We are now deep into the cookie baking season. As I wrote, last week, it's going to be a haul this year, but Annalena has decided to give it her level best. It won't kill me, but it will be tough. The year, the surgery, etc, etc, etc, have taken their toll, and the old lady gets tired. The days (and nights) of ten cookie varieties at a clip are over. So we plod on, looking for easy and tasty. And here's one such cookie, courtesy of Ina Garten. I didn't realize it when I looked at it, but this one is also gluten free. In fact, all of Annalena's "cooking" today was gluten free. So, anyone want a recipe for white chocolate/pistachio/cranberry bark?
This recipe is , in many ways, vintage Ina Garten. It's somewhat lush, and it's also somewhat easy. In fact, it's absurdly easy. Simple ingredients, simple techniques, and it makes a lot. There's one caveat from my experience of it, but I think it's handleable. Here we go.
Your ingredients, and you can double them: one package of sweetened coconut (a 14 ounce bag). One can of condensed milk (also fourteen ounces). Two egg whites from large or extra large eggs, and a teaspoon of vanilla.
Preheat your oven to 325. Line a couple of baking sheets with parchment. Now, let's get going. In a bowl, mix the coconut, the condensed milk and the vanilla and put it aside. In a mixer, or, if you feel like showing off, by hand, beat the egg whites until they form a soft peak. What's a soft peak? Lift the beater blade, and if there's a little "curl" that folds down, you're there. Fold those into the mix you've already made.
You can spoon out the cookies a million ways. my way of doing it was to wet my hands (the stuff is sticky), and roll small balls, about 3/4 of an inch in diameter. Spread them on the baking sheets. You should get about 30 to a sheet. Then bake them for 30 minutes or so. Check on them. If they're not brown enough for you, bake them five minutes more.
And that's it. Almost. What I found, with mine, is that some of the condensed milk and egg white flowed out of the cookie, making an ugly rubbery ring around the cookie. When they cooled, I just cut that stuff off. I must admit, it tasted good, but it made for an ugly cookie.
Now, how hard was that? Not at all. And we ALL love macaroons, don't we? So, if you are not going to get a couple fro Annalena when she starts making her tins (more on this idea below), make em. It's an hour out of your life, and people will love you.
What I want to add about these, is that if you put together mixed tins, as I do, these are very moist cookies. Moisture moves away from a moist cookie to a drier one, so your biscotti will soften if they are in a tin with these. The way to minimize this is to leave the tin of cookies open, to let the moisture escape to the air. Of course, this makes you more amenable to stealing a cookie or two, but hey, it's the holidays, right?
Go for it. You'll be glad you did.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Per il mio fratellino courtesy of Nadia G: Beef stew with root vegetables
"Fratellino." Do you all know that word? It's a good one. It means "little brother," but not necessarily in the birth sense. Someone whom you regard as "little brother", you can call fratellino. It sounds a bit like a frilly word, but that's Eyetalian for you.
I have a chosen little brother. Not gonna tell you who he is: let him tell you that, if he wants to. And when I was making this dish, it dawned on me: "this is his kind of meal." It is, too. He'll tell you that as well. So, here it is, "per il mio fratellino."
I learned this recipe, when channel surfing last week. There is a new cooking channel on, and one of the shows had the intriguing name "Bitchin' Kitchen."
Ok, Annalena has been called a bitch, more than once, and it's a title she bears proudly. The hostess of this show is a woman whom I could see growing up in Staten Island or in Brooklyn: a rough edged (I don't believe it), bleached blond Italian girl, with green nails and red high heels, who "tawks." (My NY friends will know what I mean). Anyway, she was doing a recipe as part of a show on what to do when you have no money. This is one of the recipes.
Now, I GUESS you can make this dish cheap. I didn't. I bought all of my veggies from the farmers market, and the beef was grass fed. The meat itself set me back 30 bucks, so already, we're getting a little high here. You add the other ingredients, and you're easily, EASILY pushing the 50 buck mark for the dish. It's good though. You can make this with an inexpensive cut of meat, I guess. I'll give some comments on that below.
If you use the cheaper cuts, I think the dish probably does fall into the "good. fast. cheap. Choose two" category, because it will be inexpensive, and it IS good. It is NOT a fast dish, however. My beef was much leaner, and I was able to take an hour off the cooking time, but it's still not a "20 minute dinner." So, get set for some serious kitchen time, but know you're going to have a lot of food. A LOT of food.
I'm reworking the instructions and ingredients for the dish, which you'll see if you watch the show and see the stew made.
First, you need root vegetables. Which ones and how many? Well , the how many is hard to say because your measurements here are going to be rather imprecise. Which ones? Well, this is up to you. I used parsley root, golden beets, carrots, and onions. Parsley root and golden beets aren't exactly standard supermarket fare, so modify these. Nadia used parsnips, onions, beets and carrots. I think the carrots are necessary. You could substitute sweet potatoes, or potatoes, or whatever you like. What you need to do is peel the peelable vegetables, and then cut them into evenly sized cubes. Fill a baking sheet with your veggies, and then add about six cloves of garlic, peeled, to them. Toss 3 tablespoons of olive oil and a big pinch of salt with the veggies, and then put the tray into a preheated, 375 degree oven, and let them roast, for 45 minutes.
Near the end of the roasting time, get your beef ready. You need 3 pounds of beef stew meat. Pat it dry, and then put it into a bag with half a cup of flour that has been mixed with a teaspoon of salt. Toss the stuff around, to coat the beef. Then, pour it all into a colander, to get rid of extra flour . Clean your sink with COLD water (it will make it MUCH easier to clean. Trust me).
Heat up about 2 tablespoons of olive oil in a wide pan. When it's hot, add enough meat to cover the pan, but don't crowd it. Leave it alone, for about three minutes to put a good, dark sear on it. Then turn it, and sear the rest of the meat. If you haven't done all of it in one layer, then do it again. Put all of the cooked meat into a bowl for a minute.
Off the heat, add about half to 3/4 cup of red wine to the pan. Move your face back, and let the steam come off. Then put this back on the stove, and stir up all the brown bits into that wine. When you've dissolved just about all of it, pour that over the meat.
By now, your vegetables will have been roasted. Get them out of the oven, and let them be for now. You can put them in a bowl, mixed together, if you like. Put the beef and the juices into a pot and add six cups of beef stock, or , if your beef stock is canned and/or strong (as mine was), use four cups of stock and two cups of water. Add a couple of bay leaves, a carrot, sliced in half, three stalks of celery, a few branches of thyme , and a handful of peppercorns. Bring this to a boil, then lower the heat, and let it cook away.
Now, here's where Nadia and I parted company. She calls for cooking this for two hours. For reasons totally lost to me, I tasted the meat after an hour, and it was more than fine. You do the same thing. Maybe my pieces were smaller than hers, maybe the meat was a different quality, who knows? Just taste it and if it needs more cooking, let it work for another half hour, at least.
When the meat is pretty much where you want it, pull out the carrot and celery and, if you can find them, the bay leaves and the thyme branches (it will NOT be easy). Add the veggies. Nadia also calls for adding a half cup of red lentils, the ones you will find as "dhal" in a health food store. I had some in the house (some of you will be saying "of course you did"), and used them. I guess they are there to thicken the stew a bit. You certainly don't need them, and some of them will settle down to the bottom of your pot and stick there, and will need to be cleaned. Your call.
Now, re-cover that pot, and let everything cook for another twenty minutes. Taste it, and correct for salt and pepper. Here's a hint from Annalena: the meat is going to taste underseasoned. Taste the liquid. That's going to be the flavor carrier here. Taste it as you go along, and adjust with more salt and pepper, if you need to.
When the dish is finished, if you taste it right away, all you will taste is fat. That's the nature of the dish. Let it sit for fifteen minutes. Taste it again. NOW, you're ready to eat it. If you want to, but really, remember the old saying that all stews are better the second day, and even better the third? Well, it's true. And if you let the thing cool down in your fridge, you can go in and scoop out the beef fat if you want to.
As a certified Eyetalian-american, I can't imagine eating this with anything other than polenta. Il fratellino is probably going to go for noodles. It's all good. I would put a salad of fennel and oranges out with it. Il fratellino might go for more of a coleslaw or a green salad, which is again, all good.
I think you'll find this dish to be something like a warm hug on a cold day. That's the intention. Don't go for the cheap angle, go for the good stuff, and you'll be happy you did.
I betcha fratellino is gonna make this tomorrow. Let' see...
I have a chosen little brother. Not gonna tell you who he is: let him tell you that, if he wants to. And when I was making this dish, it dawned on me: "this is his kind of meal." It is, too. He'll tell you that as well. So, here it is, "per il mio fratellino."
I learned this recipe, when channel surfing last week. There is a new cooking channel on, and one of the shows had the intriguing name "Bitchin' Kitchen."
Ok, Annalena has been called a bitch, more than once, and it's a title she bears proudly. The hostess of this show is a woman whom I could see growing up in Staten Island or in Brooklyn: a rough edged (I don't believe it), bleached blond Italian girl, with green nails and red high heels, who "tawks." (My NY friends will know what I mean). Anyway, she was doing a recipe as part of a show on what to do when you have no money. This is one of the recipes.
Now, I GUESS you can make this dish cheap. I didn't. I bought all of my veggies from the farmers market, and the beef was grass fed. The meat itself set me back 30 bucks, so already, we're getting a little high here. You add the other ingredients, and you're easily, EASILY pushing the 50 buck mark for the dish. It's good though. You can make this with an inexpensive cut of meat, I guess. I'll give some comments on that below.
If you use the cheaper cuts, I think the dish probably does fall into the "good. fast. cheap. Choose two" category, because it will be inexpensive, and it IS good. It is NOT a fast dish, however. My beef was much leaner, and I was able to take an hour off the cooking time, but it's still not a "20 minute dinner." So, get set for some serious kitchen time, but know you're going to have a lot of food. A LOT of food.
I'm reworking the instructions and ingredients for the dish, which you'll see if you watch the show and see the stew made.
First, you need root vegetables. Which ones and how many? Well , the how many is hard to say because your measurements here are going to be rather imprecise. Which ones? Well, this is up to you. I used parsley root, golden beets, carrots, and onions. Parsley root and golden beets aren't exactly standard supermarket fare, so modify these. Nadia used parsnips, onions, beets and carrots. I think the carrots are necessary. You could substitute sweet potatoes, or potatoes, or whatever you like. What you need to do is peel the peelable vegetables, and then cut them into evenly sized cubes. Fill a baking sheet with your veggies, and then add about six cloves of garlic, peeled, to them. Toss 3 tablespoons of olive oil and a big pinch of salt with the veggies, and then put the tray into a preheated, 375 degree oven, and let them roast, for 45 minutes.
Near the end of the roasting time, get your beef ready. You need 3 pounds of beef stew meat. Pat it dry, and then put it into a bag with half a cup of flour that has been mixed with a teaspoon of salt. Toss the stuff around, to coat the beef. Then, pour it all into a colander, to get rid of extra flour . Clean your sink with COLD water (it will make it MUCH easier to clean. Trust me).
Heat up about 2 tablespoons of olive oil in a wide pan. When it's hot, add enough meat to cover the pan, but don't crowd it. Leave it alone, for about three minutes to put a good, dark sear on it. Then turn it, and sear the rest of the meat. If you haven't done all of it in one layer, then do it again. Put all of the cooked meat into a bowl for a minute.
Off the heat, add about half to 3/4 cup of red wine to the pan. Move your face back, and let the steam come off. Then put this back on the stove, and stir up all the brown bits into that wine. When you've dissolved just about all of it, pour that over the meat.
By now, your vegetables will have been roasted. Get them out of the oven, and let them be for now. You can put them in a bowl, mixed together, if you like. Put the beef and the juices into a pot and add six cups of beef stock, or , if your beef stock is canned and/or strong (as mine was), use four cups of stock and two cups of water. Add a couple of bay leaves, a carrot, sliced in half, three stalks of celery, a few branches of thyme , and a handful of peppercorns. Bring this to a boil, then lower the heat, and let it cook away.
Now, here's where Nadia and I parted company. She calls for cooking this for two hours. For reasons totally lost to me, I tasted the meat after an hour, and it was more than fine. You do the same thing. Maybe my pieces were smaller than hers, maybe the meat was a different quality, who knows? Just taste it and if it needs more cooking, let it work for another half hour, at least.
When the meat is pretty much where you want it, pull out the carrot and celery and, if you can find them, the bay leaves and the thyme branches (it will NOT be easy). Add the veggies. Nadia also calls for adding a half cup of red lentils, the ones you will find as "dhal" in a health food store. I had some in the house (some of you will be saying "of course you did"), and used them. I guess they are there to thicken the stew a bit. You certainly don't need them, and some of them will settle down to the bottom of your pot and stick there, and will need to be cleaned. Your call.
Now, re-cover that pot, and let everything cook for another twenty minutes. Taste it, and correct for salt and pepper. Here's a hint from Annalena: the meat is going to taste underseasoned. Taste the liquid. That's going to be the flavor carrier here. Taste it as you go along, and adjust with more salt and pepper, if you need to.
When the dish is finished, if you taste it right away, all you will taste is fat. That's the nature of the dish. Let it sit for fifteen minutes. Taste it again. NOW, you're ready to eat it. If you want to, but really, remember the old saying that all stews are better the second day, and even better the third? Well, it's true. And if you let the thing cool down in your fridge, you can go in and scoop out the beef fat if you want to.
As a certified Eyetalian-american, I can't imagine eating this with anything other than polenta. Il fratellino is probably going to go for noodles. It's all good. I would put a salad of fennel and oranges out with it. Il fratellino might go for more of a coleslaw or a green salad, which is again, all good.
I think you'll find this dish to be something like a warm hug on a cold day. That's the intention. Don't go for the cheap angle, go for the good stuff, and you'll be happy you did.
I betcha fratellino is gonna make this tomorrow. Let' see...
Sunday, November 28, 2010
A holiday biscotti recipe: dried cranberries and pistachio
Every year, in what can only be described as a fit of madness, I make thousands of holiday cookies. Different flavors, textures, types, origins. They vary from year to year, but some are pretty constant. This is one of them.
If you think about it, it makes sense. Green from pistachios, red from cranberries. What makes it very appealing to me, is the absence of butterfat in the cookie, because let's face it: we all eat too many bad, butter cookies during the holiday season. They are INEVITABLE. But we all want "something" when we're sitting down to coffee, or to a sweet drink , or just to nibble on. And the salty element, from the pistachios, is "just enough" to keep these guys from being cloying.
I have written in the past about the differences between American style and Italian style biscotti. These are DEFINITELY Italian style: dry, not so sweet, and with flavor that isn't all sweet. Alas and alack, it does seem that Italy is going the way of the good ole' USA. This recipe, as written, makes 36 cookies. The way I make them, it makes about 80. And that's a-ok. Smaller is sometimes better and, when you're looking at an array of different cookies, with different flavors, you do want to be able to try as many as possible, without feeling guilty, don't you?
Well, I do.
This is an adaptation of a recipe from the remarkable Carol Field, who has taught so many of us how to do authentic Italian baking. Her 8 hour panettone is a staple in the house at the holiday time, even if it DOES take 8 hours to make. And many of her bread recipes grace our everyday table. One day, I will master her pan pugliese and ciabatta recipes. For now, though, let's make some cookies.
You need 1/4 pound of dried cranberries. Ms. Field suggests soaking them in hot water for five minutes, draining and drying. I don't bother. You also need a cup of shelled pistachios. I use salted ones. Three large eggs. Dry ingredients are 2.5 cups of all purpose flour, a cup of sugar, a half teaspoon of each of baking soda, baking powder, and salt. You also need a teaspoon of vanilla.
In a mixer, with the paddle, blend the dry ingredients together, and then add the eggs, one at a time, and the vanilla. Then stir in the fruit and nuts.
Every time I make this recipe, I find it too dry, and add a quarter cup or so of liquid. You know how to judge, so keep your eye on it.
Ms Field suggests dividing the dough in halves. I do it by thirds, and then roll the dough out to a 13 inch log. Brush each log with a wash of one egg mixed with a tablespoon of water, and if you like, sprinkle some raw sugar on them. Bake these at 325 for 30 minutes. Ms. Field says you can get away with cooling for ten minutes. I let them cool at least half an hour, usually more. She then cuts each log into 3/4 inch slices on a diagonal. Mine are much smaller . Then, put the slices back in the oven and let them bake at 325 for 10 minutes, before you turn them over and bake them again, also for ten minutes. (I don't do this, because mine are so small. I just put them on baking sheets, close the oven which I've preheated and then turned off, and come back in 15 minutes. The preheat is to 325).
Ms Field cuts each log into 18 slices. I get closer to 30 out of each of mine, because I think the smaller cookies are better, especially in an assortment. It works either way.
Try em, and let me know how they turn out. Incidentally, you should feel free to start playing with this recipe and changing things. Cherry and pistachio? For sure? But don't forget about the relationship between apricot and almonds. Or, maybe get a little fancy and try some chopped macadamia nuts and some dried pineapple.. That is a bit too off the wall for the very traditional Annalena, but if you are so inclined, go for it. That's what cooking is all about.
If you think about it, it makes sense. Green from pistachios, red from cranberries. What makes it very appealing to me, is the absence of butterfat in the cookie, because let's face it: we all eat too many bad, butter cookies during the holiday season. They are INEVITABLE. But we all want "something" when we're sitting down to coffee, or to a sweet drink , or just to nibble on. And the salty element, from the pistachios, is "just enough" to keep these guys from being cloying.
I have written in the past about the differences between American style and Italian style biscotti. These are DEFINITELY Italian style: dry, not so sweet, and with flavor that isn't all sweet. Alas and alack, it does seem that Italy is going the way of the good ole' USA. This recipe, as written, makes 36 cookies. The way I make them, it makes about 80. And that's a-ok. Smaller is sometimes better and, when you're looking at an array of different cookies, with different flavors, you do want to be able to try as many as possible, without feeling guilty, don't you?
Well, I do.
This is an adaptation of a recipe from the remarkable Carol Field, who has taught so many of us how to do authentic Italian baking. Her 8 hour panettone is a staple in the house at the holiday time, even if it DOES take 8 hours to make. And many of her bread recipes grace our everyday table. One day, I will master her pan pugliese and ciabatta recipes. For now, though, let's make some cookies.
You need 1/4 pound of dried cranberries. Ms. Field suggests soaking them in hot water for five minutes, draining and drying. I don't bother. You also need a cup of shelled pistachios. I use salted ones. Three large eggs. Dry ingredients are 2.5 cups of all purpose flour, a cup of sugar, a half teaspoon of each of baking soda, baking powder, and salt. You also need a teaspoon of vanilla.
In a mixer, with the paddle, blend the dry ingredients together, and then add the eggs, one at a time, and the vanilla. Then stir in the fruit and nuts.
Every time I make this recipe, I find it too dry, and add a quarter cup or so of liquid. You know how to judge, so keep your eye on it.
Ms Field suggests dividing the dough in halves. I do it by thirds, and then roll the dough out to a 13 inch log. Brush each log with a wash of one egg mixed with a tablespoon of water, and if you like, sprinkle some raw sugar on them. Bake these at 325 for 30 minutes. Ms. Field says you can get away with cooling for ten minutes. I let them cool at least half an hour, usually more. She then cuts each log into 3/4 inch slices on a diagonal. Mine are much smaller . Then, put the slices back in the oven and let them bake at 325 for 10 minutes, before you turn them over and bake them again, also for ten minutes. (I don't do this, because mine are so small. I just put them on baking sheets, close the oven which I've preheated and then turned off, and come back in 15 minutes. The preheat is to 325).
