Is time a circle, an arc, a straight line, or none of the above, or all of the above? Annalena was thinking about this because she recalled that she had presented an entry on gastriques, but couldn't remember how long ago she had done so. Using the search function, she found it, and found that the entry was on the very same day she resigned from her job of 12 years, or 26 years, depending on how you look at it: January 29.
So, just about five months later, it's clear: this was the right move. As the song goes "No regrets." Nope, none at all. I think that is clear from both sides. To be honest, Annalena has not extended herself to be in touch with any of her formers, but the same could be said of the formers. Well, much that is unsaid, is said right there. And we move on.
As I indicated, I wrote about gastriques on January 29th, and I'm going to write about them again, because, as compared to the one previously, this one is so much easier.
Just as with the first one, a gastrique is fruit or fruit juice, sugar and an acid, like vinegar. At the end of January, when Annalena's fruit larder was being populated single handedly by the citrus bomb , the citrus stud, and the Artichoke Queen (Well, I guess that's triple handedly), a gastrique meant citrus. Now, we are getting to the point in New York where the local fruit is coming in faster than anyone can eat it. With that in mind, Annalena found a container of blueberries that were giving her the snake eye and began to think in terms of the quail she was making for dinnr that night. Quail with huckleberry sauce is something she's eaten in the fall and winter, and huckleberries/blueberries... Hmmmm.
To the internet I went, and returned with guidelines. Here comes the recipe. For both components.
To make the gastrique. Combine two cups of blueberries, a cup of vinegar (I used red wine, because it seemed to have the depth I wanted), and a cup of sugar in a non-reactive pot. Turn the heat to medium and let it simmer. Try to keep your face away from the pot, because you are boiling vinegar and it will aggravate your nose and eyes. In fact, good ventilation is a good idea when making this.
After 15 minutes, start checking. If you are getting a thick, sort of bubbly mass, you are there. If not, check again in five minutes. And so on. It shouldn't take longer than 30.
You will be tempted to taste. Please wait. You have a combination of three things, each of which when hot, can cause a nasty burn. 1+1+1=4 in this case. Trust me.
The high quantity of pectin in the blueberries means that when it cools down, you will have what looks like a semi firm jam. Nothing wrong with that, and if you wanted to spread it on bread and eat it as such, you would be very happy. You will also be happy to know that you don't need to refrigerate this.
You will be yet happier if you use it with quail, pan fried as follows. As always, clean out your birds, and salt them. Let them sit uncovered overnight. When you're getting set for dinner, if you are using whole quail, preheat your oven to 350. If you use the semi boned critters, no need. Put a few tablespoons of oil (I would stick with vegetable oil here), and when it's hot, add the birds, breast side down, and cook for about five minutes. Then turn, and do it again.
If you are using the whole quail, put them in the oven at this point for another ten minutes. Then proceed with the next step, which you will do immediately with the boneless critters. Take them out of the pan, and drain off the fat. Put the critters back in the pan, with a few tablespoons of the gastrique, and when it begins to melt, start turning the birds in it, until the stuff begins to stick, just like a glaze. Won't take you more than 12 minutes.
And you know what? You have a professional quality dish to plate up, which didn't take you all that long to do, now, did it?
Good cooking, good times, good job, good everything. Let us not look askance at what we have.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
More stealing, and the sauce cycle begins: fonduta with mutton
Faithful readers of this blog will know of several of Annalena's habits. These include (i) stealing ruthlessly from restaurants she loves and (ii) copying what great chefs do. They will also know that, while Annalena does not abjure sauces, she is not a big fan of them.
Well, there are exceptions to every rule, and in the next three entries, you will be seeing Annalena using sauces in ways that she hopes you will.
The first of these is fonduta. If the name sounds like "fondue" to you, you are right on target. This is an Italian cheese sauce, as rich as Steve Jobs, and so good that I promise you, you will want to bathe in it. The traditional recipes all call for fontina cheese, but while I was on vacation this year, we had a version at a favorite restaurant in Oakland (which I am not going to mention because, every time I do, regardless of how favorably I speak of them, I get a nasty email) using pecorino romano. The use of pecorino was in fact a cooking pun, because pecorino is a sheep's milk cheese . The sauce was served with sheep (not lamb) chops, and the vegetable was sauteed lamb's quarters.
What can I say? Maybe it was an in joke, maybe cooks lose their sense of humor from the heat, who knows. Anyway, if you're eating for amusement, this is a mistake. Eat for taste. And this is tasty.
Let's start by making the fonduta. And I promise you, you will find this so easy you will wonder why you have not been making it every day for the last ten years.
You will need a tablespoon of butter, a half cup of milk (whole, or 2%), 2 egg yolks, and either a packed cup of grated cheese of some kind, or 1/2-3/4 cup of a soft melting cheese like... fontina.
Melt that butter in a pot and then add the milk and the cheese, together. Stir it until you get the cheese as melty as you can. You probably will have some clumps. Don't worry. Lower the heat, add the egg yolks and cook, whisking constantly, until you have a thicker consistency.
You're done. Now, taste this.
Leave some for dinner, because now we're going to make the chops.
I was fortunate to find mutton chops from Karen, the Queen of lamb, at the farmers market. I am really not at all certain this will work with lamb. It may be too light tasting. I think you need something a bit gamier, so maybe do it with something like... pork? Who knows.
First thing you need to do, is pound the chops to the point where they look a little like a cutlet on a bone. You can do this by putting the chops between a couple of sheets of plastic wrap, and pounding with a heavy object. Be firm, but be gentle. You don't want to tear apart the meat. You will want to do at least four of them. If, by some chance you have the time to salt them and leave them in the fridge overnight, please do.
Now, remember those two egg yolks? Well, you'll have some egg whites left over. Whisk them until they're foamy and then put the chops into the beaten egg white, and then into panko bread crumbs to coat. You may have to repeat this, and that's ok. IF you happen to have thrown out your egg whites, you can use just plain water, or milk. Frankly, IF you really wanted to, you could use the fonduta.
Anyway, when the chops are all coated, then heat a couple of tablespoons of oil in a big pan, and when it's hot, add the chops. It will not take more than three minutes or so per side, because the chops have been pounded so thin.
Serve them forth. I suggest putting the cheese in a little vessel and letting people take what they want. Some people recoil at the thought of sheep and cheese, others will embrace it. If you put the chops out with something green, the folks who won't combine meat with cheese, will probably put the sauce on their veggies. Maybe the meat eaters will as well.
In fact, perhaps you should make a double batch?
Well, there are exceptions to every rule, and in the next three entries, you will be seeing Annalena using sauces in ways that she hopes you will.
The first of these is fonduta. If the name sounds like "fondue" to you, you are right on target. This is an Italian cheese sauce, as rich as Steve Jobs, and so good that I promise you, you will want to bathe in it. The traditional recipes all call for fontina cheese, but while I was on vacation this year, we had a version at a favorite restaurant in Oakland (which I am not going to mention because, every time I do, regardless of how favorably I speak of them, I get a nasty email) using pecorino romano. The use of pecorino was in fact a cooking pun, because pecorino is a sheep's milk cheese . The sauce was served with sheep (not lamb) chops, and the vegetable was sauteed lamb's quarters.
What can I say? Maybe it was an in joke, maybe cooks lose their sense of humor from the heat, who knows. Anyway, if you're eating for amusement, this is a mistake. Eat for taste. And this is tasty.
Let's start by making the fonduta. And I promise you, you will find this so easy you will wonder why you have not been making it every day for the last ten years.
You will need a tablespoon of butter, a half cup of milk (whole, or 2%), 2 egg yolks, and either a packed cup of grated cheese of some kind, or 1/2-3/4 cup of a soft melting cheese like... fontina.
Melt that butter in a pot and then add the milk and the cheese, together. Stir it until you get the cheese as melty as you can. You probably will have some clumps. Don't worry. Lower the heat, add the egg yolks and cook, whisking constantly, until you have a thicker consistency.
You're done. Now, taste this.
Leave some for dinner, because now we're going to make the chops.
I was fortunate to find mutton chops from Karen, the Queen of lamb, at the farmers market. I am really not at all certain this will work with lamb. It may be too light tasting. I think you need something a bit gamier, so maybe do it with something like... pork? Who knows.
First thing you need to do, is pound the chops to the point where they look a little like a cutlet on a bone. You can do this by putting the chops between a couple of sheets of plastic wrap, and pounding with a heavy object. Be firm, but be gentle. You don't want to tear apart the meat. You will want to do at least four of them. If, by some chance you have the time to salt them and leave them in the fridge overnight, please do.
Now, remember those two egg yolks? Well, you'll have some egg whites left over. Whisk them until they're foamy and then put the chops into the beaten egg white, and then into panko bread crumbs to coat. You may have to repeat this, and that's ok. IF you happen to have thrown out your egg whites, you can use just plain water, or milk. Frankly, IF you really wanted to, you could use the fonduta.
Anyway, when the chops are all coated, then heat a couple of tablespoons of oil in a big pan, and when it's hot, add the chops. It will not take more than three minutes or so per side, because the chops have been pounded so thin.
Serve them forth. I suggest putting the cheese in a little vessel and letting people take what they want. Some people recoil at the thought of sheep and cheese, others will embrace it. If you put the chops out with something green, the folks who won't combine meat with cheese, will probably put the sauce on their veggies. Maybe the meat eaters will as well.
In fact, perhaps you should make a double batch?
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Ribbons of squash: copying from cooks
It's the time of the season when the various summer squashes show up. I've written about them, a few times, most memorably (to me), in the first one on squash, back in '07, about my Matthew. You ought to go and take a look at that one.
The interesting thing to me, in terms of comparing different "cycles," is how we, as people change our lives, but the seasons are essentially invariant. Matthew is off in LA now, becoming a star. (And I always think of the section in Don Quixote when Sancho Panza goes off and becomes king of his own Island. Matthew/Sancho, off to become Queen of L.A.? I think it's happening). We all changed in 3.5 years, but the vegetables still come in at the same time, every year. So, Matthew, when you come back - and you ARE coming back, this is for you.
