Every year, in what can only be described as a fit of madness, I make thousands of holiday cookies. Different flavors, textures, types, origins. They vary from year to year, but some are pretty constant. This is one of them.
If you think about it, it makes sense. Green from pistachios, red from cranberries. What makes it very appealing to me, is the absence of butterfat in the cookie, because let's face it: we all eat too many bad, butter cookies during the holiday season. They are INEVITABLE. But we all want "something" when we're sitting down to coffee, or to a sweet drink , or just to nibble on. And the salty element, from the pistachios, is "just enough" to keep these guys from being cloying.
I have written in the past about the differences between American style and Italian style biscotti. These are DEFINITELY Italian style: dry, not so sweet, and with flavor that isn't all sweet. Alas and alack, it does seem that Italy is going the way of the good ole' USA. This recipe, as written, makes 36 cookies. The way I make them, it makes about 80. And that's a-ok. Smaller is sometimes better and, when you're looking at an array of different cookies, with different flavors, you do want to be able to try as many as possible, without feeling guilty, don't you?
Well, I do.
This is an adaptation of a recipe from the remarkable Carol Field, who has taught so many of us how to do authentic Italian baking. Her 8 hour panettone is a staple in the house at the holiday time, even if it DOES take 8 hours to make. And many of her bread recipes grace our everyday table. One day, I will master her pan pugliese and ciabatta recipes. For now, though, let's make some cookies.
You need 1/4 pound of dried cranberries. Ms. Field suggests soaking them in hot water for five minutes, draining and drying. I don't bother. You also need a cup of shelled pistachios. I use salted ones. Three large eggs. Dry ingredients are 2.5 cups of all purpose flour, a cup of sugar, a half teaspoon of each of baking soda, baking powder, and salt. You also need a teaspoon of vanilla.
In a mixer, with the paddle, blend the dry ingredients together, and then add the eggs, one at a time, and the vanilla. Then stir in the fruit and nuts.
Every time I make this recipe, I find it too dry, and add a quarter cup or so of liquid. You know how to judge, so keep your eye on it.
Ms Field suggests dividing the dough in halves. I do it by thirds, and then roll the dough out to a 13 inch log. Brush each log with a wash of one egg mixed with a tablespoon of water, and if you like, sprinkle some raw sugar on them. Bake these at 325 for 30 minutes. Ms. Field says you can get away with cooling for ten minutes. I let them cool at least half an hour, usually more. She then cuts each log into 3/4 inch slices on a diagonal. Mine are much smaller . Then, put the slices back in the oven and let them bake at 325 for 10 minutes, before you turn them over and bake them again, also for ten minutes. (I don't do this, because mine are so small. I just put them on baking sheets, close the oven which I've preheated and then turned off, and come back in 15 minutes. The preheat is to 325).
Ms Field cuts each log into 18 slices. I get closer to 30 out of each of mine, because I think the smaller cookies are better, especially in an assortment. It works either way.
Try em, and let me know how they turn out. Incidentally, you should feel free to start playing with this recipe and changing things. Cherry and pistachio? For sure? But don't forget about the relationship between apricot and almonds. Or, maybe get a little fancy and try some chopped macadamia nuts and some dried pineapple.. That is a bit too off the wall for the very traditional Annalena, but if you are so inclined, go for it. That's what cooking is all about.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Getting there slowly: braised pork shoulder (for Mike and Brad)
Annalena can get from one point to another, albeit slowly. She did that last week in her run, and sometimes, that's how it works with her cooking. This is something that I finally got to, after thinking about it for well over a year. The inspiration, even a year later, is her friends Mike and Brad, and this is dedicated to them.
You'll hear the expression "food porn," used more and more frequently these days, as people send around pictures of their work in the kitchen, to friends who will appreciate it. Some time ago, Brad sent me a picture of a pork shoulder, that Mike had cooked in their apartment that weekend. Sure looked good. I make a pork shoulder cooked in milk, Italian style, but nothing the way Mike cooked his.
Coincidentally, I was leafing through one of my cookbooks, and found a recipe for a braised pork shoulder, from Chez Panisse. I read through it. It looked WAY too easy. It couldn't POSSIBLY be that easy.
It is. It really is. And it's a spectacular dish to make for this holiday season. Nice and rich. Easy. Did I say easy? REALLY easy. I made mine with wild boar shoulder, but you should just choose pork if that's what you have, boar if you have that. It can be bone in, or bone out. Mine was bone out.
The roast itself, without the bone, should be about 4 pounds of meat. With the bone, closer to 5.5 or even more. Whichever one you use, the night before, dry off the roast, and then season it. Season it well, with whatever you like on pork. The instructions that I had called for salt, chopped sage, and red pepper. All good. At the last minute , I saw fennel seeds.
Fennel and pork. Oh, yes. Absolutely. So, season the meat liberally and leave it in the fridge, uncovered , overnight.
Next day, preheat your oven to 400 degrees. Take the meat out of the fridge, and let it come to room temperature.
Now, the hard part. Put it in a cold oven proof pan, like a Le Creuset pot, and cover it. Put that in the oven, and go away, and read a book, or the papers, or something like that. And go away for a LONG time - like 2 hours, minimum.
Your house is going to begin to smell wonderful as the spices cook in the fat, which will render out of the meat. After two hours, turn the roast in the pan, and let it cook for at least another half hour. That's probably all you'll need for a boneless roast, you'll probably need more time for one on the bone.
You'll watch the meat carmelize and start to fall apart. Pork will take less time, boar more time. Test it with a fork and see: is it so tender that you can cut it with a fork, or close to? You're there. You'll have a nice, brown, tender mass of meat. Pull it out of the pan, and let the fat drip away. Now, slice it however you like.
I'm going to use ours to make a "tortilla al pastor, " with some shredded cabbage and a sauce of some kind, but there's enough meat here, to make several different meals.
Thanks to Mike and Brad for letting me know about the joys of pork shoulder. If you eat pork, this is a perfect dish for the holidays. Nice and rich, tasty, and SO easy.
If you make this, tell me what you do with the meat. And maybe substitute the meat itself. Lamb shoulder anyone?
You'll hear the expression "food porn," used more and more frequently these days, as people send around pictures of their work in the kitchen, to friends who will appreciate it. Some time ago, Brad sent me a picture of a pork shoulder, that Mike had cooked in their apartment that weekend. Sure looked good. I make a pork shoulder cooked in milk, Italian style, but nothing the way Mike cooked his.
Coincidentally, I was leafing through one of my cookbooks, and found a recipe for a braised pork shoulder, from Chez Panisse. I read through it. It looked WAY too easy. It couldn't POSSIBLY be that easy.
It is. It really is. And it's a spectacular dish to make for this holiday season. Nice and rich. Easy. Did I say easy? REALLY easy. I made mine with wild boar shoulder, but you should just choose pork if that's what you have, boar if you have that. It can be bone in, or bone out. Mine was bone out.
The roast itself, without the bone, should be about 4 pounds of meat. With the bone, closer to 5.5 or even more. Whichever one you use, the night before, dry off the roast, and then season it. Season it well, with whatever you like on pork. The instructions that I had called for salt, chopped sage, and red pepper. All good. At the last minute , I saw fennel seeds.
Fennel and pork. Oh, yes. Absolutely. So, season the meat liberally and leave it in the fridge, uncovered , overnight.
