I LOVE tuna. I absolutely adore it. In sushi, grilled, in salad (good or bad, to be honest), any whichwhat way, I love it. Of course, these days we all have to watch (and I hope you are), that we are not eating bluefin tuna, or participating in the mindless slaughter of this magnificent creature. You can read up about this, you don't need Annalena to get on her soapbox and preach. I WILL say, that the line "well, the fish is dead already and I'm only buying one pound of it," is NOT an acceptable retort. If only 600 people went the right way and said "this is WRONG," that animal would still be alive, and breeding.
Other species are more plentiful. Do your research. Make sure you're eating a species that is sustainable, and don't overdo it. Although I love tuna, I don't eat it more than, perhaps, once every two weeks. We all have to do our part.
Ok, enough with the philosophy, to the dish. My absolute favorite way to have tuna is what I call a "2 minute steak." A very thick piece of the mid portion of the fish, a very hot grill pan, oiled. Down goes the fish, one minute. Up comes the fish, the other side, one minute. Then onto the plate. And that is all.
There are alternate points of view on this, however, especially in the Northern parts of Europe, where tuna is cooked "well done." Now, let's be clear about something. Well done here CAN be "done well," if you do it right. If you are going to cook a tuna steak all the way through, cook it gently. In other words, braise it. But don't braise it in water, or liquid like that. Nope. Braise it in flavored oil. We're going to do that here, and it's going to take some time, and some work, but you'll be glad, especially if you are going to be doing something like salade nicoise, and you just don't want to do something as simple as opening up a can of oil packed tuna (although Annalena gives you leave to do that, if you follow the above rules and you get good quality stuff).
Let's make the oil first. It doesn't really pay to make it in smaller than three cup quantities, so get three cups of extra virgin olive oil. Now, you don't need the stuff that costs a small fortune a pint for this. Get good stuff, not great stuff. Put it in a pot, and add the rind of a lemon, a couple of sprigs of rosemary, a bay leaf or two, about a half dozen sprigs of thyme, and about ten peppercorns, and two teaspoons of salt. Bring the heat to low, and raise the temperature to 140-150. A probe thermometer is really helpful here, but if you don't have one, figure about five minutes of very low cooking. Then, turn off the heat, and let this steep for 20 minutes.
When the steeping is over, put up to pounds of good quality tuna steaks in a pan or pot. Try to use one that is NOT so wide, because you're going to drain the oil, so that the solids stay behind, and pour it over the tuna. The fish should be covered with the oil. If it's not, sigh and add more. Now, do the same thing you did in prepping the oil: bring the temperature up to about 140-150. Then, turn off the heat and cover the pot. In the space of about ten minutes, you'll see the fish go from bright red, to the brown color you get when you cook tuna. Turn it over, bring up the heat again, for only 3 minutes, and then turn it off. Let the whole thing cool down, and then refrigerate the tuna, covering it with the oil.
You can keep the tuna like this for over a week, which is something you can't do with fresh tuna, of course. Putting anything "sott'olio" will preserve it for a while.
You can use this tuna for any application you might want to use canned tuna, but don't waste it in tuna salad. Yes, a nicoise salad is nice, but how about crumbling it up (and it does crumble), with cooked shell beans in pasta, which is how we'll be having ours.
There is one drawback to this dish: the oil is not usable for anything. I have tried. The fish taste is just really, really strong, and it doesn't suit for dressings, etc. IF you have pets who will accept tuna (our cats, interestingly enough, will not), I would suggest you add this, in tablespoons, to their food. It will improve their coats and their digestion and if the critters are subject to periodic "whoopsies" from grooming themselves, this will cut that down, too.
Give it a try. You will enjoy.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Friday, July 30, 2010
Making the switch: zucchini in balsamic vinegar glaze
When you cook, you have to learn to deal with substitutions. You plan a recipe, you go out to shop.... and the stuff you THOUGHT was there, ain't there. OR, it's there, but it doesn't look good enough to cook and serve. OR... you see something better. OR... you have the recipe in front of you, but you forgot to get the ingredient in question, and you have a big back of something else.
Can you guess which one confronted Annalena ? It was sort of a combination of all of them.
I had found a recipe, on one of my food sites which called for "fairy tale" eggplant. Now, if you've never seen this type of eggplant, you should. They are all of about 2 inches long, and white (DONT GO THERE). When eggplant are this tiny, they cook very quickly. Frequently, however, they are bitter, and the only way you can really do something with them is with a pickling technique or an escabeche, something that draws out the bitterness. When you "meet" a vegetable that has a white variant - like these fairy tales - you can almost always count on it to be LESS bitter than the more colorful variety (incidentally, white color is why eggplants are called EGGplants. The first ones were round, and white. Purple came later). So, you can do other things with these guys, like pan fry them.
Unless you forgot to buy them. Or you have a huge bag of yellow and green zucchini that will begin to return to the earth in a day or two. And then you begin thinking "Hmmm. you CAN make a pretty good zucchini parmagiano, and the texture is right, and...." So, there you have it. A variant on a dish was born. This was really, truly very good. An excellent side dish for the lasagna I served last night. Easy as can be. Here we go.
You need about a pound of small zucchini. As those who followed my rant on zucchini bread will know, I really have trouble saying "SMALL" zucchini because, by definition, zucchini should be small. Get the smallest ones you can, and cut them into coin slices, about a third of an inch thick. Mix up the colors if you like, there won't be much color to look at when you're finished.
You also need EITHER a TABLESPOON (that much) of dried oregano or THREE of fresh. That's the ratio, boys and girls. For dried herbs, you need three times as much fresh to equal the intensity. (And, as an aside - yet another one - it is a reluctance to kick up herbs and spices that is one of the reasons why when you copy a restaurant dish at home, it doesn't taste as good. Watch restaurant cooks add herbs and spices sometimes. Or, do something that will really open your eyes: when a recipe calls for "1 teaspoon" or "1 tablespoon" of something, even salt, don't eyeball it. Measure it. OR, eyeball it first, put it aside and then measure the quantity. I will bet you you underseasoned when you eyeballed.
Going back to the oregano, this is one case where I prefer the dried form. Just about every herb is better fresh. Dried basil, chives, and whatnot are just green dust . But oregano picks up flavor when it's dried, like no other herb does. So use the dried one. You also need one tablespoon of fresh parsley (this is another one where the dried stuff is green dust). You also need 2 tablespoons of balsamic vinegar - the cheap stuff - and a couple of tablespoons of oil. Have your salt handy too.
Put the oil in a pan that is big enough so that the zucchini will be in one layer. Get it hot, and add the zucchini. Leave em alone, for two minutes or so, maybe three. You're looking for some color on the bottom of the guys, and when you have it, then stir it, and get some color on the other side. Shouldn't take you more than two minutes the second time around.
Now, pour in the balsamic vinegar. With the heat, it will reduce immediately. Stir the vegetables through it, and stir in the herbs. The heat will release the perfume of the oregano, the parsley adds its "green" note to the mix, and then all you do is salt , and pepper it , to taste.
From start to finish, this will take you all of about ten minutes to make. The zucchini will shrink down, so know that. If you're a big vegetable eater, you will be able to serve two amply, three if you put another vegetable out (like pan fried cauliflower with capers, which is what we had).
Being able to "roll with the punches" in the kitchen is something we all need to learn to do. No reason not to cook a recipe because a particular ingredient isn't at hand. If you learn what can substitute for what, you will feel quite liberated in the kitchen, and you may very well develop a prize winning recipe. But remember: I told you first...
Can you guess which one confronted Annalena ? It was sort of a combination of all of them.
I had found a recipe, on one of my food sites which called for "fairy tale" eggplant. Now, if you've never seen this type of eggplant, you should. They are all of about 2 inches long, and white (DONT GO THERE). When eggplant are this tiny, they cook very quickly. Frequently, however, they are bitter, and the only way you can really do something with them is with a pickling technique or an escabeche, something that draws out the bitterness. When you "meet" a vegetable that has a white variant - like these fairy tales - you can almost always count on it to be LESS bitter than the more colorful variety (incidentally, white color is why eggplants are called EGGplants. The first ones were round, and white. Purple came later). So, you can do other things with these guys, like pan fry them.
Unless you forgot to buy them. Or you have a huge bag of yellow and green zucchini that will begin to return to the earth in a day or two. And then you begin thinking "Hmmm. you CAN make a pretty good zucchini parmagiano, and the texture is right, and...." So, there you have it. A variant on a dish was born. This was really, truly very good. An excellent side dish for the lasagna I served last night. Easy as can be. Here we go.
You need about a pound of small zucchini. As those who followed my rant on zucchini bread will know, I really have trouble saying "SMALL" zucchini because, by definition, zucchini should be small. Get the smallest ones you can, and cut them into coin slices, about a third of an inch thick. Mix up the colors if you like, there won't be much color to look at when you're finished.
You also need EITHER a TABLESPOON (that much) of dried oregano or THREE of fresh. That's the ratio, boys and girls. For dried herbs, you need three times as much fresh to equal the intensity. (And, as an aside - yet another one - it is a reluctance to kick up herbs and spices that is one of the reasons why when you copy a restaurant dish at home, it doesn't taste as good. Watch restaurant cooks add herbs and spices sometimes. Or, do something that will really open your eyes: when a recipe calls for "1 teaspoon" or "1 tablespoon" of something, even salt, don't eyeball it. Measure it. OR, eyeball it first, put it aside and then measure the quantity. I will bet you you underseasoned when you eyeballed.
Going back to the oregano, this is one case where I prefer the dried form. Just about every herb is better fresh. Dried basil, chives, and whatnot are just green dust . But oregano picks up flavor when it's dried, like no other herb does. So use the dried one. You also need one tablespoon of fresh parsley (this is another one where the dried stuff is green dust). You also need 2 tablespoons of balsamic vinegar - the cheap stuff - and a couple of tablespoons of oil. Have your salt handy too.
Put the oil in a pan that is big enough so that the zucchini will be in one layer. Get it hot, and add the zucchini. Leave em alone, for two minutes or so, maybe three. You're looking for some color on the bottom of the guys, and when you have it, then stir it, and get some color on the other side. Shouldn't take you more than two minutes the second time around.
Now, pour in the balsamic vinegar. With the heat, it will reduce immediately. Stir the vegetables through it, and stir in the herbs. The heat will release the perfume of the oregano, the parsley adds its "green" note to the mix, and then all you do is salt , and pepper it , to taste.
From start to finish, this will take you all of about ten minutes to make. The zucchini will shrink down, so know that. If you're a big vegetable eater, you will be able to serve two amply, three if you put another vegetable out (like pan fried cauliflower with capers, which is what we had).
Being able to "roll with the punches" in the kitchen is something we all need to learn to do. No reason not to cook a recipe because a particular ingredient isn't at hand. If you learn what can substitute for what, you will feel quite liberated in the kitchen, and you may very well develop a prize winning recipe. But remember: I told you first...
Monday, July 26, 2010
The attack of the killer zucchini: the BEST zucchini bread
There is a tradition, it seems, in the areas of the country where people farm. It doesn't happen in NYC, but perhaps it should.
Every year, late summer, there is a time when the zucchini somehow escape surveillance. And they grow. And grow. And grow. I do believe that, one day, we will hear of someone beating someone to death with a zucchini. (why we call them that when they are that big, I don't know. I love the British expression of calling them "marrow.").
Speaking of Brits, it is also my understanding that, when confronted with these monsters, they make jam.
More power to them. I don't think I would like it.
Now, usually I can avoid these monsters, but this past weekend, as I was leaving the farmers market, one of my favorite farmers, Dave (who, one friend has commented on as possibly my ideal fantasy man. Not true, but SUCH A SWEETHEART), came running after me, and handed me a bag with garlic heads (YUM), and two, enormous squash (not so yum). I already had a bag of "real" zucchini in the fridge, and had no desire to make soup. What to do?
Well, Guy was looking at recipes on the website for the wonderful spice company, Penzey's. I thought that they might have a recipe for zucchini bread, and indeed they did.
Penzey's recipes are simple, and fast, and very, very good. Even when you have your doubts (as I did about this one), they work. Make this recipe, even if you do not have a Godzilla zucchini. It's really very, very good, and you will be out of the kitchen, in ten minutes. I swear.
You need to gather your ingredients, and preheat your oven, to 325. Your ingredients are 2 large eggs, a cup of oil (review: what does it mean when a cake is based on vegetables and oil? HMMMM?), 2 cups of shredded squash (use the big holes on your three hole grater, if you have one) 2 cups of sugar, a tablespoon of vanilla, 3 cups of flour, a tablespoon of baking powder, a teaspoon of salt, a teaspoon of cinnamon, and half a cup of nuts of some kind.
The amount of cinnamon seemed minuscule to me, but it works. So, combine the flour, baking powder, salt and cinnamon and put them to the side. In a bowl, mix up the eggs (use a spoon. No need for power tools here), and then add the oil and combine them to the point where you have what looks like a very thin mayonnaise, because that's what you have. Now add the vanilla. And now, the squash. Stir it together and then, stir in the dry ingredients, until everything is combined. Add the nuts.
Get two, 8x4 bread pans (to review the significance of bread pan sizes, go back to the second entry in this blog. That long ago...). Butter them evenly, and then divide the batter between the pans. Get them into the oven and bake for an hour. For about 45 minutes, you will be convinced this is not going to work. Patience. In the last fifteen minutes, the cakes/breads will rise nicely, and perhaps split. Use the straw test (insert it in the middle and see if the crumbs are dry) to see if it's done, and if the cakes are not ready, bake some more. Then, let the cakes cool for about fifteen minutes, and bang them out of the pans. If you didn't butter the pans well enough, it will stick, but that's ok. This is an informal cake/bread.
This is really, really good. I ate far more of it than I should have. And I have another "zucchini" (a "zuccono" perhaps?) and I'm making two loaves more.
Every year, late summer, there is a time when the zucchini somehow escape surveillance. And they grow. And grow. And grow. I do believe that, one day, we will hear of someone beating someone to death with a zucchini. (why we call them that when they are that big, I don't know. I love the British expression of calling them "marrow.").
Speaking of Brits, it is also my understanding that, when confronted with these monsters, they make jam.
More power to them. I don't think I would like it.
Now, usually I can avoid these monsters, but this past weekend, as I was leaving the farmers market, one of my favorite farmers, Dave (who, one friend has commented on as possibly my ideal fantasy man. Not true, but SUCH A SWEETHEART), came running after me, and handed me a bag with garlic heads (YUM), and two, enormous squash (not so yum). I already had a bag of "real" zucchini in the fridge, and had no desire to make soup. What to do?
Well, Guy was looking at recipes on the website for the wonderful spice company, Penzey's. I thought that they might have a recipe for zucchini bread, and indeed they did.
Penzey's recipes are simple, and fast, and very, very good. Even when you have your doubts (as I did about this one), they work. Make this recipe, even if you do not have a Godzilla zucchini. It's really very, very good, and you will be out of the kitchen, in ten minutes. I swear.
You need to gather your ingredients, and preheat your oven, to 325. Your ingredients are 2 large eggs, a cup of oil (review: what does it mean when a cake is based on vegetables and oil? HMMMM?), 2 cups of shredded squash (use the big holes on your three hole grater, if you have one) 2 cups of sugar, a tablespoon of vanilla, 3 cups of flour, a tablespoon of baking powder, a teaspoon of salt, a teaspoon of cinnamon, and half a cup of nuts of some kind.