When we eat a dish in a restaurant, there's always a sense of amazement, an "oooh" and an "aaah." Well, know what? You can make just about all of those dishes. And, frequently, they will not only taste as good as the restaurant, they will taste BETTER. Sometimes, as in the case of this one, you need a special piece of equipment, but the equipment is not expensive (I saw this on line at amazon for 20 bucks this morning), and it's something you can use, over and over again.
At our favorite Barbuto, they frequently serve a plate of very VERY thinly sliced summer squash, with pignoli nuts and basil. This is the eptiome of the philosophy there: you see three ingredients (plus the olive oil and salt and pepper). If your squash are fresh and delicious, and you're careful, you can make this in ten minutes. Let's
The benriner is a sort of "mandonline light." You use it to slice very thinly. Look it up,you'll see what it looks like. It's easy to use, but it's sharp, so for heaven's sake, be careful! It comes with a guard, and use it until you become fluent with it, unless you want to wind up in an emergency room with a sexy doctor who is ignoring you, trying to sew part of your thumb back on (that's for another Matt, not L.A. Matt, but pocket gay Matt. :). ) You need a 1/4 cup of pignoli nuts, about a pound of squash, something like patty pan (get small ones: 3-4 to a pound), and a big handful of fresh basil.
First, slice the squash on the benriner. Slow and easy. It will take you all of ten minutes, which is twice the time it's going to take to cook the dish. It will look like you have tons. Volume wise, you do, but remember (lots of people don't): if you start with a pound of squash, the most you can have at the end, is a pound of squash. Put that aside, and put a few tablespoons of olive oil in a big wide pan. Add the pine nuts, before you start heating. You do this to keep the little guys from burning. As the oil heats up, you will hear a sizzle, and you'll see the nuts begin to color. Stir them, to keep the color even. After no more than two minutes, remove them with a slotted spoon, to a little bowl.
Now, take your squash and add it to the hot oil. Add a big pinch of salt, and half of the basil leaves. Let it sit and cook for, oh, 3 minutes, and then stir it. Now add the pine nuts. Cook it for about two minutes more. Off the heat, add the last half of the basil leaves, roughly torn.
Know what? You're done. And it's good. The Guyman and I ate all of this. If you want less, serve more people with it. If you want to cook more of it, I would plan on cooking two pans worth, rather than stacking everything up.
This is summer, seasonal cooking at its best. It's what Barbuto does best, and it's something we should all learn to do.
MATTHEW I MISS YOU! Come home, you squash king.
The interesting thing to me, in terms of comparing different "cycles," is how we, as people change our lives, but the seasons are essentially invariant. Matthew is off in LA now, becoming a star. (And I always think of the section in Don Quixote when Sancho Panza goes off and becomes king of his own Island. Matthew/Sancho, off to become Queen of L.A.? I think it's happening). We all changed in 3.5 years, but the vegetables still come in at the same time, every year. So, Matthew, when you come back - and you ARE coming back, this is for you.
When we eat a dish in a restaurant, there's always a sense of amazement, an "oooh" and an "aaah." Well, know what? You can make just about all of those dishes. And, frequently, they will not only taste as good as the restaurant, they will taste BETTER. Sometimes, as in the case of this one, you need a special piece of equipment, but the equipment is not expensive (I saw this on line at amazon for 20 bucks this morning), and it's something you can use, over and over again.
At our favorite Barbuto, they frequently serve a plate of very VERY thinly sliced summer squash, with pignoli nuts and basil. This is the eptiome of the philosophy there: you see three ingredients (plus the olive oil and salt and pepper). If your squash are fresh and delicious, and you're careful, you can make this in ten minutes. Let's
The benriner is a sort of "mandonline light." You use it to slice very thinly. Look it up,you'll see what it looks like. It's easy to use, but it's sharp, so for heaven's sake, be careful! It comes with a guard, and use it until you become fluent with it, unless you want to wind up in an emergency room with a sexy doctor who is ignoring you, trying to sew part of your thumb back on (that's for another Matt, not L.A. Matt, but pocket gay Matt. :). ) You need a 1/4 cup of pignoli nuts, about a pound of squash, something like patty pan (get small ones: 3-4 to a pound), and a big handful of fresh basil.
First, slice the squash on the benriner. Slow and easy. It will take you all of ten minutes, which is twice the time it's going to take to cook the dish. It will look like you have tons. Volume wise, you do, but remember (lots of people don't): if you start with a pound of squash, the most you can have at the end, is a pound of squash. Put that aside, and put a few tablespoons of olive oil in a big wide pan. Add the pine nuts, before you start heating. You do this to keep the little guys from burning. As the oil heats up, you will hear a sizzle, and you'll see the nuts begin to color. Stir them, to keep the color even. After no more than two minutes, remove them with a slotted spoon, to a little bowl.
Now, take your squash and add it to the hot oil. Add a big pinch of salt, and half of the basil leaves. Let it sit and cook for, oh, 3 minutes, and then stir it. Now add the pine nuts. Cook it for about two minutes more. Off the heat, add the last half of the basil leaves, roughly torn.
Know what? You're done. And it's good. The Guyman and I ate all of this. If you want less, serve more people with it. If you want to cook more of it, I would plan on cooking two pans worth, rather than stacking everything up.
This is summer, seasonal cooking at its best. It's what Barbuto does best, and it's something we should all learn to do.
MATTHEW I MISS YOU! Come home, you squash king.
Monday, June 27, 2011
It's just a bowl of... cherry ice cream
And a happy Monday to all of you. What an interesting, thought provoking weekend. Things will not ever be the same again here in NY now, will they? The sorting out begins, and the hard work follows. Annalena gloats, as 30 years ago, she tried to write an article on the subject of same sex marriage for her law review, and was turned down, with a laugh, since it was a silly topic.
Tempus mutantur, as they said many years ago.
Ok, social commentary done. We are in the throes of NY cherry season, one which Annalena pushes by splurging and buying cherries from Frog Hollow farm, during California's VERY short cherry season. It is a hard one for many people to believe, but California is way behind other states in terms of cherry production: Washington, Michigan, and New York all produce more. NY is in, so is Washington, and Michigan will follow. So if you have a cherry jones (I'm not talking about actresses here, gang), you can have it satisfied for a while. Do Annalena a favor though: DON'T buy the ghastly ones that are available during the winter. They are just balls of sugar, with no taste. If you cannot wait, find a good source of frozen, or jarred, or freeze them yourself.
I have a very mixed relationship with cherries. I love them. I love them RAW as fruit to eat out of hand. And I love SOUR cherries both raw and cooked. I have almost never (in fact, I would say, never), eaten a dessert in a restaurant, involving cooked, sweet cherries, where I have not been disappointed. Something goes wrong: the cherries don't have any flavor, and well.. Annalena says "never again." Sour cherry pie? ABSOLUTELY. In fact, anything with sour cherries, but sweet cherries? Raw and in the hand, please.
Incidentally, here's a little food nerd info for you: did you know that a sweet cherry tree can pollinate itself, but if you want sour cherries, you must have at least two trees, and the pollen must pass from one to the other? I wish I could tell you why, but this is the way it is. More food geek info: cherries, as with all stone fruits, are members of the almond family. This will be relevant later on.
So, on with our story. You all know that Annalena loves making her ice creams. Cherry ice cream, however, has always been a disappointment: big balls of frozen red fruit that tasted like NOTHING. Well, this weekend, this issue may be behind us.
I was reading a recipe for a cherry clafouti in one of the Chez Panisse cookbooks. It explained how, traditionally, the clafoutis (don't ask me about the name origin. I dunno) were made with sour cherries, with the pits left in, so as to give the custard a slight almond flavor. This recipe suggested that one use sweet cherries, pit them, and add a little almond extract.
It also suggested roasting the cherries.
Hmmmm. Roasting fruit seems to be in the air in many restaurants this year, as Annalena has sampled roasted strawberries and blueberries, both of which she has found extremely pleasing. And if you're going to roast sweet cherries, why not roast sours as well?
I did this for a clafouti that we served on Friday night, and it was a success. I finished the clafouti for breakfast on Saturday (not having any on Friday), and the wheels began to turn.... ICE CREAM. Could it be...
It was, and it is. Here we go. First, you need a very generous pound of sweet and sour cherries. Go for an even mix, but if you only have one, ok, work with that.
When you buy the cherries, make sure that the stems are still attached. That is a sign they are still fresh. The stem will separate as the cherry loses moisture and freshness (sort of like us, if you think about it). Now, you have to pit them. I have very few gadgets in my home that serve only one purpose, but I do have a cherry pitter. It looks like something a nun would use to punish a student with, but it does the job. I also use it for pitting small olives, so I guess I have found a double purpose. If you have no such object, you can pit cherries the same way you pit olives: press a broad knife on each one, and separate the pit from the fruit.
Wear something you can stain when you do this, otherwise, people will wonder who's been hacked up in the kitchen when they see you.
SAve those pits. We'll come back to that. Now, take that pound of cherry meat, and stir a third of a cup of sugar into it, and put the fruit on a baking sheet. Fifteen minutes at 350 is what you need. You'll get tons of liquid too. Save it and the cherries, and let them cool.
Let's go to those pits. Remember I said cherries were in the almond family? If you want to add a little extra flavor to your ice cream, put those pits in a sturdy bag, get a rolling pin or something else you can use to beat the hell out of something, and crush the pits. It won't take long, and believe me, you will find this surprisingly satisfying to do. Now, take all that detritus, and put it in a pot with a cup of cream. Bring it to the simmer, take it off the heat, and let it sit for at least an hour.