Ms Field cuts each log into 18 slices. I get closer to 30 out of each of mine, because I think the smaller cookies are better, especially in an assortment. It works either way.
Try em, and let me know how they turn out. Incidentally, you should feel free to start playing with this recipe and changing things. Cherry and pistachio? For sure? But don't forget about the relationship between apricot and almonds. Or, maybe get a little fancy and try some chopped macadamia nuts and some dried pineapple.. That is a bit too off the wall for the very traditional Annalena, but if you are so inclined, go for it. That's what cooking is all about.
Getting there slowly: braised pork shoulder (for Mike and Brad)
Annalena can get from one point to another, albeit slowly. She did that last week in her run, and sometimes, that's how it works with her cooking. This is something that I finally got to, after thinking about it for well over a year. The inspiration, even a year later, is her friends Mike and Brad, and this is dedicated to them.
You'll hear the expression "food porn," used more and more frequently these days, as people send around pictures of their work in the kitchen, to friends who will appreciate it. Some time ago, Brad sent me a picture of a pork shoulder, that Mike had cooked in their apartment that weekend. Sure looked good. I make a pork shoulder cooked in milk, Italian style, but nothing the way Mike cooked his.
Coincidentally, I was leafing through one of my cookbooks, and found a recipe for a braised pork shoulder, from Chez Panisse. I read through it. It looked WAY too easy. It couldn't POSSIBLY be that easy.
It is. It really is. And it's a spectacular dish to make for this holiday season. Nice and rich. Easy. Did I say easy? REALLY easy. I made mine with wild boar shoulder, but you should just choose pork if that's what you have, boar if you have that. It can be bone in, or bone out. Mine was bone out.
The roast itself, without the bone, should be about 4 pounds of meat. With the bone, closer to 5.5 or even more. Whichever one you use, the night before, dry off the roast, and then season it. Season it well, with whatever you like on pork. The instructions that I had called for salt, chopped sage, and red pepper. All good. At the last minute , I saw fennel seeds.
Fennel and pork. Oh, yes. Absolutely. So, season the meat liberally and leave it in the fridge, uncovered , overnight.
Next day, preheat your oven to 400 degrees. Take the meat out of the fridge, and let it come to room temperature.
Now, the hard part. Put it in a cold oven proof pan, like a Le Creuset pot, and cover it. Put that in the oven, and go away, and read a book, or the papers, or something like that. And go away for a LONG time - like 2 hours, minimum.
Your house is going to begin to smell wonderful as the spices cook in the fat, which will render out of the meat. After two hours, turn the roast in the pan, and let it cook for at least another half hour. That's probably all you'll need for a boneless roast, you'll probably need more time for one on the bone.
You'll watch the meat carmelize and start to fall apart. Pork will take less time, boar more time. Test it with a fork and see: is it so tender that you can cut it with a fork, or close to? You're there. You'll have a nice, brown, tender mass of meat. Pull it out of the pan, and let the fat drip away. Now, slice it however you like.
I'm going to use ours to make a "tortilla al pastor, " with some shredded cabbage and a sauce of some kind, but there's enough meat here, to make several different meals.
Thanks to Mike and Brad for letting me know about the joys of pork shoulder. If you eat pork, this is a perfect dish for the holidays. Nice and rich, tasty, and SO easy.
If you make this, tell me what you do with the meat. And maybe substitute the meat itself. Lamb shoulder anyone?
You'll hear the expression "food porn," used more and more frequently these days, as people send around pictures of their work in the kitchen, to friends who will appreciate it. Some time ago, Brad sent me a picture of a pork shoulder, that Mike had cooked in their apartment that weekend. Sure looked good. I make a pork shoulder cooked in milk, Italian style, but nothing the way Mike cooked his.
Coincidentally, I was leafing through one of my cookbooks, and found a recipe for a braised pork shoulder, from Chez Panisse. I read through it. It looked WAY too easy. It couldn't POSSIBLY be that easy.
It is. It really is. And it's a spectacular dish to make for this holiday season. Nice and rich. Easy. Did I say easy? REALLY easy. I made mine with wild boar shoulder, but you should just choose pork if that's what you have, boar if you have that. It can be bone in, or bone out. Mine was bone out.
The roast itself, without the bone, should be about 4 pounds of meat. With the bone, closer to 5.5 or even more. Whichever one you use, the night before, dry off the roast, and then season it. Season it well, with whatever you like on pork. The instructions that I had called for salt, chopped sage, and red pepper. All good. At the last minute , I saw fennel seeds.
Fennel and pork. Oh, yes. Absolutely. So, season the meat liberally and leave it in the fridge, uncovered , overnight.
Next day, preheat your oven to 400 degrees. Take the meat out of the fridge, and let it come to room temperature.
Now, the hard part. Put it in a cold oven proof pan, like a Le Creuset pot, and cover it. Put that in the oven, and go away, and read a book, or the papers, or something like that. And go away for a LONG time - like 2 hours, minimum.
Your house is going to begin to smell wonderful as the spices cook in the fat, which will render out of the meat. After two hours, turn the roast in the pan, and let it cook for at least another half hour. That's probably all you'll need for a boneless roast, you'll probably need more time for one on the bone.
You'll watch the meat carmelize and start to fall apart. Pork will take less time, boar more time. Test it with a fork and see: is it so tender that you can cut it with a fork, or close to? You're there. You'll have a nice, brown, tender mass of meat. Pull it out of the pan, and let the fat drip away. Now, slice it however you like.
I'm going to use ours to make a "tortilla al pastor, " with some shredded cabbage and a sauce of some kind, but there's enough meat here, to make several different meals.
Thanks to Mike and Brad for letting me know about the joys of pork shoulder. If you eat pork, this is a perfect dish for the holidays. Nice and rich, tasty, and SO easy.
If you make this, tell me what you do with the meat. And maybe substitute the meat itself. Lamb shoulder anyone?
Old school spanokopita
There was a day when Annalena was a vegetarian, and an activist. In the 70s and 80s, they did seem to go hand in hand. If you were a political activist, you were a vegetarian as well. It may still be the case, I don't know. We have so many splits and definitions of what constitutes an activist.
Annalena went to more vegetarian potlucks than she can remember. And ate more bad food than she WANTS to remember. In the last post, I mentioned lentil loaf. How about tofu chili? or "neat balls," and so on and so forth. You all have your own vegetarian horror stories. Tell them here.
A good cook is always a popular guest at these events. And you should only know the various titles that Annalena picked up along the way, so that there was an excuse to invite her to the buffet. And sometimes, the hosts would be bold enough to ask "Can you make that spanokopita?" See, spanokopita is something I learned to make early one, and to make it very well. It's rich. And it's also easy. And very few people make it this rich any more. But you should. And since you WILL need party food this time of year...
You will need a pound of phyllo dough. Don't even think of trying to make it. If you live in a neighborhood where there is a brisk market in Greek and Middle Eastern groceries, ask the grocer what brand she or he recommends. Tell them what you're making. And follow their advice.
The package will have at least 20 sheets in it. This is something to keep in mind for later in this recipe.
You are also going to need either two pounds of fresh spinach, stems removed, or two packages of frozen spinach, thawed. Also a 16 ounce container of full fat cottage cheese, a pound of feta, six eggs, two sticks of butter, and a bunch of dill.
Either cook or thaw the spinach. Whichever way you go, squeeze out the water and chop it. Combine it with the cottage cheese, the feta (which you will have crumbled,), the six eggs, and the dill, chopped. Mix this all up, completely. Taste it and add salt if you like.
Put it aside as you prep the phyllo. First, preheat your oven to 375 and while that's happening, melt the butter in a pot. When it's all melted, get a baking sheet. Use a small brush, and paint the surface of the sheet. Put down a sheet of phyllo and butter that. Repeat this, ten times.
The phyllo will frustrate you if you let it. It bunches, it crumbles, it tears. So what? The layering will make that irrelevant, because every tear will be covered by phyllo on top of it.
When you've finished with ten, spread the filling you've mixed over it, in an even layer, and then repeat the process with the remaining sheets of phyllo. If you have any left over butter, pour it over the last sheet. Tuck the sheets together under the filling, and then score it: you know what I mean: cut vents all over it. Then put it in the oven and bake it for about 40 minutes.
The dough should crisp up and turn a beautiful brown. If it's not brown enough for you, run it under the broiler for a minute.
And you're done. This is a big pan of food, but everyone eats too much of it.
Did it seem difficult? I thought not. Make it, and you, too, may be the next star of your next separatist movement meeting
Annalena went to more vegetarian potlucks than she can remember. And ate more bad food than she WANTS to remember. In the last post, I mentioned lentil loaf. How about tofu chili? or "neat balls," and so on and so forth. You all have your own vegetarian horror stories. Tell them here.
A good cook is always a popular guest at these events. And you should only know the various titles that Annalena picked up along the way, so that there was an excuse to invite her to the buffet. And sometimes, the hosts would be bold enough to ask "Can you make that spanokopita?" See, spanokopita is something I learned to make early one, and to make it very well. It's rich. And it's also easy. And very few people make it this rich any more. But you should. And since you WILL need party food this time of year...
You will need a pound of phyllo dough. Don't even think of trying to make it. If you live in a neighborhood where there is a brisk market in Greek and Middle Eastern groceries, ask the grocer what brand she or he recommends. Tell them what you're making. And follow their advice.
The package will have at least 20 sheets in it. This is something to keep in mind for later in this recipe.
You are also going to need either two pounds of fresh spinach, stems removed, or two packages of frozen spinach, thawed. Also a 16 ounce container of full fat cottage cheese, a pound of feta, six eggs, two sticks of butter, and a bunch of dill.
Either cook or thaw the spinach. Whichever way you go, squeeze out the water and chop it. Combine it with the cottage cheese, the feta (which you will have crumbled,), the six eggs, and the dill, chopped. Mix this all up, completely. Taste it and add salt if you like.
Put it aside as you prep the phyllo. First, preheat your oven to 375 and while that's happening, melt the butter in a pot. When it's all melted, get a baking sheet. Use a small brush, and paint the surface of the sheet. Put down a sheet of phyllo and butter that. Repeat this, ten times.
The phyllo will frustrate you if you let it. It bunches, it crumbles, it tears. So what? The layering will make that irrelevant, because every tear will be covered by phyllo on top of it.
When you've finished with ten, spread the filling you've mixed over it, in an even layer, and then repeat the process with the remaining sheets of phyllo. If you have any left over butter, pour it over the last sheet. Tuck the sheets together under the filling, and then score it: you know what I mean: cut vents all over it. Then put it in the oven and bake it for about 40 minutes.
The dough should crisp up and turn a beautiful brown. If it's not brown enough for you, run it under the broiler for a minute.
And you're done. This is a big pan of food, but everyone eats too much of it.
Did it seem difficult? I thought not. Make it, and you, too, may be the next star of your next separatist movement meeting
"Temple Days" after Thanksgiving: curried Lentil soup
Ciao ragazzi. Guess who's back, sort of like a recurring infection? Yes, it is I, after a respite of several weeks. Much has happened, much of which I cannot speak of in this blog, at least not yet. Suffice it to say that , to quote Peter Allen (which I do not do enough of), there have been some "interesting changes in my life" as of late. They have taken up much time, and kept me from updating this blog. Thanksgiving is, of course, one of them. So, too, was Annalena's very first road "race." Yours truly laced up her shoes and ran a four mile race for one of the charities dear to her heart, "God's Love We Deliver." If you have some spare change, send it to them. If Annalena can run four miles for them, surely you can cough up a double sawbuck. Get to it!
Then, get to this "temple days" dish. Regular readers of this blog will know that I have stolen ruthlessly from Nigella Lawson with this title. "Temple Days" are for those days after wanton disregard of dietary principles, when everything must calm down again for a while with simpler, nourishing, healthier food. This soup fills the bill, and it's also quite inexpensive, and vegan.
All of this is good, because Annalena's next two blogs will easily qualify for reckless excess, involving, in one, half a pound of butter, and in the other mountains of pork.
But, first, let's rest a bit. Lentils. 'Fess up, you hate em. You ate them when you had to, but you remember far too many bowls of thick, pasty, brown, lentil soup.
I'm there with you. I sympathize, deeply. It took years for Annalena to escape from the memories of lentil soup of her childhood, which she had to eat frequently. For years, she believed that those brown ones ("lens culinaris," as they call them, and if you want to sound exceptionally intelligent) were the only ones out there, and she was resigned to them.
Then came Indian food. And dhals. With red lentils, and tiny yellow split peas which, strictly, aren't lentils, but are awfully close. Then the French green ones, and most surprising of all, brown ones, from Catellucio Italy, cooked beautifully. No more memories of thick soups that you could cut with a knife, or over baked, dry, "politcally correct" lentil loaves (we'll talk about politically correct food in a post to come). I do not cook lentils as often as I should, but after this dish, I may be inspired to do more with them.
It is difficult to ascribe a provenance to the dish. "Curry," of course, makes it sound Indian. It is not, since we're using French lentils in it. Originally, it called for olive oil which, as far as I know, is not known in Indian cooking. Originally, it called for chickpeas, which could put it anywhere. So, let's just call it "the best of all possible worlds." It, like the recipe to come, will be very useful when you go to that vegetarian pot luck or you just need a vegetarian dish. Let's cook.
Let's chop one onion, a couple of carrots, and a couple of stalks of celery. Try to get them as even as possible, i.e, all of the pieces of the vegetables should be the same size. Also chop up a clove or two of garlic, and have some curry powder ready.
Let's chat a minute about curry powders. First, if you have some on your shelf, but you don't remember when you used it last, throw it out. Go to a store that specializes in spices, and get a small quantity of one of the ones they sell. Ask. Curries come in various strengths and flavors. There are "sweet" curries, there are "hot" ones. There are curries designed for fish, for vegetables, for legumes, and so forth. Smell. This will be your best guide. You will need about two tablespoons (yup, tablespoons) of an average strength curry. If you have a strong one, as I did, you will need less. A milder one? You will want more. You can doctor this as you go along, so don't worry too much.
Heat up a tablespoon of vegetable oil in a heavy pot that will hold 2-3 quarts of stuff. When it's hot, add the vegetables, and sprinkle them with salt, and some pepper. Cook them for about three minutes, then add the garlic, and cook for another minute, and then the two tablespoons of curry.
The curry will pick up all of the oil, and you may think you've made a mistake. You haven't. Things will get sticky, and the curry will fry with the vegetables. Y ou want this. After a minute, add a quart of water, and a cup of French green lentils. Bring the pot to a boil, and when it comes to the boil, lower the heat, and simmer for about 30-40 minutes. I covered the pot, leaving a small area for "venting."
While this is cooking away, get a can (that's right, Annalena said "can") of beans of some kind. Chickpeas are standard. I did not have them, so I used favas. Drain the beans and wash them, and if you have a blender, put them in that with two chopped cloves of garlic, a quarter cup of water, 2 tablespoons of oil, and the juice of half a lemon. Puree this. If it gets too thick and gums up (it probably will), add some more water until it loosens up and you have a thick, but loose, puree. Pour this into the soup, and stir it all up, after the lentils have cooked for that 40 minutes or so. Taste. Adjust your seasonings, and add more curry, more salt, more pepper, whatever you like.
And you are done. This is a very tasty, very unusual soup which, as you can see, is not that expensive to make, not that rich, and overall, very good for you. Play with the vegetables, play with the curry, play with the bean variety, and make your own delicious soup. It will be good. I promise.
Then, get to this "temple days" dish. Regular readers of this blog will know that I have stolen ruthlessly from Nigella Lawson with this title. "Temple Days" are for those days after wanton disregard of dietary principles, when everything must calm down again for a while with simpler, nourishing, healthier food. This soup fills the bill, and it's also quite inexpensive, and vegan.
All of this is good, because Annalena's next two blogs will easily qualify for reckless excess, involving, in one, half a pound of butter, and in the other mountains of pork.
But, first, let's rest a bit. Lentils. 'Fess up, you hate em. You ate them when you had to, but you remember far too many bowls of thick, pasty, brown, lentil soup.
I'm there with you. I sympathize, deeply. It took years for Annalena to escape from the memories of lentil soup of her childhood, which she had to eat frequently. For years, she believed that those brown ones ("lens culinaris," as they call them, and if you want to sound exceptionally intelligent) were the only ones out there, and she was resigned to them.
Then came Indian food. And dhals. With red lentils, and tiny yellow split peas which, strictly, aren't lentils, but are awfully close. Then the French green ones, and most surprising of all, brown ones, from Catellucio Italy, cooked beautifully. No more memories of thick soups that you could cut with a knife, or over baked, dry, "politcally correct" lentil loaves (we'll talk about politically correct food in a post to come). I do not cook lentils as often as I should, but after this dish, I may be inspired to do more with them.
It is difficult to ascribe a provenance to the dish. "Curry," of course, makes it sound Indian. It is not, since we're using French lentils in it. Originally, it called for olive oil which, as far as I know, is not known in Indian cooking. Originally, it called for chickpeas, which could put it anywhere. So, let's just call it "the best of all possible worlds." It, like the recipe to come, will be very useful when you go to that vegetarian pot luck or you just need a vegetarian dish. Let's cook.
Let's chop one onion, a couple of carrots, and a couple of stalks of celery. Try to get them as even as possible, i.e, all of the pieces of the vegetables should be the same size. Also chop up a clove or two of garlic, and have some curry powder ready.
Let's chat a minute about curry powders. First, if you have some on your shelf, but you don't remember when you used it last, throw it out. Go to a store that specializes in spices, and get a small quantity of one of the ones they sell. Ask. Curries come in various strengths and flavors. There are "sweet" curries, there are "hot" ones. There are curries designed for fish, for vegetables, for legumes, and so forth. Smell. This will be your best guide. You will need about two tablespoons (yup, tablespoons) of an average strength curry. If you have a strong one, as I did, you will need less. A milder one? You will want more. You can doctor this as you go along, so don't worry too much.
Heat up a tablespoon of vegetable oil in a heavy pot that will hold 2-3 quarts of stuff. When it's hot, add the vegetables, and sprinkle them with salt, and some pepper. Cook them for about three minutes, then add the garlic, and cook for another minute, and then the two tablespoons of curry.
The curry will pick up all of the oil, and you may think you've made a mistake. You haven't. Things will get sticky, and the curry will fry with the vegetables. Y ou want this. After a minute, add a quart of water, and a cup of French green lentils. Bring the pot to a boil, and when it comes to the boil, lower the heat, and simmer for about 30-40 minutes. I covered the pot, leaving a small area for "venting."
While this is cooking away, get a can (that's right, Annalena said "can") of beans of some kind. Chickpeas are standard. I did not have them, so I used favas. Drain the beans and wash them, and if you have a blender, put them in that with two chopped cloves of garlic, a quarter cup of water, 2 tablespoons of oil, and the juice of half a lemon. Puree this. If it gets too thick and gums up (it probably will), add some more water until it loosens up and you have a thick, but loose, puree. Pour this into the soup, and stir it all up, after the lentils have cooked for that 40 minutes or so. Taste. Adjust your seasonings, and add more curry, more salt, more pepper, whatever you like.
