Or, Nankhatai if you like. Know what they are? Betcha you don't. I sure didn't, but I'm glad I made their acquaintance and, having done so, it sure seems that Annalena is destined to be the spice girl of 2011.
I am not one of those people who can just go into the kitchen and WHAM - be struck by inspiration and cook away. I need stimulation (I will ask you all to not run amok with that). One source of such is the Chez Panisse website, which I mine, essentially daily, for seasonal recipes. Often, I find myself having a "Why the hell didn't I think of that?" moment. Sometimes, when I see the composition of their dinners, I shake my head and say "yes. That's exactly what should follow that." And sometimes, I see something and say "HUH?" That happened years ago with something called Souffle Rothschild. Now, I know what it is, but I don't make it. Then , they went through a phase where they were making meringata for dessert a lot. I had no idea what that was either. Now I do, and I don't make that. They make a dessert that is described as "norvegienne." I know it as baked alaska, and so on, and so forth.
Well, every year, for reasons I have not quite figured out but I'm glad happens, Chez Panisse celebrates Parsi New Year. Parsi, as you may have guessed, is related to Persia, or Iran. While "Persia" may have taken its name from this ethnic group, the Parsi, as I understand it, now live essentially in Northwest India. And, as I learned, these are the folks responsible for one of the most fascinating religions I know of, Zoroastrianism, and the language Avestan, which is on my list of "things to do." Investigate these, you'll feel like you're on a trip: any religion that puts its dead on a huge "tower of silence," to allow the birds to eat the remains and to rot until the bones fall to the ground, bears some study, I would think.
Anyway, during the week of menus inspired by the woman behind all of this, a dish showed up: "tangerine sherbet with nankutai." I had no idea what nankutai was, but it sounded Japanese to me. On looking it up, I found that there were alternate spellings, one of which, which is preferred , is Nan-khatai or Nankhatai. It's a cookie. And... as with many "classic" dishes, as we've seen, over and over and over again, there are a million varitions. Just google images for nankhatai and you'll see what I mean.
I began investigating. Common to all the recipes were a few things: chickpea flour. Lots of butter (or ghee). Cardamom. And nuts of some kind: almonds, pistachios, or cashews. Also common was the absence of eggs. Very, VERY interesting, and as I was in a cookie making mood, I started exploring.
I found another blog, run by a woman named Manjula. I have a friend by the same name. I THOUGHT she was unique. Well, her name isn't, but her "oneness" remains. Anyway, thinking if one Manjula is good, two must be better, I gravitated to Manjula's recipe.
Ok, now, fair is fair. I don't know whether Manjula the blogger is writing from India, from Europe, or the United States. "The same" ingredient in different countries is not the same. So, the fact that I had trouble with her recipe may be the result of a different quality of ingredients where she lives and here in NY. And that's why we learn to improvise in the kitchen. I am going to go through the recipe for you here, and explain how I changed it along the way. You should make these. They're easy, and they are SO SO GOOD.
You start with an interesting flour mix, and this I did not change. You need 1/3 cup each of all purpose and semolina flour (the Indian names are so cool, I'm going to give them: maida and sooji. OH, I love "sooji.). Then, you also need a half cup of chickpea flour (besam). You really won't have that much trouble finding chickpea flour if you have a good Italian grocery somewhere. Italians, especially Genovese, use chickpea flour all the time, including our wonderful "farinata." Southern French use it to make panisse. This is also the Italian "panelle." So, it's available. You mix these flours together, and then add the tiniest bit of baking soda. So far, we're on the same page. Now, the changes begin.
Manjula called for 1/4 teaspoon of cardamom. I raised my eyebrow. That didn't seem like much and in fact, when I made this the first time, the cardamom flavor was there if you knew what to look for. Otherwise, not. Second time around, I added half a teaspoon, and it's definitely pronounced. If you love cardamom (Jeremy, this means YOU), use the half teaspoon. If you're ambivalent, maybe 3/8 of a teaspoon, unless you have really fresh, really fragrant spices, then use the lower amount. Put all of that together, and then
Combine a stick of softened, unsalted butter and 2/3 cup of white sugar. I used the stand mixer, and you want this to be nice and creamy. This could take a while if your butter is not really soft, so keep this in mind.
Now add the flour mixture. You're not adding any eggs, so you're going to have a really, REALLY crumbly mixture. For me, I found it too crumbly, so the second time around, I added two tablespoons of water, and got a much more workable dough.
This recipe is designed to make 24 cookies, and it does. You may doubt that when you see the amount of dough, which is tiny. These cookies, however, are going to spread to 3 inch monsters in the oven (remember all that butter, with no egg to lock it up). That being the case, I would suggest you DO NOT do what the recipe said (and I did the first time), and put the 24 balls of dough on one cookie sheet. Rather, line two sheets with parchment, and do twelve each. Even so, they will be crowded at the end.
Wet your hands (my addition), to make nice balls, and then spread them evenly over the cookie sheets. Cut a tic-tac- toe pattern in each one with a sharp knife. Then, choose your garnish. The first time around, I used untoasted whole cashews, which didn't move me much. Second time, I used unsalted roasted pistachios, which were much better. Your balls of dough are going to be very small - maybe 3/4 of an inch in diameter, so you won't get much on the cookie as a garnish. Try to shove as much on as you can because of the way the cookies are going to expand.
Bake them in a 375 oven, for about 15 minutes. Since there are two sheets, you need two shelves. Since my oven heats unevenly (yours probably does, too), I move them and change position in the middle of cooking. Keep an eye on them, though, because they go from gold, to brown, to burned, very fast. I like butter cookies a little overdone, so I let mine go to brown. Pull them out before that if you like a milder flavor and a softer cookie. At 15 minutes, they definitely fall into the crispy cookie camp, after they cool.
And this is the last point of difference. The recipe called for 3 minutes of cooling. No. Go for about 15-20. And you're done.
You will have a cookie with a very unusual, interesting and good flavor, that you will want to eat more of than you should. Citrus is a good accompaniment for them. If you're not going to do ice cream or sherbet, how about a citrus based fruit salad alongside of the cookies?
I don't know how to say happy new year in Parsi, but I know it's called "Navroz," so, I hope everyone had a Happy Navroz. Now go and make some cookies.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Another first: Annalena's first adobo
You folks have read here before, of my fascination with "national" dishes, and how they haven't really been codified. You know the story: what is "barbecue?" what is chili? what is red sauce? I have written about my adventures with cassoulet, and paella, and other assorted dishes where everyone knows the "one, true recipe." And now, I have another one: adobo.
I will confess that I suffered from the confusion which, I understand, many people do. I had grown up knowing adobo as a Latino spice. My favorite chipotles in adobo sauce are a real source of grown up HEAT in cooking. So, when I was told that the Phillipines (which I have probably misspelled), had an adobo, I was expecting a thick, brownish red, pasty sauce that you would smear on things and then grill.
I hope my gaysian friends are now laughing. I know Vince is. I saw a recipe for an adobo, and I was taken with it because, as I learned, key to adobo is one of Annalena's favorite ingredients: vinegar. Indeed, as I quizzed or, depending on your point of view, cross examined my friends, and did my research, there were two constants to the recipes: vinegar, and chicken. One person would tell me "you MUST use coconut milk." Another would say "whatever you do, stay away from coconut milk." Someone else told me, "it's not adobo without soy sauce," while yet another friend told me "if my mother heard you were using soy, she'd kill you."
Yes, it was THAT passionate. And when we got to the chicken... Oi. "Use whole legs." "don't use the legs." "It had to be boneless," or "make sure it's on the bone."
And as for cooking styles...
I must say, it was a fun exercise, before I sat down and did one. It is based on a recipe called "the cheat adobo," but I'm not sure it's cheating. There were so many variants out there, that I didn't quite know what to do beyond the vinegar and the chicken (and, incidentally, there was much dispute over what KIND of vinegar to use). So, here's mine. It was SO GOOD, I want to make this again. In fact, there are leftovers in my fridge, and I want to eat them... NOW.
I used chicken thighs, with the skin on, and on the bone. I prefer using chicken with the bones still in, and since I was also going to grill this meat, I wanted the skin. You may choose to do it another way, and as I am not Filippino (spelling?), who am I to give you orders? One thing I got right away was that this is a generous dish, so I started with four pounds of chicken thighs, which is really only about 12 of them. Now, for the rest of the stuff. After reading so many sources, my mix was 3/4 cup of coconut milk, 1.5 cups of vinegar (I'll come back to this...), 1/4 cup of soy sauce, 12 (that's not a misprint) peeled, whole cloves of garlic, a couple of whole, dried, hot peppers and a few bayleaves.
One item that was mentioned in the recipes, that I had never seen, was coconut vinegar. Now, Annalena has about six different kinds of vinegar in her cabinet. She gave up, long ago, on things like strawberry and raspberry vinegar, and fig vinegar, all of which were disappointments. But those were INFUSED vinegars, where a flavor was used to add to a vinegar that already existed. There is a whole family of vinegars that are made FROM something, like the pineapple vinegar that I keep on meaning to make, which I saw Daisy Martinez make on her tv show (Daisy peaks in from time to time. Hope you see the shout out, Senora). Not knowing where to find coconut sap vinegar, I went to the internet.
As Emeril would say, BAM. Within a week, a bottle of it was in my hands. It's interesting. Much softer than wine vinegar. Rice wine vinegar should make a good substitute. Anyway, mix all of that stuff together, and toss the chicken into it. Mix it all around, and then cover it, or bag it, and let it marinate overnight.
The day you're making the dinner, set your oven to the broil setting, and then, dump everything into a big pot. Bring it to a boil, and when it reaches that point, lower the heat to a simmer, and cook the chicken for half an hour. I turned it every ten minutes or so, to make sure everything cooked.
After that half hour, pull the chicken out, hopefully with some tongs, and lay it, skin side up, on a baking sheet that can handle the heat of the broiler. Put the stuff under the broiler for 7 minutes or until you see some really wicked browning happening.
While that broiling goes on, heat the remaining sauce until it begins to thicken. It will take about ten minutes, and there is a real possibility you will see chicken fast separate from the rest of the liquid. I just stirred it back in, but you can always do a separation if you like.
After 7 minutes, protect your hands, and turn the chicken, and broil the other side, for about five minutes.
You're done. Plate it, and pour a little of the sauce over it.
It's a remarkably complex sauce that defies you to say "what's in it." I honestly did not taste the vinegar, or the soy sauce, or the garlic, or even the coconut milk. What I tasted was a level of complexity that is up there, in my opinion , with some of the best restaurant sauces I've eaten.
With it? Is there anything other than white rice? Well, I added saffron to mine, and it may very well have been one of the best meals I've had in a long, LONG time.
I'm coming back to this one. It's a keeper.
I will confess that I suffered from the confusion which, I understand, many people do. I had grown up knowing adobo as a Latino spice. My favorite chipotles in adobo sauce are a real source of grown up HEAT in cooking. So, when I was told that the Phillipines (which I have probably misspelled), had an adobo, I was expecting a thick, brownish red, pasty sauce that you would smear on things and then grill.
I hope my gaysian friends are now laughing. I know Vince is. I saw a recipe for an adobo, and I was taken with it because, as I learned, key to adobo is one of Annalena's favorite ingredients: vinegar. Indeed, as I quizzed or, depending on your point of view, cross examined my friends, and did my research, there were two constants to the recipes: vinegar, and chicken. One person would tell me "you MUST use coconut milk." Another would say "whatever you do, stay away from coconut milk." Someone else told me, "it's not adobo without soy sauce," while yet another friend told me "if my mother heard you were using soy, she'd kill you."
Yes, it was THAT passionate. And when we got to the chicken... Oi. "Use whole legs." "don't use the legs." "It had to be boneless," or "make sure it's on the bone."
And as for cooking styles...
I must say, it was a fun exercise, before I sat down and did one. It is based on a recipe called "the cheat adobo," but I'm not sure it's cheating. There were so many variants out there, that I didn't quite know what to do beyond the vinegar and the chicken (and, incidentally, there was much dispute over what KIND of vinegar to use). So, here's mine. It was SO GOOD, I want to make this again. In fact, there are leftovers in my fridge, and I want to eat them... NOW.