When you take the cover off of the cream to separate it from the pits, you will get a very strong whiff of the almond flavor that has gone into the cream. These pits are what the French call noyaux, and which the Syrians call mah'lab. The French use them for various purposes, including pie weights, the Syrians use them as a spice ingredient. You should use them too. (Apricot pits will do the same thing and they are easier to work with, but we don't have any yet). Ok, sieve the cream and toss the pits (or, save them for pie weights), and now add another cup of cream, 1/2 cup of sugar, and four egg yolks. Make a simple custard, and then add a cup of whole milk and then the juice from the roasted cherries. Let the custard cool, and when you're ready put it in the ice cream maker.
Keep an eye on it, and when it looks about 3/4 of the way done put in your cherries. You just want them to turn, and not get too frozen.
You'll get a big yield here: about a quart and a half, and I promise you, this may be the best cherry ice cream you've ever had.
Incidentally, there are other flavorings you could use in that custard: vanilla bean is traditional, and lemon is fairly common. For the vanilla, split half a vanilla bean and leave it to sit in the custard like you did the almond pits. For lemon, a few slices of lemon peel.
There you go. There are variations, upon variations within this recipe. Go forth. Be cheery. Eat cherries. And make ice cream.
Tempus mutantur, as they said many years ago.
Ok, social commentary done. We are in the throes of NY cherry season, one which Annalena pushes by splurging and buying cherries from Frog Hollow farm, during California's VERY short cherry season. It is a hard one for many people to believe, but California is way behind other states in terms of cherry production: Washington, Michigan, and New York all produce more. NY is in, so is Washington, and Michigan will follow. So if you have a cherry jones (I'm not talking about actresses here, gang), you can have it satisfied for a while. Do Annalena a favor though: DON'T buy the ghastly ones that are available during the winter. They are just balls of sugar, with no taste. If you cannot wait, find a good source of frozen, or jarred, or freeze them yourself.
I have a very mixed relationship with cherries. I love them. I love them RAW as fruit to eat out of hand. And I love SOUR cherries both raw and cooked. I have almost never (in fact, I would say, never), eaten a dessert in a restaurant, involving cooked, sweet cherries, where I have not been disappointed. Something goes wrong: the cherries don't have any flavor, and well.. Annalena says "never again." Sour cherry pie? ABSOLUTELY. In fact, anything with sour cherries, but sweet cherries? Raw and in the hand, please.
Incidentally, here's a little food nerd info for you: did you know that a sweet cherry tree can pollinate itself, but if you want sour cherries, you must have at least two trees, and the pollen must pass from one to the other? I wish I could tell you why, but this is the way it is. More food geek info: cherries, as with all stone fruits, are members of the almond family. This will be relevant later on.
So, on with our story. You all know that Annalena loves making her ice creams. Cherry ice cream, however, has always been a disappointment: big balls of frozen red fruit that tasted like NOTHING. Well, this weekend, this issue may be behind us.
I was reading a recipe for a cherry clafouti in one of the Chez Panisse cookbooks. It explained how, traditionally, the clafoutis (don't ask me about the name origin. I dunno) were made with sour cherries, with the pits left in, so as to give the custard a slight almond flavor. This recipe suggested that one use sweet cherries, pit them, and add a little almond extract.
It also suggested roasting the cherries.
Hmmmm. Roasting fruit seems to be in the air in many restaurants this year, as Annalena has sampled roasted strawberries and blueberries, both of which she has found extremely pleasing. And if you're going to roast sweet cherries, why not roast sours as well?
I did this for a clafouti that we served on Friday night, and it was a success. I finished the clafouti for breakfast on Saturday (not having any on Friday), and the wheels began to turn.... ICE CREAM. Could it be...
It was, and it is. Here we go. First, you need a very generous pound of sweet and sour cherries. Go for an even mix, but if you only have one, ok, work with that.
When you buy the cherries, make sure that the stems are still attached. That is a sign they are still fresh. The stem will separate as the cherry loses moisture and freshness (sort of like us, if you think about it). Now, you have to pit them. I have very few gadgets in my home that serve only one purpose, but I do have a cherry pitter. It looks like something a nun would use to punish a student with, but it does the job. I also use it for pitting small olives, so I guess I have found a double purpose. If you have no such object, you can pit cherries the same way you pit olives: press a broad knife on each one, and separate the pit from the fruit.
Wear something you can stain when you do this, otherwise, people will wonder who's been hacked up in the kitchen when they see you.
SAve those pits. We'll come back to that. Now, take that pound of cherry meat, and stir a third of a cup of sugar into it, and put the fruit on a baking sheet. Fifteen minutes at 350 is what you need. You'll get tons of liquid too. Save it and the cherries, and let them cool.
Let's go to those pits. Remember I said cherries were in the almond family? If you want to add a little extra flavor to your ice cream, put those pits in a sturdy bag, get a rolling pin or something else you can use to beat the hell out of something, and crush the pits. It won't take long, and believe me, you will find this surprisingly satisfying to do. Now, take all that detritus, and put it in a pot with a cup of cream. Bring it to the simmer, take it off the heat, and let it sit for at least an hour.
When you take the cover off of the cream to separate it from the pits, you will get a very strong whiff of the almond flavor that has gone into the cream. These pits are what the French call noyaux, and which the Syrians call mah'lab. The French use them for various purposes, including pie weights, the Syrians use them as a spice ingredient. You should use them too. (Apricot pits will do the same thing and they are easier to work with, but we don't have any yet). Ok, sieve the cream and toss the pits (or, save them for pie weights), and now add another cup of cream, 1/2 cup of sugar, and four egg yolks. Make a simple custard, and then add a cup of whole milk and then the juice from the roasted cherries. Let the custard cool, and when you're ready put it in the ice cream maker.
Keep an eye on it, and when it looks about 3/4 of the way done put in your cherries. You just want them to turn, and not get too frozen.
You'll get a big yield here: about a quart and a half, and I promise you, this may be the best cherry ice cream you've ever had.
Incidentally, there are other flavorings you could use in that custard: vanilla bean is traditional, and lemon is fairly common. For the vanilla, split half a vanilla bean and leave it to sit in the custard like you did the almond pits. For lemon, a few slices of lemon peel.
There you go. There are variations, upon variations within this recipe. Go forth. Be cheery. Eat cherries. And make ice cream.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Annalena goes Asian: claypot chicken, in the style of "Slanted Door"
More than one person has written that "travel is better when it's over than when you're doing it." I will agree with that, if one includes in the statement that travel itself can be, and frequently is, quite wonderful. I believe that what happens is that, after we return from whatever trip we have been on, we forget the inconveniences (like not bringing any socks), or the fights, or the delays, and remember the truly wonderful. And in my view, if we tend to romanticize the wonderful, and make them better than they objectively were, well, so what? They are OUR memories, and who makes up objective criteria for this kind of thing anyway?
Annalena has many memories of her trips that she sinks back into sometimes and just smiles about. There are many food memories: the dumplings in Southwest Germany; the chestnut cake in Zurich that I still cannot duplicate, and many, many, many in San Francisco. Long gone, but Spartina's pear/apple granita still resonates with me, as does the plate of wine grape sorbets at Greens. My much missed friend Ginny , twenty years after the fact, remembered a plate of plum sorbets at Chez Panisse, in different colors and textures, and the combination of her smile when she described it, and her words, put me "there."
One of my memories from this last trip, was our last dinner. Now, our last night in San Francisco is always one of those bittersweet experiences. We know we're going home, and we miss our friends, our cats, our place, but we also know that we're leaving behind people and places we love. This year, a tradition could not be carried out because we normally spend that last day with Frank, Crystal and their daughters and that is a full, fun evening. They were in Washington DC this year, so we were on our own, for an early dinner, and we went to Slanted Door.
For reasons I cannot quite fathom, we have avoided that restaurant in the past. Perhaps it had too much of the "hipster" reputation about it. Last fall we went, as our first dinner in San Francisco, and it was wonderful. This year, it was our last one, made even more wonderful by a delightful server, named Darcey, who took a shine to us (the feeling was mutual), and who changed our order to make sure we ate the best things.
She did NOT change our order of clay pot chicken which was a revelatory dish. "Slanted Door" says they are a Vietnamese restaurant. I would say "neo Vietnamese," and I'm sure folks more familiar with the cuisine will challenge both the restaurant, and moi, on that characterization. All that being said, the chicken was wonderful. TRULY wonderful.
Annalena got to her computer and looked for the recipe. You can in fact find the recipe that the restaurant SAYS is the correct one, at epicurious.com. The comments from people who made it say that, while it is good, it is not the restaurant dish.
I believe that. Some of the ingredients are difficult to find (dark soy sauce is available in New York City, but I'm not sure if you can find it elsewhere), but "brown candy sugar" evades me. I looked, and looked, and looked, to no avail.
So I did some more searching, and found another recipe. I like this one. It is CLOSE, but it's not there. It IS good. So, give it a try. I found it on another cooking blog, dedicated to Vietnamese food, and (of course) made a change or two along the way. Do try making it, heed my comments, and make this dish your own. It is truly good.
First, if you can, the night before you cook, put eight chicken thighs on a plate, or plates, salt them, and let them sit in the refrigerator. The day you are gong to cook, get your ingredients together. There's more than a few of them, but it's all good. Mix together 1/2 cup of soy sauce (dark if you have it), one cup of water, 1/4 cup white wine vinegar, a squeeze of lemon juice, and a teaspoon of white sugar.
Now, this makes a lot of liquid, and it will make you a lot of sauce. You may want to cut everything in half, and you'll be fine. Just keep an eye on the braise as you go forward, because you may burn the chicken if it evaporates too fast.
Add 1/4 cup of fish sauce to the mixture, together with a couple of minced garlic cloves, and a healthy tablespoon of chopped ginger. If you like, mince a hot chili or two also and combine that (I did not do that).
Measure a cup of dark brown sugar, and keep it separate. Put the sauce and the sugar aside, and set up your cooking station. You will need a large frying pan, and small heavy pot, like a Le Creuset, that is going to be big enough to hold all your chicken, and all your sauce.
