Well, she's back, after a short trip to Texas. I will not comment on that trip here, only to say that I am glad I am back. Annalena is NOT a good traveller, she is even a worse business traveller, and this was business. In terms of her work year, however, in Annalena's mind, now it is smooth sailing. It is sort of like finishing up the last element of a compulsory figure skating routine: all done, now have some fun, and get to the finish without falling.
Ok, now onto food. Just before going, we visited one of our favorite haunts, Barbuto (there is no pun intended in writing about haunts on Halloween, believe me). They had a soup on the menu that appealed to the Guyman: chestnut farro soup with apple and honey.
Guy looked at me and said "well, you know how I can' resist anything with chestnuts in it."
Uh, no, I didn't. I was skeptical of the soup: chestnuts have a sweetness to them, as do apples, and honey? Well... But onward we went. The sweetness was actually quite muted, almost not there. It was a hearty, rich soup, that immediately presented itself to me as something that Annalena could copy.
And she did. And now, I want you to copy it too.
First, let us start with the most salient ingredient: the chestnuts. For all of us who enjoy chestnuts, the advent of vacuum packed, peeled, cooked chestnuts have changed our autumnal and winter cooking. If you have ever stained, burned, or otherwise damaged your manicure working with the "real" things, you will know what I mean. So, buy these things. They do not need refrigeration. For my recipe, get about a pound's worth of them.
You will also need some farro. Now, there is a dispute in the cooking world as to whether farro and spelt are the same. My view is that they are not; however, cooks do debate this extensively. If they are not the same, they are close enough that you could use spelt in place of faro. So, ragazzi, here's what you do: put a quantity of farro under a liquid in a 1:4 ratio. That is more liquid than you will need, but that is ok. Bear with me, and you will learn why. Add some salt, cover your pot, but leave a vent space, because the farro produces a starch which bubbles t othe top and makes a mess. You only need about a cup or cup and a half of cooked farro for this soup, but make extra. It is a terrific side dish, a wonderful addition to salad, and you can also eat it for breakfast as a cereal.
while that farro is cooking, get your basic soup veggies ready: equal quanitites of chopped celery, carrots, and an onion family member. I had a bunch of lovely leeks in the fridge, and I used one of them. Use an onion if you don't, or mix, or use what you've got. Put some olive oil in a soup pot, and add the veggies, together with a teaspoon or so of salt, and let them cook, w hile you prep the chestnuts.
How do you prep the chestnuts? It's absurdly easy. Get them out of the bag and break them up with your hands. Then add them to the vegetables, and stir everything together, with another teaspoon of salt. After a few minutes, no more than five, add a quart of liquid. I used chicken stock, but you could use vegetable, or water, and I think you'll be ok. Chestnuts are nice and rich and they thicken a soup in the same way that potatoes do. Cover the pot, and let this cook away for about half an hour.
Taste your farro. It will never be as soft as rice, but when it's "toothsome," it's done. Strain it through a colander, so that the liquid is saved because... you're gonna add this right to the soup. the starch gives some body to the soup, you don't waste the liqud, and all is well in the world.
We're going green here...
After the veggies have cooked for the half hour or so, check to see if the chestnuts are cooked, by piercing a few pieces with the tip of a sharp knife. If they fall apart, your're ready. Let the mess cool, because it's very hot, and you're about to puree this.
Fill your food process no more than half, and try to get an equal quantity of liquid and solid in the vessel. Puree for a few minutes. You will get a soft, dark brown puree. If it's too thick, don't worry. We can fix that. Probably, you did what Annalena does a lot, and used too many solids. Well, if that's the case, you'll have too much liquid in the remainder. And that's a good thing. Just keep on pureeing until you've done all of the soup. Check the texture. Too thick for you? Puree it again (that's what I did). And if it's STILL too thick, add some liquid. Taste it. See if you need some salt. Add it if you do, and then stir in the farro, which will be cool now, and will stop absorbing liquid. You'll have a LOT here - almost two quarts.
Now, onto the apple and honey. To my taste, it needs no apple, to Guy's taste it does. So we will add chopped, skinned apple to the soup beore we eat it. Not sure about the honey, but go easy.
If you go through this recipe, you will see room for variation beyond what I have written. For example, I would bet that if you have some left over cooked beans, they would take the place of the farro nicely. I also think you could add some hearty meat to this with no problem. Maybe some dairy for a richer soup? Play with it. Make some variations. Tell Annalena what you've done. Don't be strangers.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Chop chop: Veal chops beau sejour
For decades, the New York Times Cookbook has been a mainstay in homes, mine included. Some have described it as a more sophisticated, or a more "East Coast" version of "The Joy of Cooking." Whatever. I used to spend hours when I was a young kid, reading the recipes. I would marvel at the intricacy of some of them: the book included a recipe that taught how to make a gallontine of turkey: you boned it, and filled it with a stuffing that included lots of good things, wrapped it in cheesecloth, steamed it, baked it, etc, etc, etc. I remember beautiful photos of things like eggs in aspic with chervil leaves - even though I had no idea what a chervil leaf was.
Books go out of print, recipes go out of style, but editions stick around. Compare different editions of "The Joy of Cooking," for example. Now, they don't include the directions for prepping squirrel for stew. They used to have wonderful instructions for prepping soft shell crabs, which included a line "cutting away the face," which made me HOWL.
But enough of that book: back to the NY Times cookbook. A new edition is out, under the hand of Amanda Hesser.
Prejudices right up front: I do not like Ms. Hesser's style. I have read her for years. I find her a snob. I find her arrogant, and I find her attitude of "well, you may not be able to do this, but I can" more than a bit too much. But the book, while it carries her imprint on it, is about recipes that the Times has printed and acquired over the years. And this is one of them. I was drawn to it right away, and it's good. I'm going to try it again, with pork chops.
I should tell you I have no idea what "sejour" means, which of course in turn means that people will run to google for this and I will hear from you. Great. Please tell me. And I will tell you how to make this wonderfully easy, delicious recipe, and I will in turn, be catty about the way it is presented.
The recipe calls for six, rack veal chops, 1.5 inches thick, frenched.
Right. A veal chop is about 20 bucks. SO, do the math. Also, the recipe calls for using a pan large enough to hold all six chops. Now, Annalena has a lot of large pans. She could never do six veal chops in one pan. So, here is my advice: do two of them. Keep this as a special occasion dish.
Fill a bag with about a half cup of flour, and a teaspoon of salt. Shake it, and then add the chops, so that they are covered with flour (the recipe says "dredge the chops." If you don't know what this means...).
Now, get 1/4 cup of vegetable oil and 4 tablespoons of butter in your pan, and heat them at medium heat until the butter melts. Add the chops, and brown them. It will probably take about 8 minutes, and get a GOOD sear on them. (Incidentally, these proportions ARE for six chops. Don't worry. When you're doing something like a pan sauce and you're cutting the amount of protein, don't cut the sauce back).
Ok, now that the chops are browned, add six whole cloves of peeled garlic, and press one bay leaf into each chop. Add a few sprigs of fresh thyme to the pan, or a teaspoon of dried, and then cover the pan, lower the heat, and go away for twenty minutes.
When that time has elapsed, uncover the pan, take the chops and put them on a plate. Add 2 tablespoons of red wine vinegar. Move your face back, and stir, until the vinegar evaporates. Won't take long. Then add a half cup of chicken stock and a quarter cup of water. Raise the heat to high, and cook this all down until you have tablespoons of liquid left. It will be rich and syrupy. Strain the solids (those herb bits and the garlic), out of the liquid, or just spoon it out, over the chops, and serve them forth.
This is good. Expensive, but good. That's why I'm trying it with pork chops this week. I bet you could substitute balsamic vinegar for the red wine vinegar too, and I'm going to do that. Maybe I'll give you an update. Maybe you'll try this and come up with some ideas of your own. Please do, and let Annalena know.
Books go out of print, recipes go out of style, but editions stick around. Compare different editions of "The Joy of Cooking," for example. Now, they don't include the directions for prepping squirrel for stew. They used to have wonderful instructions for prepping soft shell crabs, which included a line "cutting away the face," which made me HOWL.
But enough of that book: back to the NY Times cookbook. A new edition is out, under the hand of Amanda Hesser.
Prejudices right up front: I do not like Ms. Hesser's style. I have read her for years. I find her a snob. I find her arrogant, and I find her attitude of "well, you may not be able to do this, but I can" more than a bit too much. But the book, while it carries her imprint on it, is about recipes that the Times has printed and acquired over the years. And this is one of them. I was drawn to it right away, and it's good. I'm going to try it again, with pork chops.
I should tell you I have no idea what "sejour" means, which of course in turn means that people will run to google for this and I will hear from you. Great. Please tell me. And I will tell you how to make this wonderfully easy, delicious recipe, and I will in turn, be catty about the way it is presented.
The recipe calls for six, rack veal chops, 1.5 inches thick, frenched.
Right. A veal chop is about 20 bucks. SO, do the math. Also, the recipe calls for using a pan large enough to hold all six chops. Now, Annalena has a lot of large pans. She could never do six veal chops in one pan. So, here is my advice: do two of them. Keep this as a special occasion dish.
Fill a bag with about a half cup of flour, and a teaspoon of salt. Shake it, and then add the chops, so that they are covered with flour (the recipe says "dredge the chops." If you don't know what this means...).
Now, get 1/4 cup of vegetable oil and 4 tablespoons of butter in your pan, and heat them at medium heat until the butter melts. Add the chops, and brown them. It will probably take about 8 minutes, and get a GOOD sear on them. (Incidentally, these proportions ARE for six chops. Don't worry. When you're doing something like a pan sauce and you're cutting the amount of protein, don't cut the sauce back).
Ok, now that the chops are browned, add six whole cloves of peeled garlic, and press one bay leaf into each chop. Add a few sprigs of fresh thyme to the pan, or a teaspoon of dried, and then cover the pan, lower the heat, and go away for twenty minutes.
When that time has elapsed, uncover the pan, take the chops and put them on a plate. Add 2 tablespoons of red wine vinegar. Move your face back, and stir, until the vinegar evaporates. Won't take long. Then add a half cup of chicken stock and a quarter cup of water. Raise the heat to high, and cook this all down until you have tablespoons of liquid left. It will be rich and syrupy. Strain the solids (those herb bits and the garlic), out of the liquid, or just spoon it out, over the chops, and serve them forth.
This is good. Expensive, but good. That's why I'm trying it with pork chops this week. I bet you could substitute balsamic vinegar for the red wine vinegar too, and I'm going to do that. Maybe I'll give you an update. Maybe you'll try this and come up with some ideas of your own. Please do, and let Annalena know.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
This one's for you: piquillo pepper hot sauce
I have a weakness for Barry Manilow.
DONT JUDGE. Fess up. You do too. Every single one of us knows we're not supposed to like him, we're not supposed to listen to him. But we do. You might think of him as the "junk food" of pop music, as someone once called him, but fess up again: you've closed the door and eaten a twinkie, or a bag of cheez doodles (that'd be me), or a cylinder of pringles (YUCH). And you have a favorite Barry Manilow song. I KNOW you do. Or, you can't make up your mind which one is your favorite, and you've got a couple of them.
For Annalena, the faves are "Weekend in New England," and "Mandy." "Mandy has associations for me with my dear Aunt. She was working in a pottery store, and I used to go and visit. One day "Mandy" was playing in the background. She was all alone, but for me, and just the way she looked, I thought Barry was singing about her.
"Weekend in New England?" AH. Listen to it sometime. I always think about my dear friends, the ones with whom I "dance the dance," and all of you boys out there KNOW what I mean by that: not flirting, not "bumping," but thinking "what if..." And then leaving and thinking "when will our eyes meet... when will this long journey end," but moreso "When, will I see you again?"
When, will I see you, again? Look at the comma placements. They're important. I think about them all the time. I think this line a lot for one particular friend, to whom I'm dedicating this. I won't tell you who because, to be honest, it is none of your business (sorry to be so curt). But he makes my life better. He makes me HAPPY. What else can you ask? Well:
When, will I see you, again? I have been thinking about him all day, for various reasons, and when I came home , and made this, I thought of this again because, you see, he insists he can't cook.
Well, there's no cooking here. And there's everything in it that you like. So, you make it. Or I'll make it for you and bring you some "when I see you, again?" How's that.
Piquillo peppers are a product of Spain. They have never been grown successfully in the United States. Given the stupid export laws, we don't get them fresh here, we get them jarred. Under salt water, or olive oil, whatever. I'm sure they're not nearly as good as the "real thing," how could they be? But they ARE good.