Next day, preheat your oven to 400 degrees. Take the meat out of the fridge, and let it come to room temperature.
Now, the hard part. Put it in a cold oven proof pan, like a Le Creuset pot, and cover it. Put that in the oven, and go away, and read a book, or the papers, or something like that. And go away for a LONG time - like 2 hours, minimum.
Your house is going to begin to smell wonderful as the spices cook in the fat, which will render out of the meat. After two hours, turn the roast in the pan, and let it cook for at least another half hour. That's probably all you'll need for a boneless roast, you'll probably need more time for one on the bone.
You'll watch the meat carmelize and start to fall apart. Pork will take less time, boar more time. Test it with a fork and see: is it so tender that you can cut it with a fork, or close to? You're there. You'll have a nice, brown, tender mass of meat. Pull it out of the pan, and let the fat drip away. Now, slice it however you like.
I'm going to use ours to make a "tortilla al pastor, " with some shredded cabbage and a sauce of some kind, but there's enough meat here, to make several different meals.
Thanks to Mike and Brad for letting me know about the joys of pork shoulder. If you eat pork, this is a perfect dish for the holidays. Nice and rich, tasty, and SO easy.
If you make this, tell me what you do with the meat. And maybe substitute the meat itself. Lamb shoulder anyone?
Old school spanokopita
There was a day when Annalena was a vegetarian, and an activist. In the 70s and 80s, they did seem to go hand in hand. If you were a political activist, you were a vegetarian as well. It may still be the case, I don't know. We have so many splits and definitions of what constitutes an activist.
Annalena went to more vegetarian potlucks than she can remember. And ate more bad food than she WANTS to remember. In the last post, I mentioned lentil loaf. How about tofu chili? or "neat balls," and so on and so forth. You all have your own vegetarian horror stories. Tell them here.
A good cook is always a popular guest at these events. And you should only know the various titles that Annalena picked up along the way, so that there was an excuse to invite her to the buffet. And sometimes, the hosts would be bold enough to ask "Can you make that spanokopita?" See, spanokopita is something I learned to make early one, and to make it very well. It's rich. And it's also easy. And very few people make it this rich any more. But you should. And since you WILL need party food this time of year...
You will need a pound of phyllo dough. Don't even think of trying to make it. If you live in a neighborhood where there is a brisk market in Greek and Middle Eastern groceries, ask the grocer what brand she or he recommends. Tell them what you're making. And follow their advice.
The package will have at least 20 sheets in it. This is something to keep in mind for later in this recipe.
You are also going to need either two pounds of fresh spinach, stems removed, or two packages of frozen spinach, thawed. Also a 16 ounce container of full fat cottage cheese, a pound of feta, six eggs, two sticks of butter, and a bunch of dill.
Either cook or thaw the spinach. Whichever way you go, squeeze out the water and chop it. Combine it with the cottage cheese, the feta (which you will have crumbled,), the six eggs, and the dill, chopped. Mix this all up, completely. Taste it and add salt if you like.
Put it aside as you prep the phyllo. First, preheat your oven to 375 and while that's happening, melt the butter in a pot. When it's all melted, get a baking sheet. Use a small brush, and paint the surface of the sheet. Put down a sheet of phyllo and butter that. Repeat this, ten times.
The phyllo will frustrate you if you let it. It bunches, it crumbles, it tears. So what? The layering will make that irrelevant, because every tear will be covered by phyllo on top of it.
When you've finished with ten, spread the filling you've mixed over it, in an even layer, and then repeat the process with the remaining sheets of phyllo. If you have any left over butter, pour it over the last sheet. Tuck the sheets together under the filling, and then score it: you know what I mean: cut vents all over it. Then put it in the oven and bake it for about 40 minutes.
The dough should crisp up and turn a beautiful brown. If it's not brown enough for you, run it under the broiler for a minute.
And you're done. This is a big pan of food, but everyone eats too much of it.
Did it seem difficult? I thought not. Make it, and you, too, may be the next star of your next separatist movement meeting
Annalena went to more vegetarian potlucks than she can remember. And ate more bad food than she WANTS to remember. In the last post, I mentioned lentil loaf. How about tofu chili? or "neat balls," and so on and so forth. You all have your own vegetarian horror stories. Tell them here.
A good cook is always a popular guest at these events. And you should only know the various titles that Annalena picked up along the way, so that there was an excuse to invite her to the buffet. And sometimes, the hosts would be bold enough to ask "Can you make that spanokopita?" See, spanokopita is something I learned to make early one, and to make it very well. It's rich. And it's also easy. And very few people make it this rich any more. But you should. And since you WILL need party food this time of year...
You will need a pound of phyllo dough. Don't even think of trying to make it. If you live in a neighborhood where there is a brisk market in Greek and Middle Eastern groceries, ask the grocer what brand she or he recommends. Tell them what you're making. And follow their advice.
The package will have at least 20 sheets in it. This is something to keep in mind for later in this recipe.
You are also going to need either two pounds of fresh spinach, stems removed, or two packages of frozen spinach, thawed. Also a 16 ounce container of full fat cottage cheese, a pound of feta, six eggs, two sticks of butter, and a bunch of dill.
Either cook or thaw the spinach. Whichever way you go, squeeze out the water and chop it. Combine it with the cottage cheese, the feta (which you will have crumbled,), the six eggs, and the dill, chopped. Mix this all up, completely. Taste it and add salt if you like.
Put it aside as you prep the phyllo. First, preheat your oven to 375 and while that's happening, melt the butter in a pot. When it's all melted, get a baking sheet. Use a small brush, and paint the surface of the sheet. Put down a sheet of phyllo and butter that. Repeat this, ten times.
The phyllo will frustrate you if you let it. It bunches, it crumbles, it tears. So what? The layering will make that irrelevant, because every tear will be covered by phyllo on top of it.
When you've finished with ten, spread the filling you've mixed over it, in an even layer, and then repeat the process with the remaining sheets of phyllo. If you have any left over butter, pour it over the last sheet. Tuck the sheets together under the filling, and then score it: you know what I mean: cut vents all over it. Then put it in the oven and bake it for about 40 minutes.
The dough should crisp up and turn a beautiful brown. If it's not brown enough for you, run it under the broiler for a minute.
And you're done. This is a big pan of food, but everyone eats too much of it.
Did it seem difficult? I thought not. Make it, and you, too, may be the next star of your next separatist movement meeting
"Temple Days" after Thanksgiving: curried Lentil soup
Ciao ragazzi. Guess who's back, sort of like a recurring infection? Yes, it is I, after a respite of several weeks. Much has happened, much of which I cannot speak of in this blog, at least not yet. Suffice it to say that , to quote Peter Allen (which I do not do enough of), there have been some "interesting changes in my life" as of late. They have taken up much time, and kept me from updating this blog. Thanksgiving is, of course, one of them. So, too, was Annalena's very first road "race." Yours truly laced up her shoes and ran a four mile race for one of the charities dear to her heart, "God's Love We Deliver." If you have some spare change, send it to them. If Annalena can run four miles for them, surely you can cough up a double sawbuck. Get to it!
Then, get to this "temple days" dish. Regular readers of this blog will know that I have stolen ruthlessly from Nigella Lawson with this title. "Temple Days" are for those days after wanton disregard of dietary principles, when everything must calm down again for a while with simpler, nourishing, healthier food. This soup fills the bill, and it's also quite inexpensive, and vegan.
