David and Jean Smith with their daughters, Rebecca and Candida, Bolton Landing, ca. 1958.

We  had a big vegetable garden with all the usual summer fare, our favorites being corn and tomatoes. Chives grew along the driveway and pale yellow and black Tiger Swallowtail butterflies haunted the dill in the herb garden. My father was a great cook and I remember especially his Chinese-style dishes stir-fried in an electric skillet with ingredients he’d brought up from Chinatown in NYC, like elephant ear mushrooms and baby corn.  His other specialities were pea soup with a dollop of sour cream and pancakes in animal shapes.  These same shapes took form inbright red mercurochrome on scrapes on our legs; and in pale orange calamine lotion for our mosquito bites. Tall spokes of asparagus grew between the tea roses and the peonies in the flowerbed. My father was a great forager. When we took hikes in the woods he knew all the plants and could find things to eat everywhere. We often pulled the car over to the side of the road at a certain spot on Finkle brook where he had planted watercress and he would collect some for a salad. After it rained puffballs would bloom in the field (spherical mushrooms sometimes as big as a pancake) and he would harvest them and sauté them in butter. My father had a small rifle (a .22) with which he would hunt, venturing no further than his patio, to shoot pests threatening the garden. It was before my time, but I heard stories from my mother of his presenting Clement Greenberg and other city swells with meat pie made from woodchuck (David knew how to remove the glands that rendered woodchuck inedible) — revealing the provenance of the mystery meat after the fact. My sister Candida and I enjoyed eating frogs’ legs, even though they were probably the same ones we had been chasing around our ponds that day. We had winey, fragrant maple syrups bottled in old green Coke bottles from neighbors and homemade root beer at our neighbors the Neumanns.  For my sister’s August birthday we ritually breakfasted in our nightgowns on the patio on lobster and champagne (really ginger ale, but the small dash of real champagne and the bottle on the table convinced us). When we were babies our parents had the questionable practice of hanging bunches of grapes on nails near our beds so we would have a snack on arising – and keep quiet a little longer in the morning. What was perhaps most exotic for us was the row of glass jars of candy and the banana splits David made for us in fancy glass dishes.   We were very impressed because we knew his expertise came from working as a teenager at a soda fountain in Indiana where he learned such touches as dusting the sundae with malt powder, called “a dusty road”.

CHERRY COBBLER

photo courtesy of homewithpurpose.blogspot.com

In the early summer, the apple people at our farmers market in Tribeca have four different varieties of cherry (sour , Bing, yellow Queen Anne, and one more that is inbetween); this cobbler would work with any of them.

Rinse and stem the cherries. Poke the pits out through the little stem hole with the round end of a bobby pin and  throw them in the compost. (We put all our compostable waste in bags in the freezer and take them to the farmers market on Saturdays. It seems like a big deal but it isn’t).

3 cups pitted cherries
¾ cups juice
2 Tbs and 2 teaspoons instant tapioca

Mix and let stand for ½ hour

Add 2/3 cup sugar (less if you are not using tart cherries) and ¼ teaspoon almond essence. Put in a saucepan and heat, stirring gently, till the tapioca softens and becomes transparent. Scrape into a buttered 9” x 9” ceramic or glass baking pan (no metal and no plastic-coated; slight variations in size and shape are fine).

Preheat 450 degrees F and make the following sweet biscuit dough:

1-3/4 cups sifted all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
A tablespoon sugar
3 teaspoons baking powder
6 tablespoons cold butter, cut into chunks

Cut butter into dry ingredients with two knives; or rub with your fingers until the butter is in pea-sized bits; or mix quickly in a food processor.

Add carefully:

3/4 milk or cream

Stir briefly just to mix and turn the dough out on a hard, lightly floured surface.  Roll out to about 1/2″ thickness, remove about 25% of the dough (you can make a big biscuit from the extra but don’t bake it as long).  Spread the cherry mixture in the baking dish and arrange the dough layer on top.  Pierce all over with a sharp fork.  Brush the top with milk, melted butter or granulated sugar.  Bake 15 minutes.