Now, if you don't have them, you can do this with GOOD quality Italian peppers that have been roasted and jarred. Use it when you want a sauce who's heat you can adjust, (when is that NOT the case), and then refrigerate it, and dole it out. I made it to put over some romesco broccoli (one of my friend's faves), and it will work there, as it will , with many things.
Get a jar of piquillo , or other good quality peppers, and drain the liquid off of them. Put them in a blender. Add one, or two, chopped jalapeno peppers. I used two, and I was lucky to score some red jalapenos at the farmers market this week (incidentally, red jalapenos are simply RIPE green jalapenos). Two will make the sauce incendiary. One will make it pleasantly hot. If you are one of those folks who really love hot food, leave in the seeds.
Puree the stuff. It won't take long. Maybe two minutes. Taste it. Forget about the heat for a minute. You want to adjust for salt. And you're done.
Or are you? When I thought I was finished, I saw a bowl of grape tomatoes that were sitting there, waiting to go bad and make me feel rotten for wasting food. Peppers and tomatoes? I'm not the first one to come up with that combination. In they went. And the sauce is better. But if you don't have them, don't fret.
On broccoli, or other green vegetables. Stirred into bland soup. Are you an egg eater? Omelets. Rice? Of course. Pizzza? DAMN that sounds good.
And you know what, sweetheart? You said you couldn't cook. Well, I KNOW you got a blender and you're gonna make this, because I'm giving you the peppers. And you're gonna bring me some, and I'm gonna smile broader than I smile all day.
This one's for you. The next one better be for me.
DONT JUDGE. Fess up. You do too. Every single one of us knows we're not supposed to like him, we're not supposed to listen to him. But we do. You might think of him as the "junk food" of pop music, as someone once called him, but fess up again: you've closed the door and eaten a twinkie, or a bag of cheez doodles (that'd be me), or a cylinder of pringles (YUCH). And you have a favorite Barry Manilow song. I KNOW you do. Or, you can't make up your mind which one is your favorite, and you've got a couple of them.
For Annalena, the faves are "Weekend in New England," and "Mandy." "Mandy has associations for me with my dear Aunt. She was working in a pottery store, and I used to go and visit. One day "Mandy" was playing in the background. She was all alone, but for me, and just the way she looked, I thought Barry was singing about her.
"Weekend in New England?" AH. Listen to it sometime. I always think about my dear friends, the ones with whom I "dance the dance," and all of you boys out there KNOW what I mean by that: not flirting, not "bumping," but thinking "what if..." And then leaving and thinking "when will our eyes meet... when will this long journey end," but moreso "When, will I see you again?"
When, will I see you, again? Look at the comma placements. They're important. I think about them all the time. I think this line a lot for one particular friend, to whom I'm dedicating this. I won't tell you who because, to be honest, it is none of your business (sorry to be so curt). But he makes my life better. He makes me HAPPY. What else can you ask? Well:
When, will I see you, again? I have been thinking about him all day, for various reasons, and when I came home , and made this, I thought of this again because, you see, he insists he can't cook.
Well, there's no cooking here. And there's everything in it that you like. So, you make it. Or I'll make it for you and bring you some "when I see you, again?" How's that.
Piquillo peppers are a product of Spain. They have never been grown successfully in the United States. Given the stupid export laws, we don't get them fresh here, we get them jarred. Under salt water, or olive oil, whatever. I'm sure they're not nearly as good as the "real thing," how could they be? But they ARE good.
Now, if you don't have them, you can do this with GOOD quality Italian peppers that have been roasted and jarred. Use it when you want a sauce who's heat you can adjust, (when is that NOT the case), and then refrigerate it, and dole it out. I made it to put over some romesco broccoli (one of my friend's faves), and it will work there, as it will , with many things.
Get a jar of piquillo , or other good quality peppers, and drain the liquid off of them. Put them in a blender. Add one, or two, chopped jalapeno peppers. I used two, and I was lucky to score some red jalapenos at the farmers market this week (incidentally, red jalapenos are simply RIPE green jalapenos). Two will make the sauce incendiary. One will make it pleasantly hot. If you are one of those folks who really love hot food, leave in the seeds.
Puree the stuff. It won't take long. Maybe two minutes. Taste it. Forget about the heat for a minute. You want to adjust for salt. And you're done.
Or are you? When I thought I was finished, I saw a bowl of grape tomatoes that were sitting there, waiting to go bad and make me feel rotten for wasting food. Peppers and tomatoes? I'm not the first one to come up with that combination. In they went. And the sauce is better. But if you don't have them, don't fret.
On broccoli, or other green vegetables. Stirred into bland soup. Are you an egg eater? Omelets. Rice? Of course. Pizzza? DAMN that sounds good.
And you know what, sweetheart? You said you couldn't cook. Well, I KNOW you got a blender and you're gonna make this, because I'm giving you the peppers. And you're gonna bring me some, and I'm gonna smile broader than I smile all day.
This one's for you. The next one better be for me.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Pumpkin soup, or Annalena give up the can
One of Annalena's basic rules of the kitchen is: make it yourself UNLESS: the effort involved, relative to the product, is so high that it doesn't make sense to make it yourself. Corollary to this: if you can buy it as a natural product, better than you can make it yourself, at a reasonable price, buy it. This is why Annalena does not make her own pasta, but makes her own bread. It's why she makes her own ice cream, but buys candy. And it has been why , for pumpkin, Annalena has relied on canned organic stuff for years.
Have any of you out there ever COOKED a pumpkin? If you did, how long did it take to recover from the burns, the cuts, and how many times did you say, out loud or in silence "never again?" Hmmmm. I see some shaking of heads in acknowledgement there. Those of you who may be made of strong stuff, might have switched to things like butternut or acorn squash, and gave up cooking pumpkin alltogether. I bet I know why: you used those big "jack o'lantern" pumpkins. Annalena knows: you get so much water, after way too much effort in cutting this big mosnter vegetbale down to a small, reasonable size. Then it bakes forever. You get massive amounts of liquid that spill. You then have to wait forever for it to cool, and by the time you scrape the skin away, and collect the stringy, messy pulp.. then you look at the cans of organic pumpkin at 2 bucks each and decide it's worth it.
I was in that camp. Until this weekend. Filled with a sense of ambition that I rarely have, I decided to give it a shot, with a smaller version of pumpkin: the so-called "cheese" or "milk" pumpkin. Google them for a picture. Where jack o lanterns are most certainly orange, these pumpkins are beige. They are also much smaller. A medium to large one, is probably about five pounds. Yes, the skin is still thick, but nowhere near as thick as the standard variety. And a five pound pumpkin will give you about 3 cups of pulp. Still skimpy, but... what you'll find is that the product is much paler, and much gentler than what you can buy. SO, let's cook some pumpkin.
Get a five pound milk/cheese pumpkin. Get your heaviest knife and cut down, vertically, to get two halves. Then, hack the halves into manageable pieces. Dont' worry about evenness or anything else, just chunk it up. Then, lay them on a parchment lined baking sheet, cover the whole thing with foil, and put it in a 400 degree oven and walk away for an hour. Yup, it still takes a while, and yup, you will still have to wait until it cooks, when it comes out of the oven. The pulp, however, is very thick, and you will not get the tons of liquid that you may have experienced. The skin will peel away easily when it's cool. Then just put all that pulp in a blender and puree it. You will get a wonderful pale pink vegetable.
You can use this anywhere you would use squash or pumpkin, but let's make Annalena's soup. Chop up a couple of small leeks and a small onion. Add a few chopped up carrots, and a fennel bulb or some celery ribs. Or both.
The standard wisdom says that you use butter when making a squash based soup. I prefer vegetable oil. Your call. Cover the bottom of a five quart soup pot with the oil, and then add the veggies. Bring it to medium heat, and cook away until they begin to soften. When they do, add a good teaspoon of salt. Stir that all together, and then add a quart of chicken stock. Finally, add that pumpkin. 3 cups of it please. Stir it all together, lower the heat, and go away for thirty minutes.
Turn off the heat, let it cool, and then, spin the whole thing in the blender again. This second pureeing seems to release a thickening agent from the pumpkin. It won't be apparent right away, but if you let it cool, you will have a thick product that will remind you of a thick cream soup.
This is rather bland. You will need to add the spices you like. You can go sweet, with things like cinammon, but how about being adventurous, with something like a hot pepper, diced up? Maybe some bacon or sausage if you are so inclined?
I suggest you NOT follow the standard procedure for this kind of thing, which would be to add dairy. The dairy will cut down the flavor of the pumpkin even further, and you really do not want that.
This is going to give you about a quart and a half of soup. More than enough to share. Share it. And add something new to your cooking repertoire.
Have any of you out there ever COOKED a pumpkin? If you did, how long did it take to recover from the burns, the cuts, and how many times did you say, out loud or in silence "never again?" Hmmmm. I see some shaking of heads in acknowledgement there. Those of you who may be made of strong stuff, might have switched to things like butternut or acorn squash, and gave up cooking pumpkin alltogether. I bet I know why: you used those big "jack o'lantern" pumpkins. Annalena knows: you get so much water, after way too much effort in cutting this big mosnter vegetbale down to a small, reasonable size. Then it bakes forever. You get massive amounts of liquid that spill. You then have to wait forever for it to cool, and by the time you scrape the skin away, and collect the stringy, messy pulp.. then you look at the cans of organic pumpkin at 2 bucks each and decide it's worth it.
I was in that camp. Until this weekend. Filled with a sense of ambition that I rarely have, I decided to give it a shot, with a smaller version of pumpkin: the so-called "cheese" or "milk" pumpkin. Google them for a picture. Where jack o lanterns are most certainly orange, these pumpkins are beige. They are also much smaller. A medium to large one, is probably about five pounds. Yes, the skin is still thick, but nowhere near as thick as the standard variety. And a five pound pumpkin will give you about 3 cups of pulp. Still skimpy, but... what you'll find is that the product is much paler, and much gentler than what you can buy. SO, let's cook some pumpkin.
Get a five pound milk/cheese pumpkin. Get your heaviest knife and cut down, vertically, to get two halves. Then, hack the halves into manageable pieces. Dont' worry about evenness or anything else, just chunk it up. Then, lay them on a parchment lined baking sheet, cover the whole thing with foil, and put it in a 400 degree oven and walk away for an hour. Yup, it still takes a while, and yup, you will still have to wait until it cooks, when it comes out of the oven. The pulp, however, is very thick, and you will not get the tons of liquid that you may have experienced. The skin will peel away easily when it's cool. Then just put all that pulp in a blender and puree it. You will get a wonderful pale pink vegetable.
You can use this anywhere you would use squash or pumpkin, but let's make Annalena's soup. Chop up a couple of small leeks and a small onion. Add a few chopped up carrots, and a fennel bulb or some celery ribs. Or both.
The standard wisdom says that you use butter when making a squash based soup. I prefer vegetable oil. Your call. Cover the bottom of a five quart soup pot with the oil, and then add the veggies. Bring it to medium heat, and cook away until they begin to soften. When they do, add a good teaspoon of salt. Stir that all together, and then add a quart of chicken stock. Finally, add that pumpkin. 3 cups of it please. Stir it all together, lower the heat, and go away for thirty minutes.
Turn off the heat, let it cool, and then, spin the whole thing in the blender again. This second pureeing seems to release a thickening agent from the pumpkin. It won't be apparent right away, but if you let it cool, you will have a thick product that will remind you of a thick cream soup.
This is rather bland. You will need to add the spices you like. You can go sweet, with things like cinammon, but how about being adventurous, with something like a hot pepper, diced up? Maybe some bacon or sausage if you are so inclined?
I suggest you NOT follow the standard procedure for this kind of thing, which would be to add dairy. The dairy will cut down the flavor of the pumpkin even further, and you really do not want that.
This is going to give you about a quart and a half of soup. More than enough to share. Share it. And add something new to your cooking repertoire.
"But Custard Still Cries for a Nice Safe Cage": salted caramel budino
I don't quite know WHY it stuck with me, but years ago, in grammar school, when we had "readers," there was an optional poem called "Custard the Dragon." It was the tale of a cowardly dragon. How cowardly was he? Well, besides being named "Custard," people teased him by calling him Perceval. Now THAT's a cowardly dragon: I mean, if you don't take someone out for calling you Perceval. REALLY.
Years ago, there was an experiment, published in some book of literary criticism: they took the authorship off of poems and then handed them to people and asked them to judge. Then, they took the same poems, put the authors' names on them, and saw what people thought.
