Memory is a funny thing. There are times when memories from, who knows when, just kind of pop into my head. I can't really fathom the reason for them showing up when they do, but there they are. I suspect this has happened to you too. On some of those "pop ups," I can recall when the thing I'm remembering happened, or events associated with it, or something. But then there are times when it's just an "unaccompanied" memory.
Those unaccompanied memories happen to me in the kitchen a lot. I'll start with a particular purpose in mind, and somewhere between sofa and stove, there's a change, a veering toward a different destination, with me not knowing why. Sometimes, in fact, most times, I never figure out why. Guy will come by, notice me working and ask "whatcha making?" and I will have absolutely no idea. It's just automatic pilot. Maybe it's something I saw Nana make and I'm recalling it, maybe ideas have fermented to the point where I have a new dish in mind, who knows? Remember one of my mantras? "It's not important to keep up, what's important is to keep open." So, when you go into the kitchen, keep your mind open. Don't feel totally wedded to your plan, and wait for those ideas to pop in.
On Monday, I was preparing a Florentine dish, modified American style, called "tagliata." "Tagliata" is as close as Italians come to a traditional roast. They prepare a HUGE steak - when I saw huge, I mean in excess of two pounds , by grilling it with just salt and pepper, and then slicing it ("tagliata"), and serving a few pieces of it, with vegetables. Sometimes, this is served with a green sauce. I almost never make it, and cannot recall the last time I did in fact make it. But on Monday, it popped into my head, as a general concept, and it came out of the kitchen with the steak.
I daresay, it was the highlight of the meal. Leftovers went into salad dressing, and then I made a variation of it again last night, as a pure salad dressing, again a hit.
Italians also make a green sauce with the classic "bollito misto." That green sauce is milder than the one I'm describing here, but as I will try to explain, this is so open to interpretation that you can make it anyway you want. The single key ingredient is parsley. Lots and lots of parsley.
You start with about two cups of fresh parsley, leaves and stems. Just chop it up roughly and throw it into a food processor or a blender. I prefer the processor for this, but they'll both work. Add some hot peppers . Here's where you get the first shot at variation. Use what you like. Unless you're serving something Calabrian, or Sicilian, I would tend toward a lesser amount of heat in the dish, but if you like things hot and spicy, who am I to tell you not to use them?
Don't answer that.
Anyway, you have your hot peppers and your parsley in the blender. Add a good slug of vinegar. I use champagne vinegar, but you can use any vinegar you like. Guestimate how much vinegar you added, and add half again as much olive oil. Also add a good heaping teaspoon of salt. Get the machine going and puree the stuff. Turn it off and taste it. Need more vinegar? Add it. More salt? Go for it. Not spicy enough? Add more peppers. Too spicy? Add more parsley. Finally, if it looks too thick, then add water and blend it again. You can do that here, because the vinegar and oil work, chemically, to allow you to incorporate water into the sauce without causing a separation. This is a "liason" in cooking , although if you can manage to get a liason of another type going in the kitchen, who am I to prevent you?
Don't answer that one either.
This sauce is great as it is, and like I say, on a rare, grilled steak, it is wonderful. You can also thin it with more oil and vinegar to make a salad dressing or, as I did last night, with a wave of "inspiration," blend some yogurt into some of it, to make a lighter salad dressing. Blended with the yogurt, it went onto a salad of lettuces, golden beets and macrona almonds. The yogurt was the "right" note for the dressing and we enjoyed it thoroughly. And there is plenty of green sauce to put on some roast chicken.
These little, easy sauces, will make your cooking so much better you may very well be amazed. Collect these kinds of recipes, if you collect no others, and you'll be able to create a new dish in the time it takes to make the sauce.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
On moments of "satori," kitchen measurements, and easy to make tarts
What a wonderful time in the kitchen this past weekend, and I shall explain.
We all have our "transcendent" moments in what we do. You can't predict them, you can't schedule them, you have no way of when they will be coming . But when they come, PAY ATTENTION, and hold onto them. Take a deep breath, hold it, and remember what you were doing, remember what you were thinking, and HOLD ONTO IT. Trust me, those moments will get you through A LOT, as I'm finding out now.
I had one of them on Sunday, as I was prepping food for a dinner party (and it was NOT for the dish that follows). I was in the process of making the macque choux, stirring it, watching how this time the moisture was more than sufficient, and all of a sudden, I was literally floating. For me, see, these transcendent moments take the form of feeling as if I am in black air, just doing what I'm doing , with nothing else around but the feeling that "I'm doing what I love, for people I love." This one lasted for more than a few minutes, and it was absolutely wonderful.
You know what? You've had them. Yeah, you have. And if you remember them, wonderful. If you don't, pay attention in the kitchen, because they will come. "Mindfulness" is something that they teach you in meditation and in Zen, and indeed, in Zen, much of mindfulness comes of working in the kitchen. So be mindful, at all times.
Okay, now to some cooking. And some math. I know that in cooking schools there is always a class on "Kitchen mathematics," which is required for all students. One of the many gadgets you can buy for your kitchen are these wheels, that allow you to make adjustments for doubling, halving, tripling recipes, and so forth. And those are great. But ya know, they're not infallible, and you really should be able to do this stuff in your head. And you can.
I found a recipe in Bon Appetit that just begged to be made; however, it called for a "nine inch tart pan."
I have never seen a 9 inch tart pan. I certainly don't own one. I have an 11 inch one, and every tart recipe I have ever seen calls for that size. So, faced with this recipe, what should I do?
Well, 9 and 11 are not exactly symmetrical numbers, but 9 and 12 are. What I mean by that is that I can divide both 9 and 11 by 3, and can say that, roughly , an 11 inch tart pan is 1/3 bigger than a 9 inch one (By the way, does anyone have any idea why they use 11 inches here? Doesn't that seem like an odd size?). So, by increasing the recipe by 1/3, you should be able to basically have the ingredients you need.