All of this is good, because Annalena's next two blogs will easily qualify for reckless excess, involving, in one, half a pound of butter, and in the other mountains of pork.
But, first, let's rest a bit. Lentils. 'Fess up, you hate em. You ate them when you had to, but you remember far too many bowls of thick, pasty, brown, lentil soup.
I'm there with you. I sympathize, deeply. It took years for Annalena to escape from the memories of lentil soup of her childhood, which she had to eat frequently. For years, she believed that those brown ones ("lens culinaris," as they call them, and if you want to sound exceptionally intelligent) were the only ones out there, and she was resigned to them.
Then came Indian food. And dhals. With red lentils, and tiny yellow split peas which, strictly, aren't lentils, but are awfully close. Then the French green ones, and most surprising of all, brown ones, from Catellucio Italy, cooked beautifully. No more memories of thick soups that you could cut with a knife, or over baked, dry, "politcally correct" lentil loaves (we'll talk about politically correct food in a post to come). I do not cook lentils as often as I should, but after this dish, I may be inspired to do more with them.
It is difficult to ascribe a provenance to the dish. "Curry," of course, makes it sound Indian. It is not, since we're using French lentils in it. Originally, it called for olive oil which, as far as I know, is not known in Indian cooking. Originally, it called for chickpeas, which could put it anywhere. So, let's just call it "the best of all possible worlds." It, like the recipe to come, will be very useful when you go to that vegetarian pot luck or you just need a vegetarian dish. Let's cook.
Let's chop one onion, a couple of carrots, and a couple of stalks of celery. Try to get them as even as possible, i.e, all of the pieces of the vegetables should be the same size. Also chop up a clove or two of garlic, and have some curry powder ready.
Let's chat a minute about curry powders. First, if you have some on your shelf, but you don't remember when you used it last, throw it out. Go to a store that specializes in spices, and get a small quantity of one of the ones they sell. Ask. Curries come in various strengths and flavors. There are "sweet" curries, there are "hot" ones. There are curries designed for fish, for vegetables, for legumes, and so forth. Smell. This will be your best guide. You will need about two tablespoons (yup, tablespoons) of an average strength curry. If you have a strong one, as I did, you will need less. A milder one? You will want more. You can doctor this as you go along, so don't worry too much.
Heat up a tablespoon of vegetable oil in a heavy pot that will hold 2-3 quarts of stuff. When it's hot, add the vegetables, and sprinkle them with salt, and some pepper. Cook them for about three minutes, then add the garlic, and cook for another minute, and then the two tablespoons of curry.
The curry will pick up all of the oil, and you may think you've made a mistake. You haven't. Things will get sticky, and the curry will fry with the vegetables. Y ou want this. After a minute, add a quart of water, and a cup of French green lentils. Bring the pot to a boil, and when it comes to the boil, lower the heat, and simmer for about 30-40 minutes. I covered the pot, leaving a small area for "venting."
While this is cooking away, get a can (that's right, Annalena said "can") of beans of some kind. Chickpeas are standard. I did not have them, so I used favas. Drain the beans and wash them, and if you have a blender, put them in that with two chopped cloves of garlic, a quarter cup of water, 2 tablespoons of oil, and the juice of half a lemon. Puree this. If it gets too thick and gums up (it probably will), add some more water until it loosens up and you have a thick, but loose, puree. Pour this into the soup, and stir it all up, after the lentils have cooked for that 40 minutes or so. Taste. Adjust your seasonings, and add more curry, more salt, more pepper, whatever you like.
And you are done. This is a very tasty, very unusual soup which, as you can see, is not that expensive to make, not that rich, and overall, very good for you. Play with the vegetables, play with the curry, play with the bean variety, and make your own delicious soup. It will be good. I promise.
Then, get to this "temple days" dish. Regular readers of this blog will know that I have stolen ruthlessly from Nigella Lawson with this title. "Temple Days" are for those days after wanton disregard of dietary principles, when everything must calm down again for a while with simpler, nourishing, healthier food. This soup fills the bill, and it's also quite inexpensive, and vegan.
All of this is good, because Annalena's next two blogs will easily qualify for reckless excess, involving, in one, half a pound of butter, and in the other mountains of pork.
But, first, let's rest a bit. Lentils. 'Fess up, you hate em. You ate them when you had to, but you remember far too many bowls of thick, pasty, brown, lentil soup.
I'm there with you. I sympathize, deeply. It took years for Annalena to escape from the memories of lentil soup of her childhood, which she had to eat frequently. For years, she believed that those brown ones ("lens culinaris," as they call them, and if you want to sound exceptionally intelligent) were the only ones out there, and she was resigned to them.
Then came Indian food. And dhals. With red lentils, and tiny yellow split peas which, strictly, aren't lentils, but are awfully close. Then the French green ones, and most surprising of all, brown ones, from Catellucio Italy, cooked beautifully. No more memories of thick soups that you could cut with a knife, or over baked, dry, "politcally correct" lentil loaves (we'll talk about politically correct food in a post to come). I do not cook lentils as often as I should, but after this dish, I may be inspired to do more with them.
It is difficult to ascribe a provenance to the dish. "Curry," of course, makes it sound Indian. It is not, since we're using French lentils in it. Originally, it called for olive oil which, as far as I know, is not known in Indian cooking. Originally, it called for chickpeas, which could put it anywhere. So, let's just call it "the best of all possible worlds." It, like the recipe to come, will be very useful when you go to that vegetarian pot luck or you just need a vegetarian dish. Let's cook.
Let's chop one onion, a couple of carrots, and a couple of stalks of celery. Try to get them as even as possible, i.e, all of the pieces of the vegetables should be the same size. Also chop up a clove or two of garlic, and have some curry powder ready.
Let's chat a minute about curry powders. First, if you have some on your shelf, but you don't remember when you used it last, throw it out. Go to a store that specializes in spices, and get a small quantity of one of the ones they sell. Ask. Curries come in various strengths and flavors. There are "sweet" curries, there are "hot" ones. There are curries designed for fish, for vegetables, for legumes, and so forth. Smell. This will be your best guide. You will need about two tablespoons (yup, tablespoons) of an average strength curry. If you have a strong one, as I did, you will need less. A milder one? You will want more. You can doctor this as you go along, so don't worry too much.
Heat up a tablespoon of vegetable oil in a heavy pot that will hold 2-3 quarts of stuff. When it's hot, add the vegetables, and sprinkle them with salt, and some pepper. Cook them for about three minutes, then add the garlic, and cook for another minute, and then the two tablespoons of curry.
The curry will pick up all of the oil, and you may think you've made a mistake. You haven't. Things will get sticky, and the curry will fry with the vegetables. Y ou want this. After a minute, add a quart of water, and a cup of French green lentils. Bring the pot to a boil, and when it comes to the boil, lower the heat, and simmer for about 30-40 minutes. I covered the pot, leaving a small area for "venting."
While this is cooking away, get a can (that's right, Annalena said "can") of beans of some kind. Chickpeas are standard. I did not have them, so I used favas. Drain the beans and wash them, and if you have a blender, put them in that with two chopped cloves of garlic, a quarter cup of water, 2 tablespoons of oil, and the juice of half a lemon. Puree this. If it gets too thick and gums up (it probably will), add some more water until it loosens up and you have a thick, but loose, puree. Pour this into the soup, and stir it all up, after the lentils have cooked for that 40 minutes or so. Taste. Adjust your seasonings, and add more curry, more salt, more pepper, whatever you like.