I used chicken thighs, with the skin on, and on the bone. I prefer using chicken with the bones still in, and since I was also going to grill this meat, I wanted the skin. You may choose to do it another way, and as I am not Filippino (spelling?), who am I to give you orders? One thing I got right away was that this is a generous dish, so I started with four pounds of chicken thighs, which is really only about 12 of them. Now, for the rest of the stuff. After reading so many sources, my mix was 3/4 cup of coconut milk, 1.5 cups of vinegar (I'll come back to this...), 1/4 cup of soy sauce, 12 (that's not a misprint) peeled, whole cloves of garlic, a couple of whole, dried, hot peppers and a few bayleaves.
One item that was mentioned in the recipes, that I had never seen, was coconut vinegar. Now, Annalena has about six different kinds of vinegar in her cabinet. She gave up, long ago, on things like strawberry and raspberry vinegar, and fig vinegar, all of which were disappointments. But those were INFUSED vinegars, where a flavor was used to add to a vinegar that already existed. There is a whole family of vinegars that are made FROM something, like the pineapple vinegar that I keep on meaning to make, which I saw Daisy Martinez make on her tv show (Daisy peaks in from time to time. Hope you see the shout out, Senora). Not knowing where to find coconut sap vinegar, I went to the internet.
As Emeril would say, BAM. Within a week, a bottle of it was in my hands. It's interesting. Much softer than wine vinegar. Rice wine vinegar should make a good substitute. Anyway, mix all of that stuff together, and toss the chicken into it. Mix it all around, and then cover it, or bag it, and let it marinate overnight.
The day you're making the dinner, set your oven to the broil setting, and then, dump everything into a big pot. Bring it to a boil, and when it reaches that point, lower the heat to a simmer, and cook the chicken for half an hour. I turned it every ten minutes or so, to make sure everything cooked.
After that half hour, pull the chicken out, hopefully with some tongs, and lay it, skin side up, on a baking sheet that can handle the heat of the broiler. Put the stuff under the broiler for 7 minutes or until you see some really wicked browning happening.
While that broiling goes on, heat the remaining sauce until it begins to thicken. It will take about ten minutes, and there is a real possibility you will see chicken fast separate from the rest of the liquid. I just stirred it back in, but you can always do a separation if you like.
After 7 minutes, protect your hands, and turn the chicken, and broil the other side, for about five minutes.
You're done. Plate it, and pour a little of the sauce over it.
It's a remarkably complex sauce that defies you to say "what's in it." I honestly did not taste the vinegar, or the soy sauce, or the garlic, or even the coconut milk. What I tasted was a level of complexity that is up there, in my opinion , with some of the best restaurant sauces I've eaten.
With it? Is there anything other than white rice? Well, I added saffron to mine, and it may very well have been one of the best meals I've had in a long, LONG time.
I'm coming back to this one. It's a keeper.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Hurried and curried: Thai curries: a "master" recipe
Yes, it's true. Annalena continues to be a spice girl this year. Don't ask me why, because I really do not know what is motivating this. Perhaps my taste buds are dying and I need stronger sensations on my tongue (let's be careful about responding to that one, ragazzi). Who knows? In any event, it is a fact, as you've seen from the entries you've been reading. And now you're going to get another one. It is based on an article of a type that I usually ignore: "Master" recipes.
You know the type: these are articles that say "if you just master a few techniques, you will have 4,000 recipes at your fingertips without much trouble." Then they explain how simple everything is. That takes two paragraphs. Then you get to the exceptions. That takes three pages. And when you look closely, the instructions include things like "cut the vegetables into 3/8 inch squares". If you persevere, you make one of the dishes, look at the picture and....
HUH?
So, when I read this one, I was a bit skeptical. But, since Asian food is way out of Annalena's area of expertise, and she loves curries, this one appealed to her.
Let us clarify something right away. These are THAI curries. What I have learned, from what little study I have done, is that , in Asia, the members of the curry family differ markedly with respect to how they turn out, based on their origins. A few entries ago, you have a recipe for Malaysian curry. I have not put anything in writing about Indian curry, but if you looked at such recipes, you would see a very complex process of spice frying, lots of ghee and oil, and a dry product at the end.
Thai curries, however, are wetter. They are based, by and large, on coconut milk. Indeed, I remember this. There was a time when the Guyman and I ate Thai food every Friday night. I shall not pretend that I became competent in Thai food. In fact, my attempts were less than praiseworthy. Most of the failures were interestingly enough, a matter of reticence in the kitchen. Annalena, who never feels she adds enough garlic, was not adding enough ginger, lime, or hot peppers to her Thai dishes. My informant, Laksana, used to say to me "Oh, Baby Doll, you need AT LEAST fifteen limes for that dish," where I had used six and wondered why it had no flavor. You will get the drift. But I remember those wonderful Friday suppers, and that coconut milk (my ingredient of the year, I have decided, is coconut in all of its manifestations. The coconut pie, for example, that you've read about, the macaroons and, to come, a recipe based on coconut vinegar). So I read this with some interest. And then I tried it. Did it work? Yes, but... Read on.
The "master recipe" for the curries called for the following ingredients: one can of coconut milk, a cup of chicken stock, a quarter cup of curry paste (more on this below), a tablespoon of what was referred to as "golden sugar," and a teaspoon of fish sauce. Finally, three cups of a vegetable of choice, a pound of protein, and "aromatics."
Now, there was some explanation in the article but not enough. The article explained the four different types of curry paste that are readily available: red, yellow, green and panang. It did NOT explain that, in Thai cooking, certain curries are used only with certain proteins. I used to know this, but I have forgotten. I will tell you the one I created, but play with it. "Golden sugar..." WHAT THE HELL IS THAT? I have no idea, but I used demarara sugar, which is what I had on hand. Use something like that, date sugar if you have it or can find it, and if you can't, just make do with light brown sugar. Fish sauce... I have a big jar of it. It's fairly common in Asian cooking. If you can't find a Thai variety, use a Vietnamese one, or anything that you can find, and if you can't find anything, use soy sauce or worcester. No one will know (incidentally, a teaspoon is too little). The vegetables can be whatever you like. The protein, also, can be animal, vegetable or soy. Probably, you could substitute out the protein with more vegetables. I don't see why not.
The prep work you need to do is to cut the vegetables into small pieces and do the same thing for your protein. The vegetables do not have to be the same and, in Annalena's view, should not be. I used carrots and cauliflower, because that is what I had, and both take well to curries. Use what you got, and think about how long they need to cook when you cook them "Western style," because that will factor into this recipe. So, too , with the protein. If you are using something like pork (which I used), or lamb, or beef, you will need more cooking time than if you use fish products. Squid, for example, will cook in a minute in this recipe.
So you have everything ready. Before you open the can of coconut milk (low fat is fine here, although the recipe did not so state), shake it well. Pour half of it into a big pot, and turn your heat to medium high. You want to reduce the coconut milk almost to a skin on the pan. You'll be fine. It will not take long, so don't go away. When you get that reduction, whisk in the quarter cup of curry paste of your choice. I used the green one. Then add the rest of the coconut milk and the chicken stock.
Having written "add the chicken stock," I am sure you could substitute fish stock or vegetable stock here. Use what feels comfortable. Add the tablespoon of sugar, and at LEAST a tablespoon of the fish sauce. Essentially, the fish sauce is acting as your salt here, it will not add a fishy taste. So use your own tastebuds as a guide to how salty it should be.
Finally, let's look at the vegetables and meat you've chosen. I had carrots, cauliflower, and pork tenderloin, which I had cut into a rough dice, of about 1/3 inch thickness. According to the recipe, this pork ought to have cooked in three minutes. So too, my carrots and cauliflower.
Right.... It was more like eight minutes of a slow simmer, and frankly, that was fine. The recipe was wrong, but the longer cooking allowed the vegetables to soften and pick up some of the coconut flavor, and also allowed the meat to cook through.
You also need "aromatics." What the hell are these? Spices. But be creative. As it happened, I had rangpur lime leaves around, from the Malay curry, and I used those. I could not find my ginger for love or money, and if I had, I would have put some in. The lime leaves, however, gave a pretty potent kick to the dish after cooking for eight minutes. Try to pull them out when you're done cooking.
And there you have it. The only thing that works here is plain, white rice. Cook some of that up, put the curry over it, and you may be finding yourself called a spice girl too. Eat up. Shantih, shantih, shantih (oh dear. That's Sanskrit.)
You know the type: these are articles that say "if you just master a few techniques, you will have 4,000 recipes at your fingertips without much trouble." Then they explain how simple everything is. That takes two paragraphs. Then you get to the exceptions. That takes three pages. And when you look closely, the instructions include things like "cut the vegetables into 3/8 inch squares". If you persevere, you make one of the dishes, look at the picture and....
HUH?
So, when I read this one, I was a bit skeptical. But, since Asian food is way out of Annalena's area of expertise, and she loves curries, this one appealed to her.
Let us clarify something right away. These are THAI curries. What I have learned, from what little study I have done, is that , in Asia, the members of the curry family differ markedly with respect to how they turn out, based on their origins. A few entries ago, you have a recipe for Malaysian curry. I have not put anything in writing about Indian curry, but if you looked at such recipes, you would see a very complex process of spice frying, lots of ghee and oil, and a dry product at the end.
Thai curries, however, are wetter. They are based, by and large, on coconut milk. Indeed, I remember this. There was a time when the Guyman and I ate Thai food every Friday night. I shall not pretend that I became competent in Thai food. In fact, my attempts were less than praiseworthy. Most of the failures were interestingly enough, a matter of reticence in the kitchen. Annalena, who never feels she adds enough garlic, was not adding enough ginger, lime, or hot peppers to her Thai dishes. My informant, Laksana, used to say to me "Oh, Baby Doll, you need AT LEAST fifteen limes for that dish," where I had used six and wondered why it had no flavor. You will get the drift. But I remember those wonderful Friday suppers, and that coconut milk (my ingredient of the year, I have decided, is coconut in all of its manifestations. The coconut pie, for example, that you've read about, the macaroons and, to come, a recipe based on coconut vinegar). So I read this with some interest. And then I tried it. Did it work? Yes, but... Read on.
The "master recipe" for the curries called for the following ingredients: one can of coconut milk, a cup of chicken stock, a quarter cup of curry paste (more on this below), a tablespoon of what was referred to as "golden sugar," and a teaspoon of fish sauce. Finally, three cups of a vegetable of choice, a pound of protein, and "aromatics."
Now, there was some explanation in the article but not enough. The article explained the four different types of curry paste that are readily available: red, yellow, green and panang. It did NOT explain that, in Thai cooking, certain curries are used only with certain proteins. I used to know this, but I have forgotten. I will tell you the one I created, but play with it. "Golden sugar..." WHAT THE HELL IS THAT? I have no idea, but I used demarara sugar, which is what I had on hand. Use something like that, date sugar if you have it or can find it, and if you can't, just make do with light brown sugar. Fish sauce... I have a big jar of it. It's fairly common in Asian cooking. If you can't find a Thai variety, use a Vietnamese one, or anything that you can find, and if you can't find anything, use soy sauce or worcester. No one will know (incidentally, a teaspoon is too little). The vegetables can be whatever you like. The protein, also, can be animal, vegetable or soy. Probably, you could substitute out the protein with more vegetables. I don't see why not.
The prep work you need to do is to cut the vegetables into small pieces and do the same thing for your protein. The vegetables do not have to be the same and, in Annalena's view, should not be. I used carrots and cauliflower, because that is what I had, and both take well to curries. Use what you got, and think about how long they need to cook when you cook them "Western style," because that will factor into this recipe. So, too , with the protein. If you are using something like pork (which I used), or lamb, or beef, you will need more cooking time than if you use fish products. Squid, for example, will cook in a minute in this recipe.
So you have everything ready. Before you open the can of coconut milk (low fat is fine here, although the recipe did not so state), shake it well. Pour half of it into a big pot, and turn your heat to medium high. You want to reduce the coconut milk almost to a skin on the pan. You'll be fine. It will not take long, so don't go away. When you get that reduction, whisk in the quarter cup of curry paste of your choice. I used the green one. Then add the rest of the coconut milk and the chicken stock.
Having written "add the chicken stock," I am sure you could substitute fish stock or vegetable stock here. Use what feels comfortable. Add the tablespoon of sugar, and at LEAST a tablespoon of the fish sauce. Essentially, the fish sauce is acting as your salt here, it will not add a fishy taste. So use your own tastebuds as a guide to how salty it should be.
Finally, let's look at the vegetables and meat you've chosen. I had carrots, cauliflower, and pork tenderloin, which I had cut into a rough dice, of about 1/3 inch thickness. According to the recipe, this pork ought to have cooked in three minutes. So too, my carrots and cauliflower.
