Well, sort of. This is a tale of having to use up stuff in the fridge, getting a bit creative, and winding up with something that is greater than the sum of its parts. It really is. I promise.
This past weekend was a stock making weekend. Since Annalena has taken up the challenge from Liliputia (you know who you are...), and makes her own stock every couple of weeks, there is left over chicken from that stock making. This weekend, I used a different vendor than I usually do, and I will be back. The birds from the purveyor (who actually specializes in pork), were so much meatier, and so much more flavorful than the ones I had been buying, that there is no question in Annalena's mind. So, there I was, at the end of the soup making process "confronted" with tons of boiled chicken. We also had left over roasted chicken from our fest with Adam earlier that week (the "fest" that sent Annalena the message that she's drinking too much. OI, did that hurt). Another bowl of chicken salad? Oh GOD NO. Not that my chicken salad is not good. It's just that, well... after awhile, when you're saying "homemade chicken salad AGAIN????" Not that we were, of course (or at least I wasn't. If Guy was saying it under his breath, well, who knows?). In any event, I had run out of celery, which is essential in chicken salad to my point of view, so I had an excuse.
So, what to do? Well, if you are of a creative (some would say, sick) mind as is Annalena, you turn to what you have around, including the things that make you wonder "why did I buy that?" In fact, I had a couple of jars of the Italian vegetable relish, giardeniera, which I think I had ambitions of turning into something on crostini. THAT never happened, because there was too little of it, and it was too wet. Mixed with shredded chicken, however? Hmmmm. There was also a jar of my tomato sauce in the fridge, beginning to give me ugly looks (this weekend is a sauce making weekend), and there were the two bags of corn tortillas I had bought "to make something," and God only knows what that was. (maybe it left my head when the bottle of wine from the Adam fest took place). And, finally, a small bag of medium hot chili peppers, which were also beginning to give me dirty looks.
This all sounded like pseudo Mexican to me, and away we went. The chicken was already cooked, and all I did was shred it off of the bird carcass (actually quite a bit of fun, and easy, if the stock has been cooking for a million hours, as this was), and add the left over shredded roast chicken. I put the two jars of the vegetable relish in with this and put it to the side.
I took about 2 cups of tomato sauce, and heated it, with 4 chopped, medium spicy green chilis, for about five minutes. That's all. Now we were just about ready. I got a big baking dish - 9x13 - and covered the bottom of it with a bit of the tomato sauce, as if I were making a classic lasagna, if there is such a thing. I covered this with one bag of the corn tortillas, overlapping them so that there was a solid layer . Before I put them down, I heated each tortilla in a small, ungreased frying pan, just to take the stiffness off of them.
On top of that layer of tortillas went the chicken/vegetable mixture, and that was covered with the rest of the tortillas, and then the tomato sauce.
FINALLY, there were the bags of left over cheese from the ghosts of dinner party pasts. I am almost ashamed to admit this. But I'll tell you: I took the left over Spanish cheeses and grated up those. I know, I know, I know. Shame on me. But it worked. It was good. I covered the tomato sauce with those cheeses, and then put the whole pan - which weighed about a ton - into the oven and baked for 30 minutes or so, until the cheese was melting and bubbly and looking full of pseudo Mexican goodness.
This is feeding a whole lot of people. I think we gave out portions to five people, and took some for ourselves. So that's seven. And I would say these are hearty portions.
Now, what if you're not a soup maker, and you want to do something like this? Well, Annalena has some answers: MAKE SOME SOUP FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE. It is not hard, and why would you buy a cooked chicken to make a casserole if you can make soup and get some for free?
WEll????
Ah, but here's another idea for you. One of the things that always stuns me about Mexican cooking is that there is so much turkey in it. Yes, there are turkey mole recipes all over the place, and lots of other ones. And isn't thanksgiving coming up? And won't you have a lot of leftover turkey?
Well? Get into the kitchen. Think about it. After the excesses of the standard (or unstandard) thanksgiving meal, doesn't something spicy and "faintly ethnic" (sort of like Annalena herself), sound good?
Get to it...
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Stealing AGAIN: celery root and boston lettuce soup
I can't help it. I really can't. When I have something at a restaurant that I really like, which feels like something I can make, I have to try it. That way I know, if it never shows up at the restaurant again (a REAL possibility), I can have it anyway.
Normally, I do this with main dishes and desserts. Not soup. Why not? Well, I almost never order soup in a restaurant. And why not? Ok, I will 'fess up, it's a weird thing. In my mind, I consider soup a rip off. I always think that I'm going to get a bowl of something that cost about a quarter to make, but for which I'm going to be charged 10 bucks or so.
It IS true that in restaurants soup IS up there on the profit meter. Normally, the pay off on a bowl of soup exceeds anything except maybe coffee or a drink. This is so even though soup is usually the l east expensive item on the menu. It's a kind of weird "catch 22." In most places, soup is almost an after thought, or so it would seem. It's the same soup in every restaurant (for one stretch that I remember, every single restaurant I went to, for two weeks, had butternut squash soup of one kind or another. On another occasion, it was potato leek). When someone works on a budget and goes out to eat, however, the soup is appealing because it's cheap and more than that, it's filling. (in fact, many guides to home dinner planning advise NOT serving soup, because it is so filling).
So what does one do? I am not sure. I guess if the soup sounds like something you would like to eat, have it. If it does not, spend 2 extra dollars and have the salad that does sound good. Maybe if there is a "revolt" against bad soup, the restaurants will pay attention.
A week ago, we were at one of our favorite restaurants (Savoy), and the soup DID appeal. It was "celery root boston lettuce." Now, at this time of year, celery root soup is pretty ubiquitous. We're going into fall, the green things are waning, and celery root has an inherent creaminess, like potatoes, that make it taste richer than it is. I'm fond of celery root soup, but not overly so. The addition of lettuce had me intrigued. Most people don't think of lettuce as a vegetable that they can cook , and that's a shame. It makes a really good cooked vegetable, although it does cook down more than just about anything else. Young lettuces sauteed with peas in butter are wonderful. Moving to soup, years ago, I found and made a recipe for "bacon lettuce and tomato soup." That, too, was good. I heard that it was the winner of a contest that Campbell's sponsored. They bought the recipe for 5000.00 ( a lot at the time), but it never went to market because - DUH - they couldn't figure out a way to make the bacon stay crisp and the lettuce not get brown and disgusting.
this soup was NOT brown or disgusting. It was good. As the chef, Ryan and I are friends, he came over to chat and I asked about it "Oh, nothing much. You know how to do it. Just use milk instead of cream."
OH. Okay. I didn't know there was either in it. Shows you what kind of palette I have. But what I interpreted him as saying was that it was a basis vegetable soup, pureed, with a broth base.
Now, I got all that from "Oh nothing much. You know how to do it." Well, he was right.
Here's how I constructed mine. First, I knew I wanted some flavor from the broth, but I didn't want to use chicken stock. I wanted to share the soup with my friends Mark and Jeremy, who both do not eat chicken. In my experience, any pre-prepared vegetable stock is disgusting, so I use water . Not this time. I felt like there needed to be a deeper base than the one that water supplies, so I had to make my own vegetable stock. I made it by chopping up an onion, two stalks of celery, two carrots, and a large beefsteak tomato that was past its prime. The tomato was unusual, but it was a good choice. I covered a soup pot with olive oil and added the vegetables. I let them cook, without stirring until they browned. Then I stirred to brown them some more, and when that was done, I added two quarts of water, and a few sprigs of thyme.
While this was going on, I cleaned and roughly chopped three large celery roots. I also took all the leaves off of one head of Boston lettuce, and the older, greener leaves of a second one. I let the stock cook away for ten minutes, tasting every few. When the flavor was pronouced - good strong notes of thyme and tomato, I was done, and I drained it.
The careful reader will wonder why, as I usually puree my soup base into my final soup. I did it this time, because I did not want to overload the celery flavor. It CAN get overwhelming. I poured the strained stock into a pot and added the celery root, and a BIG teaspoon of salt. Probably closer to two. Then I let this cook away, uncovered, for just over half an hour. Twice, the water level dropped and I added more. I tested until the celery root was tender enough to fall apart when I jabbed it with a knife. When I had that, I added my WASHED lettuce leaves, and let them droop into the hot soup. (if your lettuce is clean, you don't need to do this, BUT CHECK). And if your celery root is cut smaller than mine was, you'll need less time.
When the stuff had cooled to luke warm, I pureed it in the blender - a good choice, because the blender got it smoother. It emerged an incredible emerald green color. Just gorgeous . Just like the restaurant. I tasted it, and now I saw why Ryan had said to use milk. The flavor was very "brassy" and strong. The milk - about a cup of it, stirred in, calmed everything down. The color was less green, but still beautiful
So, how does it taste? Well, I bet if you didn't know there was lettuce in it, you wouldn't know there was lettuce in it. It is definitely a celery root soup, with a taste of fresh, clean herbs. It's a good thing to have on hand, as we go into the winter months. We will be eating a lot of roots and squashes and tubers, and lettuces are almost always available in some way . If you want to lighten up your heavyweight cold weather soups, and give them the taste of spring, here's your ticket. Try it.
And if you go to Savoy, thank Ryan
Normally, I do this with main dishes and desserts. Not soup. Why not? Well, I almost never order soup in a restaurant. And why not? Ok, I will 'fess up, it's a weird thing. In my mind, I consider soup a rip off. I always think that I'm going to get a bowl of something that cost about a quarter to make, but for which I'm going to be charged 10 bucks or so.
It IS true that in restaurants soup IS up there on the profit meter. Normally, the pay off on a bowl of soup exceeds anything except maybe coffee or a drink. This is so even though soup is usually the l east expensive item on the menu. It's a kind of weird "catch 22." In most places, soup is almost an after thought, or so it would seem. It's the same soup in every restaurant (for one stretch that I remember, every single restaurant I went to, for two weeks, had butternut squash soup of one kind or another. On another occasion, it was potato leek). When someone works on a budget and goes out to eat, however, the soup is appealing because it's cheap and more than that, it's filling. (in fact, many guides to home dinner planning advise NOT serving soup, because it is so filling).
