roast the carrots. The end result is like a multicolored carrot
extravaganza, and it’s a function of being resourceful.
Answer #2: With only so much room for ingredients, you have
to make them count. Cohen doesn’t kid around when it comes to
flavor: she shops regularly at Kalustyan’s, the famous spice store
in Curry Hill (as the Murray Hill neighborhood of Manhattan is
informally known), and stocks up on such flavor enhancers as
preserved lemons, Berber seasoning (an Ethiopian spice blend),
and shoyu (a stronger version of soy sauce). In addition, she
makes her own orange powder, carrot powder, and dried zucchini
and keeps flavored oils (parsley, cilantro) and salts (celery, sea) on
hand.
“Vegetables,” Cohen says, explaining her crowded cabinets,
“don’t have a lot of flavor. You have to do a lot to make them
taste good.” (Cover your ears, Alice Waters.) Cohen attacks her
kitchen tasks with great force and bravado. She peels ginger
aggressively with an ordinary metal spoon (the best way to peel
ginger, it turns out); she proofs her yeast in a food processor
because the processing heats it up and helps it activate; she
measures out the dough for her carrot buns with a scale so each
portion is exactly the same. When she preps her lemongrass, she
peels away the outer stalk and then smashes the lemongrass with a
knife, dragging the knife across, to release all the oils. Her attitude
is can-do and adventurous. “When I came up with my carrot buns,
I was like, ‘Can we make a dough with carrot juice and flour?’ And
it turns out, we can!”