Make no mistake about it. One of Annalena's favorite foods to cook, and to eat, is osso bucco. Especially during the colder months, this is such a satisfying dish to make, and also to eat. If you have no manners, like Annalena, you sit there at the end of the meal, and exemplify the title "hole in a bone," and suck the marrow out. Who needs forks or spoons? That thick, unctious tomatoey sauce over some risotto: does it get better?
Well, it doesn't get better, but sometimes it gets different. And easier. Read on, ragazzi. Annalena's source recipe for osso bucco is the star of Italian cooking, Marcella Hazan, and her definitive book on things Italian, at least from the kitchen. (When I say things "Italian," you must keep this in mind. Not all Italian style cooking is going to be your favorite. For example, I recently looked up her recipe for squab, and it called for cooking it for an hour. Cook squab for an hour and you won't want it. Fifteen minutes is more like it). In any event, the recipes are frequently terrific.
The page on which her osso bucco recipe sits is stained from my efforts with the dish. On the following page is a recipe for "osso bucco biondo," which I hadn't made until this past weekend. Why? Well, when you love a dish so much... You can fill in the rest.
But this past weekend, things came together in the way that they do, to encourage trying a new dish. Some weeks ago, when I bought the veal for my annual foray into osso bucco making, way more was delivered than I expected, and I had six shank cuts in the freezer, taking up enormous amounts of space. This weekend was the first sign that spring is on the way. It's not winter, and it's not spring, but it just doesn't feel "right" to be serving wintery foods. Yet, you want something substantial, because the temperature is inching over 50 and then retreating. This recipe seemed to straddle two worlds: hearty, like osso bucco, but lighter, like spring time foods. You'll see what I mean when I go through it. And it's good. OH, is it good.
"Biondo," because it doesn't have the dark tomato based sauce that osso bucco does. In fact, this sauce is so simple, it almost shouldn't be called such. Here's how I made it.
First, you need six 3/4-1 inch thick slices of veal shank. Just ask for osso bucco meat, and you'll be fine. You are also going to need flour, salt, a lemon, parsley, white wine, butter, and olive oil.
And that's it. The cooking technique is simplicity itself. Here we go. Have your meat ready. By that I mean have it on a tray, patted dry. I usually let it sit in the air for about an hour, turning it halfway through, to dry both sides. Signora Hazan recommends tying the meat. I forgot to do so, and it didn't seem to matter. Have a flat surface with lots of all purpose flour ready. Get a really big, deep pan, and test to see if you can get all six shank slices in it, in one layer. If you can't, use two pans. Don't layer the meat, however.
Take 1/4 cup of olive oil and 2 tablespoons of unsalted butter, and melt it in your pan. If you use two, then increase the olive oil to 2/3 cup and 4 tablespoons of butter, and divide the stuff into the two pans. Turn the heat to medium high, and when the butter melts, and starts sizzling, take the shanks and dip them into flour on both sides. Get them into the pans, and leave them to brown deeply. This will take about 3-4 minutes a side. Be patient. When they're browned, add some salt and a grind or two of pepper. Now, take a cup of white wine, and pour it into the pan, after you've lowered the heat to medium. Again, if you use two pots, increase the wine quantity by about 1/3 of a cup, and divide it. Cover the pots, and lower the heat to a gentle simmer. After 20 minutes, check and if the liquid is almost gone, add 1/3 cup of water to the pots. You'll do this several times. Check at 40 minutes, and then, after an hour, put them in the oven, at 350, and leave them there for at least two hours. Check the liquid every hour while they're cooking.
After 2 hours, check to see that the meat is falling off the bone tender. If it's not, let things cook another half hour or so, and then they should be ready.
In that last half an hour, cut the peel off of one large lemon and chop it finely. Also chop half a bunch of parsley. When the pots are out of the oven, toss the lemon peel and parsley in, stir it, and...
YOU... ARE... DONE...
Did that seem very hard? I didn't think so.
Unlike osso bucco, however, this is not a dish to make too far ahead of time. Do it the day you serve it. We had it with a roasted vegetable couscous and some garlicky swiss chard.
I promise you, it doesn't get much better.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Better late than never: chocolate orange sorbet
Today, in walking back from the farmers market, I noticed that one of the trees had begun to "green." You know what I'm talking about: when trees begin to pick up that pale yellow green color right before they begin leafing. Temperatures are inching up, the first crocuses showed up , snowdrops are blooming, and spring is almost here. And none too soon. It is about five weeks until the first rhubarb, then the ramps, dandelions, and other good stuff will be here. For now, though, we do with what we have, and quite well.
This is one of the desserts that I do a lot during the winter weather. Citrus, as I've explained ad nauseum to some of you, is at its peak now. And while Annalena is not a fan of chocolate, she likes this. In fact, EVERYONE seems to like this. I would say that it's up there, with strawberry and coffee ice creams, as the most requested one of my frozen desserts (sorry concord grape fans: probably out of the medals, but definitely in the top 10).
I thought about this one the other day because my friend Brad had expressed a wish that he could make it, but since he didn't have an ice cream maker....
Well, that's not true no more. So, Brad and Michael, now you can do it. You just need the recipe.
And I was sure that I had posted it. I was SO SURE that I spent half an hour searching the blog, using different search terms, to find it.
Nope. Call it GPS: general paralysis of the insane, or call it CRS: can't remember shit, whatever. But I didn't post it. Well, now I have . You need an ice cream maker, and to be honest, it's worth buying one, just to make this. There's no custard making involved. The hardest thing you'll do is squeeze citrus. Now, let's get to work.