So what does one do? I am not sure. I guess if the soup sounds like something you would like to eat, have it. If it does not, spend 2 extra dollars and have the salad that does sound good. Maybe if there is a "revolt" against bad soup, the restaurants will pay attention.
A week ago, we were at one of our favorite restaurants (Savoy), and the soup DID appeal. It was "celery root boston lettuce." Now, at this time of year, celery root soup is pretty ubiquitous. We're going into fall, the green things are waning, and celery root has an inherent creaminess, like potatoes, that make it taste richer than it is. I'm fond of celery root soup, but not overly so. The addition of lettuce had me intrigued. Most people don't think of lettuce as a vegetable that they can cook , and that's a shame. It makes a really good cooked vegetable, although it does cook down more than just about anything else. Young lettuces sauteed with peas in butter are wonderful. Moving to soup, years ago, I found and made a recipe for "bacon lettuce and tomato soup." That, too, was good. I heard that it was the winner of a contest that Campbell's sponsored. They bought the recipe for 5000.00 ( a lot at the time), but it never went to market because - DUH - they couldn't figure out a way to make the bacon stay crisp and the lettuce not get brown and disgusting.
this soup was NOT brown or disgusting. It was good. As the chef, Ryan and I are friends, he came over to chat and I asked about it "Oh, nothing much. You know how to do it. Just use milk instead of cream."
OH. Okay. I didn't know there was either in it. Shows you what kind of palette I have. But what I interpreted him as saying was that it was a basis vegetable soup, pureed, with a broth base.
Now, I got all that from "Oh nothing much. You know how to do it." Well, he was right.
Here's how I constructed mine. First, I knew I wanted some flavor from the broth, but I didn't want to use chicken stock. I wanted to share the soup with my friends Mark and Jeremy, who both do not eat chicken. In my experience, any pre-prepared vegetable stock is disgusting, so I use water . Not this time. I felt like there needed to be a deeper base than the one that water supplies, so I had to make my own vegetable stock. I made it by chopping up an onion, two stalks of celery, two carrots, and a large beefsteak tomato that was past its prime. The tomato was unusual, but it was a good choice. I covered a soup pot with olive oil and added the vegetables. I let them cook, without stirring until they browned. Then I stirred to brown them some more, and when that was done, I added two quarts of water, and a few sprigs of thyme.
While this was going on, I cleaned and roughly chopped three large celery roots. I also took all the leaves off of one head of Boston lettuce, and the older, greener leaves of a second one. I let the stock cook away for ten minutes, tasting every few. When the flavor was pronouced - good strong notes of thyme and tomato, I was done, and I drained it.
The careful reader will wonder why, as I usually puree my soup base into my final soup. I did it this time, because I did not want to overload the celery flavor. It CAN get overwhelming. I poured the strained stock into a pot and added the celery root, and a BIG teaspoon of salt. Probably closer to two. Then I let this cook away, uncovered, for just over half an hour. Twice, the water level dropped and I added more. I tested until the celery root was tender enough to fall apart when I jabbed it with a knife. When I had that, I added my WASHED lettuce leaves, and let them droop into the hot soup. (if your lettuce is clean, you don't need to do this, BUT CHECK). And if your celery root is cut smaller than mine was, you'll need less time.
When the stuff had cooled to luke warm, I pureed it in the blender - a good choice, because the blender got it smoother. It emerged an incredible emerald green color. Just gorgeous . Just like the restaurant. I tasted it, and now I saw why Ryan had said to use milk. The flavor was very "brassy" and strong. The milk - about a cup of it, stirred in, calmed everything down. The color was less green, but still beautiful
So, how does it taste? Well, I bet if you didn't know there was lettuce in it, you wouldn't know there was lettuce in it. It is definitely a celery root soup, with a taste of fresh, clean herbs. It's a good thing to have on hand, as we go into the winter months. We will be eating a lot of roots and squashes and tubers, and lettuces are almost always available in some way . If you want to lighten up your heavyweight cold weather soups, and give them the taste of spring, here's your ticket. Try it.
And if you go to Savoy, thank Ryan
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Time for soup: lentil
I am not sure I quite get the connection between cooler weather, and soup, but it is certainly there. Yes, I understand: soup is warm and the weather is cold, but the general consensus that soup "warms you," just doesn't cut it for me. Soup doesn't warm me. Generally, if the soup is that hot, it burns my tongue, and any tissue that it touches on the way down my gullet. So, no, I don't see it.
But.... the affinity is there, even for me. Annalena almost never orders soup in a restaurant. Part of it is a sense that she is paying 9 dollars for a bowl of something that cost 13 cents to make. (Of course, that doesn't stop me with other courses, but let's not look at my inconsistencies today, hmmm?). This is true, even if the soups sound truly interesting. On Friday, however, I found myself more than intrigued by a celery root and boston lettuce soup at Savoy Restaurant, which was just amazing. And the fact is, I look forward to making soup while the Guyman is in rehearsal. I try to vary them and to be creative. Ultimately , t hough, many of them do rely on dried legumes.
So we move to lentils. Why lentils? Well, I am not quite sure. I do have bags and bags and bags of lentils in the cupboard, because I know they're good for us, and we should be eating them. And then I never cook them. I honestly do not remember the last time I made lentil soup. Nor do I know why I was moved to make it this time around. But make it I did. And it was good. And it's vegan, but you can change that if you like.
First, let's chat a bit about different types of lentils. The ones we are all most familiar with are the common brown ones, and this is probably why those of us who don't like them, don't like them. These are the ones you get for about 50 cents a bag, and which always carry a warning to wash them and to pick out stones before you cook them. It's good advice. Lentils grow very close to the ground, and I still remember picking out stones before cooking them. It isn't the stones, t hough that seems to cause the dislike of them people have. The brown lentils cook down to a very soft, unappealing mash. You couple this with their , ahem, not so attractive color, and you have a dish that only a mother could love. Unfortunately, this is the version of lentils most of us grew up with. If you grew up in a Southern Asian family , perhaps you were fortunate enough to have red lentils. These also cook up very soft, but to my taste they have a somewhat tart and fruity flavor, and unlike the brown ones, they do not thicken as heavily when you leave them in liquid. Hence, no problem with thick, viscous texture . You eat this as dhal in Indian restaurants, and while you can use them to make soup, the soup is very thin.
I suggest you go with one of two varieities. The French green lentil or the "lentil de puy," or a greenish/brown one from Italy, called a casteluccian lentil. Both of these retain their shape when cooked, and give a bit of substance when you chew. As a result, you almost treat them as "legume pasta" in the soup. They add their protein and t heir body, but they are not going to make a thick mess of things.
OK, here we go. And this makes a lot. First, you need your base. Lentils can take on a lot of varied flavors, and I'll talk about options. For mine, I used two large carrots, chopped, a couple of ribs of chopped celery, a large chopped onion, a cubed celery root, a few sprigs of thyme, and a bay leaf. Whenever I make lentil soup, or any legume soup, I put in a bay leaf. Just works for me. Take those chopped vegetables, and add them to about three tablespoons of olive oil that you've heated a bit. Stir them, until you've got them coated with oil, and let them cook away for a few minutes, say four or five. Then add the herbs. Finally, add 2 cups of dried lentils.
You may have noticed that I didn't tell you to pre-soak the lentils. I didn't forget. This is why lentils are a good friend to cooks. If you want to make a bean soup, but you forgot to soak the beans, you can use lentils. They don't need presoaking.
OK, now add a big teaspoon of salt (maybe even 2), and then two quarts of water. Bring the whole thing to a boil, then lower the heat, cover the pot, and simmer, until the lentils are tender enough for you. I DO warn you that they are not going to turn into fall apart tender, but they will soften. For me, it was about thirty minutes.
Finally, at the end, I added two small heads of escarole, that I had chopped. This cooked down almost immediately. I pulled out the herbs, tested the seasoning, and we were done and happy.
If you like, and I do, you can add a large, chopped tomato to the vegetables at the start. You could also, at the end, add some cooked bacon, or sausage to the soup. Franks are great with this too. I am intrigued by the idea of using duck confit as a garnish (but I always AM intrigued by duck confit, as you all will learn tomorrow).
I cannot think of serving this without cheese and bread of some kind. If "bread," then it MUST be rye bread for me, t hickly sliced and thickly buttered. Pizza sounds good with it, especially if it is not tomato based. Corn muffins or popovers? Of course. I think you do need some kind of starch with it, because ultimately, this is a very substantial, strong soup, and the bread will lighten it just a bit.
Go for it. You want something warm and substantial for dinner that is not too expensive, and comes together quickly? Well, you got it.
Who says that Annalena does not pay attention to what people want? (Well, if someone says it, they're right...)
But.... the affinity is there, even for me. Annalena almost never orders soup in a restaurant. Part of it is a sense that she is paying 9 dollars for a bowl of something that cost 13 cents to make. (Of course, that doesn't stop me with other courses, but let's not look at my inconsistencies today, hmmm?). This is true, even if the soups sound truly interesting. On Friday, however, I found myself more than intrigued by a celery root and boston lettuce soup at Savoy Restaurant, which was just amazing. And the fact is, I look forward to making soup while the Guyman is in rehearsal. I try to vary them and to be creative. Ultimately , t hough, many of them do rely on dried legumes.
So we move to lentils. Why lentils? Well, I am not quite sure. I do have bags and bags and bags of lentils in the cupboard, because I know they're good for us, and we should be eating them. And then I never cook them. I honestly do not remember the last time I made lentil soup. Nor do I know why I was moved to make it this time around. But make it I did. And it was good. And it's vegan, but you can change that if you like.
