Your faithful correspondent, Annalena, is always on the watch for something that looks interesting , easy and tasty. The three concepts, however, are not found together all that often. Indeed, she is reminded of an old slogan that was used at a biotech company: "good. fast. cheap. Choose two."
Think about it. Exclude men from your thoughts, but think about your own work product. See what Annalena means?
Now, it also may come as a surprise to you, but Annalena has her prejudices. She has her favorite, and not so favorite foods. She has her favorite, and not so favorite restaurants. And she has her favorite, and not so favorite, food writers.
Mark Bittman, "The Minimalist" for the New York Times, falls into the not so favorite category. In my opinion, his recipes are frequently not workable, or they produce a dish that is just not good. I also find him more than a bit full of himself when he presents on television. So when I read his column, I approach it with a modicum of salt.
A week ago, however, he wrote a piece on a culinary idea that I had seen before: "risotto" , but using another starch: pasta in this case. Annalena is familiar with orzotto, the version using broccoli, and at a restaurant this past weekend, was served a lentil risotto that was not a risotto. What it was is anyone's guess. It was ok, but risotto? NO.
And what, precisely, IS risotto? Well, I would have to check with Professor to be Jonathan, but the word sounds like "riso" and "sotto" combined. Riso is, of course, rice, and "sotto" is "under.' I guess, if my derivations are correct, because the rice is under liquid while you cook it. (PTB: can you check this, per favore? Grazie). However, one of the points of risotto is that it is NEVER completely submerged in liquid. If it is, you are doing something wrong, and may be on your way to pilaf. Not a bad thing, but not risotto.
Well, I have written about risotti before, and I shall refer you to those note. Mr. Bittman's recipe was appealing to me, as I was trying to come up with an appropriate starch to serve with my "should be legendary" roast chicken, and nothing was feeling right. As I went through his recipe, I simplified it. This is "bare bones." If you are familiar with risotto making, you will know precisely what to do to make it fancier. I used cooked squash because that's what I had on hand. He recommends cooked mushrooms. I can see that. He also uses chicken. I can't see that. I like these dishes as "contorni" rather than full meals.
You'll see reference to "small pasta" in the recipe. I used stelline: little stars, what we called "pastina" when I grew up. I believe, with no reason to back me up, that these smaller pastas have more starch and are creamier than the bigger ones. If all you have are big pasta, however, break them up. Indeed, this is what is done with the wonderful Mexican pasta dish "fideus," which is so satisfying baked in a casserole with crab. (Hmmmm.).
Now, the purist amongst you will see that the stock is not heated up. That is correct. I had my doubts, but it works. It really, truly does. Try it. I betcha you're gonna like it.
To begin, chop up two shallots (he used one), and a couple of gloves of garlic. Measure out half a pound of that small pasta I atlked about above. If you are so inclined, have half a cup of white wine ready, and you must also have about 3-4 cups of broth t here, too. Chicken is traditional, and to me, works the best. You could use others though. And for my version, a cup of cooked squash. Use a cup of another cooked vegetable if you like.
Now, time to have some fun. Get a wide pan, and add 2 tablespoons of olive oil and the shallot and garlic. Saute them just for a few minutes. Then add the pasta, together with a half teaspoon or so of salt. Stir the pasta in the cooked aromatics and the oil. It will glisten, and even pick up a bit of color. When that happens, toss in the wine and let it evaporate. If you are not using wine, start with half a cup of your stock.
Start adding the remaining stock, half a cup at a time. Stir while you're cooking, and when the liquid is almost gone, add the next half a cup. It will take about a minute/minute and a half after each addition. After you've added 2.5 cups of stock, taste the pasta for softness. It probably will be too hard and you should continue to cook. Mine was perfect after three cups of stock, but this is all dependent on the shape, the manufacturer, your pan, the height of the tide in the Bay of Fundy (I made that last one up, but you get the idea). Then, stir in the squash, and you are finished, except for tasting and correcting salt and pepper.
You could make this and finish it with butter and cheese, and when I make it that way, my buddy Keith is going to come over and make it with me (aintcha?). Would this work with non-wheat pasta? A good question. It would seem that it would work with rice pasta, shouldn't it? My buddy David is going to come over and make THAT one with me, (aintcha?).
I think you will be pleased. A good risotto is a think of true beauty and wonderful flavor. And so is this. So instead of going and buying a box of Stove Top stuffing, make a pastasotto. Have a friend over, and enjoy it. And let Annalena know if you liked it.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Saturday, December 12, 2009
A convert: Annalena learns to love brussels sprouts
Well, yes , it happened. A bit of background here. Given what the experts call my "food profile," whatever the hell that is, I should have always loved brussels sprouts. No question about it. However, the experts were wrong. I had never learned to like them. Tried, but couldn't. Actually, let me clarify that. There was one brussels sprouts dish that I had enjoyed: it had equal parts of shaved sprouts, pecans, and apples, was cooked as a pan fry in butter, and had honey added to the end.
GOOD. Brussels sprouts brittle. Don't really count, now, does it. So I would pass them up. If they came on a plate, I would ask for a substitute. Generally no problem, as Annlena loves many of the so-called "ucky" vegetables, and the kitchen would just make a swap.
So, what happened? Well, a few weeks ago, at one of our favorite restaurants, Barbuto, the chef sent out a freebie side dish. Brussels sprouts with fried pancetta. Ok, thinks I. I can't fairly sit here and pick out all the pancetta and let everyone else eat the sprouts (I'm really NOT that bad a person), and I certainly can't say to the server "Tell Ryan thanks, but no thanks."
Oh dear. So I bit into one. It was good. So was the second one. And the next one.
Let's jump forward a few weeks. I'm sitting in a restaurant with my sexy friend Brad, and he orders a side dish of brussels sprouts with chestnuts.
Again, thinks I, "I can't be rude, and say something like 'enjoy them, I hate them'". Out comes the sprouts, with the chestnuts, in a rich butter sauce. They were the smallest ones I had ever seen. Probably no bigger than some engorged nipples (I had to put that in to see if you were paying attention), and so well cooked, and so good, that it may very well be the case that Brad didn't get a single one (sorry if you didn't , Brad. I'll make it up to you. I promise).