Heat a couple of tablespoons of vegetable oil in the frying pan, and when it's hot, add the chicken thighs, skin side down. Let them cook until they are nice and seared. My recipe said 7 minutes, which is probably a bit too long, if you don't overcrowd the pan. Then, turn the thighs over, and cook them for the same length of time. Do the chicken in batches if you need to, and then let the thighs drain on some paper towel . Switch positions with the pot, and let's make the sauce.
The only time you really have to watch this sauce, is now. You add the cup of brown sugar, and stir it, over low heat, until it melts. It will bubble, and please be careful not to burn yourself. When it's melted and bubbling, add that sauce mixture. Stir.
Something is going to happen that will make you think you did something wrong. The sugar is going to seize up in a large lump. You did not do anything wrong. Just stir, patiently, until it melts again. Then, add your chicken, and cover the pot. Let it cook for about fifteen-twenty minutes. Check on it from time to time, to make sure you have liquid in the pan, and if you don't, add some water.
The chicken will take on a wonderfully luscious, dark brown color and the sweetness will be remarkably subdued. What I think the dish COULD use, at the end, is a big splash of sherry, or mirin, or something like that. I remember that taste at the restaurant. I did not have either of them, so we did without, but we both wanted it.
Anyway, serve your chicken forth. Plain white rice is traditional, we made glass noodles instead, and they were the perfect vehicle for the extra sauce we had.
My recipe seems to think that munchkins are eating this, because they say four chicken thighs constitute 4 portions. That's like the information on the side of an ice cream container saying that a pint serves 4. The Guyman and I each ate three thighs without any trouble, and since this is my favorite part of the chicken, I could very easily have dived back and eaten the two remaining ones.
I showed retraint, however, and they will probably be the Guyman's lunch tomorrow.
Memory of travel is wonderful, moreso if you get a good recipe out of it. If you eat at our place, you have been warned: you will be served this, at some point in time.
Annalena has many memories of her trips that she sinks back into sometimes and just smiles about. There are many food memories: the dumplings in Southwest Germany; the chestnut cake in Zurich that I still cannot duplicate, and many, many, many in San Francisco. Long gone, but Spartina's pear/apple granita still resonates with me, as does the plate of wine grape sorbets at Greens. My much missed friend Ginny , twenty years after the fact, remembered a plate of plum sorbets at Chez Panisse, in different colors and textures, and the combination of her smile when she described it, and her words, put me "there."
One of my memories from this last trip, was our last dinner. Now, our last night in San Francisco is always one of those bittersweet experiences. We know we're going home, and we miss our friends, our cats, our place, but we also know that we're leaving behind people and places we love. This year, a tradition could not be carried out because we normally spend that last day with Frank, Crystal and their daughters and that is a full, fun evening. They were in Washington DC this year, so we were on our own, for an early dinner, and we went to Slanted Door.
For reasons I cannot quite fathom, we have avoided that restaurant in the past. Perhaps it had too much of the "hipster" reputation about it. Last fall we went, as our first dinner in San Francisco, and it was wonderful. This year, it was our last one, made even more wonderful by a delightful server, named Darcey, who took a shine to us (the feeling was mutual), and who changed our order to make sure we ate the best things.
She did NOT change our order of clay pot chicken which was a revelatory dish. "Slanted Door" says they are a Vietnamese restaurant. I would say "neo Vietnamese," and I'm sure folks more familiar with the cuisine will challenge both the restaurant, and moi, on that characterization. All that being said, the chicken was wonderful. TRULY wonderful.
Annalena got to her computer and looked for the recipe. You can in fact find the recipe that the restaurant SAYS is the correct one, at epicurious.com. The comments from people who made it say that, while it is good, it is not the restaurant dish.
I believe that. Some of the ingredients are difficult to find (dark soy sauce is available in New York City, but I'm not sure if you can find it elsewhere), but "brown candy sugar" evades me. I looked, and looked, and looked, to no avail.
So I did some more searching, and found another recipe. I like this one. It is CLOSE, but it's not there. It IS good. So, give it a try. I found it on another cooking blog, dedicated to Vietnamese food, and (of course) made a change or two along the way. Do try making it, heed my comments, and make this dish your own. It is truly good.
First, if you can, the night before you cook, put eight chicken thighs on a plate, or plates, salt them, and let them sit in the refrigerator. The day you are gong to cook, get your ingredients together. There's more than a few of them, but it's all good. Mix together 1/2 cup of soy sauce (dark if you have it), one cup of water, 1/4 cup white wine vinegar, a squeeze of lemon juice, and a teaspoon of white sugar.
Now, this makes a lot of liquid, and it will make you a lot of sauce. You may want to cut everything in half, and you'll be fine. Just keep an eye on the braise as you go forward, because you may burn the chicken if it evaporates too fast.
Add 1/4 cup of fish sauce to the mixture, together with a couple of minced garlic cloves, and a healthy tablespoon of chopped ginger. If you like, mince a hot chili or two also and combine that (I did not do that).
Measure a cup of dark brown sugar, and keep it separate. Put the sauce and the sugar aside, and set up your cooking station. You will need a large frying pan, and small heavy pot, like a Le Creuset, that is going to be big enough to hold all your chicken, and all your sauce.
Heat a couple of tablespoons of vegetable oil in the frying pan, and when it's hot, add the chicken thighs, skin side down. Let them cook until they are nice and seared. My recipe said 7 minutes, which is probably a bit too long, if you don't overcrowd the pan. Then, turn the thighs over, and cook them for the same length of time. Do the chicken in batches if you need to, and then let the thighs drain on some paper towel . Switch positions with the pot, and let's make the sauce.
The only time you really have to watch this sauce, is now. You add the cup of brown sugar, and stir it, over low heat, until it melts. It will bubble, and please be careful not to burn yourself. When it's melted and bubbling, add that sauce mixture. Stir.
Something is going to happen that will make you think you did something wrong. The sugar is going to seize up in a large lump. You did not do anything wrong. Just stir, patiently, until it melts again. Then, add your chicken, and cover the pot. Let it cook for about fifteen-twenty minutes. Check on it from time to time, to make sure you have liquid in the pan, and if you don't, add some water.
The chicken will take on a wonderfully luscious, dark brown color and the sweetness will be remarkably subdued. What I think the dish COULD use, at the end, is a big splash of sherry, or mirin, or something like that. I remember that taste at the restaurant. I did not have either of them, so we did without, but we both wanted it.
Anyway, serve your chicken forth. Plain white rice is traditional, we made glass noodles instead, and they were the perfect vehicle for the extra sauce we had.
My recipe seems to think that munchkins are eating this, because they say four chicken thighs constitute 4 portions. That's like the information on the side of an ice cream container saying that a pint serves 4. The Guyman and I each ate three thighs without any trouble, and since this is my favorite part of the chicken, I could very easily have dived back and eaten the two remaining ones.
I showed retraint, however, and they will probably be the Guyman's lunch tomorrow.
Memory of travel is wonderful, moreso if you get a good recipe out of it. If you eat at our place, you have been warned: you will be served this, at some point in time.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
The greens goddess makes green goddess
Those of us who are of a certain age (and you KNOW who you are: I do, too), will recall the craze of bottled salad dressings. There were actually two, parallel streams of salad dressing craze, in the 60s through the early 70s. One involved buying a cruet (not a bad looking one, I might add), together with a packet of dried salad dressing ingredients. You brought it home, and mixed it with your own oil and vinegar. It was, I guess, designed for people who REALLY needed help in the kitchen (my mom was one of them: we had cruets everywhere).
The second stream was the bottled prepared stuff. Mostly, these were thicker, colored dressings. Like Russian (very deep orange red), or French ( a lighter orange), or... the one that most intrigued us: green goddess. How to describe this color? Hmmm. Think of Pepto Bismol, yet green.
And yet... we bought it. We raved about it. We found new ways of using it. There were contests to see who could use these salad dressings the most creative way possible, and bread bowls were filled to the brim with soft cream cheese, mixed with dressing. Chicken was baked after it was coated with the dressing and breaded. And so on, and so forth.
Then, one day, while Annalena wasn't looking, many of these dressings disappeared. You can still buy some of them, but others, like green goddess, have to be special ordered.
As a joke, Annalena did in fact buy a couple of these once, for a dinner party. And watched, in abject horror, as her guests took the bottles and squeezed the stuff over her beautiful organic greens with white wine vinaigrette dressing salad.
Well, it IS a way to get people to eat their greens, I guess.
Anyway, for years, since the publication of one of Annalena's favorite books ("Chez Panisse Vegetables,"), she has been both attracted, and repulsed, by the recipe for green goddess dressing in that book. Perhaps it was memories of that bottled stuff that caused the repulsion, but I think perhaps it was the use of anchovies. See, Annalena did not (note past tense) like anchovies. So anything that used them, was avoided, even though restaurant chefs would assure her "oh, don't worry. It doesn't taste like anchovy pizza," and they were right.
Well, following the use of the anchovies in the shrimp gruel of a few entries ago, Annalena began to think "maybe they're right. " TAke that with a memory of a wonderful salad of soft lettuces and cucumbers, with green goddess dressing, from the "temple" in Berkeley (Chez Panisse), and the recipe came out again.
I have now made it twice. Let's not kid ourselves about it: this is RICH RICH RICH stuff. It is also, GOOD GOOD GOOD. It makes a lot, and you can use it for at least a few days, a little at a time (of course, you can also drown a salad in it and go into a fat coma, but that's your choice). I highly recommend this on salads, and perhaps you will find other ways of using it. For example, when you see the final product, you may thing "tartar sauce." And indeed, I believe it would work beautifully with a piece of fish. A coating for chicken? Well, let's see.
Very well, ragazzi. Here we go. You need half an avocado (use the other half in the salad you make), a half cup of heavy cream, 3/4 cup of olive oil (good stuff), and about 1/2 cup of chopped green herbs. These can vary, but if you look back at the prior entries, they too should be 'soft' herbs. Parsley (the flat leaved kind) is a must. You can then choose from things like cilantro, dill, tarragon (which Annalena has also begun to love), chervil, savory, and so forth. Use some judgement: you can use more of herbs like parsley and dill and cilantro that have somewhat muted flavors, and you must use less than that of the stronger flavored ones.