First, let's chat a bit about different types of lentils. The ones we are all most familiar with are the common brown ones, and this is probably why those of us who don't like them, don't like them. These are the ones you get for about 50 cents a bag, and which always carry a warning to wash them and to pick out stones before you cook them. It's good advice. Lentils grow very close to the ground, and I still remember picking out stones before cooking them. It isn't the stones, t hough that seems to cause the dislike of them people have. The brown lentils cook down to a very soft, unappealing mash. You couple this with their , ahem, not so attractive color, and you have a dish that only a mother could love. Unfortunately, this is the version of lentils most of us grew up with. If you grew up in a Southern Asian family , perhaps you were fortunate enough to have red lentils. These also cook up very soft, but to my taste they have a somewhat tart and fruity flavor, and unlike the brown ones, they do not thicken as heavily when you leave them in liquid. Hence, no problem with thick, viscous texture . You eat this as dhal in Indian restaurants, and while you can use them to make soup, the soup is very thin.
I suggest you go with one of two varieities. The French green lentil or the "lentil de puy," or a greenish/brown one from Italy, called a casteluccian lentil. Both of these retain their shape when cooked, and give a bit of substance when you chew. As a result, you almost treat them as "legume pasta" in the soup. They add their protein and t heir body, but they are not going to make a thick mess of things.
OK, here we go. And this makes a lot. First, you need your base. Lentils can take on a lot of varied flavors, and I'll talk about options. For mine, I used two large carrots, chopped, a couple of ribs of chopped celery, a large chopped onion, a cubed celery root, a few sprigs of thyme, and a bay leaf. Whenever I make lentil soup, or any legume soup, I put in a bay leaf. Just works for me. Take those chopped vegetables, and add them to about three tablespoons of olive oil that you've heated a bit. Stir them, until you've got them coated with oil, and let them cook away for a few minutes, say four or five. Then add the herbs. Finally, add 2 cups of dried lentils.
You may have noticed that I didn't tell you to pre-soak the lentils. I didn't forget. This is why lentils are a good friend to cooks. If you want to make a bean soup, but you forgot to soak the beans, you can use lentils. They don't need presoaking.
OK, now add a big teaspoon of salt (maybe even 2), and then two quarts of water. Bring the whole thing to a boil, then lower the heat, cover the pot, and simmer, until the lentils are tender enough for you. I DO warn you that they are not going to turn into fall apart tender, but they will soften. For me, it was about thirty minutes.
Finally, at the end, I added two small heads of escarole, that I had chopped. This cooked down almost immediately. I pulled out the herbs, tested the seasoning, and we were done and happy.
If you like, and I do, you can add a large, chopped tomato to the vegetables at the start. You could also, at the end, add some cooked bacon, or sausage to the soup. Franks are great with this too. I am intrigued by the idea of using duck confit as a garnish (but I always AM intrigued by duck confit, as you all will learn tomorrow).
I cannot think of serving this without cheese and bread of some kind. If "bread," then it MUST be rye bread for me, t hickly sliced and thickly buttered. Pizza sounds good with it, especially if it is not tomato based. Corn muffins or popovers? Of course. I think you do need some kind of starch with it, because ultimately, this is a very substantial, strong soup, and the bread will lighten it just a bit.
Go for it. You want something warm and substantial for dinner that is not too expensive, and comes together quickly? Well, you got it.
Who says that Annalena does not pay attention to what people want? (Well, if someone says it, they're right...)
Saturday, October 17, 2009
what's in the fridge? Constructing sauce
Everyone gets faced, sooner or later, with having to use up "what's in the fridge?" My friend Bobby says that when he grew up, they called it "icebox stew." He says it was usually disgusting. Other people will have different names for it, but you know what I mean. It was usually (in fact, almost always), Mom, who was faced with what to do with the leftovers, especially when it was, say Thursday, and there wasn't any money coming in until Friday night. Many people have memories of those cans of cream of mushroom soup, poured over "whatever," and baked. There is a dish that both repels and attracts me, that has the nickname "faggot pudding." It's a bake of canned tuna and cream of mushroom soup. Annalena must confess that she likes this. Don't ask why, it makes no sense.
And you all have something like this. In some cases, the dish becomes a "classic." What, for example, do you think "shephard's pie" started out as?
Well, on Thursday of last week, yours truly was confronted with this kind of situation: what's for dinner? What did I feel like cooking? Well, frankly, Thursday was one of those days where, if you graphed the week with emotional highs and emotional lows, this was off the scale, at the bottom end. Oh yes, Annalena was so down in the dumps that she could have constructed a dish of root vegetables only. Imagination in the kitchen? Not on Thursday.
So, digging around, I found an eggplant. I found a bag of wild mushrooms that I had paid a small fortune for and had forgotten about. And.... where preplanning is such a good thing, containers of tomato confit. As Jackie Gleason used to say 'AND AWAY WE GO.' In about 30 minutes I had a pasta sauce which, to be quite honest, did not taste of its origins. It was quite terrific. And it is open to many variations, as I exhibited this morning. Try this.
I peeled the eggplant and cut it into small dice. I knew I wanted a darker, carmelized version of the eggplant, which is why I cut it very small. Then I did something very important with eggplant: I salted it , rather heavily and let it sit for a minute or two. This brings out the water, of which eggplant is jammed, and also gets some flavor into a bland vegetable. I then heated about three tablespoons of olive oil until it was VERY hot. Again, important for eggplant, as it is the "sponge" of vegetables. Eggplant will pick up every bit of oil you give it. But you can solve this problem with a bit of patience.
The mushrooms were small enough that I did not have to cut them, I just had to brush the dirt off them (yes, these were, truly WILD mushrooms) . The tomato confit just needed a bit of chopping.
So the eggplant went into the oil. I let it sit. When you fry eggplant in this way, don't move it for a few minutes. Yes, it is going to stick, but that's ok. After about five minutes, stir it. Now you stir it every two minutes or so, and you will see a soft mass forming as the eggplant gives up its water. When it does that, it will begin to release some of the oil. Not all of it, however, so you'll need to put in a tablespoon or two when you add the mushrooms. They only need cook three minutes or so.
Your pan will have taken on a seared, black layer on the bottom. That is ok. When you add the chopped tomato confit (or, canned tomatoes, or, fresh tomatoes, however many you want), you will see how the liquid in that fruit takes up what was there. Now, all that lovely fond is mixed in with your sauce. Just stir a bit, and you are done....
Or are you? As I found out today, this works wonderfully for incorporating left over green vegetables (broccoli), and you can also, as I found out, toss in chunks of a soft cheese, like mozzarella or fontina, or something of that ilk.
It will make a lot, but you will want this. It can serve, for example, as it will this weekend, as a canape' topping. It can serve, as it did yesterday , as a snack when you come back from doing 45 minutes of cardio work. And it can be used to make a quick lunch for the fishermen who make you look so good because their stuff is so fresh.
Try it. Improvise. I call it "wotthehell sauce." Call it whatever you like, but call it delicious. Because it is.
And you all have something like this. In some cases, the dish becomes a "classic." What, for example, do you think "shephard's pie" started out as?
Well, on Thursday of last week, yours truly was confronted with this kind of situation: what's for dinner? What did I feel like cooking? Well, frankly, Thursday was one of those days where, if you graphed the week with emotional highs and emotional lows, this was off the scale, at the bottom end. Oh yes, Annalena was so down in the dumps that she could have constructed a dish of root vegetables only. Imagination in the kitchen? Not on Thursday.
So, digging around, I found an eggplant. I found a bag of wild mushrooms that I had paid a small fortune for and had forgotten about. And.... where preplanning is such a good thing, containers of tomato confit. As Jackie Gleason used to say 'AND AWAY WE GO.' In about 30 minutes I had a pasta sauce which, to be quite honest, did not taste of its origins. It was quite terrific. And it is open to many variations, as I exhibited this morning. Try this.
I peeled the eggplant and cut it into small dice. I knew I wanted a darker, carmelized version of the eggplant, which is why I cut it very small. Then I did something very important with eggplant: I salted it , rather heavily and let it sit for a minute or two. This brings out the water, of which eggplant is jammed, and also gets some flavor into a bland vegetable. I then heated about three tablespoons of olive oil until it was VERY hot. Again, important for eggplant, as it is the "sponge" of vegetables. Eggplant will pick up every bit of oil you give it. But you can solve this problem with a bit of patience.
The mushrooms were small enough that I did not have to cut them, I just had to brush the dirt off them (yes, these were, truly WILD mushrooms) . The tomato confit just needed a bit of chopping.
So the eggplant went into the oil. I let it sit. When you fry eggplant in this way, don't move it for a few minutes. Yes, it is going to stick, but that's ok. After about five minutes, stir it. Now you stir it every two minutes or so, and you will see a soft mass forming as the eggplant gives up its water. When it does that, it will begin to release some of the oil. Not all of it, however, so you'll need to put in a tablespoon or two when you add the mushrooms. They only need cook three minutes or so.
Your pan will have taken on a seared, black layer on the bottom. That is ok. When you add the chopped tomato confit (or, canned tomatoes, or, fresh tomatoes, however many you want), you will see how the liquid in that fruit takes up what was there. Now, all that lovely fond is mixed in with your sauce. Just stir a bit, and you are done....
Or are you? As I found out today, this works wonderfully for incorporating left over green vegetables (broccoli), and you can also, as I found out, toss in chunks of a soft cheese, like mozzarella or fontina, or something of that ilk.
It will make a lot, but you will want this. It can serve, for example, as it will this weekend, as a canape' topping. It can serve, as it did yesterday , as a snack when you come back from doing 45 minutes of cardio work. And it can be used to make a quick lunch for the fishermen who make you look so good because their stuff is so fresh.
Try it. Improvise. I call it "wotthehell sauce." Call it whatever you like, but call it delicious. Because it is.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Is it "Indian?" Curried pork tenderloin
There's a bit of a dichotomy up there. I mean, let's face it. When you think "Indian" food, your immediate reaction, I bet is "wait. PORK? Indians don't eat pork."
Well, let's not generalize here, that completely. Some do, some don't. It's like anything else. Got to be careful when you're thinking about things like this. Generalizations don't fly very well, in cooking.