The amount of cinnamon seemed minuscule to me, but it works. So, combine the flour, baking powder, salt and cinnamon and put them to the side. In a bowl, mix up the eggs (use a spoon. No need for power tools here), and then add the oil and combine them to the point where you have what looks like a very thin mayonnaise, because that's what you have. Now add the vanilla. And now, the squash. Stir it together and then, stir in the dry ingredients, until everything is combined. Add the nuts.
Get two, 8x4 bread pans (to review the significance of bread pan sizes, go back to the second entry in this blog. That long ago...). Butter them evenly, and then divide the batter between the pans. Get them into the oven and bake for an hour. For about 45 minutes, you will be convinced this is not going to work. Patience. In the last fifteen minutes, the cakes/breads will rise nicely, and perhaps split. Use the straw test (insert it in the middle and see if the crumbs are dry) to see if it's done, and if the cakes are not ready, bake some more. Then, let the cakes cool for about fifteen minutes, and bang them out of the pans. If you didn't butter the pans well enough, it will stick, but that's ok. This is an informal cake/bread.
This is really, really good. I ate far more of it than I should have. And I have another "zucchini" (a "zuccono" perhaps?) and I'm making two loaves more.
Annalena goes Mexican in a BIG way: posole
Si. Annalena has spoken, in the past, about her love for Mexican food, and her inability to "get it." What I mean by that is, I am simply NOT a terrific Mexican cook. I can make good guacamole, and perhaps a fish veracruz, stuff like that, but "true" Mexican food eludes me. Perhaps there is the question of ingredients. Much of Mexican cooking does in fact use lard as a fat base (although "Mexicano novo" is changing that), and the spices are very much not comprehensible to me. Be that as it may, sometimes, the stars line up, the mood hits, and Annalena emerges not as Signora Annalena but Senora Annalena, and the Mexican food comes out. This is one such time, and it's an involved one. Actually, it's not that involved. You will see a long list of ingredients, and a lot of time will be involved. Worry not, however, there is not much work here, and Annalena is going to give you leave to use things in cans.
Posole is a long cooked, stew, just about always with pork, and hominy (although I have seen other variations on it). When it is made, a LOT of it is made. Indeed, the recipe which follows will make somewhere in the vicinity of 3.5 to 4 quarts of food. So plan to share it.
First, I'm going to list the ingredients. You are going to need onions, 4 of them. You will also need ancho chile powder. You can buy this, or you can make your own. Buy it. You'll need what seems like a lot: 4 tablespoons. You will also need vegetable oil, probably about half a cup. Also, 3 tablespoons of oregano. If you happen to be able to find Mexican oregano, fabulous. If not, plain old Italian will be fine.
The meat? A pork shoulder, or a "Boston butt." About 5-6 pounds, with the bone. Also, chicken stock, at least a quart. You will also want the cloves of one head of g arlic. To the cans: you will want 4 of the small cans of chopped, green anaheim chilis, and 4 pound cans of hominy. Of course, if you want to do any of this by hand and make your own, do not let Annalena stop you (recently, I made my own hominy and it was wonderful, but for quantities like this: get out the can opener.
Let's deal with that pork s houlder first. It will probably have a very thick layer of fat on it. Much as I regret giving this advice, cut that away. You're not going to sear this meat, and the fat is just going to grease things up along the way. Once you have done that, cut the shoulder into large pieces. Don't discard the bone. There will be meat on it, and keep that all in a bowl, and toss about a hefty teaspoon of salt all over it.
Peel and slice two onions into half moons. Try to get them thin, but don't be a surgeon. Put those onions into a big (BIG) pot with half the oil and saute them until they soften. Won't take long. Now add a heaping tablespoon of that chili powder, and the same quantity of oregano, and stir it all up. It will smell wonderful, and the color is terrific. Now put in the pork, and cover it with stock. Bring this all to a boil, and then, when you have it there, cover it, put it in a 350 degree oven, and let it cook for a good 2 hours.
Your home is going to smell wonderful while this is happening, and something wonderful is going to happen to the meat: it will soften, and after the two hours it will ,literally shred. Perfect. This is what you want. You separate the meat from the stock, and when it's cool enough to handle, shred the meat like it's old cloth (ropa vieja comes out exactly the same way). Store the stock separately, and then cover both of these and refrigerate them overnight.
The next day, you will find a good layer of solid fat on the stock, with a rich red color. That's some of the oils in the spices and, unfortunately, you are going to give those up. Nuthin you can do about it. The stock itself will be thick, and jelly like. The meat may have some fat on it, but if it's not excessive, don't worry. Put them aside as you get the vegetable base ready.
Slice up the other two onions, the same way you did the first batch. Cook them the same way and add the remaining chili powder, the oregano, the cumin, and the cloves of garlic, which you will have chopped. Also open, drain, and add the green chilis. Stir this all together, and now add the pork and the stock. Also, open, drain and add the hominy. All of it.
See why you needed a big pot? Let this all cook togethr at a low simmer for 30 minutes and, know what? You are DONE, and you have food for a party. And its very, VERY good. (mucho mucho bueno).
You can figure out what to serve with this yourself. If you want to cut back on the hominy, don't let me stop you. I will tell you that hominy is like a little baby sponge, and it is going to pick up all that wonderful flavor, so DO use it. Some people will keep the hominy out and pour the posole over it, and that's an option.
You can also stir in cilantro at the last minute, or lime juice, or both. You might also want to add some hot sauce at the table, or some slices of avocado. Play with the garnishes, but make the dish. As I read through it, there really is minimal work here.
Yes, it is summer, but do this. You have plenty of food, it's wonderfully tasty, and people will love you for it.
Posole is a long cooked, stew, just about always with pork, and hominy (although I have seen other variations on it). When it is made, a LOT of it is made. Indeed, the recipe which follows will make somewhere in the vicinity of 3.5 to 4 quarts of food. So plan to share it.
First, I'm going to list the ingredients. You are going to need onions, 4 of them. You will also need ancho chile powder. You can buy this, or you can make your own. Buy it. You'll need what seems like a lot: 4 tablespoons. You will also need vegetable oil, probably about half a cup. Also, 3 tablespoons of oregano. If you happen to be able to find Mexican oregano, fabulous. If not, plain old Italian will be fine.
The meat? A pork shoulder, or a "Boston butt." About 5-6 pounds, with the bone. Also, chicken stock, at least a quart. You will also want the cloves of one head of g arlic. To the cans: you will want 4 of the small cans of chopped, green anaheim chilis, and 4 pound cans of hominy. Of course, if you want to do any of this by hand and make your own, do not let Annalena stop you (recently, I made my own hominy and it was wonderful, but for quantities like this: get out the can opener.
Let's deal with that pork s houlder first. It will probably have a very thick layer of fat on it. Much as I regret giving this advice, cut that away. You're not going to sear this meat, and the fat is just going to grease things up along the way. Once you have done that, cut the shoulder into large pieces. Don't discard the bone. There will be meat on it, and keep that all in a bowl, and toss about a hefty teaspoon of salt all over it.
Peel and slice two onions into half moons. Try to get them thin, but don't be a surgeon. Put those onions into a big (BIG) pot with half the oil and saute them until they soften. Won't take long. Now add a heaping tablespoon of that chili powder, and the same quantity of oregano, and stir it all up. It will smell wonderful, and the color is terrific. Now put in the pork, and cover it with stock. Bring this all to a boil, and then, when you have it there, cover it, put it in a 350 degree oven, and let it cook for a good 2 hours.
Your home is going to smell wonderful while this is happening, and something wonderful is going to happen to the meat: it will soften, and after the two hours it will ,literally shred. Perfect. This is what you want. You separate the meat from the stock, and when it's cool enough to handle, shred the meat like it's old cloth (ropa vieja comes out exactly the same way). Store the stock separately, and then cover both of these and refrigerate them overnight.
The next day, you will find a good layer of solid fat on the stock, with a rich red color. That's some of the oils in the spices and, unfortunately, you are going to give those up. Nuthin you can do about it. The stock itself will be thick, and jelly like. The meat may have some fat on it, but if it's not excessive, don't worry. Put them aside as you get the vegetable base ready.
Slice up the other two onions, the same way you did the first batch. Cook them the same way and add the remaining chili powder, the oregano, the cumin, and the cloves of garlic, which you will have chopped. Also open, drain, and add the green chilis. Stir this all together, and now add the pork and the stock. Also, open, drain and add the hominy. All of it.
See why you needed a big pot? Let this all cook togethr at a low simmer for 30 minutes and, know what? You are DONE, and you have food for a party. And its very, VERY good. (mucho mucho bueno).
You can figure out what to serve with this yourself. If you want to cut back on the hominy, don't let me stop you. I will tell you that hominy is like a little baby sponge, and it is going to pick up all that wonderful flavor, so DO use it. Some people will keep the hominy out and pour the posole over it, and that's an option.
You can also stir in cilantro at the last minute, or lime juice, or both. You might also want to add some hot sauce at the table, or some slices of avocado. Play with the garnishes, but make the dish. As I read through it, there really is minimal work here.
Yes, it is summer, but do this. You have plenty of food, it's wonderfully tasty, and people will love you for it.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
striking while the apricot is hot: Italian apricot cake
I am a sucker for cookbooks. If I got to a bookstore, I am going to come home with a cookbook, period. I may never use it, but I'm going to buy one. Usually more. And about 3 months later, I will look at it and wonder "why the hell did I buy it?" and out it will go. Usually, these are books that , ultimately are of dubious long term value: did I REALLY need the book on meat that explained where, on every animal, the different cuts come from? Uh, no. First of all, I know most of that stuff, and second of all, is there any value to this? Well, there's some, if you're confronted with a cut you don't know, and then know that it's from, e.g, the shoulder area, or the loin area, and so forth.
OK, digression over. Recently, while looking for a biography in the science section of the bookstore (why the science section? Because the clerk told me, three times, that it was clear that "biography is in the same section as chemistry. I SWEAR this happened), I noted that the cookbooks were right next to science. That makes sense, kinda. So when I couldn't find my biography, I gravitated to "home," and I found a HUGE book on "Italian summer cooking." This book is a translation of an Italian work, and it's a literal translation.
I LOVE IT. We have all heard about Italian simplicity in the kitchen, then we go to restaurants where we say "THIS is simple? HUH????" Well, this collection of recipes will very much befuddle Americans who are used to very clear, precise instructions. The instructions are good, but for American style recipes, they would be judged somewhat incomplete. Still, there was much to be learned in that book, and one of the things to be learned, at least for me, was this apricot cake recipe.
I shall confess that I might have passed over this recipe, in fact PROBABLY would have passed over it, if I had not had a picture of the cake to look at. And as I love apricots, and their season is peaking, this is the time to do it.
I want you to make this cake. It is wicked easy, and wicked good. Not that sweet, and it makes a bountiful product. Of course, a law firm can polish it off without a thank you in two hours (just sayin'....), but anyway.
Ok, here's the ingredients list. You need 2 sticks of unsalted butter at room temperature. Then you need 4 large eggs, two cups of granulated sugar, 2 pounds of apricots, 4 cups of unbleached flour, and 2 teaspoons of baking powder. That's it. You might want to add a half teaspoon of salt, it's up to you. Optionally, get half a cup of crushed pistachio nuts.
Preheat your oven to 375. While this is happening, cut up the apricots into small slices. If you have small apricots, quarters. Bigger ones? Sixes and eights. Save the pits. (I'll tell you why, later. Put them in the freezer). Now, in a mixer, or by hand, if you're strong, combine the butter and sugar until it's well mixed and very light colored. Then add the eggs, one at a time, mixing until each one is combined. Then, stir in the apricots, and then the flour. This is where you need to be strong armed. Finally, dissolve the baking powder in about a teaspoon of water (the recipe calls for "a little water), and stir that in.
You will have a VERY thick batter. Spoon this into a 9 inch, buttered pan, and if you use the nuts, sprinkle them over the cake. Put it into the oven and bake it for at least an hour. You have to make judgements here, because with that much fruit, the cake will never pass the "straw in the middle test." If it looks too soggy, let it bake some more. But an hour and a quarter should be more than sufficient.
Unfortunately, this cake does not keep all that well. Whatever you do, do NOT cover it with plastic. It will hold moisture and rot and taste really, really nasty. So share it with friends, your office, or whomever. And when apricots are out of season, try it with another fruit. The Italians will approve.
OK, digression over. Recently, while looking for a biography in the science section of the bookstore (why the science section? Because the clerk told me, three times, that it was clear that "biography is in the same section as chemistry. I SWEAR this happened), I noted that the cookbooks were right next to science. That makes sense, kinda. So when I couldn't find my biography, I gravitated to "home," and I found a HUGE book on "Italian summer cooking." This book is a translation of an Italian work, and it's a literal translation.
I LOVE IT. We have all heard about Italian simplicity in the kitchen, then we go to restaurants where we say "THIS is simple? HUH????" Well, this collection of recipes will very much befuddle Americans who are used to very clear, precise instructions. The instructions are good, but for American style recipes, they would be judged somewhat incomplete. Still, there was much to be learned in that book, and one of the things to be learned, at least for me, was this apricot cake recipe.
I shall confess that I might have passed over this recipe, in fact PROBABLY would have passed over it, if I had not had a picture of the cake to look at. And as I love apricots, and their season is peaking, this is the time to do it.
I want you to make this cake. It is wicked easy, and wicked good. Not that sweet, and it makes a bountiful product. Of course, a law firm can polish it off without a thank you in two hours (just sayin'....), but anyway.
Ok, here's the ingredients list. You need 2 sticks of unsalted butter at room temperature. Then you need 4 large eggs, two cups of granulated sugar, 2 pounds of apricots, 4 cups of unbleached flour, and 2 teaspoons of baking powder. That's it. You might want to add a half teaspoon of salt, it's up to you. Optionally, get half a cup of crushed pistachio nuts.
Preheat your oven to 375. While this is happening, cut up the apricots into small slices. If you have small apricots, quarters. Bigger ones? Sixes and eights. Save the pits. (I'll tell you why, later. Put them in the freezer). Now, in a mixer, or by hand, if you're strong, combine the butter and sugar until it's well mixed and very light colored. Then add the eggs, one at a time, mixing until each one is combined. Then, stir in the apricots, and then the flour. This is where you need to be strong armed. Finally, dissolve the baking powder in about a teaspoon of water (the recipe calls for "a little water), and stir that in.
You will have a VERY thick batter. Spoon this into a 9 inch, buttered pan, and if you use the nuts, sprinkle them over the cake. Put it into the oven and bake it for at least an hour. You have to make judgements here, because with that much fruit, the cake will never pass the "straw in the middle test." If it looks too soggy, let it bake some more. But an hour and a quarter should be more than sufficient.
Unfortunately, this cake does not keep all that well. Whatever you do, do NOT cover it with plastic. It will hold moisture and rot and taste really, really nasty. So share it with friends, your office, or whomever. And when apricots are out of season, try it with another fruit. The Italians will approve.
NUMBER 500! Nana
Yes, ragazzi, we are here. Number 500 is upon us. Overdue, but here. And I have agonized (well, maybe not agonized), about what to write, and I believe the suggestion from the always reliable Sue was the best one. She wanted to hear more about Nana. Well, ok. But I warn you now. This is long, and it's tough. You may want a hankie or too. I mean that.
