Memory is a funny thing. There are times when memories from, who knows when, just kind of pop into my head. I can't really fathom the reason for them showing up when they do, but there they are. I suspect this has happened to you too. On some of those "pop ups," I can recall when the thing I'm remembering happened, or events associated with it, or something. But then there are times when it's just an "unaccompanied" memory.
Those unaccompanied memories happen to me in the kitchen a lot. I'll start with a particular purpose in mind, and somewhere between sofa and stove, there's a change, a veering toward a different destination, with me not knowing why. Sometimes, in fact, most times, I never figure out why. Guy will come by, notice me working and ask "whatcha making?" and I will have absolutely no idea. It's just automatic pilot. Maybe it's something I saw Nana make and I'm recalling it, maybe ideas have fermented to the point where I have a new dish in mind, who knows? Remember one of my mantras? "It's not important to keep up, what's important is to keep open." So, when you go into the kitchen, keep your mind open. Don't feel totally wedded to your plan, and wait for those ideas to pop in.
On Monday, I was preparing a Florentine dish, modified American style, called "tagliata." "Tagliata" is as close as Italians come to a traditional roast. They prepare a HUGE steak - when I saw huge, I mean in excess of two pounds , by grilling it with just salt and pepper, and then slicing it ("tagliata"), and serving a few pieces of it, with vegetables. Sometimes, this is served with a green sauce. I almost never make it, and cannot recall the last time I did in fact make it. But on Monday, it popped into my head, as a general concept, and it came out of the kitchen with the steak.
I daresay, it was the highlight of the meal. Leftovers went into salad dressing, and then I made a variation of it again last night, as a pure salad dressing, again a hit.
Italians also make a green sauce with the classic "bollito misto." That green sauce is milder than the one I'm describing here, but as I will try to explain, this is so open to interpretation that you can make it anyway you want. The single key ingredient is parsley. Lots and lots of parsley.
You start with about two cups of fresh parsley, leaves and stems. Just chop it up roughly and throw it into a food processor or a blender. I prefer the processor for this, but they'll both work. Add some hot peppers . Here's where you get the first shot at variation. Use what you like. Unless you're serving something Calabrian, or Sicilian, I would tend toward a lesser amount of heat in the dish, but if you like things hot and spicy, who am I to tell you not to use them?
Don't answer that.
Anyway, you have your hot peppers and your parsley in the blender. Add a good slug of vinegar. I use champagne vinegar, but you can use any vinegar you like. Guestimate how much vinegar you added, and add half again as much olive oil. Also add a good heaping teaspoon of salt. Get the machine going and puree the stuff. Turn it off and taste it. Need more vinegar? Add it. More salt? Go for it. Not spicy enough? Add more peppers. Too spicy? Add more parsley. Finally, if it looks too thick, then add water and blend it again. You can do that here, because the vinegar and oil work, chemically, to allow you to incorporate water into the sauce without causing a separation. This is a "liason" in cooking , although if you can manage to get a liason of another type going in the kitchen, who am I to prevent you?
Don't answer that one either.
This sauce is great as it is, and like I say, on a rare, grilled steak, it is wonderful. You can also thin it with more oil and vinegar to make a salad dressing or, as I did last night, with a wave of "inspiration," blend some yogurt into some of it, to make a lighter salad dressing. Blended with the yogurt, it went onto a salad of lettuces, golden beets and macrona almonds. The yogurt was the "right" note for the dressing and we enjoyed it thoroughly. And there is plenty of green sauce to put on some roast chicken.
These little, easy sauces, will make your cooking so much better you may very well be amazed. Collect these kinds of recipes, if you collect no others, and you'll be able to create a new dish in the time it takes to make the sauce.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
On moments of "satori," kitchen measurements, and easy to make tarts
What a wonderful time in the kitchen this past weekend, and I shall explain.
We all have our "transcendent" moments in what we do. You can't predict them, you can't schedule them, you have no way of when they will be coming . But when they come, PAY ATTENTION, and hold onto them. Take a deep breath, hold it, and remember what you were doing, remember what you were thinking, and HOLD ONTO IT. Trust me, those moments will get you through A LOT, as I'm finding out now.
I had one of them on Sunday, as I was prepping food for a dinner party (and it was NOT for the dish that follows). I was in the process of making the macque choux, stirring it, watching how this time the moisture was more than sufficient, and all of a sudden, I was literally floating. For me, see, these transcendent moments take the form of feeling as if I am in black air, just doing what I'm doing , with nothing else around but the feeling that "I'm doing what I love, for people I love." This one lasted for more than a few minutes, and it was absolutely wonderful.
You know what? You've had them. Yeah, you have. And if you remember them, wonderful. If you don't, pay attention in the kitchen, because they will come. "Mindfulness" is something that they teach you in meditation and in Zen, and indeed, in Zen, much of mindfulness comes of working in the kitchen. So be mindful, at all times.
Okay, now to some cooking. And some math. I know that in cooking schools there is always a class on "Kitchen mathematics," which is required for all students. One of the many gadgets you can buy for your kitchen are these wheels, that allow you to make adjustments for doubling, halving, tripling recipes, and so forth. And those are great. But ya know, they're not infallible, and you really should be able to do this stuff in your head. And you can.
I found a recipe in Bon Appetit that just begged to be made; however, it called for a "nine inch tart pan."
I have never seen a 9 inch tart pan. I certainly don't own one. I have an 11 inch one, and every tart recipe I have ever seen calls for that size. So, faced with this recipe, what should I do?
Well, 9 and 11 are not exactly symmetrical numbers, but 9 and 12 are. What I mean by that is that I can divide both 9 and 11 by 3, and can say that, roughly , an 11 inch tart pan is 1/3 bigger than a 9 inch one (By the way, does anyone have any idea why they use 11 inches here? Doesn't that seem like an odd size?). So, by increasing the recipe by 1/3, you should be able to basically have the ingredients you need.
And indeed, I did. For the crust. When you start looking at volumes, however, things get a little bit dicey. In a tart like this, the solution I came up with is very easy: I did increase the liquid volume, but simply kept on adding solid fruit to fill the tart. This worked. It worked beautifully.
This is a tart that should be in your repertoire, especially if you have "fear of rolling," because it's a "push in" crust, and very easy. The brown butter filling does indeed give you a wonderful depth of flavor . And I will discuss variations on the recipe at the end. You'll come up with more.
First, let's make the crust. You'll need a stick plus two tablespoons of unsalted butter. That's 10 tablespoons, and you'll melt this. Add a half cup of sugar to that butter, and 1 1/3 cups of flour and stir this all together really well.
Now, get your 11 inch tart pan, and dump the stuff into it. Take little bits of it, and press it up against the rim, until you have it completely encircling the pan. This is really easy, and you may actually enjoy the feel of it. Press down the rest of the crust, to cover the bottom of the pan, reaching the rim.
Wasn't that easy? Put this on a baking sheet and bake in a preheated oven, at 375, for fifteen minutes, while you make this filling.
For the filling, you will start with 12 tablespoons (a stick and a half), of unsalted butter. Cut this into pieces and now, here's the hardest part of the recipe. Melt the butter, and keep an eye on it. Stir every now and then, and keep cooking until you get a nutty brown color. It will take about six minutes. When you have that color, pour the butter off, immediately into a cup or bowl or something off the heat. You want to do this, because otherwise it will keep cooking, and perhaps get too brown. (Incidentally, how brown you brown the butter is a judgment call. Personally, I like a dessert that veers toward the burned taste, but not many do. Your call on this. You could also just melt the butter).
In a big bowl, combine 2/3 cup of sugar, 3 large eggs, half a cup of flour, and a bit of vanilla extract. You now add the brown butter, and stir it all together. It's going to be very wet.
When your pie crust is baked and cooled, cover it with raspberries. Be as generous as you like and can afford. Then, set the tart pan back on that baking sheet, and fill it with that brown butter mixture, put the whole thing in the oven, and bake for about 45 minutes.
You don't need to refrigerate this, if you plan to eat it within 24 hours.
This tart, to be honest, is absolutely marvelous. I may even buy a second tart pan so I can make two of them.
Now, for variations that came to mind: blueberries. Substitute the vanilla with almond extract, and maybe add some marzipan. Speaking of marzipan: apricots. Halved, filled with marzipan, and turned cut side down with no changes to the filling. Cranberries in the winter, with a bit of orange peel, and maybe a bit of orange extract. And.... perhaps the purest of all: increase the filling by about a half and flavor it as you like, and make a pure custard pie.
I am sure that the pastry cooks out there will have all kinds of variations that they can make on this. I am already thinking of a savory one, perhaps with potatoes and cheese, and some left over greens, as a simple weekend lunch. I may very well try that. I will keep you posted.
Kitchen satori, kitchen math, and an easy to make dessert. Who says Annalena isn't generous with her ragazzi?
We all have our "transcendent" moments in what we do. You can't predict them, you can't schedule them, you have no way of when they will be coming . But when they come, PAY ATTENTION, and hold onto them. Take a deep breath, hold it, and remember what you were doing, remember what you were thinking, and HOLD ONTO IT. Trust me, those moments will get you through A LOT, as I'm finding out now.
I had one of them on Sunday, as I was prepping food for a dinner party (and it was NOT for the dish that follows). I was in the process of making the macque choux, stirring it, watching how this time the moisture was more than sufficient, and all of a sudden, I was literally floating. For me, see, these transcendent moments take the form of feeling as if I am in black air, just doing what I'm doing , with nothing else around but the feeling that "I'm doing what I love, for people I love." This one lasted for more than a few minutes, and it was absolutely wonderful.
You know what? You've had them. Yeah, you have. And if you remember them, wonderful. If you don't, pay attention in the kitchen, because they will come. "Mindfulness" is something that they teach you in meditation and in Zen, and indeed, in Zen, much of mindfulness comes of working in the kitchen. So be mindful, at all times.
Okay, now to some cooking. And some math. I know that in cooking schools there is always a class on "Kitchen mathematics," which is required for all students. One of the many gadgets you can buy for your kitchen are these wheels, that allow you to make adjustments for doubling, halving, tripling recipes, and so forth. And those are great. But ya know, they're not infallible, and you really should be able to do this stuff in your head. And you can.