You know what happened , right? Well, anonymous Shakespeare didn't do so well. Neither did Mr. Keats. But country priests? Yup.. And so on. Well, I mention this because, while I remembered the silly poem, I didn't know the author. You can look it up from the line, but I'll tell you: Ogden Nash. Go and read it. It will make you smile. I promise.
So, too, will making this custard. I believe that if you eat it, it will make you smile too. I did not eat it. I served it to the puppies and to my heart man last night. I saw what I thought were huge portions disappear before me, with smiles. And that was with cold custard , out of the fridge. When I eat it, I want it warm. Do it either way, but do this. It's everything you could want: it's easy, it's not expensive, and it's rather different in a nice kind of way. What I am putting forth is supposed to serve four. These are BIG portions, but they disappeared in front of me, even my "Guy" devoured his. You make the call.
First, let's make some salted caramel. Get a heavy pan, with high sides. A 3 quart sauce pan is good. If you are lucky enough to have one that is a light color, use it here, so you can watch the caramel change color. Combine a quarter cup of granulated sugar, a tablespoon of corn syrup (the light one) and three tablespoons of water. Heat t his to a boil, on HIGH heat, swirling it from time to time. When making caramel, NEVER stir the thing. Not a good idea. You will spoil the process. Trust me. Anyway, after about 3 minutes, the stuff will go to amber. When it does, take it off the heat, and add a quarter cup of dairy. You can use heavy cream, light cream, whole milk, half and half. You're going to be using a lot more half and half here, so maybe you should buy a quart, and use that. Keep your face back, it's gonna sputter hard. Now add two tablespoons of unsalted butter, and heavy teaspoon of flaky sea salt. This is important. MAKE SURE you use the flakier kind. THe texture will come out, as you'll see. Finally, add a pinch of vanilla extract, but not too much. NOW you can whisk. If, as happened to me, the mixture seizes, i.e, you get solid clumps, put it over the heat to melt, and NOW stir with a whisk. Pour this all off into a bowl, while you make the custard proper.
For this, you will need a couple of tablespoons of maple syrup. For some reason, they call the good stuff - the dark stuff - grade "B". Buy some grade B maple syrup. You will be glad you did. You will save money, it tastes SO much better than the wimpy pale one, and you will transform what you cook with it. Put this in a pot - maybe even the pot in which you made the caramel - with a half cup of brown sugar - either lght or dar, and a quarter cup of water. Add a teaspoon of regular salt. Turn the heat to medium and start bringing this to a boil. Stir it every now and then.
While that's getting warm, mix up two egg yolks and a whole egg, and add three tabelspoons of cornstarch to it. Stir it to a paste.
Ok, when the stuff you're heating comes to a boil, take it off the heat, and add at least 2 cups of half and half, preferably 2.5. If you don't have enough, you can make it up with whole milk. Now add that egg/cornstarch slurry. Whisk it all together, lower the heat, and put this on the flame.
DON'T go away. Just keep whisking. After about five minutes, you will see an amazing transformation as this turns from liquid, to a thick, viscous solid.
You just made custard!
Pour this into the "appropriate" sized serving dish you want, and then pour the caramel over it. Either let it cool to warm, or refrigerate it, or whatever you want to do.
My original recipe says to serve it with whipped cream. If you want to, by all means. To me, I think it looks just fine as it is. It comes out looking a bit like a dessert version of mashed potatoes and gravy. Nuthin wrong with that.
Perceval, you're an ok dragon in my book
Years ago, there was an experiment, published in some book of literary criticism: they took the authorship off of poems and then handed them to people and asked them to judge. Then, they took the same poems, put the authors' names on them, and saw what people thought.
You know what happened , right? Well, anonymous Shakespeare didn't do so well. Neither did Mr. Keats. But country priests? Yup.. And so on. Well, I mention this because, while I remembered the silly poem, I didn't know the author. You can look it up from the line, but I'll tell you: Ogden Nash. Go and read it. It will make you smile. I promise.
So, too, will making this custard. I believe that if you eat it, it will make you smile too. I did not eat it. I served it to the puppies and to my heart man last night. I saw what I thought were huge portions disappear before me, with smiles. And that was with cold custard , out of the fridge. When I eat it, I want it warm. Do it either way, but do this. It's everything you could want: it's easy, it's not expensive, and it's rather different in a nice kind of way. What I am putting forth is supposed to serve four. These are BIG portions, but they disappeared in front of me, even my "Guy" devoured his. You make the call.
First, let's make some salted caramel. Get a heavy pan, with high sides. A 3 quart sauce pan is good. If you are lucky enough to have one that is a light color, use it here, so you can watch the caramel change color. Combine a quarter cup of granulated sugar, a tablespoon of corn syrup (the light one) and three tablespoons of water. Heat t his to a boil, on HIGH heat, swirling it from time to time. When making caramel, NEVER stir the thing. Not a good idea. You will spoil the process. Trust me. Anyway, after about 3 minutes, the stuff will go to amber. When it does, take it off the heat, and add a quarter cup of dairy. You can use heavy cream, light cream, whole milk, half and half. You're going to be using a lot more half and half here, so maybe you should buy a quart, and use that. Keep your face back, it's gonna sputter hard. Now add two tablespoons of unsalted butter, and heavy teaspoon of flaky sea salt. This is important. MAKE SURE you use the flakier kind. THe texture will come out, as you'll see. Finally, add a pinch of vanilla extract, but not too much. NOW you can whisk. If, as happened to me, the mixture seizes, i.e, you get solid clumps, put it over the heat to melt, and NOW stir with a whisk. Pour this all off into a bowl, while you make the custard proper.
For this, you will need a couple of tablespoons of maple syrup. For some reason, they call the good stuff - the dark stuff - grade "B". Buy some grade B maple syrup. You will be glad you did. You will save money, it tastes SO much better than the wimpy pale one, and you will transform what you cook with it. Put this in a pot - maybe even the pot in which you made the caramel - with a half cup of brown sugar - either lght or dar, and a quarter cup of water. Add a teaspoon of regular salt. Turn the heat to medium and start bringing this to a boil. Stir it every now and then.
While that's getting warm, mix up two egg yolks and a whole egg, and add three tabelspoons of cornstarch to it. Stir it to a paste.
Ok, when the stuff you're heating comes to a boil, take it off the heat, and add at least 2 cups of half and half, preferably 2.5. If you don't have enough, you can make it up with whole milk. Now add that egg/cornstarch slurry. Whisk it all together, lower the heat, and put this on the flame.
DON'T go away. Just keep whisking. After about five minutes, you will see an amazing transformation as this turns from liquid, to a thick, viscous solid.
You just made custard!
Pour this into the "appropriate" sized serving dish you want, and then pour the caramel over it. Either let it cool to warm, or refrigerate it, or whatever you want to do.
My original recipe says to serve it with whipped cream. If you want to, by all means. To me, I think it looks just fine as it is. It comes out looking a bit like a dessert version of mashed potatoes and gravy. Nuthin wrong with that.
Perceval, you're an ok dragon in my book
Sunday, October 17, 2010
I am NOT a chicken hawk: mutton shanks
I just wrote about baby chickens, right? Ok, just so you guys don't get the wrong idea... I don't , I really don't.
Oh, never mind. To the point of this: mutton. I buy our lamb from the lovely lady who runs Three Corners Farm, Ms. Karen. She's not at all like Karen on "Will and Grace," although let's face it, the idea of that Karen selling lamb chops is kind of funny. Her lamb is incredibly good. Very sweet, very clean tasting.
Last year, she asked me if I wanted to try some mutton. I did not. I was in an "if it ain't broke, don't fix it," kind of mode. And Karen left it alone. Until last week.
The weather has been getting cold, and I was feeling in the mood for a braise. So, I stopped by Ms. Karen's stand, looking for lamb shanks. She smiled. "How about trying some mutton shanks?" I thought about it, thought about it and then said "Sure, why not?"
She came back with four MONSTROUS pieces of meat. Folks, I have to say, these could have been props from "The Flintstones." We were talking and she remembered how she had told me, about her lamb "don't stew it as long as you do conventional lamb, it doesn't need it," and she was, of course, right. "Well, Norman, these you CAN stew for four hours or longer."
Indeed, you can. And I did. And the results, honestly, are wonderful. For the recipe that follows, substitute lamb if you just can't find, or can't handle the idea of cooking, mutton, and just cook for a lesser amount of time.
The night before you're going to cook, salt four shanks and put them in your fridge, uncovered, overnight. The day of cooking, chop up two onions. Peel, but leave whole, about six cloves of garlic. You should also consider a few branches of rosemary and some thyme (you can't put enough thyme into this recipe), as essential. A few ribs of celery, chopped, and maybe a carrot.
Preheat your oven to 300, and then get a pot that will be big enough to hold all of the shanks in one layer hot, with a few tablespoons of olive oil. Get the oil REALLY hot, and brown the meat well. This is going to take you between 10 and 15 minutes to do. The oil is going to look BLACK as you finish. You may need to do it in a couple of batches, and that's ok.
Pour off most of the fat, leaving about a tablespoon. Add your vegetables, and some salt, and cook them until they just begin to wilt. Put the lamb on top of the veggies, cover them with chicken stock, cover the pot, and put it in that slow oven and LEAVE IT ALONE for at least two hours for the mutton, an hour for the lamb.
While they are cooking, get a winter squash. I had a kabocha from Nevia, but a small pumpkin, or a butternut squash, or a small hubbard would work. Peel it (no easy feat, let me tell you), seed it, by cutting away the guts (you know what I mean), and add the chunks of squash to the meat, in the last hour or so of cooking.
The meat will either just come off the bones (for mutton), or will fall off (for lamb), and the squash will be nice and tender. It's a good compliment to the stronger tasting lamb. If you can, let the dish sit and refrigerate overnight, and scrape off the accumulated fat at the top.
For reasons I cannot quite fathom, I cannot imagine serving this with anything other than barley, so barley it will be. Maybe you will have a different idea. I think leftovers will probably make a wonderful "ragu" of sorts for pasta, but how about sharing the dish with a friend or two?
Oh, never mind. To the point of this: mutton. I buy our lamb from the lovely lady who runs Three Corners Farm, Ms. Karen. She's not at all like Karen on "Will and Grace," although let's face it, the idea of that Karen selling lamb chops is kind of funny. Her lamb is incredibly good. Very sweet, very clean tasting.
Last year, she asked me if I wanted to try some mutton. I did not. I was in an "if it ain't broke, don't fix it," kind of mode. And Karen left it alone. Until last week.
The weather has been getting cold, and I was feeling in the mood for a braise. So, I stopped by Ms. Karen's stand, looking for lamb shanks. She smiled. "How about trying some mutton shanks?" I thought about it, thought about it and then said "Sure, why not?"
She came back with four MONSTROUS pieces of meat. Folks, I have to say, these could have been props from "The Flintstones." We were talking and she remembered how she had told me, about her lamb "don't stew it as long as you do conventional lamb, it doesn't need it," and she was, of course, right. "Well, Norman, these you CAN stew for four hours or longer."
Indeed, you can. And I did. And the results, honestly, are wonderful. For the recipe that follows, substitute lamb if you just can't find, or can't handle the idea of cooking, mutton, and just cook for a lesser amount of time.
The night before you're going to cook, salt four shanks and put them in your fridge, uncovered, overnight. The day of cooking, chop up two onions. Peel, but leave whole, about six cloves of garlic. You should also consider a few branches of rosemary and some thyme (you can't put enough thyme into this recipe), as essential. A few ribs of celery, chopped, and maybe a carrot.
Preheat your oven to 300, and then get a pot that will be big enough to hold all of the shanks in one layer hot, with a few tablespoons of olive oil. Get the oil REALLY hot, and brown the meat well. This is going to take you between 10 and 15 minutes to do. The oil is going to look BLACK as you finish. You may need to do it in a couple of batches, and that's ok.
Pour off most of the fat, leaving about a tablespoon. Add your vegetables, and some salt, and cook them until they just begin to wilt. Put the lamb on top of the veggies, cover them with chicken stock, cover the pot, and put it in that slow oven and LEAVE IT ALONE for at least two hours for the mutton, an hour for the lamb.
While they are cooking, get a winter squash. I had a kabocha from Nevia, but a small pumpkin, or a butternut squash, or a small hubbard would work. Peel it (no easy feat, let me tell you), seed it, by cutting away the guts (you know what I mean), and add the chunks of squash to the meat, in the last hour or so of cooking.