"Grandmother" in Italian, is "Nonna," but any Italian American of a certain generation will know that we always called grandma "Nana." I didn't even know my Nana's name, until I was about 8 years old. Giovanna Angelina, and her married name, Walters. So, she became Jean Walters. That's how she went. Never liked the Italian name, and wouldn't use it. An American to the core, was Nana. Born here, on Cornelia Street, grew up there, and never left NY ever. This was not only her home. When one speaks of "roots," one has no idea. Nana was so rooted here that the thought of travelling just unnerved her. "Why leave? The sky is the same everywhere, the trees are the same everywhere, and God is the same everywhere."
Well, you can agree or disagree with her sentiments, but you cannot disagree with the strength of her views. You see the "God," in there? Nana was VERY religious. But a very practical religious. "I believe in God, I believe in Jesus, I don't believe in priests or churches. I go to church because I feel closer to God. I wish the priests weren't there."
I'm already tearing up, because I remember, after I had come out to her, the tantrum she threw in church at the priest who denounced homosexuality from the pulpit. One of her comments, loud and pointed, was 'HOW MANY ALTAR BOYS MADE YOU SIN, FATHER? HUH????"
Yup, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
I could tell many stories about Nana, but let me stick to kitchen and foodstuff. I spent some time, going over memories. The earliest one I can think of, was when I was about 4, maybe 5 years old. Our kitchen was the biggest room in the apartment, and I used to sit there, and do my homework or read. I guess if I was 4 or 5, I was maybe coloring, or reading a book. Nana was cooking, and as she cooked, she'd give me tastes. Not to ask my opinion, she wasn't interested in that. And it was always good. Tomato sauce on a piece of Italian bread. A spoonful of buttered macaroni. A piece of fried veal with peppers, or a chunk of provolone. And I ate it all. Then, I didn't understand why that piece always tasted better than it did when we sat down as a family and ate dinner.
Somewhere along the line, I began to ask questions. "Nana, why do you always rub the ends of the cucumbers before you slice them for salad," before she made the cucumber salad which, to this day I have not been able to copy. "Nana, do you always put the garlic in AFTER you put the tomatoes in?" "Nana, when you make meatballs for soup they're smaller than the ones in pasta sauce. Why?" Sometimes she'd answer me, sometimes she wouldn't. And sometimes I would laugh at her answers, and then eventually find out, she was right. The cucumbers, for example? She was doing it to get the bitter juices out of the vegetable. I laughed at that. Well, years later, I found out that for hundreds of years, bitter juice collected at the ends of cucumbers and you could get rid of it by rubbing it with the cut end of the vegetable or a potato.
Nana is looking down, smiling and shaking her head yes.
We had always done shopping together. She was in charge of the house while Mother worked, so we'd go for food supplies with her. At some point, she began explaining how she picked things, and why. I believe I have written about how the merchants were terrified when she'd come in, because she would pick through a whole display before she'd find 8 tomatoes she wanted. She was worse with fruit. If you are an Italian, or know Italy, you will know that the tradition there is to point, tell the keeper how much you want, and he or she packs it for you. Not Nana. She would go through each and every cherry before she would collect a pound. Yes, food shopping took a long time, but we ate well, we ate VERY well. And without knowing it, I was collecting a "memory" of what food should taste like. If Nana never taught me how to cook a thing, that was invaluable.
But eventually, she did teach me how to cook. She would never actually allow me to COOK, but I could watch. "Now, you never know how much olive oil the peppers is gonna take, so you see. This is what you want," and she'd pour oil in, until she got just the sheen or density she wanted. Now, when I cook and show things to people and try to explain "I can't give you quantities, you have to watch," this is why. Praise her, or blame her, this is how we learned how to cook , no apologies.
Her specialites? Red sauce. Every week. It showed up in some way or form. Eggplant parmagiana. London broil. Breadcrumb stuffed artichokes. That cucumber salad. Pasta with olive oil and garlic. Fried fish. Pork chops. Roasted loin of pork. Pasta with breadcrumbs, which would make her cry whenever we had it. Minestrone, and also a beef soup that I despised, but which we ate regularly.
You'll notice there was no baking up there. Nope. Once in a great while, Nana would make a loaf of bread, or a cake, but it was a really big deal and she just didn't do it. We ate a lot of bakery cakes, store bought breads, rolls on Sunday from the Italian baker we'd stop in on the way home from church. And there really wasn't much movement outside of her repertoire. One of the funny family stories we share, is the time that someone decided it was a good idea to give Nana a wok for Christmas. She filled it with water and boiled pasta in it, and rusted it. So they gave her another one. The second time, she used it to cook vegetables, Italian style. She said it didn't work as well as her big pot. And she never used it again.
Nor did she used the food processor someone gave her, or the microwave. All stayed in the box. She was a "hands on" cook.
And the lady had her prejudices. OI. We ate corn on the cob, because it was American. We did NOT eat polenta, because we were southerners, and polenta was from the North. Pesto? "That's what those stupid Genovese do with perfectly good basil." Parmagiano reggiano never came into the house: another Northern apostasy. Our grating cheeses were pecorino romano, and aged provolone. When we brought lunches to school, other kids had tuna salad, or peanut butter and jelly, things like that. We had hero rolls with left over peppers and eggs, or veal cutlets, or messy eggplant sandwiches. Embarrassing to a kid, but so, SO good. And I remember it all. I remember how much better an orange tasted when she peeled it, or cut it for me, instead of doing it myself. You know that feeling, don't you?
It was actually food that gave us, or should have given us, the signal that something was wrong, when Nana's health began to fail. Nana ADORED her two daughters, more than anything, and if they asked for something , or NOT to have something, it was a done deal. Another one of the stories that the family shares, and laughs about, is the one that really was the "signal." My mother was a difficult woman. A VERY difficult woman. One night, she said to my Nana, in a loud, angry voice. "I could give a shit what we eat this week, but I don't wanna see another piece of zucchini on the plate for a month. "
Next day, Nana went out, and bought 3 pounds of zucchini and fried it up. Then she realized what she had done. She was TERRIFIED because my stepfather, who was a coward, was coming home soon. He would of course report to my mother, that she had made zucchini. My mother, angry, was a harridan, mean and spiteful. Frantic phone calls ensued, with my aunt doing everything short of getting on a flying horse to get to our house, to pick up the offending zucchini and get it out before "Colonel Klink" got home. No one ever knew. Well, mother and stepfather never did. But we all did.
A week later, Nana said she didn't know what we were talking about. We had string beans that night. We thought she was teasing us.
I would like to be able to say that the end was fast and painless, but it was not. Nana lost her mental facilities, one at a time. She forgot how to cook, and my stepfather took over. She forgot people (although she ALWAYS remembered me, and my phone number, and I'd get these calls from her, in her squeaky high voice that made me feel SO sad because I was not welcome home and I could not visit her). She remembered Guy, but not his name and always said "Make sure you tell the tall one I said hello. I like him." And she did.
I should tell you that these calls always happened in dialectical Italian, because at the end, she forgot English too, and spoke only Italian. That infuriated my mother, because she insisted that my grandmother was doing it to poke fun of her lack of knowledge of Italian. Then she began forgetting to groom herself and would go days without bathing.
Then it got really bad. She forgot how to eat, and how to drink. And at the end... she forgot how to breathe. That's how it ended. She laid down at my sister's house one day (my mother had thrown her out because she stank so badly and if she wasn't going to wash herself, she couldn't stay in the house), went to sleep, and didn't wake up.
She lived a full, 86 years. Many people would look at her life and call it simple, unfulfilled and lacking potential. Well, screw them. This short, round lady, who gave up smoking at 60 because "she was tired of it," gave more to her grandkids and to the world than most "fulfilled " people ever will. To this day, I talk to her in the kitchen, and I think of our time together with such fondness and such love. For better or worse, she is the real reason this blog is here. I'll remember her through 600 , 700, or however far it goes. When I see her again, we'll cook together.
Thank you for reading this far. I miss my Nana badly.
"Grandmother" in Italian, is "Nonna," but any Italian American of a certain generation will know that we always called grandma "Nana." I didn't even know my Nana's name, until I was about 8 years old. Giovanna Angelina, and her married name, Walters. So, she became Jean Walters. That's how she went. Never liked the Italian name, and wouldn't use it. An American to the core, was Nana. Born here, on Cornelia Street, grew up there, and never left NY ever. This was not only her home. When one speaks of "roots," one has no idea. Nana was so rooted here that the thought of travelling just unnerved her. "Why leave? The sky is the same everywhere, the trees are the same everywhere, and God is the same everywhere."
Well, you can agree or disagree with her sentiments, but you cannot disagree with the strength of her views. You see the "God," in there? Nana was VERY religious. But a very practical religious. "I believe in God, I believe in Jesus, I don't believe in priests or churches. I go to church because I feel closer to God. I wish the priests weren't there."
I'm already tearing up, because I remember, after I had come out to her, the tantrum she threw in church at the priest who denounced homosexuality from the pulpit. One of her comments, loud and pointed, was 'HOW MANY ALTAR BOYS MADE YOU SIN, FATHER? HUH????"
Yup, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
I could tell many stories about Nana, but let me stick to kitchen and foodstuff. I spent some time, going over memories. The earliest one I can think of, was when I was about 4, maybe 5 years old. Our kitchen was the biggest room in the apartment, and I used to sit there, and do my homework or read. I guess if I was 4 or 5, I was maybe coloring, or reading a book. Nana was cooking, and as she cooked, she'd give me tastes. Not to ask my opinion, she wasn't interested in that. And it was always good. Tomato sauce on a piece of Italian bread. A spoonful of buttered macaroni. A piece of fried veal with peppers, or a chunk of provolone. And I ate it all. Then, I didn't understand why that piece always tasted better than it did when we sat down as a family and ate dinner.
Somewhere along the line, I began to ask questions. "Nana, why do you always rub the ends of the cucumbers before you slice them for salad," before she made the cucumber salad which, to this day I have not been able to copy. "Nana, do you always put the garlic in AFTER you put the tomatoes in?" "Nana, when you make meatballs for soup they're smaller than the ones in pasta sauce. Why?" Sometimes she'd answer me, sometimes she wouldn't. And sometimes I would laugh at her answers, and then eventually find out, she was right. The cucumbers, for example? She was doing it to get the bitter juices out of the vegetable. I laughed at that. Well, years later, I found out that for hundreds of years, bitter juice collected at the ends of cucumbers and you could get rid of it by rubbing it with the cut end of the vegetable or a potato.
Nana is looking down, smiling and shaking her head yes.
We had always done shopping together. She was in charge of the house while Mother worked, so we'd go for food supplies with her. At some point, she began explaining how she picked things, and why. I believe I have written about how the merchants were terrified when she'd come in, because she would pick through a whole display before she'd find 8 tomatoes she wanted. She was worse with fruit. If you are an Italian, or know Italy, you will know that the tradition there is to point, tell the keeper how much you want, and he or she packs it for you. Not Nana. She would go through each and every cherry before she would collect a pound. Yes, food shopping took a long time, but we ate well, we ate VERY well. And without knowing it, I was collecting a "memory" of what food should taste like. If Nana never taught me how to cook a thing, that was invaluable.
But eventually, she did teach me how to cook. She would never actually allow me to COOK, but I could watch. "Now, you never know how much olive oil the peppers is gonna take, so you see. This is what you want," and she'd pour oil in, until she got just the sheen or density she wanted. Now, when I cook and show things to people and try to explain "I can't give you quantities, you have to watch," this is why. Praise her, or blame her, this is how we learned how to cook , no apologies.
Her specialites? Red sauce. Every week. It showed up in some way or form. Eggplant parmagiana. London broil. Breadcrumb stuffed artichokes. That cucumber salad. Pasta with olive oil and garlic. Fried fish. Pork chops. Roasted loin of pork. Pasta with breadcrumbs, which would make her cry whenever we had it. Minestrone, and also a beef soup that I despised, but which we ate regularly.
You'll notice there was no baking up there. Nope. Once in a great while, Nana would make a loaf of bread, or a cake, but it was a really big deal and she just didn't do it. We ate a lot of bakery cakes, store bought breads, rolls on Sunday from the Italian baker we'd stop in on the way home from church. And there really wasn't much movement outside of her repertoire. One of the funny family stories we share, is the time that someone decided it was a good idea to give Nana a wok for Christmas. She filled it with water and boiled pasta in it, and rusted it. So they gave her another one. The second time, she used it to cook vegetables, Italian style. She said it didn't work as well as her big pot. And she never used it again.
Nor did she used the food processor someone gave her, or the microwave. All stayed in the box. She was a "hands on" cook.
And the lady had her prejudices. OI. We ate corn on the cob, because it was American. We did NOT eat polenta, because we were southerners, and polenta was from the North. Pesto? "That's what those stupid Genovese do with perfectly good basil." Parmagiano reggiano never came into the house: another Northern apostasy. Our grating cheeses were pecorino romano, and aged provolone. When we brought lunches to school, other kids had tuna salad, or peanut butter and jelly, things like that. We had hero rolls with left over peppers and eggs, or veal cutlets, or messy eggplant sandwiches. Embarrassing to a kid, but so, SO good. And I remember it all. I remember how much better an orange tasted when she peeled it, or cut it for me, instead of doing it myself. You know that feeling, don't you?
It was actually food that gave us, or should have given us, the signal that something was wrong, when Nana's health began to fail. Nana ADORED her two daughters, more than anything, and if they asked for something , or NOT to have something, it was a done deal. Another one of the stories that the family shares, and laughs about, is the one that really was the "signal." My mother was a difficult woman. A VERY difficult woman. One night, she said to my Nana, in a loud, angry voice. "I could give a shit what we eat this week, but I don't wanna see another piece of zucchini on the plate for a month. "
Next day, Nana went out, and bought 3 pounds of zucchini and fried it up. Then she realized what she had done. She was TERRIFIED because my stepfather, who was a coward, was coming home soon. He would of course report to my mother, that she had made zucchini. My mother, angry, was a harridan, mean and spiteful. Frantic phone calls ensued, with my aunt doing everything short of getting on a flying horse to get to our house, to pick up the offending zucchini and get it out before "Colonel Klink" got home. No one ever knew. Well, mother and stepfather never did. But we all did.
A week later, Nana said she didn't know what we were talking about. We had string beans that night. We thought she was teasing us.
I would like to be able to say that the end was fast and painless, but it was not. Nana lost her mental facilities, one at a time. She forgot how to cook, and my stepfather took over. She forgot people (although she ALWAYS remembered me, and my phone number, and I'd get these calls from her, in her squeaky high voice that made me feel SO sad because I was not welcome home and I could not visit her). She remembered Guy, but not his name and always said "Make sure you tell the tall one I said hello. I like him." And she did.
I should tell you that these calls always happened in dialectical Italian, because at the end, she forgot English too, and spoke only Italian. That infuriated my mother, because she insisted that my grandmother was doing it to poke fun of her lack of knowledge of Italian. Then she began forgetting to groom herself and would go days without bathing.
Then it got really bad. She forgot how to eat, and how to drink. And at the end... she forgot how to breathe. That's how it ended. She laid down at my sister's house one day (my mother had thrown her out because she stank so badly and if she wasn't going to wash herself, she couldn't stay in the house), went to sleep, and didn't wake up.
