I have written before about how I have found professional chefs, by and large, to be the most pleasant, generous people I have ever worked with . Most have a humility about them that would surprise you, I think. They love what they do, and they want to share it.
I work with scientists, and I have found this to be true of scientists as well. But in both cases, there is a "wall" to break through. "Wall" is the wrong word, but I'm sleepy and I can't get the right one in my head. For scientists, as well as cooks, the "wall" is convincing them that you're for real. In other words, if you go, for example, to a biologist and say "I really admire your work, but one question: what's DNA?" s/he will shut down immediately. Similarly, if you go to a cook and say "I really love that dish you just made and I'd love to make it. Now, how do you turn on the stove," you will get the cold shoulder.
And don't think I'm kidding about these examples either.
I do not consider myself an expert at cooking by any stretch of the imagination, but I know enough to ask intelligent questions. Once that happens, the accumulated knowledge of professional cooks comes pouring out. With wonderful results.
While the Guyman and I were in California, we ate incredible kumquat (the fruit that dare not speak its name), ice cream at Zuni Cafe'. Now, I make a CANDIED kumquat ice cream, but this was not the same. It had no solids in it, it was creamy and it was undeniably kumquat, with an orange tint, and a complexity of flavor that I didn't expect. Of course, I had to make it. And I assumed that in order to make it, I would have had to steep whole kumquats in cream for a while.
Here's where professional help comes in. We were having dinner at one of our favorite restaurants, "Cookshop," and I was discussing noyau ice cream with the manager. "Noyau," in case you don't know, refers to that little almond thingee that you find in the center of peach pits when they split open. They have a bitter almond flavor and they steep in milk and cream beautifully. The manager (Michael), was very intrigued and thought we could stump Emily, the pastry chef.
NOT A CHANCE. Emily had six recipes for noyaux at her fingertips. And we started chatting. I told her about the kumquat ice cream. She paused and said "hmmm. I bet they pureed the cream and fruit and let it sit a while. That's the only way you'll get that flavor." I filed it away, but decided I'd do it my way anyway . I took two cups of cream, two cups of kumquats, brought the mix to a boil and let them sit. For an hour. Two hours. Three hours. FOUR HOURS. I had cold cream with little orange balls sitting in them.
"OK Emily, I give in." I took the mass and put it in a mixer and pureed for 45 second, and poured it out. BAM. There was the citrus essence right there.
Listen to your betters. I let this sit overnight, and then this morning, the ice cream was made.
So here's how it goes. Take two cups of heavy cream and two cups of kumquats, whole. Put them in a blender and puree for less than a minute. Pour the stuff out and then cover it and let it sit, overnight.
The next day, pour it through a strainer, and press to get the cream (this is important, because products like this do tend to soak up the cream. You have to work to get it all out.). After you have that done, add six egg yolks and 3/4 cup of sugar. Put this over a medium flame, and whisk constantly, until you get a texture which allows you to draw a finger across a film of the custard, without it coming back together. Then, add a cup of whole milk.
Refrigerate all of this, and when it's cold, put it in your ice cream maker.
To me, the flavor is way more complex than orange or tangerine, with a spiciness that is somewhat reminiscent of limes. It's lovely. Kumquats are still in season, so if you've got the machine, try it. And wait until you see the lovely color.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
The ripple effect: rhubarb ripple cake
Last year, I wrote on May 1 of my love for rhubarb, and how its first appearance of the season always makes me giddy. I know this is a sign that I need a life, but hey, we all need our jollies somewhere.
The recipe that follows is actually the recipe that really got me into the swing of using rhubarb. It's a recipe that has been with me for 13 years. That's a testament to how good I think this is. During the winter, when I simply cannot bear the thought of another baked pear, or another apple based dessert, I pull out a bag of the rhubarb that I have craftily frozen since the spring of the year before, and make this cake.