Serve warm with runny yogurt (mango, blackberry or vanilla are good – Ronnybrook is a great brand).

Growing up in small town Virginia, neighborhood children of Jewish, Armenian, Greek, Irish, you-name-it descent did everything from making mud pies, building forts in the woods, sledding, and trick-or-treating together.  We were inseparable.  Like other ethnic communities, my family also tried to assimilate: pancake dinners, the country club, carpools, leaving out cookies for Santa, etc.  I was even baptized in the local Methodist church, despite both my parents being of Druze ancestry. Unfortunately, I wasn’t taught the Arabic language and I only know the names of food and curse words as a result.  We still managed to travel a few times to Lebanon as a family and I have vivid memories of those fascinating visits.

Souhad Rafey in her Manhattan kitchen

For Arabs, hospitality lies at the heart of who they are. My father owned restaurants and nightclubs (one after another).  Number two was called The Shiek and it had a Middle Eastern theme.  My mother was known for the delicious desserts she made for this establishment.  I have fond memories of listening to great live music at my dad’s club with everyone from Chubby Checker to Fats Domino, and of meeting celebrities like Frank Zappa and the Herman’s Hermits. Pre-rocker Pat Benatar made up part of the house band along with someone accompanying her on a grand piano.  She belted out slow, beautifully pitched songs while guests dined on exquisite Italian cuisine.  On breaks from college, I enjoyed bartending, hostessing, and waiting tables at The Farmer’s Market, my father’s last restaurant.

My mother was an amazing cook and she helped plan the menus throughout my father’s career.  At home, while our neighbors were chowing down on TV dinners and tuna casseroles, the Rafeys were happily trying out the many recipes my mother had gathered from Julia Childs and others.   And my parents entertained often, which had a huge influence on me. It’s always rewarding to share food with friends and family, who appreciate my joy which is a big part of it all.

After I moved to New York in 1984 to complete my degree in Museum Studies, I began taking in my baked goods to share with colleagues at The Hispanic Society and the Cooper Hewitt Museum, where I had internships.  After 30 years, I continue to make the same chocolate cookie crusted cheesecake with its hint of Crème de Menthe and Crème de Cacao, for staff, artists, and art handlers at the American Academy of Arts and Letters.  Along with new artist friends, I’ve added many new recipes to the mix, exchanging recipes with artists who have come in over the years to help install their work for the Academy shows. Bob Yasuda, for instance, is one of the most inventive and adventurous cooks I have encountered.  Justen Ladda gave me a simple recipe for delicious cheese filled popovers that I continue to use; and, in exchange, I gave him seeds from my terrace for the public garden that he designed and maintains on the Lower East Side.  Just last year, Robert Chambers and Mette Tommerup, both having been included in Academy exhibitions, gave me a most unusual cake pan before they returned to Florida.

Following is the simplest recipe for a Middle Eastern dessert I know.  Some call it, Kanafa, while others say, “Kanafi”, or Knefeh…and its origin can also be disputed. Whatever they call it, everyone agrees that it’s delicious!

Ingredients

Kataifi (frozen shredded fillo dough)

2-3 bars butter

orange blossom water

sugar

water

ricotta cheese (2 small containers)

Photo courtesy of arabic-food.blogspot.com

Directions

Thaw the Kataifi for an hour.

In a bowl, pull it apart and pour melted butter on top, making sure it soaks through entirely.

Heat ricotta cheese for 5 minutes in a saucepan, on low.

Add 2-3 tsp. orange blossom water and stir

Grease a glass dish or metal pan

Place one layer (1/2) of the buttered dough on the bottom.