Right.... It was more like eight minutes of a slow simmer, and frankly, that was fine. The recipe was wrong, but the longer cooking allowed the vegetables to soften and pick up some of the coconut flavor, and also allowed the meat to cook through.
You also need "aromatics." What the hell are these? Spices. But be creative. As it happened, I had rangpur lime leaves around, from the Malay curry, and I used those. I could not find my ginger for love or money, and if I had, I would have put some in. The lime leaves, however, gave a pretty potent kick to the dish after cooking for eight minutes. Try to pull them out when you're done cooking.
And there you have it. The only thing that works here is plain, white rice. Cook some of that up, put the curry over it, and you may be finding yourself called a spice girl too. Eat up. Shantih, shantih, shantih (oh dear. That's Sanskrit.)
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Easier than you may think: Linzer tart
You've seen them, haven't you? Those beautiful, almost glass like pies, or smaller tarts, sitting in good pastry store windows, glistening like stained glass through lattice? Of course you have. I bet you've had the smaller ones: the tarts, or perhaps the linzer cookies: little circles with jam, and the lattice on top of them And I bet you thought "there is NO way in creation that I'm going to make one of those."
I was of the same mind. Well, that has changed, and with the thanks of my guide for all things pie like, Rose Levy Birnbaum, I can now say that I have made them, and I will make them again. I will say other things further on, before we get to the recipe, which will not be pleasing, but as this blog covers more than cooking, so be it.
The use of jam as a filling in pies is not uniquely Austrian. Italians do it, in crostata di marmalata, and of course, the French do it with "confiture." When you get right down to it, there is something almost primeval about our love of toasty things, with jam in or on them. How many of us will speak of childhoods where "dessert" was a piece of toast slathered with jam? We may deride it now, but close your eyes and think back: if the jam was good, and the bread was first rate, was it really all that bad? This morning, for her breakfast, Annalena toasted up some homemade rye bread and put some raspberry jam left over from the linzer tart making fest. SO GOOD. And one of her favorite breakfasts is to sit in one of her favorite places, a Japanese breakfast shop, named "Te adore'" and put away half of a toasted baguette, buttered, with apricot jam on it. This is from someone, by the way, who almost never eats jam.
Making a pie filled with jam was not a problem. The scary part for Annalena was the lattice part. When Baroness von Schrader asked for "help" in making some linzer tarts for a competition, Annalena consented, without fully knowing what she was getting into.
Ms. Birnbaums' recipe seemed very reassuring, and in fact, it worked beautifully. I am going to go through it here, with my usual detours as to how I varied it, and why, with just a short detour here as well.
Annalena was reminded of an old saying last night that seems apt here: "if you want to lose a friend and money, loan a friend money." There is no money involved in this story; however, as I'm sure you have noticed, when Annalena borrows from a source, she names it, praises it, tells you how she varies it, and usually tells you how to get there. There are no recipes that are "owned solely" by one person. Cooking is a shared adventure.
Except when people take credit for what they did not do all to themselves. Sadly, that is in fact what happened here. Annalena will have to process that; however, she asks you, in fact, she beseeches you, pleasae make sure that you credit your teachers, your helpers, your suppliers, wherever you go. Or, be prepared to moveon, many times.
To the task at hand: we start with the pie crust, because ultimately, the only thing you have to do here is make the crust. And it is , ultimately, a cookie crust. When you make this dough, if you are experienced with cookie baking, you will think of nut shortbreads, or things like Russian wedding cakes, or Mexican wedding cakes. With good reason. The bases are the same. For the dough, you need a cup of ground nuts, or nut flours. You can get away with half a cup, incidentally. Traditionally, this is toasted almond flour, and that is what I used. Ms Birnbaum suggested hazelnuts, and that sounds good, but to me, not with raspberry. Use what you like.
You can buy toasted nut powders, and that is what I used. If, however, you start with whole nuts, toast them (350 for ten minutes or until they smell toasty), let them cool, and then grind them in a food processor, using the pulsing button, until you have a fine grind, that looks a bit like rough flour. As I said, a half cup will do, a full cup is better. Now, keep this nut flour in the food processor with a stick and a half of cold, unsalted butter, cut into cubes, and 2 cups of flour, 2/3 cups of sugar, a teaspoon each of baking powder and cinnamon (don't omit the cinnamon), and then two egg youlks, and a teaspoon of vanilla extract. Process this until it begins to take on the shape of a ball.
I will advise you that you may need to add a few tablespoons of water to this. I did. My dough was just not looking cohesive enough. It's ok with part one of the crust, but you will need some cohesiveness with the lattice.
Okay, so you've processed the dough, now divide it. One part should be about 15-20% more than the other. If you have a scale that weighs in grams, this is ridiculously easy to do.
Take the larger portion and, with your fingers, press the dough into a 10 inch, fluted tart pan (if you don't have one, get one). It will make things MUCH easier if you start by pressing the dough up around the edges, all the way, and then press the bottom in. It will be very easy to do. In fact, you will probably be surprised at how easy it is. Put it aside, because now, the hard part starts.
Get two big sheets of waxed paper, or parchment paper, and put the rest of the dough in between them. Use a rolling pin and do your best to roll this out to a rectangle that is about 5x10. This is not easy, and it will frustrate you. You don't have to be perfect, but the 10 inch length is important.
After you have that done, you want to cut ten strips, about a half inch wide. You will need a sharp knife to do this, and you will want to work fast. If the strips aren't perfect, don't fret; however, if you want to be precise, you can pull out a tape measure and mark the strips.
Ideally, what you will do at this point is put the strips into the freezer for five minutes, or the refrigerator for ten-fifteen, to firm them up. It will reduce your frustration level if you do.
While they're chilling, get your jam. Linzer tart, classically, calls for seedless raspberry jam, and just about all the ones I've seen, have used red raspberry.
I was using locally made jam, and could not find the seedless red kind; however, when I talked about the project with my resident jam maker Beth, she highly recommended black raspberry jam.
Annalena loves raspberries. She eats them all season long and laments their passing. But if she loves raspberries, she is enraptured with black raspberries, which come into season first, have a short season, and leave. They have a perfume that reminds her of roses, and her black raspberry ice creams and sorbets bring raves. So, black raspberry it was.
I have commented in the past that Ms Birnbaum's pie fillings have seemed a bit stingy to me. So, too, this one. She recommends a cup of jam, or "10.5 ounces."
This instruction puzzled me. A cup is 8 ounces. Is it one or the other? In fact, my experience was that you need a good jar and a half to fill the tart. And, rather than putting it directly into the pie and spreading it out, I suggest you dirty an extra bowl, break up the jam a bit with a spatula, and then load it into the crust. I found this to make things much easier. You can spread the stuff out with your hands, and then wash them. It's easy.
Now, start preheating your oven to 350. Take that crust out of the fridge/freezer or from the side, and here's the part where I think Ms. Birnbaum is a genius. She advises to take a nine inch circular pan, put it down on top of the crust, and cut a circle around it. You will wind up with ten, lovely, nine inch strips. You do have to bravely grap the whole thing, and turn it upside down. But you can do it. Save the excess dough, and now take those strips. Lay five of them over the jam, spacing them evenly. If they break, don't worry. Patch as you can because it will work out in the baking. Then, rotate your pie 90 degrees, and lay down the last five, in exactly the same way you put down the first five.
I guess this is "ersatz" lattice, since you're not weaving anything, but it's pretty. Ms. Birnbaum then suggests making little tiny balls of the rest of the dough, and spreading them around the pie, at the points where the strips touch the wall of the pan.
If you must, be my guest. I started doing it and lost patience. In any event, put the thing on a baking sheet, and bake it for a full hour. The jam will bubble up for a bit, but not much. The crust will darken to a lovely golden brown, and you will have a beautiful winter tarte when you are done.
Now, if you have eaten linzer tart and been disappointed, I believe I know why. First, there may have been inferior jam used in the filling. Buy good stuff. BUT... I think that the problem is that the tart was probably refrigerated. This tart need not be put in the fridge, shouldn't be, and will keep for a week outside of the fridge.
It will. Look at the ingredients. Nuthin to go bad here. And Ms Birnbaum says that it is especially delicious warm. I prefer at room temperature.
So, do it, but be careful for whom you do it, especially if you respect authorship and expect your own to be respected.
I was of the same mind. Well, that has changed, and with the thanks of my guide for all things pie like, Rose Levy Birnbaum, I can now say that I have made them, and I will make them again. I will say other things further on, before we get to the recipe, which will not be pleasing, but as this blog covers more than cooking, so be it.
The use of jam as a filling in pies is not uniquely Austrian. Italians do it, in crostata di marmalata, and of course, the French do it with "confiture." When you get right down to it, there is something almost primeval about our love of toasty things, with jam in or on them. How many of us will speak of childhoods where "dessert" was a piece of toast slathered with jam? We may deride it now, but close your eyes and think back: if the jam was good, and the bread was first rate, was it really all that bad? This morning, for her breakfast, Annalena toasted up some homemade rye bread and put some raspberry jam left over from the linzer tart making fest. SO GOOD. And one of her favorite breakfasts is to sit in one of her favorite places, a Japanese breakfast shop, named "Te adore'" and put away half of a toasted baguette, buttered, with apricot jam on it. This is from someone, by the way, who almost never eats jam.
Making a pie filled with jam was not a problem. The scary part for Annalena was the lattice part. When Baroness von Schrader asked for "help" in making some linzer tarts for a competition, Annalena consented, without fully knowing what she was getting into.
Ms. Birnbaums' recipe seemed very reassuring, and in fact, it worked beautifully. I am going to go through it here, with my usual detours as to how I varied it, and why, with just a short detour here as well.
Annalena was reminded of an old saying last night that seems apt here: "if you want to lose a friend and money, loan a friend money." There is no money involved in this story; however, as I'm sure you have noticed, when Annalena borrows from a source, she names it, praises it, tells you how she varies it, and usually tells you how to get there. There are no recipes that are "owned solely" by one person. Cooking is a shared adventure.
Except when people take credit for what they did not do all to themselves. Sadly, that is in fact what happened here. Annalena will have to process that; however, she asks you, in fact, she beseeches you, pleasae make sure that you credit your teachers, your helpers, your suppliers, wherever you go. Or, be prepared to moveon, many times.
To the task at hand: we start with the pie crust, because ultimately, the only thing you have to do here is make the crust. And it is , ultimately, a cookie crust. When you make this dough, if you are experienced with cookie baking, you will think of nut shortbreads, or things like Russian wedding cakes, or Mexican wedding cakes. With good reason. The bases are the same. For the dough, you need a cup of ground nuts, or nut flours. You can get away with half a cup, incidentally. Traditionally, this is toasted almond flour, and that is what I used. Ms Birnbaum suggested hazelnuts, and that sounds good, but to me, not with raspberry. Use what you like.
You can buy toasted nut powders, and that is what I used. If, however, you start with whole nuts, toast them (350 for ten minutes or until they smell toasty), let them cool, and then grind them in a food processor, using the pulsing button, until you have a fine grind, that looks a bit like rough flour. As I said, a half cup will do, a full cup is better. Now, keep this nut flour in the food processor with a stick and a half of cold, unsalted butter, cut into cubes, and 2 cups of flour, 2/3 cups of sugar, a teaspoon each of baking powder and cinnamon (don't omit the cinnamon), and then two egg youlks, and a teaspoon of vanilla extract. Process this until it begins to take on the shape of a ball.
I will advise you that you may need to add a few tablespoons of water to this. I did. My dough was just not looking cohesive enough. It's ok with part one of the crust, but you will need some cohesiveness with the lattice.
Okay, so you've processed the dough, now divide it. One part should be about 15-20% more than the other. If you have a scale that weighs in grams, this is ridiculously easy to do.
Take the larger portion and, with your fingers, press the dough into a 10 inch, fluted tart pan (if you don't have one, get one). It will make things MUCH easier if you start by pressing the dough up around the edges, all the way, and then press the bottom in. It will be very easy to do. In fact, you will probably be surprised at how easy it is. Put it aside, because now, the hard part starts.
Get two big sheets of waxed paper, or parchment paper, and put the rest of the dough in between them. Use a rolling pin and do your best to roll this out to a rectangle that is about 5x10. This is not easy, and it will frustrate you. You don't have to be perfect, but the 10 inch length is important.