So, with two favorable meetings with a veggie I hate, I had to reconsider this position. What was it about the two dishes that they s hared? Thinking about it, of course, there was all that fat. But the other thing was the texture. Both plates of sprouts were well cooked, almost to the point of being soft. And Annalena, being the food snob that she is, thought about what happens when she cooks cabbage, and the advice she gives: "cook it long, cook it soft." BS's are in the cabbage family. Maybe.... And chestnuts. Hmmmm. Nice color contrast. Fat? Butter sounded better than pork fat, although both sound good, don't they. Finally, size DOES matter. I liked the smaller ones better.
Off to the Greenmarket to create the dish. And so I did. You can too. You need half a jar of chestnuts, or one of those vacuum packs to give you about 6 ounces of dry chestnuts. Also, about a pound of the smallest BSs you can find. If you can only find big ones, quarter or half them lengthwise. Clean off the little dirty stub at the end. You also need about half a stick of butter.
Cook the sprouts in a big pot of well salted water. A tablespoon in a gallon of water is about right. When you have a rolling ball, add the sprouts and cook them. You don't want them firm. A knife should go through them very easily. When you're there, drain them, and get a big pan ready with the butter. Heat it at medium until it melts, and then add the chestnuts. Now, something that chestnuts do: they suck up that butter, sort of the way eggplant sucks up oil. If you are feeling like a calorie spendthrift, don't be concerned and just add more later on. If you are a bit concerned, just add the sprouts after about three minutes of cooking the chestnuts. If you want a moister dish, add a few tablespoons of water, but this isn't necessary. Just toss everything together for about two minutes, and then taste and add some salt. And you're done.
I thought, very seriously, of finishing this off with white truffle butter, and I'm glad I didn't. We served this at a dinner with our friend Adam, along with duck legs that I had braised in zinfandel (the recipe is in this blog, somewhere), and fregola pasta. I must say that there were no sprouts left at the end of the meal.
If , like my friend Chris, you love this vegetable, you won't need convincing. If you don't care for them, try it anyway, and if I'm wrong (I never am. Ask Guy), I'll make you a chocolate chip cookie
GOOD. Brussels sprouts brittle. Don't really count, now, does it. So I would pass them up. If they came on a plate, I would ask for a substitute. Generally no problem, as Annlena loves many of the so-called "ucky" vegetables, and the kitchen would just make a swap.
So, what happened? Well, a few weeks ago, at one of our favorite restaurants, Barbuto, the chef sent out a freebie side dish. Brussels sprouts with fried pancetta. Ok, thinks I. I can't fairly sit here and pick out all the pancetta and let everyone else eat the sprouts (I'm really NOT that bad a person), and I certainly can't say to the server "Tell Ryan thanks, but no thanks."
Oh dear. So I bit into one. It was good. So was the second one. And the next one.
Let's jump forward a few weeks. I'm sitting in a restaurant with my sexy friend Brad, and he orders a side dish of brussels sprouts with chestnuts.
Again, thinks I, "I can't be rude, and say something like 'enjoy them, I hate them'". Out comes the sprouts, with the chestnuts, in a rich butter sauce. They were the smallest ones I had ever seen. Probably no bigger than some engorged nipples (I had to put that in to see if you were paying attention), and so well cooked, and so good, that it may very well be the case that Brad didn't get a single one (sorry if you didn't , Brad. I'll make it up to you. I promise).
So, with two favorable meetings with a veggie I hate, I had to reconsider this position. What was it about the two dishes that they s hared? Thinking about it, of course, there was all that fat. But the other thing was the texture. Both plates of sprouts were well cooked, almost to the point of being soft. And Annalena, being the food snob that she is, thought about what happens when she cooks cabbage, and the advice she gives: "cook it long, cook it soft." BS's are in the cabbage family. Maybe.... And chestnuts. Hmmmm. Nice color contrast. Fat? Butter sounded better than pork fat, although both sound good, don't they. Finally, size DOES matter. I liked the smaller ones better.
Off to the Greenmarket to create the dish. And so I did. You can too. You need half a jar of chestnuts, or one of those vacuum packs to give you about 6 ounces of dry chestnuts. Also, about a pound of the smallest BSs you can find. If you can only find big ones, quarter or half them lengthwise. Clean off the little dirty stub at the end. You also need about half a stick of butter.
Cook the sprouts in a big pot of well salted water. A tablespoon in a gallon of water is about right. When you have a rolling ball, add the sprouts and cook them. You don't want them firm. A knife should go through them very easily. When you're there, drain them, and get a big pan ready with the butter. Heat it at medium until it melts, and then add the chestnuts. Now, something that chestnuts do: they suck up that butter, sort of the way eggplant sucks up oil. If you are feeling like a calorie spendthrift, don't be concerned and just add more later on. If you are a bit concerned, just add the sprouts after about three minutes of cooking the chestnuts. If you want a moister dish, add a few tablespoons of water, but this isn't necessary. Just toss everything together for about two minutes, and then taste and add some salt. And you're done.
I thought, very seriously, of finishing this off with white truffle butter, and I'm glad I didn't. We served this at a dinner with our friend Adam, along with duck legs that I had braised in zinfandel (the recipe is in this blog, somewhere), and fregola pasta. I must say that there were no sprouts left at the end of the meal.
If , like my friend Chris, you love this vegetable, you won't need convincing. If you don't care for them, try it anyway, and if I'm wrong (I never am. Ask Guy), I'll make you a chocolate chip cookie
Thursday, December 10, 2009
A flourless cookie: almond marmalade cookies
Ah, now here is where Annalena shows you how you can break away from what you think is standard, and wind up with a recipe that is quite tasty, unusual, fun, and easy.
Doesn't that describe, pretty much, the perfect date for all of us?
Back when I was much younger - a LONG time ago - there used to be a cookie available called an "Oriental almond cookie." Now, we're not allowed to use "oriental" anymore, although I must confess that, taken out of context, it is a beautiful word. "Oriental" means "rising," from Latin "orire," so the context is the rising of the sun. I wish we could disabuse the word of its signifier meaning, and use it in other contexts, but alas, that is not to happen.
But as usual, I digress. Back from linguistics, to cooking. Anyway, these cookies were big, soft, buttery (Yes, really typical of "oriental" cooking), and had the faintest taste of almond. They also had a nice big piece of almond in the center of them. Sometimes they would come in take out food, and sometimes not. Today, you never see them. Stella d'oro made a version of them, but they just weren't the same. Dunno why: maybe the ones in take out food were stale and I liked that quality, but who can tell?