I found a recipe in Bon Appetit that just begged to be made; however, it called for a "nine inch tart pan."
I have never seen a 9 inch tart pan. I certainly don't own one. I have an 11 inch one, and every tart recipe I have ever seen calls for that size. So, faced with this recipe, what should I do?
Well, 9 and 11 are not exactly symmetrical numbers, but 9 and 12 are. What I mean by that is that I can divide both 9 and 11 by 3, and can say that, roughly , an 11 inch tart pan is 1/3 bigger than a 9 inch one (By the way, does anyone have any idea why they use 11 inches here? Doesn't that seem like an odd size?). So, by increasing the recipe by 1/3, you should be able to basically have the ingredients you need.
And indeed, I did. For the crust. When you start looking at volumes, however, things get a little bit dicey. In a tart like this, the solution I came up with is very easy: I did increase the liquid volume, but simply kept on adding solid fruit to fill the tart. This worked. It worked beautifully.
This is a tart that should be in your repertoire, especially if you have "fear of rolling," because it's a "push in" crust, and very easy. The brown butter filling does indeed give you a wonderful depth of flavor . And I will discuss variations on the recipe at the end. You'll come up with more.
First, let's make the crust. You'll need a stick plus two tablespoons of unsalted butter. That's 10 tablespoons, and you'll melt this. Add a half cup of sugar to that butter, and 1 1/3 cups of flour and stir this all together really well.
Now, get your 11 inch tart pan, and dump the stuff into it. Take little bits of it, and press it up against the rim, until you have it completely encircling the pan. This is really easy, and you may actually enjoy the feel of it. Press down the rest of the crust, to cover the bottom of the pan, reaching the rim.
Wasn't that easy? Put this on a baking sheet and bake in a preheated oven, at 375, for fifteen minutes, while you make this filling.
For the filling, you will start with 12 tablespoons (a stick and a half), of unsalted butter. Cut this into pieces and now, here's the hardest part of the recipe. Melt the butter, and keep an eye on it. Stir every now and then, and keep cooking until you get a nutty brown color. It will take about six minutes. When you have that color, pour the butter off, immediately into a cup or bowl or something off the heat. You want to do this, because otherwise it will keep cooking, and perhaps get too brown. (Incidentally, how brown you brown the butter is a judgment call. Personally, I like a dessert that veers toward the burned taste, but not many do. Your call on this. You could also just melt the butter).
In a big bowl, combine 2/3 cup of sugar, 3 large eggs, half a cup of flour, and a bit of vanilla extract. You now add the brown butter, and stir it all together. It's going to be very wet.
When your pie crust is baked and cooled, cover it with raspberries. Be as generous as you like and can afford. Then, set the tart pan back on that baking sheet, and fill it with that brown butter mixture, put the whole thing in the oven, and bake for about 45 minutes.
You don't need to refrigerate this, if you plan to eat it within 24 hours.
This tart, to be honest, is absolutely marvelous. I may even buy a second tart pan so I can make two of them.
Now, for variations that came to mind: blueberries. Substitute the vanilla with almond extract, and maybe add some marzipan. Speaking of marzipan: apricots. Halved, filled with marzipan, and turned cut side down with no changes to the filling. Cranberries in the winter, with a bit of orange peel, and maybe a bit of orange extract. And.... perhaps the purest of all: increase the filling by about a half and flavor it as you like, and make a pure custard pie.
I am sure that the pastry cooks out there will have all kinds of variations that they can make on this. I am already thinking of a savory one, perhaps with potatoes and cheese, and some left over greens, as a simple weekend lunch. I may very well try that. I will keep you posted.
Kitchen satori, kitchen math, and an easy to make dessert. Who says Annalena isn't generous with her ragazzi?
Saturday, August 22, 2009
WTMI: creme fraiche ice cream
You know that acronym, don't you "WTMI?" or "way too much information?" Usually used when someone has just laid out the details of a particular body part, or function, or something that, really, you would never ask about , because it would be rude, and quite frankly, you didn't really WANT to know about. Let's face it, there are questions that we DO want answered, that we have no right asking (you know what I mean), so when you get those answers, it is really WTMI? But on the other hand, do I really want to know that a friend has three ingrown hairs on his left thigh?
Uh, no. THAT's WTMI
But there can be a literal read to that expression too. You can, literally, get too much information. Like this week, when I had decided the perfect ice cream to go with my raspberry brown butter tart (recipe to follow), would be creme fraiche ice cream. I don't know how to make that one. So I researched.
I found about 100 different recipes. They were not eve close to each other. That, ladies and biological ladies, is WTMI.
So, what do you do when you have TMI? It's tempting to throw up your hands and look for something where there is ONE recipe, but there is another approach.
Add recipe 101. And that's what I did. My version has got some parts of all of the other ones, and adds a bit too. And I'll tell you how I would make it differently next time.
Here are my ingredients: 2 cups of heavy cream, and one of whole milk. Six egg yolks. A heaping 3/4 cup of sugar. The innards of a vanilla bean. And a cup of creme fraiche.
The making of the ice cream is pretty simple, and standard. Dump the milk and cream into a pot, with the sugar. Slice your vanilla bean horizontally, and scrape out the seeds. Add those to the milk and cream.
I always add my egg yolks at this time, as I feel tempering is a waste of time. So, add your eggs to the cold liquid, and start whisking over medium heat. When you see a decided change in the texture of your custard, or the "coat the spoon" test is positive (if you don't know what I mean by that: that's when you can dip a wooden spoon into the custard, and then draw a line down the custard on the spoon. If it doesn't run together, it's ready).
Off the heat add the cup of creme fraiche, and stir it until it dissolves.
And you're done, except for freezing it in the ice cream maker.
Next time, I will dispense with the vanilla. The flavor is lovely, but it doesn't have the cheesy flavor I wanted with this. And I might add a spoon or two of sour cream, or strong yogurt, to push that acidy flavor to the front.
In any event, this is a pretty damn good ice cream. With the tart, for sure. But I can see adding something salty to it, like macrona almonds. Or some brittle (yes, yes yes, I am in a brittle making frenzy). Try it, and go for it. Play with it. Maybe some blueberries??? Hmmmmm?
Christa, you payin' attention?
Uh, no. THAT's WTMI
But there can be a literal read to that expression too. You can, literally, get too much information. Like this week, when I had decided the perfect ice cream to go with my raspberry brown butter tart (recipe to follow), would be creme fraiche ice cream. I don't know how to make that one. So I researched.
I found about 100 different recipes. They were not eve close to each other. That, ladies and biological ladies, is WTMI.
So, what do you do when you have TMI? It's tempting to throw up your hands and look for something where there is ONE recipe, but there is another approach.
Add recipe 101. And that's what I did. My version has got some parts of all of the other ones, and adds a bit too. And I'll tell you how I would make it differently next time.
Here are my ingredients: 2 cups of heavy cream, and one of whole milk. Six egg yolks. A heaping 3/4 cup of sugar. The innards of a vanilla bean. And a cup of creme fraiche.
The making of the ice cream is pretty simple, and standard. Dump the milk and cream into a pot, with the sugar. Slice your vanilla bean horizontally, and scrape out the seeds. Add those to the milk and cream.
I always add my egg yolks at this time, as I feel tempering is a waste of time. So, add your eggs to the cold liquid, and start whisking over medium heat. When you see a decided change in the texture of your custard, or the "coat the spoon" test is positive (if you don't know what I mean by that: that's when you can dip a wooden spoon into the custard, and then draw a line down the custard on the spoon. If it doesn't run together, it's ready).
Off the heat add the cup of creme fraiche, and stir it until it dissolves.
And you're done, except for freezing it in the ice cream maker.
Next time, I will dispense with the vanilla. The flavor is lovely, but it doesn't have the cheesy flavor I wanted with this. And I might add a spoon or two of sour cream, or strong yogurt, to push that acidy flavor to the front.
In any event, this is a pretty damn good ice cream. With the tart, for sure. But I can see adding something salty to it, like macrona almonds. Or some brittle (yes, yes yes, I am in a brittle making frenzy). Try it, and go for it. Play with it. Maybe some blueberries??? Hmmmmm?
Christa, you payin' attention?
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Mexican ? Again? I think???
A few entries ago, I gave my recipe for green sauce and enchiladas. I think that, next to tomato sauce (or gravy, or whatever you might call it), this green sauce may be my favorite sauce of all. Would that there were room in the freezer, I would have GALLONS of it. But, ya see, the freezer is a danger zone, and hence, the inspiration for this recipe.
Some people have freezers where, if you look far enough back, there's a little guy in a parka, fishing through a hole in the ice. Others have freezers where there's a bottle of vodka, perhaps some recretational drugs (shocking, right?), and a tray of ice cubes.
Our freezer is a danger zone. It really is. There is SO much stuff in there, that I have developed the habit of immediately pulling back my feet when I open the freezer door, because something IS going to fall out. Most times, I'm quick enough, but there are times when I will walk around cursing DAMN THAT LAMB CHOP or something else that is totally incomprehensible to most humans.
So it was with this situation in hand that I tried to address the freezer situation last weekend. Note that I said "tried." My methodology was very simple: if there were so much frost on the package that I couldn't see what it was, I threw it out. If I didn't know what it was, I threw it out. If I had one of those "what in the name of GOD was I thinking when I bought this?" moments, I threw it out.
It felt good. Then I tried to get things back in the freezer. Then, Ididn't feel so good. Now, there's a basic law of physics being violated along here somewhere: if you can get "x" into a space "y," and then you reduce "x" to .9x, you should be able to get .9x into space y, with less trouble than before, right?
Uh, no. At least that's what the empirical evidence says. So, t here was a need to start using some of the stuff in the freezer, especially since there is stuff that is going in - SOON. We then go to Annalena's methodology for using stuff in the freezer: do I remember when I put it here? If the answer is no, it gets used first.
There was a package of boneless pork, about a pound and a half. Not a tenderloin mind you, but probably something out of the loin anyway. We hadn't eaten pork at home since the pocket gay Matt came over and we made pork chops together, so it was time to maybe make something. And then there was that green sauce. Hmmmmm.