In fairness, when I read this recipe, it never called it an "Indian" recipe, but there's a connection that is made - and Annalena made it - because there is curry in it. We associate curry with Indian cooking don't we? Well, we should, but "curry" in some form or another (and don't get me started on what is and is not "curry") has made it all over the world. Indeed, you can find it in some Sicilian dishes - always with couscous (or, as it is called in Sicilian dialect cussucussu), and nearly always with fish. Then we get to Caribbean cuisine, where the link is more understandable. But the rant of the day is, don't generalize.
I like pork.
Have you all had your fun yet? Good, now let's move on. I happen to like tenderloins, even though many chefs and cooks scoff at it, because it's not the tastiest cut. Indeed, two nights ago on Top Chef, we saw a cook go down for a pork tenderloin dish that wasn't up to snuff. Oh well.
I saw this recipe in a magazine, and of course, I had to modify it. This is the second dish that my friend Ken didn't get because he went on a date instead. So Guy and I ate it. And it's good. And it takes advantage of a difficult ingredient to use: late season peaches.
It's mid October, and you can still get stone fruit. Honestly, a lot of it just isn't very good right now. The peaches and nectarines are mealy, and best used for cooking instead of out of hand eating. So here's a way to use that peach sitting on the counter. Try this. It's fast and it's good.
Like some men.
Ok, you need a one pound piece of pork tenderloin. Pat it dry, or leave it in the fridge like I've taught you to do with meat in general. Combine four peeledcloves of garlic, a teaspoon of ginger, and a teaspoon of curry.
AH. Here's the rub. You've got curry in your house, don't you? GOod. Now smell it. Does it smell like anything? Probably not. It's probably old and lost its flavor. Get some new stuff.
Back from the store, add the curry to the ginger and garlic. I use an old coffee grinder to grind this stuff together, but you could use a small food processor or whatever you have, or you could do it the old fashioned way, and do it by hand. IF you happen to have fresh ginger around (I didn't), use a few slices of that instead. Finally, add some salt to this. You'll get this nice wet paste that will stick to the tenderloin real easily. Spread it all over the meat.
Get an oven safe pan and put two tablespoons of vegetable oil in it, and get it REALLY hot. How hot? You'll see little ripples on the oil when it's hot enough. Put the tenderloin into the oil, and let it sear. DONT MOVE IT. You want a nice dark color. Leave it alone for five minutes, then turn it over and let the other side brown.
Meanwhile, preheat your oven to 425. Put the whole pan into the oven (guess I should have told you the pan should be oven proof. OOPS). And let this cook for about ten minutes, twelve if you prefer your meat cooked more. While it's cooking, chop up one medium sized onion, a nice big tomato, seeds and skin and all, and a peach.
After ten minutes, protect your hands and take out the pork. Move the meat to a plate to let it rest. Over a medium flame, add the onion, and cook for about five minutes. Then add the tomato and peach and cook for another five. Keep your hand protected, and stir the mix from time to time. Taste it and see if you would like to add more s easonings to it. It's your dish, and you probably will (I wish I had done so with mine). After ten minutes, your sauce is done. Turn off the heat, and slice the pork into nice sized slices. Spoon some of the sauce over it, and put the rest on the side for people to take as they like.
This was the main dish, next to the potatoes I wrote about yesterday. It was good. It's a start on my way to learning something new. Is it "Indian?" I doubt it. Is it tasty? Sure is. Will I make it again, absolutely.
Well, let's not generalize here, that completely. Some do, some don't. It's like anything else. Got to be careful when you're thinking about things like this. Generalizations don't fly very well, in cooking.
In fairness, when I read this recipe, it never called it an "Indian" recipe, but there's a connection that is made - and Annalena made it - because there is curry in it. We associate curry with Indian cooking don't we? Well, we should, but "curry" in some form or another (and don't get me started on what is and is not "curry") has made it all over the world. Indeed, you can find it in some Sicilian dishes - always with couscous (or, as it is called in Sicilian dialect cussucussu), and nearly always with fish. Then we get to Caribbean cuisine, where the link is more understandable. But the rant of the day is, don't generalize.
I like pork.
Have you all had your fun yet? Good, now let's move on. I happen to like tenderloins, even though many chefs and cooks scoff at it, because it's not the tastiest cut. Indeed, two nights ago on Top Chef, we saw a cook go down for a pork tenderloin dish that wasn't up to snuff. Oh well.
I saw this recipe in a magazine, and of course, I had to modify it. This is the second dish that my friend Ken didn't get because he went on a date instead. So Guy and I ate it. And it's good. And it takes advantage of a difficult ingredient to use: late season peaches.
It's mid October, and you can still get stone fruit. Honestly, a lot of it just isn't very good right now. The peaches and nectarines are mealy, and best used for cooking instead of out of hand eating. So here's a way to use that peach sitting on the counter. Try this. It's fast and it's good.
Like some men.
Ok, you need a one pound piece of pork tenderloin. Pat it dry, or leave it in the fridge like I've taught you to do with meat in general. Combine four peeledcloves of garlic, a teaspoon of ginger, and a teaspoon of curry.
AH. Here's the rub. You've got curry in your house, don't you? GOod. Now smell it. Does it smell like anything? Probably not. It's probably old and lost its flavor. Get some new stuff.
Back from the store, add the curry to the ginger and garlic. I use an old coffee grinder to grind this stuff together, but you could use a small food processor or whatever you have, or you could do it the old fashioned way, and do it by hand. IF you happen to have fresh ginger around (I didn't), use a few slices of that instead. Finally, add some salt to this. You'll get this nice wet paste that will stick to the tenderloin real easily. Spread it all over the meat.
Get an oven safe pan and put two tablespoons of vegetable oil in it, and get it REALLY hot. How hot? You'll see little ripples on the oil when it's hot enough. Put the tenderloin into the oil, and let it sear. DONT MOVE IT. You want a nice dark color. Leave it alone for five minutes, then turn it over and let the other side brown.
Meanwhile, preheat your oven to 425. Put the whole pan into the oven (guess I should have told you the pan should be oven proof. OOPS). And let this cook for about ten minutes, twelve if you prefer your meat cooked more. While it's cooking, chop up one medium sized onion, a nice big tomato, seeds and skin and all, and a peach.
After ten minutes, protect your hands and take out the pork. Move the meat to a plate to let it rest. Over a medium flame, add the onion, and cook for about five minutes. Then add the tomato and peach and cook for another five. Keep your hand protected, and stir the mix from time to time. Taste it and see if you would like to add more s easonings to it. It's your dish, and you probably will (I wish I had done so with mine). After ten minutes, your sauce is done. Turn off the heat, and slice the pork into nice sized slices. Spoon some of the sauce over it, and put the rest on the side for people to take as they like.
This was the main dish, next to the potatoes I wrote about yesterday. It was good. It's a start on my way to learning something new. Is it "Indian?" I doubt it. Is it tasty? Sure is. Will I make it again, absolutely.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Annalena goes Indian - sort of
I've commented on this blog, before, that my comfort zone is unmistakably Italian food. If you want to extend it, Mediterranean food. I believe I do some southern French dishes very well, some from Morocco, some Spanish Mediterranean dishes, and I've done a middle eastern dish or two that I've been proud of.
Indian food, however, has always defeated me. Much more so than Mexican food. Mexican food, I "sort of" get. And I have friends, like the amazing Sue Torres to turn to and ask "what went wrong," with a bit of a pout and a frightened look. And Sue always nods wisely and says something like "I have trouble with it too" (and she's lying through her teeth), and then says something like "just cook it for another three hours and it will be fine. When it comes to Indian food, however, I don't have such a source. I COULD turn to my friend Shiv, but he would look at me with amazement and say "I should be asking YOU how to do that." So, on Indian food, I am on my own, and I fail, miserably, every single time I try an Indian dish. I burn the spices. I scorch the milk in the milk candy. The only dish I can turn out consistently, is carrot halvah, which half of my Indian friends tell me isn't Indian at all. Like I would know?
But... I get a craving occasionally to pull out all those spices that begin with a "c" (cumin, coriander, curry, cardomom), and try something. What I do can hardly be called authentically Indian. But it has sort of a "flavor" of Indian about it. And I feel like I've stretched and done something that I haven't done before.
So, this past week, with my friend Ken scheduled to come to dinner (and abandoning me for a date... Hmmmm), knowing that he is a fan of Indian food (he took me to "Bombay Talkie," where I ate curried beets. CLEARLY not an Indian dish), I found some recipes that were "borderline." The second one will follow tomorrow. This one, I really liked. I liked it because it's starch. Potatoes. I liked it because, in spite of the warning that it took nearly an hour and a half to make, it took less than an hour (well, ok, I split up the cooking time). And I like the interplay of spices . Is it Indian? I doubt it. I have to turn to the experts, like Shiv, to tell me yes or no. But I offer it to you as a "prasad" (look it up), as a dish that is worth making.
Culinary snob that I am, I did in fact have all of the spices in the house. I bet you have all of them, except maybe coriander. Borrow some from me. And yes, as the recipe says, you SHOULD start with whole spices and grind them yourself. I couldn't find my cumin seeds, so I used the ground stuff. I didn't think there was any problem with it. This is a dish I will make again. In fact, I can still smell it cooking in the kitchen. That, in and of itself, is enough to want to make it over. It smells GOOD.
Ok, here we go. You need two pounds of potatoes. The recipe calls for fingerlings, but I didn't have them. So I used the potatoes I had, and when they were cooked, I cut them into fingerling sizes. Boil the two pounds of potatoes, in their skins, in a lot of salted water, for about ten minutes. They will soften, but they will not be soft. Drain them, and when they are cool enough to handle, peel them (if you have asbestos hands, do it when they're warm). I boiled the potatoes in the morning, and cooked the dish at night. Do that if you can.
When you're ready to proceed, preheat your oven to 400 degrees. Get your spices ready. If you're grinding whole ones, put a teaspoon of coriander, and half a teaspoon of cumin, in your spice grinder and get it working. If not, use the powders. Combine them with a quarter teaspoon each of tumeric and cayenne (ok, you may not have tumeric in the house either. Get some. And be careful. This is a very powerful yellow orange dye. You can consider using it to henna your hair, but smelling it all day may be an issue for you. ).
