Marcus Samuelsson's lesson on rum and mango mojitos



Marcus Samuelsson's mango mojito by Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books


On my wrist, I wear a golden reminder of the brutal past of slavery in the Caribbean. It’s a charm of a sugar mill, a common sight in St. Croix, now in the U.S. Virgin Islands, where the charm was crafted by Brian Bishop, an artisan creating jewelry in Christiansted. Bishop makes the mills accurate as they exist today - mostly abandoned, metal parts rusted or gone entirely, with trees growing through the doorless entries.

Crucian Gold charm bracelet by Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books

The sugar mills are from the time when the Virgin Islands were a stop on the slave trade, the Triangle Trade as it was known. The Dutch who settled the islands in the 17th century enslaved Africans who were brought to the islands to plant and process the sugar. The sugar, usually in the form of molasses or sugar cane juice, was then taken to the American colonies, usually Boston, to be distilled into rum. The rum, in turn was loaded onto ships and sent to Africa were it was traded for more slaves. The Triangle trade - molasses, rum, humans, molasses, rum, humans.

When contemplating rum, as with many foods, the modern interpretation is vastly different from the historical truth. Rum today is the essence of the tourist-dependent Caribbean - a fruity, umbrella’d cocktail on a sun-bleached beach beside the deep blue sea. A good book, a comfy chair, a cooling drink, and hours spent trying to find the horizon, the place where cerulean sky and azure sea meet. Rum, with its sharp acetone fragrance, is made for fruit, especially the tropical bounty of the Caribbean - pineapple, mango and coconut distract you from the kick.

I suppose I could open up a copy of Mr. Boston's to come up with a recipe to spotlight rum, but in this case, I decided to consult a master, Top Chef Masters Season Two winner, celebrity chef and all-around nice guy Marcus Samuelsson.



Marcus Samuelsson by Pedro Soto/Foodie Atlanta


That’s right, cutie pie competitor Marcus Samuelsson, he of the engaging grin and fierce competitive streak, not to mention spiffy candy-apple red Chuck Taylors, showcased on the most recent season of the reality show that pits seasoned chefs mano a mano in food challenges. Samuelsson bested a field of 16 big-name chefs, coming out on top with a three course meal that described his culinary journey across three continents.

When I asked Marcus about rum drinks, he said immediately, “Well, do you know about rum and Barbados and the slave trade?” Samuelsson has a duality that’s apparent once you know his intriguing biography - born Kassaham Tsegie in Ethiopia 39 years ago, he lost his mother at age 3 in a tuberculosis outbreak, was then adopted by parents in Sweden, his identity changed with one airplane flight - he became Marcus Samuelsson. He found his art at his Swedish grandmother’s apron strings while learning to cook meatballs with lingonberry sauce and other comfort foods, then went on to apprentice at fine European restaurants and eventually emigrated to this country 20 years ago.

What a curious gift to see in a bottle of rum the duality of your ancestry, biological and adopted - the enslaved and the enslaver. To identify with the Africans who were forcefully taken from their homes and families to work in harsh conditions half a world away, and at the same time the Europeans who traded humans for molasses and rum. I want someday to ask Marcus more about this, but today he just had time for a recipe - dark rum (he insisted it must be dark rum), infused with mango, muddled with mint, strained and poured over ice. I'm not one to argue with the chef, especially the one who beat Susur Lee for the Top Chef Master title. (And the drink is delicious.)

Marcus Samuelsson's Mango Mojito by Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books

Marcus’ Mango Mojito

In a large measuring bowl, place three cups of cubed mango from about 3 or 4 fruits. Fill to 4 cup mark with dark rum (I used Cruzan Rum). Chill overnight or for several days - (due to deadlines, I haven’t tested this recipe beyond the two-day mark). When ready to serve, pull out your favorite highball glass, muddle some mint leaves in the bottom, fill with ice, strain infused mango rum over all, and garnish with mint.

