I LOVE tuna. I absolutely adore it. In sushi, grilled, in salad (good or bad, to be honest), any whichwhat way, I love it. Of course, these days we all have to watch (and I hope you are), that we are not eating bluefin tuna, or participating in the mindless slaughter of this magnificent creature. You can read up about this, you don't need Annalena to get on her soapbox and preach. I WILL say, that the line "well, the fish is dead already and I'm only buying one pound of it," is NOT an acceptable retort. If only 600 people went the right way and said "this is WRONG," that animal would still be alive, and breeding.
Other species are more plentiful. Do your research. Make sure you're eating a species that is sustainable, and don't overdo it. Although I love tuna, I don't eat it more than, perhaps, once every two weeks. We all have to do our part.
Ok, enough with the philosophy, to the dish. My absolute favorite way to have tuna is what I call a "2 minute steak." A very thick piece of the mid portion of the fish, a very hot grill pan, oiled. Down goes the fish, one minute. Up comes the fish, the other side, one minute. Then onto the plate. And that is all.
There are alternate points of view on this, however, especially in the Northern parts of Europe, where tuna is cooked "well done." Now, let's be clear about something. Well done here CAN be "done well," if you do it right. If you are going to cook a tuna steak all the way through, cook it gently. In other words, braise it. But don't braise it in water, or liquid like that. Nope. Braise it in flavored oil. We're going to do that here, and it's going to take some time, and some work, but you'll be glad, especially if you are going to be doing something like salade nicoise, and you just don't want to do something as simple as opening up a can of oil packed tuna (although Annalena gives you leave to do that, if you follow the above rules and you get good quality stuff).
Let's make the oil first. It doesn't really pay to make it in smaller than three cup quantities, so get three cups of extra virgin olive oil. Now, you don't need the stuff that costs a small fortune a pint for this. Get good stuff, not great stuff. Put it in a pot, and add the rind of a lemon, a couple of sprigs of rosemary, a bay leaf or two, about a half dozen sprigs of thyme, and about ten peppercorns, and two teaspoons of salt. Bring the heat to low, and raise the temperature to 140-150. A probe thermometer is really helpful here, but if you don't have one, figure about five minutes of very low cooking. Then, turn off the heat, and let this steep for 20 minutes.
When the steeping is over, put up to pounds of good quality tuna steaks in a pan or pot. Try to use one that is NOT so wide, because you're going to drain the oil, so that the solids stay behind, and pour it over the tuna. The fish should be covered with the oil. If it's not, sigh and add more. Now, do the same thing you did in prepping the oil: bring the temperature up to about 140-150. Then, turn off the heat and cover the pot. In the space of about ten minutes, you'll see the fish go from bright red, to the brown color you get when you cook tuna. Turn it over, bring up the heat again, for only 3 minutes, and then turn it off. Let the whole thing cool down, and then refrigerate the tuna, covering it with the oil.
You can keep the tuna like this for over a week, which is something you can't do with fresh tuna, of course. Putting anything "sott'olio" will preserve it for a while.
You can use this tuna for any application you might want to use canned tuna, but don't waste it in tuna salad. Yes, a nicoise salad is nice, but how about crumbling it up (and it does crumble), with cooked shell beans in pasta, which is how we'll be having ours.
There is one drawback to this dish: the oil is not usable for anything. I have tried. The fish taste is just really, really strong, and it doesn't suit for dressings, etc. IF you have pets who will accept tuna (our cats, interestingly enough, will not), I would suggest you add this, in tablespoons, to their food. It will improve their coats and their digestion and if the critters are subject to periodic "whoopsies" from grooming themselves, this will cut that down, too.
Give it a try. You will enjoy.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Friday, July 30, 2010
Making the switch: zucchini in balsamic vinegar glaze
When you cook, you have to learn to deal with substitutions. You plan a recipe, you go out to shop.... and the stuff you THOUGHT was there, ain't there. OR, it's there, but it doesn't look good enough to cook and serve. OR... you see something better. OR... you have the recipe in front of you, but you forgot to get the ingredient in question, and you have a big back of something else.
Can you guess which one confronted Annalena ? It was sort of a combination of all of them.
I had found a recipe, on one of my food sites which called for "fairy tale" eggplant. Now, if you've never seen this type of eggplant, you should. They are all of about 2 inches long, and white (DONT GO THERE). When eggplant are this tiny, they cook very quickly. Frequently, however, they are bitter, and the only way you can really do something with them is with a pickling technique or an escabeche, something that draws out the bitterness. When you "meet" a vegetable that has a white variant - like these fairy tales - you can almost always count on it to be LESS bitter than the more colorful variety (incidentally, white color is why eggplants are called EGGplants. The first ones were round, and white. Purple came later). So, you can do other things with these guys, like pan fry them.
Unless you forgot to buy them. Or you have a huge bag of yellow and green zucchini that will begin to return to the earth in a day or two. And then you begin thinking "Hmmm. you CAN make a pretty good zucchini parmagiano, and the texture is right, and...." So, there you have it. A variant on a dish was born. This was really, truly very good. An excellent side dish for the lasagna I served last night. Easy as can be. Here we go.
You need about a pound of small zucchini. As those who followed my rant on zucchini bread will know, I really have trouble saying "SMALL" zucchini because, by definition, zucchini should be small. Get the smallest ones you can, and cut them into coin slices, about a third of an inch thick. Mix up the colors if you like, there won't be much color to look at when you're finished.
You also need EITHER a TABLESPOON (that much) of dried oregano or THREE of fresh. That's the ratio, boys and girls. For dried herbs, you need three times as much fresh to equal the intensity. (And, as an aside - yet another one - it is a reluctance to kick up herbs and spices that is one of the reasons why when you copy a restaurant dish at home, it doesn't taste as good. Watch restaurant cooks add herbs and spices sometimes. Or, do something that will really open your eyes: when a recipe calls for "1 teaspoon" or "1 tablespoon" of something, even salt, don't eyeball it. Measure it. OR, eyeball it first, put it aside and then measure the quantity. I will bet you you underseasoned when you eyeballed.
Going back to the oregano, this is one case where I prefer the dried form. Just about every herb is better fresh. Dried basil, chives, and whatnot are just green dust . But oregano picks up flavor when it's dried, like no other herb does. So use the dried one. You also need one tablespoon of fresh parsley (this is another one where the dried stuff is green dust). You also need 2 tablespoons of balsamic vinegar - the cheap stuff - and a couple of tablespoons of oil. Have your salt handy too.
