Mushroom Barley Soup from Chicago, IL

Mushroom Barley Soup w/ Cheese Toasties & Oatmeal Raisin Cookies

January 18^th would have been my dad’s 64^th birthday. To celebrate my late father I decided to make one of my dad’s winter staples: mushroom barley soup. When I was younger I wasn’t a fan of this dish. I was a very picky eater early on and was not happy with the grayish color that the mushrooms gave the soup. Fortunately, now that I am a mature 27 year old, I’ve gotten over the color and have come to appreciate the creamy richness of this soup. On a cold winter day in Chicago there is nothing more satisfying.

Whenever my dad made this soup it was accompanied by what he called Toasties aka bread with melted sharp cheddar cheese. They are extra delicious when you toast the bread & cheese in the oven and are great for dipping in the soup.

For desert: oatmeal raisin cookies. I chose these for dessert because they were my dad’s favorite. Simple and delicious. Miss you pops!

P.S. One of my favorite things about this recipe is the secret ingredient that gives the soup its rich creaminess: Pet Milk! There is a short story by a Chicago writer named Stuart Dybek called “Pet Milk.” Bria and I used to read this story out loud to each other and wonder what we could do with pet milk besides putting it in coffee or making King Alphonses.

Music that I cooked this meal to: The White Album by the Beatles

Mushroom Barley Soup:

2 stalks of celery cut into pieces

3-4 carrots sliced

1 medium white onion chopped

handful of chopped parsley

a few bay leaves

2-2 ½ lb. chicken

1/3 cup butter

1lbs of fresh mushrooms chopped finely

1 cup of barley (not quick cooking)

1 can of PET MILK (evaporated milk)

salt

pepper

Simmer 10 cups of water, the chicken, carrots, celery, onion, parsley & bay leaves for 30-40 minutes. Remove the chicken and use for another dish. Saute chopped mushrooms in butter. Set aside.

Add 1 cup of barely to the prepared stock and simmer until cooked (about 45 minutes). Add sautéed mushrooms and can of Pet Milk. Simmer for 5 minutes. Add salt and pepper to taste.

Serve with a teaspoon of parsley sprinkled over the soup and toasties on the side.

Oatmeal Raisin Cookies:

cups all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

3/4 cup (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature

1/4 cup solid vegetable shortening, room temperature

1 cup sugar

1 cup (packed) dark brown sugar

2 large eggs

1 tablespoon vanilla extract

3 cups old-fashioned oats

1 cup raisins

1 cup chopped walnuts

Preheat oven to 350°F. Blend first 5 ingredients in medium bowl.

Using electric mixer (if you don’t have one a spoon will work), beat butter, vegetable shortening, and both sugars in large bowl until fluffy. Beat in eggs, and vanilla. Gradually beat in flour mixture. Stir in oats, raisins, and walnuts. Drop batter by tablespoonfuls onto buttered baking sheets, spacing the cookies about 2 inches apart. Flatten cookies slightly. Bake cookies until golden brown, about 10 minutes. Leave out to cool.

Grilled fish tacos from Southern California

Grilled Fish Tacos with Avocado Mango Salsa
I remember the first time that my Los Angeles born and bred sister came to visit me in the Midwest. We were at a Cracker Barrel, and she looked up sweetly at the waitress and asked if she could please just add a little avocado to her iceberg salad? It was February, and the waitress looked more confused than exasperated, but the answer seemed so obvious to anyone living in a small factory town in Southern Wisconsin, I had to wince. No. She squinted at my sister’s forehead and turned on her heel towards the kitchen.
It’s been said that Southern Californians are weaker, whinier, and far more spoiled than our neighbors in just about every other direction. Avocados are a perfect example. The rough black skinned fruits have been considered an indulgent luxury throughout history, but we grow up with them rotting on the ground in our backyards. The word avocado is actually derived from the Aztec word for testicle ahuacatl, which probably refers to their shape, but also to the fact that they’ve been considered a rather scandalous treat by their lucky consumers long before Spanish explorers brought them back to their pious European neighbors in the Seventeenth Century. They are said to have been used as aphrodisiacs in the Americas, considered so powerful that village virgins were forbidden from stepping outside while the fruit was being harvested.


