07.03.08
Infused Waters, and an Egg Query
As the mercury climbs here in the Northern Hemisphere, the one thing I reliably do (aside from envying the hell out of those of you who are as far south of the Equator as I am north of it) is to make up plenty of infused waters to help make the task of staying hydrated a pleasanter one.
Infused waters are just that: water that has been infused with some flavoring agent. Tea, technically speaking, is an infused water, as is coffee, but there are many other options. Some infusions, like ginger or mint, can be made very strong, quite the equal of tea or coffee, particularly if done with hot water, but infusions need not be either strong or hot. What all infusions have in common is the steeping of a flavoring agent in water, so that the volatile oils and other flavorful compounds — juice or sap, for instance — are dispersed into the water. When it’s done steeping you drink the flavored water and discard the solids.
This being summer and it being somewhere in the nineties here in Baltimore lately, I’ve been making one of my favorite infused waters, a green and pleasantly astringent mix of lime, cucumber, and corn mint. For a three-litre glass jar full, I first add to the jar a lime cut into wedges, half of a small Japanese cucumber cut into thinnish slices, and a largish sprig of corn mint from the patch growing outside my kitchen door. I fill the jar with filtered tap water and set it in the fridge overnight to steep. The next day it is faintly tinted with pale green, has an enticing fresh herbal scent, and tastes deliciously crisp but simultaneously lush. It is marvelously thirst-quenching, and looks beautiful in the glass, particularly if you serve it over ice and with a few bits of lime, cucumber, and mint in it.
Other excellent summer flavor combinations for infused waters include peppermint and stone fruit, such as plum or peach slices, or the stunning pairing of a few shredded leaves of basil and a few chunks of the white part of watermelon rind (cut it from just where it becomes pink). Traditionalists would likely favor borage and cucumber. Even cucumber alone is lovely, but if you are like me and fond of vegetal flavors, you might try celery, cut into inch-long pieces, with a few slices of green tomato. A few springs of flatleaf parsley, or better yet fresh summer savory, if you have the means to get your hands on some of that all too often overlooked herb, are a wonderful addition. And even if you think cucumber is icky and the idea of green tomato flavored water too horrid to contemplate, there still aren’t too many things wrong, on a hot summer day, with a pitcher of ice-cold water in which some kind soul has steeped slices of lemon, lime, and orange.
Even if that kind soul is you.
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In regard to the previous post about fried rice, Pathar asked about my feelings regarding the presence of egg in fried rice. My feelings are this: if you like it, use it, and if you don’t care for it, don’t worry about it. Most residents of the First World get considerably more protein than their bodies strictly need, so even if it means you end up with a proteinless meal once in a while it won’t do you any harm.
If you do like eggs, scramble them and cook them, then shred into pieces of a suitable size before adding them to the fried rice. Or, for a less orthodox but still tasty way of having your egg and fried rice together, fry the egg just as your fried rice is done, and pop it on top — yolk still at least semi-liquid — of your bowlful of fried rice. I am particularly fond of a fried egg on top of a plate of kimchi fried rice, where the unctuous egg yolk makes a brilliant foil for the fiery peppery pickled cabbage. Experiment, if you’re an egg-eater, and see what you like best.