Put the oil in a pan that is big enough so that the zucchini will be in one layer. Get it hot, and add the zucchini. Leave em alone, for two minutes or so, maybe three. You're looking for some color on the bottom of the guys, and when you have it, then stir it, and get some color on the other side. Shouldn't take you more than two minutes the second time around.
Now, pour in the balsamic vinegar. With the heat, it will reduce immediately. Stir the vegetables through it, and stir in the herbs. The heat will release the perfume of the oregano, the parsley adds its "green" note to the mix, and then all you do is salt , and pepper it , to taste.
From start to finish, this will take you all of about ten minutes to make. The zucchini will shrink down, so know that. If you're a big vegetable eater, you will be able to serve two amply, three if you put another vegetable out (like pan fried cauliflower with capers, which is what we had).
Being able to "roll with the punches" in the kitchen is something we all need to learn to do. No reason not to cook a recipe because a particular ingredient isn't at hand. If you learn what can substitute for what, you will feel quite liberated in the kitchen, and you may very well develop a prize winning recipe. But remember: I told you first...
Can you guess which one confronted Annalena ? It was sort of a combination of all of them.
I had found a recipe, on one of my food sites which called for "fairy tale" eggplant. Now, if you've never seen this type of eggplant, you should. They are all of about 2 inches long, and white (DONT GO THERE). When eggplant are this tiny, they cook very quickly. Frequently, however, they are bitter, and the only way you can really do something with them is with a pickling technique or an escabeche, something that draws out the bitterness. When you "meet" a vegetable that has a white variant - like these fairy tales - you can almost always count on it to be LESS bitter than the more colorful variety (incidentally, white color is why eggplants are called EGGplants. The first ones were round, and white. Purple came later). So, you can do other things with these guys, like pan fry them.
Unless you forgot to buy them. Or you have a huge bag of yellow and green zucchini that will begin to return to the earth in a day or two. And then you begin thinking "Hmmm. you CAN make a pretty good zucchini parmagiano, and the texture is right, and...." So, there you have it. A variant on a dish was born. This was really, truly very good. An excellent side dish for the lasagna I served last night. Easy as can be. Here we go.
You need about a pound of small zucchini. As those who followed my rant on zucchini bread will know, I really have trouble saying "SMALL" zucchini because, by definition, zucchini should be small. Get the smallest ones you can, and cut them into coin slices, about a third of an inch thick. Mix up the colors if you like, there won't be much color to look at when you're finished.
You also need EITHER a TABLESPOON (that much) of dried oregano or THREE of fresh. That's the ratio, boys and girls. For dried herbs, you need three times as much fresh to equal the intensity. (And, as an aside - yet another one - it is a reluctance to kick up herbs and spices that is one of the reasons why when you copy a restaurant dish at home, it doesn't taste as good. Watch restaurant cooks add herbs and spices sometimes. Or, do something that will really open your eyes: when a recipe calls for "1 teaspoon" or "1 tablespoon" of something, even salt, don't eyeball it. Measure it. OR, eyeball it first, put it aside and then measure the quantity. I will bet you you underseasoned when you eyeballed.
Going back to the oregano, this is one case where I prefer the dried form. Just about every herb is better fresh. Dried basil, chives, and whatnot are just green dust . But oregano picks up flavor when it's dried, like no other herb does. So use the dried one. You also need one tablespoon of fresh parsley (this is another one where the dried stuff is green dust). You also need 2 tablespoons of balsamic vinegar - the cheap stuff - and a couple of tablespoons of oil. Have your salt handy too.
Put the oil in a pan that is big enough so that the zucchini will be in one layer. Get it hot, and add the zucchini. Leave em alone, for two minutes or so, maybe three. You're looking for some color on the bottom of the guys, and when you have it, then stir it, and get some color on the other side. Shouldn't take you more than two minutes the second time around.
Now, pour in the balsamic vinegar. With the heat, it will reduce immediately. Stir the vegetables through it, and stir in the herbs. The heat will release the perfume of the oregano, the parsley adds its "green" note to the mix, and then all you do is salt , and pepper it , to taste.
From start to finish, this will take you all of about ten minutes to make. The zucchini will shrink down, so know that. If you're a big vegetable eater, you will be able to serve two amply, three if you put another vegetable out (like pan fried cauliflower with capers, which is what we had).
Being able to "roll with the punches" in the kitchen is something we all need to learn to do. No reason not to cook a recipe because a particular ingredient isn't at hand. If you learn what can substitute for what, you will feel quite liberated in the kitchen, and you may very well develop a prize winning recipe. But remember: I told you first...
Monday, July 26, 2010
The attack of the killer zucchini: the BEST zucchini bread
There is a tradition, it seems, in the areas of the country where people farm. It doesn't happen in NYC, but perhaps it should.
Every year, late summer, there is a time when the zucchini somehow escape surveillance. And they grow. And grow. And grow. I do believe that, one day, we will hear of someone beating someone to death with a zucchini. (why we call them that when they are that big, I don't know. I love the British expression of calling them "marrow.").
Speaking of Brits, it is also my understanding that, when confronted with these monsters, they make jam.
More power to them. I don't think I would like it.
Now, usually I can avoid these monsters, but this past weekend, as I was leaving the farmers market, one of my favorite farmers, Dave (who, one friend has commented on as possibly my ideal fantasy man. Not true, but SUCH A SWEETHEART), came running after me, and handed me a bag with garlic heads (YUM), and two, enormous squash (not so yum). I already had a bag of "real" zucchini in the fridge, and had no desire to make soup. What to do?
Well, Guy was looking at recipes on the website for the wonderful spice company, Penzey's. I thought that they might have a recipe for zucchini bread, and indeed they did.
Penzey's recipes are simple, and fast, and very, very good. Even when you have your doubts (as I did about this one), they work. Make this recipe, even if you do not have a Godzilla zucchini. It's really very, very good, and you will be out of the kitchen, in ten minutes. I swear.
You need to gather your ingredients, and preheat your oven, to 325. Your ingredients are 2 large eggs, a cup of oil (review: what does it mean when a cake is based on vegetables and oil? HMMMM?), 2 cups of shredded squash (use the big holes on your three hole grater, if you have one) 2 cups of sugar, a tablespoon of vanilla, 3 cups of flour, a tablespoon of baking powder, a teaspoon of salt, a teaspoon of cinnamon, and half a cup of nuts of some kind.