The meat will either just come off the bones (for mutton), or will fall off (for lamb), and the squash will be nice and tender. It's a good compliment to the stronger tasting lamb. If you can, let the dish sit and refrigerate overnight, and scrape off the accumulated fat at the top.
For reasons I cannot quite fathom, I cannot imagine serving this with anything other than barley, so barley it will be. Maybe you will have a different idea. I think leftovers will probably make a wonderful "ragu" of sorts for pasta, but how about sharing the dish with a friend or two?
"You say game hen, and I say poussin": Provencal poussin
When I was in college, a century or two ago, one of the signs of "glamorous, exotic" eating was a rock cornish game hen. The name just made you feel you were eating something really odd and unusual. Almost inevitably served with wild rice, these little birds would come on your plate, almost always not as brown as they could have been ("the recipe said not to overcook them"), and looking very much like, well, a baby chicken.
I hated them. I always felt they were too much work for how they tasted. But, dutiful food snob in training, I made them. I served them. I ate them. And told everyone that they were an unusual bird.
Until, oh, about five years ago, when I was having dinner at my friend Jane's house. Her much missed father Warren was there. At the time, Warren was 91, spry and full of spit and vinegar as we would say. We were eating quail, another one of those baby birds. I went on this rambling monologue (easy to do at Janes, after bottle of wine number 7 or so) about game hens, until Warren said, in his deep, resonant baritone. "Well, not to disagree with the learned gentleman, but rock cornish game hens are baby chickens. That's all they are. And I should know, because I raised them."
OOPS. Of course he's right. I looked it up as soon as I got home (notwithstanding the fact that it was 2a.m. when I did). But I never cooked them. Instead, I started learning how to cook... poussin.
Know what poussin is? It's a baby chicken. It's a synonym for rock cornish game hen. The interesting thing, I learned, is that for game hens or poussins, since they are butchered so young, you don't have to worry about sex. The hormones haven't kicked in that make roosters tough.
This is REALLY a case of "he likes chicken, " I guess.
God, I hate the food business. The first time I had one of these birds was at "Jarnac" restaurant (no longer around, alas), where "whole roasted poussin with walnut butter," was a mainstay of the restaurant. I liked them. They were GOOD. I never cooked them at home though. Until last week. I had bought a bunch of them on sale from D'artagnan, thinking "I'll figure this out," and then Ariane posted a recipe. In fact, she posted two. And since each one took all of 12 minutes to cook (more on that below), what could go wrong? My whole roasted chicken takes an hour, so....
Ok, here's the one I made. It's easy, but you need to be patient. Get some fresh herbs. LOTS of them. Four tablespoons is not an unreasonable amount . More if you like. Also, 2-3 cloves of garlic, chopped up. Four tablespoons of balsamic vinegar. A teaspoon of salt, some crushed black pepper, and a tablespoon of olive oil. Mix all of that together.
Now, to the poussins. This mix is supposed to be enough for four of them. I made two, but I think it would coat four. "Spatchcock" the birds, if it hasn't been done for you already . (This is review. We've spatchcocked things before: cut out the backbone. That's all it is). Put the backless critters into a big plastic bag with the mix, stir it up, and put it in a bowl into your fridge, overnight. In the morning, just turn the guys so that the marinade is working evenly.
(I'm not much of a fan of marinades, by the way, but the meat on these birds is so mild that you really need to add some flavor).
When you're ready to cook, get a stovetop grill, or a frying pan, REALLY hot with some oil - say two tablespoons in it. Pour the marinade off of the birds, and it probably is a good idea to pat them dry. Put them, breast side down into the hot oil, and cook them for 6 minutes, or until they're nice and brown. (You may want to do it for more than 6 minutes. The timing here , six minutes to a side, gives a bird that is decidedly toward the sushi end of things. ). Turn them, and cook for another six minutes (or longer, and then drain them on some paper. If you have some fresh herbs left, chop some of them up while the birds are cooking, and sprinkle them on the finished chicken at the last minute. Serve em forth, maybe with parsley root puree.
Poussin/game hen/whatever. It's all good
I hated them. I always felt they were too much work for how they tasted. But, dutiful food snob in training, I made them. I served them. I ate them. And told everyone that they were an unusual bird.
Until, oh, about five years ago, when I was having dinner at my friend Jane's house. Her much missed father Warren was there. At the time, Warren was 91, spry and full of spit and vinegar as we would say. We were eating quail, another one of those baby birds. I went on this rambling monologue (easy to do at Janes, after bottle of wine number 7 or so) about game hens, until Warren said, in his deep, resonant baritone. "Well, not to disagree with the learned gentleman, but rock cornish game hens are baby chickens. That's all they are. And I should know, because I raised them."
OOPS. Of course he's right. I looked it up as soon as I got home (notwithstanding the fact that it was 2a.m. when I did). But I never cooked them. Instead, I started learning how to cook... poussin.
Know what poussin is? It's a baby chicken. It's a synonym for rock cornish game hen. The interesting thing, I learned, is that for game hens or poussins, since they are butchered so young, you don't have to worry about sex. The hormones haven't kicked in that make roosters tough.
This is REALLY a case of "he likes chicken, " I guess.
God, I hate the food business. The first time I had one of these birds was at "Jarnac" restaurant (no longer around, alas), where "whole roasted poussin with walnut butter," was a mainstay of the restaurant. I liked them. They were GOOD. I never cooked them at home though. Until last week. I had bought a bunch of them on sale from D'artagnan, thinking "I'll figure this out," and then Ariane posted a recipe. In fact, she posted two. And since each one took all of 12 minutes to cook (more on that below), what could go wrong? My whole roasted chicken takes an hour, so....
Ok, here's the one I made. It's easy, but you need to be patient. Get some fresh herbs. LOTS of them. Four tablespoons is not an unreasonable amount . More if you like. Also, 2-3 cloves of garlic, chopped up. Four tablespoons of balsamic vinegar. A teaspoon of salt, some crushed black pepper, and a tablespoon of olive oil. Mix all of that together.
Now, to the poussins. This mix is supposed to be enough for four of them. I made two, but I think it would coat four. "Spatchcock" the birds, if it hasn't been done for you already . (This is review. We've spatchcocked things before: cut out the backbone. That's all it is). Put the backless critters into a big plastic bag with the mix, stir it up, and put it in a bowl into your fridge, overnight. In the morning, just turn the guys so that the marinade is working evenly.
(I'm not much of a fan of marinades, by the way, but the meat on these birds is so mild that you really need to add some flavor).
When you're ready to cook, get a stovetop grill, or a frying pan, REALLY hot with some oil - say two tablespoons in it. Pour the marinade off of the birds, and it probably is a good idea to pat them dry. Put them, breast side down into the hot oil, and cook them for 6 minutes, or until they're nice and brown. (You may want to do it for more than 6 minutes. The timing here , six minutes to a side, gives a bird that is decidedly toward the sushi end of things. ). Turn them, and cook for another six minutes (or longer, and then drain them on some paper. If you have some fresh herbs left, chop some of them up while the birds are cooking, and sprinkle them on the finished chicken at the last minute. Serve em forth, maybe with parsley root puree.
Poussin/game hen/whatever. It's all good
Annalena learns a new vegetable: parsley root
Every now and then, I will see something that makes me sit back and say "Hmmm. Maybe." I'm talking COOKING here folks. Maybe other things too, but in this context, just cooking.
This happened to me this week. We were channel flipping, somewhat desultorily, and we happened on that cooking show, "Chopped."
I have to be honest, I really hate that show. You know the premise: the mystery basket, and make an appetizer/entree/first course, from an impossible group of ingredients. Sometimes it's fun to think "what would I do," but most times it's just like some of those exercises that the gym teachers in grade school used to give you: they are just being MEAN. And I cannot believe that some of these people are doing this... for WHAT? The top prize is 10,000., but is it really worth it for the humiliation? I saw chefs from two restaurants I know, go down in flames on the show we watched. Now, what do I do, say something, not say something? UGH.
Well, anyway, one of the ingredients on the show was parsley root. I will admit that I have seen this in the farmers market for years, and because it looks an awful lot like the dreaded parsnip, I have stayed away from it.
The dreaded parsnip? Yes, the dreaded parsnip. I dislike parsnips perhaps even more than brussel sprouts. No, not perhaps. MUCH more. So, based on looks, and of course, not knowing what to do with them, I left them alone.
Anyway, on the show, one of the cooks turned them into this incredibly white, beautiful puree that the judges were clearly enjoying. It looked so pretty.
Sort of like the beet and walnut pie I made that was just AWFUL. But, the thought was in my mind. I mean, if they were bad, I could just get rid of them.
Well, they weren't. Here's how I cooked them. But first... make sure you have parley root, and not parsnips. Smell them. Parsnips have an unmistakeable, almost rank odor. Parsley root just smells clean. Get medium sized roots (they'll look like white soup carrots), because you're gonna cut them down for this recipe. Start with about a pound, which for me was three good sized roots.
When you get them home, pare 'em, as if they were carrots (or parsnips, if you're so inclined), and then chop them into even sized bits. For the end bits, where they are narrow, this means just a cut or two. Up at the top, where they get REALLY thick, they will need to be diced a bit. Just go for evenness. Then, put them in a pot of cold water with some salt. Use lots of water, and a nice amount of salt. Bring them to a boil, and cook at medium heat, for awhile. Yeah, "awhile." No way of telling how long it's gonna take. I needed a good 45 minutes. You want them to be tender, but not so soft that you've got "moosh" in the pot. when they're at the right texture, scoop out about 2/3 of a cup of the water, and drain them. Put them back in the pot, and add about a half cup of milk and a good slug of butter. Just heat that until the butter melts.
Now, move the whole thing, together with the water, into a blender. If you have a "puree" button on the blender, this is the one you want. If you don't, use the highest speed you have. You will probably get a good amount of pureeing, and then nothing. That's why you have the milk bottle at your side. Add some more, in small amounts - no more than a quarter cup at a time - until you get a nice smooth and thick puree. Taste it. See if the texture is what you want. There are no "rules" for this, so if you like it softer and runnier, add lots of milk. If you like it chunkier, don't puree as much. Do get it smooth enough so you can pour it off though.
To my taste, there's a slight spiciness and nuttiness, and just the hint of a parsley flavor, and they look a whole lot like "mashed potatoes for grown ups."
As it happens, last night, when eating at "I trulli," there were pan seared scallops on a bed of parsnip puree. There wasn't too much of the puree, so I was fine. BUT... Annalena is going to make those scallops this week, substituting the parsley root puree for the parsnips.
Give it a try. I think you may find, as I did, that you can become friends with a new veggie, and expand your horizons.
This happened to me this week. We were channel flipping, somewhat desultorily, and we happened on that cooking show, "Chopped."
I have to be honest, I really hate that show. You know the premise: the mystery basket, and make an appetizer/entree/first course, from an impossible group of ingredients. Sometimes it's fun to think "what would I do," but most times it's just like some of those exercises that the gym teachers in grade school used to give you: they are just being MEAN. And I cannot believe that some of these people are doing this... for WHAT? The top prize is 10,000., but is it really worth it for the humiliation? I saw chefs from two restaurants I know, go down in flames on the show we watched. Now, what do I do, say something, not say something? UGH.
Well, anyway, one of the ingredients on the show was parsley root. I will admit that I have seen this in the farmers market for years, and because it looks an awful lot like the dreaded parsnip, I have stayed away from it.
The dreaded parsnip? Yes, the dreaded parsnip. I dislike parsnips perhaps even more than brussel sprouts. No, not perhaps. MUCH more. So, based on looks, and of course, not knowing what to do with them, I left them alone.
Anyway, on the show, one of the cooks turned them into this incredibly white, beautiful puree that the judges were clearly enjoying. It looked so pretty.
Sort of like the beet and walnut pie I made that was just AWFUL. But, the thought was in my mind. I mean, if they were bad, I could just get rid of them.
Well, they weren't. Here's how I cooked them. But first... make sure you have parley root, and not parsnips. Smell them. Parsnips have an unmistakeable, almost rank odor. Parsley root just smells clean. Get medium sized roots (they'll look like white soup carrots), because you're gonna cut them down for this recipe. Start with about a pound, which for me was three good sized roots.