And you are done. This is a very tasty, very unusual soup which, as you can see, is not that expensive to make, not that rich, and overall, very good for you. Play with the vegetables, play with the curry, play with the bean variety, and make your own delicious soup. It will be good. I promise.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
It's late autumn, so: quinces: in upside down cake
Y'all know of my love affair with quinces: "the difficult fruit." Yes, they are. As I've written, you bite one of these once and you never will again. If you have any teeth left. But they're sort of like our cats: give them love, and time and care, and maybe they'll come around to you . Quinces do. Our cats, well....
The recipe that follows is, as are many of Annalena's recipes, the result of a roundabout series of events. A couple of weeks ago, at dinner at "I trulli," and full to the gills, not wanting dessert, Christina, the world's best restaurant manager, maybe, brought out a dessert not on the menu. It was a quince cake, with spice ice cream. There was no way I could not. So I did. And I was jealous , as I always am, of Patti (Ms Jackson if you're nasty)'s cooking.
There is no way I can replicate Patti's dishes, but I can try. I made this one, last week, in feeding my Wolfpack. It combines recipes from two of the Chez Panisse cookbooks, and boy, is it good. Now, I will tell you that, after having made this dessert, I saw Patti at the farmers market yesterday, and told her how I had made the quinces. She smiled and said "next time, put a shit load of spices in the poaching liquid. You'll be glad you did."
Yes ma'am. Patti was buying wild cardoons to bring back to the restaurant to "fool around with," and I can't wait. We're going to go and see her sometime soon, and I hope they're still there.
In the meanwhile, let's go through this recipe. It's going to take a while to make, but a few thoughts on this. First of all, it's worth it. Second of all, you can make the quinces as far in advance as you like. Since it's another one of those "sit and read a book while they cook" recipes, I think you should make them some lazy afternoon. I may make them later today. Here's how you poach them. Get about two pounds of quinces. This will be 4-6 of them. Get ripe, fragrant ones. Ripe for quinces means yellow. Fragrant means just that. They will smell tropical, almost like a mango or pineapple. Most sources tell you to quarter, and then peel the quinces. I find it easier to peel them whole. Whatever works for you, do it. But then quarter them, and cut out their cores. This takes a bit of elbow grease, but you need to do it. The center is nasty, and quinces have a lot of seeds. When you're done with this, slice the quinces about 1/4 to 1/3 inch thick, and put them in a pot with six cups of water, 2 cups of sugar, a half a vanilla bean, half a lemon and, if you are so inclined "a shitload of spices." Bring this to a boil, then lower the heat. Crunch up some parchment paper, and cover the quinces with it, and then cover the pot. Cook slowly, until the guys are tender. This will take 45 minutes to an hour. Let them cool in the pot, and then strain them. DON'T THROW OUT THAT LIQUID. Put the quinces into glass jars. I needed two, quart jars, and cover them with the syrup. Strain out any extraneous seeds. You'll have a pale pink product here. Let them refrigerate if you're not using them right away.
Incidentally, you CAN use these right away. They are marvelous on a cheese plate, or served with apples, for example.
When you are ready to make the upside down cake: make two. Here's the recipe for two, but half it if you really must. Drain the liquid from one jar of your quinces. Put it in a large skillet, with two tabelspoons of butter. Bring this to a simmer, let the butter melt, and keep your eye on the liquid as it browns and reduces. You're making quince caramel, and it's good. When it goes down to about half the volume, or when it's thick and syrupy, pour half of it into each of two, 9 inch cake pans. Swirl it around to cover them. Then, put a little butter on the sides. Now, lay out the slices of quince to cover the bottom of the pan, right on the caramel. Be generous. The fruit is going to shrink.
Here's the batter, for two cakes. Combine two sticks of soft, unsalted butter with 2 cups of sugar and a tablespoon of vanilla extract. Cream all of this in an electric mixer, until the butter is almost white. Add four large egg yolks, one at a time. You may want to lower the speed of your mixer for this. I recommend it.
While the mixing is happening, put 3 cups of flour and a tablespoon and a teaspoon of baking powder in a bowl, with a half teaspoon of salt. Also, get a cup of milk, or buttermilk, or yogurt or some dairy element ready. At low speed, alternate the dry ingredients with the dairy, ending with the dairy. Doesn't really matter how many "turns" you take on this, as long as you do the alternating.
In a separate bowl, get the 4 egg whites from the eggs you got the yolks, and bring them to a firm peak with the appropriate attachment for your mixer. Fold those eggwhites into the cake batter, turning the bowl and mixing as you go.
Spoon the batter over the quinces, even it out, and bake for a good 45 minutes in a preheated, 350 oven.
Now, here's the fun part. Let those cakes cool for fifteen minutes, but not too much longer. There's so much sugar in the cake, that if it gets too cool, you won't be able to release the cake, and you'll have to heat the whole thing again and say a prayer.
Put your serving plate over the cake pan. Protect your hands, invert the thing and shake FIRMLY. The cake should pop out. If it doesn't, put the cake pan on a low flame for a minute or two to get the sugar to melt again. That should do it.
Sometimes fruit sticks in the pan. No problem there. Just reappoint it on the cake.
The baking process will intensify the pink of the quinces, and your guests will be hard pressed to tell you exactly what they are eating. But they will come back for seconds, maybe even thirds. That's why you do two of them.
Oh, and the leftover syrup? Well, if you're adventurous, you can cook it down to jelly. But if not, just pour some of it into wine, or champagne, or soda, as you see fit, and have an interesting, autumnal/winter sip.
Quinces. They're worth the time. Unlike some cats, and some men...
The recipe that follows is, as are many of Annalena's recipes, the result of a roundabout series of events. A couple of weeks ago, at dinner at "I trulli," and full to the gills, not wanting dessert, Christina, the world's best restaurant manager, maybe, brought out a dessert not on the menu. It was a quince cake, with spice ice cream. There was no way I could not. So I did. And I was jealous , as I always am, of Patti (Ms Jackson if you're nasty)'s cooking.
There is no way I can replicate Patti's dishes, but I can try. I made this one, last week, in feeding my Wolfpack. It combines recipes from two of the Chez Panisse cookbooks, and boy, is it good. Now, I will tell you that, after having made this dessert, I saw Patti at the farmers market yesterday, and told her how I had made the quinces. She smiled and said "next time, put a shit load of spices in the poaching liquid. You'll be glad you did."
Yes ma'am. Patti was buying wild cardoons to bring back to the restaurant to "fool around with," and I can't wait. We're going to go and see her sometime soon, and I hope they're still there.
