I make no bones about it: I am a shameless borrower of recipes. Every cook is. The good ones admit it. The bad ones claim it's their own. There's a certain blond on TV who does that, and it ain't Paula Deen (she's one of the GOOD ones). My friend Dana, another blonde, another one of the GOOD ones, is always honest about it. Last year, in San Francisco, she served the best fig ice cream I had ever had. In fact, it was the ONLY good fig ice cream I had ever had. I told her "I have GOT to get your recipe" and she laughed and said "oh, it's in David Lebovitz's book, use that."
Now I DO have that book, and I cook out of it. It's his ice cream book. It was the second time a cook I respect had told me to go and make a recipe from it (the first time was the malted milk ball ice cream). I'm not much of a fan of chocolate, especially in ice cream, but having made the fig ice cream myself now, I may have to try it.
I have all of Chef Lebovitz's books, and I use them all the time. His ginger cake recipe is one that I make frequently. I don't make it during warmer weather, because I rarely make cake when we're all eating ice cream and cookies , but as things get cooler, that recipe comes out. And as he says in his book, the cake goes especially well, with plums. He suggests a plum compote with his recipe,and it works really well. But yours truly, ever a tinkerer was thinking "what about putting the plums IN the cake?" Know what? I may send this to Chef Lebovitz, because it's really a fabulous cake.
One thing at the start: this recipe does call for four ounces of fresh ginger. That's a LOT of ginger, and this is not a cake for people who, for example, don't like gingerbread. I LOVE gingerbread. I cannot tell you how many pans of it never made it out to the table in one piece, because I was nibbling it in the kitchen. With lemon sauce, or butter, or plain. This cake stands on its own. If you like the spicing. And it's easy. It really is.
You should get your liquid ingredients together first. Those are a cup of molasses (he calls for light molasses. I've never found that. So I either use plain, organic molasses, or I cut it , half and half with honey), a cup of vegetable oil, and a cup of plain white sugar. Mix all of this together in a bowl. In a separate bowl, combine two cups of flour, a heaping teaspoon of cinnamon, a half teaspoon of fresh ground black pepper, a pinch of salt, and a half teaspoon of ground cloves (I play with the spices in this cake, and I kick them up. For example, tonight I used allspice). Then, peel your ginger with as sharp a knife as you have, and then grind it in a food processor (The original recipe calls for cutting it finely with a knife. My skills aren't that good, and I'm not that patient, so I use the machine). Have two eggs ready, and also two teaspoons of baking soda. Finally have a cup of boiling water ready as well, and have your oven set to 350.
Line the bottom of a nine inch pan with parchment paper. You don't need to grease the pan, because of all the oil. Put the baking soda into the boiling water and watch it bubble up, then pour all of that into the molasses mixture and stir it to uniform consistency in color . It will take a few minutes. Then pour all of that into the flour, and stir it all together, with a few strokes, until it's evenly colored and blended. Now stir in the ginger, and then the eggs, one at a time. Pour all of this into the nine inch pan.
Now, my favorite part. Italian "prune plums" are in season, and they're nice and firm enough for this cake. Cut the plums in half and distribute them around the cake in an even ring, and then add some more, to fill in the center. Move all of this onto a baking sheet, and bake for at least an hour.
Without the fruit, an hour is enough time for this cake, all the time. With the fruit, you may need more. If it's a question of a really soft cake, bake it for another fifteen minutes, but if it looks "almost done," like just a little wiggly in the center, turn off the oven, and let the cake sit in there for another ten minutes. That should do it. Run the back of your knife around the cake, so it's loosened, and then let it cool.
I have never refrigerated this cake, and I never will. I have also never had it go bad on me. It's really good for someone who likes ginger, and who likes fruit. Who doesn't.
Thanks David
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Cobbling dessert together
There's a whole family of desserts that Richard Sax wrote about in his indispensable "Great American Desserts." These are the grunts, bettys, crisps, cobblers, dowdys, and other desserts that involve fruit and dough of some kind. They aren't pies. They're in a class by themselves. Where one stops and one begins, is a topic for serious food historians to talk about. Not me.
Late in the summer, when the peaches are incredibly heavy, juicy and sweet, I turn to cobbler. I love cobbler. Guy loves cobbler. I know that it is a tradition in some families, especially in the south, that cobbler IS dinner. And what's wrong with that? This is a pretty substantial dish, and if you want to eat two, or three portions and call it dinner, I'm not going to argue with you. I AM going to ask you to have a salad for lunch the next day, but again, if you decided to eat something else, who am I to argue with you, hmmmm?
Cobblers are really wonderful desserts. They're beautiful when they come out of the oven, you can eat them warm, or at room temperature, and they take to cream accompaniments like basil does to tomatoes. Peach is my favorite, but you can modify this basic recipe however you like. Change the fruits. Leave out the ginger. Add more spices. Add different spices. Just make the darn thing. You'll be glad you did.
First, let's get the oven ready, by preheating to 350. That's low for most cobbler baking temperatures, but the low temperature lets the fruit flavors come out. Have a baking sheet ready, because cobblers tend to overflow their baking dishes. And there's nothing wrong with that. Ultimately, it makes the dish kinda sexy.
Get your fruit ready. Some people are rather chintzy with their cobbler fillings. I'm not. Three pounds of peaches, or even four, are good. You can peel them if you want to, but I like the skin in a cobbler. If you don't, but you don't want to go through the trouble of peeling, use nectarines instead. Slice them into thin slices, perhaps 6-8 per piece of fruit. Combine them with one or two small packages of berries. I LOVE the look of raspberries with peaches and nectarines, but if you'd prefer blueberries, or blackberries, again, don't let me get in your way. Combine these with a cup of sugar, and turn it all GENTLY. Then let it sit for an hour, while the juices come out of it.
While that's happening, make your biscuit dough. This is easier than it sounds. You'll need two cups of flour and about a third of a cup of candied ginger. Then add a teaspoon of salt or so, and two tablespoons of baking powder, and another half cup of sugar. Mix this all up together, and then cut in a stick of unsalted, cold butter. I do this in the food processor, which makes it very easy to get a nice, mealy feel to the flour. That's what you want. Now, with the processor running, pour in 2/3 cup of good, old fashioned heavy cream, and watch everything come together. Leave that in the processor while you dump about a third of a cup of flour out on a flat surface.
Let's go back to that fruit now. Here, you can either leave out, or put in, two tablepoons of cornstarch. The cornstarch will thicken the juices, but it won't suck them all up. If you really like a runnier texture, and feel that you don't want a floury "feel" to your dish, leave it out. It's not really necessary. Whichever way you go, now put the fruit into a buttered baking dish. One that will hold about two quarts. You can dot this fruit with butter if you like but you don't need to. You could also stir in some extract , like almond or vanilla, or some spices, like cinammon. You could also work the cinammon into your dough.
Get that dough out onto that floured surface, and turn it onto itself, like you were folding an envelope, four or five times. Then break off eight, roughly even pieces. Round them in your hand if you like symmetry, and put them right on top of the fruit. Brush a little cream on these biscuits, and sprinkle a little sugar on them, raw sugar if you have it. (nice and crunchy). Put this in the oven, on the baking sheet, and let it go for at least forty five minutes. You want to see bubbling juices. THICK bubbling juices, and a substantial amount of b rowning on the biscuits. You may have to let things go another fifteen minutes or so to get that effect, and do it if you do need it.
Don't try to eat this right out of the oven. It's very hot, there's a lot of sugar in it, and this will burn you very, VERY easily. Wait until it's warm, or room temperature, and then serve it forth with some ice cream, or some whipped cream, or something dairy. It really needs it.
You can do this, and you should. We're in Summer, Part II. Splurge a little.
Late in the summer, when the peaches are incredibly heavy, juicy and sweet, I turn to cobbler. I love cobbler. Guy loves cobbler. I know that it is a tradition in some families, especially in the south, that cobbler IS dinner. And what's wrong with that? This is a pretty substantial dish, and if you want to eat two, or three portions and call it dinner, I'm not going to argue with you. I AM going to ask you to have a salad for lunch the next day, but again, if you decided to eat something else, who am I to argue with you, hmmmm?
Cobblers are really wonderful desserts. They're beautiful when they come out of the oven, you can eat them warm, or at room temperature, and they take to cream accompaniments like basil does to tomatoes. Peach is my favorite, but you can modify this basic recipe however you like. Change the fruits. Leave out the ginger. Add more spices. Add different spices. Just make the darn thing. You'll be glad you did.
First, let's get the oven ready, by preheating to 350. That's low for most cobbler baking temperatures, but the low temperature lets the fruit flavors come out. Have a baking sheet ready, because cobblers tend to overflow their baking dishes. And there's nothing wrong with that. Ultimately, it makes the dish kinda sexy.
Get your fruit ready. Some people are rather chintzy with their cobbler fillings. I'm not. Three pounds of peaches, or even four, are good. You can peel them if you want to, but I like the skin in a cobbler. If you don't, but you don't want to go through the trouble of peeling, use nectarines instead. Slice them into thin slices, perhaps 6-8 per piece of fruit. Combine them with one or two small packages of berries. I LOVE the look of raspberries with peaches and nectarines, but if you'd prefer blueberries, or blackberries, again, don't let me get in your way. Combine these with a cup of sugar, and turn it all GENTLY. Then let it sit for an hour, while the juices come out of it.
While that's happening, make your biscuit dough. This is easier than it sounds. You'll need two cups of flour and about a third of a cup of candied ginger. Then add a teaspoon of salt or so, and two tablespoons of baking powder, and another half cup of sugar. Mix this all up together, and then cut in a stick of unsalted, cold butter. I do this in the food processor, which makes it very easy to get a nice, mealy feel to the flour. That's what you want. Now, with the processor running, pour in 2/3 cup of good, old fashioned heavy cream, and watch everything come together. Leave that in the processor while you dump about a third of a cup of flour out on a flat surface.
Let's go back to that fruit now. Here, you can either leave out, or put in, two tablepoons of cornstarch. The cornstarch will thicken the juices, but it won't suck them all up. If you really like a runnier texture, and feel that you don't want a floury "feel" to your dish, leave it out. It's not really necessary. Whichever way you go, now put the fruit into a buttered baking dish. One that will hold about two quarts. You can dot this fruit with butter if you like but you don't need to. You could also stir in some extract , like almond or vanilla, or some spices, like cinammon. You could also work the cinammon into your dough.
Get that dough out onto that floured surface, and turn it onto itself, like you were folding an envelope, four or five times. Then break off eight, roughly even pieces. Round them in your hand if you like symmetry, and put them right on top of the fruit. Brush a little cream on these biscuits, and sprinkle a little sugar on them, raw sugar if you have it. (nice and crunchy). Put this in the oven, on the baking sheet, and let it go for at least forty five minutes. You want to see bubbling juices. THICK bubbling juices, and a substantial amount of b rowning on the biscuits. You may have to let things go another fifteen minutes or so to get that effect, and do it if you do need it.
Don't try to eat this right out of the oven. It's very hot, there's a lot of sugar in it, and this will burn you very, VERY easily. Wait until it's warm, or room temperature, and then serve it forth with some ice cream, or some whipped cream, or something dairy. It really needs it.
You can do this, and you should. We're in Summer, Part II. Splurge a little.
skillet cooking, comfort food, and the summer split
It's easy to tell that there's a change in the air from the Farmers Markets. Almost overnight, the apricots are gone. Not a one to be found. If you look, you can find blueberries, but they're not that easy to find. The raspberries are darker, sweeter, less water and more intensity of flavor. Peaches and nectarines are heavier, as if they are holding all the moisture for one last hurrah for summer. Grapes have come in, as if to replace the apricots, and plums are everywhere. Today, I bought six different varieities of plums for my friend Brad. And I could have gone for more. The first greengages are here. Greengages, made so popular by the wonderful novelist Rumer Goden, and here for such a short time, almost like Elinor Wylie's wonderful line "summer, much too beautiful to stay." Think about that line for a minute, will you? Get it?
No, summer isn't over, but it's changing. I'm aware, this summer, for the first time, of there really being TWO summers. One ending, one beginning. Perhaps I'm more aware of it because of the split in the summer of my own life: a first half that was blissful, wonderful, the best summer I have ever had, and a second half that has been sad, emotional, tiring and defeating. I have been telling people who know something about theatre that this summer will go down as my "Into the Woods" summer. If you know the Sondheim play, think about Act I as compared to ActII, and you'll know exactly what I mean. As I told Brad this afternoon, at the end of Act II, I curled up into the fetal position and cried. I've done that more than once this second half of summer. And I have a feeling there's more of that to come.
How does this impact my work in the kitchen? Well, maybe some cooks can leave their emotional baggage outside of the kitchen door. Not me. It all comes out in the cooking. And what I find myself craving to cook are soft, slowly cooked, combinations of vegetables and meat. Things that have lots of flavor, but that I can leave alone on the stove to fend for themselves, because I'm not really capable of doing so. Food that feels SO satisfying, that I can almost believe that someone else made it for me, instead of my cooking it myself. Nothing wrong with that feeling, by the way. If you're comforted by your own food, then you're a good cook.
Last night was the end to an emotionally very tough day. The last thing I needed was challenging food. And as the day wore on, the dinner presented itself to me: it would be skillet chicken, in a tomato and onion sauce. It's a measure of the way the day went, that instead of tomatoes, I used peppers. But it was still good. And it's worth recording, because it's really a template for many dishes of this type.
You'll see dishes referred to as "smothered." Things like "smothered" pork chops or lamb shoulder, or chicken. I think that comes from the fact that what you do in these dishes is cover them, part of the way through the cooking, and deny their access to air. By doing that, and lowering the heat on what you're cooking, you can concentrate the flavors, and produce a liquid that, even by itself, is substantially nutritious and tasty. You almost don't need the vegetables and meat. But eat them anyway. Here's my v ariation.
Start with a whole chicken. Cut it up yourself. It's not that hard to do. Really, it's not. But if you do feel intimidated by the process, get two halves of the bird, and cut them down, or in a pinch, get two whole chicken legs, and a breast with the wings. You CAN cut off the wings without any trouble, and split the breast in half. Salt it overnight if you can, the way I tell you to do with all of your meat. Bring it to room temperature.
Then, get a red onion and slice it into half moons. And peppers. LOTS of different peppers. I had red bells, yellow bells, orange bells, a variety new to me called Jimmy Nardellos (long, red and sweet), and my favorite pimentons, which are green, and sweet, but not all of them. The fun with pimentons is that one or two of every ten is spicy, and there's no way of telling which is which. Slice the peppers into bite sized pieces. For pimentons, they're so small, all you have to do is stem them. Get the bottom of a large skillet covered with oil, and then when it's hot, brown your chicken. Brown it REALLY well. This is important for skillet cooking: when you "smother" meat, you take away the chance for it to brown any further, so do it now. It will take a while: maybe six minutes on one side, and four on the other, to get really good color on the chicken, and your kitchen will get smoky. Then move it out of the pan, and put it on a plate for a few minutes. Check your oil level in the pan. You only need about two, three tablespoons. You can dump all the oil out and start with fresh oil, but then you're losing all that chicken flavor. So add more if you need it, or pour some out. Put all the peppers and onions into the pan, with a few sprigs of fresh rosemary and add more salt than you think you'll need. Peppers are somewhat insipit, and if you don't salt them well, your dish will suffer. Cook the peppers all together with the onion, for about five minutes. You just want to soften them. Then, put the chicken pieces back in the pan, right on top of the vegetables, and then cover the pan and reduce the heat. Reduce it really far. You don't want much heat, because you're going to cook this for about thirty minutes. You want the chicken cooked through, so check the thickest part of the breast for "doneness" after thirty minutes, and if you need more time, let it go further.
While this is happening, cook yourself up a pot of whatever comfort starch is calling out to you. I am a pasta man, but when it comes to chicken, the only thing that will do is rice. And that's what we had.
Somehow, making zucchini with this seemed wrong. But a cucumber salad, with a creme fraiche dressing, was an absolute necessity. As was wine. LOTS of rose'.
It may very well be the case that nothing is ailing you, and may the Creator continue to bless you if that's the truth. But if you do have something on your mind that needs fixing, try making a comfort dish like this. It won't solve anything, but you'll feel really good about yourself. To solve things, get a friend like Brad. This is for you, kid.
No, summer isn't over, but it's changing. I'm aware, this summer, for the first time, of there really being TWO summers. One ending, one beginning. Perhaps I'm more aware of it because of the split in the summer of my own life: a first half that was blissful, wonderful, the best summer I have ever had, and a second half that has been sad, emotional, tiring and defeating. I have been telling people who know something about theatre that this summer will go down as my "Into the Woods" summer. If you know the Sondheim play, think about Act I as compared to ActII, and you'll know exactly what I mean. As I told Brad this afternoon, at the end of Act II, I curled up into the fetal position and cried. I've done that more than once this second half of summer. And I have a feeling there's more of that to come.
How does this impact my work in the kitchen? Well, maybe some cooks can leave their emotional baggage outside of the kitchen door. Not me. It all comes out in the cooking. And what I find myself craving to cook are soft, slowly cooked, combinations of vegetables and meat. Things that have lots of flavor, but that I can leave alone on the stove to fend for themselves, because I'm not really capable of doing so. Food that feels SO satisfying, that I can almost believe that someone else made it for me, instead of my cooking it myself. Nothing wrong with that feeling, by the way. If you're comforted by your own food, then you're a good cook.
Last night was the end to an emotionally very tough day. The last thing I needed was challenging food. And as the day wore on, the dinner presented itself to me: it would be skillet chicken, in a tomato and onion sauce. It's a measure of the way the day went, that instead of tomatoes, I used peppers. But it was still good. And it's worth recording, because it's really a template for many dishes of this type.
You'll see dishes referred to as "smothered." Things like "smothered" pork chops or lamb shoulder, or chicken. I think that comes from the fact that what you do in these dishes is cover them, part of the way through the cooking, and deny their access to air. By doing that, and lowering the heat on what you're cooking, you can concentrate the flavors, and produce a liquid that, even by itself, is substantially nutritious and tasty. You almost don't need the vegetables and meat. But eat them anyway. Here's my v ariation.
Start with a whole chicken. Cut it up yourself. It's not that hard to do. Really, it's not. But if you do feel intimidated by the process, get two halves of the bird, and cut them down, or in a pinch, get two whole chicken legs, and a breast with the wings. You CAN cut off the wings without any trouble, and split the breast in half. Salt it overnight if you can, the way I tell you to do with all of your meat. Bring it to room temperature.