When you get them home, pare 'em, as if they were carrots (or parsnips, if you're so inclined), and then chop them into even sized bits. For the end bits, where they are narrow, this means just a cut or two. Up at the top, where they get REALLY thick, they will need to be diced a bit. Just go for evenness. Then, put them in a pot of cold water with some salt. Use lots of water, and a nice amount of salt. Bring them to a boil, and cook at medium heat, for awhile. Yeah, "awhile." No way of telling how long it's gonna take. I needed a good 45 minutes. You want them to be tender, but not so soft that you've got "moosh" in the pot. when they're at the right texture, scoop out about 2/3 of a cup of the water, and drain them. Put them back in the pot, and add about a half cup of milk and a good slug of butter. Just heat that until the butter melts.
Now, move the whole thing, together with the water, into a blender. If you have a "puree" button on the blender, this is the one you want. If you don't, use the highest speed you have. You will probably get a good amount of pureeing, and then nothing. That's why you have the milk bottle at your side. Add some more, in small amounts - no more than a quarter cup at a time - until you get a nice smooth and thick puree. Taste it. See if the texture is what you want. There are no "rules" for this, so if you like it softer and runnier, add lots of milk. If you like it chunkier, don't puree as much. Do get it smooth enough so you can pour it off though.
To my taste, there's a slight spiciness and nuttiness, and just the hint of a parsley flavor, and they look a whole lot like "mashed potatoes for grown ups."
As it happens, last night, when eating at "I trulli," there were pan seared scallops on a bed of parsnip puree. There wasn't too much of the puree, so I was fine. BUT... Annalena is going to make those scallops this week, substituting the parsley root puree for the parsnips.
Give it a try. I think you may find, as I did, that you can become friends with a new veggie, and expand your horizons.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
From Quince to Shark: fish poached in flavored oil
When I was a kid (I seem to be saying that a lot these days, don't I?), there was a word game that would appear in the papers every now and then. You would start with one word, and have to get to a final word, by changing one letter in the word, each round, but still getting a word that made sense. You could go, for example, from cart, to care, to pare to pore to pope. I don't see that game happening anymore, for who knows what reason.
I bring that up because I don't want anyone to assume that we're going from quince to shark in that way. No, we're not going to do anything that difficult.
During our most recent trip to San Francisco, we ate at the restaurant called Quince for the first time. It was the first time we had been able to get a reservation. It was a wonderful experience, and I'm going to get to the food in a minute, but first, tell a story that may amuse you.
You know how restaurant websites frequently have information on how to dress? Well, as a general rule, Guy and I ignore that information. We dress in business casual for most restaurants, unless we know the place very well, and we know that it's casual. It has to be both. So, while we know Telepan very well, we would never wear jeans there. So when the website for Quince said "Jacket preferred," we laughed. We have not worn jackets to a restaurant in San Francisco (where we've seen people wear jeans in restaurants with a three figure prix fixe) in years.
Uh, we should have done it here. When you walk into a restaurant and the busboys are wearing navy blue suits, white shirts, and rep ties, that's a good sign that you should have taken the information seriously. Still, we were by far not the most casually dressed people there that night, and no one made an issue of our attire. The service and the food were impeccable, and the busboys , servers and staff were all very handsome.
Now to the food. Quince's menu understates things. There is very little information about how the food is prepared, so there is a surprise when it comes out. Guy had halibut (as a general rule, if he's not eating calamari, Guy is eating halibut). It was such silky, luxurious tasting fish, that I asked "was this done sous vide?" My response was "No, it was poached in flavored oil. "
Hmmm. Well... when we got home, it was the first thing I tried to duplicate. And it's easy. Time consuming, and wasteful, but easy.
In a very early blog, I taught you all how to make oil cured tuna confit. None of you made it , but that's okay. The technique here is fairly similar. You can use any firm white fish to do it. Halibut is basically the "go to " fish of the West Coast. It seems to always be in season. It was in season in the spring, when we were there, and it was in season in the fall. ATLANTIC halibut is a prohibited catch, however, as it has been overfished. So, you make your choice: eat locally, or buy halibut air shipped from the West Coast. I decided to go with the former. I was going to make it with cod.
Well, one of the things you learn with eating locally is that you sometimes have to substitute. When I went to the fish guy , no cod. I was, frankly, stunned. Cod is the East Coast's halibut: you can ALWAYS get it. Not that day. But he had something called "summer shark." I investigated. It was not an endangered species of shark, and while misnamed (it was already fall), it would suit: firm, and white and solid, like halibut. Inexpensive too. I brought my pound home with me, and got to work. Here's how I did it.
To see how much oil you're going to need, put the fish in a pan, in a single layer. Then, pour in oil until it covers the fish by about a quarter of an inch. Now, take the fish out. Leave the oil in, and add the peel of a lemon (no surgical precision here), a few branches of thyme, and about a dozen whole black peppercorns. Turn the heat to VERY low. You don't want to fry these ingredients. Let the thing cook away for about fifteen or even twenty minutes. If , during that time, you see even ONE bubble in the oil, lower the heat some more. After that time, drain the oil so that the solids are gone, and let it cool. You do need to let it cool, unfortunately. No time saver here.
When you're ready to cook, put the fish back in the pan and cover it with the oil. This time, add about a hefty teaspoon of salt. Bring the oil back up to temperature the way you did when you infused it, and let the fish cook for fifteen, or even twenty minutes. It's a very slow process, but it makes a very tasty final product. The flavors that have gotten into the oil, get into the fish, and the oil itself enriches a fish that is naturally very low in fat (the white fishes like cod, haddock, halibut, flounder, etc are all low in fat).
Take your fish out of the oil, let it drain a bit, and serve it forth.
The wastefulness comes from the fact that this oil , unfortunately, cannot be reused. If you have a cat, you might be able to get him or her to eat some of it, but it's not likely. So, don't use the most expensive olive oil you have. You should use extra virgin, and treat this as a bit of an extravagance, but if you're not going to spend money on your food, well, why are you reading this blog?
ENJOY
I bring that up because I don't want anyone to assume that we're going from quince to shark in that way. No, we're not going to do anything that difficult.
During our most recent trip to San Francisco, we ate at the restaurant called Quince for the first time. It was the first time we had been able to get a reservation. It was a wonderful experience, and I'm going to get to the food in a minute, but first, tell a story that may amuse you.
You know how restaurant websites frequently have information on how to dress? Well, as a general rule, Guy and I ignore that information. We dress in business casual for most restaurants, unless we know the place very well, and we know that it's casual. It has to be both. So, while we know Telepan very well, we would never wear jeans there. So when the website for Quince said "Jacket preferred," we laughed. We have not worn jackets to a restaurant in San Francisco (where we've seen people wear jeans in restaurants with a three figure prix fixe) in years.
Uh, we should have done it here. When you walk into a restaurant and the busboys are wearing navy blue suits, white shirts, and rep ties, that's a good sign that you should have taken the information seriously. Still, we were by far not the most casually dressed people there that night, and no one made an issue of our attire. The service and the food were impeccable, and the busboys , servers and staff were all very handsome.
Now to the food. Quince's menu understates things. There is very little information about how the food is prepared, so there is a surprise when it comes out. Guy had halibut (as a general rule, if he's not eating calamari, Guy is eating halibut). It was such silky, luxurious tasting fish, that I asked "was this done sous vide?" My response was "No, it was poached in flavored oil. "
Hmmm. Well... when we got home, it was the first thing I tried to duplicate. And it's easy. Time consuming, and wasteful, but easy.
In a very early blog, I taught you all how to make oil cured tuna confit. None of you made it , but that's okay. The technique here is fairly similar. You can use any firm white fish to do it. Halibut is basically the "go to " fish of the West Coast. It seems to always be in season. It was in season in the spring, when we were there, and it was in season in the fall. ATLANTIC halibut is a prohibited catch, however, as it has been overfished. So, you make your choice: eat locally, or buy halibut air shipped from the West Coast. I decided to go with the former. I was going to make it with cod.
Well, one of the things you learn with eating locally is that you sometimes have to substitute. When I went to the fish guy , no cod. I was, frankly, stunned. Cod is the East Coast's halibut: you can ALWAYS get it. Not that day. But he had something called "summer shark." I investigated. It was not an endangered species of shark, and while misnamed (it was already fall), it would suit: firm, and white and solid, like halibut. Inexpensive too. I brought my pound home with me, and got to work. Here's how I did it.
To see how much oil you're going to need, put the fish in a pan, in a single layer. Then, pour in oil until it covers the fish by about a quarter of an inch. Now, take the fish out. Leave the oil in, and add the peel of a lemon (no surgical precision here), a few branches of thyme, and about a dozen whole black peppercorns. Turn the heat to VERY low. You don't want to fry these ingredients. Let the thing cook away for about fifteen or even twenty minutes. If , during that time, you see even ONE bubble in the oil, lower the heat some more. After that time, drain the oil so that the solids are gone, and let it cool. You do need to let it cool, unfortunately. No time saver here.
When you're ready to cook, put the fish back in the pan and cover it with the oil. This time, add about a hefty teaspoon of salt. Bring the oil back up to temperature the way you did when you infused it, and let the fish cook for fifteen, or even twenty minutes. It's a very slow process, but it makes a very tasty final product. The flavors that have gotten into the oil, get into the fish, and the oil itself enriches a fish that is naturally very low in fat (the white fishes like cod, haddock, halibut, flounder, etc are all low in fat).
Take your fish out of the oil, let it drain a bit, and serve it forth.
The wastefulness comes from the fact that this oil , unfortunately, cannot be reused. If you have a cat, you might be able to get him or her to eat some of it, but it's not likely. So, don't use the most expensive olive oil you have. You should use extra virgin, and treat this as a bit of an extravagance, but if you're not going to spend money on your food, well, why are you reading this blog?
ENJOY
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Basquing in Mussels: Pickled mussel and bread salad
So, where do I start with the puns and internal references here? Hmmm. Well, of course, faithful readers of this blog know all about Annalena's not so new found work at the gym. So, we've got mussels/muscles, right? Being there every day, has one basking in them, yes?
Ok, it doesn't work real well. Ultimately, this is about a Basque dish that I ate during our trip to San Francisco this fall - our first in three years.
As a rule, if I'm writing about Basque food, we were in San Francisco, since I love Piperade the restaurant so much. I think I am in love with the contralto who has been their hostess for years, with Chef Hirigoyen (he's a looka, gang), our regular waiter, who is not so much a looker but has that European sense of charm and style that makes looks irrelevant (why can't Americans pull that off, by the way?). And then there's the food. Oh, the food.
When we were there this time, my eye was drawn to a pickled mussel salad. I had never had pickled mussels before, and when our waiter friend said "yes, it's good, you should have it," I did. And it was wonderful, even though it was based in large part on frisee, not one of my favorite things in the world. But I made it, from memory, and it was close. And I find, now, that I have the recipe in book form. So, we'll go back to it.
Mussels are a good thing. They are cheap. They are easy to prepare. You can find them all year round. Many cookbooks will tell you to scrub and "debeard" or "beard" them. This was in fact necessary when Annalena was a youngster, because mussels were usually taken wild. These days, they are pretty much all farmed, and this is irrelevant. If, however, you are of an outdoor nature and you find yourself a batch of wild mussels, you will need to pull those little "beards" off of the critters before you cook them. Since most of my readers, in fact all the ones I know, are not prone to foraging their own mussels, I leave this step out.
You need 3 pounds of them. Get a couple of tablespoons of olive oil heated up, and add your aromatics. In the recipe, the "aromatics" are simply a few tablespoons of shallot. I did it with onion, garlic, and fennel. Your choice. Saute' the aromatics in the oil, and then pour in the mussels. Cover the pot or pan (if it's big enough), and cover it tightly. Bring the pot to high heat, and then, after five minutes, take a look. They will begin to pop open, and probably will all open, or at least just about all of them. Pull out the mussels. Don't fret about the ones that don't open, just toss them, and if you like, drain the liquid and store it. Freeze it for when you make fish soup. Let these guys cool.
Meanwhile, make some croutons. Do this by cutting about 3 slices of good quality bread into small cubes. Toss them with a tablespoon of olive oil, and put them onto a baking sheet, and into a preheated oven at 350 for ten minutes. Let them cool too.
The astute amongst you will see that you can do these two steps simultaneously. Do it if you feel comfortable that way. After ten minutes of sitting, though, the mussels should be cool enough for you to pull them out of the shells. Toss the shells, and put the mussels into a bowl, together with a clove of garlic, minced, some more shallot if you only used shallots in the aromatics, or, perhaps some of the cooked aromatics if you were more ambitious. Also add about 1/4 cup of red wine vinegar (or, white wine vinegar, if you like), together with 1/3 cup of fruity tasting olive oil. Blend these all together.