She lived a full, 86 years. Many people would look at her life and call it simple, unfulfilled and lacking potential. Well, screw them. This short, round lady, who gave up smoking at 60 because "she was tired of it," gave more to her grandkids and to the world than most "fulfilled " people ever will. To this day, I talk to her in the kitchen, and I think of our time together with such fondness and such love. For better or worse, she is the real reason this blog is here. I'll remember her through 600 , 700, or however far it goes. When I see her again, we'll cook together.
Thank you for reading this far. I miss my Nana badly.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
You learn something new everyday. Whole favas
Well, as we get back to normal here (if there really IS such a thing here), I am writing about one of , if not my FAVORITE vegetable: fava beans. There are a few things in here about them, and one theme that comes out, over and over, is that they are a lot of work.
Indeed they are. You pod them, peel them and then you cook them. If you're lucky, you get a cup of favas from a pound of the stuff. Add in your labor, and well..
When I learned that you could peel them, freeze them and thaw them to get the peels off of them, my life changed. I no longer suffered from sore finger tips, or burned finger tips from putting them in boiling water to blanch followed by ice water (and pulling them out too fast). Still, that podding. Oi, that podding.
Not that long ago, while eating at i trulli, there were fava beans in a dish. They came to the table UNPEELED. And they were more than edible. They were good. Hmmm. Clearly, Patty Jackson was onto something, I just didn't know what it was.
A couple of weeks ago, at the farmers market, one of my buddies, the irrepressible Franca, passed on a cooking tip for me. She cooks her favas by taking the whole pods, covering them with olive oil and salt, and roasting them for about half an hour. When I told her I didn't know about that technique, the lady chortled. 'OH MY GOD. I'M TEACYING YOU something about cooking." I filed it away, and didn't think about it for a while.
What I DID think about, however, was how, in San Francisco, where I had eaten very tiny fava beans, whole, in the pod, they told me they grilled them. Grilling a full sized pod wouldn't work. It would toughen and burn the stuff. But clearly, the pods can be eaten.
Well, said I to myself. Let's give it a try. What's the worst thing that could happen?
IT WORKS FOLKS . And it's good. So if you've been avoiding favas because they are so labor intensive, here's your answer. Really. Trust me on t his (I would never lie about favas).
Preheat your oven to 375 (this worked better for me than 350). Then, get a big bunch of favas, in the pod, and coat them well with olive oil. Salt them. Then put them on a tray, in one layer, and bake them for 45 minutes (better than 30). You will get roasted color, and soft pods. If you want, you can split open the pods and pull out the beans but you know what? These pods are GOOD, and you can eat the stuff by just putting it in your mouth and running the thing through your teeth. Really, really good.
This method is not going to eliminate the shelling process from my life. There are recipes where I will want the fresher flavor. But... as one who loves these guys so much, freezes bags of them for the winter, and can't ever seem to get enough of them, this is good. This is REALLY good.
I think you should try it. Maybe more than just about anything else I've posted.
Indeed they are. You pod them, peel them and then you cook them. If you're lucky, you get a cup of favas from a pound of the stuff. Add in your labor, and well..
When I learned that you could peel them, freeze them and thaw them to get the peels off of them, my life changed. I no longer suffered from sore finger tips, or burned finger tips from putting them in boiling water to blanch followed by ice water (and pulling them out too fast). Still, that podding. Oi, that podding.
Not that long ago, while eating at i trulli, there were fava beans in a dish. They came to the table UNPEELED. And they were more than edible. They were good. Hmmm. Clearly, Patty Jackson was onto something, I just didn't know what it was.
A couple of weeks ago, at the farmers market, one of my buddies, the irrepressible Franca, passed on a cooking tip for me. She cooks her favas by taking the whole pods, covering them with olive oil and salt, and roasting them for about half an hour. When I told her I didn't know about that technique, the lady chortled. 'OH MY GOD. I'M TEACYING YOU something about cooking." I filed it away, and didn't think about it for a while.
What I DID think about, however, was how, in San Francisco, where I had eaten very tiny fava beans, whole, in the pod, they told me they grilled them. Grilling a full sized pod wouldn't work. It would toughen and burn the stuff. But clearly, the pods can be eaten.
Well, said I to myself. Let's give it a try. What's the worst thing that could happen?
IT WORKS FOLKS . And it's good. So if you've been avoiding favas because they are so labor intensive, here's your answer. Really. Trust me on t his (I would never lie about favas).
Preheat your oven to 375 (this worked better for me than 350). Then, get a big bunch of favas, in the pod, and coat them well with olive oil. Salt them. Then put them on a tray, in one layer, and bake them for 45 minutes (better than 30). You will get roasted color, and soft pods. If you want, you can split open the pods and pull out the beans but you know what? These pods are GOOD, and you can eat the stuff by just putting it in your mouth and running the thing through your teeth. Really, really good.
This method is not going to eliminate the shelling process from my life. There are recipes where I will want the fresher flavor. But... as one who loves these guys so much, freezes bags of them for the winter, and can't ever seem to get enough of them, this is good. This is REALLY good.
I think you should try it. Maybe more than just about anything else I've posted.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Stolen recipes: vegetables in tonnato sauce, and black fruit salad
Annalena experiences many things when she goes to a restaurant. Some of them are good, some not so good, but mostly, good. There are the restaurants that, for a variety of circumstances, she can never go back to again (Spartina in San Francisco, for example), where she had one of the most memorable desserts in her life (a pear and apple granita). Then, there are restaurants where a dish is so good, that Annalena orders it, over and over again, even though there are many other good things on the menu. That experience is the focus of one of today's TWO recipes. The other recipe comes from the experience of having had a wonderful dish at a restaurant which Annalena has not gotten back to, and even if she did, would probably not be able to have that dish again. It is dessert, and let's go to that one, first.
Many years ago, Annalena's dear friends Chuck and Kevin took her and Guy to "Prune," on the East Side of Manhattan. The experience of eating at Prune is unique. It is very high level cuisine, frequently using very humble ingredients. The restaurant is tiny. In fact, tiny overstates how small it is. Minuscule would be better. How they get anything done there is a miracle. And the restaurant is "manned," more or less, by extremely bright, funny, ladies who take care of you every inch of the way. The head chef and owner, Gabrielle Hamilton, has one of the drollest senses of humor on the face of this earth. Well, the night we were there, they were having a problem: they were running out of everything. And they were improvising. The "improv" produced a "dessert special," which has remained in my mind for well over six years. Yesterday, I finally got around to making it.
"Black fruit salad" really isn't black. But it is dark. And it is a dish of late summer or very hot summer. There's a limited time when all of the fruit components are available, and the ladies made the most of it. The ingredients: blueberries, blackberries, black figs, and sugar cubes, and that is all.
You can make this dessert. Free form it. Here we go.
As noted, you need the three above fruits. Blueberries are far less expensive than the other two, so try to prepare a concoction of 2 parts blueberries, to one part blackberries, to one part black figs, cut into halves or quarters, depending on their size. (If you feel flush enough to increase the amounts of blackberries and/or figs, by all means. I lucked into a street vendor selling figs at 2.50 a basket, so I did just that). Mix the fruit together. Now, take sugar cubes. As Annalena learned, sugar cubes come in different sizes. If you have the big ones, tap them gently and try to break them a bit. If you are having difficulty, i.e, they powder on application of pressure, just stop. If you have the smaller ones, leave em alone. Add the sugar cubes to the fruit. How many sugar cubes? Oh, I was afraid you were going to ask that question: if you like fruit salad very sweet, add a lot. If you don't, add less. Then, turn everything with your hands (so you don't tear up the fruit too much), and then leave it alone, unrefrigerated, for about 2 hours.
Some of the sugar on the cubes will dissolve and mix with the fruit juices and make a syrup. The rest will stay whole, and give a really wonderful crunch, and contrast, both color wise, and taste wise, to fruit that is sweet, but not REALLY sweet. If you would like to gild the lilly, add a scoop of vanilla ice cream.
Did that seem difficult? The hardest thing you have to do is shop. Yes, you can substitute fruit, in and out, but the stark color of the black fruit is something you really must experience. There is nothing quite like it.
Now, let us turn to something more involved: the tonnato recipe. For this, we go to one of Annalena's favorite spots, Barbuto. For weeks, they have had an item on the appetizer menu: a salad of green beans with tonnato sauce. I eat it just about every time we go in.
Tonnato sauce has , apparently, become one of the "it" ingredients of the summer. It is used, classically, with stewed veal, and served cold, in "vitello tonnato." Annalena has discussed and dismissed the issues surrounding veal here before, and will not do so again. The realities of the restaurant trade are such, however, that restaurants serve this sauce on turkey, on pork, and now... on vegetables. So, Annalena got to work, to try to replicate the recipe.
Except... she didn't check and did not have enough green beans. Looking around the fridge, the broccoli seemed more than adequate as a substitute, as indeed it was. So, here we go.
You will need about a pound of vegetables of some kind. Green and yellow beans, or some beans and some broccoli. You want firm vegetables. Squash is not going to work here. But you also want vegetables that aren't as firm as, say carrots, or leafy like chard. Prep them as you need, i.e, tip and tail the beans, trim the broccoli, and put them in a pot of rapidly boiling, salted water, until they are just firm to a knife (we're cooking Italian style here, no undercooked veggies, per favore). Drain them, and put them aside. While this is happening, put two tablespoons of salt cured capers under water, and drain them and replace the water, say, every minute.
Next, let's make mayonnaise. Italian style. Get out your food processor, and dump the yolks of two large eggs into it, together with the juice of half a lemon. Turn on the processor and let the thing go for a good three minutes, while you pour out a cup and a half of olive oil - a good one. Add a half teaspoon of salt to this egg mixture and then, by HALF TEASPOONS, start adding the oil, until you've added about a third of it. Turn off the processor and check. You should have very thick, light yellow stuff in there. Add a bit more salt, the juice of the other half a lemon, and turn the food processor back on. NOW you can start VERY slowly adding the oil through the feed tube of the processor. If you are going too fast, you will know: you'll begin to hear a slapping, wet sound. Slow down, and let the process take its course, then add the oil in a steady stream. Add the capers Taste it and correct for salt. Put this aside too.
Now, get a pound or so of good quality tuna steaks. Oil up a grill and when it's hot, sear them for about a minute on a side (the only thing Mario Batali and I agree on). When they're done, let them cool, and then roughly tear them into chunks. Combine these, the vegetables, and the mayonnaise together, and stir . Again, taste. Correct acidity and salt if you need to. If you can, let this refrigerate for an hour or so, to let the flavors blend, and then let it come to room temperature.
Yes, this one is more involved, but you're getting a fairly complete meal with the fish and veggies, albeit a rich one. This will serve 4-5 people if you put out some pasta too, or 3 very hungry ones.
Ok, folks, this is number 499. Annalena has an idea of what the next one is gonna be, and there won't be any recipes. Ya ready?
Many years ago, Annalena's dear friends Chuck and Kevin took her and Guy to "Prune," on the East Side of Manhattan. The experience of eating at Prune is unique. It is very high level cuisine, frequently using very humble ingredients. The restaurant is tiny. In fact, tiny overstates how small it is. Minuscule would be better. How they get anything done there is a miracle. And the restaurant is "manned," more or less, by extremely bright, funny, ladies who take care of you every inch of the way. The head chef and owner, Gabrielle Hamilton, has one of the drollest senses of humor on the face of this earth. Well, the night we were there, they were having a problem: they were running out of everything. And they were improvising. The "improv" produced a "dessert special," which has remained in my mind for well over six years. Yesterday, I finally got around to making it.
"Black fruit salad" really isn't black. But it is dark. And it is a dish of late summer or very hot summer. There's a limited time when all of the fruit components are available, and the ladies made the most of it. The ingredients: blueberries, blackberries, black figs, and sugar cubes, and that is all.
You can make this dessert. Free form it. Here we go.
As noted, you need the three above fruits. Blueberries are far less expensive than the other two, so try to prepare a concoction of 2 parts blueberries, to one part blackberries, to one part black figs, cut into halves or quarters, depending on their size. (If you feel flush enough to increase the amounts of blackberries and/or figs, by all means. I lucked into a street vendor selling figs at 2.50 a basket, so I did just that). Mix the fruit together. Now, take sugar cubes. As Annalena learned, sugar cubes come in different sizes. If you have the big ones, tap them gently and try to break them a bit. If you are having difficulty, i.e, they powder on application of pressure, just stop. If you have the smaller ones, leave em alone. Add the sugar cubes to the fruit. How many sugar cubes? Oh, I was afraid you were going to ask that question: if you like fruit salad very sweet, add a lot. If you don't, add less. Then, turn everything with your hands (so you don't tear up the fruit too much), and then leave it alone, unrefrigerated, for about 2 hours.
Some of the sugar on the cubes will dissolve and mix with the fruit juices and make a syrup. The rest will stay whole, and give a really wonderful crunch, and contrast, both color wise, and taste wise, to fruit that is sweet, but not REALLY sweet. If you would like to gild the lilly, add a scoop of vanilla ice cream.
Did that seem difficult? The hardest thing you have to do is shop. Yes, you can substitute fruit, in and out, but the stark color of the black fruit is something you really must experience. There is nothing quite like it.
Now, let us turn to something more involved: the tonnato recipe. For this, we go to one of Annalena's favorite spots, Barbuto. For weeks, they have had an item on the appetizer menu: a salad of green beans with tonnato sauce. I eat it just about every time we go in.
Tonnato sauce has , apparently, become one of the "it" ingredients of the summer. It is used, classically, with stewed veal, and served cold, in "vitello tonnato." Annalena has discussed and dismissed the issues surrounding veal here before, and will not do so again. The realities of the restaurant trade are such, however, that restaurants serve this sauce on turkey, on pork, and now... on vegetables. So, Annalena got to work, to try to replicate the recipe.
Except... she didn't check and did not have enough green beans. Looking around the fridge, the broccoli seemed more than adequate as a substitute, as indeed it was. So, here we go.
You will need about a pound of vegetables of some kind. Green and yellow beans, or some beans and some broccoli. You want firm vegetables. Squash is not going to work here. But you also want vegetables that aren't as firm as, say carrots, or leafy like chard. Prep them as you need, i.e, tip and tail the beans, trim the broccoli, and put them in a pot of rapidly boiling, salted water, until they are just firm to a knife (we're cooking Italian style here, no undercooked veggies, per favore). Drain them, and put them aside. While this is happening, put two tablespoons of salt cured capers under water, and drain them and replace the water, say, every minute.
Next, let's make mayonnaise. Italian style. Get out your food processor, and dump the yolks of two large eggs into it, together with the juice of half a lemon. Turn on the processor and let the thing go for a good three minutes, while you pour out a cup and a half of olive oil - a good one. Add a half teaspoon of salt to this egg mixture and then, by HALF TEASPOONS, start adding the oil, until you've added about a third of it. Turn off the processor and check. You should have very thick, light yellow stuff in there. Add a bit more salt, the juice of the other half a lemon, and turn the food processor back on. NOW you can start VERY slowly adding the oil through the feed tube of the processor. If you are going too fast, you will know: you'll begin to hear a slapping, wet sound. Slow down, and let the process take its course, then add the oil in a steady stream. Add the capers Taste it and correct for salt. Put this aside too.