To make about a quart and a half (you won't regret this), you need 1.5 cups of sugar, and 1.5 cups of a good quality cocoa. Don't buy Hersheys. Look around and get something GOOD. Generally a good chocolate maker will make a good cocoa. And, dare I say it? I mean PURE cocoa, which is unsweetened. You also need 4 ounces of bittersweet chocolate, chopped up. I have made this with bittersweet chips to save time, and it works wonderfully. You also need 3 cups of water, and about 1.25-1.33 cups of fresh squeezed orange juice.
A few words on this juice. When I say fresh squeezed, I mean squeezed when you're making this . Buying "fresh squeezed" won't do. It's not, and it's not good enough. You can use whatever oranges you like: navels, cara caras, blood oranges (my preferred), or smaller ones like satsumas, tangerines, and so forth. A medium sized orange will give you a quarter cup or so of juice, so you'll need about 6 oranges to do this, but many more tangerines or satsumas. After you've squeezed enough for the juice, here we go.
Get a nice heavy sauce pan, and combine the sugar and cocoa, without liquid. Just stir them together. Now stir in the water, little by little. You'll get a thick, solid, ugly slurry. Keep whisking, and turn up the heat to medium, and cook for four minutes or so. Lower the heat, and add the chocolate and the orange juice. If you want, add a little grated peel. I find it distracting. It's up to you. When the chocolate has melted, you are done with cooking.
Was that hard? Nope, it was not. Let this chill, and when it's cold, use your ice cream maker, and get a quart and a half of a thick, wonderful sorbet that even the non-choclate eaters will enjoy.
I also want you to go back and look at the fat content in this: very little, huh? I defy you to tell that this is low fat. You can't.
So, Brad, Michael, and any other ice cream lover out there, get out your machines, get out your juicers, and GET BUSY!!!
This is one of the desserts that I do a lot during the winter weather. Citrus, as I've explained ad nauseum to some of you, is at its peak now. And while Annalena is not a fan of chocolate, she likes this. In fact, EVERYONE seems to like this. I would say that it's up there, with strawberry and coffee ice creams, as the most requested one of my frozen desserts (sorry concord grape fans: probably out of the medals, but definitely in the top 10).
I thought about this one the other day because my friend Brad had expressed a wish that he could make it, but since he didn't have an ice cream maker....
Well, that's not true no more. So, Brad and Michael, now you can do it. You just need the recipe.
And I was sure that I had posted it. I was SO SURE that I spent half an hour searching the blog, using different search terms, to find it.
Nope. Call it GPS: general paralysis of the insane, or call it CRS: can't remember shit, whatever. But I didn't post it. Well, now I have . You need an ice cream maker, and to be honest, it's worth buying one, just to make this. There's no custard making involved. The hardest thing you'll do is squeeze citrus. Now, let's get to work.
To make about a quart and a half (you won't regret this), you need 1.5 cups of sugar, and 1.5 cups of a good quality cocoa. Don't buy Hersheys. Look around and get something GOOD. Generally a good chocolate maker will make a good cocoa. And, dare I say it? I mean PURE cocoa, which is unsweetened. You also need 4 ounces of bittersweet chocolate, chopped up. I have made this with bittersweet chips to save time, and it works wonderfully. You also need 3 cups of water, and about 1.25-1.33 cups of fresh squeezed orange juice.
A few words on this juice. When I say fresh squeezed, I mean squeezed when you're making this . Buying "fresh squeezed" won't do. It's not, and it's not good enough. You can use whatever oranges you like: navels, cara caras, blood oranges (my preferred), or smaller ones like satsumas, tangerines, and so forth. A medium sized orange will give you a quarter cup or so of juice, so you'll need about 6 oranges to do this, but many more tangerines or satsumas. After you've squeezed enough for the juice, here we go.
Get a nice heavy sauce pan, and combine the sugar and cocoa, without liquid. Just stir them together. Now stir in the water, little by little. You'll get a thick, solid, ugly slurry. Keep whisking, and turn up the heat to medium, and cook for four minutes or so. Lower the heat, and add the chocolate and the orange juice. If you want, add a little grated peel. I find it distracting. It's up to you. When the chocolate has melted, you are done with cooking.
Was that hard? Nope, it was not. Let this chill, and when it's cold, use your ice cream maker, and get a quart and a half of a thick, wonderful sorbet that even the non-choclate eaters will enjoy.
I also want you to go back and look at the fat content in this: very little, huh? I defy you to tell that this is low fat. You can't.
So, Brad, Michael, and any other ice cream lover out there, get out your machines, get out your juicers, and GET BUSY!!!
Monday, March 7, 2011
You've got it back there: and it's probably from Vermont: Tomatoes roasted with maple syrup
Let me explain the title. Years ago, when Annalena was very young (I mean YEARS ago), there was an ad campaign for "Golden Blossom Honey," which featured a short clip where someone's hand is moving around in the back of a cabinet, with the voice over. "Go ahead. You probably don't even have to buy it." The point being that everyone had a jar of honey in their cupboards somewhere. And it's true. You probably have one, purchased for the one tablespoon you needed in that dessert you made for your vegan cousin who wouldn't eat white sugar, or for when you were fighting allergens by mixing honey and cider vinegar, or.... We all have such things in our cupboards. My friend Kevin, for example, has a bottle of pomegranate molasses in his cupboard that is missing two tablespoons, because he made muhammarah twice.
And all of us have maple syrup in the house somewhere. REAL maple syrup, be it a large jar, a small jar, or somewhere in between. But we have it. Indeed, at one point, I realized that we had six different varieties of maple syrup. Some we had for so long, that they had literally crystallized to the point that even hot water couldn't open them. That is, fortunately, no longer the case, although it was a sad waste of a tasty item. I just do not use maple syrup all that often. When I do, I use grade B, also called "dark amber." This is not what you will get offered to you when you get pancakes with "real" maple syrup (which is NOT pancake syrup. Beware). I find it tastier. But if you prefer a lighter taste, go with the "grade A."