Then, get a red onion and slice it into half moons. And peppers. LOTS of different peppers. I had red bells, yellow bells, orange bells, a variety new to me called Jimmy Nardellos (long, red and sweet), and my favorite pimentons, which are green, and sweet, but not all of them. The fun with pimentons is that one or two of every ten is spicy, and there's no way of telling which is which. Slice the peppers into bite sized pieces. For pimentons, they're so small, all you have to do is stem them. Get the bottom of a large skillet covered with oil, and then when it's hot, brown your chicken. Brown it REALLY well. This is important for skillet cooking: when you "smother" meat, you take away the chance for it to brown any further, so do it now. It will take a while: maybe six minutes on one side, and four on the other, to get really good color on the chicken, and your kitchen will get smoky. Then move it out of the pan, and put it on a plate for a few minutes. Check your oil level in the pan. You only need about two, three tablespoons. You can dump all the oil out and start with fresh oil, but then you're losing all that chicken flavor. So add more if you need it, or pour some out. Put all the peppers and onions into the pan, with a few sprigs of fresh rosemary and add more salt than you think you'll need. Peppers are somewhat insipit, and if you don't salt them well, your dish will suffer. Cook the peppers all together with the onion, for about five minutes. You just want to soften them. Then, put the chicken pieces back in the pan, right on top of the vegetables, and then cover the pan and reduce the heat. Reduce it really far. You don't want much heat, because you're going to cook this for about thirty minutes. You want the chicken cooked through, so check the thickest part of the breast for "doneness" after thirty minutes, and if you need more time, let it go further.
While this is happening, cook yourself up a pot of whatever comfort starch is calling out to you. I am a pasta man, but when it comes to chicken, the only thing that will do is rice. And that's what we had.
Somehow, making zucchini with this seemed wrong. But a cucumber salad, with a creme fraiche dressing, was an absolute necessity. As was wine. LOTS of rose'.
It may very well be the case that nothing is ailing you, and may the Creator continue to bless you if that's the truth. But if you do have something on your mind that needs fixing, try making a comfort dish like this. It won't solve anything, but you'll feel really good about yourself. To solve things, get a friend like Brad. This is for you, kid.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Sue's blues: another pie
I couldn't resist that title. It really doesn't mean Sue is unhappy or anything like that, it's just that this one is for her.
The background in brief: now that we're over Olympic fever, everyone has probably forgotten what the phrase "medal contender" means, but Sue is probably a medal contender for most attentive reader of this blog. And some time ago, I tossed in a comment that if anyone asked, I'd post a recipe for blueberry pie. Sue asked. And I didn't, so she asked again. And I didn't, so she asked again. Nicely each time. And I kept on not doing it. Typical man, huh? Well, okay, here it is.
Blueberries, at least local ones, are pretty much finished for the season. We're at the point where a lot of things will start becoming scarce, and then disappearing. Blueberries are one of them, apricots are another. Eat them while you can. The good thing about blueberries is that they freeze beautifully. So if you haven't put some up in your freezer yet, do it now. This is a pie that works with frozen fruit, probably as well as it does with fresh. It all comes down to the quality of the fruit you use.
It is an open faced pie. When I was making a blueberry pie for David, I settled on this one because there are few colors that are as intense as the dark, almost midnight blue color of cooked blueberries. I couldn't see a reason to hide them under a crust. Good pie crust is delicious, but if you're like me, you eat pie for the filling, way more than the crust. And again, if you're like me, you find that cooked blueberries are way more interesting than the raw ones. So, here we go. As with many pies, the crust is the work here. And as with most of my pies, I turn to the redoubtable Ms. Rose Berenbaum for the recipe.
For the crust, you'll need a stick of unsalted butter. Now, you're going to cut it into odd portions, but that's what that measuring guide on the label is good for. You want to cut it into five tablespoons, and three tablespoons. The reason for this divide will become clear below. Trust me. It works. After you've made the division, cut the butter into small cubes. I cut tablespoon sized portions, and then cut those into halves. Wrap each one separately, and freeze the three ounce portion, and refrigerate the big one. You'll need at least thirty minutes, but longer is better.
Also, mix a scant 1.5 cups of all purpose flour (here, I'm varying from the recipe. Ms. Berenbaum calls for 1 1/3 plus four teaspoons of flour. That is so close to 1.5 cups, you can use the larger amount), 1/4 teaspoon of salt, and 1/8 teaspoon of baking powder. Put this in a bag, shake it together, and freeze it, too. For at least half an hour.
When you're ready for the crust, put the flour in a food processor. Pulse it a few times. Then add the large bit of butter. Pulse for twenty seconds or so. Now add the frozen butter, and pulse a few times. Look for a texture the size of small peas (the frozen butter is going to give the flakiness to the dough. By freezing it, you've guaranteed that it will melt more slowly, and give you just that.
Add 2.5 tablespoons of ice water, and 1.5 TEASPOONS of cider or white vinegar to the flour mixture and pulse. Do this about five times, and then squeeze some between your fingers. Does it hold together ? If it does, you're done. If it doesn't, add half a tablespoon more, and do it again. If it still doesn't hold together, add one more tablespoon of water, but then stop.
This is the part I love the best. Put all of the flour back into that plastic bag, seal it, and press everything with your palms and fingers, until you get a flat disc of pastry. Refrigerate this overnight if you can, or at least a few hours.
When you're ready to start baking, get out the dough and let it soften to a temperature where you can roll it. Be patient. Flour a surface thoroughly, and don't be afraid to use more. Roll it to about 13 inches (use a ruler) of a circle. Move this to a deep pie pan, press it in gently, fold the edges over, and crimp them under the rim of the pie tin. Then refrigerate this for at least an hour. You want the dough to rest.
For the last hour of resting, preheat the oven to 425. You're going to bake this pie "blind." That means you're going to put something like parchment, and then put weights, like pie beads, or beans, or rice, on top of it. Bake it for twenty minutes. Now, in what may be the hardest part of the whole procedure, lift out the parchment and the beads. Price the crust on the bottom, and return it to bake another ten minutes. Now you're done. Let it sit for five minutes. While that is happening, separate an egg, and then brush the eggwhite over the surface of the crust.
Lotta work, huh? Well, wait until you read how easy the filling is. Get six cups of blueberries. Separate them into 4.5 cups and 1.5 cups. Put the 1.5 cups in a pot, or saucepan, with 1/2 cup of water. Cover the pot, and heat, at low fire, until the berries begin to boil. While you're waiting for that to happen, combine 2 tablespoons of cornstarch, with two tablespoons of water. Stir the blueberries in the pan constantly, and add the cornstarch, a heaping 1/2 cup of sugar, a bit of lemon juice, and a bit of salt. Then, off the heat, fold in the remaining blueberries, and gently pour the whole thing into your piecrust. It will come just to the top. You'll be convinced it's going to spill, but it won't. You'll also think it will never set, but leave it alone for about four hours, and it will.
Don't refrigerate this. Leave it at room temperature, preferably in a place where everyone can see the beautiful color of your pie and go "Ooooh and aaaaaahhh" And don't be afraid to serve yourself a nice piece of it. As someone in Weight Watchers once said to me "hey, really, all it is is fruit and bread." Right.
End of the season. Get your blueberry pie while you can.
The background in brief: now that we're over Olympic fever, everyone has probably forgotten what the phrase "medal contender" means, but Sue is probably a medal contender for most attentive reader of this blog. And some time ago, I tossed in a comment that if anyone asked, I'd post a recipe for blueberry pie. Sue asked. And I didn't, so she asked again. And I didn't, so she asked again. Nicely each time. And I kept on not doing it. Typical man, huh? Well, okay, here it is.
Blueberries, at least local ones, are pretty much finished for the season. We're at the point where a lot of things will start becoming scarce, and then disappearing. Blueberries are one of them, apricots are another. Eat them while you can. The good thing about blueberries is that they freeze beautifully. So if you haven't put some up in your freezer yet, do it now. This is a pie that works with frozen fruit, probably as well as it does with fresh. It all comes down to the quality of the fruit you use.
It is an open faced pie. When I was making a blueberry pie for David, I settled on this one because there are few colors that are as intense as the dark, almost midnight blue color of cooked blueberries. I couldn't see a reason to hide them under a crust. Good pie crust is delicious, but if you're like me, you eat pie for the filling, way more than the crust. And again, if you're like me, you find that cooked blueberries are way more interesting than the raw ones. So, here we go. As with many pies, the crust is the work here. And as with most of my pies, I turn to the redoubtable Ms. Rose Berenbaum for the recipe.
For the crust, you'll need a stick of unsalted butter. Now, you're going to cut it into odd portions, but that's what that measuring guide on the label is good for. You want to cut it into five tablespoons, and three tablespoons. The reason for this divide will become clear below. Trust me. It works. After you've made the division, cut the butter into small cubes. I cut tablespoon sized portions, and then cut those into halves. Wrap each one separately, and freeze the three ounce portion, and refrigerate the big one. You'll need at least thirty minutes, but longer is better.
Also, mix a scant 1.5 cups of all purpose flour (here, I'm varying from the recipe. Ms. Berenbaum calls for 1 1/3 plus four teaspoons of flour. That is so close to 1.5 cups, you can use the larger amount), 1/4 teaspoon of salt, and 1/8 teaspoon of baking powder. Put this in a bag, shake it together, and freeze it, too. For at least half an hour.
When you're ready for the crust, put the flour in a food processor. Pulse it a few times. Then add the large bit of butter. Pulse for twenty seconds or so. Now add the frozen butter, and pulse a few times. Look for a texture the size of small peas (the frozen butter is going to give the flakiness to the dough. By freezing it, you've guaranteed that it will melt more slowly, and give you just that.
Add 2.5 tablespoons of ice water, and 1.5 TEASPOONS of cider or white vinegar to the flour mixture and pulse. Do this about five times, and then squeeze some between your fingers. Does it hold together ? If it does, you're done. If it doesn't, add half a tablespoon more, and do it again. If it still doesn't hold together, add one more tablespoon of water, but then stop.
This is the part I love the best. Put all of the flour back into that plastic bag, seal it, and press everything with your palms and fingers, until you get a flat disc of pastry. Refrigerate this overnight if you can, or at least a few hours.
When you're ready to start baking, get out the dough and let it soften to a temperature where you can roll it. Be patient. Flour a surface thoroughly, and don't be afraid to use more. Roll it to about 13 inches (use a ruler) of a circle. Move this to a deep pie pan, press it in gently, fold the edges over, and crimp them under the rim of the pie tin. Then refrigerate this for at least an hour. You want the dough to rest.
For the last hour of resting, preheat the oven to 425. You're going to bake this pie "blind." That means you're going to put something like parchment, and then put weights, like pie beads, or beans, or rice, on top of it. Bake it for twenty minutes. Now, in what may be the hardest part of the whole procedure, lift out the parchment and the beads. Price the crust on the bottom, and return it to bake another ten minutes. Now you're done. Let it sit for five minutes. While that is happening, separate an egg, and then brush the eggwhite over the surface of the crust.
Lotta work, huh? Well, wait until you read how easy the filling is. Get six cups of blueberries. Separate them into 4.5 cups and 1.5 cups. Put the 1.5 cups in a pot, or saucepan, with 1/2 cup of water. Cover the pot, and heat, at low fire, until the berries begin to boil. While you're waiting for that to happen, combine 2 tablespoons of cornstarch, with two tablespoons of water. Stir the blueberries in the pan constantly, and add the cornstarch, a heaping 1/2 cup of sugar, a bit of lemon juice, and a bit of salt. Then, off the heat, fold in the remaining blueberries, and gently pour the whole thing into your piecrust. It will come just to the top. You'll be convinced it's going to spill, but it won't. You'll also think it will never set, but leave it alone for about four hours, and it will.
Don't refrigerate this. Leave it at room temperature, preferably in a place where everyone can see the beautiful color of your pie and go "Ooooh and aaaaaahhh" And don't be afraid to serve yourself a nice piece of it. As someone in Weight Watchers once said to me "hey, really, all it is is fruit and bread." Right.
End of the season. Get your blueberry pie while you can.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
He's riffing again: stuffed tomatoes
Those of us who cook may not be "cursed" as my grandmother would say, occasionally, but we find ourselves split amongst different "masters" all the time. First, there is the "master" of what we like to cook. That is not always the same master as the one in charge of what our friends and loved ones like to eat. There is the "master" of seasonality. While I don't have cravings for asparagus in August I DO find myself wanting lemon. The "master" of what is healthy says "don't use cream sauce on that spinach," while the "master" of crowd pleasing says "but they like it so much more than plain boiled." Every trip into the kitchen is, ultimately, a trip that involves making multiple decisions. And it is with this in mind, that I present the story of my newly devised stuffed tomato recipe.
Keith was coming for dinner, and I wanted to make things that I knew involved his favorite foods. So chanterelle mushrooms were on the menu. So was leg of lamb. A salad of soft, sucrine lettuce (sort of like a butter lettuce), with baby heirloom cucumbers, in creme fraiche dressing. T omatoes had to be on the menu, but how? I thought immediately of stuffed tomatoes, because I could cook them while the lamb was roasting. But when I looked at the rest of the meal, the question of HOW to stuff the tomatoes came up. I had decided against cream in the mushrooms, because the lamb was rich, and the salad dressing was, too. I believed mistakenly, that Keith was not a big fan of cheese, so a cheese filling was out (even if he were a fan, with the rest of the menu, the masters of healthiness would not have allowed it). My standard filling for a stuffed tomato is rice and herbs, perhaps mixed with an egg and some grated cheese. But we had all eaten rice a few days ago, so I was thinking, thinking, thinking, and then the fact that I didn' t have a green vegetable on the plate came into my mind.
Now, call me old fashioned. I 'fess up to it. The idea of protein/starch/green vegetable on the plate is so appealing to me, that I rarely break from it. I don't think of mushrooms or tomatoes as "green vegetables," but to put one on the plate with everything else made the plate too crowded.
Unless.... I used greens to stuff the tomato. And that is exactly what I did, and it was wonderful.
I used mustard greens, because that's what I had in the house, but you could use any leafy green for this. Let me comment for a minute on leafy greens, and serving sizes. According to everything I've read, one big bunch of leafy greens is four servings. Don't listen to that guideline. Guy and I could each, easily, eat a big bunch of leafy greens ourselves. And they are SO good for you. Maybe you don't want to jump into eating a whole bunch at once but eat bigger servings of these. If you cook them properly, they're delicious, they're pretty, and like I say they make you so healthy.
So I stripped the mustard green leaves off of two bunches of the stuff, and then I cooked them in rapidly boiling salted water . Here's a hint with leafy greens. They take up a LOT of space in the pot. If your pot doesn't hold them all, put in some let them cook down, and add some more. Don't fret about lack of space. You'll have it very quickly. Just cook them until they wilt and then drain them. Let them cool completely, because you're going to handle these greens. In fact, if you could cook them the night before, even better.
When they're cool enough to handle, squeeze them HARD, to get all the water out. Then chop them fine. Put them into a bowl, and add a bit of olive oil (maybe quarter of a cup) a cup of dried bread crumbs, about two big stems worth of chopped basil leaves, and stir everything up. Then add salt to taste. Put this to the side, while you work the tomatoes. I use beefsteaks here. As I've said , cooking heirlooms seems to be a waste of them, to me. Cut a horizontal cut across the top of six of them, and then with a spoon, carefully pull out all of the innards. Try not to break the tomato shell. Then, push the seeds and liquid through a colander take the remaining solids, chop them, and add them to the greens mixture. This is going to be your stuffing for the tomatoes. Mix them all together. The tomato will add some moisture, and that's okay.
Evenly distribute the stuffing amongst the tomato shells, and then put them into a baking dish that you've oiled with some olive oil. If you have too much stuffing, just put it around the tomatoes. Bake these guys for about thirty minutes, at 350. Then, while they're baking, grate about a cup of gruyere, or some other soft, fairly strong flavored cheese. Take out the tomatoes, sprinkle each of them with cheese, and bake for another fifteen minutes.
The juice in the tomatoes will begin to bubble, and the cheese will have melted nicely. The breadcrumbs add some "coherence" to the greens, and allow you to cut into them and get nice solid pieces.
You can eat these hot, at room temperature, or you can store them and eat them cold, like as a substantial lunch. And you'll get greens into people, and have a nice tasting dish besides.
If you're making them to go with something like lamb, or another roast, you can put them on the second shelf and let them cook away with the meat . You will have to time things properly, but that's not a big deal. Count back 45 minutes from when the meat should be done, and put in the tomatoes. And if the meat isn't done when it should be, that's ok, too, because the temperature is not important to these.
Try it. Get the tomatoes while they're here, and enjoy this rather special, flavorful dish
Keith was coming for dinner, and I wanted to make things that I knew involved his favorite foods. So chanterelle mushrooms were on the menu. So was leg of lamb. A salad of soft, sucrine lettuce (sort of like a butter lettuce), with baby heirloom cucumbers, in creme fraiche dressing. T omatoes had to be on the menu, but how? I thought immediately of stuffed tomatoes, because I could cook them while the lamb was roasting. But when I looked at the rest of the meal, the question of HOW to stuff the tomatoes came up. I had decided against cream in the mushrooms, because the lamb was rich, and the salad dressing was, too. I believed mistakenly, that Keith was not a big fan of cheese, so a cheese filling was out (even if he were a fan, with the rest of the menu, the masters of healthiness would not have allowed it). My standard filling for a stuffed tomato is rice and herbs, perhaps mixed with an egg and some grated cheese. But we had all eaten rice a few days ago, so I was thinking, thinking, thinking, and then the fact that I didn' t have a green vegetable on the plate came into my mind.
Now, call me old fashioned. I 'fess up to it. The idea of protein/starch/green vegetable on the plate is so appealing to me, that I rarely break from it. I don't think of mushrooms or tomatoes as "green vegetables," but to put one on the plate with everything else made the plate too crowded.
Unless.... I used greens to stuff the tomato. And that is exactly what I did, and it was wonderful.
I used mustard greens, because that's what I had in the house, but you could use any leafy green for this. Let me comment for a minute on leafy greens, and serving sizes. According to everything I've read, one big bunch of leafy greens is four servings. Don't listen to that guideline. Guy and I could each, easily, eat a big bunch of leafy greens ourselves. And they are SO good for you. Maybe you don't want to jump into eating a whole bunch at once but eat bigger servings of these. If you cook them properly, they're delicious, they're pretty, and like I say they make you so healthy.
So I stripped the mustard green leaves off of two bunches of the stuff, and then I cooked them in rapidly boiling salted water . Here's a hint with leafy greens. They take up a LOT of space in the pot. If your pot doesn't hold them all, put in some let them cook down, and add some more. Don't fret about lack of space. You'll have it very quickly. Just cook them until they wilt and then drain them. Let them cool completely, because you're going to handle these greens. In fact, if you could cook them the night before, even better.
When they're cool enough to handle, squeeze them HARD, to get all the water out. Then chop them fine. Put them into a bowl, and add a bit of olive oil (maybe quarter of a cup) a cup of dried bread crumbs, about two big stems worth of chopped basil leaves, and stir everything up. Then add salt to taste. Put this to the side, while you work the tomatoes. I use beefsteaks here. As I've said , cooking heirlooms seems to be a waste of them, to me. Cut a horizontal cut across the top of six of them, and then with a spoon, carefully pull out all of the innards. Try not to break the tomato shell. Then, push the seeds and liquid through a colander take the remaining solids, chop them, and add them to the greens mixture. This is going to be your stuffing for the tomatoes. Mix them all together. The tomato will add some moisture, and that's okay.
