Exotic Three-Way for Summer With Lychee
As a born and raised American, the mystery of the little-known (to me) lychee was something that always peaked my interest. Trying the different flavored Jell-O cup desserts with a hidden lychee in the center was a major treat, trumped only by my first experience with ice-cream-filled mochi. The candied or jarred lychee is basically the maraschino cherry of Asia--it's small, pitted, round, juicy, and only at the height of its season for a month or so. They're annoyingly difficult to get into, and so they are not a really seen as a staple in the kitchen, at least in mainstream America.
Siiri Sampson 2011. Such a fickle exterior, but a soft and perfumed flesh awaits. Totally worth the hassle.
Over the past few years, and a handful of trips to Asia later, the mysterious lychee is proving to be much more accessible than originally perceived. With July turning the corner in to full-on summer weather and Seattleites daring to bare their pasty-white asses all over, it's only fitting that we peel back the nubby exterior of the lychee to reveal its porcelain-white flesh with three summer treats.
Decadent: Turning the traditional ladies' night appetizers on their head is a fun way to dress it up without adding too much fuss. This particular dish is deceivingly easy to prepare, but dangerously good. Be ready to think, and eat, outside the box with cream-cheese-stuffed lychees:
Siiri Sampson 2011. Pairing together all these fruits like a tropical deviled egg makes me want to throw a luau!
• Peel, pit, and halve the lychees. You'll know they're ripe by feeling some give--just like avocado, but softer. • Mix together a bar of room-temperature cream cheese, chopped dried mango, and candied ginger in a bowl. • Scoop dollops just like they were deviled eggs. • Top with dried or preserved apricots (the preserved apricots can be found at Asian markets or health-food stores, and lend a bit of sourness to compliment the fruit,s natural sweetness). • Drizzle with basil oil (made by pureeing and straining equal parts olive oil and basil).
They're small enough to pop three or four without realizing you just obliterated half the dish before your guests arrive.
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