As high maintenance and frou frou as Los Angeles cuisine would seem, it is precisely for its fresh, simple flavors that I love it so. The foods I loved eating as a child usually incorporated cilantro, citrus, and fresh seafood. One of my favorite memories as a child is of the grilled fish tacos we’d get at a small roadside stand called Taco Auctioneers near Encinitas, California, on the way to San Diego. We used to buy them, tired and sandy, after a day of surfing (or trying) at a beach about 10 miles further South. The taco stand has since closed down, and it’s been ten years since I’ve tried to stand up on a surfboard, but I have continued trying to emulate the perfection of their grilled fish tacos.
For me, the best recipe has to use shredded cabbage of some kind, for its crunch, avocados for their richness, and lime, to bind all of the flavors together. This recipe is a combination of several recipes that I’ve tried from over the years, with help from the always useful website epicurious.com.

Grilled Baja Mahi Mahi Tacos
2 lbs. mahi mahi or any fresh white fish,
1/2 cup vegetable oil,
3 tbsp lime juice, 5 tsp chili powder,
1 1/2 tsp ground cumin,
1 1/2 tsp ground coriander,
1 1/2 tsp minced garlic,
Salt to taste,
Juice of fresh limes
8 flour tortillas, 8 inches in diameter
Half head of cabbage, sliced thinly or shredded (red or green will work, though I prefer green for its milder flavor)
Whisk together marinade ingredients so that oil breaks up a little bit. Cut mahi mahi into 16 equal slices and coat with marinade using brush. Preheat grill to medium high heat. If you’re using a charcoal grill, allow the coals to burn down a bit until they are glowing red and spread them so that they are evenly dispersed.
Grill the fish until the first side is firmer and well marked, then turn and repeat with the second side.
Grill the tortillas just before serving (always best over an open flame) until they have grill marks, and just before they bubble. Fill tortillas will grilled fish, shredded cabbage, squeezed lime juice, and Avocado, Mango Salsa (See recipe below). Always good in the backyard with a chilled Pacifico beer or Margarita with Salt, under the orange and avocado trees.


Avocado Mango Tomato Salsa
1 mango, peeled, pitted, and diced
4 medium tomatoes diced (I think any kind of tomato works here, but Roma can be a little too soft and mushy for me)
1 avocado, peeled, pitted, and diced,
jalapeno pepper, seeded and minced,
½ cup chopped cilantro, salt to taste,
2 Tablespoons fresh lime juice,
¼ cup chopped red onion,
1 Tablespoon extra virgin olive oil

All ingredients tossed in a bowl! Eat up!

Indian Tacos from Tucson, AZ

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Indian Tacos

Almost a year ago I was in a car navigating south on Route 66 from Chicago, heading to Tucson, AZ. My trusty red Honda brought me, my boyfriend, and a car full of books and clothes to a town where neither of us had roots. We wanted to get to know the Southwest, and one year later the differences are still novel to me--rattlesnakes, palm trees, saguaro cacti, slow talkers, and pink houses. This is not the land I grew up in and I still sometimes gawk at the contrasts.

According to the 2000 census, a quarter of Arizona’s land is occupied by Native American reservations. It’s striking to realize the absence of Native American presence in other places I’ve lived, compared to here. Still, the hints I see of native cultures highlight how little I know about them. The basic facts I’ve gleaned are these. The reservations of the Pascua Yaqui and the Tohono O’odham nations are closest to Tucson. Both the Yaqui and the Tohono O’odham have been living in southern Arizona since this land belonged to Mexico. Also, Indian tacos are delicious.

Let me introduce you to the Indian taco if you haven’t met. You can spot people eating them at festivals around town, wrapped in tinfoil and piled high with cheddar cheese. The base is a piece of frybread—a traditional native staple. On top, beans, chiles, cheese, lettuce, meat, and tomatoes. A taco and yet not a taco. I think of it as a simple testament to the fact that food is not constrained by borders. More importantly, it’s really delicious. I am always impressed with vehicles for different toppings. I tried my hand at this one with guidance from Foods of the Southwest Indian Nations, by Lois Ellen Frank, which I found in the Arizona Collection at the downtown public library.