You're just about done. Now, dump those potatoes, peeled, and cut to size onto a baking sheet. Pour a quarter cup of vegetable oil over them and mix that all up with your hands. Now, clean and dry y our hands, pour the spices over the potatoes, and mingle it all together. Now spread them all out on the sheet. There's enough oil to keep them from sticking. Sprinkle them with salt to the degree you think you'll want it. Some like it saltier than others. Get the tray into the oven, and bake for 45 minutes. Every fifteen minutes or so, if you think about it, shake the pan. It's not necessary, and probably adds nothing to the finished product, but it somehow made me feel like I was doing something fancy.
After 45 minutes, the potatoes will have dried a lot and crisped a lot too. Now, the fun part. Get something solid, and "smash" them a bit. That way when you eat them, you get some soft potato meat, and some crisp skin. And of course, a mouthful of those lovely spices.
Can you vary this? OF COURSE. One of the wonderful things about this recipe is that the creative cook can see that, there is a total of 2 teaspoons of mixed spices. You can use whatever you like. Don't do something stupid and call it Indian if you decide to use dill, rosemary, oregano and pimento, but play with the idea.
Allegedly, this is enough for 4 people. Trust me, once you make it, if you're making it for four people, you will wish you made more.
Really very tasty. I'm going to send it off to Shiv and challenge him to make it. Hey, you never kn ow....
Indian food, however, has always defeated me. Much more so than Mexican food. Mexican food, I "sort of" get. And I have friends, like the amazing Sue Torres to turn to and ask "what went wrong," with a bit of a pout and a frightened look. And Sue always nods wisely and says something like "I have trouble with it too" (and she's lying through her teeth), and then says something like "just cook it for another three hours and it will be fine. When it comes to Indian food, however, I don't have such a source. I COULD turn to my friend Shiv, but he would look at me with amazement and say "I should be asking YOU how to do that." So, on Indian food, I am on my own, and I fail, miserably, every single time I try an Indian dish. I burn the spices. I scorch the milk in the milk candy. The only dish I can turn out consistently, is carrot halvah, which half of my Indian friends tell me isn't Indian at all. Like I would know?
But... I get a craving occasionally to pull out all those spices that begin with a "c" (cumin, coriander, curry, cardomom), and try something. What I do can hardly be called authentically Indian. But it has sort of a "flavor" of Indian about it. And I feel like I've stretched and done something that I haven't done before.
So, this past week, with my friend Ken scheduled to come to dinner (and abandoning me for a date... Hmmmm), knowing that he is a fan of Indian food (he took me to "Bombay Talkie," where I ate curried beets. CLEARLY not an Indian dish), I found some recipes that were "borderline." The second one will follow tomorrow. This one, I really liked. I liked it because it's starch. Potatoes. I liked it because, in spite of the warning that it took nearly an hour and a half to make, it took less than an hour (well, ok, I split up the cooking time). And I like the interplay of spices . Is it Indian? I doubt it. I have to turn to the experts, like Shiv, to tell me yes or no. But I offer it to you as a "prasad" (look it up), as a dish that is worth making.
Culinary snob that I am, I did in fact have all of the spices in the house. I bet you have all of them, except maybe coriander. Borrow some from me. And yes, as the recipe says, you SHOULD start with whole spices and grind them yourself. I couldn't find my cumin seeds, so I used the ground stuff. I didn't think there was any problem with it. This is a dish I will make again. In fact, I can still smell it cooking in the kitchen. That, in and of itself, is enough to want to make it over. It smells GOOD.
Ok, here we go. You need two pounds of potatoes. The recipe calls for fingerlings, but I didn't have them. So I used the potatoes I had, and when they were cooked, I cut them into fingerling sizes. Boil the two pounds of potatoes, in their skins, in a lot of salted water, for about ten minutes. They will soften, but they will not be soft. Drain them, and when they are cool enough to handle, peel them (if you have asbestos hands, do it when they're warm). I boiled the potatoes in the morning, and cooked the dish at night. Do that if you can.
When you're ready to proceed, preheat your oven to 400 degrees. Get your spices ready. If you're grinding whole ones, put a teaspoon of coriander, and half a teaspoon of cumin, in your spice grinder and get it working. If not, use the powders. Combine them with a quarter teaspoon each of tumeric and cayenne (ok, you may not have tumeric in the house either. Get some. And be careful. This is a very powerful yellow orange dye. You can consider using it to henna your hair, but smelling it all day may be an issue for you. ).
You're just about done. Now, dump those potatoes, peeled, and cut to size onto a baking sheet. Pour a quarter cup of vegetable oil over them and mix that all up with your hands. Now, clean and dry y our hands, pour the spices over the potatoes, and mingle it all together. Now spread them all out on the sheet. There's enough oil to keep them from sticking. Sprinkle them with salt to the degree you think you'll want it. Some like it saltier than others. Get the tray into the oven, and bake for 45 minutes. Every fifteen minutes or so, if you think about it, shake the pan. It's not necessary, and probably adds nothing to the finished product, but it somehow made me feel like I was doing something fancy.
After 45 minutes, the potatoes will have dried a lot and crisped a lot too. Now, the fun part. Get something solid, and "smash" them a bit. That way when you eat them, you get some soft potato meat, and some crisp skin. And of course, a mouthful of those lovely spices.
Can you vary this? OF COURSE. One of the wonderful things about this recipe is that the creative cook can see that, there is a total of 2 teaspoons of mixed spices. You can use whatever you like. Don't do something stupid and call it Indian if you decide to use dill, rosemary, oregano and pimento, but play with the idea.
Allegedly, this is enough for 4 people. Trust me, once you make it, if you're making it for four people, you will wish you made more.
Really very tasty. I'm going to send it off to Shiv and challenge him to make it. Hey, you never kn ow....
Sunday, October 11, 2009
What makes it Italian, or French, or Japanese, or Turkish: "turkish" turkey meatloaf
Yes, my lovelies, Annalena is back. With a bit of an essay and some ramblings here.
I've spent the last few days tracking down a poem from my college days. Those who have studied Japanese lit will know about the "Manyoshu," or the "one thousand leaved anthology." This is an early collection of poetry. When I say early, I'm talking centuries in the single digits - say 5th, 6th, 7th and so forth.
Well, I had read much of it in college, and one poem stuck with me, and came to mind this week for one image. A Japanese courtier is writing of the secret marriage to a woman and how their love was kept secret "like a rock-pent pool." Well, dare it be said that Annalena is feeling likewise about her love, and in days to come, perhaps will remove the rocks. Do stay tuned. I will only write if there are good results. And try to follow Annalena's advice, taken from a popular song : "If you know it, show it." Well, I need to follow my own advice. Bear with me. It ain't easy being me.
So, let us turn now to cooking. The title of the above was inspired by the recipe I shall present. I think you will probably know what I mean when I say "what goes into it that makes it French? Or Italian? Or S panish?" Are there particular ingredients or styles of cooking, or what? If it has tomato, does that make it Italian? If it has pimenton, Spanish? There was a time where, if something contained spinach, it was de facto called "florentine." If it had grapes in it, it was call "veronique." And so on, and so forth.
A few weeks ago, I was leafing through the Times food section and read a recipe called "Turkey meatloaf, turkish style." Well, I am intrigued by turkish cooking, although I am NOT intrigued by ground turkey. In fact, as MFK Fisher said about rutubaga, I would have said, in the past "down with it, I say." Well, read on.
I wanted to know what made the recipe turkish style. Was it pomegranate juice? or a combination of spices? What, exactly is "turkish style," especially since, as far as I know, there ain't no turkey in Turkey.
According to the article, it is "the flavors of the Eastern Mediterranean, with garlic, walnuts and mint in the mix"
HUH????? First of all, "the Eastern Mediterranean" covers a whole lot more than Turkey. Garlic, walnut and mint can "signify," as my friend Jonathan would say, just about any culture that borders the Mediterranean. Why is this not Israeli style? Or Moroccan? Or Maltese? Perhaps our writer was just having some fun with the play on turkey/Turkey, and we have to give our writers some latitude on things like that. I guess.
Well, like I say, I am not a fan of ground turkey. Several of my friends, however, truly like it. The last time we made meatloaf here, one of the puppies asked if we could substitute ground turkey for what we were working with, which was a combination of pork/veal/beef. I GUESS you could, I said, but I was not very convinced. But, looking for something new to make in the kitchen, I gave this a try, with one change.
I didn't use mint. Mint is a difficult flavor to pull off in anything other than juleps. It is VERY strong, and if, for example , you have a partner who does not care for it, you need to find something else. And given the recipe, this was easy. It was VERY easy.
If you look up this recipe on the NY Times web page, it will be much more complicated than the one I present here. (See how much Annalena loves you all? She works and slaves to make things easier. And keeps her love in a rock pent pool. So make the thing for heaven's sake.).
To start, let's gather ingredients, cause there's more than a few of them. You need 2 pounds of ground turkey. You will also need a green bell pepper, that you will seed and chop coarsely. Also, a large onion, also chopped coarsely. You can put those together.
Peel four cloves of garlic, and mix them with 3/4 cup of parsley and basil, mixed together. You can vary the amounts, but don't decrease it, and don't use all of one or the other. Add 3/4 cup of walnuts to that mix. IF you are allergic to walnuts, but can eat some other type of nut, then I suggest that you substitute in. Pistachios sound good. So do cashews, and so do pine nuts. Finally, you will need some olive oil, and about 3 tablespoons of breadcrumbs , "Panko" if you can find it.
Digression here. Since we started with reference to Japanese literature. "panko" is Japanese bread crumbs. And it's a wonderful word. Japanese has no word for bread, so they stole the word for bread from Portuguese, when the Portuguese were invading - OOPS - I mean EXPLORING - Japan. That word is "pan." In Japanese "ko" at the end of a word makes it a diminutive. Sort of like "ette" in French, or "ino" in Italian, and probably something in Turkish that I don't know. But if you can't find it, use regular crumbs.
Ok, let's get to work. Take the walnuts ,and the herbs, and put them in a food processor and pulse to a rough chop. Put that aside. Don't clean the bowl of the processor. Put the garlic in, and then the onions and green pepper and do the same thing.