Rhubarb seems, these days, to almost be a generational thing. If you put a rhubarb based dessert in front of someone who is over 40 (I guess it was "30 something" when I started making it), they will love you immensely. Put it in front of a younger one and they will ask "what's that?" There is also another interesting phenomenon I have observed with rhubarb. It seems that moving out of the 50-60 something group, people like their rhubarb sweeter than you'll find it in this cake. Whilst we were in San Francisco, one of the desserts available at Chez Panisse is their definitive rhubarb compote, where the rhubarb is baked, and served with a rhubarb syrup. I had it myself. It is not unsweet, but it is not sticky sweet, and you DO know that it's rhubarb. That is the way I like it; however, there was an older couple sitting next to us, who needed to send it back for more sugar. I have seen that happen before. To each their own, but I warn you ahead of time, that if you want a sweeter dessert, you will want to add more sugar to the filling.
Another word on the filling: the one I use is pure rhubarb. You could modify this as you like. For example, when it's done cooking, you could add some sliced strawberries. They will cook down almost immediately. If you have some candied kumquats around, by all means, stir them in. Also, fresh ginger, or candied ginger would work, as would a diced apple. You could also use some frozen or fresh blueberries, if you happen to have local ones available. Around NY, the time when the two overlap is limited, so you really have to use the frozen ones. The color may not please you, though. It will come out looking something like a bruise.
I can say, uncategorically, that this is my favorite cake to eat, and it's up there with favorite ones to make. So here we go.
Let's start with the basic filling. You need either a pound of trimmed rhubarb or about a pound and a quarter of the untrimmed stuff. When you buy rhubarb, you should be getting it in full stalks. The bottom, and the top of it, will be too tough to cook, and you'll have to cut those sections off. That's what you use for syrup if you decide to make it. Once you have the rhubarb trimmed, cut it into half inch pieces, or bigger ones, if you would like more texture in your cake. Mix that fruit with 3/4 cup of white sugar and 3 heaping TABLESPOONS of cornstarch. Now, that's a lot of cornstarch, but you'll need it. Rhubarb is very wet, and you need a thick filling.
Put this into a heavy bottomed pot, cover it, and cook it at low heat for about five minutes. At this point, you are sweating the rhubarb to get some of the liquid moving. After the five minutes, uncover it and turn up the heat a bit. Get your spoon, and start stirring, and watch what happens, it's kinda neat. First, the rhubarb begins to collapse. Also, you'll see the cornstarch go from white, to clear, as it heats up, mixes with the liquid and thickens. Cornstarch needs heat to work. It's quite obvious when it happens.
Look at the texture when you have that thickened mass. If you want to get smaller pieces of rhubarb, lower the heat and cook it some more. I usually don't. I just let it cool down, uncovered, while I make the cake. And if you like easy cake, this is for you.
You need 2 cups of flour, 3/4 cup of sugar, and a stick and a half of butter, unsalted, to begin. I use the food processor and pulse it to a fine mass. When you've done this, separate out a cup and a half of the stuff. Then, turn the processor on again, and add a teaspoon of baking powder, half a teaspoon of baking soda, half a teaspoon of salt, one egg, and then 3/4 of a cup of "dairy." My original recipe calls for either buttermilk or soured milk. I almost never have buttermilk in the house, and while there is milk in the house sometimes, I can't guarantee it's there. There IS always yogurt, however, and that works just fine. If you do this in the food processor, you will get a thick, somewhat liquidy mass. You can flavor this with things like cinnamon, or orange rind or oil, ginger, etc. I like it just plain.
Get your pan ready, and preheat your oven, to 350. I prefer to use a 9 inch spring form, but you can do this in any pan. Spray it or otherwise grease it really well . You'll probably want to use your hands for the next step, so make sure you take the blade out of the processor before you get in there. Slop out about 2/3-3/4 of the batter and spread it across the bottom, and as far up the sides as you're comfortable. You don't have to be precise about this, and you don't have to worry about not coating the bottom completely; you'll be fine. After you've done that, spoon the rhubarb filling over it. Finally, dollop (ain't that a great word), the remaining batter on the top, however you want to do it , and then sprinkle the reserved crumbs over the top. Put the whole thing in the oven, and bake it for 45 minutes.