My mind went back to the days when I learned how to make Mexican mole'. Any of you out there want a challenge? Want to spend a few, in fact, MORE than a few, hours in the kitchen? Well, mole' is for you. There are seven of them, and no, I don't know them all off the top of my head. One of them is "mole' verde," which is, DUH, "green mole'. Traditionally, unlike the other moles, this one is made completely of fresh ingredients, and does not keep well. Also, it's almost served with pork, and only pork.
Now, I was NOT about to start making a mole'. No, no no. Once every three years or so, I make gallons of mole negro (it takes about four hours of non stop work), and that is the extent of my mole' making these days. But the green sauce was there, in a container, beginning to ferment (because there was no room in the freezer). Well, let's give it a try.
And it worked. Here's how it goes.
Get a pound and a half of boneless pork. I would recommend a more tender cut, because you're not going to stew this long. Cut the pork into cubes, and then salt and pepper it. Get a few tablespoons of olive oil hot, in a pan, and then toss in the cubes. This is a recipe where you do not need to let the pork sit. You can move it around. You want a little bit of sear, but not a tremendous amount.
When the pork has gone to a point where it's white on the outside, add two cups of green sauce. Now, for those of you who forgot how to make it, thanks to the joys of cutting and pasting:
You need a pound of tomatillos, a half pound of green peppers, a handful of hot peppers , and a bunch of cilantro, plus an onion, and a few cloves of garlic. How hot the pepers are is up to you, as is whether or not you remove the veins and seeds. Chop up the peppers, the hot peppers, the onion and the garlic. Put the cilantro to the side. Peel the tomatillos. Put everything in a big pot, with about a third of a cup of water. Turn on the heat to medium . When the water comes to a boil, lower the heat, cover the pot, and go read a book or something for ten or fifteen minutes, until everything is really soft. When it cools down, puree it in a food processor, and then correct the seasonings by adding salt and whatever you like. Also, while you're pureeing it, put the cilantro in, if you like it. You don't have to.
Ok, so you've got your sauce and you poured it over the pork. Lower the heat, cover the pan, and let it cook for ten-fifteen minutes, until the pork is done and tender.
I served this over fresh corn kernels because, yet again, it was a question of "use em or lose em." I REALLY wanted to try it on posole, and I will - SOON. But if you are not a corn lover, use rice. Or, perhaps you can just make some messy tortillas with it. I bet it would be good. Or just put it in a bowl, if you are not a carb eater, and pig out.
I surely did.
Some people have freezers where, if you look far enough back, there's a little guy in a parka, fishing through a hole in the ice. Others have freezers where there's a bottle of vodka, perhaps some recretational drugs (shocking, right?), and a tray of ice cubes.
Our freezer is a danger zone. It really is. There is SO much stuff in there, that I have developed the habit of immediately pulling back my feet when I open the freezer door, because something IS going to fall out. Most times, I'm quick enough, but there are times when I will walk around cursing DAMN THAT LAMB CHOP or something else that is totally incomprehensible to most humans.
So it was with this situation in hand that I tried to address the freezer situation last weekend. Note that I said "tried." My methodology was very simple: if there were so much frost on the package that I couldn't see what it was, I threw it out. If I didn't know what it was, I threw it out. If I had one of those "what in the name of GOD was I thinking when I bought this?" moments, I threw it out.
It felt good. Then I tried to get things back in the freezer. Then, Ididn't feel so good. Now, there's a basic law of physics being violated along here somewhere: if you can get "x" into a space "y," and then you reduce "x" to .9x, you should be able to get .9x into space y, with less trouble than before, right?
Uh, no. At least that's what the empirical evidence says. So, t here was a need to start using some of the stuff in the freezer, especially since there is stuff that is going in - SOON. We then go to Annalena's methodology for using stuff in the freezer: do I remember when I put it here? If the answer is no, it gets used first.
There was a package of boneless pork, about a pound and a half. Not a tenderloin mind you, but probably something out of the loin anyway. We hadn't eaten pork at home since the pocket gay Matt came over and we made pork chops together, so it was time to maybe make something. And then there was that green sauce. Hmmmmm.
My mind went back to the days when I learned how to make Mexican mole'. Any of you out there want a challenge? Want to spend a few, in fact, MORE than a few, hours in the kitchen? Well, mole' is for you. There are seven of them, and no, I don't know them all off the top of my head. One of them is "mole' verde," which is, DUH, "green mole'. Traditionally, unlike the other moles, this one is made completely of fresh ingredients, and does not keep well. Also, it's almost served with pork, and only pork.
Now, I was NOT about to start making a mole'. No, no no. Once every three years or so, I make gallons of mole negro (it takes about four hours of non stop work), and that is the extent of my mole' making these days. But the green sauce was there, in a container, beginning to ferment (because there was no room in the freezer). Well, let's give it a try.
And it worked. Here's how it goes.
Get a pound and a half of boneless pork. I would recommend a more tender cut, because you're not going to stew this long. Cut the pork into cubes, and then salt and pepper it. Get a few tablespoons of olive oil hot, in a pan, and then toss in the cubes. This is a recipe where you do not need to let the pork sit. You can move it around. You want a little bit of sear, but not a tremendous amount.
When the pork has gone to a point where it's white on the outside, add two cups of green sauce. Now, for those of you who forgot how to make it, thanks to the joys of cutting and pasting:
You need a pound of tomatillos, a half pound of green peppers, a handful of hot peppers , and a bunch of cilantro, plus an onion, and a few cloves of garlic. How hot the pepers are is up to you, as is whether or not you remove the veins and seeds. Chop up the peppers, the hot peppers, the onion and the garlic. Put the cilantro to the side. Peel the tomatillos. Put everything in a big pot, with about a third of a cup of water. Turn on the heat to medium . When the water comes to a boil, lower the heat, cover the pot, and go read a book or something for ten or fifteen minutes, until everything is really soft. When it cools down, puree it in a food processor, and then correct the seasonings by adding salt and whatever you like. Also, while you're pureeing it, put the cilantro in, if you like it. You don't have to.
Ok, so you've got your sauce and you poured it over the pork. Lower the heat, cover the pan, and let it cook for ten-fifteen minutes, until the pork is done and tender.
I served this over fresh corn kernels because, yet again, it was a question of "use em or lose em." I REALLY wanted to try it on posole, and I will - SOON. But if you are not a corn lover, use rice. Or, perhaps you can just make some messy tortillas with it. I bet it would be good. Or just put it in a bowl, if you are not a carb eater, and pig out.
I surely did.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Okra's on. DONT TURN OFF THE SET
You mention okra to people, and you'll get a v ery strong reaction. They either love it, or they hate it. It's you folks who say you hate it who shouldn't turn off the set. Pay attention I'm going to teach you how to at least like it, and maybe love it.
What most turns people off to okra, I have found, is , let's face it, it's "sliminess." When you cut okra, especially larger pods of it, a thick, sticky sap comes out that really is not all that pleasant. You can avoid it somewhat, by using the smaller pods, but you can't avoid it. I have read about two dozen different techniques to avoid it, and I've tried them all. None of them work.
BUT... there is an easy solution to this problem. Have you figured it out yet?
If you only get the sliminess when you cut the okra....DONT CUT IT. I'm serious about that. Using it whole, avoids this problem. And cooking it in certain ways avoids it to. Deep fried, cornmeal batter dipped okra is wonderful, but let's face it. As someone once said on "Top Chef," "you could deep fry a big toe and it would taste good." And you know, that's probably true. I have found that very quick stirfrying of very thinly sliced okra will avoid the problem as well. I have no expertise in Indian cooking, but "bhindi" dishes, which are based on okra, have never presented that issue to me. I will leave Indian cooking to those better adept at it than I am, however.
As it is a late season staple in the markets, I set out to find a good way to make it. And I have one. You're going to love it, first of all because it's easy, second of all, because it tastes good, and third of all, because you have a tremendous about of freedom in how you make it.
This is based on a classic creole cooking technique, called "macque choux." I have no idea what that means, but if you see "macque choux," it means corn and tomatoes have been sauteed together. And they are in this dish. Together with other vegetables, and whole, small okra. Here we go.
First, you need an onion type of vegetable, sliced up. The recipe as I read it called for six scallions. I did not have any scallions in the house, and was going to use an onion, but then my eyes fell on a leek, so I finely sliced one leek.
The recipe also called for a green pepper. I assumed I would be able to find green pepper at our small farmers market. WRONG. BUT... I had a few small fennel bulbs in the house. The fennel adds crunch, but of course, you lose the bold flavor of a green pepper. I think the important thing is to just get something bulky and crunchy in there. Dice it up and put it aside.
The recipe also called for a diced jalapeno pepper. ONE of them
Get real. ONE jalapeno pepper? HUH?????? Well, I didn't have any anyway, but I had green serranos. I used three, diced, with their seeds. This gave a slight heat to the dish. Use more if you like spicier food.
Finally, the key ingredients: get the kernels off of four ears of corn (any way you can. I am not a fan of those corn kernel removers. They usually leave me with corn all over the floor and a cut finger. I just break the ears in half, and run a knife up and down, and then take the back of the knife and rub the cob to get the sweet sap). You also need a pound of chopped tomatoes (in a dish like this, don't bother with heirlooms. Save them for salads. Good old beefsteaks are fine). And.... one pound of okra. Trim off the stem ends so that they are even, but don't cut into the pod.
You are also going to need two cups of liquid of some kind. I happened to have a wonderful product, yellow tomato water, at hand. But you could use water, you could use stock, you could use tomato juice. Don't use sauce: too thick and too strong. Finally, 3 tablespoons of butter.
Ok, let's cook. In a 12 inch pan, add the butter, the onion, the crispy vegetable and the peppers. Cook this at a medium flame, until the onion thing begins to brown. That's going to take six-7 minutes . After that has happened, add the tomatoes, and about a teaspoon of salt. You want to cook this until the tomatoes break down into a saucy kind of product. Be careful. I was glad to have the liquid because my tomatoes were getting very dry, and the liquid was a big help. Cook them for about 12 minutes and then add the corn and the okra, and stir everything together, lower the heat, and stir every few minutes, for about fifteen minutes.