I really don't know why I don't use it more often, except perhaps that I am so locked into the idea of maple syrup with pancakes or waffles, that it just doesn't happen. And it doesn't happen because, simply, those items are two of my "red light" foods. Weight Watcher alums will know whereof I speak: the foods that you cannot stop eating. It is not because I love pancakes or waffles that much. I enjoy waffles more than pancakes, but in either case, it seems that eating them just makes me hungrier. Who can explain? So they are banished from the kitchen, and I never eat them out for breakfast. And the maple syrup remains...
Now, in typical Annalena fashion, I am going to tie in a seemingly totally unrelated topic: the sorry state of tomatoes in winter. I do not have to brief you on that, you know the story well. Avid readers of this blog (both of you), will recall the attempts a few winters ago, to find a "definitive" recipe for baking cherry tomatoes, to make them intensely flavored, and my abysmal failures with the recipes of my goddess, Ina Garten. Yet, that quest remains. But perhaps not.
I found this unusual sounding recipe in a magazine. It comes from a French Canadian source (big surprise there), and its Canadian name is "Tomate confite au sirop d'Erable". I did not know the French word for maple. Interesting. Anyway, I thought I would give it a try, and it is GOOD. OH, is it good. I almost ate the whole tray of it when it came out of the oven.
As with many of these recipes, you don't need to do much work here, but you do need to settle in for a good, long bake of the tomatoes. I did them on Sunday morning, when very little is actually going on in Annalena's kitchen. Perhaps that would be the right time for you to do them too.
You start with a pint basket of cherry tomatoes. My recipe said you could use grape tomatoes too, but I wouldn't. My experience was that the cherry tomatoes began to overbake really quickly, and I fear that the smaller grape tomatoes would be incinerate. You'll have about 24 tomatoes in that basket. Cut them in half. Doesn't matter whether it's horizontal or vertical, but I find that vertical cuts in tomatoes make for easier cooking. Toss them in a bowl in which you have combined two tablespoons each of maple syrup (any grade), two tablespoons of olive oil, a couple of sprigs of fresh thyme, where you've discarded the woody branch, 2 very thinly sliced peeled cloves of garlic, and a pinch of salt. Then, line a baking sheet with tin foil and put the tomatoes and other goodies, cut side up, on the tin foil.
You may at this point think you have failed, because the tomatoes will immediately begin giving off liquid. That's ok. They're supposed to. Put the tray into an oven which has been preheated to 250. (that is not a misprint. This is a very low oven). Check them after two hours. They won't be ready, but you should see the shrinkage. In the third hour, you will begin to experience the wonderful smell that the roasted tomatoes give off.
My recipe said you could go for four hours, but I found that to be too long. After three hours, some of my tomatoes were blackened "clinkers," and the rest were just fine. My pint of tomatoes cooked down to half a cup of delicious, intense tomatoes, that will go wonderfully with some pork chops tomorrow. The recipe suggested them for pizza (I can see that), salad (no self respecting Italian puts tomatoes in a salad; however, why not do this with mozzarella in the winter?), or pasta (now there's a GOOD idea). Frankly, I would love to put these on a sandwich, when I don't have to worry about eating delicately and cleanly.
I may even make myself a double batch tomorrow. This is that good. Go for it.
And all of us have maple syrup in the house somewhere. REAL maple syrup, be it a large jar, a small jar, or somewhere in between. But we have it. Indeed, at one point, I realized that we had six different varieties of maple syrup. Some we had for so long, that they had literally crystallized to the point that even hot water couldn't open them. That is, fortunately, no longer the case, although it was a sad waste of a tasty item. I just do not use maple syrup all that often. When I do, I use grade B, also called "dark amber." This is not what you will get offered to you when you get pancakes with "real" maple syrup (which is NOT pancake syrup. Beware). I find it tastier. But if you prefer a lighter taste, go with the "grade A."
I really don't know why I don't use it more often, except perhaps that I am so locked into the idea of maple syrup with pancakes or waffles, that it just doesn't happen. And it doesn't happen because, simply, those items are two of my "red light" foods. Weight Watcher alums will know whereof I speak: the foods that you cannot stop eating. It is not because I love pancakes or waffles that much. I enjoy waffles more than pancakes, but in either case, it seems that eating them just makes me hungrier. Who can explain? So they are banished from the kitchen, and I never eat them out for breakfast. And the maple syrup remains...
Now, in typical Annalena fashion, I am going to tie in a seemingly totally unrelated topic: the sorry state of tomatoes in winter. I do not have to brief you on that, you know the story well. Avid readers of this blog (both of you), will recall the attempts a few winters ago, to find a "definitive" recipe for baking cherry tomatoes, to make them intensely flavored, and my abysmal failures with the recipes of my goddess, Ina Garten. Yet, that quest remains. But perhaps not.
I found this unusual sounding recipe in a magazine. It comes from a French Canadian source (big surprise there), and its Canadian name is "Tomate confite au sirop d'Erable". I did not know the French word for maple. Interesting. Anyway, I thought I would give it a try, and it is GOOD. OH, is it good. I almost ate the whole tray of it when it came out of the oven.
As with many of these recipes, you don't need to do much work here, but you do need to settle in for a good, long bake of the tomatoes. I did them on Sunday morning, when very little is actually going on in Annalena's kitchen. Perhaps that would be the right time for you to do them too.