This will brown unevenly, which is fine. When it comes out, run a knife around the perimeter, and then wait until it cools completely, because hot rhubarb will burn you. It's very easy to slice, and when you do slice it, you'll see why this is called "rhubarb ripple cake. "
The recipe is said to serve 12, which is about right if you like a big portion. I find that 16 is more like it, especially if you put it with one of rhubarb's natural accompaniments, which are all dairy products that don't have too pronounced a flavor. Vanilla ice cream, whipped cream, creme fraiche, are all good. That's the way you should go with this cake.
I made one for my boys in Uptown Express tonight. It's to celebrate. We have many things to celebrate, so it's not for anything in particular. Maybe it's just because they're singing and I'm listening and, to quote Stephen Sondheim, with just a little variation "We're still here."
The recipe that follows is actually the recipe that really got me into the swing of using rhubarb. It's a recipe that has been with me for 13 years. That's a testament to how good I think this is. During the winter, when I simply cannot bear the thought of another baked pear, or another apple based dessert, I pull out a bag of the rhubarb that I have craftily frozen since the spring of the year before, and make this cake.
Rhubarb seems, these days, to almost be a generational thing. If you put a rhubarb based dessert in front of someone who is over 40 (I guess it was "30 something" when I started making it), they will love you immensely. Put it in front of a younger one and they will ask "what's that?" There is also another interesting phenomenon I have observed with rhubarb. It seems that moving out of the 50-60 something group, people like their rhubarb sweeter than you'll find it in this cake. Whilst we were in San Francisco, one of the desserts available at Chez Panisse is their definitive rhubarb compote, where the rhubarb is baked, and served with a rhubarb syrup. I had it myself. It is not unsweet, but it is not sticky sweet, and you DO know that it's rhubarb. That is the way I like it; however, there was an older couple sitting next to us, who needed to send it back for more sugar. I have seen that happen before. To each their own, but I warn you ahead of time, that if you want a sweeter dessert, you will want to add more sugar to the filling.
Another word on the filling: the one I use is pure rhubarb. You could modify this as you like. For example, when it's done cooking, you could add some sliced strawberries. They will cook down almost immediately. If you have some candied kumquats around, by all means, stir them in. Also, fresh ginger, or candied ginger would work, as would a diced apple. You could also use some frozen or fresh blueberries, if you happen to have local ones available. Around NY, the time when the two overlap is limited, so you really have to use the frozen ones. The color may not please you, though. It will come out looking something like a bruise.
I can say, uncategorically, that this is my favorite cake to eat, and it's up there with favorite ones to make. So here we go.
Let's start with the basic filling. You need either a pound of trimmed rhubarb or about a pound and a quarter of the untrimmed stuff. When you buy rhubarb, you should be getting it in full stalks. The bottom, and the top of it, will be too tough to cook, and you'll have to cut those sections off. That's what you use for syrup if you decide to make it. Once you have the rhubarb trimmed, cut it into half inch pieces, or bigger ones, if you would like more texture in your cake. Mix that fruit with 3/4 cup of white sugar and 3 heaping TABLESPOONS of cornstarch. Now, that's a lot of cornstarch, but you'll need it. Rhubarb is very wet, and you need a thick filling.
Put this into a heavy bottomed pot, cover it, and cook it at low heat for about five minutes. At this point, you are sweating the rhubarb to get some of the liquid moving. After the five minutes, uncover it and turn up the heat a bit. Get your spoon, and start stirring, and watch what happens, it's kinda neat. First, the rhubarb begins to collapse. Also, you'll see the cornstarch go from white, to clear, as it heats up, mixes with the liquid and thickens. Cornstarch needs heat to work. It's quite obvious when it happens.
Look at the texture when you have that thickened mass. If you want to get smaller pieces of rhubarb, lower the heat and cook it some more. I usually don't. I just let it cool down, uncovered, while I make the cake. And if you like easy cake, this is for you.