Now, get a pound or so of good quality tuna steaks. Oil up a grill and when it's hot, sear them for about a minute on a side (the only thing Mario Batali and I agree on). When they're done, let them cool, and then roughly tear them into chunks. Combine these, the vegetables, and the mayonnaise together, and stir . Again, taste. Correct acidity and salt if you need to. If you can, let this refrigerate for an hour or so, to let the flavors blend, and then let it come to room temperature.
Yes, this one is more involved, but you're getting a fairly complete meal with the fish and veggies, albeit a rich one. This will serve 4-5 people if you put out some pasta too, or 3 very hungry ones.
Ok, folks, this is number 499. Annalena has an idea of what the next one is gonna be, and there won't be any recipes. Ya ready?
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Another way of looking at arugula
I'm an impulse buyer at the farmers market. No question about it. I will go with a plan, with a list, with good intentions. Then I see what's there, especially at this time of year and, as Olivia sang once "there go all of my defenses." If you saw the size of the bags that I bring back on prime days (Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday), you would swear I was the old woman who lived in a shoe. No, it's just Annalena getting swept away by the power of produce.
That's cute, isn't it? Well, last week, it happened around salad greens. See, when the weather gets blisteringly hot, as it had, salad greens don't do well. So there was a shortage. And immediately after it got cool, they came back, in force. And, cutting through much foliage, there I found myself, with a huge bag of rucola, or rocket, or wild arugula, or whatever you want to call it. And it was beginning to look onery. Salad was not in the future, so a little thinking was in order.
It was lunch time. And since I have now totally embraced my hatred of brunch, I was determined to do something with it. I had spoken to the ever patient Guy about a pizza today, but in the frenzy of getting things cooked for my wolfpack, I forgot about that, and had no pizza dough ready. BUT... I had a huge loaf of bread with fresh herbs in it that I had made yesterday (Annalena has started making one enormous loaf, rather than smaller ones. What they say is true. The bigger loaves hold their flavor better. Dont ask me why. I don't know. They just do). I also had more cheese than a government storage depot could ask for. Toasted cheese sandwiches of some kind seemed to be in order. Of course, now being the healthy person she is, Annalena knew we needed some vegetables. Arugula, cheese. Hmmm.
(By the way, does it bother any of you that she/I switch from 1st to 3rd person and back in these blogs, sometimes even in the same sentence? Let me/her know, m'kay?).
One more element then came up. The first of the field tomatoes are here. You will appreciate, kind reader, that this is an opportunity that must not be passed up, so there were tons of cherry tomatoes of various colors and shapes abounding. Yesterday, some of them went into flounder and tomato pasta sauce (look for it. It's on this blog). Tomatoes and arugula make appearances in, for example, veal milanese, where tomatoes are cooked gently, and served with raw argula atop a veal chop. They also make appearance together in my pizzas, where the tomato is in sauce form, raw arugula goes on top, and then some prosciutto goes on top of that.
I had too much arugula to mess with that. So, gentle reader... I cooked it. It was, if I do say so myself, pretty terrific. I recommend it. I'm going to give you the full treatment here, with the toasted cheese sandwich idea, but make the veggie combination for whatever you like.
First, toast your bread. Get some good bread and cut , say, four thick slices. Annalena does not own a toaster or a toaster oven, so she toasts her bread by turning the oven to broil, and putting the slices about 3 inches from the flame, for five minutes. While this was happening, I put about 3 cups of cherry tomatoes, whole, into a big pan with some olive oil and salt. When the tomatoes began to sizzle, I covered the pot. This allows the tomatoes to sweat and burst. It doesn't take long. Then, I added a whole lot of fresh wild arugula. The greens wilted immediately. I covered the pan again, to let them cook down even further, and get softer. In five minutes, they were done.
While this was happening, I put the bread slices onto a baking sheet, covered them with slices of cheddar cheese and melted it. When that came out, the cooked tomato/ arugula mixture went right on top. And you know what? We had one helluva good lunch.
If you can cook food like this - and you can- who needs to run out for brunch. Try it some time.
That's cute, isn't it? Well, last week, it happened around salad greens. See, when the weather gets blisteringly hot, as it had, salad greens don't do well. So there was a shortage. And immediately after it got cool, they came back, in force. And, cutting through much foliage, there I found myself, with a huge bag of rucola, or rocket, or wild arugula, or whatever you want to call it. And it was beginning to look onery. Salad was not in the future, so a little thinking was in order.
It was lunch time. And since I have now totally embraced my hatred of brunch, I was determined to do something with it. I had spoken to the ever patient Guy about a pizza today, but in the frenzy of getting things cooked for my wolfpack, I forgot about that, and had no pizza dough ready. BUT... I had a huge loaf of bread with fresh herbs in it that I had made yesterday (Annalena has started making one enormous loaf, rather than smaller ones. What they say is true. The bigger loaves hold their flavor better. Dont ask me why. I don't know. They just do). I also had more cheese than a government storage depot could ask for. Toasted cheese sandwiches of some kind seemed to be in order. Of course, now being the healthy person she is, Annalena knew we needed some vegetables. Arugula, cheese. Hmmm.
(By the way, does it bother any of you that she/I switch from 1st to 3rd person and back in these blogs, sometimes even in the same sentence? Let me/her know, m'kay?).
One more element then came up. The first of the field tomatoes are here. You will appreciate, kind reader, that this is an opportunity that must not be passed up, so there were tons of cherry tomatoes of various colors and shapes abounding. Yesterday, some of them went into flounder and tomato pasta sauce (look for it. It's on this blog). Tomatoes and arugula make appearances in, for example, veal milanese, where tomatoes are cooked gently, and served with raw argula atop a veal chop. They also make appearance together in my pizzas, where the tomato is in sauce form, raw arugula goes on top, and then some prosciutto goes on top of that.
I had too much arugula to mess with that. So, gentle reader... I cooked it. It was, if I do say so myself, pretty terrific. I recommend it. I'm going to give you the full treatment here, with the toasted cheese sandwich idea, but make the veggie combination for whatever you like.
First, toast your bread. Get some good bread and cut , say, four thick slices. Annalena does not own a toaster or a toaster oven, so she toasts her bread by turning the oven to broil, and putting the slices about 3 inches from the flame, for five minutes. While this was happening, I put about 3 cups of cherry tomatoes, whole, into a big pan with some olive oil and salt. When the tomatoes began to sizzle, I covered the pot. This allows the tomatoes to sweat and burst. It doesn't take long. Then, I added a whole lot of fresh wild arugula. The greens wilted immediately. I covered the pan again, to let them cook down even further, and get softer. In five minutes, they were done.
While this was happening, I put the bread slices onto a baking sheet, covered them with slices of cheddar cheese and melted it. When that came out, the cooked tomato/ arugula mixture went right on top. And you know what? We had one helluva good lunch.
If you can cook food like this - and you can- who needs to run out for brunch. Try it some time.
Stealing from the Hearth, retreating to the hearth: hazelnut rosemary biscotti
We cook for many reasons. I certainly do. Those reasons will vary, but as long as the end result is to make you feel a little bit better than you did before you started cooking, they're valid. Period. Annalena so decrees.
She does so because she's not having the greatest of weekends. No great tragedies, just a sense of having to face the fact that things are changing, and the old modes for keeping balanced and even, will not work. Annalena knows what she has to do, and honestly, is ready to do it. So, we sail, blindly into the wind, unable to look both ahead and behind, and wait for what happens.
It is with this in mind, that I made cookies today - biscotti. Since Annalena has become a member of the gym going public ( a "champion Member" at NYSC, whatever that means), she has made cookies only for special occasions. The ones made today will be used for what qualifies as a special occasion in her mind: the wolfpack comes to dinner. The Wolfpack, and thoughts thereof, are part of what is now keeping Annalena balanced and even on that old balance beam. That and the support of friends who are NOT young enough to be Annalena's children. All praise gray hair.
It is somewhat ironic, then, and perhaps prophetic, that the biscotti in question, are a riff on some I had at Hearth on Friday night. The place was jammed. And for the first time ever, Annalena was not able to dictate what she wanted for dinner. The kitchen would not compromise. It looked like a disaster. But it was not. Our wonderful server friend Laura was a gem, the wine manager Eric, another, and the meal terrific, ending with a plate of cookies that included a slyly sweet, and spicy, and herbacious, biscotti. There were only two on the plate (with many other cookies), and Annalena was hard pressed not to run back into the pastry kitchen, distract the women working there and make off with the entire stash. Instead, today, as I went into MY hearth- my kitchen - I thought "let me give them a try."
You can do this. You can do it when you need the uplift, or just because. Which reason is better? Neither. Any excuse for cooking is good.
These are Italian style biscotti, which means they are not very rich. You start with two whole eggs, which you combine with a generous 3/4 cup of sugar. You also add half a teaspoon of baking powder, and the same amount of salt. Stir this all together until you have something that looks a bit like pancake batter. Now, add your flour - 2 cups of it. You may very well feel - as I did - that the mix is too dry. If you are having trouble incorporating all of the flour with your hands - the only way to do this, in my opinion - then add another egg (incidentally, use large or extra large eggs). The three of them should do it. Now, stir in a cup of hazelnuts that you have chopped fine, with the leaves of three large sprigs of rosemary. I know "what does large mean?" Use your judgement, the cookies are going to be terrific.
After you've mixed this all up, form two long, narrow logs on a parchment lined baking sheet. You will want to wet your hands to do this, and that's fine. Spread them out, and even them out, and then put the sheet in a preheated 350 oven for 30 minutes. You will get a lightly browned product. Let this sit and cool for another 30 minutes, at least, and if you don't get to it in 30 minutes, don't worry.
Use a serrated knife, and cut thin slices off the logs, at a diagonal, or not. (you choose, and choose how thick you want them, too, but no more than 1/3 of an inch). Lay them down on your sheet, and bake for another 30 minutes, this time at 325. You should watch them and if they are browning on the bottom, take em out after 20 minutes. Let them cool. They will be VERY crispy and dry. Perfect for adults.
Did making the cookies make me feel better? A bit. What made me feel even better though, was the thought that (i) I could replicate something I really liked and (ii) I will be serving them, to people I really LOVE. That's a powerful combination.
She does so because she's not having the greatest of weekends. No great tragedies, just a sense of having to face the fact that things are changing, and the old modes for keeping balanced and even, will not work. Annalena knows what she has to do, and honestly, is ready to do it. So, we sail, blindly into the wind, unable to look both ahead and behind, and wait for what happens.
It is with this in mind, that I made cookies today - biscotti. Since Annalena has become a member of the gym going public ( a "champion Member" at NYSC, whatever that means), she has made cookies only for special occasions. The ones made today will be used for what qualifies as a special occasion in her mind: the wolfpack comes to dinner. The Wolfpack, and thoughts thereof, are part of what is now keeping Annalena balanced and even on that old balance beam. That and the support of friends who are NOT young enough to be Annalena's children. All praise gray hair.
It is somewhat ironic, then, and perhaps prophetic, that the biscotti in question, are a riff on some I had at Hearth on Friday night. The place was jammed. And for the first time ever, Annalena was not able to dictate what she wanted for dinner. The kitchen would not compromise. It looked like a disaster. But it was not. Our wonderful server friend Laura was a gem, the wine manager Eric, another, and the meal terrific, ending with a plate of cookies that included a slyly sweet, and spicy, and herbacious, biscotti. There were only two on the plate (with many other cookies), and Annalena was hard pressed not to run back into the pastry kitchen, distract the women working there and make off with the entire stash. Instead, today, as I went into MY hearth- my kitchen - I thought "let me give them a try."
You can do this. You can do it when you need the uplift, or just because. Which reason is better? Neither. Any excuse for cooking is good.
These are Italian style biscotti, which means they are not very rich. You start with two whole eggs, which you combine with a generous 3/4 cup of sugar. You also add half a teaspoon of baking powder, and the same amount of salt. Stir this all together until you have something that looks a bit like pancake batter. Now, add your flour - 2 cups of it. You may very well feel - as I did - that the mix is too dry. If you are having trouble incorporating all of the flour with your hands - the only way to do this, in my opinion - then add another egg (incidentally, use large or extra large eggs). The three of them should do it. Now, stir in a cup of hazelnuts that you have chopped fine, with the leaves of three large sprigs of rosemary. I know "what does large mean?" Use your judgement, the cookies are going to be terrific.
After you've mixed this all up, form two long, narrow logs on a parchment lined baking sheet. You will want to wet your hands to do this, and that's fine. Spread them out, and even them out, and then put the sheet in a preheated 350 oven for 30 minutes. You will get a lightly browned product. Let this sit and cool for another 30 minutes, at least, and if you don't get to it in 30 minutes, don't worry.
Use a serrated knife, and cut thin slices off the logs, at a diagonal, or not. (you choose, and choose how thick you want them, too, but no more than 1/3 of an inch). Lay them down on your sheet, and bake for another 30 minutes, this time at 325. You should watch them and if they are browning on the bottom, take em out after 20 minutes. Let them cool. They will be VERY crispy and dry. Perfect for adults.
Did making the cookies make me feel better? A bit. What made me feel even better though, was the thought that (i) I could replicate something I really liked and (ii) I will be serving them, to people I really LOVE. That's a powerful combination.
Hello old friend: Sangria sorbet. And a call for thoughts
Years ago, I bought David Lebovitz' first book "Room for Dessert." He's published several more books since then, but this one is still my favorite. The copyright date on the book is 1999, so that's when I first made the dessert I'm gonna talk about here. I can't believe it was that long ago. And I used to make it often. Then I stopped. Why, I don't know. Sort of like getting so comfortable with something that you move on, maybe? Who knows. In any event , the thought of the dessert came back to me the other day, and I pulled out the recipe.
It was easy to make then and it's easy to make now. And for those of you who don't have ice cream makers, I'm gonna make a few suggestions because this is one you should make. It's terrific.
First, you have to pick your wine. Something fruity, like a zinfandel (I always make it with zinfandel, but use what you like), and about 1.25 cups of it. You also need a scan two cups of citrus juice. David calls for orange or tangerine juice, but I like to mix it up. Most of the juice really should be in the orange family, but I add lemon and lime juice too, because that's how I remember sangria. Squeeze till you have enough juice. Pour that in with the wine. Then, make a simple syrup of a cup of sugar and half a cup of water, and mix that into the other liquids.
Did that seem hard? I didn't think so. Now let it cool.
If you have an ice cream maker, churn away. You'll get this soft, dark purple mixture that will make you think of frozen sangria (By the way, if you can get a frozen margarita, you should be able to get a frozen sangria . Come on restaurant folks. Get on this).
Now, if you don't have an ice cream maker, do this one of two other ways. One way: freeze this in an ice cube tray and when you're ready to serve, put the cubes in a food processor and pulse. Or, for the granita fans, pour this into a 9x9 inch METAL pan (you need metal here, for the cold conduction and also for the sturdiness). Every twenty minutes or so, as ice crystals form, go in and stir it up to break it up. You'll get some much more "flinty" than with the other two methods, but equally good.
This is great as a cooler in the middle of the day (sort of like Venetian sgroppino), or as a refresher after a heavy meal and before the "real" dessert, or just as something to sit down and enjoy, when you're sitting on the roof, and watching the sunset. It has that kind of color, too. It will remind you of that.
OK KIDS. Annalena has a request. This is post number 496. We are coming up to a very serious number: NUMBER 500. So, let's have some requests. I cannot promise honoring any of them, but what would you like to see for this milestone? No reasonable request refused. And if it doesn't make it to number 500, maybe it will show up later.