Finally, take about 2-3 cups of fresh frisee (more on this in a variation below), and combine it with the mussels, together with the croutons. Toss everything together, and serve it forth.
When I made this myself, I cooked the frisee' down, just a bit, in the pot where I cooked the mussels. The wilted flavor of the greens reminded me of the French frisee and lardon salad, but you might prefer the fresher flavor. It really is up to you.
Turning back to the astute, who may have questions, of course if you want to substitute clams, go right ahead. I've already suggested variations within the recipe, and you could vary the greens, but I would stay away from the sweeter, softer lettuces. Maybe endive would be good. I may try that variation later in the year.
So, basque in this food yourself. It's a little bit different, and it's more than a little bit good.
Ok, it doesn't work real well. Ultimately, this is about a Basque dish that I ate during our trip to San Francisco this fall - our first in three years.
As a rule, if I'm writing about Basque food, we were in San Francisco, since I love Piperade the restaurant so much. I think I am in love with the contralto who has been their hostess for years, with Chef Hirigoyen (he's a looka, gang), our regular waiter, who is not so much a looker but has that European sense of charm and style that makes looks irrelevant (why can't Americans pull that off, by the way?). And then there's the food. Oh, the food.
When we were there this time, my eye was drawn to a pickled mussel salad. I had never had pickled mussels before, and when our waiter friend said "yes, it's good, you should have it," I did. And it was wonderful, even though it was based in large part on frisee, not one of my favorite things in the world. But I made it, from memory, and it was close. And I find, now, that I have the recipe in book form. So, we'll go back to it.
Mussels are a good thing. They are cheap. They are easy to prepare. You can find them all year round. Many cookbooks will tell you to scrub and "debeard" or "beard" them. This was in fact necessary when Annalena was a youngster, because mussels were usually taken wild. These days, they are pretty much all farmed, and this is irrelevant. If, however, you are of an outdoor nature and you find yourself a batch of wild mussels, you will need to pull those little "beards" off of the critters before you cook them. Since most of my readers, in fact all the ones I know, are not prone to foraging their own mussels, I leave this step out.
You need 3 pounds of them. Get a couple of tablespoons of olive oil heated up, and add your aromatics. In the recipe, the "aromatics" are simply a few tablespoons of shallot. I did it with onion, garlic, and fennel. Your choice. Saute' the aromatics in the oil, and then pour in the mussels. Cover the pot or pan (if it's big enough), and cover it tightly. Bring the pot to high heat, and then, after five minutes, take a look. They will begin to pop open, and probably will all open, or at least just about all of them. Pull out the mussels. Don't fret about the ones that don't open, just toss them, and if you like, drain the liquid and store it. Freeze it for when you make fish soup. Let these guys cool.
Meanwhile, make some croutons. Do this by cutting about 3 slices of good quality bread into small cubes. Toss them with a tablespoon of olive oil, and put them onto a baking sheet, and into a preheated oven at 350 for ten minutes. Let them cool too.
The astute amongst you will see that you can do these two steps simultaneously. Do it if you feel comfortable that way. After ten minutes of sitting, though, the mussels should be cool enough for you to pull them out of the shells. Toss the shells, and put the mussels into a bowl, together with a clove of garlic, minced, some more shallot if you only used shallots in the aromatics, or, perhaps some of the cooked aromatics if you were more ambitious. Also add about 1/4 cup of red wine vinegar (or, white wine vinegar, if you like), together with 1/3 cup of fruity tasting olive oil. Blend these all together.
Finally, take about 2-3 cups of fresh frisee (more on this in a variation below), and combine it with the mussels, together with the croutons. Toss everything together, and serve it forth.
When I made this myself, I cooked the frisee' down, just a bit, in the pot where I cooked the mussels. The wilted flavor of the greens reminded me of the French frisee and lardon salad, but you might prefer the fresher flavor. It really is up to you.
Turning back to the astute, who may have questions, of course if you want to substitute clams, go right ahead. I've already suggested variations within the recipe, and you could vary the greens, but I would stay away from the sweeter, softer lettuces. Maybe endive would be good. I may try that variation later in the year.
So, basque in this food yourself. It's a little bit different, and it's more than a little bit good.
One more inspired by Cookshop: lime vanilla ice cream
And also, in tribute to "the dirty bird," and chicky, you KNOW who you are.
Six days ago, Annalena turned the ripe old age of 53. I am somewhat amazed to be here because, diagnoses that were given to me in my twenties told me to plan on not being around past 35. Well, NYAH to all of you. And, having engaged in my current fitness craze, with the help of the amazing Emily (the trainer), and now Sebastian, the mad Paraguyan, I do in fact feel like I am in my 30s, but without the angst and anxiety of those days, and with whatever wisdom one acquires over that time. I'm not quite sure what that wisdom is, by the way. Maybe by the time I make it to 70, I'll know. In the meantime, one has to "keep on, keepin on," as Gladys and her Pips once sang.
You DID miss the digressions, didn't you? Well, they're going to keep going. See, one of the things that went "by the boards" once this fitness madness took over me, was my nightly bowl of ice cream. I almost never eat it these days. Do I miss it? Yes. But as I have recognized it as a "red light food" (you weight watchers alumni out there will know what I mean, and the rest of you can figure it out), I have had to cut it out. Annalena is not a chick who does things part way. So a bowl of ice cream inevitably becomes a pint, and then more. It's as simple as that. So the easiest thing to do is to just cut it out completely.
This does not mean that I have stopped making it. I may be crazy, but I'm not batty! I enjoy the process too much. And I like feeding my loved ones too much. So ice cream making continues.
There is always a period , just about now, when the summer fruit is just about gone. The peaches, the plums, the berries that were so abundant, have left us. We have grapes, pears and apples, locally, and tropicals. The citrus are not with us yet. I am a big fan of all of those local fruits, but grapes make terrible ice cream (and wonderful sorbet). Pears and apples make terrific TASTING ice cream, but texture (again, we're back to texture), turns people off, especially with pear. My apple ice cream is downright CHUNKY, and it can really disturb someone looking for something smooth. So I am always looking for new approaches and flavors for ice cream.
Now, the Dirty Bird, apprentice ice cream maker that he is, has gone in a direction of flavors that Annalena, old fashioned girl that she is, would not approach. This probably is at least partially related to our age difference (which I believe borders on 25 years). As DB tells me about his ice cream flavors, I'm waiting for the day when he jumps up and says "I MADE CABERNET BACON PRUNE TWIRL." And it will probably be good. And I will shake my head and ask myself "where DOES he come up with those ideas ?" And then I will settle down to...
Something like lime vanilla ice cream. Now, there are some connectives here. I met DB at Cookshop, what seems an eternity (and 50 pounds) ago. And it is at Cookshop where I had the inspiration for this ice cream. We ate there on my actual birthday. Now, however much of a health nut you are, if you are not going to have a treat on your birthday, well.... And by treat I am NOT talking about maple syrup flavored soy yogurt. The special dessert that night was a blackberry linzer tart with lime vanilla ice cream, prepared by the second Emily in my life, Emily the pastry chef (does it not seem like there's some dichotomy served up here? I know two women named Emily: one is a personal trainer, one is a pastry chef. I have never seen the two of them in the same place at the same time. Hmmmm).
Well, I sometimes have issues with Emily's desserts. I ordered this one with some trepidation. As a general rule, Annalena finds blackberry baked desserts disappointing. They never seem to capture that allusive and elusive flavor of blackberries. This cake was no exception. I was curious about the ice cream. It was , well, "ok," but not terrific. And I wanted it to be terrific. So, I decided to make some terrific lime vanilla ice cream. And I did. And you can too. Here's how I made mine.
You need two limes, and one and a half vanilla beans. Using a peeler, take the peel from the two limes. You don't have to worry about how long the strips are, just get the things peeled. Split the vanilla bean and the half bean horizontally, and scrape out the seeds. Put the seeds, the empty beans, and the lime peel in a pot, with two cups of heavy cream and ¾ cup of sugar. Bring this to a simmer, then take it off the heat, and let it sit. Come back after half an hour, and taste it. If you think it's strong enough, leave it alone for a bit longer. Always remember that a frozen dessert is not going to taste as strong as the dessert does in unfrozen form. You want this to taste somewhat stronger than how you would like it as ice cream. Keep in mind as well that you're going to dilute this too.
When you think it's at the right flavor strength, add a cup of whole milk, and six egg yolks. If you are timid about breaking up yolks in a milk bath, break them beforehand, by whipping them with a fork or a whisk. Bring the pot to gentle heat, and stir. You know the drill here: you want to bring the mix to 175 degrees. If you don't have a thermometer, SHAME ON YOU, and just use the coat the spoon test (you all remember that, don't you? You put a wooden spoon in the custard, and pull it out. Run your finger down the stuff on the spoon. If it separates without running back together, you're there.)
Ok, if you are doubting whether or not this will be strong enough tasting, leave all the stuff in the custard as it cools, and even as it refrigerates. If you are confident, strain it out. Whichever approach you use, let it chill in your 'fridge, and then get your ice cream maker working.
This will give you about a quart. To my taste, it's a vanilla with a spicy undertone that just barely reminds me of limes. You may feel differently, but it certainly tastes more of vanilla than of lime.
I may make this again, when the Citrus Bomb has her kefir limes ready. THAT may be something for the Dirty Bird to try. DB, keep after me once the citrus comes in. I think you'll have some fun with the kefirs.
Six days ago, Annalena turned the ripe old age of 53. I am somewhat amazed to be here because, diagnoses that were given to me in my twenties told me to plan on not being around past 35. Well, NYAH to all of you. And, having engaged in my current fitness craze, with the help of the amazing Emily (the trainer), and now Sebastian, the mad Paraguyan, I do in fact feel like I am in my 30s, but without the angst and anxiety of those days, and with whatever wisdom one acquires over that time. I'm not quite sure what that wisdom is, by the way. Maybe by the time I make it to 70, I'll know. In the meantime, one has to "keep on, keepin on," as Gladys and her Pips once sang.
You DID miss the digressions, didn't you? Well, they're going to keep going. See, one of the things that went "by the boards" once this fitness madness took over me, was my nightly bowl of ice cream. I almost never eat it these days. Do I miss it? Yes. But as I have recognized it as a "red light food" (you weight watchers alumni out there will know what I mean, and the rest of you can figure it out), I have had to cut it out. Annalena is not a chick who does things part way. So a bowl of ice cream inevitably becomes a pint, and then more. It's as simple as that. So the easiest thing to do is to just cut it out completely.
This does not mean that I have stopped making it. I may be crazy, but I'm not batty! I enjoy the process too much. And I like feeding my loved ones too much. So ice cream making continues.
There is always a period , just about now, when the summer fruit is just about gone. The peaches, the plums, the berries that were so abundant, have left us. We have grapes, pears and apples, locally, and tropicals. The citrus are not with us yet. I am a big fan of all of those local fruits, but grapes make terrible ice cream (and wonderful sorbet). Pears and apples make terrific TASTING ice cream, but texture (again, we're back to texture), turns people off, especially with pear. My apple ice cream is downright CHUNKY, and it can really disturb someone looking for something smooth. So I am always looking for new approaches and flavors for ice cream.
Now, the Dirty Bird, apprentice ice cream maker that he is, has gone in a direction of flavors that Annalena, old fashioned girl that she is, would not approach. This probably is at least partially related to our age difference (which I believe borders on 25 years). As DB tells me about his ice cream flavors, I'm waiting for the day when he jumps up and says "I MADE CABERNET BACON PRUNE TWIRL." And it will probably be good. And I will shake my head and ask myself "where DOES he come up with those ideas ?" And then I will settle down to...
Something like lime vanilla ice cream. Now, there are some connectives here. I met DB at Cookshop, what seems an eternity (and 50 pounds) ago. And it is at Cookshop where I had the inspiration for this ice cream. We ate there on my actual birthday. Now, however much of a health nut you are, if you are not going to have a treat on your birthday, well.... And by treat I am NOT talking about maple syrup flavored soy yogurt. The special dessert that night was a blackberry linzer tart with lime vanilla ice cream, prepared by the second Emily in my life, Emily the pastry chef (does it not seem like there's some dichotomy served up here? I know two women named Emily: one is a personal trainer, one is a pastry chef. I have never seen the two of them in the same place at the same time. Hmmmm).
