmer’s market, I guess. Oh well.

Luckily, the good people over at FarmCurious gave me a hint as to what to do with the overabundance of cherries that were not too bad to toss, yet not good enough to snack on.

And since I’m not really ever going to make this (though it looks fun), Cherry Bounce works for me.

It is sorta like Kirsch. You need 4 things: cherries, vodka, sugar, mason jar. Then, you’ll have a party in about 6 months.

FarmCurious used sour cherries which sounds delightful. I used what I had: Bing.

I also substituted palm sugar; its a little less refined and makes me less crazy and tastes every bit as good as cane.

Lastly, I pitted my cherries in the name of maximizing space in the jar for more sweet, boozy, red fun.