The amount of cinnamon seemed minuscule to me, but it works. So, combine the flour, baking powder, salt and cinnamon and put them to the side. In a bowl, mix up the eggs (use a spoon. No need for power tools here), and then add the oil and combine them to the point where you have what looks like a very thin mayonnaise, because that's what you have. Now add the vanilla. And now, the squash. Stir it together and then, stir in the dry ingredients, until everything is combined. Add the nuts.
Get two, 8x4 bread pans (to review the significance of bread pan sizes, go back to the second entry in this blog. That long ago...). Butter them evenly, and then divide the batter between the pans. Get them into the oven and bake for an hour. For about 45 minutes, you will be convinced this is not going to work. Patience. In the last fifteen minutes, the cakes/breads will rise nicely, and perhaps split. Use the straw test (insert it in the middle and see if the crumbs are dry) to see if it's done, and if the cakes are not ready, bake some more. Then, let the cakes cool for about fifteen minutes, and bang them out of the pans. If you didn't butter the pans well enough, it will stick, but that's ok. This is an informal cake/bread.
This is really, really good. I ate far more of it than I should have. And I have another "zucchini" (a "zuccono" perhaps?) and I'm making two loaves more.
Every year, late summer, there is a time when the zucchini somehow escape surveillance. And they grow. And grow. And grow. I do believe that, one day, we will hear of someone beating someone to death with a zucchini. (why we call them that when they are that big, I don't know. I love the British expression of calling them "marrow.").
Speaking of Brits, it is also my understanding that, when confronted with these monsters, they make jam.
More power to them. I don't think I would like it.
Now, usually I can avoid these monsters, but this past weekend, as I was leaving the farmers market, one of my favorite farmers, Dave (who, one friend has commented on as possibly my ideal fantasy man. Not true, but SUCH A SWEETHEART), came running after me, and handed me a bag with garlic heads (YUM), and two, enormous squash (not so yum). I already had a bag of "real" zucchini in the fridge, and had no desire to make soup. What to do?
Well, Guy was looking at recipes on the website for the wonderful spice company, Penzey's. I thought that they might have a recipe for zucchini bread, and indeed they did.
Penzey's recipes are simple, and fast, and very, very good. Even when you have your doubts (as I did about this one), they work. Make this recipe, even if you do not have a Godzilla zucchini. It's really very, very good, and you will be out of the kitchen, in ten minutes. I swear.
You need to gather your ingredients, and preheat your oven, to 325. Your ingredients are 2 large eggs, a cup of oil (review: what does it mean when a cake is based on vegetables and oil? HMMMM?), 2 cups of shredded squash (use the big holes on your three hole grater, if you have one) 2 cups of sugar, a tablespoon of vanilla, 3 cups of flour, a tablespoon of baking powder, a teaspoon of salt, a teaspoon of cinnamon, and half a cup of nuts of some kind.
The amount of cinnamon seemed minuscule to me, but it works. So, combine the flour, baking powder, salt and cinnamon and put them to the side. In a bowl, mix up the eggs (use a spoon. No need for power tools here), and then add the oil and combine them to the point where you have what looks like a very thin mayonnaise, because that's what you have. Now add the vanilla. And now, the squash. Stir it together and then, stir in the dry ingredients, until everything is combined. Add the nuts.
Get two, 8x4 bread pans (to review the significance of bread pan sizes, go back to the second entry in this blog. That long ago...). Butter them evenly, and then divide the batter between the pans. Get them into the oven and bake for an hour. For about 45 minutes, you will be convinced this is not going to work. Patience. In the last fifteen minutes, the cakes/breads will rise nicely, and perhaps split. Use the straw test (insert it in the middle and see if the crumbs are dry) to see if it's done, and if the cakes are not ready, bake some more. Then, let the cakes cool for about fifteen minutes, and bang them out of the pans. If you didn't butter the pans well enough, it will stick, but that's ok. This is an informal cake/bread.
This is really, really good. I ate far more of it than I should have. And I have another "zucchini" (a "zuccono" perhaps?) and I'm making two loaves more.
Annalena goes Mexican in a BIG way: posole
Si. Annalena has spoken, in the past, about her love for Mexican food, and her inability to "get it." What I mean by that is, I am simply NOT a terrific Mexican cook. I can make good guacamole, and perhaps a fish veracruz, stuff like that, but "true" Mexican food eludes me. Perhaps there is the question of ingredients. Much of Mexican cooking does in fact use lard as a fat base (although "Mexicano novo" is changing that), and the spices are very much not comprehensible to me. Be that as it may, sometimes, the stars line up, the mood hits, and Annalena emerges not as Signora Annalena but Senora Annalena, and the Mexican food comes out. This is one such time, and it's an involved one. Actually, it's not that involved. You will see a long list of ingredients, and a lot of time will be involved. Worry not, however, there is not much work here, and Annalena is going to give you leave to use things in cans.
Posole is a long cooked, stew, just about always with pork, and hominy (although I have seen other variations on it). When it is made, a LOT of it is made. Indeed, the recipe which follows will make somewhere in the vicinity of 3.5 to 4 quarts of food. So plan to share it.
First, I'm going to list the ingredients. You are going to need onions, 4 of them. You will also need ancho chile powder. You can buy this, or you can make your own. Buy it. You'll need what seems like a lot: 4 tablespoons. You will also need vegetable oil, probably about half a cup. Also, 3 tablespoons of oregano. If you happen to be able to find Mexican oregano, fabulous. If not, plain old Italian will be fine.
The meat? A pork shoulder, or a "Boston butt." About 5-6 pounds, with the bone. Also, chicken stock, at least a quart. You will also want the cloves of one head of g arlic. To the cans: you will want 4 of the small cans of chopped, green anaheim chilis, and 4 pound cans of hominy. Of course, if you want to do any of this by hand and make your own, do not let Annalena stop you (recently, I made my own hominy and it was wonderful, but for quantities like this: get out the can opener.
Let's deal with that pork s houlder first. It will probably have a very thick layer of fat on it. Much as I regret giving this advice, cut that away. You're not going to sear this meat, and the fat is just going to grease things up along the way. Once you have done that, cut the shoulder into large pieces. Don't discard the bone. There will be meat on it, and keep that all in a bowl, and toss about a hefty teaspoon of salt all over it.
Peel and slice two onions into half moons. Try to get them thin, but don't be a surgeon. Put those onions into a big (BIG) pot with half the oil and saute them until they soften. Won't take long. Now add a heaping tablespoon of that chili powder, and the same quantity of oregano, and stir it all up. It will smell wonderful, and the color is terrific. Now put in the pork, and cover it with stock. Bring this all to a boil, and then, when you have it there, cover it, put it in a 350 degree oven, and let it cook for a good 2 hours.