Annalena is a girl of mystery. You never know...
It was easy to make then and it's easy to make now. And for those of you who don't have ice cream makers, I'm gonna make a few suggestions because this is one you should make. It's terrific.
First, you have to pick your wine. Something fruity, like a zinfandel (I always make it with zinfandel, but use what you like), and about 1.25 cups of it. You also need a scan two cups of citrus juice. David calls for orange or tangerine juice, but I like to mix it up. Most of the juice really should be in the orange family, but I add lemon and lime juice too, because that's how I remember sangria. Squeeze till you have enough juice. Pour that in with the wine. Then, make a simple syrup of a cup of sugar and half a cup of water, and mix that into the other liquids.
Did that seem hard? I didn't think so. Now let it cool.
If you have an ice cream maker, churn away. You'll get this soft, dark purple mixture that will make you think of frozen sangria (By the way, if you can get a frozen margarita, you should be able to get a frozen sangria . Come on restaurant folks. Get on this).
Now, if you don't have an ice cream maker, do this one of two other ways. One way: freeze this in an ice cube tray and when you're ready to serve, put the cubes in a food processor and pulse. Or, for the granita fans, pour this into a 9x9 inch METAL pan (you need metal here, for the cold conduction and also for the sturdiness). Every twenty minutes or so, as ice crystals form, go in and stir it up to break it up. You'll get some much more "flinty" than with the other two methods, but equally good.
This is great as a cooler in the middle of the day (sort of like Venetian sgroppino), or as a refresher after a heavy meal and before the "real" dessert, or just as something to sit down and enjoy, when you're sitting on the roof, and watching the sunset. It has that kind of color, too. It will remind you of that.
OK KIDS. Annalena has a request. This is post number 496. We are coming up to a very serious number: NUMBER 500. So, let's have some requests. I cannot promise honoring any of them, but what would you like to see for this milestone? No reasonable request refused. And if it doesn't make it to number 500, maybe it will show up later.
Annalena is a girl of mystery. You never know...
Saturday, July 10, 2010
The fish, the whole fish and nothing but the fish: cooking the whole thing
I have noticed, in chatting with people about cooking, a real aversion to cooking a whole fish. Part of it is the "ewwww" factor of seeing something with the head on it, with the eyes. That is something that you just have to get over. The fillet you eat used to have a head attached to it. And, everything that the professionals say is true: whole fish does taste better than the fillets. There is some kind of sweetness thta seems to emanate out of the bones and makes it so much tastier. I'm sure there are many articles and pieces on why a whole fish is better than the fillet or steak, but who cares? Let's just say it is, and move on.
Now, the first thing, of course, is to get over the head attached to the fish. Annalena really cannot help you with this, other than to say: you've seen worse things in your life, and your interaction with the head is going to be very minimal, as you will see.
The next thing that people are confronted with, is not knowing how to buy a whole fish. Well, this is where you need the head to be attached. Look at the eye: is it clear, and unfogged? That's a sign of freshness. As fish age, their eyes almost become covered with a cataract. If the eye is clear, you're in the right direction.
Next, smell it. This, of course, tells you that you should never buy whole fish that is hermetically sealed in plastic. It's not good for the fish, and you can't inspect it. What should you smell?
Nothing. I'm serious. All this talk about "the wonderful smell of fresh fish," or "the breezes of the ocean, " is poppycock. A fresh fish has no smell. If you get a whiff of fish, the beast is beginning to age. A bit of a smell, especially with an oilier fish, like a mackerel or a bluefish, is ok, but if it REALLY smells like cat food put it down, no matter how clear the eyes are.
Now, next fear: I don't know how to clean it. Well, that's why God invented fish mongers. If you are buying a whole fish, the sales person will know how to clean it. Ask. Most will just do it routinely, but some of us do know how to do it and might want some of the innards. For example, monkfish liver is prized by some, so they want it. Annalena says they can have it. She does NOT consider it the "foie gras of the sea." So, you don't have to worry about cleaning or scaling the fish. DO know that, you pay for the fish with the guts attached, for the most part. Some fish mongers will charge you for the cleaned fish, but rest assured that they have raised the price. It's worth it.
What fish should you buy? Well, something you like . Something that does not weigh more than about a pound/pound and a quarter each. This gives you so many options it is unbelievable. Sea bass. Snapper. Bream. (Now, here's a killer "bream" is porgy. But you'll only see the fish advertised as porgy if it's pan fried. If it's baked, they think it's continental and call it bream). Anyway, go to a fish store, look at the various fish, and you'll see how many are really small. Making a whole striped bass or salmon is not that hard, but we'll deal with that at another point in time. Figure that for each person, you need one of these guys (or gals).
When you get them home, wash them. Perhaps rub it all over with lemon juice. You don't have to do it. Preheat your oven to 450, and then get your pan ready. If you have a baking dish that will hold all of your fish comfortably, use it. Spread olive oil over the bottom of the pan. If you don't have a pan big enough, line a cooking sheet with parchment paper. That should handle four fish comfortably.
We're going to bake our fish today with a stuffing: pesto. And we're going to use the pesto that we used for rabbit. Lets make it, or let's use extra from another night. Get a cup of toasted walnuts (350 in the oven for 10 minutes), and put them in a blender . Pulse them a few times. Then slowly add olive oil , with the machine running, until you get a thick paste. Taste it, and correct for salt.
You will only need a tablespoon or so to stuff each fish. Those cavities are small, and you don't want to kill the taste of the fish with too much stuff. Then, get a sharp knife and run two or three deep cuts through the skin, and spoon one or two more spoons of pesto over each one. You do the slashing to make sure that the skin cooks properly and also to let the lovely pesto flavor the meat of the fish.
Get this into the oven, and let it bake for 30 minutes. It sounds like a lot of time, but it's right. When it comes out of the oven: time to deal with things. Be brave. Get some tongs, and grab the fish at the front, around the mouth, and bend back. If the fish is cooked completely, the head will snap at the right place, and you are DONE with it. You can bend the tail up, and it will break as well.
You can serve the fish like this, and let people eat it as they see fit, but if you want to be really "professional" about it, take a soft knife (not a steak knife, the other kind), and use the BACK (the non blade end) and run it along the backbone of the fish. You'll see how easily the meat separates. Then remove that fillet with a paddle, and put it aside. The skeleton will be exposed, and you just pull that away, and your fish is ready.
You should warn your guests that there will be bones. You never get rid of all of them this way and that's ok. In the same way that you might gnaw at a chicken leg bone, or something like that, you're going to do the same thing, sucking at the bones of the fish. They will taste just as good. Some people really enjoy the bones, most of all. Not me.
Make some whole fish today. Impress your friends. It is not hard to do, and if they are not impressed, they are jaded and you should move on.
Now, the first thing, of course, is to get over the head attached to the fish. Annalena really cannot help you with this, other than to say: you've seen worse things in your life, and your interaction with the head is going to be very minimal, as you will see.
The next thing that people are confronted with, is not knowing how to buy a whole fish. Well, this is where you need the head to be attached. Look at the eye: is it clear, and unfogged? That's a sign of freshness. As fish age, their eyes almost become covered with a cataract. If the eye is clear, you're in the right direction.
Next, smell it. This, of course, tells you that you should never buy whole fish that is hermetically sealed in plastic. It's not good for the fish, and you can't inspect it. What should you smell?
Nothing. I'm serious. All this talk about "the wonderful smell of fresh fish," or "the breezes of the ocean, " is poppycock. A fresh fish has no smell. If you get a whiff of fish, the beast is beginning to age. A bit of a smell, especially with an oilier fish, like a mackerel or a bluefish, is ok, but if it REALLY smells like cat food put it down, no matter how clear the eyes are.
Now, next fear: I don't know how to clean it. Well, that's why God invented fish mongers. If you are buying a whole fish, the sales person will know how to clean it. Ask. Most will just do it routinely, but some of us do know how to do it and might want some of the innards. For example, monkfish liver is prized by some, so they want it. Annalena says they can have it. She does NOT consider it the "foie gras of the sea." So, you don't have to worry about cleaning or scaling the fish. DO know that, you pay for the fish with the guts attached, for the most part. Some fish mongers will charge you for the cleaned fish, but rest assured that they have raised the price. It's worth it.
What fish should you buy? Well, something you like . Something that does not weigh more than about a pound/pound and a quarter each. This gives you so many options it is unbelievable. Sea bass. Snapper. Bream. (Now, here's a killer "bream" is porgy. But you'll only see the fish advertised as porgy if it's pan fried. If it's baked, they think it's continental and call it bream). Anyway, go to a fish store, look at the various fish, and you'll see how many are really small. Making a whole striped bass or salmon is not that hard, but we'll deal with that at another point in time. Figure that for each person, you need one of these guys (or gals).
When you get them home, wash them. Perhaps rub it all over with lemon juice. You don't have to do it. Preheat your oven to 450, and then get your pan ready. If you have a baking dish that will hold all of your fish comfortably, use it. Spread olive oil over the bottom of the pan. If you don't have a pan big enough, line a cooking sheet with parchment paper. That should handle four fish comfortably.
We're going to bake our fish today with a stuffing: pesto. And we're going to use the pesto that we used for rabbit. Lets make it, or let's use extra from another night. Get a cup of toasted walnuts (350 in the oven for 10 minutes), and put them in a blender . Pulse them a few times. Then slowly add olive oil , with the machine running, until you get a thick paste. Taste it, and correct for salt.
You will only need a tablespoon or so to stuff each fish. Those cavities are small, and you don't want to kill the taste of the fish with too much stuff. Then, get a sharp knife and run two or three deep cuts through the skin, and spoon one or two more spoons of pesto over each one. You do the slashing to make sure that the skin cooks properly and also to let the lovely pesto flavor the meat of the fish.
Get this into the oven, and let it bake for 30 minutes. It sounds like a lot of time, but it's right. When it comes out of the oven: time to deal with things. Be brave. Get some tongs, and grab the fish at the front, around the mouth, and bend back. If the fish is cooked completely, the head will snap at the right place, and you are DONE with it. You can bend the tail up, and it will break as well.
You can serve the fish like this, and let people eat it as they see fit, but if you want to be really "professional" about it, take a soft knife (not a steak knife, the other kind), and use the BACK (the non blade end) and run it along the backbone of the fish. You'll see how easily the meat separates. Then remove that fillet with a paddle, and put it aside. The skeleton will be exposed, and you just pull that away, and your fish is ready.
You should warn your guests that there will be bones. You never get rid of all of them this way and that's ok. In the same way that you might gnaw at a chicken leg bone, or something like that, you're going to do the same thing, sucking at the bones of the fish. They will taste just as good. Some people really enjoy the bones, most of all. Not me.
Make some whole fish today. Impress your friends. It is not hard to do, and if they are not impressed, they are jaded and you should move on.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
For my dirty bird: revisiting quail
I have a friend who calls himself "the dirty bird." It's one of the things he calls himself. I adore him. The way we met is one of those things that could only happen in NYC. He was waiting tables at a favorite restaurant, and we went at holiday time. He took care of us. We exchanged one liners, he kept up with me. Annalena likes that in a man. Wanna impress her? Show that you have wit. The dirty bird does. And this is for him
One of the very first blog entries I wrote (nearly 500 of them ago), dealt with my nephew's notorious statement "the cuter the animal the sweeter the meat." There is this dichotomy among some of my friends. A few, will not eat meat from an animal they deem "cute." So, Eugene does not eat rabbit, or quail, or lamb, but he will eat beef and pork. On the other hand, there are those like my nephew, who will gravitate toward the cuter animal because he thinks it's going to taste better. Keep him away from venison, that's for sure (Keep me away, too, but for different reasons. Not my cup of meat).
So , anyway, I havent' written much about them since then, if at all, and I don't think I've written about currants.
SOMEONE has to be doing something with them. I am really flummoxed. Fresh currants are not what you buy in the box, that look like small raisins. Those "currants" are really a form of a dried grape. Fresh currants do not dry well, and they are deceptive, in the sense that they look like they should be very sweet. Uh uh. There is a slight sourness about currants that makes them interesting, but not something to put in your lunch box. They are loaded with pectin, which makes them terrific for jam and jelly, and I guess a lot of people are using them that way. Also, they are indispensible in one of my favorite dishes, summer pudding, where they act to hold all that summer fruit together in one large mass. (Hmmm. Need a dessert on tuesday. Maybe...).
Well, where am I going with this? OK, yesterday I wrote about the fennel puree (which was so good, by the way, I'm going to make it again for that meal where I need the dessert). The menu I "appropriatead" the idea from included quail. Now, I lost that menu. Don't ask me how, I just did. It's Murphy's Law in action. I have so many menus that I'm not using, the ONE menu I needed, I can't find. So I didn't remember how they cooked the quail.
Well, necessity propels the cook. Wandering around the market, I saw currants, and began thinking of the dish that I make so often in the fall: the quail in grape sauce. Well, currants certainly don't have the juice of grapes, but with a little help.... Also, that grape sauce dish is a bit sweet, and I wanted something a bit tarter. So I needed to add some liquid, and also to try to push it toward tartness.
Balsamic vinegar seemed to fill the bill: it has that wonderful combination of sour and sweet, the "agrodolce" of Italian cooking. The dish began to take shape, and here it is. Try it if you eat things that are cute.
For two people, get two quail. This works better with the whole, rather than the semi-boned quail. IF you have semi-boned, cut the cooking time on the meat. Salt the birds the morning of the night you're making dinner, just like I advise on all meat dishes.
When you're ready, get a pint of fresh, red currants. Standard wisdom tells you to run the strands of currant through a fork and the berries will just come off. Standard wisdom does not tell you how much you will curse as the strands break and the stems fall back into your currants. Rub them off with your fingers instead. It won't take long. If it did, I'd cook this with the stems (you know how I get).
Have a quarter cup of Balsamic vinegar ready. Put about 3 tablespoons of oliveoil in a wide pan, and when it's hot, add the quail. Brown them well. I would say to plan on 8 minutes. Do two minutes on their backs, flip them and do the same on the breast side, then 2 on each side of the birds. Here, you'll have to move them so that they are laying in the pan, side down rather than back or front, and do it again. It ain't no big thing. If your pan isn't hot enough, and you're not getting the brown you want, cook them longer.
When they're done, pour off most but not all of the fat. Add the currants evenly around the pan, and then the vinegar. Cover the pan, lower the heat, and let them cook for about ten minutes. That's all you need.
The currants will collapse into a heavy , jellied mass, lightened by the reduced balsamic vinegar. If you like - you don't have to - thin this a bit with vinegar, or wine, or chicken stock. Spoon that sauce over the birds, after you plate them.
YOU'RE DONE. If you've cleverly made the puree ahead of time, you can be cooking a veggie in another pan at the same time the quail are cooking, and dinner is on the table in a half hour.
Of course, if you're cooking for someone who finds quail incredibly cute (incidentally, while they may be cute, farm raised quail are the dumbest creatures you can imagine), then you will have to wait for the take out to arrive. And don't even ask if s/he would prefer squab instead.
One of the very first blog entries I wrote (nearly 500 of them ago), dealt with my nephew's notorious statement "the cuter the animal the sweeter the meat." There is this dichotomy among some of my friends. A few, will not eat meat from an animal they deem "cute." So, Eugene does not eat rabbit, or quail, or lamb, but he will eat beef and pork. On the other hand, there are those like my nephew, who will gravitate toward the cuter animal because he thinks it's going to taste better. Keep him away from venison, that's for sure (Keep me away, too, but for different reasons. Not my cup of meat).