So, several years ago, as I did my usual search and annoy mission for cookie recipes, I found this one. I clipped it, because the title was "almond cookies," and then when I read it, I put it aside. It did not seem workable. Then, when trying to make "one more cookie" for the annual display of excess that is Guy and my cookie collections, I looked at it again.
This recipe is sinfully easy. It's even easier if you start with almond flour, which you can buy from most health food stores. King Arthur sells it in toasted and untoasted varieties, and I like using half and half. It all goes in the food processor, and there's no flour. Here we go.
you need to start with about a pound and a half of ground almonds. Thats 4 cups or so. Put that into a food processor, with a cup of regular sugar, the rind of a lemon or and orange, grated (team it to your marmalade), and a half teaspoon of baking powder. Pulse that to mix. Now, add two egg whites. Contrary to the original recipe, you do NOT have to beat them ahead of time. Add a tablespoon of honey if you have it handy, and the most important thing, a half cup of a good marmalade. Use whatever you like. I used seville orange marmalade, and I was happy with it.
Put the food processor back on, and mix it all until you get a dough. T his is gonna be s ticky and you're better off wetting your hands for the next part.
Line baking sheets with parchment. You'll probably need three. Form small balls of the stuff, and after you have them laid out, get some whole, toasted almonds, and press one into each cookie. This will act to flatten them a bit too, which is what you want. Then, bake them for 20 minutes or so in an oven preheated to 325. You can cut it to 18, or go to 20. The shorter time gives you a cookie close to a macaroon, which is a good t hing. The longer time gives you a d arker, crispy cookie, also a good thing. (I think the softer ones are better). DO keep an eye on them. The honey and marmalade cause the cookies to darken substantially. For those of you who don't mind dark bottoms, this is certainly not a problem. Nor is it a problem if you like stronger tastes. BUt if that's an issue. USE 18 MINUTES.
When these babies come out of the oven, let them cool completely. The marmalade tends to make them stick to your parchment. Much easier to remove them when totally cool.
In a tin, these are extremely good keeping cookies. On a plate with some coffee or lemon verbena tea, they are really wonderful, as they are in an assortment with other almond or citrus based cookies.
Tis the holidays. Make some more.
OK, Annalena has given you some holiday treats. Next time , we investigate "what I did for brussels sprouts."
Doesn't that describe, pretty much, the perfect date for all of us?
Back when I was much younger - a LONG time ago - there used to be a cookie available called an "Oriental almond cookie." Now, we're not allowed to use "oriental" anymore, although I must confess that, taken out of context, it is a beautiful word. "Oriental" means "rising," from Latin "orire," so the context is the rising of the sun. I wish we could disabuse the word of its signifier meaning, and use it in other contexts, but alas, that is not to happen.
But as usual, I digress. Back from linguistics, to cooking. Anyway, these cookies were big, soft, buttery (Yes, really typical of "oriental" cooking), and had the faintest taste of almond. They also had a nice big piece of almond in the center of them. Sometimes they would come in take out food, and sometimes not. Today, you never see them. Stella d'oro made a version of them, but they just weren't the same. Dunno why: maybe the ones in take out food were stale and I liked that quality, but who can tell?
So, several years ago, as I did my usual search and annoy mission for cookie recipes, I found this one. I clipped it, because the title was "almond cookies," and then when I read it, I put it aside. It did not seem workable. Then, when trying to make "one more cookie" for the annual display of excess that is Guy and my cookie collections, I looked at it again.
This recipe is sinfully easy. It's even easier if you start with almond flour, which you can buy from most health food stores. King Arthur sells it in toasted and untoasted varieties, and I like using half and half. It all goes in the food processor, and there's no flour. Here we go.
you need to start with about a pound and a half of ground almonds. Thats 4 cups or so. Put that into a food processor, with a cup of regular sugar, the rind of a lemon or and orange, grated (team it to your marmalade), and a half teaspoon of baking powder. Pulse that to mix. Now, add two egg whites. Contrary to the original recipe, you do NOT have to beat them ahead of time. Add a tablespoon of honey if you have it handy, and the most important thing, a half cup of a good marmalade. Use whatever you like. I used seville orange marmalade, and I was happy with it.
Put the food processor back on, and mix it all until you get a dough. T his is gonna be s ticky and you're better off wetting your hands for the next part.
Line baking sheets with parchment. You'll probably need three. Form small balls of the stuff, and after you have them laid out, get some whole, toasted almonds, and press one into each cookie. This will act to flatten them a bit too, which is what you want. Then, bake them for 20 minutes or so in an oven preheated to 325. You can cut it to 18, or go to 20. The shorter time gives you a cookie close to a macaroon, which is a good t hing. The longer time gives you a d arker, crispy cookie, also a good thing. (I think the softer ones are better). DO keep an eye on them. The honey and marmalade cause the cookies to darken substantially. For those of you who don't mind dark bottoms, this is certainly not a problem. Nor is it a problem if you like stronger tastes. BUt if that's an issue. USE 18 MINUTES.
When these babies come out of the oven, let them cool completely. The marmalade tends to make them stick to your parchment. Much easier to remove them when totally cool.
In a tin, these are extremely good keeping cookies. On a plate with some coffee or lemon verbena tea, they are really wonderful, as they are in an assortment with other almond or citrus based cookies.
Tis the holidays. Make some more.
OK, Annalena has given you some holiday treats. Next time , we investigate "what I did for brussels sprouts."
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
A holiday cookie with some crunch: potato chip pecan sandies
Yes, it is that time isn't it? The days are darker, danker, and there does seem to be the feel of "finality" about us, as the year is drawing to a close. For me, it is usually a rather melancholy period, interspersed with as much fun time as I can fit in. Parties, concerts, celebrations, and an attempt to bring in BRIGHT colors, like citrussy oranges and yellows (from Kim , the Citrus Bomb, and Sandra, the artichoke Queen, of course). It's also the time of year when Annalena's baking bug takes over, she goes on automatic pilot, and creates in the vicinity of 40-50 different types of cookies. Crazy woman, she is, isn't she?
Well, this is one of the favorites. I had seen a demo of cookies with potato chips in them, on television, many years ago, and thought of them as just an amusing aside. Then, I found this recipe. It's essentially a pecan sandy, made more crispy by the addition of the chips. And it's really good. I truly love pecan sandy cookies. I don't eat many of them, and if Emily found out I ate one, it probably means ten more crunches, but here they are.