Your home is going to smell wonderful while this is happening, and something wonderful is going to happen to the meat: it will soften, and after the two hours it will ,literally shred. Perfect. This is what you want. You separate the meat from the stock, and when it's cool enough to handle, shred the meat like it's old cloth (ropa vieja comes out exactly the same way). Store the stock separately, and then cover both of these and refrigerate them overnight.
The next day, you will find a good layer of solid fat on the stock, with a rich red color. That's some of the oils in the spices and, unfortunately, you are going to give those up. Nuthin you can do about it. The stock itself will be thick, and jelly like. The meat may have some fat on it, but if it's not excessive, don't worry. Put them aside as you get the vegetable base ready.
Slice up the other two onions, the same way you did the first batch. Cook them the same way and add the remaining chili powder, the oregano, the cumin, and the cloves of garlic, which you will have chopped. Also open, drain, and add the green chilis. Stir this all together, and now add the pork and the stock. Also, open, drain and add the hominy. All of it.
See why you needed a big pot? Let this all cook togethr at a low simmer for 30 minutes and, know what? You are DONE, and you have food for a party. And its very, VERY good. (mucho mucho bueno).
You can figure out what to serve with this yourself. If you want to cut back on the hominy, don't let me stop you. I will tell you that hominy is like a little baby sponge, and it is going to pick up all that wonderful flavor, so DO use it. Some people will keep the hominy out and pour the posole over it, and that's an option.
You can also stir in cilantro at the last minute, or lime juice, or both. You might also want to add some hot sauce at the table, or some slices of avocado. Play with the garnishes, but make the dish. As I read through it, there really is minimal work here.
Yes, it is summer, but do this. You have plenty of food, it's wonderfully tasty, and people will love you for it.
Posole is a long cooked, stew, just about always with pork, and hominy (although I have seen other variations on it). When it is made, a LOT of it is made. Indeed, the recipe which follows will make somewhere in the vicinity of 3.5 to 4 quarts of food. So plan to share it.
First, I'm going to list the ingredients. You are going to need onions, 4 of them. You will also need ancho chile powder. You can buy this, or you can make your own. Buy it. You'll need what seems like a lot: 4 tablespoons. You will also need vegetable oil, probably about half a cup. Also, 3 tablespoons of oregano. If you happen to be able to find Mexican oregano, fabulous. If not, plain old Italian will be fine.
The meat? A pork shoulder, or a "Boston butt." About 5-6 pounds, with the bone. Also, chicken stock, at least a quart. You will also want the cloves of one head of g arlic. To the cans: you will want 4 of the small cans of chopped, green anaheim chilis, and 4 pound cans of hominy. Of course, if you want to do any of this by hand and make your own, do not let Annalena stop you (recently, I made my own hominy and it was wonderful, but for quantities like this: get out the can opener.
Let's deal with that pork s houlder first. It will probably have a very thick layer of fat on it. Much as I regret giving this advice, cut that away. You're not going to sear this meat, and the fat is just going to grease things up along the way. Once you have done that, cut the shoulder into large pieces. Don't discard the bone. There will be meat on it, and keep that all in a bowl, and toss about a hefty teaspoon of salt all over it.
Peel and slice two onions into half moons. Try to get them thin, but don't be a surgeon. Put those onions into a big (BIG) pot with half the oil and saute them until they soften. Won't take long. Now add a heaping tablespoon of that chili powder, and the same quantity of oregano, and stir it all up. It will smell wonderful, and the color is terrific. Now put in the pork, and cover it with stock. Bring this all to a boil, and then, when you have it there, cover it, put it in a 350 degree oven, and let it cook for a good 2 hours.
Your home is going to smell wonderful while this is happening, and something wonderful is going to happen to the meat: it will soften, and after the two hours it will ,literally shred. Perfect. This is what you want. You separate the meat from the stock, and when it's cool enough to handle, shred the meat like it's old cloth (ropa vieja comes out exactly the same way). Store the stock separately, and then cover both of these and refrigerate them overnight.
The next day, you will find a good layer of solid fat on the stock, with a rich red color. That's some of the oils in the spices and, unfortunately, you are going to give those up. Nuthin you can do about it. The stock itself will be thick, and jelly like. The meat may have some fat on it, but if it's not excessive, don't worry. Put them aside as you get the vegetable base ready.
Slice up the other two onions, the same way you did the first batch. Cook them the same way and add the remaining chili powder, the oregano, the cumin, and the cloves of garlic, which you will have chopped. Also open, drain, and add the green chilis. Stir this all together, and now add the pork and the stock. Also, open, drain and add the hominy. All of it.
See why you needed a big pot? Let this all cook togethr at a low simmer for 30 minutes and, know what? You are DONE, and you have food for a party. And its very, VERY good. (mucho mucho bueno).
You can figure out what to serve with this yourself. If you want to cut back on the hominy, don't let me stop you. I will tell you that hominy is like a little baby sponge, and it is going to pick up all that wonderful flavor, so DO use it. Some people will keep the hominy out and pour the posole over it, and that's an option.
You can also stir in cilantro at the last minute, or lime juice, or both. You might also want to add some hot sauce at the table, or some slices of avocado. Play with the garnishes, but make the dish. As I read through it, there really is minimal work here.
Yes, it is summer, but do this. You have plenty of food, it's wonderfully tasty, and people will love you for it.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
striking while the apricot is hot: Italian apricot cake
I am a sucker for cookbooks. If I got to a bookstore, I am going to come home with a cookbook, period. I may never use it, but I'm going to buy one. Usually more. And about 3 months later, I will look at it and wonder "why the hell did I buy it?" and out it will go. Usually, these are books that , ultimately are of dubious long term value: did I REALLY need the book on meat that explained where, on every animal, the different cuts come from? Uh, no. First of all, I know most of that stuff, and second of all, is there any value to this? Well, there's some, if you're confronted with a cut you don't know, and then know that it's from, e.g, the shoulder area, or the loin area, and so forth.
OK, digression over. Recently, while looking for a biography in the science section of the bookstore (why the science section? Because the clerk told me, three times, that it was clear that "biography is in the same section as chemistry. I SWEAR this happened), I noted that the cookbooks were right next to science. That makes sense, kinda. So when I couldn't find my biography, I gravitated to "home," and I found a HUGE book on "Italian summer cooking." This book is a translation of an Italian work, and it's a literal translation.