So , anyway, I havent' written much about them since then, if at all, and I don't think I've written about currants.
SOMEONE has to be doing something with them. I am really flummoxed. Fresh currants are not what you buy in the box, that look like small raisins. Those "currants" are really a form of a dried grape. Fresh currants do not dry well, and they are deceptive, in the sense that they look like they should be very sweet. Uh uh. There is a slight sourness about currants that makes them interesting, but not something to put in your lunch box. They are loaded with pectin, which makes them terrific for jam and jelly, and I guess a lot of people are using them that way. Also, they are indispensible in one of my favorite dishes, summer pudding, where they act to hold all that summer fruit together in one large mass. (Hmmm. Need a dessert on tuesday. Maybe...).
Well, where am I going with this? OK, yesterday I wrote about the fennel puree (which was so good, by the way, I'm going to make it again for that meal where I need the dessert). The menu I "appropriatead" the idea from included quail. Now, I lost that menu. Don't ask me how, I just did. It's Murphy's Law in action. I have so many menus that I'm not using, the ONE menu I needed, I can't find. So I didn't remember how they cooked the quail.
Well, necessity propels the cook. Wandering around the market, I saw currants, and began thinking of the dish that I make so often in the fall: the quail in grape sauce. Well, currants certainly don't have the juice of grapes, but with a little help.... Also, that grape sauce dish is a bit sweet, and I wanted something a bit tarter. So I needed to add some liquid, and also to try to push it toward tartness.
Balsamic vinegar seemed to fill the bill: it has that wonderful combination of sour and sweet, the "agrodolce" of Italian cooking. The dish began to take shape, and here it is. Try it if you eat things that are cute.
For two people, get two quail. This works better with the whole, rather than the semi-boned quail. IF you have semi-boned, cut the cooking time on the meat. Salt the birds the morning of the night you're making dinner, just like I advise on all meat dishes.
When you're ready, get a pint of fresh, red currants. Standard wisdom tells you to run the strands of currant through a fork and the berries will just come off. Standard wisdom does not tell you how much you will curse as the strands break and the stems fall back into your currants. Rub them off with your fingers instead. It won't take long. If it did, I'd cook this with the stems (you know how I get).
Have a quarter cup of Balsamic vinegar ready. Put about 3 tablespoons of oliveoil in a wide pan, and when it's hot, add the quail. Brown them well. I would say to plan on 8 minutes. Do two minutes on their backs, flip them and do the same on the breast side, then 2 on each side of the birds. Here, you'll have to move them so that they are laying in the pan, side down rather than back or front, and do it again. It ain't no big thing. If your pan isn't hot enough, and you're not getting the brown you want, cook them longer.
When they're done, pour off most but not all of the fat. Add the currants evenly around the pan, and then the vinegar. Cover the pan, lower the heat, and let them cook for about ten minutes. That's all you need.
The currants will collapse into a heavy , jellied mass, lightened by the reduced balsamic vinegar. If you like - you don't have to - thin this a bit with vinegar, or wine, or chicken stock. Spoon that sauce over the birds, after you plate them.
YOU'RE DONE. If you've cleverly made the puree ahead of time, you can be cooking a veggie in another pan at the same time the quail are cooking, and dinner is on the table in a half hour.
Of course, if you're cooking for someone who finds quail incredibly cute (incidentally, while they may be cute, farm raised quail are the dumbest creatures you can imagine), then you will have to wait for the take out to arrive. And don't even ask if s/he would prefer squab instead.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Inspired by a menu: fennel puree
Ok, those of you who go BLECH at the thought of anise or licorice flavored things, can stop reading now. Annalena cannot be all things to all, and sometimes, there is a recipe that simply will not appeal to you. The licorice haters will not want this one. But if you, like Annalena, grew up on the flavors of anisette, and other licorishy flavors, you will love this . (Now, interestingly enough, while I love all of the fennels and anise flavors, I cannot stand tarragon. Who can figure?)
Every cook goes through "dry spells" when s/he will find him/herself thinking: "that again?" or "OH NO. I am SO sick of that." Raise your hand if you have felt that way. I know you're out there. I went into one of those phases this week. I had our Monday dinner planned out, but looking ahead...Oh boy. What the hell, am I gonna cook?
So, I did what I do when that happens: I went to the collection of menus I keep, from restaurants. I did not necessarily EAT what is on those menus, but they serve as inspiration. And I found a main dish, from Chez Panisse, which suggested dinner for tonight. That happens a lot by the way. If you enjoy cooking, I suggest you bookmark their web page (www.chezpanisse.com), and check the cafe' menu. Every day.
So, what were they serving that was the suggestion: quail with fennel puree.
Hmmmm. I didn't jump to the quail right away ,but the fennel puree. Now THAT sounded interesting. I had no idea how to make it, but ... A little internet research and then... there we are.
I have a blog entry from the early years called "fennel, what is fennel?" trying to copy my spiritual sister Gertrude Stein and her essay "Nickel what is nickel?" which is a reference that I'm sure NONE of you got. It's ok. Go read "Tender Buttons." It will make you laugh.
OK, enough of that digression. Anyway, I haven't written much about fennel because mostly I put it in salads, or rip off big hunks of it and crunch on it when I'm cooking. I didn't think of pureeing it. So I found a few recipes, and made my way to this one, which is an original synthesis.
For it, you need a BIG bunch of fennel, the truly grown up stuff. None of these minibunches that work so well in salads, or fish risotti, ok? Clean it up by getting rid of the fronds and the stems, and then cut it into big chunks. You don't have to be surgical here, because you're going to puree it. Get it into a big pot, with a few tablespoons of butter, and just enough water to cover it. Put it on a medium flame, cover the pot, and then let it cook for about five minutes. While that is happening, peel about twice the amount of potatoes, and cut them into chunks. Then, get those into the pot with the fennel, and add a bit more water. This time, add a nice teaspoon or so of salt. Again, let the thing cook , and check the water level. You don't want to drown the vegetables, but you do want them just barely covered.
The reason why you add the veggies at different times, by the way, is because the fennel is more fibrous and it will take longer to cook. You want this to cook away until you can pierce both the fennel and potatoes, easily, with the tip of a knife. When you get there, you're done. Sort of.
Let this mass cool, then, if you're feeling particularly homespun and old fashioned, pass it through a food mill. If, on the other hand, you just want to get it done, use the food processor and pulse it. Pulse it because if you run the machine at full, the potatoes will get gummy (trust Annalena on this). The foodmill will give you a chunkier, rougher dish, the processor, a smoother one. But you can control that with pulsing . Season it, as you like.
There is no dairy in this preparation because, in my opinion, the dairy cuts the fennel flavor. If that is something you WANT to do, by all means, add some whole milk or light cream. Do not go near the lowfat stuff with a puree like this. If you want to push the flavor of the fennel up, however, find those fennel seeds on your spice rack (in fact, you could add them at the start. When we were kids, we drank fennel seed tea a lot. The flavor comes out in the liquid, and, as Nana would say, 'it's good for what ais ya.' You know what that means, so don't use too many of them).
And that's the dish. In fact, I WILL be making quail with this. I'm not sure what that preparation will be, but rest assured, Annalena will keep you posted.
Every cook goes through "dry spells" when s/he will find him/herself thinking: "that again?" or "OH NO. I am SO sick of that." Raise your hand if you have felt that way. I know you're out there. I went into one of those phases this week. I had our Monday dinner planned out, but looking ahead...Oh boy. What the hell, am I gonna cook?
So, I did what I do when that happens: I went to the collection of menus I keep, from restaurants. I did not necessarily EAT what is on those menus, but they serve as inspiration. And I found a main dish, from Chez Panisse, which suggested dinner for tonight. That happens a lot by the way. If you enjoy cooking, I suggest you bookmark their web page (www.chezpanisse.com), and check the cafe' menu. Every day.
So, what were they serving that was the suggestion: quail with fennel puree.
Hmmmm. I didn't jump to the quail right away ,but the fennel puree. Now THAT sounded interesting. I had no idea how to make it, but ... A little internet research and then... there we are.
I have a blog entry from the early years called "fennel, what is fennel?" trying to copy my spiritual sister Gertrude Stein and her essay "Nickel what is nickel?" which is a reference that I'm sure NONE of you got. It's ok. Go read "Tender Buttons." It will make you laugh.
OK, enough of that digression. Anyway, I haven't written much about fennel because mostly I put it in salads, or rip off big hunks of it and crunch on it when I'm cooking. I didn't think of pureeing it. So I found a few recipes, and made my way to this one, which is an original synthesis.
For it, you need a BIG bunch of fennel, the truly grown up stuff. None of these minibunches that work so well in salads, or fish risotti, ok? Clean it up by getting rid of the fronds and the stems, and then cut it into big chunks. You don't have to be surgical here, because you're going to puree it. Get it into a big pot, with a few tablespoons of butter, and just enough water to cover it. Put it on a medium flame, cover the pot, and then let it cook for about five minutes. While that is happening, peel about twice the amount of potatoes, and cut them into chunks. Then, get those into the pot with the fennel, and add a bit more water. This time, add a nice teaspoon or so of salt. Again, let the thing cook , and check the water level. You don't want to drown the vegetables, but you do want them just barely covered.
The reason why you add the veggies at different times, by the way, is because the fennel is more fibrous and it will take longer to cook. You want this to cook away until you can pierce both the fennel and potatoes, easily, with the tip of a knife. When you get there, you're done. Sort of.
Let this mass cool, then, if you're feeling particularly homespun and old fashioned, pass it through a food mill. If, on the other hand, you just want to get it done, use the food processor and pulse it. Pulse it because if you run the machine at full, the potatoes will get gummy (trust Annalena on this). The foodmill will give you a chunkier, rougher dish, the processor, a smoother one. But you can control that with pulsing . Season it, as you like.
There is no dairy in this preparation because, in my opinion, the dairy cuts the fennel flavor. If that is something you WANT to do, by all means, add some whole milk or light cream. Do not go near the lowfat stuff with a puree like this. If you want to push the flavor of the fennel up, however, find those fennel seeds on your spice rack (in fact, you could add them at the start. When we were kids, we drank fennel seed tea a lot. The flavor comes out in the liquid, and, as Nana would say, 'it's good for what ais ya.' You know what that means, so don't use too many of them).
And that's the dish. In fact, I WILL be making quail with this. I'm not sure what that preparation will be, but rest assured, Annalena will keep you posted.
Friday, July 2, 2010
I have sinned. Sort of. Marshmallow Treats
During the 60s, one of the many formative periods of Annalena's life, there was a genre of movie that was wildly popular: the nun flick. Yes, these were movies about nuns. "The Singing Nun" (with Debbie Reynolds) is one that many will remember. Who remembers the "The Trouble With Angels" series? There was the first film, and then a follow up "Where Angels Go, Trouble Follows." Yes, it was the start of "nuns can be fun." Now, there isn't much discussion of "The Trouble With Angels." It hardly rises to the cult classic status of movies like "The Women," but think about this for a minute: the director was Ida Lupino. Among the nuns were Rosalind Russell, as the Mother Superior, and Mary Wickes, as Sister Clarissa. Hayley Mills was in it. Can you get more gay than this movie?
So, where is Annalena going? Well, without going into the plot details, there is a need to slow down some villains . Sister Clarissa and another nun report to the Reverend Mother "Reverend Mother, I have sinned." When Ms. Russell looks at them quizzically, they take tools out from under their habits, clearly indicating that they have messed with the cars.
Now, we can get into tremendous philosophical debates as to when a sin is not a sin, and so on and so forth. I will leave that to the theologically oriented and the more philosphically inclined than yours truly. I will simply report that I find myself in the same situation today.
You know by now that I pride myself on my seasonal, fresh market, all natural kitchen and cooking. I have preached it loud and clear.
Well, today one could argue I fell off the wagon. For good cause. Did I sin?
Of course I did. Read on.
Marshmallow treats. Don't lie. You like them. You probably love them. With rice crispies, of course, or cocoa crispies. In what some would call a revolting development, there is a "recipe" circulating on the internet for a variation with fruity pebbles. Dare I say that this is NOT the kind of thing that Annalena makes.
Well... MADE. See, here's the story. A very good friend of mine told me, in another context, that his favorite cereal is fruit loops. He also told me, in another context, that they never have fruit loops in his home. All of their cereal is of the healthy "Meusli" kind of cereal (Incidentally, Annalena feels that eating Meusli is sort of like eating saw dust with dried bits of fruit in it). Annalena happens to ADORE this man. In fact ,when her dungeon is finished being constructed (you DID know about that, didn't you?), Annalena plans to keep him there for her personal , ahem "satisfaction." And what better way to lure a man to your dungeon than with marshmallow treats?
Look, you've got to use what you've got to get what you want, right?
OK, putting all of that aside, let's face it. You made these at some p oint in your life, probably with your mom. And you don't make them anymore because.... And when no one is looking, you buy one, eat it, and then make comments about how revolting it is when you see someone else eating them.
I've got your number. So, don't keep the recipe. Send it on to someone else.
Right.
Here's what you need. A 9x13 baking dish, of any material. A half stick of unsalted butter, a bag of marshmallows (the ten ounce bag, big ones or small ones), and a large box of cereal. All cereal comes in the same size box. If you're confused, as I suspect at least one of you is, you need the one that has six cups of dry cereal in it. Read the side panel on "nutrition" and figure it out. Grease the pan with the half stick of butter, then toss it, and the marshmallows, into a big pot. Turn the heat to low, and stir this up until the marshmallows begin to melt and get stringy. It won't take long. Now pour in the cereal, take it off the heat, and stir, stir, stir, to incorporate everything. Pour it into the baking dish, wet your hands and press it down. Then let it sit until it firms up. That won't take long. Either cut em in the pan, or dump the thing out and cut it on a board or something else. You can be creative if you like (I thought about that) , or just cut squares (what I wound up doing). I used fruit loops and the color is, well, interesting. Festive is a word you might use to describe them.
Go ahead, be a kid again. They're fun, and at least there's very little cholesterol in them.
So, where is Annalena going? Well, without going into the plot details, there is a need to slow down some villains . Sister Clarissa and another nun report to the Reverend Mother "Reverend Mother, I have sinned." When Ms. Russell looks at them quizzically, they take tools out from under their habits, clearly indicating that they have messed with the cars.
Now, we can get into tremendous philosophical debates as to when a sin is not a sin, and so on and so forth. I will leave that to the theologically oriented and the more philosphically inclined than yours truly. I will simply report that I find myself in the same situation today.
You know by now that I pride myself on my seasonal, fresh market, all natural kitchen and cooking. I have preached it loud and clear.
Well, today one could argue I fell off the wagon. For good cause. Did I sin?
Of course I did. Read on.
Marshmallow treats. Don't lie. You like them. You probably love them. With rice crispies, of course, or cocoa crispies. In what some would call a revolting development, there is a "recipe" circulating on the internet for a variation with fruity pebbles. Dare I say that this is NOT the kind of thing that Annalena makes.