You start with a pint basket of cherry tomatoes. My recipe said you could use grape tomatoes too, but I wouldn't. My experience was that the cherry tomatoes began to overbake really quickly, and I fear that the smaller grape tomatoes would be incinerate. You'll have about 24 tomatoes in that basket. Cut them in half. Doesn't matter whether it's horizontal or vertical, but I find that vertical cuts in tomatoes make for easier cooking. Toss them in a bowl in which you have combined two tablespoons each of maple syrup (any grade), two tablespoons of olive oil, a couple of sprigs of fresh thyme, where you've discarded the woody branch, 2 very thinly sliced peeled cloves of garlic, and a pinch of salt. Then, line a baking sheet with tin foil and put the tomatoes and other goodies, cut side up, on the tin foil.
You may at this point think you have failed, because the tomatoes will immediately begin giving off liquid. That's ok. They're supposed to. Put the tray into an oven which has been preheated to 250. (that is not a misprint. This is a very low oven). Check them after two hours. They won't be ready, but you should see the shrinkage. In the third hour, you will begin to experience the wonderful smell that the roasted tomatoes give off.
My recipe said you could go for four hours, but I found that to be too long. After three hours, some of my tomatoes were blackened "clinkers," and the rest were just fine. My pint of tomatoes cooked down to half a cup of delicious, intense tomatoes, that will go wonderfully with some pork chops tomorrow. The recipe suggested them for pizza (I can see that), salad (no self respecting Italian puts tomatoes in a salad; however, why not do this with mozzarella in the winter?), or pasta (now there's a GOOD idea). Frankly, I would love to put these on a sandwich, when I don't have to worry about eating delicately and cleanly.
I may even make myself a double batch tomorrow. This is that good. Go for it.
Braisin' the grass: braised endive
Ok, full disclosure here: Annalena did NOT expect this recipe to work, and it's the kind of dish that will not appeal to everyone. Having said that, I will add that it's easy, it's delicious, and apparently, it has a pedigree (but what does Annalena know of pedigree).
Background here: years ago, my friend Frank, the wine guy, also known as "The god of tannins" would publish notes with the wines he sold. They would frequently include food items to serve with the wine. One wine included a serving suggestion of "braised endive."
HUH? I mean, REALLY. To me, that was like writing "red wine with cheez doodles, white wine with potato chips (which sounds like a good rule to me, by the way). First of all, I had never even thought that one could braise endive. I knew it, as most people do, as one of those high fallutin salad greens. It's got an odd shape: almost like an alien pod of some kind, and a weird, pale ghostly greenish/white color. It took me a while to like it in salads, but now I do. There is something funky about the way it grows, and I'm not sure I have this right, but if you let it get sunlight, it turns into leafy chicory, but if you keep it in darkness, you get endive (if anyone can verify or disprove that, PLEASE). Now, you can get red endives too. I don't taste any difference, but the color is there.
Oh, back to Frank. Well, endive is a very Belgian (or, Flemish) vegetable, and Frank is Belgian (or, Flemish), so when he spoke of braised endive, I probably should have asked "how do you make that?" instead of my less than gracious "HUH??? ARE YOU KIDDING?" Well, Frank never answered that one, and it all went away.
Until about 2 years ago when I was watching Jacques Pepin cook on television (incidentally, you should ALWAYS watch Jacques Pepin cook if you can: you will learn more in fifteen minutes than you would from anyone else, including moi, over days). He made braised endive. I should have copied down the recipe, but I didn't.
Now, let's come up to the present. Over the course of Friday and Saturday, I bought WAY too many salad greens, including endives. At this time of year, salad greens ain't cheap, and I am committed to using what's in the fridge. So.... as I was embarking on making our Sunday lunch roast chicken, I spied those endives, and thought about salad.
And then.... Yes, these things take a while to percolate, but braising came back to me. See, Annalena has learned much about braising in the last few years, and now she defines it as cooking in a closed pot, with liquid, at low heat. It can take a long time, but it doesn't have to. And so, I braised endive. And I liked it. Now, you try it. Here's what you do.
You can fit about eight length wise halves of endive in a big, deep frying pan, and that's what you should work with. Make sure it's a pan that has a tight fitting lid. Get four medium sized endives (look at the different sizes in the produce bin. Pick the middle sized ones), and cut them in half, lengthwise. That will serve to keep them whole. Melt a tablespoon of butter in that pan, with an equal amount of vegetable oil. When it's melted, put the endive halves in, cut side down. Do something as you put them in, that was a good reminder for Annalena, when she saw Nadja G do this on tv this weekend: the fat probably will not cover the whole of the pan. So, swirl each half in the fat as you put it in the pan, to make sure that every piece gets some of it. Cook this at medium high, for a patient five minutes or so. Check by turning the last one you put in over. If it has some nice color, you're set to move on. If not, keep waiting.
Add about a teaspoon of salt, and a quarter cup of wine (or chicken stock, or vegetable stock), to the pan, cover it, and turn the heat up WAY HIGH. Keep it at the high heat for about two minutes, then lower it to medium for another five or so. Pull out the vegetables, and increase the heat to reduce the liquid, then pour that over the endives.
This is a "knife and fork vegetable," that does have some tenderness to it. It also picks up the taste of whatever braising liquid you use. Keep that in mind, if you're not a fan of the wine you're about to put in the pan.
It did go well with the chicken. Frank and Jacques, I'm sorry. You were right.
Background here: years ago, my friend Frank, the wine guy, also known as "The god of tannins" would publish notes with the wines he sold. They would frequently include food items to serve with the wine. One wine included a serving suggestion of "braised endive."
HUH? I mean, REALLY. To me, that was like writing "red wine with cheez doodles, white wine with potato chips (which sounds like a good rule to me, by the way). First of all, I had never even thought that one could braise endive. I knew it, as most people do, as one of those high fallutin salad greens. It's got an odd shape: almost like an alien pod of some kind, and a weird, pale ghostly greenish/white color. It took me a while to like it in salads, but now I do. There is something funky about the way it grows, and I'm not sure I have this right, but if you let it get sunlight, it turns into leafy chicory, but if you keep it in darkness, you get endive (if anyone can verify or disprove that, PLEASE). Now, you can get red endives too. I don't taste any difference, but the color is there.