Heat 3 tablespoons of olive oil in a pan, and add that onion/garlic/pepper mixture and cook it until it begins to soften. You'll know it: you'll see water going off, and a "mass" beginning to form. When that happens, take it off the heat, dump the stuff into a bowl, and add the walnut mixture.
Meanwhile, soak the panko or the breadcrumbs in half a cup of water. They'll soften up, and add them to the mix. Finally add the turkey. Get in there with your hands and mix it up. You should add a hefty teaspoon of salt, and taste, and then add more if you need it (Note that, if you have the skeeves about raw meat, use the hot frying pan to cook a little of it and taste it). Just add salt to your taste.
Preheat the oven to 375, and divide the mixture into two even portions. Form it into long loaves, along side of each other, on a baking sheet, lined with parchment. Bake this for an hour. You will see all kinds of juices and liquids going out of it, and that's fine. In fact, if you feel like indulging yourself, eat some of those carmelized bits when the loaf comes out of the oven. You deserve it.
Now, you have a nice, hot, relatively benign dinner waiting for you, but let's face it: the major reason for meatloaf's existence is sandwiches. Make some. Make a lot of them. You're supposed to eat this with yogurt.
Yeah, right. Please pass the ketchup. And the pickles. And some good solid bread. Whole wheat or rye, rather than white. And enjoy yourself one of the best darn sandwiches you've ever had.
And I will tell you all about what happens when the rock-pent pool is released. But only if it's good. And it will be.
I've spent the last few days tracking down a poem from my college days. Those who have studied Japanese lit will know about the "Manyoshu," or the "one thousand leaved anthology." This is an early collection of poetry. When I say early, I'm talking centuries in the single digits - say 5th, 6th, 7th and so forth.
Well, I had read much of it in college, and one poem stuck with me, and came to mind this week for one image. A Japanese courtier is writing of the secret marriage to a woman and how their love was kept secret "like a rock-pent pool." Well, dare it be said that Annalena is feeling likewise about her love, and in days to come, perhaps will remove the rocks. Do stay tuned. I will only write if there are good results. And try to follow Annalena's advice, taken from a popular song : "If you know it, show it." Well, I need to follow my own advice. Bear with me. It ain't easy being me.
So, let us turn now to cooking. The title of the above was inspired by the recipe I shall present. I think you will probably know what I mean when I say "what goes into it that makes it French? Or Italian? Or S panish?" Are there particular ingredients or styles of cooking, or what? If it has tomato, does that make it Italian? If it has pimenton, Spanish? There was a time where, if something contained spinach, it was de facto called "florentine." If it had grapes in it, it was call "veronique." And so on, and so forth.
A few weeks ago, I was leafing through the Times food section and read a recipe called "Turkey meatloaf, turkish style." Well, I am intrigued by turkish cooking, although I am NOT intrigued by ground turkey. In fact, as MFK Fisher said about rutubaga, I would have said, in the past "down with it, I say." Well, read on.
I wanted to know what made the recipe turkish style. Was it pomegranate juice? or a combination of spices? What, exactly is "turkish style," especially since, as far as I know, there ain't no turkey in Turkey.
According to the article, it is "the flavors of the Eastern Mediterranean, with garlic, walnuts and mint in the mix"
HUH????? First of all, "the Eastern Mediterranean" covers a whole lot more than Turkey. Garlic, walnut and mint can "signify," as my friend Jonathan would say, just about any culture that borders the Mediterranean. Why is this not Israeli style? Or Moroccan? Or Maltese? Perhaps our writer was just having some fun with the play on turkey/Turkey, and we have to give our writers some latitude on things like that. I guess.
Well, like I say, I am not a fan of ground turkey. Several of my friends, however, truly like it. The last time we made meatloaf here, one of the puppies asked if we could substitute ground turkey for what we were working with, which was a combination of pork/veal/beef. I GUESS you could, I said, but I was not very convinced. But, looking for something new to make in the kitchen, I gave this a try, with one change.
I didn't use mint. Mint is a difficult flavor to pull off in anything other than juleps. It is VERY strong, and if, for example , you have a partner who does not care for it, you need to find something else. And given the recipe, this was easy. It was VERY easy.
If you look up this recipe on the NY Times web page, it will be much more complicated than the one I present here. (See how much Annalena loves you all? She works and slaves to make things easier. And keeps her love in a rock pent pool. So make the thing for heaven's sake.).
To start, let's gather ingredients, cause there's more than a few of them. You need 2 pounds of ground turkey. You will also need a green bell pepper, that you will seed and chop coarsely. Also, a large onion, also chopped coarsely. You can put those together.
Peel four cloves of garlic, and mix them with 3/4 cup of parsley and basil, mixed together. You can vary the amounts, but don't decrease it, and don't use all of one or the other. Add 3/4 cup of walnuts to that mix. IF you are allergic to walnuts, but can eat some other type of nut, then I suggest that you substitute in. Pistachios sound good. So do cashews, and so do pine nuts. Finally, you will need some olive oil, and about 3 tablespoons of breadcrumbs , "Panko" if you can find it.
Digression here. Since we started with reference to Japanese literature. "panko" is Japanese bread crumbs. And it's a wonderful word. Japanese has no word for bread, so they stole the word for bread from Portuguese, when the Portuguese were invading - OOPS - I mean EXPLORING - Japan. That word is "pan." In Japanese "ko" at the end of a word makes it a diminutive. Sort of like "ette" in French, or "ino" in Italian, and probably something in Turkish that I don't know. But if you can't find it, use regular crumbs.
Ok, let's get to work. Take the walnuts ,and the herbs, and put them in a food processor and pulse to a rough chop. Put that aside. Don't clean the bowl of the processor. Put the garlic in, and then the onions and green pepper and do the same thing.
Heat 3 tablespoons of olive oil in a pan, and add that onion/garlic/pepper mixture and cook it until it begins to soften. You'll know it: you'll see water going off, and a "mass" beginning to form. When that happens, take it off the heat, dump the stuff into a bowl, and add the walnut mixture.
Meanwhile, soak the panko or the breadcrumbs in half a cup of water. They'll soften up, and add them to the mix. Finally add the turkey. Get in there with your hands and mix it up. You should add a hefty teaspoon of salt, and taste, and then add more if you need it (Note that, if you have the skeeves about raw meat, use the hot frying pan to cook a little of it and taste it). Just add salt to your taste.
Preheat the oven to 375, and divide the mixture into two even portions. Form it into long loaves, along side of each other, on a baking sheet, lined with parchment. Bake this for an hour. You will see all kinds of juices and liquids going out of it, and that's fine. In fact, if you feel like indulging yourself, eat some of those carmelized bits when the loaf comes out of the oven. You deserve it.
Now, you have a nice, hot, relatively benign dinner waiting for you, but let's face it: the major reason for meatloaf's existence is sandwiches. Make some. Make a lot of them. You're supposed to eat this with yogurt.
Yeah, right. Please pass the ketchup. And the pickles. And some good solid bread. Whole wheat or rye, rather than white. And enjoy yourself one of the best darn sandwiches you've ever had.
And I will tell you all about what happens when the rock-pent pool is released. But only if it's good. And it will be.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Tomato puffs: a riff on a classic
Ciao ragazzi. The festivities of the last couple of weeks continue, albeit with a change. One COULD say we move from the celebration of lamb, to the celebration of mutton, as we move from celebrating my dear friend's birthday to mine. A difference of 21 years separates us, a span that at times seems immeasurable, and at times seems immaterial. Thank goodness for that. And tomorrow, the sun completes another turn on Annalena's life, and she reaches the age of 52, feeling stronger, younger, and more alive than ever. For that, I thank people like my sometimes young and sometimes not so young friend. In fact, I thank them all, including my sometimes little brother, my young friend with the old soul, and the pack. And my best man, and his best man, the bear cub, the banker with the wry smile, and of course, Guy, "my Guy."
And now to cooking. You've read (I HOPE you have), my posts about the bad year for tomatoes. So many reasons... but... I just ate a container of some of the sweetest cherry tomatoes I've had this year. Perhaps the goddess flora has taken some sympathy and is giving us some beauties before it turns cold. A recipe in the New York Times, as well as the discovery of some OVERRIPE heirloom tomatoes inspired this one.
Overripe? Yes, that is rare this season, but I found some. The amazing Franca had some at her stand on wednesday, right after I had read a recipe which intrigued me.
Creampuffs intrigue me. I understand how they work, but the eventual end always makes me "ooh" and "Ah." More than that, though, I like peeking in and seeing the process happen. You know what I mean: this soft dough puffs up, and crisps, and then you have fun.
Well, we all know sweet creampuffs, and we know gougeres, the savory, cheese version of the sweet puffs, with no filling in them. The Times presented an interesting idea, using an ingredient that fascinates me: tomato water.
What is tomato water? Well, someone told me "it's tomato juice under a different name," but I'm not sure about that. I've seen two different ways of making it. The first, which is not the way I made it, calls on you to pull out the pulp and seeds of a tomato, and process it to separate the seeds, and that's the water. What I did, however, was to cut up a tomato, puree it, and let the liquid separate off. That's what we're going to do here.
The basic recipe for creampuff shells calls for water, butter, flour , eggs, salt. So, too, does this, only it also adds pepper. What you will need to do is the following. Chop up a BIG tomato. Twelve ounces is not too small. Then puree it in a food processor or blender. P rocess it for a few minutes to break it down as much as possible. Then put it in a strainer, over a bowl, to separate the liquids from the solids. Use the solids for something like tomato sauce, or put them into soup, but for heaven's sake down throw them out. Measure your liquid, and you should have a cup . If you have more, have a sip of it, maybe with vodka, maybe not. It's good for you. If you don't have enough, add some water to bring it to a cup.
Pour this into a medium sized pot, and add six tablespoons of unsalted butter that you've cubed up. Heat it, at low heat, until the butter is just about melted. Take it off the heat while you gather your other ingredients: a cup of flour, four large eggs, and a teaspoon of salt and some fresh pepper.