And indeed, I did. For the crust. When you start looking at volumes, however, things get a little bit dicey. In a tart like this, the solution I came up with is very easy: I did increase the liquid volume, but simply kept on adding solid fruit to fill the tart. This worked. It worked beautifully.
This is a tart that should be in your repertoire, especially if you have "fear of rolling," because it's a "push in" crust, and very easy. The brown butter filling does indeed give you a wonderful depth of flavor . And I will discuss variations on the recipe at the end. You'll come up with more.
First, let's make the crust. You'll need a stick plus two tablespoons of unsalted butter. That's 10 tablespoons, and you'll melt this. Add a half cup of sugar to that butter, and 1 1/3 cups of flour and stir this all together really well.
Now, get your 11 inch tart pan, and dump the stuff into it. Take little bits of it, and press it up against the rim, until you have it completely encircling the pan. This is really easy, and you may actually enjoy the feel of it. Press down the rest of the crust, to cover the bottom of the pan, reaching the rim.
Wasn't that easy? Put this on a baking sheet and bake in a preheated oven, at 375, for fifteen minutes, while you make this filling.
For the filling, you will start with 12 tablespoons (a stick and a half), of unsalted butter. Cut this into pieces and now, here's the hardest part of the recipe. Melt the butter, and keep an eye on it. Stir every now and then, and keep cooking until you get a nutty brown color. It will take about six minutes. When you have that color, pour the butter off, immediately into a cup or bowl or something off the heat. You want to do this, because otherwise it will keep cooking, and perhaps get too brown. (Incidentally, how brown you brown the butter is a judgment call. Personally, I like a dessert that veers toward the burned taste, but not many do. Your call on this. You could also just melt the butter).
In a big bowl, combine 2/3 cup of sugar, 3 large eggs, half a cup of flour, and a bit of vanilla extract. You now add the brown butter, and stir it all together. It's going to be very wet.
When your pie crust is baked and cooled, cover it with raspberries. Be as generous as you like and can afford. Then, set the tart pan back on that baking sheet, and fill it with that brown butter mixture, put the whole thing in the oven, and bake for about 45 minutes.
You don't need to refrigerate this, if you plan to eat it within 24 hours.
This tart, to be honest, is absolutely marvelous. I may even buy a second tart pan so I can make two of them.
Now, for variations that came to mind: blueberries. Substitute the vanilla with almond extract, and maybe add some marzipan. Speaking of marzipan: apricots. Halved, filled with marzipan, and turned cut side down with no changes to the filling. Cranberries in the winter, with a bit of orange peel, and maybe a bit of orange extract. And.... perhaps the purest of all: increase the filling by about a half and flavor it as you like, and make a pure custard pie.
I am sure that the pastry cooks out there will have all kinds of variations that they can make on this. I am already thinking of a savory one, perhaps with potatoes and cheese, and some left over greens, as a simple weekend lunch. I may very well try that. I will keep you posted.
Kitchen satori, kitchen math, and an easy to make dessert. Who says Annalena isn't generous with her ragazzi?
We all have our "transcendent" moments in what we do. You can't predict them, you can't schedule them, you have no way of when they will be coming . But when they come, PAY ATTENTION, and hold onto them. Take a deep breath, hold it, and remember what you were doing, remember what you were thinking, and HOLD ONTO IT. Trust me, those moments will get you through A LOT, as I'm finding out now.
I had one of them on Sunday, as I was prepping food for a dinner party (and it was NOT for the dish that follows). I was in the process of making the macque choux, stirring it, watching how this time the moisture was more than sufficient, and all of a sudden, I was literally floating. For me, see, these transcendent moments take the form of feeling as if I am in black air, just doing what I'm doing , with nothing else around but the feeling that "I'm doing what I love, for people I love." This one lasted for more than a few minutes, and it was absolutely wonderful.
You know what? You've had them. Yeah, you have. And if you remember them, wonderful. If you don't, pay attention in the kitchen, because they will come. "Mindfulness" is something that they teach you in meditation and in Zen, and indeed, in Zen, much of mindfulness comes of working in the kitchen. So be mindful, at all times.
Okay, now to some cooking. And some math. I know that in cooking schools there is always a class on "Kitchen mathematics," which is required for all students. One of the many gadgets you can buy for your kitchen are these wheels, that allow you to make adjustments for doubling, halving, tripling recipes, and so forth. And those are great. But ya know, they're not infallible, and you really should be able to do this stuff in your head. And you can.
I found a recipe in Bon Appetit that just begged to be made; however, it called for a "nine inch tart pan."
I have never seen a 9 inch tart pan. I certainly don't own one. I have an 11 inch one, and every tart recipe I have ever seen calls for that size. So, faced with this recipe, what should I do?
Well, 9 and 11 are not exactly symmetrical numbers, but 9 and 12 are. What I mean by that is that I can divide both 9 and 11 by 3, and can say that, roughly , an 11 inch tart pan is 1/3 bigger than a 9 inch one (By the way, does anyone have any idea why they use 11 inches here? Doesn't that seem like an odd size?). So, by increasing the recipe by 1/3, you should be able to basically have the ingredients you need.
And indeed, I did. For the crust. When you start looking at volumes, however, things get a little bit dicey. In a tart like this, the solution I came up with is very easy: I did increase the liquid volume, but simply kept on adding solid fruit to fill the tart. This worked. It worked beautifully.
This is a tart that should be in your repertoire, especially if you have "fear of rolling," because it's a "push in" crust, and very easy. The brown butter filling does indeed give you a wonderful depth of flavor . And I will discuss variations on the recipe at the end. You'll come up with more.
First, let's make the crust. You'll need a stick plus two tablespoons of unsalted butter. That's 10 tablespoons, and you'll melt this. Add a half cup of sugar to that butter, and 1 1/3 cups of flour and stir this all together really well.