Evenly distribute the stuffing amongst the tomato shells, and then put them into a baking dish that you've oiled with some olive oil. If you have too much stuffing, just put it around the tomatoes. Bake these guys for about thirty minutes, at 350. Then, while they're baking, grate about a cup of gruyere, or some other soft, fairly strong flavored cheese. Take out the tomatoes, sprinkle each of them with cheese, and bake for another fifteen minutes.
The juice in the tomatoes will begin to bubble, and the cheese will have melted nicely. The breadcrumbs add some "coherence" to the greens, and allow you to cut into them and get nice solid pieces.
You can eat these hot, at room temperature, or you can store them and eat them cold, like as a substantial lunch. And you'll get greens into people, and have a nice tasting dish besides.
If you're making them to go with something like lamb, or another roast, you can put them on the second shelf and let them cook away with the meat . You will have to time things properly, but that's not a big deal. Count back 45 minutes from when the meat should be done, and put in the tomatoes. And if the meat isn't done when it should be, that's ok, too, because the temperature is not important to these.
Try it. Get the tomatoes while they're here, and enjoy this rather special, flavorful dish
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Nice joint you've got here
Perhaps because I was thinking of my friend Charlie, who's British, common British usage is in my head today.
One of the words that I grew up with as a "Britishism" was "joint." NOT as a reefer, or as a place to hang out, but as a term for a large cut of meat. Of course, it eventually became "vulgarized" so to speak as in referring to penisses. I remember a large laugh coming up from the audience when I attended that lovely movie "Stevie," with Glenda Jackson playing one of the most wonderfully understated characters she's ever played, when her mother goes into the kitchen to "prod the joint." She's roasting a leg of lamb.
And tonight, so am I. Lamb is one of those meats that polarizes people, and not for the same reason that veal does. You rarely hear people talking about inhuman treatment of lambs, or penning of the animals, etc, although the same issues pertain to lamb husbandry as do to veal. I wonder why that is. In any event, when you buy lamb, if you eat it, you do have to take the same considerations into mind as you do when buying veal, or any other animal. Go for grassfed, humanely raised and butchered animals, and Annalena is with you.
The availability of lamb, and other proteins, all year long, is evidence of the loss of "seasonality" for proteins. When I was young, "spring lamb" meant something. That's because it was early spring, just around Easter, when the first "lambings" happened, and lamb was something you ate in the spring. As the animals got older during the year, you ate mutton, if you ate it at all. Mutton is very strong, and most people, myself included, do not care for it. Other proteins have loss their seasonality as well. For example, chickens do not do well in hot weather, so frying chicken in the summer was not a simple, cheap meal. It was a luxury. On the other hand, pork was what you ate in deep winter, because that's when the animals were butchered and the "cure" of things like bacon and sausage had taken effect. And so on, and so forth.
So, even though it is late August, we are having lamb. Like I said above, lamb polarizes people. There is a saying in parts of France that goes something like "if you are invited to someone's home and you are not served lamb, you have been insulted." Well, I don't know about that, but I do know that many people don't care for the strong flavor that lamb has. Or, what they REMEMBER lamb having. I remember that flavor. It came, for the most part, from fat on the lamb, fat that was "pushed" by inappropriate feeding and husbandry. These days, if you get the lamb from a reputable purveyor, this issue is really just about gone. It is very easy to confuse lamb's taste with other tastes, as a matter of fact. And that's not good.
You have to strike a balance with lamb. It DOES have flavor notes and nuances that other meats don't have, but you don't want to push them forward so much as to overwhelm taste buds. In the case of the leg, I find that the best way to do this is by "herbal infusion," and with a glaze with some sweetness to it.
When you buy a leg of lamb, you should buy it on the bone. It's actually easier to cook it that way, than if it's boned, or "butterflied." It WILL take longer,but it's worth it. And when you buy it on the bone, make sure that they're not selling you that tail tip of the bone, with no meat on it, as part of your "joint." Those bones are expensive, and unless you're a real fan of marrow, all you're doing is getting a present for a dog.
A good leg of lamb will weigh about 5-6 pounds when you get it. The way I cook it , is to prepare it a bit ahead of time. I do my usual salting in the refrigerator, but I also cut slits in the fat, all the way through to the meat, and insert slivers of garlic, and pieces of rosemary, alternately, and liberally. The garlic is essential. You can use other herbs, but DO use lots of garlic. Then I let the lamb leg sit overnight or at least for the day, with the herbs and garlic in it.
To roast it, I crank up the oven to 450, and position a rack in the middle of the oven. I have a good, sturdy roasting pan with a rack. If you don't have one of those, ball up four balls of tin foil, about the same size, and position them so that your lamb can rest on them. Get the lamb into the oven, and let it roast at that temperature for twenty minutes. What you'll be doing is setting a crust on the lamb, and beginning to melt the fat out. You won't really be cooking the meat, though. That happens next. You lower the temperature to 350, and then you get set to let the meat cook for a good hour and a half. Don't do anything for the first hour. When you're down to the last half hour, though, get your glaze. What should the glaze be? Something swet, but also with a bit of bite. Orange marmalade is good. So is a strong tasting honey. I prefer pomegranate molasses, but really, it's up to you. Some people just use plain citrus juice.
Now, you may be wondering why I waited so long to put on the glaze. Well, it's because of a common mistake that people make with glazes, both in the oven, and on the barbecue. If you put a glaze on too early in the cooking process, the glaze carmelizes, and all you will taste is burn. You will NOT get any flavor of the product itself. So wait. Apply a nice coat of glaze, and then after fifteen minutes, do it again. When you're about to take the meat out of the oven, glaze it one more time.
How do you know when to take it out? Now, this is a very good question. The timing I have given you will provide a medium rare lamb, which is the way I like it. That is, MOST of the lamb will be medium rare. Lamb leg is oddly shaped, and parts of it will cook more than others, so you WILL have different degrees of doneness. What I would suggest you do is make a cut at the deepest part of the joint and look at the color. If it's too raw for you, cook it for another fifteen minutes. And so on. But keep in mind y ou're going to want the lamb to rest for 15-20 minutes after you've taken it out of the oven. That will let the juice redistribute, and it will also make it much easier to slice nice, even, thin slices of the meat.
Lamb is almost always served with something to use as a bit of a sauce. For some people, it's mint jelly, and that's fine. Or marmalade. I suggest that whatever you've used as your glaze be provided, in excess, for people to add as they see fit.
A five pound leg of lamb is going to provide a LOT of meat. Plenty to share. So invite some friends, and have a celebration. And thank the lamb before you put the leg in the oven. That's something that Nana taught me to do.
One of the words that I grew up with as a "Britishism" was "joint." NOT as a reefer, or as a place to hang out, but as a term for a large cut of meat. Of course, it eventually became "vulgarized" so to speak as in referring to penisses. I remember a large laugh coming up from the audience when I attended that lovely movie "Stevie," with Glenda Jackson playing one of the most wonderfully understated characters she's ever played, when her mother goes into the kitchen to "prod the joint." She's roasting a leg of lamb.
And tonight, so am I. Lamb is one of those meats that polarizes people, and not for the same reason that veal does. You rarely hear people talking about inhuman treatment of lambs, or penning of the animals, etc, although the same issues pertain to lamb husbandry as do to veal. I wonder why that is. In any event, when you buy lamb, if you eat it, you do have to take the same considerations into mind as you do when buying veal, or any other animal. Go for grassfed, humanely raised and butchered animals, and Annalena is with you.
The availability of lamb, and other proteins, all year long, is evidence of the loss of "seasonality" for proteins. When I was young, "spring lamb" meant something. That's because it was early spring, just around Easter, when the first "lambings" happened, and lamb was something you ate in the spring. As the animals got older during the year, you ate mutton, if you ate it at all. Mutton is very strong, and most people, myself included, do not care for it. Other proteins have loss their seasonality as well. For example, chickens do not do well in hot weather, so frying chicken in the summer was not a simple, cheap meal. It was a luxury. On the other hand, pork was what you ate in deep winter, because that's when the animals were butchered and the "cure" of things like bacon and sausage had taken effect. And so on, and so forth.
So, even though it is late August, we are having lamb. Like I said above, lamb polarizes people. There is a saying in parts of France that goes something like "if you are invited to someone's home and you are not served lamb, you have been insulted." Well, I don't know about that, but I do know that many people don't care for the strong flavor that lamb has. Or, what they REMEMBER lamb having. I remember that flavor. It came, for the most part, from fat on the lamb, fat that was "pushed" by inappropriate feeding and husbandry. These days, if you get the lamb from a reputable purveyor, this issue is really just about gone. It is very easy to confuse lamb's taste with other tastes, as a matter of fact. And that's not good.
You have to strike a balance with lamb. It DOES have flavor notes and nuances that other meats don't have, but you don't want to push them forward so much as to overwhelm taste buds. In the case of the leg, I find that the best way to do this is by "herbal infusion," and with a glaze with some sweetness to it.
When you buy a leg of lamb, you should buy it on the bone. It's actually easier to cook it that way, than if it's boned, or "butterflied." It WILL take longer,but it's worth it. And when you buy it on the bone, make sure that they're not selling you that tail tip of the bone, with no meat on it, as part of your "joint." Those bones are expensive, and unless you're a real fan of marrow, all you're doing is getting a present for a dog.
A good leg of lamb will weigh about 5-6 pounds when you get it. The way I cook it , is to prepare it a bit ahead of time. I do my usual salting in the refrigerator, but I also cut slits in the fat, all the way through to the meat, and insert slivers of garlic, and pieces of rosemary, alternately, and liberally. The garlic is essential. You can use other herbs, but DO use lots of garlic. Then I let the lamb leg sit overnight or at least for the day, with the herbs and garlic in it.
To roast it, I crank up the oven to 450, and position a rack in the middle of the oven. I have a good, sturdy roasting pan with a rack. If you don't have one of those, ball up four balls of tin foil, about the same size, and position them so that your lamb can rest on them. Get the lamb into the oven, and let it roast at that temperature for twenty minutes. What you'll be doing is setting a crust on the lamb, and beginning to melt the fat out. You won't really be cooking the meat, though. That happens next. You lower the temperature to 350, and then you get set to let the meat cook for a good hour and a half. Don't do anything for the first hour. When you're down to the last half hour, though, get your glaze. What should the glaze be? Something swet, but also with a bit of bite. Orange marmalade is good. So is a strong tasting honey. I prefer pomegranate molasses, but really, it's up to you. Some people just use plain citrus juice.
Now, you may be wondering why I waited so long to put on the glaze. Well, it's because of a common mistake that people make with glazes, both in the oven, and on the barbecue. If you put a glaze on too early in the cooking process, the glaze carmelizes, and all you will taste is burn. You will NOT get any flavor of the product itself. So wait. Apply a nice coat of glaze, and then after fifteen minutes, do it again. When you're about to take the meat out of the oven, glaze it one more time.
How do you know when to take it out? Now, this is a very good question. The timing I have given you will provide a medium rare lamb, which is the way I like it. That is, MOST of the lamb will be medium rare. Lamb leg is oddly shaped, and parts of it will cook more than others, so you WILL have different degrees of doneness. What I would suggest you do is make a cut at the deepest part of the joint and look at the color. If it's too raw for you, cook it for another fifteen minutes. And so on. But keep in mind y ou're going to want the lamb to rest for 15-20 minutes after you've taken it out of the oven. That will let the juice redistribute, and it will also make it much easier to slice nice, even, thin slices of the meat.
Lamb is almost always served with something to use as a bit of a sauce. For some people, it's mint jelly, and that's fine. Or marmalade. I suggest that whatever you've used as your glaze be provided, in excess, for people to add as they see fit.
A five pound leg of lamb is going to provide a LOT of meat. Plenty to share. So invite some friends, and have a celebration. And thank the lamb before you put the leg in the oven. That's something that Nana taught me to do.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Riffing
My friend Charlie, is an expert in jazz. I don't know much about jazz, but I know a few things - or at least I think I do. One of the things I know is that improvisation is important, in fact, probably essential to jazz. What many people don't understand, I think, is that improvisation does not mean "make it up as you go." No sir. As I understand it, improvisation is so valued in jazz, or any other kind of music, because you show what you can do with a basic idea: how you can play with it, turn it around, make something new, without distancing yourself from what is your "source text." In music, it's the original score. In cooking, it's the classic recipe, and BANG, we're back to "canons" again, and how we vary from them.
One of the elements of the Italian canon for meat is vitello alla milanese. This is one of my favorite dishes, and I need to have a big appetite for it. In this dish, a large veal chop is pounded thin, breaded, fried in a combination of olive oil and butter, and then served with a warm salad of arugula and tomatoes, dressed in balsamic vinegar. The salad is put right on top of the chop, and it helps to cut the richness of a very succulent piece of meat.
Tonight, I like to think I "played jazz" in the kitchen. Unexpectedly, I was making dinner for four, instead of two. Our two friends are dear friends, so something good was called for. I had veal tenderloin in the freezer (I had chops also, but not enough for four). I had thawed the tenderloin overnight, and salted it in the fridge this morning. On the way home, I began to think of what to do with it. As I've written before, tenderloins are relatively lean, and mild in flavor. They need something to push them forward. I began thinking of cream and mushrooms, but I had no fresh mushrooms in the house. I DID have cream, but I wasn't in the mood for something with that kind of richness. Even as I was panfrying the tenderloins (more on this below), I was still wondering what to do.
I had been planning on a tomato salad, and then the thoughts began to come together. Tomatoes: veal alla milanese. I didn't have arugula, but I did have radicchio, which is a little more bitter than arugula. I didn't want to serve it raw, but if I cooked it....
It was REAL good. Here's how it went. I took the tenderloin out of the fridge, and put it in a big pan, with heated olive oil. I cooked it on both sides, five minutes a side, to get a good sear. Then I put the pan in the oven for fifteen minutes to finish cooking. When it came out of the oven, I moved the meat to a plate to rest and let the juices resettle, and got to work on the vegetables. While the meat was cooking, I had chopped four heirloom tomatoes: two yellow and two red, but you could use what you have. Then I shredded the head of radicchio.
I dumped almost all of the left over oil out of the pan, and in order to get the good brown parts dissolved, I added about a cup of chicken broth to the hot pan. The steam was amazing, and everythig dissolved (do this, by the way, with an oven glove on. Your pan is going to be hot. You WILL burn your hand. And if you're a jazz pianist, this isn't good. It isn't good generally. Trust me). Let the broth cook down until it's almost gone, and then add the radicchio. It will wilt almost immediately. Add the chopped tomatoes, and stir them into the radicchio. Finally add a few tablesoons of balsamic vinegar. Take this off the heat (KEEP THE GLOVE ON), and let it rest.
Slice the tenderloin into diagonal slices, and either put them on top of a pile of your radicchio mixture, or alongside of it, or put the radicchio on top of it. And then serve it forth.
Guy is usually very quiet about his dinner, but this time, he whispered to me "this is WONDERFUL" And it was.
Charlie, thank you for riffs. Hope you like this one
One of the elements of the Italian canon for meat is vitello alla milanese. This is one of my favorite dishes, and I need to have a big appetite for it. In this dish, a large veal chop is pounded thin, breaded, fried in a combination of olive oil and butter, and then served with a warm salad of arugula and tomatoes, dressed in balsamic vinegar. The salad is put right on top of the chop, and it helps to cut the richness of a very succulent piece of meat.
Tonight, I like to think I "played jazz" in the kitchen. Unexpectedly, I was making dinner for four, instead of two. Our two friends are dear friends, so something good was called for. I had veal tenderloin in the freezer (I had chops also, but not enough for four). I had thawed the tenderloin overnight, and salted it in the fridge this morning. On the way home, I began to think of what to do with it. As I've written before, tenderloins are relatively lean, and mild in flavor. They need something to push them forward. I began thinking of cream and mushrooms, but I had no fresh mushrooms in the house. I DID have cream, but I wasn't in the mood for something with that kind of richness. Even as I was panfrying the tenderloins (more on this below), I was still wondering what to do.
I had been planning on a tomato salad, and then the thoughts began to come together. Tomatoes: veal alla milanese. I didn't have arugula, but I did have radicchio, which is a little more bitter than arugula. I didn't want to serve it raw, but if I cooked it....
It was REAL good. Here's how it went. I took the tenderloin out of the fridge, and put it in a big pan, with heated olive oil. I cooked it on both sides, five minutes a side, to get a good sear. Then I put the pan in the oven for fifteen minutes to finish cooking. When it came out of the oven, I moved the meat to a plate to rest and let the juices resettle, and got to work on the vegetables. While the meat was cooking, I had chopped four heirloom tomatoes: two yellow and two red, but you could use what you have. Then I shredded the head of radicchio.
I dumped almost all of the left over oil out of the pan, and in order to get the good brown parts dissolved, I added about a cup of chicken broth to the hot pan. The steam was amazing, and everythig dissolved (do this, by the way, with an oven glove on. Your pan is going to be hot. You WILL burn your hand. And if you're a jazz pianist, this isn't good. It isn't good generally. Trust me). Let the broth cook down until it's almost gone, and then add the radicchio. It will wilt almost immediately. Add the chopped tomatoes, and stir them into the radicchio. Finally add a few tablesoons of balsamic vinegar. Take this off the heat (KEEP THE GLOVE ON), and let it rest.
Slice the tenderloin into diagonal slices, and either put them on top of a pile of your radicchio mixture, or alongside of it, or put the radicchio on top of it. And then serve it forth.
Guy is usually very quiet about his dinner, but this time, he whispered to me "this is WONDERFUL" And it was.
Charlie, thank you for riffs. Hope you like this one
Monday, August 18, 2008
Yet another basic black dress: scallops
The other day, I was reading through some of the older entries in this log, just to make sure I don't repeat myself too much, and contradict myself even less (although I do do both of those throughout. Welcome to the world of cooking). I was also looking for "themes" that weren't planned, that have come out. And one of them, I found, was a search for what I'm calling "basic black dresses" of the kitchen.
The (biological) women who read this will know what I mean. Ladies are taught that they need at least one "basic black dress," that they can accessorize with many things, so that depending on the circumstances, they can still look good, look right, and feel individual.
In cooking, there are a number of them. Roast chicken, for example. Or a quick grilled steak. For folks like yours truly, pasta with tomato sauce. And scallops.