I LOVE IT. We have all heard about Italian simplicity in the kitchen, then we go to restaurants where we say "THIS is simple? HUH????" Well, this collection of recipes will very much befuddle Americans who are used to very clear, precise instructions. The instructions are good, but for American style recipes, they would be judged somewhat incomplete. Still, there was much to be learned in that book, and one of the things to be learned, at least for me, was this apricot cake recipe.
I shall confess that I might have passed over this recipe, in fact PROBABLY would have passed over it, if I had not had a picture of the cake to look at. And as I love apricots, and their season is peaking, this is the time to do it.
I want you to make this cake. It is wicked easy, and wicked good. Not that sweet, and it makes a bountiful product. Of course, a law firm can polish it off without a thank you in two hours (just sayin'....), but anyway.
Ok, here's the ingredients list. You need 2 sticks of unsalted butter at room temperature. Then you need 4 large eggs, two cups of granulated sugar, 2 pounds of apricots, 4 cups of unbleached flour, and 2 teaspoons of baking powder. That's it. You might want to add a half teaspoon of salt, it's up to you. Optionally, get half a cup of crushed pistachio nuts.
Preheat your oven to 375. While this is happening, cut up the apricots into small slices. If you have small apricots, quarters. Bigger ones? Sixes and eights. Save the pits. (I'll tell you why, later. Put them in the freezer). Now, in a mixer, or by hand, if you're strong, combine the butter and sugar until it's well mixed and very light colored. Then add the eggs, one at a time, mixing until each one is combined. Then, stir in the apricots, and then the flour. This is where you need to be strong armed. Finally, dissolve the baking powder in about a teaspoon of water (the recipe calls for "a little water), and stir that in.
You will have a VERY thick batter. Spoon this into a 9 inch, buttered pan, and if you use the nuts, sprinkle them over the cake. Put it into the oven and bake it for at least an hour. You have to make judgements here, because with that much fruit, the cake will never pass the "straw in the middle test." If it looks too soggy, let it bake some more. But an hour and a quarter should be more than sufficient.
Unfortunately, this cake does not keep all that well. Whatever you do, do NOT cover it with plastic. It will hold moisture and rot and taste really, really nasty. So share it with friends, your office, or whomever. And when apricots are out of season, try it with another fruit. The Italians will approve.
OK, digression over. Recently, while looking for a biography in the science section of the bookstore (why the science section? Because the clerk told me, three times, that it was clear that "biography is in the same section as chemistry. I SWEAR this happened), I noted that the cookbooks were right next to science. That makes sense, kinda. So when I couldn't find my biography, I gravitated to "home," and I found a HUGE book on "Italian summer cooking." This book is a translation of an Italian work, and it's a literal translation.
I LOVE IT. We have all heard about Italian simplicity in the kitchen, then we go to restaurants where we say "THIS is simple? HUH????" Well, this collection of recipes will very much befuddle Americans who are used to very clear, precise instructions. The instructions are good, but for American style recipes, they would be judged somewhat incomplete. Still, there was much to be learned in that book, and one of the things to be learned, at least for me, was this apricot cake recipe.
I shall confess that I might have passed over this recipe, in fact PROBABLY would have passed over it, if I had not had a picture of the cake to look at. And as I love apricots, and their season is peaking, this is the time to do it.
I want you to make this cake. It is wicked easy, and wicked good. Not that sweet, and it makes a bountiful product. Of course, a law firm can polish it off without a thank you in two hours (just sayin'....), but anyway.
Ok, here's the ingredients list. You need 2 sticks of unsalted butter at room temperature. Then you need 4 large eggs, two cups of granulated sugar, 2 pounds of apricots, 4 cups of unbleached flour, and 2 teaspoons of baking powder. That's it. You might want to add a half teaspoon of salt, it's up to you. Optionally, get half a cup of crushed pistachio nuts.
Preheat your oven to 375. While this is happening, cut up the apricots into small slices. If you have small apricots, quarters. Bigger ones? Sixes and eights. Save the pits. (I'll tell you why, later. Put them in the freezer). Now, in a mixer, or by hand, if you're strong, combine the butter and sugar until it's well mixed and very light colored. Then add the eggs, one at a time, mixing until each one is combined. Then, stir in the apricots, and then the flour. This is where you need to be strong armed. Finally, dissolve the baking powder in about a teaspoon of water (the recipe calls for "a little water), and stir that in.
You will have a VERY thick batter. Spoon this into a 9 inch, buttered pan, and if you use the nuts, sprinkle them over the cake. Put it into the oven and bake it for at least an hour. You have to make judgements here, because with that much fruit, the cake will never pass the "straw in the middle test." If it looks too soggy, let it bake some more. But an hour and a quarter should be more than sufficient.
Unfortunately, this cake does not keep all that well. Whatever you do, do NOT cover it with plastic. It will hold moisture and rot and taste really, really nasty. So share it with friends, your office, or whomever. And when apricots are out of season, try it with another fruit. The Italians will approve.
NUMBER 500! Nana
Yes, ragazzi, we are here. Number 500 is upon us. Overdue, but here. And I have agonized (well, maybe not agonized), about what to write, and I believe the suggestion from the always reliable Sue was the best one. She wanted to hear more about Nana. Well, ok. But I warn you now. This is long, and it's tough. You may want a hankie or too. I mean that.
"Grandmother" in Italian, is "Nonna," but any Italian American of a certain generation will know that we always called grandma "Nana." I didn't even know my Nana's name, until I was about 8 years old. Giovanna Angelina, and her married name, Walters. So, she became Jean Walters. That's how she went. Never liked the Italian name, and wouldn't use it. An American to the core, was Nana. Born here, on Cornelia Street, grew up there, and never left NY ever. This was not only her home. When one speaks of "roots," one has no idea. Nana was so rooted here that the thought of travelling just unnerved her. "Why leave? The sky is the same everywhere, the trees are the same everywhere, and God is the same everywhere."
Well, you can agree or disagree with her sentiments, but you cannot disagree with the strength of her views. You see the "God," in there? Nana was VERY religious. But a very practical religious. "I believe in God, I believe in Jesus, I don't believe in priests or churches. I go to church because I feel closer to God. I wish the priests weren't there."
I'm already tearing up, because I remember, after I had come out to her, the tantrum she threw in church at the priest who denounced homosexuality from the pulpit. One of her comments, loud and pointed, was 'HOW MANY ALTAR BOYS MADE YOU SIN, FATHER? HUH????"