For the first ten minutes 0r so, you will wonder if anything is happening. The corn and okra will stay resilient. But... in the last five or so, the okra will begin to lose its strong color, the kernels will begin to soften, and some liquid will be released from the corn. And then... the liquid will thicken. What's going on? Any guesses?
Anyone remember where CORN STARCH comes from? Hmmmmm? So, put some more liquid in, if you like. After fifteen minutes or so, pull out a small okra pod and taste it. Is it soft enough for you? If it is, check the seasoning, and you're done. If not, cook it for a few more minutes.
I stirred in a big handful of Italian parsley at the end, but that's hardly necessary. You could also add some more hot peppers at the end if you liked.
I'm going to make this again, and I'm going to add some fresh shell beans to it. That will make it more like an okra succotash, and there ain't nuthin wrong with that.
So, Eyetalian met New Orleans, and this dish came out of it. Try it. Try it just once. You may change your mind about okra after this.
What most turns people off to okra, I have found, is , let's face it, it's "sliminess." When you cut okra, especially larger pods of it, a thick, sticky sap comes out that really is not all that pleasant. You can avoid it somewhat, by using the smaller pods, but you can't avoid it. I have read about two dozen different techniques to avoid it, and I've tried them all. None of them work.
BUT... there is an easy solution to this problem. Have you figured it out yet?
If you only get the sliminess when you cut the okra....DONT CUT IT. I'm serious about that. Using it whole, avoids this problem. And cooking it in certain ways avoids it to. Deep fried, cornmeal batter dipped okra is wonderful, but let's face it. As someone once said on "Top Chef," "you could deep fry a big toe and it would taste good." And you know, that's probably true. I have found that very quick stirfrying of very thinly sliced okra will avoid the problem as well. I have no expertise in Indian cooking, but "bhindi" dishes, which are based on okra, have never presented that issue to me. I will leave Indian cooking to those better adept at it than I am, however.
As it is a late season staple in the markets, I set out to find a good way to make it. And I have one. You're going to love it, first of all because it's easy, second of all, because it tastes good, and third of all, because you have a tremendous about of freedom in how you make it.
This is based on a classic creole cooking technique, called "macque choux." I have no idea what that means, but if you see "macque choux," it means corn and tomatoes have been sauteed together. And they are in this dish. Together with other vegetables, and whole, small okra. Here we go.
First, you need an onion type of vegetable, sliced up. The recipe as I read it called for six scallions. I did not have any scallions in the house, and was going to use an onion, but then my eyes fell on a leek, so I finely sliced one leek.
The recipe also called for a green pepper. I assumed I would be able to find green pepper at our small farmers market. WRONG. BUT... I had a few small fennel bulbs in the house. The fennel adds crunch, but of course, you lose the bold flavor of a green pepper. I think the important thing is to just get something bulky and crunchy in there. Dice it up and put it aside.
The recipe also called for a diced jalapeno pepper. ONE of them
Get real. ONE jalapeno pepper? HUH?????? Well, I didn't have any anyway, but I had green serranos. I used three, diced, with their seeds. This gave a slight heat to the dish. Use more if you like spicier food.
Finally, the key ingredients: get the kernels off of four ears of corn (any way you can. I am not a fan of those corn kernel removers. They usually leave me with corn all over the floor and a cut finger. I just break the ears in half, and run a knife up and down, and then take the back of the knife and rub the cob to get the sweet sap). You also need a pound of chopped tomatoes (in a dish like this, don't bother with heirlooms. Save them for salads. Good old beefsteaks are fine). And.... one pound of okra. Trim off the stem ends so that they are even, but don't cut into the pod.
You are also going to need two cups of liquid of some kind. I happened to have a wonderful product, yellow tomato water, at hand. But you could use water, you could use stock, you could use tomato juice. Don't use sauce: too thick and too strong. Finally, 3 tablespoons of butter.
Ok, let's cook. In a 12 inch pan, add the butter, the onion, the crispy vegetable and the peppers. Cook this at a medium flame, until the onion thing begins to brown. That's going to take six-7 minutes . After that has happened, add the tomatoes, and about a teaspoon of salt. You want to cook this until the tomatoes break down into a saucy kind of product. Be careful. I was glad to have the liquid because my tomatoes were getting very dry, and the liquid was a big help. Cook them for about 12 minutes and then add the corn and the okra, and stir everything together, lower the heat, and stir every few minutes, for about fifteen minutes.
For the first ten minutes 0r so, you will wonder if anything is happening. The corn and okra will stay resilient. But... in the last five or so, the okra will begin to lose its strong color, the kernels will begin to soften, and some liquid will be released from the corn. And then... the liquid will thicken. What's going on? Any guesses?
Anyone remember where CORN STARCH comes from? Hmmmmm? So, put some more liquid in, if you like. After fifteen minutes or so, pull out a small okra pod and taste it. Is it soft enough for you? If it is, check the seasoning, and you're done. If not, cook it for a few more minutes.
I stirred in a big handful of Italian parsley at the end, but that's hardly necessary. You could also add some more hot peppers at the end if you liked.
I'm going to make this again, and I'm going to add some fresh shell beans to it. That will make it more like an okra succotash, and there ain't nuthin wrong with that.
So, Eyetalian met New Orleans, and this dish came out of it. Try it. Try it just once. You may change your mind about okra after this.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Gilding the lily: pistachio nut brittle.
The last entry I posted was one for chamomile poached apricots. Lemme tell you gang. That dessert is FREAKING good. It was very hard for Annalena and her guy, Guy, to not eat the entire pint of them (and since today is probably a weigh in at the gym, as Annalena goes back to personal training), this was a good thing. You should make them
You should also get Claudia Fleming's book, if for no other reason than when she gives a recipe, she also gives suggestions for combining different dessert elements. Every dessert can stand on its own, but if you want something "composed" or "complex" she has suggestions.
She suggested some cornmeal nut cookies to go with this dish, and I just was not in the mood to make the cookies; however, I flipped open the next page and found a recipe for pistachio nut brittle. Well, why not?
I am hard pressed to think of someone who does not like nut brittles. Maybe if you have some sever diverticulitis, or something like that, you can't eat them. But when was the last time you ate a piece of really GOOD brittle? Probably peanut. And well made, that's a truly good thing. I like to play with different nuts, however. Italian cooking has a similar candy, called "croccante," that is always made with almonds. It's good. In fact, it's GOOD. I make it at Xmas.
But candy like brittle is very easy to make. I SWEAR you can make this candy in less than half an hour. And it keeps forever. So Redd, get into the kitchen. You can do this. I'll check with Susan to make sure you made it, and not her.
First, you need half a pound of shelled pistachio nuts. Get the untoasted ones, because you're going to toast them yourself. You spread them out in one layer on a baking sheet, and put them in a 350 oven. It will probably take about 10 minutes, but pay attention to your nose. If the nuts begin to smell toasty, get them out of the oven ahead of time. No man wants to burn his nuts!
Make of that what you like.
While those nuts are toasting, get a heavy pan (this is where I use nonstick) and combine 1 1/3 cups of sugar, a half cup of water a quarter cup of light corn syrup and 2.5 tablespoons of unsalted butter. Bring this all to a boil, and then lower the heat. Keep an eye on it, and let it get to a nice dark golden brown. Sugar turns to yucky coal very quickly, so again, watch this. You'll get a lot of bubbling at the top, and that will be white, so shake the pot every now and then.
While this is happening, grease a baking sheet, and a spatula. And when you get to the dark shade you like, pour the nuts in, together with a quarter teaspoon each of salt, and baking soda. Then, move FAST. Dump this all onto the buttered baking sheet, get your buttered spatula, and spread it out thin. Press down if you have to, this is going to harden very quickly. Then just put it aside, and let it harden. It won't take long. Maybe half an hour
When you have that, break it into small pieces and put it in a metal container, unrefrigerated ,where it will keep until the end of recorded time. Put it in as a shard to entertain with ice cream, or with the apricots we just made, or just dole it out as a nice little candy at the end of a meal.
I guarantee you, once you make this, you will make it again. You'll substitute nuts (try macadamians), you'll explore different sugars, and you'll have a ball. And you'll have new good friends, because everybody loves candy.
You should also get Claudia Fleming's book, if for no other reason than when she gives a recipe, she also gives suggestions for combining different dessert elements. Every dessert can stand on its own, but if you want something "composed" or "complex" she has suggestions.
She suggested some cornmeal nut cookies to go with this dish, and I just was not in the mood to make the cookies; however, I flipped open the next page and found a recipe for pistachio nut brittle. Well, why not?
I am hard pressed to think of someone who does not like nut brittles. Maybe if you have some sever diverticulitis, or something like that, you can't eat them. But when was the last time you ate a piece of really GOOD brittle? Probably peanut. And well made, that's a truly good thing. I like to play with different nuts, however. Italian cooking has a similar candy, called "croccante," that is always made with almonds. It's good. In fact, it's GOOD. I make it at Xmas.
But candy like brittle is very easy to make. I SWEAR you can make this candy in less than half an hour. And it keeps forever. So Redd, get into the kitchen. You can do this. I'll check with Susan to make sure you made it, and not her.
First, you need half a pound of shelled pistachio nuts. Get the untoasted ones, because you're going to toast them yourself. You spread them out in one layer on a baking sheet, and put them in a 350 oven. It will probably take about 10 minutes, but pay attention to your nose. If the nuts begin to smell toasty, get them out of the oven ahead of time. No man wants to burn his nuts!
Make of that what you like.
While those nuts are toasting, get a heavy pan (this is where I use nonstick) and combine 1 1/3 cups of sugar, a half cup of water a quarter cup of light corn syrup and 2.5 tablespoons of unsalted butter. Bring this all to a boil, and then lower the heat. Keep an eye on it, and let it get to a nice dark golden brown. Sugar turns to yucky coal very quickly, so again, watch this. You'll get a lot of bubbling at the top, and that will be white, so shake the pot every now and then.