Put all of this aside, as you begin to make a dressing. In a bowl larger than you think you will need, put a chopped up shallot together with about 2 tablespoons of white vinegar, and the juice of half a lemon (you can add some lime if you like, but I find it unnecessary and, while we all probably have a lemon in our refrigerator somewhere, not everyone has limes).
Let the shallot sit in the acid for about ten minutes. Now the anchovies. Ten oil cured filets, please, with the oil cleared from them (just let it drip off). Chop them, and then add them to the vinegar/lemon juice mixture. Stir it with a fork, until the fish dissolves (and it WILL dissolve. I was dubious, but it does). Now, add the half avocado, and mash it into the liquid. Keep mashing: you don't want guacamole, you want soft MUSH. Keeping your fork going, stir in the cream. You will be amazed at how it incorporates, and then add the olive oil. Again, you will be amazed at how this all comes together. The avocado is almost a sponge. Now stir in the herbs, and know what? You are done. Sort of.
What do we do now? Sue has her hand up. We taste. And we probably add salt.
And we have two cups of the lushest salad dressing imaginable, in a beautiful green color, that will look beautiful on a salad. We ate it last night with purslane , beets and avocados, and the colors were really quite something to behold if you are into that kind of thing. If you're not, just eat. You may finally have a salad that you will like.
I designed this salad for my friend Ken, who unfortunately, did not get to taste it, due to illness. As he recovers, I keep this in mind, ginger, and we will sit to it, and so many things, when you are back on your wonderfully big feet and your gorgeous red hair is towering above me again.
The second stream was the bottled prepared stuff. Mostly, these were thicker, colored dressings. Like Russian (very deep orange red), or French ( a lighter orange), or... the one that most intrigued us: green goddess. How to describe this color? Hmmm. Think of Pepto Bismol, yet green.
And yet... we bought it. We raved about it. We found new ways of using it. There were contests to see who could use these salad dressings the most creative way possible, and bread bowls were filled to the brim with soft cream cheese, mixed with dressing. Chicken was baked after it was coated with the dressing and breaded. And so on, and so forth.
Then, one day, while Annalena wasn't looking, many of these dressings disappeared. You can still buy some of them, but others, like green goddess, have to be special ordered.
As a joke, Annalena did in fact buy a couple of these once, for a dinner party. And watched, in abject horror, as her guests took the bottles and squeezed the stuff over her beautiful organic greens with white wine vinaigrette dressing salad.
Well, it IS a way to get people to eat their greens, I guess.
Anyway, for years, since the publication of one of Annalena's favorite books ("Chez Panisse Vegetables,"), she has been both attracted, and repulsed, by the recipe for green goddess dressing in that book. Perhaps it was memories of that bottled stuff that caused the repulsion, but I think perhaps it was the use of anchovies. See, Annalena did not (note past tense) like anchovies. So anything that used them, was avoided, even though restaurant chefs would assure her "oh, don't worry. It doesn't taste like anchovy pizza," and they were right.
Well, following the use of the anchovies in the shrimp gruel of a few entries ago, Annalena began to think "maybe they're right. " TAke that with a memory of a wonderful salad of soft lettuces and cucumbers, with green goddess dressing, from the "temple" in Berkeley (Chez Panisse), and the recipe came out again.
I have now made it twice. Let's not kid ourselves about it: this is RICH RICH RICH stuff. It is also, GOOD GOOD GOOD. It makes a lot, and you can use it for at least a few days, a little at a time (of course, you can also drown a salad in it and go into a fat coma, but that's your choice). I highly recommend this on salads, and perhaps you will find other ways of using it. For example, when you see the final product, you may thing "tartar sauce." And indeed, I believe it would work beautifully with a piece of fish. A coating for chicken? Well, let's see.
Very well, ragazzi. Here we go. You need half an avocado (use the other half in the salad you make), a half cup of heavy cream, 3/4 cup of olive oil (good stuff), and about 1/2 cup of chopped green herbs. These can vary, but if you look back at the prior entries, they too should be 'soft' herbs. Parsley (the flat leaved kind) is a must. You can then choose from things like cilantro, dill, tarragon (which Annalena has also begun to love), chervil, savory, and so forth. Use some judgement: you can use more of herbs like parsley and dill and cilantro that have somewhat muted flavors, and you must use less than that of the stronger flavored ones.
Put all of this aside, as you begin to make a dressing. In a bowl larger than you think you will need, put a chopped up shallot together with about 2 tablespoons of white vinegar, and the juice of half a lemon (you can add some lime if you like, but I find it unnecessary and, while we all probably have a lemon in our refrigerator somewhere, not everyone has limes).
Let the shallot sit in the acid for about ten minutes. Now the anchovies. Ten oil cured filets, please, with the oil cleared from them (just let it drip off). Chop them, and then add them to the vinegar/lemon juice mixture. Stir it with a fork, until the fish dissolves (and it WILL dissolve. I was dubious, but it does). Now, add the half avocado, and mash it into the liquid. Keep mashing: you don't want guacamole, you want soft MUSH. Keeping your fork going, stir in the cream. You will be amazed at how it incorporates, and then add the olive oil. Again, you will be amazed at how this all comes together. The avocado is almost a sponge. Now stir in the herbs, and know what? You are done. Sort of.
What do we do now? Sue has her hand up. We taste. And we probably add salt.
And we have two cups of the lushest salad dressing imaginable, in a beautiful green color, that will look beautiful on a salad. We ate it last night with purslane , beets and avocados, and the colors were really quite something to behold if you are into that kind of thing. If you're not, just eat. You may finally have a salad that you will like.
I designed this salad for my friend Ken, who unfortunately, did not get to taste it, due to illness. As he recovers, I keep this in mind, ginger, and we will sit to it, and so many things, when you are back on your wonderfully big feet and your gorgeous red hair is towering above me again.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Easy being green: puttanesca verde
You've heard the stories about puttanesca pasta before, yes? "Stories," because this is one where the stories change. I was told, originally, that the dish was invented by Roman prostitutes, because their johns, being Italian mamma's boys, needed food after the visit, and since the ladies had to turn over, well, tricks, they needed to make something fast. A second story I heard, was that the dish was designed to get the men out fast, because the spiciness, together with the taste of the anchovies on the lips of the ladies, well, was not appealing.
Recently, I heard a third version, which I like the best. THis one says that there was a law which only permitted prostitutes to grocery shop on one day of the week, so everything they bought had to be something that could be stored and not perishable.
There's something kind of amusing and also sad, about limiting when people can shop. I can see it now: all teachers have to shop on Monday. All doctors, Tuesday, and so on and so forth.
I would die.
Anyway, if you've had puttanesca of some kind, you remember hot peppers, tuna, capers, and other things along those lines. Tomato, but from paste, etcetera.
Melissa Clark, who writes for the New York Times, and who is one of Annalena's favorites, "gets" that we don't have a lot of time to cook most nights. Her columns are dedicated to doing a nice, even elegant one pot kind of meal, that won't kill you in terms of time.
Annalena approves. She published a recipe for a variation on puttanesca, where everything was green. It caught Annalena's eye, because the standard garlic, had been replaced by green garlic, which is one of the Guyman's favorite things on the face of the earth, and which Annalena enjoys too. It also used greens, and Annalena is a big fan of greens in pasta.
Since we also find ourselves in a situation once a week where we are eating late, and need something quick (after Annalena has fractured her guitar teacher's ears for an hour), this is when we have our "carb dinner." So, this turned out to be perfect.
Those of you of a creative bent will see the room for changes, as indeed there are. I of course changed it right away, for a very simple reason: I didn't have one of the ingredients, but I had its big brother.
This takes a bit longer than the 20 minutes Ms. Clark says it does, but plan to have the food on the table in half an hour. It is an intensive 20-30 minutes of cooking, so if you want a salad (you DO want a salad), make that first.
I will also confess that this is a dish which made me like anchovies. I will be giving you another anchovy containing recipe shortly. Let's start with this one.
You need 1/4 cup of capers. Ms. Clark uses the ones in brine, and drains them. That's fine, but I like the salted ones better, so I set them up in water and let them soak, with water changes, for fifteen minutes. You also need 10 anchovy fillets. It sounds like a lot, but it's not. Trust me.
The hardest thing you'll do for the dish is cut meat off of green olives. Use what you like. I did use cerignolas, because I like them the best, but again, use what you like. Annalena abjures pitted olives, but they would make this easier. In any event, you will want a total of 1 cup of olive "meat."
Next, green garlic. 10-12 cloves of it. This is about 3 bulbs of the stuff. Get it while you can, and slice the stuff like slivered almonds.
Scallions please. You won't need many, but use more if you like. 1/3 of a cup, stressing the green end. If you have and like chives (I don't), use those. Or spring onions.
Now, spinach. Ms. Clark used baby spinach, and if you have that and want it, fine. I find that the full sized spinach has more flavor, and I always have some in the house. 3/4 of a pound. If you don't have spinach, use beet greens, or chard, or anything you like. Just make sure it's washed and if you use full sized greens, torn into small bits.
Some basil, if you please. As much as you like. Our rooftop garden had just become accessible so I used our basil. Use whatever variety you like too.
Let us not forget the spaghetti, and use spaghetti, please. This is a sort of Roman dish, and puttanesca was always made with spaghetti.
It took MUCH longer to describe the ingredients than it's going to need to make the dish. Put 2 ounces of olive oil in a big heavy pan and heat it up. When it's warm, add the anchovies and the capers. You'll see something neat happen. The anchovies will, literally dissolve. IT's really cool. Do this for about three minutes, then add 2 more ounces of olive oil, the olives, the garlic and the scallions and cook this for about five minutes. Now, add the greens. THey will collapse and cook in no more than 3 minutes. If you like, at this point add some hot pepper.