After you have that done, you want to cut ten strips, about a half inch wide. You will need a sharp knife to do this, and you will want to work fast. If the strips aren't perfect, don't fret; however, if you want to be precise, you can pull out a tape measure and mark the strips.
Ideally, what you will do at this point is put the strips into the freezer for five minutes, or the refrigerator for ten-fifteen, to firm them up. It will reduce your frustration level if you do.
While they're chilling, get your jam. Linzer tart, classically, calls for seedless raspberry jam, and just about all the ones I've seen, have used red raspberry.
I was using locally made jam, and could not find the seedless red kind; however, when I talked about the project with my resident jam maker Beth, she highly recommended black raspberry jam.
Annalena loves raspberries. She eats them all season long and laments their passing. But if she loves raspberries, she is enraptured with black raspberries, which come into season first, have a short season, and leave. They have a perfume that reminds her of roses, and her black raspberry ice creams and sorbets bring raves. So, black raspberry it was.
I have commented in the past that Ms Birnbaum's pie fillings have seemed a bit stingy to me. So, too, this one. She recommends a cup of jam, or "10.5 ounces."
This instruction puzzled me. A cup is 8 ounces. Is it one or the other? In fact, my experience was that you need a good jar and a half to fill the tart. And, rather than putting it directly into the pie and spreading it out, I suggest you dirty an extra bowl, break up the jam a bit with a spatula, and then load it into the crust. I found this to make things much easier. You can spread the stuff out with your hands, and then wash them. It's easy.
Now, start preheating your oven to 350. Take that crust out of the fridge/freezer or from the side, and here's the part where I think Ms. Birnbaum is a genius. She advises to take a nine inch circular pan, put it down on top of the crust, and cut a circle around it. You will wind up with ten, lovely, nine inch strips. You do have to bravely grap the whole thing, and turn it upside down. But you can do it. Save the excess dough, and now take those strips. Lay five of them over the jam, spacing them evenly. If they break, don't worry. Patch as you can because it will work out in the baking. Then, rotate your pie 90 degrees, and lay down the last five, in exactly the same way you put down the first five.
I guess this is "ersatz" lattice, since you're not weaving anything, but it's pretty. Ms. Birnbaum then suggests making little tiny balls of the rest of the dough, and spreading them around the pie, at the points where the strips touch the wall of the pan.
If you must, be my guest. I started doing it and lost patience. In any event, put the thing on a baking sheet, and bake it for a full hour. The jam will bubble up for a bit, but not much. The crust will darken to a lovely golden brown, and you will have a beautiful winter tarte when you are done.
Now, if you have eaten linzer tart and been disappointed, I believe I know why. First, there may have been inferior jam used in the filling. Buy good stuff. BUT... I think that the problem is that the tart was probably refrigerated. This tart need not be put in the fridge, shouldn't be, and will keep for a week outside of the fridge.
It will. Look at the ingredients. Nuthin to go bad here. And Ms Birnbaum says that it is especially delicious warm. I prefer at room temperature.
So, do it, but be careful for whom you do it, especially if you respect authorship and expect your own to be respected.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Impossible pie, and recollections: easy coconut pie
The title for this entry begs explanation, and you will get one. Pazienza, ragazzi, because then you will get a recipe for a dessert that even those of you who don't do sweets, and especially those of you who have little kitchen equipment, should make.
The recipe comes from the pile of recipes that Annalena always has sitting around, waiting to be made. As it is a dessert, she needed an occasion because Guyman and Annalena are trying very hard to cut back on the sweet stuff, and this one is definitely sweet. The recipe is intriguing and I kept on coming back to it.
Well, the occasion for dessert does not always have to be a dinner. Sometimes, a dessert will serve a different purpose, as this one did.
Anywhere one goes, anywhere one works, there will be good people, there will be bad people, there will be kind people, there will be nasty people, and sometimes, people will just have bad days - and inflict bad days on others. That happened at Annalena's new job last week. One of the nicer people at the new place, who does a tremendous amount of work for Annalena, was getting a solid reaming out by a more junior attorney, because the woman was not paying enough attention to his work. Nothing the woman said would convince him otherwise. When he was finished "having his yell," as it were, the woman sighed, smiled and said, as Annalena walked by on one of her many trips to the powder room: "sometimes, you just have days when you wonder whether it was worth getting out of bed."
Ok, seeming digression here: readers of this blog will know that one of Annalena's heroes is Alice Waters of Chez Panisse fame. That one makes a lot of sense. Another hero, however, is a woman who was named Mary Brown. Annalena met Ms. Brown when she was thinking of becoming a school teacher, and was student teaching (it IS a scary thought: Annalena teaching the young ,isn't it?). That was 30 years ago, and Ms. Brown had been teaching 2nd, 3rd, and 4th grade in Harlem, for 20 years.
Sainthood. That's all one can say. When sitting with Ms. Brown one day, after a trying morning of teaching bilingual reading, and wondering how a teacher could deal with the need and lack and struggle that she saw everyday, Ms. Brown said something that I have always remembered: "yes, I see the holes in the shoes. I see the hungry faces because there's no food at home. I see the bruises. I can't fix NONE of that. But I can give them two plus two is four, and there isn't a hole in a shoe, a missed meal or a bruise that can EVER take that away from my kids. They will have that for life. That's what I can do, and that's what I do."
Let that resonate with you for a minute. And take it with Ms. Waters statement, when she was interviewed once, and asked "if you had the leaders of the five most powerful nations in the world in a room, what would you say to them?" answered "I would not say anything, I would instead give them something good to eat. That's what I do."
I hope you understand why I consider these women heroes. "that's what I do. "That's what I can do." Neither one could fix a problem, and they knew that. But they could do something else.
Well, Annalena could not fix the problem. She could not make the bad day go away. BUT... she could promise a better one the next day. "Will thinking of a coconut pie for tomorrow make things better," I asked, and my colleague's eyes lit up. So, I headed home, with the new recipe in mind, and hoped that it would work.
It did. It worked wonderfully on all levels, to the point where this woman, smiling, brought a piece of the pie to the attorney who had abused her the next day and offered to share.
Need one say more? Well, yes, one needs to say the recipe. And here it is. When you see its simplicity, you will be glad it makes two pies.
You must preheat your oven to 350, and then grease two, non-metal pie plates . Nine inch ones, please. Put them aside.
Melt a stick of unsalted butter over low heat. While it is melting, measure a SCANT 2 cups of sugar (I say scant, because the recipe calls for 1.75 cups of sugar. If you don't have a 3/4 cup measuring cup, just be stingy with 2 cups.). Have ready four large eggs, 2 cups of milk, 2 cups of sweet, shredded coconut (you know the stuff: in the plastic bag), and a half cup of flour mixed with 3/4 teaspoon of baking powder and a quarter teaspoon of salt. (This is the equivalent of self rising flour, which the recipe calls for, but I assume that none of my readers have in their houses. Nor should they).
When the butter has melted, whisk it into the sugar. It will be clumpy. Now add the four eggs, and mix to the point where it's fairly smooth. Stir in, in this order, the flour, the coconut, and the milk, until you have a uniform mass.
Get a ladle and spoon the mixture into the pie plates. If you have baking sheets, put one on each sheet. This will give you some stability and allow you to put both pies in the oven, since a standard oven shelf will probably not hold both pies. You will want to bake these for an hour, and after half an hour, change the positions of the pies in the oven. In other words, move the lower one to the upper level, and the upper one to the lower level. Let the pies bake for the full allotment of time. You may think they are done, and one could consider that they are, but the hour time allows the pies to take on a wonderful caramelly taste, especially around the edges, and a gorgeous brown color.
This is not your standard, coconut custard pie, but you are going to be glad you made two. These disappeared in half an hour, with people envious of not having taken bigger pieces. Annalena was tempted herself.
If you wish to play with this recipe, some ideas. Those lovers of Mounds candy bars may want to stir a half cup or so of bittersweet or semisweet chocolate chips into their pie and see how it turns out. Those of a tropical bent might want to grate the peel of a lime into the batter.
It is difficult to think of putting something with this pie, but perhaps chocolate sorbet is a good idea? Or passion fruit sorbet? Or a fruit salad based on tropical fruits like mangoes and pineapples? Surely you have time t odo something like that, given the minimal work involved.
Let me know how this recipe works for you and, if you have hero stories, or "personal saints," like Mary Brown, remember them here.
The recipe comes from the pile of recipes that Annalena always has sitting around, waiting to be made. As it is a dessert, she needed an occasion because Guyman and Annalena are trying very hard to cut back on the sweet stuff, and this one is definitely sweet. The recipe is intriguing and I kept on coming back to it.
Well, the occasion for dessert does not always have to be a dinner. Sometimes, a dessert will serve a different purpose, as this one did.
Anywhere one goes, anywhere one works, there will be good people, there will be bad people, there will be kind people, there will be nasty people, and sometimes, people will just have bad days - and inflict bad days on others. That happened at Annalena's new job last week. One of the nicer people at the new place, who does a tremendous amount of work for Annalena, was getting a solid reaming out by a more junior attorney, because the woman was not paying enough attention to his work. Nothing the woman said would convince him otherwise. When he was finished "having his yell," as it were, the woman sighed, smiled and said, as Annalena walked by on one of her many trips to the powder room: "sometimes, you just have days when you wonder whether it was worth getting out of bed."
Ok, seeming digression here: readers of this blog will know that one of Annalena's heroes is Alice Waters of Chez Panisse fame. That one makes a lot of sense. Another hero, however, is a woman who was named Mary Brown. Annalena met Ms. Brown when she was thinking of becoming a school teacher, and was student teaching (it IS a scary thought: Annalena teaching the young ,isn't it?). That was 30 years ago, and Ms. Brown had been teaching 2nd, 3rd, and 4th grade in Harlem, for 20 years.
Sainthood. That's all one can say. When sitting with Ms. Brown one day, after a trying morning of teaching bilingual reading, and wondering how a teacher could deal with the need and lack and struggle that she saw everyday, Ms. Brown said something that I have always remembered: "yes, I see the holes in the shoes. I see the hungry faces because there's no food at home. I see the bruises. I can't fix NONE of that. But I can give them two plus two is four, and there isn't a hole in a shoe, a missed meal or a bruise that can EVER take that away from my kids. They will have that for life. That's what I can do, and that's what I do."
Let that resonate with you for a minute. And take it with Ms. Waters statement, when she was interviewed once, and asked "if you had the leaders of the five most powerful nations in the world in a room, what would you say to them?" answered "I would not say anything, I would instead give them something good to eat. That's what I do."
I hope you understand why I consider these women heroes. "that's what I do. "That's what I can do." Neither one could fix a problem, and they knew that. But they could do something else.
Well, Annalena could not fix the problem. She could not make the bad day go away. BUT... she could promise a better one the next day. "Will thinking of a coconut pie for tomorrow make things better," I asked, and my colleague's eyes lit up. So, I headed home, with the new recipe in mind, and hoped that it would work.
It did. It worked wonderfully on all levels, to the point where this woman, smiling, brought a piece of the pie to the attorney who had abused her the next day and offered to share.
Need one say more? Well, yes, one needs to say the recipe. And here it is. When you see its simplicity, you will be glad it makes two pies.
You must preheat your oven to 350, and then grease two, non-metal pie plates . Nine inch ones, please. Put them aside.
Melt a stick of unsalted butter over low heat. While it is melting, measure a SCANT 2 cups of sugar (I say scant, because the recipe calls for 1.75 cups of sugar. If you don't have a 3/4 cup measuring cup, just be stingy with 2 cups.). Have ready four large eggs, 2 cups of milk, 2 cups of sweet, shredded coconut (you know the stuff: in the plastic bag), and a half cup of flour mixed with 3/4 teaspoon of baking powder and a quarter teaspoon of salt. (This is the equivalent of self rising flour, which the recipe calls for, but I assume that none of my readers have in their houses. Nor should they).
When the butter has melted, whisk it into the sugar. It will be clumpy. Now add the four eggs, and mix to the point where it's fairly smooth. Stir in, in this order, the flour, the coconut, and the milk, until you have a uniform mass.
Get a ladle and spoon the mixture into the pie plates. If you have baking sheets, put one on each sheet. This will give you some stability and allow you to put both pies in the oven, since a standard oven shelf will probably not hold both pies. You will want to bake these for an hour, and after half an hour, change the positions of the pies in the oven. In other words, move the lower one to the upper level, and the upper one to the lower level. Let the pies bake for the full allotment of time. You may think they are done, and one could consider that they are, but the hour time allows the pies to take on a wonderful caramelly taste, especially around the edges, and a gorgeous brown color.