And you are done. This is a very tasty, very unusual soup which, as you can see, is not that expensive to make, not that rich, and overall, very good for you. Play with the vegetables, play with the curry, play with the bean variety, and make your own delicious soup. It will be good. I promise.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
It's late autumn, so: quinces: in upside down cake
Y'all know of my love affair with quinces: "the difficult fruit." Yes, they are. As I've written, you bite one of these once and you never will again. If you have any teeth left. But they're sort of like our cats: give them love, and time and care, and maybe they'll come around to you . Quinces do. Our cats, well....
The recipe that follows is, as are many of Annalena's recipes, the result of a roundabout series of events. A couple of weeks ago, at dinner at "I trulli," and full to the gills, not wanting dessert, Christina, the world's best restaurant manager, maybe, brought out a dessert not on the menu. It was a quince cake, with spice ice cream. There was no way I could not. So I did. And I was jealous , as I always am, of Patti (Ms Jackson if you're nasty)'s cooking.
There is no way I can replicate Patti's dishes, but I can try. I made this one, last week, in feeding my Wolfpack. It combines recipes from two of the Chez Panisse cookbooks, and boy, is it good. Now, I will tell you that, after having made this dessert, I saw Patti at the farmers market yesterday, and told her how I had made the quinces. She smiled and said "next time, put a shit load of spices in the poaching liquid. You'll be glad you did."
Yes ma'am. Patti was buying wild cardoons to bring back to the restaurant to "fool around with," and I can't wait. We're going to go and see her sometime soon, and I hope they're still there.
In the meanwhile, let's go through this recipe. It's going to take a while to make, but a few thoughts on this. First of all, it's worth it. Second of all, you can make the quinces as far in advance as you like. Since it's another one of those "sit and read a book while they cook" recipes, I think you should make them some lazy afternoon. I may make them later today. Here's how you poach them. Get about two pounds of quinces. This will be 4-6 of them. Get ripe, fragrant ones. Ripe for quinces means yellow. Fragrant means just that. They will smell tropical, almost like a mango or pineapple. Most sources tell you to quarter, and then peel the quinces. I find it easier to peel them whole. Whatever works for you, do it. But then quarter them, and cut out their cores. This takes a bit of elbow grease, but you need to do it. The center is nasty, and quinces have a lot of seeds. When you're done with this, slice the quinces about 1/4 to 1/3 inch thick, and put them in a pot with six cups of water, 2 cups of sugar, a half a vanilla bean, half a lemon and, if you are so inclined "a shitload of spices." Bring this to a boil, then lower the heat. Crunch up some parchment paper, and cover the quinces with it, and then cover the pot. Cook slowly, until the guys are tender. This will take 45 minutes to an hour. Let them cool in the pot, and then strain them. DON'T THROW OUT THAT LIQUID. Put the quinces into glass jars. I needed two, quart jars, and cover them with the syrup. Strain out any extraneous seeds. You'll have a pale pink product here. Let them refrigerate if you're not using them right away.
Incidentally, you CAN use these right away. They are marvelous on a cheese plate, or served with apples, for example.
When you are ready to make the upside down cake: make two. Here's the recipe for two, but half it if you really must. Drain the liquid from one jar of your quinces. Put it in a large skillet, with two tabelspoons of butter. Bring this to a simmer, let the butter melt, and keep your eye on the liquid as it browns and reduces. You're making quince caramel, and it's good. When it goes down to about half the volume, or when it's thick and syrupy, pour half of it into each of two, 9 inch cake pans. Swirl it around to cover them. Then, put a little butter on the sides. Now, lay out the slices of quince to cover the bottom of the pan, right on the caramel. Be generous. The fruit is going to shrink.
Here's the batter, for two cakes. Combine two sticks of soft, unsalted butter with 2 cups of sugar and a tablespoon of vanilla extract. Cream all of this in an electric mixer, until the butter is almost white. Add four large egg yolks, one at a time. You may want to lower the speed of your mixer for this. I recommend it.
While the mixing is happening, put 3 cups of flour and a tablespoon and a teaspoon of baking powder in a bowl, with a half teaspoon of salt. Also, get a cup of milk, or buttermilk, or yogurt or some dairy element ready. At low speed, alternate the dry ingredients with the dairy, ending with the dairy. Doesn't really matter how many "turns" you take on this, as long as you do the alternating.
In a separate bowl, get the 4 egg whites from the eggs you got the yolks, and bring them to a firm peak with the appropriate attachment for your mixer. Fold those eggwhites into the cake batter, turning the bowl and mixing as you go.
Spoon the batter over the quinces, even it out, and bake for a good 45 minutes in a preheated, 350 oven.
Now, here's the fun part. Let those cakes cool for fifteen minutes, but not too much longer. There's so much sugar in the cake, that if it gets too cool, you won't be able to release the cake, and you'll have to heat the whole thing again and say a prayer.
Put your serving plate over the cake pan. Protect your hands, invert the thing and shake FIRMLY. The cake should pop out. If it doesn't, put the cake pan on a low flame for a minute or two to get the sugar to melt again. That should do it.
Sometimes fruit sticks in the pan. No problem there. Just reappoint it on the cake.
The baking process will intensify the pink of the quinces, and your guests will be hard pressed to tell you exactly what they are eating. But they will come back for seconds, maybe even thirds. That's why you do two of them.
Oh, and the leftover syrup? Well, if you're adventurous, you can cook it down to jelly. But if not, just pour some of it into wine, or champagne, or soda, as you see fit, and have an interesting, autumnal/winter sip.
Quinces. They're worth the time. Unlike some cats, and some men...
The recipe that follows is, as are many of Annalena's recipes, the result of a roundabout series of events. A couple of weeks ago, at dinner at "I trulli," and full to the gills, not wanting dessert, Christina, the world's best restaurant manager, maybe, brought out a dessert not on the menu. It was a quince cake, with spice ice cream. There was no way I could not. So I did. And I was jealous , as I always am, of Patti (Ms Jackson if you're nasty)'s cooking.
There is no way I can replicate Patti's dishes, but I can try. I made this one, last week, in feeding my Wolfpack. It combines recipes from two of the Chez Panisse cookbooks, and boy, is it good. Now, I will tell you that, after having made this dessert, I saw Patti at the farmers market yesterday, and told her how I had made the quinces. She smiled and said "next time, put a shit load of spices in the poaching liquid. You'll be glad you did."
Yes ma'am. Patti was buying wild cardoons to bring back to the restaurant to "fool around with," and I can't wait. We're going to go and see her sometime soon, and I hope they're still there.
In the meanwhile, let's go through this recipe. It's going to take a while to make, but a few thoughts on this. First of all, it's worth it. Second of all, you can make the quinces as far in advance as you like. Since it's another one of those "sit and read a book while they cook" recipes, I think you should make them some lazy afternoon. I may make them later today. Here's how you poach them. Get about two pounds of quinces. This will be 4-6 of them. Get ripe, fragrant ones. Ripe for quinces means yellow. Fragrant means just that. They will smell tropical, almost like a mango or pineapple. Most sources tell you to quarter, and then peel the quinces. I find it easier to peel them whole. Whatever works for you, do it. But then quarter them, and cut out their cores. This takes a bit of elbow grease, but you need to do it. The center is nasty, and quinces have a lot of seeds. When you're done with this, slice the quinces about 1/4 to 1/3 inch thick, and put them in a pot with six cups of water, 2 cups of sugar, a half a vanilla bean, half a lemon and, if you are so inclined "a shitload of spices." Bring this to a boil, then lower the heat. Crunch up some parchment paper, and cover the quinces with it, and then cover the pot. Cook slowly, until the guys are tender. This will take 45 minutes to an hour. Let them cool in the pot, and then strain them. DON'T THROW OUT THAT LIQUID. Put the quinces into glass jars. I needed two, quart jars, and cover them with the syrup. Strain out any extraneous seeds. You'll have a pale pink product here. Let them refrigerate if you're not using them right away.
Incidentally, you CAN use these right away. They are marvelous on a cheese plate, or served with apples, for example.
When you are ready to make the upside down cake: make two. Here's the recipe for two, but half it if you really must. Drain the liquid from one jar of your quinces. Put it in a large skillet, with two tabelspoons of butter. Bring this to a simmer, let the butter melt, and keep your eye on the liquid as it browns and reduces. You're making quince caramel, and it's good. When it goes down to about half the volume, or when it's thick and syrupy, pour half of it into each of two, 9 inch cake pans. Swirl it around to cover them. Then, put a little butter on the sides. Now, lay out the slices of quince to cover the bottom of the pan, right on the caramel. Be generous. The fruit is going to shrink.
Here's the batter, for two cakes. Combine two sticks of soft, unsalted butter with 2 cups of sugar and a tablespoon of vanilla extract. Cream all of this in an electric mixer, until the butter is almost white. Add four large egg yolks, one at a time. You may want to lower the speed of your mixer for this. I recommend it.
While the mixing is happening, put 3 cups of flour and a tablespoon and a teaspoon of baking powder in a bowl, with a half teaspoon of salt. Also, get a cup of milk, or buttermilk, or yogurt or some dairy element ready. At low speed, alternate the dry ingredients with the dairy, ending with the dairy. Doesn't really matter how many "turns" you take on this, as long as you do the alternating.
In a separate bowl, get the 4 egg whites from the eggs you got the yolks, and bring them to a firm peak with the appropriate attachment for your mixer. Fold those eggwhites into the cake batter, turning the bowl and mixing as you go.
Spoon the batter over the quinces, even it out, and bake for a good 45 minutes in a preheated, 350 oven.
Now, here's the fun part. Let those cakes cool for fifteen minutes, but not too much longer. There's so much sugar in the cake, that if it gets too cool, you won't be able to release the cake, and you'll have to heat the whole thing again and say a prayer.
Put your serving plate over the cake pan. Protect your hands, invert the thing and shake FIRMLY. The cake should pop out. If it doesn't, put the cake pan on a low flame for a minute or two to get the sugar to melt again. That should do it.
Sometimes fruit sticks in the pan. No problem there. Just reappoint it on the cake.
The baking process will intensify the pink of the quinces, and your guests will be hard pressed to tell you exactly what they are eating. But they will come back for seconds, maybe even thirds. That's why you do two of them.
Oh, and the leftover syrup? Well, if you're adventurous, you can cook it down to jelly. But if not, just pour some of it into wine, or champagne, or soda, as you see fit, and have an interesting, autumnal/winter sip.
Quinces. They're worth the time. Unlike some cats, and some men...
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Choices, within choices: bean and sausage stew, or....
When you read the introductory sections to cookbooks (you DO do that, don't you?), almost always you will read the instruction: READ THROUGH THE RECIPE COMPLETELY BEFORE YOU START. Now, how many of you do? And of those of you who do, how many of you, if you are confronted with an ingredient you don't have, or something you don't like or won't eat, think along the lines of "Oh well, not this time?"
There are times when that's appropriate, and there are other times when it is not. Learning discernment and when you can make a change, is a hallmark of a COOK. And really, ultimately, it is not all that difficult to do. There is almost always a substitution for an ingredient that will give you an acceptable, even good, sometimes better, final dish. There are exceptions. Squash blossoms come to mind. So do truffles. But they are the exceptions, like I said. Let's go through a recipe I made, from the NY Times, and you'll see what I mean.
The recipe is entitled "Herbed white bean and sausage stew." It caught my eye because the recipe intro made clear that this was not a recipe where you had to presoak or precook the dried beans.
Some of you may think that Annalena has a refrigerator and freezer filled with containers of cooked beans, vegetable waters for soups, potato water for bread making and so on and so forth.
Divorce yourself of that notion immediately. In fact, I HAVE tried to follow the regimen of the ordered, thrifty kitchen: I've saved my swiss chard stems, and pickled them. I took the water in which I cooked my broccoli, and saved it for soup. And so on and so forth. And three weeks later, out they went. So, no, Annalena does not have those things on hand. But she loves beans. And the time saving was, well, something gratifying.
"White beans." In fact, the recipe called for "Great Northern Beans." You can buy these in the supermarket or the health food store, and they're widely available and cheap. If, however, you are a foodie, like Annalena, you have replaced these with scads of heirloom beans. So, I did not have Great Northerns around. But.. these are white beans, so I pulled out something that is close to white: flageolets. You can use any pale colored bean you have around. Cannelinis will work, so will borlottis. Actually, ANY bean will work, but the color will be different. It's your call.
The recipe also called for sausages. Now, after I had made the dish, I realized I had fallen into the very trap that I advise you to avoid. You do not NEED the sausage in this recipe. You could leave it out. You could substitute greens, like kale (which is really what I should have done, and will do, next time). You could use them both. So, this could easily have become a vegan dish. Keep that in mind.
Also called for in this recipe are ground cumin (half a teaspoon), and fresh thyme and rosemary. I did have all of that around, but what if you didn't? Well, a half teaspoon of an herb is not going to make or break a dish, even when it's something as unique as saffron. Fresh herbs are sometimes a different matter. I don't think you could substitute sage, or cilantro here, but if you only had thyme, or only rosemary, or if you had oregano, or savory, or something like that, you could make the substitution. So, as you go through this recipe, see what changes you can see yourself making. All are good.
This recipe is ridiculously easy, especially if you have a food processor. And it's another one of those recipes where you can sit back and read a book while it cooks. If you have a slow cooker, I bet this would be good in it. Try.
Ok, here we go. First, for the veggies. You need two carrots, 2 stalks of celery, an onion and 2-3 cloves of garlic. You have to chop all of these nice and fine. The food processor, with its pulse mechanism, will do you good here. If you don't have one, like my friend David, get out your big knife and get to work. And again, don't worry about dicing the stuff too fine. Texture is good.
In a soup pot, add 2 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil. Add a tablespoon of tomato paste (or, if you don't have tomato paste on hand, use some tomato sauce), and the half tespoon of cumin I mentioned, and cook for about a minute. Everything will darken substantially. This is a good thing. Now add those chopped veggies. Cook everything, stirring once in a while, until the veggies begin to go a bit limp. This will take, perhaps, five minutes.
Now, add a pound of dried beans, eight cups of water,two teaspoons of salt, and a few sprigs of thyme, rosemary, and a bay leaf or two. Bring the heat up, and when the mix comes to a boil, lower the heat. Don't cover the pot, just let it cook away, for an hour.
If you are going to use kale, this is the time to put it in. Stem a bunch or two of kale, chop the greens, and add them. You can cook kale for a good hour, and it won't be any the worse for it. Cook everything for another hour or so. After two hours, taste the beans. Are they soft? If they are, you're done. If not, let them cook some more.
Now, if you choose to do the sausage option, what you do is, during the time the beans are cooking away, slice a pound of your sausage of choice. I used sweet pork sausage, as the recipe suggested, but I kept on thinking "chorizo" or "merguez" as it went on (Incidentally, if I had used merguez, I would have used chickpeas as my bean). Fry the sausages in some oil for about 5-7 minutes, and drain them. Add the cooked meat to the pot of beans and greens, if you are using the greens, and know what? You are done. You will have a good two quarts of stuff, which is more than enough to feed a crowd. Season it with salt, or pepper, or vinegar, or whatever you like. Hot sauce if you are so inclined.
There's an old saying "good. fast. cheap. Choose two." Well, this one ain't fast, but it's good and cheap. It's cold out. This one will warm ya. Get cozy. Ananlena says so.
There are times when that's appropriate, and there are other times when it is not. Learning discernment and when you can make a change, is a hallmark of a COOK. And really, ultimately, it is not all that difficult to do. There is almost always a substitution for an ingredient that will give you an acceptable, even good, sometimes better, final dish. There are exceptions. Squash blossoms come to mind. So do truffles. But they are the exceptions, like I said. Let's go through a recipe I made, from the NY Times, and you'll see what I mean.
The recipe is entitled "Herbed white bean and sausage stew." It caught my eye because the recipe intro made clear that this was not a recipe where you had to presoak or precook the dried beans.
Some of you may think that Annalena has a refrigerator and freezer filled with containers of cooked beans, vegetable waters for soups, potato water for bread making and so on and so forth.
Divorce yourself of that notion immediately. In fact, I HAVE tried to follow the regimen of the ordered, thrifty kitchen: I've saved my swiss chard stems, and pickled them. I took the water in which I cooked my broccoli, and saved it for soup. And so on and so forth. And three weeks later, out they went. So, no, Annalena does not have those things on hand. But she loves beans. And the time saving was, well, something gratifying.
"White beans." In fact, the recipe called for "Great Northern Beans." You can buy these in the supermarket or the health food store, and they're widely available and cheap. If, however, you are a foodie, like Annalena, you have replaced these with scads of heirloom beans. So, I did not have Great Northerns around. But.. these are white beans, so I pulled out something that is close to white: flageolets. You can use any pale colored bean you have around. Cannelinis will work, so will borlottis. Actually, ANY bean will work, but the color will be different. It's your call.
The recipe also called for sausages. Now, after I had made the dish, I realized I had fallen into the very trap that I advise you to avoid. You do not NEED the sausage in this recipe. You could leave it out. You could substitute greens, like kale (which is really what I should have done, and will do, next time). You could use them both. So, this could easily have become a vegan dish. Keep that in mind.
Also called for in this recipe are ground cumin (half a teaspoon), and fresh thyme and rosemary. I did have all of that around, but what if you didn't? Well, a half teaspoon of an herb is not going to make or break a dish, even when it's something as unique as saffron. Fresh herbs are sometimes a different matter. I don't think you could substitute sage, or cilantro here, but if you only had thyme, or only rosemary, or if you had oregano, or savory, or something like that, you could make the substitution. So, as you go through this recipe, see what changes you can see yourself making. All are good.
This recipe is ridiculously easy, especially if you have a food processor. And it's another one of those recipes where you can sit back and read a book while it cooks. If you have a slow cooker, I bet this would be good in it. Try.
Ok, here we go. First, for the veggies. You need two carrots, 2 stalks of celery, an onion and 2-3 cloves of garlic. You have to chop all of these nice and fine. The food processor, with its pulse mechanism, will do you good here. If you don't have one, like my friend David, get out your big knife and get to work. And again, don't worry about dicing the stuff too fine. Texture is good.
In a soup pot, add 2 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil. Add a tablespoon of tomato paste (or, if you don't have tomato paste on hand, use some tomato sauce), and the half tespoon of cumin I mentioned, and cook for about a minute. Everything will darken substantially. This is a good thing. Now add those chopped veggies. Cook everything, stirring once in a while, until the veggies begin to go a bit limp. This will take, perhaps, five minutes.
Now, add a pound of dried beans, eight cups of water,two teaspoons of salt, and a few sprigs of thyme, rosemary, and a bay leaf or two. Bring the heat up, and when the mix comes to a boil, lower the heat. Don't cover the pot, just let it cook away, for an hour.
If you are going to use kale, this is the time to put it in. Stem a bunch or two of kale, chop the greens, and add them. You can cook kale for a good hour, and it won't be any the worse for it. Cook everything for another hour or so. After two hours, taste the beans. Are they soft? If they are, you're done. If not, let them cook some more.
Now, if you choose to do the sausage option, what you do is, during the time the beans are cooking away, slice a pound of your sausage of choice. I used sweet pork sausage, as the recipe suggested, but I kept on thinking "chorizo" or "merguez" as it went on (Incidentally, if I had used merguez, I would have used chickpeas as my bean). Fry the sausages in some oil for about 5-7 minutes, and drain them. Add the cooked meat to the pot of beans and greens, if you are using the greens, and know what? You are done. You will have a good two quarts of stuff, which is more than enough to feed a crowd. Season it with salt, or pepper, or vinegar, or whatever you like. Hot sauce if you are so inclined.