Your sauce is done. If you happen to have enough burner space, you can be bringing the water to a boil and adding salt, cooking the pasta. Fresh is faster, but dried is fine. While it's cooking, look at the sauce and if it seems too "tight," add a bit of pasta water and let it cook into the sauce. Then toss everything together.
Ms. Clark says this will serve 4-6. Ok.... I'd say more like 3.
Anyway, while green garlic is with us, use it. Won't be too much longer.
Recently, I heard a third version, which I like the best. THis one says that there was a law which only permitted prostitutes to grocery shop on one day of the week, so everything they bought had to be something that could be stored and not perishable.
There's something kind of amusing and also sad, about limiting when people can shop. I can see it now: all teachers have to shop on Monday. All doctors, Tuesday, and so on and so forth.
I would die.
Anyway, if you've had puttanesca of some kind, you remember hot peppers, tuna, capers, and other things along those lines. Tomato, but from paste, etcetera.
Melissa Clark, who writes for the New York Times, and who is one of Annalena's favorites, "gets" that we don't have a lot of time to cook most nights. Her columns are dedicated to doing a nice, even elegant one pot kind of meal, that won't kill you in terms of time.
Annalena approves. She published a recipe for a variation on puttanesca, where everything was green. It caught Annalena's eye, because the standard garlic, had been replaced by green garlic, which is one of the Guyman's favorite things on the face of the earth, and which Annalena enjoys too. It also used greens, and Annalena is a big fan of greens in pasta.
Since we also find ourselves in a situation once a week where we are eating late, and need something quick (after Annalena has fractured her guitar teacher's ears for an hour), this is when we have our "carb dinner." So, this turned out to be perfect.
Those of you of a creative bent will see the room for changes, as indeed there are. I of course changed it right away, for a very simple reason: I didn't have one of the ingredients, but I had its big brother.
This takes a bit longer than the 20 minutes Ms. Clark says it does, but plan to have the food on the table in half an hour. It is an intensive 20-30 minutes of cooking, so if you want a salad (you DO want a salad), make that first.
I will also confess that this is a dish which made me like anchovies. I will be giving you another anchovy containing recipe shortly. Let's start with this one.
You need 1/4 cup of capers. Ms. Clark uses the ones in brine, and drains them. That's fine, but I like the salted ones better, so I set them up in water and let them soak, with water changes, for fifteen minutes. You also need 10 anchovy fillets. It sounds like a lot, but it's not. Trust me.
The hardest thing you'll do for the dish is cut meat off of green olives. Use what you like. I did use cerignolas, because I like them the best, but again, use what you like. Annalena abjures pitted olives, but they would make this easier. In any event, you will want a total of 1 cup of olive "meat."
Next, green garlic. 10-12 cloves of it. This is about 3 bulbs of the stuff. Get it while you can, and slice the stuff like slivered almonds.
Scallions please. You won't need many, but use more if you like. 1/3 of a cup, stressing the green end. If you have and like chives (I don't), use those. Or spring onions.
Now, spinach. Ms. Clark used baby spinach, and if you have that and want it, fine. I find that the full sized spinach has more flavor, and I always have some in the house. 3/4 of a pound. If you don't have spinach, use beet greens, or chard, or anything you like. Just make sure it's washed and if you use full sized greens, torn into small bits.
Some basil, if you please. As much as you like. Our rooftop garden had just become accessible so I used our basil. Use whatever variety you like too.
Let us not forget the spaghetti, and use spaghetti, please. This is a sort of Roman dish, and puttanesca was always made with spaghetti.
It took MUCH longer to describe the ingredients than it's going to need to make the dish. Put 2 ounces of olive oil in a big heavy pan and heat it up. When it's warm, add the anchovies and the capers. You'll see something neat happen. The anchovies will, literally dissolve. IT's really cool. Do this for about three minutes, then add 2 more ounces of olive oil, the olives, the garlic and the scallions and cook this for about five minutes. Now, add the greens. THey will collapse and cook in no more than 3 minutes. If you like, at this point add some hot pepper.
Your sauce is done. If you happen to have enough burner space, you can be bringing the water to a boil and adding salt, cooking the pasta. Fresh is faster, but dried is fine. While it's cooking, look at the sauce and if it seems too "tight," add a bit of pasta water and let it cook into the sauce. Then toss everything together.
Ms. Clark says this will serve 4-6. Ok.... I'd say more like 3.
Anyway, while green garlic is with us, use it. Won't be too much longer.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Good to the bone: crispy whole fish
This is one that's gonna turn a lot of people off right away. First, we lose the people who don't cook fish, period, because (i) it smells up the house (ii) it's too hard or (iii) don't like fish. Well, if you don't cook fish because of (iii), Annalena can't help you. If you don't cook it because of (i), start buying your fish somewhere else. If you don't cook it because of (ii), that's why Annalena is here.
Fish is not hard to cook. It's not. It's easier to cook than most things. Look through this blog. You will find a host of fish recipes that are so easy to cook you will not believe it. Even if you only learn one (and if it's only one), learn the fish in papillote. You can make it a million different ways, and you will wonder "why did I think fish was hard to cook?" And if you learn a second one, learn this one.
There's an old proverb that is along the lines of "the meat at the bone is alway sweeter." Those of you with perverse minds may play with that as you like. I am not sure if the meat on the bone of any protein is better tasting, but I will say that there is something rather satisfying, almost primitive, about cooking and eating anything on the bone. Granted, with fish, you don't get the fun of sucking out the marrow (something my friend Vince and I do with relish, after too much wine), but nonetheless....
And fish on the bone is cheaper. Today when I was buying fish from Wade (aka as Poseidon), and Jan, the black sea bass was 19.00 a pound fileted, and 7.50 a pound, whole. No question, there is more waste when you use a whole fish, but think about it for a minute: do you think Annalena would be making it if she lost 2/3 of what she bought? Get real, ragazzi.
This is just one way to cook it. I can give you more. I supply this one because, added to the satisfaction of cooking on the bone, there's frying, which, let's face it, is everone's favorite way to cook things. Admit it. Once you do, we can move on.
But first.... fried fish is so easy, and so simple, that you will probably want something to go with it. So i will give you a recipe for a fool proof green sauce. First, you need a quarter cup of capers in salt. If you must, use the capers in brine, but look for the salted ones. They keep in your cupboard forever.
If you have the salted ones, soak them in water for fifteen minutes. Change the water every five minutes. If you use the brined ones, just drain the liquid. After the last soak, and draining, chop the capers roughly.
Also get about a cup of mixed, soft green herbs. What do I mean by soft? when you see fresh hers, look at the stems. Basil, lemon verbena, dill, cilantro, parsley, are all soft herbs. Rosemary and sage are not. Stay away from sage, which is too strong. After you've collected your herbs, chop them fine, stems and all. Please try to get a mixture. It will reward you.
Now, combine the juice of half a lemon and the juice of half a lime in a large bowl. Then add the herbs and the capers and whisk them together. Add some salt and now, whisking all the while, add about twice as much olive oil as you have citrus juice. Taste and add salt?
Not so hard, huh? Well, now onto the fish.
The hardest thing about cooking the fish is getting a pan big enough, and putting enough oil in it. Vegetable oil, please , to a depth of about 1/3 of an inch. Measure. Don't eyeball. To this day, Annalena gets it wrong.
A pan that is about 12 inches across is big enough to cook two sea bass of about a pound or so. If you're making more than that, turn the oven to 350, and put the fish on a paper lined baking sheet as you fry. You can reuse the oil for more fish, but alas, after this, the oil is depleted. It's not good for anything else.
Even in a big pan, you'll have to cut off the tails. That's ok, there's nothing really edible there (my Japanese friends will disagree. Oh well). Heat the oil until it "ripples" if you can tell what rippling is. If you can't, put a wooden spoon, handle side down, into the oil. When small bubbles form around it, fast and angry, the oil is ready.
GENTLY put the fish, which you have washed and dried with paper towel, into the oil. Set a timer, and cook it for 8 minutes. After 8 minutes, protect your hand and hold the handle of the pan, as you slip a paddle (like a pancake flipper) under each fish, and flip it.
You , like Annalena, will probably break up the fish. Don't worry. We're looking for tasty, not pretty here. Cook the other side for about six minutes.
While the second side is cooking, get some more paper towels ready, and when the fish is done, let it drain on the towels. Plate the fish, and pour that lovely herb sauce over it.
Annalena can explain to you how to eat fish on the bone, but do yourself a favor and google images and you will see, but ONLY if you want to. There is nothing wrong with digging in, pulling away pieces and essentially, making a pig of yourself. You will pick up bones, and it's ok, in fact it is mandatory, to crunch them, suck them, and just enjoy the fish.
Next week, Annalena will teach you how to steam whole fish. If you thought frying was easy...
And she'll introduce you to Carl , also known as Poseidon, and Norma, the other fish regents.
Fish is not hard to cook. It's not. It's easier to cook than most things. Look through this blog. You will find a host of fish recipes that are so easy to cook you will not believe it. Even if you only learn one (and if it's only one), learn the fish in papillote. You can make it a million different ways, and you will wonder "why did I think fish was hard to cook?" And if you learn a second one, learn this one.
There's an old proverb that is along the lines of "the meat at the bone is alway sweeter." Those of you with perverse minds may play with that as you like. I am not sure if the meat on the bone of any protein is better tasting, but I will say that there is something rather satisfying, almost primitive, about cooking and eating anything on the bone. Granted, with fish, you don't get the fun of sucking out the marrow (something my friend Vince and I do with relish, after too much wine), but nonetheless....
And fish on the bone is cheaper. Today when I was buying fish from Wade (aka as Poseidon), and Jan, the black sea bass was 19.00 a pound fileted, and 7.50 a pound, whole. No question, there is more waste when you use a whole fish, but think about it for a minute: do you think Annalena would be making it if she lost 2/3 of what she bought? Get real, ragazzi.