Now, get your 11 inch tart pan, and dump the stuff into it. Take little bits of it, and press it up against the rim, until you have it completely encircling the pan. This is really easy, and you may actually enjoy the feel of it. Press down the rest of the crust, to cover the bottom of the pan, reaching the rim.
Wasn't that easy? Put this on a baking sheet and bake in a preheated oven, at 375, for fifteen minutes, while you make this filling.
For the filling, you will start with 12 tablespoons (a stick and a half), of unsalted butter. Cut this into pieces and now, here's the hardest part of the recipe. Melt the butter, and keep an eye on it. Stir every now and then, and keep cooking until you get a nutty brown color. It will take about six minutes. When you have that color, pour the butter off, immediately into a cup or bowl or something off the heat. You want to do this, because otherwise it will keep cooking, and perhaps get too brown. (Incidentally, how brown you brown the butter is a judgment call. Personally, I like a dessert that veers toward the burned taste, but not many do. Your call on this. You could also just melt the butter).
In a big bowl, combine 2/3 cup of sugar, 3 large eggs, half a cup of flour, and a bit of vanilla extract. You now add the brown butter, and stir it all together. It's going to be very wet.
When your pie crust is baked and cooled, cover it with raspberries. Be as generous as you like and can afford. Then, set the tart pan back on that baking sheet, and fill it with that brown butter mixture, put the whole thing in the oven, and bake for about 45 minutes.
You don't need to refrigerate this, if you plan to eat it within 24 hours.
This tart, to be honest, is absolutely marvelous. I may even buy a second tart pan so I can make two of them.
Now, for variations that came to mind: blueberries. Substitute the vanilla with almond extract, and maybe add some marzipan. Speaking of marzipan: apricots. Halved, filled with marzipan, and turned cut side down with no changes to the filling. Cranberries in the winter, with a bit of orange peel, and maybe a bit of orange extract. And.... perhaps the purest of all: increase the filling by about a half and flavor it as you like, and make a pure custard pie.
I am sure that the pastry cooks out there will have all kinds of variations that they can make on this. I am already thinking of a savory one, perhaps with potatoes and cheese, and some left over greens, as a simple weekend lunch. I may very well try that. I will keep you posted.
Kitchen satori, kitchen math, and an easy to make dessert. Who says Annalena isn't generous with her ragazzi?
Saturday, August 22, 2009
WTMI: creme fraiche ice cream
You know that acronym, don't you "WTMI?" or "way too much information?" Usually used when someone has just laid out the details of a particular body part, or function, or something that, really, you would never ask about , because it would be rude, and quite frankly, you didn't really WANT to know about. Let's face it, there are questions that we DO want answered, that we have no right asking (you know what I mean), so when you get those answers, it is really WTMI? But on the other hand, do I really want to know that a friend has three ingrown hairs on his left thigh?
Uh, no. THAT's WTMI
But there can be a literal read to that expression too. You can, literally, get too much information. Like this week, when I had decided the perfect ice cream to go with my raspberry brown butter tart (recipe to follow), would be creme fraiche ice cream. I don't know how to make that one. So I researched.
I found about 100 different recipes. They were not eve close to each other. That, ladies and biological ladies, is WTMI.
So, what do you do when you have TMI? It's tempting to throw up your hands and look for something where there is ONE recipe, but there is another approach.
Add recipe 101. And that's what I did. My version has got some parts of all of the other ones, and adds a bit too. And I'll tell you how I would make it differently next time.
Here are my ingredients: 2 cups of heavy cream, and one of whole milk. Six egg yolks. A heaping 3/4 cup of sugar. The innards of a vanilla bean. And a cup of creme fraiche.
The making of the ice cream is pretty simple, and standard. Dump the milk and cream into a pot, with the sugar. Slice your vanilla bean horizontally, and scrape out the seeds. Add those to the milk and cream.
I always add my egg yolks at this time, as I feel tempering is a waste of time. So, add your eggs to the cold liquid, and start whisking over medium heat. When you see a decided change in the texture of your custard, or the "coat the spoon" test is positive (if you don't know what I mean by that: that's when you can dip a wooden spoon into the custard, and then draw a line down the custard on the spoon. If it doesn't run together, it's ready).
Off the heat add the cup of creme fraiche, and stir it until it dissolves.
And you're done, except for freezing it in the ice cream maker.
Next time, I will dispense with the vanilla. The flavor is lovely, but it doesn't have the cheesy flavor I wanted with this. And I might add a spoon or two of sour cream, or strong yogurt, to push that acidy flavor to the front.
In any event, this is a pretty damn good ice cream. With the tart, for sure. But I can see adding something salty to it, like macrona almonds. Or some brittle (yes, yes yes, I am in a brittle making frenzy). Try it, and go for it. Play with it. Maybe some blueberries??? Hmmmmm?
Christa, you payin' attention?
Uh, no. THAT's WTMI
But there can be a literal read to that expression too. You can, literally, get too much information. Like this week, when I had decided the perfect ice cream to go with my raspberry brown butter tart (recipe to follow), would be creme fraiche ice cream. I don't know how to make that one. So I researched.
I found about 100 different recipes. They were not eve close to each other. That, ladies and biological ladies, is WTMI.
So, what do you do when you have TMI? It's tempting to throw up your hands and look for something where there is ONE recipe, but there is another approach.
Add recipe 101. And that's what I did. My version has got some parts of all of the other ones, and adds a bit too. And I'll tell you how I would make it differently next time.
Here are my ingredients: 2 cups of heavy cream, and one of whole milk. Six egg yolks. A heaping 3/4 cup of sugar. The innards of a vanilla bean. And a cup of creme fraiche.
The making of the ice cream is pretty simple, and standard. Dump the milk and cream into a pot, with the sugar. Slice your vanilla bean horizontally, and scrape out the seeds. Add those to the milk and cream.
I always add my egg yolks at this time, as I feel tempering is a waste of time. So, add your eggs to the cold liquid, and start whisking over medium heat. When you see a decided change in the texture of your custard, or the "coat the spoon" test is positive (if you don't know what I mean by that: that's when you can dip a wooden spoon into the custard, and then draw a line down the custard on the spoon. If it doesn't run together, it's ready).