Off the heat, dump in the flour, salt, and a grind or two of pepper, all at once and stir like a madperson. You will get a large clump of dough on your spoon and you will be convinced you h ave failed. You have not. This is precisely what you want. Push it off the spoon any way you can. Now, the hardest part of this recipe. Break the eggs in , one at a time, and stir well until each egg is totally incorporated. This is NOT so easy. It will take you a while, but persevere. You will wind up with a thick, smooth shiny batter.
Now, to make your puffs. Line a baking sheet with parchment and turn up your oven to 425. Use a big spoon, a big melon scoop, or whatever you have, to make whatever shapes you like. Smaller is better, but not too small. I would say, go for about an inch and a half each. You should be able to get about 20 of them on that sheet. If you like, brush the puffs with a beaten egg, and shake some grated cheese over them.
Move that into the oven, and bake at 425 for 15 minutes. If you peek in at five minutes, you will be convinced you failed. If you peek in at ten minutes, you will smile and laugh as your shells expand and look like they are going to burst. (I know. I need a life). AT this point, lower the heat to 350 and bake for another 20 minutes or so, or until they feel firm and crispy to your touch.
If you remember, when they're finished baking, take a sharp knife and pierce each one on the side. Then let them cool. They are going to soften, gotta tell you. And you're going to have a soft, reddish pink little roll type structure. Time to fill them.
My filling was goats milk ricotta, that I salted, and added a really big handful of basil to, plus some more chopped up tomato. I could have , in fact, used that left over puree to add to the cheese. Or, I could have added halved cherry tomatoes. Or chunks of ham or sausage. But I didn't. I just used cheese. And they were terrific, if I do say so myself.
I served them to the Wolfpack, a group you'll be hearing a lot about in the up and coming blogs. What a great group of guys, worth every effort with the recipe, and frankly, there really wasn't much.
Got some friends you wanna make something special for? Here it is. Face it. They deserve it.
And now to cooking. You've read (I HOPE you have), my posts about the bad year for tomatoes. So many reasons... but... I just ate a container of some of the sweetest cherry tomatoes I've had this year. Perhaps the goddess flora has taken some sympathy and is giving us some beauties before it turns cold. A recipe in the New York Times, as well as the discovery of some OVERRIPE heirloom tomatoes inspired this one.
Overripe? Yes, that is rare this season, but I found some. The amazing Franca had some at her stand on wednesday, right after I had read a recipe which intrigued me.
Creampuffs intrigue me. I understand how they work, but the eventual end always makes me "ooh" and "Ah." More than that, though, I like peeking in and seeing the process happen. You know what I mean: this soft dough puffs up, and crisps, and then you have fun.
Well, we all know sweet creampuffs, and we know gougeres, the savory, cheese version of the sweet puffs, with no filling in them. The Times presented an interesting idea, using an ingredient that fascinates me: tomato water.
What is tomato water? Well, someone told me "it's tomato juice under a different name," but I'm not sure about that. I've seen two different ways of making it. The first, which is not the way I made it, calls on you to pull out the pulp and seeds of a tomato, and process it to separate the seeds, and that's the water. What I did, however, was to cut up a tomato, puree it, and let the liquid separate off. That's what we're going to do here.
The basic recipe for creampuff shells calls for water, butter, flour , eggs, salt. So, too, does this, only it also adds pepper. What you will need to do is the following. Chop up a BIG tomato. Twelve ounces is not too small. Then puree it in a food processor or blender. P rocess it for a few minutes to break it down as much as possible. Then put it in a strainer, over a bowl, to separate the liquids from the solids. Use the solids for something like tomato sauce, or put them into soup, but for heaven's sake down throw them out. Measure your liquid, and you should have a cup . If you have more, have a sip of it, maybe with vodka, maybe not. It's good for you. If you don't have enough, add some water to bring it to a cup.
Pour this into a medium sized pot, and add six tablespoons of unsalted butter that you've cubed up. Heat it, at low heat, until the butter is just about melted. Take it off the heat while you gather your other ingredients: a cup of flour, four large eggs, and a teaspoon of salt and some fresh pepper.
Off the heat, dump in the flour, salt, and a grind or two of pepper, all at once and stir like a madperson. You will get a large clump of dough on your spoon and you will be convinced you h ave failed. You have not. This is precisely what you want. Push it off the spoon any way you can. Now, the hardest part of this recipe. Break the eggs in , one at a time, and stir well until each egg is totally incorporated. This is NOT so easy. It will take you a while, but persevere. You will wind up with a thick, smooth shiny batter.
Now, to make your puffs. Line a baking sheet with parchment and turn up your oven to 425. Use a big spoon, a big melon scoop, or whatever you have, to make whatever shapes you like. Smaller is better, but not too small. I would say, go for about an inch and a half each. You should be able to get about 20 of them on that sheet. If you like, brush the puffs with a beaten egg, and shake some grated cheese over them.
Move that into the oven, and bake at 425 for 15 minutes. If you peek in at five minutes, you will be convinced you failed. If you peek in at ten minutes, you will smile and laugh as your shells expand and look like they are going to burst. (I know. I need a life). AT this point, lower the heat to 350 and bake for another 20 minutes or so, or until they feel firm and crispy to your touch.
If you remember, when they're finished baking, take a sharp knife and pierce each one on the side. Then let them cool. They are going to soften, gotta tell you. And you're going to have a soft, reddish pink little roll type structure. Time to fill them.
My filling was goats milk ricotta, that I salted, and added a really big handful of basil to, plus some more chopped up tomato. I could have , in fact, used that left over puree to add to the cheese. Or, I could have added halved cherry tomatoes. Or chunks of ham or sausage. But I didn't. I just used cheese. And they were terrific, if I do say so myself.
I served them to the Wolfpack, a group you'll be hearing a lot about in the up and coming blogs. What a great group of guys, worth every effort with the recipe, and frankly, there really wasn't much.
Got some friends you wanna make something special for? Here it is. Face it. They deserve it.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
The first gold medal: flourless chocolate cake
Again, my faithful following, please forgive the absence. It sometimes seems that Annalena's life is a bad, and good, episode of "As the Stomach Turns." For the good, there have been a welter of parties and celebrations, especially those surrounding the birthday of one of my dearest friends, to whom this entry will be dedicated (you know who you are, but since you prefer NOT to be mentioned, I shall respect that). There has been psychodrama, both high and low, including finding out that I had been evicted from an organization who's life I saved. I could tell NYCGMC what to do, but I would hurt too many friends. Instead I shall return to the kitchen.
Many months ago, another good friend, asked me if I could point her to the blog entry where I wrote about "the" flourless chocolate cake recipe. See, this is the one that has one me two gold medals. I could have sworn that I had posted that recipe, and in looking for it, never found it. Of course, I shared it with her, but I do not believe I ever got around to posting the recipe. I made it last weekend, and it's time to share it.
This is the oldest recipe in my current repertoire. I remember where I found it, and when I first made it. I was a law student, looking for something to do with my time other than study (and I found MANY such alternatiaves). One of the things that I had started doing in college, was reading the NY Times, when you could NOT finish the Sunday NY Times. Those were the days: book reviews where half the text was in French, music reviews that quoted scores, editorials that challenged. AH, yes, heady intellectual times. And one thing I always read was the cooking section. One Sunday, in '80, the paper published a recipe for a flourless chocolate cake.
Now, for those of you who think of flourless chocolate cake as a cliche', get a sense of history. There was a time when this was new. I'm serious about that, just like there was a time when cash cards were a reason to switch banks, because not all of them offered them.
No, children, I am NOT talking about pre-historic time. I am talking about the 80s. YES THE 80S . A time when many of you were not yet born, but not prehistoric, by any means. The first flourless cakes were presented in very high end restaurants, and eventually, the recipes filtered down.
One of my "talents," if you can call it that, is getting a feel for food trends, before they happen. I remember that when I saw the recipe, I knew. I "just knew" it was a keeper. And after I made it the first time, I knew the published recipe was a disaster. Total and complete. It called for baking the cake for an hour and 45 minutes. I kid you not. I now bake it for 30 minutes, and it is fine. Baking it for that full length of time turned it into a block of charcoal. I also used Baker's unsweetened chocolate, because this was before the chocolate revolution, and this is what we had. I used regular supermarket eggs, and hotel bar butter, because this is what we had. Now, of course, you have to choose "what chocolate" to use (I use Scharffenberger bittersweet, or Callebault), not "organic or non organic" eggs, but "WHAT BRAND" of organic eggs (I use eggs from various farmers market vendors), and what organic butter. (I use horizon, which is controversial, but everyone should deal with it).
The neat thing about this recipe is it forces you to answer the question : do I like cake or frosting better, because the batter is used for both. And the smaller your cake, the more frosting you have, and vice versa.
For a while, it seemed that I was making this cake every single week. This, and a cheesecake. But I was also 23 at the time - younger even than the people I cooked it for. My birthday boy asked for a flourless chocolate cake, and I didn't even realize I had never made him one. Well, now I have. And it was a hit. Even with people who don't like chocolate.
It does seem that this cake is embedded in my genetic code. I pulled out the recipe from the diary I kept during that time period (and talk about BITTERSWEET!), and I realized that I could do it by heart. It really is very easy. You'll be able to do it by heart too. And you should do it WITH your heart, because baking without love, is no better than buying a box of cookies.
You need some very good quality chocolate, bittersweet if you can. If you like a sweeter cake, you can go to semisweet, but that's as far as you can go. Unsweetened WILL work , but buy a good quality one. The cheaper ones give a bitterness to the cake that you dont want. You will need somewhere between 8-12 ounces of chocolate. 8 gives you a mild cake, 12 a very heavy one, almost like a brick of fudge. My beloved scharffenberger comes in 9.7 ounce packages, and that's what I use. Chop it into fine pieces, and then put it into a pot, with two sticks of unsalted butter, cut into cubes. Melt this, over low heat, stirring as you go. Use very low heat, because you don't want this expensive chocolate to burn. When it's just about melted, take it off the heat, and put it to the side, because you'll want it to cool.