This is just one way to cook it. I can give you more. I supply this one because, added to the satisfaction of cooking on the bone, there's frying, which, let's face it, is everone's favorite way to cook things. Admit it. Once you do, we can move on.
But first.... fried fish is so easy, and so simple, that you will probably want something to go with it. So i will give you a recipe for a fool proof green sauce. First, you need a quarter cup of capers in salt. If you must, use the capers in brine, but look for the salted ones. They keep in your cupboard forever.
If you have the salted ones, soak them in water for fifteen minutes. Change the water every five minutes. If you use the brined ones, just drain the liquid. After the last soak, and draining, chop the capers roughly.
Also get about a cup of mixed, soft green herbs. What do I mean by soft? when you see fresh hers, look at the stems. Basil, lemon verbena, dill, cilantro, parsley, are all soft herbs. Rosemary and sage are not. Stay away from sage, which is too strong. After you've collected your herbs, chop them fine, stems and all. Please try to get a mixture. It will reward you.
Now, combine the juice of half a lemon and the juice of half a lime in a large bowl. Then add the herbs and the capers and whisk them together. Add some salt and now, whisking all the while, add about twice as much olive oil as you have citrus juice. Taste and add salt?
Not so hard, huh? Well, now onto the fish.
The hardest thing about cooking the fish is getting a pan big enough, and putting enough oil in it. Vegetable oil, please , to a depth of about 1/3 of an inch. Measure. Don't eyeball. To this day, Annalena gets it wrong.
A pan that is about 12 inches across is big enough to cook two sea bass of about a pound or so. If you're making more than that, turn the oven to 350, and put the fish on a paper lined baking sheet as you fry. You can reuse the oil for more fish, but alas, after this, the oil is depleted. It's not good for anything else.
Even in a big pan, you'll have to cut off the tails. That's ok, there's nothing really edible there (my Japanese friends will disagree. Oh well). Heat the oil until it "ripples" if you can tell what rippling is. If you can't, put a wooden spoon, handle side down, into the oil. When small bubbles form around it, fast and angry, the oil is ready.
GENTLY put the fish, which you have washed and dried with paper towel, into the oil. Set a timer, and cook it for 8 minutes. After 8 minutes, protect your hand and hold the handle of the pan, as you slip a paddle (like a pancake flipper) under each fish, and flip it.
You , like Annalena, will probably break up the fish. Don't worry. We're looking for tasty, not pretty here. Cook the other side for about six minutes.
While the second side is cooking, get some more paper towels ready, and when the fish is done, let it drain on the towels. Plate the fish, and pour that lovely herb sauce over it.
Annalena can explain to you how to eat fish on the bone, but do yourself a favor and google images and you will see, but ONLY if you want to. There is nothing wrong with digging in, pulling away pieces and essentially, making a pig of yourself. You will pick up bones, and it's ok, in fact it is mandatory, to crunch them, suck them, and just enjoy the fish.
Next week, Annalena will teach you how to steam whole fish. If you thought frying was easy...
And she'll introduce you to Carl , also known as Poseidon, and Norma, the other fish regents.
RANT, Part 2: shrimp and vegetable gruel
I guess because of its association with movies like "Oliver," or its use in Victorian novels as food for the poor, when we read the word "gruel," I think we turn away just as a matter of habit.
Not a good thing. Arguably, some of the foods we love the most, like couscous, are in fact, "gruels." Consider this definition:
Gruel is a food preparation consisting of some type of cereal—oat, wheat or rye flour, or also rice—boiled in water or milk.
Sound familiar? Bet it does. To some people, like the Guyman, gruels are comfort food. I think everyone has some version of a "gruel" in his or her comfort food warehouse.
I am fascinated by them because they break the rules that you learn for cooking grains. You know those rules: 2 parts (or 3 parts or 4 parts), liquid to solid. The ratios in gruels go way over that, sometimes going up to as much as sixteen to 1 (although that's a REALLY liquid product). So when I saw a recipe, referred to as a "stew," but clearly identifiable as a gruel, in the cookbook from which came the rhubarb sorbet, I was intrigued. It had shrimp, peas, pea shoots, and Asian spices in it, all of which are big favorites at our home. It was in fact the first recipe I was drawn to in the book, and even though I had my doubts, I made it "according to Hoyle" as they say.
Annalena should follow her own advice. If you know it's wrong, don't do it. I did it anyway. It was ok, but not terrific. Guyman dutifully ate two helpings, but he was very hungry.
So, this weekend I tried it again, MY way. It is much better this way. I will detail it for you, and I will tell you how I varied from the original. Mix and match as you like.
You start with one pound of peeled, deveined shrimp. There's no reason to get the beauties: medium sized shrimp (there are about 40 of them to a pound), are fine. Cut them in half, either lengthwise, or horizontally (the original called for half a pound of shrimp, which had to be wild shrimp, and cutting them into quarters. In my opinion, the quartered shrimp just disappeared, giving you no sense of "shrimpiness." And wild shrimp are with us about a week of the year. If you can get them frozen, you'd pay a king's ransom. Also, interestingly enough, I learned that farmed shrimp are less harmful to the environment than fishing for wild ones. The things you learn).
You then "salt wash" these guys. THis is a technique I did not know. Mix the shrimp with 1.5 teaspoons of salt. Rub it into the shrimp, and let them sit for ten minutes or so, then wash them clean with cold water. The salt, apparently, gets any other impurities out that the deveining didn't.
Mix these guys with a half cup (recipe says quarter cup), of fish sauce, and two minced shallots. You really do need the fish sauce here, so bite the bullet and buy a bottle. You'll be glad you did. Let this all sit at room temperature for an hour.
During that time, get a cup (recipe called for half a cup ) of long grained rice (I used texmati), and put it into one of those burr coffee grinders. Let 'er rip for about ten seconds. You'll get rice grains that are about a third of the size of the regular rice.
Next, you need two quarts of liquid. Here, the recipe called for water. First time around, I made peapod broth, and mixed it with water, half and half. Last time, I used chicken stock, cut half and half with water. It's really your choice as to what liquids to use, but keep in mind that the liquid is going to be a big source of the flavor.
We're ready to cook. Put two tablespoons of vegetable oil in a big pot. When it's hot, add the shrimp and shallot mixture, without draining it, and stir it around until the shrimp take on a translucent or pink color. At that point, add the rice, and then the liquid. When the stuff begins to boil, lower the heat, and let it cook at barely a simmer, for 40 minutes or so. Check to make sure things aren't sticking during that cooking time.
The rice is going to release a lot of starch, since you've broken it up and the rice will also start sucking up the liquid, but it's never going to be solid, like a standard pot of rice looks. That's ok, that's not what you want here. If you taste it, it should be soft.
Now add three cups of vegetables. Originally, the recipe called for peas, and they're great, but mix it up. I used a mix of peas and asparagus the second time around, with the asparagus chopped to about the size of a pea. Let this cook for a good 4 minutes, and then add about 3 cups of pea shoots, or some other soft green (you could use water cress, arugula, anything you want), and big handfuls of either basil (recipe), or Thai basil (my variation), or anything you like. I would stick to the mint family here, and keep in mind that all basils are mints.
Taste it. You will probably think it needs salt. Put the salt down and add more fish sauce, and then serve it forth, in bowls, with spoons.
Those of you familiar with Asian food are going to notice resemblances to congee, or juk, depending on whether you're of Northern or Southern Chinese descent.
This doesn't keep well, so if you have extra, have a second bowl. THere's not much there calorie wise, and it's all good.
It's a nice addition to the repertoire. I won't be ashamed to serve it to company
Not a good thing. Arguably, some of the foods we love the most, like couscous, are in fact, "gruels." Consider this definition:
Gruel is a food preparation consisting of some type of cereal—oat, wheat or rye flour, or also rice—boiled in water or milk.
Sound familiar? Bet it does. To some people, like the Guyman, gruels are comfort food. I think everyone has some version of a "gruel" in his or her comfort food warehouse.
I am fascinated by them because they break the rules that you learn for cooking grains. You know those rules: 2 parts (or 3 parts or 4 parts), liquid to solid. The ratios in gruels go way over that, sometimes going up to as much as sixteen to 1 (although that's a REALLY liquid product). So when I saw a recipe, referred to as a "stew," but clearly identifiable as a gruel, in the cookbook from which came the rhubarb sorbet, I was intrigued. It had shrimp, peas, pea shoots, and Asian spices in it, all of which are big favorites at our home. It was in fact the first recipe I was drawn to in the book, and even though I had my doubts, I made it "according to Hoyle" as they say.
Annalena should follow her own advice. If you know it's wrong, don't do it. I did it anyway. It was ok, but not terrific. Guyman dutifully ate two helpings, but he was very hungry.
So, this weekend I tried it again, MY way. It is much better this way. I will detail it for you, and I will tell you how I varied from the original. Mix and match as you like.
You start with one pound of peeled, deveined shrimp. There's no reason to get the beauties: medium sized shrimp (there are about 40 of them to a pound), are fine. Cut them in half, either lengthwise, or horizontally (the original called for half a pound of shrimp, which had to be wild shrimp, and cutting them into quarters. In my opinion, the quartered shrimp just disappeared, giving you no sense of "shrimpiness." And wild shrimp are with us about a week of the year. If you can get them frozen, you'd pay a king's ransom. Also, interestingly enough, I learned that farmed shrimp are less harmful to the environment than fishing for wild ones. The things you learn).
You then "salt wash" these guys. THis is a technique I did not know. Mix the shrimp with 1.5 teaspoons of salt. Rub it into the shrimp, and let them sit for ten minutes or so, then wash them clean with cold water. The salt, apparently, gets any other impurities out that the deveining didn't.
Mix these guys with a half cup (recipe says quarter cup), of fish sauce, and two minced shallots. You really do need the fish sauce here, so bite the bullet and buy a bottle. You'll be glad you did. Let this all sit at room temperature for an hour.
During that time, get a cup (recipe called for half a cup ) of long grained rice (I used texmati), and put it into one of those burr coffee grinders. Let 'er rip for about ten seconds. You'll get rice grains that are about a third of the size of the regular rice.