You start with two sticks of unsalted butter, that you let get soft. I tend to leave them out overnight, because I know they'll be soft that way, but if your apartment is especially warm, you won't need that much time. Also, collect a half cup of granulated sugar, and then put some more in a b owl. You also need - NEED is a good word - a teaspoon of vanilla extract. Use the good stuff, none of this vanillin crap. Also 2 cups of all purposes flour and a half cup of ground pecans. You can buy these. If you are going to grind them yourself, here's a tip: put the half cup of pecans in the food processor with the flour, and pulse. That keeps them from getting too oily, and you're going to mix them together anyway.
AH, the chips. You need to make enough potato chip crumbs, to fill half a cup. You can do that in the food processor (after you've taken the flour/nuts out) or in a p lastic bag that you pound, pound pound. Dont' go crazy with them. Too many chips makes an oily cookie.
Now, the mixing. I use a stand mixer, but you can do this by hand. Beat the sugar and butter together, until the are really REALLY creamy. The color will lighten. Plan on five minutes for this. Then add the vanilla, then the flour, the pecans and the chips, and just stir them together. I like to add half a teaspoon of salt, but you don't have to.
Now, preheat your oven to 350, and start shaping little balls of dough onto parchment lined bakingsheets. I try to make em small, and I wind up with lots of sheets of the stuff. Maybe 24 to a baking sheet, six rows of four. Then, put each ball of dough into that bowl of sugar to get some on it, and press each one down, slightly, with the bottom of a glass.
Bake the guys for about 12 minutes. If you do two sheets at a time, know that one part of your oven is hotter than the other, and if you know which part it is (you'll find out soon enough), you should put another sheet under the cookie sheet to protect it. After 6 minutes, rotate the sheets. Put the bottom tray on the top shelf, and vice versa, and also rotate so the back becomes the front.
They won't get very brown - they're not supposed to (sandies never do). Get em out of the oven and leave em alone until they cool fully. It will take about half an hour.
If you make them small, you'll get nearly 60 cookies. That's a good haul, when you're making a lot of cookies, and you want people to have an assortment. Of course, as one friend told me, small ones are good for putting in a cereal bowl and eating with milk .
Whatever. Make some cookies. 'Tis the season
Well, this is one of the favorites. I had seen a demo of cookies with potato chips in them, on television, many years ago, and thought of them as just an amusing aside. Then, I found this recipe. It's essentially a pecan sandy, made more crispy by the addition of the chips. And it's really good. I truly love pecan sandy cookies. I don't eat many of them, and if Emily found out I ate one, it probably means ten more crunches, but here they are.
You start with two sticks of unsalted butter, that you let get soft. I tend to leave them out overnight, because I know they'll be soft that way, but if your apartment is especially warm, you won't need that much time. Also, collect a half cup of granulated sugar, and then put some more in a b owl. You also need - NEED is a good word - a teaspoon of vanilla extract. Use the good stuff, none of this vanillin crap. Also 2 cups of all purposes flour and a half cup of ground pecans. You can buy these. If you are going to grind them yourself, here's a tip: put the half cup of pecans in the food processor with the flour, and pulse. That keeps them from getting too oily, and you're going to mix them together anyway.
AH, the chips. You need to make enough potato chip crumbs, to fill half a cup. You can do that in the food processor (after you've taken the flour/nuts out) or in a p lastic bag that you pound, pound pound. Dont' go crazy with them. Too many chips makes an oily cookie.
Now, the mixing. I use a stand mixer, but you can do this by hand. Beat the sugar and butter together, until the are really REALLY creamy. The color will lighten. Plan on five minutes for this. Then add the vanilla, then the flour, the pecans and the chips, and just stir them together. I like to add half a teaspoon of salt, but you don't have to.
Now, preheat your oven to 350, and start shaping little balls of dough onto parchment lined bakingsheets. I try to make em small, and I wind up with lots of sheets of the stuff. Maybe 24 to a baking sheet, six rows of four. Then, put each ball of dough into that bowl of sugar to get some on it, and press each one down, slightly, with the bottom of a glass.
Bake the guys for about 12 minutes. If you do two sheets at a time, know that one part of your oven is hotter than the other, and if you know which part it is (you'll find out soon enough), you should put another sheet under the cookie sheet to protect it. After 6 minutes, rotate the sheets. Put the bottom tray on the top shelf, and vice versa, and also rotate so the back becomes the front.
They won't get very brown - they're not supposed to (sandies never do). Get em out of the oven and leave em alone until they cool fully. It will take about half an hour.
If you make them small, you'll get nearly 60 cookies. That's a good haul, when you're making a lot of cookies, and you want people to have an assortment. Of course, as one friend told me, small ones are good for putting in a cereal bowl and eating with milk .
Whatever. Make some cookies. 'Tis the season
Sunday, November 29, 2009
signifiers transcended: apple and sausage dressing
The title above should remind you that, at one time, Annalena studied literary criticism. I will explain what it means to those not in the know, and that means everyone but moi.
I am extremely interested in foods that "transcend their signifiers," while also maintaining them. What does this academic bs mean? Well, let me give you an example.
The famous television chef, Marianne Esposito gives a recipe in one of her books for dried cherry sweet rolls. At the end of her exposition, she says "I serve these on Christmas morning." Now, that makes sense to me in a very real way: sweet, rich and the touches of bright red throughout them. Of course they would signify Christmas. But what I want to know is: does she serve them ONLY on Christmas, or does she also serve them at other times. And, going a bit deeper, if she does serve them at other times, did they start as non-Christmas items that became holiday food, or vice versa? It is the second group that interests me.
We can think of many examples of foods that fall into the first group: everyone has a specialty dish, that people ask for on the holidays. At New Years, our guests always want my artichoke cheese dip. It did not start as New Years' food, but it has acquired a patina of "New Years" I'm sure you all can think of others, for any holiday. Then there are foods that, really have become "locked" in certain traditions. For example, egg nog: if you can find eggnog other than the period between Thanksgiving and New Years, you are lucky. Those disgusting candies, Cadbury Creme Eggs. Look for them (if you dare), at times other than Easter. Panettone? I see it sold all year, but does anyone buy it or eat it? Fruitcake???? Cranberries????