Yup, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
I could tell many stories about Nana, but let me stick to kitchen and foodstuff. I spent some time, going over memories. The earliest one I can think of, was when I was about 4, maybe 5 years old. Our kitchen was the biggest room in the apartment, and I used to sit there, and do my homework or read. I guess if I was 4 or 5, I was maybe coloring, or reading a book. Nana was cooking, and as she cooked, she'd give me tastes. Not to ask my opinion, she wasn't interested in that. And it was always good. Tomato sauce on a piece of Italian bread. A spoonful of buttered macaroni. A piece of fried veal with peppers, or a chunk of provolone. And I ate it all. Then, I didn't understand why that piece always tasted better than it did when we sat down as a family and ate dinner.
Somewhere along the line, I began to ask questions. "Nana, why do you always rub the ends of the cucumbers before you slice them for salad," before she made the cucumber salad which, to this day I have not been able to copy. "Nana, do you always put the garlic in AFTER you put the tomatoes in?" "Nana, when you make meatballs for soup they're smaller than the ones in pasta sauce. Why?" Sometimes she'd answer me, sometimes she wouldn't. And sometimes I would laugh at her answers, and then eventually find out, she was right. The cucumbers, for example? She was doing it to get the bitter juices out of the vegetable. I laughed at that. Well, years later, I found out that for hundreds of years, bitter juice collected at the ends of cucumbers and you could get rid of it by rubbing it with the cut end of the vegetable or a potato.
Nana is looking down, smiling and shaking her head yes.
We had always done shopping together. She was in charge of the house while Mother worked, so we'd go for food supplies with her. At some point, she began explaining how she picked things, and why. I believe I have written about how the merchants were terrified when she'd come in, because she would pick through a whole display before she'd find 8 tomatoes she wanted. She was worse with fruit. If you are an Italian, or know Italy, you will know that the tradition there is to point, tell the keeper how much you want, and he or she packs it for you. Not Nana. She would go through each and every cherry before she would collect a pound. Yes, food shopping took a long time, but we ate well, we ate VERY well. And without knowing it, I was collecting a "memory" of what food should taste like. If Nana never taught me how to cook a thing, that was invaluable.
But eventually, she did teach me how to cook. She would never actually allow me to COOK, but I could watch. "Now, you never know how much olive oil the peppers is gonna take, so you see. This is what you want," and she'd pour oil in, until she got just the sheen or density she wanted. Now, when I cook and show things to people and try to explain "I can't give you quantities, you have to watch," this is why. Praise her, or blame her, this is how we learned how to cook , no apologies.
Her specialites? Red sauce. Every week. It showed up in some way or form. Eggplant parmagiana. London broil. Breadcrumb stuffed artichokes. That cucumber salad. Pasta with olive oil and garlic. Fried fish. Pork chops. Roasted loin of pork. Pasta with breadcrumbs, which would make her cry whenever we had it. Minestrone, and also a beef soup that I despised, but which we ate regularly.
You'll notice there was no baking up there. Nope. Once in a great while, Nana would make a loaf of bread, or a cake, but it was a really big deal and she just didn't do it. We ate a lot of bakery cakes, store bought breads, rolls on Sunday from the Italian baker we'd stop in on the way home from church. And there really wasn't much movement outside of her repertoire. One of the funny family stories we share, is the time that someone decided it was a good idea to give Nana a wok for Christmas. She filled it with water and boiled pasta in it, and rusted it. So they gave her another one. The second time, she used it to cook vegetables, Italian style. She said it didn't work as well as her big pot. And she never used it again.
Nor did she used the food processor someone gave her, or the microwave. All stayed in the box. She was a "hands on" cook.
And the lady had her prejudices. OI. We ate corn on the cob, because it was American. We did NOT eat polenta, because we were southerners, and polenta was from the North. Pesto? "That's what those stupid Genovese do with perfectly good basil." Parmagiano reggiano never came into the house: another Northern apostasy. Our grating cheeses were pecorino romano, and aged provolone. When we brought lunches to school, other kids had tuna salad, or peanut butter and jelly, things like that. We had hero rolls with left over peppers and eggs, or veal cutlets, or messy eggplant sandwiches. Embarrassing to a kid, but so, SO good. And I remember it all. I remember how much better an orange tasted when she peeled it, or cut it for me, instead of doing it myself. You know that feeling, don't you?
It was actually food that gave us, or should have given us, the signal that something was wrong, when Nana's health began to fail. Nana ADORED her two daughters, more than anything, and if they asked for something , or NOT to have something, it was a done deal. Another one of the stories that the family shares, and laughs about, is the one that really was the "signal." My mother was a difficult woman. A VERY difficult woman. One night, she said to my Nana, in a loud, angry voice. "I could give a shit what we eat this week, but I don't wanna see another piece of zucchini on the plate for a month. "
Next day, Nana went out, and bought 3 pounds of zucchini and fried it up. Then she realized what she had done. She was TERRIFIED because my stepfather, who was a coward, was coming home soon. He would of course report to my mother, that she had made zucchini. My mother, angry, was a harridan, mean and spiteful. Frantic phone calls ensued, with my aunt doing everything short of getting on a flying horse to get to our house, to pick up the offending zucchini and get it out before "Colonel Klink" got home. No one ever knew. Well, mother and stepfather never did. But we all did.
A week later, Nana said she didn't know what we were talking about. We had string beans that night. We thought she was teasing us.
I would like to be able to say that the end was fast and painless, but it was not. Nana lost her mental facilities, one at a time. She forgot how to cook, and my stepfather took over. She forgot people (although she ALWAYS remembered me, and my phone number, and I'd get these calls from her, in her squeaky high voice that made me feel SO sad because I was not welcome home and I could not visit her). She remembered Guy, but not his name and always said "Make sure you tell the tall one I said hello. I like him." And she did.
I should tell you that these calls always happened in dialectical Italian, because at the end, she forgot English too, and spoke only Italian. That infuriated my mother, because she insisted that my grandmother was doing it to poke fun of her lack of knowledge of Italian. Then she began forgetting to groom herself and would go days without bathing.
Then it got really bad. She forgot how to eat, and how to drink. And at the end... she forgot how to breathe. That's how it ended. She laid down at my sister's house one day (my mother had thrown her out because she stank so badly and if she wasn't going to wash herself, she couldn't stay in the house), went to sleep, and didn't wake up.