Oh, back to Frank. Well, endive is a very Belgian (or, Flemish) vegetable, and Frank is Belgian (or, Flemish), so when he spoke of braised endive, I probably should have asked "how do you make that?" instead of my less than gracious "HUH??? ARE YOU KIDDING?" Well, Frank never answered that one, and it all went away.
Until about 2 years ago when I was watching Jacques Pepin cook on television (incidentally, you should ALWAYS watch Jacques Pepin cook if you can: you will learn more in fifteen minutes than you would from anyone else, including moi, over days). He made braised endive. I should have copied down the recipe, but I didn't.
Now, let's come up to the present. Over the course of Friday and Saturday, I bought WAY too many salad greens, including endives. At this time of year, salad greens ain't cheap, and I am committed to using what's in the fridge. So.... as I was embarking on making our Sunday lunch roast chicken, I spied those endives, and thought about salad.
And then.... Yes, these things take a while to percolate, but braising came back to me. See, Annalena has learned much about braising in the last few years, and now she defines it as cooking in a closed pot, with liquid, at low heat. It can take a long time, but it doesn't have to. And so, I braised endive. And I liked it. Now, you try it. Here's what you do.
You can fit about eight length wise halves of endive in a big, deep frying pan, and that's what you should work with. Make sure it's a pan that has a tight fitting lid. Get four medium sized endives (look at the different sizes in the produce bin. Pick the middle sized ones), and cut them in half, lengthwise. That will serve to keep them whole. Melt a tablespoon of butter in that pan, with an equal amount of vegetable oil. When it's melted, put the endive halves in, cut side down. Do something as you put them in, that was a good reminder for Annalena, when she saw Nadja G do this on tv this weekend: the fat probably will not cover the whole of the pan. So, swirl each half in the fat as you put it in the pan, to make sure that every piece gets some of it. Cook this at medium high, for a patient five minutes or so. Check by turning the last one you put in over. If it has some nice color, you're set to move on. If not, keep waiting.
Add about a teaspoon of salt, and a quarter cup of wine (or chicken stock, or vegetable stock), to the pan, cover it, and turn the heat up WAY HIGH. Keep it at the high heat for about two minutes, then lower it to medium for another five or so. Pull out the vegetables, and increase the heat to reduce the liquid, then pour that over the endives.
This is a "knife and fork vegetable," that does have some tenderness to it. It also picks up the taste of whatever braising liquid you use. Keep that in mind, if you're not a fan of the wine you're about to put in the pan.
It did go well with the chicken. Frank and Jacques, I'm sorry. You were right.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Reconsidering the lentil: for Laura: red lentil soup
There are a few posts about lentils on this site. Not many, but some. Almost always about lentil soups that I've made. It's one of those "truisms" that eating lentils makes you feel like you're doing something virtuous, and you are. It's sort of like voting: you SHOULD be doing this, it's the right thing to do, and ultimately, it's not all that hard to do.
Lentils are the "fast food" of beans. And red lentils are the speed demons of lentils. You've had them, if you've eaten Indian food, in the form of "dhal" or "dahl" (I've seen both spellings, but I think the first one is correct). They also make a wonderful, thick soup, sort of like split pea, but with a bit of exoticism that will make you feel truly creative.
Let's face it: when you make split pea soup, you're looking for ham in it. You are - I KNOW you are. But somehow, eating an Asian based lentil soup doesn't bring up that same sense of "where's the meat?" And you won't miss this here, in what is a vegan soup, that can become a vegetarian soup, with some condiments, and in any event, is an easy, filling meal. Cheap too.
You will need a few tablespoons of vegetable oil, a couple of chopped onions, and a big soup carrot, also chopped. You also will want 3-4 cloves of garlic, peeled and smashed.
For the spices, you will need - here she goes again - a couple of teaspoons of coriander seeds, and one of caraway. Mix them together, and toast them in a dry pan, over a medium heat, until you begin to smell the spice scent. Then pour em off into that grinder I've been harping about (Incidentally, I am out of coriander seeds. After Buddha only knows how many years. Murphy's law being what it is, after I replace them, I bet I won't use them for another kalpa).
You also need 1.5 cups of red lentils, which you can buy just about everywhere, but if you don't find them, use yellow or green split peas. Finally, 4 cups of vegetable stock and 2 cups of water.
Here is one of Annalena's admitted digressions: I am NOT a fan of vegetable stock. I have never found one I liked, even the ones I make myself. But water does not have enough "gravitas" for this soup, and chicken stock would lose the flavor of the lentils, which are delicate. My compromise is to cut the written six cups of stock to 4 and 2 of water. Proceed as you like though.
Now, that isn't a long list of ingredients, and it isn't a very expensive list, especially if you beg/borrow/steal/barter some spices from your spendthrift cook friends who happen to have coriander and caraway in the house.
Okay, heat up the oil in a pot, and add the carrots and the onions. A bit of salt will help you here, as you cook them, over medium heat, until the onion begins to soften . (My recipe said ten minutes, I was done in six. I wonder if I just have a fast stove). Toss in the spices and the garlic, and cook , stirring, for another couple of minutes until the spice scent "blooms," and you KNOW it's there. Then, add the lentils, and the broth and water. Give it all a stir, cover the pot, lower the heat and go away for twenty minutes.
My recipe called for pureeing this. And you can do that. But... if you are trying to be virtuous and good, know that pureeing it will reduce the dietary fiber because you're breaking it up. Arguably, pureeing it makes a prettier soup, but that's a matter of aesthetic judgement to which Annalena refuses to be a part. For me, I take the back of my spoon, and crush the lentils against the pot until I have a mix of smooth and rough
THERE WILL BE NO COMMENTS ABOUT HOW THIS REFLECTS ANNALENA'S SEX LIFE.