There is something vaguely "extravagant" associated with scallops. They don't seem to rise to the level of lobster in people's eyes, but somehow, they seem fancier than, say, a flounder filet, or striped bass, even though ultimately, the price point for these guys is just about the same. I know that in San Francisco, restaurants are pushing scallops on us constantly, and I guess that's because in Northern California, they are really special, since scallops are not all that indigenous to that part of the world. In the North Atlantic states, we have one up on the Bay Area there: you can just about always get scallops, from Maine , all the way down to Maryland. There are disputes as to whether or not the way they are caught is doing damage to the seafloor bottom, and I cannot tell you how to come down on that one. I DO suggest that you read up on the literature and make your own decisions. I DO know that there hasn't been any danger of a population crisis with scallops, and that you can just about always find them. What kind you buy, however, is important, and I want to talk about that for a minute.
When scallops are trawled, by big boats, they are shucked, and stored in a preserving solution, for days, sometimes a week and a half. This preserving solution does damage the scallop meat somewhat, (it's a muscle), and the liquid gets into the scallop. It bleaches it, and it softens it, and the scallops pick up a whole lot of liquid. When you cook these scallops, your fish will be bathed in juice, and that's not good. Your scallops will never brown, and you will see them shrink in front of you, and if you bought "just enough" to begin with, you will not have enough when you're done.
Day boat scallops are scallops that, theoretically, were caught and brought in to market within a day. I'm not sure that's always true, but you can get much fresher scallops than the ones you will encounter in the supermarket. They will cost more - they may cost MUCH more - but you will have much more product when you're done.
How can you tell? It's pretty easy. "Day boaters" are never uniform in color, and they are rarely uniform in size. They are also NEVER stored in plastic, or in containers. They are out there, for you to look at. Smell them. The preserved scallops WILL smell slightly of chlorine and other chemicals. Day boaters will smell fresh and sweet. And if the merchant will let you taste one, bite into it. Texture will be the final arbiter. A fresh scallop will remind you somewhat of a high quality truffle, with the way that it breaks when you bite down. A stored scallop, is something like a marshmallow.
I am writing here, by the way, of sea scallops. Bay scallops are a different topic all together. They are much tinier, have a much shorter season and are ridiculously expensive. This year, I've seen them at 30 bucks a pound. I really don't care for them as much as sea scallops, so I stick with the ocean guys, which cost about half that. That's if you get the normal sized ones. You can sometimes get access to a variety of scallop that is found in restaurants, something called the "U10." They are so called, because they are so big that there are only about 10 of them in a pound. There is also a variety of Mexican scallop, that is a "U4." Yup, scallopzilla. I have tried them. I like the U10s, I dislike the U4s. But as the U10s are hard to find, and I've never found them locally, just stick to the good scallops you can get from your local fishmonger.
How do I prepare them? Simply. And let me say that this is not the only way to do them. What I do is to lay out the scallops in single rows, i.e, I don't let them touch each other, and I only work with a pound at a time. I pat them as dry as possible, but you will never succeed in drying scallops completely. I get a plastic bag, and put in about a cup of all purpose flour, with a teaspoon of salt. You can vary this, by doing things like adding cayenne pepper (I sometimes do that), or curry powder (not my favorite, but I've done it), or some other dry spice that is not too overpowering. Use less than you think you'll need, because you want the taste of the scallops to come out.
Then I separate the flour that did not stick to the scallops, from the scallops themselves. I use a nonstick pan for cooking them. Others frown on this, but I find that I can't keep them from sticking in a regular pan. For a pound of scallops, I use two tablespoons of vegetable oil and two of butter (I find that olive oil overpowers their delicate flavor), and I get it hot. I let the butter stop sizzling, then I'm ready. The scallops go in, and I never crowd the pan. They're going to cook quickly, so I don't need to worry about spending too much time. If you take more than five minutes to cook your scallops, you're overcooking them. Three minutes on the first side, getting a sear, is fine, then flip them, and cook them for another minute or two. Then remove them to a plate. Scallops WILL continue to cook out of the pan, so if you like them closer to raw, don't cook them that long.
You have in your pan some wonderful drippings, that have been augmented with flour from the scallops. Don't waste that. I always make a pan sauce, by adding about a quarter cup of white wine . Remember the question about vermouth? Well, this is a case where I would not use it. The flavor of the scallops is too delicate. When the wine has stopped bubbling, I move the scallops back into the pan, stir them gently, and we're done.
Instead of wine, you can put in some cream and do exactly the same thing. Do that if the rest of your meal is very lean, or you feel somewhat ready for the calories. I prefer just the wine, but do as you like here. You can also just add chicken stock and lemon juice and get a pan sauce that way as well.
From start to finish, it will take you about ten minutes to cook the scallops, so have the rest of your meal ready and then serve it forth.
If you haven't made them, try them. I think you'll be pleased.
The (biological) women who read this will know what I mean. Ladies are taught that they need at least one "basic black dress," that they can accessorize with many things, so that depending on the circumstances, they can still look good, look right, and feel individual.
In cooking, there are a number of them. Roast chicken, for example. Or a quick grilled steak. For folks like yours truly, pasta with tomato sauce. And scallops.
There is something vaguely "extravagant" associated with scallops. They don't seem to rise to the level of lobster in people's eyes, but somehow, they seem fancier than, say, a flounder filet, or striped bass, even though ultimately, the price point for these guys is just about the same. I know that in San Francisco, restaurants are pushing scallops on us constantly, and I guess that's because in Northern California, they are really special, since scallops are not all that indigenous to that part of the world. In the North Atlantic states, we have one up on the Bay Area there: you can just about always get scallops, from Maine , all the way down to Maryland. There are disputes as to whether or not the way they are caught is doing damage to the seafloor bottom, and I cannot tell you how to come down on that one. I DO suggest that you read up on the literature and make your own decisions. I DO know that there hasn't been any danger of a population crisis with scallops, and that you can just about always find them. What kind you buy, however, is important, and I want to talk about that for a minute.
When scallops are trawled, by big boats, they are shucked, and stored in a preserving solution, for days, sometimes a week and a half. This preserving solution does damage the scallop meat somewhat, (it's a muscle), and the liquid gets into the scallop. It bleaches it, and it softens it, and the scallops pick up a whole lot of liquid. When you cook these scallops, your fish will be bathed in juice, and that's not good. Your scallops will never brown, and you will see them shrink in front of you, and if you bought "just enough" to begin with, you will not have enough when you're done.
Day boat scallops are scallops that, theoretically, were caught and brought in to market within a day. I'm not sure that's always true, but you can get much fresher scallops than the ones you will encounter in the supermarket. They will cost more - they may cost MUCH more - but you will have much more product when you're done.
How can you tell? It's pretty easy. "Day boaters" are never uniform in color, and they are rarely uniform in size. They are also NEVER stored in plastic, or in containers. They are out there, for you to look at. Smell them. The preserved scallops WILL smell slightly of chlorine and other chemicals. Day boaters will smell fresh and sweet. And if the merchant will let you taste one, bite into it. Texture will be the final arbiter. A fresh scallop will remind you somewhat of a high quality truffle, with the way that it breaks when you bite down. A stored scallop, is something like a marshmallow.
I am writing here, by the way, of sea scallops. Bay scallops are a different topic all together. They are much tinier, have a much shorter season and are ridiculously expensive. This year, I've seen them at 30 bucks a pound. I really don't care for them as much as sea scallops, so I stick with the ocean guys, which cost about half that. That's if you get the normal sized ones. You can sometimes get access to a variety of scallop that is found in restaurants, something called the "U10." They are so called, because they are so big that there are only about 10 of them in a pound. There is also a variety of Mexican scallop, that is a "U4." Yup, scallopzilla. I have tried them. I like the U10s, I dislike the U4s. But as the U10s are hard to find, and I've never found them locally, just stick to the good scallops you can get from your local fishmonger.
How do I prepare them? Simply. And let me say that this is not the only way to do them. What I do is to lay out the scallops in single rows, i.e, I don't let them touch each other, and I only work with a pound at a time. I pat them as dry as possible, but you will never succeed in drying scallops completely. I get a plastic bag, and put in about a cup of all purpose flour, with a teaspoon of salt. You can vary this, by doing things like adding cayenne pepper (I sometimes do that), or curry powder (not my favorite, but I've done it), or some other dry spice that is not too overpowering. Use less than you think you'll need, because you want the taste of the scallops to come out.
Then I separate the flour that did not stick to the scallops, from the scallops themselves. I use a nonstick pan for cooking them. Others frown on this, but I find that I can't keep them from sticking in a regular pan. For a pound of scallops, I use two tablespoons of vegetable oil and two of butter (I find that olive oil overpowers their delicate flavor), and I get it hot. I let the butter stop sizzling, then I'm ready. The scallops go in, and I never crowd the pan. They're going to cook quickly, so I don't need to worry about spending too much time. If you take more than five minutes to cook your scallops, you're overcooking them. Three minutes on the first side, getting a sear, is fine, then flip them, and cook them for another minute or two. Then remove them to a plate. Scallops WILL continue to cook out of the pan, so if you like them closer to raw, don't cook them that long.
You have in your pan some wonderful drippings, that have been augmented with flour from the scallops. Don't waste that. I always make a pan sauce, by adding about a quarter cup of white wine . Remember the question about vermouth? Well, this is a case where I would not use it. The flavor of the scallops is too delicate. When the wine has stopped bubbling, I move the scallops back into the pan, stir them gently, and we're done.
Instead of wine, you can put in some cream and do exactly the same thing. Do that if the rest of your meal is very lean, or you feel somewhat ready for the calories. I prefer just the wine, but do as you like here. You can also just add chicken stock and lemon juice and get a pan sauce that way as well.
From start to finish, it will take you about ten minutes to cook the scallops, so have the rest of your meal ready and then serve it forth.
If you haven't made them, try them. I think you'll be pleased.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Questions and Answers
WEll, this is something that I never considered doing. But let's try it, ok?
My friend Lou had suggested that I should have a question and answer page, for people to write in with their cooking questions, and I will answer them.
I hadn't considered it for a couple of reasons. First, I don't know how to set up a page like that within the blog. If anyone would like to take on the challenge, it is all yours.
But the more fundamental reason is, I'm not at all certain that I know enough to answer questions. Or that people will ask them . So I checked around. And people said I should do it. So, ok, here it is, at least for now, until I learn how to do this in a different format. If you have a question, send it in and I will do my best to give you an answer.
And we will start with Lou's question. I will paraphrase it slightly, only because I don't have the text of his email:
At the end of one of those horrible workdays, I was buying vermouth so that I could have a martini night. The wine merchant told me he loves vermouth , and uses it in place of white wine when he's cooking. Have you ever done that? Can someone do that?
Now this is a "softball" question for Annalena. I love vermouth. I do NOT love it in drinks, but I do love it in cooking. Vermouth - and I need to make sure that you all k now I'm talking about DRY vermouth - not the red sweet ones like cinzano and that kind of drink - is an excellent help in the kitchen, if you know what it is, and how to use it.
To me, vermouth is essentially a fortified, dry white wine, with an herbal infusion. And every vermouth maker has a different proprietary blend of herbs that they use to make their vermouth. So you do have to shop around for one you like. Some are more citrussy than others, and others more herbal. Some are very straightforward and strong, others make you work to taste them. So buy some small bottles of different brands, and taste.
In cooking, you CAN use vermouth anywhere you use white wine; however, keep that herbal/citrussy comment in mind. If I am cooking something that has a high, herbal profile in it, then I will reach for the vermouth when I'm deglazing or making risotto, for example. If I'm deglazing after chicken cacciatore, I will use it, but if I'm making a poached chicken breast where the sauce is a mild butter and cream emulsion, I'll stick to white wine.
The other thing to keep in mind with vermouth is that it has a very high alcohol content. So when I had vermouth to a hot pan, I take the pan off of the heat. Flare up is not uncommon with high alcohol content liquids. All you need is a stray drop to hit the flame and you're either freaking out and running from the kitchen, or you're feeling like a true professional. Me? I'd rather play it safe.
So, there it is. A good question. You probably have a little vermouth in your cupboard somewhere. Try it.
Next question?
My friend Lou had suggested that I should have a question and answer page, for people to write in with their cooking questions, and I will answer them.
I hadn't considered it for a couple of reasons. First, I don't know how to set up a page like that within the blog. If anyone would like to take on the challenge, it is all yours.
But the more fundamental reason is, I'm not at all certain that I know enough to answer questions. Or that people will ask them . So I checked around. And people said I should do it. So, ok, here it is, at least for now, until I learn how to do this in a different format. If you have a question, send it in and I will do my best to give you an answer.
And we will start with Lou's question. I will paraphrase it slightly, only because I don't have the text of his email:
At the end of one of those horrible workdays, I was buying vermouth so that I could have a martini night. The wine merchant told me he loves vermouth , and uses it in place of white wine when he's cooking. Have you ever done that? Can someone do that?
Now this is a "softball" question for Annalena. I love vermouth. I do NOT love it in drinks, but I do love it in cooking. Vermouth - and I need to make sure that you all k now I'm talking about DRY vermouth - not the red sweet ones like cinzano and that kind of drink - is an excellent help in the kitchen, if you know what it is, and how to use it.
To me, vermouth is essentially a fortified, dry white wine, with an herbal infusion. And every vermouth maker has a different proprietary blend of herbs that they use to make their vermouth. So you do have to shop around for one you like. Some are more citrussy than others, and others more herbal. Some are very straightforward and strong, others make you work to taste them. So buy some small bottles of different brands, and taste.
In cooking, you CAN use vermouth anywhere you use white wine; however, keep that herbal/citrussy comment in mind. If I am cooking something that has a high, herbal profile in it, then I will reach for the vermouth when I'm deglazing or making risotto, for example. If I'm deglazing after chicken cacciatore, I will use it, but if I'm making a poached chicken breast where the sauce is a mild butter and cream emulsion, I'll stick to white wine.
The other thing to keep in mind with vermouth is that it has a very high alcohol content. So when I had vermouth to a hot pan, I take the pan off of the heat. Flare up is not uncommon with high alcohol content liquids. All you need is a stray drop to hit the flame and you're either freaking out and running from the kitchen, or you're feeling like a true professional. Me? I'd rather play it safe.
So, there it is. A good question. You probably have a little vermouth in your cupboard somewhere. Try it.
Next question?
A fish for all seasons
Every cook needs a few "ace in the hole" kind of recipes that s/he can use whenever the occasion for them arises. For example, if I need a very simple quick meal, for late at night or with friends, spaghetti with olive oil and garlic fills the bill. I always have all three ingredients on hand. And as I said early on, to quote Alice Waters "if you have eggs, you can eat." And there are always eggs in the house.
These are fine dishes, that are nourishing , easy, and comfortable. But what about parties? Is there anyone out there who has not felt the press of time when people are coming over? If so, then I really need to take some l essons on organization and planning from you, because in 25 years of having parties, I still run into the problem. And then there's the "what in the name of God am I going to make?" question. Something tasty, something unusual, something that will make people pay attention.
I have a few of those, and here's one of them. I make it with smoked trout, which I can get very easily, but I have also made it with smoked salmon, with smoked sable, with any smoked fish I can find. Trout tastes best to me, but vary the recipe and see for yourself.
And I will say this: I am not a fan of trout. In fact, there are few fresh water fish that I really enjoy. So the thought of smoked trout just gave me the skeeves. Then, one day, on a trip to San Francisco, our friends Margie and Dana brought out as a freebie, an appetizer of smoked trout and vegetables on crostini. So in a situation like this, what do you do? One thing you DON'T do, unless there are serious ethical or religious obligations associated with the food (and they better be DAMN serious), you take a deep breath, and you eat.
And it was GOOD. So I still don't like fresh trout, but smoked trout? Hell yeah. (There's an even funnier story about the goose fat on pumpernickle bread, from a trip to Germany, but that's for another day. I still owe Andrea some vengeance for that one).
Well, the following smoked trout mousse recipe is one of my "go to" dishes. Smoked fish is always available, and so is cream. So is gelatin if you choose to use it. You don't need to. It firms up the mousse, but if you like a softer texture, leave it out. Wait till you see how easy this is.
You need about two cups of smoked fish, in small pieces. This is easier for the squeamish amongst us if you use salmon, or some other fish that is larger, so that you're buying a piece of it. For trout, you're going to be buying the whole fish, head and tail. And you're going to be pulling the meat off of the skin. I have no problem with this, but I have worked in a pathology lab and a morgue (it's true. More stories!), but if you do, stick to salmon or a sable fillet. Put the fish into a food processor, with a cup of heavy cream. Spin it to a smooth texture and you're done. Almost. Taste it. I keep on repeating this, but it's important. TASTE TASTE TASTE. Do not make assumptions. For example, with smoked trout, you may assume that things are going to be very salty, and they may be. But smoking a fish does not necessarily involve lots of salt, and you may need more. You may also feel it needs to be brightened, with a drop or two of lemon juice. This is especially true if that trout was smoked a while ago. And it could have been. Remember, smoking fish is intended to make it storage stable.
You spoon this all out into a kitchen and refrigerate it until you need it. Dark bread - like the aforementioned pumpernickle, or a strong rye bread, is ideal. Slice the bread thin, spread the fish mousse on it, and you can stop there. Or you can add things like chopped dill (my favorite), or fish roe, or preserved lemons, or anything you want. That's where you add the seasonal element. Now, I'll add dill. In the winter, maybe fish roe. In the spring, perhaps the lemon.
Make it this way the first time. If you like it, fine. Keep that formula. But let's assume you would like it a little firmer. Then what I would suggest is you dissolve a scant tablespoon of gelatin in two tablespoons of cold water (this is not a "slam dunk." You'll have to stir a while), and then put that into the processor with the fish. It will "set up" and you'll find yourself with something that you can actually mold in the center of a plate, and allow guests to slice or scoop off for themselves, if you like.
I prefer this one softer, but to each his own.
You can serve this all year long, and you should. Perhaps not every night, but if you're having a party and you're stuck, welll... Annalena is here to rescue you
These are fine dishes, that are nourishing , easy, and comfortable. But what about parties? Is there anyone out there who has not felt the press of time when people are coming over? If so, then I really need to take some l essons on organization and planning from you, because in 25 years of having parties, I still run into the problem. And then there's the "what in the name of God am I going to make?" question. Something tasty, something unusual, something that will make people pay attention.
I have a few of those, and here's one of them. I make it with smoked trout, which I can get very easily, but I have also made it with smoked salmon, with smoked sable, with any smoked fish I can find. Trout tastes best to me, but vary the recipe and see for yourself.
And I will say this: I am not a fan of trout. In fact, there are few fresh water fish that I really enjoy. So the thought of smoked trout just gave me the skeeves. Then, one day, on a trip to San Francisco, our friends Margie and Dana brought out as a freebie, an appetizer of smoked trout and vegetables on crostini. So in a situation like this, what do you do? One thing you DON'T do, unless there are serious ethical or religious obligations associated with the food (and they better be DAMN serious), you take a deep breath, and you eat.
And it was GOOD. So I still don't like fresh trout, but smoked trout? Hell yeah. (There's an even funnier story about the goose fat on pumpernickle bread, from a trip to Germany, but that's for another day. I still owe Andrea some vengeance for that one).
