Friend or faux: origins and originality, Mango Ginger Sauce, Yucca, Jícama, by Jeremy Goodwin

One of my pet peeves is people who denigrate a particular dish because it is not "authentic," that is, it is not ethnically precise in its ingredients, flavorings or presentation. I first got seriously irritated when dealing with the pizza preference, both from living in Italy and in New York.

If arguing the point about which is "best" or the most "authentic" and you throw in the Chicago deep pan factor, you can have a minor war on your hands.

I remember basking in the late Autumn sun on a balcony in Napoli, sipping espresso and munching on slices of the local idea of pizza, watching the gleaming waterborne homes of millionaires slip in and out of the harbor and appreciating the parade of ragazze graziose. Life was extremely good and the pizza was delicious, with fresh basil, a fresh passata sauce and fresh mozzarella. My mood was ruined by the proprietor's attempts to qualify the pie as "original, unduplicated, unavailable anywhere else in the world, for as long as Italy has been known." I wanted to reach back and shake the guy, demanding that he date the introduction of the tomato as an edible foodstuff in Italian culture, give me the source (early Egyptian) of leavened pan breads and explain when the marriage of basil and garlic first came to be combined with olive oil for that heavenly marriage of flavors (pre-Roman).

I was particularly incensed because I knew tomatoes were considered inedible when they were first introduced to Europe from the New World. Tomatoes were predominantly yellow and referred to as golden apples (pomi d'oro) when they first became part of the Italian culinary tradition. It was not until the 1700s that red tomatoes are even mentioned in Italian culinary lore. After coming back over the Atlantic with the settlers in North America, the tomato was still eyed with suspicion as late as the 1820s, and in many places it was considered best used for alleviating pustules.

The route the tomato has taken to become one of our staples is circuitous, to say the least. Starting as an Andean berry, small and only edible when red, the tomato migrated and became cultivated after its arrival in Central America. Known as the xitomatl by the Aztecs and tomati by the "wild" tribes, it was an important part of pre-Columbian culture. By the time the European invaders arrived, native tomatoes were commonly combined with maize, peppers and salt to create an early form of salsa, an original local dish.

After it was imported to Europe, the domestication of the plant in both its annual and perennial forms (determinate and indeterminate) was accelerated. Increased fruit size and bumper crop levels caused it to displace most native varieties when it returned as the pome dei Moro (Moor's apple) in the hands of Spanish settlers. That left only the cherry tomato or cerasiforme in Central America as the persistent remnant of the original cultivar. The idea that the tomato is European, especially Italian, is a fallacy.

Similar misconceptions are attached to other plants native to Central and South America. For unfounded reasons, the potato is identified with the Irish, and Thai and even Sichuan or ChungKing peppers are associated with recipes from western China, but they all originated in the New World. The migration and integration of ingredients between cultures and continents is a continual, reciprocal and pervasive process. Few people nowadays could imagine a kitchen without Malabar pepper, oregano, thyme, ginger or even sugar. Wars have been fought over the control of the spice trade; sugar provided an economic support for the slave trade, and pepper was once more valuable than gold and was even used as money. Yet sugar and pepper are now commonplace to us. Their availability and low cost is something that should be celebrated in the kitchen.

The opportunity to integrate the ingredients and cooking methods native to different continents widens the available palette of tastes for those bold enough to make occasional mistakes. In San Miguel we are fortunate in that we have a wide range of local staples and a fair range of produce more familiar to the North American and European culinary conventions. Unfortunately, many people are unwilling to explore the potentials and are missing some fantastic opportunities. Never using jicama or yucca because you are used to using the potato seems ironic, considering their common origin; preparing them only according to local conventions is just being unimaginative.

The recipes below represent some of my more successful experiments-the failures I will save for another column. The yucca becomes sweeter and has a combination of textures when fried after boiling. The baked jicama is a unique taste, worth trying. Both are high in vitamin C and do not contain the enzymes found in potatoes and peppers that some research links with age-related memory loss.

Serves 4-6

3 yellow mangoes

1/2 cup fresh ginger, peeled and chopped

1 tablespoon brown sugar

1/2 cup sweet white vermouth

2 tablespoons butter (optional)

Salt and pepper to taste

Peel the mangoes and squeeze the flesh off the stone into a bowl with your hands. Peel and coarsely chop the ginger; add it to the mango and vermouth in a small saucepan. Bring to a boil and simmer gently for 8 to 10 minutes. Allow to cool for five minutes and then process in a blender until smooth. If necessary, add some water to obtain the consistency of gravy. Strain through a fine mesh into a saucepan, pressing the pulp with the back of a spoon. Before serving, add the butter, if using it, and heat gently, stirring until the sauce is smooth. Add the salt and pepper to taste. Any leftover sauce can be combined with sour cream or mayonnaise to make a salad dressing.

Serves 4-6

1 medium yucca root

1/2 cup olive or vegetable oil

1/2 teaspoon salt

Peel the root until there are no purple streaks on the tuber. Slice into two-inch rounds and boil in salted water until it is easily penetrated by a toothpick. Remove and drain. In a heavy skillet, heat the oil until a drop of water causes spitting. Add the yucca slices and fry until the sides begin to brown about 1/4 inch from the bottom, 4 to 5 minutes, and then turn them over and cook for a further five minutes.

Preheat the oven to 400°F. Wash the jícama and cut off the top and tail. Place it on the middle rack of the oven and bake for 90 minutes or until it is easily penetrated by a skewer. You can serve it like a baked potato or allow it to cool and slice it like french fries and add it to a salad.

Jeremy Goodwin is an author, freelance food writer and owner of The Best Kept Secret. He may be contacted at Jeremy@dcnet2000.com.