Off the heat add the cup of creme fraiche, and stir it until it dissolves.
And you're done, except for freezing it in the ice cream maker.
Next time, I will dispense with the vanilla. The flavor is lovely, but it doesn't have the cheesy flavor I wanted with this. And I might add a spoon or two of sour cream, or strong yogurt, to push that acidy flavor to the front.
In any event, this is a pretty damn good ice cream. With the tart, for sure. But I can see adding something salty to it, like macrona almonds. Or some brittle (yes, yes yes, I am in a brittle making frenzy). Try it, and go for it. Play with it. Maybe some blueberries??? Hmmmmm?
Christa, you payin' attention?
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Mexican ? Again? I think???
A few entries ago, I gave my recipe for green sauce and enchiladas. I think that, next to tomato sauce (or gravy, or whatever you might call it), this green sauce may be my favorite sauce of all. Would that there were room in the freezer, I would have GALLONS of it. But, ya see, the freezer is a danger zone, and hence, the inspiration for this recipe.
Some people have freezers where, if you look far enough back, there's a little guy in a parka, fishing through a hole in the ice. Others have freezers where there's a bottle of vodka, perhaps some recretational drugs (shocking, right?), and a tray of ice cubes.
Our freezer is a danger zone. It really is. There is SO much stuff in there, that I have developed the habit of immediately pulling back my feet when I open the freezer door, because something IS going to fall out. Most times, I'm quick enough, but there are times when I will walk around cursing DAMN THAT LAMB CHOP or something else that is totally incomprehensible to most humans.
So it was with this situation in hand that I tried to address the freezer situation last weekend. Note that I said "tried." My methodology was very simple: if there were so much frost on the package that I couldn't see what it was, I threw it out. If I didn't know what it was, I threw it out. If I had one of those "what in the name of GOD was I thinking when I bought this?" moments, I threw it out.
It felt good. Then I tried to get things back in the freezer. Then, Ididn't feel so good. Now, there's a basic law of physics being violated along here somewhere: if you can get "x" into a space "y," and then you reduce "x" to .9x, you should be able to get .9x into space y, with less trouble than before, right?
Uh, no. At least that's what the empirical evidence says. So, t here was a need to start using some of the stuff in the freezer, especially since there is stuff that is going in - SOON. We then go to Annalena's methodology for using stuff in the freezer: do I remember when I put it here? If the answer is no, it gets used first.
There was a package of boneless pork, about a pound and a half. Not a tenderloin mind you, but probably something out of the loin anyway. We hadn't eaten pork at home since the pocket gay Matt came over and we made pork chops together, so it was time to maybe make something. And then there was that green sauce. Hmmmmm.
My mind went back to the days when I learned how to make Mexican mole'. Any of you out there want a challenge? Want to spend a few, in fact, MORE than a few, hours in the kitchen? Well, mole' is for you. There are seven of them, and no, I don't know them all off the top of my head. One of them is "mole' verde," which is, DUH, "green mole'. Traditionally, unlike the other moles, this one is made completely of fresh ingredients, and does not keep well. Also, it's almost served with pork, and only pork.
Now, I was NOT about to start making a mole'. No, no no. Once every three years or so, I make gallons of mole negro (it takes about four hours of non stop work), and that is the extent of my mole' making these days. But the green sauce was there, in a container, beginning to ferment (because there was no room in the freezer). Well, let's give it a try.
And it worked. Here's how it goes.
Get a pound and a half of boneless pork. I would recommend a more tender cut, because you're not going to stew this long. Cut the pork into cubes, and then salt and pepper it. Get a few tablespoons of olive oil hot, in a pan, and then toss in the cubes. This is a recipe where you do not need to let the pork sit. You can move it around. You want a little bit of sear, but not a tremendous amount.
When the pork has gone to a point where it's white on the outside, add two cups of green sauce. Now, for those of you who forgot how to make it, thanks to the joys of cutting and pasting:
You need a pound of tomatillos, a half pound of green peppers, a handful of hot peppers , and a bunch of cilantro, plus an onion, and a few cloves of garlic. How hot the pepers are is up to you, as is whether or not you remove the veins and seeds. Chop up the peppers, the hot peppers, the onion and the garlic. Put the cilantro to the side. Peel the tomatillos. Put everything in a big pot, with about a third of a cup of water. Turn on the heat to medium . When the water comes to a boil, lower the heat, cover the pot, and go read a book or something for ten or fifteen minutes, until everything is really soft. When it cools down, puree it in a food processor, and then correct the seasonings by adding salt and whatever you like. Also, while you're pureeing it, put the cilantro in, if you like it. You don't have to.
Ok, so you've got your sauce and you poured it over the pork. Lower the heat, cover the pan, and let it cook for ten-fifteen minutes, until the pork is done and tender.
I served this over fresh corn kernels because, yet again, it was a question of "use em or lose em." I REALLY wanted to try it on posole, and I will - SOON. But if you are not a corn lover, use rice. Or, perhaps you can just make some messy tortillas with it. I bet it would be good. Or just put it in a bowl, if you are not a carb eater, and pig out.
I surely did.
Some people have freezers where, if you look far enough back, there's a little guy in a parka, fishing through a hole in the ice. Others have freezers where there's a bottle of vodka, perhaps some recretational drugs (shocking, right?), and a tray of ice cubes.
Our freezer is a danger zone. It really is. There is SO much stuff in there, that I have developed the habit of immediately pulling back my feet when I open the freezer door, because something IS going to fall out. Most times, I'm quick enough, but there are times when I will walk around cursing DAMN THAT LAMB CHOP or something else that is totally incomprehensible to most humans.