See what I mean? Now, let's look at foods that HAVE made that jump, for whatever reason.
Oranges were always associated with the Yule season. I believe that is because they were ridiculously expensive, and intended only as a special treat. As they became more widely available, and cheaper, they became everyday food. Can you think of others?
So, that's what I mean about transcending the signifier: for these foods, they , at one time "signified" Xmas or some o ther holiday. If you were dropped into a living room, from outer space, and had no sense of what time of year it was, if you saw certain foods on the table, you knew that there was a holiday.
One of the classes of foods that has tried to make this jump, is stuffing, or more correctly, (at least to me), dressing. We all have favorite turkey stuffing recipes. (Now, let me clarify a term here, before we go on. I use "stuffing" to refer to foods that are actually used to fill the bird, and cook inside of it. "Dressing" is of the form of stuffing, but is cooked separately. The terms are used very loosely. For example, the recipe I present here was described as a stuffing. It never went into the bird). You can buy this hideous product "stove top stuffing," that I guess is supposed to replace potatoes or rice or whatever else you would be serving with your protein at dinner.
Does anyone actually buy that stuff? Does anyone eat it? EWWWWWW.
Well, dressings are very big "transgressors" to me. If I find one that I truly like, it becomes a part of my repertoire, and shows up at other times of year. This is one of those - a new one. It's custardy, which is a plus in my book. It's easy, which is also good. It's rich, even better, and it makes a lot. And you can do any kind of variations on it. Again, there is a method here, that you should study, learn and adapt.
The good cooks will see it right away. I would bet you that, having finished reading this, my freind Franklin has five or six variations of it in mind right away (incidentally, Franklin, based on your mac and cheese I made one this weekend. MMMMM GOOD).
Here we go. First, let's get our meat mixture done. You need a pound of sausage meat - spicy is good, fennel is good, sweet is good, whatever you like. When I say sausage meat, many butchers and farmers markets will sell you their sausage meat in bulk, i.e, without casings. But if you can only get sausages in their casings, just cut through the tube and pull out the meat . You all know how to pull out meat, don' t you? Put that aside, and dice up a cup each of celery, onion, and your favorite apple type, which should be peeled and cored. You also want to dice a few cloves of garlic, and get some fresh herbs ready. If it's pork, think sage. If you are already thinking variations and thinking merguez sausage (were you thinking that Franklin? I bet you were thinking of something else...), think rosemary. If you were thinking chicken or turkey sausage (getting warm, Franklin?), think another complementary herb, based on what the sausage already has in it . (Incidentally, I bet Franklin is thinking of smoked turkey meat that he's gonna grind like sausage, cause he's like that...).
Put some oil in a pan, and add the meat. Saute' it unitl it browns. You'll need to break it up as you go along, because these sausage meats are dense and they clump. Then take out the sausage, put it aside, and cook everything else in the drippings. It will take you less than ten minutes to do the sausage, and about 5 to do everything else. Mix it together.
Next, you need a bread base. I would stay away from the truly rich breads, and anything with fruit in it. Go for European style, bland breads. The recipe I used called for baguette. I used ciabatta, and I was perfectly happy with it. Rye bread would be nice. So would sourdough, I think. In any event, you need about a pound of it, that you cube in about one inch cubes. Keep the crust on those cubes. Add the bread to the sausage mix
Mix together a cup of whole milk, a cup of chicken stock and then a couple of tablespoons of melted butter. Whisk in three large eggs. Now pour all of that into the bread/sausage mix. Pour all of it into a 9x13 inch, buttered baking dish, get it in the oven, and bake for about 45-50 minutes, at 350.
Your home is going to smell positively wondeful as this cooks. You will be tempted to go in and eat three pieces before you serve it. Personally, I see nothing wrong with that, but you and your guests might consider it rude.
Now, I hope you see that this certainly does serves as a side to a turkey. But can you see it as breakfast or lunch? It is , essentially, a big ole' savory bread pudding, and who doesn't like that?
Change things. For example, if you want to go vegetarian, switch out the sausage for a pound of sauteed mushrooms (Jeremy? You listening, bud?). Maybe work some hot sauce into it, and put a second cup of milk in instead of the chicken stock. Got any other ideas?
Franklin, this one is for you. I KNOW you're gonna make a variation on it, I'm gonna copy it, "and the beat goes on."
I am extremely interested in foods that "transcend their signifiers," while also maintaining them. What does this academic bs mean? Well, let me give you an example.
The famous television chef, Marianne Esposito gives a recipe in one of her books for dried cherry sweet rolls. At the end of her exposition, she says "I serve these on Christmas morning." Now, that makes sense to me in a very real way: sweet, rich and the touches of bright red throughout them. Of course they would signify Christmas. But what I want to know is: does she serve them ONLY on Christmas, or does she also serve them at other times. And, going a bit deeper, if she does serve them at other times, did they start as non-Christmas items that became holiday food, or vice versa? It is the second group that interests me.
We can think of many examples of foods that fall into the first group: everyone has a specialty dish, that people ask for on the holidays. At New Years, our guests always want my artichoke cheese dip. It did not start as New Years' food, but it has acquired a patina of "New Years" I'm sure you all can think of others, for any holiday. Then there are foods that, really have become "locked" in certain traditions. For example, egg nog: if you can find eggnog other than the period between Thanksgiving and New Years, you are lucky. Those disgusting candies, Cadbury Creme Eggs. Look for them (if you dare), at times other than Easter. Panettone? I see it sold all year, but does anyone buy it or eat it? Fruitcake???? Cranberries????
See what I mean? Now, let's look at foods that HAVE made that jump, for whatever reason.
Oranges were always associated with the Yule season. I believe that is because they were ridiculously expensive, and intended only as a special treat. As they became more widely available, and cheaper, they became everyday food. Can you think of others?
So, that's what I mean about transcending the signifier: for these foods, they , at one time "signified" Xmas or some o ther holiday. If you were dropped into a living room, from outer space, and had no sense of what time of year it was, if you saw certain foods on the table, you knew that there was a holiday.
One of the classes of foods that has tried to make this jump, is stuffing, or more correctly, (at least to me), dressing. We all have favorite turkey stuffing recipes. (Now, let me clarify a term here, before we go on. I use "stuffing" to refer to foods that are actually used to fill the bird, and cook inside of it. "Dressing" is of the form of stuffing, but is cooked separately. The terms are used very loosely. For example, the recipe I present here was described as a stuffing. It never went into the bird). You can buy this hideous product "stove top stuffing," that I guess is supposed to replace potatoes or rice or whatever else you would be serving with your protein at dinner.