Well, I sometimes have issues with Emily's desserts. I ordered this one with some trepidation. As a general rule, Annalena finds blackberry baked desserts disappointing. They never seem to capture that allusive and elusive flavor of blackberries. This cake was no exception. I was curious about the ice cream. It was , well, "ok," but not terrific. And I wanted it to be terrific. So, I decided to make some terrific lime vanilla ice cream. And I did. And you can too. Here's how I made mine.
You need two limes, and one and a half vanilla beans. Using a peeler, take the peel from the two limes. You don't have to worry about how long the strips are, just get the things peeled. Split the vanilla bean and the half bean horizontally, and scrape out the seeds. Put the seeds, the empty beans, and the lime peel in a pot, with two cups of heavy cream and ¾ cup of sugar. Bring this to a simmer, then take it off the heat, and let it sit. Come back after half an hour, and taste it. If you think it's strong enough, leave it alone for a bit longer. Always remember that a frozen dessert is not going to taste as strong as the dessert does in unfrozen form. You want this to taste somewhat stronger than how you would like it as ice cream. Keep in mind as well that you're going to dilute this too.
When you think it's at the right flavor strength, add a cup of whole milk, and six egg yolks. If you are timid about breaking up yolks in a milk bath, break them beforehand, by whipping them with a fork or a whisk. Bring the pot to gentle heat, and stir. You know the drill here: you want to bring the mix to 175 degrees. If you don't have a thermometer, SHAME ON YOU, and just use the coat the spoon test (you all remember that, don't you? You put a wooden spoon in the custard, and pull it out. Run your finger down the stuff on the spoon. If it separates without running back together, you're there.)
Ok, if you are doubting whether or not this will be strong enough tasting, leave all the stuff in the custard as it cools, and even as it refrigerates. If you are confident, strain it out. Whichever approach you use, let it chill in your 'fridge, and then get your ice cream maker working.
This will give you about a quart. To my taste, it's a vanilla with a spicy undertone that just barely reminds me of limes. You may feel differently, but it certainly tastes more of vanilla than of lime.
I may make this again, when the Citrus Bomb has her kefir limes ready. THAT may be something for the Dirty Bird to try. DB, keep after me once the citrus comes in. I think you'll have some fun with the kefirs.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
This one is REALLY easy: cauliflower with tahini
It's not a combination that immediately comes to mind, does it? Well, that's Cookshop for you, and a combination like this always reminds me how brilliant a good cook is.
Where did this combo come from? How many tries before they got it to work? All I can say is that this version, takes a vegetable about which I am sometimes indifferent, and leads me to order it as a side dish if it doesn't come with my dinner.
Cookshop serves this with fish: usually cod or some other thick white fish. That's how we had it. I think, though, that you could probably serve it with chicken or maybe even pork. I don't think I'd put it against the richer meats, because the flavor would be lost.
Cauliflower has a very odd texture which turns off a lot of people. So, too, does the smell if it's not cooked properly. But the smell is easy to take care of: cook it in a lot of salted water. The more water, the more the smell of the mustard gasses will disperse. Cauliflower IS a member of the cabbage family, so expect that aroma if you don't do it with lots of water. And also, try the yellow version if you can find it. It tastes the same as white cauliflower, but it just seems to taste better. What can I say? We DO eat with our eyes.
Ok, here we go. Get two medium sized heads of cauliflower and cut them down into big florets. Put them into a pot of salted, boiling water, and cook them for, maybe, 5-7 minutes. They will not be completely cooked, but that's ok, because you're going to cook them again.
Preheat the oven to 500 degrees. Start this after the vegetables have cooled down, and drained. And when the oven is at the right temperature, put the veggies into a bowl, and add a few tablespoons of olive oil. Turn the cauliflower in the oil to coat it, and then spread it out on a baking sheet. After about six minutes , check. The portions on the baking sheet should be brown, or even black. That's what you want. Turn the cauliflower, so that you can get more color on a second side. It won't take more than 4-5 minutes.
While the cauliflower is roasting, put about a quarter to a third of a cup of tahini into a bowl. Now, tahini comes in different thicknesses. If your tahini is very thick, you can actually add water to thin it. Just stir it well. Then put the roasted veggies in, turn them in the tahini, and add some salt if you feel it needs it.
This makes a LOT of vegetable, and that's a good thing, because this is real tasty. It's also vegan. Find a vegan friend, and share. He or she will love you for it.
Where did this combo come from? How many tries before they got it to work? All I can say is that this version, takes a vegetable about which I am sometimes indifferent, and leads me to order it as a side dish if it doesn't come with my dinner.
Cookshop serves this with fish: usually cod or some other thick white fish. That's how we had it. I think, though, that you could probably serve it with chicken or maybe even pork. I don't think I'd put it against the richer meats, because the flavor would be lost.
Cauliflower has a very odd texture which turns off a lot of people. So, too, does the smell if it's not cooked properly. But the smell is easy to take care of: cook it in a lot of salted water. The more water, the more the smell of the mustard gasses will disperse. Cauliflower IS a member of the cabbage family, so expect that aroma if you don't do it with lots of water. And also, try the yellow version if you can find it. It tastes the same as white cauliflower, but it just seems to taste better. What can I say? We DO eat with our eyes.
Ok, here we go. Get two medium sized heads of cauliflower and cut them down into big florets. Put them into a pot of salted, boiling water, and cook them for, maybe, 5-7 minutes. They will not be completely cooked, but that's ok, because you're going to cook them again.
Preheat the oven to 500 degrees. Start this after the vegetables have cooled down, and drained. And when the oven is at the right temperature, put the veggies into a bowl, and add a few tablespoons of olive oil. Turn the cauliflower in the oil to coat it, and then spread it out on a baking sheet. After about six minutes , check. The portions on the baking sheet should be brown, or even black. That's what you want. Turn the cauliflower, so that you can get more color on a second side. It won't take more than 4-5 minutes.
While the cauliflower is roasting, put about a quarter to a third of a cup of tahini into a bowl. Now, tahini comes in different thicknesses. If your tahini is very thick, you can actually add water to thin it. Just stir it well. Then put the roasted veggies in, turn them in the tahini, and add some salt if you feel it needs it.
This makes a LOT of vegetable, and that's a good thing, because this is real tasty. It's also vegan. Find a vegan friend, and share. He or she will love you for it.
Inspired by Cookshop: cabbage stuffed with duck confit
Cookshop is one of my favorite restaurants, EVER. The food is always beyond my expectations, and what is wonderful about the place, is that I always feel that I can make the dishes. The chef, Rob, is a sweetheart. He always stops to talk, and goes beyond that, even sharing his ingredients with me. He has "beta tested" recipes on me, and unfailingly, he's great. It's wonderful.
A week ago, we had a special at the restaurant: cabbage stuffed with rabbit rilettes. I thought I had gone to heaven, it was so good. And I immediately began thinking of variations and here's mine: savoy cabbage, stuffed with duck confit. This takes some time, but it's worth it, and it's really good. Let's take it, step by step.
Annalena does not make her own duck confit. She buys it from Ariane Daguin, one of the classiest ladies in the world. You will need three legs of duck confit, and sadly, you will not use the skin. Just tear it off of the legs, and use it to make cracklings, or something else. Then, shred the meat from the bones. Don't be a surgeon about it. The meat is already cooked, so you don't have to worry about doing that. Just shred it. Also, chop up about 2 cloves of garlic, and a few sprigs of thyme. Put about a tablespoon of olive oil in a pan (the duck is pretty rich), and add the duck meat, the garlic, and the thyme. Just warm it up. You want to soften the meat, and that won't take long.
When this has happened, put it all in a food processor and pulse it. Just chop it. Taste it, and add salt if you think you need to. You can put this aside, or make it a day ahead, however you like.
For the cabbage: a head of savoy cabbage, or any cabbage, is surrounded by 3-4 leaves that are big and tough. Tear them away, but don't throw them out. Get the first 9-12 leaves off of the head. You can just peel them away. It's easy. Save the core to make some salad.
Get a BIG pot of salted water to the boil, and add the cabbage leaves. Cook them for about five minutes, pull them out, and let them cool. Patience is really a good thing here.
When they're cool, cut the tough white base out of the leaves, so that you can roll them up. Now, the fun begins.
Get a glass or ceramic, 9x9 inch pan, and put some tomato sauce on the bottom. Take the leaves, one by one, and put a few tablespoons of the shredded confit (which are really "rilettes") into them and roll them. I do tuck the sides in to get a tight roll, but you don't have to. Put them in the pan as you go along, and just keep on going until you use up the confit. If, by some chance, you use up the leaves before you use up the confit, just sprinkle the confit over the rolls. Now cover them with sauce.
Ok, remember those tough leaves? Well.. they serve the role of aluminum foil. Just cover the pan with them, put the pan on a baking sheet, and then put this into a preheated oven, at 350, for 45 minutes.
And you are done. You can eat this right out of the oven, or let it cool and reheat it, however you like.
This will serve 3 people generously, or if you have a first course, two leaves are sufficient. As an appetizer, one is fine.
Go for it. And thank you, Cookshop.
A week ago, we had a special at the restaurant: cabbage stuffed with rabbit rilettes. I thought I had gone to heaven, it was so good. And I immediately began thinking of variations and here's mine: savoy cabbage, stuffed with duck confit. This takes some time, but it's worth it, and it's really good. Let's take it, step by step.
Annalena does not make her own duck confit. She buys it from Ariane Daguin, one of the classiest ladies in the world. You will need three legs of duck confit, and sadly, you will not use the skin. Just tear it off of the legs, and use it to make cracklings, or something else. Then, shred the meat from the bones. Don't be a surgeon about it. The meat is already cooked, so you don't have to worry about doing that. Just shred it. Also, chop up about 2 cloves of garlic, and a few sprigs of thyme. Put about a tablespoon of olive oil in a pan (the duck is pretty rich), and add the duck meat, the garlic, and the thyme. Just warm it up. You want to soften the meat, and that won't take long.
When this has happened, put it all in a food processor and pulse it. Just chop it. Taste it, and add salt if you think you need to. You can put this aside, or make it a day ahead, however you like.
For the cabbage: a head of savoy cabbage, or any cabbage, is surrounded by 3-4 leaves that are big and tough. Tear them away, but don't throw them out. Get the first 9-12 leaves off of the head. You can just peel them away. It's easy. Save the core to make some salad.
Get a BIG pot of salted water to the boil, and add the cabbage leaves. Cook them for about five minutes, pull them out, and let them cool. Patience is really a good thing here.
When they're cool, cut the tough white base out of the leaves, so that you can roll them up. Now, the fun begins.
Get a glass or ceramic, 9x9 inch pan, and put some tomato sauce on the bottom. Take the leaves, one by one, and put a few tablespoons of the shredded confit (which are really "rilettes") into them and roll them. I do tuck the sides in to get a tight roll, but you don't have to. Put them in the pan as you go along, and just keep on going until you use up the confit. If, by some chance, you use up the leaves before you use up the confit, just sprinkle the confit over the rolls. Now cover them with sauce.
Ok, remember those tough leaves? Well.. they serve the role of aluminum foil. Just cover the pan with them, put the pan on a baking sheet, and then put this into a preheated oven, at 350, for 45 minutes.
And you are done. You can eat this right out of the oven, or let it cool and reheat it, however you like.
This will serve 3 people generously, or if you have a first course, two leaves are sufficient. As an appetizer, one is fine.
Go for it. And thank you, Cookshop.
When a recipe is wrong, and how to fix it: homemade potato chips
I have written before, about how few recipes are actually tested, and how this in turn, results in people thinking they cannot cook. After all, the recipe HAS to be right, right? If the recipe is in a revered cooking magazine, and was written by a revered chef, well... if you can't get it right?
Listen up folks. IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT. No, it's not. It frustrates me to no end when a recipe is written badly, or is incomplete, or is just plain, well, WRONG. Annalena is pretty handy in the kitchen. Yet, there are times when a recipe just cannot be made to work for her. Even chefs or cooks who are meticulous - I cite Ina Garten in this regard - have bloopers. They happen.
Some time ago, this happened with another recipe: one for homemade potato chips. Now, who could resist the idea, especially when the recipe calls for BAKING them instead of frying them? Potato chips, BAKED? In a good cooking magazine, by a great chef.
Before I made them, the first time, I read the reviews by other cooks. They were not uniformly positive. In fact they were more than a bit negative. (the website I found this on, has people review the recipes they make). I , in typical fashion, ignored them.
WRONG. There is a lot that is wrong with this recipe. A LOT wrong. But the principles are good, and you should make these.