This is not your standard, coconut custard pie, but you are going to be glad you made two. These disappeared in half an hour, with people envious of not having taken bigger pieces. Annalena was tempted herself.
If you wish to play with this recipe, some ideas. Those lovers of Mounds candy bars may want to stir a half cup or so of bittersweet or semisweet chocolate chips into their pie and see how it turns out. Those of a tropical bent might want to grate the peel of a lime into the batter.
It is difficult to think of putting something with this pie, but perhaps chocolate sorbet is a good idea? Or passion fruit sorbet? Or a fruit salad based on tropical fruits like mangoes and pineapples? Surely you have time t odo something like that, given the minimal work involved.
Let me know how this recipe works for you and, if you have hero stories, or "personal saints," like Mary Brown, remember them here.
Monday, March 14, 2011
The lighter side: osso bucco biondo
Make no mistake about it. One of Annalena's favorite foods to cook, and to eat, is osso bucco. Especially during the colder months, this is such a satisfying dish to make, and also to eat. If you have no manners, like Annalena, you sit there at the end of the meal, and exemplify the title "hole in a bone," and suck the marrow out. Who needs forks or spoons? That thick, unctious tomatoey sauce over some risotto: does it get better?
Well, it doesn't get better, but sometimes it gets different. And easier. Read on, ragazzi. Annalena's source recipe for osso bucco is the star of Italian cooking, Marcella Hazan, and her definitive book on things Italian, at least from the kitchen. (When I say things "Italian," you must keep this in mind. Not all Italian style cooking is going to be your favorite. For example, I recently looked up her recipe for squab, and it called for cooking it for an hour. Cook squab for an hour and you won't want it. Fifteen minutes is more like it). In any event, the recipes are frequently terrific.
The page on which her osso bucco recipe sits is stained from my efforts with the dish. On the following page is a recipe for "osso bucco biondo," which I hadn't made until this past weekend. Why? Well, when you love a dish so much... You can fill in the rest.
But this past weekend, things came together in the way that they do, to encourage trying a new dish. Some weeks ago, when I bought the veal for my annual foray into osso bucco making, way more was delivered than I expected, and I had six shank cuts in the freezer, taking up enormous amounts of space. This weekend was the first sign that spring is on the way. It's not winter, and it's not spring, but it just doesn't feel "right" to be serving wintery foods. Yet, you want something substantial, because the temperature is inching over 50 and then retreating. This recipe seemed to straddle two worlds: hearty, like osso bucco, but lighter, like spring time foods. You'll see what I mean when I go through it. And it's good. OH, is it good.
"Biondo," because it doesn't have the dark tomato based sauce that osso bucco does. In fact, this sauce is so simple, it almost shouldn't be called such. Here's how I made it.
First, you need six 3/4-1 inch thick slices of veal shank. Just ask for osso bucco meat, and you'll be fine. You are also going to need flour, salt, a lemon, parsley, white wine, butter, and olive oil.
And that's it. The cooking technique is simplicity itself. Here we go. Have your meat ready. By that I mean have it on a tray, patted dry. I usually let it sit in the air for about an hour, turning it halfway through, to dry both sides. Signora Hazan recommends tying the meat. I forgot to do so, and it didn't seem to matter. Have a flat surface with lots of all purpose flour ready. Get a really big, deep pan, and test to see if you can get all six shank slices in it, in one layer. If you can't, use two pans. Don't layer the meat, however.
Take 1/4 cup of olive oil and 2 tablespoons of unsalted butter, and melt it in your pan. If you use two, then increase the olive oil to 2/3 cup and 4 tablespoons of butter, and divide the stuff into the two pans. Turn the heat to medium high, and when the butter melts, and starts sizzling, take the shanks and dip them into flour on both sides. Get them into the pans, and leave them to brown deeply. This will take about 3-4 minutes a side. Be patient. When they're browned, add some salt and a grind or two of pepper. Now, take a cup of white wine, and pour it into the pan, after you've lowered the heat to medium. Again, if you use two pots, increase the wine quantity by about 1/3 of a cup, and divide it. Cover the pots, and lower the heat to a gentle simmer. After 20 minutes, check and if the liquid is almost gone, add 1/3 cup of water to the pots. You'll do this several times. Check at 40 minutes, and then, after an hour, put them in the oven, at 350, and leave them there for at least two hours. Check the liquid every hour while they're cooking.
After 2 hours, check to see that the meat is falling off the bone tender. If it's not, let things cook another half hour or so, and then they should be ready.
In that last half an hour, cut the peel off of one large lemon and chop it finely. Also chop half a bunch of parsley. When the pots are out of the oven, toss the lemon peel and parsley in, stir it, and...
YOU... ARE... DONE...
Did that seem very hard? I didn't think so.
Unlike osso bucco, however, this is not a dish to make too far ahead of time. Do it the day you serve it. We had it with a roasted vegetable couscous and some garlicky swiss chard.
I promise you, it doesn't get much better.
Well, it doesn't get better, but sometimes it gets different. And easier. Read on, ragazzi. Annalena's source recipe for osso bucco is the star of Italian cooking, Marcella Hazan, and her definitive book on things Italian, at least from the kitchen. (When I say things "Italian," you must keep this in mind. Not all Italian style cooking is going to be your favorite. For example, I recently looked up her recipe for squab, and it called for cooking it for an hour. Cook squab for an hour and you won't want it. Fifteen minutes is more like it). In any event, the recipes are frequently terrific.
The page on which her osso bucco recipe sits is stained from my efforts with the dish. On the following page is a recipe for "osso bucco biondo," which I hadn't made until this past weekend. Why? Well, when you love a dish so much... You can fill in the rest.
But this past weekend, things came together in the way that they do, to encourage trying a new dish. Some weeks ago, when I bought the veal for my annual foray into osso bucco making, way more was delivered than I expected, and I had six shank cuts in the freezer, taking up enormous amounts of space. This weekend was the first sign that spring is on the way. It's not winter, and it's not spring, but it just doesn't feel "right" to be serving wintery foods. Yet, you want something substantial, because the temperature is inching over 50 and then retreating. This recipe seemed to straddle two worlds: hearty, like osso bucco, but lighter, like spring time foods. You'll see what I mean when I go through it. And it's good. OH, is it good.
"Biondo," because it doesn't have the dark tomato based sauce that osso bucco does. In fact, this sauce is so simple, it almost shouldn't be called such. Here's how I made it.
First, you need six 3/4-1 inch thick slices of veal shank. Just ask for osso bucco meat, and you'll be fine. You are also going to need flour, salt, a lemon, parsley, white wine, butter, and olive oil.
And that's it. The cooking technique is simplicity itself. Here we go. Have your meat ready. By that I mean have it on a tray, patted dry. I usually let it sit in the air for about an hour, turning it halfway through, to dry both sides. Signora Hazan recommends tying the meat. I forgot to do so, and it didn't seem to matter. Have a flat surface with lots of all purpose flour ready. Get a really big, deep pan, and test to see if you can get all six shank slices in it, in one layer. If you can't, use two pans. Don't layer the meat, however.
Take 1/4 cup of olive oil and 2 tablespoons of unsalted butter, and melt it in your pan. If you use two, then increase the olive oil to 2/3 cup and 4 tablespoons of butter, and divide the stuff into the two pans. Turn the heat to medium high, and when the butter melts, and starts sizzling, take the shanks and dip them into flour on both sides. Get them into the pans, and leave them to brown deeply. This will take about 3-4 minutes a side. Be patient. When they're browned, add some salt and a grind or two of pepper. Now, take a cup of white wine, and pour it into the pan, after you've lowered the heat to medium. Again, if you use two pots, increase the wine quantity by about 1/3 of a cup, and divide it. Cover the pots, and lower the heat to a gentle simmer. After 20 minutes, check and if the liquid is almost gone, add 1/3 cup of water to the pots. You'll do this several times. Check at 40 minutes, and then, after an hour, put them in the oven, at 350, and leave them there for at least two hours. Check the liquid every hour while they're cooking.
After 2 hours, check to see that the meat is falling off the bone tender. If it's not, let things cook another half hour or so, and then they should be ready.
In that last half an hour, cut the peel off of one large lemon and chop it finely. Also chop half a bunch of parsley. When the pots are out of the oven, toss the lemon peel and parsley in, stir it, and...
YOU... ARE... DONE...
Did that seem very hard? I didn't think so.
Unlike osso bucco, however, this is not a dish to make too far ahead of time. Do it the day you serve it. We had it with a roasted vegetable couscous and some garlicky swiss chard.
I promise you, it doesn't get much better.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Better late than never: chocolate orange sorbet
Today, in walking back from the farmers market, I noticed that one of the trees had begun to "green." You know what I'm talking about: when trees begin to pick up that pale yellow green color right before they begin leafing. Temperatures are inching up, the first crocuses showed up , snowdrops are blooming, and spring is almost here. And none too soon. It is about five weeks until the first rhubarb, then the ramps, dandelions, and other good stuff will be here. For now, though, we do with what we have, and quite well.
This is one of the desserts that I do a lot during the winter weather. Citrus, as I've explained ad nauseum to some of you, is at its peak now. And while Annalena is not a fan of chocolate, she likes this. In fact, EVERYONE seems to like this. I would say that it's up there, with strawberry and coffee ice creams, as the most requested one of my frozen desserts (sorry concord grape fans: probably out of the medals, but definitely in the top 10).
I thought about this one the other day because my friend Brad had expressed a wish that he could make it, but since he didn't have an ice cream maker....
Well, that's not true no more. So, Brad and Michael, now you can do it. You just need the recipe.
And I was sure that I had posted it. I was SO SURE that I spent half an hour searching the blog, using different search terms, to find it.
Nope. Call it GPS: general paralysis of the insane, or call it CRS: can't remember shit, whatever. But I didn't post it. Well, now I have . You need an ice cream maker, and to be honest, it's worth buying one, just to make this. There's no custard making involved. The hardest thing you'll do is squeeze citrus. Now, let's get to work.
To make about a quart and a half (you won't regret this), you need 1.5 cups of sugar, and 1.5 cups of a good quality cocoa. Don't buy Hersheys. Look around and get something GOOD. Generally a good chocolate maker will make a good cocoa. And, dare I say it? I mean PURE cocoa, which is unsweetened. You also need 4 ounces of bittersweet chocolate, chopped up. I have made this with bittersweet chips to save time, and it works wonderfully. You also need 3 cups of water, and about 1.25-1.33 cups of fresh squeezed orange juice.
A few words on this juice. When I say fresh squeezed, I mean squeezed when you're making this . Buying "fresh squeezed" won't do. It's not, and it's not good enough. You can use whatever oranges you like: navels, cara caras, blood oranges (my preferred), or smaller ones like satsumas, tangerines, and so forth. A medium sized orange will give you a quarter cup or so of juice, so you'll need about 6 oranges to do this, but many more tangerines or satsumas. After you've squeezed enough for the juice, here we go.
Get a nice heavy sauce pan, and combine the sugar and cocoa, without liquid. Just stir them together. Now stir in the water, little by little. You'll get a thick, solid, ugly slurry. Keep whisking, and turn up the heat to medium, and cook for four minutes or so. Lower the heat, and add the chocolate and the orange juice. If you want, add a little grated peel. I find it distracting. It's up to you. When the chocolate has melted, you are done with cooking.
Was that hard? Nope, it was not. Let this chill, and when it's cold, use your ice cream maker, and get a quart and a half of a thick, wonderful sorbet that even the non-choclate eaters will enjoy.
I also want you to go back and look at the fat content in this: very little, huh? I defy you to tell that this is low fat. You can't.
So, Brad, Michael, and any other ice cream lover out there, get out your machines, get out your juicers, and GET BUSY!!!
This is one of the desserts that I do a lot during the winter weather. Citrus, as I've explained ad nauseum to some of you, is at its peak now. And while Annalena is not a fan of chocolate, she likes this. In fact, EVERYONE seems to like this. I would say that it's up there, with strawberry and coffee ice creams, as the most requested one of my frozen desserts (sorry concord grape fans: probably out of the medals, but definitely in the top 10).
I thought about this one the other day because my friend Brad had expressed a wish that he could make it, but since he didn't have an ice cream maker....
Well, that's not true no more. So, Brad and Michael, now you can do it. You just need the recipe.