You need 2 cups of flour, 3/4 cup of sugar, and a stick and a half of butter, unsalted, to begin. I use the food processor and pulse it to a fine mass. When you've done this, separate out a cup and a half of the stuff. Then, turn the processor on again, and add a teaspoon of baking powder, half a teaspoon of baking soda, half a teaspoon of salt, one egg, and then 3/4 of a cup of "dairy." My original recipe calls for either buttermilk or soured milk. I almost never have buttermilk in the house, and while there is milk in the house sometimes, I can't guarantee it's there. There IS always yogurt, however, and that works just fine. If you do this in the food processor, you will get a thick, somewhat liquidy mass. You can flavor this with things like cinnamon, or orange rind or oil, ginger, etc. I like it just plain.
Get your pan ready, and preheat your oven, to 350. I prefer to use a 9 inch spring form, but you can do this in any pan. Spray it or otherwise grease it really well . You'll probably want to use your hands for the next step, so make sure you take the blade out of the processor before you get in there. Slop out about 2/3-3/4 of the batter and spread it across the bottom, and as far up the sides as you're comfortable. You don't have to be precise about this, and you don't have to worry about not coating the bottom completely; you'll be fine. After you've done that, spoon the rhubarb filling over it. Finally, dollop (ain't that a great word), the remaining batter on the top, however you want to do it , and then sprinkle the reserved crumbs over the top. Put the whole thing in the oven, and bake it for 45 minutes.
This will brown unevenly, which is fine. When it comes out, run a knife around the perimeter, and then wait until it cools completely, because hot rhubarb will burn you. It's very easy to slice, and when you do slice it, you'll see why this is called "rhubarb ripple cake. "
The recipe is said to serve 12, which is about right if you like a big portion. I find that 16 is more like it, especially if you put it with one of rhubarb's natural accompaniments, which are all dairy products that don't have too pronounced a flavor. Vanilla ice cream, whipped cream, creme fraiche, are all good. That's the way you should go with this cake.
I made one for my boys in Uptown Express tonight. It's to celebrate. We have many things to celebrate, so it's not for anything in particular. Maybe it's just because they're singing and I'm listening and, to quote Stephen Sondheim, with just a little variation "We're still here."
Here we go again... fish in fig leaves
Have you missed me? Oh, come on, admit it. It's been nearly two months since Annalena has shown her face here. There has been too TOO much to explain , carissimi, including changed relationships (worry not. The Guyman is still around), changes in lifestyles (can it be? Has Annalena become a gym addict? It is close. Did any of you ever think I would be getting up early, on VACATION, to do pushups? And NOT the kind you think...). There was vacation, there is the change in the economy, there was enough dental work to rebuild Venice's canals, and so much more.
But here I am, re-invigorated by a ten day stay in San Francisco, with new ideas, new thoughts, and so forth. And I'll be sharing - or forcing them - on you.
I write today about something that we did NOT eat in San Francisco, but something I have been fascinated by, for years. That is the use of fig LEAVES in cooking. Here on the East Coast, while a home gardener may have an occasional fig tree, there is no commercial crop to speak of. And, like just about anything fresh, fig leaves have a very short "shelf life." So we don't see them here. Keep in mind, my ragazzi, that if you want something bad enough, you can get it. I fully intend to put the squeeze on the Artichoke Princess, Sandra, to put some leaves in a box of figs later this year and do this dish again. If you want it... well, like Joel Grey says in "Cabaret:" "ASK HER"
So, why fig leaves? Well, the fact is, the use of leaves to wrap food before it is cooked is not at all uncommon. One should come immediately to mind. Maybe two , if you are as cosmopolitan as some of my friends are. Cabbage leaves - remember stuffed cabbage? What about dolma, those stuffed grape leaves that could be wonderful, but so frequently aren't? And a third one, that will be familiar to afficiandos of Latin food - banana leaves. Less frequently, you will find avocado leaves as a wrapper, but here, you have to be careful. There are some species - in fact - MOST species of avocado - where the leaves are toxic. Not enough to kill you, but enough to make you incredibly sick. So let the professionals get those for you. No going and denuding that avocado tree in your backroom that you started from a pit thirteen years ago and looks something like a gangly teenager, decides to do a Camille number every three years ago, and look close to expiring on Annalena, and then does a phoenix number and resurrects itself.