In the meanwhile, let's go through this recipe. It's going to take a while to make, but a few thoughts on this. First of all, it's worth it. Second of all, you can make the quinces as far in advance as you like. Since it's another one of those "sit and read a book while they cook" recipes, I think you should make them some lazy afternoon. I may make them later today. Here's how you poach them. Get about two pounds of quinces. This will be 4-6 of them. Get ripe, fragrant ones. Ripe for quinces means yellow. Fragrant means just that. They will smell tropical, almost like a mango or pineapple. Most sources tell you to quarter, and then peel the quinces. I find it easier to peel them whole. Whatever works for you, do it. But then quarter them, and cut out their cores. This takes a bit of elbow grease, but you need to do it. The center is nasty, and quinces have a lot of seeds. When you're done with this, slice the quinces about 1/4 to 1/3 inch thick, and put them in a pot with six cups of water, 2 cups of sugar, a half a vanilla bean, half a lemon and, if you are so inclined "a shitload of spices." Bring this to a boil, then lower the heat. Crunch up some parchment paper, and cover the quinces with it, and then cover the pot. Cook slowly, until the guys are tender. This will take 45 minutes to an hour. Let them cool in the pot, and then strain them. DON'T THROW OUT THAT LIQUID. Put the quinces into glass jars. I needed two, quart jars, and cover them with the syrup. Strain out any extraneous seeds. You'll have a pale pink product here. Let them refrigerate if you're not using them right away.
Incidentally, you CAN use these right away. They are marvelous on a cheese plate, or served with apples, for example.
When you are ready to make the upside down cake: make two. Here's the recipe for two, but half it if you really must. Drain the liquid from one jar of your quinces. Put it in a large skillet, with two tabelspoons of butter. Bring this to a simmer, let the butter melt, and keep your eye on the liquid as it browns and reduces. You're making quince caramel, and it's good. When it goes down to about half the volume, or when it's thick and syrupy, pour half of it into each of two, 9 inch cake pans. Swirl it around to cover them. Then, put a little butter on the sides. Now, lay out the slices of quince to cover the bottom of the pan, right on the caramel. Be generous. The fruit is going to shrink.
Here's the batter, for two cakes. Combine two sticks of soft, unsalted butter with 2 cups of sugar and a tablespoon of vanilla extract. Cream all of this in an electric mixer, until the butter is almost white. Add four large egg yolks, one at a time. You may want to lower the speed of your mixer for this. I recommend it.
While the mixing is happening, put 3 cups of flour and a tablespoon and a teaspoon of baking powder in a bowl, with a half teaspoon of salt. Also, get a cup of milk, or buttermilk, or yogurt or some dairy element ready. At low speed, alternate the dry ingredients with the dairy, ending with the dairy. Doesn't really matter how many "turns" you take on this, as long as you do the alternating.
In a separate bowl, get the 4 egg whites from the eggs you got the yolks, and bring them to a firm peak with the appropriate attachment for your mixer. Fold those eggwhites into the cake batter, turning the bowl and mixing as you go.
Spoon the batter over the quinces, even it out, and bake for a good 45 minutes in a preheated, 350 oven.
Now, here's the fun part. Let those cakes cool for fifteen minutes, but not too much longer. There's so much sugar in the cake, that if it gets too cool, you won't be able to release the cake, and you'll have to heat the whole thing again and say a prayer.
Put your serving plate over the cake pan. Protect your hands, invert the thing and shake FIRMLY. The cake should pop out. If it doesn't, put the cake pan on a low flame for a minute or two to get the sugar to melt again. That should do it.
Sometimes fruit sticks in the pan. No problem there. Just reappoint it on the cake.
The baking process will intensify the pink of the quinces, and your guests will be hard pressed to tell you exactly what they are eating. But they will come back for seconds, maybe even thirds. That's why you do two of them.
Oh, and the leftover syrup? Well, if you're adventurous, you can cook it down to jelly. But if not, just pour some of it into wine, or champagne, or soda, as you see fit, and have an interesting, autumnal/winter sip.
Quinces. They're worth the time. Unlike some cats, and some men...
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Choices, within choices: bean and sausage stew, or....
When you read the introductory sections to cookbooks (you DO do that, don't you?), almost always you will read the instruction: READ THROUGH THE RECIPE COMPLETELY BEFORE YOU START. Now, how many of you do? And of those of you who do, how many of you, if you are confronted with an ingredient you don't have, or something you don't like or won't eat, think along the lines of "Oh well, not this time?"
There are times when that's appropriate, and there are other times when it is not. Learning discernment and when you can make a change, is a hallmark of a COOK. And really, ultimately, it is not all that difficult to do. There is almost always a substitution for an ingredient that will give you an acceptable, even good, sometimes better, final dish. There are exceptions. Squash blossoms come to mind. So do truffles. But they are the exceptions, like I said. Let's go through a recipe I made, from the NY Times, and you'll see what I mean.
The recipe is entitled "Herbed white bean and sausage stew." It caught my eye because the recipe intro made clear that this was not a recipe where you had to presoak or precook the dried beans.
Some of you may think that Annalena has a refrigerator and freezer filled with containers of cooked beans, vegetable waters for soups, potato water for bread making and so on and so forth.
Divorce yourself of that notion immediately. In fact, I HAVE tried to follow the regimen of the ordered, thrifty kitchen: I've saved my swiss chard stems, and pickled them. I took the water in which I cooked my broccoli, and saved it for soup. And so on and so forth. And three weeks later, out they went. So, no, Annalena does not have those things on hand. But she loves beans. And the time saving was, well, something gratifying.
"White beans." In fact, the recipe called for "Great Northern Beans." You can buy these in the supermarket or the health food store, and they're widely available and cheap. If, however, you are a foodie, like Annalena, you have replaced these with scads of heirloom beans. So, I did not have Great Northerns around. But.. these are white beans, so I pulled out something that is close to white: flageolets. You can use any pale colored bean you have around. Cannelinis will work, so will borlottis. Actually, ANY bean will work, but the color will be different. It's your call.
The recipe also called for sausages. Now, after I had made the dish, I realized I had fallen into the very trap that I advise you to avoid. You do not NEED the sausage in this recipe. You could leave it out. You could substitute greens, like kale (which is really what I should have done, and will do, next time). You could use them both. So, this could easily have become a vegan dish. Keep that in mind.
Also called for in this recipe are ground cumin (half a teaspoon), and fresh thyme and rosemary. I did have all of that around, but what if you didn't? Well, a half teaspoon of an herb is not going to make or break a dish, even when it's something as unique as saffron. Fresh herbs are sometimes a different matter. I don't think you could substitute sage, or cilantro here, but if you only had thyme, or only rosemary, or if you had oregano, or savory, or something like that, you could make the substitution. So, as you go through this recipe, see what changes you can see yourself making. All are good.
This recipe is ridiculously easy, especially if you have a food processor. And it's another one of those recipes where you can sit back and read a book while it cooks. If you have a slow cooker, I bet this would be good in it. Try.
Ok, here we go. First, for the veggies. You need two carrots, 2 stalks of celery, an onion and 2-3 cloves of garlic. You have to chop all of these nice and fine. The food processor, with its pulse mechanism, will do you good here. If you don't have one, like my friend David, get out your big knife and get to work. And again, don't worry about dicing the stuff too fine. Texture is good.
In a soup pot, add 2 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil. Add a tablespoon of tomato paste (or, if you don't have tomato paste on hand, use some tomato sauce), and the half tespoon of cumin I mentioned, and cook for about a minute. Everything will darken substantially. This is a good thing. Now add those chopped veggies. Cook everything, stirring once in a while, until the veggies begin to go a bit limp. This will take, perhaps, five minutes.
Now, add a pound of dried beans, eight cups of water,two teaspoons of salt, and a few sprigs of thyme, rosemary, and a bay leaf or two. Bring the heat up, and when the mix comes to a boil, lower the heat. Don't cover the pot, just let it cook away, for an hour.