Well, the following smoked trout mousse recipe is one of my "go to" dishes. Smoked fish is always available, and so is cream. So is gelatin if you choose to use it. You don't need to. It firms up the mousse, but if you like a softer texture, leave it out. Wait till you see how easy this is.
You need about two cups of smoked fish, in small pieces. This is easier for the squeamish amongst us if you use salmon, or some other fish that is larger, so that you're buying a piece of it. For trout, you're going to be buying the whole fish, head and tail. And you're going to be pulling the meat off of the skin. I have no problem with this, but I have worked in a pathology lab and a morgue (it's true. More stories!), but if you do, stick to salmon or a sable fillet. Put the fish into a food processor, with a cup of heavy cream. Spin it to a smooth texture and you're done. Almost. Taste it. I keep on repeating this, but it's important. TASTE TASTE TASTE. Do not make assumptions. For example, with smoked trout, you may assume that things are going to be very salty, and they may be. But smoking a fish does not necessarily involve lots of salt, and you may need more. You may also feel it needs to be brightened, with a drop or two of lemon juice. This is especially true if that trout was smoked a while ago. And it could have been. Remember, smoking fish is intended to make it storage stable.
You spoon this all out into a kitchen and refrigerate it until you need it. Dark bread - like the aforementioned pumpernickle, or a strong rye bread, is ideal. Slice the bread thin, spread the fish mousse on it, and you can stop there. Or you can add things like chopped dill (my favorite), or fish roe, or preserved lemons, or anything you want. That's where you add the seasonal element. Now, I'll add dill. In the winter, maybe fish roe. In the spring, perhaps the lemon.
Make it this way the first time. If you like it, fine. Keep that formula. But let's assume you would like it a little firmer. Then what I would suggest is you dissolve a scant tablespoon of gelatin in two tablespoons of cold water (this is not a "slam dunk." You'll have to stir a while), and then put that into the processor with the fish. It will "set up" and you'll find yourself with something that you can actually mold in the center of a plate, and allow guests to slice or scoop off for themselves, if you like.
I prefer this one softer, but to each his own.
You can serve this all year long, and you should. Perhaps not every night, but if you're having a party and you're stuck, welll... Annalena is here to rescue you
Friday, August 15, 2008
Peter Piper
You all know what he did, athough I can't figure out how the peppers got pickled before he picked them. Maybe there was vodka in the watering can?
In any event, late summer is the time to enjoy peppers. These guys need a long time on the plant, and you really only begin to see nice sized ones in August. They'll be around for about two months, too.
When I was young, we ate peppers a lot. We had them fried with eggs , or with stewing veal, or in sauce, with sausage and meatballs. I think this was one of the few times that we ate a lot of something because Nana liked peppers. She would never admit it, but I know that this is one of the few foods where she got extremely upset if people didn't eat them. We almost always had them green, which is I think how they basically came.
In case you don't know this, and I think just about everyone does, green peppers are unripe peppers. Every green pepper you see would, if left on the plant, eventually turn red, or yellow or orange, or whatever shade that variety ripens to. This goes for hot and sweet peppers. You can sometimes find red jalapenos, for example, and sometimes if you leave them around long enough, and the conditions are right, they will ripen for you. I've had that happen, and it's kind of neat to have the red ones mixed in with the green ones, in a spicy dish.
I really enjoy the way you can use peppers in a lot of things. They are almost impossible to cook badly. They're good crispy, they're even better (in my view), soft and cooked for a long time, and they're good raw. Some people do have problems with raw green ones, I think because of the types of fibers in them.
Now, for the bad news. In terms of nutrition, these aren't power houses . You can get some vitamin A and C from the ripe ones, but that's about it. They are almost completely water, which makes them a good dieting tool. You should enjoy them because they taste good.
And enjoy them now. During the winter, you can get what are called "holland peppers," I guess because they are grown in the Netherlands. They are certainly beautiful. Big , enormous, brightly colored guys, that are extremely crisp . And they taste like nothing. the sun kissed ones, however, are wonderful.
You can pretty much substitute red/yellow/orange peppers, one for the other, in any dish. Green and colored peppers, however, are not exchangeable. I would characterize the taste of green peppers as "brash" or "metallic." There are places for that. All of the dishes Nana made with them were wonderful. As a base combined with onions and garic and things like that, they are superb. But today, I want to introduce you to a pasta sauce, by way of Marcella Hazan, that uses peppers as its key ingredient.
This is one of the first recipes I ever made after I moved into my first apartment. I probably DID use Holland peppers, because in the 80s, that's what we had. Marcella also has you do certain things that I don't do anymore, because I only use the ripe, local ones, and it doesn't seem necessary. Do it if you want to try it, but I don't think you need to.
You'll need six good sized bell peppers. Marcella recommends 3 red and 3 yellow. At the time she wrote her book, the orange ones weren't availabe, but you could use those too, if you like. You'll also need a few tablespoons of olive oil, and an equal amount of butter, and some salt. Also, you'll want a big handful of basil leaves.
Marcella recommends using a swivel peeler to peel the raw peppers before you cook them. I think she was working with much tougher peppers than I can get, because I don't really see a need to peel them, and I've done it both ways. Instead , what I do is cut away the top of the pepper with one horizontal cut, and then make about 1/3 inch vertical cuts, to cut down all six of the peppers. Once that's done, add the oil and butter and heat it at a fair heat, until the butter melts. When that happens, add the peppers, and put in a BIG pinch of salt. Stir the peppers in the fat, and then leave them alone. You'll see them begin to soften, and the sound in your post wil begin to change to a sizzle. At that point, cover your pot, lower the heat, and cook them for another ten minutes. At five minutes, stir them. After ten minutes, stir in the basil leaves, and you're done.
Or are you? As this is, you can and should toss it into a shaped pasta, and add lots of grated cheese to it. Or, put it alongside meat, like sausages. You might also want to use it to top your pizza, and I'm all in favor of that. Or, you could add your sausages or meatballs to them, and perhaps add some tomato sauce.
If you cook up some tomatoes and onions, and add the peppers to this, you get what I know as pepperonata, a dish I could eat every day. it's very close to what Nana ate as often as she could.
It has been said that I am in fact becoming Nana. Maybe so. Worst things could happen.
Now go and eat your peppers.
In any event, late summer is the time to enjoy peppers. These guys need a long time on the plant, and you really only begin to see nice sized ones in August. They'll be around for about two months, too.
When I was young, we ate peppers a lot. We had them fried with eggs , or with stewing veal, or in sauce, with sausage and meatballs. I think this was one of the few times that we ate a lot of something because Nana liked peppers. She would never admit it, but I know that this is one of the few foods where she got extremely upset if people didn't eat them. We almost always had them green, which is I think how they basically came.
In case you don't know this, and I think just about everyone does, green peppers are unripe peppers. Every green pepper you see would, if left on the plant, eventually turn red, or yellow or orange, or whatever shade that variety ripens to. This goes for hot and sweet peppers. You can sometimes find red jalapenos, for example, and sometimes if you leave them around long enough, and the conditions are right, they will ripen for you. I've had that happen, and it's kind of neat to have the red ones mixed in with the green ones, in a spicy dish.
I really enjoy the way you can use peppers in a lot of things. They are almost impossible to cook badly. They're good crispy, they're even better (in my view), soft and cooked for a long time, and they're good raw. Some people do have problems with raw green ones, I think because of the types of fibers in them.
Now, for the bad news. In terms of nutrition, these aren't power houses . You can get some vitamin A and C from the ripe ones, but that's about it. They are almost completely water, which makes them a good dieting tool. You should enjoy them because they taste good.
And enjoy them now. During the winter, you can get what are called "holland peppers," I guess because they are grown in the Netherlands. They are certainly beautiful. Big , enormous, brightly colored guys, that are extremely crisp . And they taste like nothing. the sun kissed ones, however, are wonderful.
You can pretty much substitute red/yellow/orange peppers, one for the other, in any dish. Green and colored peppers, however, are not exchangeable. I would characterize the taste of green peppers as "brash" or "metallic." There are places for that. All of the dishes Nana made with them were wonderful. As a base combined with onions and garic and things like that, they are superb. But today, I want to introduce you to a pasta sauce, by way of Marcella Hazan, that uses peppers as its key ingredient.
This is one of the first recipes I ever made after I moved into my first apartment. I probably DID use Holland peppers, because in the 80s, that's what we had. Marcella also has you do certain things that I don't do anymore, because I only use the ripe, local ones, and it doesn't seem necessary. Do it if you want to try it, but I don't think you need to.
You'll need six good sized bell peppers. Marcella recommends 3 red and 3 yellow. At the time she wrote her book, the orange ones weren't availabe, but you could use those too, if you like. You'll also need a few tablespoons of olive oil, and an equal amount of butter, and some salt. Also, you'll want a big handful of basil leaves.
Marcella recommends using a swivel peeler to peel the raw peppers before you cook them. I think she was working with much tougher peppers than I can get, because I don't really see a need to peel them, and I've done it both ways. Instead , what I do is cut away the top of the pepper with one horizontal cut, and then make about 1/3 inch vertical cuts, to cut down all six of the peppers. Once that's done, add the oil and butter and heat it at a fair heat, until the butter melts. When that happens, add the peppers, and put in a BIG pinch of salt. Stir the peppers in the fat, and then leave them alone. You'll see them begin to soften, and the sound in your post wil begin to change to a sizzle. At that point, cover your pot, lower the heat, and cook them for another ten minutes. At five minutes, stir them. After ten minutes, stir in the basil leaves, and you're done.
Or are you? As this is, you can and should toss it into a shaped pasta, and add lots of grated cheese to it. Or, put it alongside meat, like sausages. You might also want to use it to top your pizza, and I'm all in favor of that. Or, you could add your sausages or meatballs to them, and perhaps add some tomato sauce.
If you cook up some tomatoes and onions, and add the peppers to this, you get what I know as pepperonata, a dish I could eat every day. it's very close to what Nana ate as often as she could.
It has been said that I am in fact becoming Nana. Maybe so. Worst things could happen.
Now go and eat your peppers.
Custard without tears
Custards and puddings scare people. There's no question about it. Everyone loves them, but when you see recipes for most of them, you can understand what is intimidating about them. WATER BATHS!!!! Oh, my heavens. A big pot of boiling water, poured into a bigger pan, water splashing everywhere, and then baking for untold amounts of time, and then getting that big pan out, hoping you won't spill on the floor, or yourself (and you always do), and then having to wait for hours for it to cool. And then it CRACKS!!!! This may explain somewhat the reliance on the packaged garbage that you can buy in the supermarket and "just add milk" to make something vile in a color not seen in nature, but it definitely explains the fear of making custard.
As part of a Spanish dinner that I am serving on Sunday, I got it in my head to make "crema catalana," which one friend has told me "is really creme brulee" . Now that I've made it, I respectfully dissent. This is MUCH easier, and it's much tastier, at least in my opinion. It does take that burnt sugar crust on the top, but having done my duty and scraped the pot to get the remnants of the custard before I washed it, I would eat this without the crust and be perfectly happy.
When I started reading recipes for this dessert, I was somewhat astounded to find that none of them, and I mean NONE of them, called for baking the custard. No water baths, no boiling water, no instructions on how to cool the thing slowly so it didn't crack on the top, none of that. So, with the weight of authority behind me, I set out to make it.
It's good. And it's easy. And I think it is one of the "basic black dresses" of the kitchen from now on. I'll explain that below.
This is a recipe for eight portions. It is VERY rich. Cut it in half if you don't have that many people. I don't see how someone could eat two portions, but I actually got nine servings out of this recipe, and I'm sure that someone will eat that extra one.
You start out with a quart of whole milk. Add the peel of one lemon to that milk, as well as two sticks of cinnamon (don't use the powdered stuff). Put this all in a heavy duty sauce pot, and then turn on the heat at low. Heat the milk until you just get a bit of a bubble on the perimeter, and when that happens, let it simmer (don't let it boil), for ten minutes.
While that is happening, separate eight large eggs. You'll only need the yolks, so give the whites to your friend who eats those gross eggwhite omelets, or to your local weightlifter. Combine those in a bowl with 3/4 cup of white sugar, and a tablespoon and a half of corn starch. Use a whisk to get everything combined well. Do this in a big bowl.
After the milk has heated for ten minutes, you will have steeped the flavor of cinnamon and lemon into it. It's a great combination, trust me on that. Now, get a collander, and pour the milk through it, into the eggs. The pouring will actually reduce the heat enough so that you don't have to worry about curdling, and it will do a much better job at separating out the lemon peel than you could do by yourself (I speak from experience, my children). Mix the eggs and milk together, and then put everything back in the original pot. Bring the heat to medium/low, and stir or better, whisk, constantly, for about five minutes. Again, don't let things boil. You'll see the mix begin to thicken seriously, and get shiny. This is what you're looking for.
When you're there, get eight half cup containers ready. If you do want to make the crust of sugar, make sure they're something oven safe, like ceramic ramekins. If you can do without it, anything that holds half a cup will do. Pour the stuff out evenly (have an extra one ready. I was glad I did), and let the containers cool on a counter or something, while you sit there and lick out the pan. When they're cool, you'll see that they've thickened and set pretty well. Put a piece of plastic wrap over each one, and then refrigerate them. They'll keep in the fridge for a while.
When you're ready to serve them, and not before, preheat your boiler. Sprinkle about a teaspoon of sugar - turbinado sugar if you have it - over each one. Line them up on a baking sheet, and put that under a broiler. Keep an eye on it. It won't take long for the sugar to melt, brown, and carmelize. Now you have to serve them. I mean, like NOW. You have a window of about thirty minutes before the sugar begins to soften, and people like being able to CRACK that "mirror" of sugar.
So, why is this a "basic black dress" of cooking? Well, look at the ingredients: milk, eggs, sugar, cinnamon. You have those in the house just about all the time. Lemon peel? Who doesn't have a lemon? So, you've got a dish for all seasons. And how do you tailor it to make it seasonal?
I AM SO GLAD YOU ASKED. What you do is you look at what is available in the realm of fruit. For example, I had planned to serve this with grilled peaches and fresh berries. Then my buddy Sandra wrote me and told me she was sending me 40 figs. CHANGE OF PLANS. Grilled figs and raspberries. What I'll do is put a fig and a half on each plate, with the custard right in the center of the plate, and a few raspberries all over the place. In the winter, I'll switch to pear slices. In REALLY bad winter, blood oranges. Cometh the spring, strawberries and sugared rhubarb. Early summer? Blueberries, please.
Cook seasonally, but have a repertoire that gives you the room to play with classics. This is one. Now go forth my children, and cook some milk.
As part of a Spanish dinner that I am serving on Sunday, I got it in my head to make "crema catalana," which one friend has told me "is really creme brulee" . Now that I've made it, I respectfully dissent. This is MUCH easier, and it's much tastier, at least in my opinion. It does take that burnt sugar crust on the top, but having done my duty and scraped the pot to get the remnants of the custard before I washed it, I would eat this without the crust and be perfectly happy.
When I started reading recipes for this dessert, I was somewhat astounded to find that none of them, and I mean NONE of them, called for baking the custard. No water baths, no boiling water, no instructions on how to cool the thing slowly so it didn't crack on the top, none of that. So, with the weight of authority behind me, I set out to make it.
It's good. And it's easy. And I think it is one of the "basic black dresses" of the kitchen from now on. I'll explain that below.
This is a recipe for eight portions. It is VERY rich. Cut it in half if you don't have that many people. I don't see how someone could eat two portions, but I actually got nine servings out of this recipe, and I'm sure that someone will eat that extra one.
You start out with a quart of whole milk. Add the peel of one lemon to that milk, as well as two sticks of cinnamon (don't use the powdered stuff). Put this all in a heavy duty sauce pot, and then turn on the heat at low. Heat the milk until you just get a bit of a bubble on the perimeter, and when that happens, let it simmer (don't let it boil), for ten minutes.
While that is happening, separate eight large eggs. You'll only need the yolks, so give the whites to your friend who eats those gross eggwhite omelets, or to your local weightlifter. Combine those in a bowl with 3/4 cup of white sugar, and a tablespoon and a half of corn starch. Use a whisk to get everything combined well. Do this in a big bowl.
After the milk has heated for ten minutes, you will have steeped the flavor of cinnamon and lemon into it. It's a great combination, trust me on that. Now, get a collander, and pour the milk through it, into the eggs. The pouring will actually reduce the heat enough so that you don't have to worry about curdling, and it will do a much better job at separating out the lemon peel than you could do by yourself (I speak from experience, my children). Mix the eggs and milk together, and then put everything back in the original pot. Bring the heat to medium/low, and stir or better, whisk, constantly, for about five minutes. Again, don't let things boil. You'll see the mix begin to thicken seriously, and get shiny. This is what you're looking for.
When you're there, get eight half cup containers ready. If you do want to make the crust of sugar, make sure they're something oven safe, like ceramic ramekins. If you can do without it, anything that holds half a cup will do. Pour the stuff out evenly (have an extra one ready. I was glad I did), and let the containers cool on a counter or something, while you sit there and lick out the pan. When they're cool, you'll see that they've thickened and set pretty well. Put a piece of plastic wrap over each one, and then refrigerate them. They'll keep in the fridge for a while.
When you're ready to serve them, and not before, preheat your boiler. Sprinkle about a teaspoon of sugar - turbinado sugar if you have it - over each one. Line them up on a baking sheet, and put that under a broiler. Keep an eye on it. It won't take long for the sugar to melt, brown, and carmelize. Now you have to serve them. I mean, like NOW. You have a window of about thirty minutes before the sugar begins to soften, and people like being able to CRACK that "mirror" of sugar.
So, why is this a "basic black dress" of cooking? Well, look at the ingredients: milk, eggs, sugar, cinnamon. You have those in the house just about all the time. Lemon peel? Who doesn't have a lemon? So, you've got a dish for all seasons. And how do you tailor it to make it seasonal?
I AM SO GLAD YOU ASKED. What you do is you look at what is available in the realm of fruit. For example, I had planned to serve this with grilled peaches and fresh berries. Then my buddy Sandra wrote me and told me she was sending me 40 figs. CHANGE OF PLANS. Grilled figs and raspberries. What I'll do is put a fig and a half on each plate, with the custard right in the center of the plate, and a few raspberries all over the place. In the winter, I'll switch to pear slices. In REALLY bad winter, blood oranges. Cometh the spring, strawberries and sugared rhubarb. Early summer? Blueberries, please.