And I was sure that I had posted it. I was SO SURE that I spent half an hour searching the blog, using different search terms, to find it.
Nope. Call it GPS: general paralysis of the insane, or call it CRS: can't remember shit, whatever. But I didn't post it. Well, now I have . You need an ice cream maker, and to be honest, it's worth buying one, just to make this. There's no custard making involved. The hardest thing you'll do is squeeze citrus. Now, let's get to work.
To make about a quart and a half (you won't regret this), you need 1.5 cups of sugar, and 1.5 cups of a good quality cocoa. Don't buy Hersheys. Look around and get something GOOD. Generally a good chocolate maker will make a good cocoa. And, dare I say it? I mean PURE cocoa, which is unsweetened. You also need 4 ounces of bittersweet chocolate, chopped up. I have made this with bittersweet chips to save time, and it works wonderfully. You also need 3 cups of water, and about 1.25-1.33 cups of fresh squeezed orange juice.
A few words on this juice. When I say fresh squeezed, I mean squeezed when you're making this . Buying "fresh squeezed" won't do. It's not, and it's not good enough. You can use whatever oranges you like: navels, cara caras, blood oranges (my preferred), or smaller ones like satsumas, tangerines, and so forth. A medium sized orange will give you a quarter cup or so of juice, so you'll need about 6 oranges to do this, but many more tangerines or satsumas. After you've squeezed enough for the juice, here we go.
Get a nice heavy sauce pan, and combine the sugar and cocoa, without liquid. Just stir them together. Now stir in the water, little by little. You'll get a thick, solid, ugly slurry. Keep whisking, and turn up the heat to medium, and cook for four minutes or so. Lower the heat, and add the chocolate and the orange juice. If you want, add a little grated peel. I find it distracting. It's up to you. When the chocolate has melted, you are done with cooking.
Was that hard? Nope, it was not. Let this chill, and when it's cold, use your ice cream maker, and get a quart and a half of a thick, wonderful sorbet that even the non-choclate eaters will enjoy.
I also want you to go back and look at the fat content in this: very little, huh? I defy you to tell that this is low fat. You can't.
So, Brad, Michael, and any other ice cream lover out there, get out your machines, get out your juicers, and GET BUSY!!!
Monday, March 7, 2011
You've got it back there: and it's probably from Vermont: Tomatoes roasted with maple syrup
Let me explain the title. Years ago, when Annalena was very young (I mean YEARS ago), there was an ad campaign for "Golden Blossom Honey," which featured a short clip where someone's hand is moving around in the back of a cabinet, with the voice over. "Go ahead. You probably don't even have to buy it." The point being that everyone had a jar of honey in their cupboards somewhere. And it's true. You probably have one, purchased for the one tablespoon you needed in that dessert you made for your vegan cousin who wouldn't eat white sugar, or for when you were fighting allergens by mixing honey and cider vinegar, or.... We all have such things in our cupboards. My friend Kevin, for example, has a bottle of pomegranate molasses in his cupboard that is missing two tablespoons, because he made muhammarah twice.
And all of us have maple syrup in the house somewhere. REAL maple syrup, be it a large jar, a small jar, or somewhere in between. But we have it. Indeed, at one point, I realized that we had six different varieties of maple syrup. Some we had for so long, that they had literally crystallized to the point that even hot water couldn't open them. That is, fortunately, no longer the case, although it was a sad waste of a tasty item. I just do not use maple syrup all that often. When I do, I use grade B, also called "dark amber." This is not what you will get offered to you when you get pancakes with "real" maple syrup (which is NOT pancake syrup. Beware). I find it tastier. But if you prefer a lighter taste, go with the "grade A."
I really don't know why I don't use it more often, except perhaps that I am so locked into the idea of maple syrup with pancakes or waffles, that it just doesn't happen. And it doesn't happen because, simply, those items are two of my "red light" foods. Weight Watcher alums will know whereof I speak: the foods that you cannot stop eating. It is not because I love pancakes or waffles that much. I enjoy waffles more than pancakes, but in either case, it seems that eating them just makes me hungrier. Who can explain? So they are banished from the kitchen, and I never eat them out for breakfast. And the maple syrup remains...
Now, in typical Annalena fashion, I am going to tie in a seemingly totally unrelated topic: the sorry state of tomatoes in winter. I do not have to brief you on that, you know the story well. Avid readers of this blog (both of you), will recall the attempts a few winters ago, to find a "definitive" recipe for baking cherry tomatoes, to make them intensely flavored, and my abysmal failures with the recipes of my goddess, Ina Garten. Yet, that quest remains. But perhaps not.
I found this unusual sounding recipe in a magazine. It comes from a French Canadian source (big surprise there), and its Canadian name is "Tomate confite au sirop d'Erable". I did not know the French word for maple. Interesting. Anyway, I thought I would give it a try, and it is GOOD. OH, is it good. I almost ate the whole tray of it when it came out of the oven.
As with many of these recipes, you don't need to do much work here, but you do need to settle in for a good, long bake of the tomatoes. I did them on Sunday morning, when very little is actually going on in Annalena's kitchen. Perhaps that would be the right time for you to do them too.
You start with a pint basket of cherry tomatoes. My recipe said you could use grape tomatoes too, but I wouldn't. My experience was that the cherry tomatoes began to overbake really quickly, and I fear that the smaller grape tomatoes would be incinerate. You'll have about 24 tomatoes in that basket. Cut them in half. Doesn't matter whether it's horizontal or vertical, but I find that vertical cuts in tomatoes make for easier cooking. Toss them in a bowl in which you have combined two tablespoons each of maple syrup (any grade), two tablespoons of olive oil, a couple of sprigs of fresh thyme, where you've discarded the woody branch, 2 very thinly sliced peeled cloves of garlic, and a pinch of salt. Then, line a baking sheet with tin foil and put the tomatoes and other goodies, cut side up, on the tin foil.
You may at this point think you have failed, because the tomatoes will immediately begin giving off liquid. That's ok. They're supposed to. Put the tray into an oven which has been preheated to 250. (that is not a misprint. This is a very low oven). Check them after two hours. They won't be ready, but you should see the shrinkage. In the third hour, you will begin to experience the wonderful smell that the roasted tomatoes give off.
My recipe said you could go for four hours, but I found that to be too long. After three hours, some of my tomatoes were blackened "clinkers," and the rest were just fine. My pint of tomatoes cooked down to half a cup of delicious, intense tomatoes, that will go wonderfully with some pork chops tomorrow. The recipe suggested them for pizza (I can see that), salad (no self respecting Italian puts tomatoes in a salad; however, why not do this with mozzarella in the winter?), or pasta (now there's a GOOD idea). Frankly, I would love to put these on a sandwich, when I don't have to worry about eating delicately and cleanly.
I may even make myself a double batch tomorrow. This is that good. Go for it.
And all of us have maple syrup in the house somewhere. REAL maple syrup, be it a large jar, a small jar, or somewhere in between. But we have it. Indeed, at one point, I realized that we had six different varieties of maple syrup. Some we had for so long, that they had literally crystallized to the point that even hot water couldn't open them. That is, fortunately, no longer the case, although it was a sad waste of a tasty item. I just do not use maple syrup all that often. When I do, I use grade B, also called "dark amber." This is not what you will get offered to you when you get pancakes with "real" maple syrup (which is NOT pancake syrup. Beware). I find it tastier. But if you prefer a lighter taste, go with the "grade A."
I really don't know why I don't use it more often, except perhaps that I am so locked into the idea of maple syrup with pancakes or waffles, that it just doesn't happen. And it doesn't happen because, simply, those items are two of my "red light" foods. Weight Watcher alums will know whereof I speak: the foods that you cannot stop eating. It is not because I love pancakes or waffles that much. I enjoy waffles more than pancakes, but in either case, it seems that eating them just makes me hungrier. Who can explain? So they are banished from the kitchen, and I never eat them out for breakfast. And the maple syrup remains...
Now, in typical Annalena fashion, I am going to tie in a seemingly totally unrelated topic: the sorry state of tomatoes in winter. I do not have to brief you on that, you know the story well. Avid readers of this blog (both of you), will recall the attempts a few winters ago, to find a "definitive" recipe for baking cherry tomatoes, to make them intensely flavored, and my abysmal failures with the recipes of my goddess, Ina Garten. Yet, that quest remains. But perhaps not.
I found this unusual sounding recipe in a magazine. It comes from a French Canadian source (big surprise there), and its Canadian name is "Tomate confite au sirop d'Erable". I did not know the French word for maple. Interesting. Anyway, I thought I would give it a try, and it is GOOD. OH, is it good. I almost ate the whole tray of it when it came out of the oven.
As with many of these recipes, you don't need to do much work here, but you do need to settle in for a good, long bake of the tomatoes. I did them on Sunday morning, when very little is actually going on in Annalena's kitchen. Perhaps that would be the right time for you to do them too.
You start with a pint basket of cherry tomatoes. My recipe said you could use grape tomatoes too, but I wouldn't. My experience was that the cherry tomatoes began to overbake really quickly, and I fear that the smaller grape tomatoes would be incinerate. You'll have about 24 tomatoes in that basket. Cut them in half. Doesn't matter whether it's horizontal or vertical, but I find that vertical cuts in tomatoes make for easier cooking. Toss them in a bowl in which you have combined two tablespoons each of maple syrup (any grade), two tablespoons of olive oil, a couple of sprigs of fresh thyme, where you've discarded the woody branch, 2 very thinly sliced peeled cloves of garlic, and a pinch of salt. Then, line a baking sheet with tin foil and put the tomatoes and other goodies, cut side up, on the tin foil.
You may at this point think you have failed, because the tomatoes will immediately begin giving off liquid. That's ok. They're supposed to. Put the tray into an oven which has been preheated to 250. (that is not a misprint. This is a very low oven). Check them after two hours. They won't be ready, but you should see the shrinkage. In the third hour, you will begin to experience the wonderful smell that the roasted tomatoes give off.
My recipe said you could go for four hours, but I found that to be too long. After three hours, some of my tomatoes were blackened "clinkers," and the rest were just fine. My pint of tomatoes cooked down to half a cup of delicious, intense tomatoes, that will go wonderfully with some pork chops tomorrow. The recipe suggested them for pizza (I can see that), salad (no self respecting Italian puts tomatoes in a salad; however, why not do this with mozzarella in the winter?), or pasta (now there's a GOOD idea). Frankly, I would love to put these on a sandwich, when I don't have to worry about eating delicately and cleanly.
I may even make myself a double batch tomorrow. This is that good. Go for it.
Braisin' the grass: braised endive
Ok, full disclosure here: Annalena did NOT expect this recipe to work, and it's the kind of dish that will not appeal to everyone. Having said that, I will add that it's easy, it's delicious, and apparently, it has a pedigree (but what does Annalena know of pedigree).
Background here: years ago, my friend Frank, the wine guy, also known as "The god of tannins" would publish notes with the wines he sold. They would frequently include food items to serve with the wine. One wine included a serving suggestion of "braised endive."
HUH? I mean, REALLY. To me, that was like writing "red wine with cheez doodles, white wine with potato chips (which sounds like a good rule to me, by the way). First of all, I had never even thought that one could braise endive. I knew it, as most people do, as one of those high fallutin salad greens. It's got an odd shape: almost like an alien pod of some kind, and a weird, pale ghostly greenish/white color. It took me a while to like it in salads, but now I do. There is something funky about the way it grows, and I'm not sure I have this right, but if you let it get sunlight, it turns into leafy chicory, but if you keep it in darkness, you get endive (if anyone can verify or disprove that, PLEASE). Now, you can get red endives too. I don't taste any difference, but the color is there.
Oh, back to Frank. Well, endive is a very Belgian (or, Flemish) vegetable, and Frank is Belgian (or, Flemish), so when he spoke of braised endive, I probably should have asked "how do you make that?" instead of my less than gracious "HUH??? ARE YOU KIDDING?" Well, Frank never answered that one, and it all went away.
Until about 2 years ago when I was watching Jacques Pepin cook on television (incidentally, you should ALWAYS watch Jacques Pepin cook if you can: you will learn more in fifteen minutes than you would from anyone else, including moi, over days). He made braised endive. I should have copied down the recipe, but I didn't.
Now, let's come up to the present. Over the course of Friday and Saturday, I bought WAY too many salad greens, including endives. At this time of year, salad greens ain't cheap, and I am committed to using what's in the fridge. So.... as I was embarking on making our Sunday lunch roast chicken, I spied those endives, and thought about salad.