There's an old saying "good. fast. cheap. Choose two." Well, this one ain't fast, but it's good and cheap. It's cold out. This one will warm ya. Get cozy. Ananlena says so.
Slow cooking: cabbage revisited, and how to modify a dish
Well, THAT title sounds intimidating doesn't it? Well, fear not. It is not nearly as bad as it sounds, it is simply, well, "informative," if you will.
I bet that I can tell who's going to put his or her hand up when I ask: how many people like cabbage? because I've done this before. Not a whole lot of you, huh? And a few saying "well, in coleslaw, sure, but not cooked."
I betcha you are all veterans of the stinky , smelly, overcooked cabbage we had as kids. YOu remember: coming home, smelling that STINK and thinking "please don't let it be our house, please don't let it be our house," walking in the door and... OH NO. Mom is making corned beef and cabbage tonight. Then, that stinking, wet, hot, bland wedge went on your plate with an explanation like "OH COME ON. You like it in coleslaw," when really, all you wanted was the mayonnaise.
As with so many things, ragazzi, it is in the cooking. Annalena LOVES cabbage. She wants you to love cabbage too. And so, she's giving you a recipe that is an adaptation of a recipe she found in that new book by Amanda Hesser that she wrote about, a few blogs ago.
This recipe, when you go through it, tells you that its origins are southwestern France, or perhaps the bordering region of Germany. It's Alsatian, all the way, with the cabbage, the mix of sweet and sour (which is optional), the chestnuts, the pork, and the red cabbage - which, incidentally, is called blue cabbage (blaukraut) in Germany.
Don't ask. I never do.
Well, the recipe was for red cabbage. Annalena prefers savoy cabbage, and that is what is called for here. Use red if you like. Use the plain one if you like, but honestly, the savoy cabbage - the crinkly one - is better. Here we go.
There's a bit of prep work involved, so do that first. You need 4-6 ounces of bacon, cut into small dice. (Leave this out if you want to go vegetarian). Also, one onion, also diced. Then, remember those chestnuts Annalena told you about? The vacuum bag of them? Get one of them, and just break the guys up roughly. Get three medium sized apples (a pound or so, and try to go for the tart/sweet varieties), and peel them and slice them. Pour out a cup of a white wine. To be truly authentic, go for gewurztraminer or rielsing, but if you happen to have a started bottle of something, use that, as long as it's not too sweet.
Finally, your cabbage. Pull off the outer leaves, and then cut the head in quarters. Cut out the core, and then use a sharp knife to shred it. Just slice down into ribbons. You'll have a lot of it, so... get a big pot ready.
Put a tablespoon or so of olive oil in it, and add the bacon. Cook it at medium heat, and while that's going, start preheating your oven to 450. Adjust the racks so that your pot will fit in there. Keep an eye on the bacon, and when you see that the fat is leaving, and the meat is beginning to darken a bit, add the onions. Stir this together, and cook for a minute or so, until the onion goes translucent. It won't take long.
Now, add the apples, and then the wine. Bring this all to a boil, which will happen almost instantaneously. Add half the cabbage, and all the chestnuts. IF you like it (and I do), add a big tablespoon of caraway seeds. Add some salt and pepper, and then the rest of the cabbage. Cover the pot, lower the heat, and let this cook for ten minutes.
When the ten minutes have passed, put the whole pot in the oven, and bake for 30 minutes. Then, take a peek inside. Really reduced, huh? It may even be a little dry and the cabbage may be sticking. If that's true, add about a third cup more wine. Then reduce the heat to 375, and cook for another hour.
You're braising cabbage for nearly two hours, with lots of aromatics. When it's done, you'll have lovely brown bits, and not nearly as much cabbage as you started with. Taste it. If you want to be authentic, at this point you add a sweetner, like brown sugar or honey, and then some vinegar. My taste runs to only adding vinegar, and I use apple cider vinegar, for reasons I think you'll all understand.
This keeps beautifully, and it's a wonderful side dish with some of the more intensely flavored meats, or even with fish, like seared monkfish.
I would bet that if you made this, you will become a fan of cabbage. So, give it a try. Cabbage is good for you, and there's wine in the dish. Now, what could be wrong about that?
I bet that I can tell who's going to put his or her hand up when I ask: how many people like cabbage? because I've done this before. Not a whole lot of you, huh? And a few saying "well, in coleslaw, sure, but not cooked."
I betcha you are all veterans of the stinky , smelly, overcooked cabbage we had as kids. YOu remember: coming home, smelling that STINK and thinking "please don't let it be our house, please don't let it be our house," walking in the door and... OH NO. Mom is making corned beef and cabbage tonight. Then, that stinking, wet, hot, bland wedge went on your plate with an explanation like "OH COME ON. You like it in coleslaw," when really, all you wanted was the mayonnaise.
As with so many things, ragazzi, it is in the cooking. Annalena LOVES cabbage. She wants you to love cabbage too. And so, she's giving you a recipe that is an adaptation of a recipe she found in that new book by Amanda Hesser that she wrote about, a few blogs ago.
This recipe, when you go through it, tells you that its origins are southwestern France, or perhaps the bordering region of Germany. It's Alsatian, all the way, with the cabbage, the mix of sweet and sour (which is optional), the chestnuts, the pork, and the red cabbage - which, incidentally, is called blue cabbage (blaukraut) in Germany.
Don't ask. I never do.
Well, the recipe was for red cabbage. Annalena prefers savoy cabbage, and that is what is called for here. Use red if you like. Use the plain one if you like, but honestly, the savoy cabbage - the crinkly one - is better. Here we go.
There's a bit of prep work involved, so do that first. You need 4-6 ounces of bacon, cut into small dice. (Leave this out if you want to go vegetarian). Also, one onion, also diced. Then, remember those chestnuts Annalena told you about? The vacuum bag of them? Get one of them, and just break the guys up roughly. Get three medium sized apples (a pound or so, and try to go for the tart/sweet varieties), and peel them and slice them. Pour out a cup of a white wine. To be truly authentic, go for gewurztraminer or rielsing, but if you happen to have a started bottle of something, use that, as long as it's not too sweet.
Finally, your cabbage. Pull off the outer leaves, and then cut the head in quarters. Cut out the core, and then use a sharp knife to shred it. Just slice down into ribbons. You'll have a lot of it, so... get a big pot ready.
Put a tablespoon or so of olive oil in it, and add the bacon. Cook it at medium heat, and while that's going, start preheating your oven to 450. Adjust the racks so that your pot will fit in there. Keep an eye on the bacon, and when you see that the fat is leaving, and the meat is beginning to darken a bit, add the onions. Stir this together, and cook for a minute or so, until the onion goes translucent. It won't take long.
Now, add the apples, and then the wine. Bring this all to a boil, which will happen almost instantaneously. Add half the cabbage, and all the chestnuts. IF you like it (and I do), add a big tablespoon of caraway seeds. Add some salt and pepper, and then the rest of the cabbage. Cover the pot, lower the heat, and let this cook for ten minutes.
When the ten minutes have passed, put the whole pot in the oven, and bake for 30 minutes. Then, take a peek inside. Really reduced, huh? It may even be a little dry and the cabbage may be sticking. If that's true, add about a third cup more wine. Then reduce the heat to 375, and cook for another hour.
You're braising cabbage for nearly two hours, with lots of aromatics. When it's done, you'll have lovely brown bits, and not nearly as much cabbage as you started with. Taste it. If you want to be authentic, at this point you add a sweetner, like brown sugar or honey, and then some vinegar. My taste runs to only adding vinegar, and I use apple cider vinegar, for reasons I think you'll all understand.
This keeps beautifully, and it's a wonderful side dish with some of the more intensely flavored meats, or even with fish, like seared monkfish.
I would bet that if you made this, you will become a fan of cabbage. So, give it a try. Cabbage is good for you, and there's wine in the dish. Now, what could be wrong about that?
Friday, November 5, 2010
Making peace with Bittman, or: ricotta gnocchi
Annalena's army shall know, from prior posts, that she has very little patience for Mark Bittman. She finds him more than a bit, well "much," and full of himself. Frequently, when reading or watching him (he does seem to be everywhere. The veritable everready bunny of cooking), she frequently wants to yell 'TURN IT DOWN WOMAN," or something more foul. But.... Never let it be said that Annalena is not a reasonable woman. Read on.
Not that long ago, Mr. Bittman published a recipe that was intriguing to me: one for ricotta gnocchi. Background to the intrigue: one of the specialties at one of Annalena's favorite San Francisco restaurants, Zuni café' , is sheep's milk ricotta gnocchi. They are wonderful. Like clouds. The recipe is in the wonderful Zuni cookbook.
And every single time I have tried to make them, I have screwed them up. During our last visit to San Francisco, they were on the menu, accompanied with fresh shell beans. I took time to chat with the server and told him of my dilemma with cooking them. He smiled and said "there's almost no one here who can make them. The right person has to be on that night and be in the right mood."
Oh. Now THERE's a recipe you want to put in a book: "you need to have the right person, in the right mood." Okay, I guess even Zuni nods. So I had made up my mind that this was their "free bite, " in the sense that every cookbook has its clinkers in it, and resigned myself to the fact that I would not enjoy those gnocchi unless I was, as my boys at Uptown would sing "in the right place at the right time." (actually, they would sing wrong place at the wrong time, but let's not quibble here).
Then, the Bittman recipe was printed in the newspaper. I looked at it. Hmmm. He used flour. Not a LOT of flour, but some flour. Zuni didn't. Eggs. Hmmm. Cheese. Hmmmm. All good. Maybe a Thursday night supper with the Guy man. After all, if it failed, we could eat something else.
Now, I want you all to know that there is a much heartier version of ricotta gnocchi in the cookbooks of Marianne Esposito. Hers are baked, in a tomato sauce, and if you are looking for something traditionally Southern Italian, go there. These are not traditional, at least not in the Southern Italian tradition. Make your choice, or don't, and make them both.
It did NOT fail. In fact, it was downright terrific. A recipe to serve four, became a recipe to serve two. I believe that, if you make this - and you WILL make it darlings - you will see why it is easy to eat more than the allocated serving.
You need very simple ingredients: a pound of ricotta. Whole milk ricotta, please, and as Annalena always says, try not to use the ghastly stuff that ends with an "o". She uses sheep's milk ricotta from the farmer's market. Carry on as you see fit, and perhaps even make your own. You will also need a heaping cup of freshly grated, parmagiano reggiano cheese. Here, don't use the stuff in the green tube. Please. Pretty please. You also need two large eggs. You can mix all of this stuff up hours ahead of time and then add salt and pepper.
Now, comes the fun part, where you have to wing it a little bit. Get a large pot of water going, with some salt in it. Bring it to the boil, BUT THEN IMMEDIATELY BRING IT DOWN to something just over a simmer. The last thing you want here, is what we used to call a "rolling boil." That vigorous a boil, will destroy your gnocchi. Trust me on this.
Okay, while the water is coming to a boil, stir in a scant half cup of flour. Get into the mix with your hands, if you have to. When the water has come to that boil, get a tablespoon and ladle about that much of the cheese mix into the water. Let it cook. See if it falls apart. If it does, then add more flour. If it does not, you're ready (you DO have to do this. My first gnocchi were good, but soft. REALLY soft). It's difficult to tell you how much flour you will need, because the weather that day, the atmosphere, the moisture in your cheese, will all have a role in this. You probably will need between a half and ¾ cup of the flour, though, or more if you like a spongier gnocchi.
Drop them into your pot. Don't overcrowd. What I mean by overcrowding, is that there should be enough room, or few enough, gnocchi in the pot, so that they can move around. They will sink to the bottom, and begin to rise to the top when they are ready. Scoop them out with a slotted spoon, and if you happen to have melted half a stick of unsalted butter with some herbs (HINT), you can drop them into that, as the rest of them cook. All of this will take you, maybe, half an hour to do. You will have a wonderful pot of delicious, light, tasty gnocchi, and you will have something new to serve forth.
I'm still not sure I like Mr. Bittman, but I do like his gnocchi. (There's probably something foul there, also, but let's leave it alone for now).
Annalena owes you recipes. To come this weekend: blackened romesco. Pork chops in the style of veal chops. Quince upside down cake. And, perhaps my favorite dish of the week, a slow cooked treat of cabbage, chestnuts, wine and apples with bacon, that made me smile, BIG TIME
Not that long ago, Mr. Bittman published a recipe that was intriguing to me: one for ricotta gnocchi. Background to the intrigue: one of the specialties at one of Annalena's favorite San Francisco restaurants, Zuni café' , is sheep's milk ricotta gnocchi. They are wonderful. Like clouds. The recipe is in the wonderful Zuni cookbook.
And every single time I have tried to make them, I have screwed them up. During our last visit to San Francisco, they were on the menu, accompanied with fresh shell beans. I took time to chat with the server and told him of my dilemma with cooking them. He smiled and said "there's almost no one here who can make them. The right person has to be on that night and be in the right mood."
Oh. Now THERE's a recipe you want to put in a book: "you need to have the right person, in the right mood." Okay, I guess even Zuni nods. So I had made up my mind that this was their "free bite, " in the sense that every cookbook has its clinkers in it, and resigned myself to the fact that I would not enjoy those gnocchi unless I was, as my boys at Uptown would sing "in the right place at the right time." (actually, they would sing wrong place at the wrong time, but let's not quibble here).
Then, the Bittman recipe was printed in the newspaper. I looked at it. Hmmm. He used flour. Not a LOT of flour, but some flour. Zuni didn't. Eggs. Hmmm. Cheese. Hmmmm. All good. Maybe a Thursday night supper with the Guy man. After all, if it failed, we could eat something else.
Now, I want you all to know that there is a much heartier version of ricotta gnocchi in the cookbooks of Marianne Esposito. Hers are baked, in a tomato sauce, and if you are looking for something traditionally Southern Italian, go there. These are not traditional, at least not in the Southern Italian tradition. Make your choice, or don't, and make them both.
It did NOT fail. In fact, it was downright terrific. A recipe to serve four, became a recipe to serve two. I believe that, if you make this - and you WILL make it darlings - you will see why it is easy to eat more than the allocated serving.
You need very simple ingredients: a pound of ricotta. Whole milk ricotta, please, and as Annalena always says, try not to use the ghastly stuff that ends with an "o". She uses sheep's milk ricotta from the farmer's market. Carry on as you see fit, and perhaps even make your own. You will also need a heaping cup of freshly grated, parmagiano reggiano cheese. Here, don't use the stuff in the green tube. Please. Pretty please. You also need two large eggs. You can mix all of this stuff up hours ahead of time and then add salt and pepper.
Now, comes the fun part, where you have to wing it a little bit. Get a large pot of water going, with some salt in it. Bring it to the boil, BUT THEN IMMEDIATELY BRING IT DOWN to something just over a simmer. The last thing you want here, is what we used to call a "rolling boil." That vigorous a boil, will destroy your gnocchi. Trust me on this.
Okay, while the water is coming to a boil, stir in a scant half cup of flour. Get into the mix with your hands, if you have to. When the water has come to that boil, get a tablespoon and ladle about that much of the cheese mix into the water. Let it cook. See if it falls apart. If it does, then add more flour. If it does not, you're ready (you DO have to do this. My first gnocchi were good, but soft. REALLY soft). It's difficult to tell you how much flour you will need, because the weather that day, the atmosphere, the moisture in your cheese, will all have a role in this. You probably will need between a half and ¾ cup of the flour, though, or more if you like a spongier gnocchi.
Drop them into your pot. Don't overcrowd. What I mean by overcrowding, is that there should be enough room, or few enough, gnocchi in the pot, so that they can move around. They will sink to the bottom, and begin to rise to the top when they are ready. Scoop them out with a slotted spoon, and if you happen to have melted half a stick of unsalted butter with some herbs (HINT), you can drop them into that, as the rest of them cook. All of this will take you, maybe, half an hour to do. You will have a wonderful pot of delicious, light, tasty gnocchi, and you will have something new to serve forth.
I'm still not sure I like Mr. Bittman, but I do like his gnocchi. (There's probably something foul there, also, but let's leave it alone for now).
Annalena owes you recipes. To come this weekend: blackened romesco. Pork chops in the style of veal chops. Quince upside down cake. And, perhaps my favorite dish of the week, a slow cooked treat of cabbage, chestnuts, wine and apples with bacon, that made me smile, BIG TIME
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Imitation is the highest form of flattery: chestnut farro soup
Well, she's back, after a short trip to Texas. I will not comment on that trip here, only to say that I am glad I am back. Annalena is NOT a good traveller, she is even a worse business traveller, and this was business. In terms of her work year, however, in Annalena's mind, now it is smooth sailing. It is sort of like finishing up the last element of a compulsory figure skating routine: all done, now have some fun, and get to the finish without falling.
Ok, now onto food. Just before going, we visited one of our favorite haunts, Barbuto (there is no pun intended in writing about haunts on Halloween, believe me). They had a soup on the menu that appealed to the Guyman: chestnut farro soup with apple and honey.
Guy looked at me and said "well, you know how I can' resist anything with chestnuts in it."
Uh, no, I didn't. I was skeptical of the soup: chestnuts have a sweetness to them, as do apples, and honey? Well... But onward we went. The sweetness was actually quite muted, almost not there. It was a hearty, rich soup, that immediately presented itself to me as something that Annalena could copy.
And she did. And now, I want you to copy it too.
First, let us start with the most salient ingredient: the chestnuts. For all of us who enjoy chestnuts, the advent of vacuum packed, peeled, cooked chestnuts have changed our autumnal and winter cooking. If you have ever stained, burned, or otherwise damaged your manicure working with the "real" things, you will know what I mean. So, buy these things. They do not need refrigeration. For my recipe, get about a pound's worth of them.
You will also need some farro. Now, there is a dispute in the cooking world as to whether farro and spelt are the same. My view is that they are not; however, cooks do debate this extensively. If they are not the same, they are close enough that you could use spelt in place of faro. So, ragazzi, here's what you do: put a quantity of farro under a liquid in a 1:4 ratio. That is more liquid than you will need, but that is ok. Bear with me, and you will learn why. Add some salt, cover your pot, but leave a vent space, because the farro produces a starch which bubbles t othe top and makes a mess. You only need about a cup or cup and a half of cooked farro for this soup, but make extra. It is a terrific side dish, a wonderful addition to salad, and you can also eat it for breakfast as a cereal.
while that farro is cooking, get your basic soup veggies ready: equal quanitites of chopped celery, carrots, and an onion family member. I had a bunch of lovely leeks in the fridge, and I used one of them. Use an onion if you don't, or mix, or use what you've got. Put some olive oil in a soup pot, and add the veggies, together with a teaspoon or so of salt, and let them cook, w hile you prep the chestnuts.
How do you prep the chestnuts? It's absurdly easy. Get them out of the bag and break them up with your hands. Then add them to the vegetables, and stir everything together, with another teaspoon of salt. After a few minutes, no more than five, add a quart of liquid. I used chicken stock, but you could use vegetable, or water, and I think you'll be ok. Chestnuts are nice and rich and they thicken a soup in the same way that potatoes do. Cover the pot, and let this cook away for about half an hour.