Cook seasonally, but have a repertoire that gives you the room to play with classics. This is one. Now go forth my children, and cook some milk.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Separate and then combine: caponata
In the blog I wrote yesterday, I mentioned Chef Carlo Middione. Chef Carlo, as everyone calls him, operates out of San Francisco and its environs. He used to have a restaurant, right across the street from where we stay in that lovely city, and it was one of his favorites. It was his restaurant when we encountered, for the first time, the line "I'm sorry, but the strawberries just weren't satisfactory for the tart, so we have..... today." This was also the place I had my first white truffles, on a day when I had sprained my ankles, was on crutches, and was about to terminate a vacation a week ahead of time, because I literally couldn't walk. But long before his restaurant, Chef Carlo had written a book called "The Food of Southern Italy." The book came out in 1987, long before "regionalism" took over, and of course, well before Southern Italian cooking was "discovered." For years, it was one of my cooking "Bibles." I still use his book for things like torta rustica. I have seen dozens of recipes for it since I read his, his is still the best. As is his caponata recipe. And frankly, as I leafed through the book before writing this, I said "I have to get reacquainted with this stuff." And I do. Grazie Carlo.
Caponata is one of those foods that you see, unfortunately, almost always in glass jars, that have to be "treated" for shelf life. I hate that. This is a recipe that takes a little time to make, but for heaven's sakes, if it will last for few days, dont' make tons of it, or share it with people, and don't worry about shelf life. In fact, all of your cooking should be based around a simple principle: if I'm not going to use it within a week, it doesn't belong in the refrigerator. There are some exceptions to that, like prosciutto, or parmesan cheese, and so forth, but with produce, and produce based products, treat it as absolute.
Now that eggplant is in season, this is a great thing to have around. Yes, you will be cooking and chopping for a while, but the result is well worth the time. Eggplant is in high season now, and celery (yes, celery has a season in New York), has just come in. The tomatoes are beautiful, so start chopping, start frying and get to work. And, like ratatouille, do it in steps .
As always, I've modified the recipe somewhat. I remember I told Chef Carlo that when I met him and he said "you're supposed to do that. " So, make your own modifications.
You'll need a bunch of ingredients. First, get about a pound of fresh tomatoes. I don't bother peeling them, but if you want to go through the trouble, cut an x in the bottom, put them in some boiling water for two minutes, run them under cold water, and peel away the skins. Then core them and dice them. Put them aside. Now, get out your frustrations by getting about a cup of olives, half green and half black, and pitting them. SLAM a knife against them to break the olive, and pull out the pit. Then collect the olive meat, and put that aside. You'll also want to consider some raisins. They are really essential to the dish, to keep its Sicilian "agrodolce" flavor. Chef Carlo suggests two big tablespoons. I kick it up to a quarter cup, which is about four. If I have golden raisins, I use them, but if I don't, red flame raisins or thompsons are fine. You should keep them in some hot water to plump them.
Similiarly, get about two tablespoons of capers. When Chef Carlo wrote this recipe, it was nearly impossible to find good, salted capers in the United States, and they were all in jars, in brine. Times change. Now, spend some money, get a small jar of Pantelleria capers, put three tablespoons of capers in a small bowl, and let them sit in warm water. Change it a few times, to pull out the salt.
You'll also need a pound and a half or so of eggplant. Like I said yesterday, better to get two small ones, rather than one big one. Peel it, and dice it. Dice it small. About one inch is what you want. You will also want to cut half moons of celery, until you have about a cup. Then, dice a big onion, to about the same size as your eggplant. Finally, have lots of olive oil and red wine vinegar around. Now, start cooking.
Add a good quantity of olive oil. 1/3 of a cup is not too much. Heat it up at a good high temperature, and when it's hot, add the eggplant, and about a heaping teaspoon of salt. Let the eggplant cook for about three or four minutes. If you try to m ove it before this, it's going to stick and if it sticks anyway, give it another minute. Then start pushing it around, and letting it brown. You want them browned, not burned. It may take you about ten minutes to get there, and you may need to add more oil. Let your pan cool for a few minutes when it's done, and you've moved the eggplant to a bowl. Now repeat, with celery, using enough oil to cook it in comfortably. 1/3 of a cup is way too much. Maybe two tablespoons. Cook this at a lower temperature, and when it gets a bit golden, add some salt, and remove it from the pan, adding the celery to the eggplant. Repeat this procedure for the onions, and when they're done, combine them with the other vegetables.
It's very hard to have a pan big enough to do the next step, so I now move all the ingredients to a big pot. All of the cooked ones, and all of the other ones (the tomatoes, the capers, the olives, everything but the vinegar), and cover the pot, and lower the heat. You want this to cook for about twenty minutes. This is truly slow food at its best. Stir it every five mnutes or so. NOw add the vinegar, and taste. If it's too tart for you, add a dab of honey. If it's too sweet, add some more vinegar. I almost always add more vinegar. Let it cool.
I make a pig of myself with this. Once it's cool, I'm in there with bread, scooping it out and eating like I haven't eaten in three days. Chef Carlo suggests various options for serving this as a contorno with meat or fish, and for making it more substantial, by adding more things to it, but I am so in love with it, as it is, that I won't add them. Note that traditionally, there are a few tablespoons of pine nuts in the final product, but I just don't care for that. So I don't add it. Do so if you like, but try it just plain. I think you'll be very happy.
Caponata is one of those foods that you see, unfortunately, almost always in glass jars, that have to be "treated" for shelf life. I hate that. This is a recipe that takes a little time to make, but for heaven's sakes, if it will last for few days, dont' make tons of it, or share it with people, and don't worry about shelf life. In fact, all of your cooking should be based around a simple principle: if I'm not going to use it within a week, it doesn't belong in the refrigerator. There are some exceptions to that, like prosciutto, or parmesan cheese, and so forth, but with produce, and produce based products, treat it as absolute.
Now that eggplant is in season, this is a great thing to have around. Yes, you will be cooking and chopping for a while, but the result is well worth the time. Eggplant is in high season now, and celery (yes, celery has a season in New York), has just come in. The tomatoes are beautiful, so start chopping, start frying and get to work. And, like ratatouille, do it in steps .
As always, I've modified the recipe somewhat. I remember I told Chef Carlo that when I met him and he said "you're supposed to do that. " So, make your own modifications.
You'll need a bunch of ingredients. First, get about a pound of fresh tomatoes. I don't bother peeling them, but if you want to go through the trouble, cut an x in the bottom, put them in some boiling water for two minutes, run them under cold water, and peel away the skins. Then core them and dice them. Put them aside. Now, get out your frustrations by getting about a cup of olives, half green and half black, and pitting them. SLAM a knife against them to break the olive, and pull out the pit. Then collect the olive meat, and put that aside. You'll also want to consider some raisins. They are really essential to the dish, to keep its Sicilian "agrodolce" flavor. Chef Carlo suggests two big tablespoons. I kick it up to a quarter cup, which is about four. If I have golden raisins, I use them, but if I don't, red flame raisins or thompsons are fine. You should keep them in some hot water to plump them.
Similiarly, get about two tablespoons of capers. When Chef Carlo wrote this recipe, it was nearly impossible to find good, salted capers in the United States, and they were all in jars, in brine. Times change. Now, spend some money, get a small jar of Pantelleria capers, put three tablespoons of capers in a small bowl, and let them sit in warm water. Change it a few times, to pull out the salt.
You'll also need a pound and a half or so of eggplant. Like I said yesterday, better to get two small ones, rather than one big one. Peel it, and dice it. Dice it small. About one inch is what you want. You will also want to cut half moons of celery, until you have about a cup. Then, dice a big onion, to about the same size as your eggplant. Finally, have lots of olive oil and red wine vinegar around. Now, start cooking.
Add a good quantity of olive oil. 1/3 of a cup is not too much. Heat it up at a good high temperature, and when it's hot, add the eggplant, and about a heaping teaspoon of salt. Let the eggplant cook for about three or four minutes. If you try to m ove it before this, it's going to stick and if it sticks anyway, give it another minute. Then start pushing it around, and letting it brown. You want them browned, not burned. It may take you about ten minutes to get there, and you may need to add more oil. Let your pan cool for a few minutes when it's done, and you've moved the eggplant to a bowl. Now repeat, with celery, using enough oil to cook it in comfortably. 1/3 of a cup is way too much. Maybe two tablespoons. Cook this at a lower temperature, and when it gets a bit golden, add some salt, and remove it from the pan, adding the celery to the eggplant. Repeat this procedure for the onions, and when they're done, combine them with the other vegetables.
It's very hard to have a pan big enough to do the next step, so I now move all the ingredients to a big pot. All of the cooked ones, and all of the other ones (the tomatoes, the capers, the olives, everything but the vinegar), and cover the pot, and lower the heat. You want this to cook for about twenty minutes. This is truly slow food at its best. Stir it every five mnutes or so. NOw add the vinegar, and taste. If it's too tart for you, add a dab of honey. If it's too sweet, add some more vinegar. I almost always add more vinegar. Let it cool.
I make a pig of myself with this. Once it's cool, I'm in there with bread, scooping it out and eating like I haven't eaten in three days. Chef Carlo suggests various options for serving this as a contorno with meat or fish, and for making it more substantial, by adding more things to it, but I am so in love with it, as it is, that I won't add them. Note that traditionally, there are a few tablespoons of pine nuts in the final product, but I just don't care for that. So I don't add it. Do so if you like, but try it just plain. I think you'll be very happy.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
I'm not talking about that cute little mouse
A year or so ago, the fact that animation lives and is well was brought home by a wonderful movie for kids, that I loved as well. That movie, "Ratatouille" was about a mouse who dreams of being a cook. It's an interesting concept, at least to me, feeding into the question of how do animals taste things? Is it different from people? I know, from studying biology, that the "taste" for things sweet, and aversion to bitter things, is found in as "primitive" an organism as a bacterium. The interesting question for me, however, and one that cannot be answered, is: do bacteria "taste" sweet things the same way I do? Are there bacteria that prefer sugar from apples as compared to peaches, or plums, and so forth?
I know, I know: "what in the blue blazes is he going on about today?" Another mindless rumination.
To the topic at hand: ratatouille. I guess this, too, is a canonical dish. You don't see it in restaurants as often as you used to. It was EVERYWHERE in the 80s. You got it on a dinner plate, you could get a ratatouille omelet, I remember seeing ratatouille quiche (oh, does that sound VILE), I remember seeing fish served on a bed of ratatouille, and so on , and so on, and so on. As it became more popular, it became much harder to find a version that was really GOOD. That happens a lot. It happened with quiche, it happened with pizza (although that's changing), and it happened with ice cream (and no, it is NOT changing. The fact that ice cream is "premium" does NOT necessarily improve it).
At its roots, ratatouille is a very basic dish to conceptualize. It's a "stew" of sorts, involving three basic ingredients: tomatoes, squash, and eggplant. I would posit, however, that the most important ingredient in ratatouille is the olive oil. This is what is going to carry the flavor, for vegetables which, at their heart, are pretty bland (squash and eggplant. Taste an uncooked piece of either one and you'll see what I mean). Salt is important in this dish too. So we have a basic set of five ingredients. And you can make excellent ratatouille with just those five. You can kick it up by starting with a base of onions , with garlic. For me, basil is essential (something I learned from reading about Lulu Peyaud). If you don't care for basil, then I would suggest you use thyme, because a fresh herb is really a fine addition to this. And if you want to make it a main dish, I would suggest that you do what MFK Fisher taught us to do: she used to put small shelled shrimp on top of warm ratatouille, and serve them together. I think scallops would do nicely as well. My friend David, who has a gift for combining seemingly disparate food ideas into recipes that sound good, will probably come up with something else when I tell him about this.
Now, to the issue of getting GOOD ratatouille. I had always wondered why mine was always so , well, boring and yucky. And then, I remembered a technique I had learned from Carlo Middione's book, for making that wonderful southern Italian "relish," caponata. Caponata uses three basic ingredients: onions, celery and eggplant, and Chef Carlo's suggestion was that each item should be cooked separately, and then everything combined at the last minute, and given a short time to liase, in order to keep the component flavors clear, and to get a final dish that wasn't "smudgy." It works with caponata, which I still have to make this year. And it works with ratatouille.
The other thing to remember with ratatouille is that there is a temptation to make GALLONS of it. Don't. First of all, a little ratatouille goes a long way. Second, the more of it you make, the harder it is to maintain "quality control" . The quantities I give below are more than enough to feed a fair number of people a nice portion. If you REALLY want to make huge quantities, make the recipe twice, but don't double it.
The key ingredient, in terms of quantity, is going to be the eggplant. DON'T go with big ones. If you have a choice between a two pound eggplant, and two one pounders, go with the latter. I learned that from Nana. Everytime she read an article that talked about using "eggplant heavy for its size," she said something vulgar in Italian that basically meant "it just means someone cut it open and pissed in it." Bigger eggplant have way more water in them than smaller ones do. And they are more bitter. And, here's a little bit of trivia for you about eggplants. It is NOT true that there are "male" and "female" eggplants, but there IS a difference in the eggplants . Look at the base of them, sometime. You will see some with a scar sort of mark, and some with a small round indentation. For whatever reason, people call the scar type "female," and the round ones "male." Fact is, the scar ones will have more seeds in them than the round ones will, and seed will make your eggplant bitter. So if you can, go with the round ones.
Using the smaller ones also allows you to do something that you really can't do when they are bigger: it allows you to use the peel. That is, when you cut the eggplant into cubes, which is what you will do, you don't have to peel it if you use small ones. The peel adds a level of complexity and color to the dish that you want.
Ok, so you've cut the eggplant into cubes. Now you need squash. Zucchini is traditional, but I think that's because that's what was around. If you can get a varieity of squashes, use them. Cube them in a size about the same as the eggplants, and use about 2/3 of the amount of eggplant.
Finally, to the tomatoes. For this dish, I would use regular tomatoes, but I prefer plum tomatoes if they are available. Plum tomatoes have more flesh and less juice than regular tomatoes, and you want that thickness here. Core them, and cut them into cubes. You will want about the same volume of tomatoes as you do of squash.
Now, time to get started. If you want to use an onion, chop up a nice sized one. In one pan, cover the bottom with olive oil - and be generous here - and add the chopped onion when the oil is hot, together with a generous pinch of salt. When this has gone translucent, add your tomatoes, and lower the heat. Keep an eye on them. You want them to get soft, but you don't really want sauce.
On the burner next to that pan, use a big POT, and again, cover it with oil. When it's hot, add the squash (the order here is important, as I shall explain). Again, add some salt and saute the squash until it softens, but don't cook it until it turns brown. When it's done, scoop it out with a slotted spoon. You will have some oil left. If you started with the eggplant, you would not. Eggplant is sometimes called "vegetable sponge" because of the way it soaks up oil. Replenish the oil in the pan, and add the eggplant and some salt, again. Eggplant tends to stick , and that's okay, because of what you're going to be doing in a step or two. Keep turning the eggplant until it begins to soften. If your tomatoes have softened, turn off that pan. The eggplant will take the longest to soften of all of the vegetables, and you'll see a distinct "collapse" in the cell structure of the vegetable. When that happens, add the squash back to the pot, and then pour in the tomatoes. Cover the pot, and lower the heat, and let it cook away for about fifteen minutes, at low heat. Check it every now and then for texture . You don't want things to fall apart completely, but you don't want these vegetables to be "toothsome."
When you've got it to a texture you like, get a big handful of basil leaves and tear them (don't cut them. For some reason, metal makes basil leaves brown. Tearing doesn't). Turn off the heat and stir the basil leaves in (incidentally, Madame Peyaud's recipe calls for the leaves of three basil plants. She is from Provence, which may explain it. I love basil, but not that much).
And there you have it. You will have people who say this is better if you let it sit for a day. To my taste, it's different. Not necessarily better. I do like it right out of the pot, and interestingly enough, I like it on rice. If it's cold, I like putting it on french bread, and maybe tossing a few (alright, a LOT ) of black olives on top of it, and maybe some white cheese of some kind. But those are options. You can use MFK Fisher's version, of course, or you can eat it just plain.
This is summer food, and it's summer. Now's your chance. If eggplant parmagiana sounds too scary, do this one.
I know, I know: "what in the blue blazes is he going on about today?" Another mindless rumination.
To the topic at hand: ratatouille. I guess this, too, is a canonical dish. You don't see it in restaurants as often as you used to. It was EVERYWHERE in the 80s. You got it on a dinner plate, you could get a ratatouille omelet, I remember seeing ratatouille quiche (oh, does that sound VILE), I remember seeing fish served on a bed of ratatouille, and so on , and so on, and so on. As it became more popular, it became much harder to find a version that was really GOOD. That happens a lot. It happened with quiche, it happened with pizza (although that's changing), and it happened with ice cream (and no, it is NOT changing. The fact that ice cream is "premium" does NOT necessarily improve it).
At its roots, ratatouille is a very basic dish to conceptualize. It's a "stew" of sorts, involving three basic ingredients: tomatoes, squash, and eggplant. I would posit, however, that the most important ingredient in ratatouille is the olive oil. This is what is going to carry the flavor, for vegetables which, at their heart, are pretty bland (squash and eggplant. Taste an uncooked piece of either one and you'll see what I mean). Salt is important in this dish too. So we have a basic set of five ingredients. And you can make excellent ratatouille with just those five. You can kick it up by starting with a base of onions , with garlic. For me, basil is essential (something I learned from reading about Lulu Peyaud). If you don't care for basil, then I would suggest you use thyme, because a fresh herb is really a fine addition to this. And if you want to make it a main dish, I would suggest that you do what MFK Fisher taught us to do: she used to put small shelled shrimp on top of warm ratatouille, and serve them together. I think scallops would do nicely as well. My friend David, who has a gift for combining seemingly disparate food ideas into recipes that sound good, will probably come up with something else when I tell him about this.
Now, to the issue of getting GOOD ratatouille. I had always wondered why mine was always so , well, boring and yucky. And then, I remembered a technique I had learned from Carlo Middione's book, for making that wonderful southern Italian "relish," caponata. Caponata uses three basic ingredients: onions, celery and eggplant, and Chef Carlo's suggestion was that each item should be cooked separately, and then everything combined at the last minute, and given a short time to liase, in order to keep the component flavors clear, and to get a final dish that wasn't "smudgy." It works with caponata, which I still have to make this year. And it works with ratatouille.
The other thing to remember with ratatouille is that there is a temptation to make GALLONS of it. Don't. First of all, a little ratatouille goes a long way. Second, the more of it you make, the harder it is to maintain "quality control" . The quantities I give below are more than enough to feed a fair number of people a nice portion. If you REALLY want to make huge quantities, make the recipe twice, but don't double it.
The key ingredient, in terms of quantity, is going to be the eggplant. DON'T go with big ones. If you have a choice between a two pound eggplant, and two one pounders, go with the latter. I learned that from Nana. Everytime she read an article that talked about using "eggplant heavy for its size," she said something vulgar in Italian that basically meant "it just means someone cut it open and pissed in it." Bigger eggplant have way more water in them than smaller ones do. And they are more bitter. And, here's a little bit of trivia for you about eggplants. It is NOT true that there are "male" and "female" eggplants, but there IS a difference in the eggplants . Look at the base of them, sometime. You will see some with a scar sort of mark, and some with a small round indentation. For whatever reason, people call the scar type "female," and the round ones "male." Fact is, the scar ones will have more seeds in them than the round ones will, and seed will make your eggplant bitter. So if you can, go with the round ones.