While this is happening, grease a baking sheet, and a spatula. And when you get to the dark shade you like, pour the nuts in, together with a quarter teaspoon each of salt, and baking soda. Then, move FAST. Dump this all onto the buttered baking sheet, get your buttered spatula, and spread it out thin. Press down if you have to, this is going to harden very quickly. Then just put it aside, and let it harden. It won't take long. Maybe half an hour
When you have that, break it into small pieces and put it in a metal container, unrefrigerated ,where it will keep until the end of recorded time. Put it in as a shard to entertain with ice cream, or with the apricots we just made, or just dole it out as a nice little candy at the end of a meal.
I guarantee you, once you make this, you will make it again. You'll substitute nuts (try macadamians), you'll explore different sugars, and you'll have a ball. And you'll have new good friends, because everybody loves candy.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
For Sue: apricots poached with chamomile
Last week, I posted one of my favorite recipes, which was for nectarines and peaches, in red wine. It's a popular dessert, especially with me. And it provoked some comments and questions.
It always amazes me how people actually DO follow this blog. I get comments, I get questions, but you folks know... you never comment on the blog entries in writing. C'mon folks, there are over 400 of em and there are less than ten comments. SPEAK UP.
So, one of my most loyal readers, the ever present Sue (the lady in the back with her hand up), asked me about that recipe, and whether it could be done with apricots. Well, I wouldn't do it with RED wine, but I have done it, in baume de venisse, the wonderful white dessert wine, and I think you could do it with others. But I also remembered a version that I have been looking at for years, and have never made. No more.
Claudia Fleming used to be the dessert chef at the wonderful Gramercy Tavern. In my opinion, the desserts were never as good again, after she left. She wrote a wonderful book, called "The Last Course," and it is, essentially, a guide to seasonal desserts. Even if the recipes weren't wonderful ,which they are, the pictures are "food erotica" at their finest. You will never serve the desserts looking the way they do in the book, but so what? They're going to taste that good, because these are desserts you CAN MAKE YOURSELF. What follows is a no bake dessert, that will take you all of half an hour to make, and is fat free.
I love apricots. I may love them more than most fruits. And since NY produces more apricots than any other state than California (and has a longer season), we are gorging ourselves on them now. I haven't made this dessert, because it calls for chamomile blossoms, and Ms. Fleming talks about them being in season at the same time. I've never found chamomile in season at the same time as apricots, and while she does give the option of a chamomile tea bag, well...
Then today, with a bag of apricots in the fridge, I found a vendor selling chamomile. So, you see, thinking about Sue's question, and finding the chamomile, is an example of how the synapses of a diseased mind come together.
But make this. It's really good. It's easy. And if you can't find fresh chamomile, be braver than I, and use the teabag.
You need 8 apricots, which you half and stone (actually, I think you can make this in a double sized recipe: this is a recipe with a lot of syrup. I fit 11 of them, halved in my baking dish). Put them aside, while you make a simple, but heavy syrup of 1.5 cups of sugar ,dissolved in water. Then, take that off the heat, and add the flowers from one bunch of chamomile (about a quarter cup of blossoms), and the pulp of one vanilla bean. Stir that all together,steep it for five minutes and then strain it and pour it into an 8x8 glass baking dish. Put the apricots, cut side down, into the syrup, and bake for ten minutes, at 375. Then, carefully turn them over, and bake again, for another five minutes. There is so much syrup that the apricots will swim in them. That's fine
You serve these warm from the oven, or at room temperature. Store them at room temperature, as the syrup is going to keep them just fine.
Eat them as they are, and the dessert is non fat. But frankly, do you REALLY want to do that? I want these with nut cookies, or with white cheese. Maybe fresh ricotta. Try it. I think you're going to be happy with this one.
It always amazes me how people actually DO follow this blog. I get comments, I get questions, but you folks know... you never comment on the blog entries in writing. C'mon folks, there are over 400 of em and there are less than ten comments. SPEAK UP.
So, one of my most loyal readers, the ever present Sue (the lady in the back with her hand up), asked me about that recipe, and whether it could be done with apricots. Well, I wouldn't do it with RED wine, but I have done it, in baume de venisse, the wonderful white dessert wine, and I think you could do it with others. But I also remembered a version that I have been looking at for years, and have never made. No more.
Claudia Fleming used to be the dessert chef at the wonderful Gramercy Tavern. In my opinion, the desserts were never as good again, after she left. She wrote a wonderful book, called "The Last Course," and it is, essentially, a guide to seasonal desserts. Even if the recipes weren't wonderful ,which they are, the pictures are "food erotica" at their finest. You will never serve the desserts looking the way they do in the book, but so what? They're going to taste that good, because these are desserts you CAN MAKE YOURSELF. What follows is a no bake dessert, that will take you all of half an hour to make, and is fat free.
I love apricots. I may love them more than most fruits. And since NY produces more apricots than any other state than California (and has a longer season), we are gorging ourselves on them now. I haven't made this dessert, because it calls for chamomile blossoms, and Ms. Fleming talks about them being in season at the same time. I've never found chamomile in season at the same time as apricots, and while she does give the option of a chamomile tea bag, well...
Then today, with a bag of apricots in the fridge, I found a vendor selling chamomile. So, you see, thinking about Sue's question, and finding the chamomile, is an example of how the synapses of a diseased mind come together.
But make this. It's really good. It's easy. And if you can't find fresh chamomile, be braver than I, and use the teabag.
You need 8 apricots, which you half and stone (actually, I think you can make this in a double sized recipe: this is a recipe with a lot of syrup. I fit 11 of them, halved in my baking dish). Put them aside, while you make a simple, but heavy syrup of 1.5 cups of sugar ,dissolved in water. Then, take that off the heat, and add the flowers from one bunch of chamomile (about a quarter cup of blossoms), and the pulp of one vanilla bean. Stir that all together,steep it for five minutes and then strain it and pour it into an 8x8 glass baking dish. Put the apricots, cut side down, into the syrup, and bake for ten minutes, at 375. Then, carefully turn them over, and bake again, for another five minutes. There is so much syrup that the apricots will swim in them. That's fine
You serve these warm from the oven, or at room temperature. Store them at room temperature, as the syrup is going to keep them just fine.
Eat them as they are, and the dessert is non fat. But frankly, do you REALLY want to do that? I want these with nut cookies, or with white cheese. Maybe fresh ricotta. Try it. I think you're going to be happy with this one.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Annalena cooks Mexican - sort of . "Fill as you like" enchiladas
There is a decided dearth of recipes in this blog outside of the canon of "Italian" or "Mediterranean" cooking. Yes, there are American dishes, but if you look at them, they all speak of a mediterranean origin, more or less.
When Annalena was a much younger cook, s/he tried to master all genres. Stir fries. Sushi (the less said of that one the better). Indian food including a five hour stint cooking a gallon of milk down to a cup, with constant stirring all along the way, and a fire in the kitchen when making pooris. And Mexican. Now, when I say Mexican, I do NOT mean "tex mex," which is a valid cuisine in its own right. No, I mean TRUE Mexican. I mean toasting avocado leaves (don't ask where I got them), and adding them to beans, with kidney lard (I said don't ask), to make true Oaxacan beans. I mean spending five hours making mole from scratch. I mean making my own tortillas. Guy put down his foot when I wanted to combine dried corn with slaked lime and let it cook for two days to get the masa harina done, but you get the point.
Bottom line? I cook what I know. These are cuisines where I am just not comfortable. So I leave them alone.
Except for once in a while. This is a dish I make in deep summer, when local farms grow tomatillos, those green tomato looking things that are covered with what looks like paper. I love them. They have a miraculous tartness that just tempts me to eat them by the bag full, raw.
DON'T. Trust me on this. But when I see them, as I did today, I make this dish. Truly, it's not Mexican. I think of it more as tex/mex/california, because enchiladas really are tex/mex, more than "mex," but I learned the basic recipe from a California chef, Deborah Madison.
When I make it, the filling always changes, but the smoked cheese is always there. It adds a "something" to the dish that works against the green sauce wonderfully. The vegetables change. I've made it with corn and squash, just corn, just squash, greens and squash blossoms, anything. My buddy Liz Torres, the Long Island Jew who is the head chef at our favorite Mexican restaurant (in NY, all things are possible), told me about one of the farmers market stands where she buys her beans for her restaurant. I visited, and came away with beans, bicolored polenta, and wheat flour. FINALLY A LOCAL FLOUR MILL YAY. So, beans will be on the menu this week, in the dish. I'll tell you how I make them, but really, all you need is the sauce, some smoked cheese and tortillas, and you're on your way.
To the sauce. You need a pound of tomatillos, a half pound of green peppers, a handful of hot peppers , and a bunch of cilantro, plus an onion, and a few cloves of garlic. How hot the pepers are is up to you, as is whether or not you remove the veins and seeds. Chop up the peppers, the hot peppers, the onion and the garlic. Put the cilantro to the side. Peel the tomatillos. Put everything in a big pot, with about a third of a cup of water. Turn on the heat to medium . When the water comes to a boil, lower the heat, cover the pot, and go read a book or something for ten or fifteen minutes, until everything is really soft. When it cools down, puree it in a food processor, and then correct the seasonings by adding salt and whatever you like. Also, while you're pureeing it, put the cilantro in, if you like it. You don't have to.
This recipe doubles beautifully and it freezes well. Do a double batch, put some away, and have a nice dip in the winter.
Okay, to enchilada construction. I'm giving an example. Don't use it as Biblical. Play with the filling as you like. Grate half a pound of smoked cheese: cheddar, gouda, monterey jack, anything you like. Put that aside. Then, use a cup of very well cooked, soft beans, that you've mashed a bit, and a pound of sauteed squash. I usually add some Mexican oregano to the squash when I'm cooking it. (I did leave out instructions on how to cook the beans and squash. I am assuming you know how to do it. If you don't, do it with something you do know how to cook.
Now, spread a few spoons of that green sauce on the bottom of a 9x13 baking sheet. Get a tortilla. If it's not soft, lay it down on a hot, ungreased frying pan for a few seconds to a side. That will soften it up real quick. Put a tablespoon of beans, a few pieces of squash, and about a tablespoon of cheese on the tortilla, and roll it up, lengthwise. Keep on doing this until you've filled the pan. You can probably make about a dozen tortillas with this recipe. Then cover them with more green sauce, and sprinkle cheese over the whole thing. Put this in an oven, preheated to 400, for about 30 minutes. Sometimes I cover it with tin foil, and sometimes I don't. After thirty mintues, it's nice and hot and bubbly and you're good to go. You COULD run it under the broiler for a minute or two, but that's really not necessary.