And then.... Yes, these things take a while to percolate, but braising came back to me. See, Annalena has learned much about braising in the last few years, and now she defines it as cooking in a closed pot, with liquid, at low heat. It can take a long time, but it doesn't have to. And so, I braised endive. And I liked it. Now, you try it. Here's what you do.
You can fit about eight length wise halves of endive in a big, deep frying pan, and that's what you should work with. Make sure it's a pan that has a tight fitting lid. Get four medium sized endives (look at the different sizes in the produce bin. Pick the middle sized ones), and cut them in half, lengthwise. That will serve to keep them whole. Melt a tablespoon of butter in that pan, with an equal amount of vegetable oil. When it's melted, put the endive halves in, cut side down. Do something as you put them in, that was a good reminder for Annalena, when she saw Nadja G do this on tv this weekend: the fat probably will not cover the whole of the pan. So, swirl each half in the fat as you put it in the pan, to make sure that every piece gets some of it. Cook this at medium high, for a patient five minutes or so. Check by turning the last one you put in over. If it has some nice color, you're set to move on. If not, keep waiting.
Add about a teaspoon of salt, and a quarter cup of wine (or chicken stock, or vegetable stock), to the pan, cover it, and turn the heat up WAY HIGH. Keep it at the high heat for about two minutes, then lower it to medium for another five or so. Pull out the vegetables, and increase the heat to reduce the liquid, then pour that over the endives.
This is a "knife and fork vegetable," that does have some tenderness to it. It also picks up the taste of whatever braising liquid you use. Keep that in mind, if you're not a fan of the wine you're about to put in the pan.
It did go well with the chicken. Frank and Jacques, I'm sorry. You were right.
Background here: years ago, my friend Frank, the wine guy, also known as "The god of tannins" would publish notes with the wines he sold. They would frequently include food items to serve with the wine. One wine included a serving suggestion of "braised endive."
HUH? I mean, REALLY. To me, that was like writing "red wine with cheez doodles, white wine with potato chips (which sounds like a good rule to me, by the way). First of all, I had never even thought that one could braise endive. I knew it, as most people do, as one of those high fallutin salad greens. It's got an odd shape: almost like an alien pod of some kind, and a weird, pale ghostly greenish/white color. It took me a while to like it in salads, but now I do. There is something funky about the way it grows, and I'm not sure I have this right, but if you let it get sunlight, it turns into leafy chicory, but if you keep it in darkness, you get endive (if anyone can verify or disprove that, PLEASE). Now, you can get red endives too. I don't taste any difference, but the color is there.
Oh, back to Frank. Well, endive is a very Belgian (or, Flemish) vegetable, and Frank is Belgian (or, Flemish), so when he spoke of braised endive, I probably should have asked "how do you make that?" instead of my less than gracious "HUH??? ARE YOU KIDDING?" Well, Frank never answered that one, and it all went away.
Until about 2 years ago when I was watching Jacques Pepin cook on television (incidentally, you should ALWAYS watch Jacques Pepin cook if you can: you will learn more in fifteen minutes than you would from anyone else, including moi, over days). He made braised endive. I should have copied down the recipe, but I didn't.
Now, let's come up to the present. Over the course of Friday and Saturday, I bought WAY too many salad greens, including endives. At this time of year, salad greens ain't cheap, and I am committed to using what's in the fridge. So.... as I was embarking on making our Sunday lunch roast chicken, I spied those endives, and thought about salad.
And then.... Yes, these things take a while to percolate, but braising came back to me. See, Annalena has learned much about braising in the last few years, and now she defines it as cooking in a closed pot, with liquid, at low heat. It can take a long time, but it doesn't have to. And so, I braised endive. And I liked it. Now, you try it. Here's what you do.
You can fit about eight length wise halves of endive in a big, deep frying pan, and that's what you should work with. Make sure it's a pan that has a tight fitting lid. Get four medium sized endives (look at the different sizes in the produce bin. Pick the middle sized ones), and cut them in half, lengthwise. That will serve to keep them whole. Melt a tablespoon of butter in that pan, with an equal amount of vegetable oil. When it's melted, put the endive halves in, cut side down. Do something as you put them in, that was a good reminder for Annalena, when she saw Nadja G do this on tv this weekend: the fat probably will not cover the whole of the pan. So, swirl each half in the fat as you put it in the pan, to make sure that every piece gets some of it. Cook this at medium high, for a patient five minutes or so. Check by turning the last one you put in over. If it has some nice color, you're set to move on. If not, keep waiting.
Add about a teaspoon of salt, and a quarter cup of wine (or chicken stock, or vegetable stock), to the pan, cover it, and turn the heat up WAY HIGH. Keep it at the high heat for about two minutes, then lower it to medium for another five or so. Pull out the vegetables, and increase the heat to reduce the liquid, then pour that over the endives.
This is a "knife and fork vegetable," that does have some tenderness to it. It also picks up the taste of whatever braising liquid you use. Keep that in mind, if you're not a fan of the wine you're about to put in the pan.
It did go well with the chicken. Frank and Jacques, I'm sorry. You were right.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Reconsidering the lentil: for Laura: red lentil soup
There are a few posts about lentils on this site. Not many, but some. Almost always about lentil soups that I've made. It's one of those "truisms" that eating lentils makes you feel like you're doing something virtuous, and you are. It's sort of like voting: you SHOULD be doing this, it's the right thing to do, and ultimately, it's not all that hard to do.
Lentils are the "fast food" of beans. And red lentils are the speed demons of lentils. You've had them, if you've eaten Indian food, in the form of "dhal" or "dahl" (I've seen both spellings, but I think the first one is correct). They also make a wonderful, thick soup, sort of like split pea, but with a bit of exoticism that will make you feel truly creative.
Let's face it: when you make split pea soup, you're looking for ham in it. You are - I KNOW you are. But somehow, eating an Asian based lentil soup doesn't bring up that same sense of "where's the meat?" And you won't miss this here, in what is a vegan soup, that can become a vegetarian soup, with some condiments, and in any event, is an easy, filling meal. Cheap too.
You will need a few tablespoons of vegetable oil, a couple of chopped onions, and a big soup carrot, also chopped. You also will want 3-4 cloves of garlic, peeled and smashed.
For the spices, you will need - here she goes again - a couple of teaspoons of coriander seeds, and one of caraway. Mix them together, and toast them in a dry pan, over a medium heat, until you begin to smell the spice scent. Then pour em off into that grinder I've been harping about (Incidentally, I am out of coriander seeds. After Buddha only knows how many years. Murphy's law being what it is, after I replace them, I bet I won't use them for another kalpa).
You also need 1.5 cups of red lentils, which you can buy just about everywhere, but if you don't find them, use yellow or green split peas. Finally, 4 cups of vegetable stock and 2 cups of water.
Here is one of Annalena's admitted digressions: I am NOT a fan of vegetable stock. I have never found one I liked, even the ones I make myself. But water does not have enough "gravitas" for this soup, and chicken stock would lose the flavor of the lentils, which are delicate. My compromise is to cut the written six cups of stock to 4 and 2 of water. Proceed as you like though.
Now, that isn't a long list of ingredients, and it isn't a very expensive list, especially if you beg/borrow/steal/barter some spices from your spendthrift cook friends who happen to have coriander and caraway in the house.
Okay, heat up the oil in a pot, and add the carrots and the onions. A bit of salt will help you here, as you cook them, over medium heat, until the onion begins to soften . (My recipe said ten minutes, I was done in six. I wonder if I just have a fast stove). Toss in the spices and the garlic, and cook , stirring, for another couple of minutes until the spice scent "blooms," and you KNOW it's there. Then, add the lentils, and the broth and water. Give it all a stir, cover the pot, lower the heat and go away for twenty minutes.
My recipe called for pureeing this. And you can do that. But... if you are trying to be virtuous and good, know that pureeing it will reduce the dietary fiber because you're breaking it up. Arguably, pureeing it makes a prettier soup, but that's a matter of aesthetic judgement to which Annalena refuses to be a part. For me, I take the back of my spoon, and crush the lentils against the pot until I have a mix of smooth and rough
THERE WILL BE NO COMMENTS ABOUT HOW THIS REFLECTS ANNALENA'S SEX LIFE.
Taste it, and add salt if you want.
At this point, you have a vegan dish. If you like, some full fat yogurt, with some green herbs sliced in, is nice. It's not necessary.
You'll get a hefty six cups of soup out of this. I haven't figured out the calories, but it sure sounds virtuous to me.
And this, as the title says, is for my friend Laura, who loves lentil soups. GO GIRL. You want some coriander? You want some caraway? Ring my bell.
Lentils are the "fast food" of beans. And red lentils are the speed demons of lentils. You've had them, if you've eaten Indian food, in the form of "dhal" or "dahl" (I've seen both spellings, but I think the first one is correct). They also make a wonderful, thick soup, sort of like split pea, but with a bit of exoticism that will make you feel truly creative.
Let's face it: when you make split pea soup, you're looking for ham in it. You are - I KNOW you are. But somehow, eating an Asian based lentil soup doesn't bring up that same sense of "where's the meat?" And you won't miss this here, in what is a vegan soup, that can become a vegetarian soup, with some condiments, and in any event, is an easy, filling meal. Cheap too.
You will need a few tablespoons of vegetable oil, a couple of chopped onions, and a big soup carrot, also chopped. You also will want 3-4 cloves of garlic, peeled and smashed.
For the spices, you will need - here she goes again - a couple of teaspoons of coriander seeds, and one of caraway. Mix them together, and toast them in a dry pan, over a medium heat, until you begin to smell the spice scent. Then pour em off into that grinder I've been harping about (Incidentally, I am out of coriander seeds. After Buddha only knows how many years. Murphy's law being what it is, after I replace them, I bet I won't use them for another kalpa).
You also need 1.5 cups of red lentils, which you can buy just about everywhere, but if you don't find them, use yellow or green split peas. Finally, 4 cups of vegetable stock and 2 cups of water.
Here is one of Annalena's admitted digressions: I am NOT a fan of vegetable stock. I have never found one I liked, even the ones I make myself. But water does not have enough "gravitas" for this soup, and chicken stock would lose the flavor of the lentils, which are delicate. My compromise is to cut the written six cups of stock to 4 and 2 of water. Proceed as you like though.
Now, that isn't a long list of ingredients, and it isn't a very expensive list, especially if you beg/borrow/steal/barter some spices from your spendthrift cook friends who happen to have coriander and caraway in the house.
Okay, heat up the oil in a pot, and add the carrots and the onions. A bit of salt will help you here, as you cook them, over medium heat, until the onion begins to soften . (My recipe said ten minutes, I was done in six. I wonder if I just have a fast stove). Toss in the spices and the garlic, and cook , stirring, for another couple of minutes until the spice scent "blooms," and you KNOW it's there. Then, add the lentils, and the broth and water. Give it all a stir, cover the pot, lower the heat and go away for twenty minutes.
My recipe called for pureeing this. And you can do that. But... if you are trying to be virtuous and good, know that pureeing it will reduce the dietary fiber because you're breaking it up. Arguably, pureeing it makes a prettier soup, but that's a matter of aesthetic judgement to which Annalena refuses to be a part. For me, I take the back of my spoon, and crush the lentils against the pot until I have a mix of smooth and rough
THERE WILL BE NO COMMENTS ABOUT HOW THIS REFLECTS ANNALENA'S SEX LIFE.
Taste it, and add salt if you want.
At this point, you have a vegan dish. If you like, some full fat yogurt, with some green herbs sliced in, is nice. It's not necessary.
You'll get a hefty six cups of soup out of this. I haven't figured out the calories, but it sure sounds virtuous to me.
And this, as the title says, is for my friend Laura, who loves lentil soups. GO GIRL. You want some coriander? You want some caraway? Ring my bell.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Content with condiments: pickled onions
It always surprises me when people react to one of these blogs. There's the question of WHAT blog they react to, and then there's the reaction. Annalena is an avid devotee of facebook, and all of these posts go on that site. The prior one, on spiced veal chops, received more feedback than just about any other post. Who knew that Annalena was tapping into something?