If you are going to use kale, this is the time to put it in. Stem a bunch or two of kale, chop the greens, and add them. You can cook kale for a good hour, and it won't be any the worse for it. Cook everything for another hour or so. After two hours, taste the beans. Are they soft? If they are, you're done. If not, let them cook some more.
Now, if you choose to do the sausage option, what you do is, during the time the beans are cooking away, slice a pound of your sausage of choice. I used sweet pork sausage, as the recipe suggested, but I kept on thinking "chorizo" or "merguez" as it went on (Incidentally, if I had used merguez, I would have used chickpeas as my bean). Fry the sausages in some oil for about 5-7 minutes, and drain them. Add the cooked meat to the pot of beans and greens, if you are using the greens, and know what? You are done. You will have a good two quarts of stuff, which is more than enough to feed a crowd. Season it with salt, or pepper, or vinegar, or whatever you like. Hot sauce if you are so inclined.
There's an old saying "good. fast. cheap. Choose two." Well, this one ain't fast, but it's good and cheap. It's cold out. This one will warm ya. Get cozy. Ananlena says so.
There are times when that's appropriate, and there are other times when it is not. Learning discernment and when you can make a change, is a hallmark of a COOK. And really, ultimately, it is not all that difficult to do. There is almost always a substitution for an ingredient that will give you an acceptable, even good, sometimes better, final dish. There are exceptions. Squash blossoms come to mind. So do truffles. But they are the exceptions, like I said. Let's go through a recipe I made, from the NY Times, and you'll see what I mean.
The recipe is entitled "Herbed white bean and sausage stew." It caught my eye because the recipe intro made clear that this was not a recipe where you had to presoak or precook the dried beans.
Some of you may think that Annalena has a refrigerator and freezer filled with containers of cooked beans, vegetable waters for soups, potato water for bread making and so on and so forth.
Divorce yourself of that notion immediately. In fact, I HAVE tried to follow the regimen of the ordered, thrifty kitchen: I've saved my swiss chard stems, and pickled them. I took the water in which I cooked my broccoli, and saved it for soup. And so on and so forth. And three weeks later, out they went. So, no, Annalena does not have those things on hand. But she loves beans. And the time saving was, well, something gratifying.
"White beans." In fact, the recipe called for "Great Northern Beans." You can buy these in the supermarket or the health food store, and they're widely available and cheap. If, however, you are a foodie, like Annalena, you have replaced these with scads of heirloom beans. So, I did not have Great Northerns around. But.. these are white beans, so I pulled out something that is close to white: flageolets. You can use any pale colored bean you have around. Cannelinis will work, so will borlottis. Actually, ANY bean will work, but the color will be different. It's your call.
The recipe also called for sausages. Now, after I had made the dish, I realized I had fallen into the very trap that I advise you to avoid. You do not NEED the sausage in this recipe. You could leave it out. You could substitute greens, like kale (which is really what I should have done, and will do, next time). You could use them both. So, this could easily have become a vegan dish. Keep that in mind.
Also called for in this recipe are ground cumin (half a teaspoon), and fresh thyme and rosemary. I did have all of that around, but what if you didn't? Well, a half teaspoon of an herb is not going to make or break a dish, even when it's something as unique as saffron. Fresh herbs are sometimes a different matter. I don't think you could substitute sage, or cilantro here, but if you only had thyme, or only rosemary, or if you had oregano, or savory, or something like that, you could make the substitution. So, as you go through this recipe, see what changes you can see yourself making. All are good.
This recipe is ridiculously easy, especially if you have a food processor. And it's another one of those recipes where you can sit back and read a book while it cooks. If you have a slow cooker, I bet this would be good in it. Try.
Ok, here we go. First, for the veggies. You need two carrots, 2 stalks of celery, an onion and 2-3 cloves of garlic. You have to chop all of these nice and fine. The food processor, with its pulse mechanism, will do you good here. If you don't have one, like my friend David, get out your big knife and get to work. And again, don't worry about dicing the stuff too fine. Texture is good.
In a soup pot, add 2 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil. Add a tablespoon of tomato paste (or, if you don't have tomato paste on hand, use some tomato sauce), and the half tespoon of cumin I mentioned, and cook for about a minute. Everything will darken substantially. This is a good thing. Now add those chopped veggies. Cook everything, stirring once in a while, until the veggies begin to go a bit limp. This will take, perhaps, five minutes.
Now, add a pound of dried beans, eight cups of water,two teaspoons of salt, and a few sprigs of thyme, rosemary, and a bay leaf or two. Bring the heat up, and when the mix comes to a boil, lower the heat. Don't cover the pot, just let it cook away, for an hour.
If you are going to use kale, this is the time to put it in. Stem a bunch or two of kale, chop the greens, and add them. You can cook kale for a good hour, and it won't be any the worse for it. Cook everything for another hour or so. After two hours, taste the beans. Are they soft? If they are, you're done. If not, let them cook some more.
Now, if you choose to do the sausage option, what you do is, during the time the beans are cooking away, slice a pound of your sausage of choice. I used sweet pork sausage, as the recipe suggested, but I kept on thinking "chorizo" or "merguez" as it went on (Incidentally, if I had used merguez, I would have used chickpeas as my bean). Fry the sausages in some oil for about 5-7 minutes, and drain them. Add the cooked meat to the pot of beans and greens, if you are using the greens, and know what? You are done. You will have a good two quarts of stuff, which is more than enough to feed a crowd. Season it with salt, or pepper, or vinegar, or whatever you like. Hot sauce if you are so inclined.
There's an old saying "good. fast. cheap. Choose two." Well, this one ain't fast, but it's good and cheap. It's cold out. This one will warm ya. Get cozy. Ananlena says so.
Slow cooking: cabbage revisited, and how to modify a dish
Well, THAT title sounds intimidating doesn't it? Well, fear not. It is not nearly as bad as it sounds, it is simply, well, "informative," if you will.
I bet that I can tell who's going to put his or her hand up when I ask: how many people like cabbage? because I've done this before. Not a whole lot of you, huh? And a few saying "well, in coleslaw, sure, but not cooked."
I betcha you are all veterans of the stinky , smelly, overcooked cabbage we had as kids. YOu remember: coming home, smelling that STINK and thinking "please don't let it be our house, please don't let it be our house," walking in the door and... OH NO. Mom is making corned beef and cabbage tonight. Then, that stinking, wet, hot, bland wedge went on your plate with an explanation like "OH COME ON. You like it in coleslaw," when really, all you wanted was the mayonnaise.
As with so many things, ragazzi, it is in the cooking. Annalena LOVES cabbage. She wants you to love cabbage too. And so, she's giving you a recipe that is an adaptation of a recipe she found in that new book by Amanda Hesser that she wrote about, a few blogs ago.
This recipe, when you go through it, tells you that its origins are southwestern France, or perhaps the bordering region of Germany. It's Alsatian, all the way, with the cabbage, the mix of sweet and sour (which is optional), the chestnuts, the pork, and the red cabbage - which, incidentally, is called blue cabbage (blaukraut) in Germany.
Don't ask. I never do.
Well, the recipe was for red cabbage. Annalena prefers savoy cabbage, and that is what is called for here. Use red if you like. Use the plain one if you like, but honestly, the savoy cabbage - the crinkly one - is better. Here we go.