I AM digressing, aren't I? Ok, back to point. All of these leaves impart their own flavor to the food. Interestingly, both banana and avocado give an anise/ liquorice type of flavor that is subtle. It is more fragrance than taste. I had been told that fig leaves have a coconuty type of flavor. And this is true. But there is more: there is an herbal quality to the flavor you get from them that is very hard to describe. Annalena feels she needs to experiment with absinthe to see if the flavor is here.
OK, so here's how you do it. You need a firm fish. Traditionally, this is done with salmon or trout type fish, but I was doing it with some HUGE flounder fillets that I got from the Market on Monday (Yes, I need a life. Two hours after a red eye flight had landed, I was at the farmer's market. The woman is ill). These fillets weighed in at two pounds each. So I had the miraculous Auntie Jan cut half a piece for me.
Fig leaves are much smaller than banana leaves, so you will need to cut portions - anywhere from 4-6 ounces. You don't have to have Prussian precision in doing this, because it's not all that important to cover the fish completely.
Preheat your oven to a high temperature . 400 is what I used. Now, to prep your dish, simply salt and pepper the fish. Then, rub or brush each fig leaf with olive oil. If you think about this a bit, what I say now will make sense. You put a piece of fish on the center of a leaf. Fig leaves have three extensions. What you do now is fold those three in. Don't worry about the order. The olive oil will help them stick together, but you're going to turn the fish upside down, so that the back part is up, and that will "seal" the fish as much as anything can.
Put each piece onto a baking sheet. Then, just put the thing into the hot oven.
Within minutes, you will smell something herbacious that is very pleasant, and very new. We have neighbors who believe in the use of herbs for medicinal purposes, at least twice a day (THINK!), and I will say that the smell rivalled the "good shit," as they call it. You bake this up for about 7 minutes. It will be more than sufficient.
Use a spatula and move the cooked fish to a plate. The leaves will be crispy and dry, but very easy to remove from the fish. Let your guests have that pleasure, because they will get more of that toasty odor.
You can eat the fish just as it is, and you WILL notice a coconutty flavor. Nothing too strong, but if you use a mild fish, like flounder, or cod, or somethig like that, it will be easily noticeable. If you want to add more flavor, melt some butter with a lemon peel and pour a bit of that over the fish. We used a green tomatillo sauce with it. Not much, but a bit.
We had this with fried potatoes and new garlic (you folks want that one? ASK HER), and with just plain boiled asparagus. It was a very good meal, very easy, and very unique.
Very good, very easy, very unique. Sort of like Annalena, don't you think?
But let's face it. You all want a dessert recipe , don't you? Ah, ragazzi, later today, Annalena will introduce you to the joys of rhubarb ribble coffee cake. This may very well be my favorite cake to make and to eat - and yet.... I will not eat this one. We came back from vacation having LOST weight. And, as Annalena is extremely dedicated to losing another 25 pounds now (and she will), the cake will go to our brothers in Uptown tonight. Working men need their food.
Make the fish. And if you can't get fig leaves, simply ask Annalena. And if she's not talking to you, or not sharing (greedy woman that she is), do this with banana leaves. If you use snapper, you will be making a classic Mexican dish, especially if you bake it with a whole chili in each piece.
But here I am, re-invigorated by a ten day stay in San Francisco, with new ideas, new thoughts, and so forth. And I'll be sharing - or forcing them - on you.