She lived a full, 86 years. Many people would look at her life and call it simple, unfulfilled and lacking potential. Well, screw them. This short, round lady, who gave up smoking at 60 because "she was tired of it," gave more to her grandkids and to the world than most "fulfilled " people ever will. To this day, I talk to her in the kitchen, and I think of our time together with such fondness and such love. For better or worse, she is the real reason this blog is here. I'll remember her through 600 , 700, or however far it goes. When I see her again, we'll cook together.
Thank you for reading this far. I miss my Nana badly.
"Grandmother" in Italian, is "Nonna," but any Italian American of a certain generation will know that we always called grandma "Nana." I didn't even know my Nana's name, until I was about 8 years old. Giovanna Angelina, and her married name, Walters. So, she became Jean Walters. That's how she went. Never liked the Italian name, and wouldn't use it. An American to the core, was Nana. Born here, on Cornelia Street, grew up there, and never left NY ever. This was not only her home. When one speaks of "roots," one has no idea. Nana was so rooted here that the thought of travelling just unnerved her. "Why leave? The sky is the same everywhere, the trees are the same everywhere, and God is the same everywhere."
Well, you can agree or disagree with her sentiments, but you cannot disagree with the strength of her views. You see the "God," in there? Nana was VERY religious. But a very practical religious. "I believe in God, I believe in Jesus, I don't believe in priests or churches. I go to church because I feel closer to God. I wish the priests weren't there."
I'm already tearing up, because I remember, after I had come out to her, the tantrum she threw in church at the priest who denounced homosexuality from the pulpit. One of her comments, loud and pointed, was 'HOW MANY ALTAR BOYS MADE YOU SIN, FATHER? HUH????"
Yup, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
I could tell many stories about Nana, but let me stick to kitchen and foodstuff. I spent some time, going over memories. The earliest one I can think of, was when I was about 4, maybe 5 years old. Our kitchen was the biggest room in the apartment, and I used to sit there, and do my homework or read. I guess if I was 4 or 5, I was maybe coloring, or reading a book. Nana was cooking, and as she cooked, she'd give me tastes. Not to ask my opinion, she wasn't interested in that. And it was always good. Tomato sauce on a piece of Italian bread. A spoonful of buttered macaroni. A piece of fried veal with peppers, or a chunk of provolone. And I ate it all. Then, I didn't understand why that piece always tasted better than it did when we sat down as a family and ate dinner.
Somewhere along the line, I began to ask questions. "Nana, why do you always rub the ends of the cucumbers before you slice them for salad," before she made the cucumber salad which, to this day I have not been able to copy. "Nana, do you always put the garlic in AFTER you put the tomatoes in?" "Nana, when you make meatballs for soup they're smaller than the ones in pasta sauce. Why?" Sometimes she'd answer me, sometimes she wouldn't. And sometimes I would laugh at her answers, and then eventually find out, she was right. The cucumbers, for example? She was doing it to get the bitter juices out of the vegetable. I laughed at that. Well, years later, I found out that for hundreds of years, bitter juice collected at the ends of cucumbers and you could get rid of it by rubbing it with the cut end of the vegetable or a potato.
Nana is looking down, smiling and shaking her head yes.
We had always done shopping together. She was in charge of the house while Mother worked, so we'd go for food supplies with her. At some point, she began explaining how she picked things, and why. I believe I have written about how the merchants were terrified when she'd come in, because she would pick through a whole display before she'd find 8 tomatoes she wanted. She was worse with fruit. If you are an Italian, or know Italy, you will know that the tradition there is to point, tell the keeper how much you want, and he or she packs it for you. Not Nana. She would go through each and every cherry before she would collect a pound. Yes, food shopping took a long time, but we ate well, we ate VERY well. And without knowing it, I was collecting a "memory" of what food should taste like. If Nana never taught me how to cook a thing, that was invaluable.
But eventually, she did teach me how to cook. She would never actually allow me to COOK, but I could watch. "Now, you never know how much olive oil the peppers is gonna take, so you see. This is what you want," and she'd pour oil in, until she got just the sheen or density she wanted. Now, when I cook and show things to people and try to explain "I can't give you quantities, you have to watch," this is why. Praise her, or blame her, this is how we learned how to cook , no apologies.
Her specialites? Red sauce. Every week. It showed up in some way or form. Eggplant parmagiana. London broil. Breadcrumb stuffed artichokes. That cucumber salad. Pasta with olive oil and garlic. Fried fish. Pork chops. Roasted loin of pork. Pasta with breadcrumbs, which would make her cry whenever we had it. Minestrone, and also a beef soup that I despised, but which we ate regularly.
You'll notice there was no baking up there. Nope. Once in a great while, Nana would make a loaf of bread, or a cake, but it was a really big deal and she just didn't do it. We ate a lot of bakery cakes, store bought breads, rolls on Sunday from the Italian baker we'd stop in on the way home from church. And there really wasn't much movement outside of her repertoire. One of the funny family stories we share, is the time that someone decided it was a good idea to give Nana a wok for Christmas. She filled it with water and boiled pasta in it, and rusted it. So they gave her another one. The second time, she used it to cook vegetables, Italian style. She said it didn't work as well as her big pot. And she never used it again.
Nor did she used the food processor someone gave her, or the microwave. All stayed in the box. She was a "hands on" cook.
And the lady had her prejudices. OI. We ate corn on the cob, because it was American. We did NOT eat polenta, because we were southerners, and polenta was from the North. Pesto? "That's what those stupid Genovese do with perfectly good basil." Parmagiano reggiano never came into the house: another Northern apostasy. Our grating cheeses were pecorino romano, and aged provolone. When we brought lunches to school, other kids had tuna salad, or peanut butter and jelly, things like that. We had hero rolls with left over peppers and eggs, or veal cutlets, or messy eggplant sandwiches. Embarrassing to a kid, but so, SO good. And I remember it all. I remember how much better an orange tasted when she peeled it, or cut it for me, instead of doing it myself. You know that feeling, don't you?
It was actually food that gave us, or should have given us, the signal that something was wrong, when Nana's health began to fail. Nana ADORED her two daughters, more than anything, and if they asked for something , or NOT to have something, it was a done deal. Another one of the stories that the family shares, and laughs about, is the one that really was the "signal." My mother was a difficult woman. A VERY difficult woman. One night, she said to my Nana, in a loud, angry voice. "I could give a shit what we eat this week, but I don't wanna see another piece of zucchini on the plate for a month. "
Next day, Nana went out, and bought 3 pounds of zucchini and fried it up. Then she realized what she had done. She was TERRIFIED because my stepfather, who was a coward, was coming home soon. He would of course report to my mother, that she had made zucchini. My mother, angry, was a harridan, mean and spiteful. Frantic phone calls ensued, with my aunt doing everything short of getting on a flying horse to get to our house, to pick up the offending zucchini and get it out before "Colonel Klink" got home. No one ever knew. Well, mother and stepfather never did. But we all did.