Put the ricotta mixture over this

Place the rest of the dough on top of this

Bake at 350 for approximately 40 minutes

To crisp the top, place under the broiler for a short time

For the syrup:

1 cup sugar

1/2 cup water

1 teaspoon lemon juice

2 tsps. orange blossom water

Just as it boils, stir in the lemon juice (which prevents coagulation)

Reduce heat and stir for 5 minutes.

Pour syrup over the layered dessert.

(I like to serve this with ground pistachios on top and mixed berries on the side.)

Shaved Brussel sprout and toasted walnut salad

Half pound brussel sprouts shaved finely on mandoline slicer
Half cup walnuts, chopped and toasted
One cup olive oil, zest and juice of one lemon) whisked in bowl
One quarter cup grated parmesan cheese

Pan seared sweet potato gnocchi with pecans and sage

Sweet potato gnocchi (home made if possible, enough for two portions)
Fresh sage (about 10 leaves, to taste)
¼ cup pecans
2 cups fresh spinach
2 teaspoons truffle oil
2 tablespoons olive oil
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Boil gnocchi in plenty of salted boiling water until they rise to the surface (about 3 minutes for fresh gnocchi, 5 for frozen)

Meanwhile, add the olive oil to a pan on medium high heat. As the oil is heating up, add the whole fresh sage leaves.

Drain gnocchi and add to a hot pan with the olive oil and sage.  Allow them to sit in the pan until slightly crisp on one side (3-5 minutes) Turn them, and add pecans, crushing them just slightly with your hand as you drop them into the pan. Add salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste.

Turn heat down and sauté for a few more minutes, until pecans begin to toast. Add fresh spinach and toss until just wilted.

Serve on plates and sprinkle each portion with a teaspoon of truffle oil (or to taste, but a little goes a long way)

Suzanne Stroebe, Marriage of Convenience, 2010. Luan, silk, cordial glasses, dry pigment, slide projector, dimensions variable (detail). Courtesy of the Artist

Greg Lindquist: How does your interest in cooking relate to your sculpting and installation?

Suzanne Stroebe: In my studio, I’ve been working with live plants and food in my installations, sculptures, drawings and performances, both as objects and through photographs. Art is an extension of life, right?

GL: Or is art an extension of life, in the sense that your practice is informed by such rituals as eating or growth in the natural world?

SS: I believe artists experience the world through the lens of their creativity, which extends to cooking, gardening, writing, etc. The best cooks are creative in that they experiment freely with new ingredients and methods, and allow for “happy accidents.” The work I make in my studio is the purest form of my creativity, because art is non- functional. However inspiration for my work often comes when I’m engaged in another creative practice, outside of the studio.

GL: And what about our rooftop garden, which really started in my studio, amongst my art making practices?

SS: In retrospect, we began gardening in your studio around the same time when you became more experimental in your practice (i.e. last summer right before you made your first outdoor sculptural installation at Art Omi). More recently, you have become interested in earth art and as the garden as become part of our daily lives, you have begun incorporating potting soil into your sculptures.

GL: Very true. We were talking earlier about whether entertaining was part of our interactions with other artists and the art world. When I suggested that it had little to do with the art world, you reminded me the majority of our visitors were people connected through our profession. Why do you think that is? For me, it creates an intimate setting, but also it’s that idea illustrated by Italo Calvino’s If on a Winter’s Night a Traveler, that you can learn something about a person by his or her preferences, by how a living space is arranged and activities are performed: Does cooking reveal sociological, economic and politic preferences?

SS: Cooking can certainly reveal political and social preferences, but more importantly I think there can be an instant bond with other people we meet who are vegetarians, locavores, etc., or those who are also passionate about cooking. Social interactions with those in the art world can become more casual and friendly when we discover other mutual interests. It is also a natural way to invite someone into your home, which is automatically more intimate.  After spending an evening over good food and drink with someone in their home or in ours, there is a feeling of real friendship—not so after an evening at an opening, or other professional social setting. People tend to relax and become more themselves while eating a good, home cooked meal.

SS: Do you consider cooking/mixology/gardening to be an expression of creativity?