A few entries ago, I wrote about refrigerator pickles. My little brother (who's taller than me...) wrote vividly about how that one reminded him of making similar pickles in the kitchen of the home where he grew up, in Missouri. Many of us know about the famous scene in Marcel Proust's enormous "novel," where a bit of a madeline cookie, steeped in lime blossom tea, stimulates him to write a 3000 page novel, where nothing happens. (I SWEAR that is basically true. Annalena made a commitment to read it last year. She will NOT be rereading it. Now, the Francophiles may attack me if they wish). My point by bringing this up, however, is that food memories are powerful. They are buried, but never forgotten. So if a piece on refrigerator pickles can make "il gattopardo" remember his childhood fondly, then that is reason enough to keep on plugging away, even with things that yours truly may find, well, trivial.
I dont' actually find this one trivial, but it is something that makes so much sense, and is so simple, I am surprised that I hadn't made them before. These pickled onions were written of as a condiment for the spiced lamb chops, which of course, I turned into spiced veal chops. Well, I made them anyway, and when I tasted, my reaction was along the lines of that of Marcella Hazan when she went to "Olive Garden":
No.
That was it. You should look up the article. It's fun.
I meant "no" in the sense that they were not right for the veal chops. We were having a salad (OF COURSE we were having a salad. Any of you who have ever eaten at La Casa dell'Annalena know you will NOT escape without salad). Their piquancy (and I promise I will never use that word again), was perfect on the salad, and served to really clean the pallete after the rich spicy meat.
You could almost be sleeping when you make this recipe, but please stay awake. You'll be using a knife.
First, get 1.5 cups of hot water and mix it with a cup of vinegar. My recipe called for white vinegar, but I always find apple cider vinegar better in pickling. Your choice. Disoolve 3 tablespoons of sugar in this. It will be easy to do. Toss in a couple of sliced hot peppers: my recipe called for serranos. I didn't have them, but I did have jalapenos. So that's what I used. Finally, a smidgen of dried, hot red pepper. Put this all aside, while you take two medium, or one BIG red onion. Peel it, cut it down the middle, lengthwise, and then slice each half into thin, half moons. Put them into the liquid mix, and let it sit to room temperature. Then refrigerate it overnight.
If that took you ten minutes to do, it was a lot of time. Spoon out the onions as you need them. As you run low, you can slice up another onion, and put it in the liquid and if you begin running out of liquid, then make up another batch, using the proportions above. You could keep this going for a while.
If you make hamburgers, well... Or hot dogs. Or need something spicy sweet against a rich chop, or a steak or ...
And Annalena is wondering if that liquid would serve as a basis for a salad dressing. Not tonight. Tonight is Asian night with the Malaysian stew I wrote about, but next week... Hmmmm.
I shall keep you posted, ragazzi.
A few entries ago, I wrote about refrigerator pickles. My little brother (who's taller than me...) wrote vividly about how that one reminded him of making similar pickles in the kitchen of the home where he grew up, in Missouri. Many of us know about the famous scene in Marcel Proust's enormous "novel," where a bit of a madeline cookie, steeped in lime blossom tea, stimulates him to write a 3000 page novel, where nothing happens. (I SWEAR that is basically true. Annalena made a commitment to read it last year. She will NOT be rereading it. Now, the Francophiles may attack me if they wish). My point by bringing this up, however, is that food memories are powerful. They are buried, but never forgotten. So if a piece on refrigerator pickles can make "il gattopardo" remember his childhood fondly, then that is reason enough to keep on plugging away, even with things that yours truly may find, well, trivial.
I dont' actually find this one trivial, but it is something that makes so much sense, and is so simple, I am surprised that I hadn't made them before. These pickled onions were written of as a condiment for the spiced lamb chops, which of course, I turned into spiced veal chops. Well, I made them anyway, and when I tasted, my reaction was along the lines of that of Marcella Hazan when she went to "Olive Garden":
No.
That was it. You should look up the article. It's fun.
I meant "no" in the sense that they were not right for the veal chops. We were having a salad (OF COURSE we were having a salad. Any of you who have ever eaten at La Casa dell'Annalena know you will NOT escape without salad). Their piquancy (and I promise I will never use that word again), was perfect on the salad, and served to really clean the pallete after the rich spicy meat.
You could almost be sleeping when you make this recipe, but please stay awake. You'll be using a knife.
First, get 1.5 cups of hot water and mix it with a cup of vinegar. My recipe called for white vinegar, but I always find apple cider vinegar better in pickling. Your choice. Disoolve 3 tablespoons of sugar in this. It will be easy to do. Toss in a couple of sliced hot peppers: my recipe called for serranos. I didn't have them, but I did have jalapenos. So that's what I used. Finally, a smidgen of dried, hot red pepper. Put this all aside, while you take two medium, or one BIG red onion. Peel it, cut it down the middle, lengthwise, and then slice each half into thin, half moons. Put them into the liquid mix, and let it sit to room temperature. Then refrigerate it overnight.
If that took you ten minutes to do, it was a lot of time. Spoon out the onions as you need them. As you run low, you can slice up another onion, and put it in the liquid and if you begin running out of liquid, then make up another batch, using the proportions above. You could keep this going for a while.
If you make hamburgers, well... Or hot dogs. Or need something spicy sweet against a rich chop, or a steak or ...
And Annalena is wondering if that liquid would serve as a basis for a salad dressing. Not tonight. Tonight is Asian night with the Malaysian stew I wrote about, but next week... Hmmmm.
I shall keep you posted, ragazzi.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
More spice and switching chops: spiced veal chops
I warned you there was gonna be a whole lot of spice in the entries this week, didn't I? So, don't say you weren't warned. This one is actually the tale of a simple recipe, modified. I recommend it highly.
It was total coincidence that the week I decided to make the Malaysian style boar stew I wrote about last time, I found a recipe for "spiced lamb chops." The Guyman and I love lamb - I would venture to say that it's his favorite meat. It's also Woodstock's favorite, and Annalena can chow down on baby ram along with the best of them. And since the recipe made her feel like she was "exotic," it was an immediate keeper.
Just one thing got in the way, or two if you want to be precise. One was, Annalena had already thawed veal chops for dinner this week, and two was, Annalena forgot to stop by Karen's farm at the Farmer's Market and buy some of her wonderful lamb.
See, I had thawed the chops before I found this recipe, and I had planned to cook them in my usual style: bread them, pan fry them and finish them in the oven, perhaps with a sauce built on a wine or sherry reduction, or make an arugula and tomato salad, and serve them "milanese style." Then, the mind started racing...."I wonder... Hmmmm." And the spiced lamb chops... became spiced veal chops.
This was truly an excellent meal, in my opinion. If you do not or will not eat veal, stick with the lamb chops. Honestly, I think this would work wonderfully with chicken legs as well. I smile as I say you might even consider using the yogurt mix as a vegetable dip or something like that. It is that good.
Ok, let's get to work. First, turn your oven up to the broil selection. This time, Annalena DID have all the spices in her larder. You will need 8 whole cloves (why they call for strange numbers like this, I will never know: was it not strong enough with 7? Too strong with 9?), and 2 small dried chilies. The wonderful Mr. Dave from the farmers' market had given me a bag of cayenne peppers which he had dried himself, and I used two of those. That makes for a dish with a kick. Use a more mild chile, or just one, if you don't want that much heat. Also, 2 teaspoons of fennel seeds, a teaspoon of cumin seeds, a quarter teaspoon of peppercorns. Mix these and over a low heat, saute' them in a small pan, until you see them darken. Immediately move them away from the heat and then, put all of these into that spice grinder I told you about (the old burr coffee bean grinder. It will take a few minutes to break everything down, especially the chilies, but it will happen. Put this in with about 1/3 -1/2 cup of yogurt AND DO NOT USE THE LOW FAT KIND. Use plain, full fat yogurt. You need to do this, first of all, to carry the spices and second of all, under the intense heat of the broiler, the fat in the yogurt helps it hold together. To the spiced yogurt, add two teasppons of freshly ground ginger. Stir this all together.
If you are using lamb chops, you have enough of the yogurt for 8 small rib chops. You probably have enough for four full chicken legs, and you have enough for two large veal chops. Spread the stuff out over the meat you're using, on both sides. Let it sit, at room temperature , for about half an hour.
What will happen during this time is the acid in the yogurt will break down the meat proteins just enough to let the spice flavor get carried into it a bit. If you have paid attention and used whole milk yogurt, it will stay put.
Get the chops into a pan that is broiler safe (you will know), and then get them into the oven. For lamb chops, you need about three minutes to a side for a medium rare chop, which is about as much as you want to cook good lamb. For veal, we did four minutes a side, and had RARE chops, the way we like them. I would think you'd need 5-6 minutes a side for chicken legs.
I would not do this with chicken breasts, because I think the broiler would dry them out too much.
The yogurt "cooks" in the heat to a thick, slightly tan paste, that does not come off of the meat and will go to your mouth with every bite. That first bite will make you wake up a bit, because of the chilies. You'll find, however, that it's not too bad. And it's an easy recipe.
Most folks do not eat lamb chops, or veal chops too often, so making them "per se" would be regarded as a treat. This is even more interesting. But if you are in the habit of serving chicken often, try this. It will be even better and a real surprise to your family and friends
It was total coincidence that the week I decided to make the Malaysian style boar stew I wrote about last time, I found a recipe for "spiced lamb chops." The Guyman and I love lamb - I would venture to say that it's his favorite meat. It's also Woodstock's favorite, and Annalena can chow down on baby ram along with the best of them. And since the recipe made her feel like she was "exotic," it was an immediate keeper.
Just one thing got in the way, or two if you want to be precise. One was, Annalena had already thawed veal chops for dinner this week, and two was, Annalena forgot to stop by Karen's farm at the Farmer's Market and buy some of her wonderful lamb.
See, I had thawed the chops before I found this recipe, and I had planned to cook them in my usual style: bread them, pan fry them and finish them in the oven, perhaps with a sauce built on a wine or sherry reduction, or make an arugula and tomato salad, and serve them "milanese style." Then, the mind started racing...."I wonder... Hmmmm." And the spiced lamb chops... became spiced veal chops.
This was truly an excellent meal, in my opinion. If you do not or will not eat veal, stick with the lamb chops. Honestly, I think this would work wonderfully with chicken legs as well. I smile as I say you might even consider using the yogurt mix as a vegetable dip or something like that. It is that good.
Ok, let's get to work. First, turn your oven up to the broil selection. This time, Annalena DID have all the spices in her larder. You will need 8 whole cloves (why they call for strange numbers like this, I will never know: was it not strong enough with 7? Too strong with 9?), and 2 small dried chilies. The wonderful Mr. Dave from the farmers' market had given me a bag of cayenne peppers which he had dried himself, and I used two of those. That makes for a dish with a kick. Use a more mild chile, or just one, if you don't want that much heat. Also, 2 teaspoons of fennel seeds, a teaspoon of cumin seeds, a quarter teaspoon of peppercorns. Mix these and over a low heat, saute' them in a small pan, until you see them darken. Immediately move them away from the heat and then, put all of these into that spice grinder I told you about (the old burr coffee bean grinder. It will take a few minutes to break everything down, especially the chilies, but it will happen. Put this in with about 1/3 -1/2 cup of yogurt AND DO NOT USE THE LOW FAT KIND. Use plain, full fat yogurt. You need to do this, first of all, to carry the spices and second of all, under the intense heat of the broiler, the fat in the yogurt helps it hold together. To the spiced yogurt, add two teasppons of freshly ground ginger. Stir this all together.
If you are using lamb chops, you have enough of the yogurt for 8 small rib chops. You probably have enough for four full chicken legs, and you have enough for two large veal chops. Spread the stuff out over the meat you're using, on both sides. Let it sit, at room temperature , for about half an hour.
What will happen during this time is the acid in the yogurt will break down the meat proteins just enough to let the spice flavor get carried into it a bit. If you have paid attention and used whole milk yogurt, it will stay put.
Get the chops into a pan that is broiler safe (you will know), and then get them into the oven. For lamb chops, you need about three minutes to a side for a medium rare chop, which is about as much as you want to cook good lamb. For veal, we did four minutes a side, and had RARE chops, the way we like them. I would think you'd need 5-6 minutes a side for chicken legs.
I would not do this with chicken breasts, because I think the broiler would dry them out too much.
The yogurt "cooks" in the heat to a thick, slightly tan paste, that does not come off of the meat and will go to your mouth with every bite. That first bite will make you wake up a bit, because of the chilies. You'll find, however, that it's not too bad. And it's an easy recipe.
Most folks do not eat lamb chops, or veal chops too often, so making them "per se" would be regarded as a treat. This is even more interesting. But if you are in the habit of serving chicken often, try this. It will be even better and a real surprise to your family and friends
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