Does anyone actually buy that stuff? Does anyone eat it? EWWWWWW.
Well, dressings are very big "transgressors" to me. If I find one that I truly like, it becomes a part of my repertoire, and shows up at other times of year. This is one of those - a new one. It's custardy, which is a plus in my book. It's easy, which is also good. It's rich, even better, and it makes a lot. And you can do any kind of variations on it. Again, there is a method here, that you should study, learn and adapt.
The good cooks will see it right away. I would bet you that, having finished reading this, my freind Franklin has five or six variations of it in mind right away (incidentally, Franklin, based on your mac and cheese I made one this weekend. MMMMM GOOD).
Here we go. First, let's get our meat mixture done. You need a pound of sausage meat - spicy is good, fennel is good, sweet is good, whatever you like. When I say sausage meat, many butchers and farmers markets will sell you their sausage meat in bulk, i.e, without casings. But if you can only get sausages in their casings, just cut through the tube and pull out the meat . You all know how to pull out meat, don' t you? Put that aside, and dice up a cup each of celery, onion, and your favorite apple type, which should be peeled and cored. You also want to dice a few cloves of garlic, and get some fresh herbs ready. If it's pork, think sage. If you are already thinking variations and thinking merguez sausage (were you thinking that Franklin? I bet you were thinking of something else...), think rosemary. If you were thinking chicken or turkey sausage (getting warm, Franklin?), think another complementary herb, based on what the sausage already has in it . (Incidentally, I bet Franklin is thinking of smoked turkey meat that he's gonna grind like sausage, cause he's like that...).
Put some oil in a pan, and add the meat. Saute' it unitl it browns. You'll need to break it up as you go along, because these sausage meats are dense and they clump. Then take out the sausage, put it aside, and cook everything else in the drippings. It will take you less than ten minutes to do the sausage, and about 5 to do everything else. Mix it together.
Next, you need a bread base. I would stay away from the truly rich breads, and anything with fruit in it. Go for European style, bland breads. The recipe I used called for baguette. I used ciabatta, and I was perfectly happy with it. Rye bread would be nice. So would sourdough, I think. In any event, you need about a pound of it, that you cube in about one inch cubes. Keep the crust on those cubes. Add the bread to the sausage mix
Mix together a cup of whole milk, a cup of chicken stock and then a couple of tablespoons of melted butter. Whisk in three large eggs. Now pour all of that into the bread/sausage mix. Pour all of it into a 9x13 inch, buttered baking dish, get it in the oven, and bake for about 45-50 minutes, at 350.
Your home is going to smell positively wondeful as this cooks. You will be tempted to go in and eat three pieces before you serve it. Personally, I see nothing wrong with that, but you and your guests might consider it rude.
Now, I hope you see that this certainly does serves as a side to a turkey. But can you see it as breakfast or lunch? It is , essentially, a big ole' savory bread pudding, and who doesn't like that?
Change things. For example, if you want to go vegetarian, switch out the sausage for a pound of sauteed mushrooms (Jeremy? You listening, bud?). Maybe work some hot sauce into it, and put a second cup of milk in instead of the chicken stock. Got any other ideas?
Franklin, this one is for you. I KNOW you're gonna make a variation on it, I'm gonna copy it, "and the beat goes on."
Saturday, November 28, 2009
The hit of thanksgiving dinner: chestnut soup
Ok, so the season is upon us, and Annalena is up to her you know what in cooking. A dinner for 13 on Sunday (recently dubbed "the All Star dinner" by one friend), then Thanksgiving dinner for a gathering of 9.5 of us (someone showed up for dessert), and now, the holiday baking begins. Today is candy day: grapefruit peel (which means Kevin gets grapefruit sorbet), and quince paste. Cookies up and coming. And coming. And coming. Then the Christmas dinner, then the feast of a thousand dishes at New Year's. Good thing my feet don't hurt much this year.
But as usual, I digress. The Thanksgiving dinner this year was quite a wonderful affair. Smartest thing I ever did was insist on NOT sitting at the head of the table. I have such a ball now. And for those of you who "spiked" my party - and you know who you are (that means you, Brad), thanks so much.
And I digressed again. There ya go. Life in the stream of unconsciousness. Oi. Anyway, the hit of the meal , I think, was the chestnut soup.
I love chestnuts. When I was last in Europe, 12 years ago, it seemed that there was a chestnut vendor on every corner of Zurich. And these were GOOD chestnuts, not the kind we get at the hot dog vendors in NYC this time of year. Does anybody buy them? Does anybody like them? How many chestnuts die in the name of "tis the season," and then get tossed in trash cans because they taste nasty (Trust Annalena here. They do). But chestnuts ARE wonderful. Trust Europeans. They know about this type of thing. "Castagne," in Italian, we make them into candies, into breads, into custards, so many things. I don't really know of Italian chestnut soup, but wherever this one came from, it is quite wonderful. You should make it. Really, you should.
First, let's talk about sourcing the chestnuts (NOT "saucing" the chestnuts you twits). You can, if you feel ambitious, buy fresh chestnuts, score them, roast them, peel off the skins and hurt your fingers a whole lot along the way. Annalena has done that. She is over it. Truly and unconditionally. Now, she looks toward the "preprepared" route. You can get them, peeled , in jars. Some are packed in water (which is your least favored option), some are vacuum packed (better). Best of all, in my opinion, are the little vacuum packed pouches. The quality is much higher. The downside here is that the packets are very small. For this recipe, needing about a pound of chestnuts, you need 3-4 packs. The jars have more in them. Use what ya got.
Let's start with the base. It's a classic soup base: a half cup each of chopped carrot, celery, and onion. You 'll also need 3 tablespoons of butter. When I saw the original recipe, it called for a bouquet garni of parsley leaves, cloves and bay leaf. Sounds good, but chestnuts have a delicate flavor. Cloves, do not. It's sort of like the difference between a Schubert art song, and a Wagnerian opera. Those of you with some musical background will get what I mean, and those of you who don't, ask someone who does. I will digress no longer. In any event, I leave out the garni. You will also need that pound of chestnuts, and about six cups of chicken stock. Finally, you need a quarter cup of some strong tasting liquor in the sherry family: dry sherry, madeira, marsala (the dry variety), even vermouth, would do. Stay away from wine, port, or anything with a sweet edge. Chestnuts have a slightly sweet flavor, and that sweetness will take over the dish if you give it a chance to. Sweet liquors give it that chance. Optionally, you may want some heavy cream.