Taste it, and add salt if you want.
At this point, you have a vegan dish. If you like, some full fat yogurt, with some green herbs sliced in, is nice. It's not necessary.
You'll get a hefty six cups of soup out of this. I haven't figured out the calories, but it sure sounds virtuous to me.
And this, as the title says, is for my friend Laura, who loves lentil soups. GO GIRL. You want some coriander? You want some caraway? Ring my bell.
Lentils are the "fast food" of beans. And red lentils are the speed demons of lentils. You've had them, if you've eaten Indian food, in the form of "dhal" or "dahl" (I've seen both spellings, but I think the first one is correct). They also make a wonderful, thick soup, sort of like split pea, but with a bit of exoticism that will make you feel truly creative.
Let's face it: when you make split pea soup, you're looking for ham in it. You are - I KNOW you are. But somehow, eating an Asian based lentil soup doesn't bring up that same sense of "where's the meat?" And you won't miss this here, in what is a vegan soup, that can become a vegetarian soup, with some condiments, and in any event, is an easy, filling meal. Cheap too.
You will need a few tablespoons of vegetable oil, a couple of chopped onions, and a big soup carrot, also chopped. You also will want 3-4 cloves of garlic, peeled and smashed.
For the spices, you will need - here she goes again - a couple of teaspoons of coriander seeds, and one of caraway. Mix them together, and toast them in a dry pan, over a medium heat, until you begin to smell the spice scent. Then pour em off into that grinder I've been harping about (Incidentally, I am out of coriander seeds. After Buddha only knows how many years. Murphy's law being what it is, after I replace them, I bet I won't use them for another kalpa).
You also need 1.5 cups of red lentils, which you can buy just about everywhere, but if you don't find them, use yellow or green split peas. Finally, 4 cups of vegetable stock and 2 cups of water.
Here is one of Annalena's admitted digressions: I am NOT a fan of vegetable stock. I have never found one I liked, even the ones I make myself. But water does not have enough "gravitas" for this soup, and chicken stock would lose the flavor of the lentils, which are delicate. My compromise is to cut the written six cups of stock to 4 and 2 of water. Proceed as you like though.
Now, that isn't a long list of ingredients, and it isn't a very expensive list, especially if you beg/borrow/steal/barter some spices from your spendthrift cook friends who happen to have coriander and caraway in the house.
Okay, heat up the oil in a pot, and add the carrots and the onions. A bit of salt will help you here, as you cook them, over medium heat, until the onion begins to soften . (My recipe said ten minutes, I was done in six. I wonder if I just have a fast stove). Toss in the spices and the garlic, and cook , stirring, for another couple of minutes until the spice scent "blooms," and you KNOW it's there. Then, add the lentils, and the broth and water. Give it all a stir, cover the pot, lower the heat and go away for twenty minutes.
My recipe called for pureeing this. And you can do that. But... if you are trying to be virtuous and good, know that pureeing it will reduce the dietary fiber because you're breaking it up. Arguably, pureeing it makes a prettier soup, but that's a matter of aesthetic judgement to which Annalena refuses to be a part. For me, I take the back of my spoon, and crush the lentils against the pot until I have a mix of smooth and rough
THERE WILL BE NO COMMENTS ABOUT HOW THIS REFLECTS ANNALENA'S SEX LIFE.
Taste it, and add salt if you want.
At this point, you have a vegan dish. If you like, some full fat yogurt, with some green herbs sliced in, is nice. It's not necessary.
You'll get a hefty six cups of soup out of this. I haven't figured out the calories, but it sure sounds virtuous to me.
And this, as the title says, is for my friend Laura, who loves lentil soups. GO GIRL. You want some coriander? You want some caraway? Ring my bell.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Content with condiments: pickled onions
It always surprises me when people react to one of these blogs. There's the question of WHAT blog they react to, and then there's the reaction. Annalena is an avid devotee of facebook, and all of these posts go on that site. The prior one, on spiced veal chops, received more feedback than just about any other post. Who knew that Annalena was tapping into something?
A few entries ago, I wrote about refrigerator pickles. My little brother (who's taller than me...) wrote vividly about how that one reminded him of making similar pickles in the kitchen of the home where he grew up, in Missouri. Many of us know about the famous scene in Marcel Proust's enormous "novel," where a bit of a madeline cookie, steeped in lime blossom tea, stimulates him to write a 3000 page novel, where nothing happens. (I SWEAR that is basically true. Annalena made a commitment to read it last year. She will NOT be rereading it. Now, the Francophiles may attack me if they wish). My point by bringing this up, however, is that food memories are powerful. They are buried, but never forgotten. So if a piece on refrigerator pickles can make "il gattopardo" remember his childhood fondly, then that is reason enough to keep on plugging away, even with things that yours truly may find, well, trivial.
I dont' actually find this one trivial, but it is something that makes so much sense, and is so simple, I am surprised that I hadn't made them before. These pickled onions were written of as a condiment for the spiced lamb chops, which of course, I turned into spiced veal chops. Well, I made them anyway, and when I tasted, my reaction was along the lines of that of Marcella Hazan when she went to "Olive Garden":
No.
That was it. You should look up the article. It's fun.
I meant "no" in the sense that they were not right for the veal chops. We were having a salad (OF COURSE we were having a salad. Any of you who have ever eaten at La Casa dell'Annalena know you will NOT escape without salad). Their piquancy (and I promise I will never use that word again), was perfect on the salad, and served to really clean the pallete after the rich spicy meat.