So it was with this situation in hand that I tried to address the freezer situation last weekend. Note that I said "tried." My methodology was very simple: if there were so much frost on the package that I couldn't see what it was, I threw it out. If I didn't know what it was, I threw it out. If I had one of those "what in the name of GOD was I thinking when I bought this?" moments, I threw it out.
It felt good. Then I tried to get things back in the freezer. Then, Ididn't feel so good. Now, there's a basic law of physics being violated along here somewhere: if you can get "x" into a space "y," and then you reduce "x" to .9x, you should be able to get .9x into space y, with less trouble than before, right?
Uh, no. At least that's what the empirical evidence says. So, t here was a need to start using some of the stuff in the freezer, especially since there is stuff that is going in - SOON. We then go to Annalena's methodology for using stuff in the freezer: do I remember when I put it here? If the answer is no, it gets used first.
There was a package of boneless pork, about a pound and a half. Not a tenderloin mind you, but probably something out of the loin anyway. We hadn't eaten pork at home since the pocket gay Matt came over and we made pork chops together, so it was time to maybe make something. And then there was that green sauce. Hmmmmm.
My mind went back to the days when I learned how to make Mexican mole'. Any of you out there want a challenge? Want to spend a few, in fact, MORE than a few, hours in the kitchen? Well, mole' is for you. There are seven of them, and no, I don't know them all off the top of my head. One of them is "mole' verde," which is, DUH, "green mole'. Traditionally, unlike the other moles, this one is made completely of fresh ingredients, and does not keep well. Also, it's almost served with pork, and only pork.
Now, I was NOT about to start making a mole'. No, no no. Once every three years or so, I make gallons of mole negro (it takes about four hours of non stop work), and that is the extent of my mole' making these days. But the green sauce was there, in a container, beginning to ferment (because there was no room in the freezer). Well, let's give it a try.
And it worked. Here's how it goes.
Get a pound and a half of boneless pork. I would recommend a more tender cut, because you're not going to stew this long. Cut the pork into cubes, and then salt and pepper it. Get a few tablespoons of olive oil hot, in a pan, and then toss in the cubes. This is a recipe where you do not need to let the pork sit. You can move it around. You want a little bit of sear, but not a tremendous amount.
When the pork has gone to a point where it's white on the outside, add two cups of green sauce. Now, for those of you who forgot how to make it, thanks to the joys of cutting and pasting:
You need a pound of tomatillos, a half pound of green peppers, a handful of hot peppers , and a bunch of cilantro, plus an onion, and a few cloves of garlic. How hot the pepers are is up to you, as is whether or not you remove the veins and seeds. Chop up the peppers, the hot peppers, the onion and the garlic. Put the cilantro to the side. Peel the tomatillos. Put everything in a big pot, with about a third of a cup of water. Turn on the heat to medium . When the water comes to a boil, lower the heat, cover the pot, and go read a book or something for ten or fifteen minutes, until everything is really soft. When it cools down, puree it in a food processor, and then correct the seasonings by adding salt and whatever you like. Also, while you're pureeing it, put the cilantro in, if you like it. You don't have to.
Ok, so you've got your sauce and you poured it over the pork. Lower the heat, cover the pan, and let it cook for ten-fifteen minutes, until the pork is done and tender.
I served this over fresh corn kernels because, yet again, it was a question of "use em or lose em." I REALLY wanted to try it on posole, and I will - SOON. But if you are not a corn lover, use rice. Or, perhaps you can just make some messy tortillas with it. I bet it would be good. Or just put it in a bowl, if you are not a carb eater, and pig out.
I surely did.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Okra's on. DONT TURN OFF THE SET
You mention okra to people, and you'll get a v ery strong reaction. They either love it, or they hate it. It's you folks who say you hate it who shouldn't turn off the set. Pay attention I'm going to teach you how to at least like it, and maybe love it.
What most turns people off to okra, I have found, is , let's face it, it's "sliminess." When you cut okra, especially larger pods of it, a thick, sticky sap comes out that really is not all that pleasant. You can avoid it somewhat, by using the smaller pods, but you can't avoid it. I have read about two dozen different techniques to avoid it, and I've tried them all. None of them work.
BUT... there is an easy solution to this problem. Have you figured it out yet?
If you only get the sliminess when you cut the okra....DONT CUT IT. I'm serious about that. Using it whole, avoids this problem. And cooking it in certain ways avoids it to. Deep fried, cornmeal batter dipped okra is wonderful, but let's face it. As someone once said on "Top Chef," "you could deep fry a big toe and it would taste good." And you know, that's probably true. I have found that very quick stirfrying of very thinly sliced okra will avoid the problem as well. I have no expertise in Indian cooking, but "bhindi" dishes, which are based on okra, have never presented that issue to me. I will leave Indian cooking to those better adept at it than I am, however.
As it is a late season staple in the markets, I set out to find a good way to make it. And I have one. You're going to love it, first of all because it's easy, second of all, because it tastes good, and third of all, because you have a tremendous about of freedom in how you make it.
This is based on a classic creole cooking technique, called "macque choux." I have no idea what that means, but if you see "macque choux," it means corn and tomatoes have been sauteed together. And they are in this dish. Together with other vegetables, and whole, small okra. Here we go.
First, you need an onion type of vegetable, sliced up. The recipe as I read it called for six scallions. I did not have any scallions in the house, and was going to use an onion, but then my eyes fell on a leek, so I finely sliced one leek.
The recipe also called for a green pepper. I assumed I would be able to find green pepper at our small farmers market. WRONG. BUT... I had a few small fennel bulbs in the house. The fennel adds crunch, but of course, you lose the bold flavor of a green pepper. I think the important thing is to just get something bulky and crunchy in there. Dice it up and put it aside.
The recipe also called for a diced jalapeno pepper. ONE of them
Get real. ONE jalapeno pepper? HUH?????? Well, I didn't have any anyway, but I had green serranos. I used three, diced, with their seeds. This gave a slight heat to the dish. Use more if you like spicier food.