In Marcus‘ trademark “why do, when you can overdo” spirit (after all, his fried chicken recipe takes three days, my friends, three days to reproduce to his exacting standards), I created a Caribbean mango sorbet using the flavors of his prescribed drink. I kept it kid-friendly, using rum extract, but there’s no reason that if you’re feeding grown-ups, you couldn’t use rum-infused mango chunks from the above drink, folding them into the sorbet while it is still soft.

Mango and lime sorbet by Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books

Sugar Mill Mango Mint Mojito Sorbet

We call the pit the “mango bone” in our house, it’s a favorite treat of my youngest daughter. When you cut up the fruit, save the mango bones and simmer them in the syrup to intensify the mango flavor. You will need an ice cream mixer for this recipe - I use a Krups with a freezable container.

1 cup sugar

1 cup water

3 to 4 mangoes to yield 2 cups cut fruit, saving the mango bones

2 teaspoons lime juice from ½ lime

3 or 4 mint leaves, chopped

1 teaspoon rum extract

1. In a saucepan over moderate heat, place sugar, water and mango bones. Let come to a boil and cook, stirring occasionally until sugar is dissolved. Remove from heat, add lime juice, mint leaves and rum extract and let cool. After at least 15 minutes, strain through a sieve and pour in container of ice cream machine. Follow manufacturer's instructions from here. Store leftovers, those precious leftovers, in the freezer. Trust me, they won't last long.

Text and Images © 2010, Lucy Mercer, with the exception of the picture of Marcus Samuelsson, which is provided by Pedro Soto of Foodie Atlanta.

Check out Brian Bishop’s spectacular jewelry at Crucian Gold.

If you visit St. Croix today, be sure to spend a morning at the restored working sugar plantation, the Whim Great House, complete with a working windmill/sugar mill.

Marcus Samuelsson and Lucy Mercer by Susan Loper.

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We'll always have asparagus

We don’t choose the touchstones of a romance, they choose us. The little jokes, the comments that are benign to others, but hysterically funny to just us, are part of our story. Rick and Ilsa had “As Time Goes By,” and they had Paris. Scott and Lucy had an oil refinery (more on that later) and we will always have asparagus.



Creamy asparagus soup by Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books


Early in our courtship, we discovered that we liked to cook and tried to make meals together. I think we were putting together the ingredients for a stir-fry, and Scott bought asparagus. I probably said “eeww” because, truly, we eat what we’re fed at home and if your mother doesn’t eat asparagus, then neither do you. He told me I’d like it, and being a trusting sort of girl, I gave it a try. I was a convert from that first crispy, green, soy-drenched bite.

Since that time, I've stalked the verdant stalks like Euell Gibbons, savoring that earthy, mineral taste. But it's more than a taste and texture. Asparagus holds the promise of spring and renewal. That first bite in the early days of March shakes loose the heavy flavors of winter and prepares us for the produce yet to come. First asparagus, then blueberries, then tomatoes, zucchini, squash, all the abundance awaiting us. I look for the green stalks in early spring, and get embarrassingly giddy when they get nice and fat and the price drops.

Asparagus spears by Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books

Each spring, when asparagus is plentiful, I make a sandwich that reminds me of our honeymoon, when we traveled to St. Croix in the U.S. Virgin Islands. My husband’s uncle worked for the Hess Oil Refinery there and he treated us royally during our stay on the island. We ate at the best restaurants - I remember seafood at Top Hat, goat stew at the Buccaneer and conch fritters somewhere else. We snorkeled, we toured a historic sugar mill, we shopped for souvenirs, we saw the sights, concluding with every honeymooner's wish - a tour of the oil refinery. It was actually very interesting, just not what I expected to do on the trip - we’re probably the only couple who got a lecture in sweet light crude and other petroleum products on their honeymoon.