In my full carb days, I would serve this with saffron rice, but these days, I just make a vegetable different than what's in the filling. I really like serving garlicky greens with these enchiladas, but you should pick what you like.
OLE!
When Annalena was a much younger cook, s/he tried to master all genres. Stir fries. Sushi (the less said of that one the better). Indian food including a five hour stint cooking a gallon of milk down to a cup, with constant stirring all along the way, and a fire in the kitchen when making pooris. And Mexican. Now, when I say Mexican, I do NOT mean "tex mex," which is a valid cuisine in its own right. No, I mean TRUE Mexican. I mean toasting avocado leaves (don't ask where I got them), and adding them to beans, with kidney lard (I said don't ask), to make true Oaxacan beans. I mean spending five hours making mole from scratch. I mean making my own tortillas. Guy put down his foot when I wanted to combine dried corn with slaked lime and let it cook for two days to get the masa harina done, but you get the point.
Bottom line? I cook what I know. These are cuisines where I am just not comfortable. So I leave them alone.
Except for once in a while. This is a dish I make in deep summer, when local farms grow tomatillos, those green tomato looking things that are covered with what looks like paper. I love them. They have a miraculous tartness that just tempts me to eat them by the bag full, raw.
DON'T. Trust me on this. But when I see them, as I did today, I make this dish. Truly, it's not Mexican. I think of it more as tex/mex/california, because enchiladas really are tex/mex, more than "mex," but I learned the basic recipe from a California chef, Deborah Madison.
When I make it, the filling always changes, but the smoked cheese is always there. It adds a "something" to the dish that works against the green sauce wonderfully. The vegetables change. I've made it with corn and squash, just corn, just squash, greens and squash blossoms, anything. My buddy Liz Torres, the Long Island Jew who is the head chef at our favorite Mexican restaurant (in NY, all things are possible), told me about one of the farmers market stands where she buys her beans for her restaurant. I visited, and came away with beans, bicolored polenta, and wheat flour. FINALLY A LOCAL FLOUR MILL YAY. So, beans will be on the menu this week, in the dish. I'll tell you how I make them, but really, all you need is the sauce, some smoked cheese and tortillas, and you're on your way.
To the sauce. You need a pound of tomatillos, a half pound of green peppers, a handful of hot peppers , and a bunch of cilantro, plus an onion, and a few cloves of garlic. How hot the pepers are is up to you, as is whether or not you remove the veins and seeds. Chop up the peppers, the hot peppers, the onion and the garlic. Put the cilantro to the side. Peel the tomatillos. Put everything in a big pot, with about a third of a cup of water. Turn on the heat to medium . When the water comes to a boil, lower the heat, cover the pot, and go read a book or something for ten or fifteen minutes, until everything is really soft. When it cools down, puree it in a food processor, and then correct the seasonings by adding salt and whatever you like. Also, while you're pureeing it, put the cilantro in, if you like it. You don't have to.
This recipe doubles beautifully and it freezes well. Do a double batch, put some away, and have a nice dip in the winter.
Okay, to enchilada construction. I'm giving an example. Don't use it as Biblical. Play with the filling as you like. Grate half a pound of smoked cheese: cheddar, gouda, monterey jack, anything you like. Put that aside. Then, use a cup of very well cooked, soft beans, that you've mashed a bit, and a pound of sauteed squash. I usually add some Mexican oregano to the squash when I'm cooking it. (I did leave out instructions on how to cook the beans and squash. I am assuming you know how to do it. If you don't, do it with something you do know how to cook.
Now, spread a few spoons of that green sauce on the bottom of a 9x13 baking sheet. Get a tortilla. If it's not soft, lay it down on a hot, ungreased frying pan for a few seconds to a side. That will soften it up real quick. Put a tablespoon of beans, a few pieces of squash, and about a tablespoon of cheese on the tortilla, and roll it up, lengthwise. Keep on doing this until you've filled the pan. You can probably make about a dozen tortillas with this recipe. Then cover them with more green sauce, and sprinkle cheese over the whole thing. Put this in an oven, preheated to 400, for about 30 minutes. Sometimes I cover it with tin foil, and sometimes I don't. After thirty mintues, it's nice and hot and bubbly and you're good to go. You COULD run it under the broiler for a minute or two, but that's really not necessary.
In my full carb days, I would serve this with saffron rice, but these days, I just make a vegetable different than what's in the filling. I really like serving garlicky greens with these enchiladas, but you should pick what you like.
OLE!
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Dessert in ten minutes - or less
I swear. I mean that. And it may be one of the best desserts you'll ever have. Again, I swear.
Even amongst people who enjoy cooking, there is a fear of "pastry." 'I'M NOT A PASTRY CHEF".You'll hear that, a lot, from people who are really good cooks, as the put out a plate of storebought cookies, or a cake from a good bakery, or a bowl of fruit or good chocolates.
Well, let's not down play any of those desserts. Some of the best cookies I have ever had came from a tin, and were based on almond flowers. And sometimes ONE really succulent chocolate will just do the trick at the end of the meal.
BUT.... you gotta try this one, really. And I'm gonna dedicate to all of my cook friends who don't do dessert. You know who you are, and when this gets to facebook, I'm gonna tag, each and every one of you.
At its core, this is farmhouse cooking. Plain and simple. You want something sweet, this is what you have around. You make it in the morning, or the night before, and you come back to it. No need to refrigerate it, nada.
And when my Italian friends read it, they're gonna say "OH YEAH. I remember that one."
This is based on a recipe from David Lebovitz, but he would be the first to say that he was only codifying what is out there and has been out there for centuries. It's a dessert which, if it were served in a restaurant (as was the case in the badly missed Centovini), I would pounce on immediately. Why more restaurants don't make it, I don't know.
Here we go . Here are your ingredients. One bottle of a fruity red wine. I normally use zinfandel, but as David and I explore the world of grenache, I think we're going to tag team on one using that wonderful wine. You also need a cup of sugar for each bottle of wine (you may want to make more than one. ). Finally, you need peaches and/or nectarines. Classically, recipes say to peel the peaches. Don't bother. Just rub them clean.
Pour the bottle of wine into a non-reactive vessel of some type, and add the sugar. Stir until it's dissolved. Then, slice the fruit into nice slices into the wine, and go away. For at least three hours.
You're done. I swear. I mean it.
When you come back after those three hours, preferably overnight, the wine will have infused into the fruit, the juice will have passed into the wine, and you have synergy in a glass. You serve this with a fork, to pull out the fruit, and then you drink the wine. Then you have a second portion.
Now, has anyone noticed something rather interesting about this dessert? Someone besides Sue. She's got her hand up and she's waving it hard. She gets it. She always does. We're lacking something in this dessert aren't we? C'mon, someone other than Sue give me the answer.
There's no fat in this dessert. None. Now, are we going to let that stand? Well, we can. But you know what really goes well with this? A soft, mild cheese. Goat or sheep milk based is best, but use what you can find. I think something like cheddar might work as well but I always put out ricotta, or something runny. If you have some of those wonderful storebought cookies put them out too. But don't neglect the dessert as it is.
You should play with this. I will have to check with David, but I believe that, in Spain, this is sometimes done with sliced oranges (think sangria), and I can't imagine that mango slices wouldn't work too. Or cherries. Strawberries in wine is a classic French country dessert.
I have always made this with red wine, and as I was thinking about it, I was thinking about all those rieslings and gewurtztramminers that are too sweet to drink and not sweet enough as dessert wines. Betcha those whites would be good, too. Hmmm. Riesling with mango and litchi? I see the makings of a good dessert after a spicy Asian meal.
Play with your food here a little. Try different combinations. I am intrigued, for example, by the possibility of using pineapple with different wines. I can't see banana working, but maybe you can. Nor do I see apples or pears, and I wouldn't want to spoil the perfume of a perfect raspberry in this way. But you see where I am going. Give it a try. Drink your dessert. You will have that much more time to relax with your friends, and spent more time cooking. How good is that?
Even amongst people who enjoy cooking, there is a fear of "pastry." 'I'M NOT A PASTRY CHEF".You'll hear that, a lot, from people who are really good cooks, as the put out a plate of storebought cookies, or a cake from a good bakery, or a bowl of fruit or good chocolates.
Well, let's not down play any of those desserts. Some of the best cookies I have ever had came from a tin, and were based on almond flowers. And sometimes ONE really succulent chocolate will just do the trick at the end of the meal.
BUT.... you gotta try this one, really. And I'm gonna dedicate to all of my cook friends who don't do dessert. You know who you are, and when this gets to facebook, I'm gonna tag, each and every one of you.
At its core, this is farmhouse cooking. Plain and simple. You want something sweet, this is what you have around. You make it in the morning, or the night before, and you come back to it. No need to refrigerate it, nada.
And when my Italian friends read it, they're gonna say "OH YEAH. I remember that one."
This is based on a recipe from David Lebovitz, but he would be the first to say that he was only codifying what is out there and has been out there for centuries. It's a dessert which, if it were served in a restaurant (as was the case in the badly missed Centovini), I would pounce on immediately. Why more restaurants don't make it, I don't know.
Here we go . Here are your ingredients. One bottle of a fruity red wine. I normally use zinfandel, but as David and I explore the world of grenache, I think we're going to tag team on one using that wonderful wine. You also need a cup of sugar for each bottle of wine (you may want to make more than one. ). Finally, you need peaches and/or nectarines. Classically, recipes say to peel the peaches. Don't bother. Just rub them clean.
Pour the bottle of wine into a non-reactive vessel of some type, and add the sugar. Stir until it's dissolved. Then, slice the fruit into nice slices into the wine, and go away. For at least three hours.
You're done. I swear. I mean it.
When you come back after those three hours, preferably overnight, the wine will have infused into the fruit, the juice will have passed into the wine, and you have synergy in a glass. You serve this with a fork, to pull out the fruit, and then you drink the wine. Then you have a second portion.