A week later, Nana said she didn't know what we were talking about. We had string beans that night. We thought she was teasing us.
I would like to be able to say that the end was fast and painless, but it was not. Nana lost her mental facilities, one at a time. She forgot how to cook, and my stepfather took over. She forgot people (although she ALWAYS remembered me, and my phone number, and I'd get these calls from her, in her squeaky high voice that made me feel SO sad because I was not welcome home and I could not visit her). She remembered Guy, but not his name and always said "Make sure you tell the tall one I said hello. I like him." And she did.
I should tell you that these calls always happened in dialectical Italian, because at the end, she forgot English too, and spoke only Italian. That infuriated my mother, because she insisted that my grandmother was doing it to poke fun of her lack of knowledge of Italian. Then she began forgetting to groom herself and would go days without bathing.
Then it got really bad. She forgot how to eat, and how to drink. And at the end... she forgot how to breathe. That's how it ended. She laid down at my sister's house one day (my mother had thrown her out because she stank so badly and if she wasn't going to wash herself, she couldn't stay in the house), went to sleep, and didn't wake up.
She lived a full, 86 years. Many people would look at her life and call it simple, unfulfilled and lacking potential. Well, screw them. This short, round lady, who gave up smoking at 60 because "she was tired of it," gave more to her grandkids and to the world than most "fulfilled " people ever will. To this day, I talk to her in the kitchen, and I think of our time together with such fondness and such love. For better or worse, she is the real reason this blog is here. I'll remember her through 600 , 700, or however far it goes. When I see her again, we'll cook together.
Thank you for reading this far. I miss my Nana badly.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
You learn something new everyday. Whole favas
Well, as we get back to normal here (if there really IS such a thing here), I am writing about one of , if not my FAVORITE vegetable: fava beans. There are a few things in here about them, and one theme that comes out, over and over, is that they are a lot of work.
Indeed they are. You pod them, peel them and then you cook them. If you're lucky, you get a cup of favas from a pound of the stuff. Add in your labor, and well..
When I learned that you could peel them, freeze them and thaw them to get the peels off of them, my life changed. I no longer suffered from sore finger tips, or burned finger tips from putting them in boiling water to blanch followed by ice water (and pulling them out too fast). Still, that podding. Oi, that podding.
Not that long ago, while eating at i trulli, there were fava beans in a dish. They came to the table UNPEELED. And they were more than edible. They were good. Hmmm. Clearly, Patty Jackson was onto something, I just didn't know what it was.
A couple of weeks ago, at the farmers market, one of my buddies, the irrepressible Franca, passed on a cooking tip for me. She cooks her favas by taking the whole pods, covering them with olive oil and salt, and roasting them for about half an hour. When I told her I didn't know about that technique, the lady chortled. 'OH MY GOD. I'M TEACYING YOU something about cooking." I filed it away, and didn't think about it for a while.
What I DID think about, however, was how, in San Francisco, where I had eaten very tiny fava beans, whole, in the pod, they told me they grilled them. Grilling a full sized pod wouldn't work. It would toughen and burn the stuff. But clearly, the pods can be eaten.
Well, said I to myself. Let's give it a try. What's the worst thing that could happen?
IT WORKS FOLKS . And it's good. So if you've been avoiding favas because they are so labor intensive, here's your answer. Really. Trust me on t his (I would never lie about favas).
Preheat your oven to 375 (this worked better for me than 350). Then, get a big bunch of favas, in the pod, and coat them well with olive oil. Salt them. Then put them on a tray, in one layer, and bake them for 45 minutes (better than 30). You will get roasted color, and soft pods. If you want, you can split open the pods and pull out the beans but you know what? These pods are GOOD, and you can eat the stuff by just putting it in your mouth and running the thing through your teeth. Really, really good.
This method is not going to eliminate the shelling process from my life. There are recipes where I will want the fresher flavor. But... as one who loves these guys so much, freezes bags of them for the winter, and can't ever seem to get enough of them, this is good. This is REALLY good.
I think you should try it. Maybe more than just about anything else I've posted.
Indeed they are. You pod them, peel them and then you cook them. If you're lucky, you get a cup of favas from a pound of the stuff. Add in your labor, and well..
When I learned that you could peel them, freeze them and thaw them to get the peels off of them, my life changed. I no longer suffered from sore finger tips, or burned finger tips from putting them in boiling water to blanch followed by ice water (and pulling them out too fast). Still, that podding. Oi, that podding.
Not that long ago, while eating at i trulli, there were fava beans in a dish. They came to the table UNPEELED. And they were more than edible. They were good. Hmmm. Clearly, Patty Jackson was onto something, I just didn't know what it was.
A couple of weeks ago, at the farmers market, one of my buddies, the irrepressible Franca, passed on a cooking tip for me. She cooks her favas by taking the whole pods, covering them with olive oil and salt, and roasting them for about half an hour. When I told her I didn't know about that technique, the lady chortled. 'OH MY GOD. I'M TEACYING YOU something about cooking." I filed it away, and didn't think about it for a while.
What I DID think about, however, was how, in San Francisco, where I had eaten very tiny fava beans, whole, in the pod, they told me they grilled them. Grilling a full sized pod wouldn't work. It would toughen and burn the stuff. But clearly, the pods can be eaten.
Well, said I to myself. Let's give it a try. What's the worst thing that could happen?
IT WORKS FOLKS . And it's good. So if you've been avoiding favas because they are so labor intensive, here's your answer. Really. Trust me on t his (I would never lie about favas).
Preheat your oven to 375 (this worked better for me than 350). Then, get a big bunch of favas, in the pod, and coat them well with olive oil. Salt them. Then put them on a tray, in one layer, and bake them for 45 minutes (better than 30). You will get roasted color, and soft pods. If you want, you can split open the pods and pull out the beans but you know what? These pods are GOOD, and you can eat the stuff by just putting it in your mouth and running the thing through your teeth. Really, really good.
This method is not going to eliminate the shelling process from my life. There are recipes where I will want the fresher flavor. But... as one who loves these guys so much, freezes bags of them for the winter, and can't ever seem to get enough of them, this is good. This is REALLY good.
I think you should try it. Maybe more than just about anything else I've posted.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)