Incidentally, do not fool yourself into thinking they are diet food. They're potato chips. They are fattening. They are not good for you. But they are GOOD. Proportion is all.
The ingredients are good. You need 2 potatoes, weighing in at about 3/4 of a pound (the recipe only says '2 medium yukon gold or idaho potatoes). You also need 3 tablespoons of oil. Yes, you need it all. Also, salt and pepper, or some other spices. Cayenne pepper, for example, or something like that. Start with just salt, though.
You start by preheating the oven to 400. While this is happening, peel and slice the potatoes REALLY thin. The recipe calls for 1/8 inch slices. You really do have to go close to that thickness, and if you don't have a mandoline, or a benriner, or something like that, you will need to get a sharp knife, and work SLOWLY. It wouldn't be a bad idea to take a measurement with a ruler or tape measure. Cut a slice 1/2 inch thick, and then think of cutting four slices of equal thickness from it . That's what you need.
Peel the potatoes and then slice them that thinly. You'll get a LOT of them. Toss them with the oil and the spices. You'll have enough.
Now, this is where the recipe screws up, badly. It tells you to put them directly on baking sheets, and to bake for 12-15 minutes.
If you do this, you will ruin your baking sheets, burn the potatoes, and be convinced you screwed up.. The last is NOT true. What you SHOULD do is line the baking sheets with parchment. You should lay out the potatoes in one layer, and if you have two sheets, use two. And if you have too many potatoes, do them in batches. Check them after as little as six minutes. They do not cook evenly, like commercial potato chips, so expect some brown ones, some lighter ones, and some that are mottled. You can let them go for as much as ten minutes, if you like them really dark, but they will get REALLY dark. Think of your audience.
Take them out, get them off the paper, and let them cool on a baking sheet. This, too, is important. They get much crisper this way.
The thing the recipe also does not tell you is that, if you enclose these in ANY kind of container, ANY kind, including the classic metal tin, they will lose their crispness. So, what I suggest is that you make them just before you're going to serve them (because you don't really want them around now, do you?) and serve them with a little dip or sour cream or something.
Make these. They're good, and always remember: if a recipe doesn't work, it's probably not your fault.
Our next few recipes are going to be a tribute to improvisation on things I have eaten at one of my favorite restaurants: Cookshop. We're going to make cauliflower with tahini, we're going to stuff cabbage with duck, and we're gonna make vanilla lime ice cream. They're all terrific.
Listen up folks. IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT. No, it's not. It frustrates me to no end when a recipe is written badly, or is incomplete, or is just plain, well, WRONG. Annalena is pretty handy in the kitchen. Yet, there are times when a recipe just cannot be made to work for her. Even chefs or cooks who are meticulous - I cite Ina Garten in this regard - have bloopers. They happen.
Some time ago, this happened with another recipe: one for homemade potato chips. Now, who could resist the idea, especially when the recipe calls for BAKING them instead of frying them? Potato chips, BAKED? In a good cooking magazine, by a great chef.
Before I made them, the first time, I read the reviews by other cooks. They were not uniformly positive. In fact they were more than a bit negative. (the website I found this on, has people review the recipes they make). I , in typical fashion, ignored them.
WRONG. There is a lot that is wrong with this recipe. A LOT wrong. But the principles are good, and you should make these.
Incidentally, do not fool yourself into thinking they are diet food. They're potato chips. They are fattening. They are not good for you. But they are GOOD. Proportion is all.
The ingredients are good. You need 2 potatoes, weighing in at about 3/4 of a pound (the recipe only says '2 medium yukon gold or idaho potatoes). You also need 3 tablespoons of oil. Yes, you need it all. Also, salt and pepper, or some other spices. Cayenne pepper, for example, or something like that. Start with just salt, though.
You start by preheating the oven to 400. While this is happening, peel and slice the potatoes REALLY thin. The recipe calls for 1/8 inch slices. You really do have to go close to that thickness, and if you don't have a mandoline, or a benriner, or something like that, you will need to get a sharp knife, and work SLOWLY. It wouldn't be a bad idea to take a measurement with a ruler or tape measure. Cut a slice 1/2 inch thick, and then think of cutting four slices of equal thickness from it . That's what you need.
Peel the potatoes and then slice them that thinly. You'll get a LOT of them. Toss them with the oil and the spices. You'll have enough.
Now, this is where the recipe screws up, badly. It tells you to put them directly on baking sheets, and to bake for 12-15 minutes.
If you do this, you will ruin your baking sheets, burn the potatoes, and be convinced you screwed up.. The last is NOT true. What you SHOULD do is line the baking sheets with parchment. You should lay out the potatoes in one layer, and if you have two sheets, use two. And if you have too many potatoes, do them in batches. Check them after as little as six minutes. They do not cook evenly, like commercial potato chips, so expect some brown ones, some lighter ones, and some that are mottled. You can let them go for as much as ten minutes, if you like them really dark, but they will get REALLY dark. Think of your audience.
Take them out, get them off the paper, and let them cool on a baking sheet. This, too, is important. They get much crisper this way.
The thing the recipe also does not tell you is that, if you enclose these in ANY kind of container, ANY kind, including the classic metal tin, they will lose their crispness. So, what I suggest is that you make them just before you're going to serve them (because you don't really want them around now, do you?) and serve them with a little dip or sour cream or something.
Make these. They're good, and always remember: if a recipe doesn't work, it's probably not your fault.
Our next few recipes are going to be a tribute to improvisation on things I have eaten at one of my favorite restaurants: Cookshop. We're going to make cauliflower with tahini, we're going to stuff cabbage with duck, and we're gonna make vanilla lime ice cream. They're all terrific.
She's back. With no regrets and with a recipe: Tian
Well, first of all, Annalena would like to thank everyone who expressed concern about her absence. More, she would like to thank those (and you know who you are, especially YOU, Chris), who kept on saying "you have to keep on writing. You have to, you have to, you have to." I WAS indeed close to folding the tent here. In addition to feeling that I had said all I wanted to say, I didn't think anyone would miss it. Well, I was wrong. So, thank you all. And now, I shall return to the joy of sharing my joy: cooking, with all of you. And we will start with something that there is precious little time to make, but is so good, you should make it: tian.
I do not know the origin of this word. It is NOT Asian, although it sounds a bit like it doesn't it? I suspect it is from a dialect like Provencal, or some other southern French dialect. To my ear, it bears resemblance to the Italian "tiella", which is similar in style, and is a classic of Pugliese cooking. Were I more inquisitive, I would start a google search and find it. I will leave it to more flexible minds (Sue? Are you paying attention?), to uncover the roots.
As I learned, a "tian" is more of a concept than a specific dish. And you all know how that takes on with Annalena. It is definitely a dish of late summer, or , as it is now fall, let us say "warm fall." There is still time to make this. The vegetables are still there and, since they will not be at their peak, and it is a baked dish, perhaps it will be better now than when you have, for example, beautiful summery tomatoes that beg you to simply slice them, salt them, and eat them.
Here we go. Start by cooking, as I was instructed "a mess of onions." I swear, that is what I was told. What is a mess of onions? Well, for me , it was a large panful. You don't need to be precise here, but you do need to do them. I use a mix of yellow and red onions. Slick your pan with olive oil, and then add circular slices of onion to the oil, which you will have heated, together with some salt, and a nice measure of chopped garlic. Cook this, until the onions have softened.
While this is going on, start preheating your oven to 400 degrees. Also, get a 9x13 baking dish, be it glass or ceramic and coat it with olive oil.
When your onions have cooked to the point of softness, toss in some chopped herbs, or even dried herbs here. You will get different flavors, both valid.
Let the onions alone for awhile, whilst you prepare your vegetables. Slice enough summer squash - and you CAN use the big ones if you have them - to make one or even two layers on the baking sheet. Do the same thing with eggplant, peeled or not, and also, tomatoes. The bigger tomatoes are better here, and heirloom are my preference, but beefsteak are good.
Now, take that pesto out of the refrigerator you have sitting in there. And if you don't (i) shame on you and (ii), use a flavorful olive oil instead.
Now, let's assemble the dish. Put the mess of onions on the bottom of the pan. Layer the squash, and either spoon some pesto or splash some olive oil on them. Put some herbs on them if you don't have pesto. Follow this with the tomatoes, and again, pesto or oil and herbs. Finally, the eggplant, and again, the oil and herbs, or the pesto. Finally, give the whole thing a nice sprinkle of salt.
This will feel like you need a crain to lift it into the oven. Good. Cover it with aluminum foil, and then put the thing in the oven. Let it bake for twenty minutes, and then, take off the foil. The eggplant will be softening, and the tomatoes dissolving. The squash, benefitting from the bath of flavors, will also be tender. Bake it uncovered for twenty minutes more and you are done.
I like this at room temperature, alongside of grilled meat. It is also wonderful cold, if you have one of the few hot days we will have left, or if, like faithful reader Christa, you will have more than a few. Cold, it goes well alongside some shrimp or fish. It also serves well on top of pasta (something Chris would never do, but on the other hand, Johnny is out there, and...).
By the way, if this sounds an awful lot like ratatouille to you, you're not far off. Having said that, the taste is quite different.
Try it. I think that you are going to like it.
Yes, I am back. And we will be having fun. Next time around, we're going to make fun of a recipe by a major cooking force, and make homemade potato chips. Yes indeed.
I do not know the origin of this word. It is NOT Asian, although it sounds a bit like it doesn't it? I suspect it is from a dialect like Provencal, or some other southern French dialect. To my ear, it bears resemblance to the Italian "tiella", which is similar in style, and is a classic of Pugliese cooking. Were I more inquisitive, I would start a google search and find it. I will leave it to more flexible minds (Sue? Are you paying attention?), to uncover the roots.
As I learned, a "tian" is more of a concept than a specific dish. And you all know how that takes on with Annalena. It is definitely a dish of late summer, or , as it is now fall, let us say "warm fall." There is still time to make this. The vegetables are still there and, since they will not be at their peak, and it is a baked dish, perhaps it will be better now than when you have, for example, beautiful summery tomatoes that beg you to simply slice them, salt them, and eat them.
Here we go. Start by cooking, as I was instructed "a mess of onions." I swear, that is what I was told. What is a mess of onions? Well, for me , it was a large panful. You don't need to be precise here, but you do need to do them. I use a mix of yellow and red onions. Slick your pan with olive oil, and then add circular slices of onion to the oil, which you will have heated, together with some salt, and a nice measure of chopped garlic. Cook this, until the onions have softened.
While this is going on, start preheating your oven to 400 degrees. Also, get a 9x13 baking dish, be it glass or ceramic and coat it with olive oil.
When your onions have cooked to the point of softness, toss in some chopped herbs, or even dried herbs here. You will get different flavors, both valid.
Let the onions alone for awhile, whilst you prepare your vegetables. Slice enough summer squash - and you CAN use the big ones if you have them - to make one or even two layers on the baking sheet. Do the same thing with eggplant, peeled or not, and also, tomatoes. The bigger tomatoes are better here, and heirloom are my preference, but beefsteak are good.
Now, take that pesto out of the refrigerator you have sitting in there. And if you don't (i) shame on you and (ii), use a flavorful olive oil instead.
Now, let's assemble the dish. Put the mess of onions on the bottom of the pan. Layer the squash, and either spoon some pesto or splash some olive oil on them. Put some herbs on them if you don't have pesto. Follow this with the tomatoes, and again, pesto or oil and herbs. Finally, the eggplant, and again, the oil and herbs, or the pesto. Finally, give the whole thing a nice sprinkle of salt.
This will feel like you need a crain to lift it into the oven. Good. Cover it with aluminum foil, and then put the thing in the oven. Let it bake for twenty minutes, and then, take off the foil. The eggplant will be softening, and the tomatoes dissolving. The squash, benefitting from the bath of flavors, will also be tender. Bake it uncovered for twenty minutes more and you are done.
I like this at room temperature, alongside of grilled meat. It is also wonderful cold, if you have one of the few hot days we will have left, or if, like faithful reader Christa, you will have more than a few. Cold, it goes well alongside some shrimp or fish. It also serves well on top of pasta (something Chris would never do, but on the other hand, Johnny is out there, and...).
By the way, if this sounds an awful lot like ratatouille to you, you're not far off. Having said that, the taste is quite different.
Try it. I think that you are going to like it.
Yes, I am back. And we will be having fun. Next time around, we're going to make fun of a recipe by a major cooking force, and make homemade potato chips. Yes indeed.
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