There's a bit of prep work involved, so do that first. You need 4-6 ounces of bacon, cut into small dice. (Leave this out if you want to go vegetarian). Also, one onion, also diced. Then, remember those chestnuts Annalena told you about? The vacuum bag of them? Get one of them, and just break the guys up roughly. Get three medium sized apples (a pound or so, and try to go for the tart/sweet varieties), and peel them and slice them. Pour out a cup of a white wine. To be truly authentic, go for gewurztraminer or rielsing, but if you happen to have a started bottle of something, use that, as long as it's not too sweet.
Finally, your cabbage. Pull off the outer leaves, and then cut the head in quarters. Cut out the core, and then use a sharp knife to shred it. Just slice down into ribbons. You'll have a lot of it, so... get a big pot ready.
Put a tablespoon or so of olive oil in it, and add the bacon. Cook it at medium heat, and while that's going, start preheating your oven to 450. Adjust the racks so that your pot will fit in there. Keep an eye on the bacon, and when you see that the fat is leaving, and the meat is beginning to darken a bit, add the onions. Stir this together, and cook for a minute or so, until the onion goes translucent. It won't take long.
Now, add the apples, and then the wine. Bring this all to a boil, which will happen almost instantaneously. Add half the cabbage, and all the chestnuts. IF you like it (and I do), add a big tablespoon of caraway seeds. Add some salt and pepper, and then the rest of the cabbage. Cover the pot, lower the heat, and let this cook for ten minutes.
When the ten minutes have passed, put the whole pot in the oven, and bake for 30 minutes. Then, take a peek inside. Really reduced, huh? It may even be a little dry and the cabbage may be sticking. If that's true, add about a third cup more wine. Then reduce the heat to 375, and cook for another hour.
You're braising cabbage for nearly two hours, with lots of aromatics. When it's done, you'll have lovely brown bits, and not nearly as much cabbage as you started with. Taste it. If you want to be authentic, at this point you add a sweetner, like brown sugar or honey, and then some vinegar. My taste runs to only adding vinegar, and I use apple cider vinegar, for reasons I think you'll all understand.
This keeps beautifully, and it's a wonderful side dish with some of the more intensely flavored meats, or even with fish, like seared monkfish.
I would bet that if you made this, you will become a fan of cabbage. So, give it a try. Cabbage is good for you, and there's wine in the dish. Now, what could be wrong about that?
I bet that I can tell who's going to put his or her hand up when I ask: how many people like cabbage? because I've done this before. Not a whole lot of you, huh? And a few saying "well, in coleslaw, sure, but not cooked."
I betcha you are all veterans of the stinky , smelly, overcooked cabbage we had as kids. YOu remember: coming home, smelling that STINK and thinking "please don't let it be our house, please don't let it be our house," walking in the door and... OH NO. Mom is making corned beef and cabbage tonight. Then, that stinking, wet, hot, bland wedge went on your plate with an explanation like "OH COME ON. You like it in coleslaw," when really, all you wanted was the mayonnaise.
As with so many things, ragazzi, it is in the cooking. Annalena LOVES cabbage. She wants you to love cabbage too. And so, she's giving you a recipe that is an adaptation of a recipe she found in that new book by Amanda Hesser that she wrote about, a few blogs ago.
This recipe, when you go through it, tells you that its origins are southwestern France, or perhaps the bordering region of Germany. It's Alsatian, all the way, with the cabbage, the mix of sweet and sour (which is optional), the chestnuts, the pork, and the red cabbage - which, incidentally, is called blue cabbage (blaukraut) in Germany.
Don't ask. I never do.
Well, the recipe was for red cabbage. Annalena prefers savoy cabbage, and that is what is called for here. Use red if you like. Use the plain one if you like, but honestly, the savoy cabbage - the crinkly one - is better. Here we go.
There's a bit of prep work involved, so do that first. You need 4-6 ounces of bacon, cut into small dice. (Leave this out if you want to go vegetarian). Also, one onion, also diced. Then, remember those chestnuts Annalena told you about? The vacuum bag of them? Get one of them, and just break the guys up roughly. Get three medium sized apples (a pound or so, and try to go for the tart/sweet varieties), and peel them and slice them. Pour out a cup of a white wine. To be truly authentic, go for gewurztraminer or rielsing, but if you happen to have a started bottle of something, use that, as long as it's not too sweet.
Finally, your cabbage. Pull off the outer leaves, and then cut the head in quarters. Cut out the core, and then use a sharp knife to shred it. Just slice down into ribbons. You'll have a lot of it, so... get a big pot ready.
Put a tablespoon or so of olive oil in it, and add the bacon. Cook it at medium heat, and while that's going, start preheating your oven to 450. Adjust the racks so that your pot will fit in there. Keep an eye on the bacon, and when you see that the fat is leaving, and the meat is beginning to darken a bit, add the onions. Stir this together, and cook for a minute or so, until the onion goes translucent. It won't take long.
Now, add the apples, and then the wine. Bring this all to a boil, which will happen almost instantaneously. Add half the cabbage, and all the chestnuts. IF you like it (and I do), add a big tablespoon of caraway seeds. Add some salt and pepper, and then the rest of the cabbage. Cover the pot, lower the heat, and let this cook for ten minutes.
When the ten minutes have passed, put the whole pot in the oven, and bake for 30 minutes. Then, take a peek inside. Really reduced, huh? It may even be a little dry and the cabbage may be sticking. If that's true, add about a third cup more wine. Then reduce the heat to 375, and cook for another hour.
You're braising cabbage for nearly two hours, with lots of aromatics. When it's done, you'll have lovely brown bits, and not nearly as much cabbage as you started with. Taste it. If you want to be authentic, at this point you add a sweetner, like brown sugar or honey, and then some vinegar. My taste runs to only adding vinegar, and I use apple cider vinegar, for reasons I think you'll all understand.
This keeps beautifully, and it's a wonderful side dish with some of the more intensely flavored meats, or even with fish, like seared monkfish.
I would bet that if you made this, you will become a fan of cabbage. So, give it a try. Cabbage is good for you, and there's wine in the dish. Now, what could be wrong about that?
Friday, November 5, 2010
Making peace with Bittman, or: ricotta gnocchi
Annalena's army shall know, from prior posts, that she has very little patience for Mark Bittman. She finds him more than a bit, well "much," and full of himself. Frequently, when reading or watching him (he does seem to be everywhere. The veritable everready bunny of cooking), she frequently wants to yell 'TURN IT DOWN WOMAN," or something more foul. But.... Never let it be said that Annalena is not a reasonable woman. Read on.
Not that long ago, Mr. Bittman published a recipe that was intriguing to me: one for ricotta gnocchi. Background to the intrigue: one of the specialties at one of Annalena's favorite San Francisco restaurants, Zuni café' , is sheep's milk ricotta gnocchi. They are wonderful. Like clouds. The recipe is in the wonderful Zuni cookbook.
And every single time I have tried to make them, I have screwed them up. During our last visit to San Francisco, they were on the menu, accompanied with fresh shell beans. I took time to chat with the server and told him of my dilemma with cooking them. He smiled and said "there's almost no one here who can make them. The right person has to be on that night and be in the right mood."
Oh. Now THERE's a recipe you want to put in a book: "you need to have the right person, in the right mood." Okay, I guess even Zuni nods. So I had made up my mind that this was their "free bite, " in the sense that every cookbook has its clinkers in it, and resigned myself to the fact that I would not enjoy those gnocchi unless I was, as my boys at Uptown would sing "in the right place at the right time." (actually, they would sing wrong place at the wrong time, but let's not quibble here).