Now, has anyone noticed something rather interesting about this dessert? Someone besides Sue. She's got her hand up and she's waving it hard. She gets it. She always does. We're lacking something in this dessert aren't we? C'mon, someone other than Sue give me the answer.
There's no fat in this dessert. None. Now, are we going to let that stand? Well, we can. But you know what really goes well with this? A soft, mild cheese. Goat or sheep milk based is best, but use what you can find. I think something like cheddar might work as well but I always put out ricotta, or something runny. If you have some of those wonderful storebought cookies put them out too. But don't neglect the dessert as it is.
You should play with this. I will have to check with David, but I believe that, in Spain, this is sometimes done with sliced oranges (think sangria), and I can't imagine that mango slices wouldn't work too. Or cherries. Strawberries in wine is a classic French country dessert.
I have always made this with red wine, and as I was thinking about it, I was thinking about all those rieslings and gewurtztramminers that are too sweet to drink and not sweet enough as dessert wines. Betcha those whites would be good, too. Hmmm. Riesling with mango and litchi? I see the makings of a good dessert after a spicy Asian meal.
Play with your food here a little. Try different combinations. I am intrigued, for example, by the possibility of using pineapple with different wines. I can't see banana working, but maybe you can. Nor do I see apples or pears, and I wouldn't want to spoil the perfume of a perfect raspberry in this way. But you see where I am going. Give it a try. Drink your dessert. You will have that much more time to relax with your friends, and spent more time cooking. How good is that?
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
From the heart: pasta con mollica
Most of the recipes I present here, are recipes that I read and refined, or didn't, but which I feel are things that I will cook again, and I'd like some of you to cook too. This one, well, I want you to cook it, too, even if you're an Atkins follower and won't touch carbs. Touch them for this. Touch them for me. Read on, and you'll understand why.
There is a tradition, in Italian cooking of "La Cucina povera." You know what it means. Most of the books and articles that I've read which discuss it, frankly, glamorize it, in the way Marie Antoinette and her court used to pretend to be milkmaids. Remember "let them eat cake?" Well, there's no cake here. Recently, I went to a favorite restaurant which, in order to help people in this budget driven economy, offers a three course "cucina povera" menu. This week, there was an involved escarole salad, pasta with three meat ragu, and lemon pudding.
Now, let's see a show of hands: all of you out there who grew up as poor Italians: did you ever eat a meal like that? Let's get serious. There was no dessert in "cucina povera," and meat? Are you kidding? Let's not glamorize things. There is nothing wrong with that menu, but I fear that Chef Marco has forgotten his roots in calling this poor food.
No, I'm going to talk to you about poor food. And I'm going to talk from the heart, because this is one of my favorite dishes in the world.
When we were growing up, Nana would serve, with some frequency, a pasta dish she called "molleek" It was pasta, usually large, tubular pasta, with toasted bread crumbs mixed with olive oil, garlic, dried oregano and parsley. And the three of us loved it. We would devour big bowls of it, and beg Nana to make more of it.
And everytime we did, I saw Nana cry in the kitchen. Not laugh, with the crying sound she made, but CRY. And I didn't know why until many, many years later.
In southern Italian culture, there are certain basics that are always in the kitchen. Dried pasta. Always. Bread. Olive oil. Herbs and spices, fresh or dried. Then you extended to cheeses, maybe eggs, fresh vegetables like wild greens, fruit. Meat was a passing thought, so was chicken. And when things got really bad, you stopped at the herbs. And a pasta dish was invented: "pasta con mollica," the "molleek" of my Nana's dialect.
The toasted bread crumbs were intended to take the place of cheese. You made molleek when there was so little money that you couldn't even buy grating cheese. So if we were eating molleek, we were dirt poor. And that's why Nana was crying: she felt that she couldn't do her job in feeding her family. She couldn't make the money stretch, and this is what she was left to. So, even though her beloved grandchildren LOVED the dish, and would have eaten it every single day, it absolutely destroyed her to put it on the table.
Nowadays, I see the dish on a menu, from time to time, and I have very mixed emotions about it. I always want to order it, for the sake of reconnecting with those times when Nana was going so far out of her way to feed us, but I'm reluctant to do so, because I know that this is a dish that costs so little to make, that I balk at what it costs. And it NEVER tastes as good as Nana's or mine, for that matter. Then, when I don't order it, and we leave the restaurant, I wince because it may very well be months, or years until I see it again. I haven't seen it on a menu, in fact, since pre-2001, when a restaurant around the corner would serve it for Anne Bancroft, when she came in, and save a portion for me.
This is southern "soul food" at its deepest. Even if you don't eat carbs, (this is you Caz), make this once in a while, and see where Annalena is from. I'm going to make it tonight. We're having eggplant parmagiana, and since I don't bread the eggplant anymore, I have the extra crumbs.
One last thing. I may have to discuss this with my Italian teacher. "Mollica" is really the soft part of the bread, the "crumb" as it were. Dried bread crumbs are 'pan grattato." I have never understood why we call the dish after the soft part, because we never used it. Oh well, something lost in time, etymologically, but rediscovered, for something cheap filling and delicious. Try it, and when you do, think of Annalena, as a pudgy six year old, with his 5 and 4 year old sister, downing huge bowls of this stuff, while a short, fat graying woman tried to make ends meet in a big, loving, and sprawling Italian family.
You need a pound of dried pasta, preferably something tubular and on the large size. You could use fusilli though, or even spaghetti. For some reason, I do not like this with linguini. I tried it with orecchiete, and it was "so/so" so I stick with the big tubes.
You will also need a half cup of olive oil and about 3/4 cups of bread crumbs, dry. If you use the unflavored type, you will definitely need something like dried Italian seasonings, or if you have it, some fresh oregano and parsley. Nana always had a pot of parsley growing on her windowsill, so we always had that. Chop up about four-six tablespoons of fresh herbs, or stick to just one big heaping one of d ried. Also, chop up fine, about four or five (or more), big cloves of garlic . Have a few teaspoons of salt ready too.
Get a pot of salted water going , and when you pour the pasta in, start on your sauce. Pour the oil into a big frying pan and heat it up. When it's nice and hot, add the garlic, and the bread crumbs, all at once, and stir constantly. It won't take long. You'll begin to notice a toasty smell, and all the oil will have been picked up. Throw in your salt and herbs at this point, stir them into the crumbs, and take the pan off the heat. If you like things spicy, now is the time to add some dried or crushed red pepper.
When the pasta is al dente to your taste, pour off about half a cup of the water, because you will probably want it. Then drain the pasta and throw it into the toasted bread crumbs, and toss them around. The bread crumbs will be dry and they will clump. Keep stirring and add that reserved water, little by little, until you get the consistency you like.
And there it is. There's enough here for at least four older Italians. Those of you who are on reduced carb regimes will want to eat less, but when you do, keep in mind that, for many of us, this wasn't a PART of dinner, this WAS dinner. And we loved it.
Whenever I make this, I can feel one of Nana's hugs coming my way, something I can use more of. Followed by one of her crude, dirty jokes. She'd comfort me, feed me, and make me laugh. Can you ask for more?
There is a tradition, in Italian cooking of "La Cucina povera." You know what it means. Most of the books and articles that I've read which discuss it, frankly, glamorize it, in the way Marie Antoinette and her court used to pretend to be milkmaids. Remember "let them eat cake?" Well, there's no cake here. Recently, I went to a favorite restaurant which, in order to help people in this budget driven economy, offers a three course "cucina povera" menu. This week, there was an involved escarole salad, pasta with three meat ragu, and lemon pudding.
Now, let's see a show of hands: all of you out there who grew up as poor Italians: did you ever eat a meal like that? Let's get serious. There was no dessert in "cucina povera," and meat? Are you kidding? Let's not glamorize things. There is nothing wrong with that menu, but I fear that Chef Marco has forgotten his roots in calling this poor food.
No, I'm going to talk to you about poor food. And I'm going to talk from the heart, because this is one of my favorite dishes in the world.
When we were growing up, Nana would serve, with some frequency, a pasta dish she called "molleek" It was pasta, usually large, tubular pasta, with toasted bread crumbs mixed with olive oil, garlic, dried oregano and parsley. And the three of us loved it. We would devour big bowls of it, and beg Nana to make more of it.
And everytime we did, I saw Nana cry in the kitchen. Not laugh, with the crying sound she made, but CRY. And I didn't know why until many, many years later.
In southern Italian culture, there are certain basics that are always in the kitchen. Dried pasta. Always. Bread. Olive oil. Herbs and spices, fresh or dried. Then you extended to cheeses, maybe eggs, fresh vegetables like wild greens, fruit. Meat was a passing thought, so was chicken. And when things got really bad, you stopped at the herbs. And a pasta dish was invented: "pasta con mollica," the "molleek" of my Nana's dialect.
The toasted bread crumbs were intended to take the place of cheese. You made molleek when there was so little money that you couldn't even buy grating cheese. So if we were eating molleek, we were dirt poor. And that's why Nana was crying: she felt that she couldn't do her job in feeding her family. She couldn't make the money stretch, and this is what she was left to. So, even though her beloved grandchildren LOVED the dish, and would have eaten it every single day, it absolutely destroyed her to put it on the table.
Nowadays, I see the dish on a menu, from time to time, and I have very mixed emotions about it. I always want to order it, for the sake of reconnecting with those times when Nana was going so far out of her way to feed us, but I'm reluctant to do so, because I know that this is a dish that costs so little to make, that I balk at what it costs. And it NEVER tastes as good as Nana's or mine, for that matter. Then, when I don't order it, and we leave the restaurant, I wince because it may very well be months, or years until I see it again. I haven't seen it on a menu, in fact, since pre-2001, when a restaurant around the corner would serve it for Anne Bancroft, when she came in, and save a portion for me.
This is southern "soul food" at its deepest. Even if you don't eat carbs, (this is you Caz), make this once in a while, and see where Annalena is from. I'm going to make it tonight. We're having eggplant parmagiana, and since I don't bread the eggplant anymore, I have the extra crumbs.
