Also known as, “what the heck is wrong with that celery???!?”

A walk through Machane Yehuda will reveal these enormously long celery-like vegetables on display at vendors throughout the market. A closer inspection reveals spike-like growths along the edge of the ribs, but they’re actually leaf buds. They leaves themselves look somewhat jagged.

Cardoons are relatives of artichokes, members of the thistle family. They’re also relatives of the milk thistle, which is that really tough weed you get in your Israeli lawn; it’s the one with the white-veined leaves with the sharp thorns on the edges. Cardoons supply a necessary enzyme for vegetable rennet, and there are cheeses made using this form of rennet. Slow down, caseophiles; it’s found in the stamens, which are already cut off before they reach market, not the stalks. You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?

Like an artichoke (and I imagine other non-edible thistles), cardoons can’t be eaten raw, owing to a horrendous bitter aftertaste. Most recipes call for boiling the cardoons in water with the juice of 1/2 a lemon. Good advice. Their subtle flavor once cooked can be easily overwhelmed by stronger flavors, so if you’re going to try this, it would be best to star in its own dish frittered, roasted, sauteed, braised or in a soup, with a minimum of competing flavors.

Meat in Israel is a long-standing source of frustration for new olim, especially those from North America. It’s as if cows in America are somehow built with different parts, and trying to find the right piece of meat for your recipe becomes more confusing than it should be. Couple that with the now-permitted hindquarter meats, and you more than double the number of cuts available that people may never have seen or heard of before. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, they number the meat like you’re in kindergarten, making you feel that much more stupid.

Enough is enough. I present my definitive guide to buying meat in Israel.

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In my previous post, I just went on and on about finding a bag of dried kaffir lime leaves in an Asian food store outside of Machane Yehuda. But what do you do with them?

Kaffir Lime

Grown in Southeast Asia and Hawaii, the kaffir lime tree produces small, pear-shaped citrus fruit with a skin that’s bright yellow-green, bumpy and wrinkled. The glossy, dark green kaffir lime leaves, which are used in cooking, have a unique double shape and look like two leaves that are joined end to end. Dried kaffir lime rind and leaves, which have a mysterious flora-citrus aroma, can be found in Asian markets. Fresh leaves, which have a more intense, fragrant aroma, are sometimes also available.

Its flavor is lemon-but-not-lemon, lemongrass-but-not-lemongrass. It’s Kate’s (played by Catherine Zeta Jones) mystifying saffron sauce ingredient in No Reservations.

Kaffir lime leaves can be used like bay leaves, added to release their aroma, then removed from the pot or pan before serving, or they can be cut, crushed or pulverized in a mortar and eaten directly. Dry leaves can be reconstituted by soaking them in warm water for 8-10 minutes.

Machane Yehuda is the pulse of culinary Jerusalem. I’m sure you’ve read that before if you’ve been reading my blog posts. Surrounding the two streets of the market itself are a number of stores that range from health food ingredients to kitchen utensils.

I was wandering through Machane Yehuda with some family late last night – late for the market, where only a few of the restaurants and shops remained open – and as I was leaving I spotted a row of ingredients on a shelf through the open door of a shop located just outside the market on Agrippas. Asian ingredients. Lots of them.

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The harbinger of winter vegetable season has arrived again. Butternut squash is available at seasonal prices again.

I like butternut squash more than the other squash varieties mainly because they’re more versatile. Their firmer texture take well to roasting, and unlike the more globe-shapes squashes, you get more squash to the kilo thanks to their thick necks, so it doesn’t get as soft as acorn squash. Pumpkin is great, sure, but after being the only choice since the middle of the summer, it’s time for a change of flavor.

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