Using the smaller ones also allows you to do something that you really can't do when they are bigger: it allows you to use the peel. That is, when you cut the eggplant into cubes, which is what you will do, you don't have to peel it if you use small ones. The peel adds a level of complexity and color to the dish that you want.
Ok, so you've cut the eggplant into cubes. Now you need squash. Zucchini is traditional, but I think that's because that's what was around. If you can get a varieity of squashes, use them. Cube them in a size about the same as the eggplants, and use about 2/3 of the amount of eggplant.
Finally, to the tomatoes. For this dish, I would use regular tomatoes, but I prefer plum tomatoes if they are available. Plum tomatoes have more flesh and less juice than regular tomatoes, and you want that thickness here. Core them, and cut them into cubes. You will want about the same volume of tomatoes as you do of squash.
Now, time to get started. If you want to use an onion, chop up a nice sized one. In one pan, cover the bottom with olive oil - and be generous here - and add the chopped onion when the oil is hot, together with a generous pinch of salt. When this has gone translucent, add your tomatoes, and lower the heat. Keep an eye on them. You want them to get soft, but you don't really want sauce.
On the burner next to that pan, use a big POT, and again, cover it with oil. When it's hot, add the squash (the order here is important, as I shall explain). Again, add some salt and saute the squash until it softens, but don't cook it until it turns brown. When it's done, scoop it out with a slotted spoon. You will have some oil left. If you started with the eggplant, you would not. Eggplant is sometimes called "vegetable sponge" because of the way it soaks up oil. Replenish the oil in the pan, and add the eggplant and some salt, again. Eggplant tends to stick , and that's okay, because of what you're going to be doing in a step or two. Keep turning the eggplant until it begins to soften. If your tomatoes have softened, turn off that pan. The eggplant will take the longest to soften of all of the vegetables, and you'll see a distinct "collapse" in the cell structure of the vegetable. When that happens, add the squash back to the pot, and then pour in the tomatoes. Cover the pot, and lower the heat, and let it cook away for about fifteen minutes, at low heat. Check it every now and then for texture . You don't want things to fall apart completely, but you don't want these vegetables to be "toothsome."
When you've got it to a texture you like, get a big handful of basil leaves and tear them (don't cut them. For some reason, metal makes basil leaves brown. Tearing doesn't). Turn off the heat and stir the basil leaves in (incidentally, Madame Peyaud's recipe calls for the leaves of three basil plants. She is from Provence, which may explain it. I love basil, but not that much).
And there you have it. You will have people who say this is better if you let it sit for a day. To my taste, it's different. Not necessarily better. I do like it right out of the pot, and interestingly enough, I like it on rice. If it's cold, I like putting it on french bread, and maybe tossing a few (alright, a LOT ) of black olives on top of it, and maybe some white cheese of some kind. But those are options. You can use MFK Fisher's version, of course, or you can eat it just plain.
This is summer food, and it's summer. Now's your chance. If eggplant parmagiana sounds too scary, do this one.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
You say tomato...
It's high tomato season. Tons of heirloom tomatoes, tons of beefsteaks, cherries, plum, sweet 100s, and all the other varieties that you can find at the farmers' market. "It's a good thing," as you know who would say .
I love tomatoes. They may very well be my favorite food, EVER. Ripe ones. Big, juicy, tasty ones that sort of scream LATE SUMMER at you. I eat them raw, I eat them in sauce. I eat them in salads, like the one I made last night that I want to tell you about. I eat them on sandwiches, I stuff them, yadda yadda yadda. And when there are no more local tomatoes, it is officially the end of summer to me, and I go into a funk for about a week.
It's interesting , but this is the only food who's disappearance does make me sigh and feel sad. I love asparagus, but when they're gone, they're gone. So too, with strawberries, and with apricots, and even more "mundane" things like cabbages, or carrots, and what have you. But tomatoes? Well, if I had to pick a vegetable to proclaim as a culinary god or goddess, it would be a tomato.
Some of you will know this, so skip ahead. Identifying tomatoes with the Mediterranean, is a mistake. Tomatoes originated in the "new world," in Mexico, and they came over the Atlantic and established their foothold after, ahem "colonization." Older European recipes have no tomatoes in them, because there were no tomatoes. And as I've said, when they first came over to Europe, there was more interest in the leaves than the fruit.
Have you ever tasted a tomato leaf? DON'T. DON'T DON'T DON'T DON'T DON'T. It will make you very ill and you will regret it and resent tomatoes forever.
Well, maybe you won't resent them, but you will be sick. Stick to the fruit, and use them in a recipe like this one, or the one which follows.
Heirloom tomatoes come in many different shapes, colors, and sizes. Get a mix of them. There are farmers who will mix them for you, and I do like their mixes. Cut them up as you see fit. Usually, the tomato will "tell" you how to cut it. A small, elongated one, for example, begs to be cut down the middle into two halves, while a large, round one, calls for slices. A smaller, round one calls for wedges. Don't cut them all the same way. The tomatoes look different, so keep the cuts different, and try to get equal amounts of different colors in your salad bowl.
All these need is a little bit of salt, and then a nice slug of olive oil, before you toss them gently. But.... here's one where I like to gild the lily. We haven't talked much about pesto, and we will. If you have some, you can make a wonderful, very tasty dressing for these tomatoes, simply by taking a few tablespoons of pesto, and mixing this with half again as much vinegar. Champagne vinegar is what I use, but you should use what you like. Taste it for acid and salt, and adjust it . Then pour it over the tomatoes, and toss them. So easy, and so good.
Now, on to something a little different: the tomato based soup that has been called "liquid salad." Yup, gazpacho. I have been making and eating gazpacho for more years than I can count. I think it may have been the first "fancy food," I ever had. I remember being knocked out by the flavor combination. I think there was cilantro in that first one, which is wrong, but I may be wrong about that. I remember feeling like I was eating - or drinking - a very slushy vegetable sorbet. I still feel that way.
Since then, I've made countless pots of gazpacho. And different varieites. I've made sweet ones, ones that were half vegetable and half fruit, ones that had other strange ingredients in them, but I always go back to the first recipe I ever used, one that is in Penelope Casas book "The Foods and Wines of Spain." This is a great, fundamental book if you're interested in Spanish food. You learn about the different regions of Spain, how the geography impacts the food, and there's a wonderful mix of things for the experienced cook who has h ours to spend in the kitchen to make, as well as really quick ones, like this.
I'm very glad that the book is as good as it is, because here, Annalena has to say something she wishes she didn't. In my experience, every cookbook writer, and every chef I have ever met, has been gracious, friendly, and polite. Except for Ms. Casas. I attended a class she gave and I have NEVER seen someone so brusque, so rude to students, and so shocked when Guy and I asked her to sign her books to the two of us. This is a woman who (i) lives in Spain and (ii) works in the cooking field. Two men together shocks her? Someone needs to spend less time making gazpacho, I'll tell you. Oh well, at least the recipe is good.
The book says that it keeps "for many days" in the refrigerator. It DOES improve after a day or so of sitting, but don't make it too far in advance. You lose the freshness of the flavors. And, honestly, it is SO easy to make, that you could whip this up twenty minutes before people are coming over, and have a good starter. Keep that in mind.
To make two generous quarts, get two pounds of luciously ripe tomatoes. You can use heirlooms, but do keep in mind that if you use a mix of colors, you will get a paler soup - something closer to pink than to red. Your call on this one. You'll also need a couple of green peppers, that you'll chop up, and a big onion, also cut up. You don't have to be too precise about this. Cut up the tomatoes too, coring them. You pile all these vegetables together, and then add two kirby cucumbers that you've chopped up, as well as a good quarter cup of red wine vinegar, two chopped cloves of garlic, about a teaspoon of salt, and a cup and a half of water.
This is all in a big bowl. What you'll need is a blender. Start filling it with mixes of the veggies and the liquids and puree it. Keep an eye on it. This is home cooking at its best, so you decide how thick or how smooth you want it. You won't be able to get everything in the blender at once, so do it in batches and put the blended soup in a big bowl. When you're done, take a look. If it's too thick for you, add some more water, and/or puree it again. Heck, you've spent all of ten minutes making this, so spend five more getting it the way you like. Then, taste it. You will probably need more salt. I almost always need more vinegar. Adjust the seasonings, and if your schedule allows you, let it sit overnight in the fridge.
Traditionally, you serve this with chopped up bowls of cucumber, pepper and onion, as well as croutons of fried bread. Your friends decide how they want to adorn their soup. There are no rules here. I am motivated to use the onions, but to serve the cucumbers and peppers as sorbets, to make the soup even more refreshing. The fried bread is nice if you don't get as fancy as I am talking about here.
This soup is about as low calorie as you can get. There's no fat in it. There's lots of vegetables, and you can play with things as you see fit. It's high summer, this stuff is around, so for heaven's sake, make a BIG BATCH of it, and drink it straight down. It's a wonderful "summer tonic," if you know what I mean, too.
I love tomatoes. They may very well be my favorite food, EVER. Ripe ones. Big, juicy, tasty ones that sort of scream LATE SUMMER at you. I eat them raw, I eat them in sauce. I eat them in salads, like the one I made last night that I want to tell you about. I eat them on sandwiches, I stuff them, yadda yadda yadda. And when there are no more local tomatoes, it is officially the end of summer to me, and I go into a funk for about a week.
It's interesting , but this is the only food who's disappearance does make me sigh and feel sad. I love asparagus, but when they're gone, they're gone. So too, with strawberries, and with apricots, and even more "mundane" things like cabbages, or carrots, and what have you. But tomatoes? Well, if I had to pick a vegetable to proclaim as a culinary god or goddess, it would be a tomato.
Some of you will know this, so skip ahead. Identifying tomatoes with the Mediterranean, is a mistake. Tomatoes originated in the "new world," in Mexico, and they came over the Atlantic and established their foothold after, ahem "colonization." Older European recipes have no tomatoes in them, because there were no tomatoes. And as I've said, when they first came over to Europe, there was more interest in the leaves than the fruit.
Have you ever tasted a tomato leaf? DON'T. DON'T DON'T DON'T DON'T DON'T. It will make you very ill and you will regret it and resent tomatoes forever.
Well, maybe you won't resent them, but you will be sick. Stick to the fruit, and use them in a recipe like this one, or the one which follows.
Heirloom tomatoes come in many different shapes, colors, and sizes. Get a mix of them. There are farmers who will mix them for you, and I do like their mixes. Cut them up as you see fit. Usually, the tomato will "tell" you how to cut it. A small, elongated one, for example, begs to be cut down the middle into two halves, while a large, round one, calls for slices. A smaller, round one calls for wedges. Don't cut them all the same way. The tomatoes look different, so keep the cuts different, and try to get equal amounts of different colors in your salad bowl.
All these need is a little bit of salt, and then a nice slug of olive oil, before you toss them gently. But.... here's one where I like to gild the lily. We haven't talked much about pesto, and we will. If you have some, you can make a wonderful, very tasty dressing for these tomatoes, simply by taking a few tablespoons of pesto, and mixing this with half again as much vinegar. Champagne vinegar is what I use, but you should use what you like. Taste it for acid and salt, and adjust it . Then pour it over the tomatoes, and toss them. So easy, and so good.
Now, on to something a little different: the tomato based soup that has been called "liquid salad." Yup, gazpacho. I have been making and eating gazpacho for more years than I can count. I think it may have been the first "fancy food," I ever had. I remember being knocked out by the flavor combination. I think there was cilantro in that first one, which is wrong, but I may be wrong about that. I remember feeling like I was eating - or drinking - a very slushy vegetable sorbet. I still feel that way.
Since then, I've made countless pots of gazpacho. And different varieites. I've made sweet ones, ones that were half vegetable and half fruit, ones that had other strange ingredients in them, but I always go back to the first recipe I ever used, one that is in Penelope Casas book "The Foods and Wines of Spain." This is a great, fundamental book if you're interested in Spanish food. You learn about the different regions of Spain, how the geography impacts the food, and there's a wonderful mix of things for the experienced cook who has h ours to spend in the kitchen to make, as well as really quick ones, like this.
I'm very glad that the book is as good as it is, because here, Annalena has to say something she wishes she didn't. In my experience, every cookbook writer, and every chef I have ever met, has been gracious, friendly, and polite. Except for Ms. Casas. I attended a class she gave and I have NEVER seen someone so brusque, so rude to students, and so shocked when Guy and I asked her to sign her books to the two of us. This is a woman who (i) lives in Spain and (ii) works in the cooking field. Two men together shocks her? Someone needs to spend less time making gazpacho, I'll tell you. Oh well, at least the recipe is good.
The book says that it keeps "for many days" in the refrigerator. It DOES improve after a day or so of sitting, but don't make it too far in advance. You lose the freshness of the flavors. And, honestly, it is SO easy to make, that you could whip this up twenty minutes before people are coming over, and have a good starter. Keep that in mind.
To make two generous quarts, get two pounds of luciously ripe tomatoes. You can use heirlooms, but do keep in mind that if you use a mix of colors, you will get a paler soup - something closer to pink than to red. Your call on this one. You'll also need a couple of green peppers, that you'll chop up, and a big onion, also cut up. You don't have to be too precise about this. Cut up the tomatoes too, coring them. You pile all these vegetables together, and then add two kirby cucumbers that you've chopped up, as well as a good quarter cup of red wine vinegar, two chopped cloves of garlic, about a teaspoon of salt, and a cup and a half of water.
This is all in a big bowl. What you'll need is a blender. Start filling it with mixes of the veggies and the liquids and puree it. Keep an eye on it. This is home cooking at its best, so you decide how thick or how smooth you want it. You won't be able to get everything in the blender at once, so do it in batches and put the blended soup in a big bowl. When you're done, take a look. If it's too thick for you, add some more water, and/or puree it again. Heck, you've spent all of ten minutes making this, so spend five more getting it the way you like. Then, taste it. You will probably need more salt. I almost always need more vinegar. Adjust the seasonings, and if your schedule allows you, let it sit overnight in the fridge.
Traditionally, you serve this with chopped up bowls of cucumber, pepper and onion, as well as croutons of fried bread. Your friends decide how they want to adorn their soup. There are no rules here. I am motivated to use the onions, but to serve the cucumbers and peppers as sorbets, to make the soup even more refreshing. The fried bread is nice if you don't get as fancy as I am talking about here.
This soup is about as low calorie as you can get. There's no fat in it. There's lots of vegetables, and you can play with things as you see fit. It's high summer, this stuff is around, so for heaven's sake, make a BIG BATCH of it, and drink it straight down. It's a wonderful "summer tonic," if you know what I mean, too.
True blue
"True blue" is one of those expressions that, if you dissect it, doesn't really make much sense. We speak of a "true blue" friend, and the "true" part makes sense, but where does the "blue" come from? Yours truly doesn't know, and can understand why a non-native speaker may be confused by this, and other color idioms. Remember that when we're sad we're "feeling blue." So is a "true blue" friend someone who is truly sad all the time? And of course, dirty jokes are "blue." So is a "true blue" friend someone with a foul mouth? (that would be me.).
It's confusing, but one thing I know: I hope my friends consider me "true blue," whatever the true meaning of the phrase is. To me, such a friend is someone who's there, period, who doesn't really get too upset when you treat him badly, responds to what you need when you need it, and is "there" for you.
Don't make me get started on "green with envy."
Anyway, "true blue" is a good description for this entry, which is about blueberries. Indeed, they are a true blue friend to a cook. I actually know one person who does not like blueberries, but ONLY one. I know more people who don't like potatoes than who don't like blueberries. And in the kitchen, these guys are really the stalwarts of the berry family. They're sturdier than the other ones, they stay fresher longer, they're way more versatile (which does NOT mean they are bottoms by the way): you can use them in savory dishes as well as sweet ones, you can eat them raw, or cooked, and you can use them in just about anything you make. Remember how a handful of blueberries in your morning cereal made you smile when you were a kid? Remember the disgusting cereal that had freeze dried blueberries in it, that sort of looked like purple rabbit pellets? The only thing that was good about it was that the berries colored the milk bluish purple, and you could gross out your parents by doing what kids do with funny food.
So, ok, how do I use blueberries? Well, as with all berries, I can think of few better ways to eat them than raw, and right out of the hand. But you can do that. You don't need to read Annalena in order to know these are good (In fact, does anyone really NEED to read Annalena? Why ARE you reading this anyway, instead of eating blueberries).
Recently, I read a short piece on apricots that talked about how to really appreciate the flavor of apricots you need to cook them. Having just put away a dozen small apricots, raw, Annalena dissents. Cooked apricots are wonderful, but they are just as good raw; however, I will posit that to truly appreciate the flavor of blueberries, you DO have to cook them.
I am not going to go into the details of blueberry pie here (unless someone asks me to, then I'll write it up), but a much easier way to enjoy blueberries cooked. I don't want to call this a "coulis," because it's not strained, and I don't want to call it a sauce, because it's not really. So let me just call them "cooked blueberries."
This may be the easiest recipe in the whole blog. Take a pint of blueberries, and put them into a sauce pan, with about a quarter cup of water. Put a cover on the pot, and cook them, over low heat for about 7 minutes. You'll see some, but not all of the blueberries begin to break up, and a thick, dark sauce start to form. The sauce is thick because blueberries are loaded with pectin, the very stuff that helps jam and jelly to set up very firm. This is also why they're recommended to people who are, shall we say "a bit bunched up," if you know what I mean. When this breaking up has gone on for a few minutes, stir the berries. Some more of them will break up, but others will stay firm. Now, add about 3/4 cup of sugar to the cooked berries and stir it up. I find that when you add the sugar, late in the cooking process, the fruit takes on a sheen that is not there when you do it early. Maybe it's my imagination, but there it is.
And know what? You are DONE. Let this cool down, and it will continue to thicken. You can refrigerate it, of course, and it will thicken some more, but when you want to use it, I would say that you should let it come to room temperature.
What do you use it on? Well, if you have a bowl of vanilla ice cream, or a lemon flavored one, including wonderful lemon verbena ice cream, put some over that. Or a piece of pound cake. Or, dip some biscotti into it, especially if they are lemon flavored. Should you be moved to make a pie, and want to combine things, you can stir this into a peach or nectarine filling. In fact, you can also pour it over sliced peaches or sliced nectarines for a really nice treat.
The flavor components that everyone speaks of combining best with blueberries, are lemon and vanilla. If you really like those flavors, add a bit of lemon peel, grated fine, or a half teaspoon of vanilla to your cooked blueberries. But try the stuff plain, first. I think you might find it just terrific that way, as you experience a deep, resonant flavor that our "true blue" berry friends provide to us.