Then, the Bittman recipe was printed in the newspaper. I looked at it. Hmmm. He used flour. Not a LOT of flour, but some flour. Zuni didn't. Eggs. Hmmm. Cheese. Hmmmm. All good. Maybe a Thursday night supper with the Guy man. After all, if it failed, we could eat something else.
Now, I want you all to know that there is a much heartier version of ricotta gnocchi in the cookbooks of Marianne Esposito. Hers are baked, in a tomato sauce, and if you are looking for something traditionally Southern Italian, go there. These are not traditional, at least not in the Southern Italian tradition. Make your choice, or don't, and make them both.
It did NOT fail. In fact, it was downright terrific. A recipe to serve four, became a recipe to serve two. I believe that, if you make this - and you WILL make it darlings - you will see why it is easy to eat more than the allocated serving.
You need very simple ingredients: a pound of ricotta. Whole milk ricotta, please, and as Annalena always says, try not to use the ghastly stuff that ends with an "o". She uses sheep's milk ricotta from the farmer's market. Carry on as you see fit, and perhaps even make your own. You will also need a heaping cup of freshly grated, parmagiano reggiano cheese. Here, don't use the stuff in the green tube. Please. Pretty please. You also need two large eggs. You can mix all of this stuff up hours ahead of time and then add salt and pepper.
Now, comes the fun part, where you have to wing it a little bit. Get a large pot of water going, with some salt in it. Bring it to the boil, BUT THEN IMMEDIATELY BRING IT DOWN to something just over a simmer. The last thing you want here, is what we used to call a "rolling boil." That vigorous a boil, will destroy your gnocchi. Trust me on this.
Okay, while the water is coming to a boil, stir in a scant half cup of flour. Get into the mix with your hands, if you have to. When the water has come to that boil, get a tablespoon and ladle about that much of the cheese mix into the water. Let it cook. See if it falls apart. If it does, then add more flour. If it does not, you're ready (you DO have to do this. My first gnocchi were good, but soft. REALLY soft). It's difficult to tell you how much flour you will need, because the weather that day, the atmosphere, the moisture in your cheese, will all have a role in this. You probably will need between a half and ¾ cup of the flour, though, or more if you like a spongier gnocchi.
Drop them into your pot. Don't overcrowd. What I mean by overcrowding, is that there should be enough room, or few enough, gnocchi in the pot, so that they can move around. They will sink to the bottom, and begin to rise to the top when they are ready. Scoop them out with a slotted spoon, and if you happen to have melted half a stick of unsalted butter with some herbs (HINT), you can drop them into that, as the rest of them cook. All of this will take you, maybe, half an hour to do. You will have a wonderful pot of delicious, light, tasty gnocchi, and you will have something new to serve forth.
I'm still not sure I like Mr. Bittman, but I do like his gnocchi. (There's probably something foul there, also, but let's leave it alone for now).
Annalena owes you recipes. To come this weekend: blackened romesco. Pork chops in the style of veal chops. Quince upside down cake. And, perhaps my favorite dish of the week, a slow cooked treat of cabbage, chestnuts, wine and apples with bacon, that made me smile, BIG TIME
Not that long ago, Mr. Bittman published a recipe that was intriguing to me: one for ricotta gnocchi. Background to the intrigue: one of the specialties at one of Annalena's favorite San Francisco restaurants, Zuni café' , is sheep's milk ricotta gnocchi. They are wonderful. Like clouds. The recipe is in the wonderful Zuni cookbook.
And every single time I have tried to make them, I have screwed them up. During our last visit to San Francisco, they were on the menu, accompanied with fresh shell beans. I took time to chat with the server and told him of my dilemma with cooking them. He smiled and said "there's almost no one here who can make them. The right person has to be on that night and be in the right mood."
Oh. Now THERE's a recipe you want to put in a book: "you need to have the right person, in the right mood." Okay, I guess even Zuni nods. So I had made up my mind that this was their "free bite, " in the sense that every cookbook has its clinkers in it, and resigned myself to the fact that I would not enjoy those gnocchi unless I was, as my boys at Uptown would sing "in the right place at the right time." (actually, they would sing wrong place at the wrong time, but let's not quibble here).
Then, the Bittman recipe was printed in the newspaper. I looked at it. Hmmm. He used flour. Not a LOT of flour, but some flour. Zuni didn't. Eggs. Hmmm. Cheese. Hmmmm. All good. Maybe a Thursday night supper with the Guy man. After all, if it failed, we could eat something else.
Now, I want you all to know that there is a much heartier version of ricotta gnocchi in the cookbooks of Marianne Esposito. Hers are baked, in a tomato sauce, and if you are looking for something traditionally Southern Italian, go there. These are not traditional, at least not in the Southern Italian tradition. Make your choice, or don't, and make them both.
It did NOT fail. In fact, it was downright terrific. A recipe to serve four, became a recipe to serve two. I believe that, if you make this - and you WILL make it darlings - you will see why it is easy to eat more than the allocated serving.
You need very simple ingredients: a pound of ricotta. Whole milk ricotta, please, and as Annalena always says, try not to use the ghastly stuff that ends with an "o". She uses sheep's milk ricotta from the farmer's market. Carry on as you see fit, and perhaps even make your own. You will also need a heaping cup of freshly grated, parmagiano reggiano cheese. Here, don't use the stuff in the green tube. Please. Pretty please. You also need two large eggs. You can mix all of this stuff up hours ahead of time and then add salt and pepper.
Now, comes the fun part, where you have to wing it a little bit. Get a large pot of water going, with some salt in it. Bring it to the boil, BUT THEN IMMEDIATELY BRING IT DOWN to something just over a simmer. The last thing you want here, is what we used to call a "rolling boil." That vigorous a boil, will destroy your gnocchi. Trust me on this.
Okay, while the water is coming to a boil, stir in a scant half cup of flour. Get into the mix with your hands, if you have to. When the water has come to that boil, get a tablespoon and ladle about that much of the cheese mix into the water. Let it cook. See if it falls apart. If it does, then add more flour. If it does not, you're ready (you DO have to do this. My first gnocchi were good, but soft. REALLY soft). It's difficult to tell you how much flour you will need, because the weather that day, the atmosphere, the moisture in your cheese, will all have a role in this. You probably will need between a half and ¾ cup of the flour, though, or more if you like a spongier gnocchi.
Drop them into your pot. Don't overcrowd. What I mean by overcrowding, is that there should be enough room, or few enough, gnocchi in the pot, so that they can move around. They will sink to the bottom, and begin to rise to the top when they are ready. Scoop them out with a slotted spoon, and if you happen to have melted half a stick of unsalted butter with some herbs (HINT), you can drop them into that, as the rest of them cook. All of this will take you, maybe, half an hour to do. You will have a wonderful pot of delicious, light, tasty gnocchi, and you will have something new to serve forth.
I'm still not sure I like Mr. Bittman, but I do like his gnocchi. (There's probably something foul there, also, but let's leave it alone for now).
Annalena owes you recipes. To come this weekend: blackened romesco. Pork chops in the style of veal chops. Quince upside down cake. And, perhaps my favorite dish of the week, a slow cooked treat of cabbage, chestnuts, wine and apples with bacon, that made me smile, BIG TIME
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