Now, let's cook. Melt the three tablespoons of butter in a big pot, and then add the carrot/celery/onion and cook at a medium heat (QUICK REVIEW: what do we call that combination of carrot/celery/onion, in French cooking? In Creole cooking? Have you been paying attention?????).
While the holy trinity is cooking, drain your chestnuts, and crumble them up in your fingers. It won't be difficult, they're fairly friable (look it up). Add them to the vegetables and butter, and cook for a minute or two. Add the liquor, and keep your face back when you do. If the pot is big enough, since you aren't using a lot of the hooch, the chance of a flame up is minimal, but do be careful. You worked hard to grow that moustache, and it really does suit you.
Now add the stock. Lower the heat, cover the pot, and go away for about twenty minutes. When you come back, the chestnuts will be very soft. This is a good thing. Turn off the heat, leave the cover off, and let the stuff cool down. When it is just warm, start pureeing it in a blender, in small batches. Use more time than you think you will need, else you will have little chunks of chestnuts. Not necessarily a bad thing, but if you want a smooth as silk soup, you have to take the time to do this.
Taste the soup after you've pureed it all, and then add the salt it needs. Think a minute as to whether you want cream or not. If you think the soup is slightly sweet, and you'd rather it wouldn't be, add the cream. Anywhere from 1/4 to 1/2 a cup. Stir it, and you are done. Maybe....
A wonderful garnish for this, is more chestnuts, crumbled, cooked in more butter, and with some more of that liquor added to the frying pan (NOW, you DO have to be careful with your moustache), and added to the soup right before you serve it.
If you analyze this soup, even at a base level, it is essentially the same soup we've been making for years in this blog, only with chestnuts as the main vegetable. Today, for example, I made carrot soup, and as I think about it, the recipe is the same, save for the substitution of carrots for chestnuts.
Learn the basic recipe for making soup: the base, the fat, the stock, and the key vegetable. You're on your way to a whole lot of pots, of really good eating.
If you feel "oh, chestnuts are holiday food," well.. Feliz Navidad...
But as usual, I digress. The Thanksgiving dinner this year was quite a wonderful affair. Smartest thing I ever did was insist on NOT sitting at the head of the table. I have such a ball now. And for those of you who "spiked" my party - and you know who you are (that means you, Brad), thanks so much.
And I digressed again. There ya go. Life in the stream of unconsciousness. Oi. Anyway, the hit of the meal , I think, was the chestnut soup.
I love chestnuts. When I was last in Europe, 12 years ago, it seemed that there was a chestnut vendor on every corner of Zurich. And these were GOOD chestnuts, not the kind we get at the hot dog vendors in NYC this time of year. Does anybody buy them? Does anybody like them? How many chestnuts die in the name of "tis the season," and then get tossed in trash cans because they taste nasty (Trust Annalena here. They do). But chestnuts ARE wonderful. Trust Europeans. They know about this type of thing. "Castagne," in Italian, we make them into candies, into breads, into custards, so many things. I don't really know of Italian chestnut soup, but wherever this one came from, it is quite wonderful. You should make it. Really, you should.
First, let's talk about sourcing the chestnuts (NOT "saucing" the chestnuts you twits). You can, if you feel ambitious, buy fresh chestnuts, score them, roast them, peel off the skins and hurt your fingers a whole lot along the way. Annalena has done that. She is over it. Truly and unconditionally. Now, she looks toward the "preprepared" route. You can get them, peeled , in jars. Some are packed in water (which is your least favored option), some are vacuum packed (better). Best of all, in my opinion, are the little vacuum packed pouches. The quality is much higher. The downside here is that the packets are very small. For this recipe, needing about a pound of chestnuts, you need 3-4 packs. The jars have more in them. Use what ya got.
Let's start with the base. It's a classic soup base: a half cup each of chopped carrot, celery, and onion. You 'll also need 3 tablespoons of butter. When I saw the original recipe, it called for a bouquet garni of parsley leaves, cloves and bay leaf. Sounds good, but chestnuts have a delicate flavor. Cloves, do not. It's sort of like the difference between a Schubert art song, and a Wagnerian opera. Those of you with some musical background will get what I mean, and those of you who don't, ask someone who does. I will digress no longer. In any event, I leave out the garni. You will also need that pound of chestnuts, and about six cups of chicken stock. Finally, you need a quarter cup of some strong tasting liquor in the sherry family: dry sherry, madeira, marsala (the dry variety), even vermouth, would do. Stay away from wine, port, or anything with a sweet edge. Chestnuts have a slightly sweet flavor, and that sweetness will take over the dish if you give it a chance to. Sweet liquors give it that chance. Optionally, you may want some heavy cream.
Now, let's cook. Melt the three tablespoons of butter in a big pot, and then add the carrot/celery/onion and cook at a medium heat (QUICK REVIEW: what do we call that combination of carrot/celery/onion, in French cooking? In Creole cooking? Have you been paying attention?????).
While the holy trinity is cooking, drain your chestnuts, and crumble them up in your fingers. It won't be difficult, they're fairly friable (look it up). Add them to the vegetables and butter, and cook for a minute or two. Add the liquor, and keep your face back when you do. If the pot is big enough, since you aren't using a lot of the hooch, the chance of a flame up is minimal, but do be careful. You worked hard to grow that moustache, and it really does suit you.
Now add the stock. Lower the heat, cover the pot, and go away for about twenty minutes. When you come back, the chestnuts will be very soft. This is a good thing. Turn off the heat, leave the cover off, and let the stuff cool down. When it is just warm, start pureeing it in a blender, in small batches. Use more time than you think you will need, else you will have little chunks of chestnuts. Not necessarily a bad thing, but if you want a smooth as silk soup, you have to take the time to do this.
Taste the soup after you've pureed it all, and then add the salt it needs. Think a minute as to whether you want cream or not. If you think the soup is slightly sweet, and you'd rather it wouldn't be, add the cream. Anywhere from 1/4 to 1/2 a cup. Stir it, and you are done. Maybe....