It's confusing, but one thing I know: I hope my friends consider me "true blue," whatever the true meaning of the phrase is. To me, such a friend is someone who's there, period, who doesn't really get too upset when you treat him badly, responds to what you need when you need it, and is "there" for you.
Don't make me get started on "green with envy."
Anyway, "true blue" is a good description for this entry, which is about blueberries. Indeed, they are a true blue friend to a cook. I actually know one person who does not like blueberries, but ONLY one. I know more people who don't like potatoes than who don't like blueberries. And in the kitchen, these guys are really the stalwarts of the berry family. They're sturdier than the other ones, they stay fresher longer, they're way more versatile (which does NOT mean they are bottoms by the way): you can use them in savory dishes as well as sweet ones, you can eat them raw, or cooked, and you can use them in just about anything you make. Remember how a handful of blueberries in your morning cereal made you smile when you were a kid? Remember the disgusting cereal that had freeze dried blueberries in it, that sort of looked like purple rabbit pellets? The only thing that was good about it was that the berries colored the milk bluish purple, and you could gross out your parents by doing what kids do with funny food.
So, ok, how do I use blueberries? Well, as with all berries, I can think of few better ways to eat them than raw, and right out of the hand. But you can do that. You don't need to read Annalena in order to know these are good (In fact, does anyone really NEED to read Annalena? Why ARE you reading this anyway, instead of eating blueberries).
Recently, I read a short piece on apricots that talked about how to really appreciate the flavor of apricots you need to cook them. Having just put away a dozen small apricots, raw, Annalena dissents. Cooked apricots are wonderful, but they are just as good raw; however, I will posit that to truly appreciate the flavor of blueberries, you DO have to cook them.
I am not going to go into the details of blueberry pie here (unless someone asks me to, then I'll write it up), but a much easier way to enjoy blueberries cooked. I don't want to call this a "coulis," because it's not strained, and I don't want to call it a sauce, because it's not really. So let me just call them "cooked blueberries."
This may be the easiest recipe in the whole blog. Take a pint of blueberries, and put them into a sauce pan, with about a quarter cup of water. Put a cover on the pot, and cook them, over low heat for about 7 minutes. You'll see some, but not all of the blueberries begin to break up, and a thick, dark sauce start to form. The sauce is thick because blueberries are loaded with pectin, the very stuff that helps jam and jelly to set up very firm. This is also why they're recommended to people who are, shall we say "a bit bunched up," if you know what I mean. When this breaking up has gone on for a few minutes, stir the berries. Some more of them will break up, but others will stay firm. Now, add about 3/4 cup of sugar to the cooked berries and stir it up. I find that when you add the sugar, late in the cooking process, the fruit takes on a sheen that is not there when you do it early. Maybe it's my imagination, but there it is.
And know what? You are DONE. Let this cool down, and it will continue to thicken. You can refrigerate it, of course, and it will thicken some more, but when you want to use it, I would say that you should let it come to room temperature.
What do you use it on? Well, if you have a bowl of vanilla ice cream, or a lemon flavored one, including wonderful lemon verbena ice cream, put some over that. Or a piece of pound cake. Or, dip some biscotti into it, especially if they are lemon flavored. Should you be moved to make a pie, and want to combine things, you can stir this into a peach or nectarine filling. In fact, you can also pour it over sliced peaches or sliced nectarines for a really nice treat.
The flavor components that everyone speaks of combining best with blueberries, are lemon and vanilla. If you really like those flavors, add a bit of lemon peel, grated fine, or a half teaspoon of vanilla to your cooked blueberries. But try the stuff plain, first. I think you might find it just terrific that way, as you experience a deep, resonant flavor that our "true blue" berry friends provide to us.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Authentic, or convenient? Good any way; curried chicken
I've written at times in this blog about the cuisines that I don't know little about, and don't cook. One of those is Indian. I have tried , but I just don't "get it." Indian cooking , at least in my view of it, requires a fair amount of time, and patience. It also calls for techniques that I simply do not have under my command: things like dry frying spices, and slow cooking of pastes, and so forth. When I have tried to make Indian dishes, they've usually been failures, or at least not very good. This is one of those things that is on my list of "things to do one of these days," and maybe I'll get to it.
So last night I made a chicken curry. Sort of. There is no question about it. I cheated. I used a prepared curry paste. If I were to speak to people who know this cuisine better, I know I'd be told "oh, don't worry. Everyone uses them in India." If you know Annalena, you know that's really not much comfort. But I had it in my mind that I wanted to do "something different,' and curry came to m ind.
One thought that the careful reader might be considering is "curry? Well, the way they're cooked, you lose the vegetable identity. Isn't that contrary to your philosophy?"
Well, maybe the careful reader would not be considering it. I was thinking about it though, as memories of curries in Indian restaurants, most of which have been bad, went through my head.
In fact, I think this kind of cooking actually plays into the idea of immediacy. Look, let's face it. A fresh vegetable is going to taste better than one that isn't regardless of how you cook it. So even though the slow cooking of vegetables, in spices, for a long time, will change their identity, they're going to taste better if they are fresh, and local, than not.
Anyway, enough with the philosophy. On curry pastes, I have found three different varieties, identified by color rather than anything else: red, green and yellow. Most people who know more about this type of food than I do say that the red type is coarsest. I hear disagreements about the green and the yellow, and essentially, the "break down" seems to be that if you're cooking beef, or something strong, use green curry. For things like fish and chicken, use yellow. But that's a very close call from my friends. So here's what I would suggest: try them all. And try to imagine them in the context of what you're going to cook. I went with yellow with my curried chicken. It's good. Would green be better? Maybe. It would be different.
So, here's how I went about it. I had a pound and a half of skinless, boneless chicken breasts. How THOSE wound up in the house is another story, for another post. In any event, I patted them dry and salted them, and then cut them into chunks. I added some vegetable oil to a nonstick pan, and sauteed them . No olive oil in India, so that was an easy choice. The nonstick, because I did NOT want any browning on the chicken. That's the same reason that I crowded the pan, so that there would be a bit of a steaming effect, rather than the browning one that I usually like. I didn't cook them through, but just enough to get the raw color off of the perimeter.
While they were cooking, I sliced a big yellow onion, and a green pepper and a yellow pepper. Why those? Because that's what I had in the house. One thing I CAN guarantee you: Indian cooking, like all cooking, depends on what you have. Perhaps this is not iconic, but it was there, and I used them. Peppers cook at just about the same rate as do onions, so after I removed the chicken, I added some new oil, and sauteed the vegetables just until they were beginning to soften.
Using the principle of "frying spices," I added about two tablespoons of yellow curry paste to the vegetables, and stirred them until they were coated, and cooked them for a minute or two. Then I added the chicken back and a cup of light coconut milk, to which I had added a scant, quarter cup of paste. Adding the coconut milk probably makes this more of a 'korma' than a curry, but it is what it is. The coconut milk came to a simmer right away, and I lowered the heat, covered the pan, and let it cook away for ten minutes. Then, I took off the lid and let the milk reduce for another five. I had a thick, slightly spicy sauce around my chicken and vegetables , and the apartment smelled wonderful.
I tasted it when it was hot, and the spice was much more pronounced than it was when the curry cooled. This happens with food a lot; how it tastes, hot, is different from how it tastes, cold. So when I reheat this for dinner, I may stir in more of the paste, if the heat is not to my liking.
If you wanted this to be more substantial, I would suggest adding some potatoes to it when you add the coconut milk. Chunks of them, small enough to cook in fifteen minutes. Otherwise, put this over some rice, and make some green vegetables.
This is certainly convenience cooking, far from anything I could call authentic. It's how we all cook. Try it. Let me know how yours works out. I think I'm going to try one in the future, with fish
So last night I made a chicken curry. Sort of. There is no question about it. I cheated. I used a prepared curry paste. If I were to speak to people who know this cuisine better, I know I'd be told "oh, don't worry. Everyone uses them in India." If you know Annalena, you know that's really not much comfort. But I had it in my mind that I wanted to do "something different,' and curry came to m ind.
One thought that the careful reader might be considering is "curry? Well, the way they're cooked, you lose the vegetable identity. Isn't that contrary to your philosophy?"
Well, maybe the careful reader would not be considering it. I was thinking about it though, as memories of curries in Indian restaurants, most of which have been bad, went through my head.
In fact, I think this kind of cooking actually plays into the idea of immediacy. Look, let's face it. A fresh vegetable is going to taste better than one that isn't regardless of how you cook it. So even though the slow cooking of vegetables, in spices, for a long time, will change their identity, they're going to taste better if they are fresh, and local, than not.
Anyway, enough with the philosophy. On curry pastes, I have found three different varieties, identified by color rather than anything else: red, green and yellow. Most people who know more about this type of food than I do say that the red type is coarsest. I hear disagreements about the green and the yellow, and essentially, the "break down" seems to be that if you're cooking beef, or something strong, use green curry. For things like fish and chicken, use yellow. But that's a very close call from my friends. So here's what I would suggest: try them all. And try to imagine them in the context of what you're going to cook. I went with yellow with my curried chicken. It's good. Would green be better? Maybe. It would be different.
So, here's how I went about it. I had a pound and a half of skinless, boneless chicken breasts. How THOSE wound up in the house is another story, for another post. In any event, I patted them dry and salted them, and then cut them into chunks. I added some vegetable oil to a nonstick pan, and sauteed them . No olive oil in India, so that was an easy choice. The nonstick, because I did NOT want any browning on the chicken. That's the same reason that I crowded the pan, so that there would be a bit of a steaming effect, rather than the browning one that I usually like. I didn't cook them through, but just enough to get the raw color off of the perimeter.
While they were cooking, I sliced a big yellow onion, and a green pepper and a yellow pepper. Why those? Because that's what I had in the house. One thing I CAN guarantee you: Indian cooking, like all cooking, depends on what you have. Perhaps this is not iconic, but it was there, and I used them. Peppers cook at just about the same rate as do onions, so after I removed the chicken, I added some new oil, and sauteed the vegetables just until they were beginning to soften.
Using the principle of "frying spices," I added about two tablespoons of yellow curry paste to the vegetables, and stirred them until they were coated, and cooked them for a minute or two. Then I added the chicken back and a cup of light coconut milk, to which I had added a scant, quarter cup of paste. Adding the coconut milk probably makes this more of a 'korma' than a curry, but it is what it is. The coconut milk came to a simmer right away, and I lowered the heat, covered the pan, and let it cook away for ten minutes. Then, I took off the lid and let the milk reduce for another five. I had a thick, slightly spicy sauce around my chicken and vegetables , and the apartment smelled wonderful.
I tasted it when it was hot, and the spice was much more pronounced than it was when the curry cooled. This happens with food a lot; how it tastes, hot, is different from how it tastes, cold. So when I reheat this for dinner, I may stir in more of the paste, if the heat is not to my liking.
If you wanted this to be more substantial, I would suggest adding some potatoes to it when you add the coconut milk. Chunks of them, small enough to cook in fifteen minutes. Otherwise, put this over some rice, and make some green vegetables.
This is certainly convenience cooking, far from anything I could call authentic. It's how we all cook. Try it. Let me know how yours works out. I think I'm going to try one in the future, with fish
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Shell game: beans
We all eat green beans (what we used to call string beans when they HAD a string running down their seam), and many of us know dried beans. Whether we use them out of a can, or buy them in bulk, and soak them, we use them in soups, in salads, if you're a vegetarian, in main dishes, in chili, and so forth.
At this time of year, "shell beans" become available, and they're a vegetable you should try.
What exactly is a shell bean? Well, did you see the word "dried" up there? Those dried beans: the pintos, the kidneys, the cranberries (or borlottis), the canellinis, all start as fresh beans, in pods. They dry very well, if they are treated properly, and then they can be stored for the months when there is nothing fresh.
But they are wonderful eaten fresh, right out of the pod. Admittedly, you need to spend some time with them, if you want to try them. But they're fun. And you can also do something with them that I encourage you to do: you can freeze them, fresh, and use them in place of dried beans, and save yourself a lot of time during the winter.
You will usually find "shell beans," in their shell (duh). I say "usually," because some farmers will shell them for you ahead of time, and charge a premium for the shelled beans. You can consider this a time saver, but in my view, you're losing freshness. You have no idea when those beans were shelled. While I have absolute faith in my farmer friends, I prefer to work with them "right out of the pod," so to speak.
I say 'right out of the pod' because, truth to be told, trying to shell these beans is tough. The pods are soft, and resilient, and don't very much like to be torn apart. I find that laying the beans out on sheet, and letting them dry for a day or two, makes it much easier for me to get them out of the pod. It also provides an occasion for friends to help you. In my experience, the thing that people most like to help with, in kitchen prep, is podding peas, and shelling beans. Now, I'm not going to suggest you throw a "shucking party," but the truth is, that in early America, this was in fact done, as homes got ready for the winter. You don't have to do that, but....
OK, back to the beans. There are seasons to these as well. Cranberries, called "borlottis" in Italy, have the longest season. Flageolets are in season right now as well. You will get a pretty good yield from them, more than when you shell peas, but do know that you're going to lose some weight that you paid for, in the shucking. The beans that remain, however, are much more filling than are peas, and a much more satisfying mouthful.
When you shuck borlottis, you see the wonder of genetics at work. The expression 'as alike as two peas in a pod," seems wrong. These borlottis have wonderful, "whirly" color patterns, in dark red, black and white. Occasionaly, I'll get a solid red one or a solid black one, or even a white one. The varieties of the patterns are somewhat reminiscient to me of snow flakes, with no two alike. Unfortunately, when these cook, they cook to a dull brown color. I wish the color held, but, oh well.
Flageolets are much smaller, and pure white. I believe that at one point they were called "rice beans," because they resemble fat grains of rice. Now, however, an heirloom variety of beans has been rescued, and it is called a rice bean. If you want to sound cool, just call them "flags," like restaurant chefs do.
How do you cook them? Well, it's really very easy. You need a big pot, about half full of water. Half full, because these beans foam up when they're cooked. It's one of the starches being released. I have never seen a recipe warn about this, but it's a fact. So get your biggest pot and fill it half with water.
When you cook dried beans, you are frequently told not to add salt until the end, because it will toughen the skin. Not an issue here, I find. So get some salt into that water too. When it comes to a boil, add the beans. Lower the heat to medium, and let them cook away. I find that 2o minutes is about right for all of them. Test the same way you would test for a dried bean: pull one out, and either taste it, or crush it with the back of a spoon. Once they're cooked, use them any way you would use prepared dried beans. Except these are better.
Without question, the best dish I ever had with these guys was one at Marco Canora's wonderful restaurant, "Hearth." He had collected about seven varieites of shell beans, and cooked them individually, in order to preserve their unique colors (if you mix the beans, the colors will blend, and you'll get muck. Don't do it). He dressed them simply, and then put slices of rare, seared, sushi grade tuna over the room temperature beans. I remember thinking that it was well worth the high price, because of all the labor involved in the dish.
You don't have to use seven varieites, of course, but that's a wonderful way to use these. After they're cooked, and still warm, put them in a strong flavored dressing. The beans will soak up a lot of it, and use them as a base, for something like tuna, or swordfish, or anything else yummy.
Give them a try. They're available NOW, and they will be for some time. Enjoy
At this time of year, "shell beans" become available, and they're a vegetable you should try.
What exactly is a shell bean? Well, did you see the word "dried" up there? Those dried beans: the pintos, the kidneys, the cranberries (or borlottis), the canellinis, all start as fresh beans, in pods. They dry very well, if they are treated properly, and then they can be stored for the months when there is nothing fresh.
But they are wonderful eaten fresh, right out of the pod. Admittedly, you need to spend some time with them, if you want to try them. But they're fun. And you can also do something with them that I encourage you to do: you can freeze them, fresh, and use them in place of dried beans, and save yourself a lot of time during the winter.
You will usually find "shell beans," in their shell (duh). I say "usually," because some farmers will shell them for you ahead of time, and charge a premium for the shelled beans. You can consider this a time saver, but in my view, you're losing freshness. You have no idea when those beans were shelled. While I have absolute faith in my farmer friends, I prefer to work with them "right out of the pod," so to speak.
I say 'right out of the pod' because, truth to be told, trying to shell these beans is tough. The pods are soft, and resilient, and don't very much like to be torn apart. I find that laying the beans out on sheet, and letting them dry for a day or two, makes it much easier for me to get them out of the pod. It also provides an occasion for friends to help you. In my experience, the thing that people most like to help with, in kitchen prep, is podding peas, and shelling beans. Now, I'm not going to suggest you throw a "shucking party," but the truth is, that in early America, this was in fact done, as homes got ready for the winter. You don't have to do that, but....
OK, back to the beans. There are seasons to these as well. Cranberries, called "borlottis" in Italy, have the longest season. Flageolets are in season right now as well. You will get a pretty good yield from them, more than when you shell peas, but do know that you're going to lose some weight that you paid for, in the shucking. The beans that remain, however, are much more filling than are peas, and a much more satisfying mouthful.
When you shuck borlottis, you see the wonder of genetics at work. The expression 'as alike as two peas in a pod," seems wrong. These borlottis have wonderful, "whirly" color patterns, in dark red, black and white. Occasionaly, I'll get a solid red one or a solid black one, or even a white one. The varieties of the patterns are somewhat reminiscient to me of snow flakes, with no two alike. Unfortunately, when these cook, they cook to a dull brown color. I wish the color held, but, oh well.
Flageolets are much smaller, and pure white. I believe that at one point they were called "rice beans," because they resemble fat grains of rice. Now, however, an heirloom variety of beans has been rescued, and it is called a rice bean. If you want to sound cool, just call them "flags," like restaurant chefs do.
How do you cook them? Well, it's really very easy. You need a big pot, about half full of water. Half full, because these beans foam up when they're cooked. It's one of the starches being released. I have never seen a recipe warn about this, but it's a fact. So get your biggest pot and fill it half with water.
When you cook dried beans, you are frequently told not to add salt until the end, because it will toughen the skin. Not an issue here, I find. So get some salt into that water too. When it comes to a boil, add the beans. Lower the heat to medium, and let them cook away. I find that 2o minutes is about right for all of them. Test the same way you would test for a dried bean: pull one out, and either taste it, or crush it with the back of a spoon. Once they're cooked, use them any way you would use prepared dried beans. Except these are better.
Without question, the best dish I ever had with these guys was one at Marco Canora's wonderful restaurant, "Hearth." He had collected about seven varieites of shell beans, and cooked them individually, in order to preserve their unique colors (if you mix the beans, the colors will blend, and you'll get muck. Don't do it). He dressed them simply, and then put slices of rare, seared, sushi grade tuna over the room temperature beans. I remember thinking that it was well worth the high price, because of all the labor involved in the dish.
You don't have to use seven varieites, of course, but that's a wonderful way to use these. After they're cooked, and still warm, put them in a strong flavored dressing. The beans will soak up a lot of it, and use them as a base, for something like tuna, or swordfish, or anything else yummy.
Give them a try. They're available NOW, and they will be for some time. Enjoy
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