Frybread

4 cups flour

2 tablespoons baking powder

1 teaspoon salt

2 cups warm water

Vegetable oil for frying

Mix the flour, baking powder, and salt in a large bowl. Gradually stir in the water until the dough

becomes soft and pliable without sticking to the bowl.

Knead the dough on a li

ghtly floured surface or in the bowl for 5 minutes, folding the outer edges of the dough toward the center.

Return the dough to the bowl, cover with a towel, and let rest for 30 minutes to allow it to rise.

Shape the dough into egg-sized balls and then use your hands to stretch it out to a thickness of ½ inch (or thinner, for crispier bread). Put the do

ugh between your hands and pat it from hand to hand like you would if you were making a tortilla or pizza dough, until it stretches to 8-12 inches in diameter.

With your finger poke a small hole in the center of each piece, to prevent bursting during frying. Fry the dough in hot oil and cook until the dough turns golden brown and puffs. Turn over each piece with two forks and cook the other side. Serve immediately. Makes about 16 frybreads.

I found making frybread to be satisfyingly tactile. If you like

slapping and slamming dough around, you will love this. You get to do it sixteen times! Our early frybreads were much too thick, so make sure the d

ough is as thin as you can make it without tearing it.

We made beans to put on top of our frybreads that were adapted, again, from a recipe by Lois Ellen Frank.

2 ½ canned pinto beans (or 1 cup dry beans)

¾ cup vegetable or chicken stock

6 whole red chiles de arbol

1 teaspoon finely chopped chile pequin

1 onion

Chop and sauté onions. Once onions have browned, add pinto beans and stock. Add chiles and bring pot to a boil. Once it’s boiling, turn heat down and let the beans simmer until almost all the liquid is gone.

All credit to the distinctive taste of these beans is due to these chiles. Do not be intimidated by inexperience with these! Chiles de arbol are easy to find in most grocery stores, dried. Chile pequin are easier to fi

nd in the Southwest, I think, but you can omit them and this would still be delicious. Chiles de arbol have a nice warm aftertaste, rather than a burning spiciness like that of say, a jalepeno. I am newly enamored with them. I’d say this recipe is medium spicy, so if you have a mild palate, use less chiles.

Layer your frybread with beans, onions, cheese, lettuce, salsa, and whatever else you like. They’re hearty to eat and nice to look at. Eat up, wherever you are.

Our Story

Meal Maps has been a project in the making for several years now, hinted at and talked about over plenty of curries, soups, stained cookbooks, and bottles of wine.
The Meal Maps crew includes Liz, Aimee, and Bria—friends who met ten years ago at a tiny liberal arts college in the frozen fields of the sadly slipping rustbelt of Southern Wisconsin. As ladies who love to move around, explore, and tell stories, we realized we were marking time by the recipes we were cooking. We remember places by what we ate there. Beloit, Wisconsin’s fried cheese curds. Chicago’s soul food. Tucson’s Sonoran-style hot dogs. When we went somewhere new, we used recipes to grab at the stories, memories, politics, and opinions of the places we were in and the places we’d come from.
For the better part of the last five years, we haven’t lived in the same location. Most recently, Aimee spent two years eating and drinking her way through Spain and is now back in Southern California. Bria mastered banana pudding and jalapeno cheese grits in Durham, North Carolina, and now lives in Tucson, Arizona. And Liz just took off on a one-way ticket from Chicago to Guanojuato, Mexico. Through our travels and time spent apart, we wrote letters about the things we would see in markets and cook in our own kitchens. We collected recipes, sometimes attached to their own strange and interesting rituals and stories, and ate some very colorful and delicious meals!
We hope Meal Maps will give us an anchored space to talk about the memories that we bind to the food that we’re eating, as we each travel through very different terrain. Follow our recipes and wander with us.