Next, you need two quarts of liquid. Here, the recipe called for water. First time around, I made peapod broth, and mixed it with water, half and half. Last time, I used chicken stock, cut half and half with water. It's really your choice as to what liquids to use, but keep in mind that the liquid is going to be a big source of the flavor.
We're ready to cook. Put two tablespoons of vegetable oil in a big pot. When it's hot, add the shrimp and shallot mixture, without draining it, and stir it around until the shrimp take on a translucent or pink color. At that point, add the rice, and then the liquid. When the stuff begins to boil, lower the heat, and let it cook at barely a simmer, for 40 minutes or so. Check to make sure things aren't sticking during that cooking time.
The rice is going to release a lot of starch, since you've broken it up and the rice will also start sucking up the liquid, but it's never going to be solid, like a standard pot of rice looks. That's ok, that's not what you want here. If you taste it, it should be soft.
Now add three cups of vegetables. Originally, the recipe called for peas, and they're great, but mix it up. I used a mix of peas and asparagus the second time around, with the asparagus chopped to about the size of a pea. Let this cook for a good 4 minutes, and then add about 3 cups of pea shoots, or some other soft green (you could use water cress, arugula, anything you want), and big handfuls of either basil (recipe), or Thai basil (my variation), or anything you like. I would stick to the mint family here, and keep in mind that all basils are mints.
Taste it. You will probably think it needs salt. Put the salt down and add more fish sauce, and then serve it forth, in bowls, with spoons.
Those of you familiar with Asian food are going to notice resemblances to congee, or juk, depending on whether you're of Northern or Southern Chinese descent.
This doesn't keep well, so if you have extra, have a second bowl. THere's not much there calorie wise, and it's all good.
It's a nice addition to the repertoire. I won't be ashamed to serve it to company
Hiatus over: rhubarb ginger sorbet, and a RANT
Ragazzi, I have no excuses other than, perhaps laziness. It has been nearly 3 months since I have come onto this blog, and to be honest, I had no wish to. Would that I could say something monumental had happened during that time. Not so. Would that I could say there had been a magnificent trip. Well, there was our annual spring trip to San Francisco that was, as always, enchanting (and if Annlena reviewed theatre here, she would tell you all about "Tales of the City," ). Not so. No excuses, no regrets. Time moves on, we move on, and now, we come back.
Would that I were not starting with a RANT, but I am. And it is a rant that I believe many of you share: cookbooks that are written badly. I have proposed, in the past, that cookbooks should be graded or rated, in the way that movies are, so that a beginner knows, for example, that a cookbook is too difficult for him or her (they exist. I once had a cookbook with a recipe that gave, as its first ingredient: "1 quart of white sauce." No recipe for white sauce appeared in the book. It was simply assumed that you knew how to make it. Yet another time the recipe began with "one boned turkey, 8-10 pounds." A boned turkey is not something you can routinely pick up. ). But in addition to these ratings, I am convinced that cookbooks are the reason why so many people think they cannot cook. The recipes , often, are written so badly, or are out and out WRONG, that you cannot help but go wrong.
Recently, a very well renowned, famous chef, a former contestant on "Top Chef Masters," published a cookbook. Some of the recipes are terrific. Some are not. For example, there is a recipe for biscotti that calls for ELEVEN CUPS of ingredients, to make a dozen cookies.
Where I'm from, we call those cakes.
There is another recipe for a "slow roasted leg of lamb," which calls for roasting it for seven hours, at 350. Believe me, gang, seven hours at 350 will give you charcoal.
Now, here's the even more troubling thing: the cookbook received RAVE reviews, INCLUDING THE LAMB RECIPE. HUH???? What is happening here.
More recently, Annalena purchased a cookbook recommended by Saveur. She's made two recipes, and has had to remake them. Why? Well, the one we are considering here, is a sorbet. The recipe states that the yield is "1.5 cups."
1.5 cups of sorbet? Are we feeding Munchkins? In any event, as you go down the recipe, you see "3 pounds rhubarb, cleaned."
HUH? Further on, there is the line "after cooking, you should have about four cups.
OK, now by what magic spell do four cups of rhubarb become 1.5 cups of sorbet. "Six white mice will never be six white horses," and "impossible things are happening every day," but not in my kitchen.
The recipe clearly meant 1.5 QUARTS of sorbet, which is what I had at the end, but did no one proofread the recipe? This is not a question of "too salty for my taste," or "just a bit too much butter." And ask yourself: are you going to bother making sorbet if you get 1.5 cups at the end?
Ok, end of rant. Onto the recipe. Which makes 1.5 quarts. Not difficult, and good. Here we go.
First, you need to make ginger syrup, which is a very useful thing to have around, period. Get about half a pound of ginger, and chop it coarsely. Don't peel it, you don't need to. Combine it with a cup of sugar, and a cup and a half of water. Bring it to the heat, and when the sugar melts, take it off the heat and let the ginger steep for at least an hour, more if you can. You can use this syrup for other thngs, like making homemade ginger ale, or as a glaze for meat or poultry, or on a cake, whatever you like.
Put it aside, while you clean up, and chop, 3 pounds of rhubarb. Cut it into .5-1 inch pieces and put it in a big pot. Cover it, and let it cook, at low heat. VERY low heat. After about ten minutes, stir it. You'll see it begin to dissolve, and, when the stuff is the texture of a thick apple puree, you're done with cooking.
At this point, you can leave the rhubarb alone, if you like a sorbet with texture. Or, you can press it through a foodmill, using whatever size openings you like, remembering that bigger ones, give a coarser product. Or, if you want things really smooth, puree the stuff in a blender.
Drain the syrup from the chopped ginger, and add it - ALL of it - to the rhubarb. Taste. You won't really taste too much ginger at this point (that comes later), but adjust the sweetness if you need to.
When the thing cools down, process it in your ice cream maker, either in one, or two batches. You will easily get 1.5 quarts.
It's fat free, it's seasonal, and ginger is supposed to have scads of health benefits that we can all use.
Annalena likes it rough, so she did not puree her rhubarb at all. You may choose to do otherwise.
Go forth, ragazzi e ragazze. Annalena has returned.
Would that I were not starting with a RANT, but I am. And it is a rant that I believe many of you share: cookbooks that are written badly. I have proposed, in the past, that cookbooks should be graded or rated, in the way that movies are, so that a beginner knows, for example, that a cookbook is too difficult for him or her (they exist. I once had a cookbook with a recipe that gave, as its first ingredient: "1 quart of white sauce." No recipe for white sauce appeared in the book. It was simply assumed that you knew how to make it. Yet another time the recipe began with "one boned turkey, 8-10 pounds." A boned turkey is not something you can routinely pick up. ). But in addition to these ratings, I am convinced that cookbooks are the reason why so many people think they cannot cook. The recipes , often, are written so badly, or are out and out WRONG, that you cannot help but go wrong.
Recently, a very well renowned, famous chef, a former contestant on "Top Chef Masters," published a cookbook. Some of the recipes are terrific. Some are not. For example, there is a recipe for biscotti that calls for ELEVEN CUPS of ingredients, to make a dozen cookies.
Where I'm from, we call those cakes.
There is another recipe for a "slow roasted leg of lamb," which calls for roasting it for seven hours, at 350. Believe me, gang, seven hours at 350 will give you charcoal.
Now, here's the even more troubling thing: the cookbook received RAVE reviews, INCLUDING THE LAMB RECIPE. HUH???? What is happening here.
More recently, Annalena purchased a cookbook recommended by Saveur. She's made two recipes, and has had to remake them. Why? Well, the one we are considering here, is a sorbet. The recipe states that the yield is "1.5 cups."
1.5 cups of sorbet? Are we feeding Munchkins? In any event, as you go down the recipe, you see "3 pounds rhubarb, cleaned."
HUH? Further on, there is the line "after cooking, you should have about four cups.
OK, now by what magic spell do four cups of rhubarb become 1.5 cups of sorbet. "Six white mice will never be six white horses," and "impossible things are happening every day," but not in my kitchen.
The recipe clearly meant 1.5 QUARTS of sorbet, which is what I had at the end, but did no one proofread the recipe? This is not a question of "too salty for my taste," or "just a bit too much butter." And ask yourself: are you going to bother making sorbet if you get 1.5 cups at the end?
Ok, end of rant. Onto the recipe. Which makes 1.5 quarts. Not difficult, and good. Here we go.
First, you need to make ginger syrup, which is a very useful thing to have around, period. Get about half a pound of ginger, and chop it coarsely. Don't peel it, you don't need to. Combine it with a cup of sugar, and a cup and a half of water. Bring it to the heat, and when the sugar melts, take it off the heat and let the ginger steep for at least an hour, more if you can. You can use this syrup for other thngs, like making homemade ginger ale, or as a glaze for meat or poultry, or on a cake, whatever you like.
Put it aside, while you clean up, and chop, 3 pounds of rhubarb. Cut it into .5-1 inch pieces and put it in a big pot. Cover it, and let it cook, at low heat. VERY low heat. After about ten minutes, stir it. You'll see it begin to dissolve, and, when the stuff is the texture of a thick apple puree, you're done with cooking.
At this point, you can leave the rhubarb alone, if you like a sorbet with texture. Or, you can press it through a foodmill, using whatever size openings you like, remembering that bigger ones, give a coarser product. Or, if you want things really smooth, puree the stuff in a blender.
Drain the syrup from the chopped ginger, and add it - ALL of it - to the rhubarb. Taste. You won't really taste too much ginger at this point (that comes later), but adjust the sweetness if you need to.
When the thing cools down, process it in your ice cream maker, either in one, or two batches. You will easily get 1.5 quarts.
It's fat free, it's seasonal, and ginger is supposed to have scads of health benefits that we can all use.
Annalena likes it rough, so she did not puree her rhubarb at all. You may choose to do otherwise.
Go forth, ragazzi e ragazze. Annalena has returned.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)