Well... MADE. See, here's the story. A very good friend of mine told me, in another context, that his favorite cereal is fruit loops. He also told me, in another context, that they never have fruit loops in his home. All of their cereal is of the healthy "Meusli" kind of cereal (Incidentally, Annalena feels that eating Meusli is sort of like eating saw dust with dried bits of fruit in it). Annalena happens to ADORE this man. In fact ,when her dungeon is finished being constructed (you DID know about that, didn't you?), Annalena plans to keep him there for her personal , ahem "satisfaction." And what better way to lure a man to your dungeon than with marshmallow treats?
Look, you've got to use what you've got to get what you want, right?
OK, putting all of that aside, let's face it. You made these at some p oint in your life, probably with your mom. And you don't make them anymore because.... And when no one is looking, you buy one, eat it, and then make comments about how revolting it is when you see someone else eating them.
I've got your number. So, don't keep the recipe. Send it on to someone else.
Right.
Here's what you need. A 9x13 baking dish, of any material. A half stick of unsalted butter, a bag of marshmallows (the ten ounce bag, big ones or small ones), and a large box of cereal. All cereal comes in the same size box. If you're confused, as I suspect at least one of you is, you need the one that has six cups of dry cereal in it. Read the side panel on "nutrition" and figure it out. Grease the pan with the half stick of butter, then toss it, and the marshmallows, into a big pot. Turn the heat to low, and stir this up until the marshmallows begin to melt and get stringy. It won't take long. Now pour in the cereal, take it off the heat, and stir, stir, stir, to incorporate everything. Pour it into the baking dish, wet your hands and press it down. Then let it sit until it firms up. That won't take long. Either cut em in the pan, or dump the thing out and cut it on a board or something else. You can be creative if you like (I thought about that) , or just cut squares (what I wound up doing). I used fruit loops and the color is, well, interesting. Festive is a word you might use to describe them.
Go ahead, be a kid again. They're fun, and at least there's very little cholesterol in them.
It's still here: pasta with asparagus sauce
One of the things that you can never really predict, is what Mother Nature is going to do, and how it will impact agriculture. NY has had a very warm early spring and early summer (I guess it's officially summer. I'm waiting for tomatoes, though), and everything came out early. When that happens, I expect things to end early too, so I assumed that, by the time that we came back from our SF jaunt at the beginning of June, asparagus would be gone.
Not quite. As Mr. Sondheim wrote it, "They're still here." There aren't a lot of them, but they're here. And as long as they are, I'll be cookin' and eatin them.
I had picked up a few bunches of them at the market, and was planning to do one of my usuals: steam em, or grill em, and then there was this recipe in a book I'm reading: "I loved, I lost, I made spaghetti." Yes, Annalena reads popular culture , especially if there are recipes in the culture being read. There are plenty here. This is my take on one of her recipes.
You can change things here. I will make some suggestions, but feel free to improvise. I am sure that Ms. Melucci, fine Italian cook that she is, will tell you to do the same. Here goes.
The recipe called for dried angel hair spaghetti, and by all means, use that if you have it. I used fresh spinach linguine which, in retrospect, was not the best choice in the world. Angel hair does seem to have an affinity for asparagus. And you can have a very quick dish. If you use the angelhair, or fresh pasta, make the sauce first, because your pasta is going to cook REAL quick. You want about half a pound.
TO the sauce: first, prep your asparagus. Here, you want thin ones, a pound. Again, our author discusses the technique of just snapping them because they will break at the appropriate point. She's right. Do that, and then cut the piece that has the tip left on it, into pieces about an inch long. Save the tougher parts to make vegetable broth (easy to do). To make the sauce itself, put two tablespoons of olive oil in a pan, and then add a couple of cloves of peeled, sliced garlic and a bit of red pepper flakes into it. You just want to do some warming here, not thorough cooking. If the garlic gets too colored, the asparagus flavor will be lost. Also add a half teaspoon of salt.
Put the asparagus in with the rest of the stuff, and cook it, at medium heat. Here, Ms. Melucci and I differ. She calls for five minutes. If that were all the cooking you were going to do, I'd agree. But there's more to come. So I would say, two minutes, MAX. Then add about a third of a cup of white wine. (I differ here, too, as Ms. Melucci calls for half a cup. I think that's too much). Bring it to a boil, and cook the thing for about another four minutes .
Need I say that, at this point you should be bringing your pasta water to a boil? Well...
Your sauce is pretty much done when you finish that four minutes of cooking, and when the pasta is done to your liking, toss it into the sauce, and mix it all together. You can stop here, if you like and have a vegan dish. I agree with the author's choice to add cheese, however. She adds pecorino romano. That is terrific with this dish, but there are other cheeses. Fontina has a natural affinity with asparagus. So, too, does ricotta. And... cream? Perche non? Use any of these dairy items, and feel free to tell me what you did. Finally, taste this because I betcha you'll want more salt in the dish.
You should think of this recipe as "license" to play with other, quick cooking vegetables. Fava beans? Yes. Peas? Absolutely. You can go on and on with this, and again, while the veggies are fresh and delicious, you must. It's not a should.
And if you can find asparagus, keep on working with them. They will be gone at some point.
Not quite. As Mr. Sondheim wrote it, "They're still here." There aren't a lot of them, but they're here. And as long as they are, I'll be cookin' and eatin them.
I had picked up a few bunches of them at the market, and was planning to do one of my usuals: steam em, or grill em, and then there was this recipe in a book I'm reading: "I loved, I lost, I made spaghetti." Yes, Annalena reads popular culture , especially if there are recipes in the culture being read. There are plenty here. This is my take on one of her recipes.
You can change things here. I will make some suggestions, but feel free to improvise. I am sure that Ms. Melucci, fine Italian cook that she is, will tell you to do the same. Here goes.
The recipe called for dried angel hair spaghetti, and by all means, use that if you have it. I used fresh spinach linguine which, in retrospect, was not the best choice in the world. Angel hair does seem to have an affinity for asparagus. And you can have a very quick dish. If you use the angelhair, or fresh pasta, make the sauce first, because your pasta is going to cook REAL quick. You want about half a pound.
TO the sauce: first, prep your asparagus. Here, you want thin ones, a pound. Again, our author discusses the technique of just snapping them because they will break at the appropriate point. She's right. Do that, and then cut the piece that has the tip left on it, into pieces about an inch long. Save the tougher parts to make vegetable broth (easy to do). To make the sauce itself, put two tablespoons of olive oil in a pan, and then add a couple of cloves of peeled, sliced garlic and a bit of red pepper flakes into it. You just want to do some warming here, not thorough cooking. If the garlic gets too colored, the asparagus flavor will be lost. Also add a half teaspoon of salt.
Put the asparagus in with the rest of the stuff, and cook it, at medium heat. Here, Ms. Melucci and I differ. She calls for five minutes. If that were all the cooking you were going to do, I'd agree. But there's more to come. So I would say, two minutes, MAX. Then add about a third of a cup of white wine. (I differ here, too, as Ms. Melucci calls for half a cup. I think that's too much). Bring it to a boil, and cook the thing for about another four minutes .
Need I say that, at this point you should be bringing your pasta water to a boil? Well...
Your sauce is pretty much done when you finish that four minutes of cooking, and when the pasta is done to your liking, toss it into the sauce, and mix it all together. You can stop here, if you like and have a vegan dish. I agree with the author's choice to add cheese, however. She adds pecorino romano. That is terrific with this dish, but there are other cheeses. Fontina has a natural affinity with asparagus. So, too, does ricotta. And... cream? Perche non? Use any of these dairy items, and feel free to tell me what you did. Finally, taste this because I betcha you'll want more salt in the dish.
You should think of this recipe as "license" to play with other, quick cooking vegetables. Fava beans? Yes. Peas? Absolutely. You can go on and on with this, and again, while the veggies are fresh and delicious, you must. It's not a should.
And if you can find asparagus, keep on working with them. They will be gone at some point.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Where's the beef? Black bean chili
Annalena has written about chili before, and how , in her view, it does not include beans. Well, there is a clarification in order. Annalena does not mix meat and beans in her chili and almost always makes a standard, meat chili. Indeed, in a recent contest where Annalena judged, but was not permitted to compete, her meat chili was the best item there, if I do say so myself.
But there IS an argument for vegetarian chilis. And I want to share a wonderful one with you.
I have also written about the wonderfull vegetarian restaurant "Greens," found in San Francisco . I wanna take my friend Bobby to Sunday brunch here one day. Well, as in all SF restaurants, the menu changes constantly. One item, however, has been on the menu since the day the restaurant opened: their black bean chili. There is a reason for this: it is GOOD. It is time consuming, but it is GOOD. And it is easy to do. You do need to do some shopping for this, but you will not regret having these items in the house. And for the two vegans out there who read this blog, if you do not add the dairy accountrements, this is vegan.
Chili in the summer? Why not.
Now, this is going to sound like a long list of ingredients, and it is. But think about them. You will use everything again. They are standards : staples. If you cook, you need these things in the house.
YOu start with a pound of black beans. Dried ones. I am partial to small black beans from Rancho Gordo, but use what you got. Wash them, and then put them in a big pot, covered with water, and let them soak overnight. (this takes commitment, I told you). The next day, drain the beans, while you collect your other ingredients: three onions, and four cloves of garlic. Peel and chop those, and keep them separate. (you have that stuff in the house. I know you do). Here's where you may need to start doing some shopping. You need cumin SEEDS. Not ground cumin, the SEEDS. Also, dried oregano. You will also need a chili powder of some kind. I strongly recommend you get a "varietal." You can now buy chili powders based on one type of chili, and ancho is called for here. You will also need some cayenne pepper and paprika (THOSE you have in the house) and a bit of chipotle pepper. You can use a dried one, or a powder, but that you probably dont have in the house. Chipotles are dried jalapenos. I guess you could use a fresh jalapeno if you had to. Finally one bay leaf and a large (28 ounce) can of tomatoes (use 35 if that's all you have).
Okay, put the drained beans in a really big pot and cover them with 2 inches of water. Add the bay leaf and start cooking them at a low simmer while you get the rest of the stuff ready. Get a small but sturdy frying pan, and add the cumin seeds. How many? Four teaspoons. That's a tablespoon and a teaspoon. Shake the pan, and keep an eye on the seeds. They will darken and start to smell toasty. Add the same amount of oregano leaves, and when you get more aroma, pour that all off into a bowl. Add 2 TABLESPOONS of the chili powder, as well as four teaspoons of the paprika and a quarter teaspoon of cayenne pepper.
Now, get out an old coffee bean grinder. You have one somewhere. If not, invest in one. They cost about ten bucks. Grind the spices. THIS IS IMPORTANT. You have to grind the spices yourself. When they're ground, pour them out and add half a teaspoon of the chipotle, or one diced fresh jalapeno.
Let's cook. Pour three tablespoons of vegetable oil into a very largepan and add the onions with a teaspoon of salt. When the onions soften, add the garlic and cook for a minute, then add that spice mixture and stir it all up. Lower the heat, while you open that can of tomatoes. Pour it into the pan, and push down on the solids, breaking them up. Stir this all together, bring it to a simmer and cook for fifteen minutes. Now, pour the mass into the beans, lower the heat, and go and read a book for thirty minutes. Taste for salt. You'll want more, I guarantee it. So do so, then go back to reading for another 30 minutes. Your beans will probably be nice and soft now, but if they're not, keep on cooking till you get the texture you like. Add salt along the way as you see fit. The water will go off, you'll get a brick read product, and it will be spicy.
That wasn't hard, was it? And you've got enough food for at least 8 hearty appetites. You can eat this just as it is (which is how I love it best), or add some sour cream, or grated cheese, or more hot peppers, or cilantro, or whatever you like with your chili.
This also freezes beautifully. So, if you have the time make this. There are worst things than having a nice container of beautifully fragrant, tasty chili in your freezer for the night when cooking is NOT an option.
Annalena will lend you the spices if you need em. And you're nice to her
But there IS an argument for vegetarian chilis. And I want to share a wonderful one with you.
I have also written about the wonderfull vegetarian restaurant "Greens," found in San Francisco . I wanna take my friend Bobby to Sunday brunch here one day. Well, as in all SF restaurants, the menu changes constantly. One item, however, has been on the menu since the day the restaurant opened: their black bean chili. There is a reason for this: it is GOOD. It is time consuming, but it is GOOD. And it is easy to do. You do need to do some shopping for this, but you will not regret having these items in the house. And for the two vegans out there who read this blog, if you do not add the dairy accountrements, this is vegan.
Chili in the summer? Why not.
Now, this is going to sound like a long list of ingredients, and it is. But think about them. You will use everything again. They are standards : staples. If you cook, you need these things in the house.
YOu start with a pound of black beans. Dried ones. I am partial to small black beans from Rancho Gordo, but use what you got. Wash them, and then put them in a big pot, covered with water, and let them soak overnight. (this takes commitment, I told you). The next day, drain the beans, while you collect your other ingredients: three onions, and four cloves of garlic. Peel and chop those, and keep them separate. (you have that stuff in the house. I know you do). Here's where you may need to start doing some shopping. You need cumin SEEDS. Not ground cumin, the SEEDS. Also, dried oregano. You will also need a chili powder of some kind. I strongly recommend you get a "varietal." You can now buy chili powders based on one type of chili, and ancho is called for here. You will also need some cayenne pepper and paprika (THOSE you have in the house) and a bit of chipotle pepper. You can use a dried one, or a powder, but that you probably dont have in the house. Chipotles are dried jalapenos. I guess you could use a fresh jalapeno if you had to. Finally one bay leaf and a large (28 ounce) can of tomatoes (use 35 if that's all you have).
Okay, put the drained beans in a really big pot and cover them with 2 inches of water. Add the bay leaf and start cooking them at a low simmer while you get the rest of the stuff ready. Get a small but sturdy frying pan, and add the cumin seeds. How many? Four teaspoons. That's a tablespoon and a teaspoon. Shake the pan, and keep an eye on the seeds. They will darken and start to smell toasty. Add the same amount of oregano leaves, and when you get more aroma, pour that all off into a bowl. Add 2 TABLESPOONS of the chili powder, as well as four teaspoons of the paprika and a quarter teaspoon of cayenne pepper.
Now, get out an old coffee bean grinder. You have one somewhere. If not, invest in one. They cost about ten bucks. Grind the spices. THIS IS IMPORTANT. You have to grind the spices yourself. When they're ground, pour them out and add half a teaspoon of the chipotle, or one diced fresh jalapeno.
Let's cook. Pour three tablespoons of vegetable oil into a very largepan and add the onions with a teaspoon of salt. When the onions soften, add the garlic and cook for a minute, then add that spice mixture and stir it all up. Lower the heat, while you open that can of tomatoes. Pour it into the pan, and push down on the solids, breaking them up. Stir this all together, bring it to a simmer and cook for fifteen minutes. Now, pour the mass into the beans, lower the heat, and go and read a book for thirty minutes. Taste for salt. You'll want more, I guarantee it. So do so, then go back to reading for another 30 minutes. Your beans will probably be nice and soft now, but if they're not, keep on cooking till you get the texture you like. Add salt along the way as you see fit. The water will go off, you'll get a brick read product, and it will be spicy.
That wasn't hard, was it? And you've got enough food for at least 8 hearty appetites. You can eat this just as it is (which is how I love it best), or add some sour cream, or grated cheese, or more hot peppers, or cilantro, or whatever you like with your chili.
This also freezes beautifully. So, if you have the time make this. There are worst things than having a nice container of beautifully fragrant, tasty chili in your freezer for the night when cooking is NOT an option.
Annalena will lend you the spices if you need em. And you're nice to her
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