You could almost be sleeping when you make this recipe, but please stay awake. You'll be using a knife.
First, get 1.5 cups of hot water and mix it with a cup of vinegar. My recipe called for white vinegar, but I always find apple cider vinegar better in pickling. Your choice. Disoolve 3 tablespoons of sugar in this. It will be easy to do. Toss in a couple of sliced hot peppers: my recipe called for serranos. I didn't have them, but I did have jalapenos. So that's what I used. Finally, a smidgen of dried, hot red pepper. Put this all aside, while you take two medium, or one BIG red onion. Peel it, cut it down the middle, lengthwise, and then slice each half into thin, half moons. Put them into the liquid mix, and let it sit to room temperature. Then refrigerate it overnight.
If that took you ten minutes to do, it was a lot of time. Spoon out the onions as you need them. As you run low, you can slice up another onion, and put it in the liquid and if you begin running out of liquid, then make up another batch, using the proportions above. You could keep this going for a while.
If you make hamburgers, well... Or hot dogs. Or need something spicy sweet against a rich chop, or a steak or ...
And Annalena is wondering if that liquid would serve as a basis for a salad dressing. Not tonight. Tonight is Asian night with the Malaysian stew I wrote about, but next week... Hmmmm.
I shall keep you posted, ragazzi.
A few entries ago, I wrote about refrigerator pickles. My little brother (who's taller than me...) wrote vividly about how that one reminded him of making similar pickles in the kitchen of the home where he grew up, in Missouri. Many of us know about the famous scene in Marcel Proust's enormous "novel," where a bit of a madeline cookie, steeped in lime blossom tea, stimulates him to write a 3000 page novel, where nothing happens. (I SWEAR that is basically true. Annalena made a commitment to read it last year. She will NOT be rereading it. Now, the Francophiles may attack me if they wish). My point by bringing this up, however, is that food memories are powerful. They are buried, but never forgotten. So if a piece on refrigerator pickles can make "il gattopardo" remember his childhood fondly, then that is reason enough to keep on plugging away, even with things that yours truly may find, well, trivial.
I dont' actually find this one trivial, but it is something that makes so much sense, and is so simple, I am surprised that I hadn't made them before. These pickled onions were written of as a condiment for the spiced lamb chops, which of course, I turned into spiced veal chops. Well, I made them anyway, and when I tasted, my reaction was along the lines of that of Marcella Hazan when she went to "Olive Garden":
No.
That was it. You should look up the article. It's fun.
I meant "no" in the sense that they were not right for the veal chops. We were having a salad (OF COURSE we were having a salad. Any of you who have ever eaten at La Casa dell'Annalena know you will NOT escape without salad). Their piquancy (and I promise I will never use that word again), was perfect on the salad, and served to really clean the pallete after the rich spicy meat.
You could almost be sleeping when you make this recipe, but please stay awake. You'll be using a knife.
First, get 1.5 cups of hot water and mix it with a cup of vinegar. My recipe called for white vinegar, but I always find apple cider vinegar better in pickling. Your choice. Disoolve 3 tablespoons of sugar in this. It will be easy to do. Toss in a couple of sliced hot peppers: my recipe called for serranos. I didn't have them, but I did have jalapenos. So that's what I used. Finally, a smidgen of dried, hot red pepper. Put this all aside, while you take two medium, or one BIG red onion. Peel it, cut it down the middle, lengthwise, and then slice each half into thin, half moons. Put them into the liquid mix, and let it sit to room temperature. Then refrigerate it overnight.
If that took you ten minutes to do, it was a lot of time. Spoon out the onions as you need them. As you run low, you can slice up another onion, and put it in the liquid and if you begin running out of liquid, then make up another batch, using the proportions above. You could keep this going for a while.
If you make hamburgers, well... Or hot dogs. Or need something spicy sweet against a rich chop, or a steak or ...
And Annalena is wondering if that liquid would serve as a basis for a salad dressing. Not tonight. Tonight is Asian night with the Malaysian stew I wrote about, but next week... Hmmmm.
I shall keep you posted, ragazzi.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
More spice and switching chops: spiced veal chops
I warned you there was gonna be a whole lot of spice in the entries this week, didn't I? So, don't say you weren't warned. This one is actually the tale of a simple recipe, modified. I recommend it highly.
It was total coincidence that the week I decided to make the Malaysian style boar stew I wrote about last time, I found a recipe for "spiced lamb chops." The Guyman and I love lamb - I would venture to say that it's his favorite meat. It's also Woodstock's favorite, and Annalena can chow down on baby ram along with the best of them. And since the recipe made her feel like she was "exotic," it was an immediate keeper.
Just one thing got in the way, or two if you want to be precise. One was, Annalena had already thawed veal chops for dinner this week, and two was, Annalena forgot to stop by Karen's farm at the Farmer's Market and buy some of her wonderful lamb.
See, I had thawed the chops before I found this recipe, and I had planned to cook them in my usual style: bread them, pan fry them and finish them in the oven, perhaps with a sauce built on a wine or sherry reduction, or make an arugula and tomato salad, and serve them "milanese style." Then, the mind started racing...."I wonder... Hmmmm." And the spiced lamb chops... became spiced veal chops.
This was truly an excellent meal, in my opinion. If you do not or will not eat veal, stick with the lamb chops. Honestly, I think this would work wonderfully with chicken legs as well. I smile as I say you might even consider using the yogurt mix as a vegetable dip or something like that. It is that good.