Finally, the key ingredients: get the kernels off of four ears of corn (any way you can. I am not a fan of those corn kernel removers. They usually leave me with corn all over the floor and a cut finger. I just break the ears in half, and run a knife up and down, and then take the back of the knife and rub the cob to get the sweet sap). You also need a pound of chopped tomatoes (in a dish like this, don't bother with heirlooms. Save them for salads. Good old beefsteaks are fine). And.... one pound of okra. Trim off the stem ends so that they are even, but don't cut into the pod.
You are also going to need two cups of liquid of some kind. I happened to have a wonderful product, yellow tomato water, at hand. But you could use water, you could use stock, you could use tomato juice. Don't use sauce: too thick and too strong. Finally, 3 tablespoons of butter.
Ok, let's cook. In a 12 inch pan, add the butter, the onion, the crispy vegetable and the peppers. Cook this at a medium flame, until the onion thing begins to brown. That's going to take six-7 minutes . After that has happened, add the tomatoes, and about a teaspoon of salt. You want to cook this until the tomatoes break down into a saucy kind of product. Be careful. I was glad to have the liquid because my tomatoes were getting very dry, and the liquid was a big help. Cook them for about 12 minutes and then add the corn and the okra, and stir everything together, lower the heat, and stir every few minutes, for about fifteen minutes.
For the first ten minutes 0r so, you will wonder if anything is happening. The corn and okra will stay resilient. But... in the last five or so, the okra will begin to lose its strong color, the kernels will begin to soften, and some liquid will be released from the corn. And then... the liquid will thicken. What's going on? Any guesses?
Anyone remember where CORN STARCH comes from? Hmmmmm? So, put some more liquid in, if you like. After fifteen minutes or so, pull out a small okra pod and taste it. Is it soft enough for you? If it is, check the seasoning, and you're done. If not, cook it for a few more minutes.
I stirred in a big handful of Italian parsley at the end, but that's hardly necessary. You could also add some more hot peppers at the end if you liked.
I'm going to make this again, and I'm going to add some fresh shell beans to it. That will make it more like an okra succotash, and there ain't nuthin wrong with that.
So, Eyetalian met New Orleans, and this dish came out of it. Try it. Try it just once. You may change your mind about okra after this.
What most turns people off to okra, I have found, is , let's face it, it's "sliminess." When you cut okra, especially larger pods of it, a thick, sticky sap comes out that really is not all that pleasant. You can avoid it somewhat, by using the smaller pods, but you can't avoid it. I have read about two dozen different techniques to avoid it, and I've tried them all. None of them work.
BUT... there is an easy solution to this problem. Have you figured it out yet?
If you only get the sliminess when you cut the okra....DONT CUT IT. I'm serious about that. Using it whole, avoids this problem. And cooking it in certain ways avoids it to. Deep fried, cornmeal batter dipped okra is wonderful, but let's face it. As someone once said on "Top Chef," "you could deep fry a big toe and it would taste good." And you know, that's probably true. I have found that very quick stirfrying of very thinly sliced okra will avoid the problem as well. I have no expertise in Indian cooking, but "bhindi" dishes, which are based on okra, have never presented that issue to me. I will leave Indian cooking to those better adept at it than I am, however.
As it is a late season staple in the markets, I set out to find a good way to make it. And I have one. You're going to love it, first of all because it's easy, second of all, because it tastes good, and third of all, because you have a tremendous about of freedom in how you make it.
This is based on a classic creole cooking technique, called "macque choux." I have no idea what that means, but if you see "macque choux," it means corn and tomatoes have been sauteed together. And they are in this dish. Together with other vegetables, and whole, small okra. Here we go.
First, you need an onion type of vegetable, sliced up. The recipe as I read it called for six scallions. I did not have any scallions in the house, and was going to use an onion, but then my eyes fell on a leek, so I finely sliced one leek.
The recipe also called for a green pepper. I assumed I would be able to find green pepper at our small farmers market. WRONG. BUT... I had a few small fennel bulbs in the house. The fennel adds crunch, but of course, you lose the bold flavor of a green pepper. I think the important thing is to just get something bulky and crunchy in there. Dice it up and put it aside.
The recipe also called for a diced jalapeno pepper. ONE of them
Get real. ONE jalapeno pepper? HUH?????? Well, I didn't have any anyway, but I had green serranos. I used three, diced, with their seeds. This gave a slight heat to the dish. Use more if you like spicier food.
Finally, the key ingredients: get the kernels off of four ears of corn (any way you can. I am not a fan of those corn kernel removers. They usually leave me with corn all over the floor and a cut finger. I just break the ears in half, and run a knife up and down, and then take the back of the knife and rub the cob to get the sweet sap). You also need a pound of chopped tomatoes (in a dish like this, don't bother with heirlooms. Save them for salads. Good old beefsteaks are fine). And.... one pound of okra. Trim off the stem ends so that they are even, but don't cut into the pod.
You are also going to need two cups of liquid of some kind. I happened to have a wonderful product, yellow tomato water, at hand. But you could use water, you could use stock, you could use tomato juice. Don't use sauce: too thick and too strong. Finally, 3 tablespoons of butter.
Ok, let's cook. In a 12 inch pan, add the butter, the onion, the crispy vegetable and the peppers. Cook this at a medium flame, until the onion thing begins to brown. That's going to take six-7 minutes . After that has happened, add the tomatoes, and about a teaspoon of salt. You want to cook this until the tomatoes break down into a saucy kind of product. Be careful. I was glad to have the liquid because my tomatoes were getting very dry, and the liquid was a big help. Cook them for about 12 minutes and then add the corn and the okra, and stir everything together, lower the heat, and stir every few minutes, for about fifteen minutes.
For the first ten minutes 0r so, you will wonder if anything is happening. The corn and okra will stay resilient. But... in the last five or so, the okra will begin to lose its strong color, the kernels will begin to soften, and some liquid will be released from the corn. And then... the liquid will thicken. What's going on? Any guesses?