Taste your farro. It will never be as soft as rice, but when it's "toothsome," it's done. Strain it through a colander, so that the liquid is saved because... you're gonna add this right to the soup. the starch gives some body to the soup, you don't waste the liqud, and all is well in the world.
We're going green here...
After the veggies have cooked for the half hour or so, check to see if the chestnuts are cooked, by piercing a few pieces with the tip of a sharp knife. If they fall apart, your're ready. Let the mess cool, because it's very hot, and you're about to puree this.
Fill your food process no more than half, and try to get an equal quantity of liquid and solid in the vessel. Puree for a few minutes. You will get a soft, dark brown puree. If it's too thick, don't worry. We can fix that. Probably, you did what Annalena does a lot, and used too many solids. Well, if that's the case, you'll have too much liquid in the remainder. And that's a good thing. Just keep on pureeing until you've done all of the soup. Check the texture. Too thick for you? Puree it again (that's what I did). And if it's STILL too thick, add some liquid. Taste it. See if you need some salt. Add it if you do, and then stir in the farro, which will be cool now, and will stop absorbing liquid. You'll have a LOT here - almost two quarts.
Now, onto the apple and honey. To my taste, it needs no apple, to Guy's taste it does. So we will add chopped, skinned apple to the soup beore we eat it. Not sure about the honey, but go easy.
If you go through this recipe, you will see room for variation beyond what I have written. For example, I would bet that if you have some left over cooked beans, they would take the place of the farro nicely. I also think you could add some hearty meat to this with no problem. Maybe some dairy for a richer soup? Play with it. Make some variations. Tell Annalena what you've done. Don't be strangers.
Ok, now onto food. Just before going, we visited one of our favorite haunts, Barbuto (there is no pun intended in writing about haunts on Halloween, believe me). They had a soup on the menu that appealed to the Guyman: chestnut farro soup with apple and honey.
Guy looked at me and said "well, you know how I can' resist anything with chestnuts in it."
Uh, no, I didn't. I was skeptical of the soup: chestnuts have a sweetness to them, as do apples, and honey? Well... But onward we went. The sweetness was actually quite muted, almost not there. It was a hearty, rich soup, that immediately presented itself to me as something that Annalena could copy.
And she did. And now, I want you to copy it too.
First, let us start with the most salient ingredient: the chestnuts. For all of us who enjoy chestnuts, the advent of vacuum packed, peeled, cooked chestnuts have changed our autumnal and winter cooking. If you have ever stained, burned, or otherwise damaged your manicure working with the "real" things, you will know what I mean. So, buy these things. They do not need refrigeration. For my recipe, get about a pound's worth of them.
You will also need some farro. Now, there is a dispute in the cooking world as to whether farro and spelt are the same. My view is that they are not; however, cooks do debate this extensively. If they are not the same, they are close enough that you could use spelt in place of faro. So, ragazzi, here's what you do: put a quantity of farro under a liquid in a 1:4 ratio. That is more liquid than you will need, but that is ok. Bear with me, and you will learn why. Add some salt, cover your pot, but leave a vent space, because the farro produces a starch which bubbles t othe top and makes a mess. You only need about a cup or cup and a half of cooked farro for this soup, but make extra. It is a terrific side dish, a wonderful addition to salad, and you can also eat it for breakfast as a cereal.
while that farro is cooking, get your basic soup veggies ready: equal quanitites of chopped celery, carrots, and an onion family member. I had a bunch of lovely leeks in the fridge, and I used one of them. Use an onion if you don't, or mix, or use what you've got. Put some olive oil in a soup pot, and add the veggies, together with a teaspoon or so of salt, and let them cook, w hile you prep the chestnuts.
How do you prep the chestnuts? It's absurdly easy. Get them out of the bag and break them up with your hands. Then add them to the vegetables, and stir everything together, with another teaspoon of salt. After a few minutes, no more than five, add a quart of liquid. I used chicken stock, but you could use vegetable, or water, and I think you'll be ok. Chestnuts are nice and rich and they thicken a soup in the same way that potatoes do. Cover the pot, and let this cook away for about half an hour.
Taste your farro. It will never be as soft as rice, but when it's "toothsome," it's done. Strain it through a colander, so that the liquid is saved because... you're gonna add this right to the soup. the starch gives some body to the soup, you don't waste the liqud, and all is well in the world.
We're going green here...
After the veggies have cooked for the half hour or so, check to see if the chestnuts are cooked, by piercing a few pieces with the tip of a sharp knife. If they fall apart, your're ready. Let the mess cool, because it's very hot, and you're about to puree this.
Fill your food process no more than half, and try to get an equal quantity of liquid and solid in the vessel. Puree for a few minutes. You will get a soft, dark brown puree. If it's too thick, don't worry. We can fix that. Probably, you did what Annalena does a lot, and used too many solids. Well, if that's the case, you'll have too much liquid in the remainder. And that's a good thing. Just keep on pureeing until you've done all of the soup. Check the texture. Too thick for you? Puree it again (that's what I did). And if it's STILL too thick, add some liquid. Taste it. See if you need some salt. Add it if you do, and then stir in the farro, which will be cool now, and will stop absorbing liquid. You'll have a LOT here - almost two quarts.
Now, onto the apple and honey. To my taste, it needs no apple, to Guy's taste it does. So we will add chopped, skinned apple to the soup beore we eat it. Not sure about the honey, but go easy.
If you go through this recipe, you will see room for variation beyond what I have written. For example, I would bet that if you have some left over cooked beans, they would take the place of the farro nicely. I also think you could add some hearty meat to this with no problem. Maybe some dairy for a richer soup? Play with it. Make some variations. Tell Annalena what you've done. Don't be strangers.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Chop chop: Veal chops beau sejour
For decades, the New York Times Cookbook has been a mainstay in homes, mine included. Some have described it as a more sophisticated, or a more "East Coast" version of "The Joy of Cooking." Whatever. I used to spend hours when I was a young kid, reading the recipes. I would marvel at the intricacy of some of them: the book included a recipe that taught how to make a gallontine of turkey: you boned it, and filled it with a stuffing that included lots of good things, wrapped it in cheesecloth, steamed it, baked it, etc, etc, etc. I remember beautiful photos of things like eggs in aspic with chervil leaves - even though I had no idea what a chervil leaf was.
Books go out of print, recipes go out of style, but editions stick around. Compare different editions of "The Joy of Cooking," for example. Now, they don't include the directions for prepping squirrel for stew. They used to have wonderful instructions for prepping soft shell crabs, which included a line "cutting away the face," which made me HOWL.
But enough of that book: back to the NY Times cookbook. A new edition is out, under the hand of Amanda Hesser.
Prejudices right up front: I do not like Ms. Hesser's style. I have read her for years. I find her a snob. I find her arrogant, and I find her attitude of "well, you may not be able to do this, but I can" more than a bit too much. But the book, while it carries her imprint on it, is about recipes that the Times has printed and acquired over the years. And this is one of them. I was drawn to it right away, and it's good. I'm going to try it again, with pork chops.
I should tell you I have no idea what "sejour" means, which of course in turn means that people will run to google for this and I will hear from you. Great. Please tell me. And I will tell you how to make this wonderfully easy, delicious recipe, and I will in turn, be catty about the way it is presented.
The recipe calls for six, rack veal chops, 1.5 inches thick, frenched.
Right. A veal chop is about 20 bucks. SO, do the math. Also, the recipe calls for using a pan large enough to hold all six chops. Now, Annalena has a lot of large pans. She could never do six veal chops in one pan. So, here is my advice: do two of them. Keep this as a special occasion dish.
Fill a bag with about a half cup of flour, and a teaspoon of salt. Shake it, and then add the chops, so that they are covered with flour (the recipe says "dredge the chops." If you don't know what this means...).
Now, get 1/4 cup of vegetable oil and 4 tablespoons of butter in your pan, and heat them at medium heat until the butter melts. Add the chops, and brown them. It will probably take about 8 minutes, and get a GOOD sear on them. (Incidentally, these proportions ARE for six chops. Don't worry. When you're doing something like a pan sauce and you're cutting the amount of protein, don't cut the sauce back).
Ok, now that the chops are browned, add six whole cloves of peeled garlic, and press one bay leaf into each chop. Add a few sprigs of fresh thyme to the pan, or a teaspoon of dried, and then cover the pan, lower the heat, and go away for twenty minutes.
When that time has elapsed, uncover the pan, take the chops and put them on a plate. Add 2 tablespoons of red wine vinegar. Move your face back, and stir, until the vinegar evaporates. Won't take long. Then add a half cup of chicken stock and a quarter cup of water. Raise the heat to high, and cook this all down until you have tablespoons of liquid left. It will be rich and syrupy. Strain the solids (those herb bits and the garlic), out of the liquid, or just spoon it out, over the chops, and serve them forth.
This is good. Expensive, but good. That's why I'm trying it with pork chops this week. I bet you could substitute balsamic vinegar for the red wine vinegar too, and I'm going to do that. Maybe I'll give you an update. Maybe you'll try this and come up with some ideas of your own. Please do, and let Annalena know.
Books go out of print, recipes go out of style, but editions stick around. Compare different editions of "The Joy of Cooking," for example. Now, they don't include the directions for prepping squirrel for stew. They used to have wonderful instructions for prepping soft shell crabs, which included a line "cutting away the face," which made me HOWL.
But enough of that book: back to the NY Times cookbook. A new edition is out, under the hand of Amanda Hesser.
Prejudices right up front: I do not like Ms. Hesser's style. I have read her for years. I find her a snob. I find her arrogant, and I find her attitude of "well, you may not be able to do this, but I can" more than a bit too much. But the book, while it carries her imprint on it, is about recipes that the Times has printed and acquired over the years. And this is one of them. I was drawn to it right away, and it's good. I'm going to try it again, with pork chops.
I should tell you I have no idea what "sejour" means, which of course in turn means that people will run to google for this and I will hear from you. Great. Please tell me. And I will tell you how to make this wonderfully easy, delicious recipe, and I will in turn, be catty about the way it is presented.
The recipe calls for six, rack veal chops, 1.5 inches thick, frenched.
Right. A veal chop is about 20 bucks. SO, do the math. Also, the recipe calls for using a pan large enough to hold all six chops. Now, Annalena has a lot of large pans. She could never do six veal chops in one pan. So, here is my advice: do two of them. Keep this as a special occasion dish.
Fill a bag with about a half cup of flour, and a teaspoon of salt. Shake it, and then add the chops, so that they are covered with flour (the recipe says "dredge the chops." If you don't know what this means...).
Now, get 1/4 cup of vegetable oil and 4 tablespoons of butter in your pan, and heat them at medium heat until the butter melts. Add the chops, and brown them. It will probably take about 8 minutes, and get a GOOD sear on them. (Incidentally, these proportions ARE for six chops. Don't worry. When you're doing something like a pan sauce and you're cutting the amount of protein, don't cut the sauce back).
Ok, now that the chops are browned, add six whole cloves of peeled garlic, and press one bay leaf into each chop. Add a few sprigs of fresh thyme to the pan, or a teaspoon of dried, and then cover the pan, lower the heat, and go away for twenty minutes.
When that time has elapsed, uncover the pan, take the chops and put them on a plate. Add 2 tablespoons of red wine vinegar. Move your face back, and stir, until the vinegar evaporates. Won't take long. Then add a half cup of chicken stock and a quarter cup of water. Raise the heat to high, and cook this all down until you have tablespoons of liquid left. It will be rich and syrupy. Strain the solids (those herb bits and the garlic), out of the liquid, or just spoon it out, over the chops, and serve them forth.
This is good. Expensive, but good. That's why I'm trying it with pork chops this week. I bet you could substitute balsamic vinegar for the red wine vinegar too, and I'm going to do that. Maybe I'll give you an update. Maybe you'll try this and come up with some ideas of your own. Please do, and let Annalena know.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
This one's for you: piquillo pepper hot sauce
I have a weakness for Barry Manilow.
DONT JUDGE. Fess up. You do too. Every single one of us knows we're not supposed to like him, we're not supposed to listen to him. But we do. You might think of him as the "junk food" of pop music, as someone once called him, but fess up again: you've closed the door and eaten a twinkie, or a bag of cheez doodles (that'd be me), or a cylinder of pringles (YUCH). And you have a favorite Barry Manilow song. I KNOW you do. Or, you can't make up your mind which one is your favorite, and you've got a couple of them.
For Annalena, the faves are "Weekend in New England," and "Mandy." "Mandy has associations for me with my dear Aunt. She was working in a pottery store, and I used to go and visit. One day "Mandy" was playing in the background. She was all alone, but for me, and just the way she looked, I thought Barry was singing about her.
"Weekend in New England?" AH. Listen to it sometime. I always think about my dear friends, the ones with whom I "dance the dance," and all of you boys out there KNOW what I mean by that: not flirting, not "bumping," but thinking "what if..." And then leaving and thinking "when will our eyes meet... when will this long journey end," but moreso "When, will I see you again?"
When, will I see you, again? Look at the comma placements. They're important. I think about them all the time. I think this line a lot for one particular friend, to whom I'm dedicating this. I won't tell you who because, to be honest, it is none of your business (sorry to be so curt). But he makes my life better. He makes me HAPPY. What else can you ask? Well:
When, will I see you, again? I have been thinking about him all day, for various reasons, and when I came home , and made this, I thought of this again because, you see, he insists he can't cook.
Well, there's no cooking here. And there's everything in it that you like. So, you make it. Or I'll make it for you and bring you some "when I see you, again?" How's that.
Piquillo peppers are a product of Spain. They have never been grown successfully in the United States. Given the stupid export laws, we don't get them fresh here, we get them jarred. Under salt water, or olive oil, whatever. I'm sure they're not nearly as good as the "real thing," how could they be? But they ARE good.
Now, if you don't have them, you can do this with GOOD quality Italian peppers that have been roasted and jarred. Use it when you want a sauce who's heat you can adjust, (when is that NOT the case), and then refrigerate it, and dole it out. I made it to put over some romesco broccoli (one of my friend's faves), and it will work there, as it will , with many things.
Get a jar of piquillo , or other good quality peppers, and drain the liquid off of them. Put them in a blender. Add one, or two, chopped jalapeno peppers. I used two, and I was lucky to score some red jalapenos at the farmers market this week (incidentally, red jalapenos are simply RIPE green jalapenos). Two will make the sauce incendiary. One will make it pleasantly hot. If you are one of those folks who really love hot food, leave in the seeds.
Puree the stuff. It won't take long. Maybe two minutes. Taste it. Forget about the heat for a minute. You want to adjust for salt. And you're done.
Or are you? When I thought I was finished, I saw a bowl of grape tomatoes that were sitting there, waiting to go bad and make me feel rotten for wasting food. Peppers and tomatoes? I'm not the first one to come up with that combination. In they went. And the sauce is better. But if you don't have them, don't fret.
On broccoli, or other green vegetables. Stirred into bland soup. Are you an egg eater? Omelets. Rice? Of course. Pizzza? DAMN that sounds good.
And you know what, sweetheart? You said you couldn't cook. Well, I KNOW you got a blender and you're gonna make this, because I'm giving you the peppers. And you're gonna bring me some, and I'm gonna smile broader than I smile all day.
This one's for you. The next one better be for me.
DONT JUDGE. Fess up. You do too. Every single one of us knows we're not supposed to like him, we're not supposed to listen to him. But we do. You might think of him as the "junk food" of pop music, as someone once called him, but fess up again: you've closed the door and eaten a twinkie, or a bag of cheez doodles (that'd be me), or a cylinder of pringles (YUCH). And you have a favorite Barry Manilow song. I KNOW you do. Or, you can't make up your mind which one is your favorite, and you've got a couple of them.
For Annalena, the faves are "Weekend in New England," and "Mandy." "Mandy has associations for me with my dear Aunt. She was working in a pottery store, and I used to go and visit. One day "Mandy" was playing in the background. She was all alone, but for me, and just the way she looked, I thought Barry was singing about her.
"Weekend in New England?" AH. Listen to it sometime. I always think about my dear friends, the ones with whom I "dance the dance," and all of you boys out there KNOW what I mean by that: not flirting, not "bumping," but thinking "what if..." And then leaving and thinking "when will our eyes meet... when will this long journey end," but moreso "When, will I see you again?"
When, will I see you, again? Look at the comma placements. They're important. I think about them all the time. I think this line a lot for one particular friend, to whom I'm dedicating this. I won't tell you who because, to be honest, it is none of your business (sorry to be so curt). But he makes my life better. He makes me HAPPY. What else can you ask? Well:
When, will I see you, again? I have been thinking about him all day, for various reasons, and when I came home , and made this, I thought of this again because, you see, he insists he can't cook.
Well, there's no cooking here. And there's everything in it that you like. So, you make it. Or I'll make it for you and bring you some "when I see you, again?" How's that.
Piquillo peppers are a product of Spain. They have never been grown successfully in the United States. Given the stupid export laws, we don't get them fresh here, we get them jarred. Under salt water, or olive oil, whatever. I'm sure they're not nearly as good as the "real thing," how could they be? But they ARE good.
Now, if you don't have them, you can do this with GOOD quality Italian peppers that have been roasted and jarred. Use it when you want a sauce who's heat you can adjust, (when is that NOT the case), and then refrigerate it, and dole it out. I made it to put over some romesco broccoli (one of my friend's faves), and it will work there, as it will , with many things.
Get a jar of piquillo , or other good quality peppers, and drain the liquid off of them. Put them in a blender. Add one, or two, chopped jalapeno peppers. I used two, and I was lucky to score some red jalapenos at the farmers market this week (incidentally, red jalapenos are simply RIPE green jalapenos). Two will make the sauce incendiary. One will make it pleasantly hot. If you are one of those folks who really love hot food, leave in the seeds.
Puree the stuff. It won't take long. Maybe two minutes. Taste it. Forget about the heat for a minute. You want to adjust for salt. And you're done.
Or are you? When I thought I was finished, I saw a bowl of grape tomatoes that were sitting there, waiting to go bad and make me feel rotten for wasting food. Peppers and tomatoes? I'm not the first one to come up with that combination. In they went. And the sauce is better. But if you don't have them, don't fret.
On broccoli, or other green vegetables. Stirred into bland soup. Are you an egg eater? Omelets. Rice? Of course. Pizzza? DAMN that sounds good.
And you know what, sweetheart? You said you couldn't cook. Well, I KNOW you got a blender and you're gonna make this, because I'm giving you the peppers. And you're gonna bring me some, and I'm gonna smile broader than I smile all day.
This one's for you. The next one better be for me.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Pumpkin soup, or Annalena give up the can
One of Annalena's basic rules of the kitchen is: make it yourself UNLESS: the effort involved, relative to the product, is so high that it doesn't make sense to make it yourself. Corollary to this: if you can buy it as a natural product, better than you can make it yourself, at a reasonable price, buy it. This is why Annalena does not make her own pasta, but makes her own bread. It's why she makes her own ice cream, but buys candy. And it has been why , for pumpkin, Annalena has relied on canned organic stuff for years.
Have any of you out there ever COOKED a pumpkin? If you did, how long did it take to recover from the burns, the cuts, and how many times did you say, out loud or in silence "never again?" Hmmmm. I see some shaking of heads in acknowledgement there. Those of you who may be made of strong stuff, might have switched to things like butternut or acorn squash, and gave up cooking pumpkin alltogether. I bet I know why: you used those big "jack o'lantern" pumpkins. Annalena knows: you get so much water, after way too much effort in cutting this big mosnter vegetbale down to a small, reasonable size. Then it bakes forever. You get massive amounts of liquid that spill. You then have to wait forever for it to cool, and by the time you scrape the skin away, and collect the stringy, messy pulp.. then you look at the cans of organic pumpkin at 2 bucks each and decide it's worth it.