Ok, let's get to work. First, turn your oven up to the broil selection. This time, Annalena DID have all the spices in her larder. You will need 8 whole cloves (why they call for strange numbers like this, I will never know: was it not strong enough with 7? Too strong with 9?), and 2 small dried chilies. The wonderful Mr. Dave from the farmers' market had given me a bag of cayenne peppers which he had dried himself, and I used two of those. That makes for a dish with a kick. Use a more mild chile, or just one, if you don't want that much heat. Also, 2 teaspoons of fennel seeds, a teaspoon of cumin seeds, a quarter teaspoon of peppercorns. Mix these and over a low heat, saute' them in a small pan, until you see them darken. Immediately move them away from the heat and then, put all of these into that spice grinder I told you about (the old burr coffee bean grinder. It will take a few minutes to break everything down, especially the chilies, but it will happen. Put this in with about 1/3 -1/2 cup of yogurt AND DO NOT USE THE LOW FAT KIND. Use plain, full fat yogurt. You need to do this, first of all, to carry the spices and second of all, under the intense heat of the broiler, the fat in the yogurt helps it hold together. To the spiced yogurt, add two teasppons of freshly ground ginger. Stir this all together.
If you are using lamb chops, you have enough of the yogurt for 8 small rib chops. You probably have enough for four full chicken legs, and you have enough for two large veal chops. Spread the stuff out over the meat you're using, on both sides. Let it sit, at room temperature , for about half an hour.
What will happen during this time is the acid in the yogurt will break down the meat proteins just enough to let the spice flavor get carried into it a bit. If you have paid attention and used whole milk yogurt, it will stay put.
Get the chops into a pan that is broiler safe (you will know), and then get them into the oven. For lamb chops, you need about three minutes to a side for a medium rare chop, which is about as much as you want to cook good lamb. For veal, we did four minutes a side, and had RARE chops, the way we like them. I would think you'd need 5-6 minutes a side for chicken legs.
I would not do this with chicken breasts, because I think the broiler would dry them out too much.
The yogurt "cooks" in the heat to a thick, slightly tan paste, that does not come off of the meat and will go to your mouth with every bite. That first bite will make you wake up a bit, because of the chilies. You'll find, however, that it's not too bad. And it's an easy recipe.
Most folks do not eat lamb chops, or veal chops too often, so making them "per se" would be regarded as a treat. This is even more interesting. But if you are in the habit of serving chicken often, try this. It will be even better and a real surprise to your family and friends
It was total coincidence that the week I decided to make the Malaysian style boar stew I wrote about last time, I found a recipe for "spiced lamb chops." The Guyman and I love lamb - I would venture to say that it's his favorite meat. It's also Woodstock's favorite, and Annalena can chow down on baby ram along with the best of them. And since the recipe made her feel like she was "exotic," it was an immediate keeper.
Just one thing got in the way, or two if you want to be precise. One was, Annalena had already thawed veal chops for dinner this week, and two was, Annalena forgot to stop by Karen's farm at the Farmer's Market and buy some of her wonderful lamb.
See, I had thawed the chops before I found this recipe, and I had planned to cook them in my usual style: bread them, pan fry them and finish them in the oven, perhaps with a sauce built on a wine or sherry reduction, or make an arugula and tomato salad, and serve them "milanese style." Then, the mind started racing...."I wonder... Hmmmm." And the spiced lamb chops... became spiced veal chops.
This was truly an excellent meal, in my opinion. If you do not or will not eat veal, stick with the lamb chops. Honestly, I think this would work wonderfully with chicken legs as well. I smile as I say you might even consider using the yogurt mix as a vegetable dip or something like that. It is that good.
Ok, let's get to work. First, turn your oven up to the broil selection. This time, Annalena DID have all the spices in her larder. You will need 8 whole cloves (why they call for strange numbers like this, I will never know: was it not strong enough with 7? Too strong with 9?), and 2 small dried chilies. The wonderful Mr. Dave from the farmers' market had given me a bag of cayenne peppers which he had dried himself, and I used two of those. That makes for a dish with a kick. Use a more mild chile, or just one, if you don't want that much heat. Also, 2 teaspoons of fennel seeds, a teaspoon of cumin seeds, a quarter teaspoon of peppercorns. Mix these and over a low heat, saute' them in a small pan, until you see them darken. Immediately move them away from the heat and then, put all of these into that spice grinder I told you about (the old burr coffee bean grinder. It will take a few minutes to break everything down, especially the chilies, but it will happen. Put this in with about 1/3 -1/2 cup of yogurt AND DO NOT USE THE LOW FAT KIND. Use plain, full fat yogurt. You need to do this, first of all, to carry the spices and second of all, under the intense heat of the broiler, the fat in the yogurt helps it hold together. To the spiced yogurt, add two teasppons of freshly ground ginger. Stir this all together.
If you are using lamb chops, you have enough of the yogurt for 8 small rib chops. You probably have enough for four full chicken legs, and you have enough for two large veal chops. Spread the stuff out over the meat you're using, on both sides. Let it sit, at room temperature , for about half an hour.
What will happen during this time is the acid in the yogurt will break down the meat proteins just enough to let the spice flavor get carried into it a bit. If you have paid attention and used whole milk yogurt, it will stay put.
Get the chops into a pan that is broiler safe (you will know), and then get them into the oven. For lamb chops, you need about three minutes to a side for a medium rare chop, which is about as much as you want to cook good lamb. For veal, we did four minutes a side, and had RARE chops, the way we like them. I would think you'd need 5-6 minutes a side for chicken legs.
I would not do this with chicken breasts, because I think the broiler would dry them out too much.
The yogurt "cooks" in the heat to a thick, slightly tan paste, that does not come off of the meat and will go to your mouth with every bite. That first bite will make you wake up a bit, because of the chilies. You'll find, however, that it's not too bad. And it's an easy recipe.
Most folks do not eat lamb chops, or veal chops too often, so making them "per se" would be regarded as a treat. This is even more interesting. But if you are in the habit of serving chicken often, try this. It will be even better and a real surprise to your family and friends
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