GL: Sure and it’s an expression of creativity that I think is largely driven by curiosity, experimentation and tastes. I think I’ve gotten a lot better at identifying the tastes of specific herbs in foods and perhaps that’s a little like developing an eye for color mixing.

SS: Do you see a connection between cooking and other culinary experiments and your studio practice? Have they ever overlapped or influenced each other?

GL: I think there’s a sense of alchemy in making herbal infusions in liquors. There is an excitement too for how it’s going to turn out. For example, I was amazed by watching the coffee beans float in the vodka and then, as they became saturated, sink to the bottom of the container and release their dark oils into the clear liquid. Maybe it’s something like in the studio when you have an assortment of objects and materials and even though you can imagine what happens when you put them together, it’s always different when you do it. Cooking or infusing/mixology can be a kind of experimental outlet for art making, perhaps being a place to play when I’m feeling stuck in the studio.

This picture has no relation to any of the recipes discussed below but is in fact my dog's breakfast

I start the day super-virtuous and don’t let my eating slide until coffee time.  When I was told I had high cholesterol I decided to start eating oats.  I’d always loved porridge and granola, but kind of decided I didn’t have the patience for cooking first thing in the AM, plus the sweetness and “fried” quality of granola turned me off, so I got into soaking.  If you use “quick cooking” soft rolled oats you don’t need to boil them – jumbo oats work too, but can be a bit too dry and chewy.  I buy the oats in bulk from Wholefoods and they work out dirt cheap.

I basically have two recipes, a cold and a warm version.

Soak about a half cup of oats in concord grape juice, with a teaspoon of Chia powder, which is rich in Omega 3s, calcium and other good stuff.

While that’s soaking, peel and dice half a pink grapefruit (whole if feeling greedy and/or it’s small), half or one banana (same principles), and about a half cup of either raspberries or blueberries.  I say either because in salads, for aesthetic reasons, I’m very much a three ingredients guy, but of course you could use both—and, though I really hate it when they say this in recipes—“you can use any fruits you like.”  But this is my breakfast, and these are the fruits I like.  The textures and flavors of these three work well together.  Sometime, I add a scoop of yoghurt, but truth be told, that makes for a heavy breakfast.

(Actually, the half or whole thing is about whether I’m making for one or two.  If for one, what is anyone going to do with half a blackened banana later on?  For two, who can be bothered to peel TWO grapefruits?)

My girlfriend finds the grape juice a tad sweet, so for her – or if vital ingredients have run out for the standard version – I vary the breakfast sometimes in a way I’ve come to like almost as much.

Soak the oats in warm soy milk, saving a little for her highness’s coffee.

While that’s soaking, chop in half an apple, skin on, and add to the mix with a handful of walnuts, and a smaller quantity of raisins.

With either version you can add a teaspoon of sunflower and/or pumkin seeds, if you are feeling virtuous, without spoiling the flavor.  The Chia tastes more pronounced in the warm version than the cold, by the way, and is bit metallic tasting. Whatever you do, don’t add linseed oil or flax seed as that tastes disgusting (I think).

CANDACE’S FAVORITE SALAD

A view of David's kitchen, from his desk

Extending the three ingredients principle, here is my girlfriend’s favorite salad among those that I make for her:

In a bowl, make a vinagrette from mustard, dill, apple cider vinegar and walnut oil.

Finely chop and add one endive per person, not mixing yet; then peel, chop and add half of one apple per person; then add a dessert spoon of crumbled blue cheese – ideally Stilton, but Gorgonzola or domestic American are fine too – and then mix.

If you don’t share my three ingredients principle you can get clever and add other stuff like walnuts, say, and beets, but if you use beets then you’ve spoiled the novelty of…

MY FAVORITE SALAD

Chop and add one beet per person, half an apple, one herring fillet (pickled in dill, not in red wine or in any sauce) and a scoop of sour cream, and add a little extra dill for decoration.