Anyone remember where CORN STARCH comes from? Hmmmmm? So, put some more liquid in, if you like. After fifteen minutes or so, pull out a small okra pod and taste it. Is it soft enough for you? If it is, check the seasoning, and you're done. If not, cook it for a few more minutes.
I stirred in a big handful of Italian parsley at the end, but that's hardly necessary. You could also add some more hot peppers at the end if you liked.
I'm going to make this again, and I'm going to add some fresh shell beans to it. That will make it more like an okra succotash, and there ain't nuthin wrong with that.
So, Eyetalian met New Orleans, and this dish came out of it. Try it. Try it just once. You may change your mind about okra after this.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Gilding the lily: pistachio nut brittle.
The last entry I posted was one for chamomile poached apricots. Lemme tell you gang. That dessert is FREAKING good. It was very hard for Annalena and her guy, Guy, to not eat the entire pint of them (and since today is probably a weigh in at the gym, as Annalena goes back to personal training), this was a good thing. You should make them
You should also get Claudia Fleming's book, if for no other reason than when she gives a recipe, she also gives suggestions for combining different dessert elements. Every dessert can stand on its own, but if you want something "composed" or "complex" she has suggestions.
She suggested some cornmeal nut cookies to go with this dish, and I just was not in the mood to make the cookies; however, I flipped open the next page and found a recipe for pistachio nut brittle. Well, why not?
I am hard pressed to think of someone who does not like nut brittles. Maybe if you have some sever diverticulitis, or something like that, you can't eat them. But when was the last time you ate a piece of really GOOD brittle? Probably peanut. And well made, that's a truly good thing. I like to play with different nuts, however. Italian cooking has a similar candy, called "croccante," that is always made with almonds. It's good. In fact, it's GOOD. I make it at Xmas.
But candy like brittle is very easy to make. I SWEAR you can make this candy in less than half an hour. And it keeps forever. So Redd, get into the kitchen. You can do this. I'll check with Susan to make sure you made it, and not her.
First, you need half a pound of shelled pistachio nuts. Get the untoasted ones, because you're going to toast them yourself. You spread them out in one layer on a baking sheet, and put them in a 350 oven. It will probably take about 10 minutes, but pay attention to your nose. If the nuts begin to smell toasty, get them out of the oven ahead of time. No man wants to burn his nuts!
Make of that what you like.
While those nuts are toasting, get a heavy pan (this is where I use nonstick) and combine 1 1/3 cups of sugar, a half cup of water a quarter cup of light corn syrup and 2.5 tablespoons of unsalted butter. Bring this all to a boil, and then lower the heat. Keep an eye on it, and let it get to a nice dark golden brown. Sugar turns to yucky coal very quickly, so again, watch this. You'll get a lot of bubbling at the top, and that will be white, so shake the pot every now and then.
While this is happening, grease a baking sheet, and a spatula. And when you get to the dark shade you like, pour the nuts in, together with a quarter teaspoon each of salt, and baking soda. Then, move FAST. Dump this all onto the buttered baking sheet, get your buttered spatula, and spread it out thin. Press down if you have to, this is going to harden very quickly. Then just put it aside, and let it harden. It won't take long. Maybe half an hour
When you have that, break it into small pieces and put it in a metal container, unrefrigerated ,where it will keep until the end of recorded time. Put it in as a shard to entertain with ice cream, or with the apricots we just made, or just dole it out as a nice little candy at the end of a meal.
I guarantee you, once you make this, you will make it again. You'll substitute nuts (try macadamians), you'll explore different sugars, and you'll have a ball. And you'll have new good friends, because everybody loves candy.
You should also get Claudia Fleming's book, if for no other reason than when she gives a recipe, she also gives suggestions for combining different dessert elements. Every dessert can stand on its own, but if you want something "composed" or "complex" she has suggestions.
She suggested some cornmeal nut cookies to go with this dish, and I just was not in the mood to make the cookies; however, I flipped open the next page and found a recipe for pistachio nut brittle. Well, why not?
I am hard pressed to think of someone who does not like nut brittles. Maybe if you have some sever diverticulitis, or something like that, you can't eat them. But when was the last time you ate a piece of really GOOD brittle? Probably peanut. And well made, that's a truly good thing. I like to play with different nuts, however. Italian cooking has a similar candy, called "croccante," that is always made with almonds. It's good. In fact, it's GOOD. I make it at Xmas.
But candy like brittle is very easy to make. I SWEAR you can make this candy in less than half an hour. And it keeps forever. So Redd, get into the kitchen. You can do this. I'll check with Susan to make sure you made it, and not her.
First, you need half a pound of shelled pistachio nuts. Get the untoasted ones, because you're going to toast them yourself. You spread them out in one layer on a baking sheet, and put them in a 350 oven. It will probably take about 10 minutes, but pay attention to your nose. If the nuts begin to smell toasty, get them out of the oven ahead of time. No man wants to burn his nuts!
Make of that what you like.
While those nuts are toasting, get a heavy pan (this is where I use nonstick) and combine 1 1/3 cups of sugar, a half cup of water a quarter cup of light corn syrup and 2.5 tablespoons of unsalted butter. Bring this all to a boil, and then lower the heat. Keep an eye on it, and let it get to a nice dark golden brown. Sugar turns to yucky coal very quickly, so again, watch this. You'll get a lot of bubbling at the top, and that will be white, so shake the pot every now and then.
While this is happening, grease a baking sheet, and a spatula. And when you get to the dark shade you like, pour the nuts in, together with a quarter teaspoon each of salt, and baking soda. Then, move FAST. Dump this all onto the buttered baking sheet, get your buttered spatula, and spread it out thin. Press down if you have to, this is going to harden very quickly. Then just put it aside, and let it harden. It won't take long. Maybe half an hour
When you have that, break it into small pieces and put it in a metal container, unrefrigerated ,where it will keep until the end of recorded time. Put it in as a shard to entertain with ice cream, or with the apricots we just made, or just dole it out as a nice little candy at the end of a meal.