I was in that camp. Until this weekend. Filled with a sense of ambition that I rarely have, I decided to give it a shot, with a smaller version of pumpkin: the so-called "cheese" or "milk" pumpkin. Google them for a picture. Where jack o lanterns are most certainly orange, these pumpkins are beige. They are also much smaller. A medium to large one, is probably about five pounds. Yes, the skin is still thick, but nowhere near as thick as the standard variety. And a five pound pumpkin will give you about 3 cups of pulp. Still skimpy, but... what you'll find is that the product is much paler, and much gentler than what you can buy. SO, let's cook some pumpkin.
Get a five pound milk/cheese pumpkin. Get your heaviest knife and cut down, vertically, to get two halves. Then, hack the halves into manageable pieces. Dont' worry about evenness or anything else, just chunk it up. Then, lay them on a parchment lined baking sheet, cover the whole thing with foil, and put it in a 400 degree oven and walk away for an hour. Yup, it still takes a while, and yup, you will still have to wait until it cooks, when it comes out of the oven. The pulp, however, is very thick, and you will not get the tons of liquid that you may have experienced. The skin will peel away easily when it's cool. Then just put all that pulp in a blender and puree it. You will get a wonderful pale pink vegetable.
You can use this anywhere you would use squash or pumpkin, but let's make Annalena's soup. Chop up a couple of small leeks and a small onion. Add a few chopped up carrots, and a fennel bulb or some celery ribs. Or both.
The standard wisdom says that you use butter when making a squash based soup. I prefer vegetable oil. Your call. Cover the bottom of a five quart soup pot with the oil, and then add the veggies. Bring it to medium heat, and cook away until they begin to soften. When they do, add a good teaspoon of salt. Stir that all together, and then add a quart of chicken stock. Finally, add that pumpkin. 3 cups of it please. Stir it all together, lower the heat, and go away for thirty minutes.
Turn off the heat, let it cool, and then, spin the whole thing in the blender again. This second pureeing seems to release a thickening agent from the pumpkin. It won't be apparent right away, but if you let it cool, you will have a thick product that will remind you of a thick cream soup.
This is rather bland. You will need to add the spices you like. You can go sweet, with things like cinammon, but how about being adventurous, with something like a hot pepper, diced up? Maybe some bacon or sausage if you are so inclined?
I suggest you NOT follow the standard procedure for this kind of thing, which would be to add dairy. The dairy will cut down the flavor of the pumpkin even further, and you really do not want that.
This is going to give you about a quart and a half of soup. More than enough to share. Share it. And add something new to your cooking repertoire.
Have any of you out there ever COOKED a pumpkin? If you did, how long did it take to recover from the burns, the cuts, and how many times did you say, out loud or in silence "never again?" Hmmmm. I see some shaking of heads in acknowledgement there. Those of you who may be made of strong stuff, might have switched to things like butternut or acorn squash, and gave up cooking pumpkin alltogether. I bet I know why: you used those big "jack o'lantern" pumpkins. Annalena knows: you get so much water, after way too much effort in cutting this big mosnter vegetbale down to a small, reasonable size. Then it bakes forever. You get massive amounts of liquid that spill. You then have to wait forever for it to cool, and by the time you scrape the skin away, and collect the stringy, messy pulp.. then you look at the cans of organic pumpkin at 2 bucks each and decide it's worth it.
I was in that camp. Until this weekend. Filled with a sense of ambition that I rarely have, I decided to give it a shot, with a smaller version of pumpkin: the so-called "cheese" or "milk" pumpkin. Google them for a picture. Where jack o lanterns are most certainly orange, these pumpkins are beige. They are also much smaller. A medium to large one, is probably about five pounds. Yes, the skin is still thick, but nowhere near as thick as the standard variety. And a five pound pumpkin will give you about 3 cups of pulp. Still skimpy, but... what you'll find is that the product is much paler, and much gentler than what you can buy. SO, let's cook some pumpkin.
Get a five pound milk/cheese pumpkin. Get your heaviest knife and cut down, vertically, to get two halves. Then, hack the halves into manageable pieces. Dont' worry about evenness or anything else, just chunk it up. Then, lay them on a parchment lined baking sheet, cover the whole thing with foil, and put it in a 400 degree oven and walk away for an hour. Yup, it still takes a while, and yup, you will still have to wait until it cooks, when it comes out of the oven. The pulp, however, is very thick, and you will not get the tons of liquid that you may have experienced. The skin will peel away easily when it's cool. Then just put all that pulp in a blender and puree it. You will get a wonderful pale pink vegetable.
You can use this anywhere you would use squash or pumpkin, but let's make Annalena's soup. Chop up a couple of small leeks and a small onion. Add a few chopped up carrots, and a fennel bulb or some celery ribs. Or both.
The standard wisdom says that you use butter when making a squash based soup. I prefer vegetable oil. Your call. Cover the bottom of a five quart soup pot with the oil, and then add the veggies. Bring it to medium heat, and cook away until they begin to soften. When they do, add a good teaspoon of salt. Stir that all together, and then add a quart of chicken stock. Finally, add that pumpkin. 3 cups of it please. Stir it all together, lower the heat, and go away for thirty minutes.
Turn off the heat, let it cool, and then, spin the whole thing in the blender again. This second pureeing seems to release a thickening agent from the pumpkin. It won't be apparent right away, but if you let it cool, you will have a thick product that will remind you of a thick cream soup.
This is rather bland. You will need to add the spices you like. You can go sweet, with things like cinammon, but how about being adventurous, with something like a hot pepper, diced up? Maybe some bacon or sausage if you are so inclined?
I suggest you NOT follow the standard procedure for this kind of thing, which would be to add dairy. The dairy will cut down the flavor of the pumpkin even further, and you really do not want that.
This is going to give you about a quart and a half of soup. More than enough to share. Share it. And add something new to your cooking repertoire.
"But Custard Still Cries for a Nice Safe Cage": salted caramel budino
I don't quite know WHY it stuck with me, but years ago, in grammar school, when we had "readers," there was an optional poem called "Custard the Dragon." It was the tale of a cowardly dragon. How cowardly was he? Well, besides being named "Custard," people teased him by calling him Perceval. Now THAT's a cowardly dragon: I mean, if you don't take someone out for calling you Perceval. REALLY.
Years ago, there was an experiment, published in some book of literary criticism: they took the authorship off of poems and then handed them to people and asked them to judge. Then, they took the same poems, put the authors' names on them, and saw what people thought.
You know what happened , right? Well, anonymous Shakespeare didn't do so well. Neither did Mr. Keats. But country priests? Yup.. And so on. Well, I mention this because, while I remembered the silly poem, I didn't know the author. You can look it up from the line, but I'll tell you: Ogden Nash. Go and read it. It will make you smile. I promise.
So, too, will making this custard. I believe that if you eat it, it will make you smile too. I did not eat it. I served it to the puppies and to my heart man last night. I saw what I thought were huge portions disappear before me, with smiles. And that was with cold custard , out of the fridge. When I eat it, I want it warm. Do it either way, but do this. It's everything you could want: it's easy, it's not expensive, and it's rather different in a nice kind of way. What I am putting forth is supposed to serve four. These are BIG portions, but they disappeared in front of me, even my "Guy" devoured his. You make the call.
First, let's make some salted caramel. Get a heavy pan, with high sides. A 3 quart sauce pan is good. If you are lucky enough to have one that is a light color, use it here, so you can watch the caramel change color. Combine a quarter cup of granulated sugar, a tablespoon of corn syrup (the light one) and three tablespoons of water. Heat t his to a boil, on HIGH heat, swirling it from time to time. When making caramel, NEVER stir the thing. Not a good idea. You will spoil the process. Trust me. Anyway, after about 3 minutes, the stuff will go to amber. When it does, take it off the heat, and add a quarter cup of dairy. You can use heavy cream, light cream, whole milk, half and half. You're going to be using a lot more half and half here, so maybe you should buy a quart, and use that. Keep your face back, it's gonna sputter hard. Now add two tablespoons of unsalted butter, and heavy teaspoon of flaky sea salt. This is important. MAKE SURE you use the flakier kind. THe texture will come out, as you'll see. Finally, add a pinch of vanilla extract, but not too much. NOW you can whisk. If, as happened to me, the mixture seizes, i.e, you get solid clumps, put it over the heat to melt, and NOW stir with a whisk. Pour this all off into a bowl, while you make the custard proper.
For this, you will need a couple of tablespoons of maple syrup. For some reason, they call the good stuff - the dark stuff - grade "B". Buy some grade B maple syrup. You will be glad you did. You will save money, it tastes SO much better than the wimpy pale one, and you will transform what you cook with it. Put this in a pot - maybe even the pot in which you made the caramel - with a half cup of brown sugar - either lght or dar, and a quarter cup of water. Add a teaspoon of regular salt. Turn the heat to medium and start bringing this to a boil. Stir it every now and then.
While that's getting warm, mix up two egg yolks and a whole egg, and add three tabelspoons of cornstarch to it. Stir it to a paste.
Ok, when the stuff you're heating comes to a boil, take it off the heat, and add at least 2 cups of half and half, preferably 2.5. If you don't have enough, you can make it up with whole milk. Now add that egg/cornstarch slurry. Whisk it all together, lower the heat, and put this on the flame.
DON'T go away. Just keep whisking. After about five minutes, you will see an amazing transformation as this turns from liquid, to a thick, viscous solid.
You just made custard!
Pour this into the "appropriate" sized serving dish you want, and then pour the caramel over it. Either let it cool to warm, or refrigerate it, or whatever you want to do.
My original recipe says to serve it with whipped cream. If you want to, by all means. To me, I think it looks just fine as it is. It comes out looking a bit like a dessert version of mashed potatoes and gravy. Nuthin wrong with that.
Perceval, you're an ok dragon in my book
Years ago, there was an experiment, published in some book of literary criticism: they took the authorship off of poems and then handed them to people and asked them to judge. Then, they took the same poems, put the authors' names on them, and saw what people thought.
You know what happened , right? Well, anonymous Shakespeare didn't do so well. Neither did Mr. Keats. But country priests? Yup.. And so on. Well, I mention this because, while I remembered the silly poem, I didn't know the author. You can look it up from the line, but I'll tell you: Ogden Nash. Go and read it. It will make you smile. I promise.
So, too, will making this custard. I believe that if you eat it, it will make you smile too. I did not eat it. I served it to the puppies and to my heart man last night. I saw what I thought were huge portions disappear before me, with smiles. And that was with cold custard , out of the fridge. When I eat it, I want it warm. Do it either way, but do this. It's everything you could want: it's easy, it's not expensive, and it's rather different in a nice kind of way. What I am putting forth is supposed to serve four. These are BIG portions, but they disappeared in front of me, even my "Guy" devoured his. You make the call.
First, let's make some salted caramel. Get a heavy pan, with high sides. A 3 quart sauce pan is good. If you are lucky enough to have one that is a light color, use it here, so you can watch the caramel change color. Combine a quarter cup of granulated sugar, a tablespoon of corn syrup (the light one) and three tablespoons of water. Heat t his to a boil, on HIGH heat, swirling it from time to time. When making caramel, NEVER stir the thing. Not a good idea. You will spoil the process. Trust me. Anyway, after about 3 minutes, the stuff will go to amber. When it does, take it off the heat, and add a quarter cup of dairy. You can use heavy cream, light cream, whole milk, half and half. You're going to be using a lot more half and half here, so maybe you should buy a quart, and use that. Keep your face back, it's gonna sputter hard. Now add two tablespoons of unsalted butter, and heavy teaspoon of flaky sea salt. This is important. MAKE SURE you use the flakier kind. THe texture will come out, as you'll see. Finally, add a pinch of vanilla extract, but not too much. NOW you can whisk. If, as happened to me, the mixture seizes, i.e, you get solid clumps, put it over the heat to melt, and NOW stir with a whisk. Pour this all off into a bowl, while you make the custard proper.
For this, you will need a couple of tablespoons of maple syrup. For some reason, they call the good stuff - the dark stuff - grade "B". Buy some grade B maple syrup. You will be glad you did. You will save money, it tastes SO much better than the wimpy pale one, and you will transform what you cook with it. Put this in a pot - maybe even the pot in which you made the caramel - with a half cup of brown sugar - either lght or dar, and a quarter cup of water. Add a teaspoon of regular salt. Turn the heat to medium and start bringing this to a boil. Stir it every now and then.
While that's getting warm, mix up two egg yolks and a whole egg, and add three tabelspoons of cornstarch to it. Stir it to a paste.
Ok, when the stuff you're heating comes to a boil, take it off the heat, and add at least 2 cups of half and half, preferably 2.5. If you don't have enough, you can make it up with whole milk. Now add that egg/cornstarch slurry. Whisk it all together, lower the heat, and put this on the flame.
DON'T go away. Just keep whisking. After about five minutes, you will see an amazing transformation as this turns from liquid, to a thick, viscous solid.
You just made custard!
Pour this into the "appropriate" sized serving dish you want, and then pour the caramel over it. Either let it cool to warm, or refrigerate it, or whatever you want to do.
My original recipe says to serve it with whipped cream. If you want to, by all means. To me, I think it looks just fine as it is. It comes out looking a bit like a dessert version of mashed potatoes and gravy. Nuthin wrong with that.
Perceval, you're an ok dragon in my book
Sunday, October 17, 2010
I am NOT a chicken hawk: mutton shanks
I just wrote about baby chickens, right? Ok, just so you guys don't get the wrong idea... I don't , I really don't.
Oh, never mind. To the point of this: mutton. I buy our lamb from the lovely lady who runs Three Corners Farm, Ms. Karen. She's not at all like Karen on "Will and Grace," although let's face it, the idea of that Karen selling lamb chops is kind of funny. Her lamb is incredibly good. Very sweet, very clean tasting.
Last year, she asked me if I wanted to try some mutton. I did not. I was in an "if it ain't broke, don't fix it," kind of mode. And Karen left it alone. Until last week.
The weather has been getting cold, and I was feeling in the mood for a braise. So, I stopped by Ms. Karen's stand, looking for lamb shanks. She smiled. "How about trying some mutton shanks?" I thought about it, thought about it and then said "Sure, why not?"
She came back with four MONSTROUS pieces of meat. Folks, I have to say, these could have been props from "The Flintstones." We were talking and she remembered how she had told me, about her lamb "don't stew it as long as you do conventional lamb, it doesn't need it," and she was, of course, right. "Well, Norman, these you CAN stew for four hours or longer."
Indeed, you can. And I did. And the results, honestly, are wonderful. For the recipe that follows, substitute lamb if you just can't find, or can't handle the idea of cooking, mutton, and just cook for a lesser amount of time.
The night before you're going to cook, salt four shanks and put them in your fridge, uncovered, overnight. The day of cooking, chop up two onions. Peel, but leave whole, about six cloves of garlic. You should also consider a few branches of rosemary and some thyme (you can't put enough thyme into this recipe), as essential. A few ribs of celery, chopped, and maybe a carrot.
Preheat your oven to 300, and then get a pot that will be big enough to hold all of the shanks in one layer hot, with a few tablespoons of olive oil. Get the oil REALLY hot, and brown the meat well. This is going to take you between 10 and 15 minutes to do. The oil is going to look BLACK as you finish. You may need to do it in a couple of batches, and that's ok.
Pour off most of the fat, leaving about a tablespoon. Add your vegetables, and some salt, and cook them until they just begin to wilt. Put the lamb on top of the veggies, cover them with chicken stock, cover the pot, and put it in that slow oven and LEAVE IT ALONE for at least two hours for the mutton, an hour for the lamb.
While they are cooking, get a winter squash. I had a kabocha from Nevia, but a small pumpkin, or a butternut squash, or a small hubbard would work. Peel it (no easy feat, let me tell you), seed it, by cutting away the guts (you know what I mean), and add the chunks of squash to the meat, in the last hour or so of cooking.
The meat will either just come off the bones (for mutton), or will fall off (for lamb), and the squash will be nice and tender. It's a good compliment to the stronger tasting lamb. If you can, let the dish sit and refrigerate overnight, and scrape off the accumulated fat at the top.
For reasons I cannot quite fathom, I cannot imagine serving this with anything other than barley, so barley it will be. Maybe you will have a different idea. I think leftovers will probably make a wonderful "ragu" of sorts for pasta, but how about sharing the dish with a friend or two?
Oh, never mind. To the point of this: mutton. I buy our lamb from the lovely lady who runs Three Corners Farm, Ms. Karen. She's not at all like Karen on "Will and Grace," although let's face it, the idea of that Karen selling lamb chops is kind of funny. Her lamb is incredibly good. Very sweet, very clean tasting.
Last year, she asked me if I wanted to try some mutton. I did not. I was in an "if it ain't broke, don't fix it," kind of mode. And Karen left it alone. Until last week.
The weather has been getting cold, and I was feeling in the mood for a braise. So, I stopped by Ms. Karen's stand, looking for lamb shanks. She smiled. "How about trying some mutton shanks?" I thought about it, thought about it and then said "Sure, why not?"
She came back with four MONSTROUS pieces of meat. Folks, I have to say, these could have been props from "The Flintstones." We were talking and she remembered how she had told me, about her lamb "don't stew it as long as you do conventional lamb, it doesn't need it," and she was, of course, right. "Well, Norman, these you CAN stew for four hours or longer."
Indeed, you can. And I did. And the results, honestly, are wonderful. For the recipe that follows, substitute lamb if you just can't find, or can't handle the idea of cooking, mutton, and just cook for a lesser amount of time.
The night before you're going to cook, salt four shanks and put them in your fridge, uncovered, overnight. The day of cooking, chop up two onions. Peel, but leave whole, about six cloves of garlic. You should also consider a few branches of rosemary and some thyme (you can't put enough thyme into this recipe), as essential. A few ribs of celery, chopped, and maybe a carrot.
Preheat your oven to 300, and then get a pot that will be big enough to hold all of the shanks in one layer hot, with a few tablespoons of olive oil. Get the oil REALLY hot, and brown the meat well. This is going to take you between 10 and 15 minutes to do. The oil is going to look BLACK as you finish. You may need to do it in a couple of batches, and that's ok.
Pour off most of the fat, leaving about a tablespoon. Add your vegetables, and some salt, and cook them until they just begin to wilt. Put the lamb on top of the veggies, cover them with chicken stock, cover the pot, and put it in that slow oven and LEAVE IT ALONE for at least two hours for the mutton, an hour for the lamb.
While they are cooking, get a winter squash. I had a kabocha from Nevia, but a small pumpkin, or a butternut squash, or a small hubbard would work. Peel it (no easy feat, let me tell you), seed it, by cutting away the guts (you know what I mean), and add the chunks of squash to the meat, in the last hour or so of cooking.
The meat will either just come off the bones (for mutton), or will fall off (for lamb), and the squash will be nice and tender. It's a good compliment to the stronger tasting lamb. If you can, let the dish sit and refrigerate overnight, and scrape off the accumulated fat at the top.
For reasons I cannot quite fathom, I cannot imagine serving this with anything other than barley, so barley it will be. Maybe you will have a different idea. I think leftovers will probably make a wonderful "ragu" of sorts for pasta, but how about sharing the dish with a friend or two?