One last thing. I may have to discuss this with my Italian teacher. "Mollica" is really the soft part of the bread, the "crumb" as it were. Dried bread crumbs are 'pan grattato." I have never understood why we call the dish after the soft part, because we never used it. Oh well, something lost in time, etymologically, but rediscovered, for something cheap filling and delicious. Try it, and when you do, think of Annalena, as a pudgy six year old, with his 5 and 4 year old sister, downing huge bowls of this stuff, while a short, fat graying woman tried to make ends meet in a big, loving, and sprawling Italian family.
You need a pound of dried pasta, preferably something tubular and on the large size. You could use fusilli though, or even spaghetti. For some reason, I do not like this with linguini. I tried it with orecchiete, and it was "so/so" so I stick with the big tubes.
You will also need a half cup of olive oil and about 3/4 cups of bread crumbs, dry. If you use the unflavored type, you will definitely need something like dried Italian seasonings, or if you have it, some fresh oregano and parsley. Nana always had a pot of parsley growing on her windowsill, so we always had that. Chop up about four-six tablespoons of fresh herbs, or stick to just one big heaping one of d ried. Also, chop up fine, about four or five (or more), big cloves of garlic . Have a few teaspoons of salt ready too.
Get a pot of salted water going , and when you pour the pasta in, start on your sauce. Pour the oil into a big frying pan and heat it up. When it's nice and hot, add the garlic, and the bread crumbs, all at once, and stir constantly. It won't take long. You'll begin to notice a toasty smell, and all the oil will have been picked up. Throw in your salt and herbs at this point, stir them into the crumbs, and take the pan off the heat. If you like things spicy, now is the time to add some dried or crushed red pepper.
When the pasta is al dente to your taste, pour off about half a cup of the water, because you will probably want it. Then drain the pasta and throw it into the toasted bread crumbs, and toss them around. The bread crumbs will be dry and they will clump. Keep stirring and add that reserved water, little by little, until you get the consistency you like.
And there it is. There's enough here for at least four older Italians. Those of you who are on reduced carb regimes will want to eat less, but when you do, keep in mind that, for many of us, this wasn't a PART of dinner, this WAS dinner. And we loved it.
Whenever I make this, I can feel one of Nana's hugs coming my way, something I can use more of. Followed by one of her crude, dirty jokes. She'd comfort me, feed me, and make me laugh. Can you ask for more?
Sunday, August 2, 2009
An easy summer cake: berry streussel
It seems to me that there is a "wave" well under way amongst my ragazzi. Suddenly, more people are turning away dessert than eating it, watching their portion sizes, eating more carefully. Is this a sign that we are all realizing that we are getting older? I wonder. Other ideas?
It's certainly not a bad thing to eat better, but let's not "throw the baby out with the bath water." I want to present a cake that, let's face it, is not a nutritional wonder. Far from it. But it's easy. It exploits the bounty that is upon us now, and - God, do I hate this word - it is "versatile." You can change things in it , as I shall explain.
Now, you would not know that from the doctrinaire recipe I read, which also said that this recipe took 3.5 hours from start to finish. Lemme tell you gang, if you are not out of the kitchen with this cake in 90 minutes, hang up your apron. And most of that time is going to be spent with the cake baking. You will have the cake in the oven in 20 minutes. I promise.
About an hour before you plan to bake, cut a stick of unsalted butter in half, and leave half of it on a counter in your kitchen, the other half in the fridge. And preheat your oven to 350. Now do your prep. And BOY is this easy. First, pick a fruit. I made it with blueberries, but you can choose whatever you like. I meant that - ANYTHING you like. Just have four heaping cups of it. Put it aside for now.
Next, let's mix the cake batter. That will take a cup of unbleached, all purpose flour, a teaspoon of baking powder, a pinch of baking soda, and half a teaspoon of salt. Put that in a bowl, on the side.
Next, you need half a cup of dairy. My recipe called for sour cream. Don't have it? Use yogurt. Don't have that? Use buttermilk. Don't have that? Use milk that you've stirred a tablespoon of white vinetar into. Add a flavoring to it. Which one? That depends on your fruit. For blueberries, use vanilla. For cherries, I would use almond. So, too, with peaches, nectarines or plums. For raspberries, I might use a mint extract. Bananas? Use some cocoa. See what I mean? Play with combinations, but don't use too much of the flavor. Stir a half to one teaspoon of it into the dairy, and put that aside.
Our final pre-prep will be making the streussel topping. Easy as can be. Mix a cup of flour with three tablespoons of brown sugar and a half to one teaspoon of a spice. Again, play with the fruit that is the major component. For blueberries? Cinnamon. For cherries, maybe grated orange peel. Peaches and other stone fruits? I'd go with nutmeg. Orange with cranberries. Cinnamon with plums, maybe, and also with apples. Improvise. Take that half a stick of butter out of the fridge , break it into cubes and work it into the flour with your fingers. You want clumps, so don't worry about doing it too fine.
OK, we have bowls containing fruit, batter, dairy and streussel topping. "What ain't we got? WE AINT GOT CAKE." Well, we're about to. In a bowl comine 3/4 cup of granulated sugar with the softened half stick of butter, and stir it, or blend it, until it's really light and fluffly. This will take about five minutes. Blend in a large egg, stir it all around. Now, take that dairy, and the cake mixture, and add them alternately, three times. Stir each one thoroughly until adding the next one. When that's done, stir in your fruit. And you have your cake.
Prep the pan by either greasing a 9x9 pan (if you're going to serve it in the pan), or by lining a pan with two very large sheets of aluminum foil, greasing those, and then flouring them, dumping out the excess flour. If you do it that way, you can take the cake out of the pan to serve elsewhere.
Pour the cake batter into the pan, pour half of the topping over it, and then put it in the oven for 25 minutes. After 25 minutes, add the remaining topping, and bake another 25 minutes.
The cake will be nice and firm, and you can serve it in as little as fifteen minutes after you take it out, although it's better if you let it rest for an hour.
Don't refrigerate this, although you may not have to worry about leftovers. It's really good. I can eat this whole thing, and if you look at the ingredients, you'll see the most prevalent one is clearly the cake. With berries, you get a very lovely, almost "jam like" texture on the bottom. With other, larger fruit, you'll get something softer, but equally wonderful.
And know what? You have a bout a dozen recipes, AT LEAST. Not just one.
Go to town. Make a few cakes. Share them with your friends. And enjoy something sweet. Tell em Annalena told you you could.
It's certainly not a bad thing to eat better, but let's not "throw the baby out with the bath water." I want to present a cake that, let's face it, is not a nutritional wonder. Far from it. But it's easy. It exploits the bounty that is upon us now, and - God, do I hate this word - it is "versatile." You can change things in it , as I shall explain.
Now, you would not know that from the doctrinaire recipe I read, which also said that this recipe took 3.5 hours from start to finish. Lemme tell you gang, if you are not out of the kitchen with this cake in 90 minutes, hang up your apron. And most of that time is going to be spent with the cake baking. You will have the cake in the oven in 20 minutes. I promise.
About an hour before you plan to bake, cut a stick of unsalted butter in half, and leave half of it on a counter in your kitchen, the other half in the fridge. And preheat your oven to 350. Now do your prep. And BOY is this easy. First, pick a fruit. I made it with blueberries, but you can choose whatever you like. I meant that - ANYTHING you like. Just have four heaping cups of it. Put it aside for now.
Next, let's mix the cake batter. That will take a cup of unbleached, all purpose flour, a teaspoon of baking powder, a pinch of baking soda, and half a teaspoon of salt. Put that in a bowl, on the side.
Next, you need half a cup of dairy. My recipe called for sour cream. Don't have it? Use yogurt. Don't have that? Use buttermilk. Don't have that? Use milk that you've stirred a tablespoon of white vinetar into. Add a flavoring to it. Which one? That depends on your fruit. For blueberries, use vanilla. For cherries, I would use almond. So, too, with peaches, nectarines or plums. For raspberries, I might use a mint extract. Bananas? Use some cocoa. See what I mean? Play with combinations, but don't use too much of the flavor. Stir a half to one teaspoon of it into the dairy, and put that aside.
Our final pre-prep will be making the streussel topping. Easy as can be. Mix a cup of flour with three tablespoons of brown sugar and a half to one teaspoon of a spice. Again, play with the fruit that is the major component. For blueberries? Cinnamon. For cherries, maybe grated orange peel. Peaches and other stone fruits? I'd go with nutmeg. Orange with cranberries. Cinnamon with plums, maybe, and also with apples. Improvise. Take that half a stick of butter out of the fridge , break it into cubes and work it into the flour with your fingers. You want clumps, so don't worry about doing it too fine.
OK, we have bowls containing fruit, batter, dairy and streussel topping. "What ain't we got? WE AINT GOT CAKE." Well, we're about to. In a bowl comine 3/4 cup of granulated sugar with the softened half stick of butter, and stir it, or blend it, until it's really light and fluffly. This will take about five minutes. Blend in a large egg, stir it all around. Now, take that dairy, and the cake mixture, and add them alternately, three times. Stir each one thoroughly until adding the next one. When that's done, stir in your fruit. And you have your cake.
Prep the pan by either greasing a 9x9 pan (if you're going to serve it in the pan), or by lining a pan with two very large sheets of aluminum foil, greasing those, and then flouring them, dumping out the excess flour. If you do it that way, you can take the cake out of the pan to serve elsewhere.
Pour the cake batter into the pan, pour half of the topping over it, and then put it in the oven for 25 minutes. After 25 minutes, add the remaining topping, and bake another 25 minutes.
The cake will be nice and firm, and you can serve it in as little as fifteen minutes after you take it out, although it's better if you let it rest for an hour.
Don't refrigerate this, although you may not have to worry about leftovers. It's really good. I can eat this whole thing, and if you look at the ingredients, you'll see the most prevalent one is clearly the cake. With berries, you get a very lovely, almost "jam like" texture on the bottom. With other, larger fruit, you'll get something softer, but equally wonderful.
And know what? You have a bout a dozen recipes, AT LEAST. Not just one.
Go to town. Make a few cakes. Share them with your friends. And enjoy something sweet. Tell em Annalena told you you could.
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