A wonderful garnish for this, is more chestnuts, crumbled, cooked in more butter, and with some more of that liquor added to the frying pan (NOW, you DO have to be careful with your moustache), and added to the soup right before you serve it.
If you analyze this soup, even at a base level, it is essentially the same soup we've been making for years in this blog, only with chestnuts as the main vegetable. Today, for example, I made carrot soup, and as I think about it, the recipe is the same, save for the substitution of carrots for chestnuts.
Learn the basic recipe for making soup: the base, the fat, the stock, and the key vegetable. You're on your way to a whole lot of pots, of really good eating.
If you feel "oh, chestnuts are holiday food," well.. Feliz Navidad...
Saturday, November 21, 2009
TRUFFLES!
Well, it is indeed that time of year, when the minds of folks who cook focus on the following thought; "OH SHIT HOW AM I GOING TO GET IT ALL DONE?"
You know who you are, and you know what I'm talking about. If there are those of you out there who have everything planned out, down to the last bread crumb, I hate you . So does everyone else. Trust me, they do. The rest of us are somewhere in between a state of shock as to not having planned the things we said we'd plan, and in a state of total panic. And it all comes back to 'HOW THE HELL AM I GONNA GET IT ALL DONE?"
Well, this recipe MAY help. It's a godsend for those of us who like to make things for people. It is also a perfect thing to have on hand in case you just can't get to dessert and need "something." It is absurdly easy to do: let's say ten minutes of work here. It makes a lot of goodies: let's say 100. And frankly, when I made them, I thought "The hell with the Xmas cookies, I'm just going to do this."
Well, that's not going to happen, but the reaction to these big boys has been so uniformly positive. People have stopped talking - people who haven't stopped talking since they were born. People who don't like chocolate are eating them. World peace has been achieved.
OK, the last one isn't true. But just maybe, if instead people gave each other chocolate truffles.
I know, I know, I know. Don't say it. Instead, buy some chocolate and condensed milk and make these. Seriously, do. You will be so glad you did.
Here's what you need: two pounds of extremely good quality bittersweet chocolate. I recently stumbled onto little disks of Callebaut chocolate, which saves the problem of chopping the chocolate, reducing the time of preparation to about 7 minutes if you have them. You also need two cans of condensed milk. If you happen to have access to condensed goat's milk, by all means use it, and you'll be making a Latino version. Finally, you need a stick of unsalted butter, and if you want a flavoring ingredient, a tablespoon of that.
Here's how you do it. Put the chocolate, the condensed milk, and the butter, into a pot. Bring it to a simmer, stirring, and let it all melt together . Take it off the heat.
Get a baking sheet with parchment paper on it, and pour it out. Smooth it with a spatula.
You're done. Almost. But the hard stuff IS done. I SWEAR, it is. Now you let this sit at room temperature for at least 8 hours, to firm up.
After that, get another sheet of parchment, and turn over the baking sheet, so that the chocolate block falls on it. Start cutting, or spooning it, into hefty teaspoon size pieces. Have a bowl with cocoa powder, and another tray handy. Cover your hands with cocoa. Roll the bits of chocolate to balls - don't worry about geometric perfection - and dip them in cocoa. Then put them aside on the clean tray. Keep on keepin' on, until the chocolate is done.
NOW you truly are done. Taste one. See what I mean? These will keep in a dry tin, separated by sheets of paper, for an eternity, but they won't last that long. Even if you only eat one a night, they'll be gone in 3 months, and you'll have to make them again.
SUE - stop asking your mom to make the sweets. Come on , girlfriend, YOU can make this one. Stop making fun of my nasty looking leeks and make some truffles. The holidays are here remember...
You know who you are, and you know what I'm talking about. If there are those of you out there who have everything planned out, down to the last bread crumb, I hate you . So does everyone else. Trust me, they do. The rest of us are somewhere in between a state of shock as to not having planned the things we said we'd plan, and in a state of total panic. And it all comes back to 'HOW THE HELL AM I GONNA GET IT ALL DONE?"
Well, this recipe MAY help. It's a godsend for those of us who like to make things for people. It is also a perfect thing to have on hand in case you just can't get to dessert and need "something." It is absurdly easy to do: let's say ten minutes of work here. It makes a lot of goodies: let's say 100. And frankly, when I made them, I thought "The hell with the Xmas cookies, I'm just going to do this."
Well, that's not going to happen, but the reaction to these big boys has been so uniformly positive. People have stopped talking - people who haven't stopped talking since they were born. People who don't like chocolate are eating them. World peace has been achieved.
OK, the last one isn't true. But just maybe, if instead people gave each other chocolate truffles.
I know, I know, I know. Don't say it. Instead, buy some chocolate and condensed milk and make these. Seriously, do. You will be so glad you did.
Here's what you need: two pounds of extremely good quality bittersweet chocolate. I recently stumbled onto little disks of Callebaut chocolate, which saves the problem of chopping the chocolate, reducing the time of preparation to about 7 minutes if you have them. You also need two cans of condensed milk. If you happen to have access to condensed goat's milk, by all means use it, and you'll be making a Latino version. Finally, you need a stick of unsalted butter, and if you want a flavoring ingredient, a tablespoon of that.
Here's how you do it. Put the chocolate, the condensed milk, and the butter, into a pot. Bring it to a simmer, stirring, and let it all melt together . Take it off the heat.
Get a baking sheet with parchment paper on it, and pour it out. Smooth it with a spatula.
You're done. Almost. But the hard stuff IS done. I SWEAR, it is. Now you let this sit at room temperature for at least 8 hours, to firm up.
After that, get another sheet of parchment, and turn over the baking sheet, so that the chocolate block falls on it. Start cutting, or spooning it, into hefty teaspoon size pieces. Have a bowl with cocoa powder, and another tray handy. Cover your hands with cocoa. Roll the bits of chocolate to balls - don't worry about geometric perfection - and dip them in cocoa. Then put them aside on the clean tray. Keep on keepin' on, until the chocolate is done.
NOW you truly are done. Taste one. See what I mean? These will keep in a dry tin, separated by sheets of paper, for an eternity, but they won't last that long. Even if you only eat one a night, they'll be gone in 3 months, and you'll have to make them again.
SUE - stop asking your mom to make the sweets. Come on , girlfriend, YOU can make this one. Stop making fun of my nasty looking leeks and make some truffles. The holidays are here remember...
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