"You say game hen, and I say poussin": Provencal poussin
When I was in college, a century or two ago, one of the signs of "glamorous, exotic" eating was a rock cornish game hen. The name just made you feel you were eating something really odd and unusual. Almost inevitably served with wild rice, these little birds would come on your plate, almost always not as brown as they could have been ("the recipe said not to overcook them"), and looking very much like, well, a baby chicken.
I hated them. I always felt they were too much work for how they tasted. But, dutiful food snob in training, I made them. I served them. I ate them. And told everyone that they were an unusual bird.
Until, oh, about five years ago, when I was having dinner at my friend Jane's house. Her much missed father Warren was there. At the time, Warren was 91, spry and full of spit and vinegar as we would say. We were eating quail, another one of those baby birds. I went on this rambling monologue (easy to do at Janes, after bottle of wine number 7 or so) about game hens, until Warren said, in his deep, resonant baritone. "Well, not to disagree with the learned gentleman, but rock cornish game hens are baby chickens. That's all they are. And I should know, because I raised them."
OOPS. Of course he's right. I looked it up as soon as I got home (notwithstanding the fact that it was 2a.m. when I did). But I never cooked them. Instead, I started learning how to cook... poussin.
Know what poussin is? It's a baby chicken. It's a synonym for rock cornish game hen. The interesting thing, I learned, is that for game hens or poussins, since they are butchered so young, you don't have to worry about sex. The hormones haven't kicked in that make roosters tough.
This is REALLY a case of "he likes chicken, " I guess.
God, I hate the food business. The first time I had one of these birds was at "Jarnac" restaurant (no longer around, alas), where "whole roasted poussin with walnut butter," was a mainstay of the restaurant. I liked them. They were GOOD. I never cooked them at home though. Until last week. I had bought a bunch of them on sale from D'artagnan, thinking "I'll figure this out," and then Ariane posted a recipe. In fact, she posted two. And since each one took all of 12 minutes to cook (more on that below), what could go wrong? My whole roasted chicken takes an hour, so....
Ok, here's the one I made. It's easy, but you need to be patient. Get some fresh herbs. LOTS of them. Four tablespoons is not an unreasonable amount . More if you like. Also, 2-3 cloves of garlic, chopped up. Four tablespoons of balsamic vinegar. A teaspoon of salt, some crushed black pepper, and a tablespoon of olive oil. Mix all of that together.
Now, to the poussins. This mix is supposed to be enough for four of them. I made two, but I think it would coat four. "Spatchcock" the birds, if it hasn't been done for you already . (This is review. We've spatchcocked things before: cut out the backbone. That's all it is). Put the backless critters into a big plastic bag with the mix, stir it up, and put it in a bowl into your fridge, overnight. In the morning, just turn the guys so that the marinade is working evenly.
(I'm not much of a fan of marinades, by the way, but the meat on these birds is so mild that you really need to add some flavor).
When you're ready to cook, get a stovetop grill, or a frying pan, REALLY hot with some oil - say two tablespoons in it. Pour the marinade off of the birds, and it probably is a good idea to pat them dry. Put them, breast side down into the hot oil, and cook them for 6 minutes, or until they're nice and brown. (You may want to do it for more than 6 minutes. The timing here , six minutes to a side, gives a bird that is decidedly toward the sushi end of things. ). Turn them, and cook for another six minutes (or longer, and then drain them on some paper. If you have some fresh herbs left, chop some of them up while the birds are cooking, and sprinkle them on the finished chicken at the last minute. Serve em forth, maybe with parsley root puree.
Poussin/game hen/whatever. It's all good
I hated them. I always felt they were too much work for how they tasted. But, dutiful food snob in training, I made them. I served them. I ate them. And told everyone that they were an unusual bird.
Until, oh, about five years ago, when I was having dinner at my friend Jane's house. Her much missed father Warren was there. At the time, Warren was 91, spry and full of spit and vinegar as we would say. We were eating quail, another one of those baby birds. I went on this rambling monologue (easy to do at Janes, after bottle of wine number 7 or so) about game hens, until Warren said, in his deep, resonant baritone. "Well, not to disagree with the learned gentleman, but rock cornish game hens are baby chickens. That's all they are. And I should know, because I raised them."
OOPS. Of course he's right. I looked it up as soon as I got home (notwithstanding the fact that it was 2a.m. when I did). But I never cooked them. Instead, I started learning how to cook... poussin.
Know what poussin is? It's a baby chicken. It's a synonym for rock cornish game hen. The interesting thing, I learned, is that for game hens or poussins, since they are butchered so young, you don't have to worry about sex. The hormones haven't kicked in that make roosters tough.
This is REALLY a case of "he likes chicken, " I guess.
God, I hate the food business. The first time I had one of these birds was at "Jarnac" restaurant (no longer around, alas), where "whole roasted poussin with walnut butter," was a mainstay of the restaurant. I liked them. They were GOOD. I never cooked them at home though. Until last week. I had bought a bunch of them on sale from D'artagnan, thinking "I'll figure this out," and then Ariane posted a recipe. In fact, she posted two. And since each one took all of 12 minutes to cook (more on that below), what could go wrong? My whole roasted chicken takes an hour, so....
Ok, here's the one I made. It's easy, but you need to be patient. Get some fresh herbs. LOTS of them. Four tablespoons is not an unreasonable amount . More if you like. Also, 2-3 cloves of garlic, chopped up. Four tablespoons of balsamic vinegar. A teaspoon of salt, some crushed black pepper, and a tablespoon of olive oil. Mix all of that together.
Now, to the poussins. This mix is supposed to be enough for four of them. I made two, but I think it would coat four. "Spatchcock" the birds, if it hasn't been done for you already . (This is review. We've spatchcocked things before: cut out the backbone. That's all it is). Put the backless critters into a big plastic bag with the mix, stir it up, and put it in a bowl into your fridge, overnight. In the morning, just turn the guys so that the marinade is working evenly.
(I'm not much of a fan of marinades, by the way, but the meat on these birds is so mild that you really need to add some flavor).
When you're ready to cook, get a stovetop grill, or a frying pan, REALLY hot with some oil - say two tablespoons in it. Pour the marinade off of the birds, and it probably is a good idea to pat them dry. Put them, breast side down into the hot oil, and cook them for 6 minutes, or until they're nice and brown. (You may want to do it for more than 6 minutes. The timing here , six minutes to a side, gives a bird that is decidedly toward the sushi end of things. ). Turn them, and cook for another six minutes (or longer, and then drain them on some paper. If you have some fresh herbs left, chop some of them up while the birds are cooking, and sprinkle them on the finished chicken at the last minute. Serve em forth, maybe with parsley root puree.
Poussin/game hen/whatever. It's all good
Annalena learns a new vegetable: parsley root
Every now and then, I will see something that makes me sit back and say "Hmmm. Maybe." I'm talking COOKING here folks. Maybe other things too, but in this context, just cooking.
This happened to me this week. We were channel flipping, somewhat desultorily, and we happened on that cooking show, "Chopped."
I have to be honest, I really hate that show. You know the premise: the mystery basket, and make an appetizer/entree/first course, from an impossible group of ingredients. Sometimes it's fun to think "what would I do," but most times it's just like some of those exercises that the gym teachers in grade school used to give you: they are just being MEAN. And I cannot believe that some of these people are doing this... for WHAT? The top prize is 10,000., but is it really worth it for the humiliation? I saw chefs from two restaurants I know, go down in flames on the show we watched. Now, what do I do, say something, not say something? UGH.
Well, anyway, one of the ingredients on the show was parsley root. I will admit that I have seen this in the farmers market for years, and because it looks an awful lot like the dreaded parsnip, I have stayed away from it.
The dreaded parsnip? Yes, the dreaded parsnip. I dislike parsnips perhaps even more than brussel sprouts. No, not perhaps. MUCH more. So, based on looks, and of course, not knowing what to do with them, I left them alone.
Anyway, on the show, one of the cooks turned them into this incredibly white, beautiful puree that the judges were clearly enjoying. It looked so pretty.
Sort of like the beet and walnut pie I made that was just AWFUL. But, the thought was in my mind. I mean, if they were bad, I could just get rid of them.
Well, they weren't. Here's how I cooked them. But first... make sure you have parley root, and not parsnips. Smell them. Parsnips have an unmistakeable, almost rank odor. Parsley root just smells clean. Get medium sized roots (they'll look like white soup carrots), because you're gonna cut them down for this recipe. Start with about a pound, which for me was three good sized roots.
When you get them home, pare 'em, as if they were carrots (or parsnips, if you're so inclined), and then chop them into even sized bits. For the end bits, where they are narrow, this means just a cut or two. Up at the top, where they get REALLY thick, they will need to be diced a bit. Just go for evenness. Then, put them in a pot of cold water with some salt. Use lots of water, and a nice amount of salt. Bring them to a boil, and cook at medium heat, for awhile. Yeah, "awhile." No way of telling how long it's gonna take. I needed a good 45 minutes. You want them to be tender, but not so soft that you've got "moosh" in the pot. when they're at the right texture, scoop out about 2/3 of a cup of the water, and drain them. Put them back in the pot, and add about a half cup of milk and a good slug of butter. Just heat that until the butter melts.
Now, move the whole thing, together with the water, into a blender. If you have a "puree" button on the blender, this is the one you want. If you don't, use the highest speed you have. You will probably get a good amount of pureeing, and then nothing. That's why you have the milk bottle at your side. Add some more, in small amounts - no more than a quarter cup at a time - until you get a nice smooth and thick puree. Taste it. See if the texture is what you want. There are no "rules" for this, so if you like it softer and runnier, add lots of milk. If you like it chunkier, don't puree as much. Do get it smooth enough so you can pour it off though.
To my taste, there's a slight spiciness and nuttiness, and just the hint of a parsley flavor, and they look a whole lot like "mashed potatoes for grown ups."
As it happens, last night, when eating at "I trulli," there were pan seared scallops on a bed of parsnip puree. There wasn't too much of the puree, so I was fine. BUT... Annalena is going to make those scallops this week, substituting the parsley root puree for the parsnips.
Give it a try. I think you may find, as I did, that you can become friends with a new veggie, and expand your horizons.
This happened to me this week. We were channel flipping, somewhat desultorily, and we happened on that cooking show, "Chopped."
I have to be honest, I really hate that show. You know the premise: the mystery basket, and make an appetizer/entree/first course, from an impossible group of ingredients. Sometimes it's fun to think "what would I do," but most times it's just like some of those exercises that the gym teachers in grade school used to give you: they are just being MEAN. And I cannot believe that some of these people are doing this... for WHAT? The top prize is 10,000., but is it really worth it for the humiliation? I saw chefs from two restaurants I know, go down in flames on the show we watched. Now, what do I do, say something, not say something? UGH.
Well, anyway, one of the ingredients on the show was parsley root. I will admit that I have seen this in the farmers market for years, and because it looks an awful lot like the dreaded parsnip, I have stayed away from it.
The dreaded parsnip? Yes, the dreaded parsnip. I dislike parsnips perhaps even more than brussel sprouts. No, not perhaps. MUCH more. So, based on looks, and of course, not knowing what to do with them, I left them alone.
Anyway, on the show, one of the cooks turned them into this incredibly white, beautiful puree that the judges were clearly enjoying. It looked so pretty.
Sort of like the beet and walnut pie I made that was just AWFUL. But, the thought was in my mind. I mean, if they were bad, I could just get rid of them.
Well, they weren't. Here's how I cooked them. But first... make sure you have parley root, and not parsnips. Smell them. Parsnips have an unmistakeable, almost rank odor. Parsley root just smells clean. Get medium sized roots (they'll look like white soup carrots), because you're gonna cut them down for this recipe. Start with about a pound, which for me was three good sized roots.
When you get them home, pare 'em, as if they were carrots (or parsnips, if you're so inclined), and then chop them into even sized bits. For the end bits, where they are narrow, this means just a cut or two. Up at the top, where they get REALLY thick, they will need to be diced a bit. Just go for evenness. Then, put them in a pot of cold water with some salt. Use lots of water, and a nice amount of salt. Bring them to a boil, and cook at medium heat, for awhile. Yeah, "awhile." No way of telling how long it's gonna take. I needed a good 45 minutes. You want them to be tender, but not so soft that you've got "moosh" in the pot. when they're at the right texture, scoop out about 2/3 of a cup of the water, and drain them. Put them back in the pot, and add about a half cup of milk and a good slug of butter. Just heat that until the butter melts.
Now, move the whole thing, together with the water, into a blender. If you have a "puree" button on the blender, this is the one you want. If you don't, use the highest speed you have. You will probably get a good amount of pureeing, and then nothing. That's why you have the milk bottle at your side. Add some more, in small amounts - no more than a quarter cup at a time - until you get a nice smooth and thick puree. Taste it. See if the texture is what you want. There are no "rules" for this, so if you like it softer and runnier, add lots of milk. If you like it chunkier, don't puree as much. Do get it smooth enough so you can pour it off though.
To my taste, there's a slight spiciness and nuttiness, and just the hint of a parsley flavor, and they look a whole lot like "mashed potatoes for grown ups."
As it happens, last night, when eating at "I trulli," there were pan seared scallops on a bed of parsnip puree. There wasn't too much of the puree, so I was fine. BUT... Annalena is going to make those scallops this week, substituting the parsley root puree for the parsnips.
Give it a try. I think you may find, as I did, that you can become friends with a new veggie, and expand your horizons.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
From Quince to Shark: fish poached in flavored oil
When I was a kid (I seem to be saying that a lot these days, don't I?), there was a word game that would appear in the papers every now and then. You would start with one word, and have to get to a final word, by changing one letter in the word, each round, but still getting a word that made sense. You could go, for example, from cart, to care, to pare to pore to pope. I don't see that game happening anymore, for who knows what reason.
I bring that up because I don't want anyone to assume that we're going from quince to shark in that way. No, we're not going to do anything that difficult.
During our most recent trip to San Francisco, we ate at the restaurant called Quince for the first time. It was the first time we had been able to get a reservation. It was a wonderful experience, and I'm going to get to the food in a minute, but first, tell a story that may amuse you.
You know how restaurant websites frequently have information on how to dress? Well, as a general rule, Guy and I ignore that information. We dress in business casual for most restaurants, unless we know the place very well, and we know that it's casual. It has to be both. So, while we know Telepan very well, we would never wear jeans there. So when the website for Quince said "Jacket preferred," we laughed. We have not worn jackets to a restaurant in San Francisco (where we've seen people wear jeans in restaurants with a three figure prix fixe) in years.
Uh, we should have done it here. When you walk into a restaurant and the busboys are wearing navy blue suits, white shirts, and rep ties, that's a good sign that you should have taken the information seriously. Still, we were by far not the most casually dressed people there that night, and no one made an issue of our attire. The service and the food were impeccable, and the busboys , servers and staff were all very handsome.
Now to the food. Quince's menu understates things. There is very little information about how the food is prepared, so there is a surprise when it comes out. Guy had halibut (as a general rule, if he's not eating calamari, Guy is eating halibut). It was such silky, luxurious tasting fish, that I asked "was this done sous vide?" My response was "No, it was poached in flavored oil. "
Hmmm. Well... when we got home, it was the first thing I tried to duplicate. And it's easy. Time consuming, and wasteful, but easy.
In a very early blog, I taught you all how to make oil cured tuna confit. None of you made it , but that's okay. The technique here is fairly similar. You can use any firm white fish to do it. Halibut is basically the "go to " fish of the West Coast. It seems to always be in season. It was in season in the spring, when we were there, and it was in season in the fall. ATLANTIC halibut is a prohibited catch, however, as it has been overfished. So, you make your choice: eat locally, or buy halibut air shipped from the West Coast. I decided to go with the former. I was going to make it with cod.
Well, one of the things you learn with eating locally is that you sometimes have to substitute. When I went to the fish guy , no cod. I was, frankly, stunned. Cod is the East Coast's halibut: you can ALWAYS get it. Not that day. But he had something called "summer shark." I investigated. It was not an endangered species of shark, and while misnamed (it was already fall), it would suit: firm, and white and solid, like halibut. Inexpensive too. I brought my pound home with me, and got to work. Here's how I did it.
To see how much oil you're going to need, put the fish in a pan, in a single layer. Then, pour in oil until it covers the fish by about a quarter of an inch. Now, take the fish out. Leave the oil in, and add the peel of a lemon (no surgical precision here), a few branches of thyme, and about a dozen whole black peppercorns. Turn the heat to VERY low. You don't want to fry these ingredients. Let the thing cook away for about fifteen or even twenty minutes. If , during that time, you see even ONE bubble in the oil, lower the heat some more. After that time, drain the oil so that the solids are gone, and let it cool. You do need to let it cool, unfortunately. No time saver here.
When you're ready to cook, put the fish back in the pan and cover it with the oil. This time, add about a hefty teaspoon of salt. Bring the oil back up to temperature the way you did when you infused it, and let the fish cook for fifteen, or even twenty minutes. It's a very slow process, but it makes a very tasty final product. The flavors that have gotten into the oil, get into the fish, and the oil itself enriches a fish that is naturally very low in fat (the white fishes like cod, haddock, halibut, flounder, etc are all low in fat).
Take your fish out of the oil, let it drain a bit, and serve it forth.
The wastefulness comes from the fact that this oil , unfortunately, cannot be reused. If you have a cat, you might be able to get him or her to eat some of it, but it's not likely. So, don't use the most expensive olive oil you have. You should use extra virgin, and treat this as a bit of an extravagance, but if you're not going to spend money on your food, well, why are you reading this blog?
ENJOY
I bring that up because I don't want anyone to assume that we're going from quince to shark in that way. No, we're not going to do anything that difficult.
During our most recent trip to San Francisco, we ate at the restaurant called Quince for the first time. It was the first time we had been able to get a reservation. It was a wonderful experience, and I'm going to get to the food in a minute, but first, tell a story that may amuse you.
You know how restaurant websites frequently have information on how to dress? Well, as a general rule, Guy and I ignore that information. We dress in business casual for most restaurants, unless we know the place very well, and we know that it's casual. It has to be both. So, while we know Telepan very well, we would never wear jeans there. So when the website for Quince said "Jacket preferred," we laughed. We have not worn jackets to a restaurant in San Francisco (where we've seen people wear jeans in restaurants with a three figure prix fixe) in years.
Uh, we should have done it here. When you walk into a restaurant and the busboys are wearing navy blue suits, white shirts, and rep ties, that's a good sign that you should have taken the information seriously. Still, we were by far not the most casually dressed people there that night, and no one made an issue of our attire. The service and the food were impeccable, and the busboys , servers and staff were all very handsome.
Now to the food. Quince's menu understates things. There is very little information about how the food is prepared, so there is a surprise when it comes out. Guy had halibut (as a general rule, if he's not eating calamari, Guy is eating halibut). It was such silky, luxurious tasting fish, that I asked "was this done sous vide?" My response was "No, it was poached in flavored oil. "
Hmmm. Well... when we got home, it was the first thing I tried to duplicate. And it's easy. Time consuming, and wasteful, but easy.
In a very early blog, I taught you all how to make oil cured tuna confit. None of you made it , but that's okay. The technique here is fairly similar. You can use any firm white fish to do it. Halibut is basically the "go to " fish of the West Coast. It seems to always be in season. It was in season in the spring, when we were there, and it was in season in the fall. ATLANTIC halibut is a prohibited catch, however, as it has been overfished. So, you make your choice: eat locally, or buy halibut air shipped from the West Coast. I decided to go with the former. I was going to make it with cod.