I guarantee you, once you make this, you will make it again. You'll substitute nuts (try macadamians), you'll explore different sugars, and you'll have a ball. And you'll have new good friends, because everybody loves candy.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
For Sue: apricots poached with chamomile
Last week, I posted one of my favorite recipes, which was for nectarines and peaches, in red wine. It's a popular dessert, especially with me. And it provoked some comments and questions.
It always amazes me how people actually DO follow this blog. I get comments, I get questions, but you folks know... you never comment on the blog entries in writing. C'mon folks, there are over 400 of em and there are less than ten comments. SPEAK UP.
So, one of my most loyal readers, the ever present Sue (the lady in the back with her hand up), asked me about that recipe, and whether it could be done with apricots. Well, I wouldn't do it with RED wine, but I have done it, in baume de venisse, the wonderful white dessert wine, and I think you could do it with others. But I also remembered a version that I have been looking at for years, and have never made. No more.
Claudia Fleming used to be the dessert chef at the wonderful Gramercy Tavern. In my opinion, the desserts were never as good again, after she left. She wrote a wonderful book, called "The Last Course," and it is, essentially, a guide to seasonal desserts. Even if the recipes weren't wonderful ,which they are, the pictures are "food erotica" at their finest. You will never serve the desserts looking the way they do in the book, but so what? They're going to taste that good, because these are desserts you CAN MAKE YOURSELF. What follows is a no bake dessert, that will take you all of half an hour to make, and is fat free.
I love apricots. I may love them more than most fruits. And since NY produces more apricots than any other state than California (and has a longer season), we are gorging ourselves on them now. I haven't made this dessert, because it calls for chamomile blossoms, and Ms. Fleming talks about them being in season at the same time. I've never found chamomile in season at the same time as apricots, and while she does give the option of a chamomile tea bag, well...
Then today, with a bag of apricots in the fridge, I found a vendor selling chamomile. So, you see, thinking about Sue's question, and finding the chamomile, is an example of how the synapses of a diseased mind come together.
But make this. It's really good. It's easy. And if you can't find fresh chamomile, be braver than I, and use the teabag.
You need 8 apricots, which you half and stone (actually, I think you can make this in a double sized recipe: this is a recipe with a lot of syrup. I fit 11 of them, halved in my baking dish). Put them aside, while you make a simple, but heavy syrup of 1.5 cups of sugar ,dissolved in water. Then, take that off the heat, and add the flowers from one bunch of chamomile (about a quarter cup of blossoms), and the pulp of one vanilla bean. Stir that all together,steep it for five minutes and then strain it and pour it into an 8x8 glass baking dish. Put the apricots, cut side down, into the syrup, and bake for ten minutes, at 375. Then, carefully turn them over, and bake again, for another five minutes. There is so much syrup that the apricots will swim in them. That's fine
You serve these warm from the oven, or at room temperature. Store them at room temperature, as the syrup is going to keep them just fine.
Eat them as they are, and the dessert is non fat. But frankly, do you REALLY want to do that? I want these with nut cookies, or with white cheese. Maybe fresh ricotta. Try it. I think you're going to be happy with this one.
It always amazes me how people actually DO follow this blog. I get comments, I get questions, but you folks know... you never comment on the blog entries in writing. C'mon folks, there are over 400 of em and there are less than ten comments. SPEAK UP.
So, one of my most loyal readers, the ever present Sue (the lady in the back with her hand up), asked me about that recipe, and whether it could be done with apricots. Well, I wouldn't do it with RED wine, but I have done it, in baume de venisse, the wonderful white dessert wine, and I think you could do it with others. But I also remembered a version that I have been looking at for years, and have never made. No more.
Claudia Fleming used to be the dessert chef at the wonderful Gramercy Tavern. In my opinion, the desserts were never as good again, after she left. She wrote a wonderful book, called "The Last Course," and it is, essentially, a guide to seasonal desserts. Even if the recipes weren't wonderful ,which they are, the pictures are "food erotica" at their finest. You will never serve the desserts looking the way they do in the book, but so what? They're going to taste that good, because these are desserts you CAN MAKE YOURSELF. What follows is a no bake dessert, that will take you all of half an hour to make, and is fat free.
I love apricots. I may love them more than most fruits. And since NY produces more apricots than any other state than California (and has a longer season), we are gorging ourselves on them now. I haven't made this dessert, because it calls for chamomile blossoms, and Ms. Fleming talks about them being in season at the same time. I've never found chamomile in season at the same time as apricots, and while she does give the option of a chamomile tea bag, well...
Then today, with a bag of apricots in the fridge, I found a vendor selling chamomile. So, you see, thinking about Sue's question, and finding the chamomile, is an example of how the synapses of a diseased mind come together.
But make this. It's really good. It's easy. And if you can't find fresh chamomile, be braver than I, and use the teabag.
You need 8 apricots, which you half and stone (actually, I think you can make this in a double sized recipe: this is a recipe with a lot of syrup. I fit 11 of them, halved in my baking dish). Put them aside, while you make a simple, but heavy syrup of 1.5 cups of sugar ,dissolved in water. Then, take that off the heat, and add the flowers from one bunch of chamomile (about a quarter cup of blossoms), and the pulp of one vanilla bean. Stir that all together,steep it for five minutes and then strain it and pour it into an 8x8 glass baking dish. Put the apricots, cut side down, into the syrup, and bake for ten minutes, at 375. Then, carefully turn them over, and bake again, for another five minutes. There is so much syrup that the apricots will swim in them. That's fine
You serve these warm from the oven, or at room temperature. Store them at room temperature, as the syrup is going to keep them just fine.
Eat them as they are, and the dessert is non fat. But frankly, do you REALLY want to do that? I want these with nut cookies, or with white cheese. Maybe fresh ricotta. Try it. I think you're going to be happy with this one.
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