I had you do the chocolate first, because it needs to be no more than luke warm, and the more time you give it to cool, the better. You are now going to separate five eggs. And after you separate the five eggs, you are going to add the yolks of 3 more to the five you have. Use the extra three for something else. Maybe a fat free omelet the next morning. Add a cup and a quarter of sugar to the egg yolks.
WAIT. Remember I was talking about levels of sweetness above? Taste your chocolate. Remember that sugar is only going to make it sweeter, so make a judgement call. I have brought the sugar down to 3/4 of a cup, and gotten a very strong "chocolate lovers only" cake, and I've brought it up to 1.5, and made candy. One cup or 1.25 cups is, to me, the best.
Get the mixer going on those yolks and sugar and get it going for a while. You want a very thick, almost white mass. Pour in the melted chocolate/butter mixture, and stir it to a uniform color. Put it aside.
Now, take those five egg whites, and add a teaspoon of white vinegar. Set up the mixer with a whisk attachment, and beat the hell out of them. Make sure you're getting very firm peaks. When you do, start folding the whites into the chocolate mixture, in thirds. Stir it gently but thoroughly. This is not that easy to do, but you want to incorporate all of the white, so that there isn't any streaking and you want it throughout the chocolate mixture. Stir from the bottom. You'll need to because the chocolate tends to settle .
When you're done, get an 8, 9, or 10 inch cake pan, preferably one with sides that release, like a spring form pan. Grease it. Know that - DUH- an 8 inch pan will give you a higher, softer cake, and a 10 inch pan a lower, crisper one.
Now the crucial moment: cake or frosting, frosting or cake? You really need to put at least 1/2 of the batter into the pan, and you can go up to 3/4 of it. Actually, you can go all the way and forego the frosting, but why would you? Once you've made your call, put the cake on a baking sheet, put it in a pre-heated, 350 oven and go away for thirty minutes.
During that time, the cake will rise a bit, like a souffle cake, and it will fall and crack. Nuthin you can do about that, and you don't want to do anything either. If you're using the smaller pan, and you want a drier cake, let it bake another ten minutes or so.
When you're done, let it cool completely. And I MEAN completely here. You don't want that frosting to melt.
Let's turn to that frosting. Just as it is, this is plenty good. BUT.... now you get to play. Are you a coffee fan? WEll, now's your chance to add espresso powder, or a few spoons of your favorite drink, or some kahlua. Are you, like me, a citrus queen? Gran Marnier, if you please. Do you have an undying love of raspberries? You know what to do. Frankly, I am intrigued by the idea of adding chartreuse to it, but I doubt if my friends would eat it. My birthday boy suggested ginger, and yes indeed, candied ginger is just dandy here. So do what you would like and just spoon it over the cake, when released from the pan. Pile it up, it won't move too much.
You can keep this at room temperature, which makes it a soft cake, or you can refrigerate it. Refrigerated, it's more like a block of fudge, again, and at room temperature, it's nice and soft.
Cut small pieces. If you haven't figured it out, this is a very rich cake. It can easily serve 12. (Now, I can hear my faithful Sue saying "YEAH RIGHT."). But it can.
Like I said, this one is embedded in my genome. Embed it in yours. Maybe you'll get a medal too. In any event, what you'll get is applause, and requests to make it again. Annalena promises those.
Many months ago, another good friend, asked me if I could point her to the blog entry where I wrote about "the" flourless chocolate cake recipe. See, this is the one that has one me two gold medals. I could have sworn that I had posted that recipe, and in looking for it, never found it. Of course, I shared it with her, but I do not believe I ever got around to posting the recipe. I made it last weekend, and it's time to share it.
This is the oldest recipe in my current repertoire. I remember where I found it, and when I first made it. I was a law student, looking for something to do with my time other than study (and I found MANY such alternatiaves). One of the things that I had started doing in college, was reading the NY Times, when you could NOT finish the Sunday NY Times. Those were the days: book reviews where half the text was in French, music reviews that quoted scores, editorials that challenged. AH, yes, heady intellectual times. And one thing I always read was the cooking section. One Sunday, in '80, the paper published a recipe for a flourless chocolate cake.
Now, for those of you who think of flourless chocolate cake as a cliche', get a sense of history. There was a time when this was new. I'm serious about that, just like there was a time when cash cards were a reason to switch banks, because not all of them offered them.
No, children, I am NOT talking about pre-historic time. I am talking about the 80s. YES THE 80S . A time when many of you were not yet born, but not prehistoric, by any means. The first flourless cakes were presented in very high end restaurants, and eventually, the recipes filtered down.
One of my "talents," if you can call it that, is getting a feel for food trends, before they happen. I remember that when I saw the recipe, I knew. I "just knew" it was a keeper. And after I made it the first time, I knew the published recipe was a disaster. Total and complete. It called for baking the cake for an hour and 45 minutes. I kid you not. I now bake it for 30 minutes, and it is fine. Baking it for that full length of time turned it into a block of charcoal. I also used Baker's unsweetened chocolate, because this was before the chocolate revolution, and this is what we had. I used regular supermarket eggs, and hotel bar butter, because this is what we had. Now, of course, you have to choose "what chocolate" to use (I use Scharffenberger bittersweet, or Callebault), not "organic or non organic" eggs, but "WHAT BRAND" of organic eggs (I use eggs from various farmers market vendors), and what organic butter. (I use horizon, which is controversial, but everyone should deal with it).
The neat thing about this recipe is it forces you to answer the question : do I like cake or frosting better, because the batter is used for both. And the smaller your cake, the more frosting you have, and vice versa.
For a while, it seemed that I was making this cake every single week. This, and a cheesecake. But I was also 23 at the time - younger even than the people I cooked it for. My birthday boy asked for a flourless chocolate cake, and I didn't even realize I had never made him one. Well, now I have. And it was a hit. Even with people who don't like chocolate.
It does seem that this cake is embedded in my genetic code. I pulled out the recipe from the diary I kept during that time period (and talk about BITTERSWEET!), and I realized that I could do it by heart. It really is very easy. You'll be able to do it by heart too. And you should do it WITH your heart, because baking without love, is no better than buying a box of cookies.
You need some very good quality chocolate, bittersweet if you can. If you like a sweeter cake, you can go to semisweet, but that's as far as you can go. Unsweetened WILL work , but buy a good quality one. The cheaper ones give a bitterness to the cake that you dont want. You will need somewhere between 8-12 ounces of chocolate. 8 gives you a mild cake, 12 a very heavy one, almost like a brick of fudge. My beloved scharffenberger comes in 9.7 ounce packages, and that's what I use. Chop it into fine pieces, and then put it into a pot, with two sticks of unsalted butter, cut into cubes. Melt this, over low heat, stirring as you go. Use very low heat, because you don't want this expensive chocolate to burn. When it's just about melted, take it off the heat, and put it to the side, because you'll want it to cool.
I had you do the chocolate first, because it needs to be no more than luke warm, and the more time you give it to cool, the better. You are now going to separate five eggs. And after you separate the five eggs, you are going to add the yolks of 3 more to the five you have. Use the extra three for something else. Maybe a fat free omelet the next morning. Add a cup and a quarter of sugar to the egg yolks.
WAIT. Remember I was talking about levels of sweetness above? Taste your chocolate. Remember that sugar is only going to make it sweeter, so make a judgement call. I have brought the sugar down to 3/4 of a cup, and gotten a very strong "chocolate lovers only" cake, and I've brought it up to 1.5, and made candy. One cup or 1.25 cups is, to me, the best.
Get the mixer going on those yolks and sugar and get it going for a while. You want a very thick, almost white mass. Pour in the melted chocolate/butter mixture, and stir it to a uniform color. Put it aside.
Now, take those five egg whites, and add a teaspoon of white vinegar. Set up the mixer with a whisk attachment, and beat the hell out of them. Make sure you're getting very firm peaks. When you do, start folding the whites into the chocolate mixture, in thirds. Stir it gently but thoroughly. This is not that easy to do, but you want to incorporate all of the white, so that there isn't any streaking and you want it throughout the chocolate mixture. Stir from the bottom. You'll need to because the chocolate tends to settle .
When you're done, get an 8, 9, or 10 inch cake pan, preferably one with sides that release, like a spring form pan. Grease it. Know that - DUH- an 8 inch pan will give you a higher, softer cake, and a 10 inch pan a lower, crisper one.
Now the crucial moment: cake or frosting, frosting or cake? You really need to put at least 1/2 of the batter into the pan, and you can go up to 3/4 of it. Actually, you can go all the way and forego the frosting, but why would you? Once you've made your call, put the cake on a baking sheet, put it in a pre-heated, 350 oven and go away for thirty minutes.
During that time, the cake will rise a bit, like a souffle cake, and it will fall and crack. Nuthin you can do about that, and you don't want to do anything either. If you're using the smaller pan, and you want a drier cake, let it bake another ten minutes or so.
When you're done, let it cool completely. And I MEAN completely here. You don't want that frosting to melt.
Let's turn to that frosting. Just as it is, this is plenty good. BUT.... now you get to play. Are you a coffee fan? WEll, now's your chance to add espresso powder, or a few spoons of your favorite drink, or some kahlua. Are you, like me, a citrus queen? Gran Marnier, if you please. Do you have an undying love of raspberries? You know what to do. Frankly, I am intrigued by the idea of adding chartreuse to it, but I doubt if my friends would eat it. My birthday boy suggested ginger, and yes indeed, candied ginger is just dandy here. So do what you would like and just spoon it over the cake, when released from the pan. Pile it up, it won't move too much.
You can keep this at room temperature, which makes it a soft cake, or you can refrigerate it. Refrigerated, it's more like a block of fudge, again, and at room temperature, it's nice and soft.
Cut small pieces. If you haven't figured it out, this is a very rich cake. It can easily serve 12. (Now, I can hear my faithful Sue saying "YEAH RIGHT."). But it can.
Like I said, this one is embedded in my genome. Embed it in yours. Maybe you'll get a medal too. In any event, what you'll get is applause, and requests to make it again. Annalena promises those.
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