Back to the asparagus: down a narrow alleyway in Christiansted, we sat at a tiny restaurant for lunch. I wanted something simple like soup and a sandwich, found French onion soup and spied “asparagus sandwich” on the menu. I asked the waitress about it, and she said that it was a favorite dish of the cook’s. Keep in mind that I was a new bride and “asparagus sandwich” had the pleasant ring of girlie shower food. I ordered it. The soup was ok, but the sandwich was better. Sourdough bread, lightly toasted and spread with cream cheese, topped with steamed asparagus tips, sprouts and vinaigrette. I still make a version of this sandwich, and always think of St. Croix when I do. I’ve changed it up a little, losing the sprouts and seasoning the cream cheese.

Asparagus Cream Cheese Sandwich by Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books

Crucian Asparagus Sandwich

4 ounces cream cheese, softened
Tablespoon or two of chopped fresh chives
Salt and pepper to taste
2 slices sturdy white or wheat bread (for open face, 4 for lidded version)
8 to 10 asparagus tips, about 2 or 3 inches in length

1. Toast the bread to desired degree of brownness. Place asparagus tips in a microwave-safe container and cover with water. Zap for 1 minute. Carefully drain hot water from the asparagus and then cover with cold water and ice cubes to set the bright green color. Drain cooled stalks on paper towels. Stir together softened cream cheese, chives, salt and pepper.

2. Assemble sandwiches: Spread cream cheese on toast, and neatly align asparagus tips on top. This can be served open face (very pretty) or with a lid.

This little sandwich just cries out for a companion, like a bowl of Creamy Asparagus Soup, adapted from Julia Child’s “The Way to Cook.” It’s a convenient partner for the sandwich, using the stalks for the soup and some remaining tips for garnish. Notice that it’s “creamy” not “cream of.“ Instead of adding dairy, rice is cooked with the onion and then pureed to give body without adding the calories of cream. I like this trick because it doesn’t diminish the intensity of the asparagus, like cream would. The celadon color is enchanting.

Creamy Asparagus Soup by Lucy Mercer/A Cook and Her Books

Creamy Asparagus Soup with Lemon Chive Butter

Soup
1 onion, roughly chopped
2 tablespoons butter
½ cup long-grain rice
4 to 8 cups of stock - vegetable or chicken
1 bunch asparagus
Salt to taste, pepper if desired

1. In a saucepan, melt butter and saute onion until soft, but not brown. Season with a bit of salt (¼ teaspoon or so). Add rice and stir. Add four cups of stock , cover, and cook rice until nearly soft, about 10 to 15 minutes.

2. While rice is cooking, trim asparagus by removing the bottom ¼ of the stalks. Chop remainder into 2 inch pieces. Save the asparagus tips and place them in a bowl and cover with water. Zap in microwave for one minute. Pour off hot water, add cool water and ice cubes. When cool and color is set, dry on paper towels. Save for garnish.

3. When rice is soft, stir in asparagus stems and let cook for about 5 minutes, pulling it off the heat before it loses the brilliant green color. Blitz in food processor or blender until smooth. With the processor, this takes several minutes, until the puree fluffs up. Taste for seasoning and gradually add stock to desired consistency. I prefer a texture somewhere between thin puree and thick soup. A note on seasoning: I’m not a fan of white pepper - I think it tastes like soap, but if you need pepper in your soup, you may want to add it. I think salt is all the seasoning this needs, especially if you make the lemon chive butter.

Lemon Chive Butter

2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 tablespoon snipped chives
1 teaspoon or so fresh lemon juice
Salt and pepper to taste

1. Combine all ingredients.
2. Serve the soup, garnished with reserved asparagus tips and a spoonful of lemon butter.

Serve this meal in spring, and you may hear, just faintly through the night, a piano and a song, our song:


“You must remember this
A kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh.
The fundamental things apply
As time goes by.

“And when two lovers woo
They still say, "I love you."
On that you can rely
No matter what the future brings
As time goes by.”