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Bon appetit: Try making griot, a traditional Haitian meal, for a better understanding of a foreign culture. Courtesy photo |
CommentsA Haitian Meal
Flash in the Pan
Published: January 25, 2010 * Web Exclusive *by Ari LeVaux
Eating Haitian food won’t directly aid earthquake survivors, and it isn’t a substitute for sending cash or other forms of assistance. But eating Haitian for an evening is a way of paying attention to a brighter side of Haitian life, and can be a valuable reminder that there is more to Haiti than suffering.
Already, citizens of the world are catching up on their Haitian history and learning that long before the quake, Haiti was the poorest nation in the Western hemisphere, and one of the most environmentally degraded, politically oppressed and violent, too. If the disaster helps focus attention on this sore spot, perhaps someday we’ll recognize a silver lining to this tragedy.
Whether you’re breaking bread together, taking a meal to a sick friend, or learning about another culture through its food, eating can be a bonding experience. So while our thoughts and support go out to the people in Haiti, how about a virtual trip there via an evening’s victuals, to remind us that Haitians deserve respect as well as help? While Haiti’s experience under French rule did much to set its tumultuous trajectory, a country could do worse — from a culinary perspective at least — than to be colonized by France.
Our first dish, in fact, bears a vague resemblance to the French dish duck a l’orange. It’s called griot, a word that also refers to West African minstrels. Griot the dish is pork marinated in sour orange juice and then browned — a sort of pork a l’orange, if you will. It’s one of the most treasured dishes of Haiti, and very rare in a country where pork is a luxury.
Sour orange, one of griot’s key ingredients, isn’t as easy to obtain as simple oranges gone bad. Sour orange is a distinct fruit in the orange family, and if you can get your hands on some, by all means do. Alternatively, Goya markets a sour orange marinade called naranja agria. Otherwise, limes can be used as well, or a mixture of lime and orange juice.
If using fruits, cut them into quarters and squeeze the juice into a bowl. Save the peels.
Cut two pounds of pork chop or pork shoulder into half-inch cubes and toss the cubes in salt until they’re coated. Stir the peels of the squeezed fruit in with the salted meat, so the zest from the rinds can permeate the meat. Let sit for half an hour.
Now rinse the meat cubes under cold water. Place them in a pot and cover them with the juice. Add a sliced jalapeño pepper, a teaspoon of thyme, a quarter cup of chopped scallions (or onions), a quarter of a bell pepper (diced), and a few sprigs of chopped parsley.
At this stage, some recipes will tell you to marinate overnight, but as one seasoned blogger notes: “All Haitian grandmas will tell you that if you want your griot right away, you got to take the proper measures for that.”
In other words, you don’t have to marinate it overnight to meet authentic Haitian approval.
Add just enough water to the juice to cover the meat and seasonings, and simmer until the chunks are soft enough to push a spoon through — about 45 minutes.
Remove the pork chunks from the pot and slowly fry them in oil until nicely browned on all sides. Then add the onions, parsley and peppers that remained in the pot, and a quarter cup of the liquid, stirring occasionally. When the liquid cooks off, turn off the heat. Serve the griot with cornmeal porridge, prepared as follows.
Bring eight cups of water with a teaspoon of salt to a boil and whisk in two cups of cornmeal. Keep whisking until all lumps disappear. Add crushed chile flakes if you wish. Simmer for 15 minutes, or until the grains are no longer crunchy. As it cooks, add water if necessary, and be vigilant with a scraper so nothing sticks to the bottom. When the cornmeal is soft, cook until it’s as thick as oatmeal, stir in a tablespoon of butter or olive oil, and pour into a wide, shallow dish to cool. Cut into pieces and serve.
There are a lot of flavors going on in this meal. Griot, like the African minstrels of its namesake, is a storyteller. It sings a harmony of dissonant notes: the pungent heat of the jalapeños, the sour and sweet penetrating acidity of the citrus, the richness of the pork and its satisfying brown coat. The porridge’s creamy and subtle corn flavor carries the griot, and creates a wonderful juxtaposition of flavors and textures. It’s a pairing so complete that once you start eating them together you aren’t satisfied eating one without the other.
But the reality is, just as Haitian meals are more likely to consist of cornmeal porridge alone, your griot will probably run out before the cornmeal porridge. If so, consider slowly frying slices of the leftover porridge in oil the next morning for breakfast. It develops a crispy skin and nutty flavor that’s surprisingly satisfying.
Perhaps once you’ve eaten their food, you’ll feel connected to the Haitian people in a way that’s different from the connection you felt when you sent money to an earthquake relief organization. It’s a feeling of respect for the culture that created this amazing meal, rather than pity for the poor people whose world has come crashing down on their heads.
In the end, both respect and pity are worth indulging. After you enjoy your meal, consider how far the money you spent on that pork chop could go toward the Haitian relief effort. Let’s open our wallets as well as our mouths.
Feelin’ Fishy
Q: I’m trying to eat more fish, but my recipes stink more than three-day-old salmon. Can you offer a kitchen-impaired dude a few delicious — and healthy — fish recipes?
~Feel like making fish
A: Eating fish these days can be a slippery ethical proposition, thanks to overfishing and some destructive aquaculture practices. I suggest choosing your fishes from the Monterey Bay Aquarium’s Seafood Watchlist of recommendations for environmentally acceptable seafoods. It turns out that some species of fish are okay if they come from certain regions, while the same species is not okay if it’s harvested elsewhere. Choose carefully.
While I’m instinctively a crispy-fried fish guy, I learned in China to override my belief that steamed fish is mushy and gross, because the Chinese have figured out that steamed fish is a delicacy when served with a ginger and scallion sauce.
Position oven racks in upper and lower thirds of oven. Heat oven to 450 degrees. Place a long piece of aluminum foil on a large, shallow baking sheet (foil should be longer than sheet). Place fish on the foil. Season both sides with salt and pepper. In a bowl, whisk together ½ cup sliced scallions (green part only), 2 tablespoons julienned ginger, ½ cup soy sauce, ¼ cup peanut oil, 1 teaspoon sesame oil, ½ teaspoon sugar. This amount of sauce is good for four pounds of fish. Depending on how much you’re cooking, spoon the appropriate amount over each fish. Seal the foil loosely around each fish to create a somewhat roomy pocket. Bake 10 minutes per inch of thickness of fish at its thickest part (typically 20 to 25 minutes for a 2-inch-thick fish). This will cause the fish to steam in its lovely juices. Remove foil and serve with juices.
Dammit, you made me make myself drool on the keyboard.
More writing by Ari LeVaux can be found at flashinthepan.net.
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