I write today about something that we did NOT eat in San Francisco, but something I have been fascinated by, for years. That is the use of fig LEAVES in cooking. Here on the East Coast, while a home gardener may have an occasional fig tree, there is no commercial crop to speak of. And, like just about anything fresh, fig leaves have a very short "shelf life." So we don't see them here. Keep in mind, my ragazzi, that if you want something bad enough, you can get it. I fully intend to put the squeeze on the Artichoke Princess, Sandra, to put some leaves in a box of figs later this year and do this dish again. If you want it... well, like Joel Grey says in "Cabaret:" "ASK HER"
So, why fig leaves? Well, the fact is, the use of leaves to wrap food before it is cooked is not at all uncommon. One should come immediately to mind. Maybe two , if you are as cosmopolitan as some of my friends are. Cabbage leaves - remember stuffed cabbage? What about dolma, those stuffed grape leaves that could be wonderful, but so frequently aren't? And a third one, that will be familiar to afficiandos of Latin food - banana leaves. Less frequently, you will find avocado leaves as a wrapper, but here, you have to be careful. There are some species - in fact - MOST species of avocado - where the leaves are toxic. Not enough to kill you, but enough to make you incredibly sick. So let the professionals get those for you. No going and denuding that avocado tree in your backroom that you started from a pit thirteen years ago and looks something like a gangly teenager, decides to do a Camille number every three years ago, and look close to expiring on Annalena, and then does a phoenix number and resurrects itself.
I AM digressing, aren't I? Ok, back to point. All of these leaves impart their own flavor to the food. Interestingly, both banana and avocado give an anise/ liquorice type of flavor that is subtle. It is more fragrance than taste. I had been told that fig leaves have a coconuty type of flavor. And this is true. But there is more: there is an herbal quality to the flavor you get from them that is very hard to describe. Annalena feels she needs to experiment with absinthe to see if the flavor is here.
OK, so here's how you do it. You need a firm fish. Traditionally, this is done with salmon or trout type fish, but I was doing it with some HUGE flounder fillets that I got from the Market on Monday (Yes, I need a life. Two hours after a red eye flight had landed, I was at the farmer's market. The woman is ill). These fillets weighed in at two pounds each. So I had the miraculous Auntie Jan cut half a piece for me.
Fig leaves are much smaller than banana leaves, so you will need to cut portions - anywhere from 4-6 ounces. You don't have to have Prussian precision in doing this, because it's not all that important to cover the fish completely.
Preheat your oven to a high temperature . 400 is what I used. Now, to prep your dish, simply salt and pepper the fish. Then, rub or brush each fig leaf with olive oil. If you think about this a bit, what I say now will make sense. You put a piece of fish on the center of a leaf. Fig leaves have three extensions. What you do now is fold those three in. Don't worry about the order. The olive oil will help them stick together, but you're going to turn the fish upside down, so that the back part is up, and that will "seal" the fish as much as anything can.
Put each piece onto a baking sheet. Then, just put the thing into the hot oven.
Within minutes, you will smell something herbacious that is very pleasant, and very new. We have neighbors who believe in the use of herbs for medicinal purposes, at least twice a day (THINK!), and I will say that the smell rivalled the "good shit," as they call it. You bake this up for about 7 minutes. It will be more than sufficient.
Use a spatula and move the cooked fish to a plate. The leaves will be crispy and dry, but very easy to remove from the fish. Let your guests have that pleasure, because they will get more of that toasty odor.
You can eat the fish just as it is, and you WILL notice a coconutty flavor. Nothing too strong, but if you use a mild fish, like flounder, or cod, or somethig like that, it will be easily noticeable. If you want to add more flavor, melt some butter with a lemon peel and pour a bit of that over the fish. We used a green tomatillo sauce with it. Not much, but a bit.
We had this with fried potatoes and new garlic (you folks want that one? ASK HER), and with just plain boiled asparagus. It was a very good meal, very easy, and very unique.
Very good, very easy, very unique. Sort of like Annalena, don't you think?
But let's face it. You all want a dessert recipe , don't you? Ah, ragazzi, later today, Annalena will introduce you to the joys of rhubarb ribble coffee cake. This may very well be my favorite cake to make and to eat - and yet.... I will not eat this one. We came back from vacation having LOST weight. And, as Annalena is extremely dedicated to losing another 25 pounds now (and she will), the cake will go to our brothers in Uptown tonight. Working men need their food.
Make the fish. And if you can't get fig leaves, simply ask Annalena. And if she's not talking to you, or not sharing (greedy woman that she is), do this with banana leaves. If you use snapper, you will be making a classic Mexican dish, especially if you bake it with a whole chili in each piece.
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