Well, one of the things you learn with eating locally is that you sometimes have to substitute. When I went to the fish guy , no cod. I was, frankly, stunned. Cod is the East Coast's halibut: you can ALWAYS get it. Not that day. But he had something called "summer shark." I investigated. It was not an endangered species of shark, and while misnamed (it was already fall), it would suit: firm, and white and solid, like halibut. Inexpensive too. I brought my pound home with me, and got to work. Here's how I did it.
To see how much oil you're going to need, put the fish in a pan, in a single layer. Then, pour in oil until it covers the fish by about a quarter of an inch. Now, take the fish out. Leave the oil in, and add the peel of a lemon (no surgical precision here), a few branches of thyme, and about a dozen whole black peppercorns. Turn the heat to VERY low. You don't want to fry these ingredients. Let the thing cook away for about fifteen or even twenty minutes. If , during that time, you see even ONE bubble in the oil, lower the heat some more. After that time, drain the oil so that the solids are gone, and let it cool. You do need to let it cool, unfortunately. No time saver here.
When you're ready to cook, put the fish back in the pan and cover it with the oil. This time, add about a hefty teaspoon of salt. Bring the oil back up to temperature the way you did when you infused it, and let the fish cook for fifteen, or even twenty minutes. It's a very slow process, but it makes a very tasty final product. The flavors that have gotten into the oil, get into the fish, and the oil itself enriches a fish that is naturally very low in fat (the white fishes like cod, haddock, halibut, flounder, etc are all low in fat).
Take your fish out of the oil, let it drain a bit, and serve it forth.
The wastefulness comes from the fact that this oil , unfortunately, cannot be reused. If you have a cat, you might be able to get him or her to eat some of it, but it's not likely. So, don't use the most expensive olive oil you have. You should use extra virgin, and treat this as a bit of an extravagance, but if you're not going to spend money on your food, well, why are you reading this blog?
ENJOY
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Basquing in Mussels: Pickled mussel and bread salad
So, where do I start with the puns and internal references here? Hmmm. Well, of course, faithful readers of this blog know all about Annalena's not so new found work at the gym. So, we've got mussels/muscles, right? Being there every day, has one basking in them, yes?
Ok, it doesn't work real well. Ultimately, this is about a Basque dish that I ate during our trip to San Francisco this fall - our first in three years.
As a rule, if I'm writing about Basque food, we were in San Francisco, since I love Piperade the restaurant so much. I think I am in love with the contralto who has been their hostess for years, with Chef Hirigoyen (he's a looka, gang), our regular waiter, who is not so much a looker but has that European sense of charm and style that makes looks irrelevant (why can't Americans pull that off, by the way?). And then there's the food. Oh, the food.
When we were there this time, my eye was drawn to a pickled mussel salad. I had never had pickled mussels before, and when our waiter friend said "yes, it's good, you should have it," I did. And it was wonderful, even though it was based in large part on frisee, not one of my favorite things in the world. But I made it, from memory, and it was close. And I find, now, that I have the recipe in book form. So, we'll go back to it.
Mussels are a good thing. They are cheap. They are easy to prepare. You can find them all year round. Many cookbooks will tell you to scrub and "debeard" or "beard" them. This was in fact necessary when Annalena was a youngster, because mussels were usually taken wild. These days, they are pretty much all farmed, and this is irrelevant. If, however, you are of an outdoor nature and you find yourself a batch of wild mussels, you will need to pull those little "beards" off of the critters before you cook them. Since most of my readers, in fact all the ones I know, are not prone to foraging their own mussels, I leave this step out.
You need 3 pounds of them. Get a couple of tablespoons of olive oil heated up, and add your aromatics. In the recipe, the "aromatics" are simply a few tablespoons of shallot. I did it with onion, garlic, and fennel. Your choice. Saute' the aromatics in the oil, and then pour in the mussels. Cover the pot or pan (if it's big enough), and cover it tightly. Bring the pot to high heat, and then, after five minutes, take a look. They will begin to pop open, and probably will all open, or at least just about all of them. Pull out the mussels. Don't fret about the ones that don't open, just toss them, and if you like, drain the liquid and store it. Freeze it for when you make fish soup. Let these guys cool.
Meanwhile, make some croutons. Do this by cutting about 3 slices of good quality bread into small cubes. Toss them with a tablespoon of olive oil, and put them onto a baking sheet, and into a preheated oven at 350 for ten minutes. Let them cool too.
The astute amongst you will see that you can do these two steps simultaneously. Do it if you feel comfortable that way. After ten minutes of sitting, though, the mussels should be cool enough for you to pull them out of the shells. Toss the shells, and put the mussels into a bowl, together with a clove of garlic, minced, some more shallot if you only used shallots in the aromatics, or, perhaps some of the cooked aromatics if you were more ambitious. Also add about 1/4 cup of red wine vinegar (or, white wine vinegar, if you like), together with 1/3 cup of fruity tasting olive oil. Blend these all together.
Finally, take about 2-3 cups of fresh frisee (more on this in a variation below), and combine it with the mussels, together with the croutons. Toss everything together, and serve it forth.
When I made this myself, I cooked the frisee' down, just a bit, in the pot where I cooked the mussels. The wilted flavor of the greens reminded me of the French frisee and lardon salad, but you might prefer the fresher flavor. It really is up to you.
Turning back to the astute, who may have questions, of course if you want to substitute clams, go right ahead. I've already suggested variations within the recipe, and you could vary the greens, but I would stay away from the sweeter, softer lettuces. Maybe endive would be good. I may try that variation later in the year.
So, basque in this food yourself. It's a little bit different, and it's more than a little bit good.
Ok, it doesn't work real well. Ultimately, this is about a Basque dish that I ate during our trip to San Francisco this fall - our first in three years.
As a rule, if I'm writing about Basque food, we were in San Francisco, since I love Piperade the restaurant so much. I think I am in love with the contralto who has been their hostess for years, with Chef Hirigoyen (he's a looka, gang), our regular waiter, who is not so much a looker but has that European sense of charm and style that makes looks irrelevant (why can't Americans pull that off, by the way?). And then there's the food. Oh, the food.
When we were there this time, my eye was drawn to a pickled mussel salad. I had never had pickled mussels before, and when our waiter friend said "yes, it's good, you should have it," I did. And it was wonderful, even though it was based in large part on frisee, not one of my favorite things in the world. But I made it, from memory, and it was close. And I find, now, that I have the recipe in book form. So, we'll go back to it.
Mussels are a good thing. They are cheap. They are easy to prepare. You can find them all year round. Many cookbooks will tell you to scrub and "debeard" or "beard" them. This was in fact necessary when Annalena was a youngster, because mussels were usually taken wild. These days, they are pretty much all farmed, and this is irrelevant. If, however, you are of an outdoor nature and you find yourself a batch of wild mussels, you will need to pull those little "beards" off of the critters before you cook them. Since most of my readers, in fact all the ones I know, are not prone to foraging their own mussels, I leave this step out.
You need 3 pounds of them. Get a couple of tablespoons of olive oil heated up, and add your aromatics. In the recipe, the "aromatics" are simply a few tablespoons of shallot. I did it with onion, garlic, and fennel. Your choice. Saute' the aromatics in the oil, and then pour in the mussels. Cover the pot or pan (if it's big enough), and cover it tightly. Bring the pot to high heat, and then, after five minutes, take a look. They will begin to pop open, and probably will all open, or at least just about all of them. Pull out the mussels. Don't fret about the ones that don't open, just toss them, and if you like, drain the liquid and store it. Freeze it for when you make fish soup. Let these guys cool.
Meanwhile, make some croutons. Do this by cutting about 3 slices of good quality bread into small cubes. Toss them with a tablespoon of olive oil, and put them onto a baking sheet, and into a preheated oven at 350 for ten minutes. Let them cool too.
The astute amongst you will see that you can do these two steps simultaneously. Do it if you feel comfortable that way. After ten minutes of sitting, though, the mussels should be cool enough for you to pull them out of the shells. Toss the shells, and put the mussels into a bowl, together with a clove of garlic, minced, some more shallot if you only used shallots in the aromatics, or, perhaps some of the cooked aromatics if you were more ambitious. Also add about 1/4 cup of red wine vinegar (or, white wine vinegar, if you like), together with 1/3 cup of fruity tasting olive oil. Blend these all together.
Finally, take about 2-3 cups of fresh frisee (more on this in a variation below), and combine it with the mussels, together with the croutons. Toss everything together, and serve it forth.
When I made this myself, I cooked the frisee' down, just a bit, in the pot where I cooked the mussels. The wilted flavor of the greens reminded me of the French frisee and lardon salad, but you might prefer the fresher flavor. It really is up to you.
Turning back to the astute, who may have questions, of course if you want to substitute clams, go right ahead. I've already suggested variations within the recipe, and you could vary the greens, but I would stay away from the sweeter, softer lettuces. Maybe endive would be good. I may try that variation later in the year.
So, basque in this food yourself. It's a little bit different, and it's more than a little bit good.
One more inspired by Cookshop: lime vanilla ice cream
And also, in tribute to "the dirty bird," and chicky, you KNOW who you are.
Six days ago, Annalena turned the ripe old age of 53. I am somewhat amazed to be here because, diagnoses that were given to me in my twenties told me to plan on not being around past 35. Well, NYAH to all of you. And, having engaged in my current fitness craze, with the help of the amazing Emily (the trainer), and now Sebastian, the mad Paraguyan, I do in fact feel like I am in my 30s, but without the angst and anxiety of those days, and with whatever wisdom one acquires over that time. I'm not quite sure what that wisdom is, by the way. Maybe by the time I make it to 70, I'll know. In the meantime, one has to "keep on, keepin on," as Gladys and her Pips once sang.
You DID miss the digressions, didn't you? Well, they're going to keep going. See, one of the things that went "by the boards" once this fitness madness took over me, was my nightly bowl of ice cream. I almost never eat it these days. Do I miss it? Yes. But as I have recognized it as a "red light food" (you weight watchers alumni out there will know what I mean, and the rest of you can figure it out), I have had to cut it out. Annalena is not a chick who does things part way. So a bowl of ice cream inevitably becomes a pint, and then more. It's as simple as that. So the easiest thing to do is to just cut it out completely.
This does not mean that I have stopped making it. I may be crazy, but I'm not batty! I enjoy the process too much. And I like feeding my loved ones too much. So ice cream making continues.
There is always a period , just about now, when the summer fruit is just about gone. The peaches, the plums, the berries that were so abundant, have left us. We have grapes, pears and apples, locally, and tropicals. The citrus are not with us yet. I am a big fan of all of those local fruits, but grapes make terrible ice cream (and wonderful sorbet). Pears and apples make terrific TASTING ice cream, but texture (again, we're back to texture), turns people off, especially with pear. My apple ice cream is downright CHUNKY, and it can really disturb someone looking for something smooth. So I am always looking for new approaches and flavors for ice cream.
Now, the Dirty Bird, apprentice ice cream maker that he is, has gone in a direction of flavors that Annalena, old fashioned girl that she is, would not approach. This probably is at least partially related to our age difference (which I believe borders on 25 years). As DB tells me about his ice cream flavors, I'm waiting for the day when he jumps up and says "I MADE CABERNET BACON PRUNE TWIRL." And it will probably be good. And I will shake my head and ask myself "where DOES he come up with those ideas ?" And then I will settle down to...
Something like lime vanilla ice cream. Now, there are some connectives here. I met DB at Cookshop, what seems an eternity (and 50 pounds) ago. And it is at Cookshop where I had the inspiration for this ice cream. We ate there on my actual birthday. Now, however much of a health nut you are, if you are not going to have a treat on your birthday, well.... And by treat I am NOT talking about maple syrup flavored soy yogurt. The special dessert that night was a blackberry linzer tart with lime vanilla ice cream, prepared by the second Emily in my life, Emily the pastry chef (does it not seem like there's some dichotomy served up here? I know two women named Emily: one is a personal trainer, one is a pastry chef. I have never seen the two of them in the same place at the same time. Hmmmm).
Well, I sometimes have issues with Emily's desserts. I ordered this one with some trepidation. As a general rule, Annalena finds blackberry baked desserts disappointing. They never seem to capture that allusive and elusive flavor of blackberries. This cake was no exception. I was curious about the ice cream. It was , well, "ok," but not terrific. And I wanted it to be terrific. So, I decided to make some terrific lime vanilla ice cream. And I did. And you can too. Here's how I made mine.
You need two limes, and one and a half vanilla beans. Using a peeler, take the peel from the two limes. You don't have to worry about how long the strips are, just get the things peeled. Split the vanilla bean and the half bean horizontally, and scrape out the seeds. Put the seeds, the empty beans, and the lime peel in a pot, with two cups of heavy cream and ¾ cup of sugar. Bring this to a simmer, then take it off the heat, and let it sit. Come back after half an hour, and taste it. If you think it's strong enough, leave it alone for a bit longer. Always remember that a frozen dessert is not going to taste as strong as the dessert does in unfrozen form. You want this to taste somewhat stronger than how you would like it as ice cream. Keep in mind as well that you're going to dilute this too.
When you think it's at the right flavor strength, add a cup of whole milk, and six egg yolks. If you are timid about breaking up yolks in a milk bath, break them beforehand, by whipping them with a fork or a whisk. Bring the pot to gentle heat, and stir. You know the drill here: you want to bring the mix to 175 degrees. If you don't have a thermometer, SHAME ON YOU, and just use the coat the spoon test (you all remember that, don't you? You put a wooden spoon in the custard, and pull it out. Run your finger down the stuff on the spoon. If it separates without running back together, you're there.)
Ok, if you are doubting whether or not this will be strong enough tasting, leave all the stuff in the custard as it cools, and even as it refrigerates. If you are confident, strain it out. Whichever approach you use, let it chill in your 'fridge, and then get your ice cream maker working.
This will give you about a quart. To my taste, it's a vanilla with a spicy undertone that just barely reminds me of limes. You may feel differently, but it certainly tastes more of vanilla than of lime.
I may make this again, when the Citrus Bomb has her kefir limes ready. THAT may be something for the Dirty Bird to try. DB, keep after me once the citrus comes in. I think you'll have some fun with the kefirs.
Six days ago, Annalena turned the ripe old age of 53. I am somewhat amazed to be here because, diagnoses that were given to me in my twenties told me to plan on not being around past 35. Well, NYAH to all of you. And, having engaged in my current fitness craze, with the help of the amazing Emily (the trainer), and now Sebastian, the mad Paraguyan, I do in fact feel like I am in my 30s, but without the angst and anxiety of those days, and with whatever wisdom one acquires over that time. I'm not quite sure what that wisdom is, by the way. Maybe by the time I make it to 70, I'll know. In the meantime, one has to "keep on, keepin on," as Gladys and her Pips once sang.
You DID miss the digressions, didn't you? Well, they're going to keep going. See, one of the things that went "by the boards" once this fitness madness took over me, was my nightly bowl of ice cream. I almost never eat it these days. Do I miss it? Yes. But as I have recognized it as a "red light food" (you weight watchers alumni out there will know what I mean, and the rest of you can figure it out), I have had to cut it out. Annalena is not a chick who does things part way. So a bowl of ice cream inevitably becomes a pint, and then more. It's as simple as that. So the easiest thing to do is to just cut it out completely.
This does not mean that I have stopped making it. I may be crazy, but I'm not batty! I enjoy the process too much. And I like feeding my loved ones too much. So ice cream making continues.
There is always a period , just about now, when the summer fruit is just about gone. The peaches, the plums, the berries that were so abundant, have left us. We have grapes, pears and apples, locally, and tropicals. The citrus are not with us yet. I am a big fan of all of those local fruits, but grapes make terrible ice cream (and wonderful sorbet). Pears and apples make terrific TASTING ice cream, but texture (again, we're back to texture), turns people off, especially with pear. My apple ice cream is downright CHUNKY, and it can really disturb someone looking for something smooth. So I am always looking for new approaches and flavors for ice cream.
Now, the Dirty Bird, apprentice ice cream maker that he is, has gone in a direction of flavors that Annalena, old fashioned girl that she is, would not approach. This probably is at least partially related to our age difference (which I believe borders on 25 years). As DB tells me about his ice cream flavors, I'm waiting for the day when he jumps up and says "I MADE CABERNET BACON PRUNE TWIRL." And it will probably be good. And I will shake my head and ask myself "where DOES he come up with those ideas ?" And then I will settle down to...
Something like lime vanilla ice cream. Now, there are some connectives here. I met DB at Cookshop, what seems an eternity (and 50 pounds) ago. And it is at Cookshop where I had the inspiration for this ice cream. We ate there on my actual birthday. Now, however much of a health nut you are, if you are not going to have a treat on your birthday, well.... And by treat I am NOT talking about maple syrup flavored soy yogurt. The special dessert that night was a blackberry linzer tart with lime vanilla ice cream, prepared by the second Emily in my life, Emily the pastry chef (does it not seem like there's some dichotomy served up here? I know two women named Emily: one is a personal trainer, one is a pastry chef. I have never seen the two of them in the same place at the same time. Hmmmm).
Well, I sometimes have issues with Emily's desserts. I ordered this one with some trepidation. As a general rule, Annalena finds blackberry baked desserts disappointing. They never seem to capture that allusive and elusive flavor of blackberries. This cake was no exception. I was curious about the ice cream. It was , well, "ok," but not terrific. And I wanted it to be terrific. So, I decided to make some terrific lime vanilla ice cream. And I did. And you can too. Here's how I made mine.
You need two limes, and one and a half vanilla beans. Using a peeler, take the peel from the two limes. You don't have to worry about how long the strips are, just get the things peeled. Split the vanilla bean and the half bean horizontally, and scrape out the seeds. Put the seeds, the empty beans, and the lime peel in a pot, with two cups of heavy cream and ¾ cup of sugar. Bring this to a simmer, then take it off the heat, and let it sit. Come back after half an hour, and taste it. If you think it's strong enough, leave it alone for a bit longer. Always remember that a frozen dessert is not going to taste as strong as the dessert does in unfrozen form. You want this to taste somewhat stronger than how you would like it as ice cream. Keep in mind as well that you're going to dilute this too.
When you think it's at the right flavor strength, add a cup of whole milk, and six egg yolks. If you are timid about breaking up yolks in a milk bath, break them beforehand, by whipping them with a fork or a whisk. Bring the pot to gentle heat, and stir. You know the drill here: you want to bring the mix to 175 degrees. If you don't have a thermometer, SHAME ON YOU, and just use the coat the spoon test (you all remember that, don't you? You put a wooden spoon in the custard, and pull it out. Run your finger down the stuff on the spoon. If it separates without running back together, you're there.)
Ok, if you are doubting whether or not this will be strong enough tasting, leave all the stuff in the custard as it cools, and even as it refrigerates. If you are confident, strain it out. Whichever approach you use, let it chill in your 'fridge, and then get your ice cream maker working.
This will give you about a quart. To my taste, it's a vanilla with a spicy undertone that just barely reminds me of limes. You may feel differently, but it certainly tastes more of vanilla than of lime.
I may make this again, when the Citrus Bomb has her kefir limes ready. THAT may be something for the Dirty Bird to try. DB, keep after me once the citrus comes in. I think you'll have some fun with the kefirs.
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